The Quest for the Trilogy: Boneslicer; Seaspray; Deathwhisper

by Mel Odom

  Fortunately, he ended up in brush. There were hundreds of scratches involved, but he could hide almost immediately. Resisting the impulse to lie still until he was certain he was of a piece, he scrambled through the brush and tried not to leave a trail or anything moving behind him.

  “I don’t know what you hope to do here, halfer,” Kulik Broghan said. “You don’t have any magic, and you don’t have any sword skills that can stand up against the armed men and goblinkin that are here with me.”

  Wick didn’t answer. He was terrified and didn’t know what he could do, either. But he hadn’t been able to leave Quarrel alone to her fate. He found a safe spot near the water under a tall copse of cypress trees and stood in water up to his knees, hoping that no snakes or crocodiles were nearby.

  “You found Boneslicer and Seaspray when we couldn’t,” Kulik Broghan taunted as he stepped down from his horse and walked to the end of the pier with the sword in his hand. “So we have your cleverness to thank for that.”

  Don’t mention it, Wick thought. Ever!

  “We had searched those areas for years. I like to think that we would have eventually found them.”

  Wick took cover and prepared to move. “Why would you want to unleash Lord Kharrion’s Wrath now?” He moved, six feet away from where he’d been standing, and listened as arrows cut through the brush where he’d been before.

  “Are you still alive?” Kulik Broghan asked.

  Wick didn’t answer, knowing better than to give the archers another easy target.

  “If we’d gotten him,” one of the archers said, walking along the ouside of the brush ringing the swamp, “you’d have heard him flopping around in there.”

  “Unless you got him in the heart and killed him immediately,” the other archer said. He circled in the other direction.

  “We had the two weapons,” Kulik Broghan said as he held Seaspray out to the swamp, “but we couldn’t do what Craugh managed to do in tracking Sokadir down. Nor could we have brought Sokadir out to us the way Craugh did. We knew he would trust Craugh enough to come forward. All we had to do was remain hidden long enough for that to happen. Then we could make our move. As we have done.”

  Wick knelt in the water and felt a snake slide through the water next to his leg.

  “As to why I am doing it,” the wizard went on, “it’s to unite the goblinkin once more. After he’d destroyed Dream the first time in his search for the vidrenium, Lord Kharrion learned that Oskarr had come into possession of the enchanted ore only after the Battle of Fell’s Keep. When he saw the weapons being used there, he knew what had occurred. So he brought in a traitor to act against the defenders there, made them all sick so there was hope that those weapons would fall into his possession. We took Seaspray, but we missed Boneslicer and Deathwhisper.”

  Behind Kulik Broghan, Quarrel tried to push herself to her feet. In the pale moonslight, Wick saw that the bandage he’d put on her arm had soaked through with blood. He felt torn as he looked on, feeling the need to do something, but not seeing his way clear to doing anything.

  “Now,” the wizard said, “everything is within our grasp again.” He shouted powerful, terrible Words.

  In the middle of the swamp, fierce bubbling took place and a sulfurous stench rent the air, boiling over the normal fecund stink of the swamp. Incredibly, Kulik Broghan droned on, and something rose out in the middle of the Darkling Swamp.

  Wick thought back over all the references he’d read to Thalanildim. After his adventure with Shengharck when he had returned to the Vault of All Known Knowledge, Wick had read a lot about dragons. Much had been written about Thalanildim, but he had never learned where the great dragon’s final battle had taken place. Nor had he ever learned who had finally destroyed Thalanildim.

  But now the remains of the great dragon dragged themselves up out of the muck and the mire. Wick had no doubt that what he was seeing was a dragon, and it was the biggest dragon he had ever seen. It was also the most fearsome. Shengharck had been more than a hundred feet long from nose to tail, but Thalanildim was twice that.

  The dead dragon stood on its hind legs and towered above the tallest trees in the swamp. Mud and dead plants clung to its body, which was malformed and mostly skeletal. Water and muck dripped through the holes of itself where flesh and dragon scales were missing. In life, Thalanildim had been beautiful. Its scales had been deep ermine with a bronze belly and gold-tipped claws. Now it was mud brown and black as though scorched by a horrible fire.

  Thalanildim kept the bat wings closed about itself, but Wick saw several holes through them, as if rats had been at it while it had slept in death. Its head was shaped like a pickaxe, the jaws, the narrow end, and the horned head covered in broken horns.

  “Who are you that calls Thalanildim?” the dragon demanded in a cold, empty voice. The moonslight showed the empty sockets where its eyes had been.

  “I am Kulik Broghan, a wizard.” The man stood at the end of the pier and held Seaspray in his sparking grasp. The sparks reflected in the dark, troubled water.

  “You have no right to disturb me.” The dragon eyed him with its hollow gaze.

  Ryman Bey, guildmaster of the Razor’s Kiss, stepped back.

  “I come offering a gift.” Kulik Broghan held up the sword, still showering sparks.

  “What gift?”

  “Would you,” the wizard asked, “like to live again? To wreak your vengeance on humans, dwarves, and elves as you once did?”

  “My time is over. I was killed. By a human.” The dragon cocked its head to the side. “He was also a wizard. His name was Craugh.”

  Fourteen hundred years old, Wick thought in disbelief. How has a human, even a wizard, lived so long?

  “Craugh,” Kulik Broghan stated, “still lives. He’s here in this place.”

  The dragon unfolded its wings. It curled up one claw at the end of a foreleg. “I would have my revenge, human, no matter what the price.”

  “Then agree to my binding, and to serve me,” Kulik Broghan said, “and I can grant you your vengeance.”

  Bowing, the dragon said, “I submit, my liege, and acknowledge your sovereign power over me.” Then it straightened, standing tall and formidable again. “Now give me what I seek.”

  Horrified, Wick watched as Kulik Broghan spoke more Words and—twisted—Seaspray in his grip. Metal screamed as he wrenched it from the shape Master Oskarr had beaten it into a thousand years ago in his Cinder Clouds Islands forge. The hilt crunched and folded and bent, and the blade stretched and wrapped around itself.

  “No!” Quarrel cried out, pushing herself weakly forward. “Don’t! Please!”

  But Kulik Broghan didn’t halt his cruel ministrations. In only a short time, Seaspray had been crushed into a ball of metal.

  “There,” he cried, proud of what he had wrought. “This is only part of what was created to bring you renewed life, but it’ll be enough for now. There are two other pieces. You’ll have to claim them.” He held the metal ball up.

  Thalanildim staggered forward through the swamp, sloshing up tall waves of muddy water and muck. The undead dragon bent down to take the metal ball.

  “My own dragonheart was destroyed,” the fearsome creature said. “Craugh saw it shattered to pieces, never to be formed again.”

  “Then you should shatter him,” Kulik Broghan stated, smiling.

  “Yes,” Thalanildim said, fitting the metal ball into the center of its hollow chest. Dark purple light suddenly filled the undead dragon’s body. Some of the dead scales folded back into place and looked near indestructible again, but there were still many gaping holes. “Yeeeesssssssss!” it cried joyously. It curled its foreclaws into fists. “I have missed this feeling! For years I have lain in the bottom of this swamp, no longer able to go, no longer able to enjoy the savagery of the hunt! Now … now I am renewed!”

  The Razor’s Kiss thieves, including Ryman Bey, as well as the goblinkin drew back from the undead thing.

  Thalani
ldim opened its beak and screamed, and the Forest of Fangs and Shadows shivered in fear of the terrible noise.

  “No!” Quarrel shouted, pushing past Kulik Broghan and reaching toward the dragon. “I will have that sword!”

  Looking at the misshapen ball magically suspended in the dragon’s chest, Wick didn’t believe that even Master Oskarr (if he were alive) would be able to return the sword to its original shape. But as Quarrel reached for it, the metal ball quivered and tried to pull loose from the mysterious force holding it prisoner.

  Swinging its head around, Thalanildim glared at Quarrel. “Foolish human,” it snarled, lifting one of its clawed feet to smash down on her.

  Quarrel dodged to one side, leaping into the swamp as the massive foot came down. Kulik Broghan stepped back, narrowly avoiding the foot and the claws as they smashed through the pier and reduced the end of it to a collection of broken planks.

  Then a blazing green lightning bolt exploded against the dragon’s chest, rocking it back on its heels.

  Glancing to the left, Wick saw Craugh, Brandt, and Hallekk riding horses, followed by others. Evidently they’d been able to gather some of the stampeded mounts and get control of them.

  Then Kulik Broghan cast a wall of invisible force that bowled over the three lead horses, toppling Craugh and the others from their mounts. The horses in the rear leaped over the downed animals and rushed on.

  Wick looked to where Quarrel had gone under the dark water and didn’t see her. He couldn’t help wondering if the dragon’s stomp had injured her. Before he knew it, he was in motion, running rapidly through the swamp. Thankfully, his dweller balance and agility stood him in good stead as he ran across the slick, soft bottom. When a log in front of him opened its eyes, then its great cavernous mouth, he leaped over it, barely avoiding the crocodile’s snapping teeth.

  He landed on the other side, moving as fast as he could, his heart thundering in his chest and his ears. He thought only of Quarrel, not knowing how many of his friends were already dead, knowing that Cobner had been suspiciously absent.

  “Craugh!” the dragon screamed.

  Wick wasn’t certain if the undead creature recognized Craugh or the wizard’s power. He leaped again, this time over the splintered remains of the pier. A shadow drifted over his head and he glanced up to see a giant foot descending toward him. He threw himself forward again, trying in vain to get out of the way, knowing that he couldn’t get the course change he needed on the slippery mud.

  I’m going to die! Squished flatter than a sheet of parchment! I hope it doesn’t—

  Then Quarrel leaped up from the water, coming straight at him in a dive, looping her uninjured arm around his head and shoulders. Together, they splashed into the water and the foot missed crushing them by inches.

  Quarrel caught Wick by the shirt front and pulled him from the swamp. “Get up!” she yelled. Terror had widened her eyes, but she was still functioning. “We have to get my sword!”

  We? Wick thought, watching her charge after the dragon as it stalked toward shore with steps that shook the earth and quivered through the water. We are not dragon slayers. Well, there was the one, but that was—

  Then another lightning bolt blazed from Craugh’s staff and staggered Thalanildim back on its heels. This time the undead dragon went over and down, falling on its back into the swamp.

  “Wick! Come on!” Quarrel caught hold of the dragon’s side where the bones were exposed, finding easy hand- and footholds as she pulled herself on top of the creature.

  No! Wick thought, cowering where he stood.

  On the shore, Craugh battled with Kulik Broghan, who called to the dragon. Mystic bolts of green and purple shot between the two wizards, ripping away the shadows and crackling across the shields each had in place.

  Sokadir and his bear were among the goblinkin then. The elven warder rode the bear and shot Deathwhisper, ripping goblinkin and thieves apart when he hit them.

  “Wick!” Quarrel was in the center of the dragon’s chest, pulling hard on the metal ball that had been Seaspray and now gave the dragon unlife. “Help me! My arm is too weak to get a proper hold! We can do this!”

  Frozen, definitely not wanting to get any closer to the dragon, Wick watched her pulling at the metal ball.

  “Wick, please!”

  Sighing, knowing he was probably rushing to his doom, he ran to the dragon’s side, grabbed a rib and climbed up. He joined Quarrel at the chest, then hesitantly took hold of the metal ball. Power vibrated through his arms and he released it at once.

  “It won’t hurt you,” Quarrel told him. “Take hold with me.” She maintained her hold and that gave him hope.

  Wick knelt and latched onto the metal ball, forcing himself to hang on this time. Grudgingly, the metal ball shifted, almost pulling loose.

  Then Thalanildim sat up and screamed again. Wick and Quarrel hung on.

  “Inside its chest,” Quarrel said, ducking into the cavity and standing on bone.

  “I’ll kill you,” the dragon threatened as it got to its feet. It tried to reach for them, but Craugh hit it again with another lightning bolt, staggering it again and nearly knocking it over. Recovering, the dragon spread its wings and vaulted into the air.

  Wick glanced out the chest cavity and saw the ground fall away from them as Craugh threw another lightning bolt that missed. Kulik Broghan lay stretched out on the ground, a smoldering mass at the swamp’s edge.

  “It’s f-f-f-flying!” Wick shrilled. He couldn’t believe it. He turned to Quarrel. “It c-c-can’t f-f-f-fly! It’s w-w-wings are f-f-full of h-h-h-holes!”

  “I’ve always been told that dragons fly just as much from magic as from the hot gases inside them,” Quarrel said as she took a fresh hold on the metal ball. “I guess this proves maybe there’s more to the magic theory.”

  Wick decided, even as he hung far above the earth, that the subject bore substantial investigation. If he lived.

  “But it won’t live if we can free Seaspray from it,” Quarrel said.

  “True,” Wick said, “but it might not fly, either. Do you want to fall?”

  Without warning, a fire dawned in the dragon’s belly, a great furnace coming to life. The heat was almost hot enough to blister them.

  Wick looked toward the ground, which suddenly shifted as the dragon heeled over and sailed perpendicular. If he hadn’t been quick, he wouldn’t have grabbed onto a rib and been able to hang from it so that he didn’t fall.

  Quarrel held on with her uninjured arm and one leg. “Get Seaspray,” she said.

  It was all Wick could do to hold his position. The fire in the dragon’s belly boiled free and erupted out its throat and sprayed toward Craugh, who held up his staff and formed an invisible dome barrier that kept out the flames and the worst of the heat.

  Sokadir fired Deathwhisper and the ruby shafts struck the dragon three times in quick succession, hitting the chest twice near Wick and smashing through one of the wings. Fiery pits sizzled in the dragon scale. Roaring in pain, Thalanildim heeled over on its side.

  Craugh attacked again with another lightning bolt as the dragon flew low. Evidently it wasn’t tracking who was who, because Thalanildim breathed fire again and cooked three goblinkin hiding in the swamp, causing the water to boil up in clouds of steam.

  More of Deathwhisper’s magical bolts hammered the dragon, causing it to vibrate, but not appearing to do too much harm. When Thalanildim heeled over again, it caught Quarrel reaching for the metal ball. Losing her grip, she tumbled free and fell before Wick could help her.

  Frozen in fear, holding onto one of the dragon’s ribs, Wick watched her flail as she plummeted toward the swamp.

  “Get Seaspray!” she yelled. Then she dropped into the black water.

  Wick knew that the fall might have killed her on impact, and that made him even more afraid. But he knew he didn’t have a choice. Either Thalanildim would kill his friends, or it would die and he would fall anyway. Grimly, he leaped for th
e metal ball. Wrapping both arms around it, he put his feet against one of the ribs and pushed.

  Thalanildim screamed in pain and faltered in flight. It hammered at its chest like it was having indigestion.

  Then, miraculously, the metal ball pulled free of the dragon. Although he wanted to try to hold onto it, Wick instinctively released it and grabbed for the nearest rib. He missed. Then he fell.

  Down and down he tumbled, not sure how high up he’d been. The only good thing was that he had managed to fall free of the dragon while over the swamp. The metal ball fell ahead of him, dropping faster than he was.

  Below the metal ball, an arm thrust out of the black water, coming out of the swamp up to the shoulder. It was a woman’s arm, supple and lean.

  As Wick watched, the metal ball glowed cool blue, then—in the space of a heartbeat—it unfolded and reshaped and became a sword again. The hilt slapped naturally into the waiting hand, as if it had been designed to do that very thing.

  The image of Quarrel’s arm (for that was, of course, who it was) was something Wick knew he would remember forever. Then Quarrel’s head and shoulders crested as she treaded water, gasping for air.

  In the next minute, Wick dropped into the water. He held his breath as he went under, shifting so that he went under feet first. As soon as he touched the muddy bottom (thinking of snakes and crocodiles and other horrible things that might be crawling, slithering, or swimming through the depths), he pushed with both feet and swam for the surface.

  Thalanildim had already come around to attack them, breathing fire and obviously intent on getting Seaspray back. Evidently some of the power that the metal had awakened within the dragon yet lingered. The fire in its belly blazed again, burning far outside the dragon’s ravaged body till it looked like a comet falling from the sky. It crashed into the swamp, throwing a tidal wave of muck in all directions.

  “Behind me,” Quarrel commanded. Despite her injury, she held the sword in both hands as if she was taking strength from it.

  Wick slid in behind her, knowing that she wouldn’t offer much protection when the dragon’s breath struck them. It was far too late to run.