by Isaac Hooke
“I used that portal to pass through into the Dark Realm, and Break the Balor,” Malem mused.
Xaxia nodded. “You did.”
“You think Banvil is trying to enter the Black Realm through there?” Brita asked.
“Either that, or transfer more of itself into Goldenthall,” Malem replied.
“We might have to fetch Ziatrice, and a Dark Eye,” Gwen said.
“Or Rathamias,” Malem said. He rubbed his chin. “We’ll go to Tartan, first, and decide what to do from there. I highly doubt Goldenthall would enter the Black Realm, however. It would be too dangerous to him and the precious cargo he carries. The other Balors have grown in strength, remember, and there are also countless denizens of that evil realm eager to hunt down a lone man.”
“Not an ordinary man…” Xaxia said.
“All right, let’s go,” Malem said, standing.
Timlir approached with the barkeep.
“It was nice having you in our inn!” the woman said. “Come again, anytime!”
On the way out, Malem noticed the battle ax known as Hamstringer was once more hanging from Timlir’s belt. “I see you fixed your belt.”
Timlir nodded. “I borrowed a needle and thread from Matilda and fixed it good as new.”
“So you weren’t just laughing and joking with the bartender after all,” Brita said. “You were getting something useful done.”
“I didn’t know dwarves could sew,” Gwen said. “Are you sure this Matilda didn’t fix it for you?”
“All dwarves can sew,” Timlir said. “We’re craftsmen. Mending things is our nature. Clothing. Armor. Weapons. Sewing is a manly pursuit.”
“Whatever you say,” Xaxia commented.
“Come now, lass,” Timlir said. “You know the thought of me sewing is making you all hot and bothered where it counts.”
“Actually, no, it’s not,” Xaxia said.
When Malem walked outside the inn, he saw that the crowd beyond the barriers had grown even larger than when he’d last checked. If they had wanted to, they could have easily overwhelmed the troops standing guard in a half circle just outside the inn.
Malem approached the soldier who looked like he was the leader.
“Can you clear them back?” Malem said. “I have three Metals here who want to transform into dragons.”
“We got you,” the soldier said.
The man shouted some commands, and the guards stepped forward, using their tower shields to push the crowd. “Get back, unless you want to get crushed by dragons. Back, I say!”
The crowd ceded.
Sylfi was standing next to their saddles, which were arranged in three piles, spread apart with enough distance so that it would be relatively easy for the dragons to transform into the gear.
Weyanna, Sylfi and Brita used those saddles to shield themselves from the crowd as they undressed. Wendolin collected their garments, and shoved them into the saddlebags.
Then the dragons transformed, their bodies slipping into the ropes of the saddle. Except for Weyanna, who hadn’t placed herself correctly; she materialized underneath the straps, so that when she changed, the saddle tumbled off her back.
The crowd beyond the line of guards oohed and aahed when the dragons appeared, and watched as Sylfi scooped up the fallen saddle in her mouth, and dropped it on Weyanna’s back.
“Mommy, what’s it doing?” Malem overheard a little girl near the front ask.
“It’s helping the other dragon put on its clothes,” the mother said.
Timlir scrambled up onto Weyanna’s back, and then kicked down the binding cords of the saddle so that they fell down either flank. Xaxia maneuvered underneath Weyanna’s belly and secured those cords in place.
Wendolin led Aurora to the big white dragon that Weyanna had become. Weyanna let down one wing to allow them to clamber onto her back, and Wendolin gestured at Aurora to go first.
But then Aurora broke away, racing toward the surrounding guards. Malem was about to drain her of stamina when branches erupted from the wooden surface of the building next to her, and enveloped the woman.
You never learn, do you? Malem asked. There’s no escape. At least until you start cooperating with us.
Then I guess I’ll be your prisoner forever! she said defiantly.
Guess so, he agreed. He glanced at Timlir. “Cut her down.”
Timlir went to her, and hewed away the branches that bound Aurora. The dwarf led her back to Weyanna and Wendolin.
“Now then, let’s try that again,” Timlir said.
Aurora scowled at the dwarf, and then at Malem, before clambering onto the proffered wing and pulling herself onto Weyanna’s back.
Malem climbed his own mount—Sylfi—and secured himself in the saddle with Grendel.
“Maybe we should just let her go,” Grendel suggested when she had secured herself.
“If I knew what kind of magic she wielded,” Malem said. “And there was a guarantee she wouldn’t plot to someday return and take her sword, I probably would. But as it stands, I can’t in good conscious let her go.”
“I suppose I get where you’re coming from,” Grendel said. “But I also understand her viewpoint as well. She feels unjustly imprisoned. You killed Denfidal, whom she regarded as a father figure. And you took her sword, which belongs to her. If I were her, I’d want it back. And vengeance as well.”
“All the more reason to keep her close,” Malem said.
He gazed at Sylfi, who was listening attentively, her head turned toward them.
“Sylfi, take us up!” he ordered.
In moments, Malem and the others were flying above the city, riding two per dragon—save for Timlir, who was forced to travel in Weyanna’s claws once more, since there weren’t enough saddles for them all. Malem could almost imagine all the grumbles and curses Timlir was sending Weyanna’s way.
Head southeast, he told Sylfi. And take us higher: let’s not give any forest-dwellers a target they might actually be able to hit.
Sylfi obeyed, and soon the city was fast receding, replaced by the canopy of the Midweald.
Malem dismissed the songbirds he had Broken, since they were no longer of any use to them. He gazed at those treetops far below, and smiled. He was free, finally. Free of the burden of emperor, if only temporary. Soaring above the forest, on dragon back. There was nothing like it.
He resolved to do this more often when he returned, rather than simply Breaking songbirds to experience flight remotely. Maybe it might even be something he could consider charging for, to boost treasury revenues. Once the news spread, tourists would come from across the land for a chance to ride a dragon. Hell, his own soldiers might pay for a ride as well, effectively giving back the money he paid them with. Yes, he’d have to run the idea by Mauritania and Abigail when he returned, to see how feasible it was, logistics-wise: safe transport would have to be provided through monster territory, from Redbridge to his kingdom, among other things.
In about an hour’s time, the forest gave way to the plains beyond. He saw the different farms and villages the Eldritch had ransacked on their way to Tartan’s Vale in Mulhadden. Most of those farms were still burned out, though a few had been rebuilt, or were in the process of being rebuilt. A lot of the villages were inhabited once more as well, though they bore the scars of invasion: many buildings were burned-out husks or collapsed piles of rubble. But on the whole, the rebuilding seemed to be going well. By the time Malem’s kingdom was in a financial position to start helping out with the rebuilding process, this entire region would have probably bounced back. Except for Tartan itself.
There would be no coming back for that city. The population had been exterminated, to the last man, woman and child, underneath Mauritania. She had been her own Defiler then, firmly under Vorgon’s control. The city’s army had been fighting on the front lines at the time, and when those lines were broken, the army had scattered, its men becoming sell swords to the highest bidder, or joining the armies of ot
hers cities that hadn’t fallen.
No, the only denizens he would find in Tartan would be bandits. If that. Men and women who would scatter upon sighting dragons descending upon the city.
None of the people he saw in those farms and villages down there would know him. The region had been abandoned the last time he came this way, its country roads patrolled only by the conquering Eldritch. And he had not marched through these lands when he led his dark army south after defeating Vorgon, instead entering the Midweald from the northeast.
That no one would recognize him was good in a way, because it meant if he had to stop, he would be left in peace. Assuming he didn’t spook the townspeople with the dragons first. As it was, they didn’t seem too alarmed to see dragons passing by overhead. True, the Metals were fairly high, but he did spot a few people stopping what they were doing to look up, or to point.
He supposed they had become accustomed to dragons flying overhead occasionally, now that the treaty with the Metals had been repealed, allowing them to travel across the land without those collars. Members of Malem’s own dragon army probably roamed this way now and then while hunting for food. Though Malem had ordered the Blacks and Blues not to raid the cattle kept by farmers, he had no doubt that some of his dragons defied that order and did it anyway. There were probably a few farmers readying pitchforks and bows at this very moment, not that it would do them any good.
The farms and villages thinned out as the dragons moved farther away from the Midweald and into Mulhadden. He spotted a merchant caravan moving on the road below.
You see that caravan below? Gwen asked.
Yes, what about it? he replied.
What if it’s Goldenthall’s? Gwen said. Or the man is hiding inside one of the wagons?
Given how much of a lead he had, Weyanna said. Goldenthall has probably already reached Tartan by now.
At the very least, he might have seen something, Gwen said. And can tell us if we’re heading the right way. For all we know, Goldenthall turned due east upon exiting the Midweald.
I suppose it’s worth a try, Malem said. All right, let’s land within fifty yards of that caravan. Try not to spook the horses too badly.
That’s what we have you around for, Gwen said sweetly.
He reached out to the horses of the caravan, and calmed them as the dragons landed in the middle of the road, blocking the path.
But then the caravan drivers and the mercenaries escorting them came to a halt, and promptly spun about.
They’re turning around, Brita said.
Malem considered Breaking all of those horses and commanding them to stay put, but there were enough of them to make the process onerous.
Sylfi, take to the air once more, Malem ordered. Head them off.
She leaped into the air and flew rapidly across the caravan. Some of the mercenaries carried bows, and they fired up at her, but the non-magical weapons bounced off her scales.
Morons, Sylfi said. They don’t understand that tickles.
Maybe they hope you’re ticklish? Malem suggested.
You’re the only one I allow to take advantage of that fact, Sylfi said.
Memories popped into his head, of tickling Sylfi before making love to her, as a way to calm her performance anxiety. She hated knowing that all the other women could feel her pleasure: it made her very self-conscious of the whole sex act, wanting to do everything perfectly.
As Sylfi landed in front of the retreating caravan, the horses once more became spooked, and Malem calmed them.
The caravan turned west, as if intending to travel off the road and into the uneven land next to it.
Tell them we come in peace, and only want to talk, Malem sent her. And that if they travel off the road, they risk damaging their wagons, and whatever goods they carry. Tell them I am the Breaker of Balors.
Sylfi repeated his words almost verbatim, her voice carrying between her and the caravan.
But the wagons ignored him, and continued off the road.
Malem sighed.
Always the hard way.
He Broke a few select horses dragging each wagon and had them bite at the other horses closest to them, while at the same time disobeying the orders of the drivers. He kept Breaking horses, draining from those bound to him, until soon he had enough of them under his command to return the caravan to the road. The sell swords, who rode individual animals, were forced to follow the wagons back. It helped that he had Brita breath flames along their former paths, giving them yet another incentive to return.
The caravan came to a halt. From the wagon in the middle of the group, a man in flamboyant red and blue robes emerged. “What do you want?” he yelled.
“Let me down,” Malem said, realizing there was no need to use mental communications now that they’d landed.
“Are you sure?” Sylfi asked.
“I’ll be fine,” he replied.
“I’ll go with you,” Grendel told him.
So she followed him down Sylfi’s wing, and together the two of them approached.
The sell swords surrounded Malem and Grendel with their horses, and led them toward the central wagon. One of the men actually leered at Grendel.
“I’d wipe that lascivious look off your face, dipshit,” Malem told him. “Considering I have three dragons waiting to rip apart you and your caravan. It wouldn’t be wise to piss me off.”
The man’s face darkened, and his grip tightened on his sword, as if he was actually considering using it, but then apparently he realized the stupidity of what he was about to do, because he looked away and spurred his steed onward.
Grendel gave him an appreciative look.
When they reached the central wagon, the man in the flamboyant robes stood there in the vehicle with his arms crossed, looking down at them. “Well? What do you want? Are you here to rob me, Breaker of Balors?”
“In a way,” Malem said. “You see, the only thing I wish to steal from you is knowledge.”
“Ah, how so very witty!” the merchant said. “You stop my caravan to deliver jokes! Now may I be on my way, please? I have a very tight schedule!”
The man kept glancing nervously toward Sylfi in the distance, and occasional at Brita and Weyanna on the other side.
“Certainly, as soon as you answer my questions,” Malem said. “Have you seen anyone, or anything, suspicious? In your travels?”
“Of course I have!” he said. “I’m a merchant! I always see suspicious things on the road!”
“Recently,” Malem said. “As in, the past day.”
The man stared at him, seeming suddenly hesitant.
“Actually,” the man finally said. “There was something this morning.”
“Tell me,” Malem pressed.
“Well, I stopped the caravan in one of the designated rest areas along the road, planning to spend a few hours recovering after traveling throughout the night,” the merchant explained. “At least until I saw the blackened corpses lying around a spent campfire. And so I pressed on, and have been riding since morning. When I spotted your dragons, I assumed it was you who killed them. Your dragons. And I’m still not sure it wasn’t. Have you come to kill me because I saw something I wasn’t meant to see?”
“No,” Malem said.
The man slumped. “That’s a relief. Well, it has to be another set of dragons that did this then. There has been an uptick in dragon numbers in recent months. Ever since the Defiler returned to the forest.”
“The Defiler?” Malem said.
“Yes, the servant of Vorgon,” the man said. “Do you know of him?”
“I am him,” Malem said.
The man paled, and took a step back, almost falling into the opening in the wagon’s canopy. “But you said you were the Breaker of Balors!”
“I guess not many people know we’re one in the same,” Malem said.
“Impossible,” the man said. “The Breaker of Balors is a hero! He killed the Defiler, and then slew the Balors!”
“I suppose he did, at that,” Malem said. “Are you sure these blackened corpses you saw were actually burned? Or was it dark magic that reduced their bodies to the state you saw?”
“I suppose it could be either dark magic or flame,” the man said. “I didn’t actually get close enough to examine the bodies. As soon as I spotted them, I fled!”
“Do you even know what death by dark magic looks like?” Grendel asked, speaking for the first time. “Versus death by dragon fire?”
Her melodious voice seemed somehow incongruous among the rough men. Yet it was also calming.
The merchant must have been thinking the same, because when he looked at her, his expression seemed more serene.
“No,” he admitted.
“Thank you for your help,” Malem said.
With that, he and Grendel returned, unmolested, to Sylfi. He recalled Weyanna and Brita, and allowed the caravan to continue on its way.
When the others gathered to him, he shared the news.
“Yup, we’re definitely on the right path,” Xaxia said. “Goldenthall heads toward Tartan.”
“Is it worth it to fly back to the rest area the merchant spoke of?” Gwen asked. “To confirm it was dark magic that killed these men?”
“Dark magic or flame, this stinks of Goldenthall’s hand,” Malem said. “I’m confident the possessed man came this way. I feel no need to backtrack.”
“I agree,” Grendel said. “We should continue forward.”
“Uh huh,” Gwen said. “And who made you second in command?”
“She appointed herself,” Xaxia said.
Grendel shrugged. “It seems the most logical course of action.”
“Logic now, huh?” Xaxia said. “You’re a creature of emotion just like the rest of us.”
“Not me,” Timlir said. “I’m a dwarf. Ruled by logic. Emotions have no sway upon me!”
“Whatever, Timmy,” Xaxia said.
“Timmy?” the dwarf blustered. “Don’t call me Timmy!”
“Emotions have no sway upon you, huh?” Xaxia said.
The dwarf offered some incomprehensible, stuttering words, but otherwise had no response to that.
