Lucy fell back into her father’s arms, gasping for breath. “Notwen’s estimate of fifteen minutes may be optimistic,” she shouted to Kethril. “The spell is weak. I don’t know how long it will last. We’ll have to hurry.”
The sheriff and the gambler worked their way around the trapped dragon. Everyone else stayed out of sight.
“Fyremantle!” Kethril shouted over the dragon’s furious rumble. “Fyremantle! We want to talk to you!”
“How dare you!” roared the red, and he breathed a viscous stream of fire directly at them.
Lucy cringed close to her father as he raised his fist and the silver ring of Istar. The dragonfire bounced off the power of the ring and splashed around the two people in streams of yellow and orange.
“Stop it!” Lucy yelled before the dragon could take another breath. “Your fire will not harm us. Nor do we intend to harm you. We just want to talk.”
Fyremantle paid no attention. He fired another jet of scorching flame and watched furiously as it fell harmless around them.
“I said stop it! If you don’t, I will shrink this net and cut you to pieces,” Lucy cried. She wasn’t sure she could do that, but it didn’t hurt to threaten.
Kethril pointed to the freight wagon close by. “And if you aren’t careful, you will burn that wagon that holds Malys’s tribute, then you will have to explain to her why your delivery is nothing but a molten blob.”
Fyremantle hesitated, his black eyes malevolent but thoughtful. Steam curled from his nostrils. “Whatever you have to say will not save this town. When I escape from this cage, I will incinerate everything.”
“I would think about that very carefully if I were you,” Lucy said reasonably.
The dragon lowered his head until his nose was only a few feet away. “Why?” he said in a long, drawn sound that was almost a snarl.
Lucy kept her hand clamped on her father’s. The reek of the dragon was almost more than she could bear. It took all her self-control to say, “We want to make a deal.”
Kethril pulled his map out of his tunic and held it up for the dragon to see. “A map of this region. Do you recognize anything on it?”
The dragon had to tilt his head to look at the map. He studied it for several minutes before the significance of several marked places snatched his complete attention. Without warning he snorted a gust of flame that caught the map and reduced it to ash.
Kethril merely shook his fingers and pulled out another map. “The advantages of living in a town full of forgers.”
“It has come to our attention,” Lucy said before the dragon could respond, “that you have hiked up Flotsam’s taxes without Malys’s knowledge so you could steal some of it for yourself. We want you to stop.”
“I am lord of this region. I will do as I please,” Fyremantle replied. He tugged fiercely at the net around him then sank back, panting.
“Indubitably. However, we believe Malys will not appreciate your efforts at self-enrichment. She does tend to be rather jealous and unreasonable.”
The dragon stilled, his glittering eyes fastened on Lucy and Kethril. “I am loyal to my overlord,” he protested.
“So she must think, too,” Lucy said. “It would be a shame to tell her otherwise.”
“You will never tell her!” bellowed the dragon. “You cannot prove it!”
“Of course we can,” Kethril said, his tones cool, “and we will unless you leave Flotsam alone.”
“I will burn it first. No one will escape to tell my queen.”
“Too late,” Lucy said. “We already have a messenger on the way, and if she does not receive a message from us, she is instructed to deliver our letter and proof to Malys.”
Fyremantle bellowed and threw himself against the constricting net. Lucy and Kethril scrambled back and watched breathlessly as the huge dragon struggled and thrashed until his scales were scored and his head hung in exhaustion. Still the ensorcelled net held.
When he had been still for a moment or two, Lucy and Kethril eased forward to continue the conversation.
Lucy went on. “The only way you can stop the messenger is to agree to our proposal. You will continue to collect the taxes from the town, but we will only pay the original six hundred pieces of steel. And you must give your word to leave the town alone. It cannot make its contributions to Malys’s treasury if you burn it.”
Kethril waved the copy of the map. “Just to ensure your good behavior, we also included one of these maps.”
“Why?” hissed the dragon. “Malys already knows the site of my lair.”
“Lairs,” corrected Kethril. “We found your lairs.” He drew Lucy to the freight wagon with him and pulled back the tarp to show the contents to the dragon. “When the Flotsam city taxes were stolen, the people had to look elsewhere for the money. One of your lairs is now empty. You can pay Malys Flotsam’s taxes this year to make up for all the years you were stealing from the towns around here.”
“No!” Fyremantle growled. “You’re bluffing!”
Kethril reached into the wagon and pulled out a large doublehandled king’s cup cast in gold and encrusted with garnets. “Remember this? And how about this?” He pulled out an elegant cutlass and waved it in the dragon’s face.
Dragons can remember every item of their hoards down to the last coin, and Fyremantle was no exception. He was so angry he sputtered sparks.
“If you try anything against these people,” Lucy warned him. “We will tell Malys about your other lairs.”
“I will hide them again,” he steamed.
The gambler tossed the sword back in the wagon. “We found them once, we can find them again.”
Fyremantle raised his head and stared to the southeast as if fearing to see some sign of Malys. “All right. I agree.”
“You agree to what? I want to hear you say it loudly so the whole town can hear.” Lucy insisted.
Fyremantle hissed, but after a moment, he bellowed in a voice heard all the way to the Rock, “I agree to leave Flotsam alone and collect only the taxes due to Malys!”
“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said sweetly.
“Release me!” he roared. The powders were slowly wearing off, and Fyremantle felt his full strength returning.
Lucy realized it, too, and she knew it would be far better to have the dragon trap remain a dangerous and mysterious thing in Fyremantle’s mind than to allow him to break loose himself. Swiftly, she reached out, touched the net, and nullified her spell.
The strands returned to normal. Behind the wall of the building next to the dragon, Challie drew her axe and swiftly sliced through the ropes holding down the net.
Fyremantle shrugged and felt the net slide off his shoulders. He bounded out of the trap and halted long enough to shake out his wings. “I will find a way to make you pay for this,” he snarled to Lucy and Kethril.
In that instant of silence, they all heard the faint sound of pony’s hooves and the rattle of a small cart coming along the road. Lucy turned cold. From a side-street several blocks down she and Kethril saw Saorsha’s pony cart turn onto the street and abruptly stop. Its two occupants gaped at the loose dragon crouched in the middle of the road.
“Saorsha, back up!” Lucy heard Ulin yell.
The ex-legionnaire pulled frantically on her reins, but the pony, already terrified by the smoke and strange smells, panicked and reared.
Fyremantle roared a great thundering bellow of rage. “You!” he howled at Saorsha and Mayor Efrim. “You have been a stone in my claw long enough. Flotsam! Find yourselves a new mayor!” He blew a long blast of yellow fire at the cart and the two people. Neither had time to scream.
The dragon snorted at his small satisfaction, then he snatched the freight wagon in his front claws and leaped into the air. His wings swept downward, pushing him high into the warm air. He roared once and turned away to fly south and east toward the ruined lands of Malys’s lair.
A hideous hush followed the departure of the dragon. E
very person in the smoke-filled block stared horror-stricken at the blackened remains of the mayor and the woman who had cared for Flotsam. The corpses were blackened and burned almost to the bone, yet everyone walked slowly into the street and gathered around the bodies.
“Why did she do that?” Lucy mourned. “Why didn’t she look first?”
“Blasted dragon. I thought for a few minutes we might actually get away with it freely,” Ulin said.
Lysandros squatted down by the old mayor, gently touched a burned hand, and offered a eulogy Efrim would have appreciated. “He did his best for this town.” He looked up at Lucy. “Do I send the hawk after Venturin?”
“Yes,” she replied. “They worked too hard for this for us to fail them now.”
Beside her, Kethril stared at the two bodies and said nothing.
Someone brought two blankets from the Game Cock and covered the bodies. Later they could be buried with proper respect in the hillside cemetery where Saorsha’s family already rested.
For now though, a new concern demanded their attention. Several fires had started from the dragonfire and the remains of Notwen’s rockets. They were spreading rapidly around several buildings. Fed by the dry grass and pushed by a steady wind, the fire could be almost as dangerous to the town as the dragon. Fortunately, fires were a familiar danger in Flotsam, and the populace was used to fighting them. Instead of panicking, men and women grabbed buckets and shovels and went to work to stifle the fires before they could get completely out of control. Mule-drawn wagons soon arrived with barrels of water to douse the ground and buildings, and a firebreak was quickly dug.
The flames consumed most of the old, ruinous buildings, and a few still in use, like the Game Cock, were scorched around the edges. To everyone’s relief, the wind shifted to the north in the late afternoon, and a damp seabreeze prevented the fire from spreading any farther.
The townsfolk were so busy fighting the last of the fires and dousing hot spots that they did not hear the signal horn sound a third time. The first warning Lucy had was from Lysandros who poked her in the ribs and pointed down the road. Just cresting a hill cantered the black horse of a Knight of Neraka.
Firefighters scattered as the Dark Knight rode her horse heedlessly into the crowd. Lucy stood her ground, waiting for Knight Officer Venturin to find her. The Knight saw her immediately and reined her horse over. She did not dismount at first but sat on her tired, sweating horse and eyed the smoke-grimed people around her.
Venturin waved a negligent hand at the smoke and flames. “Problems?”
Lucy shrugged with equal disdain. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“I see.” The Knight Officer ran her gaze over the destruction in the street: the smashed tables, the overturned barrels, the empty trap, and the covered bodies. “You’ve had an interesting day.” She dismounted, her narrow face expressionless, and removed the packet from an inner pocket in her black tunic. “This made interesting reading. It also frightened Fyremantle enough that he came looking for your messenger.”
“Did he see you?”
Venturin’s gaze turned contemptuous. “Of course not. I assumed he would search, and I took cover shortly after noon. I will keep this information. If Fyremantle does not hold to his word, I will give it to the overlord.”
Lucy nodded her thanks. She waved Challie over and held out her hand. The magistrate wordlessly untied a heavy bag from her belt and dropped it into Lucy’s hand. It fell with a satisfying chink. “Eight percent plus a bonus,” Lucy said, handing it over to Venturin. “Fifty steel coins.”
The Dark Knight shoved the bag into her belt without counting it. “My Knights?”
“Of course. Challie, where is the Talon?”
The dwarf jerked a thumb toward the gaming house. “When the Game Cock caught on fire, they came out to help. I think they’re still there.”
As the Knight Officer remounted, Lucy noticed for the first time that the Dark Knight had no other horses. “What about your men? Didn’t you bring their mounts?”
Venturin sneered. “They allowed themselves to be taken by surprise and captured. For that they will walk to camp.” She yanked her horse around, missing the smothered sound that escaped from Challie’s tightly clamped mouth.
“What is it?” Lucy asked in concern. The dwarf looked about to choke.
Challie waited until the Dark Knight was out of earshot before she released her breath in a gasp of laughter. “Their camp is ten miles away, and those Knights have been helping themselves to the proprietor’s stock. It ought to be a pleasant journey back for them.”
With the fires nearly out and the Dark Knights gone, it seemed that the plan had finally reached its conclusion. The dragon trap had been a success. A cheer rose up somewhere in the midst of the lingering smoke and weary people. It quickly spread until the entire block rang with shouting voices. The euphoria of success was sweet beyond words.
Lucy found Notwen, Kethril, and Ulin by the ropes and churned earth of the dragon trap. In a burst of relief, she caught Notwen up in a hug and swung him around until he was breathless, then she embarrassed him beyond all measure by kissing him on the forehead. Ulin grinned then knelt beside him and solemnly shook his hand.
“That was an excellent invention, my friend,” he said.
The small gnome grinned. “I couldn’t have done it without Lucy and you. When you go, I shall have to work on some improvements. Fyremantle probably won’t behave for long.”
“One thing I want to know: where did you get the fuel for those tubes?” Lucy asked. “I thought you weren’t going to make that firepowder anymore.”
Ulin slipped an arm around her and turned her slightly away so Notwen couldn’t hear.
“That’s not my black powder. Notwen refined that from the residue of the explosion your father caused. I, ah, toned it down somewhat.”
Lucy’s mouth dropped. She knew her father had some talents, but she hadn’t thought he knew alchemy. “Your powder blew up the treasury?” she asked Kethril.
He shrugged with little regret. “It was supposed to be a time-delayed blast that would collapse the tunnel as soon as we left. A Khurish alchemist made it, but it went off too early.”
She reached out and tapped his ring. “And this is what saved you.”
Kethril studied the ring for a moment. “That and some luck. I’ve had this ring for years. It has come in handy.” He patted his daughter’s arm rather distractedly and wandered off into the crowd.
Twilight drifted into Flotsam by the time the fires were completely out, the mess cleaned up, and the bodies of Saorsha and Mayor Efrim collected for burial. Sometime in that wild afternoon, Kethril Torkay cleaned out the cash box at the Jetties and disappeared.
Lucy was not surprised, but in her heart she was disappointed. She knew her father now—the rogue who lived by the numbers and followed the wind, yet the child in her had hoped he had liked what his daughter had become and would care enough to say good-bye. Obviously, she had been wrong.
All the food Bridget had prepared that morning was quickly devoured that night by the hungry firefighters. No one stayed late. They were all too tired, and there was much to do in the morning. Aylesworthy treated Lucy and Ulin to free baths in his small bathhouse, then bid them both a good night.
Ulin was waiting for Lucy when she came in, still drying her hair. He pointed at a small pile of drawstring bags left propped on their bed.
Lucy cocked an eye at the pile. “Where did those come from?”
“Kethril left it.”
“He didn’t find the treasury, did he?” she asked sharply.
“No. Notwen hid it in his laboratory. No one else but Challie knows where it is. He probably took this while we were moving the cache from the dragon’s den.”
She hefted a heavy bag. “I wonder how much more he took for himself.”
Ulin handed her a scrap of paper. “This was with it.”
She fingered the paper a minute before she read aloud, �
�� ‘I believe the council promised you twenty-five percent of my estate. It won’t make up for ten years, but maybe it will help you now. You made me proud, Lucy. You’re the one good thing I’ve done in this life.’ ”
She tucked the note away, more for her mother’s sake than its sentimental value. Its words were already burned into her memory. He loved her—as much as he could love anything that didn’t spend—and he was proud of her. Nothing else he might have given her could ever equal that. Her hate and bitterness were gone, replaced by a deep gratitude for the few days she’d had with him. Now she could go home and tell her mother, in all honesty, that Kethril Torkay was gone.
Two days later, a Khurish caravan came into Flotsam and injected a new spirit into the marketplace. The townspeople were exhausted, grieving, and trying to adjust to the changes. The arrival of the Khurs with their goods and money and desire to wash away the dust of endless miles was like a breath of fresh air. The entire town snatched at the excuse and threw a huge party. That same night the citizens elected Innkeeper Aylesworthy the new mayor and Bridget, the blacksmith, and Challie the new city council.
The position of sheriff would soon be available, too, but no one wanted to take the job until Lucy left.
“We’ll find someone,” Challie said. “We take what we can get when we can get it.”
The next day Ulin bought a small traveling wagon for the bay horse to pull and made arrangements with the caravan master for the journey back to Sanction. Their job was done in Flotsam, and he felt a strong urge to go home.
The day before they were due to leave, Lucy resigned as sheriff and turned her office over to the new city council. She tried to return the turban to Notwen, but he would have none of it.
“You are and always will be the Sorceress in my mind,” he said, screwing up enough courage to kiss her hand. “The creature is yours now.”
Mayor Aylesworthy tried to give her payment in full. She smiled and gave it back, explaining that her father had already given her part of his “estate.”
Dragon's Bluff Page 29
