The Sorcery Within

XXXII

THE PALACE OFGLOROC TREMBLED. Throughout the structure, even down in the kitchens at the lowest level, the Dragon's servitors felt the vibration and tried to quiet their fears. But their master's distress infected them all, as he reached out aimlessly with the powers that had subdued half a kingdom. Soon many crawled into corners and tried to hide, others became incontinent, and two committed suicide. Even those with strong wills, who were able to detach themselves and understand that their paranoia came from Gloroc and not from the recesses of their own minds, quailed. They had never before known anything that could make the Dragon afraid.

Only Gloroc's high commanders knew the cause of the turmoil, because they alone had been trusted with the knowledge. Of them, only Beherrig, commander-in-chief, could bring himself to approach the great portals and enter the Dragon's Hall.

Inside, the psychic turmoil was much greater. It made him momentarily nauseated, but he succeeded in closing the doors, and crossed the antechamber to the edge of the royal pool. There he took off his robes of office and laid them on the tiles. He would go to Gloroc naked, as all men were when they met the Dragon face to face, whether their bodies were clothed or not. Beherrig took one of the airmakers that waited in the trough by the edge of the pool, fitted the gear over his face, and dived into the water.

He swam the length of the entry corridor carefully, breath regular and controlled, wary of his master's irrational state. Gloroc was at the far side of the tremendous chamber.

The Dragon no longer resembled the gigantic worm of Beherrig's youth. The serpentine torso was longer – now three times the length of a man – and covered with an iridescent mesh of scales. The sight of his teeth could render a man impotent. Two pair of legs, rudimentary though they seemed compared to the rest of his form, were large enough that he could wrap his talons completely around a human waist. The huge wings fanned out to either side like leather sails – Beherrig had to struggle to maintain his position against the current created by their frantic strokes. Only the eyes were the same – deep jewels of indigo that consumed the self-determination of all who looked within them.

"Master,"Beherrig called when Gloroc failed to acknowledge him.

No result. The Dragon spasmed, sweeping continuously toward the shut doors that dominated the ceiling of the hall. His body slammed against the vartham, shaking the entire building once again. But the dome had been built to defend Gloroc from attack, and even his formidable physical strength had no effect. Beherrig concentrated and bespoke his master again.

The answer nearly blacked him out. "Beherrig! Aid me! It is time!"This was the rational part of the message; beneath were garbled images and hallucinations that would have been deadly if focused. The crisis had rendered Gloroc helpless. It was all the Dragon could do to coherently communicate his need. But Beherrig had been forewarned, and knew what to do. It was simply a matter of summoning the courage.

The man no longer hesitated. He swam with all the speed and stamina that his well-trained, middle-aged body could manage. His route took him directly past Gloroc. Once, a thrashing limb nearly disembowelled him, while twice the turbulence caused by the wings forced him to the side. But he won past, to the thick gold wheel that controlled the roof portal.

Beherrig braced his heels against the floor and gripped the ring, which stood as high as his chest. The spindle wouldn't turn. It was designed for the Dragon himself, and when others were occasionally called upon to use it, the duty fell to two strong men. Gloroc thrashed, and the whirlpool caught Beherrig and flung his feet out. He held on to the metal and set at it again, hoping Gloroc would regain enough composure to manage it himself but knowing that they couldn't afford to take the chance. The change was imminent; already the Dragon's gills fluttered wildly.

"I am dying,"Gloroc bespoke, and the fear he transmitted desiccated Beherrig's strength. The man despaired, barely keeping a grip on the ring.

Yes. The Dragon would die. Beherrig would die. Dreams of empire would shatter. Nothing had ever been more certain. He hung slack, arms outstretched, while Gloroc's violence stilled. For the first time in his life, Beherrig heard the whimper of a dragon.

Perspective suddenly returned. The Dragon had withdrawn into himself, freeing his servant of his psychic influence. Before he could be drawn in again, Beherrig ground his feet into the stone and strained.

The tumblers moved, picking up momentum, their engineering so perfect that, once started, they pulled their operator with them. Beherrig held on instinctively, legs trailing behind as he was pulled in faster and faster circles. He let go just in time to see the sight of his life.

The great dome split down the middle, each side vanishing into its niche. Gloroc, mentally trumpeting his elation, thrust with all limbs through the widening crack, swimming upward and leaving behind a cometlike stream of bubbles. From vantage points all across the underwater city, citizens looked up in awe at the plume racing surfaceward.

As they patrolled the tower tops of the city, sentries saw a geyser rise high above them and sprout wings. When the Dragon's exultation reached them, it knocked them to their bellies or off the air funnels they guarded into the ocean below. Gloroc glided over his throne city and felt the membrane burst inside, flooding his virgin lungs with air, shutting his gills forever. The waves heard dragon laughter for the first time in fifteen centuries.

Gloroc was an adult now, no longer restricted to the seas. Nature had removed the single greatest impediment to his ambitions. Let the sons of Alemar beware.