“ ’Twas a Vanadurin hospital train. Destroyed. Dragonfire, I deem.”
Again voices erupted, this time in anger, and even though the Princess gavelled repeatedly, using the hilt of her dagger to do so, silence was a long time in coming. But at last the noise subsided, and again Elyn nodded to Ardu.
“It was clear that the waggons were bearing wounded home from the War with the Dwarves. Just as clear was the fact that a Dragon did the deed: the great clawed footprints were plain to see.
“I rode onward, heading for the cattle grounds to gain new mounts from the Harlingar there, but when I arrived, cattle were running free, no drovers in sight. Yet it did not take me long to find them. They were dead. Fire-slain as well. Drake-slain.
“Up through the mountains I fared, up through the Grimwall. And when I cleared Kaagor Pass, south and west I rode, heading for Kachar, where warred my Lord Aranor.
“I rode in the night through forests blackened and burned, and now I knew that most likely it was Dragon that had set fire to the wood.
“It was dawn when I came nigh the valley of Kachar, the Sun just rising o’er the peaks. In the distance before me, I could hear a terrible roaring, and I pressed ’round the last flank and came unto the vale. And in the early morning light, I beheld a sight that like to drove me mad:
“Black Kalgalath raged within the valley, gouting great flames, slaying, destroying. The Legion was trapped before the distant gates of the Dwarvenholt, and all to a Man were dismounted. The gates stood wide, yet were closing, and inward fled the Host, into Kachar.
“Kalgalath landed upon the floor of the vale, and roaring and blasting fire, toward the gates he raced, but ere he got there, they slammed shut. But hundreds were trapped without, cut off from safety by the cowardly Dwarves.”
Tears streamed down Ardu’s face, and his voice quavered in distress, his eyes now seeing again the horror of that hideous dawn days past, yet on he spoke:
“And Black Kalgalath slew and slew, his claws rending, his breath burning, his bulk smashing.
“They didn’t stand a chance. . . . They didn’t stand a chance. . . .”
The lad’s voice juddered to a halt. And silence reigned as he regained his composure.
“After it was over, the Dragon clawed down a mountainside of stone, burying the gate, burying it completely, trapping the survivors within the holt of the enemy.
“After the Dragon had gone, I rode up into the vale, up to the buried gate, up to the place where he had slain so many.
“None were alive, and there was nought I could do. As to good King Aranor, he was not among the slain, yet whether he survived, I cannot say. And so I turned back, turned my horses back toward Kaagor Pass.
“And as I rode up out of the vale, I took one last look over my shoulder at the slaughter grounds, and all I saw was a great squawking whirling cloud of gorcrows and vultures, fluttering like falling black leaves swirling down upon the dead.”
Again long moments passed as Ardu fought to regain his composure. Finally:
“The journey back took longer, for I had no fresh steeds to ride and must needs spare those who had borne me thither. Yet I pressed on, passing back through Kaagor Col that day.
“At the next dawning, in the distance, again I saw Black Kalgalath, winging on a course that would carry him unto Kachar once more.
“I remained hidden behind crags upon the low northern slopes of the Grimwall, hidden until he was gone. And then I rode forth once more.
“I saw him not again that day, nor on the days thereafter, and at last I came unto Jordkeep, yestereve, and that is my tale.”
Ardu fell silent, his story told, and Elyn reached forth and briefly squeezed his hand, then motioned for him to sit. A low murmur of conversation rose up as the lad took his seat, but talk ceased as Elyn stood, turning to the Counsellors and guests, bringing her emeraldine eyes to bear upon each and every one of them. And after her gaze had swept ’round the room, she spoke: “You have all heard the words of Ardu: The Legion is trapped within Kachar, within the strongholt of our enemies, and mayhap King Aranor is trapped within as well, trapped by a Drake that has sworn vengeance ’gainst my sire. And mayhap each day Black Kalgalath returns to Kachar, for what, we cannot say—mayhap he seeks to see that his victims do not escape.
“Therein lies the heart of the dilemma we face: we must find a way to defeat a foe whose power and cunning and wickedness is beyond knowing, beyond enduring, a foe who alone, with the merest exercise of his might, destroyed this keep, slew drovers and scattered the great herd across the plains, slew our wounded, laid waste to an entire army: Black Kalgalath.
“Yet not only must we defeat such an opponent, we also must find a way to deliver our countrymen from the hands of our enemies. This I deem: if we find a means to destroy Black Kalgalath, then surely we shall find a way to rescue the Legion from the strongholt of our foe.
“I have called you all together to bring what knowledge you bear to help resolve this quandary. I ask your help, and ask it now, for I fear that time is of the essence.
“Let any who know aught, be it rumor or fact or nought but a hearthtale, say what they will, for e’en in the oldest of hearthtales there may be a germ of truth. Take care, for no matter how wild or fanciful the tale may seem, let no one here make sport of the speaker, for what may sound foolish to some ears may bring long-forgotten notions and tales to the minds of others, one or more of which may lead us toward a solution. Hence, dig deep within your memories, e’en back into childhood, and let us speak of Dragons.” Elyn took her seat and waited.
Long did the silence stretch out within the room, each pondering what had been said, each waiting for another to speak. Yet none did, for a moment, but then Mala spoke up:
“Come, come. This is no time to be tongue-tied. If any have aught to say, then let them speak. Here, I will start: it is said that Dragons sleep for a thousand years and then raid for two thousand—at least, so it is sung.”
Upon hearing Lady Mala’s words, Morgar, acting Captain of the Castleward, stood. “Princess, my mother, bless her memory, always told us that Dragons had the power in their eyes to charm a being witless, and that their voices could beguile the wisest of Men and Women. I don’t see just how that may help, but there it is.” His say done, Morgar sat back down.
Nodding sagely, Mistress Beryl, head seamstress, seemed to agree with Morgar, and when she saw that the Princess’s eye was upon her, she added her own words: “Aye, that I’ve heard they can do. And ’tis said that nought can move within their domain without them knowing it. But how they know, well, that’s not told.”
“What about their magic?” asked Counsellor Burke. “I’ve heard tell that they can cast glamours upon themselves and walk about as would a Man.”
“Ach,” averred white-haired Marna, Heraldmaster, “mayhap they can look like a Man, but what I’ve heard the bards sing is that no Dragon will ever be slain by the hand of a Man.” Marna held up his hands to forestall protests. “Now don’t take me wrong, for I know that the Prince lured Sleeth to his doom in the sunlight, but when all is said and done, ’twas Adon’s Ban that truly killed the Drake. So mayhap the bards be right, and mayhap they be wrong; I only tell it now because none else had brought it forth, and it be Dragon tales we speak of here. In any event, if the bards speak true, then nought we plan here this day will succeed lest it take into account that no Drake will ever be slain by the hand of Man.”
As eld Marna sat down, conversation hummed, and a lengthy time passed ere anyone else stood to speak. But at last, someone stood, and another Dragon myth was broached, and in the end each and every fact, fancy, and fairy tale ever uttered about Dragons seemed to find its way into the council. Dragon’s gold, Drakes’ lairs, their eyes and armor, their power and cunning, fire and poison, all were spoken of. And it seemed to be a consensus that each and every Dragon had a chink in his armor, a place of vulnerability where a well-thrust blade or well-aimed arrow would do him in.
/> During all of this telling of rumors and tales, Elyn sat in skeptical thought, believing some, disbelieving others; yet she said nought, for she feared that one wrong word from her mouth would shut off all converse.
Yet at last Parn stood, an eld stablehand, and Elyn signed that he was to speak.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Princess, but it seems to me that what’s needed here is the same as what I heard the Armsmaster speaking about some years back, when you was but a young lass training at weapons.”
“Do you mean Armsmaster Ruric?” queried Elyn, wondering what it was that the stablehand referred to.
“Aye, my Lady,” responded Parn. “He was speakin’ to you and young Elgo about Black Kalgalath. Talked of a thing called the Kammerling. Said it was the Dragon’s doom, he did. Told that it was the bards what says so.”
Elyn’s mind flashed back in time, her memory seizing upon a long-forgotten conversation among Ruric and Elgo and herself, back when Elgo was seeking a means to slay Sleeth, a means to humble Trent the Bard. Now Elyn remembered: They had found Ruric at the stables, mucking out a stall . . . no! rather, inspecting horses, and they had spoken to him about killing Dragons. Parn was right! Ruric had spoken of the Kammerling, of Adon’s Hammer.
“Too, Princess,” Parn spoke on, “it seems to me that the Armsmaster said that Black Kalgalath lives in Dragonslair, a great dead firemountain.” Parn scuffed his feet and jutted out his jaw, glaring at those around him. “I weren’t eaves-droppin’, Miss—Princess. Truly I weren’t. It were just that I were workin’ in the next stall, and had stopped a moment to catch my breath.”
Amid a hubbub of conversation, Parn sat back down. Elyn’s heart beat swiftly as she gathered her thoughts. He’s right. I remember. Ruric did say that the Kammerling was fated to slay the greatest Dragon. And that has to be Black Kalgalath. And the maps show that Dragonslair is in the Grimwall Mountains, easterly, the same direction that Kalgalath flew when he bore away the trove. Elyn’s voice cut through the babble: “Does any know where this Kammerling, where Adon’s Hammer might be?”
Again silence descended in the room, to be broken at last by Morgar: “Princess, I don’t know whether this has aught to do with the Kammerling, but when I was a child put to bed, there was a little song sung to me by Mother, rest her spirit, and it went something like this:In the Land where Wizards dwell
In dark confusing maze,
Twisting, turning, near its heart,
A silver hammer lays.
“What it means, my Lady, I cannot say, yet the only place I’ve heard tell that Wizards dwell is Black Mountain.”
“Well, if there be aught that’d be a dark confusing maze,” spoke up Beryl, “then I’d say that the Wizardholt of Black Mountain would be the place.” A murmur of concurrence rose up as the seamstress again nodded sagely to any and all, as if what had been spoken was a proven fact rather than speculation. Even so, Elyn had to agree that there seemed to be a germ of truth not only within Morgar’s simple rhyme, but also in Beryl’s deduction concerning it.
Marna stood again. “Aye, now that it is recalled to my mind, I think it be true that the bards sing that only the Kammerling can stand ’gainst the greatest Dragon of all; but they also tell that there is a doom on the wielder of the hammer as well . . . something about being plied by one who has lost a love.”
In the silence that followed Marna’s statement, Beryl spoke up, her voice gentle: “To my way of thinking, the lost loved one, well, that’d be Prince Elgo then, for none were loved better, and now he is gone.” The seamstress’s comment received sympathetic nods of agreement from many in the gathering.
The council lasted long into the night, yet nought else spoken of shed any more light upon what had already been said.
The next day and the next, Elyn brooded within her quarters, coming out only to take meals, leaving the business of the Realm within Mala’s capable hands.
On the third day, Elyn bade Mala to go hawking with her, for there was that which she would discuss with her aunt, out in the open, out upon the green grass of the Jordian plains.
Skree! Skree! Redwing’s hunting call scaled down through the clear air, the guide feathers at the very end of the hawk’s rudden wings tipping this way and that as he wove a coursing pattern through the heights above and scanned the long green grass below, his marvelous eyes seeking prey.
Elyn and Mala sat upon a blanket and took a meal, their own eyes locked upon the raptor’s flight. Long did they sit thus, without speaking, but at last Elyn’s soft voice broke the silence: “Mala, I intend on going to Black Mountain, after the Kammerling.”
Mala’s face blanched, and her fists clenched. She turned to Elyn. “Child, you can’t. You can’t desert the post your sire gave over to you. There’s the Kingdom to think of.”
“That’s what I am thinking of, Mala, the Kingdom.” Elyn stood and began pacing. “Unless someone goes, Black Kalgalath will have destroyed this Realm, for the Host is trapped within the strongholt of our enemy, and nought will free them unless first the Drake is slain and then the Dwarven foe defeated. The Kammerling seems to be our only choice, and surely such a potent token of power can be turned against the greedy enemy, once the life of the Drake is ended.”
“But the danger!” cried Mala. “If it must be done, then let someone else do this deed.”
“Who else, Mala?” rejoined Elyn. “Would you have me send an old Man, one whose stamina is gone, one whose failing endurance will not allow him to succeed? Or instead should I send a child, one full of energy but untrained in the ways of weapons? Nay, Mala, none else at Jordkeep has the youth and the training but I. I am a Warrior Maiden! And as such, am fitted to fulfill this quest, if any can do so.”
“Elyn, all the strong young Men are not trapped within Kachar,” protested Mala. “There are others within the Land. Let one of them go.”
“Mala, all the warriors are trapped; or if not trapped are filling other needs . . . border patrol, garrison duty, whatever. Everyone who could be spared answered to the muster. Those who could not, did not go, for either they did not have the skills, or they must needs remain at other posts.” Elyn stopped her pacing and looked down upon her aunt. “But I, I have the skills and I can be spared.”
“Nay, Princess,” disputed Mala, “for if you go who will then guide the Kingdom?”
Elyn’s quiet answer stunned her aunt: “Why, you, Mala. You will guide the Realm.”
“Oh, no, Elyn,” objected Mala. “Your sire gave that duty to you. You cannot merely cast it off onto another, for it was his command.”
“Circumstances yield me no other choice, Aunt,” responded Elyn, casting her eyes heavenward. “Were my father here, he would agree. Ere he left he told me that ‘Chance and circumstance oft’ lay out a different course than the one first charted . . . do that which is best for the Realm.’ Don’t you see, Mala, that chance and circumstance in this matter leave me no other choice? I must go and seek the Kammerling.”
Mala’s face twisted into a mask of apprehension. “Oh, Elyn, do you forget? The bards say that no Dragon will ever be slain by the hand of Man.”
Elyn raised her hand up before her own eyes, slowly rotating it front to back, studying palm, knuckles, thumb, and fingers. “Mala, this be not the hand of a Man.”
Tears ran down Mala’s face. “But you may be hurt, Princess, even slain.”
Elyn knelt down and embraced her aunt, comforting her. “If I do not go, dear Mala, the Realm itself may fall,” whispered Elyn.
As she rode back to Jordkeep, back to the broken castle, for some reason the lines of one of Trent the Bard’s songs echoed and re-echoed through her mind:Would you fight to the death
For that which you love,
In a cause surely hopeless . . .
For that which you love?
And Elyn removed the hood and jesses from Redwing, and cast the bird into the air. “Fly free, my red hunter, fly free.” And russet hawk soared upward into the bright blue sky.<
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The following day, Elyn called her Counsellors together and announced her intention to seek out Black Mountain and the Kammerling. After the uproar settled, Elyn appointed Mala Regent, decreeing that she was to hold the post until the return to the Kingdom of her sire or herself. Elyn also decreed that should aught happen to her aunt, to Aranor, or to herself, the Counsellors were to appoint a suitable Regent until Bram were to come of age, mentioning Arianne and Gannor as possible choices.
The transfer of authority was swift, and within the hour all in the keep knew of it, and dispatch riders were sent galloping to outlying posts with the remarkable news.
Next morning, as dawn broke upon the Land, Elyn slipt out from the ruins of the castle and bore eastward upon her swift steed, Wind.
She rode all that day and the next and the two following. And late afternoon of the fourth day found her wending upward into Kaagor Pass, Wind’s steel-shod hooves clattering upon the stone, sending echoes chattering along the length of the sheer slot and into the crags high above. Up the granite col she pressed, and dusk found her midway through the gap. Yet it was summer, and night at these heights at this time of year was bearable, and so she made camp as darkness fell.
After tending to Wind’s needs, Elyn managed to find a scrub pine, dead, its limbs twisted by the mountain winds, and soon a small cook fire blazed. She heated some water for tea, dropping in one of the precious leaves. As it steeped, she stared into the flames, and her mind ranged back to the early morn, back to the burnt waggon train with its slain warriors. Ardu had been right: it clearly had been a hospital train bearing wounded Harlingar. And later, she had come across the charred bodies of the cattle drovers. Of the herd, there was no sign: Likely scattered, she mused. Left alive by Black Kalgalath so that he can feed upon them. And as she sat beside her small campblaze, her mind turned ever and again to the sight of the burnt victims—the wounded, the attendants, the drovers: all slain—Dragon-slain, destroyed by the searing breath of a monster. Adon, what a hideous way to die.
Dragondoom: A Novel of Mithgar Page 35
