8th Day of Fireseek
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
"This looks an awful lot like unretirement to me." Talass spoke as she turned to eye her husband.
Elrohir, as was so often the case, couldn't quite make out the underlying emotion behind his wife's statement, so he smiled weakly at her and then turned his attention back to White Lightning.
She was a beautiful animal, without a doubt. A deep brown except for her white forelegs and the lightning-bolt shaped mark on her face, she waited patiently while Elrohir finished attaching the saddlebags to her. While White Lightning technically was not capable of showing human expression, the ranger would have sworn she was smiling at him.
Neither White Lightning nor Perlial spoke as much as they used to. The stable boy reported that the horses almost never spoke to him, except to answer a direct question (of course, he had been strictly admonished against badgering the steeds). At one time, Elrohir had been afraid that Kar-Vermin's transformation might at last be wearing off, but he now believed it was simply because he did not see the horses as often as he used to. They no longer had constant need of the horses for regular travel, and in an emergency, Aslan provided transport. Elrohir felt a pang of guilt. Even now, he did not know what to say to his steed, so he settled for gently stroking her sides as he checked the bags one more time for provisions.
Nearby, Aslan was making his final checks on Perlial. The paladin's warhorse was a uniform light gray, the color broken only by the diamond-studded collar around her neck. Although not feeling guilty, Aslan was nonetheless thoughtful as he checked all of the equipment they were bringing along. It had been decided that the lair of Bellicose's father Sandcats would be the best place to start looking for the dragon. Although it was at least a two-day ride, and probably longer, they had been there before, and anticipated no problems en route. The warhorse turned to regard Aslan, her eyes radiating intelligence and it seemed, humor. The paladin put his hand on Perlial's neck.
"It's been a while, my old friend," he said softly. "Are you frightened? It is no shame, you know."
The horse spoke in her almost musical voice. It had a distinctive accent that no human could reproduce, so Elrohir and Aslan had settled for simply calling it a "horse accent." For some reason, both horses seemed to find this amusing. Aslan had a suspicion that they thought all humans talked with a "people accent."
"The day you destroyed Kar-Vermin was the last day I knew fear, Aslan."
The paladin smiled and made one more check to be sure the saddle was adjusted comfortably, although he knew this was redundant. Perlial would let him know if he had forgotten anything.
Not far away, Argo and Caroline were leading Gylandir and Sequester out of the stables. The gleaming white coats of the pegasi shone in the early afternoon sunlight. Occasionally, one of them would flap his or her wings, getting ready for flight, although it had been decided that they would be riding on the ground along with the others, taking wing only when needed.
The ranger and his wife loved to pamper their winged steeds, and the pegasi enjoyed being the attention. Although they couldn't speak, they had long ago learned how to nod "yes" or "no." They even had special nods for "Give me a karafruit," or "Don't be an idiot."
Cygnus and Tojo were tacking up their horses. Talass had volunteered to stay behind. Tadoa, somewhat surprisingly, had chosen to remain home as well. Elrohir wondered if it had anything to do with the Sir Dorbin party- and Wescene in particular- remaining behind as official guests and unofficial custodians of the inn. Cygnus had whispered earlier to Elrohir "I really hope we find some treasure. At this rate, having to feed Dorbin's crew as well as ourselves, we'll be broke at the end of Fireseek."
Sir Dorbin and most of his compatriots were standing outside as well, ready to see the Elrohir party off.
Monsrek wandered over to Cygnus. "Pardon, friend Cygnus, but there is one thing I do not understand. The dragon Sandcats, whose head adorns the wall of your inn, is the sire of the one you now seek?"
The mage nodded, a slight smile on his face. He knew where this was leading.
"I would estimate that Sandcats' length to be, at most, that of a giant and quite possibly less," Monsrek continued. "Surely his progeny would be little more than a hatchling!"
"Sandcats was sent against us by Iuz, an evil demigod whose influence thankfully, does not extend to our homeworld." Cygnus' face lost its smile. "Bellicose has been magically aged by the Old One to a level roughly equivalent to her father."
Monsrek seemed thoughtful, then gave his own slight smile to Cygnus. "Well, that at least is good news."
Cygnus was puzzled. "How so, Monsrek?"
The cleric's smile widened into a sly grin. "Come now, Cygnus. You and I are both the oldest members of our respective parties. Raw power is one thing, but there's just no substitute for experience." Monsrek winked and walked away.
The wizard turned to eye Tojo, who said nothing, but by his expression made it clear that he agreed with that sentiment.
Elrohir looked around him one more time. Per his instructions, the CLOSED signs had been taken down. The Brass Dragon was once again open for business, although no travelers had yet come by. The ranger hoped, for the tenth time today, that nothing bad would happen in their absence.
Well, he thought. Here we go again.
"Are we ready, my friends?" he shouted at his companions. Everyone smiled, nodded, or pumped their fist in the air.
"Let's mount up, then!"
Cygnus, about to accept the stable boy's help in mounting his horse, instead turned and abruptly walked about twenty yards down the road southeast, towards Willip. He held a hand above his eyes against the sun's glare, then turned back to the others and smiled. "A good omen! A customer already! Charge him double, Talass- we need the money!"
Most of those present laughed, but Argo left the pegasi with Caroline and walked swiftly past Cygnus, stopping about ten yards past the mage. He too peered down the road, then turned around with a frown on his face. "Unless he's really, really thirsty, I don't think that's a customer."
Slowly, a small cloud of mud and dust could be perceived, growing larger as it approached. Its source was a horse galloping at full speed down the road. As everyone waited where they stood, the cloaked rider reined in his horse about ten yards in front of Argo. The rider dismounted.
Argo was immediately wary. To begin with, the froth coating the horse's muzzle and its labored breathing indicated the man had been pushing his animal at a brutal pace, and he did not have the bearing of a herald or messenger. Under his mud-splattered cloak, he wore plate mail, and carried a small metal shield in his left hand. A sheathed sword hung at his hip. The man turned back to his horse. A strap around the animal held a compartment with three spears. The man, breathing heavily, grabbed one of the spears in his right hand, and then whirled around to face the others, his hood falling down from around his helm.
"Stop right there!" Argo yelled, then stopped. The man looked familiar. Argo turned back to Cygnus and received the same look of recognition.
The traveler was a man probably in his late forties. He was average in build, perhaps a bit on the portly side. He sported a small mustache, and his gray eyes peered with anger under a heavy brow full of wrinkles. Argo spoke first, rare venom in his voice.
"Dak."
Still catching his breath, the man roared out "Lord Dak!"
Argo crossed his arms across his chest and scowled. "Being a noble of the Wild Coast is like being a prince among skunks, Dak. Tell us, if we pay whoever sold you that title double, will he take it away from you?"
Dak did not reply but concentrated on regaining his wind.
Back in the crowd, Sir Dorbin leaned in close to Elrohir. "Who is that?"
Elrohir's voice was grim. "A man from down south, from a land where noble titles may be bought. We ran afoul of him down there a number of years before. Argo defeated him in single combat and took his sword, which he wields to this day." He clenched his fist. "Dak also fancied himself a suitor of Hyzenthlay, Cygnus' late wife. She despised him of course, but he was slow to take the hint."
"What do you want, Dak?" asked Argo.
"First of all, Bigfellow," spat out Dak, "I want my sword back. Harve belongs to me!"
The ranger glanced down at the sword resting in its scabbard on his belt, then looked back up at the faux nobleman and gave him his best pained smile. "Well, I'd love to Dak, but you see Elrohir already has a talking sword, and I've just got to keep up with him!" He raised his arms in mock submission. "What can I do?"
Lord Dak did not seem amused. "I'll show you shortly, Bigfellow." He then shifted his gaze to Cygnus. "My second goal is to avenge the needless death of the woman I loved. The rumors I heard were true, apparently. You selfish bastard," he seethed. "You knew I could have given Hyzenthlay a life far beyond anything you could have provided her with, but you chose instead to trick her into rejecting me. How did you do it, Cygnus?" his voice rose again. "Sorcery?"
Now it was Cygnus' turn to get mad. "Hyzenthlay rejected you because she had eyes, ears and a brain!" The wizard's face flushed red, and he raised his eyes to the sky above. "And I'm getting sick and tired of people insinuating that we shouldn't have gotten together! The next person who says that is going to get a lightning bolt right down his throat! Now get off our land, Dak!"
"Such devotion, wizard! Tell me, did her murderer receive this treatment?" He looked around. "Where is his body?" The fighter again locked his eyes, now filled with anguish, upon Cygnus. "She was so beautiful..."
Cygnus said nothing.
"She should have lived in a castle," Dak continued. "My castle, with servants to attend to her every whim! Instead, you made her live in a," and here he looked contemptuously at the Brass Dragon, " a converted farmhouse! There she lived, and there she died! Was that what she was worth to you, wizard?"
Cygnus narrowed his eyes. "Hyzenthlay loved this place, Dak," he said, his voice struggling for control. "When you insult it, you insult her."
Lord Dak's voice was harsh. "I have made no enemy of evil demigods, Cygnus! I would not have attracted the attention of those whom I could not have protected her from!"
Cygnus closed his eyes in anguish as he absorbed those words. He knew that at least on this one point, Lord Dak spoke the truth.
Dak regarded everyone present with a look of disgust. "My brother Alabin spoke true when he told me about-"
Cygnus' eyes snapped open. "Alabin?"
Dak turned back to the mage. "What?"
The mage seemed to be refocusing his energy. "Alabin? Your brother is Alabin? The pirate wizard? Scurvy John's Alabin?"
"Of course, you dolt!" Dak sneered. "How else would I have known how to find this hovel?"
And Cygnus threw his temper completely away.
"Right! That's it! You're on the list, too!"
The fighter looked at the magic-user as if he were deranged. "What list? What are you babbling-"
He stopped. Cygnus was gesturing and speaking words he couldn't understand, clearly casting a spell. With one smooth movement, Dak uprooted his spear and sent it sailing towards the mage. Argo, caught by surprise, flinched as the weapon went sailing over his head. He turned behind him just in time to see the weapon bury itself in Cygnus' right shoulder. The wizard screamed in pain and dropped down to one knee, his spell lost.
Now it was Argo Bigfellow's turn to lose control.
He charged Dak while drawing his sword and yelling out "Stay back He's mine!"
Lord Dak drew his own sword, parried Argo's initial swing, and the battle was on.
Aslan and Talass rushed towards Cygnus. The paladin reached him first and laid his hands upon the mage, curing the wound. The others advanced slowly towards the battling duo, but held back, Sir Dorbin following Elrohir's lead. The ranger looked on anxiously. Argo disdained fighting with a shield. His fighting style was eclectic, switching between one and two-handed bladework.
As Argo and Lord Dak dueled, a rather oily voice spoke, coming from the crimson light surrounding Argo's longsword. It was somewhat distorted from it's wild motion, like the voice of a child who is dancing and talking at the same time.
"Ahh, fresh air! About time, too!"
Argo swung high, then abruptly dipped low underneath Dak's shield and stabbed him between his left legpiece and the pelvic covering. His opponent cried out in agony, but he continued to fight, even as blood began to seep out of the wound. Argo stepped back, switching to a defensive mode while he waited for his next opportunity.
"Well, Harve?" he asked his sword. "Whom would you rather be with; me or Dak?"
The sword's reply carried a gentle hint of disdain for the question.
"Why, the winner of course! Of what use is a corpse?"
Can't argue with that, thought Argo. He launched a series of attacks again, which Dak parried. Using both hands, Argo slashed from right to left across Dak's chestplate, gouging the metal but not reaching the flesh underneath. As he completed the movement, Argo turned his hands around, and the sword came back, completing a U-shaped arc across Dak's groin, but the fighter twisted to avoid the blade, and slashed quickly with his own. His sword's arc cut into Argo's right side. Pieces of metal, stained with blood, went flying. Argo stifled a scream but stayed up.
Caroline cried out and ran forward, but Aslan stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," he said to her. "I won't let him lose. It's not as bad as it looks."
The battle continued. Most of Argo's foes dropped in less than a minute, but two minutes later both combatants were still going at it. This shouldn't be taking this long, thought the ranger. This guy's twenty years older and six inches shorter than me! Both launched into an attack simultaneously, their swords scraping, bringing both wielders up face-to-face with each other.
"Tougher than you expected, eh?" Dak spoke through gritted teeth.
"So was my breakfast," snarled Argo back. "You're dead, old man!" The ranger pushed back, giving himself some breathing room, but at the cost of a grazing wound across the side of his head. Argo feinted, and managed to chop down heavily through Dak's right shoulderplate.
The others continued to watch. Elrohir noticed Tojo walking towards him. The samurai held his bow in his left hand, an arrow in his right.
"Hold off Tojo," Elrohir told him. "You know, sometimes Argo's just like you. He has to fight his own battles." He turned back to watch the fight. "This is probably going to cause a major delay in our dragon hunting though, don't you think?" the party leader mused as he turned slightly to catch Tojo's response.
The samurai was not looking at Elrohir. Nor was he looking at Argo. He was staring up at the sky and placing his arrow on the bowstring.
"No need to hunt dragon, Errohir-san. Dragon has found us."
Elrohir whirled and followed Tojo's gaze. He saw only bright blue sky and wondered if the samurai was mistaken.
Then he saw a piece of the sky move underneath a puffy white cloud. The outline of the blue beast became faintly visible, then more so as it turned in a wide bank to face them head-on. It began a long, slow dive directly towards them.
"Monsrek was right," came a voice from over Elrohir's shoulder.
He turned to see Cygnus standing behind him, one hand still rubbing his shoulder. The mage smiled at his friend and spoke one word.
"Inexperienced."
The wizard turned to address the others. "Hold to a hundred yards or until you see her throat, then let her have your best!"
Slowly flapping her leathery wings, Bellicose made a beeline for the group of adventurers below. She picked up speed and stretched her wings out wide for stability. At just over one hundred yards, she opened her mouth-
Instantly, there was the roar of two fireballs detonating against the dragon's azure skin. Simultaneously, magic missiles fired by several arcanists struck the beast, their arcane energies tearing into her leathery hide.
Pinwheeling backwards now, Bellcose was struck by at least three arrows, two of which penetrated her belly. Her wings now too tattered to fly, the dragon plummeted towards the ground.
The Elrohir party all looked at their leader. They knew what was coming.
Aslan turned to Sir Dorbin and said "Stand down! Let Elrohir handle it."
The knight looked puzzled but nodded his compliance.
Elrohir slowly began to walk towards the spot where he estimated Bellicose would hit. His hand slowly drew his sword, glowing white, out of its scabbard.
Gokasillion could speak aloud, but rarely chose to do so. Its voice coursed not only through Elrohir's mind, but his muscles and sinews as well.
Kill the wyrm. Glory awaits!
Elrohir picked up his pace. He chose not to think whether this was voluntary on his part or not.
Bellicose slammed into the ground about fifty yards from him. Mud, grass and dust rose up in a miniature explosion. As the debris settled, Elrohir reached his quarry.
The ranger noted that, even considering her injuries, the dragon was moving very slowly. From one of our spells, no doubt, he thought. He saw the spot where he would strike and moved into position.
Bellicose twisted her head around to eye Elrohir. He stopped dead for a moment. He had never seen such an anguished look on a dragon's face, ever. It just didn't seem to match. Sandcats had fought to the bitter end, raging and shouting out his defiance. Bellicose opened her mouth- and an odd mewing noise came out. For a second, it almost sounded like a baby...
Elrohir went rigid. By the gods, she can't speak! Iuz aged her from a hatchling, but he didn't bother to give her any skills not related to combat!
The awful irony of the situation came crashing down upon the ranger.
"Thorin," he whispered.
Victory is not for the hesitant!
A swell of rage came upon Elrohir, and before he knew it, he had buried Gokasillion in Bellicose's chest, up to the hilt. A massive jolt of electricity surged through the sword into Elrohir. On their own accord, his hands locked on the sword's hilt. All he could do was cry in silent agony for several seconds.
The charge dissipated. The dragon's eyes grew dull, and it stopped twitching, It was over.
Glorious!
Elrohir felt anything but that. This whole thing had felt terribly- wrong. Sheathing Gokasillion, he slowly began to trudge back towards the others
Argo was fighting with his back to that scene, but Dak's eyes followed the dragon's fall and impact, just long enough for Harve to bury itself in the fighter's left arm. He screamed and dropped his shield.
"You want Harve?" Argo bellowed. "Here!"
The big ranger rammed the longsword through Lord Dak's chest up to the hilt.
The noble collapsed without a sound and lay still, blood pouring out of his chest.
The others swirled around him. Aslan tried to heal him, but Argo brushed him aside, jerked Harve out of Dak's body and turned to Cygnus.
"Cygnus," he said harshly, indicating the fallen man behind him. "Check him out for magic. Now!"
The wizard did so, then looked at Argo and shrugged. "Nothing."
Argo's face twisted in anger and swearing up a storm, began to kick Dak's dead body over and over.
Caroline came up to him and put her arm on his shoulder. "That's not a big deal, Argo. We'll find-"
Argo caught her arm and held it so tight, his wife winced.
"You don't understand, Caroline." he seethed. "It shouldn't have taken that long! He had no magic, and I didn't think he was half the fighter I was! I can't afford to be that weak."
He turned around and stormed back to his house, slaming the door shut behing him.
Caroline and Aslan looked at each other, then slowly followed.
Elrohir was suddenly bone-tired.
"Sir Dorbin," he asked of the knight, "if you have the knowledge, skin the dragon. Strip Dak of anything useful, and make sure his horse is stabled. We need all the money we can get out of this." He began to trudge back towards the inn.
The knight's eyes narrowed, but he kept his voice neutral. "What of Lord Dak's body?"
The ranger stopped and looked over his shoulder.
"Burn it. I'm going back to bed."