Wizard's First Rule

Chapter 45

Richard held the thick spines of Scarlet’s shoulders in a death grip as she made a banking turn to the left. He had learned, much to his amazement, that when she leaned into a turn, it didn’t make him slide off the side, but pressed him harder against her. Richard found the experience of flying at once exhilarating and frightening, like standing on the edge of an impossibly high cliff—that moved. The feel of her body lifting him into the air made him grin. Muscles flexed beneath him as she stroked the air with her powerful wings, each beat giving a lift. When she folded her wings back and dove toward the ground, the wind made his eyes water, and the feeling of falling took his breath away and made him feel as though his stomach would rise inside him. He marveled at the very idea of riding a dragon.

“Do you see them?” he called out over the sound of the wind.

Scarlet gave a grunt to indicate that she did. In the fading light, the gars looked like black dots moving about on the rocky ground below. Steam trailed up from Fire Spring, and even this high up Richard could smell the acrid fumes. Scarlet rose steeply into the air, making his legs press against her as she lifted them higher—then she rolled into a sharp bank to the right.

“There are far too many,” she called back.

Her head tilted behind, one yellow eye peering at him. Richard pointed.

“Go down there, behind those hills, and don’t let them see us.”

Scarlet climbed with strong strokes. When they were higher than they had been so far, she glided away from Fire Spring. She swooped down, between the rocky slopes, threading her way back toward where Richard had told her to land. With a silent flutter of wings, she gently settled on the ground near the mouth of a cave, and lowered her neck so he could climb down. Richard knew she didn’t want him on her back any longer than necessary.

Her head swung around toward him, her eyes angry, impatient. “There are too many gars. Darken Rahl knows I can’t fight that many—that’s why there are so many there—in case I ever found my egg. You said you would think of a plan. What is it?”

Richard glanced over at the mouth of the cave. The Shadrin’s cave, Kahlan had told him. “We need a diversion, something to distract them while we get the egg.”

“While you get the egg,” Scarlet corrected, with a little flame to make her point.

He looked over at the cave again. “One of my friends told me the cave goes all the way through, to where the egg is. Maybe I could go through, snatch the egg, and bring it back.”

“Get going.”

“Shouldn’t we discuss if it’s a good idea? Maybe we could think of something better. I’ve also heard there might be something in the cave.”

Scarlet brought her angry eye closer to him. “Something in the cave?” She snaked her head around to the opening and sent a horrific blast of fire into the darkness. Her head came back. “Now there’s nothing in the cave. Go get my egg.”

The cave was miles long. Richard knew the fire wouldn’t have harmed anything farther back. He also knew he had given his word. Collecting cane reeds growing nearby, he bound them together with a sinewy vine into several bundles. He held one bundle up to Scarlet as she watched him.

“Light the end of this for me?”

The dragon pursed her lips and blew a thin stream of flame across the end of the cane reeds.

“You wait here,” he told her. “Sometimes it’s better to be small than big. I won’t be spotted so easily. I’ll think of something, and get the egg, and bring it back through the cave. It’s a long way. It may take until morning before I’m back. I don’t know how close the gars will be behind me, so we might need to leave in a hurry. Stay sharp, all right?” He hooked his pack over a spine on her back. “Keep this for me. I don’t want to carry more than I have to.”

Richard didn’t know if a dragon could look worried, but he thought she did.

“Be careful with the egg? It will hatch soon, but if the shell is broken now, before it is time . . .”

Richard gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, Scarlet. We’re going to get it back.”

She waddled to the cave entrance behind him, poking her head in, watching him disappear inside.

“Richard Cypher,” she called after him, her voice echoing, “if you try to run away, I’ll find you, and if you come back without the egg, you will wish the gars had killed you, because I will cook you slow, starting at your feet.”

Richard stared back at the hulk filling the cave entrance. “I have given my word. If the gars get me, I’ll try to kill enough of them so you can get the egg and escape.”

Scarlet grunted. “Try not to let that happen. I still want to eat you when this is done.”

Richard smiled and went into the darkness. The blackness swallowed up the light of the torch, making him feel as if he were walking into nothingness. Only a small spot of ground before him was lit. As he went on, the floor of the cave sloped downward, descending into cold, still air. A ceiling of rock appeared, and walls, as the way narrowed into a tunnel that snaked deeper. The tunnel opened into a huge room. The path led along a narrow ledge at the edge of a still, green lake. Flickering torchlight showed a jagged ceiling and walls of smooth stone. The ceiling sloped downward as he went into a wide, low passage. He had to bend over to pass through. For a good hour, he walked, hunched over, his neck starting to hurt from holding it sideways. Occasionally he pressed the torch to the rock ceiling to shed its ash and keep it burning brightly.

The darkness was oppressive—it surrounded him, followed him, sucked him deeper, calling him onward with unseen sights. Delicate, colorful formations of rock grew like vegetation, flowering and blossoming from solid rock. Sparkling crystals flashed at him as he passed with the torch, its flame the only sound, echoing back to him from the blackness.

Richard went through rooms of astounding beauty. Into the darkness rose immense columns of rippled stone, some ending before they reached their destination, with mates hanging down trying to meet them halfway. Crystalline sheets flowed over the walls in places, like melted jewels.

Some passages were clefts in the rock he had to squeeze through, others holes he had to traverse on hands and knees. The air had an odd lack of smell. This was a place of perpetual night—no light, nothing alive, ever touched it. As he walked on and on, warm from the effort, the chill of the air made steam rise from his skin. When he held the torch near his other hand, he could see vapor rise from each finger, like life’s energy draining away. Although it wasn’t frigid, the way winter was frigid, it was the kind of cold that would bleed a person of all their heat if they stayed here long enough. A slow sucking death. Without the light he would be lost in a matter of minutes. This was a place that could kill the unwary, or the unlucky. Richard checked the torch and extra cane reeds often.

Eternal night wore on slowly. Richard’s legs were tired from the constant climbing and descending. In fact, all of him was tired. He hoped the cave would end soon—it seemed he had walked the whole night. He had no idea of time.

The rock closed around him. The flat shelf of the roof lowered until he was walking hunched over again, and lowered more until he was on his hands and knees, the ground cold and wet with slimy mud that smelled of rot. It was the first thing he had smelled in a long time. His hands were cold with the wet, stinking mud.

The way diminished to a single small opening, a black hole in the torchlight. Richard didn’t like how small it looked. Air moaned through the passage, making the flame flap and whip. He held the torch into the hole, but could see nothing but blackness beyond. He pulled back the torch, wondering what he should do. It was an awfully small hole, flat on the top and bottom, and he had no idea how long it was, or what was through on the other side. Air was coming through, so it must lead to the other end of the cave, to the gars, the egg, but he didn’t like how small it was.

Richard backed away. There might be other routes from farther back, in one of the other rooms, but how much time could he waste searching, only to fail? He came back to the hole, staring at it with rising dread.

Trying not to think about his fear, he took off the sword, held it with the spare reeds and torch out ahead of himself, and pushed into the hole. He was immediately frightened of the way the rock pressed against him, top and bottom. Arms straight out, head turned sideways, he wriggled his way in deeper. The closeness increased, making him wiggle and snake his way, inches at a time. Cold stone pressed against his back and chest. He couldn’t take a deep breath. The smoke from the torch burned his eyes.

He squeezed deeper, tighter. He rocked his shoulders forward and back, pulling one leg a few inches, then the other, feeling like a snake trying to shed its skin. The torch showed only blackness ahead. Anxiety gripped him. Just get through, he told himself, just push ahead and get through.

With the toes of his boots braced against rock, Richard gave himself a push as he wiggled. The push wedged him tight. He tried to push again. He didn’t move. Angry, he pushed harder. Still he didn’t move. Panic ignited in him. He was stuck. Rock was pressing his chest and back together, and he could hardly get a breath. He envisioned the mountain of rock that was pressing on his back, unimaginable weight towering above him. Fearful, he wiggled and squirmed, trying to back up, but couldn’t. He tried to grasp something with his hands to get leverage to push back against. It didn’t help. He was stuck. Panting, he couldn’t get enough breath. He felt as if he were suffocating, his lungs burning for air, as if he were drowning, unable to breathe.

Tears filled his eyes, and fear gripped his throat. His toes scraped at the rock, trying to move him one way or the other. He didn’t budge. The way his arms were pinned ahead of him reminded him of the way Denna had kept him in the shackles. Helpless. Not being able to move his arms made it worse. Cold sweat covered his face. He started gasping in panic, feeling as if the rock were moving, pressing harder. Hopeless, he wanted someone to help him. There was no one who could.

With a grunt of desperate effort, he moved ahead a few inches. That only made it worse, tighter. He heard himself crying in hysteria. Gasping for air. Felt the rock crushing him.

Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours.

He chanted the devotion over and over, focusing his mind on it, until his breathing slowed, until he was calm once more. He was still stuck, but at least his mind was working again.

Something touched his leg. His eyes went wide.

It was a tentative, timid touch. Richard kicked his leg. At least he kicked it as best he could in the confines of the hole. It was more of a jerk. The touch left.

It came back. Richard froze. This time, it went up inside his pant leg. Cold, wet, slimy. Slithering, the hard-tipped thing worked up his leg, caressing his skin, to the inside of his thigh. Richard kicked and jerked his leg again. This time, it didn’t leave. The tip moved in probing touches. Something along the length of it pinched his skin. Panic threatened to take him again, but he fought it back.

Now he had no choice. Richard expelled the air from his lungs, having had the thought before, but having been afraid to try it. When his lungs were empty, and he was as small as he could make himself, he pushed with his toes, pulled with his fingers, and wriggled with his body. He moved ahead about a foot.

It was tighter yet. He couldn’t inhale. It hurt. He fought to keep the panic down. His fingers felt something. An edge of the opening, maybe. Maybe the opening to the hole he was in. He squeezed even more air out of his lungs. The thing gripped his leg painfully, urgently. He heard an angry, clicking growl. He pulled with his fingers, seizing the edge, and pushed with his toes. He moved ahead. His elbows were up to the edge. Something sharp along the length of the thing on his leg, sharp like little cat’s claws—sank into his flesh. Richard couldn’t cry out. He squeezed ahead. Fire burned into the flesh of his leg.

The torch, cane reeds, and his sword fell away. Clattering, the sword slid down the rock. Using his elbows for leverage, he squeezed the upper half of his body through the opening, gasping for air in deep draughts. The hooks pulled his leg. Richard wriggled the rest of the way out of the hole, sliding, falling headfirst down steep, smooth rock.

The torch burned on the curving bottom of the egg-shaped chamber. His sword was just beyond it. As he slid headfirst, his hands out in front, he stretched for his sword. The hooked claws in the flesh of his leg brought him up short, holding him upside down. Richard screamed out in pain, the sound echoing around the chamber. He couldn’t reach the sword.

Painfully, slowly, he was dragged back up by claws in his leg. They tore the flesh. He screamed again. Another appendage slipped up the other pant leg, feeling his calf muscle with its hard tip.

Richard pulled his knife and twisted himself in half to reach the thing that held him. Over and over he drove the blade into it. From deep in the hole came a high-pitched squeal. The claws retracted. Richard fell, sliding along the rock, coming to a stop next to the torch. Grasping the scabbard in one hand, he drew the sword as snakelike appendages came out of the hole, wriggling about in the air, searching. They probed their way down the rock toward him. Richard swung the sword, lopping off several of the arms. With a howl, they all whipped back into the hole. There was a low growl from the depths of the blackness.

In the flickering light of the torch that lay on the stone floor, he could see a bulk squeezing out of the opening, expanding as it exited. He couldn’t reach it with the sword, but he knew he didn’t want to let it into the chamber with him.

An arm whipped around his waist, lifting him. He let it. An eye peered down—glistening in the torchlight. He saw wet teeth. As the arm pulled him toward the teeth, he drove the sword through the eye. There was a howl, and the arm released him. He slid to the bottom once more. The whole creature pulled back into the hole, and the arms whipped about, yanking in after it. The howls faded back into the distant darkness, and were gone.

Richard sat on the floor, shaking, running his fingers through his hair. At last his breathing slowed and his fear settled. He felt his leg. Blood soaked his pants. He decided there was nothing he could do about it right now—he had to get the egg first. Dim light came from across the chamber. Following the large tunnel on the other side, he came at last to the opening of the cave.

Faint light of dawn and the chirping of birds greeted him. Below, he could see dozens of gars prowling about. Richard settled behind a rock to rest. He could see the egg below, with steam rising around it. He could also see that the egg was far too big to carry back through the cave. Besides, he didn’t ever want to go into a cave again. What was he going to do if he couldn’t carry it back through the cave? It would be light soon. He had to think of an answer.

Something bit his leg. He smacked it. It was a blood fly.

He groaned to himself. Now the gars would find him. They were being drawn by the blood. He had to think of something.

A second fly bit him, and he had a thought. Quickly, he took the knife and cut off strips of the wet, blood-soaked pant leg. He used them to wipe the blood off his leg, then tied a rock on the end of each.

Richard put the Bird Man’s whistle between his lips and blew hard as he could. He blew over and over. Picking up a strip of cloth tied to a rock—he swung it in a circle over his head, letting go, letting it sail out and down. Among the gars. He threw the blood-soaked strips farther and farther to his right, into the trees. He couldn’t hear them, but he knew the blood flies were roused. That much fresh blood would have them in a feeding frenzy.

Birds, hungry birds, a few at first, then hundreds, then thousands, swooped and dived down on Fire Spring, eating flies as they went. There was mass confusion. Gars howled as the birds swooped up and pecked flies off their bellies, or snatched them from the air. Gars were running everywhere—some took to the air. For every bird a gar caught out of the air, a hundred took its place.

Richard ran down the hill in a crouch, from rock to rock. There was no worry of being heard—the birds were making far too much noise for that. The gars were frantic, swinging at the birds, chasing them, howling and screaming. The air was thick with feathers. If only the Bird Man could see this, he thought, smiling.

Richard broke from the rock and ran toward the egg. In the chaos, gars began falling on one another, ripping and tearing. One saw him. He ran it through with the sword. The next he only cut off at the knees. It fell to the ground howling. Another came and he took off a wing, and yet another, both arms. He deliberately didn’t kill them, but let them flap around on the ground, howling and screaming, to add to the mayhem. In the disorder, gars that saw him didn’t even attack. But he did.

He killed two by the egg. With his forearms, he lifted the egg from its resting place. It was hot, but not hot enough to burn. The egg was heavier than he expected, and it took both arms to carry it. Wasting no time, he ran to the left, toward the gully between the hills. Birds flew in every direction, some crashing into him. It was chaos. Two gars came for him. He set down the egg, killed the first, and took the legs off the second. He ran with the egg as fast as he could without risking a fall. Another gar came. He missed with the first swing, but ran it through when it leapt for him.

Breathing hard with the effort, Richard ran between the hills. His arms were painfully weary from the weight of the egg. Gars landed about him, their green eyes enraged. He set down the egg and swung at the first gar to come, taking off part of a wing and its head. With howls, the others rushed him.

Trees and rocks all about lit with bright light as flame incinerated several of the beasts. Richard looked up and saw Scarlet hovering over his head, beating her giant wings and raking everything around him with flame. She reached down with one claw, snatched up the egg, reached down with the other, gripped his middle, and lifted him away. They took to the air as two gars came for him. One he caught with the sword, the other burst into flame and fell away.

Scarlet roared in anger at the gars as she lifted into the sky with Richard hanging from her claw. He decided that this wasn’t his favorite way to fly, but it was still better than being back with the gars. Another gar came up from underneath, reaching for the egg. Richard whacked off a wing. It spun, howling, toward the ground. No more came.

Scarlet carried him high into the air, up and away from Fire Spring. Hanging in her claw, he felt like a meal being taken back to the young. Her grip was hurting his ribs a little, but he didn’t complain. He didn’t want her to loosen her hold on him—it was a long way down.

They flew for hours. Richard managed to rearrange himself and get a little more comfortable in her talons as he watched the hills and trees pass below. He saw streams and fields, even a few small towns. The hills grew, becoming rocky, as if the stone were sprouting from the landscape. Jagged rock cliffs and peaks rose up before them. Stroking the air smoothly, Scarlet lifted them higher, over rock Richard thought would scrape his feet. She took them into a desolate land, barren of life. Brown and gray stone looked to have been haphazardly stacked up by a giant, like coins on a table, into thin columns, some singular, others clumped in bunches, still more having toppled.

Beyond and above the columns of rock stood massive, craggy stone cliffs, riddled with splits and cracks, shelves and projections. A few clouds drifted past the face of the cliffs. Scarlet banked toward a wall of rock. It seemed to Richard that they would run smack into it, but before they did, she brought them up short with a fluttering of her huge wings, setting him on a ledge before landing herself.

At the back of the ledge was an opening into the rock. Scarlet squeezed her bulk through. In the back, in the cool darkness, was a nest of rock, where she placed the egg, then breathed fire over it. Richard watched as she stroked the egg with a claw, turning it gently, inspecting it, cooing to it. She played fire gently over the egg, turning her head, listening, watching.

“Is it all right?” Richard asked quietly.

Her head turned to him, a dreamy look in her yellow eyes. “Yes. It is well.”

Richard nodded. “I’m glad, Scarlet. I really am.”

He started toward her as she lay down next to the egg. Her head came up in warning.

He halted. “I just want my pack. It’s hanging on a spike, on your shoulder.”

“Sorry. Go ahead.”

Richard retrieved the pack and went to the side, against the wall, a little closer to the light. He glanced over the ledge. It looked to be thousands of feet down. Richard fervently hoped Scarlet was a dragon of her word. He sat down and pulled out a fresh pair of pants.

He found something else, too: the jar from Denna’s room. Inside was some of the aum cream he had made when Rahl had hurt her. She must have taken what was left over and put it in his pack. Looking down at the Agiel, he smiled sadly at the memory of her. How could he care about someone who had done those things to him? He had forgiven her, that was how, forgiven her with the white magic.

The aum cream felt wonderful. He let out a little moan. It cooled the burning of his wounds, soothed the pain. Richard said a silent thank-you to Denna for putting it in his pack. He took off the shredded remnants of his pants.

“You look funny without your pants.”

Richard spun around. Scarlet was watching him.

“Those are not reassuring words for a man to hear from a female, even if the female is a dragon.” Turning his back to her, he pulled on his fresh pants.

“You are injured. From the gars?”

Richard shook his head. “In the cave.” His voice was quiet with the haunting fear of the memory. He sat down, leaning against the wall, watching his boots. “I had to go through a small hole in the rock. It was the only way. I became stuck.” He looked up at the big yellow eyes. “Since I left my home to stop Darken Rahl, I’ve been frightened often. But when I was stuck in that hole, in the dark, the rock pressing against me so tight I couldn’t breathe . . . well, that was one of the worst times. While I was stuck there, something grabbed my leg, dug into the flesh with sharp little claws. It did this to me as I tried to get away.”

Scarlet watched him in silence a long time, one claw over the egg. “Thank you, Richard Cypher, for doing as you said you would. For getting my egg back. You are brave, even if you are not a dragon. I never believed a man would risk himself so, for a dragon.”

“I did it for more than your egg. I did it because I had to, to get help finding my friends.”

Scarlet shook her head. “Honest, too. I think maybe you would have done it anyway. I am sorry you were injured, and that you had to be frightened so, to help me. Men try to kill dragons. You—may be the first who has ever helped one. For any reason. I had my doubts.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you showed up when you did. Those gars almost had me. By the way, I thought I told you to stay put. What were you doing coming after me?”

“I’m embarrassed to admit, I thought you were trying to escape. I was coming for a closer look, when I heard the uproar. I will make it up to you. I will help you find your friends, as I promised.”

Richard grinned. “Thanks, Scarlet. But what about the egg? Can you leave it alone? Maybe Rahl will steal it again.”

“Not from here, he won’t. I searched a long time for this place after he stole my egg, so if I ever got it back, I would have a safe place for it. He will not be able to reach it here. As for leaving it, that is not a problem. When dragons hunt for food, they simply heat the rock with their flame, to keep the egg warm in their absence.”

“Scarlet, time is short. When can we start?”

“Right now.”