by Tad Williams
“I do, which is why I gave you the most important role of all. Prince Cormach will entice the great worm out of his swamp, but it is you who must convince him to chase you to the spear.”
“I will not fail,” said Ineluki firmly. He spoke the truth, as it proved, but in the end it was not enough.
Hakatri nodded. “Then we all know our parts.”
“Except me, my lord,” I said. “You have given me nothing to do.”
“You will be my second, Armiger Pamon. You will stand with me. If something happens to me, you will act in my stead to make certain Cormach’s men do what they must.”
It sounded as if he was trying to protect me, to keep me from harm as he might protect a child, but a moment’s reflection suggested that if Hakatri truly did not want me in danger, there were many places more wholesome he could have chosen than standing beside him as an angry dragon rushed down on us. My pride was soothed, but at the same time the sheer magnitude of what we would do the next day swept over me like a thunderous ocean wave, making me gasp a little and shiver, although I think none of the others noticed.
In the middle-night, as the Hernsland mortals slept, something huge crawled past our camp in the darkness. The sentries sent one of their number to let us know, but we had heard it already. Hakatri ordered the guards to move back into the camp, then he, Ineluki, and Prince Cormach waited together, listening for any sign that the creature might approach us. I was at my master’s side, of course, and again I heard that ghastly rattling as the great worm’s armored body scraped against trees and over stones, and the snapping, loud as war-drums, as smaller trunks broke under its great weight. As we crouched, listening, I could not help thinking of the horror of the first encounter, of Yohe and Lilumo and the others who had been killed by that dreadful beast. I trembled in all my limbs, but even terror would not force me from Hakatri’s side.
In the dim starlight I watched him for signs of the same fear, but my master’s people do not easily show their inner thoughts, and I could see nothing but calm attention in his face as he listened. That helped me a little, but what aided me the most was how the sounds gradually diminished in the distance. We did not hear the great beast again that night, so it must have returned to its hiding-place by another way. Either the sheer number of men on the meadow had led it to pass us by, or it already had its stomach set on some easier prey, but the cold-drake never came close enough to threaten us. Still, I could not forget that even if we survived the night, the next day would bring us face-to-face with the creature. When the dawn finally came, I felt almost as exhausted as if we had fought it.
* * *
• • •
“Now, while the sun is bright,” my master announced that morning, “we must make everything ready. Into the valley!”
Ineluki rode ahead with Prince Cormach to search out the best path from the dragon’s lair to the waiting spear. As the two of them rode off, talking quietly, I realized I had never before seen my master’s brother speak to a mortal as though to an equal. It was an arresting sight, and I confess to a pang of envy or something like it, because Ineluki had never treated me as anything but a servant.
The plan was simple enough: our pond and the witchwood spear were on the western side of a rise at one edge of the swampy vale. Prince Cormach was to ride farther into the valley, then draw the worm’s attention and induce it to follow him. He would then ride up the slope of the rising ground, leading it toward the place at the top where Ineluki waited. It was then up to Ineluki to become the quarry in place of the mortal prince, and to lead the terrible creature down the slope to the place where Hakatri and the Hernsmen waited at the pond. At the last moment, before the great worm could turn away, the mortals would heave the sharpened end of the stone-braced spear up out of the water so that the dragon’s own weight and headlong rush would bring it onto the hardened point.
Prince Cormach’s men made their way down to the edge of the pond and took the harness ropes in hand. Returned from his scouting expedition, Cormach rode up on Seafoam. Hakatri had decided that the surefooted mare would be a better choice for him than Cormach’s own horse.
“Remember, this mare needs only the lightest touch to guide her this way or that,” my master told the prince. “She knows your thoughts almost before you do.” He then passed Xaniko’s jar up to the prince, who began to remove the wax seal, but Hakatri quickly raised his hand.
“Do not open it yet, I pray you—not until you are much closer to the worm’s lair. We do not want to bring it down on us until all is ready. Also, you have not sampled its astonishing scent yet, but I have . . . and I am still trying to forget it. Trust me, good Cormach, and wear this over your nose and mouth or you will be choking from the moment you unstop that jar.” He handed the prince a scarf of fine weave. When Cormach had tied the cloth across his face below his eyes, he took the jar and a little hand-broom made of twigs and set off up the slope of the dell cradling the pond. The prince carried no weapon except his sheathed sword, since he would need both hands to carry out his task.
Ineluki appeared then, balancing a long war-spear on his shoulder. He had donned his witchwood armor, as had my master, and I thought I could see their great forebears in them, heroic wormsbanes like the Garden’s Hamakho and Aisoga of Hikehikayo. But many of those noble Zida’ya came to ignoble ends, I realized with a foreboding I did my best to ignore.
Ineluki looked over the swampy hollow one last time, making certain of the landmarks, measuring out the path he would take to lead the great beast down on us. “Whatever happens next, brother,” he called, “this will be a deed that will be sung long after we are gone.”
“Let us hope that we live to enjoy at least a few of the songs,” Hakatri called back. “Ride swiftly, Inka-sho. I beg you, do nothing foolish.”
Ineluki laughed, though I thought it had a wild edge. “Foolish? Me?”
“I know our parents will never forgive me if harm comes to you,” my master said. “Your bravery is well known. Take no risks.”
“That is a strange thing to say to someone going to seek out a Great Worm and beg it to chase him—but I hear you, brother.”
“Then you and the prince, fare you both well.”
Ineluki lowered the visor of his helmet and raised his spear in salute before riding over the crest of the rise that separated the pond in its shallow dell from the rest of marshy Serpent’s Vale to the east. Within a few moments he had disappeared from sight.
“And now you, Pamon.” My master pointed up the sloping wall of stone where the butt-end of the spear was lodged. “I want you at the top, there.”
“But you said I would be beside you!”
“As I told you, if something happens to me you must take my part and finish it. If you are standing close beside me and I fall, you will likely fall too. Also, someone must watch from a high place to tell me and these mortals what is happening before Hidohebhi comes into our view.”
I climbed to the spot he had indicated, trying not to show reluctance. What he said seemed wise, but in those long-ago days I feared being thought a coward by my master’s folk more than I feared for my own life. At least that is how I remember it. Memory, though, is not always the most trustworthy historian.
From the top of the stony slope above the pond I could see far beyond the rise where Ineluki now rode back and forth on lithe, proud Bronze, the war-ribbons on his spear fluttering like a flag as he waited to do his part. Beyond him, and much smaller, I could just make out Cormach mounted on my lord’s pale horse, Seafoam. The mortal prince had opened The Exile’s jar and dipped in the twig-broom, and as he rode deeper into the swampy valley he waved it in the air, spreading the scent. After a few more moments Cormach vanished behind a row of leaning, broken trees, and I could not see him anymore.
It was not too much longer, though, before the breeze brought me my first smell of the dragon-spoor from Xaniko’s jar. I saw my master wrink
le his nose and turn his back to the wind. A moment later it struck me too—a dreadful stench, even at such a distance. It smelled not just of foul old urine, which attacked the nose with stinging vapors, but also putrefaction and a thick, beastly musk—a cursed marriage of strong and dreadful scents. The Hernsmen holding the ropes on either side of the pond began to groan and protest, some gagging, as the first invisible wave of it swept over us but my master barked at them to keep their wits about them, and they fell silent, though they continued to wag their heads and scowl in disgust. I could not help feeling sorry for Prince Cormach, who must have felt as though he rode through a storm of that foul, foul stink.
Cormach’s tiny, mounted figure rode back and forth at the edge of the trees as he flicked his broom like a celebrant sprinkling the waters of the Garden over a crowd of supplicants. At first it seemed to have no effect. What felt like an hour crept by, and even I, wound as tight as the string of a harp, began to think that the worm-spoor had failed, that we would have to try to lure the creature out of its nest by more direct methods.
The sun had set a short while earlier, and though the hills and watery dales were still lit by the white twilight sky, evening was close at hand and distant objects were becoming harder and harder to see. Because of that, I did not notice for a span of several heartbeats that something had swayed up out of the swamp beyond Prince Cormach. Even when I finally saw it, it seemed nothing more at first than another tree trunk bending in the freshening evening breeze, but its motions were different than the other trees, which bent as one thing in the wind. Cormach was still doggedly riding back and forth at the edge of the deepest part of the swamp as I realized the truth.
“Master!” I cried. “It comes! The worm has roused!”
At my sudden call, cries of alarm came from the Hernsmen below me, though I doubt most of them understood my Zida’ya words. Some of the mortals, who had let go of their ropes, now floundered and splashed in the muddy shallows as they tried to find them once more. I could not say with certainty that Cormach heard my cry of alarm, but just as I shouted, he turned and saw the great head on its long neck, watching him as intently as a viper that has spotted a rabbit. To my surprise, though, the prince did not immediately turn and ride away, but continued to canter back and forth, waving his worm-bepissed broom in the air. I faintly heard him shout, “Ha! You darksome thing! Are you afraid of Men of the West? Come out, you stinking snake with legs!”
Now the great dark head swayed again, following his movements. A heartbeat later the beast abruptly began to move out of the wrack where it had been hidden, its long neck dropping down as it wound toward the mortal prince through the broken trees and undergrowth, its dreadful, bony head seeming almost to float in the air. Cormach was brave but he was no fool, and it had become clear in an instant that the worm, despite its great size, could move almost as swiftly as a running horse. Cormach turned Seafoam and dug in his heels, then they sprinted away over the marshy ground, sending up gouts of muddy water each time Seafoam’s hooves touched down.
“Cormach is coming!” I shouted. “The worm follows!”
“Where is my brother?” Hakatri moved in beside the mortal men to steady them. If their hearts had suddenly grown faint, I did not blame them. On top of my stony rise, I was the safest of all, yet I was terrified.
“He is waiting, my lord!” I shouted. “Ineluki sees the prince coming and he waits!”
“Pray to the Garden he does not wait too long!” Hakatri called. “Tell me when he starts toward us.”
The evening light had now turned blue and subdued. Things silhouetted against the sky seemed clear and distinct but details closer to the ground were murky. Prince Cormach guided nimble Seafoam up the rise, dodging from one high, dry place to another, and in that moment I was glad beyond telling that the brave mortal rode my master’s swift, clever steed. The dragon’s short but powerful legs drove it across the swampy ground with frightening speed, and its size meant that even the deepest pools and muddiest bogs did not slow it. Indeed, the weight of its massive body and long, dragging tail emptied even the largest ponds as it wallowed through them, splashing up great peacock-tails of dirty water. I remember the immense, jagged jaws hanging open, and a tongue the color of slate. I also remember its black and gold eyes seemed to glow like lanterns, though that may have just been a moment’s reflection of the fading western sky—all I have is memory, after all.
As Cormach neared the place where Ineluki waited on his stallion Bronze, the last of the dragon’s immense body became visible as it clambered out onto open ground. Its size was even more astonishing than I had realized when we first saw it, a nightmare out of another time, another world. It was as long from head to tail-end as an ocean-going ship, forty cubits of powerful sinew, plated black armor, and murderous jaws. I confess that in that moment, I lost hope. I could not imagine anything even slowing such an abomination, let alone killing it, and it took every bit of bravery I had to stay where I was, though my master was the one in the greatest danger.
“ ’Ware, my lord!” I cried. “It has almost reached the top of the rise!”
“Is Ineluki riding?” he called.
“Not yet,” I cried. “He is lifting his spear!”
“Spirits of the Garden, what is he thinking?” I heard true despair in Hakatri’s voice, something I had never heard from him before. “Do not stay, you fool!” he shouted to his brother. “Ride to us! Ride!”
Ineluki rose then, standing in his stirrups as the worm came scraping up the rise toward him, its great claws tearing up and flinging aside dirt and large stones as if they were dandelion fluff. As Prince Cormach reached Ineluki and rode past him, the creature was only a few dozen paces behind. Ineluki drew back his arm and flung his spear with all the force he could muster. It flew, straight and true, and struck the monster just below its eye, which was set in a ring of bony armor like a sacred jewel in a temple wall. He missed the eye by a handsbreadth only, but so mighty was Ineluki’s cast that his spear pierced the plate of the dragon’s cheek, sank in, and stuck there, quivering. The great worm did not slow even a step. Ineluki yanked hard at Bronze’s reins and they turned and leaped up the slope with the monster close behind them.
Each moment thereafter seemed to happen as if I were dreaming: I could see all but do nothing.
The worm still did not roar or even growl as it charged after Ineluki but made a dreadful hissing noise like water thrown on hot embers. His spearcast may not have wounded it badly, but it had fixed the monster’s attention and its anger on him. Prince Cormach crested the rise first, then headed Seafoam to one side as he and my master had planned, while the creature followed Ineluki on Bronze as the horse dug his way up the last part of the slope. None of the waiting Hernsmen had yet seen the monster, so when Cormach appeared they cheered to see him safe. An instant later Ineluki appeared behind him, crouched low in the saddle. Then the worm’s great head topped the rise on its swaying, serpentine neck, and the mortals below me shouted out in horror.
I realized that the one thing my master had not been able to do was prepare the Hernsmen for the first sight of the cold-drake Hidohebhi. He had tried, telling them again and again that the creature was dreadful to see, that they must at all costs not run, and that if fear overtook them, they should close their eyes, since they only needed to hear his command to raise the spear. And to their credit, though a few of them staggered back in horror and dropped their ropes, my master’s angry commands drove them back to their stations.
As Cormach urged Seafoam out of the worm’s path, Ineluki sped down the slope toward the pond. The dragon was fifty paces away from us, then forty, moving with horrifying speed, but Ineluki seemed safely ahead. Already, at Hakatri’s command, the ropes had tightened and the sharpened tip of the huge witchwood spear was beginning to rise from the murky pond. Then everything went terribly wrong. Even as the dragon lurched over the top of the ridge and began its half-cr
awling, half-slithering rush down the slope, Seafoam stepped into a hole.
As I have said, I watched it all but could do nothing. As terrifying as it might have been, everything was still unfolding as my master and the others had planned, but then Seafoam abruptly pitched forward and crashed to the ground, rolling and skidding in a tangle of long, pale legs, her head bent back in agony. Prince Cormach was thrown over her neck and into the path of the oncoming worm. Hidohebhi was fixed entirely on retreating Ineluki, who was already threading his way across bits of solid ground as the worm sped after him in a hissing rage. As the Hernsmen below me screamed in terror at their prince’s helplessness, the worm’s great clawed front foot landed with awful force. It just missed the limp and motionless prince, but as the massive foot lifted again, by pure chance it caught up Cormach and flung him aside. He flew through the air, limp as a rag, and bounced and slid over the top of the rise and out of sight.
At the sight, the Hernsmen pulling on the ropes to lift the spear lost their wits. At least half of them simply dropped their ropes and fled the dragon’s path, scattering to either side, but many ran toward where their prince had fallen. We will never know whether the remaining Hernsmen might have been able to lift the great witchwood trunk by themselves. As it was, they saw their fellows flee, then looked up to see the great worm still chasing Ineluki toward them, and they despaired. All the remaining Hernsmen dropped their ropes and floundered out of the water, all thought gone but to get out of the way of the enraged, hissing monster.
Ineluki was already riding through the pond and did not see what had happened to Cormach, but as he made his way past the witchwood spear he must have seen that all the mortals had fled. He could not stop Bronze, though—the stallion’s speed was too great and the ground too slippery. Their breakneck pace carried both horse and Ineluki past the pond and past his brother as my master watched the collapse of the hunt with a face frozen in dismay. Because he could not stop Bronze’s headlong flight, Ineluki pulled hard on the reins and the horse leaped up onto the granite rock face below me.
