by J. W. Webb
It was all down to timing, that and careful planning. He rubbed his long bony fingers together in anticipation. His ascent to real power had only just begun.
Caswallon reached down to pat the crinkled head of his Soilfin. Strangely, he’d grown fond of the ugly creature. He’d fed Gribble by hand with the warm flesh of a prisoner after the goblin-ape had returned, famished from his foray out west.
Gribble grinned inanely up at him; the Soilfin liked his new guardian too. Theirs was a tenuous, peculiar friendship—twisted evil sorcerer and loathsome stinking goblin, perfect roommates in this drafty tower. Gribble thrived on the tasty morsels Caswallon had provided during their brief time together. The meat was always fresh. Better still, it was breathing.
Caswallon fingered his close-cropped beard. It was hard to conceal his growing anticipation for the power that would soon be his, and the pleasures that were sure to accompany it.
The Assassin would have the Queen caught like a wasp in a honey jar. For her Caswallon had special plans, dark and twisted schemes. He envisioned her naked and open before him. Little Ariane had given him a deal of trouble.
He would have her escorted to him trembling, her will broken and body no longer her own. There she would learn to please.
She would beg to please. Caswallon would use the Queen again and again until he wearied of her. Then he would feed her to Gribble as a special treat.
Caswallon released his fargaze from the crystal. It hurt to stare for more than a few minutes—even with Morak’s guidance.
He stood, stretched, and paced across to the window. From there Caswallon gazed down upon the tiny figures scurrying about their petty duties far below. Like so many restless ants they hurried back and forth, driven by fear and uncertainty. Caswallon knew the people hated him, but that was irrelevant. Those that survived the coming war would become his slaves, or else food for his growing legion of Groil.
Only Perani and his second, Derino, knew of the Groil’s whereabouts.
Two-Heads, Flail, and a few others dwelt here in the palace but most were hidden in the sewers below the city. Perfect place for them. At night they’d rise up through drains, pouncing on anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity.
Caswallon turned to see Gribble watching him warily. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Then Caswallon gasped as a sharp pain lanced the length of his spine. He stumbled, almost fell.
Then the tower was rocked by sudden deafening noise. Crack and boom! The whole building shook and windows rattled. Caswallon was thrown to the floor whilst Gribble sped under the table and gulped. Caswallon groped, found his knees, and then fell flat again as the floor heaved beneath him. Boom, crack—thud. Caswallon covered his ears.
Light shimmered. There came a weird shrieking noise followed by another thud. The tower shuddered horribly. Then, just as Caswallon thought it would crumple and collapse, the racket and quaking subsided and were replaced by silence. Caswallon tried to quell the panic screaming through his veins. He knew what had caused this: a crack in the void. A fissure had opened from limbo, and something had got through.
Badly shaken, Caswallon regained his feet. For a time he leant against the table. He summoned courage, tentatively approached the window, and looked outside. Nothing. It was blacker than black out there. No atmosphere, no wind. Just emptiness.
Beneath the rocking table behind him Caswallon heard a squishy plopping sound. He turned, saw Gribble relieving himself in a jar. The Soilfin was shivering and grinding his filed teeth.
“That’ll be Vaarg,” the Soilfin muttered. “He has awoken then. They said he would at some point. He’s bound to be hungry. Vaarg’s appetite is much bigger than mine, Mr. Caswallon.”
Caswallon’s face faded to grey. Why hadn’t the Dog Lord warned him of this? He glanced outside again. The blackness had dispersed into a mass of tawny cloud. These parted, and at last he saw it.
The hole in the sky.
A vast rent, jagged and distorting, shifting in and out of vision and hard to define. Beyond it was only void, the chaotic torn fabric of anti-matter, impossible to define, a wrongness that confused both eye and brain.
Through this opening sped the dragon.
A great winged beast, black and sleek like a fired crossbow bolt it arrowed toward the tower with impossible speed, swelling in size, the wing beats drumming like approaching thunder. Caswallon felt suddenly sick and frail. He staggered, gripped the chair again to steady himself.
Caswallon had quite forgotten about dragons.
***
For long centuries Vaarg had slumbered. It was the breaking of the crown that woke him, the echoes from which resonated throughout all nine worlds, reaching him at last in that cold dark place at the very edge of limbo.
Vaarg had stirred then, unfolded his great wings and opened wide his reptilian orbs. Vaarg had slept long enough—even by dragon standards. He was hungry for flesh; it was time to get moving. Time to see what had occurred during his enforced hibernation. He heard his old master’s voice calling him from very far away. That voice sounded remote and weak—not what it once had been.
“I have need of you—It is beginning…”
“I AM COMING…”
And so Vaarg rose up; his coiled, iron-hard hide slithering and bulking as it gathered massive behind him. The cave shook as he hauled his scaly bulk to its icy entrance.
Vaarg’s head gaped out into the dark. A mile behind and lost in the depth of the cave, his tail’s tip whipped rocks free as it lashed to and fro in anticipation.
Vaarg launched his obsidian bulk out of the cave. For a brief instant he squatted horrible at the mouth, testing his wire-tough wings and flicking that cold tongue.
Then he lifted, soared high—reveling in the joy of flight after so very long asleep. Vaarg sailed majestic through midnight sky vacating that remote ledge on the edge of all worlds.
He tore up into the blacker black, cleaving through space, crossing alien skies and breaking through time dimensions as he had millennia ago. For it was told of dragons that, like the gods, they had the ability to move from planet to planet, whether by crossing space matter, or by secret wyrm holes known only to them.
Vaarg sailed passed blazing suns. As he sped the Firewyrm recounted the glory of the good old days: the wars of the gods, his allegiance with the Urgolais, and his master the Dog Lord hoisting Golganak high as he rode the dragon’s back. Lord Morak and invincible Vaarg distributed death and obliteration on the Golden Folk, their enemies.
A glorious time! Throughout that endless war Vaarg ravaged and destroyed at his master’s bidding. He’d torn down the Aralais towers with his kin. Together they had fed on the enemy flesh. But the Aralais were also strong. They’d countered, built flying craft, and set vengeful upon the dragons with laser guns and gases. Many of his brethren had been slain.
Then came the final battle and his master’s fall. Vaarg witnessed the arrival of the mortal folk from overseas, rushing like fools to Aralais aid. Vaarg, seeing all was lost, had fled to his lofty eerie and vowed vengeance. But with the Urgolais power broken, he too became weakened and retired to sleep in hungry solitude.
Throughout the long millennia Vaarg slept, and the resonant Aralais power of the Tekara held his master’s ghost at bay. But that time had passed. A new age of Chaos was beginning, and dragons had always been creatures of Chaos.
He approached the portal and spoke the word. The skies cracked open, allowing his shrieking passage into the green realm beyond and below.
And so Vaarg, last of the great Firewyrms, returned at last to the first world, Ansu, on the eve of war. And his hunger was great.
At Ulan Valek, the old Urgolais manse, deep beneath the mountain’s shadow, Vaarg met the shade of his master. There amid the ruins of those haunted walls, Morak told him of his task, and Vaarg was content.
You will ally yourself with this Caswallon, my beloved. Watch him closely, he is slippery for a mortal.
And so Vaarg had come.
The massively horned, tongue-flicking, nostrils-flaring, golden eyes-glaring, breath-burning triangular head angled down toward the pathetic figure of the wizard gawping stupid at the window.
Vaarg’s long neck stretched forward like unraveling steel rope. His steamy breath scorched the thick glass of the window, shattering it and occluding Caswallon’s vision. The warlock fell to his knees again and cried for mercy.
Vaarg spoke. “I COME ON MY MASTER’S BIDDING.”
The voice was like splintering iron, profound and detonating, cold and ancient as the great glaziers of the frozen realms. Vaarg’s voice cracked stone walls and split pavements in the panicked streets below. A few of the bravest folk dared glance skyward in stricken woe. Among these was Perani, as dumbstruck as the rest.
“MORAK QUESTIONS YOUR LOYALTY, MORTAL,” hissed Vaarg, his steamy breath igniting the fire in Caswallon’s hearth. “HE GROWS CONCERNED AT YOUR TRANSPARENT AMBITIONS.” The long tongue trailed hot slime down the blackened, cracked surface of the window pane.
Caswallon’s rattled reply was barely audible through the damaged glass, but the dragon’s hearing was almost as good as his eyesight.
“Mighty Vaarg,” Caswallon coughed. “Tell your lord I exist only to serve him and his master the Lord of Old Night,” he lied. Beneath the table Gribble nervously sucked on a human thumb and stomped his feet.
The Soilfin was not enjoying this encounter. Dragons were unpredictable, none more so than Vaarg. Also they had been known to gobble up Soilfins when there was little else for them to feed on.
“THAT IS WELL,” responded Vaarg. His whipping mile-long tail dislodged more stone to crash down on the palace roofs.
“MY MASTER HAS A TASK FOR YOU. HE HAS NEED OF HIS SPEAR. THE OLD ENEMY HAS RETURNED TO AID THOSE FOOLS YOU WOULD DESTROY. WITHOUT GOLGANAK MY MASTER CANNOT MANIFEST FULLY. THE DOG LORD GIVES YOU THIS CHANCE TO PROVE FEALTY, CASWALLON.”
The dragon’s claws exposed the roof’s joists, and his tail sent them sailing down on the city below
“TO WIN MORAK’S COMPLETE CONFIDENCE,” continued the dragon, “YOU MUST LOCATE GOLGANAK AND RETURN IT TO ITS MASTER, SO HE CAN RECOVER HIS EARTHLY FORM. ONLY THEN WILL OLD NIGHT HAVE TOTAL SUPREMACY. ONLY WITH THE BLACK SPEAR CAN CUL-SAAN BE FREED.”
Caswallon had covered his ears. The room was spinning and his head hurt. He summoned his courage once more and looked out at the glaring single amber orb at the window, it being far too small to reveal the dragon’s entire head.
“I will seek the spear, of course. But where to look?” he asked. Caswallon was playing for time, desperately trying to think a way through this.
“IN THE MOUNTAINS,” answered Vaarg. He belched fire; it charred a roof beam. “GOLGANAK LIES SOMEWHERE BENEATH THE RUINS OF ULAN VALEK. MY MASTER HAS SEARCHED FOR IT TO NO AVAIL. STOUT HEARTS WILL BE NEEDED TO RECLAIM IT. THE GUARDIAN THAT STILL HAUNTS VALEK IS TERRIBLE INDEED.”
“I know one that could be used and is dependable,” replied Caswallon, thinking of the Assassin. He mouthed a quick spell to quench the burning beam above. “Leave this matter to me, Lord Vaarg, and please let Morak know I am loyal. But do tell me, valiant beast…” He shuddered, seeing the smoldering intelligence inside that amber gaze. It never blinked. “Who is this enemy, this warlock lurking in Crenna?”
“THAT NEED NOT CONCERN YOU, MORTAL.” Vaarg’s baleful gaze froze the marrow deep inside Caswallon. “WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT I WILL REND HIM APART. WE TWO ARE WELL AQUAINTED, AND I’VE A SCORE TO SETTLE.”
The dragon tore off a capstone with his fore claw and tossed it down. Seconds later it crashed through the roof of a tavern, killing three souls within.
“FORGET THIS MEDLAR. HE IS MY PROVINCE,” steamed Vaarg. “SEEK GOLGANAK. I MUST DEPART FOR A TIME. MY STRENGTH IS NOT AS IT WAS. I NEED SUSTENANCE AND MORE SLEEP. WHEN MY MASTER HAS THE SPEAR, I WILL RETURN—IF NOT BEFORE.
“DO NOT FAIL HIM, CASWALLON. THERE IS NO CORNER OF THIS UNIVERSE TO WHICH YOU COULD FLEE THAT I WOULDN’T FIND YOU—AND TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB.” Vaarg spread his huge wings wide. Their seven-hundred-foot span cast baroque shadows on the terrified city.
“I DEPART”
Those final booming words were accompanied by smoke and gas. Caswallon choked in the room—the dragon’s noxious breath having seeped in through the damaged roof.
The dragon uncoiled his tail and took flight. His thunder-clap wing beats shook the walls and loosened Caswallon’s bowels. Within moments the dragon had vanished through the rapidly shrinking hole in the sky. The rent closed behind him and all was silent for a time.
***
Caswallon felt numb from head to toe. He heard not the screams in palace and city, cared not that the people below were flailed witless by terror. On the city walls and at the gates, panicky guards blocked those hundreds seeking to flee the city.
Many citizens were slain in the carnage as were several soldiers. It was a mess down there—not that Caswallon noticed. Eventually order was restored with Perani’s brutal efficiency.
A great many piled into taverns, seeking the oblivion of drink. Still more sought the usually neglected temples to Elanion, Borian, and Telcanna, the Sky God, much to their priest’s delight. The sorcerer had forbade open worship, but terror of the winged horror had surpassed even their dread of Caswallon. The sun shone bright this morning heedless of the city’s mood.
High in his tower Caswallon straightened his back painfully. His ears still rang with the metallic din of the dragon’s thunderous voice. He struggled and shifted, leaning and panting against the wall. Caswallon felt exposed and outmaneuvered.
And very angry.
The bastards were onto him. He stood, thinking and plotting in silence, for most of that morning. Caswallon ignored both Perani’s urgent request to see him and the Soilfin’s grumbling stomach. Gribble had recovered quickly from Vaarg’s visitation. Dragons were old hat to him. Besides he was hungry again.
By afternoon Caswallon felt better. Once again he had command of his senses. The dragon had nearly unmanned him, but he wouldn’t be caught with his pants down again.
He formed a plan. Morak only suspected his treachery, so he still had time. Caswallon would find this Golganak, or rather Rael Hakkenon would for him. Then he would keep that terrible weapon for his own use, and with its help, he would put an end to Morak, turning the spear on its master and blasting him to cinders.
Caswallon well knew the power of Golganak. Vaarg would serve him once he knew how things were. With both dragon and spear onside, even the gods would learn to fear Caswallon. He laughed at that thought.
I shall be the Lord of Ansu…
He would summon Perani and inform the Captain of the Citadel of his wishes concerning the eastern defenses. They would have to kill the original messenger, of course.
Caswallon would send another man east. Handpicked by Perani or Derino, this messenger would inform Lord Starkhold of Car Carranis that aid would soon be with him. That aid would never arrive. Caswallon smiled. Car Carranis would fall prey to the baying hounds of Leeth. Point Keep would, too, for that matter—and with it Halfdan, if he lived yet.
He’d send Gribble back to Crenna, ascertain the outcome on that island. Caswallon’s fargaze had been obliterated by the coming of Vaarg, and he would not find the strength to reclaim it anytime soon. Nor for that matter could he recall where the crystal globe had rolled off to in all the mayhem.
Mind made up, Caswallon summoned Flail Six-Hands to bring someone for the Soilfin to dine on. And to source carpenters to repair his battered roof. Caswallon was too exhausted to use spell craft.
There was much to be done.
A tapping at the scorched window pane distracted him.
What now! Movement ca
ught Caswallon’s eye.
It was a large raven, its beady black eyes mocking him from its perch on the window ledge, its hard black beak jabbing at the damaged pane. Caswallon sensed a supernatural presence in those pitiless coaly eyes. He was suddenly no longer so sure of himself.
Caswallon rapped the window hard, and the bird took wing with a coarse caw. It settled on an exposed roof beam above and watched him hungrily. Caswallon had a nasty thought. Maybe the raven served that other wizard.
It mattered not, he told himself. Vaarg would deal with that player. Soon he, Caswallon, would be the only sorcerer in the land.
Close by, the raven cawed again. Was it laughing at him?
A second later it was gone. Caswallon forgot the bird, began working assiduously on his plans. The first task was to feed the Soilfin. Caswallon heard screaming below. Now to the next job…
Chapter 28: The Bard
That night the great feasting hall was a splendor of firelight and roasting hogs. Claw-like sconces clutched candles flickering on the walls, casting light on the crowded tables.
There the Lord of Crenna’s chieftains and premier fighters were seated in honor, all of them hard at feasting, amid swearing, farting and guffawing—with dogs scampering in between.
Rael Hakkenon had taken to his silver chair. There he held laughing court over the bruised and bleeding, spitting and cursing bundle of the Queen. He’d had Ariane chained on all fours to the leg of his throne.
Rael laughed every time he looked down on her defiant, wine-soaked face. He’d tossed the odd goblet at her every now and then.
Food and wine were in plenitude this evening, piled high on the long tables. The fire trench roared and crackled like a thousand hissing snakes. The skinny hounds chewed at cast bones, their lolling mouths slavering with spittle in the torchlight. Laughter and shouting eclipsed the roar of the fire.
