by David
Loric peered at it for indeterminable duration before he figured out that his dragon eyes were responsible for the uncanny display. Loric remembered multicolored stalagmites and stalactites and their surrounding walls from his dream. He was in the Lair of Ungertakkus.
Loric inhaled another deep breath, an act that hurt his lower abdomen. He sloshed forward to pluck his helmet from the eddy, before the stream sucked it under and it was lost to him. He emptied and set the protective headgear in its right place on the crown of his head. Then he moved forward.
A cool draft wafted up from the lower regions of the cavern. It bore with it nauseating stench, which reminded Loric of his danger. His instinctive reaction was to peer up, as if a host of Floating Shadows might be descending upon him, but he kept his gaze forward and level. He knew that from whence the stench had come, so too would the beast approach him.
In an attempt at stealth, Loric shortened his stride to mere six-inch lengths. The going was slow. Along the way, he passed several natural ducts in those cavern walls, each of which allowed more water to pour in from the hillside above. Within a dozen strides of spotting those miniature waterfalls, the corridor pressed in tighter about Loric, channeling chilly water into a far narrower alleyway, which forced the stream up to his waist. Its tugging beckon was willing him deeper into the cave. Likewise, his desire to find the Dragon’s Eye was nudging him forward. He embraced the current, went along with it.
Loric could not fathom how long he waded through that befouled stream. It could have been full sands or it could have been five turns. Loric’s focus was such that someone might have smashed the almighty hourglass, as he had previously wished to do, and it would not have mattered. Time was irrelevant in this place, this flooded lair.
The cavern widened, until it formed a massive chamber columned by ageless stalactites that had long ago mated with their floor-grown counterparts. The Venom Stream deepened to cover a wider area as well, until it became a great underground lake. There was also room for Loric to climb out of the chilly water and move along the dry, rocky shore, which he did.
With his feet on solid ground once more, Loric set his hand to the Sword of Logant. Sticky wetness between his skin and his weapon reminded the knight of those cuts he had suffered to keep hold of his beloved blade. The son of Palendar clenched his fist more tightly about his sword hilt and exposed cool steel to chill tunnel air. His shield slid easily from his shoulder to his arm. The weapons of Logant were his surest friends in this den. They provided Loric with a sense of solace within the lonely confines of the dreadful, underground passageway. Bones beneath his feet whispered doubts to him, but he boldly pressed on toward his appointed duel with the cruel editor who had punctuated the final sentence of so many prematurely shortened lives, whether men or beasts.
On Loric went; it seemed forever. Distracting thoughts of Princess Avalana, back at
Moonriver, and the knight’s friends, near the mouth of the waterfall, alternately shifted to the forefront of his mind. Loric attempted to shut out his intruding concerns for them, but they continued to seep into his head, like water through a tiny defect in a dam. Given adequate time, such thoughts could wash away his desire to follow through with his solo attack against Ungertakkus, just as the trickle of water through a dam could ultimately cause the structure to burst.
At length Loric whispered a few quiet words of reason to keep his resolve firm. To the bracelet Avalana had given him, he said, “Keep my hopes strong and alive.” To the sword of his fathers he prayed, “Deliver strength unto me; give death to my foe. Let me not perish so close to the gemstone that will restore the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye to the Kings of Beledon, thereby bringing peace to our shattered realm. Give my ladylove and my friends no reason to weep because of me.”
Loric shook off the tingly shiver his emotional petition caused him and blinked moisture from his eyes. The waterway began widening. Loric expected to join the monster Ungertakkus in battle soon, and he needed to see clearly to win that fight.
Loric stayed close to the cavern wall, but at length he stopped for motionless observation.
The fact that he had not seen his foe nor heard any motion from the creature worried him. The knight scanned dark lake waters, seeking out a small ripple, a deeper shadow or any other indication that his foe was near. He detected no sign of the monster.
Doubt began scratching at his skin, at first causing him mild irritation. It escalated to all-out bother. Loric tried to sort things out in his mind. Surely, a creature as large as Ungertakkus should be easier to find than this. The knight dared to hope that the beast had died or abandoned its lair. In either case, Loric could retrieve the Dragon’s Eye and be safely on his way. That is far too easy, he decided. T he beast is gone.... He let that thought dangle as he considered other possibilities, ....unless I am looking in the wrong place.
Loric eased his head to the side for a peripheral view of the cavern walls above and behind him, suddenly noticing darkening shadows in those areas. There it was, in all of its enormous bulk. Ungertakkus was clinging to the wall at Loric’s back, poised to strike.
The second keeper hung from an outcropping of glistening rock, with its stubby forelegs shaking from holding its enormous body in place. Its tail draped over a jutting stone higher up the wall for additional support. Ungertakkus was like an oversized salamander, except for the low spiny ridge lining its back. Its head was flat and wide. Its skin shimmered with slimy wetness. The moisture highlighting those puffing sides of the beast was slowly disappearing as its skin drank it in. The most striking feature about Mighty Ungertakkus was its eyes, which were lidless and devoid of emotion. One look at those unblinking discs caused the son of Palendar a convulsive shudder.
Even at a sidelong glance, Loric was quick to pinpoint his adversary’s two greatest
weaknesses: it had legs too weak for its incredible mass and it could never return to its precious water source without them. With those thoughts in mind, the son of Palendar pivoted to strike Ungertakkus.
Loric could not have been more mistaken about the creature’s mobility, as it quickly drew back the stubby leg he had thought to remove from its body, and skittered along the wall to find a more advantageous position from which to fight him. The Sword of Logant rang and made sparks, while the second keeper reared back its head and launched it forward again. As that hideous face snapped toward Loric, its mouth opened to hurl a streaming blob of spittle on a direct line for him.
The Shield of Logant suddenly showed remarkable usefulness to its bearer, who raised the semi-curved barrier and tucked his body into a tight ball behind it. With a thudding splat, the wad of mucous spattered metal. A tiny drop of that poisonous spittle deflected over the shield and found its way into Loric’s right eye.
Pain burned behind Loric’s closed eyelid. The knight knelt beside the stream and cupped handful after handful of water into his face in an effort to find relief from the blinding emission of Ungertakkus. There was none available to him.
Blind in one eye and teary in the other, Loric remained determined not to lose bearing on his foe. It dropped down from the heights, somewhere beyond a forest of stalagmite-stalactite columns. Loric heard bones clattering as the beast dragged its immense body across the cavern floor. It was coming toward him. Its cry of outrage shook the chamber. The knight’s heart thrummed excitement. Cloudiness cleared into a tunnel of light and partial vision returned to Loric. Ungertakkus was a dozen feet away from him.
Loric sloshed through the shallows, lowering his guard in his urgency. Ungertakkus let its tongue snap out toward him in one lightning-quick motion. Loric’s reflexes were scarcely up to the challenge. He instinctively raised his sword to parry the incoming tongue, hoping to slash into that powerful, slavering muscle, but it wrapped around his blade like a heavy whip and jerked it from his grasp.
In spite of his predicament, Loric could not help but smile, as the creature was compelled to release his weapon for the gouging its tongue re
ceived. His jubilation changed to alarm when the enraged beast flipped the sword back of its wide, flat head, and it clattered to a halt near its right-front leg. Loric gulped down an anxious breath and eyed the pale, shimmering steel that had become his sole hope of victory against Ungertakkus. With a powerful burst, Loric started into a crouching run behind his shield. He maintained that quickened pace until he was close to the creature’s ugly head.... and then he reached for his sword. As he moved, he felt the thudding jolt of venom against the protective metal disc of his forebears. Twice he broke his run to leap over the lash and backlash of Ungertakkus’ powerful tail. Despite the anxiety those attacks caused him, Loric’s mouth curled in satisfaction. His fingers slipped into a comfortable position about the Sword of Logant and he was assured that he had won the fight.
In anticipation of attack from the snapping tongue of Ungertakkus, Loric started into a forward roll that ended with a sword swing intended for his foe’s stubby foreleg. The knight miscalculated the risk of tumbling over bones, which he learned painfully upon feeling a particularly sharp and stout one--most likely a hip--bite him between his ribs as he came back to his feet. The sudden pain of that misguided tumble interfered with his stroke, so that it missed its intended crippling placement and instead marked Ungertakkus’ side blood red.
Before Loric could follow up, an enormous shrieking head slammed into his shield,
knocking him sideways to the ground. The knight watched in horror as Ungertakkus made for the cavern wall once more. Loric had to end this fight while his worthy foe was within his reach.
The beast scampered up the glistening cave wall, with Loric giving chase. The tail shot up to hook a jutting stone and Ungertakkus made an angular ascent with skittering feet. This was Loric’s last chance to bring the creature down before it achieved the advantage of an overhead position. He targeted the tail and right-rear leg and drew back for a three-quarters delivery of deadly steel.
The fine edge of his blade met little resistance as it started into fleshy tail. Tissues yielded before the destructive cut, opening the path to the leg below. Muscle and bone readily gave way to the Sword of Logant, until the limb dangled from Ungertakkus’ bulk by a narrow strip of flesh and skin. The tail clung to the wall, but without it, the beast could not continue to do so. Loric followed his cut away to the side, as Mighty Ungertakkus shrieked a terrible shriek that carried onward and upward into Dimwood Forest. Then she came free from glistening limestone to crash onto a family of stalagmites that rammed her through from back-to-belly. Afterward she made a weak, gasping wheeze, ere she twitched in nervous death throes. Loric mercifully ended her by the perfect forge work of Valdigar Steelbender, as he thrust the Sword of Logant into her exposed breast.
“You gave me worthy challenge, Ungertakkus,” Loric murmured to the still form beside
him, “but this day belongs to the Blood of Logant.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Looking For Direction
Loric looked around the dark chamber. “Where did you put the stone, father? I could spend years searching this foul lair. Where is the stalagmite pedestal?”
“Loric?” a familiar voice called.
“Warnyck?” questioned Loric. “Have I been gone long?”
“Yes and no,” were the scout’s conflicting replies. As Warnyck approached, he went on to explain, “Marblin snores horribly. There is no way for a man to sleep when he sleeps.”
“That is true,” Loric agreed with a chuckle. The young knight wiped his blade clean.
Warnyck crinkled his nose at Loric’s sword work and said, “There is an awful stench about this place and this rotting carcass is only going to make it worse as time goes on-”
“So we should retrieve the Dragon’s Eye and be gone,” Loric finished with him. “Therein lay the problem, friend scout. I know my father hid the stone in this lair. I saw him place it on a stalagmite, but I have yet to find it.”
“Hmm,” Warnyck responded, twisting his lips in thoughts he kept to himself. The scout reached to his cloak and warned, “Shield your eyes.” Loric barely had time to look away before there was a hissing sound and orange sparks flared from an eight-inch rod in Warnyck’s fist. To Loric’s slackened jaw, his friend explained, “Raiders’ fire. It is something I picked up from lads that ride the Sorling Sea. It’s called a range wand in the far strange country where they acquired it, but they being raiders, prefer to call it raiders’ fire.”
“By all means, let us use this raiders’ fire, this range wand, this blessed light, that you might help me locate the Dragon’s Eye,” Loric said, clapping a palm to his friend’s back and laughing.
“There it is,” Warnyck shared, pointing the way.
The red glint was unmistakable. The stalagmite pedestal was on a shelf of rock, directly in front of them, but ten feet up. Loric and Warnyck hastened to make the climb and collect the gem.
“You found it,” Warnyck congratulated him. “I knew you could do it. That is why I made sure to leave your surcoat and shield for you, before the battle of Darbin’s Field. I believed you were your father’s son. That is also why I started rumors to make you the Ghost of Palendar.”
“You left the surcoat and shield for me?” Loric questioned, disbelieving of what he was hearing. “You started those rumors of my father’s ghost?”
“Men needed to see the Guardian Knight,” Warnyck explained. “They needed to speak and hear spoken the name of Palendar once more. More importantly, they needed to associate that name with you, without you openly declaring your lineage or laying claim to your birthright. I only needed you to live up to your name, to do something bold and make yourself a hero, so the lords who chased your father into exile could not openly oppose you. Thankfully, my gamble paid off. Once you recover the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, Beledon will be ready for you.”
Loric listened to his friend, as if hearing the words of a complete stranger. “I don’t understand. Why did you do that?”
“I did it because Beledon needs a worthy king, Loric,” came Warnyck’s firm response. “You have discounted every known lord in Beledon for the throne, but in your humility, you forgot yourself.”
“No,” Loric denied him. “This quest is not for me. It is for Beledon.”
Warnyck said, “Then you must do what is right for Beledon, Loric. Consider what I have said. Give it time to sink in. Then you will see the sense in what I have shared with you. It is up to you to decide.”
Loric eyed the Dragon’s Eye dubiously, as if he was contemplating handling a poisonous serpent. He decided to take the red gemstone from its pedestal and cup it between his hands, murmuring, “We have found the stone, as we set out to do, but what comes next? What are we to do with it?”
Warnyck thought about it, but he could only shrug helplessly. “For my part, I know what you should do with it, but if you would not be king, maybe we should take it to Lord Aldric.
Perhaps he will know what to do with it....”
Loric knew that Warnyck was trying to drive him to accept kingship that was not his by rights, so he refused to listen to his friend. Warnyck continued on, but he was no longer hearing him. As quickly as he had spoken his question, his answer had come to him.
Loric slumped to his knees with the Dragon’s Eye cradled in his hands. He heaved a breath.
Then he studied the gem long and hard. Nothing happened.
“What are you doing?” Warnyck asked.
Loric refused the question with a wag of his head. His excitement was distraction enough to ruin his focus. The nature of the gem and its history as part of the sword that was named for it tempted Loric to stray fantasies about kingship. In those foolish dreams, he took to wife Avalana, the Princess of Regalsturn, to be his queen.
Shame to my name! Loric scolded himself. I have no right to kingship! he thought fiercely. I have sworn to serve others! So, I must serve or surrender my honor, if any yet remains to me.
Loric contemplated giving up his attempt at us
ing the stone, having thus decided his
unworthiness, but a deep, thoughtful voice echoed within his head, saying, Let me judge your worth. There was a pause, during which Loric thought he had imagined the voice. You are the Blood of Logant, the speaker determined. A good line. An honorable line. Another silence came and went, before the voice added, Not the son who found my eye lost, but perhaps a son of that son. Your heart aches for its people and its land. This is admirable in a man of high birth, as is your humility. I deem you most worthy to make use of my vision. Use it in what way you must to bring your people together under one banner, for I trust you to do right by me. If you would claim kingship, rejoin my eye to its sword. I will not oppose your right to do so. Likewise, if you elect to raise another to the throne, I will support your decision and make that man king. Only be sure to choose a man of high honor and deep integrity.
Before Loric could reply to the strange voice, the crimson veil dropped from within the shimmering facets of the Dragon’s Eye. It turned black within.... and Loric realized he was seeing the dark of night.
****
He was peering into the mouth of a cave, where dying embers of a fire lingered, subsisting on little more than ashen coals. Two men sat beside the fire. They were Lords Garrick and Aldric. They were discussing their dwindling options. “It seems early to quit the fight, my lord,”
Aldric said.
“How so?” Garrick asked, with his voice sounding unusually abrasive. “Our armies were soundly beaten again. Now we slink deeper into these hills to hide, because even were Great Donigan himself to come down from His constellation in the heavens to lead us, we could not win our way to your castle in the Emerald Mountains.”
Aldric’s countenance was serious and tense. Moreover, it was thoughtful as he spoke his views. “It is true that Emerald Spires seems dreadfully far away in this difficult time,” he conceded, his great longing for home evident in his quavering voice. “I would grant you that, but there is still hope that King Avalar of Regalsturn could come to our aid, my lord. After all, fair Avalana’s tender head still balances precariously upon the sense of honor and justice to which Hadregeon and the barbarian Turtioc hold. Curse them both for their treachery! Surely we can count Avalar our most valuable ally now.”