The dragon stopped flapping her wings and breathing fire as she tilted her head and then leaned forward, inspecting. She squinted her eyes and then they widened as if she recognized something. And that thing infuriated her more than ever. Now the dragon wasted no time bellowing fire at Erik, but he knew what to do. He lifted his golden sword and, even though the force from the attack caused his heels to slide backwards along the ground, the flame split around him, leaving both he and Nafer unscathed. No longer a tingle, the sword vibrated in his hands.
Fight, Erik.
Erik took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and charged. When he was within range, the dragon snapped at him. He had grown stronger and faster since training with Wrothgard, but it was as if he had a newfound strength and skills. When the open mouth reached for him—big enough to swallow him whole—he dove through the space between upper and lower teeth, rolling when landing and then standing, just underneath the dragon. She swiped at him, and he ducked, and then she dropped her body to the ground, trying to crush him, but he rolled away just in time. She reared up on her hind legs and flapped her wings. As they came forward, Erik held his golden sword in both hands and swung. The blade tore through the membrane of the appendage, leaving a gaping space that resembled a torn sail.
The dragon screamed and bit at Erik again. He lunged back, and as her mouth shut with a thunderous sound, just in front of his face, he brought his blade down on her scaled snout. Dark green blood sprayed across his face, and he could feel heat emanating from her nostrils. The darkness within the two holes began to glow orange, and he knew she was about to breathe fire. He rolled away as the fire came, drawing his blade across the underside of her jaw, removing several scales.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Nafer coming to his aide.
“Stay back!” Erik yelled.
The dragon turned her attention to the dwarf, but before she could give Nafer a fiery death, Erik ran to one of her feet, driving his blade deep into her flesh. She roared again, lashing out with her claws, and Erik drew his sword across the sole of her foot. She retracted it quickly, only to turn and swipe her tail at him. Erik did a somersault over the tail and then drove his weapon into its flesh, hilt deep. More green blood oozed that seemed to smoke and hiss when it hit the ground.
Erik thought the dragon was getting frustrated as her attacks seemed much more frantic, and he continued to wound her, although not mortally. Finally, he looked up at her as she stood over him.
“Men are stronger than you think!” he yelled at her.
Fool! You don’t even know what you are doing. You have no idea what it is you wield, or why you are still alive, do you?
With that, she attacked again, snapping at Erik. He dodged her attack again, bringing his blade across one of her spear-like teeth. The fang sliced perfectly, falling to the ground and, as she lifted her head in pain, Erik jammed his sword upward, into the spot between her jaws.
The dragon staggered backwards, spewing fire in every direction before rolling on the ground; he had truly hurt her. Finally, she rolled to her belly, pushed herself up, and flew high into the sky until Erik lost sight of her.
Chapter 47
Erik looked down at his right hand. He held his dagger once again, golden-handled and jeweled. He cocked an eyebrow. The power that he felt from this seemingly small weapon was like nothing he had ever felt before. He already knew it was something special, Ilken Copper Head knew that too, but now it had helped him defeat a dragon—again. But this time, he wounded it. This weapon a gypsy gave him had just helped him win a battle with a dragon. He wondered if it could even kill a dragon; perhaps she knew it could, and that’s why she fled.
Erik knelt, picking up the tooth he had cut from the dragon’s mouth. It was heavy and the length of his forearm. He was glad for gloved hands, for the tooth dripped with a green liquid that was no doubt poisonous. Nafer wrapped it in cloth and then retrieved several scales that he had cut from her body.
“Are you okay?” Erik asked in Dwarvish.
“Yes,” Nafer replied. “How did you do that?”
“I don’t know,” Erik said with a shrug.
Erik felt a large hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Terradyn, one of Andragos’ henchmen he recognized from Finlo, standing before him. His bald head was red—he looked angry—and the blue-inked tattoos on his scalp moved as he scrunched his eyebrows.
“Quick,” he said, “we must go.”
“Where are we going?” Erik asked.
“No time for questions,” Terradyn replied. When Nafer didn’t move, he turned to the dwarf and said, speaking in Dwarvish, “Now. I will not ask again.”
The remnants of the Soldiers of the Eye met Terradyn, Erik, and Nafer as they made their way to the road that led into the main gate of Fen-Stévock.
“Where is Andragos?” Erik asked, not seeing the Messenger among his personal guard.
“No talking,” Terradyn said curtly. Then, as they walked in between two columns of soldiers that marched in perfect unison, he gave Erik a sidelong glance. “And you will refer to the Messenger of the East as my lord.”
A hundred men stood at the gates leading into Golgolithul’s capital city. The portcullis hung at an odd angle, one of the chains broken and the iron lodged in between the gate’s opening. Cracks in a wall that looked otherwise impenetrable and indestructible spider webbed throughout the structure. The soldiers at the gate parted for the Soldiers of the Eye, but Erik couldn’t help seeing the looks of fear and worry on their faces. He had no idea how many of Fen-Stévock’s protectors had lost their lives in the dragon’s attack, but he saw just one fiery breath kill at least a hundred men.
The inside of Fen-Stévock had fared better than the suburb of South Gate, but that wasn’t saying much, since South Gate was completely gone. The attack outside the walls had still caused buildings to tumble and walls to crumble. The dead and dying, both military and civilian, littered the streets, and the stink of feces and urine and blood and death filled the air, a stink Erik had come to know well. The only sound that cut above the screams of the injured was the yelling of constables trying to regain order in the chaos.
As the Soldiers of the Eye marched Erik and Nafer through the city, they cared little for the wounded and dead that crowded the streets, stepping over the injured and stepping on the dead. One soldier swatted at a woman crying over a dead man with the butt of his spear and another simply nudged a weeping child, barely three summers old, to the side with his boot. And as if the dragon attack wasn’t bad enough, the confusion and destruction gave rise to more chaos. Mass looting ensued with not a care who was watching.
The city guards were hard at work trying to stem the disorder, but the Messenger’s personal guard cared not. One city guardsman even asked for help, his face smeared with blood. Erik couldn’t understand what the man said, but he was frantic and breathing hard, and behind him a dozen or more looters were setting fire to overturned carts. Two other city guardsmen lay dead, trampled by the looters. The Messenger’s man simply pushed the guard away and, as Erik looked over his shoulder, the looters converged on him, beating him with bricks and sticks.
As they marched closer to the center of the city, horns and bells rang out, and more of the city’s defense people ran past them. It wouldn’t be long until order had been regained, and Erik hated to think what would happen to those who had joined in the revelry of chaos.
The further they got from the entry to the city, the destruction grew less and less, as did the confusion. Eventually, Fen-Stévock looked like a normal city, its citizens wandering about, engaging in their normal, daily activities and either not caring or having no clue as to what had happened along the city’s southern walls. But everyone stepped aside for the Soldiers of the Eye.
A wide moat surrounded the walls of the Castle of Fen-Stévock. Its keep, called the Black Thorn, rose high into the air, its stone black until it ended in a point. A single pole sat atop that point, and a flag bearing the sy
mbol of the Stévockians—a black, gauntleted fist clenching a black arrow with a red tip and red fletching—fluttered in a mild wind.
They marched over a drawbridge, wide enough to hold several columns of soldiers at once, and Erik looked down at the water that filled the moat, But it didn’t look like water; it was as black as the stone that created the castle walls. It moved in a fluid manner, like water, but it was slower, almost methodical. Little eddies formed here and there, and Erik caught the scent of something that smelled like burning hair. Even though he thought not a living thing could survive in such a seemingly inhospitable place, he saw movement in the water-like substance, as if something had poked a nostril through the surface only to descend quickly. He felt his hip tingle.
Do not talk to me in there. Do not acknowledge me. Mind both your mind and your tongue.
Should I not enter?
It seems you have little choice. Guard yourself. Nothing is as what it seems in this place.
More buildings stood on the other side of the wall and portcullis, but the keep dominated the center of the courtyard. It looked even taller on this side of the walls and stairs surrounded it, leading up to a great stone dais. That then led to a columned, open-aired walkway and eventually to the keep’s door. At the foot of the stairs, two score of men stood, the symbol of an open hand centered by a lidless eye emblazoned on their leather breastplates. Their steel helmets and the long, steel blades of their spears glimmered in the sun that managed to escape through clouds of foundry smoke that billowed up from the eastern parts of the city.
Erik looked to the top of the great stone dais. The Messenger stood there, but how? Andragos had been in front of the city walls at the same time as him. But then Erik remembered he was a mage, not just any mage, but an immensely powerful one, capable of keeping a dragon at bay, even if only for a short while. But events had taken their toll, and the Messenger looked ragged, his hair tangled and messy, dark circles around his eyes, and his cheeks sunken and pale.
The soldiers escorting Erik and Nafer stopped and snapped to attention, the soldiers in front of the dais responding in the same way. The Messenger’s henchmen met him as he descended the stairs, speaking quietly. Finally, they looked to Erik, pointing, and Andragos made for the man, slowly.
“Erik,” the Messenger said with a forced smile, his voice sounding weak and shaky, “I had thought I might see you again.”
“Really?” Erik asked, surprised.
“Yes,” the Messenger said. He stopped for a moment, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Opening them, he continued. “Do you not remember me saying so in Finlo?”
“Yes, I suppose I do,” Erik said.
“And you have gone from a simple porter to a warrior,” the Messenger said.
“I don’t know about a warrior,” Erik replied, the slightest hint of a smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“And you have suffered much loss,” Andragos added.
“My brother,” Erik replied after a moment, any hint of a smile gone.
“Many give their lives in service,” the Messenger said. “It is a hard sacrifice, if not a worthy—and necessary—one. You saw that firsthand. The destruction of a dragon.”
“You …” Erik began to say, wanting to ask what this was all truly about, wanting to ask how the Messenger knew what the scroll would do, and how he staved off a dragon, but Andragos put up a hand and stopped him.
“Perhaps another time, Erik,” the Messenger said.
Again, Erik was struck by how Andragos didn’t look how Erik had pictured him. In Finlo, he had imagined the worst, a cruel if not evil visage that could cower a man with one look, but instead … Here was a decidedly mortal-looking man, ragged and tired, but beyond that, Erik could see what the man looked like, could look like. He had expected an older man, or a thinner man, or even not a man at all, but Andragos was a man of middle years. He could have been his father’s age, perhaps even younger. His hair, despite its current appearance, looked like it was normally well kept, and his sunken cheeks betrayed what Erik could tell was a strong face and frame, with dark eyebrows set around deep blue eyes. Even in its paleness, his skin looked perfect and soft.
Except for … Erik saw the smallest hint of a scar. It was on the Messenger’s jaw, just where it met his neck. Erik couldn’t quite see it, among the folds of the cowl and cloak, but nonetheless, there was a scar there, red and glaring. As if the Messenger knew what Erik was looking at, he shifted so that the scar could no longer be seen.
“I must get you to your quarters,” Andragos said.
“We have others …” Erik began to say.
“Yes, I know,” Andragos replied. “I have sent my men to retrieve them. They will be here tomorrow.”
“Does the Lord of the East know we are here?” Erik asked.
“Undoubtedly,” Andragos replied, “but, nonetheless, he’ll want a formal introduction.”
“Does he know?” Erik asked, pointing to the scroll case stuck in his belt.
“Also, undoubtedly, yes,” Andragos said.
“What will happen?” Erik asked.
“Truthfully, Erik, I do not know,” Andragos replied. “The Lord of the East is a hard man, unyielding and unforgiving. However, you saved our city from a dragon. I am sure that will mean something.”
The worry on Erik’s face must have been evident, as the Messenger smiled at him.
“Do not worry right now,” he said. “Let me get you and Nafer Round Shield to your quarters so you might rest. The eastern gods know I need a good rest as well.”
Erik looked over his shoulder, saw the surprised look on Nafer’s face, wondered how the Messenger knew the dwarf’s name, and then remembered, he was the Black Mage.
Chapter 48
The Messenger led Erik and Nafer to a row of houses situated on the other side of the keep. The courtyard they crossed, all contained within black walls, reminded Erik of Thorakest—vast and wide and a city unto itself. Workers from many different professions busied themselves with their daily tasks, metal workers, carpenters, farmers, or soldiers. Even with the powers he wielded, the Lord of the East’s keep would be completely self-sustaining should the unlikely happen, and an army breached Fen-Stévock’s walls and took the city proper. It seemed no one had ever planned for a dragon attack.
“You will stay here for the night,” Andragos said, turning to Erik and Nafer.
They stood in front of a large, two-storied house with double doors as an entrance and two soldiers standing guard. Tall columns held up a wooden awning that extended just below the shuttered windows of the second floor and it looked like some place a visiting noble or aristocrat might stay.
“Is this a house for lords?” Nafer asked Erik, speaking in his native tongue.
“Yes, Master Dwarf, it is,” Andragos replied in the same language with a wry smile. “At least, those who are visiting Fen-Stévock for any number of reasons.”
Thick carpets and tapestries hanging from every open space on the wall decorated the inside of the home. Two baldheaded men wearing soft-looking robes quickly approached and bowed when Andragos led Erik and Nafer into the room.
“These are my lord’s eunuchs,” the Messenger said. “They will attend to your needs. They will show you your rooms and show you to the dining area when it is time. They will also make sure your things are cared for.”
Both men bowed low again.
“I will be back in the morning to take you before the Lord of the East,” the Messenger said.
“Will you be leading us to a warm welcome,” Erik asked, “or to our execution?”
Andragos gave a forced smile.
“Most likely neither,” the Messenger replied.
“Our friends out there,” Nafer said, pointing to one of the walls, “Is it better they stay away?”
“Probably, but that is not possible. They will be safe, of that, I can assure you.”
Andragos turned to Erik.
“Now, I also have matter
s of the state to attend to,” he said with a smile. “Helping an emperor run an empire is a never-ending job. Raktas and Terradyn will stay with you. There is no safer place in the entire world, than inside these walls, but just in case, they will add to your safety. I will take that.”
Andragos pointed to the encased scroll sticking out of Erik’s belt. He looked down and pulled it, but then he hesitated. He had seen what it could do and now wondered what that could mean in the hands of a wizard. Then he looked at Andragos and gave it to him.
The Messenger turned to leave, but then stopped and turned back around.
“One last thing, before I go,” Andragos said. “Do not go wandering tonight. The gates to the keep close, and there is nothing for you in the courtyard. Stay inside.”
The look on Andragos’ face was so stern and serious Erik took a step back.
“See you in the morning,” Andragos said with a quick nod.
****
Erik sat at the edge of his bed. It was a giant of a thing, large enough to fit his whole family, and he had it all to himself. There were so many rooms just in this house: Kitchens, offices, libraries, storerooms, and bedrooms.
He found nothing about dinner appetizing and was still hungry. He didn’t even touch dessert. He didn’t drink any wine or ale, and the water tasted sour.
A tapestry bearing the crest of the Stévockians hung from the wall in Erik’s bedroom—there was one in every room, a reminder of who owned this place to whoever slept here that they owed allegiance.
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