A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  We soldiers fought. Sigurd and I locked shields with Con-tini-Marcusco and the Itaskian. The Harish, who disdained and reviled shields, remained behind us. They rained scimitar strokes over our heads.

  The savages forced us back by sheer weight. But we held the wall even against suicide charges.

  They hadn’t the training to handle professional soldiers who couldn’t be flanked. We crouched behind our shields and let them come to their deaths.

  But they did get their licks in before Lord Hammer finished their witch-doctors and turned on them.

  It lasted no longer than three minutes. We beat them again. But when the clang and screaming faded, we had little reason to cheer.

  Hanneker was mortally wounded. Contini-Marcusco had a spearhead in his thigh. Sigurd had taken a deep cut on his left shoulder.

  Fetch was down.

  Me and Harish, we were fine. Tired and drained, but unharmed.

  I dropped to my knees beside Fetch’s still little form. Tears filled my eyes. She had become one of my favorite people.

  She had been last in line, walking behind Lord Hammer. We hadn’t been able to get to her.

  She was alive. She opened her eyes once, when I touched her, and bravely tried one of her smiles.

  Lord Hammer knelt opposite me. He touched her cheeks, her hair, tenderly. The tension in him proclaimed his feeling. His gaze crossed mine. For an instant I could feel his pain.

  Lord, I thought, your mystique is dying. You care.

  Fetch opened her eyes again. She lifted a feeble hand, clasped Lord Hammer’s for an instant. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Don’t be,” he said, and it felt like an order from a god. The fingers of his left hand twitched.

  I gasped, so startling was his voice, so suddenly did the Power gather. He did something to Fetch’s wounds, then to Sigurd’s, then to Contini-Marcusco’s. Hanneker was beyond help.

  He turned, faced downhill, stared. He started walking.

  We who could do so followed.

  “What did he do?” I whispered to Sigurd.

  The big man shrugged. “It don’t hurt anymore.”

  “Did you hear him? He talked. To Fetch.”

  “No.”

  Had I imagined it?

  I glanced back. The Harish were two steps behind us. They came with the same self-certainty they always showed. Only a tiny tick at the corner of Aboud’s eye betrayed any internal feeling.

  Foud smiled his little smile. Once again I wondered what they were doing here.

  And I wondered about Lord Hammer, whose long process of creating a mythic image seemed to be unraveling.

  A mile down into the earth is one hell of a long way. Ignoring the problem of surviving the dragon, I worried about climbing back out. And about my little brother, up there getting his blooding . . .

  I should have stayed with Chenyth. Somebody had to look out for him . . .

  “I have taken the gold,” I muttered, and turned to thoughts of poor Fetch.

  Now I would never learn what had brought her here. I was sure we wouldn’t find her alive when we returned.

  If we returned.

  Then I worried about how we would know what Lord Hammer wanted of us.

  I needn’t have.

  XI

  The home hall of the Father of All Dragons was more vast than any stadium. It was one of the great caverns that, before Silcroscuar’s coming, had housed the eldritch city Kammengarn.

  The cavern’s walls glowed. The ruins of the homes of Kammengarn lay in mounds across the floor. As legends proclaimed, that floor was strewn with gold and jewels. The great dragon snored atop a precious hillock.

  The place was just as Rainheart had described. With one exception.

  The dragon lived.

  We heard the monster’s stentorian snores long before we reached his den. Our spines had become jelly before we came to that cavern.

  Lord Hammer paused before we got there. He spoke.

  “There are guardians.”

  “I wasn’t wrong,” I whispered.

  The others seemed petrified.

  The voice came from everywhere at once. It was in keeping with Lord Hammer’s style. Deep. Loud. Terrifying. Like the crash of icebergs breaking off glaciers into arctic seas. Huge. Bottomless. Cold.

  Something stepped into the tunnel ahead. It was tall, lean, and awkward in appearance. Its skin had the pallor of death. It glistened with an ichorous fluid. It had the form of a man, but I don’t think it was human.

  Fetch had said there would be guardians who were the descendants of the people of Kammengarn. Had the Kammengarners been human? I didn’t know.

  The guardian bore a long, wicked sword.

  An identical twin appeared behind it. Then another. And another.

  Lord Hammer raised his hands in one of those mystic signs. The things halted. But they would not retreat.

  For a moment I feared Lord Hammer had no power over them.

  I didn’t want to fight. Something told me there would be no contest. I am good. Sigurd was good. The Harish were superb. But I knew they would slaughter us as if we were children.

  “Salt,” Lord Hammer said.

  “What the hell?” Sigurd muttered. “Who carries salt around? . . .”

  He shut up. Because Foud had leaned past him to drop a small leather bag into the palm of Lord Hammer’s glove.

  “Ah!” I murmured. “Sigurd, salt is precious in Hammad al Nakir. It’s a measure of wealth. El Murid’s true devotees always carry some. Because the Disciple’s father was a salt caravaneer.”

  Foud smiled the smile and nodded at Sigurd. Proving he wasn’t ignorant of Itaskian, he added, “El Murid received his revelation after bandits attacked his father’s caravan. They left the child Micah al Rhami to die of thirst in the desert. But the love of the Lord descended, a glorious angel, and the child was saved, and made whole, and given to look upon the earth. And, Lo! The womb of the desert brought forth not Death, but the Son of Heaven, El Murid, whom you call the Disciple.”

  For a moment Foud seemed almost as embarrassed as Sigurd and I. Like sex, faith was a force not to be mocked.

  Lord Hammer emptied the bag into his hand.

  Foud flinched, but did not protest. Aboud leaned past Sigurd and me, offering his own salt should it be needed.

  Lord Hammer said no more. The guardians flinched, but did not withdraw.

  Hammer flung the salt with quick little jerks of his hand, a few grains this way, a few that.

  Liverish, mottled cankers appeared on the slimy skin of the guardians. Their mouths yawned in silent screams.

  They melted. Like slugs in a garden, salted.

  Like slugs, they had no bones.

  It took minutes. We watched in true fascination, unable to look away, while the four puddled, pooled, became lost in one lake of twitching slime.

  Foud and Aboud shared out the remaining salt.

  Lord Hammer went forward, avoiding the remains of the guardians. We followed.

  I looked down once.

  Eyes stared back from the lake. Knowledgeable, hating eyes. I shuddered.

  They were the final barrier. We went into the Place of the Dragon, the glowing hall that once had been a cavern of the city Kammengarn.

  I began to think that, despite the barriers, it was too easy.

  I don’t know why. It couldn’t have been accomplished without Lord Hammer. Mortal men would never have reached Kammengarn.

  “Gods preserve us,” I muttered.

  The Kammengarn Dragon was the hugest living thing I’ve ever seen. I had seen Shinsan’s dragons during the wars. I had seen whales beached on the coast . . .

  The dragons I had seen were like chicks compared to roosters. The flesh of a whale might have made up Silcroscuar’s tail. His head alone massed as much as an elephant.

  “Reckon he’d miss a cup of blood?” Sigurd whispered.

  The northmen and their gallows humor. A strange race.

&nb
sp; The dragon kept on snoring.

  We had come in winter, according to Fetch, because that was the best time of year. I suppose she meant that dragons were more sluggish then, or even hibernated.

  But at that depth the chill of winter meant nothing. The place was as hot as an August noon in the desert.

  We flanked Lord Hammer, Sigurd and I to his right, the Harish to his left. Hammer started toward the dragon.

  The monster opened an eye. Its snakelike tongue speared toward Lord Hammer.

  I interposed my shield, chopped with my sword. The tongue caroomed away. My blade cut nothing but air.

  A mighty laugh surrounded us. It came from no detectable source.

  “You made it, fugitive. Ah. Yes. I know you, Lord Hammer. I know who you are. I know what you are. I know more than you know. All tidings come to me here. There are no secrets from me. Even the future is mine to behold. And yours is a cosmic jest.”

  Lord Hammer reacted only by beginning a series of gestures, the first of which was the arm cross he had used at the barrows in the forest.

  The dragon chuckled. “You’ll have your way. And be the poorer for it.” It yawned.

  My jaw sagged. The teeth in that cavernous mouth! Like the waving scimitars of a horde of desert horsemen . . .

  Laughter assailed the air. “I have been intimate with the future, refugee. I know the vanity of the course you have chosen. Your hope is futile. I know the joke the Fates have prepared. But come. Take what you want. I’ll not thwart you, nor deny the Fates their amusement.”

  The dragon closed his eye. He shifted his bulk slightly, as if into a more comfortable position.

  Lord Hammer advanced.

  We stayed with him.

  And again I thought it was too easy. The monster wasn’t making even a token attempt to stop us.

  That matter about the Fates and a cosmic joke. It reminded me of all those tales in which men achieved their goals only to discover that the price of success was more dear than that of failure.

  Lord Hammer clambered up the mound of gold and jewels, boldly seizing a gargantuan canine to maintain his balance.

  My stomach flipped.

  The dragon snored on.

  Sigurd started grabbing things small enough to carry away. I selected a few souvenirs myself. Then I saw the contempt in Foud’s eyes.

  He seemed to be thinking that there were issues at stake far greater than greed.

  It was an unguarded thought, breaking through onto his face. It put me on guard.

  “Sigurd,” I hissed. “Be ready. It’s not over.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “Just grabbing while I can.”

  Lord Hammer beckoned. I scrambled across the treacherous pile. “Cut here.” He tapped the dragon’s lip where scaly armor gave way to the soft flesh of the mouth. “Gently.”

  Terror froze me. He wanted me to cut that monster? When it might wake up? What chance would we have? . . .

  “Cut!”

  Lord Hammer’s command made the cavern walls shudder. I could not deny it. I drew the tip of my blade across dragon flesh.

  Blood welled up, dribbled down the monster’s jaw.

  It was as red as any man’s. I saw nothing remarkable about it, save that men had died for it. Slowly, drop by drop, it filled the ebony container Lord Hammer held.

  We waited tensely, anticipating an explosion from the monster. Dragons had foul and cunning reputations, and that of the Kammengarn Dragon outstripped them all.

  I caught a smile toying with Aboud’s lips. It was gone in an instant, but it left me more disturbed, more uncertain than ever.

  I searched the cavern, wondering if more guardians might not be creeping our way. I saw nothing.

  Sigurd bent to secure one more prize jewel . . .

  And Lord Hammer screwed a top onto his container, satisfied.

  Foud and Aboud surged toward him. Silver Harish kill-daggers whined through the air.

  I managed to skewer Aboud and kick Foud in one wild movement. Then my impetus carried me down the mountain of treasure to the cavern floor. Golden baubles gnawed at my flesh.

  Sigurd roared as he hurled himself at Foud, who was after Lord Hammer again. I regained my feet and charged up the pile.

  A gargantuan laughter filled the caverns of Kammengarn.

  Foud struck Lord Hammer’s left arm, and killed Sigurd, before he perished, strangling in the grip of Lord Hammer’s right hand.

  Aboud, though dying, regained his feet. Again he tried to plant his kill-dagger in Lord Hammer’s back.

  I reached him in time. We tumbled back down the pile.

  Lord Hammer flung Foud after us.

  Aboud sat up. He had lost his dagger. I saw it lying about five feet behind him. Tears filled his eyes as he awaited the doom descending upon him.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “For the Master. For the blood of the dragon that would have made him immortal, that would have given him time to carry the truth. And for what was done to him during the wars.”

  “I don’t understand, Aboud.”

  “You wouldn’t. You haven’t recognized him as your enemy.”

  Lord Hammer loomed over us. His left arm hung slackly. The kill-dagger had had that much success.

  Lord Hammer reached with his right, seizing Aboud’s throat.

  The Harish fought back. Vainly.

  I recovered his dagger during the struggle. Quietly, carefully, I concealed it inside my shirt. Why I don’t know, except that the genuine article was more valuable than anything in the dragon’s hoard.

  “Come,” Lord Hammer told me. Almost conversationally, he added, “The dragon will be pleased. He’s hungry. These three will repay him for his blood.” He strode to the gap where the guardians had perished. Their hating eyes watched us pass.

  I had to strain to keep pace with him. By the time we reached Fetch I was exhausted. Hanneker had expired in our absence.

  “We rest here,” Lord Hammer told me. “We will carry these two, and there may be ambushes.” He sat down with his back against one wall. He massaged his lifeless arm.

  The image had slipped even more. He seemed quite human at that moment.

  “Who are you?” I asked after a while.

  The iron mask turned my way. I couldn’t meet his gaze. The power was still there.

  “Better that you don’t know, soldier. For both our sakes.”

  “I have taken the gold,” I replied.

  I expect he understood. Maybe he didn’t. He said nothing more till he decided to go.

  “It’s time. Carry Fetch. Be wary.”

  I hoisted the little woman. She seemed awfully heavy. My strength had suffered. The mountains. The forest. The fighting. The tension, always. They had ground me down.

  We met no resistance. Only once did we hear what might have been men. They avoided us.

  We rested often. Lord Hammer seemed to be weakening faster than I, though his resources were more vast. Maybe the Harish kill-dagger had bitten more deeply than he let on.

  “Stop,” he gasped. We were close to the end of the tunnel. I dropped Fetch.

  Men’s voices, muted, echoed along the shaft. “Chenyth.” I started on.

  “Stay.” The command in Hammer’s voice was weak, but compelling.

  He moved slowly, had trouble keeping his feet. But he negated the spells that made us glow. “We must rest here.”

  “My brother . . .”

  “We will rest, Willem Potter.”

  We rested.

  XII

  Outside ambushed us.

  The sun had set. No moon had risen. The stars didn’t cast much light. Bell weather had lighted no fires. We were suddenly there, beside Lord Hammer’s stallion.

  The last dozen yards we had to step over and around the dead and wounded. There were a lot of them. I kept whispering Chenyth’s name. The only man I could find was Brandy. The griper had been dead for hours.

  “They’ve killed or captured most of the animals,
” Bellweather reported. Lord Hammer grunted noncommittally. “We’ve killed hundreds of them, but they keep coming. They’ll finish us in the morning. This’s serious business to them.”

  “Chenyth!” I called.

  “Will? Will! Over here.”

  I hurried over. He was doing sentry duty. His post was an open-topped bunker built of the corpses of savages.

  “You all right?” I demanded.

  “So far. Brandy and Russ and Aral are dead, Will. I’m sorry I came. I’m tired. So tired, Will.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “What happened down there?”

  “It was bad.” I told him the story.

  “The other Harish. Will they? . . .”

  “I’m sure their daggers are consecrated to the same name.”

  “Then they’ll try again?”

  “They made it? Then we’d better warn . . .”

  A shriek ripped the air.

  I hurled myself back toward Lord Hammer. I arrived at the same time as the Harish. Blades flashed. Men screamed. Lord Hammer slew one. I took the other. Bellweather and the others watched in dull-eyed disbelief.

  Before Jamal died he cursed me. “You have given the Hammer his life,” he croaked. “May that sin haunt you all the ages of earth. May his return be quickened, and fall upon you heavily. I speak it in the Name of the Disciple.”

  “What did he mean, Will?” Chenyth asked.

  “I don’t know.” I was too tired to think. “They knew him. They knew his mission. They came to abort it. And to capture the dragon’s blood for El Murid.” I glanced at Lord Hammer. He had begun a sorcery. His voice sounded terribly weak. He seemed the least superhuman of us all. My awe of him had evaporated completely.

  He was but a man.

  “Maybe they were right,” Chenyth suggested. “Maybe the world would be better without him. Without his kind.”

  “I don’t know. His kind are like the dragon. And we have taken the gold, Chenyth. It doesn’t matter who or what he is.”

  Sleep soon ambushed me. The last thing I saw was a ball of blue light drifting into the rocks where the savages lurked. I think there were screams, but they might have come in my dreams.

  They took me back to the wars. To the screams of entire kingdoms crushed beneath the boots of legions led by men of Lord Hammer’s profession. Those had been brutal, bitter days, and the saddest part of it was that we hadn’t won, we had merely stopped it for a while.