Fire-heart (Tales of Alterra, the World that Is)

by C S Marks

  The enraged dragon was now determined to scale the wall, and he made a great effort, but with his very short legs he was no climber. He tried using his tail and his wings to assist in lifting his heavy bulk upward, but this resulted only in his claws losing their purchase, and once he actually fell over backward, exposing his glistening pink belly-scales.

  The last cauldrons of oil were poured down upon him as he struggled to turn himself over, and Nelwyn sent a flaming arrow into the midst of it, setting his belly afire. He rolled over very quickly, being as he was highly motivated, extinguishing himself by rubbing his underside against the stone. Still, the irritating oil tormented him.

  Nelwyn, Galador, and Ali had hoped to goad Lokai into exposing the inside of his mouth to Galador’s powerful bow. When the beast roared there was a relatively clear view of it, and they had discovered that Lokai could not roar and breathe fire at the same time. He was certainly roaring now, but his head was not turned toward Galador, who could not get a proper shot.

  Lokai had finally realized that climbing was not the way. If he could not topple the wall by force, or scale it, he would claw his way under it. Given time he would almost certainly succeed. As he began to employ his enormous, spade-like claws on the stone, neither oil-cauldrons nor arrows, flaming or otherwise, would distract him from it. He worked furiously, and large chunks of the wall began to fall away beneath his busy claws and formidable snout.

  Ali knew that there was but one choice now, and his hopes sank as he and Galador made their way down to the waiting cavalry, to inform them that their time had come.

  Hallagond could not dismiss the undeniable feeling of foreboding that had come over him as he made his way back to the City. The smoke from the oil-fires told him that the battle had been joined, and now he, Estle, and Visili traveled in haste to bring aid as they might. Hallagond doubted Ali would expend the effort of throwing them into prison until afterwards. He rode up alongside Estle, who was urging her dromadan with all speed. They were now quite close to the cliffs, but they were riding in from the north and the City could not be seen. She bore the provisions, for Hallagond and Visili rode together upon the other dromadan.

  “There is something unsettling in the air,” said Hallagond. We are being observed, perhaps even followed. I fear the follower may be the one responsible for the brutal death of Ishtar, in which case I would not wish to guide him to the hidden entrance. I would stop for a while to see if we can lure our stalker in and trap him. Estle, you should go on and aid our friends in their time of trial. Visili and I will follow when we know the nature of our pursuer, and have dealt with him. Will you agree?”

  Though Estle was anxious to return to the City, she did not like the idea of being separated from Hallagond. “Did you see what was done to that dromadan? What must a being that could do such a thing be like? You could not prevail against it, even with Visili to aid you. You haven’t seen any pursuers, so let’s just outrun them, if they even exist. I don’t wish to part from you under these circumstances…you might be in grave danger.”

  “That’s precisely why you should ride ahead, Estle. At least one of us must survive to tell our story and restore some of my respectability. Ali must know that I did not forsake him out of cowardice. My brother must know that his faith in me was not in vain. Please…do this thing for me. I swear to you that I will return and aid the City, but I must take care of this matter first.”

  He could see from her expression that she required further convincing. “Estle, I have lived my life independently for far too long to be swayed in my thinking now. You and I are two very stubborn people, and we both know when we are right. You’re right in thinking that our friends in the Citadel need our aid, and I’m right in knowing that someone is following us and must be dealt with. Neither of us is likely to yield, so let’s indulge our mutual stubbornness. Do what you must do!”

  He reined in his dromadan and began to head for the shelter of nearby stones. From there he would be able to watch after Estle’s track; if anyone followed her, he would know it. He would wait and deal with whoever was shadowing them, hopefully in little time.

  Estle stopped for a moment, considering his words. He was right; they both knew what they had to do. She raised her right arm briefly to his back, and he turned as though he could sense the gesture, returning it. If you have underestimated this danger and get yourself killed, I’ll never speak to you again! She smiled, knowing she would see him again. Hallagond might fall in battle, but he would not be taken so easily as had Ishtar.

  Chapter 25: THE SONS OF DIOMAR

  Gorgon Elfhunter had come upon Ishtar by night. It was a good thing, too, for the desert crossing had nearly finished him. He had needed all of his considerable strength, but once he had crossed through the Brown Hills he had found shade, rest, and water. He was nearly starving when he came upon Ishtar.

  By the time his hunger was sated he had eaten nearly one-quarter of the good meat on the tough, stringy dromadan. He had then gone briefly to ground, concealing himself in the shelter of the cool rocks, hunkering down in his dark armor and covering himself with his very dusty grey cloak. He needed time to digest his huge meal before continuing.

  When Hallagond and his companions came upon what was left of Ishtar and his animal, Gorgon observed them unaware. His hearing and sense of smell were very acute, and none save the Elves could match his eyesight in darkness. I know the tall one…his scent is like the other one—the Ranger. This must be the long-lost brother he spoke to the Vixen about. How marvelously encouraging! He’ll lead me to the rest of them…to the Vixen!

  “It would appear that my luck is changing for the better, wouldn’t you say, Èolo?” Gorgon addressed Gelmyr, who, naturally, was not there to torment him. “No answer to that, have you? I’m not surprised. You only have answers when my resolve wavers…otherwise you are afraid to confront me! Ha! I expect I shall not look upon you again, not that I shall grieve, for I shall not miss you.”

  He gathered himself and prepared to track Hallagond’s party from a distance. He must not alert them, for if they discovered him he would need to kill them all, and that would not serve his purpose. He would follow them to this place—the great City—that had been spoken of, for he sensed that the answers to all his needs lay within its walls.

  When Hallagond and Visili sent Estle on ahead, Gorgon smiled to himself. It was so obvious that they were lingering behind to trap him, and he would have laughed out loud had he wanted to risk being heard. Rather than allow this to happen he moved beyond their sight, though night was coming on and they would never see him, trusting to the wind and to his very great stealth and tracking abilities to follow the woman unaware.

  There was a battle raging—apparently the City was besieged. Gorgon knew that to accomplish his purpose he would need to wait until that battle was either won or lost, otherwise Gaelen and the others would be distracted and he would not fully taste of his revenge. It occurred to him that, should the City be taken, this undeniably savage and undisciplined host of men would interfere with his just revenge. He was briefly dismayed, resolving to do all in his power to prevent it.

  Gorgon would fight for the Citadel, not caring that he strove now in defense of the Light. He cared nothing for good, nor the injustice of the slaughter of innocents, nor the defense of enlightenment. He cared about two things only: one was the regaining of the simplicity of his life’s purpose, and the other was the achieving of that purpose. He wanted to return to his life before the mirror, when the killing and tormenting of Elves drove him and sustained him. To do that he would need to rid himself of the one who had opened up the Elves’ world to his all-too-regrettably-curious eyes...the Vixen must die by his hand.

  When his strength had nearly left him during the crossing, he had drawn upon the familiar imaginings of her ultimate fate. He had dreamed of killing her, as well as the others of the Company, in many vile and painful ways. These imaginings had aided him in regaining his resolve to defeat the de
sert, and no red-and-black clad rabble would deny him the chance to see them come to pass.

  Visili was alerted to a strange sound, rather like one of the small, big-eared foxes that roamed the desert lands farther to the north—a sort of high-pitched, barking cough. He was immediately suspicious and went for his weapons, but Hallagond stayed him. “Do not be dismayed,” he whispered. “I believe I know what is making that cry; at least I hope I do.”

  Visili was unconvinced. “It is not as it seems. A man makes it, not a beast. I have heard bandits use such signals to one another. We are beset!” He gripped his blade more tightly, peering into the darkness, opening his eyes very wide as though it would help.

  Hallagond laughed. “I know that sorry, lame impression of a bat-eared fox, Visili, and you are right. A more detestable bandit never roamed the Ravi-shan. But this bandit is a friend, at least I thought him so.” He called to the darkness, giving an equally unconvincing response. His voice was far too deep to do it properly.

  Almost immediately, a familiar voice was heard in reply. “Lame, am I, Tuathan? Not nearly so lame as you. What was that noise you made? It sounded like someone had nearly suffocated a cat.” A powerful, bearded man stepped into the dim light of Hallagond’s small fire.

  “Hello, Azori. It is good to see you, too.”

  “Enough pleasantries,” said Azori with a dark gleam in his eye. “Where is my sister?”

  “She has gone on to the Citadel. The City is beseiged, and Estle would defend it. I, too, would join in the fight, but I sensed you following me and stopped to intercept you, in case you were an enemy.”

  Azori laughed. “If I were an enemy, you most assuredly would both be dead now,” he said, whistling for his men. There were two loyal ones who had returned with him; the others had gone on to Fómor.

  “I am very happy to see you,” said Hallagond, who was relieved to be dealing with Azori, and not with whatever had killed Ishtar. “The City will be very glad of your skills in battle.”

  “I don’t understand why you are out here, if the City is besieged,” said Azori. “It would not have anything to do with the poor unfortunate we found murdered in the hills, would it?”

  Hallagond did not mind explaining his actions to Azori, because his friend would understand them. “This worthy man is Haleck Visili. I, ahh, secured his release from prison so that he could aid in the defense. Regrettably, I also liberated a man who proved to be untrustworthy. I was tracking him, and someone else saved me the trouble of dealing with him.”

  “Something, I would say,” said Azori with a grim shudder. Then his face brightened with good humor. “Ah, Hallagond...you haven’t changed much with all this time spent in civil company, although I notice you are cleaner than usual, and you have trimmed your beard.” He shook his head and clucked in disapproval. “So you liberated two criminals from prison, and found it necessary to hunt one of them down? That is a typical average of fortune for you, I would say. You were nearly always half right, at least.”

  “I have answered for myself,” said Hallagond, “but why have you returned? I would not expect that being hopelessly outnumbered in a grim battle would be at all to your taste. You have said so several times.”

  “I should think it would be obvious,” replied Azori. “A man has only one sister. I made my way north, reflecting on the fact that I had left her in the care of a man who is generally right only half the time, and I grew concerned. I have returned to safeguard her. Let’s be on our way. I would hate for the battle to be over before I can join in it.”

  Five men rode back toward the Citadel, all rogues and bandits guilty of many misdeeds, but they were all superb fighters and Ali would be very glad of them.

  When Hallagond gained the City he was unopposed, and he quickly climbed one of the watch-towers that he might decide his course. What he saw unnerved him; he had not known about the dragon, and the sight of it was terrifying. The Cavalry had not yet ridden forth, but the beast was beginning to tear at the wall, and Hallagond knew they had little time. He felt a pair of eyes upon him, and looked across to the other watch-tower to see Lord Salastor standing there. The two men bowed to one another in acknowledgment, and then Hallagond made his way back down to his waiting allies to see what could be done.

  “The Scourge is preparing to set their great crossbows loose upon our archers,” he said breathlessly. “How may we prevent them? They are out of range of our weapons.”

  “Did I not see six catapults?” asked Visili. “Why have they not been trained upon the crossbows?”

  “You saw only four that will work,” said Hallagond. “These folk have no experience in their use…only what they could learn from writings.” He paused, puzzled. “I was not aware that you could direct a catapult. I thought you just loaded it and let it fly.”

  “One can, and I have done,” said Visili. “Where is the line of crossbows?”

  Rogond and Gaelen stood by the iron door that would now be opened so that they could ride forth, probably to their deaths. Eros called to Réalta; his friend stood near the back of the line with Galador astride him. Ali rode up on his dark red mare, making his way to the forefront, and Rogond spoke to him as he passed. “You ride to your doom, Talishani Ali. You are the commander of the Citadel’s forces. Are you certain you would leave them without their leader?”

  “I would not ask my most worthy captains to ride into the storm were I not beside them. I once told Galador that one must die of something eventually, and I reckon my time has come. I have left Nelwyn in command of the archers, but the City will stand or fall based on what we can manage. If the dragon tears through the wall, no commander will be needed, regardless. I ride with you.”

  “You need more riders, and here are four very worthy ones,” said a voice from behind. Hallagond and his three bandit friends had ridden forward with Galador to stand behind Ali, Rogond, and Gaelen.

  “I have made certain there will be no trouble because of my actions,” said Hallagond, “and I beg forgiveness. Allow me to prove my worth to you now.”

  Ali’s eyes narrowed for a moment, yet Hallagond’s desire to aid the City seemed genuine, and he was gravely needed. “Very well, Forsaken One. Be forsaken no longer, but ride out and die as a captain of the Citadel. You and your friends are welcome.”

  Ali gripped his mare’s mane as she snorted and tossed her proud head; she was seasoned and ready for battle. Gaelen’s mount, Finan, responded with a loud snort of his own as Gaelen completed her disguise, donning the black head-covering that would conceal her face.

  “Try not to shoot me by mistake, won’t you?” she said to the assembled riders. They chuckled at her—they would know her no matter her raiment. Her eyes widened for a moment as she remembered the page of dragon-lore that Hallagond and Azori had not yet seen. She pulled it from her robes, handing it to them. “Here is your target,” she said. “Make certain your aim is true.”

  Even Eros shifted his feet restively as he awaited the signal from Rogond. As the men stood by the iron doors, Hallagond turned to his brother. “So, we fight together at the last…the two sons of Diomar. Let’s go and hunt a big lizard!” With a grinding sound of iron upon iron, the way was made open, and the cavalry gave a great cry, riding down the passageway into the path of the dragon.

  It would be their task to distract Lokai from his efforts at breaching the wall, and hopefully to slay him. Each man knew how this might be done, for all had seen the parchment with the depiction of the vulnerable place in the dragon’s mouth. The riders wouldn’t have much time, especially given the new wave of mounted Scourge warriors who now rode into the fray.

  The lives of the Citadel’s riders rested in the hands of the remaining archers. Nelwyn prayed that Gaelen, disguised as a Scourge rider, would not be taken by friendly arrows. She ran from one end of the wall to the other, calling for the archers to aim with care as the enemy poured through the gateway. The first volley found its mark, and fifty savages were taken from the fight. Nelwyn w
as thankful for the many arrows remaining to her as she took aim again.

  One hears tales of great battles told around evening fires and in great halls, and it would seem that they are fought long and hard, but in truth, the telling of the tale probably lasts longer. Pitched battles are over quickly, unlike sieges, which may last for years. Ali’s riders engaged the dragon for perhaps twenty minutes that seemed to last a lifetime.

  It was a good thing Lokai was not especially swift or agile, though he could turn very quickly on occasion. The riders darted around him, trying to avoid his tail and his fearsome head. Many were unlucky on both sides of the conflict; Lokai did not discriminate, crushing or burning Scourge riders as well as defenders.

  Rogond readied his spear; it was probably the weapon best suited to killing the dragon except for Galador’s bow. If someone did not kill it soon, Rogond knew his friends would never survive. He prepared himself for the mightiest thrust of his life, if only the beast would open its mouth.

  He rode up before it, brandishing his spear, calling upon the name of his father in a loud, booming voice. Eros trembled, but he trusted Rogond, and he charged straight at Lokai’s head. The beast swung its powerful snout, striking the great horse with a glancing blow. Eros screamed in terror and pain as he was flung aloft to land hard upon his side, stunned and unmoving. Rogond was thrown aside as well, feeling his shoulder collapse painfully just before his head struck the stone, sending him into darkness.

  Gaelen’s disguise had served her well; she had taken twenty Scourge riders unaware, and none had attempted to shoot her as she rode among them. The archers knew the difference, and their way had been made easier by the catapults, which now seemed to be aimed more-or-less directly at the troublesome crossbows of the enemy. These were now under constant bombardment, and they could no longer be effectively used, which was a good thing for the Citadel’s archers.