But that moment did not come. Even when the scrub grass had been seared away and much of the village lay as a crackled bowl of glass, not a single malthrope climbed from the rubble to beg for mercy. He dug his claws into the earth and tore open the tops of a few of the surviving burrows.
“Empty…” he seethed.
They had fled. Abandoned their homes. It was a wise precaution. Were he in their place, cowering in the shadow of a mighty creature they could not hope to satisfy, he would have sought some sort of refuge. But the entire village? Where had they gone?
His mind started to churn. What if the forest children had done the same? What if the village he had razed was empty? Things were happening that he had not anticipated. He did not like it. It had been centuries since he’d last felt as though something was beyond his control. Then that blasted newcomer escaped and…
The newcomer…
Boviss’s claws cleaved the earth beneath him. This was her doing.
He launched himself skyward and turned his eyes to his mountain.
#
In half the time it had taken him to travel to the place of offering and exact his vengeance, Boviss returned to his lair. But he had wasted too much time reaching and attacking the malthropes who had not been there. Now dawn was beginning to color the sky. He swept his wings back and charged through the mouth of his home at a sprint, dashing through the cave tunnel to his inner sanctum. The air was heavy with their scent. They had been here. The malthropes had desecrated his home. And when he charged into the place that should hold his hoard…
“Empty?!” he bellowed.
He swept his head about, scanning the vault. There was nothing. Not a gem. Not a trinket.
“How!” he demanded, as though the walls themselves owed him the answer. “I was gone for mere hours! How could it all be gone?”
“Perhaps it is true what they say,” echoed a confounding voice from deeper in his lair. “Malthropes are born thieves.”
Boviss turned. The echo made it difficult to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, and the hundreds of different malthrope scents made it difficult to single out which belonged to the blasted newcomer.
“What do you think you have gained?” he growled. “Do you think I shall give up? It took me centuries to gather that wealth, but centuries are nothing to me. I shall have it back in due time. But not before I’ve ground each of your blasted kin to dust beneath my claws.”
“You had them beneath your claws for long enough,” Sorrel taunted.
Boviss followed the sound down another emptied corridor of his lair.
“It’s your own fault, you know,” Sorrel said. “You gave them what it took to do this.”
“Oh?” Boviss rumbled. “Pray tell.”
“We were already sneaky, but you forced us to be sneakier. You forced us to work with the fairies, to hide our scent. You starved us, taught us to live on the tiniest of scraps. You terrified us, taught us to live for days at a time without venturing from our burrows to see the light of day. You made us into precisely the sort of creatures who could lay in wait in the tunnels beneath your lair. For days. Waiting.”
“The tunnels… So you have moved my wealth to the tunnels left by the dwarves.”
“Where you will never be able to reach it. Always just beyond your reach.”
He turned. The voice was closer now, but the halls were narrower. He seldom came to this distant corner of his lair. The dwarves had not mined it out to the same degree. It did not suit one of his size, but he continued.
“No. When I have roasted and devoured all but a handful of your kind, those who remain will beg for the opportunity to retrieve my hoard. And if I am generous, I will allow it. But you and your wretched brood will not live to see that day.”
“Because that day will never come. But enough hiding.”
A flash of light drew his attention. At the end of the tunnel to his right, a soft glimmer revealed itself. His eyes focused upon the form he’d been searching for, illuminated by the enchanted glow of chains still wrapped about her. His body acted of its own accord, breaking into a sprint. Fire poured from his mouth as he bounded toward her. His wings and legs scraped and smashed at the walls and columns, but he did not slow. Just when he was growing near enough for a lance of flame to reach her, she dropped from view, slipping down through one of the drains in the floor. Boviss slid to a stop. The bars that covered similar drains elsewhere in his lair had been sliced through, revealing a tight, dark tunnel. The glimmer of her torch was still visible within, shining against the trickle of water on the floor.
“Coward!” he bellowed, clawing at the floor. “You can’t hide from me for long!”
“I won’t have to,” she called back.
He ceased his clawing for a moment, then slowly raised his head. The roof here was taller than the tunnel that led to it, vaulted a bit. And though none of the mystic lanterns was lit, the darkness above still sparkled. He opened his maw to blast a burst of flame, but it was too late. Dozens of malthropes, armed with the enchanted weapons that had until hours ago been precious pieces of his hoard, rained down upon him. Fennecs, Reds, and even the blasted children of the horrid newcomer dropped upon him. Weapons of supernatural strength and sharpness hacked and bit at him. The creatures swarmed him like insects. He shook and heaved, throwing them aside, but they bounded back. Blasts of fire sent them scattering, but there were simply too many. He couldn’t clear them all away.
With each attack and retreat, more of the blasted things focused on his right foreleg. They hacked and chiseled, each attack managing the tiniest gouge in his tough hide. Finally, he felt something that reached past annoyance to genuine pain.
#
Amid the chaos of the attack, Wren hauled at the enchanted pick that he’d come to rely upon. His latest diving blow had driven it deep between the monster’s scales. It had sunk into the white scar Sorrel had instructed them to attack. When the sharp tip slid free, it sizzled with dark blood.
“Blood!” he cried. “We drew blood! Go, go!”
All at once, the assault ended. The malthropes flooded from the chamber down an adjoining tunnel. Behind them, Boviss rolled to his feet and released a roar that shook stones from the roof. Wren leaped around a turn just in time to escape a rush of flame.
“Here!” he called. “Take it!”
He tried to offer the pick to one of the full grown Reds who dashed ahead. Their long strides were making short work of the tunnel, but a lifetime in fear of a dragon’s wrath had a way of robbing resolve from even the stoutest mind. The terrified malthropes, sapped of their will to fight by the raging creature, left Wren behind. Boviss slammed into the wall behind them. The passage shook. Even in a tunnel barely as large as himself, Boviss was nearly as fast as the malthropes. And even if he couldn’t catch them, his flame eventually would.
“Wren! This way!”
He looked up to see his sister nestled in a groove that ran the length of the tunnel roof. There was no sense wondering how she had spotted it and found her way to it so quickly. She was Reyna; hiding was what she did best. He bounded from floor to wall, and from wall to carving, and finally scrambled across the roof. He snatched her outstretched paw just in time for her to pull him out of the tunnel ahead of a blast of flame.
“Quick, quick. We can still do it!” she hissed to him, leading the way down the groove.
Boviss thundered along below, but the other malthropes had made it clear. After a few more strides, the beast stopped and sniffed the air.
“Her brood…” Boviss said.
The twins stopped their scramble and held perfectly still. Boviss’s massive head swept to and fro, then slowly tipped toward them. With a shaking paw, Reyna pulled her stolen sword from her belt and dragged it lightly across the tip of Wren’s pick.
“We go. We split up. He can’t catch both of us,” Reyna said.
Wren nodded, then looked down to the hunter below. When the moment was right, he dropped.
It was a tight tunnel, and Boviss filled it almost completely. One could be excused for believing that there would be no way to escape the monster, no way to run or hide. But these were the children of Sorrel. They were trained from birth to make perfect use of every nook and cranny, to wait for the perfect time to move. The pair of them bounced and dashed from shadow to corner. Slashing claws came close enough to slice cloaks and rustle fur, but they continued without missing a step.
Ahead, Sorrel stood in the center of the next chamber. She straddled another of the gaps in the floor. Her eyes were wide and pleading.
“Now! Give it now!” she shouted.
Reyna dove from a shadow and heaved her short sword toward her mother. It skittered and slid. Sorrel lunged for it and snatched it up. Reyna hopped into the shadow of another column. Boviss continued past her. Now that he’d seen Sorrel, nothing else mattered. The twins watched from the shadows as the hulking monster stalked toward her. Fire curled from his nostrils as he approached the chamber that contained her. She held the short sword ready, eyes raised to meet the beast.
He paused before entering the chamber, sniffing the air but not daring to take his eyes from the insidious creature before him lest he lose her again.
“You are alone in the chamber. Not another trap. Your brothers and sisters have abandoned you,” Boviss uttered.
“And you are fearful of entering a part of your own lair,” Sorrel taunted. “You are afraid of us. True wisdom at last.”
“Fearful… no. Aware. And that is more than you are worth,” he said, stepping closer. “You have given me nothing to fear.”
“Nothing?” she raised the sword. “We drew blood.”
He stepped forward until his great head towered over her in the taller chamber.
“A single drop of blood. Two villages burnt to cinders. All of your kind doomed. And for a single drop of blood.”
Sorrel smiled. “Sometimes a single drop is enough.”
She made her move. Rather than swiping at him, she dragged the blade across the chain hanging from her neck. The links were no longer wrapped about her. They led down into the drain. Boviss’s eyes widened. The chain took on a brilliant glow, surging up to the shackle around her neck and down into the floor. He reared back, but it was too late. The shackle snapped open and launched toward his neck. A dwarven enchantment forged untold years ago finally served the purpose for which it was crafted. The shackle grew large enough to fit Boviss’s neck and snapped tight about his throat. One by one, the links of the chain grew to a size suitable to bind such a beast.
Sorrel, finally free of the chain again, sprang back, and not a moment too soon. The enraged dragon lunged at her. The growing links reached the gap in the floor and continued, lodging ever tighter into the stone of the mountain. Boviss’s seemingly endless might finally met its match. The chain ground to a stop, hopelessly lodged in the earth. Anger robbed the dragon of logic and wisdom. He could have belched a flame to char Sorrel to ash where she stood, but all he could think of was getting free. He thrashed and tugged at the chain. Great claws slashed stone. A sweeping tail pounded the walls. Chunks of stone clattered down. Then, a single, pristine clang rang out. Boviss froze and looked to the source of the sound. A large ax, enchanted and of dwarven make, had driven itself into the stone of the floor. The dragon peered upward to the shuddering ceiling. It was positively studded with similar weapons. Easily half of the weapons in his hoard had been lashed, lodged, and mounted there. His thrashing had begun to bring the ceiling down. And the blades were coming with it.
His eyes turned to Sorrel. She grinned and swiped her claw across her throat.
“Dead.”
Boviss’s wits returned a moment too late to end her. She bounded aside as his flame lanced toward her. She dodged between clattering stones and into the hallway that held her children.
“Come, come! Fast!” she called.
Wren and Reyna joined their mother as they dashed for safety.
“Will it be enough, Mama?” Wren asked breathlessly, desperate to keep pace.
“It took all that we had and we barely broke his skin,” Reyna said.
“We are fast and we are clever, we are not as strong as a dragon. A malthrope may not be able to swing an ax hard enough to kill him. But a mountain just may.”
Far behind them, slabs of stone and hundreds of enchanted weapons rained down as the mountain claimed the creature who was once its king.
#
Malthropes rushed from the mouth of the cave into the open air of the main entrance as the mountain shuddered and crumbled around them. Upon what had once been the perch from which Boviss had surveyed his kingdom, those who had been his subjects gathered and waited. Fennecs and Reds huddled and tended to their wounds. The battle had not been without its casualties. Several had fallen. Several more were badly hurt. But most had survived. Sorrel and her young ones were among the last to emerge from the darkness. Though they had escaped the wrath of the dragon, the retreat had taken its toll on them. Falling debris and jagged broken floor had left the three of them battered, but they were in one piece.
“Well?” asked Sorrel as a handful of malthropes hurried to help her.
“In all, we lost twenty,” said the Fennec chieftain. “Twelve of ours, eight of the Reds.”
“Twenty is twenty,” she said. “The rest doesn’t matter. We are one. Remember this.”
“And the dragon?”
“He was caught. The chain held. That is all I know. But the mountain has stopped shaking.” She held out a hand. “A torch.”
One of the Reds handed her a light and sparked it to life.
“Who will go with me? After what we have done, I will not leave until I know I will not be followed.”
The others looked to one another. One by one, the most able-bodied of the remaining malthropes took up torches. Fifty of them, including both chieftains, followed Sorrel back through the tunnels. What had once been a masterpiece of dwarven architecture lay in utter ruin. The farther into the lair they crept, the less remained of the carvings and columns. It was a jagged mess now. The mountain had reclaimed it. With the care of creatures all-too-familiar with the threat that may yet breathe within these tunnels, they crept deeper. Over rubble and between great slabs they climbed until they reached the chamber where the trap had been set. What had once been a tall, empty chamber was now a massive mound of stone. Here and there, hints of scaly hide could be seen between the piles of fallen mountain. As they drew near, something beneath the rubble shifted. A few stones fell away. It was enough to reveal a single eye peering out from beneath the pile.
Boviss had survived, but only just. He took labored breaths. Licks of weak flame curled from between stones. The floor was wet with pools of dark, potent blood.
“He clings to life,” the forest chieftain murmured. “For now.”
The Fennec chieftain turned to Sorrel. “Should we end him? We can take up the weapons, hack at him until he draws his last breath.”
“Or we can leave him here and let him wither as he would have withered us,” the forest chieftain offered. “What say you?”
“Why do you ask me this?” Sorrel asked.
“You led us this far. You freed us from him,” the forest chieftain said.
“We, in all our time, could not do such a thing,” her desert counterpart added.
“So you expect me to lead you?” Sorrel said.
“I can think of no one better suited. The times ahead will be trying. We must rebuild. And you bring with you precious knowledge from far off lands,” said the forest chieftain.
“I bring with me common sense that you should have as well.” Sorrel sighed and looked to her young. “What do you think?”
“Us, Mama?” Wren said.
“You’re asking us what we should do?” added Reyna.
“Why shouldn’t I? I rescued the villagers, but you rescued me. And besides, you won the game, didn’t you? You deserve your reward.”
T
he twins looked to one another. They whispered back and forth.
“You still owe us a story, right?” Wren asked.
Sorrel smiled. “Of course. Though I don’t know if I can dream up an adventure for Swift that is better than what you’ve done here.”
“We didn’t have to deal with Boviss very long,” Reyna said. “The villagers had to deal with him a lot longer, so we think they should decide.”
“But if they won’t, we think that killing Boviss is much better than what Boviss has done to them. He made them suffer for years. Made them work for him.”
“We think Boviss should do the same,” Reyna said.
“We already took his hoard. But he’s got a lot more to pay back than that.”
“It could be dangerous,” Sorrel said. “Are you sure?”
“We beat him before. And what’s left of him after this? We can do it again.”
Sorrel turned to the chieftains. “It would be the cruelest punishment we could muster, I think. If cruelty is what you seek.”
“I do not desire cruelty,” the forest chieftain said. “But justice…”
“Yes,” the Fennec agreed. “Justice.”
“Then you have your answer. But I leave it to you.” She crouched and hugged her little ones. “I have a good long story to tell. And after that, a good long sleep.”
#
The weeks and months to follow were anything but simple. The village of Gall, home to the Red malthropes, was largely in ruin. Burrow hadn’t fared much better. Years of endless rivalry had built walls between the hearts and minds of the natives of the desert and the forest, but necessity had thrust them back together to scratch their way back from the wreckage that Boviss’s wrath had made of their homes. The bountiful hunting grounds around Gall, for the first time, fed both the Fennecs and the Reds. In exchange, the desert malthropes brought their expertise in metal and stone. Damage that might have taken years to clear and repair without the proper tools was corrected in the space of a single season. The communities, once joined, were truly stronger than they had ever been apart.
The Story of Sorrel Page 17
