Dragon Sword Series - Dragon Sword Part 4

"Santhe," he said. "Will you give me your word that Dythragor will do me no harm if he comes to Kingsbury while I am there? In truth, I am afraid for my life if he should find me near the king."

The warrior nodded. "I know. You have my word and my protection. On my honor as a warrior of Gryylth. And there is not a man alive who can accuse me of breaking my solemn oath." His eyes twinkled. "One or two have, but they were wrong. And in any case they are no longer alive.''

Laughing Santhe. Merry Santhe. On the battlefield, a hundred men had found death at his hands, and yet he always provided song and cheer at the New Year Feasts.

How many New Year Feasts had there been, though?

Putting the question aside for the moment, Mernyl picked up his staff, bowed. "Then I am ready."

They rode through darkness, and Solomon sensed that, behind him, Suzanne was huddled into herself, terrified.

43.He could hardly blame her, for he himself had been afraid the first time he had journeyed to Gryylth. The blackness that surrounded them was impenetrable, and beneath them was the Dragon, immense, vital, unseen. And the stillness ...

Suzanne s.h.i.+vered: that might have been the only stirring in an utterly motionless universe.

But Silbakor seemed to pa.s.s through some intangible boundary and enter into an infinite twilight, as though dawn had somehow been extended in all directions, forever. He could make out the Dragon's head now, blunt, forging through this nether region of half-light like a jetliner through a thick mist. Its wings did not move, and there was no wind, but Solomon sensed its speed.

Suzanne murmured behind him. "I'm cold," she said. "I'm cold,"

He might have felt sympathy for her, but he was still angry. He leaned forward over the Dragon's head. ' 'Why did you do this?" His voice fell flat in the twilight. "You held out a choice and then you took it away. What am I, some jacka.s.s that you have to coax along with a carrot on a stick?"

Silbakor did not answer. It banked slightly and flew on.

Solomon gave up on the Dragon and chewed on the injustice until he felt a familiar warmth creeping up his arms and his legs, and a burning in his chest. He was approaching Gryylth, and he was Dythragor, and he was satisfied. For the time being, the Dragon's actions lost their sting.

h.e.l.ling murmured again, but he could not make out her words. He did not care. He felt strength being poured into him, felt the lines being taken from his face. When the clouds and darkness roiled up out of the twilight ahead of the Dragon, he had to suppress an urge to throw back his head and laugh.

The clouds came forward and engulfed them. Lightning flashes sparked the gray ma.s.ses into incandescence. No thunder answered, but slowly a wind arose and 44.stripped the clouds away. Mountains were below, s.h.i.+ning in the light of a full moon swinging high at the zenith.

Solomon looked at his hands, now strong and youthful. The Dragons word hung at his belt, glittering in the moonlight, and his gray suit was gone, its place taken by simple leather armor. Boots encased his well-muscled legs but left them bare from knee to tunic hem.

He jerked the Dragons word from its scabbard and waved it over his head. "Behold, Suzanne! Gryylth! Land under my protection! Here I am Dythragor Dragonmas-ter, slayer of Dremords!"

Suzanne did not answer, but Silbakor sideslipped suddenly and began to descend at a sharp angle. Below, the mountains gave way to foothills and then to rolling fields.

Dythragor leaned over the Dragon's head, his long hair whipping in the wind. "Silbakor, what's going on?"

' 'You are needed immediately.''

His conscience p.r.i.c.ked him for a moment. "What about Suzanne?"

' 'Do not burden yourself.''

With a quickness that fluttered his stomach, the Dragon dropped several thousand feet in a fraction of a minute, leveling out just above the highest trees. Its wings began to beat rhythmically, and Dythragor caught sight of shapes below.

One stood out unnervingly: a shadowed bulk that nonetheless glowed fitfully in the silver of a moonlit field. A white figure stood nearby and lifted an arm. Dythragor suddenly saw neither.

No matter: the Dragon was taking him elsewhere. Two men on horseback were being set upon by a band of Dremords who were unmounted but armed with spears and swords.

"Down, Silbakor!"

The Dragon obeyed, slowing its speed and sweeping in low. As they approached the fight, faces turned toward them, and one of the riders brandished a sword and called weakly, "Dythragor comes!"

The Dragonsword flashed with light, and Dythragor felt power surging through the blade and up his arm. As .

45.he rolled oif Silbakor's back, he was already picking his points, planning his attack.

He cut the legs of the nearest Dremord out from under him even before he had rolled upright. His unexpected appearance had put at least half the enemy to flight, but the rest, old seasoned warriors, stayed. Several sized him up and came at him, but Dythragor slashed easily through the first and second, ducked under the third's sweeping cut, and rolled two others onto the gra.s.s. The night was cold, and the Dragonsword shone brightly.

Instinct told him to whirl. The first two were wounded, but their fighting was not done. They came on again, together, but more cautiously.

Dythragor almost laughed as he crashed through their s.h.i.+elds and slew one outright. The other struggled to keep his s.h.i.+eld in position as the Dragonsword leaped for blood once more and impacted on its central boss. The man's arm cracked.

"Begone." Dythragor's voice was harsh. "And take the rest of your sc.u.m with you."

The man scrambled away, and Dythragor turned in time to see one of the riders drive the last of the Dremords off in the same direction.

"Hail, Dythragor Dragonmaster," he said as he turned his horse and approached. He glanced at the fleeing enemy and added cheerfully, "As usual, you arrive in time of need."

"Almost a little too late, Santhe," said Dythragor, who had noticed that the warrior was shaking with fatigue. He gestured at the cloaked figure on the other horse. "Your companion didn't seem inclined to fight. Do you travel with a woman?"

The other answered as he rode up. "I save what powers I have for appropriate times." The shadow of his hood hid his face. "I do not care for swordwork; still, I thank you for the rescue."

"Give me more credit, Mernyl," said Santhe, laughing tiredly. "I was holding them so easily that I could have fallen asleep."

"Memyl?" said Dythragor.

46.The sorcerer threw back his hood. The moon flecked his black hair with sparks and made his eyes burn in his thin face. "I said I was grateful, Dragonmaster. There is no love between us, but I can appreciate a service."

"So you're still doing your hocus-pocus." Dythragor was chagrined to find that he had actually saved the sorcerer. "I'd think that you'd still be holed up in the Cots-woods, turning frogs into newts or whatever."

Santhe glanced back and forth as though amused by the conflict. "My lord Dythragor," he said, "Mernyl was sent for by the king."

"What?" Dythragor sheathed his sword with a clatter. "After all I've done for him, Vorya turns around and wants . . . wants ..."

"Hocus-pocus," Mernyl finished for him. His tone was icy.

"It has been two years since you last visited us, Dragonmaster," said Santhe. "King Vorya is ent.i.tled to call upon whatever resources he has. And some things have happened in Gryylth that-"

"Resources!" Dythragor clenched his jaw. Santhe was too easygoing, too accepting of everything. At times, he was not quite sure that he could trust the man. "There's nothing in Gryylth that a good sword can't handle."

"I would differ with you, Dragonmaster. It seems-"

"Enough. If there's something wrong, then it's too important for magic. Tell King Vorya that I've returned to Gryylth and that he'll not be needing the services of this man. Tell him that I'll arrive in Kingsbury very shortly. Tomorrow morning at the latest."

"Good, my lord." Santhe still seemed amused. Dythragor scowled, but Santhe's eyes twinkled all the more, and his blond curls bounced as he nodded. "I will tell him so, but Mernyl will be expected. I dare not send him back to his home."

"Very well, take him." Dythragor glanced up, searching the sky for the Dragon. "But be certain to have a fresh horse for his return trip . . . tomorrow afternoon."

"I am gratified," said Mernyl, "that the Dragonmaster will not begrudge me a luncheon."

47.Dythragor ignored him. Turning once, he drew his sword and saluted Santhe, then strode off into the darkness. He had suddenly remembered Suzanne h.e.l.ling.

The Dragon loomed large on the other side of the fire, dwarfing the man-sized boulders behind it. "You are Al-ouzon Dragonmaster," it said. Its voice was urgent.

The fire warmed her where her leather armor left her skin bare, and she huddled close in, wondering if she would ever be warm again. The flight through a world of twilight and mist had drained her of heat. And now, looking at her hands, at her body, finding herself so utterly different ...

"Alouzon."

"What is this Alouzon stuff, Silbakor?"

"Alouzon."

She was tall and strong, her skin deeply tanned. Her hair fell in a bronze mane to her shoulders. The steel cuffs on her wrists glittered in the firelight, as did the steel bosses of her armor.

She was in shock. She knew she was in shock, wondered just how insane she was going to be when the shock wore off and she had to deal with a different body and-* if the Dragon had its way-a different name. "I'm Suzanne h.e.l.ling."

"Maybe," said the Dragon. "But for now, here, you must be Alouzon. The land needs you."

"For what?"

"For survival."

She stood up, examined herself yet again. Strong, slender, tall. Everything she had never been before. Her voice held a dark resonance that was touched with the essence of command, and the sword at her hip, its hilt carved into the shape of two intertwined dragons, spoke eloquently of power.

/ don't want power. Power kills.

But, in spite of herself, she pulled the weapon from its sheath, lifted it in the moonlight. The keen blade glowed and flickered, and the double dragons, white and black, seemed alive under her hand.

48."Alouzon."

The name rang in her head. The power that flowed from the sword was a palpable thing, warm and strong, like sun-baked rocks glowing in the hot twilight of a summer evening. It picked up her thoughts as though in a hand and cradled them. She was different, but she was strong, too. She could survive. She was . . .

"Alouzon Dragonmaster," said Silbakor.

Alouzon swallowed the name as though it were a stone. She lowered her sword. The panic was gone. Maybe she had a different name, and maybe her body was unrecognizable, but her mind was her own. She still remembered Kent. She still heard the bullets. She still knew what power was all about. "OK, Silbakor. Whatever."

"You are strong. That is good."

"Strong?" She regarded the sword with distrust. "Yeah, sure ..." She did not believe a word of it. The warmth continued to flow from the sword. "Where are we?"

"InGryylth."

" Where's Braithwaite?" The bewildering changes threatened to overwhelm her again. Everything she saw made no sense. In spite of the sword, her personality was reeling, but she held to herself grimly.

The Dragon settled itself, folded its wings. It seemed relieved that she was asking questions. "Here, Solomon Braithwaite is called Dythragor. Like you, he is a Dragonmaster: that is, he holds a Dragonsword and can call me at need. I myself am bound to Gryylth and to the swords by oath."

It was all crazy, but it made some kind of sense-at least it made sense to a shocky, battered ego that was still adjusting to a body that looked as though it had been pumping iron for years. Alouzon tried to laugh, but it turned into a sob midway through. "What about-"

Motion to her right. She whirled into a guard stance, sword up and ready, eyes scanning the tall man who had stepped into the clearing. He had a sheathed sword, and he wore armor. Instinctively, she was evaluating his carriage, his posture. A warrior. She was already picking .

49.points of attack when she realized what she was doing and mentally recoiled in horror.

"Suzanne?" he said.

"Who the h.e.l.l are you, mister?"

"Dythragor." He considered, added with distaste: "Braithwaite."

' 'Jesus!'' She stared at him, unable to decide whether to laugh or weep. "What's going on here?" she demanded. "What's happened to ... to me?"

"Gryylth has accepted you," said the Dragon. "You have been prepared for your tasks."

She whirled on it, resentment shouldering its way forward. "I didn't ask for this."

Silbakor regarded her with glowing eyes and said nothing.

Dythragor scowled. "I didn't ask for this either." He turned to the Dragon. "I think you've been exceeding your authority. / am the Dragonmaster.''

Alouzon recalled that she also held that t.i.tle, but she said nothing.

"My authority," Silbakor was saying, "has not been exceeded."

"All right," said Alouzon. "You can both do some explaining. What are we doing here?"

Dythragor rested his hand on the pommel of his sword, glanced sidelong at the Dragon as if expecting an impertinence. "This land is under my protection. I defend it from the incursions of the Dremords."

Her wits were corning back quickly, and Dythragor's answer stirred up unpleasant echoes of a past decade. "Defend it? How? By killing people?" The sword burned in her hand, and she knew what the answer was.

His jaw tightened, but he went on. "They're barbarians. I keep them penned up in their lands in the southeast. Eventually, I intend to force them back across the sea. Gryylth will be free then."

Alouzon stepped up to him. Their eyes were on a level, and she knew that she was as strong and as able as he. "This is nuts. Will you tell me why you had to drag me into this boyhood fantasy of yours?''

50.The Dragon stirred. "You were needed."

"You're out of your mind." But she caught herself suddenly, becoming aware that she was facing a beast that could not exist by any sane rules of human logic. Even reclining, Silbakor towered over her. She backed up until she found herself against a boulder. Beyond were trees and mountains: she did not know where home was. "What have you done to me?"

Dythragor lifted his head. "Silbakor-"

"Silence," said the Dragon. "Dremords approach."

From out of the darkness surrounding the clearing came a sharp, metallic snick.

"Get that fire out, Silbakor."