Authors: R.A. Salvatore
Instinctively, Brynn spun back toward the tunnel, to see that it was indeed blocked by a solid piece of stone. She swung back and drew out Flamedancer, her elven sword, setting its blade afire with but a thought to the ruby embedded in its hilt. Her eyes darted about, taking note that Pagonel was gone from sight, and then she looked up, taking note of the attacker.
“Agradeleous!” she called, even as the dragon’s great head came over the ledge, the long serpentine neck sweeping down at her.
The dragon stopped, his reptilian eyes going wide. He gave a snort, smoke rushing out the nostrils set on either side of his long snout. “Ah, little one!” he said, his tone suddenly changed. “For the second time, I mistook you for a thief!”
The dragon gave her the once-over, and Brynn, given the source of most of the armor she wore and the sword she carried, could only shrug.
“Yes, but that first time, you were a thief, weren’t you, little one?” Agradeleous said, and he gave a chuckling snort, which sent a burst of flame and smoke out his nostrils.
“I borrowed the items,” Brynn corrected, sliding the sword away. “For a lifetime—my lifetime!—and that is not so long a time to one such as Agradeleous.”
“Not so long indeed!” the dragon agreed. “And consider the items yours, gifts from Agradeleous to one who has given him so many fine tales and memories! Greetings again, little one! It does me good to see you here, but I am surprised that you chose to come alone.”
Brynn glanced all about.
“Not so alone, great wurm,” Pagonel said from the side, and the mystic stepped out of the shadows, and truly it seemed as if he was materializing out of nothingness. To Brynn and the dragon, who had come to understand the Jhesta Tu well, it was not so surprising.
“Ah, mystic, welcome!” Agradeleous boomed. “Do you like my trap? A dragon cannot be too careful, you understand, now that his lair is well-known. You humans number a fair portion of thieves among your lot.”
“And since all of your gains were honestly earned …” Pagonel dryly remarked.
“Code of dragons, mystic,” Agradeleous explained in a similar tone. “Eat the owner and keep everything on him that sparkles.”
Pagonel looked around. “You have been well nourished.”
“This?” the dragon asked skeptically. “This is but a trifling!” He lowered his head nearly to the ground. “Climb atop my head that I can take you to my true chambers, my friends.”
As soon as they were up in the larger chamber above the ledge, the dragon stepped back and began to reshape its form, bones cracking and breaking apart, shifting until Agradeleous wasn’t too much larger than the two humans, though he still projected a much larger and heavier aura.
“Come along and see the splendor of my gains,” the dragon said.
For Pagonel’s benefit, Brynn allowed Agradeleous to give them the grand tour through the several chambers stocked with the treasure of the ages, roomfuls of glittering gold coins and gems and jewels. Each room glittered with pieces of crafted armor and shining weapons, everything from the delicate and curving Chezhou-lei swords of wrapped metal to the heavier broadswords favored in Honce-the-Bear. Every so often, the dragon would stop near to one piece and recount the great battle in which he had won the trinket. And grand stories they were, of the world from a time long before Brynn and Pagonel had been born, before their parents’ parents’ parents and beyond had been born.
“You have come with a new tale, I hope,” the dragon said when at last the tour was ended.
Brynn looked to Pagonel. “A new tale, indeed,” she said, “and perhaps a new adventure.”
That widened the dragon’s eyes again, and as the surprise wore away, Agradeleous looked at Brynn curiously. “So soon, little one?” the dragon asked. “What trouble have you started this time?”
T
hough she had seen that same expression so many times over the last couple of years, Brynn could not help but smile when she noted the look on Pechter Dan Turk’s face when she introduced him to her new friend.
Pechter Dan Turk, of course, knew of the wurm—Brynn had been named “the Dragon of To-gai” for a reason, after all—but to come face-to-face with the great wurm just outside of Dharyan-Dharielle was something altogether different than seeing him from afar, or simply hearing tales about him.
“I have adjusted the saddle to carry three,” Brynn explained to the man.
Pechter Dan Turk’s eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, and he reflexively backed away, waving his hands in horror before him.
“You wished for help to save Jacintha,” Brynn scolded. “Here is your help.”
“We are to ride … that?”
“We came all the way from the northwestern corner of To-gai to Dharyan-Dharielle in a single day,” Pagonel put in. “The speed of Agradeleous alone will allow
us to better determine our next moves, and will give us the power to communicate quickly with Yatol Wadon to coordinate our efforts against Yatol Bardoh.”
Whether the shaken man was even registering that claim was impossible to say, for Pechter Dan Turk stood there shaking his head and waving his arms, and saying “Agradeleous,” under his breath.
“Agradeleous?” he asked more firmly a moment later. “You mean that … that beast, has a name?”
Agradeleous narrowed his reptilian eyes and issued a low growl that reverberated like a small avalanche.
“In To-gai, we have many sayings that echo the wisdom of not insulting a dragon,” Brynn commented.
“I would guess that to be a common sentiment through all the lands of men,” Pagonel agreed. “And a common sentiment among all the races of creatures who are not yet gone from the world.”
“Can I eat him?” Agradeleous asked, and the poor emissary from Jacintha seemed as if he would melt where he stood.
“Enough of this,” Brynn demanded a moment later. She strode forward, past the lowered head of Agradeleous to the dragon’s shoulders, where she grabbed a leather strap. With a fluid movement, she pulled herself up into her riding position atop the beast’s great shoulders. “Come along,” she bade the other two. “The day is yet young. Let us go and see how far Tohen Bardoh has progressed.”
After practically pulling the reluctant and terrified Pechter Dan Turk into place in the third seat of the saddle, they set off at a great pace, Agradeleous sweeping past Dharyan-Dharielle, where half the people who noticed the wurm cowered and the other half cheered. Straight as an arrow’s flight, the dragon moved down the eastern road.
The very next day, the foursome came upon Dahdah Oasis, and to their surprise, there remained absolutely no sign of Yatol Bardoh’s forces, not even the renegade Jacintha legions that Pagonel and Pechter Dan Turk had encountered when they had first come out from Yatol Wadon’s city. Fearing the worst, Brynn prodded the dragon in close to the great Behrenese city that same night, settling him down under cover of darkness on the lower foothills to the north of Jacintha.
Pagonel and Pechter Dan Turk left immediately, but Brynn did not go, explaining that she and the dragon would continue to scout the region, and would rejoin them at the appointed place.
The mystic gave Brynn a knowing look and an approving smile before he departed. He understood indeed. Brynn would not accompany them and had taken that option away without discussion, because doing so would mean that she would have to let Agradeleous roam free while they were busy in Jacintha.
There were too many innocent people in the region for Brynn to allow that.
“T
he city is still in the hands of Yatol Mado Wadon,” Pagonel reported upon his return to Brynn and Agradeleous. The mystic had not returned alone, and had
even added a second representative, Paroud, to accompany him and Pechter Dan Turk. While Pagonel came in to explain to Brynn, Pechter Dan Turk stood on the edge of the small clearing, coaxing his obviously nervous companion to come forward, telling him that it was all right, that the dragon, the great Agradeleous, was a friend and no enemy.
Finally, the justifiably frightened Paroud moved forward, extending a series of low and ridiculously polite bows to Brynn and the dragon.
“The turmoil within Behren has settled then,” Brynn reasoned. “And we can send Agradeleous home.”
The dragon rumbled, seeming none too happy with that notion.
“The situation has only worsened,” Paroud blurted, finding his voice in a sudden and explosive burst. “Yatol Bardoh has joined ranks with Yatol Peridan of the Cosinnida region, my homeland, far to the south. He … they, threaten Yatol De Hamman, and once they have overrun him, there is nothing to stop their march to Jacintha!”
“That Yatol Peridan has willingly joined with Yatol Bardoh does not bode well for Yatol Wadon and Jacintha,” Pagonel agreed. “Their combined forces will prove considerable, I fear.”
Brynn stared hard at the mystic, silently asking him for guidance here. What was she to do? Could she go to Dharyan-Dharielle and round up a force to throw in with Mado Wadon and his struggles? How could she ask that of her people after the oppression the Behrenese had laid upon To-gai for more than a decade?
“We must not move prematurely,” Pagonel said to the two nervous emissaries, though in truth, he was quietly answering Brynn’s obvious concerns. “Go to your Yatol Wadon and ask of him what Brynn might do.”
“He has already told us of the aid he requires!” protested Paroud. “He needs soldiers, as many legions as To-gai can muster, and quickly!”
“You presume much,” Brynn said curtly, somewhat deflating the man. Something about Paroud wasn’t sitting well with her. The Behrenese had long been a tribal people, loyal first and foremost to their particular region within the greater kingdom. Paroud was from Cosinnida, obviously, yet here he was vehemently demanding help in defeating his ruling Yatol. Perhaps there was an undercurrent of ambition here, Brynn mused. Perhaps Paroud believed that Yatol Mado Wadon would move quickly in replacing Yatol Peridan with a more trusted man from Cosinnida.
It all meant little to Brynn, of course, but as she considered the machinations underlying the tumultuous state in Behren, she was reminded once again to proceed with great caution.
“The situation will prove very fluid,” Pagonel put in, seeming to share the woman’s thoughts. “Let us learn all that we may. Perhaps a visit from Brynn and Agradeleous will dampen the designs of Yatol Bardoh and the willingness of Yatol Peridan to choose such an ill-advised ally.”
“Perhaps,” was all that Brynn would say, and her gaze never left the emissary,
Paroud. Her tolerance for presumptuous Behrenese was not great, and while she wanted Behren under the control of someone like Mado Wadon, who had seen the wisdom of making peace with the To-gai-ru, there was, after all, a limit to their friendship.
O
n a warship not far from Jacintha harbor, and flying the flag of the kingdom to the north, Abbot Olin and Duke Bretherford listened carefully as Master Mackaront recounted a similar tale of the changing situation south of the great Behrenese city.
“Mado Wadon is terrified,” Mackaront remarked. “He understands well that the march of Bardoh will be relentless once Yatol De Hamman’s forces have been destroyed. Mado Wadon now openly asks for whatever assistance we can offer, and rumor flies throughout Jacintha that he is looking west for help as well, to the Dragon of To-gai and her fierce warriors.”
“And have the To-gai-ru answered that call?” Abbot Olin demanded, his smug expression wiped away by the mere thought of Jacintha finding her needed aid elsewhere. He had a fleet of warships laden with warriors ready to land south of any attacking army, and ten thousand more warriors ready to sweep down from the mountains in the north, catching the attackers in a deadly vise.
“No,” Mackaront replied. “There are no reports of any army moving along the northern road from Dharyan-Dharielle. It is doubtful that Brynn of the To-gai-ru will be able to gather any substantial force together in time to halt the charge of Yatol Bardoh.” The man offered a confident chuckle. “It is doubtful that Brynn Dharielle will be able to rouse her warriors to any cause that involves aiding Behren. The hatred between the two peoples runs deep, I assure you, despite the forced treaty.”
Abbot Olin smiled wickedly at that welcome news.
“And thus, Mado Wadon bids you to join with him as soon as possible,” Mackaront began, but Abbot Olin cut him short.
Olin glanced over at Duke Bretherford. “You have spoken with Maisha Darou?”
The duke nodded. “As you expected, Yatol Peridan approached him and bade him to redouble his efforts very soon after the alliance was sealed with Yatol Bardoh.”
“And he understands his continuing and expanding role?”
“A few bags of gems always clear the mind of a pirate,” Duke Bretherford replied sourly.
Abbot Olin gave a laugh and looked back to Mackaront. “There you have it.”
“Then I can assure Yatol Wadon …”
“Of nothing,” Abbot Olin quickly corrected. “Yatol Wadon will wait until I deem the time proper. The desperation of Jacintha is our ally.” He looked around at the two men. “Yatol Wadon will welcome us with open arms. I will be the savior of Jacintha, and that will give us the foothold we need.”
“To convert the Behrenese to the Abellican religion?” asked an obviously skeptical
Duke Bretherford, who had been in a sour mood ever since he had arrived in Entel, and all during the journey here to Jacintha, even though Abbot Olin had given him
Rontlemore’s Dream
as his flagship and it was truly as grand as anything in the Ursal fleet,
River Palace
included.
“To find common ground between our religions,” Abbot Olin corrected without any hesitation.
“To bring them into your flock,” the duke responded.
“However you interpret it,” Abbot Olin allowed. “Your King Aydrian desires Behren, and so we shall deliver Behren to him. It is that simple.”
Duke Bretherford nodded and lifted a mug in obedient salute. He understood well that this was more about Olin than Aydrian. Yes, the young king was ambitious, but this move into Behren—and before the monumental issues within Honce-the-Bear had even been properly settled—was more about the craving of Abbot Olin.