DragonKnight

  “I wonder if it’s hungry.”

  40

  LITTLE DETAILS

  Traveling through the burrows became a long and tedious task. One tunnel looked much like the last, and the monotony of the walls wore on the squire’s nerves.

  “I’d much rather be flying,” he told Regidor.

  “Ah yes. When I first started flying on my own I had no stamina, no endurance. Now I do pretty well at the long stretches.”

  Bardon nodded, figuring his friend understated the case. He knew Regidor to be extremely agile and stronger for his size than any creature he had ever encountered.

  “Here’s another drawing and the same type of writing beside it.” Bardon pointed to the inscription on the wall.

  “Each battle scene is a tad different, Squire.” Regidor examined the scratched image. “In this depiction, there are seventeen tumanhofers battling the two-headed dragon. In the one previous to this, there were twelve, and in the first, there were only seven.”

  “You counted?”

  “Well, of course, I counted.” Regidor ran his fingers over the unreadable words. “The depth of this carving is deeper than the first or the second. The number of lines are less.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes, the dragon has been larger in proportion to the crudely drawn men in each successive picture.”

  “Regidor, you amaze me.”

  The meech dragon smiled over his shoulder. “I used to amaze myself, but I am getting used to my genius as time goes by.”

  Bardon stared at his friend for a moment before he recognized the humor in Regidor’s eyes.

  Laughing, Bardon sank down to the floor. “I’m ready for a little break.” He pulled out his water flask and a packet of food.

  Regidor sat beside him. Both of them leaned against the rock wall, and the meech pulled out his own provisions. He handed the squire an extra package.

  The squire peeked inside. “Daggarts. Thanks.” He shifted to rest more comfortably against one of the spiraling grooves. “Have you thought about what was used to burrow these tunnels?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what was your conclusion?”

  “Didn’t have one.” Regidor chewed a bite of bread. “What kind of cheese do you have?”

  “Bordenaut.”

  “I’ll trade you criantem for the bordenaut.”

  “Deal.”

  They exchanged hunks of cheese and sat resting while they ate. When he had almost completed his repast, Regidor brought out Glas’s diary. He thumbed rapidly through the pages and slowed down when he came to the section about the burrow. He skimmed several pages.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “What?” asked Bardon as he rolled the crumbs of his lunch in the paper it had come in.

  “Glas never mentions the two-headed dragon, the pictures or words etched into the walls, or the unusual formation of the grooves in the stone.”

  “What does that mean? That he wasn’t very observant?”

  Regidor shook his head. “This section is inconsistent with the careful notations on other pages of his diary.” Regidor closed the book and tapped the cover with the claw tip of one finger. “I suspect that Glas was never in one of these tunnels. He probably recorded what someone had told him, not what he had seen with his own eyes.”

  “That means we have been depending on a map drawn blindly.”

  “That doesn’t mean it is entirely inaccurate.” Regidor stood. “Let’s move on. The quality of the air is improving steadily. We should reach an opening to the outside very soon.”

  Bardon stood, stuffed his trash into an inner pocket, and dusted his hands off on his trousers. “I’m eager to get this underground journey over with.”

  Regidor took the lead. Bardon followed six to ten feet behind him. They passed several tunnels branching off to the right, but none on the left. Ahead there seemed to be an intersection where a tunnel completely crossed the main one. Bardon heard a whoosh like a sudden intake of breath, and then a huge white stone rolled across their path in the junction ahead, blocking the way.

  Both men drew their swords. Regidor leapt to Bardon’s side and turned so that they stood back to back. They listened and waited.

  A scrape across the stone floor gave away the location of whomever or whatever else waited in the warren. The sound repeated, closer.

  Regidor sniffed the air. “It is the same dragon who startled us with a whack of its tail some time ago.”

  “I suppose we are going to find out if it has two heads.”

  Regidor grinned and nodded. “And whether it is hungry.”

  The creature approached them from the tunnel they had just passed through.

  “Ah,” said Regidor as it came closer, but still could not be seen. “It has two heads, and it is hungry. They are quite interested in having something besides druddum for their next meal.”

  “I had noted the almost nonexistent druddum population in this warren.”

  “Indeed.”

  “So interesting that you can mindspeak with our opponents.” Bardon breathed deeply, relaxing his muscles in preparation for the fight. He flexed the fingers that held the hilt of his sword. “It would, perhaps, be more useful if they responded to your eloquence by abandoning their intent to devour us.”

  “The problem with mindspeaking with these snake dragons is they don’t join in the conversation.”

  Two scuffing noises indicated the beast was much closer.

  “I,” Regidor continued, “make perfectly reasonable suggestions. And I am ignored.”

  “For instance?”

  “I suggest that we taste ghastly. One head tells the other that it will be nice to each have its own body on which to munch. I say we are mighty warriors who will hack their sluggish, overgrown body to bits. It says it needs to approach with greater stealth.”

  “It’s using quite an elaborate vocabulary.”

  “No, no, Bardon. It is my vocabulary. I am merely interpreting the grisly mental images that I detect in its feeble brains.”

  “So it isn’t a particularly smart dragon.”

  “Correct. Both heads together couldn’t spell cat.” Regidor pointed with the tip of his sword. “There, in the tunnel, just out of view, it stands, watching us.”

  Bardon heard the hoarse chorus of breathing from the two heads.

  “It was smart enough to block our way, then circle back to attack us.”

  “Merely copying someone else’s strategy.”

  “Whose strategy?”

  “One of the tumanhofer hunting parties.”

  Bardon considered the ramifications of Regidor’s statement. This must be the original two-headed monster. A descendant wouldn’t have memory of a battle with tumanhofers eons ago. Long memory, but not very clever. There must be a way to trick this creature.

  “Regidor, I recall hearing of Wizard Risto doing a particularly clever visual deception. He created an illusion in which he, or several images of himself, stood about the room.”

  “A good idea, Squire.”

  Bardon blinked and saw not one meech dragon standing beside him with sword drawn, but two. He turned his head to the other side and saw three more replicas of the original Regidor.

  “Now be careful,” warned Regidor, “and don’t swing your sword through the real me. Piercing one of my fellows would not injure them, but—”

  The two-headed dragon bolted out of the dark. In three strides, it loomed over them. Both heads swiveled, trying to pick a target.

  “Not identical twins,” observed Regidor.

  “Definitely not,” agreed Bardon.

  The skin of the dragon’s left neck was wrinkled, with an ugly purple mottling over a greenish tan under-color. Smooth, ebony skin covered the other neck. The left head reminded Bardon of a gourd with a point on top, and it wobbled a bit on its perch. The underbite of this distorted head exposed a row of jagged, crooked teeth with gaps where several had fallen out.

  T
he roundish head of the right side had a crest of burnished copper scales. It sported a strong jaw line and a mouth full of shiny, pointed white teeth.

  The well-formed head swooped down, mouth open as it tried to bite one of the Regidor illusions. Its teeth snapped together, holding nothing.

  Bardon took advantage of its bewilderment and charged. He slashed the creature’s neck and chest, then ran out of reach. He turned and surveyed the situation, looking for his next opportunity. The wound he inflicted on the two-headed dragon barely trickled blood. The squire didn’t have an opportunity to puzzle over why his attack had done so little damage.

  The weaker head swung wildly through the line of Regidor images. It whipped through three and came in contact with solid flesh on the fourth. Regidor was thrown off balance and fell on his back. He used his position to strike a blow to the underside of the beast’s chin. It roared and pulled back.

  While the uglier head retreated, the stronger, smarter-looking head glanced down at Regidor. With teeth bared, it struck. Regidor rapped it sharply on the snout with his blade. It reared up as the weaker head came down for another strike at Regidor. The heads came together with a resounding thud. The meech rolled to the side and sprang to his feet.

  Regidor breathed rapidly, and with every breath, more images of himself appeared. Bardon’s eyes widened as he watched. The meech dragon wizard had improved upon his first attempt. The first set of Regidor images had moved in synchronization, all doing exactly the same thing as the original. These images moved around the room independently.

  Bardon recognized what each illusion was doing. Forms. In years of training, Bardon had done these same routines himself in a state of mind that was detached from the motions. Now these images of Regidor went through the forms in mindless repetitions.

  The momentarily stunned dragon shook its heads and gazed, glassy-eyed, around the tunnel. The head closest to Bardon bobbed, sinking slowly until its underdeveloped chin rested on the ground a few feet from where the squire stood.

  “Uh-oh,” said Regidor.

  “What?”

  “The other head is not too happy with what we’ve done to his partner.”

  “We didn’t do that.” Bardon pointed to the unconscious part on the floor and then at the still functioning part looming above them. “It did. It knocked it out with its own hard head.”

  Regidor laughed. “A concise summary of the circumstances. But to this menacing head it is a minor detail. Unfortunately, the conscious part of the beast does not take responsibility for the injury to its other half. It blames us.”

  “Well, what’s it planning to do?” Bardon eyed the creature.

  “It’s trying to figure that out. It’s never fought solo before.” Regidor yelled and jumped to the side as the beast’s head came slamming down. “I guess he’s not going to bother to do any more thinking.” He swung his sword and hit the creature between the eyes. The blade left a deep scratch.

  “Our problem is going to be piercing this thick skin,“ Regidor commented to Bardon as he danced away from the snapping mouth. “You might join me in this fracas. I’m not so conceited that I have to fight this thing alone.”

  Bardon stepped over the sleeping head and joined Regidor in his defense against the still-active, stronger head. The effects of the collision between heads had worn off this one. Instead of dazed, the creature was enraged.

  It repeatedly thrust its open mouth at the two-legged warriors, snapping and snarling and keeping Regidor and Bardon jumping. The men made numerous hits. They battered the dragon with their swords, leaving bloody marks on its face and neck. But the wounds did not inhibit the dragon’s fury.

  “Aim for its eyes and the inside of its mouth,” suggested Bardon.

  “I am aiming for those tender spots. I believe this beast has a few more years of fighting experience than we do. Ouch!”

  Bardon glanced at his comrade. Regidor’s foreleg bled from a straight-line wound. It didn’t look like the jagged tear teeth would make.

  “He bit you?” asked Bardon.

  “No! The confounded animal slapped my own sword against my foreleg.”

  “Not a good idea, Reg. We’re having enough trouble subduing this beast without your loaning him the use of your weapon.”

  Bardon felt something painful clamp down on his calf. He looked to see that the ugly half was awake and active and biting his leg.

  The few teeth this head had left were sharp, and they penetrated the leather of his boot, pricking his leg. He had half a moment to think he was glad it wasn’t the other head holding his leg. When he attempted to strike a blow, the animal hoisted him in the air and swung him over Regidor’s head. The more attractive head took affront at his recovered partner getting in the way. It swung to the side, slamming into Bardon and the mouth holding him upside down.

  An opening in the dragon’s defense allowed Regidor an opportunity to attack. He flipped into the air. As he somersaulted over the rounder, crested head, he slashed downward, slicing the creature’s eye. The meech landed on the weaker head and managed a deep thrust through the eye into the brain. The beast jerked, letting go of its prize.

  Bardon sailed up toward the ceiling. He landed with a whump on a ledge and rolled onto his stomach to peer over the edge. His sword lay on the floor below. He pulled out his darts and began menacing the brighter head of the dragon while his meech friend dealt with the other. Bardon aimed his darts at the eyes.

  Regidor withdrew his sword from the other head and stabbed again. The snake dragon thrashed, trying to dislodge the awful attacker. Regidor slid down the neck, taking his sword with him. When he reached the back, Regidor turned and lifted the underdeveloped wing. He thrust his sword into the tender flesh beneath. Another thrust, and blood spurted. He’d hit a main artery.

  Bardon ran out of darts and sat up. He realized a section of the wall behind him opened into another room. One look caused his heart to race. He turned back to shout to Regidor, but his friend still needed to administer the killing blow.

  The meech pushed the dragon’s head back and exposed its neck. With the point of his blade, he pierced the jugular vein. He moved to the other lethargic head and did the same. Then he backed away from the snake dragon and let it die. When the beast shuddered and expelled its last breath, Regidor gazed up to where Bardon sat on the edge of a lip of stone.

  Bardon grinned. “Good work, Reg.”

  “Enjoying the view?” asked Regidor. He looked with disgust at the blood soaking the front of his cape, shirt, and pants.

  “Yes,” answered Bardon. “And I’ve made the most wonderful discovery up here.”

  Regidor looked up again, tilted his head, and cocked the ridge over one eye.

  “A hole,” Bardon answered the unasked question.

  “A hole?”

  “More like a doorway.”

  “A doorway?”

  Bardon nodded. “To a room.”

  Regidor sighed noisily. “A room?”

  Bardon smiled. “Filled with lightrocks and…sleeping knights.”

  41

  A CASTLE

  Even before they entered the chamber, Bardon heard the roar of falling water. Once inside the stone room, the noise drowned out every other sound. Draperies in rich, dark burgundy covered the windows, so he could not see the waterfall that dominated the room with its din.

  Regidor and Bardon circled the vaulted hall without saying a word. The knights stood, sat, and reclined around the room as if they were visiting in someone’s home. Only the knights did not breathe, their closed eyes saw nothing, and their skin felt hard like marble and cold like ice.

  Twelve. Twelve young knights exiled from their lives.

  The room itself looked like the great hall of an old castle, dusty and smelling of mold. Under the layer of disuse, the chamber exhibited age-old elegance.

  Regidor plunged into an investigation of everything he saw. He examined books, furniture, the walls, the sleeping knights, the candles, eve
rything, in a rush.

  Bardon’s second slow walk around the room included a careful study of all the knights. These men did not appear as statues, since their skin tones looked natural. Two urohm knights sat on the floor next to the curtained windows. Their heads leaned back against the wall, halfway to the ceiling. One tumanhofer knight sat in a chair too tall for him. An untouched tea tray sat on the table at his elbow. No mariones, kimens, or doneels had been captured. Five emerlindians and four o’rants made up the remaining knights.

  “Look at these two emerlindians, Reg,” Bardon called to his friend. “They’re brothers, maybe even twins.”

  Regidor left the picture that had caught his attention and came to examine the two sleeping knights.

  “Definitely,” he said. “They probably looked more alike as boys. Their lives have marked their faces.”

  “I wonder,” said Bardon, “if they are Jilles and Joffa.”

  “You said Joffa was killed in an ambush.”

  Bardon nodded.

  Even though both had raised their voices, many of their words were drowned in the noise of the cascading water outside. This roaring waterfall claimed Bardon’s attention as the meech hurried off to inspect a tea service.

  Long, narrow windows lined one wall. Bardon moved aside a set of dusty drapes to consider thick, beveled glass set in movable frames. He stepped up on the deep ledge of a window and tried to wrench it open. The old frame would not budge.

  “Reg, I could use some help here,” he shouted.

  After Bardon’s second call to break Regidor’s concentration, the meech dragon pushed a heavy chest under the window. The deep ledge was too narrow for both of them to stand on. Regidor examined the frame and then removed a bottle of oil from his hollow. He poured this slick lubricant down the side grooves where the window stuck in the wooden track. He put two fingers of each hand at the top of the grooves. After a moment, he drew back.

  “Try it now.” Regidor gestured with his hands as well as shouted. The tumult of falling water obscured their words.

  Bardon lifted the window easily. “You’re handy to have around, Reg.”

  The meech just grinned and returned the bottle of oil to the hollow.