Trail of the Black Wyrm - Chris Pierson

by Dragonlance

  He saw the Faceless atop their ziggurat. He saw the black dragon perched nearby, and the Hooded One, set there as the focus of some ritual, its cowl thrown back to reveal the horrible face beneath. He saw nightmare creatures with bulging skulls and waving tentacles instead of mouths. And he saw an altar … with his wife chained to it, screaming amidst thunder and rain. She was in pain, her face pale, her lip bleeding where she had bitten it in her throes. For a horrible moment, he thought the Faceless were killing her, but then he realized it was something else. Even before the one called the Master moved in, before the final spasms began, he knew what was happening.

  His Starlight was giving birth.

  “No,” he groaned. He wanted to reach out to her. But he had no body in this dream and could only watch as the Master crouched down and prized something red and screaming from Essana’s body. “No.…”

  The Master held up Forlo’s son, showing it to the statue. The boy was huge, and he howled like one of the bauvan, the ghost-women who haunted old battlefields, forever searching for their dead lovers. Rain poured down on him, washing the blood from his skin. His little arms and legs moved feebly, trying to wave away the water and noise and whatever foulness surrounded the Hooded One. Then the Master turned and strode away, taking the child with him. The tentacled things seized Essana, undid her shackles. She lay upon the altar, sobbing and robbed of strength. Forlo groaned in his sleep, afraid, mourning her, sure she was about to die. Lying in his bunk, he fumbled at his belt, where his sword should be. But still he could do nothing as the creatures lifted her dazed and exhausted form and dragged it away. He tried to follow but couldn’t move. Soon they were gone, vanished into the night. He didn’t know where.

  The dragon remained: Gloomwing, who had stolen his life away while he was fighting the Uigan horde. The wyrm slithered on the temple roof, spreading its dark wings and throwing back its head to screech at the heavens. Its eyes glinted like rubies, catching the flare of lightning in their smoldering glow. Then, serpent-quick, they flicked in Forlo’s direction and froze. There was a deep cruelty in those eyes, and mockery too. He realized, with a shudder, that the dragon could see him. The beast was looking right at him, right now.

  Words formed in his brain. The voice was cold, unstirred by human emotion. It knew only malice, greed, and spite.

  You followed my track, Gloomwing said, its gaze still locked with Forlo’s. You have done much to hinder us … but it makes no difference. The child is born. The ritual proceeds. In days, it will be over, and your son will belong to Maladar. Forever.

  You have lost, human.

  You are too late.

  He woke with a yelp, disoriented, panicking, and nearly fell from his bunk as he struggled to get up. When he finally found his feet, his heart thundering, Forlo saw Hult watching him from his own berth, his eyes questioning. The Uigan made as if to rise, but Forlo raised a hand, shaking his head. Now, more than ever, he needed to be alone.

  He glanced at Eldako. The merkitsa lay motionless in his bunk, but Forlo knew he was awake, waiting for a word to be spoken or an untoward sound before he stirred. Forlo gave him neither, but stole to the ladder, shirtless and sweat-soaked, and climbed up onto the ship’s deck.

  There was a breeze; it cooled him a little, but not much. The weather down here, in the southernmost reaches of Taladas, was hot and sultry even in the depths of winter. He had been down here once before, accompanying his legion to the fisherman’s kingdom of Syldar, and it had been torment then. Both he and Grath had joked that if they were ever asked to come back, they’d desert their posts instead, and take their chances with the headsman if it came to it.

  A lot I knew, Forlo thought, walking softly across the deck to look to the west. I’ve cheated the headsman, and here I am again.

  From Marak, they had returned to the kender in their hidden cave. The little folk had greeted them as conquering heroes for defeating the Teacher, but Forlo hadn’t felt like a victor. He knew a long road still lay ahead, and they had set out again the next morning. Tanda and her warriors accompanied them back to the Boiling Sea and helped push the boat into the water. Protected by Shedara’s magic once more, they had left the kender behind and made south and east, following the jagged curve of the Steamwalls for another ten days—until, finally, they reached the end of the strait and glided out into an open bay, leaving behind volcanoes and brimstone and superheated waters. This was the Thousand Spires, a scattering of tall, rocky islands covered in exotic trees. To the west lay the Blackwater Glade, which covered the southern fiefs of Thenol; ahead were Syldar and its fisheries, where men worshiped shark-gods and an order of dark warriors from across the sea, who called themselves the Knights of Neraka, kept the dark and impregnable outpost of New Jelek.

  None of that concerned Forlo. All that mattered was the land to the east, the mass of thick, tangled jungle swaying in the wind, just this side of the horizon. This was the Emerald Sea of Neron—an ancient land, unexplored except along the coasts. Countless stories were told about what lay in the interior, almost all ending in madness and blood.

  They had first sighted Neron late yesterday, dark against the setting sun. Tomorrow they would go ashore, in search of the temples Shedara had seen in the Teacher’s mind. They would walk into the teeth of all those evil tales, and only the kender of Marak would know where they’d gone.

  Forlo went to the rail and leaned out, looking at the jungle. In the distance, a storm hung over the land, alive with lightning but too far away to hear the thunder. He shivered at the sight, knowing it was the same storm that had been raging in his dream.

  Starlight, he thought, I’m coming. Just hold on. Hold out.…

  You are too late, whispered the dragon in his mind.

  He bowed his head, his hands balling into fists, and slammed them into the rail. Then he struck it again, and again, and again. When he was done, his knuckles were bloody and torn. He stuck them in his mouth and sucked out splinters, glaring at the storm—so close, but so far away.

  “Nice punching,” Shedara said. She had crept up beside him while he was lost in thought.

  He blinked, then shook his head and turned away. “Leave me alone,” he said. “I don’t want to talk now.”

  “Too bad,” she replied, taking hold of his shoulder and forcing him to face her. “I know what happened, Barreth. Your son was born tonight.”

  Forlo stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “How? Have you been spying on my mind?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t think so highly of yourself,” she said. “I had the same dream, that’s all. I have a bond to the Hooded One, just as you do with your wife. There’s a lot of power hanging over that jungle tonight … enough that it drew us both in.” She frowned, looking troubled. “A lot of power.”

  “Did you hear the dragon too?” he asked. “It told me we were too late.”

  “I heard it,” she answered. “It didn’t exactly fill me with glee, if that’s what you’re asking. But … well, it’s a dragon, Barreth. It could have been lying. What better way to hamper us, than to make us think there’s no chance of stopping them in time?”

  He frowned, turning the idea over in his mind. It sounded like wishful thinking … but then again, there might be something to it. What made him think Gloomwing was telling the truth? Nothing, except his own pessimism. He’d suspected, ever since Kristophan, that he wouldn’t reach Essana in time. He glanced at the jungle again and shook his head.

  “Look, I’m not saying things are good,” Shedara said. “The child came. That can’t bode well. Soon they’ll try to free Maladar from the statue. But that didn’t happen tonight, and it probably won’t for some time yet. The babe’s probably still too fragile for … for what they mean to do with it. We still have a chance.”

  “A chance …” he said dully.

  She shook him, losing her temper. “Yes, damn it, a chance! That’s all we’ve ever had. It’s more than you thought you had when you rode to battle against the horde. Wak
e up, Barreth … or give up, if that’s what you want to do!” She drew one of her daggers and handed it to him. “Your choice.”

  She turned and walked away, her boots thunking against the deck. He watched her disappear down the hatch, back into the hold. Then he turned to watch the storm. Essana was out there, under the clouds somewhere. His son too … two lives now, separate. They both needed him.

  He looked down at the dagger, its edge glittering with starlight. He turned it this way and that … then raised it and buried its tip in the ship’s rail. It was still quivering as he whirled and stomped away to find what sleep he could before morning.

  The coast loomed ahead, the jungle dark and thick and still. On the shore was a narrow beach, overhung with leaning palm trees, then nothing but a riot of green, alive with strange cries and shrieks. A large blue bird, with a crest of crimson feathers, broke free of the foliage with a keening cry and soared out over the water; a moment later, a bright green serpent with leathery wings shot out as fast as an arrow and caught the bird in its gaping jaws. With a scream and a flurry of sapphire feathers, the flying snake jerked its prey out of the air and vanished once again among the trees.

  “Lovely,” muttered Forlo, steering as Hult guided from the bow. He glared at the forest and shivered, trying not to think about what lay ahead. At least the storm was gone—either dissipated or moved away to the east before dawn.

  Shedara stepped close to him, hauling on a halyard to trim the mainsail. She met his gaze and grinned.

  “You could have given me back the dagger,” she said. “It took me ten minutes to pry it loose from the gunwale.”

  Forlo chuckled. “Thanks for the talk.”

  She shrugged, then they both glanced ahead as Hult raised his hand. “Tack starboard!” the Uigan shouted. “Shallows ahead!”

  Shedara moved on, guiding the sail as Forlo leaned on the rudder. Eldako went to help her. The boat leaned to the right, booms swinging, then shuddered as the keel scraped the sandy bottom and slid free again. Hult waved, signaling all clear, and Forlo smiled. Over the weeks, the four of them had gotten quite good at piloting the ship together. For a moment, with the wind blowing strange scents from the shore and the waves slapping the vessel’s hull, he managed to forget his worries. For the first time since—well, he couldn’t remember—he managed a laugh.

  And then the jungle exploded.

  There was no warning, no sign anything was amiss. One moment they were gliding along, angling toward the coast with less than a hundred paces between them and dry land; the next, a deafening roar filled the air, accompanied by the sound of shattering trees as an enormous bulk hurtled out of the forest.

  An enormous black bulk.

  “Aiya! Dragon!” yelled Hult, falling back from his vantage, one hand fumbling for his sword. Over by the larboard rail, Eldako strung his bow and slid an arrow from his quiver. Shedara dropped her halyard and drew her knives.

  “Khot!” Forlo swore, hauling on the rudder, trying to pull away from Gloomwing as the beast barreled right at them. The boat shuddered as the keel struck sand again—and then, with a noise like a gale, the dragon howled overhead.

  As it passed, its hind claws wrapped around the mainmast, yanking the boat wildly to the side. The top ten feet of the spar snapped and came away, then the sail tore from the rigging, fluttering behind the wyrm. The ship listed wildly, and Forlo fell to the deck, hanging on to the wheel to keep from sliding down the deck. A moment later things began to right themselves, and in the distance Gloomwing let go of his prize, the ruined mast and sail splashing down into the water as he tilted his wings and wheeled in a great arc, intent on a second pass.

  Eldako loosed a shot, but it glanced off the dragon’s snout, breaking in half and spinning away. Undeterred, the wild elf reached for a second shaft. Shedara spun, grabbing him and yelling something. Forlo’s eyes were fast on Gloomwing, whose wings pumped as he swept toward them, raising spray from the ocean’s surface. The dragon rose, claws clutching the air, jaws dropping open to reveal teeth that could tear a man in half with no effort at all. It was horrible and beautiful all at the same time, and Forlo found he could only gape in awe at the majestic creature, soaring higher and higher, then turning its snaky neck to stare directly at him. The monster’s gaze made him feel small, insignificant. He was an insect, a stain begging to be cleansed from the world. How could he pursue such a godlike being? How dare he believe that he could thwart it? How—

  “Barreth!” Shedara shouted in his ear. “Wake up! Snap out of it!”

  Forlo blinked, momentarily angry at her for disturbing his thoughts—but then the glamour Gloomwing had cast over him lifted, and a cold revulsion took its place. He’d let the beast catch him, fascinate him. If not for Shedara, it would have held him with its gaze until it killed him.

  “What—” he began.

  “No time!” she yelled, pulling him toward the rail. Looking past the snapped and dangling rigging, he could see that the dragon was now beginning to dive, its mouth gaping wide. “It’s going to breathe! Go!”

  He stumbled after her, glancing down the deck. Hult and Eldako were already gone—overboard, he presumed, trying to get away from approaching death. He looked up and saw something green and steaming boil up Gloomwing’s throat, a bubbling bile that poured from its mouth with an awful, vomiting sound. A pungent reek struck him, like vinegar but far more potent; it made his lungs burn, his eyes water. Acid, he thought as the fluid rained down on the boat’s deck, raising huge billows of yellow fumes. It ate through wood, metal, everything, right down to the hull and the water beneath. Ropes and sails fell away, smoldering.

  They were at the rail now. Searing droplets spattered them, making Shedara grunt in pain and his own armor hiss as the acid tried to eat through. “Jump!” the elf yelled.

  They leaped together, as more and more sizzling slime sprayed the ship. The deck collapsed; seawater boiled up through the ruined hull, and for just an instant, as he was falling through air down to the sea, he saw the whole boat split in half and begin to sink. The dragon thundered by overhead.

  Then a hunk of flying wood, flung free of the wreckage, struck him in the side of the head. The sun got very bright; then everything vanished in gray mist. He was gone by the time he hit the water.

  Chapter

  25

  THOUSAND-SPIRE BAY, NERON

  Shedara hit the water hard, sucked in a mouthful, and barely managed to swallow before it could go into her lungs. Drops of green slime spattered the surface above as she plunged to the sandy bottom, pieces of the boat sinking beside her. A huge, dark shadow swept overhead as Gloomwing shot past the wreckage of the Starlight.

  The dragon would come around again soon, aiming for another pass—coming in low to pluck them out of the water, one by one. She’d watched a wyrm do it once, from a safe distance: a hungry blue who had devoured half a clan of mer-folk as they tried to flee the shallows where she’d trapped them. That would be her fate, and her friends’, if Shedara didn’t move quickly.

  The first step, as was often the case, was magic. A quick gesture and a muffled word sent a blizzard of bubbles rising through the brine, and she felt a change run through her, down deep in her body. Shutting her eyes to fight back the wave of panic that always came with this spell, she forced herself to suck in another gulp of water—and this time, let it fill her lungs. For a moment there was the terrible sensation of smothering … then it disappeared, and she was breathing the water as easily as air.

  Without the need to surface again, she cast about in search of the others. Eldako and Hult were nowhere to be seen—but then, they’d abandoned the ship first. Hult still couldn’t swim, but the merkitsa was as strong a swimmer as she knew. She had to trust that they’d already made it to shore because.…

  Forlo was bad off, lying face-up in the sand, pinned by a torn hunk of the boat’s hull, which had come down on top of him. Pink streamers of blood ran from his temple and nostrils; he was very pale, his lips
turning blue. Already drowning. She swam for him, tiny silver fish darting away from her.

  A sudden darkness from above was all the warning she got, but it was enough. On instinct, she dove deep, flattening herself against the sea floor as Gloomwing’s jaws plunged into the water. He ripped a furrow through the waves, fangs snapping as he sought prey. All he got, though, were a few of the silver fish; he passed by Shedara, tossing her crazily in his wake, then pulled up and out again. She saw his shadow recede as she lunged for Forlo again.

  The wood trapping him wasn’t hard to shift under water; she got it off with one great shove, then grabbed his arm and pulled him away. He was far from light, with his mail and sword weighing him down, but fear gave her strength, particularly when she glanced up to see Gloomwing finish wheeling about and start to dive again. She didn’t make for shore; there wasn’t time, so instead they went deeper, to where the acid-scorched bulk of the ship was settling, even now, into the sand. There were two large pieces, one of which lay upside-down, enough to give some semblance of shelter. Dragging Forlo, she ducked into a pocket just as Gloomwing hit the water again.

  Shedara held Forlo tight to keep him from drifting away, watching the water above grow dark as night. Gritting her teeth, she listened to the roar of the black wyrm approaching. The slab of hull above her shuddered with the impact, slid a few paces, then shattered, pieces flying everywhere. It had served its purpose, though: the dragon was past them again, its shriek of frustration barely audible from twenty feet deep.

  They were still alive—that was the good news. The bad was there was nowhere else to hide. The other half of the hull lay facing upward: a feeding bowl for the wyrm, nothing more. She had no choice left but to flee—so she did, one arm wrapped around Forlo’s chest as she swam madly toward shallower water.