The Bane of Karrak_Ascension II of III

by Robert J Marsters

  “This is hopeless, Korbah. Those serpents are the stupidest race I have ever encountered. All they want to do is kill and eat. They have no ambition, I mean, how can one bribe or coerce a being that has no ambition?” Korbah remained silent, as usual. “A few score of them would be enough. Is it too much to want revenge on the sorcerer who killed so many of our kin? A few score to distract Karrak long enough for me to get in close with a blade. It’s not a lot to ask for.”

  “I know, but they said it ain’t none o’ their business. Why should they let their people die for you to get your own back? They’ve got a point, you know, chief.”

  “I know, Korbah… I know.”

  This was something unexpected, and every wizard was taken aback by the statement of the Dergon chief. Emnor closed his eyes and did something he had never revealed he was capable of; he used telepathy, he actually spoke to his students with his mind. “We’re going to capture these two,” he said. “Wait until they are near enough and grab them, you only have to hold them for a few seconds whilst you transport them back to Reiggan. Two pairs grab a Dergon each, I’ll bring the Gerrowliens.”

  Not allowing any of the party time to think, he gave his order, “We move on three. Ready, one, two…”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Now let’s just go over this again, just to make sure I’m not missing anything,” began Lodren, seeming quite flustered. “You’re suggesting that we travel on a molten lava river, in an eggshell? An eggshell lined with dragon scales so that we’re not roasted alive.”

  “Exactly,” replied Faylore.

  “We’re going to be burnt to a crisp,” babbled the panic-stricken Nibby. “We’ll be nothing but ashes. We’ll look worse than my mother’s cooking.”

  “Lodren, I have done this before, so have many of my kin. It is quite safe, the scales protect you from the heat. You won’t even get warm,” she assured him.

  “I bet I won’t, I won’t have time. One minute I’ll be Lodren the Nibby and the next I’ll be potash for the garden. I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I just don’t like it, not one bit. I know it’s going to go horribly wrong.”

  “Will ye stop bein’ such a big scaredy cat, Lodren. Ye faced a zingaard for goodness sake and squashed it with your hammer. Ye weren’t scared then,” said Grubb.

  “The zingaard wasn’t trying to set me on fire. He only wanted to eat me.”

  “Oh, that’s perfectly alright then! No need to be afraid if it’s only a monster trying to eat ye. Can ye hear yerself? I think you’ve lost the plot, me friend.”

  “You won’t be saying that when the flames are licking around your bits, Grubb. You’ll be wondering why you didn’t listen to me. In fact, your last thoughts could be…”

  There was a faint, familiar, whistling sound. Lodren’s lips continued to move. However, the words he had intended to speak ceased to leave them. Grubb noticed the small green dart that now protruded from Lodren’s neck. It seemed that Faylore, despite her new tolerance of people’s emotions, still would not permit hysterical ravings from them. Lodren’s eyes glazed over as a dopey look swept across his face. Swaying momentarily, he fell slowly backwards to be caught gently by the four arms of Wilf, who had appeared suddenly, lifting the sleeping Nibby as lovingly and easily as a parent would their child. Wilf began to laugh, a deep laugh that boomed in his chest. Seeing Grubb smile, to some, was disturbing enough, but to hear Wilf laugh was positively spine-chilling.

  “Have you quite finished!?” snapped Faylore.

  Wilf stopped laughing and shrugged his shoulders, “What? I never said a word.”

  “Don’t act innocent with me, Grubb.” Faylore refused to refer to Grubb’s alter-ego as Wilf. “You know that poor Lodren was a little nervous but instead of trying to help, you mocked him.”

  Wilf lowered his head and, in an attempt to apologise, started stroking Lodren’s brow.

  “Now put him into the eggshell, and make sure those scales are arranged properly.”

  Wilf lowered Lodren into the eggshell. No longer needing four arms or superior strength, his body shivered and shrank until he was back to being Grubb. “I weren’t mocking him, Faylore, just tryin’ to get his dander up. You know, tryin’ to make him a bit braver is all. He’s one of the bravest fellas’ I know. To be honest, I felt that if I mollycoddled him, ’e would’ve been insulted. He’s one o’ my best friends… I’d never mock ’im.” Grubb’s speech got quieter as his voice tailed off. He had found the scene amusing but he was also sincere about his feelings toward his friend.

  “Well, in that case,” said Faylore as she knelt down beside the Vikkery, “we’d both better make sure that these scales are arranged properly.”

  There was the slight detail of Buster to contend with, but Faylore soon took care of, what she saw as, a minor problem. She removed her blowpipe and dart and positioned herself behind Grubb’s beloved pony. “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “He won’t feel a thing.”

  They heard the padding footsteps of a dragon approaching from behind them and turned to see Thelwynn, who seemed fascinated by the fact that one of the travellers was so comfortable within the eggshell that he had actually fallen asleep. “He looks very cosy tucked up in there.”

  “He’ll be fine, Lord Thelwynn. He was a little apprehensive, but as you can see, most at ease with his situation now,” said Faylore, winking slyly at Grubb.

  “I’ve never seen any of your kin as keen to get into an eggshell, Your Majesty. May I ask, what species is the little one?” Faylore’s mind raced. Which one did he mean? The small one or the smallest one. Clarify, she thought, come along dragon, clarify. She was saved as Thelwynn now turned to Grubb. “Do you know?” he asked.

  “He’s a Nibby, Lord Thelwynn. They’re a bunch of nomads… good manners, really… pleasant.” It was obvious that Grubb was unused to paying anyone a compliment, as he squirmed in an attempt to find something nice to say. Faylore cringed, wanting desperately to save him, but at the same time, not wanting to embarrass him.

  “Is he really! It’s been so long, I wouldn’t have known.” exclaimed Thelwynn, peering into the eggshell. “Well, well. Anyway, I was wondering…” he continued, “… if you could find it in your heart to do me a favour?”

  “Of course, I will, if I can,” replied Grubb, sincerely.

  “When you are in the company of dragons… be yourself. We do not look for eloquent speeches, Grubb, we know what is in your heart. You are a caring soul. A grumpy one I’ll admit, but that is my favourite thing about you. To be honest, I love the grumpy ones. You always know where you stand with a grumpy one. Could you do that for me, Grubb, could you simply be yourself?”

  Grubb looked up at the magnificent stature of the golden dragon before him and smiled. Taking a deep breath, he shouted up to Thelwynn, “I’ll think about it, now bugger off!”

  “That’s more like it,” chuckled Thelwynn as he turned away.

  Grubb watched with interest as he approached another of his kin, a ruby-coloured dragon almost as large as Thelwynn himself. Grubb remembered their arrival. The ruby dragon had formed one of the mound that protected the entrance to the dragon’s lair and had stood close by as Thelwynn had first greeted Faylore. The two now seemed to be conversing, but Grubb could not hear what their discussion was about.

  “Lord Fireweigh,” Faylore suddenly whispered.

  “Sorry?” replied Grubb. So intent was his study of the two dragons that Faylore’s last comment was completely lost on him.

  “The ruby dragon. His name is Lord Fireweigh. He’s Thelwynn’s second,” she continued.

  “Second what?” asked Grubb.

  “Second in command,” Faylore replied. “If anything were to happen to Thelwynn, Fireweigh would be his successor.”

  “Oh! Bit like a king and a prince then?”

  “Something like that, Grubb,” she replied, smiling.

  “I got to admit, Faylore, I don’t like the idea o’ bein’ shut up inside that eggshell for hours, I’m g
etting’ the jitters to be honest. I’ll ’ave more space than you two, but it’s still gonna be pitch-black an’ I can’t exactly light a fire, can I? What if I can’t breathe?”

  “Oh no, it’s not like that at all, Grubb,” Faylore assured him. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. As a matter of fact, I think you’ll love it. So will Lodren, when he eventually wakes up, of course.”

  Two more eggshells had been placed beside the Fenn Immar. I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, I’ll be fine, Grubb kept telling himself. He watched as the dragons themselves lined the two shells with scales, even checking that Lodren was safely insulated before venturing over to speak to him and Faylore.

  “Time for you to leave…” urged Fireweigh, “… the eggs are ready for transportation.” He ushered them both forward. There was a lot of commotion as dragons dashed around (as much as a dragon is capable of dashing on foot) and began placing the last few ‘live’ dragon eggs into the river.

  Scooping up Faylore and Grubb, Fireweigh hurried to the eggshells and unceremoniously dumped them into them. “Sorry, in a bit of a hurry,” he announced as he lowered them into the lava flow. “Remember, do not touch the shell itself and keep the scales beneath you at all times.”

  Then, something astonishing happened that Grubb had not been expecting. The eggshell was open at the top, as if a piece had been cleanly sliced off with the sharpest of blades, that piece had just been replaced. There was a slight popping noise and a hissing as the top, within seconds, seemed to melt at the edges as it moulded back onto the shell. Grubb, sealed safely inside. His makeshift craft began to rock gently from side to side. He was moving. He could feel the motion, like a cork bobbing slowly in tidal waters. He was unnerved, there was no denying, but also a little excited. Then, he got the biggest shock of all.

  At first, he thought he must be seeing things, he could have sworn that he saw another egg pass by him. Surely, that was impossible, he couldn’t see through the eggshell… could he? As he watched from within his cocoon, he realised that, in fact, he could. The whole shell, including the scales upon which he sat, had become transparent. He could see the other eggs around him that had done the same, and he marvelled at the embryonic dragons that wriggled within them. He could see Faylore, and she could see him. He waved to her inadvertently as she smiled at him, before being lost from sight along their predetermined route. It was only then that he realised just how fast they were travelling.

  They were hurtling along, more like falling off a waterfall than being swept by a current. All around there were explosions as lava bubbles burst, throwing flame and smoke into the air. Grubb actually recoiled a couple of times as the lava lapped over the top of his safe haven, causing him to laugh with nervous excitement. Faster and faster he went, the egg now completely submerged in the fiery river. Grubb could see the black vertical lines of solidified rock nestled within the lava, whizzing past him at breakneck speeds.

  He marvelled at his surroundings. If not for the eggshell, he would have been incinerated within seconds, but as he sat within his protective shell he had never felt safer. Many times, he felt as if he could reach out and touch any part of his volcanic surroundings and had to stop himself as Fireweigh’s words of warning came into his head. He reclined and gave in to the fact that his fate, for now, was in someone else’s hands. Minutes turned into hours. Occasionally, he would see Faylore and they exchanged waves and smiles.

  At one point, all three of the companions were side by side as they drifted along and Grubb took great pleasure in pointing out Lodren still sleeping soundly, oblivious to his surroundings. Grubb stretched and began to yawn, placing his hands behind his head. He was warm and comfortable, feeling more secure here than he had anywhere for some time. He closed his eyes, folded his arms across his chest, and fell into a deep, restful sleep.

  Sometime later, but how much later he was unsure, Grubb opened his eyes. A contented smile swept across his face.

  It seemed the ride was over. The swaying stopped and Grubb could hear noises outside his now solidified cocoon. Then, the familiar ‘pop’ as the top was removed. Hands, Thedarian hands, were now reaching in, offering to aid in his exit of the shell.

  “I’m fine, thank you. No, really, I’m fine. Faylore!” he called. “Will you tell this lot to leave me alone? Thank you miss, I’m fine. Will you all just bugger off!” he bawled.

  Faylore appeared amidst the crowd of people that had gathered to collect the eggs. “Grubb!” she snapped. “Mind your language! There are children present.”

  Grubb attempted to step from the shell that had somehow been placed on a moss-covered riverbank. No evidence of a lava flow could be seen. Grubb scratched his head as he sat astride the edge of the shell, trying to figure out how they had reached this point. He was so distracted, in fact, that without warning, he suddenly toppled sideways. To save himself from what could have been a nasty fall, he cheated. Transforming into Wilf, his foot hit the ground with a thump and he righted himself and began stretching as if it had been his intention all along.

  Faylore burst out laughing, having witnessed his clumsy entrance, “Do pay attention, Grubb. Ooh, on second thoughts, stay like that for a while. You can carry more eggs with four hands.”

  Grubb lent a hand, well four to be precise, as the dragon eggs were placed in moss beds and covered with turf. Faylore explained that the heat from the sun would be quite sufficient to keep them warm until it was time to return them to their home.

  “Don’t you think we should wake Lodren now?” asked Grubb.

  “Oh, it’s such a shame,” she replied, “he looks so peaceful.”

  “He might not look so peaceful when he realises you knocked him out with a tranquiliser dart in his neck,” snorted Grubb.

  “It was for his own good, Grubb, and you know it.”

  “Yeah, but he might not know it. You’ve seen ’im swing that hammer when he’s miffed and if ’e wakes up in a bad mood, something might get broken.”

  “You may have a point there, Grubb. I think it best to remove any temptation.” Turning to a young Thedarian girl, Faylore called to her, “Merralah, could you be a sweetheart and stow that large hammer for me?” The girl attempted to lift Lodren’s hammer. She could barely drag it, let alone stow it. “Perhaps you could ask one of the others to help you, dear?” suggested Faylore. “We don’t want you hurting yourself, do we?”

  The hammer safely stowed, well ‘hidden’, Faylore turned her attention to the slumbering Nibby. Reaching into her bag, she produced a potion and leaning forward, allowed a trickle of the fluid to fall between Lodren’s lips. His eyelids began to flicker as he regained consciousness until eventually, he opened his eyes fully, a huge smile appearing on his face. “Hello Faylore,” he sighed dreamily. “Is it morning already?” It appeared that he was blissfully unaware of what had happened. Sitting up, he looked around him. “Where are we?” he asked, looking puzzled, but relaxed.

  “We have reached Thedar. My home,” replied Faylore.

  “How did we manage to get here? I can’t remember a thing,” uttered the confused Nibby.

  “You were exhausted, Lodren. The excitement of seeing the dragons was, perhaps, a little too much for you. You passed out and we decided to allow you to rest. There is no need to concern yourself, we are here and safe. Now gather your thoughts, we are about to attend a meeting with the elders of Thedar. We can’t have you meeting them half asleep, can we?” Taking Lodren’s hand, she helped him to his feet.

  Grubb, seemingly quite comfortable as he leaned back on one of the warm dragon eggs, had a smirk on his face. “Sleep well, did we?” he asked.

  “Yes, very well, thank you,” replied Lodren.

  “We were surprised when you nodded off so fast. Do you do that often?”

  “No. As a matter of fact I don’t think it’s ever happened before,” Lodren shook his head, still slightly baffled by the whole affair.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t keep happenin’. It could become a real pain in
the neck for you.”

  Faylore glared at Grubb, who began chuckling as he rose to join them.

  CHAPTER 13

  The young wizards and the Dergon appeared in Reiggan Fortress. They were in exactly the same positions as they were when the ambush had taken place. Drake had his arms wrapped around Ramah’s leg; Alex clamped tightly around the Dergon chief’s neck; Xarran had Korbah in a waist-lock from behind and Harley had grabbed his arm as he reached for his scimitar, not quickly enough apparently, as his hand had almost managed to reach the hilt.

  In a cloud of dust, the skirmish continued, but only for a second. Hearing the furore behind them, Jared, Hannock and Yello whirled around. Jared conjured his usual fireball as Hannock raised his crossbow, but both were far slower than the old wizard beside them. Yello simply clicked his fingers and silence ensued.

  Unfortunately, for Drake, even this was a moment too late. Ramah had kicked out as hard as he could in an attempt to free his leg. His attempt had been successful, causing Drake to fly through the air like a ragdoll. Startled by his unexpected flight, Drake let out a wail and screwed up his face, bracing himself in anticipation of the inevitable pain that he would feel on his graceless landing. But he had overlooked the presence of Emnor who, with a gentle wave of his hand, swooped the young wizard back into the air, changing his trajectory and allowing him a much softer landing in a pile of hay. Studying the frozen scene before him, Hannock drew his sword and rapidly approached the motionless Dergon. Having witnessed the atrocities performed by them, his mind was set on their demise.