Samurai (7 page)

T
HE SEARCH FOR
A
LAYTHIA
was now in its ninth day without any luck. Fenwick the fox was all atwitter this morning, rushing about the ship’s living area with great excitement, but Simon, with sleep-encrusted eyes, was trying to ignore him, investigating the refrigerator and cupboards for a quick breakfast.

Having a British father had a definite downside. Simon combed through boxes of plain crackers, unsalted potato chips, jars of mincemeat and potted meat, bottled gravy, oatmeal (but good luck finding any sugar around here), canned kippers, onions in a weird fluid, and something called digestives in an ugly plain brown box.

There were fresh eggs, because they had hens
below, but Simon was getting tired of them.

English people hate food,
he decided. Suddenly Fenwick bit his arm in frustration. “Ow!” yelped Simon, and turned to see the fox had retreated back, clawing at the metal globe.

“What’s he off about?” said Aldric, entering with a drowsy squint.

“He’s gone insane ’cause there’s nothing to eat but rubbish and balderdash,” Simon complained mockingly, and Aldric narrowed his eyes.

“Is he pointing at something?” Aldric asked sleepily, trying to peer around the crazed animal.

“It looks like it’s straight ahead,” Simon said, pointing at the tiny blinking light on the globe.
Alaythia.
“She must’ve slowed. We’ve closed in on her overnight.”

He looked at his father.

“The question is
why
has she slowed,” mumbled Aldric, coming to life quickly, heading to the ladder.

“Do you have to go straight to the dark side of everything?” said Simon, the pit of his stomach already reacting as he climbed up after him.

Above decks, there was nothing but clear, blue skies and an empty stretch of ocean. And then Simon saw the sun glinting on a little patch of ocean very far ahead. A silver spike that, after a moment, began to look very much like a ship.

It was some kind of small, old yacht, and it was drifting aimlessly.

Aldric hit a switch at the mainmast. All the sails on the Ship with No Name slapped outward, and the vessel sped toward the white yacht.

They reached it before Simon was really ready. Though fully armed with crossbow and sword, Simon was not prepared for a confrontation with the Black Dragon. The old Dragon was capable of anything, even if he’d been friendly at one time.

“Let me go aboard first,” Simon said, realizing there was no other choice. “If he’s friendly, I should be the one to make contact.”

“Out of the question, Simon, we don’t know what’s on that ship.”

“He’ll see you as an enemy, Dad. If you go in, you might lose it and shoot him before we even know if we can trust him.”

“We can’t trust him. He’s a Serpent,” Aldric said.

“That’s exactly why I have to go,” said Simon, but he still did not forge ahead without Aldric’s say-so. He’d at least learned that much.

The yacht came in closer. No one on deck. The time for a decision was now.

Aldric looked at Simon, and nodded reluctantly.

Simon leapt aboard the other vessel with Fenwick following close behind. Aldric gave him a head start of
a few seconds, roping his ship to the other, and then followed.

Simon pushed open the cabin door.

Dark. Silent. It betrayed no life within.

Down he went, quickly, for he knew his father wouldn’t give him much time.

There was a sudden sickly smell of death, and Simon held his hand over his nose to block it out.

So his sword was not ready.

The Thing came at him, ripping out of the darkness; just snarls and rage and fangs. Simon fell back as the Creature charged, and his armor was caved in at the chest by the power of its force. He was thrown against the doorframe, the growling of the beast was ear-splitting, its moves vicious and unrelenting, and Simon could only hit at the Serpent’s back with his sword; he couldn’t get in a slashing blow.

Simon felt a strike to his head. He saw his own blood slap onto his arm.

Throttled by the Dragon, Simon saw in a blur that Aldric was behind him—but his father vanished from view as Simon was pulled into the blackness of the cabin.

It was all glinting teeth and fierce amber eyes, and body blows and hisses, until Simon was able to kick back away from the Serpent. Aldric was now slashing furiously, his sword thudding and cutting in the darkness.

Simon slipped on a slick fluid beneath his feet, and he hoped it wasn’t Dragonblood, because that could burn nearly as bad as fire. He couldn’t find an opening to attack without endangering Aldric.

As he crawled toward a sliver of daylight at the cabin door, he heard the angry cries of the Dragon and the grunting of his father in intense battle behind him.

When he looked back, he could see something on the floor was glinting and glowing sporadically. Dragonblood. As Simon kicked open the door to let light flood in, he saw his own hands were burned from the fireblood, though he felt no pain yet.

No,
he thought.
The fire’s turning to ice in my hand!

He had enough light now. He could see something of the beast, and for a moment, it did look like the Black Dragon—with black flesh and a stooped body—but it turned, and Simon saw its other side was as white as snow.

And he saw his chance at a shot.

He let loose a bolt with his crossbow that struck perfectly at the Dragon’s arm. It yelped and leapt backward, deeper into the darkness.

Now Aldric took a step back in retreat.

It was quiet for a heartbeat.

“It’s not him!” shouted Simon.

Then who?
thought Aldric and Simon at the same
time. This was no idle question. If you didn’t know the enemy, you didn’t know which deathspell to use—and you couldn’t let the beast know that. Simon had already said too much.

Aldric began to advance. If he didn’t, the Dragon would sense weakness and pounce. Simon went in, behind his father this time, his sword tightly controlled, arms alert in readiness.

The flickering blood lit the cabin dimly so they could see a maze of papers and books up ahead, stacks of them. The Thing could be hiding anywhere.

“Where in God’s name is he?” said Aldric. They had gotten deep into the ship.

“If he had her,” whispered Simon, “he would use her as a hostage.”

Wouldn’t he?

“Unless she’s dead,” said Aldric grimly, and he threw aside a stack of burning books to see the black-and-white Serpent huddled in the corner like a pathetic rat.

It hissed and leapt forward, surprising Simon. The Creature went straight for the boy, knocked him to the ground, and galloped up the stairs to the deck.

Aldric was a flash in the darkness, following him.

Simon got up with difficulty, his armor weighing him down, and he pushed himself up the stairs, feeling the strain in his legs.

In the clear daylight, Aldric was slashing at the tired beast, his blade glinting in the sun, until the weakened Thing fell back, toppling over the side of the ship into the sea.

Simon ran to join Aldric, watching as the Dragon sank and was carried away by the tide. The instant it fell, a veiled fireblast emanated from below, and chunks of Dragonflesh boiled up and mottled the waves.

The fatty globules floated about, and Aldric hurriedly grabbed a net to fish some of the remains out of the water.

“What happened?” asked Simon, leaning against the rail, exhausted.

“He was old,” said Aldric breathlessly, pulling aboard a piece of the smoldering Dragonflesh. “Very old. Maybe his heart gave out. I’m not sure. He could’ve killed himself rather than face us.”

“Didn’t seem so old to me,” said Simon, wiping blood from the gash on his cheek.

“You cornered him,” said Aldric. He took hold of a hot chunk from the net, then dropped it. “The question is, who was he?”

Simon had an instant to recognize that half the ship was painted black, the other white, right down the middle. Weird.

“Is she here or not?” asked Simon and he turned to go into the cabin.

“Wait, wait. If she’s there…you may not want to see it.”

“Then neither will you,” said Simon firmly, and he went below, his father behind him.

The Ice Dragon swam down into the depths of the ocean. He had taken from his ship a pouch where he stored the dead flesh of his father (a sentimental item, long held in his collection) that would float to the surface and fool the idiotic hunters. He cursed the humans for making him leave it behind.

He blew forth a fireball to roll up to the surface.

It would’ve convinced anyone.

Still, he was in a foul mood. He had already failed to kill the Black Dragon, he had failed to capture the Magician, and it was all he could do to stay alive against the hunters. If his latest plan didn’t come together, he would die a forgotten, withered pile of wormflesh.

Exhausted, he moved his black-and-white body farther into the deep, traveling past sharks drawn to the area by the commotion.

One of the sharks snapped at him in exploration, and the tired Ice Dragon spat fire at it, burning the predator fish in a splendid display of undersea heat and flame.

He was old, but he was still a Dragon.

S
IMON HELD A FLASHLIGHT
as Aldric went back into the stinking, rotting cabin of the Dragon’s ship. Fenwick scurried around at the doorway, either in warning or in fear, Simon wasn’t sure which.

Aldric stamped out the remaining flames, which seemed to hiss back at him, weakly; an old Dragon’s fire. Oddly, the quelled fire suddenly turned to ice, crackling underfoot.

Simon noted the interior and everything in it was painted black or white but it was too dark to appreciate the strangeness of it.

The flashlight beam found no trace of Alaythia. Instead, the dripping, smelly, uncomfortably warm cabin held only stacks of books and papers massed on desks and chairs.

Simon glanced over some of the pages. His eyes met a demented scrawl of runic letters and shapes—the language of the Dragons—but written hastily, in a disorderly weave.

“Simon, move forward, I need the light,” Aldric instructed, and Simon hurried with him down a set of stairs into the hold.

They came upon a wooden door, but like everything else, falling apart and covered in the odor of death and decay. Aldric kicked it in, and a new wave of unpleasant, long-trapped-in smells floated out like eager ghosts.

“She isn’t here, either,” said Aldric. He had sensed it immediately, though Simon’s flashlight soon proved it to be true.

What lay before them amazed them both.

The ship’s hold was filled with even more books, a Serpent’s library of hundreds, maybe thousands, of old volumes, and stacks of yet more documents and scrolls. Pages floated in the brown water that covered the floor, and some of the walls were coated in Dragonscript.

“He was insane,” whispered Simon, as he looked over an open book filled with the same symbol over and over again. Another book nearby was filled with numbers, running on and on, packed tightly together on the pages.

“Where is she?” cried Aldric, batting around at the walls, hoping for a hidden compartment. “We detected her, so where is she?”

“We’ve been through the ship, top to bottom,” answered Simon, feeling the same disappointment. “What’s going on? Was she ever here?”

Aldric leaned back on a column of books, and gave himself a chance to think. “She could’ve been here, she could’ve found this Dragon in her journeys, and tagged his ship. The tracer signal is here, somewhere.”

“Then what happened to her?”

Aldric shook his head, uncertain. “This beast seems fond of writing—maybe there’s a ship’s log somewhere in this nightmare,” he said, and headed up top for the controls of the vessel.

When they reached the black-and-white control room, sure enough, there was a ship’s log. Nine volumes in all.

It was written in a hodgepodge of languages, including Dragonscript, Latin, ancient Greek, Italian, German, Flemish, French, and English.

Frustrated, Aldric threw some of the books against the ship’s wall, and stepped outside to fume.

In the quiet, Simon began to read, though he had picked up only very little of the Dragontongue from Alaythia. Still, some of the words were clear to him,
and he eventually realized where the ship’s log ended. As the ship lolled in the water, Simon tried to make out the last few days of events, and he lost track of time.

When he reached the end of the Dragon’s journal, he was unsure if hours had passed, or minutes. His head felt funny, and he suddenly wondered if the log might be working an enchantment into his brain, the Serpent reaching into his mind…

But what he found had made the risk well worth it.

“Dad…” he said. “Dad, you need to see this…”

The Ice Dragon was not a true Water Dragon, and the ocean was tiring him badly. His heart worked painfully to keep him swimming forward. Ice was forming on the surface wherever he went.

The sea was making him even colder than usual. He had trouble focusing. All he could think of was the fame he’d win, if he could pull it off.
It wasn’t enough to kill the Hunters.
He had a grander plan now. Two powerful Dragons, the Japanese and the Tiger Serpent, brought together in wedlock
to continue the species
, with him as the matchmaker; the savior of his own kind.

He would bring them together carefully. Of course, it would be nice if the Ice Serpent could father a new tribe himself, but at his age, that was out of the
question. He’d have to be content with playing kingmaker, or queenmaker, as the case might be. The Hunters would simply die in the process. For that alone, he would be a legend.

Everything depended on whether the Tiger Dragon and the Japanese Dragon could set aside their differences. Only time would tell.

He searched his elderly mind for a spell that would serve him, and he remembered an ancient one for seeking land. He uttered the chant in Dragontongue, and his black-and-white body shot forward, magically covering miles of ocean in seconds. He emerged, exhausted, on a remote island—an abandoned U.S. Navy training post—where several natives on the beach stared at him as he came out of the water in the only guise he could manage, though a well-dressed Swiss professor was almost as strange as Serpentskin would have been. Ice formed on the beach below his shoes.

“Is there a ship about here I could hire?” he asked.

As the Ship with No Name chafed against the Serpent vessel, Simon was rambling, eager to show Aldric what he’d found, while a black-and-white television next to the controls buzzed endlessly with an old detective show.

“He was hunting me,” said Simon, pointing to the
Ice Dragon’s journal. “It says here, ‘the Black Dragon had encountered the St. George boy and kept him secret, and had been watching him over the years, hoping he would have a use.’” There were other words Simon couldn’t decipher, and then, “‘the threat this new Dragonhunter poses cannot be underestimated. I take it upon myself to eliminate him.’” Simon glanced at his father questioningly. “Whoever this Serpent was, we didn’t find him by accident.”

“Swiss,” said Aldric. “I found him in the Book of Saint George. He’s an Ice Serpent from Zurich. But I have my doubts that he’s dead, Simon. We didn’t see his death. It’s possible he could have survived and gone somewhere to regain strength.”

“Then he might come back,” Simon said with growing alarm. He handed Aldric the logbook and looked out to sea warily.

Aldric examined the book and said, “Wait. Look here. It says, ‘He has occupied Asia, and was recently helped in his hiding by the Black Dragon, this boy.’ Then it says, ‘the Black Dragon kept the St. George boy safe from a distance, using spells to help him from time to time, because the boy might someday be of use to him.’ Well, it says a lot of other tripe I don’t understand, but that’s the point of it, isn’t it?”

Simon was reading desperately, trying to take in the mixture of languages.

“That’s what it says,” Aldric insisted. “It says, ‘this St. George boy has occupied Asia, and few European Dragons have heard of him. The boy has killed as many as sixteen Serpents.’” Aldric repeated, “The boy occupied Asia.”

“Asia?”

“Simon, he wasn’t pursuing you at all. This says he was hunting a St. George child…who lives in
Asia
.”