Karkedon sped north faster than the winds, the anticipated end of his bondage feeding his mighty thews. Still, it was a long weary flight even for Karkedon. Five hundred leagues he flew, through the day and into the night. As the light of dawn kissed the mountains, Naugrathur spied the watch fires of Trondheim. The Destructor spurred the dragon on.
Karkedon dove on the castle from the pre-dawn sky. His flame blotted out the stars, laced the crisp morning air with a scent of brimstone and burned flesh. After several passes, he perched on the castle’s squat tower like an ebony vulture eyeing his still twitching prey.
“Awake Trondheim, the Destructor calls you forth!” Naugrathur announced. The duke and his retinue came out into the still smoldering courtyard of the castle and amidst the burned corpses of his guards; he bent his knee to the Destructor.
“Where is Tarion Praetorian? Bring him to me and I shall leave your town in peace. Hide him and I shall make this Ostheim renewed. What say you?”
“Dread Lord, I know nothing of Tarion. We have no embassy from Roma, I swear!” the duke assured him.
“You lie!” Naugrathur said evenly.
“Dread Lord, I beg mercy for me and my town; I would not dare lie,” the duke pleaded.
“Then you are ignorant, or forgetful,” Naugrathur told him. “I shall jog your memory! Find me Tarion or I’ll root him out myself!” Naugrathur spurred Karkedon down into the street. He landed on the front step of The Charioteer, crushing the porch. “Now Karkedon let us search this town and if Tarion is not found then let us leave nothing for him on his return!”
The dragon stomped down the main way, snapping up men and women as they ran from their doors. On they went around the main district. Naugrathur halted Karkedon at each block and called, “Bring forth Tarion, or meet your doom!”
Folk rushed from their shops and homes pleading ignorance and begging for mercy. When they failed to accomplish his bidding the Destructor set Karkedon on them and their homes. The dragon marched through the streets laying flame and terror, tumbling buildings with the lash of his tail. People fled pell-mell through the town, some in search of Tarion and some in search of a way out of the carnage. A black pall gathered over Trondheim as fires swept through the streets.
#
Tarion arrived at the front gate of Trondheim, riding through the flood of people issuing from the city. It didn’t take long for him to find out that he was the reason for the catastrophe. He spurred the horse through the crowd and entered the city.
“What are you doing, Tarion?” Setris exclaimed when he found out the Destructor was there looking for him. “The Destructor will roast you on a spit in Durnen-Gul! There’s nothing you can do but flee!”
Tarion insisted. “I’m the cause of this; I need to do something about it!”
“Tarion, think man, what will happen after he’s got you?” Setris exclaimed.
“I don’t have any choice!” Tarion said through clenched teeth and he rode through the third wall, clattering past droves of people. He could hear the licking of flames now and the sounds of the dragon.
“I can’t let you!” said Setris and he flew over Tarion and drew his wand. He cast a spell at the man, but the pixie dust simply splashed off Tarion. Again and again, Setris tried, but all he got out of Tarion was a sneeze. “What is going on? My spells worked fine when you let me!”
Tarion slid around a corner and the horse drew up to a short terrified stop. There stood the ebony monstrosity of Karkedon. The dragon filled the street. Upon his shoulders perched the armor-clad colossus of the Destructor.
“Sorry, Tarion, good luck—I’m gone!” Setris squeaked and with a flash of sparkles, he disappeared.
“This was a mistake!” Tarion muttered, turning the horse around and spurring it back.
Karkedon stamped and snorted.
Naugrathur laughed and said, “I knew my mayhem would bring you forth! You were ever too duty bound to the weak!”
Tarion fled. The horse needed no urging. Karkedon could be heard grunting and wheezing as he slithered down the narrow streets in hot pursuit. Tarion led them a winding chase, but headed toward the gates. Flames flew at them, but Karkedon’s breathe was too short from the long flight and the chase. After ten minutes, they entered the great square before the gates. People scattered at their arrival, for Karkedon was hot on Tarion’s heels. His concern, his only concern, was to get beyond the city walls and spare Trondheim. After that, Tarion hoped to elude them in the woods. What else could he do?
Fortunately, people heard Karkedon coming and got out of the way. The crowd at the gate dispersed when it became apparent Tarion was going through one way or another and Karkedon was following. The dragon took wing just as Tarion passed beneath the ramparts and his tail shattered the masonry arch. Stone rained down on the unfortunates who didn’t get out in time.
Tarion burst through the gate and turned east, away from the stream of panic-stricken refugees. He had a mile of open fields to cross before he reached the woods, but Karkedon was already overhead.
#
“Clutch him, Karkedon!” cried Naugrathur and his heart leapt. The chase was almost over.
Like a great eagle, Karkedon swooped down on Tarion, but the man cut his horse violently to the right at the last moment. Karkedon rose and reached again. Back and forth, the man drove his horse, barely evading the dragon’s claws. Karkedon got closer each time, but Tarion was almost under the cover of the trees.
Naugrathur urged the dragon on, his spurs digging deeply into the scales each time the dragon got close. At the forest edge, Karkedon had him. His iron claws sank into the horse’s flanks, but Tarion threw himself off the screaming animal and rolled to the ground. Naugrathur yanked viciously on the reins and Karkedon dropped the horse and turned in midflight. The dragon’s claws stretched forth, but at the last moment, his wing caught one of the outlying trees and he came up short, crashing into the trees.
Tarion sprinted toward the thickest part of the woods.
“Damn! After him Karkedon; set the forest aflame!”
The dragon labored into the air and breathed on the forest, but only a thin streamer of flame spat forth from his great jaws. He tried again. There was nothing this time. “There’s nothing I can do about it, Dread Lord. I’m spent with exertion!”
Naugrathur leapt off his back and drew his sword. Flames licked the length of the blade. The Destructor headed through the forest after Tarion, his footfalls sounding like small earthquakes. Despite his armor, the Destructor moved quickly. Soon he caught up to Tarion in a small glade. A cliff stood behind the man. Under the cliff was the dark opening to Gaurnothax’s lair. The Praetorian stood waiting for him with sword drawn.
“Stay Tarion, it will do you no good to run further!”
“As you can see, I await you Dread Lord,” Tarion panted. “Now leave me be! You cursed me to live, so I don’t fear death. Go back to Durnen-Gul lest I open Thor’s wounds anew. I’ll wager they have yet to heal. Don’t tempt fate; you’re not master of this world—not yet!”
“Bravely said Tarion,” the Destructor told him, advancing on him slowly. He respected the prowess of Tarion. His bluff was not without merit. Yet though Tarion had the heart and perhaps the skill to stand up to the Destructor for a short while, he didn’t have the weapons. “That sword of yours is Brokk’s make, but even his skill cannot vie with my armor. Face it Tarion, you are overmatched. Your Imperium is all but gone. A girl sits on the throne amidst the chaos. Your own station is extinct but for you. Think!”
Naugrathur lowered his sword, holding out his left hand, entreating the Praetorian. “Do you fight for men then do so from a position of power! Become my man, my Captain and my Praetorian. I will treat you honestly; I will not use you through insidious means as the Wanderer used and abused your family. Name your price, name your woman; I will raise the Imperium back to its former glory under your banner—all you have to do is swear fealty to me. I know you; your word is enough for the Destructo
r. Kneel before me and become my Praetorian throughout the ages!”
“You are magnanimous, Dread Lord,” Tarion said, but he did not let his guard down. “I must refuse; you know that, and you know why.”
The Destructor drew himself up to his full majestic height. “Then there is naught I can do for you,” he said. He honestly regretted that this man could not be brought within his dominion. “Yet you cannot be allowed to live as an example to men, dwarves or elves; I must therefore break you!”
He raised the glowing green sword and swung to cleave Tarion in twain. Venomous flames trailed from the wailing blade, but Tarion leapt aside. The Destructor’s blade clove the frozen ground, opening a smoking crack. Tarion aimed a stroke but the Destructor parried it aside.
He swept the smoking blade up in a short, vicious uppercut, but the Praetorian ducked and rolled beneath his guard. Tarion plunged in, stabbing with his dwarf-forged wrist-blade at a gap between the plates of the Destructor’s armor. The dwarf blade scraped along the Destructor’s mail but did not penetrate.
“Well done!” exclaimed the Dread Lord, knocking the blade and Tarion aside with the vambrace of his left arm. He turned, sweeping the blade as a farmer would scythe wheat. So fast did the Destructor bring his deadly blade to bear that Tarion had to meet it with his own.
Tarion’s sword clanged against the mystical steel of the Destructor’s blade Verunthax, the Dragon’s Fang. Impossibly Brokk’s edge rang, notched. Tarion felt the shiver up his arms, but he took the blow, wheeling around and kneeling, sweeping his sword at the knee of the colossus.
Naugrathur stabbed his blade into the ground, caught by surprise at the move. Tarion’s blade rang again, but he immediately twisted, rising up on his legs, thrusting from underneath, aiming for that spot—that very spot—where Thor struck the Destructor so mighty a blow.
The Destructor swatted the point of Brokk’s blade away with his vambrace, exposing the mail beneath his arm. Tarion’s stab was meant to do exactly that. He followed the parried attack of his sword with a stab from his wristblade; punching the deadly steel with all of his might at the vulnerable patch of mail beneath the Destructor’s left arm and above the impenetrable cuirass.
Tarion put all of his might into that punch. The blade slipped under the Destructor’s descending arm and snuck over the cuirass, hitting the mail dead on. There was a screeching scream as Brokk’s steel found purchase between the glowing links of mail. Tarion felt the burn of the Destructor’s armor through his arm, into his shoulder and up onto his brow; it was as if the blade transmitted the heat of the forge directly to him.
The flame was unbearable, but Tarion shoved the blade home until his mailed fist punched the fiery cuirass. The Destructor grunted in pain and fury as the foreign steel entered his chest. He whipped his own blade about in an awkward strike, catching Tarion on the side with the flat of his venomous blade. It was enough to send Tarion tumbling against the cliff wall. He bounced off the rock like a rag doll and landed in a large pile of snow. Tarion slid down the snow to stop, out of breath. He struggled to his feet, ready to renew the fight.
The Destructor clutched his side, then lifted his gauntlet to see the molten rivulets of blood spurting from the wound. In fury he advanced on Tarion, leaping forward with a sudden burst of speed that caught the Praetorian by surprise. All Tarion could do was to meet the mighty two handed swing from the colossus. He parried the blow, but the force flung him again into the cliffs—stunned. Naugrathur was instantly over him, ready to deliver the final strike. He raised his sword on high and brought it down hard.
Tarion rolled aside. The Destructor split the stone of the cliff with his stroke, raining stone and snow down upon Tarion. The Praetorian was back on his feet, facing Naugrathur.
“It is over Praetorian; do not make this any harder on yourself,” the Destructor said. He advanced on Tarion.
“You bleed Dread Lord,” Tarion said resolutely. “Follow me then if you would bleed some more!” Without waiting for a reply Tarion ducked into Gaurnothax’s lair.
“Fool, do you think an old dragon lair will protect you from me? I will make you pay for this chase!” Naugrathur stepped forward, but Karkedon’s voice caused him to halt.
“Is there aught I can do, Dread Lord?”
Naugrathur turned. It was Karkedon laboring through the woods. He laughed. The dragon’s greed was a welcome diversion to Tarion’s recalcitrance. “You smell another drake’s trove do you? Very well Karkedon, I’ve no patience to root Tarion out of the lair. Get him; let him ride back to Durnen-Gul in your belly. It serves him right for denying me his service.”
“It shall be done Dread Lord,” exclaimed the drooling dragon. He wormed his immense bulk into the hole.
Naugrathur sheathed his sword painfully. Taking out a flask of ruby liquid he consumed it. The bleeding stopped. The Dread Lord shook his gauntlet clean, muttering in frustration, “So doughty a man—a man—imagine a mortal man piecing my arrogant hide! It serves me right!”
The Destructor chuckled to himself despite the ache in his breast. Tarion’s wound was delivered right next to Thor’s. “Cunning man!” Yet a sudden cloud of doubt settled over his heavy brow. “I have driven Karkedon to his limits with little rest. Drakes are vulnerable when weary; I wonder if it was wise to allow him to pursue Tarion. Certainly that man will not fear him! It is not beyond the realm of possibility that the slayer of Morax the Mountain King might add another royal to his resume at my expense!”
Naugrathur was about to recall Karkedon a hawk attracted his attention. It dove at him, but just before it landed, the hawk changed into the familiar form of the Trickster, his Duke of Pandemonium.
“Loki! What is it?” he started, seeing panic in his minion’s eyes.
“Belioch!” exclaimed the Devil-God. “My Dread Lord, your treacherous servant Duke Belioch betrays you. Even now, he is setting up court in your tower and on your throne!”
Instantly the Destructor snapped his armored fingers. A portal appeared, ringed with flame. Yet when he tried to step through it even the Dread Lord could not break the plane. “Belioch has blocked all gates to Durnen-Gul!” the Destructor fumed. He strode like a thunderstorm to the cave. “Karkedon, out with you—now!”
The hill rumbled as Karkedon backed his way out of the lair. “Blast it Dread Lord, what is it. I almost had him in my jaws!” the dragon assured him, though his snout was bloodied in several places.
The Destructor didn’t have time for debate. He leapt into the saddle and pulled back on the reins. Digging his spurs into the dragon’s already tattered flanks, he cried, “Fly Karkedon! Make haste to Durnen-Gul! Fly to your heart’s bursting and along the way think of your grandest reward! I will spare nothing! Fly Karkedon!”
“Promise me my freedom!” Karkedon insisted.
“After we get to Durnen-Gul that freedom is yours! Now fly Karkedon, fly!”
With a mighty heave of his wings, the dragon took to the airs leaving a swirling cloud of snow behind.
CHAPTER 24: Insurrection
Navernya groaned as Belioch’s minions surrounded the last of her personal guard and smashed them into the stone floor of the Destructor’s tower. A pool of glowing blue blood spread sluggishly over the pavers, mixing with the already hideous concoction of demon blood, ice, demon corpses and demon parts. Belioch sloshed through the mess, grinning wickedly at Navernya.
She backed away until one of the enormous columns holding up the dome of the tower stopped her. Belioch laughed and held forth his pudgy hands. Iron chains came forth and wrapped Navernya to the column.
“Sweet Navernya, now that is over, let’s chat shall we?” Belioch, however, wasn’t interested in idle banter; he got straight to the point. Walking heavily to the anthracite throne, he said, “There’s something about his throne that feeds him power. What is it?”
“Do you actually think the he would be fool enough to tell me?” Navernya said truthfully. Belioch and his minions caught her by surprise.
She expended all of her spells and after gating in her personal guard, she had no more cards to play. She was beaten. Yet she would not align with Belioch. She had pride and honor and this grotesque excuse for a Devil would get no satisfaction from her—much less alliance. She told him so and he lashed her with an iron chain encrusted with needle thin spikes. She took the pain of the lash without complaint.
“Take that for your impudence!” he told her, lashing her again across the face. He leaned so close that his breath made her recoil. “I don’t understand this defiance in you, Navernya. Is it loyalty to him, or could it perhaps be something more?” He laughed and licked the blood off her face with disgusting zeal. Navernya cringed, but took some satisfaction that his tongue actually stuck to her frozen flesh. Belioch tore away from her with a bellow of pain. He left an inch long piece of his tongue sticking onto her cheek.
“Blasted harlot!” he cursed and he plopped down into the throne. Belioch’s fat hands rested on his huge paunch. He eyed her with an expression of hatred and said, “I’ll figure this out, but while I do I’ll enjoy melting you, my little Ice Queen!” At the snap of his bloated fingers, Belioch’s servants dumped coal and brimstone around her feet. Belioch breathed and flames enveloped Navernya. “Now, start screaming please, I always do my best thinking with screaming going on all around me!”
Navernya endured the flames as she watched Belioch search the throne. After several hours, he found the apparent source of Naugrathur’s strength, four round stones hidden in a secret niche beneath the seat. Each was a different crystal: sapphire, ruby, diamond and emerald. Navernya’s heart fell, but despite his discovery, Belioch didn’t seem to gain anything from the stones. He closed the compartment and tried spell after spell to activate them but with no apparent success. Then he tried different things such as Naugrathur’s cloak, his crown, anything that might get the stones to give him power. Nothing apparently worked.
The Last Praetorian Page 25
