“Ozrin,” Smegdor called, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice from wavering as he approached. He stepped first in puddles of urine then in piles of dung. Taking a burning breath of ammonia laden air, he advanced further into the darkness. It’s fatal to startle a dragon, he thought. Giving advance warning gives you at least a moment to explain your interruption, before they vaporize or snap you up.
“Crunch! Crunch!” echoed again from the stable’s dark grotto.
Smegdor saw pale light flashing from two eyes when Ozrin looked up. A flicker of flame curled up from his nostrils. The huge beast stepped to the stall gate, staring at Smegdor.
“What do you want, little man? Why do you disturb me when I’m eating?” A few more crunches and the silver-scaled dragon spat a large bone tip at Smegdor’s feet.
Shivering, Smegdor sucked up his nerve with his chest. “Master commands you to begin the plan the two of you decided on earlier. He thinks it best you include General Tarquak in it,” Smegdor said.
Hot sulfurous breath swirled around past Smegdor, blowing his thin hair.
“General Tarquak, yes, to be sure,” the dragon said. Ozrin looked at the bone fragment and curled a little smirk. He lowered his enormous head. His eighteen inch eyes stared into Smegdor’s face.
Smegdor nearly fainted, seeing his reflection. He trembled, but he held his stance upright. Ozrin puffed a smoke circle that rolled over and down around Smegdor. If I pass out, I’ll never be seen or heard from again, he thought.
“Well then, those are the master’s orders,” Smegdor said, his voice breaking and trailing off. The little man released the gate’s restraint, turned, and hurried out and back along the ledge. I can feel that eye still behind me. The receding sound of bones crunching behind him finally convinced him Ozrin had gone back to his grizzly meal. Smegdor retreated back down into the mountain without looking back.
*
Ozrin was sniffing for orc scraps when General Tarquak approached, thinking to take command of the dragon. The general as wraith was terrified of the Evil One, who could hurl his being back into the Well of Souls. Still, he knew the dragon’s fire and voracious appetite were no threat to him.
The dragon can burn and eat this orc shell, he thought, but he can’t destroy me. He repeated the thought to bolster his courage. Finally, he approached the dragon now in the moonlight on the ledge.
“Are you Ozrin, my dragon?” the general demanded to know. Tarquak puffed up to back his overbearing tone. I must dominate this beast so he’ll understand he’s my subordinate, he thought.
“Don’t take out your humiliation on me because you were whimpering at the master’s feet,” Ozrin said. He stopped chewing and stared at Tarquak. Without answering the question, the dragon extended the talon on his first finger and flicked a bone from between his teeth. It hit the general on the shoulder then tinkled on the rocky ledge and fell over.
“How dare you, you overgrown lizard!” the general said. He brushed off his now excessively decorated uniform and was about to say something else.
Ozrin placed his fingernail on the general’s orc head. Energy surged through the wraith-orc, frying the body and leaving the skeleton a mound of sparks. Ozrin broke out in a laugh so great, the Evil One must have heard it below in his lair.
“You will use a more respectful tone with me in the future, General,” the dragon said, his voice deep, smooth. The sparks fizzled out on the skeleton as it collapsed into ash and blew off the windy ledge. Ozrin reached out and grasped the general’s essence, clinging to the orc fragments still vibrating with electrical pulses. He squeezed it into a condensed ball, then thumped the ball with his claw. It shot it off the mountain to the valley below.
When the general reformed as a vapor, free of the bones and ash, he seized a new orc host and crawled back to the dragon’s lair.
“May I respectfully ask if I might know, when it would be convenient for you to depart on our mission to Sengenwha?” the wheezing body asked.
“Remove that,” Ozrin said. He pointed to fresh dragon dung with the giant finger that had just fried Tarquak’s former body.
Tarquak knew his face twisted at the smell, as without protest, he fell against the dragon poop larger than himself. His hands and feet slipped in the excrement. He strained to roll the feces over the ledge’s rim. The beast is insufferable, thought the wraith, still feeling drained electrically. A spark startled the specter and the orc body ran back down into the mountain.
* * *
Earwig too short-circuited, emerging from the lake. The energy pulse startled the Dark Lord like scraping metal screeching suddenly in his ear.
“Smegdor!” the sorcerer said.
“What is it, Master?” the assistant asked, rushing into the room.
“She’s alive! That witch is alive!” the Dark Lord said. He clasped his head between his hands. “Anyone else would be dead! Why couldn’t she have been on their side?”
“She’s in Neuyokkasin, isn’t she?” Smegdor asked. “Why would she upset Your Magnificence?”
The Dark Lord turned slowly to his assistant, who stepped back in response. “What did you say?” the king asked, through a low threatening growl. He lowered his head and hunched in his shoulders like an animal poised to pounce.
“How stupid of me?” the assistant squeaked.
The Evil One saw beads of perspiration forming on Smegdor’s face.
Smegdor cast a quick glance up at the Dark Lord then jerked his head away, staring at the floor. He froze, barely breathing. Finally, he swallowed.
The worm apparently fears even his chest movement might trigger an attack, the king observed. He instantly hurled a wizard-fire bolt that smashed into the door’s stone lintel. It just missed Smegdor as the little man’s last trace flashed out of sight around the corner.
“Smegdor!” the king yelled. No amount of coaxing will lure the pathetic man back, he thought. I’ll have to shout instructions to the terrified creature on the level below. “Send someone to find the witch. She’s somewhere in the eastern Lake Pundar area. If we leave her to stumble around on her own, she could destroy our whole army.”
*
I’ll send someone for the witch, but my heart isn’t in it, Smegdor sulked. That bolt was way too close; the king could’ve killed me. It was a terrible mistake to suggest that anything was significant enough to upset him.
“I’ll send a bat to hunt down Earwig,” Smegdor yelled up the staircase from his small closet’s doorway. “The creature can fly at night and find her.” He turned back into the room’s refuge. At least I’m empowered to do minor magic. I’m capable of casting a spell on a bat to allow it to understand, whom it’s to find and what it’s to report back about her.
When he recovered his nerve, Smegdor searched a cave, locating a suitable bat. Transfixed by Smegdor’s spell, the bat waited for instructions.
“Look for something unusually odious. You’ll know her, when you see her. She’s been subsisting on corrupt worm soup and poisonous mushrooms. Her form will be unique. She’s somewhere east of Lake Pundar. Most likely you’ll smell her before you see her.”
That done, the bat flew into the night and south to Lake Pundar, watching for something nasty. The bat eventually found Earwig, traveling up a dirt back road near the lake’s eastern shore. Following an unusual stench, the bat was soon drawn to the cart’s cacophonous groans. It flew low, circling over the vagabonds, traveling in the moonlight, to verify she was the witch it sought. The odor trail wafting up from the cart with Zendor’s contributions, confirming the bat had found its objective. One look at the misshapen yellow-green and purple creature and the bat knew it could only be Earwig the witch.
That thing must travel at night to avoid the sun on her marbled hide, it thought. Uh! She must scare others of her kind. I hope she can see me at night though the leafless tree limbs that weave surreal shadows on the road in the moonlight. I’ll circle low and close to get the witch to stop for her message.
The wary bat ca
rried the message the Dark Lord was aware of her now, and on the bat’s return, the master would send help to aid her on her journey to Dreaddrac.
*
Being short tempered, Earwig mistook the bat as an annoyance. She liked bats quite well until the incident with the rabid bat. Then, when she’d transmuted into a bat at the royal palace to visit the queen, she’d been beaten unmercifully and tossed into a waste bin. Now her affinity for bats was gone. She avoided them like, well, the plague.
“Go away you nasty creature!” Earwig yelled at the fluttering bat. She jerked her head to Dreg. “Yes, I’m well aware that’s what people usually yell at me now, so don’t say it.”
Dreg said nothing. He flicked the reigns to hurry Zendor along.
She noted his slight smile and felt her face flush. Earwig watched the bat intently. When it came by on its next pass, Earwig wound her body like a wrung out dishrag. Whack! She walloped the bat with her cane, sending the creature spinning into a sapling and plastering around the trunk. Every bone in its body was broken. Its mangled pulp slid down the smooth bark to the base of the young beech tree, where it shriveled up. A weasel snatched up the remains before the cart moved out of sight.
“Nasty things, bats,” Earwig said. “Nastier still, if they have rabies, let me tell you.” She looked away quickly. I hope he doesn’t ask me about that, she thought. I still can’t bear remembering my experience with that rabid nightmare.
“Did you have a run in with a rabid bat?” Dreg asked. He looked at her and spit off to the side of the cart.
“Shut up! Didn’t I tell you to stop chewing tackenbeck?” Earwig snapped. She refused to look at Dreg, but pointed to Zendor instead. “Keep that internally rotting animal moving. And stop your infernal spitting. It’s revolting.”
Dreg lowered his head at the rebuke. He flicked the reins on Zendor.
“Looks like your friend, Dreaddrac’s king, would send someone to help us, Miss Earwig, I mean Irkin.”
“What does he care about a poor old woman that helped him so much in the past,” the witch grumbled.
The sound of the weasel munching on pulverized bat faded behind them. Zendor broke wind, and Earwig rolled her eyes. The cart moved steadily, if barely, on up the road.
6: Sengenwhapolis Again Under Attack
;
Ozrin the Silver-scaled Dragon
An exhausted courier arrived at Helshian Court Palace in Konnotan with extraordinary news. When the chatra heard his message, he immediately rushed to the king at the palace banquet hall. The chatra interrupted the state dinner to whisper something in King Saxthor’s ear. Saxthor looked at Calamidese.
“King Calamidese, King Grekenbach, and Wizard Memlatec will you join us in our private audience chamber,” Saxthor said. Away from the court, in the remote hall, Saxthor broke the news.
“The wraith, General Tarquak, has returned to Sengenwha with a silver-scaled dragon, Ozrin. They’ve rallied the Dark Lord’s forces in northeastern Sengenwha. Those forces are marching on Sengenwhapolis once again.”
In the silence that followed, Delia crawled under the table. The kings and Memlatec turned to each other, but for a moment there was no response.
“Another dragon,” Calamidese said finally. “We were lucky to kill the dragon, Hakbar. I don’t think we can count on such good fortune again.”
“That’s not all,” Saxthor continued, giving pause for the men to absorb the news. “Sengenwhapolis is already cut off. The defenders say not enough food or arms remain to sustain the city for a lengthy siege.”
King Calamidese rose abruptly, his chair thrust back almost falling over. “We must leave at once for Sengenwha. We should not have left so soon after retaking the capital. I should have known the situation was unstable, while the orcs still infested the forests and swamps. Thank you again for your hospitality, Saxthor.” With that, Calamidese gripped his sword, bowed slightly to Saxthor then Grekenbach, and headed for the door.
“We understand completely. We will send what aid we can as soon as we can put it together,” Saxthor said.
At the door, Calamidese turned back to the men at the conference table. “I had planned to take Dagmar and mother back with us to Sekcmet Palace when we returned, but we must accept your kind offer to extend them refuge here until things stabilize in Sengenwha.”
“Of course, their highnesses are most welcome to remain here as long as they like.” Saxthor rose and rang a bell. “Wait here. I’ll send for Dagmar and your mother to speak with you before you go.” Saxthor summoned the guard. “Send in Belnik then go to the dowager queen and Princess Dagmar in the banquet hall. Request they come at once.”
When Belnik entered, Saxthor sent him to arrange for King Calamidese’s departure.
“This jolt of news painfully reminds us all that a wider war is imminent on the peninsula,” King Grekenbach said. He was pacing the floor as they waited for Princess Dagmar and the queen mother. “The war is intensifying, and I fear the next front might be on my borders.”
When the guard returned with the dowager queen mother and Dagmar, Nonee was with them.
Grekenbach moved to embrace his new queen. He then turned to Saxthor. “Your majesty realizes we must return to Graushdemheimer as soon as possible.”
“Yes, it seems we must all return to the business of war preparations,” Saxthor said.
King Calamidese left at the head of his royal guard at dawn. King Grekenbach and Queen Nonee left two days later for Graushdemheimer with their retinue. A pall fell over Konnotan so recently jubilant at the royal wedding.
*
A few days later, Saxthor rode out of Konnotan on the pretext of riding for exercise, but went to up into the hills to Memlatec’s tower. He greeted Aleman and climbed the stairs alone to the wizard’s workroom.
“Memlatec, what do you know of the situation in Sengenwha?” Saxthor asked. “I know you keep a stream of watchers around the peninsula that inform you about unusual happenings. You know of situations before my sources report on them.”
Memlatec closed the thick ancient book he was studying, rose, and came around the table to Saxthor.
It’s as if he doesn’t want to be overheard even in his sanctum, Saxthor thought, watching the wizard’s deliberate movement.
“King Calamidese has allowed Dreaddrac’s forces to infiltrate Sengenwha extensively, as you know,” Memlatec said.
Saxthor was ambling around in the workroom picking up this and that, examining odd things but he listened carefully. He knew Memlatec watched him as the wizard spoke.
“The first wraiths summoned many orc cohorts to the capital to overthrow the king, when he tried to repudiate the Dreaddrac treaty. Many of those died in the battle to retake the city. Still, there were and are a lot more in Sengenwha. I know there are cohorts of orcs with their ogre commanders in the southern marshes still. Other contingents remained in the countryside. Many have now marched to join General Tarquak in the present siege of the city.” Memlatec moved closer to Saxthor. Saxthor looked at the wizard. “It’s the dragon Ozrin that concerns me most.”
“This Ozrin, he’s exceptionally dangerous even for a dragon, isn’t he?” Saxthor asked. He put down a dried animal part, holding his gaze on Memlatec. “I mean, he’s much worse than Hakbar, isn’t he?”
“Dragons are very powerful and intelligent, as you yourself know. This new dragon is a silver-scale, the most intelligent, and cunning of all the Dark Lord’s dragons. King Calamidese will have a hard time holding the city against the onslaught of that beast.”
“I must send troops across the border to attack the Dark Lord’s forces in southern Sengenwha. Calamidese and I discussed it before he left and I told him as much. It will distract the orcs, keep them from the capital, and tie them up fighting in the south so they won’t be able to support the attack on Sengenwhapolis,” Saxthor said. He watched Memlatec for a reaction. Memlatec knows more about fighting the Evil One than anyone living, he thought. I want the old wizard’s end
orsement.
“As you think best, Your Majesty,” Memlatec said, bowing. He turned and started back behind his work table to the book, but looked up at the king. “Wizards no longer rule the continent of Powteros. Once, we wielded power and that power corrupted us. This is the age of man. The most I should do is advise, Your Majesty. I mustn't interfere.”
“You’re not really telling me anything, Memlatec,” Saxthor said, moving to the table. “Do you think that is the best approach to this?”
Memlatec held the gaze with Saxthor. “It’s not for me to say, Saxthor. Your majesty is the king, and it’s the king’s responsibility to make the final decisions in these matters.”
“I need advice,” Saxthor said to his old friend and mentor. He leaned forward and put his hands on the table edge. “I admit I’m young and new at this monarchy position. I don’t want to mess things up; too many people depend on me, Memlatec.”
Memlatec looked at the young king with a rare, warm smile. “I have no children and will soon leave this world to the new age. Had I had a son, I couldn’t have been prouder of him than I am of you, Saxthor. You want to rule well and be worthy of your ancestors. You’ve the energy, the will, and now your powers to succeed.”
“Yes, but wanting to succeed doesn’t make it happen,” Saxthor said.
“The adventure to restore the Crown of Yensupov gave you experiences of a lifetime. You rule with more wisdom than kings twice your age. You will make mistakes, but correcting those mistakes, and learning from them, is part of the fabric of life. No one knows if another could have done it better or more wisely. Your majesty will rule well and overcome your mistakes.”
In one of the few times Saxthor ever knew the wizard to touch anyone; he put his hand on Saxthor’s. “Your majesty has already engineered a marriage that binds kingdoms together. Neither of your two predecessors was able to do that through two reigns. Trust your instincts in these matters. I’ll not always be here to give answers.”
Saxthor didn’t look up at the wizard; he felt himself flushed slightly. “Very well, it’s your fault then if I destroy a kingdom here or there then,” Saxthor said, embarrassed by the wizard’s confidence.
The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4) Page 11
