Realms of the Dragons vol.1

SERPESTRILLVYTH

Flamerule, the Year of the Banner

On the hottest day of the summer, Erzimar rode into the dusty town with the Company of the Argent Hawk at his back. A cooper looked up from his work as Erzimar and his companions rode past, clutching an iron hoop in his broad hands. A small knot of women speaking together in the thin shade of a browned oak stopped their gossiping to stare at the travelers.

The half-elf Gethred dismounted with a creak of leather and shrugged his cloak from his shoulder, leaving his sword arm clear. Despite the heat, the handsome swordsman wore a breastplate of gold-chased steel. Sweat and dust grimed his face. He took in the dry, bare ground, and the straw-thatched homes and workshops with a single slow look.

"What's the name of this town again?" he asked.

"Pelldith Lake," answered Isildra. She, too, wore mail and leather, though her surcoat was emblazoned with the sleepless eye of Helm's faith. She drew off her gauntlets to wipe strong hands across her brow, frowning at the dirt around her. "That's what they said in Elturel, anyway."

Erzimar swung himself down from his own mount. Short and wiry, Erzimar did not mind the sweltering summer heat as much as his companions. He was a Shaaran, from the sweltering cities by the Lake of Steam, with golden-bronze skin and straight black hair. He wore a short, curved scimitar at his belt. But his preferred weapon was the staff of rich mahogany he carried across the saddlebow.

"There's the inn," he said.

"It'll do," Bragor the dwarf said as he lowered himself gingerly to the ground from his sturdy pony. As round and strong as a barrel of oak, the taciturn dwarf didn't like riding much, and liked riding on a hot day even less. "I don't care if this is the right village or not, I'm not going another mile today."

The Vaasan swordsman Murgolm followed suit, sparing one sullen look for the staring townsfolk before shaking the sweat from his long, black hair. Murgolm spoke little Common, but he had some Dwarvish and therefore tended to stay close to Bragor, who translated for him at need.

They led their horses into the inn yard, which was shaded by a line of tall, dusty poplars. A young stable boy with ungainly long arms and legs and a mop of sandy hair hurried out to meet them, blinking in the sunlight. He stood staring at the travelers while Geth-red returned his empty gaze.

"See to our mounts, lad," Gethred called. "Don't let them drink yet, they're hot. Bring in our saddlebags and packs when you're done."

"Yes, sir!"

"Now, lad, where can a fellow find something to wash the dust of the road from his throat?"

"Right through there, sir," the stable boy said. He pointed at the inn's door. "There's a taproom inside." He stared at the travelers again, his face working awkwardly as he struggled with something he wanted to say. Erzimar exchanged glances with his companions as they waited. Bragor turned away with a dour curse, tired of waiting, but then the lad broke free of his paralysis with a small hop and asked in an excited rush, "Are you here about the dragon?"

Erzimar simply nodded at the boy. The stable boy gaped in amazement as the travelers shook the road dust from their cloaks and went into the warm gloom of the inn's common room. Heavy footsteps sounded on creaking floorboards, and the innkeeper appeared-a short, stout fellow with sweat gleaming on his bald head. His face was sallow, with gray stubble discoloring his jowls and small, quick eyes.

"Good day, travelers," he began. "I am Rothas, the master of this house. How many rooms will you be needing, then?"

"We'll take three," Gethred said. "And we'll take any good ale you've got in your ice cellar, and something to eat, too. The quicker, the better."

"Of course, sir…"

The innkeeper hesitated, in much the same way that the stable boy had.

Erzimar took pity on the fellow and said, "Yes, Rothas, we've come about the dragon."

Two hours later, Erzimar felt almost comfortable again. His thirst was well quenched, he had a good meal under his ribs, and he'd even found half an hour to dunk himself in the cold lake nearby. He sat alongside Gethred, Bragor, Murgolm, and Isildra in five wooden chairs that had been lined up along one wall of the inn's common room. Opposite them sat the half-dozen aldermen of Pelldith Lake. Two dozen more onlookers clustered in the back of the room, silent and watchful.

The aldermen included the innkeeper Rothas, and the cooper Ethern, the fellow Erzimar had seen as he rode into town.

"We're all here, alderman," the wizard said. "Let's hear what you have to say."

The elders looked at each other, and the cooper Ethern stood up. He knotted his strong hands together as he spoke.

"Thank you for answering our call," he began. "When will the rest of your party arrive?"

"We're it," Gethred said with a crooked smile. "The Company of the Argent Hawk, five strong. I am Gethred Hesthell of Everlund. This is the Vigilant Isildra of the Temple of Helm, Bragor Ironhand, Murgolm Stoyevsk of Vaasa, and Erzimar Dal Tirza of Innarlith, our wizard."

Ethern studied them, rubbing thoughtfully at his long jaw, then asked, "Will five of you be enough?"

"That depends on your dragon," Erzimar replied. "We can't help you if you've got an ancient red to deal with. If that's the case, I would advise you to pack up your belongings and abandon the town." He noted the stricken expressions on the elders' faces, and added, "Anything short of that, we can likely help."

"It's big, but not that big," the cooper said. "Strong, quick, with a heart as black as a rotten tree. A wicked beast."

"And it's damnably clever, too," Rothas muttered.

Erzimar leaned back in his chair and studied the elders. He could see at once that they were scared. Frightened out of their wits, really. No one wanted to meet his eyes. The townsfolk stared at the floorboards or shifted their feet, nervous.

"Listen, Ethern-for what it's worth, we've slain dragons before. We took a black up near the High Moor, and a young but strong red in the Sword Mountains. We know what we're about. Now, tell us the tale from the start."

The cooper looked at his fellow elders, who offered weary shrugs and nods for answers.

He turned back to the Argent Hawks and said, "It started about four tendays ago. We started losing livestock. That's not unusual-trolls raid the outlying homesteads from time to time. But we couldn't find any tracks. It was rainy then, and the pastures muddy. Trolls dragging off cows would have left plenty of footprints.

"Of course, we figured out later that the dragon was taking the livestock on the wing. Anyway, after this had gone on for several nights, we assembled a company of watchmen to guard the pastures. Two dozen archers, in groups of four, plus a few folk who have experience fighting monsters: Elzur, our town sorcerer; Brother Stort, a cleric of Lathander; and Selran, here-" the cooper nodded at a tall, sandy-haired fellow who stood in the back of the room, staring blankly at the floor-"who's stalked gnolls in the hills."

"Didn't know enough to be scared, yet," Rothas, the innkeeper, said.

"Five nights passed with nothing out of the ordinary," the cooper went on, "and some folks thought that whatever it was had moved on. But on the sixth night… on the sixth night it was the dark of the moon. As best we could make out later, it came against Elzur and the archers with him, and killed them all with its breath before they even knew it was there. Then it turned on a nearby homestead. Counting Elzur and our watchmen, ten people dead in one night. That's a hard thing in a town the size of Pelldith Lake."

"I can imagine," Erzimar said. "Go on."

The cooper cleared his throat and said, "Well, we knew we had real trouble. We sent for a company of adventurers, a band of sellswords who were exploring some old ruins nearby. They agreed to help us out. The Fellowship of the Sundered Shield, or the Shield Fellows, they called themselves.

"The Shield Fellows searched the countryside for a couple of days-Selran went with 'em, because no one knows the lands nearby better-and they found a dragon's cave in the hills a few miles off Two tendays ago they set off to go deal with the monster. But none of them came back. The dragon killed them all. Only Selran returned to tell the tale."

Erzimar shifted in his seat, looked up at the straw-haired tracker leaning against the back wall, and asked, "You saw the dragon take them?"

The fellow looked up. His face was streaked with sweat, and his eyes seemed pale and unfocused, as if he looked on distant and terrible things.

"No," Selran managed. "They hired me to serve as a guide to the area, and to help watch their mounts. I did not enter the cave. The dragon called out to me when it was done. Told me to run back home and carry its demands for tribute." He cast his gaze down to the dusty floorboards again. "Its name is Serpestrillvyth."

"Did you pay its tribute?" Erzimar asked Ethern.

"We tried. We scraped together a thousand gold coins, twenty head of cattle, six casks of good wine-it wasn't easy. Then, when we sent the wagon to the place the dragon had told us to, a band of trolls attacked and took it all. We think the dragon put them up to it, because the very next day it killed a little boy, and told his father that the town had better come up with another ransom to replace the one the trolls took."

Bragor the dwarf nodded, his beard spilling over his mailed chest, and said, "Aye, that's an old dragonish trick. Steal the ransom you demanded, and get paid twice."

"We argued long and hard over whether or not to pay again. Alderman Torbath argued most vehemently against it. He pointed out that we might as well spend the coin to hire dragonslayers to rid ourselves of the monster."

Erzimar looked at the elders and asked, "I'm sorry, but I don't recall-which one of you is Torbath?"

The cooper looked away and said, "He's not here, sir. He's dead. The dragon crept right into the middle of town one night and killed him in his bed."

"It found out that Torbath was going to be trouble, and it took care of him," the innkeeper said. He coughed awkwardly. "After that, we sent out word that we needed a dragonslayer."

"The dragon seems well informed about the town," Gethred murmured to the wizard in Elvish.

"It's not unexpected," Erzimar replied in the same language. "It could be a sorcerer of some skill; a lot of dragons are. A few divination spells would easily let it keep an eye on things here. I've warded us against scrying, just in case."

"It could have someone spying for it."

"Or it could have spies, yes. We won't rule out anything yef,"Erzimar answered. He turned his attention to the tracker leaning against the back wall, and spoke in Common again. "Selran, did you see the dragon?"

"I did. Just a glimpse of the monster, as it called out to me from its cave."

"What color was it, and how big? The size of a horse? An oxcart? A house?"

"I'm not sure about the color. It was dark. As far as the size, I would say it was as big as a large draft horse." The tracker looked around the taproom. "It could fit through that door, but not by much. It would pretty much fill this room with its wings and tail and all."

Erzimar nodded. An adult, most likely, but not particularly old and strong, at least as dragons went. Dragons grew throughout their lives, and the really old ones could be tremendously large and powerful. He glanced back to the town's spokesman.

"Have you seen it breathe anything? Fire, acid, lightning?"

"Its breath is a foul, choking, poisonous mist. It can kill everyone in a good-sized farmhouse by blowing its poison in a door or window."

"Those who die from its breath-is their skin eaten away? Puckered and split?"

Ethern paled, but he nodded and said, "Yes, that's the way of it."

"It's a green, then. No doubt about it," Bragor muttered.

He leaned over to Murgolm and explained the conversation to the Vaasan in Dwarvish.

"Can you help us?" Rothas the innkeeper asked.

"Yes," said Erzimar. "It's not to be taken lightly, but we've defeated dragons of that size before. Not a green, but we know what we need to do, I think." He glanced at his companions, searching for dissent and finding none. Then he turned back to the aldermen. "Let's discuss a suitable fee for slaying your dragon."

They rested in Pelldith Lake for the rest of the day and all of the next. The company armed and provisioned for an expedition to the dragon's lair, and they hired the tracker Selran to show them the way. They rode out into the hills above the town in the brief cool hour just after sunrise. Selran rode in the lead, dressed in a sweat-stained jerkin of leather sewn with iron rings, a long bow of yew across his back.

The day was still and sweltering. A distant line of thunderheads slowly gathered in the hazy west, but the low thunder rumbled throughout the afternoon without ever drawing closer. They climbed over endless thicket-covered ridges and splashed through boggy dells, shallow and scummy after the summer drought.

An hour before dusk Selran led them to a ruined hunter's lodge by a reedy lake.

"We're still five miles from the dragon's cave," the ranger said. "I don't dare bring the horses any closer, or it might sniff them out and find us in the night."

"We'll fortify this place with our spells, just in case," Erzimar replied. "It wouldn't do to let Serpestrillvyth catch us sleeping."

While the mage worked his magic and laid his wards, Gethred and Murgolm tended to the horses, and Bragor saw to the cooking as best he could without lighting a fire. Isildra and Selran stood guard, watching the darkening sky and the warm, still woods. The ranger stood in the shadows of the trees and watched the Argent Hawks at their tasks, his face set in a stony frown.

"What is it, Selran?" Isildra asked. "What troubles you?"

"It is nothing," he said. Then, after a moment, he sighed and sat down on an old stump that had been cut for the lodge. "It's just that… you're so much like the others."

"The others?" Isildra looked at him blankly for a moment, then she nodded. "Oh. The Fellowship of the Sundered Shield."

Selran nodded expressionlessly and said, "I brought them to the cave by a different path-it would have been foolish to follow the same trail twice. But this seems just like…" He seemed to struggle with himself, searching for the right words perhaps, then he gave in with an odd shrug. "I fear for you all."

The cleric of Helm nodded and said, "We shall be careful, Selran. Extremely careful."

"The Shield Fellows said the same."

Erzimar returned from setting his magical defenses and joined the conversation with a quick smile. "Yes, but you forget-we have an advantage over the Sundered Shields. We know this dragon has killed a company of dragonslayers. Nothing serves to sharpen one's sense of caution as well as an example like theirs."

Isildra set a hand on Selran's arm and said, "Helm rewards vigilance, Selran. Keep your eyes open, and speak up when something troubles you. We will listen. You know this dragon, you know this terrain. Your intuition may be our best weapon."

The ranger sank down on a stump, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the empty woods across the lake.

"I doubt it," he said softly. "It's a damnably clever dragon."

They set a half-on, half-off watch throughout the night, and even those who were not on watch slept with weapons close at hand and mail shirts or breastplates loosely fastened, ready to rise and fight at a moment's notice. But the night passed without danger, though at one point Selran cried out in his sleep and gave them all a bad start.

Afterward, Gethred pulled Erzimar aside, and the two moved a little ways off from the camp. The half-elf kept watch over Erzimar's shoulder, his hand on his sword hilt as he spoke.

"What do you think of the ranger?" he asked softly in Elvish.

"He seems shaky to me" Erzimar admitted. "I don't know that I can blame him, though. Consider the courage it must take to return to the den of a dragon after you've seen it kill a whole band of heroes."

"More courage than to go the first time, I suppose. Still… I don't think we should count on him, if it comes to that."

Erzimar shrugged and replied, "If he bolts, I don't see the harm in it. My plans do not depend on Selran in any way, shape, or form. I would feel badly for the fellow, though. If he does go, I hope he can find it in his heart to forgive himself later."

Gethred snorted.

"I hope I can find it in mine to forgive, him, too,"he said Gethred looked into the wizard's face, and his eyes were dark and serious. "Don't expect him to help much, Erzimar."

Shortly before sunrise, they left the camp on foot and followed Selran over the nearby ridge. The ranger led them along the wooded hillside for several miles before they began to descend toward a boulder-choked riverbed. The stream was dark and slow in the summer heat, trickling through the dusty rocks. Selran finally called another halt in a dense copse another half mile farther on.

"There," he said in a whisper. "This side, two hundred yards."

Erzimar followed the ranger's gaze and saw the cave-a wide, horizontal gash about man-high but close to thirty feet from side to side. It was low, only a few feet above the dry boulders and bleached snags marking the river's high water mark, but it looked like it sloped upward sharply inside.

"I see it," he said. "This is close enough. Before we go any farther, I must see to our magical protections."

The ranger looked up sharply and asked, "You have spells to protect you?"

"Isildra will use her holy prayers to ward against the dragon's breath and strengthen and fortify us. I will armor us all against its teeth and claws and enchant us with spells of dark-seeing. And I'll lay spells of dragonbane on our weapons, too."

"Can you turn us invisible?"

"I can, but it won't help much. Dragons see through most such spells with ease." Erzimar looked up at the tall tracker, and lowered his voice. "Now, are you staying here, or do you wish to accompany us inside? I need to know before I begin my spells."

Selran paled. He licked his lips and fixed his eyes on the cave mouth. He visibly shuddered, and passed his hand over his eyes.

I should not have asked, Erzimar chided himself. I have shamed him.

The wizard could only imagine the mortal terror the ranger wrestled with.

"You need not go, Selran," he added quietly. "I would not mind a sentry outside to guard against the dragon circling behind us undetected."

"No," Selran said. "No, I will go."

Gethred, who was standing near, clapped one mailed hand on the ranger's shoulder before turning away to look after his weapons.

Erzimar and Isildra quickly and quietly began their spells and enchantments, while the rest of the company stood guard against any sudden attack. The priestess murmured her sacred words and sprinkled holy water over each of the Argent Hawks, her holy symbol glowing blue with the Vigilant God's power. Erzimar confidently rasped out the words of spell after spell, dusting his companions with pinches of ground diamond and weaving potent abjurations over them. So protected, a swordsman could withstand all but the most powerful blows, and deal terrible wounds with his enchanted blade. When he finished with the last spell, he picked up his staff and gestured at the dragon's lair.

"Quick, but not careless," said the wizard. "The spells will not last forever."

Gethred nodded and set out in the lead, trotting toward the cave in a low crouch. Bragor and Murgolm followed, weapons bared. Then Erzimar and Isildra broke cover and followed, keeping close to the fighters in front of them. Selran loped quietly a few steps behind, his bow strung and an arrow grasped in one hand. They crossed the desiccated streambed easily, and scrambled up toward the dark cave above. Stones scraped and crunched beneath their boots, and Erzimar winced with each one.

It must know we're coming, he thought. Dragons have uncannily keen senses. It'll know we're here.

His stomach twisted at the thought of the dragon waiting on them, but the wizard steeled himself and stayed close to his companions. Ducking below the overhanging rock at the mouth of the cave, the Hawks stole inside, blinking as they went from the sun-bright streambed to the deep shadows of the cave. Erzimar caught a whiff of the dragon's scent-a harsh, acrid smell like a tanner's vat, painful in the nose and throat.

Gethred paused in front of him and pointed to the cave floor with the tip of his sword. Erzimar glanced down and saw at once the dragon's wallow, a broad path through the loose scoria where its belly had smoothed the rubble as it passed in and out of the cave. It was almost a yard wide. He nodded sharply to the half-elf, and Gethred carefully prowled deeper into the cave, following the twisting tunnel deeper into the hillside.

The passage proved difficult and uneven, climbing up and down sharply, with a V-shaped floor that offered little level footing. A serpentine creature with sharp claws and a flexible body could use the narrow walls and rough rocks for easy footholds, but folk on two feet found it difficult going. Mail jingled and scraped as Erzimar's companions slipped and fumbled their way ahead. Erzimar was especially troubled by the height of the passage-crevice, more accurately-since it angled crookedly thirty feet or more above them. He caught up to Bragor and tapped the dwarf on the shoulder.

"Tell Murgholm to watch above," he whispered. The dwarf nodded and muttered, "I don't like this. Too easy."

He tapped Murgholm on the shoulder and mumbled something in Vaasan. Murgholm craned his neck back and studied the darkness overhead for a long moment before scrambling after Gedreth. Bragor watched his back.

Another fifty feet farther, and they came to a branching passageway that descended sharply to the left. A thin trickle of water spilled out of the wall on the right and crossed the dragon's passage before splashing down into the darkness. Gethred looked back to Erzimar.

"Which way?" he mouthed quietly.

The wizard pointed forward. The downward passage looked a little small to him; a dragon with Serpestrill-vy th's evident ego would not care to squirm its way into its lair. But he resolved to keep a very careful watch behind the party as they continued on, just in case.

They continued a short distance past the intersection, and Bragor halted and went to one knee, reaching his thick fingers to the stone floor.

"Stone's pitted here. Acid burns," he whispered.

Erzimar leaned close to look over Bragor's shoulder.

"The dragon's breath," he murmured.

His eye fell on an oddly shaped dark lump deep in a crevice in the floor. He prodded it with the end of his staff. Rusty red flakes crumbled away, revealing a small white glint of bone: A human hand in a seared mail gauntlet.

"Damn," Bragor muttered. "Right about here, then."

He looked up, hefting his warhammer.

"Little humanss. Your sswords are sharp, your sspells are strong. Have you come to sslay me, then?" a sibilant, oddly high-pitched voice rasped from somewhere overhead.

The Argent Hawks went on guard, blades pointing up, crouching against the stone walls of the passage. Erzimar glimpsed a glimmer of bright green near the top of the crevice, a glint from the dragon's eye.

"We've come to put an end to your depredations here, Serpestrillvyth," Gethred answered. "You can leave now, fly off and never return, and we'll let you go. Otherwise you'll not leave this cave alive."

"You musst help me carry off my hoard, then. I cannot fly it away sso easily."

"Seeing as your hoard consists of things you've stolen from the people you've murdered, you can leave it right here," said Gethred.

He glanced back at Erzimar and cut his eyes toward the crevice overhead. The wizard caught the message-take the opportunity to locate the creature as long as it was willing to talk. They all understood that Serpestrillvyth had no intention of leaving; the dragon thought it was toying with them.

"You creep into my house to murder me and take my gold, and you call me a thief?" Serpestrillvyth sounded aggrieved. "If the humanss in that little town keep sending brigandss and assassinss against me, I will have to redouble my effortss to show them the error of their ways. I have dealt with one ssuch band already."

"You'll find us a more formidable challenge than the Sundered Shields," Isildra called up into the cave.

"Indeed. Do you know you are sstanding exactly where they sstood when I killed them all?"

Serpestrillvyth laughed-a strange sound like sandpaper abrading a plank-then the dragon thrust its head down low into the passage and hissed out a tremendous gout of sickly green vapor.

The Hawks cried out and scrambled for cover, so taken aSack by the quickness of the attack that their magical protections were momentarily forgotten. Only Erzimar did not allow himself to flinch. Instead he gestured and snapped out a magical word, and hurled a bright stabbing fork of lightning up at the spot where the dragon crouched. He saw the creature twist away from the magical blast, but then the dragon's horrid breath sank down over the company.

Acrid fumes stung his eyes, and thousands of tiny pinpricks danced over his skin-but Isildra's holy protections against the dragon's breath held, and Erzimar endured with little more than a stinging in his eyes and throat, while the very rock around him turned black and flaked to the ground like rotten clay.

"You are warded against acid!" he called to his companions. "Stand your ground!"

Gethred swore in Elvish and said, "I can't reach the damned thing!"

He held his greatsword in a high guard, never taking his eyes from the darkness above. Bragor, crouching nearby, set down his warhammer and unslung a big crossbow from his back, quickly cranking back the bow's arms. The dwarf expertly laid a thick quarrel in the weapon.

The dragon hissed in frustration, "Sso. Your magic guardss you from my breath. But I have other weapons, humanss."

Erzimar readied his staff, expecting the dragon to drop down on them, but Serpestrillvyth had something else in mind. The dragon shifted across the top of the crevice with a quick writhing of its body, then whirled away and slammed its powerful tail into the fragile limestone above. Stone split with a loud, terrible crack! that staggered the adventurers in the bottom of the dragon's passage. Then a great cascade of rubble thundered down over them.

Erzimar raised his arms to cover his head, feeling jagged boulders and broken stalactites glance from his magically armored flesh. The smaller pieces simply bounced away from him like so much firewood burned completely to ash, seemingly solid but light as a feather. But then a much larger piece of the wall caught him as he straightened up, a blunt stalactite the size of a butter churn. Despite the armoring magic that protected him, the wizard was driven to the ground and knocked breathless. Bright spots danced in his eyes.

That would have killed me if not for the stoneskin spell, he realized.

He shook his head to clear his vision, and looked up at his companions.

Bragor and Isildra were digging themselves out from under loose rubble, floundering to their feet. Gethred; at the head of the band, had actually been in front of the dragon's cave-in, and had avoided the rocky avalanche. Similarly, Selran in the back was out of the way as well. But Murgholm….

"Help… I… help…" Murgholm murmured.

He lay pinned against the wall by a boulder the size of an ox, gasping out curses in Vaasan. His face was as pale as a sheet, and a dark trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Erzimar's spell guarded him from sharp blows, but the inexorable weight of the boulder simply crushed him.

The wizard took two unsteady steps toward the injured Vaasan before he thought to look for the dragon and see what Serpestrillvyth was doing. He glanced up just as the wyrm descended into the passage above Isildra. With one quick snap of its jaws, it seized the Helmite cleric by the head and shoulder, digging its fangs into her flesh and worrying her from side to side. Isildra screamed-a muffled sound, since her head was inside the dragon's mouth-and struggled, frantically trying to pull herself away.

"Let her go, you fiend!" cried Gethred.

The half-elf leaped in from above and slashed at the dragon with his sword. Black blood spattered from his blade as he sheared away a broad swatch of scales from the side of its neck. Serpestrillvyth hissed in pain and thrashed away. Still clenching Isildra in its teeth, it dug its claws into the soft rock of the passage walls and scrambled back up into its retreat overhead, dragging her out of reach. Gethred leaped up and hacked again, but the dragon was out of reach. Bragor finally found his crossbow again and snapped off a shot at the retreating monster, but the bolt merely punched a small bloodless hole in the membrane of its wing.

Erzimar started to incant a deadly spell of disintegration at the monster, but the dragon had Isildra in its grasp-if he missed by even a finger's width, he might incinerate his own comrade. He cursed and changed his spell to a barrage of fiery orbs, easier to aim and less dangerous to the cleric if he should miss. Five searing bolts scorched the dragon's lashing tail, and it scrambled up out of sight again.

Gethred howled in wrath, "Erzimar! We have to go after her!"

"I know!" Erzimar snapped back.

Isildra still struggled up above. He could hear her cries. The stoneskin enchantment would keep Serpestrillvyth from ripping her to pieces easily, blunting its claws and teeth-but it could still maul her to death slowly. They had to get up there quickly.

He glanced over at Murgholm again. The Vaasan was slumped down over the huge rock, as if he'd decided to simply lay his head down to sleep. Dead or unconscious, it didn't matter. He clearly couldn't help. But just in case he might still be saved, Erzimar quickly barked out the words to a spell that disintegrated the massive rock pinning the swordsman. Murgholm slid nervelessly to the rubble-strewn floor.

I should have thought of that at once! the wizard berated himself.

"Erzimar, quickly!" Gethred shouted.

"Selran, see to Murgholm," Erzimar barked.

The ranger stood unmoving, his face streaked with dust from the cave-in, his eyes wide and blank. The wizard ignored the ranger, fumbled with his belt pouch for a moment, and found a small tube of lacquered wood. He twisted off its top and drew out a scroll.

"One moment," he called to Gethred.

Isildra's screams and the venomous hissing of the dragon still continued overhead, but Erzimar forced the sounds from his consciousness and skillfully and steadily read the spell recorded on the scroll.

"Erzimar!" Gethred cried.

"We can fly!" the wizard shouted. "After the monster, quickly!"

Without waiting for the others, he willed himself into the air, darting up the narrow, twisting crevice to the sound of the fighting above. Gethred followed, a little more awkwardly, as did Bragor, his warhammer in hand. Selran stood unmoving below.

The crevice widened out into the floor of a larger cavern, a broad ledge or gallery with plenty of room for the dragon to spy down on creatures picking their way into its lair along the steep-sided path below. Erzimar whirled, expecting the dragon behind him-but there was Isildra, crumpled awkwardly on the stone floor, her head twisted around over her shoulder in a horrible manner, neck snapped. Yet her screams still echoed through the chamber, and the dragon's hissing rage as well.

A simple illusion.

"Watch out!" Erzimar cried to his companions. "We've been deceived!"

From the shadows of a deep cleft nearby, the dragon's cold, high-pitched voice whispered the words of another arcane spell-a spell of dismissing. Erzimar's magic lingered a heartbeat before unweaving all at once. He yelped, and plummeted back down into the crevice, his flying spell gone. Bragor fell as well, but Gethred was close enough to the edge of the crevice to catch himself on the edge, though his sword went clattering down into the depths.

Erzimar hit the far wall first full upon his back. His skull bounced from the stone, giving him a brief instant of merciful blackness, then he turned over in the air, struck the other wall, half-turned again, and landed badly in the uneven rubble at the bottom of the crevice. His right arm snapped like a twig, pinned between two stones. He screamed.

"Ah, that iss a pleasant ssound," Serpestrillvyth hissed from overhead. The dragon stalked back out into view over Gethred, who clung with both hands to the edge of the crevice. It ran its long forked tongue over its bloody fangs and moved close to the half-elf warrior. "You are not sso bold now, are you, my friend?"

Gethred glanced down to where his sword gleamed in the passage below. Hanging from the edge, he was completely helpless before the dragon.

"I'll show you bold," he spat.

Gethred he let himself drop. The warrior took the first impact well, bending his knees and glancing away from the wall, but his balance was thrown off. He cartwheeled in the air and landed on the uneven floor on his side with a sickening crunch. He grunted once and slid spinning into the awkward V of the crevice bottom, near where Bragor lay motionless.

The sword was a good six feet from his fingertips.

The dragon laughed again, and began to pick its way back down into the lower passage.

"You have courage, warrior. But your rashness hass undone you."

Erzimar pushed himself upright with his good arm. His back hurt horribly-likely broken as well-and he found himself staring at a white sliver of bone that stuck out from the side of his boot near his ankle. His head swam, but he could still cast a spell. He looked toward Gethred, and their eyes met in the darkness of the cavern.

"I can't rise, Erzimar," the half-elf whispered. He tried to grope his way toward the sword blade, but groaned and fell back. "Save yourself if you can, my friend. There is no shame in it."

Erzimar held the half-elfs gaze, and nodded. He could teleport-it only took a word-but he could never reach any of the others with his limbs broken. Numb with shock, he saw no other alternative.

"Selran," he gasped. "Come close if you want to live. I can teleport us away from here, but you must take my hand."

He reached out to the ranger.

Serpestrillvyth coiled down into the passageway. Its bright green scales gleamed in the dim light, and its eyes danced with malice. It cocked its head sideways, looking at the tracker.

"Kill the wizard," it said.

Eyes glazed, the ranger raised his bow, drawing the arrow's red fletching back to his ear. Erzimar stared up at Selran in horror, understanding finally that the ranger was not a coward, was not petrified with fear, but instead was enslaved by the dragon's enchantments, helpless to do anything unless Serpestrillvyth commanded it. Erzimar hesitated for one awful moment before he managed to begin speaking his spell.

"I can't stop it," the ranger sobbed. "Gods help me, I can't!"

His fingers parted, and the bowstring sang.

Erzimar grunted, and looked down at the arrow quivering in his breastbone. A deep hot hurt welled up in the center of his chest, and he reached up to pluck at the arrow, only to find his arm didn't work.

Did Serpestrillvyth dominate him when it took the Sundered Shields? he wondered dully. Or did it enslave him before that even, and use Selran to lead the previous company to their doom?

He tried to speak, to ask the ranger which it was, but soft darkness stole up from the floor and quieted his questions in its empty embrace.

The ranger stood weeping, his bow still clutched in his hand. The dragon hissed softly in pleasure and slowly slithered closer, bringing its great scaled head close to Selran's face.

"Ah, Sselran. Why do you weep? I did this, not you, little archer."

"Kill me," the ranger whispered. "Oh, by all the gods, kill me and have done with it."

"Kill you? When you have proven sso useful to me? No, I think I will renew my enchantmentss. You will sserve me a long time yet."

Serpestrillvyth coiled around the ranger, tracing its claw over Selran's heart.

"Now, go back to Pelldith Lake and tell them how these brave fellowss met such a poor end. Tell them they should ssend for more heroes, more dragonslay-erss, for I will be hungry in a tenday or two."