The Story of Sorrel

by Joseph R. Lallo

#

  Sorrel shivered, and not only from fear. Despite being gripped tightly in the claws of her new captor, she was not hidden from the painful iciness of the air. Wind rushed through the cage and chilled her to the bone. Now and again she caught a glimpse through the fingerlike claws that held her and the rest of his prizes, but her eyes couldn’t make sense of what they saw. Churning clouds below her. The indistinct form of the land shifting by in the darkness. The one mercy of being in the clutches of such a massive and terrible creature was that it left no room in her mind to fret over something as petty as falling to her death.

  After the longest few hours of her life, the wail of the wind took on a new tone. Rather than simply rushing across Boviss’s wings, it whistled against stone. It was a familiar sound, the sound of the mountains. Not long after, in a moment that nearly stopped her heart, the claws gripping her cage opened. She shrieked as she plummeted through the air, then cried in pain as she and her cage struck the unyielding stone. A dizzying roll and deafening sequence of clanks and thunks brought her to rest on a surface caked with ice.

  The cage was on its side. The beating it had taken had bent in some of the bars and made it even more cramped. One of the bars had even been torn from its mounting on the roof of the cage. It was a wonder she’d not been skewered. Sorrel twisted and turned, trying to get her bearings.

  She was in the mouth of a cave, one every bit as large as one might imagine a dragon like Boviss would call his lair. The rest of his offerings were scattered around her. Those masterpieces created by the Reds that weren’t destroyed during the flight were shattered to fragments when he dropped them. A few deft swipes of his massive claws send them clattering down the mountainside like the debris he’d always considered them to be. His great tongue flicked out of his mouth and swept the sacks of gold offered by the Fennecs into his jaws. With teeth still parted, offering a glimpse of the treasure behind them, he plodded deeper into the cave.

  Sorrel watched as his form vanished into the darkness of the mountain. Almost as terrifying as the monster’s size was his grace. Though a thing so large should shake the mountain with its steps, Boviss plodded lightly. He was almost delicate in his motions, if such a word could be applied to a behemoth who could make a meal of most other dragons.

  She shook the wonder and awe from her mind. The next few minutes could well be her last. She couldn’t afford to waste even a second of this precious, unobserved time. The Fennecs had secured her well. Throughout the entire journey to the place of the offering, she’d not been able to remove either her muzzle or the sacks binding her hands. But now she had the broken bar to work with. She reached up to its jagged end and quickly tore through the sacks on her hands. When her fingers were free, she unfastened the muzzle and threw it aside.

  Her unfortunate life meant she was no stranger to the various sorts of locks, latches, and clasps the people of the world used to protect their belongings. With little else to do while trapped in this cage, she’d investigated the lock that secured the door. It was a simple clasp. Sturdy enough to stay shut even after the fall, but requiring only a simple key to open. She was certain a bit of wriggling with her claw could wrench the thing open. That is, if it hadn’t ended up beneath the fallen cage.

  “Blast it. Come on,” she hissed.

  She grasped the bars and heaved her weight against them. The cage was every bit as heavy as she was, and it offered little room for her to move even while it was upright. She shook and lurched. The cage wobbled and clacked. She worked herself into a rhythm, each shove and thump tipping it just a bit farther. If she kept at it, she could get it to clatter over to the next set of rivets and expose the lock.

  Her breathing was becoming more and more desperate. Her position had put her back to the cave, but one did not survive as long as she had without developing a sixth sense for the approach of a predator. He was coming back. Her fur stood on end as she fought harder. Desperation was the enemy of precision, though. She lost the rhythm. The cage ceased to budge. And then, time ran out.

  The shadow of her captor fell upon her. All that remained for him to gather was the feast that had been prepared for him, and Sorrel herself. His great jaws opened. A skillful sweep of his tongue gathered cage and food alike into a mound. A snap of his jaws clamped the whole of the remaining offering in his maw. Great teeth creaked against the bars, threatening to skewer her if the cage didn’t hold. Humid, smoky breath replaced the cold wind with searing, stinking puffs.

  “No! Let me go! Let me go, please!” she shrieked.

  A sharper rush of wind fluttered her clothes, and her head thrummed with a deafening, thunderous laugh. If he’d wanted to eat her, he could have. Cage and all, he would have no trouble sending her and half the feast stuffing his maw down his gullet. But he didn’t. For now he was not devouring, he was carrying. Threads of drool oozed down between the bars as the sound of his breath and steps echoed off the walls of a deepening tunnel.

  There was no sense fighting against the cage now. It was the only thing keeping her from being chomped in two. She trembled, eyes shut and teeth clenched, until the jaws opened once more. She dropped to the floor of a new chamber, and landed with a dry clatter rather than a clang. The rest of the food rained down around her.

  Her heart rattled in her chest. She struggled against the bars again, hoping perhaps the teeth had damaged it enough for her to escape, but it wouldn’t budge. She fumbled through the bars and felt for the clasp.

  “Blast it. Blast it!” she cried.

  The mechanism was smashed, the clasp hopelessly jammed. Even the key wouldn’t be enough to free her now.

  She slumped against the bars and tried to gather her wits. The dragon was moving. It padded with unnerving lightness. She could even see its massive form as a muted figure. This far into the cave, there shouldn’t be any light, but there was. She searched for its source, but there didn’t seem to be any torches. The glow was all around her, a faint, unnatural luminance. A tinkle of metal filled the cave. Soft cascades of nuggets clattered to the ground. Finally, a heavy thump shook the cave. She squinted and saw the vaguest form of the dragon sitting on its haunches on a mound that softly glittered in the unexplained light.

  Boviss drew in a breath and released it as curling flame. It cast the chamber in warm orange light for a brief moment. Rather than simply fading away, the flame scattered like a flock of bats that swirled into points ringing the roof, sparking a dozen huge chandeliers to life.

  Sorrel squinted at the sudden brightness. When her vision adjusted, she saw the truth of the chamber. This was no simple cave. It looked more like a cathedral. The floor was perfectly flat, chiseled smooth, and here and there carved with patterns and reliefs. Great stone columns with intricate designs held up a vaulted roof. And the lights that at first seemed to have been lit by the dragon’s flame were arcane circles of gleaming silver, embedded with a ring of gems that smoldered the same color as the flame.

  This was not a place of nature. This was a place forged over generations by the work of thousands of skilled hands. A stone statue, taller than a tree, stood to remind those who saw this place of the people who created it. And in the center, atop a sparkling hoard larger than he was, sat Boviss. His small, sinister eyes focused upon sacks mounded beside him. They must have held the most recent offering from the Fennecs. He delicately dumped their contents with the patient care of someone peeling grapes. His claw stirred the fresh dose of gems and metals and his eyes fixed on them, committing them to memory.

  When he was through, his eyes turned to the food.

  He stalked toward Sorrel. The light showed that the dry crackle that had broken her landing was a heap of desiccated bones. They weren’t stripped of their meat. They almost looked embalmed. Food enough to feed a village, left to the cool air of the lair to shrivel and dry into husks. And tucked behind, three similar cages, twisted, broken… and empty.

  Boviss sniffed at the offerings and snapped up one of the larger kills. It vanished dow
n his gullet in a single gulp. Then the beast turned his eyes to her.

  “An offering of their own flesh.” He stepped closer and looked her over critically. “And a scrawny one.”

  “They had no right to offer me,” Sorrel shouted.

  Boviss raised his head a bit and looked down upon her. “Where is your muzzle, forest child?”

  “I do not belong here. Those are not my people.”

  He narrowed his eyes and curled a lip. “I would have left you to morning. Offerings stay fresher while they still breathe. But if you are free to speak, you could be bothersome.” He opened his jaws.

  “You would not devour a part of your hoard, would you?” she yelped, staring down the yawning maw.

  Boviss shut his mouth and gave her a steady look. “You misunderstand your role. You are meat.”

  “I come from across the sea! You smelled it! You in your wisdom knew to be true what my own kind did not! I am not of that village. I am not of this land at all.”

  The dragon lowered his snout to touch the bars of the cage and drew in another deep breath. He flicked his tongue across the cage, spritzing her with spittle.

  “Indeed. Your scent is one of old memories. And so your flavor shall be a reminder of times long ago.” His jaws widened again.

  “You come from across the sea as well. That is not dragon talk, that is Crich. I hail from your homeland,” she insisted. “We are kindred spirits. Travelers far from home.”

  He threw his head back in a rumbling laugh. “You suppose I have some love for my former home?” He flopped down to the ground and grinned at her. “I left that place when I was young. When the tongue was new.”

  “You don’t speak it in an ancient way.”

  “Language is a simple thing. And if you think the people of the north and across the sea have kept it to themselves, you aren’t as clever as you believe yourself to be. Traders bring language. Nothing that enters my domain is beyond my knowledge.”

  “Then… then you know how rare I am.”

  “A malthrope. Common. Pointless.”

  “A malthrope here is common. But across the sea? There are more kings than there are malthropes. The gold in your hoard is common as gravel compared to me.”

  Boviss tipped his head. “You think me a fool.” It was a statement, spoken simply and without anger. He seemed genuinely intrigued by it. “You try to trick me, to preserve your life with this nonsense. But there is truth to your words. You are not the first to be offered to me. The others plead. The others worship. I see only terror in their eyes. But not you. You think. You scheme.”

  He lowered his head a bit. “You speak this language well. Not with the stumble of formality or the lifelessness of prayer.”

  “It is the one language I speak well.”

  “You are something new, then. I do not care if you are the last of the malthropes from across the sea, whether that is truth or trickery. But something new? That is something very rare indeed.”

  He reached out, his claws clutching about the cage. She huddled down as best she could in her prison. The bars shuddered. One by one, they buckled and deflected until the whole of the cage fell to pieces. She dropped to the uneaten offerings and shielded her face from the tumbling metal bars as they sprinkled from the dragon’s claws.

  Her mind moved faster than her body. She saw herself spring to her feet while the bars were still clattering to a rest. In her mind she could envision the stumble when her legs failed her after being held prisoner for days. Her imagination painted the vivid flames, searing her as she tried to escape. She saw a thousand failed escapes in those next few moments. And she saw nothing that didn’t leave her children without a mother. And so she held still. Eyes on Boviss. Waiting.

  The dragon’s permanent, sinister grin widened slightly. “You did not run.”

  “I am awed by your splendor.”

  He released a single, derisive laugh. “Leave the shallow words for the others.”

  “You would have killed me if I ran.”

  He nodded. “Before you made a second step. I was correct. You aren’t as empty-headed as the others. And that is good. There will be no room for mistakes in your life here. Having seen this place, you shall not leave it alive. But so long as you amuse me, you may yet have a long life.”

  He leaned lower. Smoke curled about Sorrel’s face and stung her eyes when he spoke. “This way, Child of the Forest Across the Sea. Let me show you the hoard you are now a part of.”

  She took a step backward and swept her eyes around the lair. It was massive. Sprawling. Arched doorways led off into towering halls leading into blackness in all directions. If she ran, he would follow. Not that he would need to. A single one of his strides could match a dozen of hers, and his flame could roast her to ashes from as far away as he pleased.

  “As you wish,” she said, head drooping in defeat.

  #

  She had to hurry to keep pace with even his plodding steps. He led her past the mound of gold. Beyond it lay a grand hall littered with treasures of all sorts. The hall itself was already a masterpiece. Sturdy walls covered with dwarven designs held up arched vaulted ceilings. This was no castle. Even if its architecture made it resemble one, it was still at its core a cave, but brilliant little touches took those features of a cave that could not be carved away and made them a part of the splendor. Stone figures affixed to the roof dripped with water. Stalactites grew from their chins like beards. Grooves both above and below allowed the water to drain away with all the elegance and nuance of a fountain into grate-covered drains that funneled the water off and away.

  Weapons with gleaming blades lay in haphazard piles. Gems, sigils, and runes decorated the heads of axes and the grips of spears. Some of the equipment on display was small enough to be wielded by a creature of Sorrel’s size. Other pieces were massive, the sorts of things used to batter down the walls of mighty keeps.

  “Many have come for me in my time. Kingdoms sent their armies to dispatch me. I crushed their warriors. Burned their wizards to ash. I trampled their castles to powder. Time has forgotten them. And all because they trifled with me.”

  Boviss lingered to cast a burning glare at the bolt for a ballista. “Enchantments rendered their weapons potent. For a lesser creature, perhaps they would have been enough. But I am an elder dragon. Older than the mountains. Wiser than the spirits.” He lashed a rack of swords with his tail, clattering them to the ground. “I am invincible.”

  The dragon drew in a breath and heaved it out as flame. Fire once again swirled in the air and found its way to the hanging lights on the vaulted ceiling. Sorrel gazed at them. Like the weapons, and no doubt much of Boviss’s hoard, they were works of sorcery. They fed on his flame and gave light in return. She held her fingers out and grazed them across an ax large enough to have been swung by a giant. The aura of magic was thick around it. She knew not a word of magic, but the power here was so intense she could feel it flutter against her skin and tingle in her extremities.

  “Not all of those who came here sought to destroy me. Some wished to enslave me. Think of it. My might, in service of a throne. I can almost excuse their foolishness. The call of such power must be difficult to resist for those who have never tasted true strength. And they gave me one of my favorite prizes.”

  He gazed down at a mound of chains. If they had been intended to bind a dragon, they seemed horribly undersized for the task. The chain’s links were small enough to fit in Sorrel’s palm. He stirred them with a claw, unearthing a small, shriveled skeleton. The chain led to a shackle about the fallen warrior’s neck. Boviss pinched the shackle with a claw and tugged it free, toppling the skull in the process.

  “A wizard,” he muttered. “A dwarf, as I recall. Skilled with their forges. They do so adore their prattle. He spoke for ages of this creation. No beast it cannot bind. Smelted from the bones of this creature. Infused with the tears of that creature. Their creation matters not. What matters is this.”

  He flicke
d a claw toward Sorrel. Though at his size, its tip was quite blunt, the slash was enough to gouge her skin. She recoiled in pain, but not before a fat drop of blood fell upon the coils of chain. Etched runes on every link of the chain took on a brilliant golden glow that spread along its length. The glow curled and wove along the chain in both directions until it was entirely illuminated.

  Sorrel backed away as the links began to shudder. Loops of jangling chain rose up and writhed. The end with its shackle rose up. It shot forward in a viper’s strike and clamped shut around her neck. The cold iron pulled tight around her. One by one, the links diminished to a scale more appropriate to bind one of Sorrel’s size.

  He lowered his head and grinned, great teeth gleaming.

  “Welcome to my collection, Child of the Forest Across the Sea.”

  Chapter 8

  Wren and Reyna huffed and puffed. The trail left by the Red malthropes was not a difficult one to follow. There was little evidence they had even attempted to conceal it. The last few days had been taxing for the twins. Though they seldom had real comfort or ease in their lives, Sorrel had always ensured they were well fed, and they always slept soundly when they were with her. Anxiety had wracked every moment of their day since they were separated from their mother, and living off the charity of the Fennecs made for meager meals. They’d had little proper sleep and no proper meals since the day they’d won the game. It made for slow travel.

  The landscape changed around them as they trudged. The Fennecs must have made their home at the northern limits of the desert, just a few hours of travel past the place of the offering had taken the twins to grasslands. By dawn of the second day, they were deep in a forest. Now it was noon of a third day, and they were spared the punishing sun by the dappled shade of a thickening stand of fragrant fruit trees.

  “We should rest…” Reyna said.

  “And we need to eat.” Wren breathed deep. “The air smells so good here. So heavy with game.”