Part 14 (2/2)
Sturm halted and turned around. ”Well, what is it?” he said impatiently.
”Those voices!” Caramon gasped, huffing from the exertion. ”They're draconian. No, listen!” He gripped his friend's arm.
Sturm did listen, his brow furrowing. He lowered his sword. ”Why would draconians attack a dragon?”
”Maybe they had a falling out,” Caramon said, trying to catch his breath. ”Evil turns on its own.”
”I am not so certain,” said Raistlin, coming up to them. He looked from the knight to his twin. ”Do either of you sense the debilitating fear that we have felt before around these beasts?”
”No,” Sturm replied, ”but the dragon cannot see us.”
”That shouldn't make a difference. Back in camp, we felt the terror of the red dragon long before it came into view.”
”It's all very strange,” Sturm muttered, frowning.
”The one thing we do know is this,” said Raistlin. ”The enemy of my enemy is my friend'.”
”True,” said Sturm, smiling slightly. ”In that case, we should help the dragon.”
”Help the dragon!” Caramon goggled. ”Have you both gone crazy?”
Both had, apparently, for Sturm was once more running toward the fight and Raistlin was hastening alongside. Shaking his head, Caramon dashed after his brother and the knight.
The sounds of battle intensified. The draconians' hissing and their guttural voices, could be heard clearly now. They spoke their own language but with a mixture of Common thrown in, so that Caramon could understand about every fourth word. The dragon's roaring diminished, growing weaker. Light flared from the armory, s.h.i.+ning into the corridor.
Sturm had flattened himself against a wall. Edging near the door, he risked a glance into the chamber. What he saw amazed him so he could not move but stood transfixed, staring. Caramon yanked him back.
”Well?” he demanded.
”There is a dragon,” said Sturm, awed, ”like none I have ever seen or heard of. It is beautiful.” He shook himself, came back to reality. ”And it is badly hurt.”
Caramon went to see for himself.
Sturm was right. The dragon was not like any other dragon Caramon had ever encountered. He had seen dragons with scales that were black as the Dark Queen's heart, dragons with scales red as searing flame, dragons with scales the color of a cobolt sky. This one was different. It was smaller than most and it was beautiful, as Sturm has said. Its scales gleamed like polished bra.s.s.
”What sort of dragon is it?” Caramon turned back to his twin.
”That's what we must find out,” said Raistlin, ”which means we can't let it die.”
”There are four draconians,” Sturm reported. ”One is badly wounded. The other three are on their feet. They have their backs to us. They're concentrating on finis.h.i.+ng off the dragon. They are armed with bows. They've been loosing arrows at it. We can take them from behind.”
”Let me see what I can do,” said Raistlin. ”Perhaps I can save us time and trouble.”
Raistlin drew something from his pouch, crushed it beneath his fingers, spoke the words of magic, and made a motion with his hand.
A ball of blazing fire flew from his fingertips, hurtled across the room, and struck one of the draconians in the back. The magical fire burst on the draconian's scaly skin. The draconian gave a hideous yell and collapsed onto the floor, rolling about in agony as the flames blackened his scales and charred his flesh. His companions scrambled to get away from him, for the flames were spreading, licking at their heels.
”Remember, you two!” Raistlin warned, as Sturm and Caramon charged inside. ”Draconians are as dangerous dead as they are alive!”
Sturm shouted his battle-cry, ”Arras, Solamni! Arise, Solamnia!”
The draconian started at the yell and was about to turn to face this new foe, just as Sturm's sword slid through its entrails. Sturm yanked his blade out swiftly, before the draconian's corpse could freeze into stone, trapping his weapon. Caramon was taking no chances. Wrapping his fist around his sword's hilt, he bashed his draconian on the back of the neck. The draconian's neck cracked and it fell to the floor, stiff as marble.
”Three dead!” Caramon reported, sucking on bruised knuckles. He hurried over to finish off the wounded draconian, only to find that it had died. The body crumbled to dust as he approached it. ”Four dead,” he amended.
The battle ended, Sturm hastened over to the dragon. The great beast lay sprawled on the floor, its s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s scales smeared with blood. Raistlin walked over to the dragon as fast as he was able. The magic always took its toll on his body. He felt as weary as though he'd been in battle for three days, instead of three minutes.
”Keep watch on the corridor,” he ordered Caramon, as he pa.s.sed his twin. ”There were other draconians in this room. These four were left to finish the job.”
Caramon looked about at the vast number of spent arrows lying on the floor and nodded his head in grim agreement. He glanced back at the dragon and his heart smote him. The beast was so beautiful, so magnificent. No matter that it was a dragon, it should not be suffering like this. He left to keep a lookout at the door.
Sturm crouched beside the dragon's head. The dragon's eyes were open but fast dimming. His breathing was labored. He gazed at Sturm in wonder.
”A Solamnic knight... Why are you here? Do you... fight with the dwarves?” The dragon roused himself with an effort. ”You must slay the foul wizard!”
Sturm glanced up at Raistlin.
”Not me,” Raistlin snapped. ”The dragon speaks of dwarves fighting... He must mean Fistandantilus!”
”He found me sleeping,” the dragon murmured. ”He cast a spell on me, made me a prisoner... Now he has sent his demons to slay me...”
The dragon coughed, blood spewing from his mouth.
”What kind of dragon are you?” Raistlin asked. ”We have never seen your like.”
The gleaming body shuddered. The dragon's ma.s.sive tail thumped the floor, his legs convulsed, wings twitched. He gave a final s.h.i.+ver. Blood poured out of his mouth. The dragon's head lolled. The eyes stared, unseeing.
Raistlin gave an annoyed sigh.
Sturm cast him a reproachful glance, then bowed his head. ”Paladine, G.o.d of Light and Mercy, Wisdom and Truth,” he prayed, ”take the soul of this n.o.ble beast to your blessed realm-”
”Sturm, I heard something!” Caramon came running into the room. He stopped, abashed, when he saw the knight was praying, and looked at his twin. ”I heard voices coming from the library.”
”Sir Knight,” Raistlin said sharply, ”leave off your prayer. Paladine knows what to do with a soul. He does not need you to tell him.”
Sturm ignored him. He finished his prayer then rose to his feet.
”I heard voices,” said Caramon, apologetic, ”coming from the corridor. Maybe draconian. I can't tell.”
”Go with my brother,” said Raistlin. ”The magic has drained me. I must rest.”
He sank down onto the floor, leaning his back against the wall.
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