The Cleric Quintet: The Fallen Fortress

Chapter Twelve

 
The song of Deneir played in Cadderly's thoughts. He knew that he would need a diversion, something physical and powerful to gain time as he sorted through the notes of a spell he had not yet fully come to understand.
"A service both in your cave and in taking us across the mountains," Cadderly went on, hoping that he might steal some time with flattery. He remained conscious of the song as he spoke, the notes of the needed spell coming clearer with each playing. "But now, it is time for you..."
"Humble priest?
Cadderly found no answer to the thunderous roar, the absolute indication that Fyrentennimar did not yet consider the killing to be at its end. With low growls shivering the stone beneath Cadderly's feet, the dragon stalked in.
Those eyes! Cadderly lost his concentration, caught in their hypnotizing intensity. He felt helpless, hopeless, surely doomed against this godlike creature, this terror beyond imagination. He fought for breath, fought against the welling panic that told him to run for his life.
Fyrentennimar was close. How had Fyrentennimar gotten so damned close?
The dragon's head slowly moved back, serpentine neck coiling. A foreclaw tucked up tight against the massive beast's chest, while its hind legs tamped down securely on the stone.
"Get outa there!" Ivan roared from the side, recognizing that the beast was about to spring. Cadderly heard the words and agreed wholeheartedly, but could not get his legs to move.
An arrow zipped above Cadderly's head, splintering harmlessly as it struck the dragon's unpenetrable natural armor.
Intent on Cadderly the deceiver, Fyrentennimar did not seem to even notice.
Of all the things Cadderly of Carradoon would see in his life, nothing would come close to the sheer terror of seeing Fyrentennimar's ensuing spring. The dragon, so huge, shot forward with the speed of a viper, came at Cadderly with a maw opened wide enough to swallow him whole, showing rows of gleaming teeth, each as long as the young priest's forearm.
In that split second, Cadderly's vision failed him, as though his mind simply could not accept the image.
Just a dozen feet in front of him, Fyrentennimar's expression changed suddenly. His head snapped to the side and contorted weirdly, as if he was pushing against some resilient bubble.
"Dragonbane," Cadderly muttered, the success of his ward bringing him some small measure of hope.
Old Fyren twisted and struggled, bending the blocking line, refusing to relent. The great hind legs dug deep scratches into the stone, and the hungry maw snapped repeatedly, looking for something tangible to tear.
Cadderly began his chant. Another arrow whipped past him, this one grazing Fyrentennimar's eye.
The dragon's wings spread wide, lifting old Fyren upright The dragon roared and hissed and sucked in air.
Cadderly closed his eyes and continued to chant, locking his thoughts on the notes of Deneir's song.
The flames engulfed him, scorched and melted the stone at his feet. His friends cried out, thinking him consumed, but he did not hear them. His protective globe sizzled green about him, thinning dangerously as though it would not endure, but Cadderly did not see.
All he heard was the song of Deneir; all he saw was the music of the heavenly spheres.
When Danica came to lip of the valley wall and saw her love apparently immolated below her, her legs buckled and her heart fluttered - she thought it would stop altogether.
Her warrior instincts told her to go to the aid of her love, but what could she do against the likes of Fyrentennimar? Her hands and feet could be deadly against ores and goblins, even giants, but they would do little damage slamming the iron-hard scales of the wyrra. Danica could hurl her crystal-bladed daggers into the heart of an ogre ten yards away, but those blades were tiny things when measured against the sheer bulk of Fyrentennimar.
The dragon fires ended, and, looking at Cadderly, so boldly facing the wyrm in the open valley, Danica knew that she had to do something.
"Fyrentennimar the awesome?" she cried incredulously. "A puny and weak thing is he, by my own eyes. A pretender of strength who cowers when danger is near!"
The dragon's head snapped around to face her, high above on the lip of the valley wall.
"Ugly worm," Danica chided, emphasizing her use of "worm" instead of "wyrm," perhaps the most insulting thing one could say to a dragon. "Ugly and weak worm!"
The dragon's tail twitched dangerously, reptilian eyes narrowed to mere slits, and old Fyren's low growl reverberated through the valley stone.
Standing before the distracted dragon, Cadderly picked up the pace of his chanting. He was truly glad for the distraction, but terribly afraid that Danica was pushing the explosive dragon beyond reason.
Danica laughed at old Fyren, just crossed her hands over her belly and shook with laughter. Her thoughts were quite serious, though. She recalled the ancient writings of Pen-pahg D'Ahn, the Grandmaster of her sect
You anticipate the attacks of your enemy, the Grandmaster had promised. You do not react, you move before your enemy moves. As the bowman fires, his target is gone. As the swordsman thrusts ahead, his enemy, you, are behind him.
And as the dragon breathes, Penpahg had said, so its flames shall touch only empty stone.
Danica needed those words now, with Fyrentennimar's head waving only a hundred feet below her. Penpahg D'Ahn's writings were the source of her strength, the inspiration for her life, and she had to trust them now, even in the face of an outraged red dragon.
"Ugly, ugly Fyrentennimar, who thinks he is so good," she sang. "His talons cannot tear cotton, his breath cannot light wood!" Not an impressive rhyme perhaps, but the words assaulted the overly proud Fyrentennimar more profoundly than any weapon ever could.
The dragon's wings beat suddenly, ferociously, lifting the dragon into the air - almost
Cadderly completed his spell at that moment, and the stone beneath Fyrentennimar reshaped, animated, and grabbed at the dragon's rear claws. Old Fyren stretched to his limit, seemed almost springlike as he came crashing back down, falling tight against his haunches, but all of his subsequent thrashing could not break the valley floor's hold.
Fyrentennimar knew at once the source of his entrapment, and his great head whipped around, slamming hard against the blocking line of the dragonbane spell.
Cadderly paled - could his protective globe defeat a second searing blast of dragon breath?
"His wings cannot lift his blubber," Danica cried out "His tail cannot swat a gnat"
The dragon's ensuing roar echoed off mountain walls a dozen miles away, sent animals and monsters rushing for the cover of their holes throughout the Snowflake Mountains. The serpentine neck stretched forward, and a gout of flames fell over Danica.
Stone melted and poured from the ledge in a red-glowing river. Pikel, hiding in an alcove beneath the region, let out a frightened squeak and rushed away.
Cadderly verged on panic, thought for sure that he had just seen his love die, and knew in his heart, despite the logical claims of his conscience, that nothing, not the destruction of the Ghearufu or the downfall of Castle Trinity, could be worth such a loss.
He calmed, though, when he remembered who he was thinking of, remembered the wisdom and almost magical talents of his dear Danica. He had to trust in her, as she so often trusted in him, had to believe that her decisions would be the correct decisions.
"His horns get caught in archways," Danica continued the rhyme, laughing over the words as she came back up to the ledge at a point thirty feet to the side. "And his muscles are no more than fat!"
Fyrentennimar's eyes widened with outrage and incredulity. He thrashed his tail and legs, slammed his horned head repeatedly against the magical dragonbane barrier, and beat his wings so fiercely that goblin corpses shifted and slid, caught up in the wind.
Like Danica, Cadderly was grinning widely, though he knew that the fight was far from won. One of Fyrentennimar's claws had torn free of the stone, and the other would soon break through. The young priest completed his next enchantment, pulled from the sphere of time, and hurled waves of magical energy at the distracted dragon.
Old Fyren felt the stone loosen about his one trapped leg, though it retightened immediately. The dragon, wise with years though he was, did not understand the significance, did not understand why the valley suddenly seemed much larger to him.
Again the wyrm sensed that Cadderly was somehow involved, and he calmed his tirade and steeled an angry glare over the supposedly "humble" priest "What have you done?" Fyrentennimar demanded.
The dragon jerked suddenly, slammed from behind by Vander, the firbolg's huge sword smashing in hard at Fyrentennimar's trapped haunch.
Time to go!" Ivan yelled to his brother, and the two dwarves appeared from behind their rocks, heads down in a wild charge. %.
To the still huge Fyrentennimar, the firbolg's hit did no real damage. A tail slap sent Vander flying away, crashing down against the base of the valley wall. Resilient, Vander came right back up, understanding that none of the band could give in to the pain and the terror, that there could be no retreat and no quarter against such a merciless and terrible foe.
The new distractions could not have come at a better moment for Cadderly. Again came the waves of his insidious magic, and to old Fyren, the valley seemed larger still.
Then the dragon understood - the "humble" priest was stealing his age! And to a dragon, age was the measure of size and strength. "Old Fyren" was more than a match for the pitiful companions, but suddenly "young Fyren" found himself in dire straits.
"Bat-winged newt with a bumpy head, run away, run away before you're dead!" Danica cried out
The immediate threats were the charging dwarves and the humble priest with his wicked magic. Fyrentennimar knew this rationally, knew that he should put his mouth in line with the charging dwarves and incinerate them before they got near him. But no respectable red dragon could ignore the taunt of "bat-winged newt," and Fyrentennimar's head went back up toward the ledge, his fire bursting forth in Danica's direction.
Or at least, bursting forth to where Danica had been.
By the time the fires ended with more molten stone slipping down from the ledge, Ivan and Pikel were hacking and smashing away, and while their weapons would have skipped harmlessly off the scale plating of "old Fyren," they now cracked and smashed apart the thinned and smaller scales. After only three furious swings, Ivan's axe dug deep into dragon flesh.
Similarly, Shayleigh's line of arrows chipped away at the dragon's scales. So perfect was the elf maiden's aim that the next six arrows that left her quiver hit the dragon in a concentrated pattern no larger than the brim of Cadderl/s blue hat
Cadderly was truly exhausted. His eyelids drooped heavily; his heart pounded in his chest. He went back into the song again, though, stubbornly steeled his gaze, and loosed the energies.
This time, Fyrentennimar was ready for the magical assault, and the spell was turned aside.
Cadderly came at him again, and then a third time. The young priest could barely focus his vision, could hardly remember what he was doing and why he was doing it His head throbbed; he fe!t as if every ounce of magical energy he let loose was an ounce of energy stolen from his own life-force.
Yet he sang on.
Then he was lying on the stone, his head bleeding from the unexpected impact on the valley floor. He looked up and was glad to see that his enchantment had gotten through once more, that Fyrentennimar seemed not so large to him, barely taller than a hill giant. But Cadderly knew that the spells were not lasting, that Fyrentennimar's stolen centuries would soon return. They had to hit at the dragon hard right now; Cadderly had to find some offensive magic that would smash the monster while the dragon was caught in his lessened state.
But the song of Deneir would not play in the young priest's head. He could not bring to mind the name of his holy book, could not even recall his own name. The pain in his head throbbed, blocking all avenues of thought. He could hardly draw breath past the sheer physical exertion of his beating chest. He brought a hand to his pounding heart and felt his bandolier, then, following that singular focused thought, drew out his hand-crossbow.
Ivan and Pikel went into a flurry of activity under the dragon's slashing foreclaws. Ivan got buffeted by a wing, but hooked his axe over the limb's top and would not be thrown away.
Vander's next hit on the dragon's haunch shattere4 sev" eral scales and drove a deep gash. Fyrentennimar roared in agony, swooped his serpentine neck about, launching his opened maw for the dangerous giant
Vander tugged his sword free, knew that he had to be quick, or be snapped in hall It took Cadderly several moments to load and cock his weapon, and when he looked back to the fight, he found Fyrentennimar, on the stone and level with him, staring him in the eye from just a few feet away!
Cadderly cried out and fired, the quarrel blasting into the dragon's nostril and blowing pieces from his face. Cadderly, scrambling on all fours with the little strength he had left, didn't even see the hit He calmed considerably when he at last looked back, though, when he realized that Fyrentennimar's head had only been near him, had only crossed the line of dragonbane, because Vander had lopped it off, halfway up the neck.
Pikel stood by the fallen torso, mumbling, "Oooo," over and over. Cadderly, his senses slowly returning, did not understand the green-bearded dwarf's apparent concern, until he saw the top of Ivan's head wriggle out from under the chest of the dead wyrm. With a stream of curses to make a barkeep of Waterdeep's dock ward blush, Ivan pulled himself out, slapping Pikel's offered helping hand away. The yellow-bearded dwarf hopped to his feet, hands planted squarely on his hips, eyeing Vander dangerously.
"Riding stupid dragons!" he huffed, glancing menacingly Cadderly*s way.
"Well?" the dwarf roared at the confused firbolg. Vander looked to Pikel for some explanation, but the green-bearded Bouldershoulder only shrugged and put his hands behind his back.
*Move the damned thing so I can get back me axe!" Ivan howled in explanation. He shook his head in disgust, stomped over to Cadderly, and roughly pulled the man to his feet
"And don't ye ever think o' bringing a stupid dragon along again!" Ivan roared, poking Cadderly hard in the chest The dwarf shoved by and stormed away, looking for a quiet spot where he could brood.
Pikel followed, after patting Cadderly comfortingly on the shoulder.
Cadderly smiled, despite his pain and exhaustion, when he looked upon Pikel. As long as everything turned out all right, the easygoing dwarf cared little for any troublesome details - as was evidenced by the dwarf's not-too-well hidden "Hee hee hee" as he skipped along behind his surly brother.
Cadderly would have shaken his head in disbelief, but he feared that the effort would cost him his tentative balance.
"She is all right," Shayleigh remarked to him, coming up and following his worried gaze toward the melted ledge.
True to the elf maiden's words, Danica came running in through the valley entrance a moment later, flying with all speed for her love.
She grabbed Cadderly tightly and held him close, and he needed her support, for the weariness, more complete than Cadderly had ever experienced, had come rushing back in full.
To Trust
She viewed the dragon, full-sized once more, dead in the rocky vale, focused on its severed head lying a few feet from the scaly torso. All about the grisly scene, Dorigen saw the smoldering, torn remains of goblins and giants, scores of the beasts. And walking out of the valley, weary perhaps, but not one of them showing any serious wounds, went Cadderly and Danica, flanked by the two dwarves, the elf maiden, and the traitorous firbolg.
Dorigen slipped back into her chair and allowed the image to disappear from her crystal ball. At first she had been surprised to so easily get through Cadderly's magical defenses and locate the young priest, but when she gazed upon the scene, upon the carnage and the fury of Fyrenten-nimar, she had understood the priest's excusable defensive lapse.
Dorigen thought that she was witnessing Cadderly's end, and the end of the threat to Castle Trinity. She had almost called in Aballister, almost advised the older wizard to go out and recruit Fyrentennimar as an ally for their unhindered attack against Carradoon,
Her surprise as Cadderly literally shrank the great wyrm - by stealing its age, Dorigen presumed - could not have been more complete, and complete, too, was Dori-gen's surprise as she sat back and honestly considered her own feelings during the viewing.
She had felt saddened when she thought Cadderly was surely doomed. Logically, ambitious Dorigen could tell herself that Cadderly's death would be a good thing for the designs of Castle Trinity, that the interference of the young priest could no longer be tolerated, and that in killing the young priest Fyrentennimar would have only saved Aballister the trouble. Logically, Dorigen should not have felt sympathy for Cadderly as he stood, apparently helpless, before the dreaded wyrm.
But she had, and she had silently cheered for Cadderly and his brave Mends in their titanic struggle, had actually leaped up in joy when the firbolg came up from behind and lopped the dragon's head off.
Why had she done that?
"Have you sighted anything this day?" TTie voice startled Dorigen so badly that she nearly fell out of her chair. She quickly threw the wrap over the crystal ball, though its interior was a cloud of nothingness once more, and fumbled to straighten and compose herself as Aballister threw open the curtain now serving as her front door and whisked in beside her.
"Druzil has lost contact with the young priest," Aballister continued angrily. "It would seem that he is making fine progress through the mountains."
If only you knew, Dorigen thought, but she remained silent. Aballister could not begin to guess that the young priest was now no more than a day's march from Castle Trinity. Nor could the old wizard imagine that Cadderly and his friends would be resourceful and powerful enough to overcome the likes of old Fyren.
"What do you know?" the suspicious Aballister demanded, drawing Dorigen from her private contemplations.
"I?" Dorigen replied innocently, poking a finger against her own chest, her amber eyes wide with feigned surprise.
If Aballister had not been so self-absorbed at that moment, he would have caught Dorigen's defensive and obvious overreaction.
"Yes, you," the wizard snarled. "Have you been able to make contact with Cadderly this day?"
Dorigen looked back to the crystal ball, mulled the question over for a short moment, and then replied, "No."
When she looked back, she saw that Aballister continued to eye her suspiciously.
"Why did you hesitate before answering?" he asked.
"I thought that I had made contact," Dorigen lied. "But in considering it, I have come to believe that it was only a goblin."
Aballister's scowl showed that he was not convinced.