Realms of the Dragons vol.1 a-9

by Коллектив Авторов

  Gethred paused in front of him and pointed to the cave floor with the tip of his sword. Erzimar glanced down and saw at once the dragon's wallow, a broad path through the loose scoria where its belly had smoothed the rubble as it passed in and out of the cave. It was almost a yard wide. He nodded sharply to the half-elf, and Gethred carefully prowled deeper into the cave, following the twisting tunnel deeper into the hillside.

  The passage proved difficult and uneven, climbing up and down sharply, with a V-shaped floor that offered little level footing. A serpentine creature with sharp claws and a flexible body could use the narrow walls and rough rocks for easy footholds, but folk on two feet found it difficult going. Mail jingled and scraped as Erzimar's companions slipped and fumbled their way ahead. Erzimar was especially troubled by the height of the passage-crevice, more accurately-since it angled crookedly thirty feet or more above them. He caught up to Bragor and tapped the dwarf on the shoulder.

  "Tell Murgholm to watch above," he whispered. The dwarf nodded and muttered, "I don't like this. Too easy."

  He tapped Murgholm on the shoulder and mumbled something in Vaasan. Murgholm craned his neck back and studied the darkness overhead for a long moment before scrambling after Gedreth. Bragor watched his back.

  Another fifty feet farther, and they came to a branching passageway that descended sharply to the left. A thin trickle of water spilled out of the wall on the right and crossed the dragon's passage before splashing down into the darkness. Gethred looked back to Erzimar.

  "Which way?" he mouthed quietly.

  The wizard pointed forward. The downward passage looked a little small to him; a dragon with Serpestrill-vy th's evident ego would not care to squirm its way into its lair. But he resolved to keep a very careful watch behind the party as they continued on, just in case.

  They continued a short distance past the intersection, and Bragor halted and went to one knee, reaching his thick fingers to the stone floor.

  "Stone's pitted here. Acid burns," he whispered.

  Erzimar leaned close to look over Bragor's shoulder.

  "The dragon's breath," he murmured.

  His eye fell on an oddly shaped dark lump deep in a crevice in the floor. He prodded it with the end of his staff. Rusty red flakes crumbled away, revealing a small white glint of bone: A human hand in a seared mail gauntlet.

  "Damn," Bragor muttered. "Right about here, then."

  He looked up, hefting his warhammer.

  "Little humanss. Your sswords are sharp, your sspells are strong. Have you come to sslay me, then?" a sibilant, oddly high-pitched voice rasped from somewhere overhead.

  The Argent Hawks went on guard, blades pointing up, crouching against the stone walls of the passage. Erzimar glimpsed a glimmer of bright green near the top of the crevice, a glint from the dragon's eye.

  "We've come to put an end to your depredations here, Serpestrillvyth," Gethred answered. "You can leave now, fly off and never return, and we'll let you go. Otherwise you'll not leave this cave alive."

  "You musst help me carry off my hoard, then. I cannot fly it away sso easily."

  "Seeing as your hoard consists of things you've stolen from the people you've murdered, you can leave it right here," said Gethred.

  He glanced back at Erzimar and cut his eyes toward the crevice overhead. The wizard caught the message-take the opportunity to locate the creature as long as it was willing to talk. They all understood that Serpestrillvyth had no intention of leaving; the dragon thought it was toying with them.

  "You creep into my house to murder me and take my gold, and you call me a thief?" Serpestrillvyth sounded aggrieved. "If the humanss in that little town keep sending brigandss and assassinss against me, I will have to redouble my effortss to show them the error of their ways. I have dealt with one ssuch band already."

  "You'll find us a more formidable challenge than the Sundered Shields," Isildra called up into the cave.

  "Indeed. Do you know you are sstanding exactly where they sstood when I killed them all?"

  Serpestrillvyth laughed-a strange sound like sandpaper abrading a plank-then the dragon thrust its head down low into the passage and hissed out a tremendous gout of sickly green vapor.

  The Hawks cried out and scrambled for cover, so taken aSack by the quickness of the attack that their magical protections were momentarily forgotten. Only Erzimar did not allow himself to flinch. Instead he gestured and snapped out a magical word, and hurled a bright stabbing fork of lightning up at the spot where the dragon crouched. He saw the creature twist away from the magical blast, but then the dragon's horrid breath sank down over the company.

  Acrid fumes stung his eyes, and thousands of tiny pinpricks danced over his skin-but Isildra's holy protections against the dragon's breath held, and Erzimar endured with little more than a stinging in his eyes and throat, while the very rock around him turned black and flaked to the ground like rotten clay.

  "You are warded against acid!" he called to his companions. "Stand your ground!"

  Gethred swore in Elvish and said, "I can't reach the damned thing!"

  He held his greatsword in a high guard, never taking his eyes from the darkness above. Bragor, crouching nearby, set down his warhammer and unslung a big crossbow from his back, quickly cranking back the bow's arms. The dwarf expertly laid a thick quarrel in the weapon.

  The dragon hissed in frustration, "Sso. Your magic guardss you from my breath. But I have other weapons, humanss."

  Erzimar readied his staff, expecting the dragon to drop down on them, but Serpestrillvyth had something else in mind. The dragon shifted across the top of the crevice with a quick writhing of its body, then whirled away and slammed its powerful tail into the fragile limestone above. Stone split with a loud, terrible crack! that staggered the adventurers in the bottom of the dragon's passage. Then a great cascade of rubble thundered down over them.

  Erzimar raised his arms to cover his head, feeling jagged boulders and broken stalactites glance from his magically armored flesh. The smaller pieces simply bounced away from him like so much firewood burned completely to ash, seemingly solid but light as a feather. But then a much larger piece of the wall caught him as he straightened up, a blunt stalactite the size of a butter churn. Despite the armoring magic that protected him, the wizard was driven to the ground and knocked breathless. Bright spots danced in his eyes.

  That would have killed me if not for the stoneskin spell, he realized.

  He shook his head to clear his vision, and looked up at his companions.

  Bragor and Isildra were digging themselves out from under loose rubble, floundering to their feet. Gethred; at the head of the band, had actually been in front of the dragon's cave-in, and had avoided the rocky avalanche. Similarly, Selran in the back was out of the way as well. But Murgholm….

  "Help… I… help…" Murgholm murmured.

  He lay pinned against the wall by a boulder the size of an ox, gasping out curses in Vaasan. His face was as pale as a sheet, and a dark trickle of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. Erzimar's spell guarded him from sharp blows, but the inexorable weight of the boulder simply crushed him.

  The wizard took two unsteady steps toward the injured Vaasan before he thought to look for the dragon and see what Serpestrillvyth was doing. He glanced up just as the wyrm descended into the passage above Isildra. With one quick snap of its jaws, it seized the Helmite cleric by the head and shoulder, digging its fangs into her flesh and worrying her from side to side. Isildra screamed-a muffled sound, since her head was inside the dragon's mouth-and struggled, frantically trying to pull herself away.

  "Let her go, you fiend!" cried Gethred.

  The half-elf leaped in from above and slashed at the dragon with his sword. Black blood spattered from his blade as he sheared away a broad swatch of scales from the side of its neck. Serpestrillvyth hissed in pain and thrashed away. Still clenching Isildra in its teeth, it dug its claws into the soft rock of the passage walls and scrambl
ed back up into its retreat overhead, dragging her out of reach. Gethred leaped up and hacked again, but the dragon was out of reach. Bragor finally found his crossbow again and snapped off a shot at the retreating monster, but the bolt merely punched a small bloodless hole in the membrane of its wing.

  Erzimar started to incant a deadly spell of disintegration at the monster, but the dragon had Isildra in its grasp-if he missed by even a finger's width, he might incinerate his own comrade. He cursed and changed his spell to a barrage of fiery orbs, easier to aim and less dangerous to the cleric if he should miss. Five searing bolts scorched the dragon's lashing tail, and it scrambled up out of sight again.

  Gethred howled in wrath, "Erzimar! We have to go after her!"

  "I know!" Erzimar snapped back.

  Isildra still struggled up above. He could hear her cries. The stoneskin enchantment would keep Serpestrillvyth from ripping her to pieces easily, blunting its claws and teeth-but it could still maul her to death slowly. They had to get up there quickly.

  He glanced over at Murgholm again. The Vaasan was slumped down over the huge rock, as if he'd decided to simply lay his head down to sleep. Dead or unconscious, it didn't matter. He clearly couldn't help. But just in case he might still be saved, Erzimar quickly barked out the words to a spell that disintegrated the massive rock pinning the swordsman. Murgholm slid nervelessly to the rubble-strewn floor.

  I should have thought of that at once! the wizard berated himself.

  "Erzimar, quickly!" Gethred shouted.

  "Selran, see to Murgholm," Erzimar barked.

  The ranger stood unmoving, his face streaked with dust from the cave-in, his eyes wide and blank. The wizard ignored the ranger, fumbled with his belt pouch for a moment, and found a small tube of lacquered wood. He twisted off its top and drew out a scroll.

  "One moment," he called to Gethred.

  Isildra's screams and the venomous hissing of the dragon still continued overhead, but Erzimar forced the sounds from his consciousness and skillfully and steadily read the spell recorded on the scroll.

  "Erzimar!" Gethred cried.

  "We can fly!" the wizard shouted. "After the monster, quickly!"

  Without waiting for the others, he willed himself into the air, darting up the narrow, twisting crevice to the sound of the fighting above. Gethred followed, a little more awkwardly, as did Bragor, his warhammer in hand. Selran stood unmoving below.

  The crevice widened out into the floor of a larger cavern, a broad ledge or gallery with plenty of room for the dragon to spy down on creatures picking their way into its lair along the steep-sided path below. Erzimar whirled, expecting the dragon behind him-but there was Isildra, crumpled awkwardly on the stone floor, her head twisted around over her shoulder in a horrible manner, neck snapped. Yet her screams still echoed through the chamber, and the dragon's hissing rage as well.

  A simple illusion.

  "Watch out!" Erzimar cried to his companions. "We've been deceived!"

  From the shadows of a deep cleft nearby, the dragon's cold, high-pitched voice whispered the words of another arcane spell-a spell of dismissing. Erzimar's magic lingered a heartbeat before unweaving all at once. He yelped, and plummeted back down into the crevice, his flying spell gone. Bragor fell as well, but Gethred was close enough to the edge of the crevice to catch himself on the edge, though his sword went clattering down into the depths.

  Erzimar hit the far wall first full upon his back. His skull bounced from the stone, giving him a brief instant of merciful blackness, then he turned over in the air, struck the other wall, half-turned again, and landed badly in the uneven rubble at the bottom of the crevice. His right arm snapped like a twig, pinned between two stones. He screamed.

  "Ah, that iss a pleasant ssound," Serpestrillvyth hissed from overhead. The dragon stalked back out into view over Gethred, who clung with both hands to the edge of the crevice. It ran its long forked tongue over its bloody fangs and moved close to the half-elf warrior. "You are not sso bold now, are you, my friend?"

  Gethred glanced down to where his sword gleamed in the passage below. Hanging from the edge, he was completely helpless before the dragon.

  "I'll show you bold," he spat.

  Gethred he let himself drop. The warrior took the first impact well, bending his knees and glancing away from the wall, but his balance was thrown off. He cartwheeled in the air and landed on the uneven floor on his side with a sickening crunch. He grunted once and slid spinning into the awkward V of the crevice bottom, near where Bragor lay motionless.

  The sword was a good six feet from his fingertips.

  The dragon laughed again, and began to pick its way back down into the lower passage.

  "You have courage, warrior. But your rashness hass undone you."

  Erzimar pushed himself upright with his good arm. His back hurt horribly-likely broken as well-and he found himself staring at a white sliver of bone that stuck out from the side of his boot near his ankle. His head swam, but he could still cast a spell. He looked toward Gethred, and their eyes met in the darkness of the cavern.

  "I can't rise, Erzimar," the half-elf whispered. He tried to grope his way toward the sword blade, but groaned and fell back. "Save yourself if you can, my friend. There is no shame in it."

  Erzimar held the half-elfs gaze, and nodded. He could teleport-it only took a word-but he could never reach any of the others with his limbs broken. Numb with shock, he saw no other alternative.

  "Selran," he gasped. "Come close if you want to live. I can teleport us away from here, but you must take my hand."

  He reached out to the ranger.

  Serpestrillvyth coiled down into the passageway. Its bright green scales gleamed in the dim light, and its eyes danced with malice. It cocked its head sideways, looking at the tracker.

  "Kill the wizard," it said.

  Eyes glazed, the ranger raised his bow, drawing the arrow's red fletching back to his ear. Erzimar stared up at Selran in horror, understanding finally that the ranger was not a coward, was not petrified with fear, but instead was enslaved by the dragon's enchantments, helpless to do anything unless Serpestrillvyth commanded it. Erzimar hesitated for one awful moment before he managed to begin speaking his spell.

  "I can't stop it," the ranger sobbed. "Gods help me, I can't!"

  His fingers parted, and the bowstring sang.

  Erzimar grunted, and looked down at the arrow quivering in his breastbone. A deep hot hurt welled up in the center of his chest, and he reached up to pluck at the arrow, only to find his arm didn't work.

  Did Serpestrillvyth dominate him when it took the Sundered Shields? he wondered dully. Or did it enslave him before that even, and use Selran to lead the previous company to their doom?

  He tried to speak, to ask the ranger which it was, but soft darkness stole up from the floor and quieted his questions in its empty embrace.

  The ranger stood weeping, his bow still clutched in his hand. The dragon hissed softly in pleasure and slowly slithered closer, bringing its great scaled head close to Selran's face.

  "Ah, Sselran. Why do you weep? I did this, not you, little archer."

  "Kill me," the ranger whispered. "Oh, by all the gods, kill me and have done with it."

  "Kill you? When you have proven sso useful to me? No, I think I will renew my enchantmentss. You will sserve me a long time yet."

  Serpestrillvyth coiled around the ranger, tracing its claw over Selran's heart.

  "Now, go back to Pelldith Lake and tell them how these brave fellowss met such a poor end. Tell them they should ssend for more heroes, more dragonslay-erss, for I will be hungry in a tenday or two."

  WAYLAID

  Thomas M. Reid

  Marpenoth, the Year of the Unstrung Harp (1371 DR)

  "You can't just go traipsing through Silverymoon Pass by yourself, girl! I don't care what sort of package you have to deliver, or to whom. It's the middle of winter! If an avalanche doesn't kill you, the beasts will! No book is worth
all that."

  Those words-delivered at Lynaelle Dawn-mantle's back as she had walked out the door of the Silverlode Arms two days previous-had seemed innocuous to the girl. But caught near the summit of the pass in a howling, stinging blizzard, with a huge white dragon rearing above her, Lynaelle realized with sudden clarity just how foolish she had been to ignore the proprietor's admonitions.

  She desperately wished she was still sitting in the common room of the Silverlode, enjoying one of Hostwyn Bramblemark's fine meat-and-mushroom pies. Instead, gaping jaws of icy white descended toward the half-elf wizard from out of the swirling curtain of snow, a massive, tooth-lined cavern of a mouth that very easily could engulf her whole, and was just about to.

  Lynaelle wanted to scream, to run, but she could not. She found herself rooted to the spot, stark terror holding her fast. She couldn't breathe. As the fangs neared her head, the girl clenched her eyes shut, trembling and praying to Mystra that the end would be quick.

  The stabbing pain of death did not come.

  Lynaelle opened one eye and found herself staring at another eye, an orb almost as big as her balled fist and the color of glacial ice. That lone eye regarded her from a mere foot or two away, staring at her with a mixture of curiosity and malevolent eagerness while the winter storm raged all around them. The larger eye was set into a bony face, all shiny blue-white, smooth and glistening, like the frozen skull of a bird with a hooked beak, but with hundreds of icicle-teeth as long as the half-elf s fingers. The head bobbed low at the end of a serpentine neck covered in thick, jagged plates.

  A dragon.

  Lynaelle's knees lost their strength, and she crumpled into the snow that surrounded her. She realized she was holding her breath and exhaled sharply, then drew one shuddering gasp of air. The act nearly made her pass out, for she caught the scent of the beast's own breath, a cold, chemical odor that made her cough and choke. It reminded her of the distilled goat urine the smith back in Galen's Ford used to use to temper his forge work.