The White Dragon

by Salvador Mercer

  “So it’s true,” Justiciar Corwin said from the parapet above the main gates of the small keep. His trusted aide, Titus, stood there, along with the town magistrate, who had arrived only moments earlier to discuss several issues.

  “I don’t believe it,” Galen said, looking at the large white dragon approaching them and noticing a smaller dragon-looking creature breaking off and heading toward his town.

  Titus nodded, as well as the garrison commander, when the aide turned to his superior. “What are your orders?”

  Corwin stood silently. He wasn’t paralyzed by the sight of the dragon, but he was surprised, and it was taking him a few moments to absorb the significance of what his eyes were seeing. “Order as many archers on the walls and have the troops take long arms from the armory . . . now.”

  The garrison commander obeyed, barking commands to his officers. The flying creatures were approaching quickly, keeping pace with the army below it. “What are those things?” Titus asked, pointing at the lead elements of the dragon army.

  “I have no idea,” Corwin answered.

  “Those other creatures look like wolves,” Magistrate Galen said. “We need to open the gate.”

  Corwin looked toward the town and immediately saw a mass of people running toward the keep. “Open the gates,” he shouted below, not waiting for the commander to relay the order.

  “I’m not sure they’re going to make it,” Titus said, trying to calculate the distances involved. The townspeople were closer, but despite them running, they were being outpaced by the ice creatures and wild wolves. It was going to be close.

  “Get some defenders out in front of the gate to bring them in,” Corwin ordered.

  Then, the white dragon seemed to glide lower, approaching their exact location. This drew unsolicited advice from his aide, Titus. “Sir, I think we better get you to safer quarters.”

  Justiciar Corwin was once a fighter. Not all Ulathan judges were fighters, but Corwin understood the significance of his position. “No, Titus. I think I’ll need my sword and shield, however.”

  Titus knew exactly where they were located and ran to retrieve them, not sure if he would make it back in time. The dragon seemed to fly faster and faster.

  The wolves hit first, sprinting past the balls of razor sharp ice and coming up over the rise of the ridgeline, which slowed their companions. The barricades did little to stop the nimble animals that were accustomed to scrambling over icy rocks and uneven terrain. The first wolves were met by a volley of arrows from the archers on top of the buildings. There was nothing supernatural or special about them, and the white fur of the creatures were soaked red with blood.

  Alexi was hit by three wolves, one speared on her broadsword, a second leaping into her shield, while a third bit into her leg, chipping a tooth on the hard plate armor that protected the Fist of Astor.

  A dozen other wolves bypassed the tall holy warrior, scrambling up and over the first barricade where they were met by a wall of human weapons of various kinds. Pitchforks, knives, swords, axes, and clubs were all wielded, killing half of them immediately. The others attacked the townspeople, going for their throats or attempting to rip off a limb with their vicious attacks.

  “Draw your weapon, Father,” Gabby ordered, swinging a blade at a wolf that leaped past her at another person.

  Lucius blinked twice, seemingly to come out of whatever trance or hypnosis that had overtaken the man. He drew his blade and stood his ground at his daughter’s side. There was no need to speak the obvious. Every human knew that they would fight to defend their most vulnerable, their children and the elderly, who had congregated in the center of the street or were hiding in the nearby buildings.

  “Watch out,” someone yelled as a dragon-looking creature swept above the archers. It had a stinger on its tail, and it used it to gore one archer and sweep the man from the rooftop, watching him fall onto the street below.

  The Fist quickly dispatched her attackers and scrambled down the pile of debris to assist several people who were lying on the ground, trying to fend off the large wolves with their bare hands. Her broadsword cleaved the animals in two as she swept like a fury into the mass of people and wolves. Unfortunately, the dead were replaced just as quickly with a second wave of their brethren. Then it became worse as the first of the ice devils appeared.

  Realizing the precariousness of their situation, Alexi turned to Gabby, who had just withdrawn one of her swords from the neck of a wolf. “Get torches and light the barricades on fire.”

  Gabby was confused. “What?”

  Alexi pointed with her sword at a smashed barrel of rum lying at the base of the nearest pile of debris. “Ignite the wood.”

  Gabby was horrified, but complied, pushing her father in front of her with the back of her forearm. Lucius seemed to understand, and together they ran into the nearest inn where a small fire in the hearth was still burning from the morning chill. Sheathing her swords, Gabby grabbed a brand in each hand, as did Lucius, and they returned to the street.

  “Light the south side,” Gabby ordered, running toward the east barricade where wolves and ice devils were pouring over the large pile.

  “Follow me,” Alexi said, running forward and deflecting a wolf off her shield as it leaped at her. Swinging her sword, she cleaved another almost in half and then kicked the small jagged pile of ice that struck at her legs with razor-sharp arms. The small creature went flying, and three more took its place.

  One managed to find a chink in her leg armor and cut deeply into her knee with its sharp arm-like appendage. Alexi smashed it with her sword, using her shield to sweep two others away from in front of her.

  Gabby used the large Fist’s wake to run behind her, finally throwing a brand onto a large mattress that was half on the eastern barricade. At first it resisted burning until a woman on the second floor, understanding what the Fist was trying to do, dumped a pint of lantern oil directly onto the brand and the bedding. It instantly burned, spreading in rivulets where the kerosene-type oil flowed.

  “Get the north side,” Alexi ordered, retreating from the rising flames as she smashed ice creature after ice creature into shards of glass like debris.

  Gabby ran, drawing one sword in her right hand and keeping the brand high overhead in her left. She didn’t have far to run when a wolf landed on her back, surprising her and knocking her to the ground.

  “No,” Lucius yelled, having lit the southernmost barricade where the cracked barrel of alcohol flamed instantly.

  Gabby rolled over, kicking and striking with her sword, and found herself face to face with a huge white winter wolf. Its saliva drooled from barred lips that exposed its sharp fangs. It growled and lunged for her neck. Death had come for Moartown.

  The archers loosed their first volley with no effect other than forcing Artika to close her armored eyelids as she sailed through the missile salvo. The arrows felt like a small bird pecking on her skin as they ricocheted off her thick hide or broke upon impact. Opening her eyes once through, she headed straight for the top of the double-gated arch marking the entryway into the human fortification.

  With a roar of defiance, she breathed her deadly ice breath at the humans on top of the wall, freezing half a dozen of them instantly. The freezing air that she exhaled turned skin black, burning it with frostbite and causing limbs to freeze in awkward positions. She lowered the last of her breath so that it hit the large iron-bound wooden gates, freezing both wood and metal.

  Swooping low over the parapet, she banked right, allowing her spiked tail to follow her breath, and it hit the gate with a deafening cracking as both materials shattered from the force of its impact. The gates still held, but only barely. With a massive beating of her wings, she reversed her bank, turning left, and swept a pair of guards from the rear of the keep’s wall with her front claws.

  A second volley of arrows reached up after her, most missing her by falling behind. The shooters failed to lead her properly, and only a couple hi
t her on her left flank. She dived into the courtyard, actually gliding below the level of the walls to breathe her ice breath on the inside of the gates that sat tentatively on huge iron hinges. Once again, the breath attack was followed with her double-spiked tail, this time shattering both gates into pieces. They could not withstand the weakening of the frost followed by the immense impact of her tail, which weighed more than a dozen human anvils.

  Massively beating her wings to clear the front wall, she sailed away from the keep and noticed the humans approaching the gate ahead of her army. She smiled in midair, realizing that there would be no gates to bar her minions from entering. Even now, the kill was commencing as the hapless humans entered into the keep through the shattered remains of its once proud pair of gates. The dozen pikemen were engaged by the lead elements of her army as they overwhelmed them and entered into the keep right behind the fleeing townspeople.

  Artika banked high again, beating her wings and moving into position to witness and enjoy the slaughter, when the death cries of her wolves and ice devils reached her ears. The human leader had run down from the top of the wall and retrieved his weapon and shield. He stood with his troops in the center of the courtyard, killing most of her servants that had entered first, thwarting her plans for an easy kill.

  In anger, she swooped down like a white thunderbolt right into the mass of human warriors, feeling a pair of spikes finding a way through her scales and into her flesh. She ignored the pain and thrust with her good claws, piercing the human leader in his belly and then, in a flowing movement, hurled the man against the inner wall of the keep, hearing the comforting sound of his body breaking against the stone.

  A breath of freezing air from her gaping maw as well as two swoops with her tail cleared all resistance, allowing her army to overwhelm the humans. Leaping into the air, she beat her wings, listening to the death cries of the humans—men, women, and children. She felt alive, happy to hear their pain and lamentations. She was about to swoop around one more time when she noticed far away a shimmering black tower standing clearly against the snowy rocky ground around it as it sat on a cliff near one of the nearby mountains. Two figures were clearly seen standing upon the top of the sole tower, and she knew whom they were. Kesh.

  Calling her minions for a new target, she headed toward the mountain. She was not foolish enough to attack more than one Kesh wizard alone, let alone three, but she was no longer by herself. She had an army with her, and they would die to please her. There weren’t enough fireballs and lightning bolts to fend them off. Let them try.

  With a last look to her left, she saw the human town on fire. Black smoke from oil lamps, and burning items that weren’t meant to burn, rose over the settlement as a testament to her efforts. Always, she thought to herself, when I arrive, the humans burn themselves. Sometimes ice burned hotter than fire. Her minions, hearing her call, finished their work and ran after her.

  Moartown burned.

  Chapter 16

  Ancients

  “Did we lose them?” Eric asked, breathing heavily in the rarified air of the Felsics.

  Argos turned to look back down the mountain trail, pulling Diamedes up the last few feet of the steep path. “I can hear the hounds, but they sound a good half a league away.”

  “They sound closer than that,” Diamedes said, breathing heavily. “Are we close, Master Zokar?”

  Zokar was a few feet away, looking down the path trail into a small mountain valley. “Yes, another twenty minutes and you’ll be safe.”

  “What do you mean? Aren’t you coming with us?” Eric asked.

  Zokar bounded back down to the group, looking down the steep slope toward Ulsthor. The group had left the town the morning before and had literally ran all the way to the Felsic Mountains to their west. A gang of bounty hunters with blood hounds had given pursuit, and they had gone off road into the wild country north of the main trade road that led into Ulatha.

  “My path lies upon a different road. You’ll be safe enough once I get you into the cave system,” Zokar said.

  “Where?” Eric asked simply.

  Zokar nodded back east. “Home,” he said.

  “With those killer hounds on your heels?” Argos asked, surprise in his voice.

  “Yes,” Zokar said. “I need to lure them away from the ancient path and take them on a merry chase.”

  Eric looked doubtful. “You’re sure this secret tunnel will work?”

  Zokar pulled his cloak back for a rare time and revealed his scarred face, though it had a smile on it. “You don’t think Ulatha allows those of us with less than stellar reputations to simply cross into their lands using the main road, do you?”

  Eric thought about this for a second before answering. “I guess not, but I’m still not buying this Balarian tunnel idea either.”

  “It’s not Balarian,” Zokar explained, pulling his companions after him. The hounds were barking and braying, and that spurred the assassin into action yet again. “It has been there before the Age of Enlightenment.”

  “That makes no sense,” Argos said, following and bringing up the rear. “What say you, Master Historian?”

  Diamedes answered without looking back. “Sounds like it was built by the ancients. We shall see soon enough.”

  The historian’s words were true. In fact, they made it to the hidden door in only fifteen minutes. The Balarian led them around a large rock where several brushes concealed a small rock face against the far side of the small valley. A larger rock slide to their left covered the same mountain wall, sealing off whatever lay underneath.

  “I don’t see anything,” Argos said, coming up last and standing fifteen feet in front of the shaded, and hidden, cliff wall. There was no sign of a trail, or any other indication that there was an entrance anywhere in sight.

  Diamedes seemed to understand. He walked up to the smooth granite and pressed his hand against the cold rock. Slowly, he moved it along the surface, feeling it under his fingertips, and then, still keeping his hand against the stone, he turned to Zokar. “The door is hidden. It’s meant to be hidden.”

  Zokar nodded. “Do you see the keyhole?”

  Diamedes looked around and pressed the stone with both hands now. Not seeing anything, he stepped back and looked to either side where the smooth wall became rougher. Finally he pressed the top of a faceted edge of a small outcropping, and the rock moved slightly. “Well, by Agon . . .”

  Zokar laughed and pulled a small metal key from his inner pocket that was adorned with a single red ruby. “Try this.”

  Diamedes shook his head and stood back. “Rubies are extremely rare. I sense that this is something destined for Master Eric.”

  Eric looked at the historian and then over to Zokar, who shrugged. “Me?”

  “Go on,” Argos prompted Eric. “Take it.”

  Eric turned to the raider and looked the man over intently. “You know, Argos, in light of recent events, I release you from any service that you were bound to honor. You’re free to go with Zokar back to Ulsthor, or even Balaria, if you so wish.”

  Argos brought a hand up to his chin, rubbing it and then lowering his hand to the hilt of his sword, making his decision. “I accept your release and my freedom. Having said that, I will follow you till you fulfill your quest.”

  Zokar nodded in approval. “Here, Eric, take this and open the door.”

  “You’ve done this before?” Eric asked, turning to face the Balarian.

  “Yes, twice.”

  Eric reached out, taking the key with the ruby encrusted in the middle of it. Stepping past the historian, he looked at the small crevice to see how he was supposed to enter the key. Tentatively he inserted the tip of the key into the crevice, and the key seemed to be pulled into the lock. With a barely perceptible sound, the rock face displayed lines where the door was opening, and a huge slab, thicker than a man was wide, opened, swinging silently inward where a tunnel was carved into the very rock itself. The rooftop of the secret corrid
or was within arm’s reach of them.

  “That’s just plain creepy,” Argos said, making the sign of warding in front of him.

  Diamedes entered first, and Eric almost objected, but the small historian didn’t go far. He stood just inside the corridor and again touched the smooth walls of the stone. His hands ran along the sides, and even the shorter man could brush his fingertips against the ceiling itself. The short height of the tunnel gave the entranceway a claustrophobic feel to it. Turning to face the others, he spoke. “This was built by the ancients.”

  “I thought as much, though the Kesh won’t speak of it,” Zokar said, walking to the entrance and inserting his arm into the corridor, also feeling the smooth granite wall, but not entering the mountain.

  “How could they build something so . . . so . . . perfect?” Eric finally found a word that would work for his purposes.

  “Magic?” Argos suggested, staying a healthy distance away from the entrance.

  Diamedes shook his head. “No, this was simply craftsmanship.” The older man returned his hands and attention back to the wall, feeling how smooth it was and stepping further inside. Without looking back, he said, “This is old, older than anything I imagined.”

  “How can you tell?” Eric asked, inspecting the door, looking for hinges.

  “I’ve searched the world over for artifacts from the ancients, and have never come across anything significant in all my decades of life. This . . . structure, seems to indicate something tangible that I can finally research after all these years.

  The sound of braying became louder, bringing the men to their senses. Zokar spoke first. “Perhaps another time, Master Historian. For now, I must leave, and you must follow the path to the other side. From there, you can descend the mountains until you reach the great northern road that will take you through the Highstone and thence to Moartown.”

  “We are close, then?” Eric asked.