Sword Play

Chapter 11

The barbarian turned and squinted up to where something fluttered in the round, gray rim of outlined sky.

"Oh, it's you."

The raven cocked its feet, folded its wings, plunked to a landing, and clacked its black beak. "Stinks. Where are you bound?"

"Why should I tell you?" Sunbright's emotions were churning inside him, and anger boiled up. "Who failed to tell me when bandits were about to attack my party and ended up killing three of us?"

The bird tipped its head to present first one, then the other beady eye. "I can't know everything."

"You flew right over the road! You could have warned me!"

"I told you where to find that four-prong buck in the birches, did I not?"

The barbarian piffed. "A hunting dog could have done that! I expect a magic raven to reveal more than the weather!"

Ignoring the criticism, the bird pointed its beak toward the back of the cave. "Why?"

Sunbright sighed, anger winking out, despair returning. He related the story of the One King holding Greenwillow.

Oddly, the raven commented on what was, to Sunbright, an inconsequential thing. "A book? You're to retrieve a book? With a ruby set in the cover?"

"So what? All the treasure of the world might be in there, for all the good it will do me. What color are rubies, anyway?"

The bird muttered something that sounded to the barbarian like "damsys" then croaked, "Red. What do you know of this dragon, Wrathburn?"

"It's a big red dragon packed to the eyeballs with dung." And armor and bones, he added mentally. The young man cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, but heard only a tick in the snoring. At least the stink was lessening, or else he was adjusting to it. He'd probably smell like death and dragon till the day he died.

"Wrathburn…" The raven hopped, nailed a cockroach from the stone floor, and gulped it down with his head back. "Very strong, devilishly wicked, inordinately vain, as I recall. And not too bright."

"Bright? You mean its scales?"

"No, its intellect!" groused the raven. "You're an apt match for it."

"What?" Sunbright warily watched the darkness for hints of advancing dragon. With his luck, he'd get stomped on without ever being seen. "That doesn't sound very helpful. How about a soft spot, you know, a white scale where a knitting needle would penetrate? Near his tail, perhaps?"

The raven shook his beak. "Sorry, no. But Wrathburn does have a reputation for being vain. In a man, that's usually the most damning quality. More men have lost kingdoms to vanity than to any other vice. Remember the lesson you learned on the road from Dalekeva."

In a burst of feathers, the raven hopped into the air and plunged away, out the yawning cave mouth into the drizzle.

"Hey, wait! What lesson…?"

Sunbright clamped a hand over his mouth. Here he was shouting like an idiot in the marketplace while, within spitting distance, a dragon slept.

Or…

Silent, hardly breathing, he listened.

The snoring had stopped.

Desperately, Sunbright tried to think. The road from Dalekeva? Walking to Tinnainen? It had been a long road with many minor adventures. The only true danger he'd faced was when he and Greenwillow had bumped into patrols of orcs. Of course, he'd wanted to skulk through unseen, but she'd insisted the quick and sensible way was just to clutch their pass and march down the middle of the road…

A while later, Sunbright came swinging down a slope, sword at his shoulder, whistling jauntily. The floor of the cave was smooth from a dragon dragging its iron-hard belly scutes along the floor. The barbarian was guided by the flickering flame that welled from the nostrils of the dragon as it slept-or pretended to-and by the reflected light from the monstrous pile of gold, silver, gemstones, and other precious artifacts that made up the dragon's bed. Sunbright couldn't guess the treasure's value, but the hoard rose above his head in some places. The cave sprawled in many directions, the distances lost, but the treasure pile had been scooped out in the middle to make a resting place for the dragon, like a kitten in a pile of mittens.

The dragon was immense. Its head was longer than a rowboat, frilled with horns like stalactites, its neck like a stone bridge, its back like a low hill. Details were indistinct, but its scales seemed as big as a man's hand, overlaid so tightly they bristled outward. The beast's pointed ears drooped at the tips, and its nostrils were flame-blackened around the edges. Sunbright stopped and planted himself right in front of those nostrils and tried not to think about how hot they were.

His whistling trailed off, like birdsong fading into the forest. He bit down on his quivering stomach and willed his legs to stay steady. His bravado had almost failed him as he entered this vast cavern, for he'd passed the rotted remains of a dozen corpses of all sizes, including endless fragments wedged in cracks to rot to nothingness. But at least he'd gotten this far, which was farther than those unfortunates. And he had a ghost of a plan, which was something.

Still, those nostrils were as big as caldrons, and the flame that winked within hotter than any forge. He could feel the heat a dozen feet back. He hated to see the flames well out of that awesome nose, but on the other hand, when the dragon breathed in, the cave became pitch-black, which was even more disconcerting.

Then the slanted yellow eyes opened, and Sunbright knew what it was to be a mouse being stared down by a cat. The dragon's black pupils were bigger than his head.

Yet he held his ground and boldly called "Good day," his voice a bit shrill.

Without lifting its head, the dragon opened jaws that could swallow a man whole. "You pick a painful but noteworthy suicide, fleshy morsel." The rumble of Wrathburn's voice, like a stone boat over a wooden bridge, made Sunbright's breastbone tingle.

"I've been sent by the One King to slay you!" he announced in what he hoped were cheerful tones.

The dragon moved like a glacier, rearing upward to tower over Sunbright and better aim his nostrils. The barbarian heard plinks and clatters as jewels and coins cascaded from the beast's scaly hide in a precious rain. The dragon inhaled deeply, like a blast furnace being stoked.

"But after seeing you, I cannot even imagine harming such a beautiful creature!"

Wrathburn gulped as he swallowed fire. "Beautiful?"

"Truly!" Sunbright assured him. "Unparalleled beauty and unspeakable magnificence! Never have I beheld such a wonder, and never could I lay a hand on such a fearsome, awe-inspiring being! You are truly the most marvelous creature in all of Toril! Why, you take my breath away!"

Confused, the dragon mulled over the compliments. He wasn't used to flattery. Screaming, begging, crying, whining, yes, but not compliments.

Still alive, neither flinders nor cinders, the barbarian dropped his sword dramatically and slathered on the praise with a trowel. "As long as I live I shall sing the praises of this most magnificent sight, the glory and grandeur of the king of all skies, the noblest creature in creation, who looks down upon the world with his fearsome gaze, knowing every being to be his inferior!"

Summoning every scrap of story and song he'd ever heard, the young man waxed eloquent for what seemed like hours, until his voice began to creak and his tongue grew numb and stumbled. And repeated itself, at which point Wrathburn grew restless and began to swish his tail back and forth amid the gems and gold. He wanted new praise, an endless stream of it. But Sunbright knew eventually he'd run out of words and then be dinner. So, drawing a mental breath, the barbarian took a leap into unknown territory.

"But oh, the perfidy of the One King!" Sunbright threw his arm across his eyes in mock horror. "To think, to think!"

"Think?" rumbled Wrathburn. He twitched his tail harder, flattening a suit of silver armor. He didn't want to hear about some king, but about himself. "You mentioned this king before. What about him?"

"To think he would send me to slay you!" wailed Sunbright. "How could one man be so heartless as to think of assaulting something so proud, so famous! Why, better to command that I put out the sun than cause the world to lose the glory of Wrathburn the Magnificent! I would become the most hated man in existence! And yet…"

"Yet what?" Flames flickered all around the dragon's snout, throwing black shadows across the crags of his face.

"Why, the One King must be jealous! That's it! He's sat too long on his throne, accumulated too much power, and has come to think he's the equal of Wrathburn. Consumed as this petty man is with jealousy, he's sent me, the most insignificant of warriors, to slay the light of the world! How cruel, how callous, how blind of this lowly beast-man, to challenge the might, the divine right of rule inherent in the noble breast of All-High Wrathburn…" The barbarian trailed off, panting. He would have killed for a slug of ale; his tongue was practically hanging out.

Fortunately, Wrathburn took his cue. Pointing a long, whiskery snout at the distant cave mouth, he asked, "Where lives this One King?"

Sunbright pounced. "I can point the way!"

"Then do." Picking up a foot as large as the One King's throne, the dragon crushed coins and made the cavern shake, jarring Sunbright's bones.

Scurrying out of the way, the young man took one last gasp and called, "There is one more little thing, if it please your greatness?"

The head swiveled to aim nostrils like matched volcanoes at the human. "Yes?"

"A book."

Eyes closed, Sunbright gasped for breath and hung on with all his might. He didn't look down.

Hurricane winds tore at his face, yanked his topknot, whistled in his ears, and pressed his tackle so hard against his body it dented his skin. By the time they landed, he'd be blind, deaf, and bald. If his arms didn't fall off first. As long as he lived-which at this point he figured might be a little past sunset-he'd never even climb to the second story of a building.

For he was miles in the air, soaring faster than the wind. He perched standing on Wrathburn's neck, which was as slippery as sleet-slick flagstones. Both arms were wrapped tight around one of the horns rimming the dragon's frill. After careful consideration, he'd chosen this one for the craggy folds in the scaly skin at the base of the horn. These handholds, such as they were, had seemed adequate at the time. Now his fingernails ripped from his flesh as he tried to hang on, he pressed his face into the crook of his elbow to breathe, and he tensed his legs to the breaking point to remain in one spot. If he slid an inch, he thought, even a half-inch, he'd be flung into space like straw from a barn swallow's beak. And the last-and only-time he'd dared to look, the mountains below looked like gray smudges in a tablecloth.

Sunbright hadn't meant to be here. He'd hoped to "point the way" to Tinnainen, then run like hell over hill and dale to get back to what remained of the city. Trotting and walking without stopping to sleep, resting only occasionally, he had reckoned it would take a long day. But the dragon had a different idea about what "pointing the way" meant.

Wrathburn had been gracious enough to allow this poor mortal to ride his neck into battle. Never before, in the eons of his existence, had the dragon allowed such a thing. Usually, he explained, he dealt with average men by biting them in half. Troublesome types, knights and paladins and such, he often swallowed whole, armor and all, that they might awake in his churning stomach and so die slowly, proving their folly. Sunbright had smiled tightly and marveled aloud at the dragon's creativity, brilliance, and droll sense of humor, as befit a godlike being. Then, as commanded, he'd hastily grabbed a handhold, felt a rippling run like an earthquake, and watched the earth-and his lunch-recede until the mountain was a mere pinhead below him.

And the blasted dragon didn't even fly well! He didn't swoop like a hawk or glide like an albatross or soar like an eagle. He pumped his short red wings up and down like a drunk in a saw pit, like a demented duck, like a lopsided windmill. Dragons weren't meant to fly at all, the human judged. They were an anomaly in the air, just as bats were winged mice who flailed the air just to stay aloft. And all this flying must be giving the beast a tremendous appetite.

But he might never know. Chilled to the marrow and fatigued beyond endurance, Sunbright felt his numb fingers slipping. He'd reach earth before the dragon ever did. It might be worth it to get out of this damnable roaring wind.

Then the air was warmer, rushing upward. Sunbright erred by opening his eyes and saw a square lump like a child's sand castle. Then the dragon struck the earth with a gut-wrenching wallop that shook both of them. The barbarian unclawed his hands and crashed onto the rocks with his shoulder. For a moment, he hurt so much all over he didn't care if the dragon trod on him. Then he realized the great ruby-studded book was wedged against his back, grinding his kidneys, and he recalled his mission.

He'd done it. Maybe he'd be a legend after all.

Staring upward while willing life and warmth into his frozen muscles, he saw the sky suddenly occluded by a whiskered, horned head. The dragon peered down into his face, so close Sunbright breathed sulfur but dared not cough.

"Uh, thank you for the thrilling ride, O wise and beautiful Wrathburn!

"How looks this One King?" The earth shivered under Sunbright. "Humans appear much alike to me."

"He is tall and yellow-faced and wears a long robe and that wondrous crown I spoke of." Wrathburn had listened intently when Sunbright talked of the platinum and gem-studded masterpiece. "He is usually to be found in the biggest room in the largest building in the city." The barbarian levered himself to one elbow, inadvertently banging Wrathburn's snout with the other. "You can see the roof of the building above that wall!"

Yellow eyes pinned Sunbright like a butterfly. "You do me great service to warn me of this viper so close to my bosom. You will wait here to accompany me back to my cave for your reward. Look forward, lucky human, to a long and illustrious career as song-singer for Wrathburn the All-High!"

Sunbright's face split into a grin like that of a dried skull. "Joy!"

Then the dragon tromped off, tail dragging a furrow, like a ship come aground in a hurricane.

Rolling upright, Sunbright wiped his face with both hands and took what seemed his first breath of the day. He watched as the dragon thundered toward Tinnainen. The beast had landed on a flat stretch of lichen-covered rocks and tufted grass not far from the road. Sheep and goat pens lined the road on both sides, and the animals sent up a pitiful bleating at the sight and smell of the giant predator. From the small town surrounding the city, terrified homeowners either fled down the road, into the hills, or toward the gates of the city, shoving orcish and human guards aside to gain sanctuary. The frightened guards tottered like puppets, some fleeing, some fainting, some dropping to their knees to pray. And all along the gray city walls, Sunbright saw heads pop up to see the dragon, then disappear, only to pop up again. The smart folks, he decided, were seeking the deepest cellars to burrow into.

Whistling as he watched-the dragon's back was as high as the walls-Sunbright hoped the beast would merely take his quarrel to the One King and leave the city unharmed. He hated to think he might be responsible for the deaths of dozens if-

That hope evaporated along with a score of sheep and goats. As Wrathburn passed the pens, he snuffled and blew a firestorm of flame that slaughtered the livestock. Charred, smoking lumps were all that remained, except for an occasional bleating goat, its skin scorched half away. Even the battered corral stakes burned. The barbarian didn't know if Wrathburn was simply being destructive in a mean-spirited way, or if he cooked the animals to eat later. Either way, it seemed Tinnainen was going to pay for harboring the One King, occupied willingly or not. A wail of terror from the folk along the city wall echoed the thought.

But Sunbright had his own worries, his own tasks. Drawing Harvester, he trotted wide behind the dragon to keep out of the beast's line of vision. He had women to rescue, and scores to settle.

There were only three guards at the gates now, two orcs and a human. Trembling, they lifted their pikes as the dragon approached and called, "Halt in the name of the One-"

Wrathburn wheezed, and flames shot from his nostrils. The stone gateposts blackened, the wooden doors ignited, even the granite threshold blistered. The guards shriveled to charred twists dotted with molten metal. Screams sounded inside the gates as people's clothing and the thatch on houses ignited. Terror had come to Tinnainen.

Wrathburn ducked to peer through the gates, his head as high as the stone lintel painted with a red splayed hand. Inserting his snout, the beast lifted. With a groan of grinding stone, the lintel pulled loose of the supporting gateposts. The small flanking towers crumpled like sugar cones. Blocks as big as bushel baskets bounced off the dragon's scaly head, but except for blinking, Wrathburn didn't seem to notice. Growling, the dragon jerked his nose clear, and the whole gate structure collapsed onto the smoldering mess that remained of the One King's guards. More screams sounded within, but they were fading as the people fled out the city's smaller gates.

Sunbright had to get into the city, and his chance came as Wrathburn slowly turned and paced along the city wall. The dragon arched a neck armored with red scales and peered over the barrier, sending more blocks cascading into the muddled streets. At one point he huffed and puffed a jet of flame that billowed high. Obviously someone had offered resistance, or perhaps simply a tempting target.

Sunbright skipped nimbly over the rubble and wreckage of the main gates. At one point his hobnails skidded down a blood-slick surface. The stumble saved his life, for just before him crashed a huge stone block that could have snuffed him like a candle. With a hasty glance upward, he dashed through the crumbling walls into the city proper.

Chaos, not the One King, reigned. Townsfolk were largely gone, having fled to leave the fighting to the soldiers, but here and there ran fat traders who'd rescued their strongboxes and fathers who dragged children. A scorched dog ran between Sunbright's feet, howling. A dozen thatched roofs burned, flinging flaming tendrils of straw and reeds into the sky and swirling into the street. Blocks from the city wall had smashed in roofs, crushed a well, sent market stalls tumbling like dominoes. Like rats spilled from an upset grain sack, looters yanked stalls apart to grab unguarded goods. One thief slashed a knife at a merchant shielding his wife, demanding the man's purse. Loping past, Sunbright kissed the thief across the back of one knee with Harvester's keen blade. Hamstrung, the would-be robber collapsed. "Run for the hills!" yelled the barbarian over his shoulder as he sped on.

The king's palace was a madhouse. Three stories tall and flat-roofed, it was one story higher than the city wall, and this third story was reinforced along that side with ramparts and stations for ballistae and catapults. An orcish general waved his arms and shouted frantically for soldiers to arm a ballista, a giant crossbow. The oncoming Wrathburn watched the activity with bored detachment, as a boy might study ants. At a shout, the ballista's restrainer was cut. A tremendous pung-clack resounded, and an arrow nine feet long slashed the air, glanced off Wrathburn's shoulder, and plunged half its length into stony soil.

Hissing, the dragon reared upright like a bear, planted giant talons on the ramparts of the third story, scattering the defenders like teacups, and blasted hellfire in one sweep across the roof.

Sunbright watched all this while peering around the corner of a house that was still standing, for he didn't want Wrathburn to glimpse him. There wasn't even a scream or whimper from the palace roof. If that had been the king's main defense, the battle was over. People and soldiers raced and shoved their way out of the wide doors of the palace, and Sunbright had to wait until the flood stemmed. Sword cocked over his shoulder, the barbarian slipped inside.

Compared to the chaotic streets, the interior of the castle was quiet, most of the defenders on the roof dead. Someone must have left a trapdoor open, for the stink of scorched death wafted down the stairs as Sunbright ran up.

The second floor held the main hall and throne room. As always, the One King occupied the throne. Sunbright wondered if it would be burned from under him. The king calmly addressed a tiny knot of sweating courtiers and orc commanders. Behind the throne, Sunbright glimpsed the rainbow shimmer of a familiar gown.

On his left hand, Sunbright heard a rustling of papers from a clerks' alcove, where Angriman gathered paper and parchment to his bosom as if they'd form a shield against an angry dragon. Sunbright padded into the room as silent as a leopard, yet the minister whirled. Gray-faced and pouchy, he demanded, "What have you done? What have you done?"

"Brought you something," said the barbarian evenly. Reaching behind his back, he snapped the rawhide whangs that tied a bundle to his scabbard. Onto the table he tossed a thick book crammed with lumpy vellum pages. It landed with a thump. The ancient, cracked cover sported a ruby as big and evil as a dragon's eye. He added, "Though it's more of a trade, really. Wrathburn wants the king's crown-with his head mounted inside."

The angry man shook all over, spilling papers. "You weren't to bring the dragon here!"

"The king commanded I enter the dragon's lair and retrieve the book. So I have. So I shall take Greenwillow and go." And Ruellana, he added mentally. "Now stand aside or die."

"You'll destroy the dream! You'll leave the world to wallow in chaos and disharmony!"

This was blather taken from the king's speech, and could go on for days. Unwilling to kill an unarmed man, Sunbright edged the minister aside with his sword and strode toward the throne. Courtiers and soldiers parted, some hurrying to the door. Ruellana was not in sight, but Greenwillow rose from her bench, golden shackles still chained to it, and smiled when she saw him. The barbarian nodded formally, both a greeting and a command to wait.

The One King also rose and, for the first time, departed his throne to step onto the flagstones and block the barbarian's path. He was taller than Sunbright had reckoned, especially with his heavy, gaudy crown with backswept wings of silver.

The barbarian held his sword by the pommel and blade. "I fetched your book; now free Greenwillow." And be quick, he thought. Grinding, tearing, stone-rending noises were increasing by the second. The dragon was ripping through the castle as if it were a stale cake, and this was his destination.

Calm as a pillar of ice, the monarch proclaimed, "None may command the One King. Your offense must be punished."

"A real king honors his bargains," spat Sunbright. "Defend yourself!"

The king stood still, hands by his side.

Sunbright didn't know what to think. He hated to kill an unarmed man, but the king had access to any number of weapons in the hands of the nearby courtiers who watched the contest of wills. And Sunbright had given more than fair warning, been overly generous with this oath-breaking snake.

Rearing back, slinging his sword behind him, Sunbright sucked wind, gave a mighty battle cry, and slashed Harvester in a great, glittering arc at the king's neck.

The sharp sword with the arched and hooked tip slammed to a halt against the king's cheek and bounced off, as if Sunbright had hacked at an iron-wood tree.

Hurled off balance by the force of his blow, the barbarian staggered, shuffled his feet, and brought Harvester up in automatic defense. Aghast, Sunbright prayed. What in the name of Mystryl's mysteries…?

The One King had barely moved. No blood appeared at the long cut on his cheek. Instead, dark gray smoke flowed outward.

Courtiers gasped. Soldiers dropped swords.

In the dragged-out silence, with only the rending and booming of falling stone in the background, there came a slow, soft chuckle, as dry as last year's dead leaves.

For the first time, the One King exhibited emotion.

He was laughing. But not properly, head back and shaking, but with the same deadly calm as always. The mouth was like a black slit from which issued the slithering chuckles.

Then, more horror. The king reached strong, corded hands to his face, and dug thick fingernails into his eyebrows below the shining crown. Smoke swirled faster from the wound that was not a wound. People groaned involuntarily as the monarch tugged, then tore the skin from his own face.

Shreds of false skin hung limp from his hands like taffy. But no one noticed, for they stared, pop-eyed, at the smoke-wreathed face.

It was dark gray, shriveled like an old leaf, with wrinkled pits for eyes and mouth, and only slits for a nose… and a parchment-wrapped skull.

"Lich!" grunted an orc.

"Lord of the undead!" rasped another.

Fiend, monster, Sunbright's mind reeled off the names. And master trickster and schemer, plying the patience of the dead to work its evil ways amid living men.

Gripped by terror, Sunbright backed involuntarily, his feet clumsy and heavy. Harvester's tip dragged on black marble to strike sparks. There seemed to be only one thought in his mind, and that was to run, hard and fast.

Then all present turned as the rear wall of the castle broke and crumbled. Great blocks of stone crashed down into the hall or fell to clatter outside. Weak sunlight illuminated the room.

Then it was blocked completely by a scaly face and glaring yellow eyes. Smoke spilled from Wrathburn's nostrils as he rumbled, "King! I want you!"