The Silver Tower

by TJ Green

  Arthur raced across the smouldering grass and stood next to them. He raised Excalibur high above his head and then brought it down in one swift stroke. It sliced through the neck cleanly, severing the dragon’s head from its body.

  For a few seconds the dragon’s long neck thrashed about, blood spurting from the open wound before pooling thickly on the ground, then it crashed to the floor.

  Tom staggered to his feet, gasping for breath and coughing. A veil of smoke choked the air and he trampled down the flames where they licked the dry grass. His eyes stung and he blinked rapidly as he made his way over to the severed head, the dragon’s eyes glazing over already.

  Nimue’s voice disturbed the silence. “You must cut out the heart.”

  She stood on the edge of the charred clearing, Beansprout next to her. They carried large bundles of bush they had been using to beat out the flames, and were singed and black with soot. Beansprout had a smear of blood across her cheek.

  “Why?” Arthur leant against the dragon, breathing heavily.

  “Here, in the Other, dragons have many special properties they do not have anywhere else. They live for gold, gems and precious metals, because part of them is made of those things. After death, parts of the body transform into jewels, except for the heart. It must be cut out immediately after death; only then will it transform into a gem that is highly prized here – dragonyx. And by cutting out its heart you claim the dragon as yours, which means you keep all profits from its body.”

  Arthur looked confused. “That’s crazy.”

  “It’s true,” Woodsmoke agreed, “or at least, so I’ve heard.”

  Woodsmoke and Brenna were trying to stop the fire spreading, kicking dirt over patches of flames, and hacking off burning branches before whole trees could catch.

  “I have no wish to butcher the creature any further,” Arthur answered. “And besides, it’s huge. It will take too long.”

  He was right. The dragon had brought down several trees and now completely blocked the path with its bulk. It had fallen forward onto its chest and stomach, and its enormous wings had wrapped around its front and sides as it had tried to protect itself from further attack.

  “Arthur,” Nimue sighed. “You have no money here, no prestige. This will give you security. And although this isn’t the biggest dragon I’ve seen, it’s big enough. And hardly anyone sees dragonyx any more.”

  Arthur hesitated, clearly tempted.

  “As much as I hate to agree with Nimue,” Woodsmoke said, “she’s right.”

  “But the longer we stay here, the more at risk we are. We could be attacked again,” Arthur reasoned.

  “Then I suggest we’re quick,” Woodsmoke said decisively. “We’ll take the heart, eat on the road, and get to Dragon’s Hollow before dark. As fun as this was, I don’t particularly want to be attacked again. And,” he added, “it means you won’t have to run errands for Vivian again.” He looked pointedly at Nimue.

  Ignoring Woodsmoke’s jibe, Nimue walked over to Tom. “May I?” she asked, indicating his sword.

  Tom handed it to her wordlessly, and they watched as Nimue pulled the wing aside with Woodsmoke’s help and thrust the sword into the dragon’s right chest. It barely pierced its horny skin.

  “Right here,” she said to Arthur.

  Arthur started cutting into the dragon’s side, around the spot Nimue had indicated. Hot, thick blood oozed out of the gaping wound, splashing him. He stripped off his shirt and removed his boots.

  Woodsmoke pulled his hunting knife from his pack and helped Arthur slice through the layers of muscle and bone. “I’m afraid I’m not much help, Arthur. I haven’t carved open many dragons.”

  “That’s all right – I’m not planning on doing this again.” Arthur hacked and carved and hacked and carved, stopping and starting until he could see what he was looking for. Thick muscles and wiry tendons glistened in the light.

  “Is that gold?” Arthur asked, seeing a glint of yellow along a huge ropey tendon.

  “Probably,” Nimue said, trying to get a better look.

  Arthur straightened up. “Is this another reason dragons are hunted?”

  “You made this look easy, Arthur,” Nimue said wryly. “Many perish trying to kill dragons. There are probably as many bones of fey here as bones of dragons. That’s why the city needs Raghnall’s spell.”

  “Well when I see this sorcerer,” Arthur said, continuing his grizzly business, “I’ll tell him his spells aren’t working.”

  “Perhaps because Excalibur is stronger,” Nimue said softly.

  22 Blood and Bone

  After a long bloody battle with sinew and tendon, Arthur finally extracted the dragon’s heart. He was slick with blood, and Woodsmoke wasn’t much cleaner. While Woodsmoke washed his arms at the edge of the stream, Arthur stood in the middle, sluicing water over himself and scrubbing his skin with grass to get rid of the blood that had hardened in the sun.

  When he was clean, Arthur turned to the heart. It sat on the bank streaked with dried blood. “I suppose I’d better clean this,” he said to the others, who had crowded round. “I thought we were going to eat on the road?” he added, noticing they were munching on dried meats and cheese.

  “That was before we realised slicing out a dragon’s heart was going to take half the afternoon,” Tom said, through a mouthful of food.

  “An hour is not half the afternoon.”

  Arthur had worked quickly, but extracting the heart without damaging it had taken longer than expected. He’d needed Woodsmoke’s advice on slicing through arteries as thick as his arms, and the enormous muscles that anchored it.

  The heart was big – the size of a cartwheel – and was an irregular round shape. At the moment it was covered in gunk. It looked like an ugly chunk of flesh, and it smelt rotten, like fungus-filled earth that had never seen the sun. But as Arthur scrubbed it clean it began to transform and shine in the sun. Slowly a pale ruby red stone was revealed. The surface was mostly pitted and cloudy, but clear lucent patches began to appear, allowing them a glimpse inside the stone, where they saw thick veins of gold, and a black star in the centre.

  “That’s clean enough for now,” Arthur said, satisfied.

  “The gem workers of the Hollow will polish it up. You won’t recognise it once they’ve finished with it,” Nimue said.

  Woodsmoke fetched a large blanket from his pack. “Here, use this.”

  They rolled the gem in the blanket and secured it to the tent poles strapped to one of the horses.

  “What do I do with the rest of it?” Arthur looked at the dragon carcass. Its bright green and blue scales still shone in the sun, and from the path you couldn’t see the wound in its side, or tell that its head had been separated from its neck. It looked like it was sleeping.

  Nimue struggled back on to Arthur’s horse. “The goblins will come and collect it soon enough.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve seen a dragon! And then Arthur killed it,” Beansprout said to Tom, a note of sadness in her voice, as they rode up the mountain. The two of them had spent some time examining the dragon while Arthur carved out the heart, feeling its hard skin and thick scales.

  “Well yeah,” Tom agreed. “But it would have killed us, so ...”

  Beansprout had managed to free a scale from the dragon’s body, and she turned it over in her hands, admiring the way it glistened in the sun. “Look at it!” she said. “It’s so beautiful. What do you think they’ll do with the rest of the body?”

  “Break it down like an old car, by the sound of it. From what Brenna said, there’s a whole industry built around dragons and their gold. You could have that made into something. Maybe a decoration for your bow, or your knife hilt.”

  “I suppose so, although it seems a bit grizzly,” Beansprout said, re-pocketing the scale.

  Woodsmoke had picked up the pace after their stop, and as the sun dipped to the horizon they neared Dragon’s Hollow. They were high on the mountain and the two pe
aks rose ahead of them, the path leading to the natural depression between. The road widened and flattened, and as they rounded a bend the great walls of the town came into view. The gates were made of burnished rose gold, and on them, inlaid in silver and black metal, was an ornately carved roaring dragon, its wings spread in flight. The high city walls were solidly built of thick stone, extending on both sides to the edge of the peaks. Along the top, carved stone dragons glowered menacingly.

  “Is this wall to keep dragons out?” Tom asked, thinking surely that was impossible.

  “No,” Nimue answered. “Nothing keeps dragons out – except the sorcerer’s spell. The wall is to keep out those who would attack the Hollow. And that really would be foolish, so no one has tried for a long time.”

  “So why such enormous gates?” Beansprout asked.

  “Because it looks good, and besides, you never know. Sometimes people do stupid things for gold.” Nimue shrugged.

  “How do we get in?” Arthur asked.

  Nimue pointed to the small figures on top of the wall. “The sentries will let us in.”

  As they approached, the gates began to swing slowly back, revealing a cavernous tunnel beyond. A booming trumpet call echoed out of the tunnel, and half a dozen fey on horseback came to meet them. They were richly dressed in bright silks, and their horses had elaborate bridles, their manes woven with strips of silver and gold material.

  Instinctively, Woodsmoke, Arthur and Brenna reached for their weapons, but Nimue stopped them, saying in harsh whisper, “Wait!”

  An imperious fey, dressed in rich scarlet, led the group. His hair was as red as his clothing, and he had a long beard plaited with silver thread. He bowed his head briefly before addressing Arthur. “Who do we have the honour of welcoming, mighty dragon slayer?”

  Tom wondered how they could possibly know about the dragon, when Arthur answered smoothly and courteously. “I am Arthur, King of the ancient Britons, Boar of Cornwall, Twice Born, Wielder of Excalibur gift of the Forger of Light. To whom do I owe the pleasure of this welcome?”

  “Magen, Chief Slayer of the Dragon Guard.” He stared at Arthur, a hint of challenge flashing in his eyes. “We are here to escort you to Dragon’s Hollow. The Sorcerer requests your presence.”

  “Well,” said Arthur evenly, giving a smile that wasn’t quite a smile, “it’s fortunate that it is the sorcerer we are here to meet.”

  Magen raised his hand, and from out of the tunnel behind him came a huge eight-wheeled cart pulled by four large purple lizards. On the back of the cart were a number of big burly creatures covered with warts and thick green skin.

  “Goblins,” Woodsmoke explained to Tom.

  “The dragon belongs to Arthur,” Nimue said to Magen. “He has the dragonyx.” She nodded to where it hung behind Woodsmoke.

  If possible, Magen looked even more annoyed. “In that case, the sorcerer requests your permission to bring back the dragon body for dismemberment.”

  “My permission?” Arthur asked, clearly confused.

  “As the dragon belongs to you and not the city, you must agree to its dismemberment. You will receive all monies as are due to you, minus the fee for transformation,” Magen explained impatiently.

  “In that case,” Arthur said, “yes I do.”

  As the cart trundled past them, Magen turned. “Follow me.”

  The temperature dropped once they were in the tunnel, and Magen was visible only as a dark silhouette ahead until they emerged into a small square dappled in the cool purple shadows of twilight. Around it was a warren of buildings and narrow lanes. In the pale light the buildings shimmered from the dusting of gold that patterned the stone.

  They continued down a long central avenue, passing beneath balconies with cascading flowers and greenery. The place looked wealthy and well cared for, the buildings ornate with detailed embellishments in metals of many colours. This was a very different place from the Meet. Occasionally they passed locals wandering back from the town centre, dressed in fine linens with trimmings of embroidery and lace.

  Dragon’s Hollow was well named, as it sat encircled by the shoulders of the two peaks on either side. It had trapped the heat of the day so that as night fell, warmth poured from the golden stone around them. Tom grew sticky and tired and wondered impatiently how long it would take to get to the sorcerer. He began to daydream of cold showers and icy drinks, but when they rounded the next corner, all such thoughts left his mind rapidly. They stumbled to a halt and looked around, awestruck.

  In front of them was a large perfectly round lake, from which rose an enormous dragon fountain made of coloured glass, precious metals and luminous gems. Like the dragon on the gate, its wings were spread in flight, and its head was looking down upon them. Instead of flames, water poured from its mouth.

  Palatial buildings were set around the pool and against the curved bowl of the peaks. In the dusk, the buildings glittered with thousands of lights. Hundreds of faeries milled about the central space, strolling around the pool and across the bridges that spanned it. Entertainers had set up in nooks, and at the start of the bridge ahead was a group of fire-breathing faeries, shooting flames of orange, blue and green high into the sky.

  The first person to find their voice was Brenna. “I had no idea of the scale of this place.”

  “We seek to keep its splendours to ourselves.” Magen stood next to them, waiting until they were ready to follow him.

  “I can tell why,” Arthur murmured.

  “Some of the greatest weapons of faerie are made here,” Magen said proudly.

  “Is this where the Forger of Light lives?” Arthur asked.

  “Not any more.”

  Changing the subject, Magen pointed to the far side of Dragon’s Hollow, to a vast house on the mountainside, glittering with inlaid silver and rich black marble. Its many windows lay in darkness, except for the top of the house, where a solitary light burned. “That’s where we are heading – The House of the Beloved.”

  23 House of the Beloved

  Magen led the way across town to the bottom of a long drive bordered with topiary. The guards remained at the gate while the others carried on up to the sorcerer’s house, stopping at the bottom of a flight of steps where Arthur carefully unloaded the dragonyx. Leaving their horses with two grooms, they followed Magen into the main building.

  They were obviously expected. The doors stood wide, allowing what little breeze there was to flow down the hall. Hundreds of candles flickered, reflecting off the marble floors. They followed Magen up a staircase and along a corridor, eventually coming out onto a broad covered balcony overlooking the city. A long table was set for dinner, and at the far end was a smaller table of drinks.

  “Raghnall will join you soon. In the meantime, help yourself to drinks,” said Magen, gesturing to the table.

  “You’re not staying?” Arthur asked.

  “My father and I don’t exactly see eye to eye,” Magen replied, and left abruptly.

  “His father! Interesting,” Woodsmoke said, heading to the drinks table.

  “I’d forgotten he had children,” Nimue said. “I’ve never met them. It doesn’t surprise me they don’t get on, though.”

  Woodsmoke passed her a glass of wine. “Why’s that?”

  “Because he’s a pompous ass,” she hissed before taking a healthy swig of wine.

  “Needed that did you, Nimue?” Brenna said with a wry smile.

  “Yes, it’s been quite a day. And it’s going to get worse,” Nimue grumbled.

  They took their drinks over to the balustrade and stood looking out across the city below. Darkness had fallen and stars glittered above them, mirroring the hundreds of flickering lamps below. The night air was silky smooth across their skin.

  “This place looks too good to be true,” Brenna observed.

  Woodsmoke nodded. “I had no idea how much dragon’s gold there was here.”

  “I have heard tales about it, but I never envisioned it could be this ...
” Brenna struggled for words.

  Arthur finished her sentence. “Magnificent?”

  “I knew you’d like this place,” Nimue said, from where she had taken a seat in the shadows.

  “It reminds me of Camelot.”

  Beansprout’s mouth fell open with shock. “Camelot looked like this!”

  “I don’t think it was quite as big as the Hollow,” Nimue said, amused.

  “Maybe not,” Arthur said testily. “But it was beautiful, especially after Merlin embellished it a little.”

  “I loved Camelot, but I don’t love the Hollow,” Nimue said.

  “Why not?” asked Tom.

  “There’s just too much of it. It exhausts me.”

  “Sometimes,” Woodsmoke said, “the fey like to put on a display of wealth to dazzle and impress. You saw that, Tom, in Finnlugh’s Under-Palace.”

  Tom nodded, thinking of the ballroom and the ornate library he had seen. “It’s true, everything about The House of Evernight was extravagant. Finnlugh was extravagant. The Duchess of Cloy was extravagant!”

  “As King of the Britons,” Arthur said, “I can assure you I was extravagant too. Camelot was a vision of silver towers, thick walls, flags, might and wealth. It was necessary. It was meant to terrify and awe everyone who saw it.”

  A deep voice interrupted their conversation. “I hope the richness of your surroundings isn’t upsetting you?”

  They turned abruptly and saw a tall man standing in the doorway to the balcony. It was difficult to see him clearly in the low lighting, and Tom wondered how long he’d been standing there listening to their conversation. He also wondered how rude they had sounded.

  “Only me,” Nimue called out, “but you already know that, Raghnall.”

  Ignoring Nimue, Arthur answered, “Not at all. It is very pleasant after being on the road for so many weeks, and we appreciate your hospitality. I am Arthur.” He held out his hand.