A Man of His Word

by The Complete Series 01-04 (epub)

  By the time his wits settled, Jalon was explaining to Gathmor how he and Rap had seen a prophecy in a magic casement. The sailor’s face was pale, too, now, but with fury, not fear.

  “There it is!” Rap yelled, pointing. A speck, low in the sky. Far, far, away.

  Coming. Still beyond the range of farsight. Only one.

  A sudden surge of doubt sent prickles racing over his skin.

  Oh Gods! If its voice is that strong now …

  Gathmor grabbed the front of Rap’s robe in one massive fist and brandished the other. “You young bastard! You knew about this and you trapped me?”

  “Let him be!” Sagorn snapped.

  Gathmor whirled to find the source of the new voice, and staggered when he found himself looking up into the shrewd and angry eyes of the old scholar.

  “Who the Evil are you?”

  “Never mind now. Do not blame him—magic prophecies cannot readily be evaded or nullified. We must take cover. Sometimes these draconic vestiges are cavernous. Come!” The old man set off, striding across the hot sand with surprising agility.

  “Yes. He’s right,” Rap said. And yet … how inevitable was the prophecy, how significant its details? It had shown the three of them at the base of the cliff where the dragon’s ribs rose from the sand. If they split up now, could they still balk it?

  Gold? trumpeted the fanfare voice. Is gold?

  Rap felt as if someone had dropped a metal bucket over his head and thrown a house at it. Deafened, blinded, he sprawled to his knees. Gathmor hauled him up and began hustling him across the sand after Sagorn.

  His farsight was picking it up now, coming low over the forest, the blast from its great wings stirring the trees in dancing turmoil. It did not compare in size with the mountainous fossil, it was silvery and not black, but it was still as big as Blood Wave or Stormdancer.

  He tried to answer Gathmor’s questions while the sailor hauled him—half carried him—toward the towering pile of black rock ahead, but that last word from the dragon had left him too dazed. This was no tiny fire chick, and its sheer intensity overwhelmed him. He had blundered hopelessly. Miscalculated. Everything was lost, and they were all going to die.

  Twice more the gigantic voice rang in Rap’s mind, exulting, gloating, ravening after gold … yet curious and querying also, as if a current of doubt ran deep below. The power of that voice was unbearable now, every blast an impact of pain that made him think his head was being crushed, that sickened him, that blanked out everything else except the awareness of failure and stupidity.

  Sagorn had picked his way between the litter of giant scales and was peering into a crevice in the ropy black face of the cliff itself. He turned as Gathmor released Rap to fall on the scorching sand at his feet.

  “Now will you explain—”

  “No. These gaps are too shallow. But there may be a cavern of some considerable size within this cadaver.” The old man glared down at Rap. “Fool! I suppose you thought your mastery might work on dragons?”

  Rap croaked hoarsely, then forced himself to sit up. “It worked on a fire chick.”

  Sagorn roared in exasperation and shook both fists at the sky. “Where did you meet a fire chick?”

  “In Milflor. Bright Water had one.”

  Gold? Two legs have gold?

  The worm was close now. Its voice was a brass band inside Rap’s head, and an earthquake also, and being crushed flat. His skull would fall apart.

  Inos! He must think of Inos. He was doing this for her, and he sought to draw strength from her memory.

  “Bright Water! You met the witch again?” Sagorn grimaced, baring his teeth like an angry skeleton. “Moron! Young idiot! You should have consulted me! You should have told Andor.”

  Rap began hauling himself upright, pushing himself up the rough black face of the cliff. It burned, hotter even than the sand. His head was still ringing from the dragon’s last fanfare, and already the worm was much closer, sunlight flashing on silver scales as it soared swiftly over the forest. The beat of its wings was rhythmic thunder thudding against his eardrums. Huge! The next word it said was going to kill him. He cringed in expectation, waiting for the next bolt of agony like a felon hung on the whipping post, able to think of nothing but the coming lash.

  “Too strong!” he muttered.

  “Obviously!” Sagorn snapped. “Have you tried, though? Have you even tried to send it away?”

  Rap shook his head. He was still leaning against the furnace of the rock, as he dared not trust his legs to support him. The dragon was close enough now that he could believe he was looking up at it, a silvery sky-snake, thrashing through the air on wings as wide as the courtyard of the castle in Krasnegar, its tail trailing behind it in long curves, two monstrous jeweled eyes flashing. Beneath it, trees were tumbling and shattering like matchwood in the blast.

  “It wants gold,” he mumbled. “It thinks we have gold.”

  Sagorn spun around and stalked off. “We must take cover!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I must find cover.”

  “Why you?” Gathmor followed, firing angry questions. “Just you? And where did you come from, anyway?”

  Rap pushed himself erect and tottered after the other two. He ought to try sending a command to the dragon, he knew, but he was terrified that it might reply. That voice was worse agony than anything he had ever known. It would burn his brain to ashes.

  Oh, Inos! I tried! I tried too hard.

  Sagorn rounded a rock fragment as large as a cottage, which might have been a part of a fetlock. He was scanning the cliff that rose so high above, looking for an opening into that mythical cavern he hoped for. Even if he found it, it would be only a death trap.

  Then a gigantic shadow flashed over them, and they all stopped.

  The casement! This was the moment. Rap turned to stare across the heat-distorted sand, and for one tiny instant thought he saw a flicker of darkness there, where the observers must have been, where he must have been. If it was there, it had gone …

  “This prophecy?” Gammor shouted. “What happens?”

  “We don’t know,” Sagorn growled, watching the sky monster sweep around in a curve, coming in lower for another pass. “This is as far as it went.”

  “You mean we may die?”

  “We probably shall. Unless Rap can sent it away.”

  It was up to him. Rap braced himself, trying to imagine he was dealing with Firedragon, the Krasnegar stallion—or a dog, maybe, like Fleabag. He tried to recall how he had influenced the fire chick. He took a deep breath. Go away! he commanded.

  The response was even worse than he had expected—a shrill explosion of fright that struck like agony, that hurled him bodily backward to sprawl on the sand. His head came down a hands-breadth from a jagged rock, but he hardly noticed. The dragon shied like a foal, whirled around in the sky as if knotting itself, then spiraled down out of sight behind a hilltop. The forest exploded in a red-black mushroom of flame and smoke.

  A moment later, a sound of thunder rolled over the clearing. The pillar of smoke roiled skyward, ever thicker, its feet bright with fire. Sharp booms suggested tree trunks exploding in the heat.

  Gold?

  That had been a quieter, almost timorous query, but there was tenacity in it. Rap did not think the dragon had given up. It was merely startled, and puzzled.

  Sagorn loomed over Rap, staring down with grim fury. His ghostly pale face was slick with sweat, his bony nose and lantern jaw more skull-like than ever.

  “Fool! You thought to frighten my word of power from me?”

  Rap grunted and struggled to rise. In the back of his mind he could feel the dragon’s thoughts now—low self-mutterings of gold and of two-legses by the ancestral relic. It was not even speech, just musings, and it filled his mind with metallic alien echoes so torturous that he could not think.

  “You thought you could control dragons!” Sagorn snarled. “You were going to coerce me into telling you my word of power!”


  Rap nodded miserably and forced himself to his knees. “I might have—but it believes we have gold.”

  Sagorn sneered. “The slightest hint of gold will drive a dragon crazy. Even you must know that! It puts them into a frenzy. They need metal to drive their metamorphoses, gold most of all.”

  “Have we gold?” Gathmor demanded suspiciously, appearing at the old man’s side.

  Sagorn kept his eyes on Rap. “Thinal has.”

  “What!” Rap shouted.

  “In Finrain, he stole for Andor again; to bankroll more of his philanderings.” The old man closed his eyes and seemed to crumple. “Before he went away, he put a coin in his mouth.”

  Rap howled. He struggled to his feet, swaying.

  The fire beyond the hill was growing larger, and louder. Trees were exploding, smoke pulsing up in huge black clouds. High overhead, the column was drifting westward. The dragon was coming.

  “Why?” Rap demanded. Frowning, Gathmor reached out a hand to steady him.

  “He almost always does,” Sagorn said sadly. “It is the only way any of us can keep anything for himself. What is inside us goes with us—so Thinal usually hides away a coin like that. When he returns, he has that much, at least. He is only a common sneak thief, remember.”

  “And the dragon can tell?”

  “Maybe it can. Dragons are not wholly mundane. They have powers of their own. This one may be sensing Thinal’s gold.”

  GOLD!

  Rap staggered and almost fell as another twisting wave of torment tore at his mind. Could the dragon even hear his thoughts, as he seemed to be hearing its? He wished Sagorn had not told him about the gold.

  “Then call Thinal! We’ll throw the coin away and run!”

  Fire was glowing through the forest at the crest of the hill as the dragon ascended the far slope.

  Sagorn shook his head. “Useless! A taste of gold and the drake would devastate the countryside for leagues. Its frenzy would last for days while it went through another stage of metamorphosis. We should never escape.”

  “Then tell him the damned word!” Gathmor bellowed. Apparently he had gathered a fair idea of what was going on.

  “No!” The old man glared stubbornly. “I am too old! I need it all!”

  “You won’t need it very long—here she comes!”

  At the top of the hill, the last fringe of trees erupted in one brilliant flash, and the dragon emerged, its whole incredible length pouring out like a string. Not pausing at all, it continued down the slope, slithering at a speed that would have left a racehorse standing. With wings furled, it looked very much like a gigantic metal worm, every scale flashing color in the sunlight, and even at that distance, Rap could feel the heat from it.

  In desperation he gathered all his strength and hurled a command: Go back!

  The monster shied, spreading wings to brake and shooting out a hail of sand and rocks beneath its talons. It reared up on its hind legs, tall as a castle tower, jetting a deafening howl of white fire. Returning waves of power battered into Rap’s mind with stunning force; he felt as helpless as he had in the surf and tide. Half stunned, he reeled back, and only Gathmor’s steely grip stayed him from falling.

  Ishist? came the thought. Two-legs speaks? Is Ishist? The silver form curled forward, front claws sinking into the ground. The great back was curved like a cat’s as the dragon pondered, but Rap thought more of a dog encountering its first porcupine. The massive triangular head swayed from side to side on the scaly neck, regarding the problem from different angles; while all around the sand darkened as it began to melt, then the closer regions started to glow. The whole monster was hotter than a smith’s furnace. Heat wraiths blurred the air around it, molten glass puddled below.

  “The word?” Rap cried.

  “Tell me yours!” Sagorn demanded.

  Rap tried to rally what little courage he had left. He felt ill and faint and very stupid. But he wasn’t going to yield his word now. Not if he died for it.

  “No! Remember what Andor said when we met the goblins? The tables are turned, Sagorn. It’s my talent that’s needed now, not his! Not yours! Mine! But I must have more power.”

  This was what he had planned, the reason he had let Jalon walk into the trap; but he had thought he would be bluffing. He had thought he would be able to control the dragon and bully Sagorn into telling him the gang’s word. Now it was no bluff. He could no more control this monster than he could arm-wrestle it. He greatly doubted he would do any better as an adept, either. Probably only a full sorcerer could coerce a dragon.

  Sagorn looked ill also, haggard and livid. His eyes flickered toward the cliff. “There may be a cave. If I can hide from it, it may not sense Thinal in me …”

  “No!” Rap lurched forward and grabbed the old man by his bony shoulders. “That won’t work, and you know it! It will blow fire in at you. Tell me! Tell me now, or we’re all going to die.”

  Not Ishist! the dragon concluded. Two-legs not Ishist.

  It hurtled forward, splashing molten rock behind it. It came seething down the slope. Thornbushes vanished in flashes of white flame as it went by.

  Sagorn wailed, and bent his head near to Rap’s.

  “Well?” Rap screamed. “Speak!”

  “I can’t! It hurts!”

  Rap shook him like a feather bolster. “It’ll hurt a lot more in two seconds!”

  The old man choked, staggered, and slumped over Rap’s shoulder, suddenly a dead weight. Strange noises grated in his throat, as if he were having a fit. Rap was struggling to hold him up.

  “Sagorn!” Rap yelled. “Doctor! Tell me!”

  The dragon was on the flat and coming faster than anything Rap had ever seen, faster than a swooping falcon. Bigger and bigger, jewel eyes blazing …

  And then Sagorn roused himself just enough to mumble his word of power into Rap’s ear.

  2

  Being struck by lightning might be an experience like learning a word of power. Nothing else was.

  For one eternal, lifeless moment, Rap thought he had blown apart. Lights seemed to soar all around in darkness, and there was music and a great silence. Fanfares and carillons and a deep, deep stillness like the musings of mountains. Solitude and whirling stars. There was pain. There was ecstasy.

  There was no time to enjoy the experience. He looked up and the dragon’s monstrous head was almost on top of him, its heat was blistering his face. He smelled burning cloth from his robe. Sagorn and Gathmor had turned and were staggering away, screaming. The giant gemlike eyes shone down on all of them with a deadly inhuman intelligence, with thoughts no man could think, with alien emotions no human would ever comprehend; the vast mouth was opening to reveal rows of crystalline teeth around an internal blaze like a captive sun. Scales shone like metal, radiating heat.

  GO AWAY! Rap yelled, not knowing whether he spoke the words aloud or not.

  Again the dragon reared up into the sky in shock, and this time it toppled backward. Claws grappled air; it impacted with a concussion that shook the world and blasted a belch of purple fire from its mouth. Boulders came crashing down from the ridge at Rap’s back: scales and armored back plates and half a rib. He ignored those. The live dragon was much more perilous than the dead one.

  A barrage of mental explosions seemed to pour from it, and at that range they should have burned out Rap’s brain, but he blocked them.

  “Go home!” he commanded fiercely. “There is no gold here. Go away!” He felt a shimmering response. It was unreal and outlandish, but vaguely reminiscent of Firedragon, the Krasnegar stallion: anger, and shame, and fear, and a juvenile silliness.

  No gold?

  “None! No metal! GO!”

  The dragon spun around in coils, like a snake, and went rushing back up the slope, somehow seeming to slink at the same time. Its wings spread, flapped. Dust whirled up in thunderclaps as the monster rose to run on its hind legs. A few more hurricane beats and it took to the air. It veered past the column of
smoke still rising from the burning forest, causing it to swirl and writhe like a candle flame, sending a wall of fire roaring through the trees. The dragon dwindled rapidly into the distance.

  Rap heard tiny mutterings of complaint—no gold—and then even those faded away.

  He stank of scorched cloth and hair, but cowl and stubble had protected most of his face. His tattoos hurt, and he could see tiny blisters on them. Apparently his farsight would now work like a mirror, and he couldn’t remember being able to use it like that before. He could see the backs of the hills, though, which was certainly new. The whole world had a sparkle, a sharpness, that he could not recall noticing earlier, but some of that glamour might be the afterglow of a very narrow escape. Life felt extremely good right now.

  He turned around to face Gathmor, who had his arms crossed over his chest, his feet well planted, and was glaring at Rap with intent to terrify. “So you planned all this, did you, sonny?”

  The man was frightened of Rap! It was written all over him.

  “I didn’t plan to …” Rap sighed. “Yes, I did! Yes, I planned it.” He could hardly believe that he was still alive. And he knew two words of power. He was an adept. The world spun brightly for him now.

  “You knew that we would meet a dragon. You led us into a trap. What sort of shipmate would—”

  “Yes. I lied to you, Cap’n, but—… But nothing, obviously. Rap ought to be quaking and quivering as the sailor talked himself up into fighting frenzy. The rage was draining all the color out of his face, even his lips. His hair seemed to bristle. Killer jotunn! What Rap saw, though, was a man frightened by the unknown powers of the occult, a man who was also furious at the fear he had felt before the dragon, who was desperate to restore his self-respect by taking out his rage on someone—or by suffering, perhaps. Now he must take the measure of this young upstart magician and establish who was the better man. Soon his rage had mounted until he was spitting more than he was speaking.

  “Snake!” he screamed. “Ingrate! Reptile!”

  Unable to get in a word, Rap turned and walked away. It didn’t work. Behind him Gathmor tore off his gown and threw it away.