Son of the Hero

20 – The Dance of Ghosts

We left the Dorthini flag flying over Castle Thyme, seven gold lilies-stylized like the French emblem-on a black field. Harkane had my pennant ready to replace the Etevar's when we "announced" ourselves. I slept for a short time, but managed to wake myself when I started to slip back into the dream that had captured me the night before. I was walking down the steps to the crypt and, somehow, managed to stop and wake before I found myself in the company of all my predecessors again.

I didn't try to sleep again after that.

The morning dragged on. The van of the Dorthini army was two hours away, then one hour. Parthet used some of the sea-silver to open a passage between the castle and the cottage in the orchard so we could keep abreast of the news… and so we would have a bolt-hole in case of disaster. A small band of our cavalry skirmished with Dorthini outriders a couple of miles from the castle, then retreated in good order. We wanted to harass the enemy just enough to keep them from trying to make contact with the castle garrison. Castle Thyme was our Trojan Horse, and we couldn't afford to give away the secret too soon.

Parthet didn't know of any Dorthini magic comparable to the doorways, but he couldn't rule it out either. Since the Etevar had the new-and-improved-model wizard, anything was possible. We patrolled every corridor and passage of Castle Thyme, watched everywhere.

From dawn on, I stayed on the parapets, Under cover of a shed that had been erected to give sentries a place to get out of the weather. Parthet stayed with me, except during his brief excursions to the orchard for the latest news. The rest of "my" people also stayed close through the morning.

The Dorthini van was in sight before the Varayan forces "besieging" Castle Thyme started their slow withdrawal across the road into the rolling countryside toward the orchard. Dorthini cavalry came forward to engage, to try to keep our army from settling into strong defensive positions before the Dorthini infantry caught up. Our people had to keep the area around the castle hazardous enough to justify "Dorthini" defenders keeping the drawbridge up and the gate closed. We had replaced the postern door; it at least looked normal.

There were no surprises in the early morning. Everything went right according to plan. I could even be detached about it, recalling battles that Dad had made me study while I was a teenager, looking for comparison-or for any tip I could dredge out of those memories to help us. I didn't have any crazy urges to get out into the fighting right away. I felt no guilt at being safe while others were fighting and dying. I knew that my turn for danger would come soon enough. The only problem I had was with memories of my crypt dream. I heard Vara talking to me again, reminding me that he had sworn that no Hero of Varay would die alone as he had, telling me that they would all be with me when my time came.

Are there real ghosts here? I asked myself many times that morning. More and more, I was starting to believe that the answer was probably yes. Vara's voice seemed to be too real to be simply my imagination.

It was almost noon before the Etevar arrived with his personal guard and the bulk of his army-the infantry. My pulse picked up while the armies went through the motions to set up battle lines-movements that appeared to be a lot slower than they really were. It was almost a ballet, a dance of death. Our people stayed close enough to the castle to justify the defenders leaving the drawbridge raised. My danger sense started going full blast-and I could see thousands of reasons.

Then the armies seemed to become static for a few minutes, with just minor movements behind the front lines on both sides-like two immense football teams waiting for the opening kick-off. Our army surged forward toward the Dorthinis. Baron Resler was in charge down there on the "field," pending my arrival. The fighting-the bleeding and dying-started in earnest. There would be no whistles blowing to stop this warfare every few seconds, no flags thrown for unsportsmanlike conduct.

I was above the battle, if only in a strictly physical sense. In the first minutes, I could see the entire field clearly. It wasn't like moving markers on a sand table to recreate a battle. There was no mistaking this for a movie war either. I didn't have any trouble remembering that this was real. There was the flash of sunlight off blades. Dust rose from thousands of feet and hooves, gradually obscuring the view. There was blood-gallons of bright red blood-all over. There was screaming.

And there was death.

"The Heroes of Varay are waiting for me to join them," I told Parthet without taking my eyes off the battle.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, grabbing my arm, turning me toward him.

I told him about the dream, briefly, and kept looking back down at the battle. The two of us were alone on the parapets of Castle Thyme for the moment. My other companions had joined our reserves, all cavalry, in the courtyard. The men stood by their horses, keeping them as quiet as possible, crowded in between the walls. My horse, Gold, was down there too. Timon was holding him for me-as close as the boy was going to get to any fighting. I hoped.

"Don't let the dream get to you, lad," Parthet said when I finished my narrative. "Dreams can't be trusted."

"I'm not sure it was only dream," I told him.

"Best put it aside like a dream, lad," he said.

I shrugged and concentrated on the battle. I couldn't put the dream aside that easily.

"I hope you've got a few tricks up your sleeve," I told Parthet as the time for my sortie approached.

"I can make a show, lad. There, you see the Etevar?" Parthet pointed into the mass of men south and just barely east of the castle, at a pennant like the one flying over our heads. "The two men in black there. The Etevar is the shorter one. The other is his wizard. I can feel his magic, and he's not even using it."

I saw the men Parthet was talking about, but they were too far off in the rising dust of the battlefield for me to see any details of their appearance. Tall, dressed completely in black, and riding black horses. And, new glasses or not, Parthet could hardly have made out any more.

The Varayan army started to give ground slowly and in good order, luring the Dorthinis on, making sure that the Dorthinis paid a price for every inch, and making sure that there were no inviting gaps in the Varayan line. The last of the Dorthini army moved west of the castle, following their prey. At any minute, a royal messenger might ride up to the gate and demand entrance. It was time for my act. I hugged Parthet before I went down to my horse and my troop.

"Take care, Uncle," I told him. "We don't want to waste all those new eyeglasses."

"And you, lad." Parthet grinned and shoved me gently toward the stairs. "Remember what I told you. Don't pay attention to dreams."

Easier said than done.

The sixty-odd members of my troop mounted up when they saw me coming down to the courtyard. I climbed on Gold and waved at Parthet. Once we left the castle, he would be in an exposed position. We weren't going to leave many people with him-just Timon to run my pennant up the flagpole once we started fighting, and two men to operate the winches for the portcullis and drawbridge. Castle Thyme was sealed up again as soon as we rode out. That would give Parthet and the others time to scram through the portal back to the cottage… unless the Etevar's wizard could negate that magic.

The battlefield didn't look like any I have ever seen in the movies or in my mind. There was no colorful medieval pageantry, no bright tunics and pennons, no brilliantly reflective armor to catch the sun in blinding moments. Once the armies started fighting, it was all earth colors-dust and blood. Blood red was the only bright color around, and even the blood faded as it soaked into the dirt.

We trotted toward the center of the Dorthini line. They didn't react to our approach at once. They must have assumed that we were their comrades, eager for a taste of the anticipated slaughter. That was what they were supposed to assume. It was the whole point of the charade. Then there was a commotion in the knot of warriors around the Etevar and his wizard. I could make a shrewd guess at what had them stirring. Someone who didn't have to take his boots off to count past ten had figured out that too many of us had come out of the castle, more men than the Dorthinis had quartered there. Or maybe someone had spotted my elf sword. I hadn't drawn it yet, but I did then, and extended my arm to point the blade at the Etevar. That was the signal for my troop to charge, and for our main force to stop their slow withdrawal and push forward again.

That eerie tune started to come out of my mouth again, the same tune that the elf sword had drawn from me every time I used it, but louder and more intricate than ever. I led my sixty people directly toward the Etevar. He had been commanding his army from just behind the center of the battle line.

Urging our horses to a gallop once the Dorthinis figured out that we were Varayan, I hoped to reach the Etevar's tight little group before any other Dorthini contingents could interpose themselves. I figured that if I could get rid of the Etevar in a hurry, that would stop the battle. It didn't work, though. Dorthini troops seemed to flow into the space in front of us as easily as marchers on a drill field, and once the fighting started on our side of the main battle, our progress slowed to almost nothing. I kept pressing toward the Etevar but couldn't get any closer.

Even though I didn't manage the shortcut to end the fight quickly, our rear attack did surprise the Dorthinis. Homer's Trojan Horse was still a workable concept. Trying to face threats on both sides of the line sapped the effectiveness of the Dorthinis to a greater degree than I would have dared hope. The confusion was something. Although our sortie didn't significantly alter the immense manpower advantage the Dorthinis had, the time they lost regrouping to protect the Etevar from my band stopped their advance to the west and let our main force take the offensive. Then we sprang one more surprise. Baron Dieth brought his cavalry in from the north, another 150 men, putting pressure on the Dorthinis from three sides.

It wasn't easy to fight my own battles and try to keep track of the fray as a whole at the same time. My first priority had to be to keep myself from being folded, spindled, or mutilated. Or anything else. I seemed to have Vara and my father at my side, more as vultures than as protectors, waiting to collect me when I fell. I hoped that it was just combat jitters, but I was having trouble believing that.

Right at the beginning, my elf sword moved most of the Dorthini soldiers away from me. It must have convinced them that the better part of valor was to let somebody else deal with me. Maybe they thought I was an elf and way out of their league. But then I started to feel static electricity around me and I knew that I was the focus of hostile magic. The Etevar's wizard was trying to reach me. His lack of significant success made me think that Parthet must be doing something to interfere. I heard distant thunder and guessed that it was Parthet's.

I couldn't afford to give the interplay of magic too much attention, though, because a pair of Dorthini riders chose that moment to come at me together, one on each side. If it hadn't been for Lesh and Harkane, the ploy might have worked. As it was, I deflected the first Dorthini to my companions and concentrated on the second.

We didn't fight just with our swords. Our horses became weapons too, and the Dorthini was more adept at that part of the job. Maneuvering animals took more concentration and effort than swinging blades. The horses had ideas of their own, and they didn't always agree with the riders'. Horses sometimes have more sense than people. The only thing these animals wanted to do was get away from the melee.

With the longer reach Dragon's Death gave me, I could have cut the Dorthini's horse down, but I was loathe to attack any animal that didn't have its own designs on my health and well-being. That inhibition dragged out the fight-almost as if it tied one hand behind my back. The Dorthini had a good hacking sword, with a blade nearly as broad at the hilt as my elf sword. I couldn't snap his blade, and he was good enough to keep me fully occupied for several minutes.

More Dorthini riders pushed in toward us. For a moment, the press of numbers forced my troop back a few paces in the direction of the castle. Then I got a clear shot at the Dorthini who was trying to get right in my face. I flashed a one-handed slice across, skipping my blade off the tip of his. Dragon's Death caught him solidly between helmet and eyebrows. Blood welled out like red wine overflowing a mug before he fell and dragged his horse down with him.

I had a little clear space in front of me. Through a break in the dust, I saw the Etevar's wizard staring at me. At the moment, he looked to be no more than a horse's length away. I knew it was a trick of perspective or magic, though, since he was actually fifty yards or more from me. But I could see him as if he were right there. He had a pale face and black beard and sideburns. A single eyebrow covered both eyes, a thick black line that looked as phony as Groucho Marx's greasepaint mustache and eyebrows. The wizard grinned, and toothpaste-ad-white teeth showed in the middle of the beard.

There was no time to think it through. I spurred Gold toward the wizard, impatiently cutting two Dorthini foot soldiers out of my way with a single swing of Dragon's Death. The battle couldn't end until I got rid of either the wizard or the Etevar, maybe both. The dust closed in again as I forced Gold between the panicked horses of two men I had just wounded, who were trying to escape. I lost sight of the Dorthini wizard, and when I spotted him again-after I sparred inconclusively with several more soldiers-he was farther away, as was the Etevar, a rougher-looking man, swarthy-skinned, with hair as black as his wizard's.

The battle flowed toward the castle again. My troop had to give some ground, but we had shown enough power that the bulk of the Dorthini army broke around us. The drawbridge of Thyme was up, so the Etevar couldn't reclaim the castle as a quick refuge-though why he might look for refuge when he still had us vastly outnumbered didn't occur to me at the time. I had my hands full, trying to keep my people together and dealing with those Dorthinis who couldn't avoid us.

One encounter in that phase of the battle will stick with me through eternity, I think. A Dorthini foot soldier, armed with a long spear and a short sword like a Roman legionnaire, came running at me. His face was distorted as he screamed some battle cry or oath, making him look almost like one of those troll soldiers out of Fairy. Defending myself was instinctive by then. I whirled Dragon's Death left and right, cutting the spear into three pieces. The Dorthini threw the remaining piece of his spear at Gold's face and drew his sword while he rolled under my horse and came up on the other side-too close for me to finish him off quickly. I turned and brought my sword down, but it was my fist that hit his head-his helmet. I kicked out, moving the Dorthini back, and brought my sword down again. He got his short blade in the way but couldn't parry the full force of my blow. Dragon's Death skidded along the side of his head, knocked his helmet off, sliced off his left ear, then bit into where his neck and shoulder met.

He couldn't have been any older than Harkane-fourteen, maybe fifteen. Blue eyes opened in wide surprise. The muscles in his face relaxed. Blood spurted from his neck and he died. For a moment, all I could do was stare down at him. He was just a kid. I gagged and almost threw up.

I backed Gold around, trying to see how things were going around me. Horns sounded near the Etevar, and his army moved farther east, clear of Castle Thyme. The Dorthinis marched into what little was left of the village's spring crops. Suddenly, the Etevar and I were in the open, between our armies, with only our own guards to support us, I spurred Gold forward again, knowing that I had to take a chance to reach the Etevar before he got behind another wall of soldiers-and before the Dorthinis could cut me off from my support.

Then my danger sense went berserk, and so did my horse, but the Dorthinis weren't the cause. It was a distant shadow, first in my mind and then in the sky, and a cry like metal ripping in an auto wreck. A familiar feeling, a familiar shadow. A dragon-a mother-huge dragon-was heading straight for me.

While I fought to control Gold, the two armies moved farther apart-and away from me-as though I had just broken out with the stigmata of every infectious disease ever known or imagined. Even most of the troop right with me decided that they belonged somewhere else. All I had left were the people I would have bet on to stay-Annick, Lesh, Harkane, Hambert-and a very few others. Annick sheathed her sword and got out her bow. She dismounted when I did. So did Lesh and Hambert. Lesh had his battle-axe. We passed our reins to others and got ready to meet the new threat.

This dragon was coming specifically for me, just like all of the threats in Fairy. My danger sense was very definite about that, and there was more. The Etevar's wizard loomed in my sight again, appearing much closer than he actually was. His hands-delicate-looking, with long, pointed fingers-grasped a broad medallion that hung from his neck on a heavy gold chain. I could see each link in the chain, but his hands covered whatever device the medallion bore. The Dorthini wizard squinted, concentrating on me. I saw his mouth move as he chanted, flashes of white teeth and almost purple lips and tongue.

This is it, I thought. I looked around for Dad and Vara and the rest of the congregation of Heroes. This dragon was much larger than the one the elf warrior had died fighting on that beach by the Mist. Even if I somehow managed to drop this beast, I had to expect to go the way of the elf. And there was nowhere to run.

I stepped several paces in front of my companions to get room to swing the elf sword. Dragon's Death-a meager hope. My mouth was moving too. The whistling that came when I used the long blade got louder and louder until there were almost words to it, a magical chant of the incoherent sort I had heard Parthet use. And Annick was humming some kind of counterpoint as she raised her bow. The air fairly crackled with all the magics. I wondered if they were subject to static, interference, the way radio signals are.

What did the elf think about when he faced this? I asked myself. The dragon was coming on fast, but I still seemed to have plenty of time. There was even time for me to feel amazed at how calm I felt. I accepted the outcome… as long as I could reach it with the fortitude that the elf warrior had shown.

"Steady, lad. Keep your wits about you," sounded right next to my ear. It was Parthet's voice, but he was still standing on the castle wall. I glanced that way. The same sort of alteration of perspective that had made the Dorthini wizard appear close let me see Parthet up close too. Then I recalled-from our first ride east-that Parthet had said that there had been so much magic used around Castle Thyme that it was unpredictable.

"Put on a good show, Uncle," I whispered. He nodded as if he heard me. I turned and stared at the Dorthini wizard and made a short cutting gesture with my sword-something like drawing a bow sharply across a violin-as my whistling reached a peak. The Dorthini wizard frowned and clutched his medallion tighter. I felt a trickle of exhilaration. I could reach him, touch him. I remembered that Parthet had suggested that I might have some gift toward wizardry. And there were the magics of the sword and the Hero that I still didn't know everything about…

… in an arena where magic wasn't predictable anyway.

What do I have to lose? I asked myself. The answer was an easy nothing.

I attempted to use magic that I didn't know I had-that I didn't know that anybody had. While the dragon folded his wings for a fast glide, I concentrated on the Dorthini wizard, trying to superimpose my image over his, hoping to confuse the dragon and deflect it toward the wizard who-so far-appeared to be controlling it. The wizard fought back, stabbing deeply into my mind, loosing a flash of light in my head that made him invisible for a dangerous moment.

I blinked over and over. There were spots in front of my eyes… spots large enough to hide a dragon. I looked up quickly, squinted against the light and the sky.

The dragon wasn't deflected even for a second. It swooped toward me, suddenly appearing to be as fast as a jet. Its talons were stretched open, its jaws gaping wide. It had all its weapons ready, just like the dragon in Fairy. I thought back to the way the elf warrior had met that dragon's attack. I replayed it in my mind-except for the way it ended for the elf.

And then the dragon was on me.

I swung Dragon's Death and dove to the left, rolling and coming back to my feet in time to take a whack at the dragon's tail. I connected with its hide both times but didn't do much damage. Lord, was that sucker big. It made the one on the beach look like a runt.

No mortal can kill a dragon and live! Those words burned themselves into my mind the way the hinges had burned into Thyme's postern. No mortal can kill a dragon and live! The Etevar's wizard showed his face-and a malicious grin-behind the words.

As I turned to keep facing the dragon, I beamed, I have killed one dragon and lived! straight at the Etevar's wizard with all the force I could muster. I felt Parthet strengthening my boast. The Etevar's wizard wavered in an instant of doubt. And I turned the Elflord of Xayber out of Varay! I added.

The dragon's second pass was a carbon copy of the first. Dragons didn't seem to have a very wide repertory of offensive moves. This time I saw an arrow blossom from the dragon's forehead, so I knew that Annick had found the range. But the arrow didn't weaken or deflect the beast any more than my first swipes had. I slashed at the snout and jumped right this time, while the dragon's jaws snapped toward the other side, where I had gone the first time.

Odds and evens.

Something new came over me then. I'm not sure I can describe it. Maybe it doesn't need any more than to say that I became fey-deathbound and crazy with it, manic. A new power seemed to settle in me, or waken. I felt as if I were growing inside my skin, but I wasn't turning into the Incredible Hulk or anything like that. It was all-I don't know-just a sensation within my mind. I moved a few steps toward the watching Etevar and his wizard. I drew the wizard's eyes to me again, somehow forced him to meet my stare.

I am Vara returned! my mind screamed at him.

I had no idea at all where that boast originated, certainly not in my brain. Sure, I had been told that the magic of Varay's Hero was supposed to include some of Vara's strength and skill, but I hadn't been idling away at that kind of musing. With a dragon coming at me? The boast just sprang from my head. I didn't even have time just then to look around to see if Vara and Dad were there with me.

When the dragon dove at me this time, I planted my feet and held my sword at full reach over my head-just the way I had seen the elf warrior do it. I didn't duck to either side this time either, and that was sheer madness. I just brought Dragon's Death straight forward with all of my strength, and then some, I guess, as if I seriously thought that I might be able to split that dragon fore to aft.

The shock of the collision could hardly have been worse if I'd been hit by an out-of-control semi. The dragon knocked me down, dragged and bounced me along the ground, and finally ripped the elf sword from my hands. I didn't even have the wit to let go of the sword. As soon as I slowed down enough to get some control over my own movements, I rolled left, fast, to get out from under the collapsing body of the gargantuan beast. Pain stabbed at me from every part of my body. The dragon's wing and leg pummeled me. I felt skin and muscle tear, my skin and muscle. The wing's trailing edge bounced me forward again and finally pinned me against the dragon's flank for a moment before I bounced clear-butt over brains.

"We're here, son." I heard Dad's voice as plainly as I had ever heard any sound in my life. I couldn't move. For a time, I couldn't even get my eyes open.

Am I dead yet? I wondered. Mentally, at least, I shook my head. I hurt so much that I had to be alive. My heart was still pounding. I inhaled. That added to the pain.

It won't be long, I decided. If I wasn't already mortally wounded, the dragon would finish the job soon enough.

"We're here, son," Dad's voice said again. "We're waiting for you."

More than anything, that was what forced me to keep trying.

I got my eyes open. They burned. I saw sky above me… and dragon to the side. I was flat on my back. I rolled over on my side, facing the dragon. Everything seemed willing to move, though not without complaint. My chest hurt. More than one rib had to be broken now. My arms were both bloody, but I could make fists with both hands. I could move the fingers.

The dragon didn't fly off for another go-round. That didn't feel like much of a victory, though. The damn thing was a mountain next to me. The tail was moving from side to side, not all that fast, but enough to keep anyone from coming close. The neck and head were swaying too-not as much as the tail.

I didn't see any people, just dragon.

The feeling of power-or whatever I had felt before-had deserted me, been dragged out of me. I had to finish rolling over, onto my stomach, before I could start to get up. I got up on hands and knees… one knee. My left knee didn't want to bend in the middle. And the foot felt as if it had been crammed into a boot that was only half as big as it needed to be. I tried to reach for my hip pocket to get the silver flask that Mother had given me, but the flask was gone. So was the pocket. No painkiller.

I retched, threw up. No blood in it, I told myself. I thought that might be a hopeful sign.

The dragon bellowed in what I hoped was intense pain.

"Get up," I told myself. "Get up and finish the job while you can."

Dreamer, another part of my mind said, laughing at me. Why not lie back down and wait?

I wouldn't do that.

Instead, I fought my way to my feet. With a leg that wouldn't do much of anything but throb, getting up was difficult-and agonizing. I stood and limped toward the dragon's head, making a wide circle and watching it closely. It was slow going. I had to step forward with my right leg and then drag the left leg up into place. The leg would hold me, but I couldn't do much else with it.

I had to stop and fight back the waves of pain every few steps. I had never dreamed that so much pain was possible.

For the first time, I got a chance to see just how damn huge that dragon really was. I don't think I could possibly exaggerate its size. You could have put a football field on its back and left room for cheerleaders. The neck and tail were each longer than the back. Its thighs were like those old redwood trees with roads cut right through their trunks. A circus could have used one of its wings for its big top. The teeth were big enough to serve as headstones. It was as tall as a four-story building. New York City and Chicago could have met for a barbecue with steaks for everyone from its meat, with enough leftovers to stuff the entire NFL.

Big. Maybe a quarter mile long.

I don't know how long I stared at the dragon, running those stupid comparisons through my mind. It probably wasn't nearly as long as it seemed at the time. I started walking again, coughing dust and retching. Every time the pains got together and squeezed, strange things happened to my head and gut-none of them pleasant.

Eventually, I got around in front of the dragon. My elf sword had split the top of its snout from between nostrils the size of basketball hoops to between eyes the size of hula hoops. The eyes were open, though the fletching of one of Annick's arrows protruded from the pupil of the left eye. I couldn't reach Dragon's Death. I stretched as far as I could, but my fingers fell a good eighteen inches short of the sword's hilt. Finally, I leaned against the dragon's snout, put my good foot on the corner of its lower lip-gingerly-and got up just far enough to reach the elf sword. I pulled on Dragon's Death and fell backward when it came free.

The dragon moaned and moved its head from side to side, just a little.

"I hope you're hurting as much as I am," I said, very softly. I rubbed a sleeve across my eyes. They were watering constantly from the pain. Getting to my feet again was as painful as the first time, and just as slow. I stood there-ten feet from the dragon-and looked up at it. Its eyes were definitely out of reach, even with Dragon's Death, as long as I was on the ground.

I came close to giving up then. The only way I would be able to reach this dragon's eye to put that long thrust into it would be to climb up on top of the snout. Even if I could manage that, all the beast would have to do was toss its head to throw me far enough to finish the job of killing me.

Static electricity started to pop and crackle all over me again. I got hot-roasting. The wizards were dueling over me again. I glanced toward the battlements of Castle Thyme. Parthet was still there. He didn't seem to be looking at me, but somewhere past me, past the dragon. I turned my head and spotted the Dorthini wizard. I didn't have an up-close-and-personal view this time, so I couldn't see the expression on his face, couldn't tell if he was nervous or ready to gloat.

The Etevar was next to him, holding his horse quiet, watching.

I advanced on the dragon again, slowly, still dragging my left leg, using it only as a prop to hold me up. When I got right up to the dragon's bleeding snout, I was temporarily out of his sight. I rested there a moment, in the shade, trying to gather my strength, and my nerve. With only one good leg, I was going to need both arms to climb, so I slipped Dragon's Death into its clips on my back. Then I got my toehold at the corner of the dragon's mouth and scrambled for the top of its snout.

The head rolled to the side. I held on to a couple of knobby wartlike projections until the rolling stopped. Then I got up-on one knee with the other leg trailing behind-and drew Dragon's Death again. The whistling started immediately. I rammed the point of the elf sword into the dragon's uninjured eye and leaned in and down, uncertain that the blade could even reach this monster's brain. I pushed and twisted, and the dragon bucked and tried to roll its head again. For an instant, I was dangling from the sword's hilt, holding on desperately. The dragon flapped its wings a couple of times but couldn't generate enough lift to get off the ground. It couldn't even get its chin more than a couple feet of the ground.

When the beast quieted down again, I maneuvered back into position. This time, I put all of my weight behind the sword until the guard was sinking into the eyeball itself.

And then the eyeball popped like a gigantic zit and foul-smelling crud gushed all over me, topped by gallons of black blood. It came so hard and fast that for a moment I thought I was going to drown in it. I choked and gagged and retched so hard that I almost lost my grip on the elf sword. My hands were deep in what was left of the eyeball now. The dragon moaned, then screeched and gave one last violent shake that tossed me and the sword to the ground. More blood-barrels of it-spurted from the wound and poured down on me. It was all I could do to get my face free of the flash flood.

As the dragon died-with a noisy death rattle that sounded like someone dropping a junkyard on a tin roof-the line that no mortal could kill a dragon and live through it also died a final death… or would if I somehow managed to get up and limp away. There would be a new old wives' tale. Only a mortal who has killed a dragon can kill one.

A big if: I wasn't at all sure that I would be able to get up and move away from the dead dragon. Only my continuing pain convinced me that I wasn't already dead. Unless death didn't end the pain-not a very comforting possibility. I got my hands and arms under me, and rested my head on an arm to keep my face out of the pool of blood. I was soaked, covered in blood and gore and goo and dust-stinking, rancid. Father and Vara seemed to call to me again, and I had to bite my lip to keep from saying, "I'm ready. Carry me off."

It wasn't just the pain, though a new throbbing in my head was so severe that it almost eclipsed the roster of other pains through my body and left leg. I was groggy with the pain, probably delirious-or near it. Retching, vomiting, came in cycles and kept me weak. There was also exhaustion and a sudden fear that I could never escape the smell of death, the stink of the dragon's blood and innards.

The smell of the goop I was lying in was what finally made me fight my way to my feet. The slippery footing made it harder than ever. I needed the elf sword as a crutch now, and that is one thing that it wasn't very good at. The damn think kept sticking into the ground. I swayed so wildly that I thought I was going to fall again. I don't know how much time passed before I even thought to look for the Etevar, his wizard, and his army. I can't even say how long my fight with the dragon lasted-probably not half as long as it's taken me to tell the story.

I stumbled away from the dragon, looking for dry, solid ground, trying to get out of the shadow of the damn thing before I collapsed again.