The three advanced in a semicircle, threateningly but not very professionally. It was obvious that none of these men were hired thugs or assassins. They looked like shopkeepers, hotel clerks, accountants, that sort of thing and they looked mighty uncomfortable facing a barbarian warrior.
He didn’t wait for them to make up their minds. With a mighty yell, he leaped at them, and his sword hand moved with swift and terrible precision. He didn’t even have time to think about it it was as if the sword itself were alive and doing all the right things.
In an instant’s time, or so it seemed, the humming sword slashed off the nearest assailant’s sword hand at the wrist, then came back up under the next and knocked the sword away and into the air. With his left hand he punched the disarmed middle man in the stomach, and he fell back and collapsed on the floor.
This left only the desk clerk, who was aghast and scared to death. The shock of what had happened to the first two totally unnerved him. With a squeal, he dropped his sword, raised his hands, and cried, “Please! Don’t hurt me!”
Joe approached him, then pushed him rudely against a pillar and brought the sword up to the frightened man’s throat. The clerk made a noise and looked so close to pure terror that, for a moment, the big barbarian was afraid the fellow was having a heart attack. Still, he was the most conscious of the four, so it was best to start with him.
“You see my friend here? His name’s Irving.” Joe pushed the point to the throat so the clerk could really feel it.
Even so, the clerk managed to gasp back, “Irving?’ in a disbelieving tone.
The big man nodded. “Think it’s a funny name, huh? He don’t like it when he thinks people are makin’ fun of his name.”
Joe paused a moment, genuinely angry but thinking. “All right you know what my friend Irving’s good at? Cuttin’! How about it? Shall I let him cut off a hand, maybe, like your friend’s there? Then another hand? Then maybe the legs and what’s between ‘em?”
The clerk whimpered.
“All right, you tell me what they’ve done with the girl, and now! I’m not a patient man!”
“Please! You got to understand!” The clerk was almost gibbering. “The dragon. It had to be appeased. Our daughters “
“Dragon!” Joe stormed. “What the hell does this have to do with the dragon?”
“W we saw that she was a virgin. Duoqua, who’s the town elder, can see the magic. She was the first virgin stranger we’d seen! Honest! You gotta understand! My own sister’s pregnant by some outland stranger because she was so scared! We had to!”
“What did you do with her scumball?” Joe roared. “Where is she?”
“C… castle rock! They took her to castle rock! The altar there!”
“Where is it? How do I get to it?”
“I… I can’t!”
“Either you can or you’re dead,” Joe snapped coldly, and he meant it. “I have no time for you to think about it. Your friends are coming around!”
“I’ll take you! Let me loose!”
Joe let the clerk lead the way down again toward the baths.
“If there’s any trickery, just a little, anything, not only will you regret it but, I swear by all that’s holy, so will your whole stinking town. Forget that she’s an agent of the sorcerer Ruddygore! Forget that she’s sister to the great sorceress Huspeth!
She’s my rider, damn it!”
At hearing the first two names, the clerk swallowed hard and muttered, “Oh, my god!” They were apparently sufficient to strike in the man the realization that, while armies could never conquer Kidim, enemies like those could cause terrible desolation and hardly feel it. The clerk gave Joe no more trouble.
Through a service door they went, then down again, into a maze of well lighted tunnels with steps and railings, past rooms with symbols for various Kidim banks and merchants on them, others with pictographs for various kinds of foodstuffs, and even a whole chamber full of wine. Joe knew that this was the labyrinth in the mountain of which Macore had spoken. For a moment he regretted not rousing the other three, but there wasn’t time, really. Right now Marge could be staked out, with a horrible monster circling to strike...
“I’m surprised you don’t have guards all over the place,”
Joe remarked as they went.
“Don’t need ‘em,” the clerk told him. “There are spells and magic guardian beasts all over those rooms and as for the labyrinth, once in how would anybody find his way out? It’s booby trapped, too.”
“It better hadn’t spring any traps on me,” Joe warned.
“It won’t!” the clerk cried nervously. “Ruddygore...
Huspeth... God! Did we pick the wrong one! But you gotta understand...”
“Cut the moral justifications! Just get me there as quick as you can!” Joe snapped. He was becoming increasingly irritated by both the time it was taking to get where they were going if the clerk was playing fair with him and the growing knowledge that labyrinth was the right word and that he had very little idea of where they were and less of how to get out of there; Suddenly they emerged outside. The cold wind hit them in the face, and they were on a stone walkway along a mountain ledge. Joe and not been conscious of much upward movement in their walk, yet they were either above the town or on a different side of the mountain at about its level.
Someone had lighted torches all along the way, their flames whipped by the wind, but they showed the path. It wound sharply up, around a curve, then out to a lookout station that seemed suspended in space.
“Anybody guarding this path?” he asked nervously.
“With a dragon around? Are you kidding?”
That sounded reasonable enough. “All right stop. She’s out there on that ledge?”
The clerk nodded. Suddenly he gave a sharp cry. “The dragon!”
Joe didn’t wait for anything more. He slugged the clerk hard, knocking him cold and thus preventing him from easy escape or raising an alarm, then started running up the stone walk at full speed.
Something suddenly flew over and quite near him, raising a wind so large it almost bowled him over. He stopped and turned, sword at the ready, and saw the dragon. He could not get a clear look at it in the dark beyond the torches, but it was a big sucker, he kept thinking. He stopped to get his bearings on it, knowing timing would be crucial, and saw that the creature seemed fascinated by the lookout and was, in fact, slowly and warily circling it.
Joe took off again, knowing that this probably meant that the dragon had not yet taken its sacrifice, but that it could and would at any moment. The trail took a sudden slight and unexpected dip, and he stumbled and cursed, then got up and took up the chase once more. The trail wound around now, putting him for just a moment out of sight of the lookout itself.
But the dragon’s huge, dark shape was too great to be hidden, and it descended, just in front of him, where the overlook would be. I’m too late! he thought frantically.
At that moment the mountains echoed with the most terrified, horrible scream of fear he had ever heard. Crying out in frustration, Joe rounded the bend to the overlook, determined that he and Irving were going to avenge Marge, at least, or die in the attempt.
Chapter XIII
A Battle In The Vale
Dragon motives are inscrutable.
- C, 228, 167(a)
Joe was pure emotion as he rounded the bend and saw clearly the scene on the lookout. He was so charged up that what he saw only penetrated his consciousness when he was halfway to the makeshift altar to which Marge had been tied.
Only then did he realize that, although tied down stark naked on the altar stone, she was unharmed.
Just beyond, on a huge stone ledge overlooking the lookout, the dragon perched, gazing down upon the scene below with unconcealed terror in its great crimson eyes.
“You all right?” Joe called anxiously to Marge.
She managed to turn her head slightly. “Yeah, I think so.
If my heart’s started again.”
> “When I heard you scream...”
“But I didn’t scream,” she told him. “He did.” She gestured with her head toward the dragon.
Joe kept one eye on the great beast while he edged closer to Marge. Once there, he started to cut the ropes with his sword, but she cautioned, “Watch it! If that sword touches me, it could kill me!”
Joe risked looking down at her, then carefully cut the arm and leg ropes binding her to the structure. She sat up, massaging her wrists and ankles, all of which bore discolorations and minor rope bums. Finally, though, she felt well enough to stand and joined Joe, who was staring at the dragon.
It was a magnificent looking beast. The old legends had never done the dragon proper justice. It was sea green except on its underside, where it was a dull rust red, with massive scales protecting its vulnerable points. Its great, leathery wings were a curious mixture of silver and black in a pattern. The piercing crimson eyes seemed aglow with a light of their own, neither reptilian nor mammalian, but filled, somehow, with a great alien power. There did, indeed, seem to be little puffs of smoke coming from the large, flared nostrils at the end of its perfect reptilian snout, and Joe suddenly grew nervous that it might breathe fire on the overlook and cook them both.
At that moment the dragon opened its great mouth...
And whimpered.
Joe frowned. “The damned thing acts as if it’s scared to death.”
“Maybe it thinks you’re Saint George,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “No. It screamed and backed off while I was still out of sight. I don’t get it. I thought they were supposed to love virgins.”
“Well, I, for one, am sure glad things aren’t that cut and dried around here,” she responded. “I thought I was a goner for sure.”
“Snarfle,” added the dragon, which sounded as if it had to blow its nose.
“For my part, I’m all for getting the hell out of here before somebody rushes up and reads it the Books of Rules on dragon preferences,” Joe muttered. “Besides, you must be half frozen.”
“I’m still too scared to be cold. Later I’ll get frostbite.”
Joe started edging Marge and himself back from the altar, at all times facing the dragon, Irving still in hand and at the ready. The dragon’s eyes followed them, but it still looked as nervous as they were. They were almost to the path when a gruff voice yelled, “How dare you! How dare you! Six weeks’ work, down the drain!”
Joe risked a turn and saw, coming toward them from farther up the trail, a medium sized figure that looked at first to be a walking bush. It was running, though, on what seemed to be enormous, bare human feet. Out of the mass, two thick arms, raised high in fists, gestured angrily at them.
Joe pushed Marge behind him and made ready to meet this new threat. The creature or whatever approached fairly closely, oblivious of the sword, and they could see that it was a manlike figure completely covered with thick, matted black hair. Other than the arms and legs, the only things visible were two huge, yellow, oval shaped eyes peering from beneath the brush.
It went past them and out to the altar. Joe let it go, still aware of his precarious position on the trail but too curious to run.
The hairball, as Joe thought of it, reached the altar, turned, saw the cowering dragon, and stopped. “Oh, poor Vercertorix!
What have those nasty people done to you?” he called out, in a tone one would use to a small child.
The dragon snarfled some more, then sniffed and seemed about to break into tears.
“I think I’ve had about enough of this,” Joe muttered to Marge. “Hey! You!” he called out. “On the overlook there!
What in hell is going on here?”
The hairball turned. “Ruining a month and a half of hard work!” the creature snapped angrily. “Not to mention scaring the poor thing half to death.”
“We didn’t do anything!” Joe told him. “The villagers kidnapped this woman and stuck her out here as a sacrifice to that ‘poor thing’ there!”
“Bah! Ignorant, superstitious fools! I’d have Vercertorix here destroy that pesthole if his nerves were up to it!”
“They think he made a nest up here that he was going to attack the town, anyway,” Joe called out. “That’s why the sacrifice of this innocent stranger.”
Naked and cold though she was. Marge was madder than anything. “Don’t you snap at us! Who the hell are you, anyway?” she demanded.
At the sound of her voice, the dragon whimpered and tried to press himself back into the rock, causing no small landslide.
“Nest, indeed!” the hairball scoffed. “Why any self respecting dragon would want to nest in this hole, I can’t tell you.
But will you please stop scaring him, woman? You’re only making him worse!”
“How am I scaring him?”
The dragon had another minor fit. “Don’t do that!” the hairball screamed angrily.
“Do what?”
“Talk. Remind him of your presence. He’s got enough problems without being tortured. Have you no humanity?”
“But he’s not human,” Joe noted. “He’s a dragon.”
“Semantics! Bah! That’s why I went up high into these mountains seventy years ago and why I haven’t had any truck with human civilization since. Stupidity, greed, war, superstition, bureaucracy, and semantics. Stupid ills for stupid people!”
Joe thought it over for a minute. “This dragon’s been visiting you each night, then. Why?”
The hairball sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? We may as well shout it now. The damage is done. Everybody will know, and his shame will be such that we’ll probably have one less dragon.
They breed only once every thousand years, you know!” He sighed, calming down slightly. “I’ve been treating him for his neurosis, of course. He has a complex. Isn’t that obvious?”
All Joe could see was the fairy stories of his childhood collapsing like houses of cards. “You don’t mean...”
“Certainly! He has a morbid fear of fair maidens! And now look at what you’ve done!”
“We didn’t do anything,” Joe retorted. “Besides, if he’s scared of pretty women, why’d he come this close to begin with?”
The hairball took a tone of utter impatience with such stupidity. “If you had a brain, barbarian, you’d figure it out.
Dragons are as curious as cats. Sensing something alive staked out here and seeing the torches, he had to investigate and find out what it was. That’s his nature. And as you see, he wasn’t ready yet.”
“Thank heaven!” Marge breathed.
Aware of how cold it was, Joe took off his jacket and put it around the freezing Marge. She was thankful, despite the fact that it fitted like an army tent.
“And who are you?” Joe asked the hairball.
The strange man cackled. “They call me the Old Man of the Mountains, I’m told. I’m a scientist, of course. I specialize in dragons and other endangered species.”
“Well, see to your patient. Doc. I think we’ll go back down now.”
“Wait!”
“What now?”
“I see that the lady is a halfling,” the Old Man of the Mountains noted, sounding friendlier. “And I recognize that sword. It was given a thousand years ago to a man I once knew.
How did you come by it?”
“I got it from the sorcerer Ruddygore,” Joe told the hairy one. “If that’s any business of yours.”
“Ruddygore? The name is unfamiliar. Huge, fat man with a beard? Always eating?”
“That’s him.”
The mass of hair seemed to bend in a nod. “I thought so.
So he’s still alive, huh? Come on up the trail a bit. I have a cave nearby with a warm fire and some strong drink where I was waiting for Vercertorix here. I would like to talk to you.”
“No, thanks,” Joe told him. “We have to get back to town.”
The Old Man of the Mountains chuckled. “And how are you going to do that? Could you find yo
ur way back through that rabbit warren of theirs? Come to think of it, how’d you find your way here?”
“There’s a clerk from the hotel down there. I knocked him cold. He’ll get us back.”
“Oh, yes? Well, go on down for a moment, if you will but you will find, I think, that you did not hit him hard enough.
He is gone.”
Joe didn’t have to go down. He figured that the hairball was telling the truth.
“Come up to my cave,” the Old Man invited again. “I’ll get you back.”
“Won’t we scare that friend of yours?”
The two big, yellow eyes glanced over at Vercertorix. “You just stay there and get calmed down,” he soothed the dragon.
“When you’re confident, go to your nearest den and sleep it off. It will all be better in the morning. Then see me tomorrow night as usual. We’ll get this straight. And I’m sure these nice people will not spread your problem around.”
The dragon whined a bit, and there was a huge tear in its left eye. Having no choice, but not relaxing his guard or his sword grip, Joe followed Marge and the Old Man of the Mountains up the trail.
“Dragons are unusually intelligent,” the hairy one, who introduced himself as Algongua, or just plain Doc for short, told them. “Almost as smart as the average person. And they’re a lot more powerful and mobile. Of course, they get a bad reputation, but any carnivore that has to eat a minimum of five hundred pounds of meat a day just to keep up strength is not going to be exactly beloved. They aren’t hostile to people, not really. They kill people only when those people are a threat to them. Actually, they prefer cattle most of all, or aurochs.”
“But that thing in the Rules about virgins...” Marge interjected.
“Ah, that thing’s caused more problems than it’s solved.
Basically, it was intended to protect humans. If a dragon must eat a human for food, he’ll choose a virgin every time. That’s the Rule. And why? To give the rest of us a chance. Somehow it’s gotten all twisted by superstitious folk into a demand for sacrifice. Stupid. Dragons want as little to do with human folk as possible.”
They reached his cave, which was well concealed, and then they still had to squeeze through a narrow, twisting corridor in the rock to get to the main cavern.
The River Of Dancing Gods Page 23
