The Twin Sorcerers

by Der Nogard

  Perhaps he ought to find a dragon to slay. Though their numbers were said to be dwindling, there were still dragons somewhere. If Dost might find one, he could find an object. He could be a hero. He wondered if he wanted to be one, if he needed to be. No, he was angry. He wanted to be a pillager, the sort of man his father had fought against. His father had been just and look where that had gotten him: with his head stuck on a pike. That would not be Dost’s fate. Whatever he had to become to avert it, he would not suffer the same fate as his father.

  And so he slumbered. Against his better judgment, Dost allowed his eyes to close, allowed his body to feel the softness of the bed, allowed the wind coming in through the garden window to kiss his skin. So he did not hear when a stealthy man pushed the door open and entered the chamber. He did not see as the assassin searched his chamber for hidden weapons, papers, anything that might be taken from the place once the man was dead. He approached the bed. The Azag-al-Walaq, that warlord whose name was known in all the lands across the eight seas, well, most of them: that man slept atop his coverlet like a man that had finally found peace. He would know peace alright; he would know eternal peace if the assassin had his way. The assassin removed his own dagger from its berth and prepared the act for which he had come.

  There was a stillness in the room. The man had mastered art of moving silently, so even if Dost had been awake he might not have heard his tread. But something strange happened. Suddenly, a bird flapped past the room and cawed loudly. Dost was instantly roused from the bed. It seemed the gods had not abandoned him yet. Dost rose and the man pounced. There was a struggle. The man lunged with the dagger but met only the down of the bed. Dost rolled onto the floor and the man lunged again. Finally the man leapt on top of the warrior. Dost punched the man, but this punch was returned with an even stronger blow that startled Dost. He wondered who the man was. His mouth was covered and the only things visible that might remark the man were a pair of snake-colored eyes.

  Both men stood up and observed each other. They began to stalk, like a pair of dragons preparing for war. Dost was at a disadvantage as his kujala lie between his brigandine and his chest. He had fallen asleep without removing either of these things. The assassin lunged again and Dost took this opportunity to hurl himself at the man and wrestle him to the floor. This accomplished, Dost punched the man squarely on the chin, disorienting him long enough to give Dost a few moments to open his brigandine and remove the kujala. Weapon removed, the men fought dagger to dagger, desert style.

  “I would know your name,” said Dost.

  The assassin lunged forward with his azag and it was met with Dost’s dagger, sending a loud clang across the room.

  “I said, I would know your name!”

  But the assassin said nothing. He feinted forward with his azag and then suddenly switched direction, landing a blow right across Dost’s chest. As Dost’s brigandine was open, the man drew blood. Dost winced and lunged too, but the man jumped backward just in time. When Dost lunged again, the assassin lunged back. Dost suddenly leapt backward and hurled his kujala. He hit the assassin right below the collarbone and the man fell to his feet. The assassin grabbed the ivory hilt of the kujala and once he had a firm hold, pulled it out. Blood spurted out and the man gasped for air. A few moments later, he fell to the floor, dead.

  Dost, after spending a few moments catching his breath, approached the man and turned him over. He already knew who it was. He untied the knot in the back of the man’s scarf and revealed his face. It was the queen’s general, Salé.

  Dost ran down the marble hall to the suite of rooms that Xenia and Ghazan shared. He opened the door and entered a small atrium. There was a crystal pool and two small persimmon trees, their vines climbing up the sides of the walls. Though Ghazan had begrudged Dost his rooms, this was a mighty fine setup. It was unfortunate that they would not have the time to enjoy it.

  Dost found Xenia first, sitting on the edge of the pool. A bird warbled softly as Xenia dipped her fingers into the water.

  “Come,” he said. “We leave now.”

  “What do you mean?” the maiden asked.

  “Where is Ghazan?” asked Dost, pulling the woman up to her feet. “We go now. Come. Come!”

  Xenia indicated that Ghazan’s chamber was down a short hall within this well-apportioned suite. When they reached his door, they could hear the grunts of two men struggling. The door was locked but Dost gave himself a running start and lunged forward into the door, attempting to break it down. He fell to the ground, groaning and in pain. Xenia looked at him in disbelief and then removed the key from its secret place close to her breast. She placed it into the lock, turned the latch, and the door opened.

  They found Ghazan wrestling with a burly man whose face was covered, as Salé’s had been. Ghazan was pinned to the ground and his face was bloody. Dost, still wincing from his failed attempt with the door, ran forward and leapt on the man’s back. He placed an arm about his neck and began to yank back hoping to choke. This move brought the man to his knees, but then the assassin was able to elbow backward, hitting Dost squarely in the jaw. The assassin turned to face Dost and cracked his knuckles. But Ghazan had enough presence of mind to reach for his long sword resting on a dragonwood table and unsheathe it silently. He lunged forward, landing the blade in the gap between the man’s armor and his leather trousers. The man fell to the ground and a short while later he was dead.

  “Not very noble of you, stabbing a man in the back,” said Dost, brushing away the blood on his chin with a fist.

  “It was a fight to the death,” said Ghazan. “I did what I had to do. Besides, I saved your life.”

  Dost chuckled. “One more night, huh?”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Ghazan, and then he lent Dost a hand to help him up to his feet.

  Chapter Seven

  The three travelers left the land of Vani, fortunate enough to find that the pirate captain remained in port. He was heading back north, at least further north than he was now. He told Dost and Ghazan that he was to escort the daughter of a warlord to her husband, a chief among the barbaric hordes of the Cerkes. The pirate was happy to take the three along with him as long as they were willing to pay. As Ghazan had only the rich robes and jewels that he and Xenia wore, it was Dost who paid the fare. He did not, however, agree to accompany the prince on his mission. The prince informed his travel companion that he had committed to finding aid for an invasion of his father’s kingdom among the many princes and warlords of the Randalkand.

  “There is a man who is ready to help us if I can get to him,” said the prince.

  He stood with Dost on the deck of the ship. Xenia lie in their quarters below deck, getting some much needed rest from their flight from the queen and her machinations.

  “I do not understand why you say us,” Dost remarked. “I have not agreed to help you.”

  “But you must,” said Ghazan. “You saved my life. In some cultures that means that you are now committed to helping me for as long as I live. I am in your care.”

  “That is ridiculous,” said Dost. “I have never heard anything so ridiculous.” Dost swatted away a hornet that had stowed away on ship and had found a moist spot on the back of his neck. In swatting away the insect, the warrior found that his hair was beginning to grow again. Though he did not like to think of himself as vain, Dost found the shorn hair that he had been sporting for several weeks now unfamiliar. He was glad that he would once again have the look of a man of the Banu Yunus, even if he counted many among this race as his enemies.

  “What is ridiculous about it?” said Ghazan. “Do you not see that we are tied to one another somehow? Even Xenia says it. She has always said so.”

  “What the lady feels on this matter signifies little to me,” Dost said.

  “Then you return to your old life as a warlord chief?”

  “That is not for you to know, prince. I shall take this ship back to Damat, if the pirate pledges to make good time there, and what
fate befalls you matters little to me.”

  “The queen had a dragon,” said the prince as the warlord walked away from him.

  “I do not care!” shouted Dost.

  With that, Dost left the prince. He had committed to separate quarters from them, an accommodation that the pirate was happy to oblige considering how heavy Dost’s purse was. And so when Dost heard the thrashing of the wyms that night – lashing the waters of the ocean about and mating with one another by rubbing their slimy bodies together –he heard it apart from Ghazan and Xenia.

  Ghazan and Xenia were first to leave the ship as the land of the Cerkes were more southern than the city of Damat. The twain joined a traveling band of merchants who were heading to the eastern frontier of the Randalkand. This was a wide, sparsely populated area. It was said that the dragons that could occasionally be seen in the lands of the Banu Yunus hailed from this land. It was one of the few places were dragons could still be found in decent numbers, or so wiser minds said. These creatures were already being exterminated in other places, and by men like Ghazan, men with some maid or another to win over.

  It seemed the world changed. The age of legends and magic, of cities rising on the bones of other cities, of gods taking human shape and cavorting among their mortal subjects: these days would soon be in the past. One day, men would hear stories of warriors like Dost and Ghazan and call them lies. They would hear of dragons and believe that they were nothing more than misshapen birds viewed from a distance. They would not know that there had once been dragons, dragons that lived in a closer balance with the earth than man ever could, and that the death of these creatures would signal the end of the adventurous age of mankind.

  But all Ghazan could think of was regaining his kingdom. He rode with Xenia upon a fair white horse. She was nestled behind him and her arms clutched him tightly, her veil of white gauze blowing in the wind. He was reminded of his mare Khurshid-Begum, the horse that led him into the inner sanctum of the dragon Aisin. The prince chuckled to himself. One day he would be old and people would look at him and see an old man who invented tales, hoping to spin them into truth.

  Soon the caravan of merchants came to a mercenary camp about two days march south of a high mountain chain. As soon as Ghazan saw these tall white peaks he knew that dragons resided there. Ghazan and Xenia came down from their horse and approached the camp. The men and women clearly came from a foreign continent. The men wore animal skins and conical fur caps, while the women were dressed in a fashion highly original yet lovely and compelling. Ghazan wondered if the lands they hailed from were the same as those of Yunus, a man he had previously believed to be his ancestor.

  “I would speak to your leader,” the prince said, approaching a man who seemed to be captain of a small cadre of mercenaries.

  In response to the query of the man’s eyes – “And who are you?” these eyes asked – Ghazan announced that he was the son of the slain sultan of Maler and that he was in need of an army to aid him in his quest.

  The man needed to hear no more. The prince was soon taken to another prince, the leader of these people. “One prince greets another,” the man said when Ghazan entered his yurt: his high felt tent.

  “Yes,” said Ghazan. “I believe you can aid me, sir.”

  “That all depends on whether or not you can aid me,” said the foreign royal. “We might help one another.”

  “What is it you seek?”

  “I seek an item of great value to my people. It is the great lance of Ogedeyir, one of the greatest princes of my people. He came to this land many ages ago to meet a dragon equipped with this lance. She slayed him, for the dragon was a female, and he died in her cave. The lance was never seen again. It is important for me to possess this weapon as it is a sign of kingship among my people. My father struggles among his brothers for the title of khagan, great ruler, and if I return with this lance then my father would be acknowledged by all as sovereign. I was serving as a mercenary until I learned where the lance lie. It is in this land, I am told, the broad land of Randalkand, in the bowels of a mountain about two days journey from here.”

  “Why not go to the cave yourself?” asked Ghazan.

  “My people have a great fear of dragons,” the prince chuckled. “I know it seems ridiculous to you, but it is true. My men would never agree to accompany me and the woman would abandon us. We know dragons for the magic they possess. Indeed, we believe your people very foolish to not fear them as we do.” The foreign prince paused for a moment and offered Ghazan a drink. “You are the one they call dragon-lord. I have heard of you.”

  “I slayed the dragon Aisin,” said the prince of Maler. “What of it?”

  “If you were to fetch the lance of Ogedeyir from the mountain, then you have my word that I shall help you regain your kingdom.”

  “And how do I know that your mercenaries are worth the risk to me?” asked Ghazan.

  “Well, how do I know that you can accomplish the task that I need?”

  Ghazan opened a pack, a pack that he had carried with him since he received it from Prince Ulugh, and he showed the foreign royal the broken lance Hulagu, the holy lance that had snapped when he plunged it into the dragon’s chest. That was all the foreign prince required. He recognized the remains of the legendary lance; he recognized also the greatness of the man that had wielded it. The man agreed to whatever terms that Ghazan demanded. The prince and Xenia would soon found themselves on their way to the cave of the dragon that guarded the lance of Ogedeyir. Hopefully, they would get a large mercenary out of it if this prince could be trusted. “She is called Emine,” said the foreign prince. “She is very old.”

  As they reached the foot of the mountain and Ghazan saw that they still had to climb a day’s travel up mountainside, almost above the clouds, to reach the cave’s mouth, the prince wondered if he had chosen rightly. “Perhaps I should have left you in the camp,” he said to his travel companion.

  “No,” said Xenia. “I was meant to come with you to this place. I can aid you.”

  “All right,” said Ghazan. “Let us set up a tent here so that we have a place to rest when we leave the camp. The last thing I want is to steal the lance from the dragon only to have immediately to travel for two days back to the camp.”

  “Do you think the creature will let us merely go in and steal it from under her nose?” asked the maid.

  “I do not know,” said Ghazan.

  And so they traveled up the cave. With the prince’s aid, the lady had little trouble trudging up the steep mountainside to the mouth of the cave. As they rose higher and higher, the air grew thinner and thinner, but the lady found that this mountain air suited her. Ghazan could little understand it, but his heart was glad when they finally disembarked in front of the cave.

  The ledge before the cave was covered in snow, though it was yet early summer, and they could hear the rumblings of the dragon within. “Are you frightened?” the prince asked Xenia.

  “No,” she answered.

  They ventured into the cave and Ghazan immediately felt something different than he had felt before. He did not feel the primitive sense of danger that he and Khurshid-Begum had felt when they had entered the cage of Aisin. He knew that young dragons experienced shevar, the youthful rage that led them to great acts of destruction. Might not this dragon be different? Inside the cave, flowers of a like that Ghazan had never before seen bloomed. There were lakes of water of blue and purple. The air seemed to be filled with dew. The occasional quakes of the dragon as it spoke or snored, whatever it was, these quakes soon no longer disturbed.

  “It is a trick,” said the prince. “It is a rouse to trick us into lowering our guard. I will not be fooled.”

  The prince looked back at the lady, but she had naught to say. He wondered if he might fall into the same trap that had befell him before: that he might escort the lady into the cave to find that she herself was the dragon. He laughed this eventuality out of his mind. That would be a strange thing indeed: fo
r history to repeat itself in that fashion. That would be another tale that no one would believe. Ghazan thought of the infant dragon that the queen of Vani had upon her shoulder. Such a strange thing, to see a dragon resting on the shoulder of a human so peacefully. They were strange beasts, these dragons.

  Soon the dragon-breath was so atmospheric that they could feel its warmth. They came to a low vestibule in the cave. They passed through it and then they saw the dragon. Ghazan gasped as this dragon was even greater than the one he had slain in Canxir. It occupied the entirety of a massive space. Its head alone was large enough to occupy the throne hall of the palace in Maler. The creature had white mighty whiskers and sharp teeth that jutted out of the closed mouth. It seemed to slumber, its chest moving rhythmically up and down. “How does a man slay such a beast?” Ghazan asked. He reached for his scimitar, but Xenia stayed his hand.

  “This is ridiculous,” said the prince. “Dragons were made for men to slay.”

  “No,” said Xenia, “not this one.”

  Ghazan sheathed his blade. He sighed. He did not understand, but he followed the fair maid as she began to walk.

  There was a light shining down from an oculus in the roof of the cavern. Below this lay a raised platform, but it was devoid of any object. Xenia made a path around the great body of the dragon to this spot. Ghazan followed her as he could not believe the evidence of his eyes. The spot was suffused with light, dew, and a sensation of great calmness. But there was no lance.

  “Gone,” the twain heard a voice say and the mighty head of the dragon turned to face them.

  “But,” Ghazan began, “whereto, mighty creature? Where might we go to find it?”

  “That is for you to discover if it be a thing meant to be discovered.”

  Xenia looked at the creature and she felt suddenly that she was beneath the sea, wrapped tightly in arms that were warm and cold at once.