Dream Magic Read online

  “What’s this?” exclaimed the dragon. “You seek to die so easily now? No, no, you’ll not be allowed such a blissful path!”

  The pressure eased and Trev’s throat opened. His starved lungs worked in retching gasps. He still could not speak, but he could breathe again. The world came back into focus and the tunnel brightened as his eyes blinked and rolled.

  “The question now, is what element of your person I’ll remove first. I’m thinking a toe. Roasted with the foot, but not so much that it turns to ash and flakes away when I take a nibble. No, it must be done rightly.”

  Trev struggled to speak as the dragon exhibited an interest in his right foot.

  “I did not deceive you great one!” he choked out. “The way out is ahead! We have only to go near the Gnome City, and then—”

  The massive head whipped around to eye him again. “The Gnome City? You’re not just a deceiver, you’re mad. I’d never—”

  “You need not fear their stone hands, lord,” Trev said. “They’ll be sleeping, and we will not enter their city proper. There is another way.”

  The dragon stared at him quietly for a moment. “I’ll not play the fool any longer. Now, remove that boot or I’ll burn the flesh and leather together. Let’s get on with this, I wish to experience your flavor right this instant.”

  Trails of glowing saliva dribbled from the beastly jaws.

  “Master,” said Trev, “think for a moment. You know these caverns well, don’t you? You’ve been down every tunnel and hunted in every large cavern…is that not so?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well then, if I planned to show you something you’ve never seen, it must by rights be in a region you’ve never visited. The Gnome City is just such a place. The Gnomes are not to be feared when they are dormant—”

  “Feared? You dare suggest—?”

  “I dare not! I was speaking of my own experiences, not yours. But in any case, the Gnomes will not awaken if you don’t go past their guards. How far have you ventured into their territory?”

  The dragon grunted and shifted. “Not far. There is no meat there to taste. They are hardened packs of dust-like, dried mud. I’ve never seen the need to explore their lands.”

  “Naturally not. The spot I’m taking you to, fortunately, is just outside their borders. It is in a region with nothing edible; that’s probably why you’ve never seen it.”

  “It’s remotely possible,” the dragon conceded, “but I’m tired of this farce. I’m going to eat you now and be done with it.”

  “Very well, I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you know…the impatience of youth. I mean, for one of your kind you aren’t even an adult yet, are you? One can’t expect an immature creature to show thought and reason. What would any youngling do when faced with a bowl of seeds? Why, they’d eat them instantly. They would never think to plant the seeds, to nurture them, to grow a crop that could feed a village. It is much the same with all folk.”

  “Very insulting references. Especially the part about eating and planting seeds. A disgusting thought. Does your kind really do such things?”

  “Upon occasion…”

  “All right then, we’ll press on. But you have hours left, half-breed. Not days, nor weeks. Hours.”

  “That will be plenty of time. Now, if you would be so good as to show me the tunnel exiting this magma chamber which leads most directly to the Gnome City—”

  “WHAT?” roared the dragon. “You don’t even know where you are?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Trev said breezily. “The Everdark is a big place, and I’m not a native. It just so happens I’ve never come this way before.”

  “Humph,” grumbled the dragon, but at last, he directed Trev toward a narrow passage of slick obsidian.

  Trev entered this tunnel, which headed downward steeply. Behind him, the dragon had to shimmy and fold its wings tight against its body to follow.

  Trev massaged his abraded throat as he walked, finding the metal cable had left bloody scabs there. He wondered where and how this whole ordeal was going to end.

  * * *

  Brand and Tomkin made excellent time in pursuit of Trev and the dragon. They did not have to fold wings, nor was one the captive of the other. But what made them move more quickly than that was the Axe in Brand’s hand and the quick feet that carried Tomkin. Less than an hour after Trev and the dragon had passed by, they found the magma chamber and the obsidian tunnel that led downward from it.

  “This must be it,” Tomkin said. “You can see the drag-marks. The dragon’s belly leaves no scales as it passes by, indicating it is indeed a youngster.”

  “I could have told you that,” Brand said. “An adult dragon wouldn’t even attempt that slick tunnel downward. It would be too tight for them. I bet it’s no more than nine feet in any dimension, and closer to six at the narrow parts.”

  “Well then, we’d best press ahead.”

  “Right you are.”

  Despite their decision, neither Brand nor Tomkin set foot in the narrow, pitch-black tunnel. It looked like the yawning mouth of a black beast for one thing. It was anything but confidence-inspiring. Something about the obsidian stone teeth of the entrance gave them further pause. They looked like fangs of black glossy stone. It looked as if one was marching into the mouth of a dragon, rather than following a natural tunnel.

  “Scout ahead,” Brand said at last, thrusting his Axe into the maw.

  “What?” squawked Tomkin. “I’m no runabout to be ordered ahead of your horse, man. I’m an ally of stature. A lord among my own countless people. A bearer of a Jewel, the same as you are!”

  “Fine. We’ll go in together.”

  So saying, Brand took the first steps. He lost his footing and went sliding down into the mouth of the entrance. Tomkin stood at the opening above him, peering with one hand on his hat.

  “Looks steep. Are you still on your feet?”

  “Get down here you scoundrel,” Brand growled.

  Tsking, Tomkin finally followed. Soon, the two were making fast time as they marched deeper into the passages. Oddly enough, once they were inside the tunnel, they found the same disturbing characteristics that had made them reluctant to enter now made them move as quickly as possible. They both just wanted to reach the end.

  Brand finally tripped over something on the slick floor. He went down with a whoop. Looking back up behind him, he saw Tomkin bounding away, back up the way they’d come. He made a wry face.

  “I’m not dead yet,” he called after Tomkin.

  The other slowed then paused, gazing curiously into the blackness. “What has befallen?”

  “I tripped, that’s all. Come and look at what I’ve found.”

  Tomkin bounded up to him a moment later. Together, they examined the object Brand had tripped over.

  It was a length of steel cable. Very well-made, strong and flexible, the cable was clearly forged by the Kindred. No one else had the craft for such work—with the possible exception of the elves themselves.

  “Looks like part of the net,” Tomkin said.

  “It is. As to why Trev and the dragon brought it down here with them, I haven’t a clue…but they clearly did.”

  “I have a theory,” Tomkin said importantly.

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “First, the dragon caught Trev in a net. Then after devouring him, he still had a few of the cables left in his belly. After he’d traveled for miles underground, he was forced to sick-up the last remnants of the net. Do you see any fresh bones lying about?”

  Brand snorted and dropped the cable, which snaked to the ground with a slapping sound. “Of course not. Trev is a smart boy. He’ll stay alive, dodging and squirming out of anything as mundane as a net. Let us continue.”

  Tomkin didn’t budge. “If the boy has indeed been consumed, there is really no need for us to continue.”

  “We don’t know wha
t’s happened to him. That’s why we’re down here retracing his steps.”

  “But don’t you see?” Tomkin asked in exasperation. “Adding ourselves to the dragon’s diet isn’t going to help Trev now. He’s probably been thoroughly digested by this time. There’s no point in—”

  “Are you coming or not? Must I see this through by myself, or can I count on the lord of the Wee Folk?”

  Still, Tomkin hesitated. “No, I’m done with this fool’s errand.”

  Brand took a new grip on his Axe and turned away with a disgusted snort. He drew upon the strength of mind and solidarity of purpose the Axe always provided to its master. He marched deeper into the glimmering black tunnel without a glance back.

  Tomkin watched him go with misgivings. Soon, even Ambros was nothing but a yellowy reflection upon the glossy tunnel walls.

  Finally, with a cat’s growl of frustration, he followed the river boy.

  * * *

  The Dead that lived near the mound were not typical of their kind. They were spiritual, rather than mindless collections of dry bones and tattered flesh. When Trev and the dragon entered their territory, following a winding cavern to its cul-de-sac ending, the Dead sensed the approach of the Living, and they stirred.

  “I don’t like this place,” said the dragon, sniffing the foul air and shifting its long, sinuous neck from side to side. The two jets of flame that served the beast as eyes examined the cavern, which was filled with noisome pools full of ink-black water.

  Trev liked the place even less than did the dragon, but he knew he couldn’t allow his fear to show. It was his very bravery that had stung the dragon’s pride and gotten it to follow him thus far. Accordingly, he walked without pause or concern. He did his best to appear nonchalant and confident.

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” he said in a breezy tone. “Just a few dusty old corpses and their lingering ghosts. I would expect no more than a dozen or so of them to be capable of rising to greet us.”

  “Ghosts?” asked the dragon. There was a definite tone of concern in his voice. This made Trev smile slightly.

  “Yes, yes, ghosts, spirits, ghasts—a variety of shades haunt this spot. Be quick of feet and quicker of mind as we circle the mound the first few times, lest they give you a chill.”

  “A MOUND?” roared the dragon.

  For a moment, as the great beast stopped in its tracks and blew an intensely hot gust over his back, Trev thought his life was forfeit. He hadn’t explained the nature of the exit from this world to the next—although, in retrospect, the answer should have been obvious. What other easy way was there to escape the Everdark quickly and easily?

  Trev turned to face the dragon, who was now lifting her head and puffing twin flares of flame.

  “What did you expect?” Trev asked.

  “You said nothing of haunted mounds,” roared the dragon. “A trickster, you are, just like all your folk. Do a dozen of your kin lie here in wait? I’m wanting to know the details of this plot, elf! Tell me now before I strike you as dead as the spirits that linger here.”

  Trev put his hands on his hips and twisted his lips in disgust. “I had no idea the concept of a mound and a few stale Dead-things would put you into such a state.”

  The head lowered and came near. “What is this state which you speak of?” the monster asked dangerously.

  “A state of terror, apparently. I’ve got no other explanation for your reaction. Do you?”

  A jet of flame singed Trev, and he was forced to give up on his brave front. He beat at his smoking tunic.

  “Terror? I’ll show you terror. I’m not afraid of tiny collections of bones. I just don’t like to be—”

  “Show me then!” Trev said quickly. “Show me your bravery. Walk the mound with me. Exit the Everdark as I said. There are none of my kin lying in wait. I’m no king nor lord. I’m a half-breed—you said it yourself. None gush with love for me, nor do any follow my lead. I wander the world, above or below ground as I will. But my freedom comes at a price. I’ve got nothing but my wits, my blade and my balls to see me through life.”

  “Your blade? I did not see that you were armed. Show me your weapon, half-breed.”

  Trev confidently produced his dagger. The point glinted green, reflecting the burning eyes of the dragon.

  A great choking cloud came out of the monster’s maw, after she studied it for a second. “That is a blade?” she demanded. “I must say, you have amused me greatly. I haven’t gotten out enough, I suppose. In order to become wise and tricksy like my ancestors, I think you’re right. I must take chances now and then. Lead on through your Dead, and know that you can’t escape. I’ll slay you before you can take three steps.”

  “Of course,” said Trev and he set off.

  The pools cast up palls of hissing steam as they splashed through them. The dragon muttered irritably as she dragged her belly through each. Trev got the feeling that they discomfited her, but she didn’t complain openly, not wanting to incur any more hooting from Trev.

  As Trev led the way to the mound, he began to think of the dragon as a bully of the type he’d dealt with so often back in school in the River Haven. The dragon was huge, deadly and frightening, but underneath she was really very young. She was foolish, after a fashion, and had allowed herself to be talked into doing things that were better off left to daydreams. He even began to dare to think he could trick her further and escape—but then he met up with the Dead he’d dared to disturb.

  They were not, as he’d misled the dragon to believe, just fluttering spirits. Instead of resembling the contents of a peasant’s wash-basket, they resembled bony versions of knights and devils. Their eyes glowed as if they burned, but the light was cold, rather than hot.

  A half dozen rose up at once to confront them, forming a circle all around. As one they drew steel. Human lords they’d once been—or Kindred. It was hard to tell when their flesh had been shed. Only scraps of armor still clad their wicked forms and they moved with an unnatural gait.

  The dragon stopped and reared her head, turning her eyes from side to side. She did not cry out in fear, but she did retreat a half-step.

  “We must win through!” Trev shouted, bounding forward and drawing his dagger.

  The dragon thundered after him. The Dead closed in all around without a battle cry of any kind.

  Trev’s plan was a simple one, and it worked well: he sprinted toward the closing line and chose a spot that showed the largest gap between two of them. The nightmare to the left was slow, he could see, having no leg below the shin on its right side. Hampered in its movements, it could only laboriously hobble along. Toward this one Trev bounded, and he gave a desperate cry as he leapt over it.

  The Dead thing wasn’t so easily evaded, however. It raised a ball on a shaft of steel—a mace with rusty spikes. The spikes caught Trev as he sailed overhead, drawing a gouge down his calf. It hurt, but Trev managed not to collapse upon landing on the far side of the line of Dead. He stumbled, gathered himself, and ran on into the pitch-black cavern.

  The ring of Dead closed upon the dragon. The blue-scaled creature was too big to leap over the line and too slow to dart between them. Instead, she barreled forward and reared up. Her talons struck at the approaching skeletons, knocking them down and cracking their dry bones. But the enemy got back up, undeterred and relentless.

  Trev stopped running and turned. He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he flee, or should he help the living dragon, no matter how wicked it was, against the Dead?

  The hesitation was only a momentary thing, but it was real. After that single moment passed, his senses returned to him. He must fly! He had no choice, as this was the one opportunity that he would ever get.

  Then the dragon breathed fire. Trev had never seen a dragon gush flame like that. He’d read of the event, and heard tales, but talk was one thing and witnessing the reality was quite another.

  The line of Dead, swinging their weapons like thoughtless, clumsy machines, beat
on the dragon and stabbed at it. But the flames consumed them quickly. So hot were the fires they melted mace, sword, chainmail and axe as if they were all so much candlewax. The red-orange tongues swept them away to ash, burning their bones and causing them to become unmade.

  Whatever sorcery held the Dead things together was undone by that sweep of impossibly bright, hot flame. They were destroyed in a stroke, and a moment later, the dragon slid toward Trev, who now nursed his scratched calf.

  He straightened as the dragon approached. The great head regarded him quietly for a moment before speaking.

  “You bleed,” said the dragon. “I can smell your blood.”

  “It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

  The head dipped, nodding. “I’ve suffered the same. Only scratches. Nothing that could stop one of my kind.”

  “Shall we proceed?” asked Trev.

  “Lead on.”

  The two walked to the mound. They paused at the foot of it.

  “Is it time?” asked the dragon. “Can we walk the mound?”

  “In the Everdark, it’s always the right time. A mound can be traversed as desired. There is no need to wait for twilight or dawn, as those moments will never come to this place.”

  “I see,” said the dragon, and it regarded Trev curiously for a moment. “Before we pass from this world to the next, I’d like to ask you a question.”

  “I’d like to do the same.”

  The dragon chuckled. “Granted.”

  “Ask then.”

  “Why did you not flee? That was your chance, you know.”

  Trev thought about his answer for a moment before replying. “I could have run—but I didn’t want to see the living fall to the Dead. Not here, not anywhere. The Dead killed my father as I watched.”

  “Ah,” said the dragon. “You hate them. That I understand. For I hate the Kindred as you hate the Dead. I hate them so much that I worry someday my emotions will rob me of my reason. That was how my father fell, you know.”

  “Yes,” Trev said. “That is how I understand it.”