“Which means we should be able to get to him physically. And that brings me to the third advantage: Sirrahon thinks he’s invulnerable. That means his guard is down. If we can figure out a way to harm him, then we can make it happen.”
“That dragon has rather good reasons to think that he is invulnerable,” Galen pointed out, as he got back to his feet. “Yet I agree, we must follow this line of speculation to the end. There are a great number of lives at stake if we do not.”
The Wizard’s vote of (relative) confidence boosted my spirits. I engaged the crime scene analyst portion of my brain. A couple moment’s reflection, and I decided to run my thoughts by my friends.
“Okay, let’s look at this logically. Sirrahon has the physical strength of a mature – or ‘ancient’ – dragon. That’s supplemented by the magical abilities he gained from merging with a one of the demonic Ultari. How can we use that knowledge to our advantage?”
“There is my experimental version of Archer’s Demon,” Galen said. “My testing proved that the magic-based ammunition can penetrate a dragon’s thick scales. But as I noted before, accuracy is very questionable at distances over twenty-five yards.”
“‘Tis a pittance of a problem!” Shaw put in. “Thy dragon has ensconced himself in the throne room. Shouldst we encounter him there, then he shall be within range practically from when one strides in the door!”
“And my Demon would fire only intermittently at best,” the Wizard said. “To remedy this, I created a set of fast-burning explosive cartridges in my workshop. Unfortunately, they are powerful enough to damage or destroy the weapon after two or three uses. But they should guarantee at least a seventy percent likelihood that it shall discharge its projectile in the correct manner.”
“That’s the kind of thinking I’m looking for,” I encouraged him. “And Shaw brings up a good point. The size of the throne room means we can get in so close, Sirrahon won’t have the room to dodge.”
Galen held up his hand as if to caution me. “There are other challenges to overcome. The dragon has not been idle since ensconcing himself in the palace. Liam and I have detected and identified a great deal of the dragon’s spellcasting. Sirrahon has woven a potent set of spells to block many aspects of wizardly magic within the palace grounds.”
“Which aspects?”
“Transport in or out, for starters,” Liam said. “Scrying. Spoor tracing. Spells that can confound the senses, such as illusion-casting.”
“By ‘block’, I’m assuming that no one will be able to cast these kinds of spells?” I asked. The Wizard nodded, so I went on. “Well, if Sirrahon can’t use them, I suppose that helps even the odds a bit more.”
“The dragon has little or no need to use these types of magic,” Galen pointed out. “We, on the other hand, would have found these spells useful. Also, let us not forget that Sirrahon has magic shields in addition to his scales. I am not at all sure that my weapon can penetrate both.”
“Then that is where I come in,” Liam said, as he got up in turn. “I can turn Sirrahon’s greatest strength into his weakness. Our foe is partially animated by demonic magic. Let me go in first and disrupt that.”
“Your spellcraft would certainly break up his shielding,” Galen warned, “but it would be unlikely to kill him. And do not forget, Sirrahon will be ready to use the spell Archer told us about. The one laced with enough death magic to instantly kill any fayleene.”
“Can you give Liam a protective spell?” I inquired. “Something to counteract that?”
The Wizard shook his head. “There are no known spells that can counter death magic when it comes to fey creatures.”
I let out a breath. “Perhaps this whole thing is too risky. Sirrahon sent me a package of deer eyeballs as a warning. He’s ready and waiting for Liam to show up. He’s fully expecting it.”
The Protector brought his hoof down with a muffled stamp on the grass.
“Too many lives are at stake! I shall take the risk!” he proclaimed. “So long as you are ready to hit Sirrahon with the Wizard’s version of your ‘fire arm’.”
Galen looked resigned. “Very well. Since we cannot transport in, we shall take the Blind Man’s Gate into the palace. It is much too small for the dragon to notice. From there, we should be able to make our way around through the Royal Rose Garden and over to the rear stairway. My workshop is on the second level.”
“When shall we leave?” Liam asked, his eyes shining with unaccustomed brightness. “This whole idea chills me to the bone. Win or lose, I want to get it over with!”
“Fear not, friend Protector,” Shaw said encouragingly. “A hero cannot ever truly be late. For glory is always waiting for those who die valiantly!”
Liam gave the drake a look. “You’re not exactly helping me here.”
I looked over to Galen. “What do you think?”
The Wizard looked to the sky, and then rubbed his chin. “I would wait until midnight, when we can make best use of the moonlight. Also, I could use a couple of hours to rest and replenish my magic. There are some spells I believe that we shall require for this mission.”
“Then let’s meet back here at midnight.” I let out a breath and looked over each of my friends in turn. “Do each of you remember what I said back at my Tower? When I apologized for being a jerk, I mean. When I said that I couldn’t ask any of you to take a risk or sacrifice.”
“I remember,” Liam said. “We told you that we do it for you. And for our world.”
“This might sound too…I don’t know, overblown,” I said, as I desperately tried to keep my emotions in check. “But this isn’t like anything we’ve had to do before. So if you have anything that needs saying to someone back home…you might want to take care of it now. I could transcribe it, and I’m sure Galen would be willing to send it on its way.”
“Of course,” the Wizard demurred.
“Mine own aerie can survive my loss,” Shaw rumbled. “But I would like to send a last message back to the High Elder.”
“And I would give final instructions to the Lead Does on choosing a successor,” Liam added.
“I was already planning on informing my mother of these events,” Galen said quietly. The centaur flexed his torso to pull a sheaf of parchment from one saddlebag, and a ballpoint pen marked ‘Los Angeles – Office of the Medical Examiner’ from another. “If I may be so frank, I can only hope that no matter what happens, she does not hear of my death along with Rikka’s on the following morning.”
“Then we’d darn well better succeed at what we’re doing,” I declared. I kept my voice firm so no one could hear it tremble. “I don’t want that to happen either.”
“What about you, Dayna?” the Wizard asked. “Surely you would leave messages for your sire and dam. To Shelly of Richard’s Son. And to Esteban of the Main Squeeze.”
“Yes, I think that’s appropriate,” I agreed.
I took the first set of supplies from Galen and looked across the camp to the white Hospitalliers tent. Shelly was likely inside, doing her best to keep up with the flood of patients. I could only imagine what she’d say if she were here with us.
Darlin’, y’all are plumb crazy if you think that you can just walk up to that dragon and give him a kick in the snoot!
I shook my head and turned away from the tent.
Yes, I think I’ve final fallen ill to whatever infects people here in Andeluvia, I realized. But at least I know why. Here, I’ve found something worth believing in. Here, I’ve found friends worth risking my life for.
With that thought in my head, I picked up the pen and began to write my first note.
Chapter Forty
The Royal Rose Garden had never looked so creepy.
Come to think of it, the entire Capitol fit the bill as well.
Andeluvia may have resembled a fantastical version of my world’s Middle Ages. But now that Sirrahon held the palace, the deserted city surrounding it looked distinctively post-apocalyptic. Wan moonlight
illuminated overturned wagons abandoned in the street. Family cottages stood with doors yawing wide, as hanging signs above abandoned storefronts creaked in the breeze.
And above it all, a silence so oppressive that it felt smothering.
Just before we set out, Galen cast a spell that muffled the sounds of hooves and talons on any hard surface. It wasn’t perfect by any means – equine or cervine hooves still made a dull ‘thud’ as if crossing packed earth. But at least we wouldn’t sound like an approaching avalanche.
We kept to the shadows as we worked our way up the back streets and through the cramped palace entry called the Blind Man’s Gate. Luckily, the portcullis had been left open during the panicked evacuation.
Once through the gate, we slowly worked our way around the side of the palace until we reached the garden area. From here, several tall windows punctuated the side of the palace proper, allowing light to escape.
The same unnerving reddish pulse from the throne room was easily visible from here. With each slow beat, the green leaves of the rose bushes looked as if they’d been dipped in blood. The already scarlet-hued flowers turned black, as if corrupted by the light.
I was in the lead this time. That was unusual, as being the lone two-legged being in the group typically meant that I was the slowest. However, my comparatively slighter human form meant that I could hide in places the others would have trouble fitting. It only made sense for me to scout out ahead.
Even if I was creeped out by a garden that I’d already visited dozens of times before.
I kept our group in the lee of the garden’s tallest hedge. From there, the same shrubs that had made up the hedge had been planted as individual bushes punctuating the pathway every fifteen feet. Each bush was trimmed into a neat rectangle or swirled column.
After what felt like an hour creeping through the greenery, I finally made out the entrance to the rear stairway Galen had described. Between pulses of red, I could see that the doorway lay open and gaping like most of the entryways. That was good. I turned to give the come-on gesture to my friends when I noticed something odd.
Between the strong red pulse Sirrahon generated, and the weaker moonlight, I cast two shadows upon the ground. But now, my shadow split into three: one backlit by red, the second by white moonlight, and the third by blue-white. And that third shadow was changing orientation, meaning that the light source was moving.
Heart whamming in my chest, I frantically signaled my companions to HALT and STAY DOWN.
They’d just hunkered down behind their respective bushes as the mysterious third light source appeared. A baleful bluish glow appeared from inside the palace. It cut off for a moment as it glided smoothly down the corridor, then re-appeared when it crossed a window.
I didn’t hear footsteps, or any other noise as it moved. Somehow, that made things worse. I took another peek, just as the light drew even with my position.
A distinct clack echoed from inside the hallway. The light source halted, shining out into the garden like a searchlight beam.
I made a scared-little-girl eep! as I ducked back behind my bush.
For five, maybe ten seconds, the light probed the greenery surrounding me and my friends. I cast a worried glance back. Galen, Liam, and Shaw remained as immobile as statues.
Finally, the blue-white glow moved on and turned down a different corridor. It faded away, leaving only the hell-worthy combination of red and white lights to see by. My body gave a long-suppressed shudder before I waved at my friends to continue.
Nothing leaped out of the darkness to attack as we made our way to the open entrance. Galen arrived first, craning his neck to look inside as Liam and Shaw moved to join us.
“Whatever Sirrahon is doing with that ruby crystal,” Galen murmured, “it’s throwing off a great deal of power. That’s working in our favor for now. I won’t need to cast weirlight to see when we head upstairs.”
“I’ll take whatever we can get,” I agreed. “But what was that blue-white light back there?”
The Wizard shook his head, as did the griffin and fayleene. No one had any ideas.
Galen took the lead now as we worked our way up the stairs and to the hallway on the second level. From there, it was a quick dash to the centaur’s workshop. The high-peaked doors still had a star-shaped seal upon them, but no magical energy coursed through the diagram’s borders.
A wince-inducing creeeaaak cut the air as the Wizard opened one door to gain entrance.
“Of all the unpropitious times to forget to oil my hinges!” he cursed, before motioning us inside.
I’d been in Galen’s place a few times, so I was somewhat familiar with it. Sets of tables held glass jars filled with brightly colored liquids or miniature terrariums. Rows of tall shelves crammed with moldy-smelling books, parchment rolls, and magical artifacts filled three walls of the large room.
A set of French-style double doors dominated the far wall. Those doors had been left open, revealing a stone balcony sturdy enough to bear the weight of a fully loaded griffin. Shaw and I had left for his aerie from that very takeoff point at one time.
“Protector, I have need of your tracker’s nose,” Galen said, as he pointed to the set of shelves over on the left. “The cartridges we need are in a bag over there, though I’m not sure where. They use an extract of bark from the trees in the Fayleene Woods.”
“So, they smell of peppermint,” Liam said. “That should be easy enough.”
“Grimshaw,” the Wizard added, “the cartridges are likely on a high shelf. Perhaps you could help retrieve them? Just handle them with care, as they are moderately explosive.”
The drake let out a low caw of agreement as Galen motioned for me to follow him. We wended our way deeper into the shelves on the right, until he reached up and took down a wooden chest the size of a foot locker. He blew the dust off the thing as he set it on the floor, traced out the symbol carved into the lid with his finger, and then opened it.
A rather chunky-looking object made of a metal tube melded to a wooden stock lay inside. At first glance, Galen’s version of the Demon could’ve been mistaken for a primitive sawed-off shotgun. However, a second glance showed it was a much different kind of weapon.
For starters, the butt was a solid chunk of wood that took up more than half its length. The barrel had been inscribed with magical runes, and it looked to be made of brass, not steel. To my surprise, there was no break at the near end of the barrel to load the thing. In fact, it didn’t even have a trigger!
“I see your confusion,” the Wizard said. “If you pick it up, I can instruct you in the operation of my Demon.”
I reached in and picked the thing up with two hands. That was a good choice, as it was heavier than it first looked. The smell that rolled off it completely baffled my nose.
Normally, a firearms’ scent came from a unique mix of gun oil, rolled steel, and gunpowder. The Wizard’s invention smelled more like a spice shop, with aromas of roasted cardamom, mint and cumin competing for attention. Galen grabbed the remaining item in the chest. He held up a peppermint-scented object the size, color and shape of a roll of quarters before continuing.
“This is the cartridge. You can only load the weapon from the front end,” the Wizard explained. I shifted my grip to take the cartridge from him and placed it in a handy pocket. “Orientation of the item is irrelevant. However, I would prefer that you slide it into the barrel rather than simply dropping it in.”
Considering that Galen had called the cartridge ‘moderately explosive’, I made a mental note to follow his recommendation. The Wizard then led me through seating the Demon against my shoulder and using the sights as I would with a conventional firearm.
The big difference was the actual triggering mechanism. Galen’s device bore a thumbnail-sized metal shelf or tray on the side about halfway down its length. A shard of crystal had been bonded to this tray. Further back, close to where my hands held the weapon, was a catch and a J-shaped piece of metal that bo
re an identical crystal at its end.
The J-piece pivoted on a little spring. To fire, I simply had to press the ‘J’ back until it caught, cocking it. Then I would have to squeeze the catch, releasing the spring and letting the two crystals smack together.
At Galen’s urging, I gave it a try. The spring worked with a tinny squink. A soundless spark flared in the dim light as the crystals came together. In a sense, it was a little like a 17th century flintlock musket combined with a 15th century arquebus.
Shaw’s voice called softly from across the room as he held up a knapsack-sized leather bag. “Thy cartridges have been found!”
“Good,” the Wizard said. “Do bring them over here, as we shall need them to plan the next phase of our attack.”
The fayleene and griffin emerged from their set of stacks and began to cross the room. But Liam froze, his nose twitching, sniffing the air. Shaw looked about too, obviously alerted to something.
“Thou hast scented what I–” the drake began.
“Yes, but what is it?” Liam whispered back.
Suddenly, that eerie blue-white glow flooded the room with a hellish intensity. A gust of wind blew papers off tables and flung open the doors to the workshop with a BANG.
A marshy-smelling globe of weirlight bobbed its way inside, followed by a being with a glittering torso and a face that had been marred by a scar.
Not just any scar, either.
A ruler-straight white scar that ran in a sunken, wrinkled groove from scalp to eyeball.
Chapter Forty-One
The scar and the glowing torso thing weren’t the disturbing part. No, what really worried me was the being’s face. The massive facial scar did more than merely disfigure. It twisted the facial muscles, accentuating what I saw.
And what I saw was a face etched by insanity. Liam stared at it in amazement and fascinated horror.
Dragon with a Deadly Weapon Page 20