Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (11 page)

“Keep an eye out for our friend,” he ordered, then leaned back and closed his eyes. If it weren’t for the north wind howling over the barren mountain face, he could almost imagine he was safely underground. It didn’t take long before he was dreaming of gold and of a warm darkness enveloping him safely.

Lodi woke with a sudden start. It was growing dark outside, and someone was shaking him and whispering.

“What is it?”

“Keep it down! I think he might be coming out. I heard rumbling sounds and a sort of coughing, hissing noise coming from below.”

Lodi nodded and rolled over, then crept on his belly to the lip of the little cave. Even in the cloud-enshrouded darkness, he could see the mouth of the lair some distance below them.

Thorald wriggled up next to him. He was holding a loaded crossbow in his right hand.

“Put that thing away,” Lodi whispered, rolling his eyes at the young dwarf.

They waited patiently, side-by-side, long enough to cause Lodi’s left hand to fall asleep. They were at last rewarded with the sight of a black, triangular head the size of a warhorse, with large, forward-facing eyes emerging, snake-like, from the mouth of the cave.

Two long spikes protruded backward from both sides of the monster’s jaw, giving it the appearance of a massive arrowhead. Its sinuous, muscular neck followed, then its low-slung, elongated body with its wings tightly folded over its back and sides. It was armored in black, overlapping scales mottled with dark purple blotches. A ridge like a downed sail ran from its shoulders to the tip of its tail. Sticking out from underneath its jaw, on either side, were two swellings that Lodi supposed contained the drake’s lethal venom. They were tight now, rather than flaccid, so he assumed this was not the ideal time to attract the beast’s attention.

But the drake showed no sign it knew they were there. It leaped from the protruding lip of the cave mouth in a single, leonine bound, then spread its broad, bat-like wings to catch the updraft from the hills that overlooked the valley far below. Its wings were lighter on their underside, as was its belly, making it easier to see from below.

Lodi watched until the drake was merely a speck in the distance. The steady stroke of its wings suggested that it intended to cover a significant amount of ground. He sat up and tugged on the rope to make sure it was still firmly secured before tying its end around his waist. He grabbed his empty pack, slipped the strap for his hand axe over his head, and handed the loose rope near the pike to Thorald.

“Keep a sharp eye on the horizon,” Lodi said. “If you see anything in the distance, anything at all, bang three times on the rock with a hammer. Bang three times twice if you’re sure it’s coming back. A false alarm is better than none. And mind the rope, you may have to pull me up in a hurry.”

“I’d rather come with you. I’ve never seen a dragon’s hoard, except for that empty one we found before.”

Lodi nodded. He understood. No true dwarf wouldn’t long for even a momentary glimpse of such treasure. The very words “dragon’s hoard” were magical enough to stir the gold fever in any dwarf’s veins.

“If there’s time,” Lodi promised. “But we need a lookout, and you’ll be safer up here.” He patted his young companion on the shoulder, then withdrew a vial of moonflower extract from his belt pouch and smeared the acrid oil on his palms and the bottom of his boots. It was supposed to mask the scent of dwarf, although Lodi wasn’t sure what good that would do when the beast could simply follow the moonflower scent straight to him. But if it could conceal his trail, it would be well worth the three silvers he’d paid for it.

Thus prepared, he reached out and began to clamber around the side of the mountain in the direction of the cave mouth. The mountainside was neither sheer nor smooth, which made for fairly easy going. As he worked his way across, he kept a watchful eye out for the easiest way down to the dragon’s den. He saw a largish projection above the lip, so he ended up climbing sideways until he was directly above the cave mouth. He looped the rope around the jutting rock and used it as a crude hanging belay to rapidly descend to the floor of the cave’s mouth. After untying the rope from about his waist, he quickly drove a spike with the flat hammer back of his axe into the cave wall to hold it fast, then waved to Thorald to let him know everything was proceeding according to plan.

He withdrew a glowstone from his belt pouch and smacked it against the cave wall to light it. The stones lasted no more than a few hours, but if he was still in here by the time the stone’s light gave out, darkness would likely be the least of his troubles.

The cave was deep and wide but shorter than he’d expected. Although its walls were at least somewhat protected from the wind, they were as barren as the mountainside outside. As he walked slowly into the depths of the cave, Lodi noted that the stone floor was not only scored by the drake’s claws but pitted as well. Its venom was potent enough to burn through rock, he surmised. One large stain, just above the level of his head, was still smoking slightly as it ate its way deeper into the stone. He wondered if it might be the result of the coughing Thorald had mentioned earlier.

If only beasts like this could be tamed, what a tremendous metal etching tool their venom would make. But how one would even go about trying to domesticate such a monster was more than he could imagine. He saw a skeleton, and then another, but rather fewer than he’d expected. The drake either made a habit of eating elsewhere or periodically removed its victims from its residence. Lodi counted only five, three that looked like deer and two that had belonged to thick-boned beings about half-again the height of a dwarf. Based on their broad, thick skulls, he assumed them to have been a species of Orc rather than Goblin or Man. He very much hoped to avoid giving the monster the opportunity to add Dwarf to its gruesome collection.

Underneath the scent of death and decay, Lodi detected something else—the aroma of something much sweeter and enthralling.

He turned a broad, gentle corner and he came upon the cavern containing the dragon’s hoard.

His heart beat at a gallop, and the blood fairly sang in his veins at the sight. Gold, silver, and bejeweled objects that the drake had collected over the years lay heaped in a pile at the center of the cavern, which would’ve been completely dark had it not been for the glowstone.

On second glance, the hoard was smaller than he’d initially thought. In fact, it was downright miniscule in comparison with the hoards of legend. It was little more than a pathetic pile of coins, helms, goblets, and weapons little more than three times Lodi’s size. Still, there was more than enough lying there for the taking to stir the gold fever within him.

There is no time for this, he told himself severely, even as his hands itched to caress the lovely objects, several of which appeared to be relics of ages long past. Perhaps one day he could return here with enough dwarves to kill the drake. But in the meantime, he had best concentrate on finding the king’s bloody shield and escaping before the black monster returned.

All the legends he’d heard were quite clear on the notion of the beasts being acutely aware of the disposition of their inventories, so he resisted the urge to start shoveling some of the smaller treasures into his pouch. But he did give in to the temptation to pocket two small gold coins that were lying under a horned silver helmet. Surely the dragon wouldn’t notice that, at least not until he and Thorald were long gone!

He spotted the edge of a gilded shield with the tell-tale signs of dwarven etching along its perimeter. He was just beginning to ease it carefully out from the pile when he sensed, rather than heard, three sharp metallic sounds.
Tink-tink-tink.

Then it repeated.
Tink-tink-tink.

Damnation and deepgas! He was out of time.

He pulled the shield free, heedless of the consequences. The little pile spilled over as he ran the glowstone over the shield face, recognizing the platinum sigil that confirmed it had once belonged to the former lord of Iron Mountain. Its ancient leather strap was decayed, but a tug proved it was still sturdy, so he slung it over his shoulder and began to run in the direction of the cave mouth, slipping the glowstone back into the pouch as he sprinted toward the faint grey light that indicated the way out.

He stood at the cave entrance and grasped the rope. That was when he heard the screams. It wasn’t the drake’s screech. It was something—or, rather, someone—screaming unintelligibly in pain and stark terror.

There was no time to pull the piton from the rock, Lodi realized. He would just have to hope that the moonflower oil would prevent the drake from tracking them.

He gripped the rope firmly in his hands and began to pull himself up, hand over hand, toward Thorald and the little cave in which they’d been encamped. Breathing hard, he had almost reached the top of the cliff when he saw the huge, dark bulk of the drake soaring over the entrance with a shrieking, struggling dwarf-sized body in its claws.

THEUDERIC

The five royal mages stood in a conventional pentacle pattern, but a much larger one than Theuderic had ever seen. This was necessary because the object of their working was also much larger than usual. It was a giant red dragon. A dragon that slumbered unconcerned in the midst of all the arcane activity.

The spell had been ready for more than ten days, but they’d had to wait until the dragon fell asleep to begin their preparations. If fortune was on their side—and numerous prayers had been said and auguries had been cast to assure it would be—the dragon would not awake until he was safely under the control of the haut mage, who was casting the dangerous spell.

Despite Theudric’s confidence in the superlative skill of the haut magicien, he was still very glad to be watching the grand experiment unfold from the safety of a distance of many leagues. Awareness of the mage’s abilities was one thing—confidence in them was something entirely different. He was observing the preparations through L’Academie’s largest crystal ball, in the company of eleven other battlemages, three or four immortels, and an elven princess.

She leaned her head against his shoulder, her blond locks spilling over his sleeve.

“How glad I am you decided not to take part in this madness,” Lithriel Everbright whispered into his ear. She was the first elf to visit L’Academie since its establishment. Theuderic had brought her here in order to teach his fellow academiciens the spell used by the elvish sorcerers to tame and control their giant warhawks.

He very much hoped she would never find out that he was also the individual responsible for the capture and enslavement that had left her too abused and ashamed to return to her people. But there was very little risk of the truth ever surfacing, as he had killed very nearly everyone who knew the truth of the situation.

The chamber was a comfortable one. The king spared few expenses in support of his royal battlemages. The crystal ball, about the size of a catapult boulder, was set up in the center of the chamber, and five couches were arrayed in a pentagon around it so that all the academiciens were afforded a good view of the events taking place many leagues away. There wasn’t quite enough room on the couches for everyone, but most of the younger battlemages were too excited by the experiment to sit down anyhow.

“Well,” Theudric replied, stroking her slender arm and shoulder, “you were very persuasive. And, of course, the fact that I couldn’t manage to master that accursed spell of yours may have played a role.”

Lithriel giggled. “But it’s so simple! I did not know to laugh or to cry when you finally gave up on the poor hawk and tried to cast it on the sparrow.”

“I’m a battlemage, not an enchanter! Walls of flame, bolts of lightning, dark and ominous clouds of crippling fear…that’s what I do. If you want to tame an animal, hire an animal tamer! Anyhow, you appear to have forgotten that it worked on the sparrow.”

“Forget? How could I forget? What elven maiden is not impressed with her hero’s warsparrow? It was a sad day for us all when the buzzard took him.”

“Meurtrier was a brave little bird, but he didn’t stand a chance against that monster.”