“What can that be?” Hera Vora eyed him closely, for to a dragon danger and responsibility meant wealth and prestige.
Tarion told her the story of his father and mother. He finished gravely, saying, “The tombs of Tarius and Julienna are unique in the world. No other drake or dragoness has the charge of a Praetorian in armor and a Druid Priestess of Syf’s Sacred Circle. No doubt, Lady Persephone and Lady Davanis would come to mourn their friend and quite possibly Lady Syf would make the journey herself. That is why I need a steward of proper tradition and lineage. Yet there are no doubt other more unwholesome forces that would seek out the tomb as well.” He took her eye and toasted her. “I can think of no better steward than the daughter of Olivia and Pergamum. Will you accept the charge?”
“With honor Tarion Praetorian,” she whispered, her voice quivering with rapture.
“Thank you Hera Vora, I am repaid. There is no debt between us.” That closed the matter according to dragon etiquette. Yet Hera was so pleased with his company that she invited him to spend the night in her castle, for it was already growing dark and cold outside. With a fire going, polite conversation, the antics of the baby dragons and Gaurnothax for dinner—at Setris’ suggestion Tarion brought a few steaks—it was a merry evening. They left the next morning. Hera Vora bid Tarion goodbye with effusive thanks. He left with a light heart.
Tarion and Setris returned to the road by early afternoon. They talked of this and that, everything but Tarion’s quest. When they arrived at the road, there was much less of Gaurnothax waiting for them. From there Tarion retraced his path to the dragon’s lair. It was a brooding silent place. A feeling of menace hung over the woods like a dark cloud.
“This is as far as I go!” announced Setris emphatically.
“What is it?” Tarion asked. “Gaurnothax is dead and gone. There’s nothing to worry about, Setris, unless you know of something else that may be in there?”
“Dragon lairs are always guarded,” the pixie told him. “Besides, he’s not the only one who lives hereabouts. This is as far as I go.”
“I thought you wanted to see how I work. No? Well, I didn’t come all this way to be scared off. I’ll see you in a bit and hopefully richer than when I entered.”
Tarion turned to go, but Setris grabbed his head and screamed in pain. He flew this way and that, up and down for seemingly no reason.
“Setris, what’s wrong?” Tarion exclaimed, afraid to try to catch the pixie lest he hurt him.
“Help!” the pixie squeaked, but before he could say anything else, he flew madly off into the cave.
Chapter 22: Mind Games
Tarion hurriedly lit his lantern. He unlatched his wrist-blade and hung the lamp over it. Drawing his sword in his other hand, he ran into the lair. Forty yards inside, he came into a large domed chamber. A small fire in an iron brazier provided light and enough warmth to cut the chill of the room. The place had a pool of clear water, a sumptuous pile of gold, silver, copper, jewels, gems and other treasures. Setris was in the corner, imprisoned in a golden cage. Next to the cage was another living inhabitant.
“Welcome! Welcome!” the being said. His voice had a sonorous lilt to it and the creature rose on two legs from one of the finer pieces of furniture. With great formality, he bowed stiffly. Tarion could only see its face within a fur-lined hood. Its puffy skin was silvery with beaded scales, large eyes and a beard of fleshy whiskers.
“Welcome!” the being repeated. “I have been waiting for you; it was a bothersome task in this wilderness I assure you, but necessary. I knew you would come, though I expected you sooner. Gaurnothax has been dead two days now; I can’t imagine what you’ve been doing in the meantime. It’s fortunate that I am so very patient. I would hate to miss you.”
“Help me! Tarion, beware his—” Setris exclaimed from inside the cage, but the creature waved his arm and Setris fell senseless to the bottom of the cage.
“Pardon his rudeness,” the creature said. “He is but an appetizing delicacy, so to speak and does not realize his place. You, on the other hand, are something quite different. I have been expecting you with some anticipation!”
“Really?” said Tarion doubtfully, advancing toward the creature. “How do you know who I am?”
“There was the Destructor’s Call, of course, but you know all about that.”
Tarion cocked his head and replied, “What are you talking about?”
The creature’s pale brows rose. “That’s strange, very strange. I should think you of all people would have been aware of the Destructor’s aria. After all, it is meant for you, or rather about you!”
“That seems rather a stretch of the imagination,” Tarion replied, halting five paces from the creature and he casting his net for more news. “Why should the Destructor care about a mortal wandering through the world?”
“You, a mere mortal; do you really think I am so ignorant of the world, Tarion Praetorian, General of the Imperial Legions?” the being asked, incredulous. He made a snuffing, snorting noise as if insulted.
“You know who I am. That puts me at a disadvantage. Who are you?”
“Forgive me; the thrill of this day has jarred the courtesy from me. I feel almost human, you know, with so much emotion and delight in my breast. I am Keaorn, an Idjar. Well met, Tarion Praetorian!”
“I know nothing of you or your people,” Tarion said.
“That is not surprising. We are almost myth to mortals and elves. My people scattered about the world to acquire wisdom, power and knowledge. We are an old race, but solitary, as are dragons. Indeed, my people forge beneficial alliances with many dragons. We seek the sentient life force of beings, but not just anyone will do. We are very particular; we are connoisseurs, if you will. We desire the powerful, the rare and the succulent. Thus, I had an amazingly practical relationship with Gaurnothax: he kept the woods clear of cattle so I could be selective and I provided him with a manner of cerebral protection from any being powerful enough to threaten him.”
“Sorry to bring your arrangement to an end.”
Keaorn laughed, saying, “No need for apologies! Feasting upon you will be all that much more splendid!”
“Ah, so that is your game: your sustenance is the life force of others.”
“We don’t consume just the life force, Tarion, but the intellect, the wisdom and the experience as well. I look upon a being as you would a fine wine. If I desire subtle sweetness, light and enchanting, then an elf maiden of four or five centuries would be delightful. If I desire a bold sparkling flavor, full bodied and enduring, then a mortal wizard at the peak of his powers would be sublime! Do I desire the consummate feast of mortal power almost too great to endure? Then I should desire nothing more or less than you!”
“You are overly ambitious, I warn you,” Tarion said with a low note of menace.
The Idjar smiled and said, “I think not, for are no wizard. You are a man, and powerful, but your mind lacks the discipline of the arcane arts necessary to thwart me. Therefore, Tarion, I beg you bid goodbye to life, intellect and id!” Keaorn raised his hands, but instead of fingers, there were dozens of fine tentacles crackling with electricity. Two pale streams of flame sprang from the Idjar’s tentacles and leapt for Tarion.
The brazier and the lantern went out and the walls of the cavern flickered in the blue light of his attack. Tarion dropped the lantern and instinctively held out his sword as he would to ward off a physical attack. The streams whirled around the haft and gathered at the head, making the metal glow like a brand taken straight from the forge. Some of the secondary streams approached him, but they turned away at the last moment.
Keaorn was wrong. Those of Roma, especially the Praetorians dealt with dragons, sorcerers and vampires. Tarion trained his mind for defense. Yet even so, Tarion was unfamiliar with the Idjar. He steeled his mind for whatever Keaorn threw at him. Tarion visualized closing the gate to the fortress of his mind, sealing his psyche from assault. He felt Keaorn’s attack, but it wa
s as if he wore glass armor. The energy of the Idjar couldn’t get through. He felt it build up outside his defenses. Like lightning, the energy searched for a place to go. It gathered on the metal of his sword and his wrist-blade. The steel glowed ever brighter. Tarion could sense the streams searching, hungering to go on—the metal didn’t satisfy them. They were at a momentary stalemate, but only because Tarion hadn’t resorted to physical violence.
That was about to change. With Keaorn’s attack under control, Tarion advanced on the Idjar. Indecision grew in the being’s dark eyes, for there was in truth no escape. Keaorn’s mind powers were obviously ineffective and Tarion blocked the exit. Tarion neared Keaorn, his glowing blades held menacingly before him. Keaorn’s arms began to tremble and he backed away. He had nowhere to go. He ran into the wall. His streams began to fizzle. Tarion advanced to within reach of the Idjar. He stretched out the point of his sword toward Keaorn’s chest.
The monster’s streams of energy imploded back upon themselves and he flew back against the cave wall as if struck by a ram, hanging there several feet above the floor. The energy streams writhed over Keaorn’s chest and leapt greedily to the temples of the monster’s skull. It bored into the monster’s head like a living thing, but then to Tarion’s amazement the energy burst out of Keaorn and flowed back to Tarion. He was unprepared for what happened next. The Idjar’s life force began to pour into his body. Its strength, emotions, memories and experience poured into him. A wave of nausea swept through his gut as the elixir of Keaorn’s id entered him. With a curse of revulsion, he threw down the sword and stood steaming with fury.
The knowledge of the Idjar’s manner of sustenance was wholly at odds with the terrible sensation of actually feeding on another intelligent being. Tarion felt ill, violated and polluted in body and spirit. He retched. Rage took him and he stomped to the trembling form of the Idjar.
“Foul carrion creature!” With inhuman strength, he lifted Keaorn by the throat. “I should hunt down each of your kind to extinction! What gives you the right to feed off sentient beings! Speak carrion!”
“Intellect,” gasped Keaorn. “Intellect gives you the right to feast off cattle, sheep, mammoth and their like. Why do you think it should be so different with us because you are more aware than your own prey? Hah! There is a lesson in relativity for you! I am content then to die with the knowledge I sense you crave.”
“What could you possibly know that I would want?”
“Do not be so prejudiced, Tarion. It does not become enlightened beings!” Keaorn smiled weakly. “I know who you are, though I do not understand why. The answer’s within you. What delicious irony. Well, I leave you with that riddle. May it bite you dearly! Goodbye Tarion, the dark power will find you ready, but it will find you nonetheless!”
Tarion crushed the Idjar’s throat to a pulp and then dashed the head against the stone until the vaunted house of intellect was nothing more than a gelatinous mass. For a long while, he stood over the corpse, pondering the Idjar’s words. Then, finally, he came down from his mountain of rage.
“You’re late, Keaorn,” he said. “I know all about my purpose! You are a different story. Only a demon or devil could be content with such sustenance and if I hear of another of your kind, I will hunt it down. No being deserves to die that way.”
Tarion relit his lantern and went immediately to Setris. The pixie was unconscious. Tarion gently took him from the cage and carried him outside. He plied the pixie with a drop of wine, but that only elicited a moan. Unsure of what else to do, Tarion made a makeshift bed for the pixie on the horse’s saddle and covered him up. Then he went about plundering the cave. The first thing he did was to cut off the Idjar’s head and stuff it in a leather bag. Going through the monster’s clothes, he found a set of keys. He pocketed these and dragged the Idjar from the cave. He dumped the headless corpse in the woods, allowing the carrion creatures to feast off it if they dared. Then he turned to the rest of the lair.
Though Gaurnothax wasn’t a royal dragon, what he lacked in breeding he made up for in persistence. The hoard was larger and richer than Tarion had any right to expect. The situation was actually rather awkward, as he brought only one horse. The hoard would take many days to transport and he had neither the time nor the inclination to do it. Therefore, he took a healthy supply of gold, enough for the horse to carry without undue burden and the more expensive jewelry and gems. After packing six small chests full of gold and another full of gems and jewelry Tarion carried them outside.
Setris was conscious by that time and after a bit more wine, he was his old self with only a headache to show for his ordeal. The sight of the treasure perked him up considerably.
“Well now, that’s a wonderful sight! You haven’t forgotten my commissions, have you?” he said when Tarion brought out the first chest.
“I’d give it with a clearer conscience if you warned me about the Idjar!” Tarion growled, dropping the first chest in the snow next to the horse.
“What do you think I did?” said Setris. “I told you something guarded the cave! I put myself in grave peril by giving you that vague warning. Had you failed I’d be consumed soul and all with a nice white wine!”
“You are a plucky fellow,” Tarion said sarcastically. “I would have guessed a full bodied red with a bite to it!”
“No, Tarion, we pixies are woody and mellow with a slight sweetness about us; so say the various species that prey upon us.” The look on Setris’s face was serious in the extreme. “It isn’t funny, I assure you.”
“Very well, next time I’ll read between the lines,” Tarion said, relenting. “I’ve no time for it now. It’s already getting late and there are more chests to load. On second thought, I don’t fancy going back in the dark loaded down like this. We might as well stay in Gaurnothax’s cavern.”
“You would spend the night in a cave?”
“I’ll get the fire going. It’ll be comfortable enough, or do you have another double meaning hidden in there?”
“No, but if you are going to play the conqueror and sleep in the bed of the vanquished, why not stay in the Idjar’s keep?” Setris asked. “It’s not far and it’s deucedly more pleasant than a cave. Although they’re terrifying, they’re somehow quite civilized. I daresay we’ll have all the comforts of home.”
“Very well,” Tarion said. “I’ll load up the horse and you lead the way!” Tarion tied the other chests evenly on the horse and covered it all with a blanket. The rest of the trove he left for Hera Vora and her offspring.
Evening faded into night as Setris led him up the winding ravine to the apex of the ridge above Gaurnothax’s cavern. There, set squarely on the crest about a mile from the cave was a smallish keep. It stood beside a notch in the crag through which ran a clear stream. The stream emptied over the cliff and into the ravine in a silver stranded waterfall.
The keep rose to three, maybe four, levels and was some twenty feet on a side, perfectly proportioned. The copper roof was green with age. Tarion could imagine a party of men or dwarves laboring under Keaorn’s mind powers until their inevitable and horrible demise.
A charm protected the door, so Setris said, but it allowed them to enter when Tarion inserted the correct key into the lock. Tarion and Setris searched the keep and found it meticulously neat, well-furnished and empty of any other living thing. They found a number of interesting scrolls, books and the like. There was an especially grim collection of staffs, robes, wands and other common magical ware. Tarion guessed where they came from and wrapped them all in a bundle. They agreed that Setris would take the scrolls and magical volumes and Tarion would keep the physical magic items—the staffs and wands being too large for Setris anyway. By the time they finished their search, it was dark. Tarion didn’t want to risk losing the horse to some night creature, so he unburdened the animal and stabled it in the first level of the keep. Afterward, they lit a fire and cooked their dinner.
Setris was talkative, so the evening went by enjoyably.
Soon thereafter, they settled in for the night. Tarion took a comfortable seat next to the second floor hearth and Setris made a bed on the mantle.
Tarion wrapped himself in his cloak and closed his eyes. The past few days gave him many adventures to dwell on, but now he wanted nothing more than a sound sleep undisturbed by dreams, revelations or demons. The night went by and the only thing he remembered was waking up to a wolf howling at the Godsbridge and later a frantic scratching at the door. Whatever it was couldn’t break through the spell. It left before he could see exactly what it was, but he thought he caught sight of an enormous shaggy black shadow disappearing into the woods.
Tarion awoke in the pre-dawn darkness. Something jarred him, but he couldn’t say what. He was irritable and he felt a weight on his brow that wasn’t there the night before. He tried to shake off the feeling, but he couldn’t get back to sleep. Then, as the first hint of gray dawn peeked through the windows, he heard the distant sound of thunder.
He woke Setris and climbed to the top of the keep. They stood at a narrow balcony that looked north. The castle of Trondheim stood like a block of old stone against the black sea. A flash of red splashed the walls and Tarion looked to the east, but a mass of low clouds blocked the sun. The flash appeared again.
“That’s strange,” Tarion said. “That can’t be the dawn.”
“It’s not the dawn, Trondheim is under attack!” Setris exclaimed.
They rushed downstairs, saddled the horse and locked the door—leaving the treasure safely hidden. Tarion rode like a gale toward Trondheim.
Chapter 23: The Ravaging of Trondheim
Karkedon dove for the rocks. At the last moment, the Destructor turned Karkedon’s head and the dragon spread his wings. Karkedon swooped high into the airs, panting with exertion.
“Well done, Karkedon, deucedly well done!” laughed the Destructor, giddy with the battle. “Now on to Norrland without delay and so shall I promise you a new age of slaughter and conquest. Fly Karkedon! The swifter we gain Tarion, the swifter my dominion begins. Within that dominion I grant you freedom, Karkedon, everlasting and eternal freedom as the most royal of drakes until the universe is dust!”
The Last Praetorian Page 24
