The White Dragon (20 page)

The dragon didn’t just die. It froze, something not expected, and with a final glimmer, the magic sword froze in place with it. A sheet of ice now covered the white dragon. It was thin enough to be transparent, but thick enough to lock the sword and dragon in place.

“That’s what I call perfect timing,” Argos noted, nodding his head in agreement with himself.

“Perfect?” Alexi said, holding her left arm where it bled profusely.

“Let me tend to that,” Diamedes offered. “That’s the same arm again.”

“Yes, it appears that I’m destined to lose my left arm, either by wizard or dragon,” Alexi noted sourly. “Where did you three come from?”

Eric looked at the holy warrior and then spoke. “We found a way into the cavern and an egress on top of the peak. We waited for the dragon to return, but didn’t realize you were so close.”

“You know, I am tasked with bringing you back to Ulatha to face justice,” Alexi began, trying not to wince as Diamedes tended to her wound. “However, your actions today will go a long way to convincing the duke that you played no part in arousing the scourge of the Highstone Pass.”

“Why the duke? Why not the king?” Argos asked, unfamiliar with justice in the civilized realms.

“Because he is Ulathan, not Tynirian,” Alexi explained.

Gabby had sheathed her swords and walked up to Eric, looking him up and down. “About time you saved the day, for once in your life.”

Eric looked at her, ignoring the others, especially the intent eye of the Fist. He grabbed her shoulders with his hands and leaned forward, kissing her. She returned his embrace, and they kissed for a full minute. Everyone turned their attention to other matters, except for Alexi, who stared at the pair until they were finished.

“What?” Gabby asked the Fist.

Alexi shook her head. “I won’t ask. We need to leave now.”

Diamedes had finished bandaging her, apologizing for not having any more of his healing potion available.

“What about the sword?” Argos asked, looking at the blade frozen and implanted in the skull of the white dragon.

Eric answered, “Leave it.”

“One more thing,” Alexi said. Standing and taking her broadsword in her free hand, she swung at the base of one of the dragon’s horns, hacking a deep gash into it. “This will go a long way as proof of your deed.”

“Let me try,” Eric said.

Alexi handed Eric her weapon, and he took it and, using both hands, swung a cleaving blow, separating one of the horns from the head. Ice flew in all directions where it impacted, freeing the horn as it fell to the ground.

“If you can cleave a horn, why not the sword?” Argos asked, looking longingly at the magical and expensive blade.

“No,” Eric explained, handing the sword back to Alexi and then moving to pick up the horn, using a spare cloak so as not to touch the ice cold coating covering it. “I don’t want anything more to do with that Kesh blade.”

“Such a shame,” Argos said, shaking his head and gathering their packs.

“Perhaps,” Eric said, leaving it at that.

The raider nodded, and orders were given to move out, with the soldiers carrying their dead on makeshift stretchers, using their long arms.

Slowly the group headed toward Ulan Utandra, the capital of Ulatha, heading south away from Moartown. The white dragon was dead; the scourge of Highstone Pass would terrorize no more.

Eric has stood before Duke Uthor Tors of Ulatha and faced his charges. The Fist of Astor, the king of Tyniria’s personal holy warrior, representing the Tynirian realm, spoke on his behalf. The duke set aside the judgement on appeal, noting that the justiciar’s facts were inconclusive based on the attack, and noting that Justiciar Corwin had served bravely and with honor.

Argos was given parole and ordered to serve in the duke’s scouting battalion. He left immediately to report, as there was need of pathfinders familiar with the northern regions.

Gabby and Eric stood in the duke’s court with Diamedes and Alexi. “So have you two decided what you’re going to do next?” Alexi asked politely, more than a little curiosity in her voice.

The pair looked at each other before Gabby nodded, indicating that Eric should answer for them. “Well,” he began, “I think we’d like to rebuild in Moartown, create a new tavern and inn after the destruction there. Gabby has more than enough experience, and with the scourge of the pass gone, it should be a fertile place for travelers and troops heading north to the wars.

News had reached even the most distant of the central realm’s inhabitants that an immense uprising of the northern clans, supported by what was now thought to be dragons, had begun, and all available resources were being mobilized.

“You won’t miss your mercenary days?” Alexi pressed her questioning.

Eric shook his head. “No, I’ve had enough blood for my lifetime. I’m ready to see what I’ve been missing.” He turned and faced Gabby.

“You refused the prize,” Alexi said.

“Yeah, I don’t want anything to remember the white demon or the good friends and colleagues I knew who perished at its will.” Eric closed his eyes as if remembering, and Gabby pulled him in tighter. “What will you two do?”

The Fist nodded and smiled before answering. “I’ll escort Master Diamedes to Tyniria for a full report to my superiors, but first I’ll visit the temple of my order here to finish my healing.”

Eric nodded, turning to Diamedes. “And you, sir?”

The small historian smiled at the pair and then spoke. “Do you still wish to quit your claim on the chest?”

“You couldn’t pay me to touch it,” Eric said.

“Very well,” Diamedes answered. “I’ll find a place for it and then report to my king before heading north. There is one more report of a dragon that I wish to investigate.”

“Sounds good,” Eric said. “Farewell, then. We’ll have a warm room and a hearty meal ready for either of you should you pass our way.”

The group shook hands and the ladies embraced, Gabby tearing up and Alexi seeming most awkward when it came to the demonstration of emotions, but she did her best. Eric and Gabby departed.

The twin sisters had just set indicating, not only the darkest time before the rising of the dragon’s fire but, a special time for a meeting that had been called to order in Balaria.

The hooded figure approached the other along the top of an isolated tower overlooking the docks and city of Balax that was still active despite the late hour. “Greetings, Grand Master Seth.”

The tall figure with angular features stood watching the lamp lights below with his arms folded behind his back. A glimpse of a sword sheath was barely visible at the bottom of his black cloak, and it was hooded as well. The figure never turned to face the man that approached him, instead speaking in a low tone of voice that was barely audible. “So, Zokar, it is done then?”

“Yes, the mercenary was given
Kingmaker
and somehow managed to fulfill his task. How could you know this?” Zokar asked.

Seth took a moment to sigh and then pulled his cloak back and turned to face the assassin from his guild, the assassin that had been following his orders for the last year without question and without hesitation. The man deserved at least an explanation, if not an answer. “I did not know,” Seth began. “Sometimes you roll the dice and hope that fate smiles on you.”

Zokar removed his hood as part of the formal ritual between those in their order. “I seriously doubt that this entire ordeal was left to chance, especially with you involved.”

Seth granted the man a rare smile. “You did well, my friend. You risked your life for our cause so I will only tell you that you are partially correct. The Kesh wizard that is working with us, as well as several events including the calling of a Fist of Astor into the fray was all done by my own design. The outcome, however, could have been much different, especially when dealing with a dragon. There are no guarantees but what fate gives us when our paths cross. In this case, the result was in our favor.”

Zokar nodded, “Very well. Do you have something new for me?”

“Oh yes,” Seth said. “This is the beginning of the end, if we are to survive what is to come. You must travel north again for one last task.”

“Does it involve another one of these creatures?”

“I’m afraid so, and it may be your last encounter.”

“Understood,” Zokar said, nodding one last time.

Seth pulled a leather scroll case from inside his cloak and handed it to Zokar. “Take this. Your instructions are set forth within. You will start immediately.”

Zokar took the case and turned to leave. He walked a few feet then turned back to face Seth and saw that the man was watching him closely. “Will we meet again?”

Seth paused for a moment before shaking his head slightly, “Doubtful, considering what we are up against, but we must succeed and, if we don’t, we must prepare those who follow us to do so a thousand years from now.”

Zokar gazed intently at his master before turning and heading for the docks and the waiting ship that would return him to Kesh, and then his road would go north… far north. He never heard the last words of Seth as he repeated himself, whispering… “A thousand years.”

Diamedes called on one more noble before he was to leave. He walked to the queen’s tower, where he was greeted by the duchess of Ulatha. The tower was reserved for the Tynirian queen when she traveled to Ulatha on duty, but the upkeep and care was performed by the duchess and her court.

“So you wish me to safeguard this for you?” she asked.

“Yes, I don’t know when, if ever, I’ll be able to retrieve it, but it must be kept safe until I can decipher the clues within,” Diamedes explained.

“I know just the place. Is it confidential?” she asked.

“No, feel free to open it, but the responsibility of its care is with you now.”

“Very well,” she said, embracing the smaller man and gracing him with a smile before he departed, escorted by the Fist.

She walked up to the topmost floor and moved to the secret trap door in the middle of the room, having to pull back a heavy rug in the process. She would normally never do such mundane tasks, but she kept this place a guarded secret from all, including her most trusted advisors. She pulled the door open and set the chest in the hollow space between the ceiling below and the floor above.