“You have betrayed all that was sacred to the ancient brotherhood,” the old wizard cried.
“The ancient fools!” the dragon replied in a snarling, resonating voice.
Brind’Amour was caught off guard, for the dragon’s words did not come easily, every syllable stuttered and intermixed with feral snarls.
“Fools, you say,” the wizard replied. “Yet that brotherhood is where you first found your power.”
“My power is ancient!” the dragon answered with a roar. “Older than your brotherhood, older than you!”
Brind’Amour understood it then, recognized the struggle between the wills of this dual being. “You are Greensparrow!” he cried, trying to force the issue.
“I am Dansallignat . . . I am Greensparrow, king of Avonsea!” the beast roared.
Then the dragon flinched, an involuntary twist, perhaps, and Brind’Amour was quick to the offensive, hurling yet another bolt, this one white and streaking like lightning. The dragon roared; the wizard screamed in pain as all his energy, all his life force, was hurled into that one bolt. Magic was a power limited by good sense, but Brind’Amour had no options of restraint now, not when facing such a foe. He felt his heart fluttering, felt his legs go weak, but still he energized the bolt, launched himself into it fully, sapping every ounce of strength within him and hurling it, transformed, into the great beast.
He could hardly see the dragon, and wasn’t really conscious of his surroundings anyway, but somewhere deep in his mind, Brind’Amour realized that he was indeed hurting the monster, and that it was transforming.
Finally the energy fizzled, and the wizard stood swaying, thoroughly spent. After a moment, he managed to consider his opponent, and his eyes went wide.
No longer did the dragon stand before him, nor was his foe the foppish king of Avon. Greensparrow and Dansallignatious had been caught somewhere in the middle of their dual forms, a bipedal creature half again as large as a man, but with scaly skin mottled green and black, great clawed hands, a swishing tail, and a serpentine neck as long as Brind’Amour was tall.
“Do you think you have defeated me?” the beast asked.
Luthien heard that call distantly, and the very voice of the beast, a whining, grating buzz, wounded him, stung his ears and his heart.
“You are a fool, Brind’Amour, as were all your fellow wizards,” Greensparrow chided.
“And Greensparrow was among that lot,” the wizard said with great effort.
“No!” roared the beast. “Greensparrow alone was wise enough to know that his day had not passed.”
Brind’Amour had no response to that, for he, too, had come to believe that the brotherhood of wizards had surrendered their powers too quickly and recklessly.
“And now you will die,” the beast said casually, moving a stride forward. “And all the world will be open to me.”
Again, Brind’Amour could not refute the dragon king’s words—at least not the first part, for he had not the strength to lift his arm against the approaching creature. He wasn’t so convinced, though, that Greensparrow’s claim about the world would prove true.
“They know who you are now,” he said defiantly, his voice as strong and confident as he could possibly make it. “And what you are.”
Greensparrow laughed wickedly, as if to question how that could possibly matter.
“Deanna Wellworth will take back her throne and her kingdom, and Greensparrow the foul will not be welcomed!” Brind’Amour proclaimed.
“If I can so easily defeat the likes of Brind’Amour, then how will the weakling queen, or any of her ill-advised allies, stand against me?” As he spoke, Greensparrow continued his advance, moving to within a few feet of Brind’Amour, who was simply too spent to retreat. “I will take back what was mine!” the beast promised, and the time for talking had passed.
Greensparrow’s serpentine neck shot forward, maw opening wide. Brind’Amour let out a cry that sounded as a pitiful squeak, and threw up his arms before his face. Fangs tore his sleeves, ripped his skin, but the defensive move stopped Greensparrow from finding a secure hold, his snout butting the wizard instead and throwing Brind’Amour down to the ground.
At the same moment, the dragon king caught a movement to the side and behind, as a form uncoiled from its position at the base of a tree and rushed out at him.
Brind’Amour’s companion! the dragon king realized. But how had he missed seeing that one?
Luthien took two powerful strides, bringing Blind-Striker in a two-handed over-the-shoulder arc that drove the blade hard against the beast’s extended neck. He chopped again and again as Greensparrow tried to reorient and square himself to this newest foe. Green-black scales splintered and flew away. The beast’s clawed hind feet dug trenches in the earth as it backpedaled.
Luthien, blinded by rage, screamed a dozen curses and pumped his arms frantically, refusing to give up the offensive, knowing that if he allowed the beast to gain its composure and its footing, he would surely be doomed. Again and again he launched his mighty sword, each swing culminating in a hit, sometimes solid, sometimes glancing. He kept Greensparrow backing, kept whacking at the twisting form with all his strength.
But then he slipped—a slight stumble, but one that allowed the dragon king to get out of reach, to gain its footing.
“The Crimson Shadow!” Greensparrow snarled. “How much a thorn you have been to me!”
Luthien put his feet back under him and started to charge once more, but skidded to a fast stop, realizing that to dive into that tangle of claws and fangs was certainly to die.
“For months I have been waiting for this moment,” Greensparrow promised. “Waiting to pay you back for all the trouble. For Belsen’Krieg and Morkney, for Paragor of Princetown and for the ridiculous cries of ‘Eriador free!’ that have reached my ears.”
Luthien stepped forward and swung, but found himself falling backward before the blade got halfway around, as the snakelike neck snapped out at him. He fell into the mud and scrambled backward. Greensparrow was laughing too hard to pursue.
“Watch him die, Brind’Amour,” the dragon king chided. “Watch all your hopes torn apart.”
Luthien glanced Brind’Amour’s way, praying that the wizard was ready to join in then. But Brind’Amour could not help him, not this time. The wizard remained on the ground, barely holding himself in a sitting position. His magic was gone, expended in the enchantments, particularly that last bolt of power, his ultimate attack. It had taken much strength from the dragon, had even reduced it to this present form, but it had not destroyed Greensparrow.
Luthien studied his foe carefully. The dragon king was certainly wounded, had suffered a great beating from the tree and the energy bolts, and from Luthien’s own wild attack. Large welts lined Greensparrow’s neck, and his face was scored on one side. One of his wings was tucked neatly against his back, but the other hung out at a weird angle, obviously broken.
Slowly Luthien slid his foot back under him.
“Or perhaps I should not kill you,” Greensparrow was saying, his gaze as much at the empty distance as at Luthien. “Perhaps I should bring you back to Carlisle, an admitted liar and enemy of the throne. Perhaps I could use you to discredit Deanna Wellworth,” the beast mused, and looked back—to see that Luthien was up and charging!
Greensparrow snapped his head at the young Bedwyr, but too late. Luthien came under the descending maw, throwing up the tip of his blade, and Greensparrow’s own momentum worked against him as Blind-Striker bit under the dragon king’s bottom jaw, right through scales and skin, right through the flicking forked tongue and into the roof of his mouth.
Luthien continued forward and held on with all his strength, trying desperately to get inside the angle of the monster’s flailing arms.
Greensparrow hissed and thrashed and Luthien could not hold the sword and stay in tight. His feet went out from under him as Greensparrow spun to the side, but Blind-Striker held fast and Luthien was pulled right
from the ground.
A clawed hand swiped at his exposed ribs, tearing through his chain-link armor and the thick leather tunic below it as easily as if it was old and brittle paper. Bright lines of blood appeared, one gash so deep that Luthien’s rib was visible.
Still he hung on, growling against the pain, but then the other blow came across, punching and not raking, a blow so fierce that Luthien flew away, taking his sword with him.
The dragon king’s head jerked violently to the side as Blind-Striker tore free, and Greensparrow slumped to one knee, giving horrified Luthien enough time to scramble away into the cover of the swamp.
But the beast was fast in pursuit, sniffing and snarling, sputtering curses that rang in the ears of the young Bedwyr. Never before had he run from battle, not from Morkney, not from the demon Taknapotin. But this beast, even wounded as it was, was beyond both of them, was something too evil and too awful.
And so Luthien ran, stumbling, pressing his arm against his side in an effort to keep his lifeblood from spilling away. He heard the sniffing behind him, knew that Greensparrow was following the trail of dripping blood.
The beast was right behind him. Luthien gave a cry and ran on as fast as he could go, but caught his foot in an exposed root and went tumbling headlong.
All his sensibilities screamed at him that the trail had ended, that he was about to die!
A long moment passed; Luthien could hear the breathing of the monster, not more than a few feet behind him. Why didn’t Greensparrow get it over with? he wondered.
His cape. It had to be the cape. Luthien dared to peek out from under the hood, could see the lamplight glow of those terrible dragon eyes scanning the ground. Luthien held his breath, forced himself to stay perfectly still.
He would have been found; he knew that Greensparrow would have sorted out the riddle soon enough, except that there came a crashing noise somewhere up ahead, and the white coat of Riverdancer flashed into view, running past.
Greensparrow howled, thinking that his young opponent had somehow gotten ahead of him, back to his horse. If the beast went airborne, it would be beyond his grasp!
That the dragon king could not allow, so he took up the chase, leaping forward, and stumbling over a form that he could not see.
Greensparrow hardly took note of the trip, and his heavy foot had taken the breath from Luthien. The young Bedwyr could have remained where he was, allowing the dragon king to run off in pursuit of Riverdancer, while he went back to Brind’Amour.
But Luthien saw his chance before him and would not pass it up, no matter the terror, no matter the pain. With a shout of “Eriador free!” the young Bedwyr launched himself forward, catching up to the beast even as it pulled itself from the ground. Blind-Striker’s tip bit hard, right between the wings, tearing through the scales and nicking the backbone.
Luthien kept going forward, leaped right onto Greensparrow’s back, catching a firm and stubborn hold on the broken wing even as the beast tried to turn about.
Greensparrow threw himself into a roll, ducking his shoulder so that he would go right over the pitiful human. Luthien tried to leap free, got his blade out of the beast’s back and pushed off the wing. He scrambled away as Greensparrow rolled, but the dragon king came up in a leap that brought him up to Luthien, and the man’s breath was blasted from his lungs as Greensparrow came down heavily atop him.
He was pinned, nowhere to run, with the dragon king’s terrible face barely inches away. They held the pose for several seconds, a strange expression, a look of confusion perhaps, on Greensparrow’s dragon features.
Luthien knew that the torn maw could not bite at him, but his arms were pinned against his chest and he could not hope to block if Greensparrow gouged at his face with that array of horns. Desperately he struggled, to no avail. He couldn’t even draw breath, and felt a pointed press against the hollow of his breast that he soon realized to be the tip of his own sword!
Luthien’s eyes went wide. If that was the swordtip, then Blind-Striker was pointing straight out. But if the dragon king was on top of him . . .
“Foolish, wretched boy,” Greensparrow said, his voice serene and his words accompanied by dripping blood. The creature managed a small, incredulous chuckle. “You have killed me.”
Luthien was too stunned to reply.
“But I will kill you as well,” Greensparrow promised, and Luthien had no words, and certainly no actions, to refute the claim as Greensparrow’s neck lifted the horned head up high and put the sharp horns in line with Luthien’s face. Even if the dragon king expired before he struck, the simple weight of the dropping horns would surely finish Luthien.
He tried to face death bravely, tried not to cry out. His concentration was shattered, though, by a thunderous roar to the side of his head, by the spray of muddy turf as Riverdancer charged up and spun about, then kicked out with his hind legs, connecting solidly with the dragon’s head even as it began its descent.
Greensparrow’s neck snapped out to the side violently; the head thumped hard against the ground.
The dragon king lay very still.
EPILOGUE
It took Luthien some time to extract himself from under the dead beast. Even after he had squirmed clear, he spent many minutes just lying in the muck, trying to catch his breath, praying that the searing pain would abate. Somehow he managed to get to his feet. And then he nearly collapsed, fell against his precious Riverdancer, merely a horse once again and with no sign of Brind’Amour’s wings, and hugged the horse tight.
Luthien looked to the fallen dragon king, to see Blind-Striker’s crafted pommel poking into the air out the creature’s back. Guiding Riverdancer, using the horse’s strength, Luthien managed to get the dead dragon king angled so that he could retrieve the sword. Then Luthien led the horse back to Brind’Amour, and the young Bedwyr was relieved indeed to see that the wizard, though he was lying on his back, apparently unconscious, was breathing steadily.
It took a long while to get Brind’Amour across Riverdancer’s back. That done, and with no desire to be in the swamp when night descended over it, Luthien led the horse away, following as direct a westerly course as he could.
Luck was with him, and sometime long after sunset, Luthien emerged from the Saltwash onto the rolling fields of southeastern Avon. He meant to build a fire, but collapsed on the grass.
When he awoke to the slanting rays of dawn, he found a cheerful Brind’Amour standing over him. “This day you ride,” the wizard said with a wink. “A long road ahead of us, my boy.”
Brind’Amour helped him to his feet, and Luthien realized that his wounds were not so sore anymore. He looked to the one on his ribs and saw a thick muddy salve there, and he didn’t have to ask to figure that Brind’Amour had added a bit of magic to the healing.
“A long road,” the wizard said again, adding a wink. “But this time, the end of that road should be a better place by far!”
Indeed it was, for by the time the companions got back to Carlisle, Deanna Wellworth had assumed her rightful place as queen of Avon. Her speech to the doubting and frightened populace had been conciliatory and apologetic, but firm. She was back, by right of blood. They would have to accept that, but Deanna was wise enough to understand that the real test of her power, and the real reason for her return, was to improve the lives of those who looked to her for guidance.
Her reign, she promised, would be as her father’s had been, gentle and just, for the good of all.
How much her hopes, and the hopes of those who supported her, were lifted on that morning when Luthien and Brind’Amour, both riding the healed Riverdancer, came back through Carlisle’s shining gates, with news that the dragon king, evil Greensparrow, was truly dead!
That settled, Deanna acted quickly. She recognized Brind’Amour as rightful king of the free land of Eriador, and afforded the same autonomy to King Ashannon McLenny of Baranduine and to King Bellick dan Burso of DunDarrow. The four then struck a truce with Asmund of Isenlan
d, though the subtle threat of war was needed to convince the fierce and proud Huegoth king to agree. For the three kings and one queen of Avonsea held a firm front in their demand that none of their subjects be held in slavery by Asmund’s warriors.
The longships were emptied; men who thought they would never again see the light of day fell to their knees on the banks of the Stratton, giving thanks to God.
Asmund’s warriors would row themselves home!
That business completed, Brind’Amour took to his own matters, arranging for the proper burial of those Eriadorans who had fallen, including the brave half-elf who had been his dear and valued friend, and who had been so instrumental in the change that had come over the land.
Luthien, too, could not hold back the tears as Siobhan was laid to rest, and only the sight of broken Oliver and the strength of Katerin gave Luthien the resolve that he, too, must remain strong for his halfling friend.
The first week after Deanna’s ascent was filled with grief; the second began a celebration that the new queen of Avon declared would last for a fortnight. It began as a farewell to Asmund and the Huegoths, but seeing that the party was about to commence, the pragmatic barbarian changed his plans and allowed his rightly weary warriors to stay a bit longer.
On the first night of revelry, after a feast that left the hundred guests at Deanna’s table stuffed, Brind’Amour pulled Luthien and Oliver, Kayryn Kulthwain and Proctor Byllewyn aside. “Greensparrow was right in dividing his kingdom among dukes,” the king explained. “I will not be able to see the reaches of my kingdom from my busy seat in Caer MacDonald.”
“We accept you as king,” Proctor Byllewyn assured him.
Brind’Amour nodded. “And I name you again, and formally, as duke of Gybi,” he explained. “And you, Kayryn Kulthwain, shall be my duchess of Eradoch. Guide your peoples well, with fairness and in the knowledge that Caer MacDonald will support you.”
The two bowed low.
“And you, my dearest of friends,” Brind’Amour went on, turning to Luthien and Oliver. “I am told that there is no duke of Bedwydrin, and no eorl, but only a steward, put in place until things could be set aright.”
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