by David Drake
The helmet locked over Dennis' head.
"Well, this is it," he muttered to himself. "I'll finish it, kill it for good and all, or—or..."
"The fool who wanders, Dennis," Chester quoted sharply, "loves neither peace nor the man of peace."
Dennis drew his sword. "I'm sorry, Chester," he said. "I don't—know what I want."
"Is it losing that you want, Dennis?" the robot asked.
"No. No, I'm not here to lose. Not that."
"Then you know what you want, Dennis; and the rest will follow."
The mirror's surface was almost black. The ambient light in the cavern had faded with each blow Dennis struck Rakastava. Aria was as faintly visible as a tuft of thistledown floating over a dark sea.
Something sunbright appeared in the cavern's distance.
Dennis locked his visor down. "Chester," he said softly. "Come with me, my friend, and we'll finish Rakastava this morning."
"As fate wills it," the robot said. He touched a gauntlet.
The companions stepped together into battle and a darkness already thundering with Rakastava's voice.
The serpent body glided in a cloud of steam, like a bead of sodium skittering in a bowl of water. Rakastava glowed a bright yellow-white. It was a fierce, foul color like that of gases blazing above the crevice of a volcano.
Rakastava's eyes had no texture. They were pure light and pure hatred.
Aria touched Dennis on the shoulder.
If she was trying to speak, he couldn't hear the words over the monster's wordless threatening; but Dennis wasn't sure that she spoke, just touched him.
He waved her back. Aria bent closer and kissed the bars of his visor, then stepped away to give Dennis the room he needed for slaughter.
Rakastava blazed like sour daylight as it came closer, illuminating angles of the cavern that had been dark for all previous eternity. The severed heads glinted where they lay on the coping, scales catching light and reflecting it as if they crawled with life and not decay.
Water surged ahead of Rakastava's approach. It caught and tumbled the trophies, then receded. The dead jaws gaped and the tongues lolled out—flaccid, now, and harmless.
Chester gave back the light with a sheen like gold, and Dennis could see Rakastava's glowing reflection elongated in the star-metal blade of his sword.
"I have not come to kill you, human," the creature boomed. "Let me past and I will let you live."
"You won't kill me, Rakastava," Dennis shouted. "And if you try to pass me, you will surely die!"
Rakastava's neck swayed slowly, side to side. The vertical bars of Dennis' visor turned the movements into slots of dark and light at the corners of his eyes, threatening to mesmerize the youth. He blinked.
Rakastava lunged at him.
Chester looped a tentacle around the blunt, scaly muzzle and kept the jaws from opening. The head struck Dennis like the tide racing through a bore, slamming him down. His armor rang with the impact and on the stone he fell back against.
Dennis couldn't remember where he was. It was too bright. He was in a cavern of gray, dripping stone that he'd never seen before, struggling with a fiery serpent instead of a thing of shadow.
He rose to his feet. His skin prickled all over, but his muscles responded like the parts of a machine.
Like a machine. Rakastava's mouth was open. The suckers of his tongue clasped Chester's body while the robot's metal tentacles wrapped around the monster's neck. Chester was trying to prevent Rakastava from twisting him down so that a forefoot could crush his carapace against the stone.
Dennis, seeing that the monster was fully occupied, took one step forward and thrust with a surgeon's precision at the joint of Rakastava's head and neck.
Sullen red beams shot from the monster's eyes. They clung to Dennis like streams of bird-lime. He cried out, but his movements were as slow as a swimmer's. He tried to reach Rakastava before—
Foreclaws locked around the small metal egg of Chester's body. The robot's tentacles resisted for a moment, but the monster's relentless grip broke them loose at last.
Rakastava banged Chester down on the coping like a lizard smashing open a bird's egg. Chips of stone spalled away. Chester wrapped his tentacles around the foreleg that held him, trying to pry loose the claws.
Rakastava struck the robot again while the red eyes glared at Dennis.
Where the light touched his armor, the star-metal grew hot. Dennis twisted.
The beams from Rakastava's eyes slipped from the polished black surface, allowing the youth to lunge forward unexpectedly. Dennis was off-balance and almost as surprised as the monster, so his stroke was an inexpert one—
But driven by the hysterical strength of his fear for his companion. The sword's keen edge split scales and the flesh of Rakastava's forearm. It stuck in one of the bones instead of slicing through the gristle of a joint as it would have done had skill rather than desperation aimed the blow.
But the bone cracked.
Rakastava howled like sheets of rock sliding past one another in an earthquake.
Chester rolled free, scuttling as if he were a mouse after the cat has gouged it deep. Dennis braced himself, panting and flexing his arms. His armor cooled slowly; and, in cooling, it heated the flesh it had protected.
Rakastava squirmed toward the youth. The movement might have been intended as a feint, because when Dennis stood his ground, the monster didn't press the attack home.
The eyes focused on Dennis. The youth trembled with adrenalin, waiting for the light and the heat, waiting to squirm free of the immaterial grip before he cooked in his casing of undamaged metal.
Waiting to strike home and feel his blade grate through the vertebrae of Rakastava's remaining neck.
The beams of light pinned Chester to the ground.
Dennis lunged. Rakastava's left foreleg hung useless, oozing fiery blood, but the right leg shot out and hooked its claws around Dennis' foot as he slid forward to support his thrust.
The youth skidded. His sword cut a jagged, empty arc in the air above him.
Rakastava's eyes drew Chester, rasping and sparking on the stone, close to the massive serpent body while Dennis struggled to get up. When the robot was directly in front of Rakastava, the good foreleg clamped firmly around Chester's carapace.
Dennis swung, but the eyes' red beams jerked at his arm. He stumbled forward; the stroke went aside.
Rakastava's eyes held the sword arm up at an angle. "Now you will die, little human," the creature said as its jaws crashed shut on Dennis' neck and torso.
The black metal belled but didn't give under the pressure. Rakastava's teeth squealed vainly against the armor.
Dennis was sweating from heat and exertion. The vambrace covering his right forearm looked red when he saw it through the visor slots. He couldn't be sure whether the metal was glowing or just colored by the bloody light that bathed it.
The monster stopped chewing on the refractory metal and jerked its head back while the eyes still pulled at Dennis' wrist. The two antagonists were only inches apart, both panting. Rakastava's breath was a hot, moist cloud through the visor.
"Could I but close your eyes, Rakastava," Dennis shouted as his arm pulsed, "I'd have your head off."
"Could I but wrench your helmet off, human," Rakastava boomed, "I'd suck you from your armor like the meat from a shrimp. And so I shall!"
The sucker-knobbed tongue flicked out. One fork groped to either side of Dennis' neck.
He heard the click of a latch opening. The suckers began to tug apart the halves of the helmet.
Something fell over the combatants' heads like a white cloud.
Dennis thought he'd been blinded by panic—or else his vision went white when the monster's tongue broke his neck—
But his sword arm was free, and he brought the blade around with all the strength he'd put into vainly fighting the grip of Rakastava's eyes.
He expected the monster to scream as the blade bit deep, but th
ere was silence except for the banging of scales on stone and the crash Dennis' own body made when Rakastava thrust him away convulsively.
Dennis lay on his back. He'd lost his helmet. He pushed himself up into a reclining position on his left elbow.
His right arm burned, but there was nothing he could do for it except ignore the pain.
Rakastava was a writhing shape where the sea met stone. The harsh, damning light had faded almost entirely from the supple body.
The hologram in the assembly hall had been deceptive: Rakastava was much longer than Dennis had guessed. Now he saw the tail flailing against the cavern roof, a hundred feet in the air.
Rakastava hadn't roared at the final sword-stroke, because its third head lay on the stone beside Dennis. Wrapping the head was the white gauze dress of the Princess Aria.
Dennis looked around. The only light in the cavern was the purple glow of Rakastava's mane, and even that was dying as the creature itself had died.
Aria was rising to her feet. Foul, faint illumination could not make her naked body look less than beautiful.
There was blood on her face.
"You're hurt!" Dennis blurted, forgetting his own pain for the moment. He got up, and the effort of moving his right arm reminded him of everything.
Aria touched two fingers to her lips. They came down dabbed with blood. "I didn't feel anything," she said. "You said, 'Could I close your eyes...' And so I covered its eyes."
Darkness hid the princess, but Dennis felt the warmth of her body—through his armor, through his pain. His hand reached for her; then he remembered that he wore star-metal gauntlets, and that she wore nothing but golden sandals.
Dennis turned and, with his left hand, lifted the newly-severed head by its mane. He unwrapped the dress as carefully as he could from the angles and pointed scales. The gossamer fabric was already torn, and dim light made the task still harder.
"Ah, here," he said, holding the rescued garment with his eyes averted—though Aria was only a pale shape in the shadows, and he'd stared at her nude body in clear light through the mirror.
But then she didn't know.
Dennis busied himself with knotting together the manes of all three heads. The whisk of air indicated the princess was dressing beside him.
She stepped very close. "Come up with me," she said. "Now."
"No," Dennis whispered. His voice caught in his throat, making it sound like a growl. "G-give me your earring."
Aria reached into the cascade of her hair and came down with a faint sparkle that clinked into Dennis' gauntlet. Then she put both arms around his neck and kissed him.
"Oh!" Dennis said, backing as though she wore armor and he only gauze. "Oh," and he turned, striding to the sea's edge. Rakastava was stone silent, but waves kicked and spattered like the echoes of its thrashing.
A low spot on the stone floor had collected a puddle, shallow and still. Chester crouched beside it, holding Dennis' helmet; and beyond him, silhouetting his egg-shaped body, was the faint rectangle on the mirroring water. They stepped through together without leaving even a splash in the cavern behind them.
Dennis sat on the mud and dried bones of Malbawn's hut, his head bent and his elbows resting on his knees. He knew he'd have to stand up for Chester to finish stripping off the armor, but for now...
He licked his lips and tasted blood.
"She risked her life, Chester," he said. "I had armor and my sword, but she had nothing at all when she closed with Rakastava."
"That is so, Dennis," the robot agreed as catches snicked and loosened beneath his touch. Dennis realized how warm the right vambrace still remained when it came away and cool air bathed his forearm again.
He stood up. When Chester had lifted clear the cuisses that guarded his thighs, Dennis reached into his side pocket and brought out the other bits of jewelry to join the earring in his palm. Looking at them and not his companion, the youth said, "Chester, I think I love her."
"Oh, aye," Chester agreed as he loosened the greaves. "And will love her forever, Dennis; for that was the spell of Cariad, was it not? And you tasted her blood on your lips, to seal the spell."
Dennis licked his lips again. Only the salty memory remained.
"Whatever," he said. But love remained also.
CHAPTER 51
The assembly hall was vibrant with banners and the boisterous enthusiasm of the citizens of Rakastava. Dennis had not been sure the city would survive the death of its ancient ruler, but the tables arranged themselves with food and beverages just as before.
Dalquin nudged Dennis and pointed to Gannon as the champion stood up at the royal table. "Truly a great hero," the guardsman murmured. "To tell the truth, lad—Gannon has a fine figure, but I wouldn't have thought he had that in him. Rose to the occasion, you might say."
"Oh, the true Gannon must be a surprise to many," Dennis said in what the citizen thought was agreement.
Dennis had expected to be nervous. Instead he felt loose and dangerous, much as he had done the morning he swaggered into the hut of Mother Grimes. Something was going to happen. He wasn't sure what; but he was sure that he'd be in the middle of it.
And that it was better than standing by, leaving events to others.
The cheers that greeted Gannon's rise died away. King Conall still had a doubtful expression as he looked up at the champion.
Aria's upper lip was swollen and slightly cut. The injury made an odd background to her sardonic smile.
The princess wasn't staring at her folded hands this evening. Her gaze wandered across the hall; to the serpent heads on the table; and occasionally to the King's Champion, standing beside her.
When she looked up at Gannon, her smile grew broader.
"Fellow citizens!" Gannon cried. "I have slain the monster!"
The assembly cheered, as though their cheers in the past two days had been only practice for the real victory. Dennis noted a few furtive glances toward the center of the hall. Some of the citizens wondered whether this celebration, too, might not be premature.
The doubters were wrong. This time, Rakastava was really dead.
"King Conall," Gannon continued, looking down at his titular monarch, "I claim your daughter as my bride tonight!"
Aria stood up, unsummoned. She lifted her hair away from her shoulders with both hands, displaying her lack of earrings.
"Father," she said in a clear voice, "I gave my crystal ring and earrings to the hero who slew Rakastava. Gannon, will you return the jewels to me now?"
Gannon's face went dark with blood and fury. "Later, Princess," he said. "In our bedroom."
Aria let her hair fall.
"Very well," she agreed. "But do me one thing, noble Gannon. The hero who slew Rakastava bound the manes of the three trophies. Do thou separate them here, so that all can see proof of thy prowess."
Gannon drew his sword.
Dennis was on his feet, but the champion's intent was not the murder he had threatened if Aria denied him. He waved the shining blade high and called to the assembly, "Indeed, I will separate the heads—as I separated them in life from the living monster!"
He brought his blade down with a crash, hacking the knot against the table like a butcher jointing meat on a chopping block.
When Gannon lifted his sword again, the steel edge was notched and the glass-hard manes were as they had been before the vain stroke. The King's Champion gaped at his blade.
Dennis stepped forward, remembering his own shock when he cut at Malbawn's forearm with the Founder's Sword and succeeded only in putting a thumb-deep notch in the steel. Now the blade he held bare was truly star-metal, and in his left hand—
"Princess Aria!" Dennis called. "I believe these are yours."
He held his left hand high. When he opened his fist, everyone in the hall could see the crystal jewelry tumble into her cupped palm.
There was a gasp so general that it seemed the room itself drew in a breath.
"And these—" Dennis went
on.
He expected Gannon to try to stop him as he reached for the joined heads. Instead, the King's Champion only watched. Perhaps he was still stunned by events; perhaps he was arrogant enough to think his failure was everyone's certain failure.
The weight of Rakastava's lifeless heads was nothing to muscles as charged with adrenalin as Dennis' were. He lifted them high, his thumb and forefinger locked in the nostrils of the freshest trophy and the other two dangling like charms from a bracelet.
Dennis brought his sword around. The knot sang like a lute-string parting. Two heads bumped and jounced onto the table, then rolled to the floor. Dennis waved the third higher yet, then hurled it toward the center of the hall.
"Dennis!" Aria screamed.
He turned, and Gannon cut down at his skull.
But Gannon was a courtier, while Dennis was a swordsman whose skill and reflexes had been honed to a wire edge around and beneath this city. He raised his own long blade without having to think about it, a blocking motion and not a lethal stroke.
Dennis didn't need to kill the King's Champion. Gannon had nothing, and Dennis had everything his heart desired.
The swords met at the cross-guards, the thickest part of the metal. Gannon's blade rang in two notes, the stump in his hand vibrating at one frequency and the rest of the steel quivering an undamped song as it spun to the floor.
Dennis put his left arm around the princess. "King Conall," he said formally. "I guarded your herds. I slew Rakastava to save your daughter. Now I ask you for your daughter's hand, for I love her."
He looked at Aria, nestled against his side. "If she will have me," he added.
Aria put her arms around Dennis' neck again and kissed him in the sight of all.
Gannon flung down the hilt of his weapon and ran toward a door. The remainder of the honor guard had been seated nearby. With Dalquin in the lead, half a dozen of them grabbed their one-time champion.
"Kill him!" somebody called. A thousand throats echoed the demand.
Dennis raised his sword so that its point seemed to threaten the high ceiling. "Wait!" he cried; and as the hall quieted, "Wait!" again.
"You don't need Gannon here," he said to the faces watching him fervently. "But you don't need his blood on your hands either."
