Temple of the Dragonslayer (31 page)

“I have a bow,” Davyn said.

“We can get the key to the repository door from the clerics,” Nearra said.

“No time for that. I can pick, I mean, open the lock,” Elidor said. “Give me a moment.” With that, the elf dashed back inside the temple.

“Do you really think it will work?” Nearra asked.

“I don’t know,” Davyn admitted. “It’s been in the repository for centuries. The blessing may have faded by now. But it’s our only chance.”

It was at that moment that Slean finally managed to dislodge the battle-axe from her mouth. She spit the weapon onto the ground—along with a good amount of blood. And then, eyes gleaming with hate, she sucked in a breath, curled her long neck around toward Jax, and released a yellow-green cloud of chlorine directly into the minotaur’s face.

Elidor raced down the temple hallways, moving with a speed and grace of which only elves are capable. Though he ran as fast
as he could, his feet barely made any sound as they touched the stone floor.

He soon reached the repository. He crouched down before the door and removed a leather pouch from his tunic. He paused a moment to examine the lock. It was a sturdy thing, made of iron, and despite its age, it looked as if it had been installed only yesterday. More of the temple’s magic? he wondered. He opened the pouch and selected a long pick from among his assortment, then he stretched forth his hand to insert it into the lock—and stopped.

His hand was trembling.

Elidor was so shocked that he nearly dropped the pick. He had picked hundreds of locks, and his hand had never shook before. He was an elf; he was able to keep his hands as steady as if they were carved of stone. But not this time. What was wrong?

And then it came to him: This time, he wasn’t picking a lock for his own amusement and enrichment. This time, he was doing it for others, for his friends. They were outside in the courtyard, confronting Slean, perhaps even dying—while he dithered here before the door, his hand shaking like a leaf caught in a storm wind. He frowned in concentration and willed his hand to be steady, and though the trembling subsided, it didn’t go away entirely. Still, it was enough. It had to be.

He inserted the pick and began probing the lock, testing it, teasing it, coaxing it to open for him. Moisture beaded on his brow. He was surprised to discover he was sweating. He kept imagining his friends engulfed by chlorine gas, coughing as they desperately struggled to draw breath. He saw their bodies rent by dragon claws, savaged by dragon teeth, crushed by powerful blows of Slean’s whip-like tail …

His fingers slipped and the pick tumbled from his hand. With inhuman speed, he snatched the pick out of the air before it could hit the floor. He forced himself to take a deep, calming breath before inserting it into the lock once more.

Stop it! he told himself. If you don’t do your job, those imaginings may well come to pass. And if they do, it’ll be your fault for failing to pick a lock so simple that a blindfolded infant could—

The lock clicked open.

Elidor was so surprised that for an instant, he couldn’t quite believe he’d done it. But then he quickly stood and opened the repository door. He hurried inside and stepped up to the pedestal where Elethia’s arrow rested. He started to reach for it, but then he hesitated. What if some sort of enchantment protected it from theft? He could be burned to a crisp or turned to stone the instant he touched the arrow.

But he knew his friends couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Gritting his teeth and muttering a quick prayer to whatever god looked after elf thieves, he tensed his muscles, squinted his eyes, and snatched up the arrow.

Nothing happened.

Relieved, he turned and ran out of the repository, carrying with him the key to Slean’s doom and his friends’ salvation.

N
earra was horrified as she watched Jax fall off the dragon’s neck and strike the ground. The minotaur was coughing violently, as if his lungs were being eaten away by the deadly gas.

Nysse stood. “I can heal him, but only if I can get to him quickly enough!”

“What about Gunna?” Nearra said.

“She’ll be fine. She just needs to rest. But Jax will surely die if we don’t do something quickly!”

“What of Feandan and Pedar?” Davyn asked. “They’ve been wounded, too.”

“They would both want me to tend to Jax first,” Nysse said, “and that’s precisely what I intend to do—if I can reach him.”

Elidor chose that moment to reappear. Despite the speed at which he’d run, the elf wasn’t out of breath. He held out Elethia’s arrow.

Nearra turned to Sindri. “Can you use your magic to pull Jax toward us while Davyn fires the arrow?”

Sindri frowned. “Jax is awfully big and heavy, but I can try.”

Nearra looked at Davyn and was surprised to see the ranger biting his lower lip, as if he were struggling to make a decision
of some sort. Then a look of determination came over his face.

He reached for the arrow. As he took it from Elidor’s hand, Davyn’s fingers jerked, and he dropped it.

“Nervous, I guess,” Davyn said. He bent down to retrieve the arrow—which had fallen close to Sindri’s left foot. As he did, he slipped the silver ring off his finger and left it on the ground. Then he picked up the arrow and stood.

As he began to nock the arrow, Davyn said, “Hey, Sindri—what’s that by your foot?”

“Look at that!” Sindri reached down and snatched up the ring. “It’s quite lovely! I must’ve conjured it without knowing, and it fell out of one of my cape pockets when I wasn’t looking.” He slipped it on. “It seems a little loose … no, there we go. It fits fine now.”

Davyn smiled. “All right, let’s go help Catriona and Jax. I’ll need to be closer to Slean to get a good shot at her. I figure that her wounded eye is her most vulnerable spot right now. Elidor, can you distract Slean while I get into position?”

“I have only a couple throwing knives left.” Elidor didn’t seem to move as a blade appeared in each of his hands. “But they’re at your service.”

Davyn grinned. Then he turned to Sindri. “Concentrate when you try to bring Jax over here. Picture him moving in your mind and then will it to happen with all your strength.”

Sindri looked offended. “Of course I will! Who’s the wizard around here, anyway?”

“My apologies, friend,” Davyn said. Then he turned to Nearra. “Try to stay calm.”

It seemed an odd request, but she nodded. Davyn then looked at Elidor.

“Let’s go.”

The elf nodded and the two of them ran toward Slean.

While the others had talked, Catriona had continued to battle the dragon alone. Slean, moving more slowly now due to the amount of blood she’d lost from her mouth wound, had tried
several times to gas Catriona. But each time, the nimble warrior had managed to dodge the deadly clouds of chlorine.

Nearra remembered then that dragons were also able to cast spells. She wondered why the dragon didn’t try to cast a spell on Catriona. Perhaps Slean was in too much pain from her mouth wound to concentrate effectively.

Sindri furrowed his brow and set his jaw in a determined line. But Jax—who had stopped coughing and now lay as still as death—wasn’t moving toward them.

“Strange,” the kender said. “It was never this hard before.” He frowned more deeply and pointed both hands toward the minotaur. Sweat began to bead on Sindri’s forehead, and then Jax began to slide across the ground toward them. Within moments, he lay next to Nysse. She put her hand on his black-furred chest and began to pray.

Sindri wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “I feel as if I’d just carried him over here myself!”

“But it worked!” Nearra gave the kender a quick hug, then turned to watch Davyn and Elidor.

Davyn stood to Slean’s left, arrow nocked and ready to fire. Catriona continued to hack away at the dragon’s belly. Elidor, off to Slean’s right, juggled his two knives in an elaborate pattern, hoping to catch the great beast’s attention.

They’re wasting their time
, a woman’s voice whispered in Nearra’s mind.
That’s not the arrow—it’s only a replica
.

Nearra recognized the voice as the one she’d heard before. Somehow, she knew it spoke the truth.

Just as she was about to shout a warning to Davyn, Elidor flipped one of his knives toward Slean. The dragon jerked her head to avoid being struck in her good eye, exposing her wounded one to Davyn.

The ranger fired.

Davyn’s aim was perfect. The arrow hit Slean’s wounded eye and lodged in the socket. Fresh blood welled forth from the wound, and Slean shrieked in agony. But the dragon did not die.

Instead, Slean went berserk, lashing out with her claws, tail, and teeth. Elidor tried to jump out of the way of her talons, but as swift as he was, the elf was still too slow. He staggered backward and fell to the ground. Catriona was struck by Slean’s tail, and she too hit the ground. Only Davyn remained standing. He continued nocking and releasing arrows, one after the other, but they merely bounced off Slean’s armor-tough scales. Then the dragon butted Davyn with her head and the ranger went down to join the ranks of the fallen.

Only Nearra, Sindri, and Nysse remained conscious, and the cleric was too busy praying to be of any help. So it was down to the two of them: a kender wizard of dubious power, and a young girl with no idea who she really was.

Slean, breathing hard, blood still dripping from her mouth, and an arrow protruding from one eye socket, looked around. Seeing no other opponents, she turned to Nearra and grinned. The sight of the dragon baring her blood-slicked teeth sent a surge of terror through Nearra’s being.

“I have to admit, your friends put up a good fight,” Slean said. “But there’s no one left to protect you now, girl.”

The dragon started toward Nearra.

“It’s over, girl,” Slean said.

“What do you want with me?” Nearra cried, overcome with frustration and grief for her fallen friends.

At that moment, three figures entered through the temple’s gateway, walking slowly toward Nearra. It was Oddvar and two of the bandit goblins.

“We don’t want anything with
you,”
Slean said. “It’s what’s
inside
you that matters.” The dragon continued in a sing-song voice, “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nearra grew furious at the dragon’s mockery. She felt the familiar tingling sensation begin. Only now, instead of being confined to her hands, she felt it throughout her entire body.

Sindri stepped in front of Nearra. “You cannot have her, fell beast. I, the great wizard Sindri Suncatcher, shall stop you!”

Slean stretched her neck toward them as far as it would go, until her head was only a few feet away.

“I hate kender,” the dragon said, and chuffed a tiny amount of chlorine gas into Sindri’s face. Sindri began coughing violently. He fell to his knees and clawed at his throat, trying to breathe.

“Well, girl, it appears as though you’re all out of protectors,” Slean said.

“I don’t know about that,” came a voice, and then Raedon leaped through the air and crashed down upon Slean’s back.

There was the sound of cracking bone and Slean howled in agony. She whirled around to meet this new attack. But before she could do anything, Raedon opened his mouth and shot a jet of black acid into her face. Slean screamed as her flesh sizzled.

The green dragon bucked and threw Raedon off of her. The copper dragon flapped his wings to try to keep himself from falling, but Nearra saw that one of his wings was torn, and he couldn’t keep himself from hitting the ground.

Hissing, Slean struck out like a serpent and fastened her teeth around Raedon’s neck. Raedon clawed at Slean’s belly with all four of his feet, but the evil green dragon stubbornly held onto his neck. She continued to exert pressure until her teeth began to penetrate Raedon’s metallic scales and small rivulets of blood trickled forth.

Oddvar and the goblins laughed, and Nearra felt her head swim. She feared she was going to pass out.

Nearra struggled to think. If only we had Elethia’s arrow. The arrow from the Repository was a copy, so the real arrow must be hidden somewhere else in the temple—somewhere no one would ever think to look for it.