The Dragons Revenge (Tales from the New Earth #2) (45 page)

“But we never made it home. When
we entered the great cavern where our stronghold is located, we were
in for a surprise.”

His eyes opened and they looked
searched this way and that in the gloom.

“Are you still with me, wizard?”
he asked a bit frantically.

“Of course I am, Ironhand,”
Simon told him, trying to sound reassuring. “I'm not going
anywhere.”

“Ah, good. That's good.”

The dwarf sank back against the wall
again.

“Well, there we were, about a
hundred strong, and we marched proudly out of the final tunnel into
the open, just below the gates of our home. But the gates were
broken, torn down. The walls were pitted and gouged. Bodies were
strewn everywhere.”

“Oh my God,” Simon
muttered.

“While we, fools that we were,
were killing one accursed dragon, fifty or more crawled out of the
tunnels like maggots and stormed our stronghold. You've not see it,
of course, but over many years we hollowed out the cavern where the
city was first built. Fools we were. Idiots! We gave the dragons
enough room to take wing underground! They rained fire from above. My
people fought back but they had no chance. All they could do was send
the young and their families fleeing through a secret passage dug
long ago. Whether they actually survived, I cannot say.”

“How did you learn all this,
Ironhand?” Simon asked. “You said when you returned, the
battle was already over.”

“Over? Yes, but the dragons were
still there, digging through the rubble like hounds after rats,
looking for survivors. My warriors and I were enraged by the carnage.
We attacked, knowing that it would be our deaths, but determined to
make the dragons pay for their crimes. I thought perhaps that one
day, a song might be written about the last battle of Shandon
Ironhand and his brave band of warriors.”

He sighed again.

“But who would even write it?
None will now remember how it was. All of my men died during the
final battle. I attacked the largest of the brutes, the leader
perhaps; red-scaled, with a scarred and hoary muzzle. A veteran of
many a battle, it seemed. Twas that one that broke my leg, and popped
out a few teeth. But I gave as good as I got, oh yes. I sank my axe
so deeply into its eye that it remains there still. My last memory
was of being slammed head-first into a wall by its wings as it
writhed in its death-throes. As I said, glorious.”

Ironhand was smiling at the memory, but
Simon was appalled. The dwarves were destroyed? Just like that? It
didn't seem possible.

“Then all of your people are
gone?” he asked gently.

“Gone?” Ironhand raised his
head and glared into the darkness beyond his candle flame. “Of
course they are not gone. What an absurd comment. I hope that those
who escaped down the secret passage survived, but even if they fell,
the dwarven race is greater than just one stronghold, and one of the
smaller ones at that.”

“You mean you have other cities
underground?”

“Of course. Our capital, down so
deep that you can almost hear the pulse of life from the planet's
core, holds thousands of souls. Not even a primal dragon could
destroy that fortress, even if one could reach it.”

He groped at his waist, pulled out a
flask and drank loudly.

“Ah, that hits the spot,”
he said with a wince after he swallowed.

“You still didn't tell me how you
learned about the dragon attack while you were away hunting,”
Simon reminded him.

“Ah yes, that is true.”

Ironhand's voice shook as he began to
recall what had happened.

“I found my father, near the base
of the outer gate as we prepared to attack. While my men charged, I
spotted him, lying there broken among the corpses. I rushed to his
side and found him still alive, barely. He it was who told me of the
attack and that he had ordered all who could to retreat to the
capital. Naturally, as lord of the stronghold, he stayed behind to
cover their retreat. When he had spoken his last, I took his token,
which he had given to me, and charged into battle. That's when I took
on that dragon.”

The dwarf held up his right arm and
Simon saw a band of metal, silver or platinum, around his wrist. It
was covered with engravings and gleamed even in the darkness.

“Are you alone, Ironhand?”
the wizard asked. “How badly injured are you?”

“Aye, I'm alone. All of my men
are gone, heroes to the last. None remain alive in my stronghold. But
they killed dozens of dragons! Did I tell you that, wizard? Besides
the one I accounted for myself, there were many others taken down by
my people. They did not go meekly into death, of that you may be
sure.”

“I believe you, Ironhand. Your
injuries?”

“Bah, a trifle. Broken leg,
twisted shoulder, a few teeth gone. Nothing of consequence. But my
father made me swear that if I lived beyond the battle, that I was to
retreat from our home. The others of the dwarven people must be told,
he said. Well, those who retreated will have to tell them. I don't
think I'll live long enough to make that report.”

Simon looked at the elementals and then
back into the mirror.

“What are you talking about? You
just said that your injuries weren't life threatening.”

“Aye, I did. I also told you that
I am alone and my shoulder is wrenched out of place. My axe hand,
wizard. I am defenseless here and the dragons still prowl these
tunnels. I got this far as my father ordered, but I can walk no more
and I refuse to crawl. Sooner or later, one of those wyrms will find
me. Well, when it does, before it rends me to pieces, I'll spit in
its face!”

Ironhand's expression was fierce and a
pale light seemed to glow in his eyes. Or perhaps it was simply the
reflection from his candle.

Either way, Simon felt a great
admiration for the dwarf. There was no way that he would let Ironhand
die alone at the fangs and claws of a dragon. Not if he could do
anything to save him.

The wizard stood up with the mirror in
hand and headed for the stairs. The elementals hurried to follow him,
obviously mystified.

“All right, Ironhand, just hold
on. I'm coming for you.”

The dwarf peered through the darkness
and Simon almost felt like those smoldering eyes could see him.

“Coming for me? You can't come
for me, sir wizard. I'm deep in the bowels of the world. By the time
you could reach me, if you could, I'd long be a dragon's meal.”

Simon hurried down the stairs, slipped
on his shoes and crossed the room to grab Bene-Dunn-Gal.

“Yes, if I was walking there,
that might be true. But I'll be Gating down. And I'll take you to
Nottinghill and leave you in the care of Clara. She'll see to your
wounds, I have no doubt.”

Ironhand's eyes widened and Simon heard
both Kronk and Aeris gasp behind him. They were at the bottom of the
stairs, looking at him as if he'd lost his mind.

“You can do that?” Ironhand
asked doubtfully.

“Yes, I think so. I'm certainly
going to try. So sit tight and, I don't know, try not to get eaten,
all right? I'll be there soon.”

The dwarf roared with laughter, wincing
with pain but grinning widely.

“Oh, you're a one, you are. Very
well, good wizard. I shall 'sit tight' as you call it. Good luck to
you.”

“See you soon.” Simon said
and canceled the spell.

“Master, did I hear right?”
Kronk asked as he tip-tapped over to Simon. “Are you going to
try to Gate to that dwarf?”

“Yes, I am. Why?”

“Why?” Aeris shook his head
incredulously. “Because you don't know where you are going,
that's why. Do you know the coordinates for that tunnel? Did you at
least see enough of the walls and floor to form a picture in your
mind before you Gate?”

Simon grasped his staff firmly in his
right hand and planted it on the floor.

“Nope, I didn't,” he
answered truthfully.

“Then how do you expect to get
there? We told you, both Kronk and I, how dangerous a blind teleport
can be. Did you even hear us?”

“Of course I heard you. I'm young
now, my hearing is actually quite good.”

He stared at both of the elementals and
saw only concern and fear in their eyes, even Aeris'. He sighed and
leaned on the staff.

“Look guys, I can't just let him
die down there. I'm the reason he was out in the tunnels when his
home was attacked. If he hadn't been, he might have turned the tide
in the attack.”

“But you don't know that,
master,” Kronk said plaintively. “It is likely that he
would simply have died with his people.”

“I know that, my friend. But he
is brave and noble and deserves a chance to live, if only to avenge
his people. I intend to give him that chance. And yes, Aeris,”
he said, interrupting the angry speech he was sure was coming, “I
don't know his location. But I know him. I know what he looks like
right now and that will be my target. Not a place, but a person. All
the Gate spell needs is specific instructions on where I want to go.
And I want to go to Shandon Ironhand. I think it will be enough.”

Aeris opened his mouth, frowned and
suddenly became thoughtful.

“By the Four Winds,” he
breathed. “That might actually work.”

“I believe it will. Now look. You
two have to stay here. No. No arguments, please. The dwarf could be
attacked at any time. So stay here, take care of the tower and I'll
be back as soon as I can.”

“Is that an order?” Aeris
asked bitterly. Kronk simply watched Simon, blank-faced.

“No, it's not an order. It's a
request. Please honor it.”

“Very well, my dear wizard. We
will remain here. Good luck.”

“Take care, master. We both want
you back.”

Simon smiled at them, chanted the Gate
spell's incantation and fixed the last image he had of Ironhand
firmly in his mind.

“
Invectis
!”

Simon
found himself standing in the dark. The still air smelled of rock
dust and smoke and, from a distance, he heard echoes of roars and
bellows. Dragons.

“
Ironhand?
Are you here?”

He
was about to cast a Light spell when he heard a snap and saw a red
flame come to life several yards away.

“
Well,
I'll be an elf. You made it!”

Simon
grinned as he hurried over to the dwarf's side. Up close, Ironhand
looked much worse than he had in the mirror. The cuts on his face
were oozing and looked inflamed. His eyes were almost swollen shut
and his bound leg jutted out at an unnatural angle.

“
Yes,
I know. I've looked better,” the dwarf said, apparently reading
Simon's expression clearly.

“
Well,
maybe. But you're alive. And I intend to keep it that way.”

There
was a distant thud and the tunnel shook, dust drifting down from
overhead.

“
Can
you stand?” he asked.

“
By
the stone, if you can get us out of here, I can dance,”
Ironhand said and, with Simon's hand under his elbow, he slowly
pushed himself to his feet. Or foot. He put very little weight on his
twisted leg.

There
was another thud and a more violent shudder shook the ground.

“
I
think we're about to have company, sir wizard. If we are leaving, now
would be a good time.”

“
I
agree,” Simon said hurriedly and chanted the incantation for
the Gate spell again.

He
pictured the town hall in Nottinghill as well as he could and was
about to invoke the word of command, when a scream of incredible
volume echoed down the tunnel.

Ironhand's
candle was snuffed out as he dropped it and all that Simon could see
were a distant pair of flaming red eyes. They were huge and looked
down on them from the height of the ceiling.

“
Now,
wizard. Now!”

Simon
heard a great sucking sound and knew that the dragon was drawing in a
huge breath to blast them with fire.

“
Invectis
!”
he screamed just as a wall of flame, as bright as the blazing sun,
shot down the tunnel toward them.

He
fell back and he heard Ironhand gasp with pain as the two collided.
When he looked up, expecting to see the raging maw of a dragon
dipping toward him, Simon instead saw the puzzled face of Clara.

Above
her, the opening in the roof of the hall let in beams of bright,
cheery sunlight. They had made it.

“
Simon?”
Clara said as she bent down to help him up. “What's going on?
You look like you've been rolling in soot.”

The
wizard got up with her help and turned to look down at Ironhand. The
two of them exchanged a glance and then burst out laughing.

“
By
the gods! Shandon! What's happened to you? Have you been digging coal
or something?”

Simon
understood why the cleric was saying that. The dwarf was coated in
black dust and he suspected that he was too. The burnt dust of the
tunnel that had shot ahead of the dragon fire. It had been that
close.

Both
of them laughed until they ran out of breath. Simon guessed that it
was simply the relief of escaping from certain death that had set
them off, but for whatever reason, the laughter had felt wonderful.
It was good to be alive.

Clara and another young
woman, whom the cleric called her apprentice, helped treat Ironhand's
wounds. She set the leg first, confirming that it had been broken, as
well as two ribs and a finger. Then she used her powers to heal his
dislocated shoulder and his many cuts and abrasions.