Dragon Wing

57

A low rumbling sound caused the stones of the palace to quiver on their foundation. It grew louder, like thunder heard in the distance, marching toward them, shaking the ground. The castle shifted; stone quaked and shuddered. A triumphant howl split the air.

“What the . . . ?” Haplo stared around him.

“The dragon’s free!” murmured Alfred, eyes widening in awe. “Something’s happened to Sinistrad!”

“It’ll kill every living thing in this castle. I’ve fought dragons before. They’re numerous in the Labyrinth. You?”

“No, never.” Alfred glanced at the Patryn, caught the bitter smile. “It will take both of us to fight it, in the might of our power.”

“No.” Haplo shrugged. “You were right. I don’t dare reveal myself. I’m not permitted to fight, not even to save my life. I guess it’s up to you, Sartan.” The floor shook. A door down the corridor opened and Limbeck looked out. “This is more like home,” he shouted cheerfully over the rumbling and thudding and cracking. Walking easily across the trembling floor, he waved a sheaf of papers. “Do you want to hear my spee—”

The outer walls split asunder. Alfred and Limbeck were flung from their feet, Haplo slammed up against a door that gave way behind him with a crash. A gleaming red eye the size of the sun peered through the ruptured wall at the victims trapped inside. The rumbling changed to a roar. The head reared back, jaws opening. White teeth flashed.

Haplo staggered to his feet. Limbeck was lying flat on his back, his spectacles smashed on the stone floor. Groping for them, the Geg stared up helplessly at the red-eyed silver blur that was the dragon. Near Limbeck lay Alfred, fainted.

Another roar shook the building. A silver tongue flickered like lightning. If the dragon destroyed them, Haplo would lose not only his life but also his purpose for coming here. No Limbeck to lead the revolution among the Gegs. No Limbeck to start the war that would lead to worldwide chaos. Haplo ripped the bandages from his hands. Standing over the fallen, he crossed his arms and raised sigla-tattooed fists above his head. He wondered, briefly, where the dog had gone. He couldn’t hear anything from it, but then, he couldn’t hear much of anything at all over the bellowings of the dragon. The creature dived for him, mouth open wide to snatch up the prey. Haplo was right: he’d fought dragons before—dragons in the Labyrinth, whose magical powers made this quicksilver look like a mudworm. The hardest part was standing there, braced to take the blow, when every instinct in the body shrieked for him to run.

At the last instant, the silver head veered aside, jaws snapping on empty air. The dragon pulled back, eyeing the man suspiciously.

Dragons are intelligent beings. Coming out of enthrallment leaves them furious and confused. Their initial impulse is to strike back at the magus who ensorceled them. But even raging, they do not attack mindlessly. This one had experienced many types of magical forces in its lifetime, but never anything quite like what it faced now. It could feel, if it could not see, power surround the man like a strong metal shield.

Steel, the dragon could pierce. It might even pierce this magic, if it had time to work on it and unravel it. But why bother? There were other victims. It could smell hot blood. Casting Haplo a last curious, baleful glance, the dragon slid out of his view.

“But it’ll be back, especially if it gets a taste of fresh meat.” Haplo lowered his hands. “And what do I do? Take my little friend here and leave. My work in this realm is completed—or almost so.”

He could hear, at last, and he heard what his dog was hearing. His brow furrowed, he absently rubbed the skin on his hands. From the sounds of it, the dragon was smashing in another part of the castle. Iridal and the boy were still alive, but they wouldn’t be for long.

Haplo looked down at the unconscious Sartan. “I could send you into a faint that would last as long as I needed it to last, and transport you to my lord. But I’ve a better idea. You know where I’ve gone. You’ll figure out how to get there. You’ll come to me of your own accord. After all, we have the same goal—we both want to find out what happened to your people. So, old enemy, I’ll let you cover my retreat.”

Kneeling beside Alfred, he grabbed hold of the Sartan and shook him roughly.

“Come out of it, you craven scum.”

Alfred blinked and groggily sat up. “I fainted, didn’t I? I’m sorry. It’s a reflex action. I can’t control—”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Haplo interrupted. “I’ve driven the dragon off for the time being, but it’s only gone looking for a meal that won’t fight back.”

“You . . . you saved my life!” Alfred stared at the Patryn.

“Not your life. Limbeck’s. You just happened to be in the way.” A child’s thin wail of terror rose in the air. The dragon’s howl cracked solid stone.

Haplo pointed in the creature’s direction. “The boy and his mother are still alive. You’d better hurry.”

Alfred swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. Shakily he rose to his feet and, with a trembling hand, traced a sigil on his chest. His body began to fade.

“Good-bye, Sartan!” called Haplo. “For the time being. Limbeck, are you all right? Can you walk?”

“My . . . my spectacles!” Limbeck picked up bent frames, poked his fingers through the empty rims.

“Don’t worry,” said Haplo, helping the Geg to his feet. “You probably don’t want to see where we’re going anyway.”

The Patryn paused a moment to run through everything in his mind. Foment chaos in the realm.

His rune-covered hand closed fast over Limbeck’s. I’ve done that, my lord. I’ll transport him back to Drevlin. He will be the leader of the revolt among his people, the one who will plunge this world into war!

Bring me someone from this realm who will be my disciple. Someone who will spread the word—my word—to the people. Someone who will lead the people like sheep to my fold. It should be someone intelligent, ambitious, and . . . pliable.

Haplo, with his quiet smile, whistled for the dog.

Iridal had tamed dragons before in her girlhood, but only gentle creatures that would have almost done her bidding without enchantment. The dragon she faced now had always terrified her, perhaps as much because Sinistrad had ridden it as the dragon itself. She longed to be able to crawl into the corner of that safe, secure cell in which she had been hiding, but the prison was gone. The walls were beaten down, the door had swung open, the bars fallen from the windows. A chill wind tore at her; the light was blinding to eyes long accustomed to shadow.

The sin of not doing. Now it was too late for her, for the child. Death was their only freedom.

The dragon’s roarings thundered above her. Iridal watched impassively as the ceiling split wide open. Dust and rock cascaded down around her. A fiery red eye peered in at them, a lightninglike tongue flicked in desire. The woman did not move.

Too late. Too late.

Crouched behind his mother, his arm clasped tightly around the dog’s neck, Bane stared round-eyed. After his first cry of fear, he’d fallen silent, watching, waiting. The dragon couldn’t reach them yet. It couldn’t get its huge head into the small hole it had created, and was forced to rip more blocks from the castle walls. Driven by rage and a hunger for the blood it could smell, it was working rapidly.

The dog suddenly turned its head, looked back over its shoulder at the door, and whined.

Bane followed the dog’s gaze and saw Haplo standing in the doorway, beckoning to him. Beside Haplo was Limbeck, peering dimly through the dust and rubble, gazing benignly at a horror he could not see.

The child looked up at his mother. Iridal was staring fixedly at the dragon. Bane tugged at her skirt.

“Mother, we must leave. We can hide somewhere. They’ll help us!” Iridal did not turn her head. Perhaps she had not heard him. The dog whimpered and, gripping hold of Bane’s tunic in his teeth, attempted to tug the boy toward the door.

“Mother!” the boy cried.

“Go along, child,” said Iridal. “Hide somewhere. That’s a good idea.” Bane grasped hold of her hand. “But . . . aren’t you coming, mother?”

“Mother? Don’t call me that. You’re not my child.” Iridal gazed at him with a strange and dreamlike calm. “When you were born, someone switched the babies. Go along, child.” She spoke to someone else’s son. “Run away and hide. I won’t let the dragon harm you.”

Bane stared at her. “Mother!” he cried out again, but she turned from him. The boy grasped for the amulet around his neck. It was gone. He remembered: he had torn it off.

“Bring him!” Haplo shouted.

The dog got a grip on the boy’s shirt and pulled. Bane saw the dragon thrust a taloned claw through the hole it had created in the ceiling and make a grab for its prey. Stone walls crashed down. Dust rose, obliterating his mother from his sight.

The claw groped, feeling for the warm flesh it could smell. A red eye peered inside, searching for its prey. Iridal fell back, but there was nowhere to hide in the rubble-strewn, partially collapsed chamber. She was trapped in a small area beneath the hole in the ceiling. When the dust cleared and the creature could see, it would have her.

She tried desperately to concentrate on her magic. Closing her eyes to blot out the fearsome sight, she formed mental reins and tossed them over the dragon’s neck.

The infuriated creature roared and tossed its head. Jerking the reins out of her mental grasp, the dragon’s opposing magic came near overthrowing the woman’s reason. A claw slashed at Iridal’s arm, tearing her flesh. The ceiling gave way. Shards of stone fell all around her, striking her, knocking her down. The dragon, screeching in triumph, swooped on her. Gasping, choking in the dust, she crouched on the floor, her face averted from death. Iridal waited almost impatiently to feel the sharp, searing pain, the talons piercing her flesh. Instead, she felt a gentle hand on her arm.

“Don’t be afraid, child.”

Incredulously, she raised her head. Bane’s servant stood before her. Stoop-shouldered, his bald head covered with marble dust, the fringes of gray hair sticking out ludicrously, he smiled reassuringly at her, then turned to face the dragon.

Slowly, solemnly, and gracefully, Alfred began to dance.

His voice raised in a thin, high-pitched chant to accompany himself. His hands, his feet, traced unseen sigla, his voice gave them names and power, his mind enhanced them, his body fed them.

Burning acid dripped from the dragon’s flicking tongue. Momentarily startled, feeling the man’s magic and uncertain what it was, the creature drew back to consider the matter. But it had already been thwarted once. The lure of flesh and the memory of what it had endured at the hands of the detested wizard drove it on. Snapping jaws dived down, and Iridal shivered in terror, certain the man must be bitten in two.

“Run!” she screamed at him.

Alfred, looking up, saw his danger, but he merely smiled and nodded almost absentmindedly, his thoughts concentrating on his magic. His dance increased in tempo, the chanting grew a little louder—that was all.

The dragon hesitated. The snapping jaws did not close, but remained poised over their victim. The creature’s head swayed slightly, in time to the rhythm of the man’s voice. And suddenly the dragon’s eyes widened and began to stare about in wonder.

Alfred’s dance grew slower and slower, the chanting died away, and soon he came to a weary halt and stood gasping for breath, watching the dragon closely. The quicksilver didn’t seem to notice him. Its head, thrust through the gaping hole in the castle wall, gazed at something only it could see. Turning to Iridal, Alfred knelt beside her. “He won’t harm you now. Are you hurt?”

“No.” Keeping a wary eye on the dragon, Iridal took hold of Alfred’s hand and held it fast. “What have you done to it?”

“The dragon thinks that it is back in its home, its ancient home—a world only it can remember. Right now it sees earth below and sky above, water in the center, and the sun’s fire giving life to all.”

“How long will the enchantment last? Forever?”

“Nothing lasts forever. A day, two days, a month, perhaps. It will blink, and all will be gone and it will see only the havoc that it wreaked. By that time, perhaps, its anger and pain will have subsided. Now, at least, it is at peace.”

Iridal gazed in awe at the dragon, whose giant head was swaying back and forth, as if it heard a soothing, lulling voice.

“You’ve imprisoned it in its mind,” she said.

“Yes,” Alfred agreed. “The strongest cage ever built.”

“And I am free,” she said in wonder. “And it isn’t too late. There is hope! Bane, my son! Bane!”

Iridal ran toward the door where she’d last seen him. The door was gone. The walls of her prison had collapsed, but the rubble blocked her path.

“Mother! I am your son! I—”

Bane tried to cry out again to her, but a sob welled up in his throat, shutting it off. He couldn’t see her; the falling stone blocked his view. The dog, barking frantically, ran around him in circles, nipping at his heels, trying to herd him away. The dragon gave a dreadful shriek and, terrified, Bane turned and ran. Halfway to the door, he nearly fell over Sinistrad’s body.

“Father?” Bane whispered, reaching out a trembling hand. “Father, I’m sorry . . .”

The dead eyes stared at him, unseeing, uncaring.

Bane stumbled back and tripped over Hugh—the assassin paid to kill him, who had died to give him life.

“I’m sorry!” The child wept. “I’m sorry! Don’t leave me alone! Please! Don’t leave me alone!”

Strong hands—with blue sigla tattooed on the backs—caught hold of Bane and lifted him up out of the wreckage. Carrying him to the doorway, Haplo set the stunned and shaken boy on his feet next to the Geg.

“Both of you, keep near me,” the Patryn ordered.

He lifted his hands, crossed his arms. Fiery runes began to burn in the air, one appearing after another. Each touched, yet never overlapped. They formed a circle of flame that completely encompassed the three of them, blinded them with its brilliance, yet did not harm them.

“Here, dog.” Haplo whistled. The dog, grinning, leapt lightly through the fire and came to stand at his side. “We’re going home.”