Legacy of the Darksword (36 page)

But it seemed to me that the
Almin guided me and though my faith had wavered in the days before Joram’s
death, when I saw the rest and peace he found in death—a peace he had never
known in life—I could only believe that all had happened for the best.

I wandered through the forest,
searching for something, though I didn’t know what. And then, coming down the
same path we walked, I saw this cave.

I saw something else, too.
A black dragon.

The dragon was lying outside the
cave and my first thought was that it was sunning itself, for it lay stretched
out full-length, with its head upon a rock, basking in the sunlight.

As Mosiah has said—I am not much
of an adventurer. My impulse was to flee, but I turned in such haste that I
lost my footing. I dropped the Darksword. It fell among the rocks on the
riverbank, landing with a clang that must have been heard by the dead back in
my small house.

I froze, terrified, and waited
for the dragon to rear up its head and attack me.

But the dragon never moved.

Of course, you are all laughing
at me, because you know that a black dragon—a Dragon of the Night—would never
be out taking a sunbath. The creatures loathe the sunlight, which burns into
the eyes, causing such intense pain that the dragons lose consciousness.

At last, I remembered what I
should have known all along. This Dragon of the Night was either unconscious or
dead.

Cautiously, I approached the
dragon, and as I drew near I saw its body rise and fall with its breathing. It
was not dead.

I knew then why the Almin had
sent me this way. A comatose Dragon of the Night can be easily controlled by
means of the charm on its forehead. Here was the perfect guardian for the
Darksword, the dragon’s cave the perfect hiding place.

I did not have much time. As I
told you, I was fearful of pursuit. That fear gave me courage, for otherwise I
do not believe I would ever have found the nerve to do what I did.

I had never seen a dragon this
close before. The beast was monstrous, beautiful,
awful
.
It was so black that it seemed to be a hole cut through daytime, revealing
night beneath. I saw the charm upon its head, an oval diamond, shaped smooth,
without any facets. It alone sparkled in the sunlight, which did not touch any
part of the dragon, did not gleam on the scales or shine on the leathery wings.

I stretched out my hand, which
was trembling so that I first missed the diamond completely and touched the
dragon’s hide. It was dry and rough and hot from the sun and I jumped as if I
had touched flame. Then, finally, I put my hand upon the diamond.

A feeling of power and authority
suffused me. I knew that I could prevail over anything. You will laugh again,
but I tell you that I never experienced the like before. I had such confidence
in myself and my own abilities that I felt as if I alone could rebuild Zith-el,
brick by brick. (Yes, we were using bricks, those creations of the Dark Arts.)

To charm this dragon and bend the
creature to my will seemed a paltry thing. A child could do it. Words of potent
magic flared in my brain. I spoke them aloud.

The dragon did not move, did not
respond at all.

My power and my confidence began
to ebb.

I pulled back my hand and noted
that it was wet.
Wet with blood.

Of course! That was why the dragon
had been caught in the sunlight! The creature had been wounded. It had emerged
from its cave at night, probably to drink from the river, when it collapsed and
was now caught out in the sun.

Had the charm worked? Would it
work on an unconscious dragon? Surely it would, I argued. The charm was meant
to work on the beast when it was comatose.

Yet, argued that cursed part of
me which never fails to play devil’s advocate, the charm was meant to work when
the dragon was comatose from lying in the sun, not from being struck by one of
the mundane’s killing lights. Plus, for all I knew, the dragon might be dying.

A sensible man—or a less
desperate one—would have walked away. But here was the perfect guardian and the
ideal hiding place for the Darksword. I could not rid myself of the notion that
the Almin had guided me here for this reason. I settled down to wait, at least
until nightfall. If the charm had not worked, the wounded dragon would be
sluggish and I had some chance of escaping. I settled down upon the rocks a
short distance from the dragon and waited for night.

The hours I passed provided me an
excellent opportunity for studying the dragon. I found myself awed by the
beauty and magnificence of the creature and saddened by the fact that it had
been bred to nothing but dealing death. The Dragon of Night has an inborn
hatred for all other living beings, even those of its own kind. It cannot bear
young and when the last of these great beasts dies, that will be the end of
them.

A good thing, you say.
Perhaps.
The Almin knows best.

I watched its even breathing,
which seemed strong, so that I eventually concluded the dragon was not dying.

Night came early to the forest.
When the deepening shadows blocked the sunlight from its eyes, the beast began
to stir. The dragon’s huge body lay on the rocks, but one wing dipped into the
river water. I heard the water lap against the rocks and saw the shoulder bone
twitch. The dragon snuffled and blew and its lower jawbone scraped along the
rock as it shifted its head, endeavoring to move into even deeper shadows.

My heart was in my throat. I
would have run then, but for one hopeful sign. The diamond on the head of the
dragon had begun to glow dimly.
Which meant that the charm
had worked.

I hoped.
And
prayed.

I had spent the daylight hours
waiting impatiently for night. Now it seemed to me that night came all too
fast. Darkness closed in with a vengeance. The dragon was one with the
darkness. I could no longer see it at all.

The diamond’s light was very
bright now, shining with a prickly brilliance. It did not radiate light. I
could not see the dragon by the gem’s glow. I could see only the diamond
itself. When it suddenly lurched into the air, I knew that the dragon was fully
awake and had lifted its head.

I rose hastily to my feet,
leaving the Darksword lying on the ground nearby. I could have used it to
defend myself, but I feared that the sword’s powerful null-magic might undo the
charm.
Time enough to pick it up if I needed it.

The dragon rotated its head. I
could see the diamond moving and I could hear the dragon—its claws pushing its
body up from the rocks, its wings lifting with a mighty splash from the water.

The dragon was searching for me.
Certain that all vestige of sunlight was
gone,
the
dragon opened its eyes.

They shone pale and cold as
moonlight.

I averted my gaze, for even
though the beast was charmed, if you look into the eyes of a Dragon of Night,
you will end up a raving lunatic.

The dragon reared up on its hind
legs and lifted its wings, spreading them out like the wings of a bat.

I was struck with such awe that
if I had died then and there, I believe I would have deemed it worth death to
have seen that terrible, magnificent sight.

A thousand thousand tiny
pinpoints of white light glittered in the blackness of the wings, as if the
dragon’s wings were made of the starlit sky. Thus, in battle, do the dragons
mimic the night sky in order to swoop down unseen upon their
enemies.
Those tiny pinpoints of light not only resemble stars, they are also deadly
weapons. A flip of the wing causes them to fall like meteors.
The small shooting stars burn easily through flesh.

The lights glittered before my
eyes, but none fell on me. The charm had worked. I gave fervent thanks to the
Almin.

The lunar-white eyes stared at
me, bathing me in moonlight. I kept my eyes lowered.

“You are the master,” the dragon
said, and hatred shook its voice.

“Yes,” I replied, as boldly as I
could. “I am the master.”

“I am constrained to do your
bidding,” the dragon said with cold fury. “What do you want of me?”

“I have an object here,” I said,
and very carefully I lifted the Darksword. I had to control the fear in my
heart, or else the sword would sense that I was threatened and start to disrupt
the magic of the charm. “I command you to take it with you into your cave and
guard it well. You must give it up to no one except to me or to Joram’s heir.”

I held up the Darksword and it
was now the dragon’s turn to shield its eyes. The lids dropped, the white light
was hooded. The dragon’s wings shivered, the false stars winked out. I could
not see the sword for the darkness, yet its null-magic must have been piercing
and deadly as daylight in the eyes of this creature of magic.

“Wrap it! Cover it!” the dragon
cried in anger and in pain.

Hurriedly, I did so, shrouding
the Darksword with the blanket.

Once the sword was concealed, the
dragon again opened its eyes. Its loathing for me had increased tenfold, a
thought that was not comforting.

“I will guard the Darksword,” the
dragon said. “I have no choice. You are the master. But you must take it down
to my cavern and there bury it under a cairn of rock so that no part of it is
visible. I am hungry. I will go to hunt food now. But do not fear. I will
return and I will do what you ask of me. You are the master.”

Spreading its wings, the dragon
leapt from the rock and soared into the air. I lost sight of it immediately,
for I could not tell what was night sky and what was the dragon.

But now my heart was lightened
with hope. Carrying the Darksword, I entered the cave and made my way down to
the very bottom, where I found the floor littered with shining black scales and
bones.
The dragon’s lair.

I placed the Darksword on the
floor of the cavern, in a part far distant from what I took to be the dragon’s
nest. I covered the sword with rocks, forming a large mound.

I had just finished when the
dragon returned, entering through a back way, for it emerged suddenly into the
cave. The body of a male centaur hung from its cruel teeth.

The dragon eyed the cairn, which
was now illuminated with a pale, chill light.

“Leave,” it commanded, adding the
single word, “Master,” in grudging tones.

I was glad to obey, for the smell
of the blood of the freshly slaughtered centaur sickened me. I made my way back
up to the world of true starlight. By the time I reached the cave opening, I
was exhausted and could go no farther. I rested there until morning. Leaving
behind the tinderbox and flint and the brand which I had carried in the tunnel,
I returned home.

The Darksword was as safe as I
could possibly make it. Many times I have wondered if it was still there, if
the dragon was still guarding it, if the charm was still holding. Many times I
was tempted to go to see for myself, but then a peaceful feeling would
steal
over me. Now was not the time.

It was the Almin, reassuring me.

And so I have not been back here
since that day twenty years ago when I left the Darksword beneath the rock
cairn with the Dragon of Night.

I would not have come back now,
but the peaceful feeling is no longer in my heart. In its place is
an urgency
, a fear, which leads me to believe that it is the
Almin’s will that the Darksword be recovered.

That it be given to Joram’s heir,
to Joram’s daughter.

“Have they truly found peace in
death? Are they happy?”

“They will be, when you free
them.”

JORAM AND
GWENDOLYN;
TRIUMPH OF THE DARKSWORD

I
could not help but cast Mosiah a
glance of triumph, hoping to impress upon him how thoroughly he had misjudged
Saryon.

Mosiah appeared preoccupied, and
did not notice. “You made one statement which I find curious, Father. You said
that magic had vanished from Thimhallan. Yet Father Reuven gave me Life. The
magic lives around us. I can feel it.”

Father Saryon regarded Mosiah
with an expression of astonishment. “Well, certainly, my son. You were partly
responsible for magic’s return. The raid upon the Well of Life . . .”

“Forgive him, Father,” Scylla
interrupted. “He received a blow to the head during our fight with the thugs
outside the East Road Gate. He has great gaps in his memory.”

“I would be obliged if you would
refresh that memory, Father,” Mosiah said.
“Just so that I
know what to expect.”

“Well . . .” Father Saryon was
nonplussed. “There isn’t much to tell, I suppose. Or rather, there is a lot to
tell but we don’t have time for most of it. How those calling themselves the
Dark Cultists arrived from Earth. A man named Kevon Smythe drove King Garald
from power, almost succeeded in having him assassinated, but Garald was warned
in time and escaped.