The Count of the Living Death (The Chronicles of Hildigrim Blackbeard) (15 page)

Their failure struck even deeper as the day wore on. Hours passed and still no sign of the dragon. At one point she almost ran to the exit in a desperate, frantic effort to save her life. But Lucas moaned for her to stay and she turned back. After all, this was all her fault; it was her idea to tour the gardens, her idea to hide in the island. She could be quite selfish when the occasion demanded, but to kill a man for her own caprice?

The sound of rushing waters filled the chamber. The dragon appeared, a dark mass against the distant daylight. Everything shook as the dragon approached, each footfall a warning: something was wrong. Had it known her plan? Had it been here all along, hiding, watching? If so, then why stay hidden for hours? Lucas cowered against her, his fingers clutching her arms raw. She couldn't feel the pain; she merely squinted through the relative darkness as the shape took form, the hunterm, the r returning with its prey...

It lumbered into the main chamber and snorted. Its claws opened and dropped two figures onto the floor, where they fell heavily and rolled. Her heart stopped. A gasp escaped her that was more like a scream; even the dragon bristled. Leopold! And beside him—Ivan! She would have run to him but her limbs were frozen, numb with confusion. Ivan slowly got up and met her stare, looking both apologetic and startled. But Leopold didn't move. She waited and waited for a sign, for some small movement to tell her that he had survived the ordeal. No response.

“I found these men not far from the cave. Looking for you, it seems,” the dragon rumbled. “Do you know them?”

Wordlessly, she nodded. She never took her eyes off Leopold.

“How did they know where to find you?” it demanded, wings rising up like waves.

“He said he would find me,” she responded.

“And who else might know? When these don't return, others might come. Truly you are a treasure among treasures. But you have brought great danger in your wake.”

“There are no more,” she lied, thinking of Blackbeard—wondering where he was at the moment.

“There are always more; men come in swarms, as thick and mindless as ants,” it replied, the wings settling behind it. “You leave me with an unfortunate decision.”

“Let us leave; we'll tell no one, never again seek you out. I never meant to come here.”

“Impossible,” it hissed, raising its head. “Men always tell. They tell stories full of lies. I've heard these stories: stories about dragons hunting men, burning villages. Dragons have no interest in men. Unless they come to steal...”

Mary had heard the stories, too. As a child, colorful stories of terrible dragons that stole virgin princesses and were slain by heroic kings. She never imagined what the dragons thought of it all. As the stories cycled through her mind, she recalled one consistent detail about dragons—which, like their rapacious natures, might also be lies. She remembered their interest in games and riddles. While this, too, might be a human embellishment, perhaps she could offer a wager—a chance to gamble for their lives? Unfortunately she couldn't think of any puzzles or riddles at the moment. The dragon's eyes fixed on her--with a tinge of regret, it seemed—and made its decision.

“I am sorry, both for your sake and my own; I would have adored such a priceless treasure,” the dragon said, with a purr in its throat.

“Wait—before you do anything, I have something for you,” she said, desperately, buying time.

“You have nothing to offer me, little jewel,” it said, eyes narrowing. “I fear you delay the inevitable, and make my work all the more unpleasant.”

The dragon's head reared back, ready to strike in an instant. Would she feel any pain? Would the teeth devour her before her brain could catch up? Somehow, she felt it would be merciful...and that it had done this before.

“A riddle!” she shouted, bracing herself.

The dragon paused, obviously taken aback. Mary searched its features, but whether puzzled, annoyed, or intrigued, its gaze was stone.

“Do you know riddles?” it purred, the neck lowering thoughtfully. “Though I doubt you could offer me anything I haven't heard—and solved—in the course of my six hundred years.”

“And if I could? Would you consider letting us go? As a wager of sorts?” she ventured.

“A riddle for your life? That's quite foolish of you. But I suppose you have nothing to lose.”

The dragon settled down, its legs and neck sinking toward her. She trembled with fear but shook it off, steeling her resolve, hoping Leopold would rise to the occasion. Wasn't it his business to save her? He had slain his own Death in single combat and traveled across countless miles of ocean in the blink of an eye. And now, to be defeated by a dragon...and not even lift a finger in her defense?

“Very well, I accept,” it said, the voice lowering. “One riddle for your freedom, provided I've never heard the riddle before...and its mystery cannot be solved.”

“You only get one try; if you can't guess it I win, that's the wager,” she said.

“You don't sound too sure of your riddle,” it said, in what might ordinarily have sounded like laughter. Instead it fluttered its wings, which echoed hideously against the cavern walls.

“Do you accept?” she asked.

“I won't need more than one try, sparkling one,” it agreed. “Ask your riddle.”

Still, she had nothing. Nothing more than the most childish bits of puzzling she had heard growing up. The dragon was waiting. Each second that passed seemed to dance in its eyes. It
knew
she was bluffing. The look in her own eyes confirmed it. But it clearly enjoyed unraveling the moment. How long would she continue to play?

Listen carefully and repeat each word exactly as I say it. Don't question—just repeat. Understand?

Her heart skipped a beat. The dragon's eyes widened with her own. Blackbeard—it must be Blackbeard. But how did he know? No time for questions; she repeated his riddle verbatim.

My voice is loud and my sides are sharp. Though I am slow to be roused, I am a terrible fighter. My mother is known as the greatest of women, but she is also my daughter, pregnant with me. Men have known me to stand like a statue or rise like a mountain. What am I?

The dragon might have become a statue. Its eyes remained fixed, almost lifelessly, on her face. Not a muscle twitched or a sound emerged from its belly. After a few minutes she allowed herself to believe the impossible: it was a riddle the dragon had never heard. And better still, it didn't know the answer!

“You propose an interesting paradox: a woman who is simultaneously mother and daughter,” the dragon mused, without moving. “Though I know relatively littlativelyle about the nature and customs of men, I venture to say that what is impossible for a dragon is also beyond your modest abilities.”

“Do you forfeit?” she challenged.

“I didn’t say so...though I do question whether such a riddle has a legitimate answer. Are these mere poetic nothings strung together in the semblance of knowledge? Do you even know the answer?”

She blinked back the truth, that yes, it sounded like utter nonsense. Yet she gave a confident turn of her head, suggesting that the answer was closer than it might think. Surely if she knew the answer, a mere ornament in his sumptuous collection of jewels, then it couldn't be beyond him, who boasted a vast store of riddles and knowledge. The dragon's eyes became mere slits, either in anger or concentration she couldn't say. It remained quiet for some time; Mary stole a nervous glance at Ivan, who returned it with frightened awe. Leopold, however, remained motionless on the floor. He breathed, she could see that now, but little more. Had the dragon injured him? But if so, why was Ivan awake and from what she could tell, completely unscathed?

“I know the answer,” the dragon breathed.

Mary hesitated. She expected Blackbeard to offer her more advice, possibly another tactic for stalling. Nothing came. She was all on her own once more.

“The answer is 'ice.' Ice makes terrible cracking sounds and is incredibly sharp. It takes some time to form, but once formed, is nearly impossible to break. Its mother is water, the greatest of all the elements, yet water gives birth to ice when frozen. When frozen it can, indeed, stand like a statue or rise like a mountain. A cunning riddle and one I've not heard before, at least not told in this manner. Am I correct?”

Mary's eyes grew dim as she, too, saw the obvious answer. Of course it was right.
Ice!
What a stupid, obvious riddle! Was that truly the best Hildigrim Blackbeard could devise for the occasion? She was on the point of tears, ready to nod in silent defeat, when his voice returned—a single, strident syllable:
No
.

“No,” she mouthed, without knowing why.

“
No
?” the dragon repeated, its wings bristling. “There is a more suitable answer than 'ice'? I do hope this isn't some sort of trick, a desperate way of prolonging your life.”

“No, no trick, just not the right answer. Not the
best
answer.”

“Then tell me, my little obsidian, what is the best answer?”

Hildigrim Blackbeard remained silent. She grimaced and made elaborate gestures as if to introduce the surprising answer...but had nothing forthcoming. What else—what else could it be? Certainly it was 'ice.' What else could it be but ice! Ice froze, it bred water, water created it, it rose like a statue, it even moved—

“Oh! Yes, of course,” she exclaimed, glimpsing the answer as it flashed through her mind. “Ice isn't specific enough. The answer is
iceberg
.”

The dragon's eyes widened and its neck arched up. Something deep churned in its belly. Dragon emotions were not easily discerned, but this, it seemed, did a fair impersonation of anger.

“
Iceberg
?” it repeated, in a mocking tone. “Surely the word 'ice' encompasses iceberg. My meaning was clear.”

“No, ice is simply that—the ice on a rock, or hanging from a window. An iceberg is something else entirely,” she argued, almost believing it herself. “Only an iceberg can rise like a mountain. Clearly the answer is 'iceberg.'”

The dragon sat up to full height now, it eyes like twin moons shining behind dark clouds. The storm was about to break.

“You must honor your promise...you must set us free,” Mary said, her voice wavering.

“No. Another riddle. This time mine,” it said, in little more than a whisper.

“No, you said...one chance. That was the wager. You didn't guess the answer.”

“You tricked me. I trusted you to play fair. I should have known the fairness of humans.”

“There was no trick, just a right and wrong answer,” she persisted, inching toward Ivan. “You must set us free.”

“No,” the dragon said, lurching towards them. “You will answer my riddle."

Paralyzed, Mary watched its eyes as they lowered toward her face, the pupils shrinking in the light. From somewhere deep below it whispered alien sounds in a macabre incantation. It breathed loudly, waiting; Mary still waited for the riddle.

"So?" it said.

"But I...you didn't say it."

"I did. In my own tongue. We didn't specify the language."

Unfair, certainly, but perhaps no more unfair than quibbling over "ice" and "iceberg." She had no response--a mere wave of her hands, a gradual sinking to the floor. Ivan shared her resignation, trying vainly to rouse Leopold, who slumbered away. Only Lucas seemed uncertain, looking from one to another as if desiring a translation. The dragon seemed satisfied. Humans were cunning, but they were far from wise; not even the craftiest thief had liberated a single fob from his treasure. Yet a shadow seemed to darken his thoughts as he made this resolution. A reminder that someone, many long years ago, had stolen something equally precious from his horde. Someone he could almost name, though the memory was hateful...

"The answer to your riddle is
sleep
," said a voice behind her.

She turned to find Blackbeard at her side clutching an oversized tome of magic. The dragon shrank into a defensive posture, the eyes pools of fire, burning with hate.

"
You
!" it hissed. "You dare return here after your shameless actions!"

"You've failed her wager and we've answered yours," he said, striding forward. "By your own laws you are honor-bound to release them."

"Your lies have made a mockery of our laws!" it said, showing its teeth. "How dare you cross my threshold? No law in the world will allow your escape--and I would break it regardless!"

The dragon let out a tremendous belch of fire. The heat alone singed Mary's hair and made her gasp for breath. Why was she still alive? Through the flames she could see the silhouette of Blackbeard, holding his book aloft, shielding them from the inferno. A tremendous cry shook the walls as the dragon unleashed fire upon fire on his foes. But Blackbeard held firm and the trio crouched in terror behind him. Mary hastened to swat out a flame that danced over Leopold's jacket. Why didn't he move? Unless he had been beaten senseless, or had fainted through sheer terror (certainly not!) he should have woken up! Abruptly, the dragon gasped and its mouth spewed a frothy saliva followed by a plume of smoke. Its fire was out; exhausted, it staggered angrily toward them, intending to crush them into blood and bones.