Dream Magic

by B. V. Larson

  “Yes,” whispered Harrdin. “Tell me.”

  The dragon held him pinned down and put her great head near the Warrior’s ear. She whispered words there, bass sounds that Trev could not make out with clarity.

  What Trev did see was amazement growing in the Kindred’s eyes.

  “It’s not possible!” he said.

  “Not only is it possible—but it is,” purred the dragon.

  “Trev!” Harrdin roared, turning his head toward him—but then the dragon spread its flame-dripping jaws and snapped down. The Kindred’s cries were muffled for a moment, then they were cut off forever. Chewing methodically before swallowing, Trev saw with alarm the dragon had bitten off Harrdin’s head and devoured it. The chamber filled with the smell of singed meat.

  Trev, for his part, did not tremble in terror. He had been working at the metal net so that he might flee. He’d found the opening, which was cinched tight, and managed to drive a pointed stone into the center of it. Still, it would not open.

  The dragon finished her meal, and the smell of roasted meat and burnt hair tickled Trev’s nostrils. Then the rasping sound of the beast’s scales, dragged over the hot stones, reached his ears.

  “I’ve heard of delicacies like this. Meat wrapped in wire. Freshly cooked, you’ll melt in my mouth, child.”

  “Dragon? What is your name?”

  The other chuckled. It was a bizarre sound, something that caused the walls of the cavern to rumble in sympathy with it.

  “Why would I tell you that, dinner?”

  “So that we may bargain.”

  “You wish to bargain? What does a creature like you have to bargain with? You’re a pathetic morsel, and my mouth grows wet in anticipation of a new flavor. The sweetmeats from above are so different, you see, not like the dusty fare I get down here. Kobolds have blood like oil and the Kindred taste dried-out. I’ve only had a few beings such as yourself, fatted on forests and sunshine.”

  “Is that why you asked Harrdin to bring you an elf? So you could taste a new flavor?”

  “Exactly. And not only an elf, mind you, but a half-elf. That way, I could compare the flavors of Kindred, elf and human all at once. The mere thought is making my guts tremble with anticipation. I’ve got half a mind to journey to the surface someday to feast upon the likes of you more often.”

  “Why don’t you do it, then? Are you frightened of the sky? Of the world above?”

  For the first time, the other hesitated. “Frightened? Nonsense. What does a dragon have to fear from tiny beings such as yourself?”

  “We slayed your parents. Your mother died right here in this very den. Your father—”

  Trev broke off with a squawking sound. The dragon had reached out a heavy claw and placed it upon his chest, pushing downward with a tiny fraction of its fantastic weight.

  “You’ll be still, now,” the dragon said.

  “Too afraid,” Trev gasped, barely able to get out the words, “too afraid even to hear the words of a helpless elf in a wire sack!”

  After a moment, the claw retreated. Trev breathed more easily. He fought the urge to cough, or to taunt the monster further. Now was the time to let pride do its vile work on the other’s mind.

  “I have to admit,” said the dragon at last, “you’re a brave one. Never have I heard anything from my food other than cries for mercy or curses. What makes you different?”

  “Have you ever eaten an elf?”

  “I can’t say that I have—but I’m becoming ravenous with anticipation. If your meat is as spiced as your tongue, I’m in for a treat.”

  “What if I showed you a way to the surface, dragon?” Trev asked. “What if I showed you a safe path—one which you could use to exit and return to your lair whenever you wished?”

  The dragon cocked its head and regarded him.

  “Witchcraft? Are you an elf, or a wizard? Do not seek to play me for a fool, or I will devour you from the feet upward. Your screaming head will go last.”

  “I’m telling you the truth. There are pathways from the Everdark to the surface—direct routes you might not be aware of.”

  The dragon narrowed its eyes suspiciously. “I suppose I will have to release you and take your word for it? Maybe you’ll lead me to a narrow choked tunnel where I’m too big to follow and then trot off, laughing to yourself? That isn’t how this tale will finish, youngling.”

  Trev shook his head. “Of course not. I’m not so clever as to think I can fool a drake. I’m speaking the truth. Leave me in the net, if you like. Let’s go together. I’ll show you the path out of the Everdark.”

  The dragon gazed at him seriously, but then ruffled her scales. “So much work, so much toil. Just for a maybe. You seek to distract, to prolong. I’d rather eat the meal in my claws.”

  “I understand,” said Trev. “Fear is a terrible thing. Even the mighty suffer from the affliction.”

  The drake slithered close and loomed over him. Her eyes smoldered with anger. “You dare too much. The feet first, that’s how it will go with you.”

  “Still afraid? Still worried about what happened to your parents? Traumatized since birth—a pity. What would your father have said? Would he have been frightened by the words of an elf in a net? Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? One might even say, in a case like yours, that it borders upon embarrassment.”

  “You dare insult my family in my own den?”

  “Truth is no insult. Look at me. I’m not pissing my pants and shivering in terror. Between the two of us, of which might a parent be more proud? Take my challenge dragon, and prove me wrong.”

  The drake fumed and coiled herself, then uncoiled again. She was young and arrogant, fortunately for Trev. At last, she snarled and came near again.

  “I’ll let this farce go on for a few hours more. But then I’ll kill you by inches, cooking each slice of your meat and eating every bite while your eyes dim. See if I don’t, manling.”

  Trev sniffed, knowing that the key to his ruse was to seem unafraid. It was his very lack of fear thus far that had galled the monster so much she was willing to take a chance.

  And so the drake picked him up with her dripping teeth and hung Trev aloft in the metal net. The burning droplets of saliva smoked in his hair and on his tunic, but Trev didn’t allow himself to cry out in pain. To do so might well mean his death now.

  Trev led the dragon through a dozen miles of twisting passages. He cudgeled his mind as he went, trying to recall every detail of his father’s tales. His grandfather and father had both traveled these labyrinths and found what they were looking for. Ancient places, mounds where the Fae no longer dared to dance. Even his own kind shunned these spots, but they were still here, and they would still allow egress from the Everdark in a pinch.

  Trev thought to himself that if he were not in a pinch now, no other of his kind ever had been. It occurred to him, as the dragon’s scales scraped stone and her hot spittle sizzled on the stones as they passed by, that this was a tale he could tell for the rest of his days. Provided, of course, that he lived long enough to pass it on.

  Chapter Nine

  Trev and the Dragon

  Brand and Tomkin found the open plug in the floor of the tunnel. Brand frowned down into it, and he squatted at the edge of the blackened opening.

  “It’s still hot,” Brand said, “and recently disturbed.”

  Tomkin was standing well back. He was nowhere near the edge and studiously avoided the hot chunks of blackened plug that lay here and there about the tunnel.

  “That’s not natural,” Tomkin said. “That plug should have held against an eruption. Flowing magma, quakes, a hundred Kindred with picks—none of those occurrences should have been able to break the seal. At least, not quickly.”

  Brand nodded. He thought about it, scratching his beard, which was as thick as a Kindred miner’s after spending days in the tunnels of the Everdark. “I think it’s been opened by a dragon,” he said at last. “I think the plug is weaker fr
om the top than it is from the bottom. These gouges—I believe it was torn open the way a bear might rip open a tree trunk.”

  Tomkin’s eyes were comically wide at this suggestion. He managed to scoot farther away along the tunnel wall and gazed at the evidence from a distance as Brand continued to point out details.

  “See here? Those aren’t the marks of picks—I say it was the beast’s claws. Picks aren’t curved like that, and they take much smaller chunks when they strike. This is scored with wide gouges. Still, the dragon can’t be a large one; otherwise it wouldn’t have fit in this tunnel. But it is large enough to rip up this plug. About the size of a fishing boat, I’d say—or a small house.”

  Tomkin licked his thin lips. His black eyes followed Brand intently. “Is it down there now? The beast might be listening, Brand. Come away from the hole.”

  Brand looked into the pit, considering the idea.

  “Possibly,” he said. “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Brand indicated the hole with an inviting sweep of his hand.

  “Are you mad?”

  “Shall we have a wager?” asked Brand, turning crafty. “A gold piece to the first one who sights the dragon.”

  Tomkin smiled with half his face and hopped forward—but not all the way to the edge.

  Brand smiled too, knowing that Wee Folk had a hard time passing up a wager.

  “You first,” Tomkin said.

  “How can you win the bet that way?” Brand asked.

  “Dead men rarely collect debts.”

  Brand snorted. “Caution in one of the Wee Folk? You should hang your head in shame.”

  “At least I’ll have one left to hang after I tell the sad, sad tale of Lord Rabing’s roasting.”

  Grumbling that Wee Folk were natural scouts and were perfect to apply in this type of situation, Brand lowered a rope and climbed down into the pitch-black hole. He didn’t believe the dragon was still here, of course. If he had, he wouldn’t have gone inside. But he did think it was worth investigating. If Trev had met his end down in this stinking den, it would be sad, but predictable. The boy had always been too inquisitive for his own good.

  The stench of brimstone was stronger inside the hole than out. Immediately upon entering the cavern, Brand was awash in unpleasant memories. It was here that Modi had died, along with a half-dozen of his stout Kindred comrades. Telyn herself had nearly joined them and been incinerated by the she-dragon that had nested at the back of the cavern.

  With great care, he drew Ambros and caused it to light his way. Brighter than any torch, it made the walls glitter. They were encrusted with crystals and sands melted to glass.

  After a turn in the tunnel he came to a long straight-away. At the termination of this gently sloping run, he arrived at the main chamber. Using Ambros like a torch, he beamed its light in a slow circle, examining the interior. He wished he’d thought to bring a shield.

  Behind him, from just around the corner, a piping voice called out: “Well? Are you dead yet?”

  “No, but that’s no reason to shout,” Brand called back.

  He was fairly certain already the dragon wasn’t home. The heat of the place—or rather the lack of it—had convinced him. A fire-dragon, resting in its den, was like a smithy’s forge at this distance. The odor and wafting heat would have been intense by now. Even more convincing evidence was the lack of a dragon to be discovered by Ambros’ probing beam.

  “It’s all clear,” Brand said, and strode to the sandy bottom of the chamber.

  Stealthy footsteps followed him, but he didn’t see Tomkin, not yet. The other was skulking in the shadows between fallen boulders.

  Brand found the corpse of a Kindred atop a mound of debris. He knelt to examine it.

  A fast-moving form bounded up and stood nearby. Brand startled, then turned back to the body after realizing it was only Tomkin. Apparently, he’d finally been convinced the place was empty.

  “This must be Trev’s guide,” Brand said.

  “Where’s the boy? I don’t see him.”

  “No. No sign of him.”

  “Well, off we are then. We have sad, but undeniably final, news to report.”

  Brand looked at the Wee manling and frowned. “What news?”

  “Dead Warrior, devoured half-breed…end of story.”

  “Devoured? Whole? Do you really think that’s what happened?”

  Tomkin snorted as if Brand was a simpleton. Brand’s brow knitted into a frown, but he managed to keep a flash of anger in check. The Axe was still in his hand, and he knew Tomkin could be irritating at the best of times. He had to maintain his self-control.

  “Please tell me what you’re thinking, Tomkin.”

  “If I must,” Tomkin said, striding over the body of the dead Kindred as if it was a fallen log. “Here, we have a dead Warrior. Notice his head—or lack thereof. Let us all call this Point One.”

  Over the years, Tomkin had changed a great deal. He was no longer a feral, hermit-like Wee One. As the somewhat reluctant Lord of his people, he’d become educated by them. Brand thought this change in his personality and demeanor was both a good and a bad thing. He’d become much more clear in his language and his manners were better—but he was now somewhat prissy.

  “Point Two is the lack of a dragon itself. Since the Kindred died, and the dragon didn’t, I would be willing to bet the dragon won the conflict.”

  “Fine, but how does that prove what happened to Trev?”

  Tomkin bounded twice, and stood upon a glittering mass on the floor of the cavern. Brand followed him irritably.

  “What’s that?”

  “A net. A steel woven mesh.”

  Brand examined it. “The mesh has been torn apart.”

  “Exactly. Let us call this Point Three—”

  “Must we?”

  “Yes. The dragon killed the Warrior, then tore apart a steel mesh to dig out something approximately your size. At this point, there is no sign of the dragon or Trev. I’m thinking the boy was in that net, and he was devoured promptly.”

  Brand glared at these details in sequence. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said.

  Tomkin made a tiny, annoyed grunt. “How so?”

  “If it took the Kindred’s head, why eat Trev in his entirety?”

  “Perhaps elves taste better.”

  Brand nodded, he had to concede the point that they probably did. But he wasn’t convinced Tomkin had figured it all out.

  “Okay, what if the Kindred was in the net, and he was pulled out, dragged to the nest and decapitated?”

  “And the dragon left after that?”

  “Yes. Perhaps the taste was foul and it made him sick.”

  Tomkin chuckled. “Could be. But where is Trev in your hopeful scenario?”

  “Maybe he’s run off, lost in the tunnels looking for a way out.”

  “I think it more likely he’s lost in the entrails of a dragon, and there is only one way out of that sorry circumstance for him.”

  Brand turned and headed for the exit. Tomkin hopped along after him.

  “Are we going back up to the Earthlight?” he asked hopefully.

  “Not yet. Even if your theory about them both being dead is right, I want to know more. I want to know why the Warrior put Trev in a net.”

  “Treachery? Is that what you’re suggesting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Exciting. Perhaps you’re right. That is worth investigating. Still, if Harrdin was a traitor, he’s paid the price. Must we face incineration to further pay for his crimes?”

  “I want to find out what happened. I can’t go back to Trev’s mother and tell her we found evidence of foul play and then turned around and went home.”

  “Why not?”

  “She won’t accept that answer.”

  “Let her be the one—”

  Brand finally lost his temper. He turned on the little man and Ambros brightened in his hand like a torch fanned by a gust of wind. “Look, I’m going o
n. I’m going to find the dragon and get the truth. Are you coming with me or not?”

  Tomkin appeared to consider his options carefully. At last he twisted his lips and frowned in disgust.

  “I will,” he said, “but only because you’ve cruelly piqued my curiosity. An unfair move on your part.”

  Brand took hold of the dangling rope and hauled himself up, shaking his head. He grunted and strained. He’d put on a few pounds over the years, and this hole seemed deeper than it had the last time he’d escaped it.

  * * *

  Trev directed the dragon to travel down the tunnel toward its termination. At one end it merged with the Magnesium Bowels, but at the other—he didn’t know quite what was there. He recalled the stories he’d been told as a child, and thought there might be a magma chamber in that direction. But really, he had no idea where he was going.

  After a short while, the dragon realized this and stopped moving. Talons as thick as a bull’s horns set themselves on Trev’s leash, which the dragon had fashioned from one of the steel mesh cables of the net. Trev was brought up short, making a choking sound. He reached to his neck and attempted to loosen the cable that wound around it.

  The dragon leaned its head downward, putting its burning face close to Trev.

  “You…you dared to deceive me? All the pain and suffering you’re about to experience—it boggles the mind. What a grim price to pay for a few more short hours of life.”

  Trev pried at the cable around his throat, his eyes bulging and his face turning purple. But the dragon did not ease the pressure. He did not give Trev a chance to speak.

  “I had not thought it possible for an elf to be so foolish. Perhaps it is your half-breed blood. That’s what fooled me, and has now engaged my rage and my wonder both. You think like a goblin. IS this what all half-elves are like?”

  Trev pointed to his throat and his mouth worked like a fish gaping in a net. But still, the dragon did not release him. Trev dropped to his knees. He could not feel the impact as his legs collapsed under him.