I knew the four would come. My urgent plea had brought them. Whatever their motives—and, among this diverse group, I knew those motives were mixed—they were here.
The best. The very best.
I stood in the door of the Bitter Ale Inn and, surveying them, my heart was easier than it had been in many, many days.
The four did not sit together. Of course, they didn't know each other, except perhaps by reputation. Each sat at his or her own table, eating, drinking quietly. Not making a show of themselves. They didn't need to. They were the best. But though they said nothing with their mouths—using them for the Bitter Ale so famous in these parts—they were putting their eyes to work: sizing each other up, taking each other's measure. I was thankful to see that each seemed to like what he or she saw. I wanted no bad blood between members of this group.
Sitting at the very front of the Inn, short in stature but large in courage—was Orin. The dwarf was renowned through these parts for his skill with his ax, but then so were most dwarves. His blade—Splithair—lay on the table before him, where he could keep both an eye and a loving hand on it. Orin's true talent lay beneath a mountain, as the saying went. He had traversed more dragon caves than any other dwarf who had ever lived. And he had never once lost his way, either there or (more important) back out again. Many a treasure-hunter owed his life—and about a third of the treasure—to his guide, Orin Dark-seer.
Seated near the dwarf, at the best table the Bitter Ale had to offer, was a woman of incredible beauty. Her hair was long and black as a moonless night, her eyes drank in men's souls like the dwarf was drinking ale. The tavern's regulars—a sorry lot of ne'er-do-wells—would have been nosing around her, their tongues hanging out, but for the marks on her clothes.
She was well-dressed, don't mistake me. The cloth she wore was the finest, most expensive velvet in all the land. Its blue color gleamed in the firelight. It was the silver embroidery on the cuffs of her robes and around the hemline that warned off the cheek-pinchers and kiss-snatchers—pentagrams and stars and intertwined circles and such like. Cabalistic marks. Her beautiful eyes met mine and I bowed to Ulanda, the sorceress, come all the way from her fabled castle hidden in the Blue Mist forest.
Seated near the door—as near the door as he could get and still remain in the Inn—was the one member of the four I knew well. I knew him because I was the one who had turned the key in his prison cell and set him free. He was thin and quick, with a mop of red hair and green roguish eyes that could charm a widow out of her life savings and leave her loving him for it. Those slender fingers of his could slide in and out of a pocket as fast as his knife could cut a purse from a belt. He was good, so good he wasn't often caught. Reynard Deft-hand had made one small mistake. He'd tried to lift a purse from me.
Directly across the room from Reynard—dark balancing light in the scales of creation—was a man of noble bearing and stern countenance. The regulars left him alone, too, out of respect for his long and shining sword and the white surcoat he wore, marked with the silver cross. Eric of Truestone, a holy paladin. I was as amazed to see him as I was pleased. I had sent my messengers to their headquarters, begging the knights for aid. I knew they would respond—they were honor-bound. But they had responded by sending me their best.
All four the best, the very best. I looked at them and I felt awed, humbled.
"You should be closing down for the night, Marian," I said, turning to the pretty lass who tended bar.
The four dragon-hunters looked at me and not one of them moved. The regulars, on the other hand, took the hint. They quaffed their ale and left without a murmur. I hadn't been in these parts long—newly come to my job—and, of course, they'd put me to the test. I'd been forced to teach them to respect me. That had been a week ago and one, so I heard, was still laid up. Several of the others winced and rubbed their cracked heads as they hurried past me, all politely wishing me good-night.
"I'll lock the door," I said to Marian.
She, too, left, also wishing me—with a saucy smile—a good night. I knew well she'd like to make my good night a better one, but I had business.
When she was gone, I shut and bolted the door. This clearly made Reynard nervous (he was already looking for another escape route), so I came quickly to the point.
"No need to ask why you're here. You've each come in response to my plea for help. I am Gondar, King Frederick's seneschal. I am the one who sent you the message. I thank you for your quick response and I welcome you, well, most of you"—I cast a stern glance at Reynard, who grinned —"to Fredericksborough."
Sir Eric rose and made me a courteous bow. Ulanda looked me over with her wonderful eyes. Orin grunted. Reynard was jingling coins in his pocket. The regulars would be out ale money tomorrow, I guessed.
"You all know why I sent for you," I continued. "At least, you know part of the reason. The part I could make public."
"Please be seated, Seneschal," said Ulanda, with a graceful gesture. "And tell us the part you couldn't make public."
The knight joined us, as did the dwarf. Reynard was going to, but Ulanda warned him off with a look. Not the least bit offended, he grinned again and leaned against the bar.
The four waited politely for me to go on.
"I tell you this in absolute confidence," I said, lowering my voice. "As you know, our good king, Frederick, has journeyed to the north on invitation from his half-brother, the Duke of Northhampton. There were many in the court who advised His Majesty not to go. None of us trust the twisting, covetous duke. But His Majesty was ever a loving sibling and north he went. Now, our worst fears have been realized. The duke is holding the king hostage, demanding in ransom seven coffers filled with gold, nine coffers filled with silver, and twelve coffers filled with precious jewels."
"By the blood of our Savior, we should burn this duke's castle to the ground," said Eric Truestone. His hand clenched over his sword's hilt.
I shook my head. "We would never see His Majesty alive again."
"This is not why you brought us here," growled Orin. "Not to rescue your king. He may be a good king, for all I know, but…" The dwarf shrugged.
"Yes, but you don't care whether a human king lives or dies, do you, Orin?" I said, with a smile. "No reason you should. The dwarves have their own king."
"And there are some of us," said Ulanda softly, "who have no king at all."
I wondered if the rumors I'd heard about her were true, that she lured young men to her castle and kept them until she tired of them, then changed them into wolves, forced to guard her dwelling place. At night, it was said, you could hear their howls of anguish. Looking into those lovely eyes, I found myself thinking, It might just be worth it!
I wrenched myself back to the business at hand.
"I have not told you the worst," I said. "I collected the ransom. This is a wealthy kingdom. The nobles dipped into their treasuries. Their lady wives sacrificed their jewels. The treasure was loaded into a wagon, ready to be sent north when…" I paused, coughing.
Clearing my throat, wishing I had drawn myself a mug of ale, I continued, "A huge red dragon swept out of the sky and attacked the treasure caravan. I tried to stand and fight, but"—my face burned in shame—"I've never known such paralyzing fear. The next thing I knew, I was face-first on the ground, shivering in terror. The guard fled in panic.
"The great dragon settled down on the King's Highway. The dragon leisurely devoured the horses, then, lifting the wagon with all the treasure in its claws, the cursed beast flew away."
"Dragon-fear," said Orin, as one long experienced in such things.
"Though it has never happened to me, I've heard the dragon-fear can be devastating." Sir Eric rested his hand pityingly on mine. "It was foul magic that unmanned you, Seneschal. No need for shame."
"Foul magic," repeated Ulanda, casting the knight a dark look. Perhaps she was thinking what an excellent wolf he would make.
"I saw the treasure." Reynard heaved a gusty sigh. "It was a beautiful sight. And there must be more, lots more, in that dragon's lair."
"There is," said Orin. "Do you think yours is the only kingdom this dragon has robbed, Seneschal? My people were hauling a shipment of golden nuggets from our mines in the south when a red dragon—pull out my beard if it's not the same one—swooped out of the skies and made off with it!"
"Golden nuggets!" Reynard licked his lips. "How much were they worth, all told?"
Orin cast him a baleful glance. "Never you mind, Light-finger."
"The name is Deft-hand," Reynard said, but the dwarf ignored him.
"I have received word from my sisters in the east," Ulanda was saying, "that this same dragon is responsible for the theft of several of our coven's most powerful arcane artifacts. I would describe them to you, but they are very secret. And very dangerous, to the inexperienced," she added pointedly for Reynard's sake.
"We, too, have suffered by this wyrm," said Eric grimly. "Our brethren to the west sent us as a gift a holy relic—a finger-bone of our patron saint. The dragon attacked the escort, slaughtered them to a man, carried away our artifact."
Ulanda laughed, made a face. "I don't believe it! What would the dragon want with a moldy old finger-bone?"
The knight's face hardened. "The finger-bone was encased in a diamond, as big around as an apple. The diamond was carried in a chalice made of gold, encrusted with rubies and emeralds. The chalice was carried on a platter made of silver, set with a hundred sapphires…"
"I thought you holy knights took vows of poverty," Reynard insinuated slyly. "Maybe I should start going to church again."
Eric leapt to his feet. Glaring at the thief, the knight drew his sword. Reynard sidled over behind me.
"Hold, Sir Knight," I said, standing. "The route to the dragon's lair leads up a sheer cliff with nary a hand—or foot—hold in sight."
The knight eyed Reynard's slender fingers and wiry body. Sheathing his sword, the knight sat back down.
"You've discovered the lair!" Reynard cried. He was so excited I feared he might hug me.
"Is this true, Seneschal?" Ulanda leaned near me. I could smell musk and spice. Her fingertips were cool on my hand. "Have you found the dragon's lair?"
"I pray to Our Father you have! Gladly would I leave this life, spend eternity in the blessed realm of my God, if I could have a chance to fight this wyrm!" Eric vowed. Lifting a sacred medallion he wore around his neck to his lips, he kissed it to seal his holy oath.
"I lost my king's ransom," I said. "I took a vow neither to eat nor sleep until I had tracked the beast to its lair. Many weary days and nights I followed the trail—a shining coin fallen to the ground, a jewel spilled from the wagon. The trail led straight to a peak known as Black Mountain. A day I waited, patient, watching. I was rewarded. I saw the dragon leave its lair. I know how to get inside."
Reynard began to dance around the tavern, singing and snapping his long fingers. Eric Truestone actually smiled. Orin Dark-Seer ran his thumb lovingly over his ax-blade. Ulanda kissed my cheek.
"You must come visit me some evening, Seneschal, when this adventure is ended," she whispered.
The four of them and I spent the night in the inn, were up well before dawn to begin our journey.
The Black Mountain loomed before us, its peak hidden by a perpetual cloud of gray smoke. The mountain is named for its shining black rock, belched up from the very bowels of the world. Sometimes the mountain still rumbles, just to remind us that it is alive, but none living could remember the last time it spewed flame.
We reached it by late afternoon. The sun's rays shone red on the cliff face we would have to climb. By craning the neck, one could see the gaping dark hole that was the entrance.
"Not a handhold in sight. By Our Lord, you weren't exaggerating, Seneschal," said Eric, frowning as he ran his hand over the smooth black rock.
Reynard laughed. "Bah! I've climbed castle walls that were as smooth as milady's— Well, let's just say they were smooth."
The thief looped a long length of rope over his shoulder. He started to add a bag full of spikes and a hammer, but I stopped him.
"The dragon might have returned. If so, the beast would hear you driving the spikes into the rock." I glanced upward. "The way is not far, just difficult. Once you make it, lower the rope down to us. We can climb it."
Reynard agreed. He studied the cliff face a moment, all seriousness now, no sign of a grin. Then, to the amazement of all of us watching, he attached himself to the rock like a spider and began to climb.
I had known Reynard was good, but I must admit, I had not known how good. I watched him crawl up that sheer cliff face, digging his fingers into minute cracks, his feet scrabbling for purchase, hanging on, sometimes, by effort of will alone. I was impressed. He was the best. No other man living could have climbed that cliff.
"The Gods are with us in our holy cause," said Eric reverently, watching Reynard scale the black rock like a lizard.
Ulanda stifled a yawn, covered her mouth with a dainty hand. Orin stomped his feet in impatience. I continued to watch Reynard, admiring his work. He had reached the entrance to the cavern, disappeared inside. In a moment, he came back out, indicated with a wave of his hand that all was safe.
Reynard lowered the rope down to us. Unfortunately, the rope he'd brought was far too Short. We couldn't reach it. Orin began to curse loudly. Ulanda laughed, snapped her fingers, spoke a word. The rope shivered and suddenly it was exactly the right length.
Eric eyed the magicked rope dubiously, but it was his only way up. He took hold of it, then, appearing to think of something, he turned to the sorceress.
"My lady, I fear your delicate hands are not meant for climbing ropes, nor are you dressed for scaling mountains. If you will forgive me the liberty, I will carry you up the cliff."
"Carry me!" Ulanda stared at him, then she laughed again.
Eric stiffened, his face went rigid and cold. "Your pardon, my lady—"
"Forgive me, Sir Knight," Ulanda interrupted smoothly. "But I am not a weak and helpless damsel. And it would be best if you remembered that. All of you."
So saying, Ulanda drew a lacy silken handkerchief from her pocket and spread the handkerchief upon the ground. Placing her feet upon the handkerchief, she spoke words that were like the sound of tinkling chimes. The handkerchief became hard as steel. It began to rise slowly into the air, bearing the sorceress with it.
Sir Eric's eyes widened. He made the sign against evil.
Ulanda floated calmly up the cliff face. Reynard was on hand to assist her with the landing at the mouth of the cave. I have excellent eyes and I could see their meeting. The thief's own eyes were bugged out of his head. He was practically drooling. We could all hear his words.
"What a second-story man you'd make! Lady, I'll give you half— Well, a fourth of my treasure share for that scrap of cloth."
Ulanda picked up the steel platform, snapped it in the air. Once again, the handkerchief was silk and lace. She placed it carefully in a pocket of her robes. The thief's eyes followed it all the way.
"It is not for sale," Ulanda said, and she shrugged. "You wouldn't find it of much value anyway. If anyone touches it, other than myself, the handkerchief will wrap itself around the unfortunate person's nose and mouth and will smother him to death."
She smiled at Reynard sweetly. He eyed her, decided she was telling the truth, gulped and turned hastily away.
"May Saint James preserve me," Eric said dourly. Laying his hand upon the rope, he started to climb.
He was strong, that knight. Encased in heavy plate armor and chain mail, his sword hanging from his side, he pulled himself up the cliff with ease. The dwarf was quick to follow, running up the rope nimbly. I took my time. It was nearly evening now, but the afternoon sun had warmed the rock. Hauling myself up that rope was hot work. I slipped once, giving myself the scare of a lifetime. I heaved a sign of relief when Eric pulled me up over the ledge and into the cool shadows of the cavern.
"Where's the dwarf?" I asked, noticing only three of my companions were around.
"He went ahead to scout the way," said Eric.
I nodded, glad for the chance to rest. Reynard drew up the rope and hid it beneath a rock for use on the way back. I glanced around. All along the sides of the cavern, I could see marks left by the dragon's massive body scraping against the rock. We were examining these when Orin returned, his bearded face split in a wide smile.
"You are right, Seneschal. This is the way to the dragon's lair. And this proves it."
Orin held up his find to the light. It was a golden nugget. Reynard eyed it covetously and I knew then and there it was going to cause trouble.
"This proves it!" Orin repeated, his eyes shining bright as the gold. "This is the beast's hole. We've got him! Got him now!"
Eric Truestone, a grim look on his face, drew his sword and started for a huge tunnel that led from the cavern's entrance into the mountain. Shocked, Orin caught hold of the knight, pulled him back.
"Are you daft, man?" the dwarf demanded. "Will you go walking in the dragon's front door? Why don't you just ring the bell, let him know we're here?"
"What other way is there?" Eric asked, nettled at Orin's superior tone.
"The back way," said the dwarf cunningly. "The secret way. All dragons keep a back exit, just in case. We'll use that."
"You're saying we have to climb round to the other side of this bloody mountain?" Reynard protested. "After all this work it took to get here?"
"Naw, Light-finger!" Orin scoffed. "We'll go through the mountain. Safer, easier. Follow me."
He headed for what looked to me like nothing more than a crack in the wall. But once we had all squeezed through, we discovered a tunnel that led even deeper into the mountain.
"This place is blacker than the Evil One's heart," muttered Eric, as we took our first few tentative steps inside. Although he had spoken in a low voice, his words echoed alarmingly.
"Hush!" the dwarf growled. "What do you mean dark? I can see perfectly."
"But we humans can't! Do we dare risk a light?" I whispered.
"We won't get far without one," Eric grumbled. He'd already nearly brained himself on a low hanging rock. "What about a torch?"
"Torches smoke. And it's rumored there're other things living in this mountain besides the dragon!" Reynard said ominously.
"Will this do?" asked Ulanda.
Removing a jeweled wand from her belt, she held it up. She spoke no word, but—as if offended by the darkness—the wand began to shine with a soft, white light.
Orin shook his head over the frailty of humans and stumped off down the tunnel. We followed after.
The path led down and around and over and under and into and out of and up and sideways and across… a veritable maze. How Orin kept from getting lost or mixed up was beyond me. All of us had doubts (Reynard expressed his loudly), but Orin never wavered.
We soon lost track of time, wandering in the darkness beneath the mountain, but I would guess that we walked most of the night. If we had not found the coin, we would have known the dragon's presence just by the smell. It wasn't heavy or rank, didn't set us gagging or choking. It was a scent, a breath, a hint of blood and sulfur, gold and iron. The smell wasn't pervasive, but drifted through the narrow corridors like the dust, teasing, taunting. Just when Ulanda complained breathlessly that she couldn't stand another moment in this "stuffy hole," Orin brought us to a halt. Grinning slyly, he looked around at us.
"This is it," he said.
"This is what?" Eric asked dubiously, staring at yet another crack in the wall. (We'd seen a lot of cracks!)
"The dragon's other entrance," said the dwarf.
Squeezing through the crack, we found ourselves in another tunnel, this one far larger than any we'd found yet. We couldn't see daylight, but we could smell fresh air, so we knew the tunnel connected with the outside. Ulanda held her wand up to the wall and there again were the marks made by the dragon's body. To clinch the matter, a few red scales glittered on the ground.
Orin Dark-seer had done the impossible. He'd taken us clean through the mountain. The dwarf was pretty pleased with himself, but his pleasure was shortlived.
We stopped for a rest, to drink some water and eat a bite of food to keep up our energy. Ulanda was sitting beside me, telling me in a low voice of the wonders of her castle, when suddenly Orin sprang to his feet.
"Thief!" the dwarf howled. He leapt at Reynard. "Give it back!"
I was standing. So was Reynard, who managed to put me in between himself and the enraged dwarf.
"My gold nugget!" Orin shrieked.
"Share and share alike," Reynard said, bobbing this way and that to avoid the dwarf. "Finder's keepers."
Orin began swinging that damn ax of his a bit too near my knees for comfort.
"Shut them up, Seneschal!" Eric ordered me, as if I were one of his foot-soldiers. "They'll bring the dragon down us!"
"Fools! I'll put an end to this!" Ulanda reached her hand into a silken pouch she wore on her belt.
I think we may well have lost both thief and guide at that moment, but we suddenly had far greater problems.
"Orin! Behind you!" I shouted.
Seeing by the expression of sheer terror on my face that this was no trick, Orin whirled around.
A knight—or what had once been a knight—was walking toward us. His armor covered bone, not flesh. His helm rattled on a bare and blood-stained skull. He held a sword in his skeletal hand. Behind him, I saw what seemed an army of these horrors, though it was in reality only six or seven.
"I've heard tell of this!" Eric cried, awed. "These were once living men, who dared attack this dragon. The wyrm killed them and now forces their rotting corpses to serve him!"
"I'll put it out of its misery," Orin cried. Bounding forward the dwarf struck at the undead warrior with his ax.
The blade severed the knight's knees at the joint. The skeleton toppled. The dwarf laughed.
"No need to trouble yourselves over this lot," he told us. "Stand back."
The dwarf went after the second. But, at that moment, the first skeleton picked up it bones and began putting itself back together! Within moments, it was whole again. Swinging its bony arms, the skeleton knight brought its sword down on the dwarf's head. Fortunately for Orin, he was wearing a heavy steel helm. The sword did no damage, but the blow sent the dwarf reeling.
Ulanda already had her hand in her pouch. She drew out a noxious powder and tossed it onto the undead warrior nearest her. The skeleton went up in a whoosh of flame that nearly incinerated the thief, who had been attempting to lift a jeweled dagger from the undead warrior's belt. After that, Reynard very wisely took himself out of the way and watched the fight from a corner.
Eric Truestone drew his sword, but he did not attack. Holding his blade by the hilt, he raised it in front of one of the walking skeletons. "I call on Saint James to free these noble knights of the curse that binds them to this wretched life."
The undead warrior dropped down into a pile of dust at the knight's feet. Orin, who had been exchanging blows with two corpses for some time and was now getting the worst of the battle, beat a strategic retreat. Between the two of them—Ulanda with her magic and Eric with his faith—they took care of the remainder of the skeletal warriors.
I had drawn my sword, but, seeing that my help wasn't needed, I watched in admiration. When the warriors were either reduced to dust or smoldering ash, the two returned. Ulanda's hair wasn't even mussed. Eric hadn't broken into a sweat.
"There are not two others in this land who could have done what you did," I said to them and I meant it.
"I am good at anything I undertake," Ulanda said. She wiped dust from her hands. "Very good," she added with a charming smile and a glance at me from beneath her long eyelashes.
"The Lord was with me," Eric said humbly.
The battered dwarf glowered. "Meaning to say my God Alberich wasn't?"
"The good knight means nothing of the sort." I was quick to end the argument. "Without you, Orin Dark-Seer; we would be food for the dragon right now. Why do you think the skeleton men attacked us? Because we are drawing too near the dragon's lair and that is due entirely to your expertise. No other dwarf in this land could have brought us this far safely, and we all know it."
At this, I glanced pointedly at Eric, who took the hint and bowed courteously, if a bit stiffly, to the dwarf. Ulanda rolled her lovely eyes, but she muttered something gracious.
I gave Reynard a swift kick in the pants and the thief reluctantly handed over the golden nugget, which seemed to mean more to the dwarf than our words of praise. Orin thanked us all, of course, but his attention was for the gold. He examined it suspiciously, as if worried that Reynard might have tried to switch the real nugget with a fake. The dwarf bit down on it, polished it on his doublet. Finally certain the gold was real, Orin thrust it beneath his leather armor for safekeeping.
So absorbed was the dwarf in his gold that he didn't notice Reynard lifting his purse from behind. I did, but I took care not to mention it.
As I said, we were close to the dragon's lair.
We moved ahead, doubly cautious, keeping sharp watch for any foe. We were deep, deep inside the mountain now. It was silent, very silent. Too silent.
"You'd think we'd hear something," Eric whispered to me. "The dragon breathing, if nothing else. A beast that large would sound like a bellows down here."
"Perhaps this means he's not home!" Reynard said.
"Or perhaps it means we've come to a dead end," said Ulanda icily.
Rounding a corner of the tunnel, we all stopped and stared. The sorceress was right. Ahead of us, blocking our path, was a solid rock wall.
Orin's cheeks flushed. He tugged on his beard, cast us all a sidelong glance. "This must be the way," he muttered, kicking disconsolately at the rock.
"We'll have to go back," Eric said grimly. "Saint James is chastising me, telling me that I should have faced the wyrm in honorable battle. None of this skulking about like a—"
"Thief?" Reynard said brightly. "Very well, Sir Knight, you can go back to the front door if you want. I will sneak in by the window."
With this, Reynard closed his eyes and, flattening himself against the rock wall, he seemed—to all appearances—to be making love to it. His hands crawled over it, his fingers poking and prodding. He even whispered what sounded like cooing and coaxing words. Suddenly, with a triumphant grin, he placed his feet in two indentations in the bottom of the wall, put his hands in two cracks at the top, and pressed.
The rock wall shivered, then it began to slide to one side. A shaft of reddish light beamed out. The thief jumped off the wall and waved his hand at the opening he'd created.
"A secret door," Orin said, sniffing. "I knew it all along."
"You want to go around to the front now?" Reynard asked the knight slyly.
Eric glared at the thief, but he appeared to be having second thoughts about meeting the dragon face-to-face in an honorable fight. He drew his sword and waited for the wall to open completely so we could see inside.
The light pouring out from the doorway was extremely bright. All of us blinked and rubbed our eyes, trying to adjust them to the sudden brilliance after the darkness of the tunnels. We waited, listening for the dragon. None of us had a doubt but that we had discovered the beast's dwelling place.
We heard nothing. All was deathly quiet.
"The dragon's not home!" Reynard rubbed his hands. "Loki the Trickster is with me today!" He made a dash for the entrance, but Sir Eric's hand fell on his shoulder like doom.
"I will lead," he said. "It is my right."
Sword in hand, a prayer on his lips, the holy paladin walked into the dragon's lair.
Reynard crept right behind him. Orin, moving more cautiously, came behind the thief. Ulanda had taken a curious-looking scroll from her belt. Holding it fast, she entered the lair behind the dwarf. I drew my dagger. Keeping watch behind me, I entered last.
The door began to rumble shut.
I halted. "We're going to be trapped in here!" I called out loudly as I dared.
The others paid no attention to me. They had discovered the dragon's treasure room.
The bright light's source was a pit of molten rock, bubbling in a corner of the gigantic underground room. The floor of the cavern had been worn smooth, probably by the rubbing of the dragon's enormous body. A great, glittering heap, tall as His Majesty's castle, was piled together on the cavern floor.
Gathered here was every beautiful, valuable, and precious object in the kingdom. Gold shone red in the firelight; jewels of every color of the rainbow winked and sparkled. The silver reflected the smiles of the dragon-hunters. And, best of all, the cavern was uninhabited.
Sir Eric fell on his knees and began to pray.
Ulanda stared, open-mouthed.
Orin was weeping into his beard with joy.
But by now, the secret door had slammed shut.
Not one of them noticed.
"The dragon's not home!" Reynard shrieked and he made a dive for the treasure pile.
My treasure pile.
The thief began pawing through the gold.
My gold.
I walked up behind him.
"Never jump to conclusions," I said.
With my dagger, I gave him the death a thief deserves.
I stabbed him in the back.
"I thought you should at least have a look," I said to the dying Reynard kindly, gesturing to my horde. "Since you're the best."
Reynard slid off my dagger and fell to the floor. He was the most astonished looking corpse I'd ever seen. I still don't think he'd quite figured things out.
But Ulanda had. She was smart, that sorceress. She guessed the truth immediately, if a bit late—even before I took off my ring of shape-shifting.
Now, at last, after weeks of being cramped into that tiny form, I could stretch out. My body grew, slowly taking on its original, immense shape, almost filling the cavern. I held the ring up in front of her eyes.
"You were right," I told her, the Jewel sparkling in what was now a claw. "Your coven did possess many powerful arcane objects. This is just one of them."
Ulanda stared at me in terror. She tried to use her scroll, but the dragon-fear was too much for her. The words of magic wouldn't come to her parched, pale lips.
She'd been sweet enough to invite me to spend the night, and so I did her a favor. I let her see, before she died, a demonstration of the magic now in my possession. Appropriately, one of my most prized artifacts—a necklace made out of magical wolf's teeth—encircled her lovely neck and tore out her throat.
All this time, Orin Dark-seer had been hacking at my hind leg with his ax. I let him get in a few licks. The dwarf hadn't been a bad sort, after all, and he'd done me a favor by showing me the weakness in my defenses. When he seemed likely to draw blood, however, I tired of the contest. Picking him up, I tossed him in the pool of molten lava. Eventually he'd become part of the mountain—a fitting end for a dwarf. I trust he appreciated it.
That left Sir Eric, who had wanted, all along, to meet me in honorable battle. I granted him his wish.
He faced me bravely, calling on Saint James to fight at his side.
Saint James must have busy with something else just then, for he didn't make an appearance.
Eric died in a blaze of glory.
Well, he died in a blaze.
I trust his soul went straight to Valhalla or wherever it is knights go, where it's my guess, his patron saint must have had some pretty fancy explaining to do.
They were dead now. All four.
I put out the fire and swept up the knight's ashes. Then I shoved the other two corpses out the secret door. The thief and the sorceress would take the place of the skeletal warriors I'd been forced to sacrifice to keep up appearances.
Crawling back to my treasure pile, I tidied up the gold a bit where the thief had disturbed it. Then I climbed on top, spread myself out, and burrowed deeply and luxuriously into the gold and silver and jewels. I spread my wings over my treasure protectively, even paused to admire the effect of the firelight shining on my red scales. I wrapped my long tail around the golden nuggets of the dwarves, stretched my body comfortably over the jewels of knights, lay my head down on the magical treasure of the coven.
I was tired, but satisfied. My plan had worked out wonderfully well.
I had rid myself of them. They'd been best. The very best.
Sooner or later, separately or together, they would have come after me. And they might have caught me napping.
I settled myself onto the treasure more comfortably and closed my eyes. I'd earned my rest.
I could sleep peacefully… now.