The Pitchfork of Destiny (26 page)

“But I am as guilty—­”

“Your guilt or innocence has nothing to do with it.”

“What then?”

“You will know soon enough, suffice it to say my personal code of honor prevents me from harming you. Besides,” he said with a sigh, “I am beginning to see that if anyone is to blame, it is I. You were right in the tower, Lady Elizabeth. I didn't love her enough. I should have come for her sooner, but I kept making excuses and finding reasons to delay. Are those the actions of an honorable dragon?”

Liz had no idea what an honorable dragon acted like, and so did not answer, but, as she watched Elle run her fingers through Will's hair and sigh, a sudden thought struck her. “I don't think you are any more to blame than Will and I.”

The dragon looked at her with a rise of his scaly eyebrow. “I don't think you have a firm grasp of self-­preservation, Lady Elizabeth.”

“You just told me I'm the last person you would choose to harm, Volthraxus. Forgive me if I'm feeling a little reckless, but if you are going to keep me in fear of my life, you need to work on your intimidation,” she said with a waggle of her tongue.

Volthraxus looked a little hurt. “I think I'm very intimidating.” Then, looking around at Will and Elle kissing and Liz, who was now resting against one of his taloned claws, he added, “Perhaps not at this particular moment, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes, Volthraxus,” she said in an encouraging voice. “I am sure you are usually very ferocious.”

“So if I am not to blame, and you're not to blame, and Will's not to blame, who can I blame?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Magdela,” Liz said softly.

There was a rumble of anger from Volthraxus. “Be very careful, Lady Elizabeth. My patience can be stretched too far!”

The anger in the dragon's voice snapped Elle and Will out of their lover's embrace. “What's the matter?” Will said. “I thought the rumbling part was over?”

“Your sister was explaining how Magdela was responsible for her own death,” Volthraxus hissed angrily.

“Liz!” Will and Elle both said in surprise.

“She was!” Liz said, and, standing, began pacing in front of the dragon. “Volthraxus, in the brief time I have known you, I have found you to be a refined dragon.”

“It's true,” Elle said passionately, running a hand through her mussed-­up hair and rearranging her clothes. “He doesn't like to eat ­people. He doesn't even like to attack or kill ­people. For the most part, he is satisfied with an occasional pig.”

“More than occasional,” Volthraxus interjected.

“Fine,” Elle said, “I was trying not to bring attention to the fact that you have been overeating since you got here and have put on a few pounds.”

Liz giggled at this, and the dragon shot her a glance, and said snidely, “I would not be snickering, Lady Charming, if I were you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” she said, and her face reddened.

“Nothing,” Volthraxus said. “I want to know why you would malign Magdela's good name.”

“Was Magdela good? You might not like to kill and eat ­people, but she did. She killed and slaughtered the ­people of Royaume for decades. On the night of her death, she was coming to kill Will and me. How could you, who seems to dislike, or at least disdain violence, want to be with her?”

Volthraxus thought about this for a long time. When at last he spoke, it was to ask her a question. “How can you, a practical, levelheaded woman, want to be with Prince Charming? According to everything I've heard, he is everything you are not. He is vain, self-­obsessed, flighty, given over to deep passions about trivial things like fashion, poetry, and how good his calves look in hose. How can you have fallen in love with him?”

“She was your Prince Charming,” she whispered.

“Perhaps.” He shrugged his shoulders and settled his head lower onto the ground. “I have no answer for either of us, Lady Elizabeth. Perhaps there is no answer for why we love whom we do. All I know is that I did love her. I loved her the first time I saw her. In that moment, my heart roared to life as it hadn't for centuries. If it gives you any comfort, though, my rage is gone. I am done with revenge. All I feel is cold.”

They were all silent. Liz rested her body against his face and embraced him, and they watched the top of the tower catch and burn, flaring brightly as the flames reached the ancient tapestries and rugs, until the entire structure was a giant torch.

At some point, Will rose to his feet. “I hate to bring an end to this, but I'm afraid I must be on my way back to Prosper to try to reclaim my kingdom.”

“What do you mean?” asked Elle, putting her hand in his.

“There is a madman down there calling himself the Dracomancer, and he has gathered an army of zealots, and if I don't find a way to convince those ­people that he is dangerous, they might just go on following him and put him on the throne. I may not be a good king, but I'm pretty sure he would be a disaster.”

“Surely, the ­people will rally to you once Volthraxus is gone,” Elle tried to reassure him.

“I'm not so sure,” Will said, frowning. “My disappearance was badly done on my part. The ­people are convinced I abandoned them, and they aren't wrong. I was being selfish. Also, the Dracomancer has a certain charisma. He is promising them safety and power, and it may sound awfully tempting to a lot of ­people.” He took both her hands in his. “I'm sorry, love, but when this is all said and done, I might be out of a job.”

“The Dracomancer?” asked Volthraxus.

“What, you know him?” asked Will.

“Certainly,” Volthraxus said, and he snickered a little so that little trickles of flame spilled out from between his teeth. “He's actually a bit of a joke among my kind. He goes about ‘studying' dragons, annoying them with questions, really, and picking up bits of old scale and what not. I think he claims to command ‘dragon spirits,' whatever that means. The only dragon spirit I'm aware of is draconic brandy,
*
which is quite delicious, but also quite rare. I questioned him once, quite pointedly, as to whether he had any, and he swore he didn't. He might have been lying, but as I was holding him upside down over the edge of a thousand-­span drop, I have some confidence he was telling the truth.”

The dragon started to rise, shaking himself like a dog and stretching his wings wide.

“Anyway,” he said, tasting the wind with his forked tongue, “if that lunatic is around, I really should be going. He is such a bore.”

“No, you won't be going anywhere just yet,” said Elle, planting herself in front of the dragon and wagging a finger at him. “You owe me.”

“Owe you?” he rumbled deeply.

“Yes,” she said seriously. “Your abduction of me started this whole mess. It forced Will . . . I mean King William . . . to leave the castle to come look for me. It brought the Dracomancer to power, and it is threatening Royaume. You have to fix it.”

The massive dragon stared down at the little woman, who stared back up at him, utterly unconcerned by the difference in their sizes. Finally, his body slumped, and his horns dropped. “What can I do?”

“Deal with the Dracomancer,” she said, a dark note in her voice.

“Elle,” Will said with concern. “I don't know—­”

She cut him off. “King William, you cannot allow this man to run free in our kingdom. His followers must be made to see that he cannot protect them as you can. Once he is gone, they will fall back in line.”

Will and Liz looked at the petite woman with new respect. There was steel in her eyes and her tone that would brook no debate.

Volthraxus nodded. “You are right, Lady Rapunzel, I should put things to right. I owe you at least that much.”

To Will, he added, “You have found yourself a marvelous queen, King William. I do not have to tell you that I will take it as a very grave issue between us if ever I hear of you mistreating her. Although, from my experience, I think that she will have no trouble defending herself and those things and ­people she loves.”

To Elle he said, “Lady Rapunzel, if only you were a dragon.”

She blushed.

He lowered himself to the ground so that they could climb onto his back, and, with Dragon Tower burning behind them, they floated down over the mountains toward Prosper.

 

CHAPTER 17

FOR WHOM THE BELLS TOLL

W
e rarely hear about what happens to fairy-­tale kingdoms once the happily ever afters are over. How exactly did Sleeping Beauty's kingdom recover after having been frozen in place for a century? Did the three little pigs really get along living under the same roof? There must have been a reason they decided to build three separate houses in the first place, right? With her stepsisters having had their eyes plucked out and their feet mutilated by her stepmother, how awkward were the holidays for Cinderella?

After the death of Magdela, the Great Wyrm of the South, and the ascension of King William to the throne, Prosper had become a major tourist attraction. One of the biggest draws was the weekly ringing of the bells, when the town reenacted the dragon's attack and death, culminating with the raising of the dragon's head, or at least a papier-­mâché version of it, on the maypole in the town square. Unfortunately, early reviews of the staged celebration were rather poor.
*

In response to the critical panning, a special effort had been made by the town to up the “wow” factor. One of the first things they did, apart from replacing their homemade dragon's head, was to “restore” the bells of Prosper. That this restoration included expanding the church tower and adding a half dozen additional bells that had never before existed did not appear to bother anyone. Still, no one could have anticipated at the time that the bells of Prosper would ring again, or really ring for the first time since nearly all of them were new, to occasion one of the most important events in the kingdom's history.

Had Edward Michael Charming been asked to write a review of his visit to Prosper, it might not have been as generous as S. Tagger's. He spent his days in the town manacled to a wall in a wine cellar underneath Prosper's tavern next to his passed-­out ex-­squire, Tomas, and the Dracomancer's ex-­henchwolf, Beo. After spending most of his life having never been manacled to anything, this made the second time in as many days. Needless to say, Charming was beginning to have doubts about the direction his life was taking.

The worst part about his captivity was not necessarily the fact that he was chained up, or the fact that he had been relegated to a wine cellar, the single cell in the constable's hall currently hosting Gwendolyn Mostfair and her fiancé, but that he had to share his makeshift cell with Tomas and Beo. It wasn't that they didn't have their uses. From Tomas, he was able to learn everything that had happened to Liz on their journey, including her trip to visit Gwendolyn, and his implausible brawl with half the Dracolyte army prior to his capture. While from Beo he heard a blow-­by-­blow account of the dragon's capture of Elle and of their flight to the south. The problem was that neither of them was particularly lucid. Tomas was drunk most of the time, and so his stories were interspersed with periods of unconsciousness and indescribably bad bouts of singing, and as for Beo, he spent every moment he could grousing about the seemingly endless number of ways life had treated him wrong. At this moment, Tomas was snoring in his corner, and so he was being regaled with another of the wolf's litany of woes.

“Whatever happened to a man's word being his bond?” Beo asked rhetorically, for he never actually appreciated it when Charming replied.

Charming ignored the creature and focused on the chains that held him to the wall. He had been working at them for days now, but all he had to show for it were bruised and bloodied wrists. Nevertheless, he had vowed not to give up until he was reunited with Liz and Will and Elle. He gathered what remained of his strength, and renewed his efforts, pulling and twisting at the manacles.

Beside him, Beo continued his thought. “Twice now I have made a partnership, once with Volthraxus and once with the Dracomancer, and twice I have been left worse off for the exchange. There can be no dispute that I delivered my part of the bargain in each case.” The wolf picked up a bone in his paws and gestured with it at Charming and the unconscious Tomas. “Did I or did I not deliver Elle's location to Volthraxus and make her capture possible? And, did I or did I not deliver the Pitchfork of Destiny, the one weapon capable of slaying the dragon, into the hands of the Dracomancer?” Beo stuck the bone in his mouth and chewed on it a bit. Between cracks and crunches, he concluded, “I did. And what do I have to show for it?”

Charming felt a trickle of warm blood running down his right arm. The pain was growing intolerable. He slumped to the ground, breathing hard. “Nothing.” He sighed.

“That's right,” Beo snarled around the bone. “Nothing! Worse than nothing, for at least I was a free wolf before. Now look at me. Chained like a common dog.”

“It seems to me you've gotten no more than you deserve,” Charming said coldly. “You are a spy, a thief, and a traitor.”

Beo cocked his head to one side in quiet thought, “Fair point, but I still say it isn't right.”

All at once, bells began to ring. At first it was one, then two, but soon, from all across Prosper, bells of every tone chimed, rang, and clanged in dreadful earnest. Soon, other noises began to filter through the thick door of their prison, screams and shouts of alarm, ­people running, the clash of arms.

“Tomas!” Charming called out. “Tomas! Wake up!”

Tomas sat up and blinked blearily. “Wassat?”

“Something's happening,” Charming said.

“Knowing my luck, it's probably a festival to roast the wolf,” Beo groused.

“About time,” Tomas said with a nod, and rolled back onto his side.

Charming had something he needed to say to Tomas. He'd been thinking about it for weeks now, ever since his disastrous turn as squire. Now was as good a time as ever. “Tomas, in case I don't get the chance again,” Charming said. “I want you to know that you were a tremendous squire. I . . .” He took a deep breath. “I apologize for being so ungrateful and insulting over the years.”

Tomas began to snore again.

Charming was looking about to see if there was anything he could throw at the man to rouse him when the doors to the cellar flew open. Light flooded in as three Dracoviziers clambered down the steps into the cellar, followed by the Dracomancer, whose hands were shaking.

“Quickly! Bring him and the wolf!” the Dracomancer urged, and, turning, he ran back up the stairs.

“What's happening?” Charming asked, still trying to adjust his eyes to the light.

“And does it have anything to do with barbecuing wolf?” Beo asked, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he nervously panted.

Without a word, the men unlocked the bolts that attached Charming and Beo to the wall but did not remove the manacles that secured the chains to their bodies. Grabbing the ends of the chains they dragged both of them up from the ground and began to march them out of the cellar. The Dracomancer stood at the top of the stairs.

“Where are you taking me?” Charming demanded.

“Us?” Beo added.

The Dracomancer said nothing but headed in the direction of the town square, with the Dracolytes hauling Charming and Beo along in his wake. The town was in chaos. ­People, some in the black robes of the Dracolytes and some who were clearly just townsfolk, were running here and there. Occasional screams and shouts of terror could be heard. Lending urgency to everything were the bells, which kept ringing and ringing in a steady peal.

The Dracomancer stopped on the edge of the square. Many of the black-­robed Dracolytes were gathered there, milling about nervously. In the square's center, there stood a rough timber post. The Dracomancer made a gesture, and one of the guards dragged Beo over to the post and chained him to it. The wolf lifted his head and howled in misery, but the sound was nearly inaudible over the bells.

“Stop the DAMN bells!” shouted the Dracomancer.

Dracolytes scattered in all directions, eager to obey their master. The Dracomancer rubbed his forehead.

As soon as the bells stopped, the Dracomancer had his face in front of Charming's. “We don't have much time. First”—­he pointed to a small dark shape in the sky over the mountains—­“Volthraxus is coming. This is a problem. It means that he's killed the King, but he's not satisfied. He wants something else. I'm hoping it's him.” He stabbed his finger toward the wolf.

“Will is dead?” said Charming. His heart sunk, and a feeling of desolation settled over him. He had failed.

“There is no time for being maudlin or overtly tragic,” the Dracomancer said and, grabbing Charming by the shoulders, gave him a shake. “This isn't one of those idiotic epic poems you would make up about yourself as a child.” The Dracomancer thrust his pointing finger once more at the wolf. “That is Beo, the Dragon's former wolf servant. I'm sure he's already told you his sad tale of woe. Ignore it. All you need to know is that Beo betrayed Volthraxus. I have taken the liberty of making him easy for Volthraxus to find.”

“You bastard!” the wolf snarled. “You promised me protection, Dracomancer. You promised me a place at your table. You're nothing but a liar and a coward. Have you never heard of honor among thieves?”

The Dracomancer turned and stared at the wolf. “No.”

“Fair point,” the wolf said after a moment's hesitation. “But . . .”

Whatever else the wolf said was lost as the Dracomancer grabbed Charming by the arm and began leading him away to the side of a building where the afternoon sun cast a deep shadow. He pressed himself next to Charming's ear, and whispered, “Lord Edward Michael Charming, the dragon is coming. Do you remember Volthraxus from your studies?”

“I do. I've been trying to remember everything I could since I first heard the name.” Charming nodded. “Volthraxus is the largest of his breed and is named for the destructive winds his wings make in passing. He is rumored to have some missing scales on his breast, but what dragon isn't rumored to have some strategically placed missing scales. He has some odd quirks, the principal one being that he doesn't enjoy the taste of human flesh, preferring swine. You also told me that he was highly intelligent, rather absentminded, had a penchant for doodling, and was the least likely of dragons to go on a rampage.”

“Um . . . you obviously did some extra reading. Remind me to come back to you when this is over and take some notes. Don't spread that around.”

“If he has kill . . .” Charming's voice caught, “killed King William, why is he coming here? I assume you've cleared the town of all pigs?”

“Of course I have,” the Dracomancer said in indignation. “I'm not an idiot. It was the first thing I did on arriving.”

“Well then?”

“I don't know why he's coming,” the Dracomancer said, and Charming saw his eye twitch nervously. “Perhaps it is nothing more than the wolf that he wants. Dragons can be very peculiar about revenge. However, this behavior is beyond what I predicted. I'm not exactly sure what is about to happen, but I do know this. We have an opportunity today to actually kill a dragon, Charming.”

“How?” Charming asked, as his mind raced to find something he might have missed that would make such a feat even remotely possible.

Townsfolk and Dracolytes from the square had begun to cluster around the Dracomancer. They crowded around him and fell to their knees, begging to be saved and pointing to the sky, where the dragon's approaching silhouette grew larger with each passing moment.

“SILENCE!” said the Dracomancer. He gestured to the black-­robed men who had retrieved Charming from his cell, and they began to drive the crowd away with their pikes. When they were once more alone, the Dracomancer beckoned to another of these Dracolyte henchmen. “Bring me the weapon at once!”

The man rushed across the square to the tavern, even as more ­people joined the gathered masses. With the bells silenced, their wailing and sobbing could be heard clearly. The Dracomancer seemed to take no notice of the ­people's distress but was pacing back and forth and rubbing his hands together. His lips moved as if he were having a conversation, but no words came out. Charming thought he might be debating with himself.

At last, the Dracomancer stopped, and whispered, “You don't think he'd want Gwendolyn Mostfair, do you?”

“No,” replied Charming, shaking his head, and knew that if he had answered differently, the Dracomancer would have quite willingly ordered that she be chained to the post alongside the wolf.

“My thoughts as well,” said the Dracomancer. “Just remember, if all goes well, you will have avenged your King and probably regained your throne. You and I, Edward, are about to fulfill the prophecy.”

“I don't care about that anymore,” Charming said grimly.

“Do you care about these ­people?” the Dracomancer asked, waving his hands about him at the assembled crowd. “If you refuse to fight, they will all die, but if you listen to me and follow my guidance, you can save them all, and become the legend you've always wanted to be.”

Before Charming could ask how, the Dracomancer took a few steps forward from the edge of the building so that he could be seen from all corners of the square. He spread his arms wide, and announced, “My Dracolytes! ­People of Royaume! I must give you the worst possible news! King William . . . is dead.”

The Dracomancer let the words settle. For Charming, the thought of his friend dead brought a chill of sadness, but the death of their King seemed to have little impact on the ­people in the crowd. Their collective gaze was fixated on the sky. Charming looked up and searched for Volthraxus. The dragon was no longer an indistinct shadow on the blue heaven but had taken a very definite and ominous shape. In moments, the monster would be upon them.

“The dragon is upon us!” the Dracomancer said, trying to bring the crowd's attention back to him. These words, though obvious, made more of an impression, as many of the ­people began to scream in terror and beg the Dracomancer for deliverance. He held up his hands to quiet them. “Have faith and do not fear. By my hand, we have with us none other than Prince Charming, the man I prophesied would slay the Dragon. However, my prophecy was misinterpreted by jealous and wicked ­people who sought to ruin my good name. Prince Charming was never to meant to slay the Great Wyrm of the South, but rather, he was born to slay the foul beast that descends upon us at this very moment—­The Great Dragon of the North!”