The Dragon Lord

by E. G. Foley

  Jake vowed that the beast would not pass the threshold of the hallway.

  At least confronting the creature here at the top of the stairs gave Jake the advantage of the high ground. Where am I, anyway?

  A glance around revealed that this stairwell emerged not in the wide outer ring, but into a nondescript black hallway somewhere in the middle of the first-floor maze. Jake frowned, having already dealt with this disorienting labyrinth, but quickly looked forward again.

  It was then, in those final few seconds before the dragon arrived, that he noticed the sign posted above the stairwell: No Unauthorized Personnel.

  His lips twitched at the stern warning. Someone ought to tell the dragon.

  Then the silly feeling vanished altogether as Tazaroc crept, snarling, to the top of the stairs before him, all hatred and dripping ivory fangs.

  “Stay back!” Jake prodded the beast in the nose with his spear and shoved him down a few steps with his telekinesis.

  Tazaroc snuffled and shook his head, then tried again.

  Again, again, again—and still failed.

  Jake was fully focused on the fight now, warily holding his own. This thing was smart, he realized. He could see the intelligence in those gleaming, vertical-slitted eyes.

  The orange beast was sizing him up, trying to figure out how to get to him. It rasped out a hiss, flicking its forked tongue.

  The dragon clearly understood the concept of weapons and took care to avoid the pointy end of the stick.

  But it could not seem to grasp what invisible wall kept blocking it from seizing him.

  Jake, for his part, was wondering why it didn’t breathe fire at him. Maybe some species can’t?

  Whatever the reason, there was no time to be terrified, as a fierce battle of wills ensued there at the top of the staircase.

  The dragon put its head down and kept trying to ram its way through Jake’s invisible blockade, while he was trapped in position, defending himself. He didn’t dare take his eyes off the beast to turn and run. One mistake could cost him his life—or, at the very least, his freedom.

  Wyvern had ordered Tazaroc to fetch him, after all. Well, Jake didn’t like being fetched.

  “I. Am. Not. A. Dog toy!” he said through gritted teeth, jabbing the orange monster in time with each word.

  Tazaroc hissed and dodged, whacked the side of the stairwell threateningly with his tail, gouged the top few steps with his grappling-hook claws, and reared up to the top of the hallway, but Jake refused to let him pass.

  Lord, this thing is big.

  Jake’s heart pounded. His thighs burned from holding his defensive stance, and his shoulder muscles screamed from keeping his arms raised. He’d never gripped any weapon harder than that spear.

  It seemed like hours had already passed, but it was just a few minutes. The chloroform wasn’t helping matters. The silliness was long gone, but now his head throbbed, his stomach churned, and the task of holding back a dragon was quickly sapping his strength.

  Much more of this, and he’d be getting a nosebleed. Blimey, he didn’t want to think about how the scent and sight of blood might affect the creature.

  Now and then, Tazaroc managed to thrust his snout into the upper hallway, but Jake would poke it with the spear, focus harder with his gift, and push the beast back down a few steps.

  They were both getting sick of the stalemate, each increasingly frustrated that the other refused to give up.

  The haughty dragon tossed its head, bared its razor-sharp teeth, tried slashing at Jake with its claws, to no avail. It could not get through the transparent shield of his telekinesis, and failure was making it furious.

  Down in the dark stairwell, Jake heard the wrought-iron banister groan as the metal bent under the force of a particularly angry whack from Tazaroc’s tail.

  Jake could see the dragon was really starting to hate him.

  The feeling was mutual.

  With rising desperation, all he could think of was the need to get outside and help Aunt Ramona and—like it or not—Zolond.

  The Dark Master had to stay alive, not just because if he died, then so would Aunt Ramona, but also because the ancient warlock was all that stood between Wyvern and his will to take over the bloody world.

  Hold on—what’s it doing now? Jake paused, suddenly on alert as Tazaroc gave him an evil look, then withdrew, hunkering backward down to the landing.

  Jake did not mistake this for retreat. No, the beast was up to something.

  Exhausted, Jake stood there panting, clutching his weapon uneasily in his sweaty grip, and trying to figure out what Tazaroc was plotting.

  Then he saw. Having slunk down onto the wider space of the landing, the dragon had enough room to spread its wings.

  Oh, I’m in trouble…

  Jake’s eyes widened as the dragon flapped his wings a few times, rising vertically from the landing.

  Suddenly, shoving off the back wall with his back feet, combined with one powerful flap of its wings, Tazaroc zoomed straight at him like a giant orange rocket with a mouthful of serrated teeth.

  What happened next came without forethought.

  Jake let out a war cry, dropped the spear, and hammered the charging dragon with the most brutal, two-handed blast of telekinetic power he could summon.

  It was enough to burst a blood vessel in his eye; he felt it pop.

  Hit by an invisible blast of energy, the creature slammed against the back wall, then fell like an avalanche. Letting out an earsplitting scream, it raked its claws down the granite wall as it scrabbled for purchase, to no avail. It toppled to the landing, then crashed down the stairs, all the way down to the lobby floor.

  Whereupon Jake heard an odd metallic clank.

  Silence.

  Is it…dead?

  Chest heaving, Jake waited at the top of the stairs, eyes wide, heart pounding. He quickly bent and grabbed the spear again, just in case.

  But Tazaroc wasn’t moving. Jake heard the scientists rush out of the Lightrider cavern below and start marveling amongst themselves at what they saw.

  Ha! A smile of disbelief slowly spread across Jake’s face.

  Spear in hand, he was already in motion, turning away and starting to jog off down the corridor on shaky legs.

  I just slew a dragon!

  He couldn’t wait to tell the carrot-head. Knight in shining armor and all. Wonder if this’ll get me a kiss?

  No such luck.

  Tazaroc wasn’t dead yet.

  A one-ton creature makes a lot of noise when it moves about, and Jake hadn’t gone more than five paces when he heard the sickening sounds of the dragon waking up, shaking it off.

  Jake froze mid-stride and then slowly turned back toward the stairwell. No.

  But it was true.

  Tazaroc was still alive. Jake realized he must’ve only knocked the wind out of the beast, stunned it for a few seconds.

  Standing there in shock, he heard the menacing click of the dragon’s nails scrape the floor as it rolled upright, shook itself like a dog, and then snorted.

  The scientists reacted with alarm.

  The dragon coughed a few times as if to clear its throat.

  A faint “Oh, no” reached Jake from the downstairs lobby.

  “The fire collar’s off!” one of the scientists yelled.

  Fire collar?

  “Ruuun!”

  At that moment, a roar louder than any Jake had heard so far reverberated through the lobby and up the stairwell—a wild bellow so forceful that it shook the very castle.

  A ferocious explosion of reptilian freedom.

  Leather snapped and buckles jangled as the dragon, Jake assumed, freed itself from its saddle and harness.

  A worrisome guttural hiss filled the space below, followed by a soft, vibratory rumble, like a factory-sized bellows getting ready to fire up a furnace.

  Then came the fire blast.

  The scientists screamed.

  Jake’s eyes widened. Ohh—
! “Fire collar.” So that’s why—

  Before he could finish that thought, Tazaroc went on a rampage.

  Rooted in place, Jake listened to every detail in morbid fascination. He couldn’t help it.

  He knew he should run—and he would, shortly—but he hearkened to the fray below for a moment longer like his life depended on it.

  Maybe it did.

  Panic took hold below. Footfalls scattered and shrieks erupted as the beast wrought mayhem on the scientists. Considering what they’d done to the Lightriders, though, including his parents, Jake did not feel especially sorry for them.

  Well, maybe a little. It sounded like a gruesome way to go.

  Hmm. Being a boy of thirteen, he could not resist sneaking back to the stairwell entrance, slipping down a few steps, and peering around the bend, almost daring himself to see some blood and guts. Just to confirm the situation, of course.

  Blimey. There was a trousered leg lying near the bottom of the stairwell. So much for that chap’s efforts to escape.

  At least, from here, it was easier to make out what they were saying.

  “Lock down the lab!”

  “Get out of here! This thing’s out of control!”

  “No, no, please— Aaaah!”

  Tazaroc struck the fear of God into all those heartless, white-coated know-it-alls whose innate curiosity had drawn them out to investigate—and whose arrogance had kept them there, watching, when they should have fled.

  It was too late now. Heart pounding, Jake listened to all the cool, logical men turning…how had they put it?

  Hysterical.

  Bodies thumped against walls as the dragon tossed men like toys. The screaming was horrible as various limbs were separated from their respective owners.

  All the while, hungry hisses and snarls of delight rose from Tazaroc.

  “Somebody get Lord Wyyyy—” The words broke into a bloodcurdling scream.

  Only the Drow kept their cool, by the sound of it.

  “Omric, you stay with me. Zumeth, find the boy. Protect him!” Jake heard Duradel order his bodyguards in their particular accent.

  Aw, how sweet, Jake thought with a smirk. Well, being the chosen one did have its advantages. Thanks, but no thanks.

  He didn’t need their help. He was getting out of here.

  Deep down, Jake knew that terrorizing the scientists was only a temporary game for the dragon. He was the prey Tazaroc had fixed on, and any minute now, the beast would come looking for him. He’d already wasted valuable time.

  With that, Jake dodged back up the stairs and ran.

  Not a moment too soon, as it turned out. He had barely sprinted ten yards down the corridor when a huge fireball rolled up out of the stairwell, right where he had been standing seconds ago.

  He ducked instinctively, glanced back, and squinted in the fire’s blinding flare. Then he swallowed hard.

  Tazaroc was coming. And this time, Jake knew, the scaly beast wasn’t playing fetch.

  Time seemed to slow as Jake whirled around and started running down the corridor.

  His heart slammed behind his ribcage. All his thoughts were fixed on finding his way back to the outer ring. Then he could enter one of the corner towers, as he’d plotted earlier, run up onto the ramparts, and flag Red down to come and pick him up.

  Unless the dragon got him first.

  All of his old rookery instincts warned him that he had to get out of sight. Where the deuce was a side hallway when he needed one? He couldn’t afford to let the dragon see him.

  There! Up ahead. An intersection in the labyrinth. Finally. Jake pounded toward it.

  Now the big question. Do I go right or left?

  The wrong choice could be fatal. It seemed so hard to decide.

  Counting the seconds until he reached the crossroads, Jake kept looking over his shoulder as he ran. His frantic panting filled the hallway, making far too much noise. His whole body felt hot and cold, flooded with unnatural, wild strength and jittery weakness.

  But even his top speed was not enough.

  Tazaroc climbed out of the stairwell, spotted him at once, and started galloping after him.

  Jake cursed. The intersection zoomed up. He decided on a right-hand turn at the last second, diving around the corner just in time to take cover from another lad-sized fire blast that ripped through the intersection like an out-of-control freight train set ablaze. The heat was intense as it gusted by.

  Then the chase was on.

  Through the twisting, turning pathways of the blue-black labyrinth, Jake followed hard-won survival instincts honed in the roughest sections of the rookery. Aye, the whole pack of wild O’Dell brothers couldn’t have caught him now, ducking right, dashing left, whipping through forks in the road as though driven by some higher consciousness than his own.

  Tazaroc refused to be shaken.

  The dragon had seen where Jake had entered the maze and would not let him out of its sight for more than a moment or two.

  Sometimes the beast was right behind him; others, Jake managed to trick it into a brief separation, veering off unpredictably to put a few hallways between them. But Tazaroc kept pace and always reappeared, glaring at him from some parallel hallway—a terrifying sight—lobbing fireballs or snapping its deadly jaws.

  Jake dryly decided that perhaps he would not mind the Drow chap’s assistance, after all. He wondered if Zumeth was here in the labyrinth somewhere.

  Oh, come on! He’s not going to risk his neck getting in this thing’s way to rescue me, no matter what Duradel says.

  A curious crewman with very poor timing poked his head out of a room in some random hallway to see what the fuss was, only to become a human candle. The man barely had time to scream.

  Sorry! Jake thought with a wince. Too bad. I could’ve asked him for directions.

  The blasted outer ring had to be here somewhere.

  Jake ignored the fact that he was completely exhausted. Ignored the slight trickle of blood from his nose. He wiped it away with his sleeve and kept running.

  When I grow up, he thought, I shall petition Parliament to outlaw fox hunts. He now knew exactly how the poor foxes must feel with a pack of hounds on their trail.

  Then Jake nearly made the mistake of turning down a dead end. He stopped himself from going that way with a small gasp.

  He turned, took three steps the other way, and found himself facing a weird little circular section of the labyrinth that branched off in five different directions.

  Five hallways, all different shapes and sizes.

  Now what? Jake stood in the middle, considering his choices in a state of misery. He had no idea which way to go and was too tired to think his way through any more life-or-death decisions. In that moment, a part of him simply wanted to surrender.

  He could hear Tazaroc snuffling in a corridor somewhere close. Could feel the evil influence that filled the warlocks’ stronghold oppressing his soul, telling him he wasn’t getting out of here alive. That it would’ve been better to cooperate and agree to become the Black Prince while he still had the chance.

  Now he was destined merely to become dragon food.

  Lost, out of breath, and at his wits’ end, Jake closed his eyes in despair. Please, God, a little help?

  Jake waited, hearing the dragon’s footsteps pound closer and closer…

  But then—

  His eyes shot open with astonishment as the answer came at once. Why, he must’ve paid better attention in church than he’d realized, for a fragment of a Bible verse popped right into his head.

  Narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.

  Narrow? Jake scanned the five choices of hallways before him.

  The middle one was as skinny as a catwalk. Too thin for a dragon, to be sure.

  Go! Jake ran, plunging straight ahead into the oddly thin hallway. It was the blackest he had seen, hardly any of those weird blue-glowing wall sconces.

  He hadn’t gone three
paces before doubt crept in. This seemed all wrong. Narrower and narrower with every step he took, this passage was even creepier than the others and probably led out right into Tazaroc’s mouth. Jake half expected to be incinerated at any moment.

  But having made his choice, he pressed on in faith, determined to get free of this castle, ignoring his fears and the dragon and everything that told him he was doomed.

  The passage grew tighter and tighter until it became too narrow for his shoulders. He had to angle his body slightly sideways to fit through. What loonbat designed this?

  Probably Zolond. Again, urgency filled Jake to get outside and go to the Dark Master’s aid, and Aunt Ramona’s.

  If only he could reach the outer ring!

  The skinny passage narrowed even more, and Jake had to hold his breath to squeeze himself out the other end.

  The next thing he knew, he stumbled into a wide corridor, caught his balance, and looked around. A broad smile broke across his sweaty face. It worked! He was standing in the outer ring. He could tell by the hallway’s width.

  Better still, no dragon.

  Blimey. I think I lost him.

  Jake dared to hope that his luck must finally be turning, for he spotted the round base of one of the towers not far ahead. The thick wooden door was propped open under the archway, just waiting for him. It was a beautiful sight.

  Already in motion, he folded his hands for a second. Thank you!

  Then he sprinted toward the exit with all he had left. If he could just get to that tower, he might actually make it out of here alive.

  But the Black Fortress had…other plans for Jake.

  Just as he was closing in on the open doorway, freedom almost in his grasp, Tazaroc skidded out of an intersecting hallway a few yards ahead and blocked his path. The foul beast turned toward Jake and let out a triumphant yowl, then blasted fire at the ceiling.

  Aghast, Jake stumbled to a halt.

  The dragon roared at him and gathered itself to attack. Jake glanced toward the nearest hallway opening—but then, as Tazaroc started to bound toward him, he heard a yell from somewhere behind the dragon.

  An arrow suddenly struck the beast in the rump.