Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

All the nearby boulders held captive bodies. The largest stone held no less than five elves. The ground was covered with lost tools and trinkets — buckles, helmets, knives, scabbards, finger rings, even a sword or two. Looking over the debris, cold sweat broke out on Mara’s chilly brow. Belt buckles and finger rings? Had the Silvanesti taken these off before the stones swallowed them? It seemed unlikely, so why hadn’t these trinkets been consumed as well?

Trinkets. Weapons. Bronze. Copper. Gold. All their metal was at her feet, not in the stones.

She whirled, dropping the torch. “Penzar, stop! Don’t use the chisel!”

Even as she spoke, the ringing of metal on stone reached her ears. Instantly, the deep chill of the field was displaced by a wave of hot wind emanating from the struck monolith. A flash followed, so bright she was blinded even with her eyes clenched shut. Dropping to her knees, she crawled toward where she’d last seen Tiphan and Penzar.

Shrill screams assaulted her ears as she crept forward. The flare in her eyes was fading, and as she regained some of her eyesight she beheld an awful vision: Penzar, arms buried up to the elbows in the gray granite boulder. The stone had softened, resembling gray dough as it flowed thickly toward Penzar’s torso. Mara yelled and grabbed Penzar around the waist.

“Help me, Tosen! Help me!” she screamed over Penzar’s horrible cries.

Tiphan stood several steps away, staring open-mouthed. The massive boulder continued to pull the boy in, and Penzar’s shirt ripped apart as he was dragged from her grip. His frantic pleas for help changed as he saw the gray ooze inching closer to Mara.

“Get away!” he gasped.

Powerful arms hurled Mara aside. She fell back, tears of terror streaming down her face, and saw Elu step past her and grab hold of Penzar’s legs. The centaur’s hard muscles strained, but the boy was already lost. Thick tentacles of liquid stone entwined around his neck, pulling his head in, filling his ears, nose, and mouth. His cries ended in a ghastly thick gurgle. With a final sound like rushing wind, the stone block enclosed him completely.

Wavering tendrils reached out, blindly seeking more prey. Elu darted quickly out of reach. Mara continued to shout Penzar’s name.

“It’s too late!” Tiphan shouted. “He’s gone!”

As the words were said, Penzar’s hands and the left side of his face appeared on the monolith, as though he was bobbing to the surface of a pool of granite. His eye sockets and open mouth were gray with solidified stone.

“It was the metal,” Mara sobbed. “It’s all around us! Penzar and the elves were swallowed by the stones because they touched them with metal!” She turned her face into Tiphan’s shoulder, weeping helplessly.

“The stone mallet did not arouse them,” Tiphan said slowly, recognizing the truth of her words. “So the lightning we saw must have occurred when the boulders came alive and engulfed the elves.” He nodded his head slowly, wonderingly. “Such amazing power!”

Mara raised her tear-stained face and regarded him with outrage. He neither comforted her nor lamented the loss of Penzar, who’d been a loyal acolyte for years. Worse, Tiphan stared at the dreadful stones with a look of near ecstasy.

Pushing herself away, Mara took Elu’s proffered hand, and the centaur led her slowly away.

Tiphan grabbed the diorite hammer and began to peck at the hulking monolith, just an arm’s length from where Penzar’s lifeless hand protruded, fingers curled in supplication.

“Come back!” he called over his shoulder absently. “I want samples from all these stones.”

Mara neither answered nor returned, and Tiphan soon forgot her as he concentrated on reaping his harvest.

Zannian clapped his hands to announce his arrival. From within the great tent, a voice said, “Enter.” He parted the flaps and passed into the wide, circular room.

The ground was covered with rotting peat, and gray moss hung from the tent roof. A pair of yevi, wearing heavy leather collars studded with obsidian spikes, stood up when the young warrior entered. They growled deep in their throats until a languid voice commanded them to be still.

Reclining on a heap of moldy leaves and peat was a bizarre figure, humanlike, yet weirdly inhuman. The creature’s head, arms, back, and legs were vivid green. Its belly was white like a frog’s. Each hand was tipped with five overly long, yellow-nailed fingers, each foot with a like number of slender, prehensile toes. Its human-shaped head had two forward-facing eyes, a long nose, and a sharp, jutting chin. A shaggy green mane covered the creature’s scalp and reached to its shoulders. Its eyes shone like polished emeralds.

“Master,” said Zannian, bowing low. “There’s been a sign in the sky.”

“Yes, I felt it. A flash of considerable power. Did you locate it?”

“Yes, Master. It came from the east, six days’ ride from here. It must be the dragon in Arku-peli.”

“Of course.” The green creature probed through the loose mass of rotting leaves on which he lay and found a glossy black roach. He held it between two fingers, watching for a few seconds as it kicked vainly, then popped it in his mouth. Yellow fangs flashed briefly as he chewed.

“Shall we set out for Arku-peli at once?” the young warrior asked.

“There’s no hurry. I have injected a drop of poison, and it will take some time to work its way to our enemies’ heart. Until then we may bide our time. You know my messenger, don’t you? The black-haired rodent you craved?”

“I know, Master.”

Zannian suppressed his impatience, trying to see the wisdom of the dragon’s way. Sthenn — or Greengall, as he preferred to he known when in this form — delighted in formulating schemes of elaborate cunning. Yet Zannian had no doubt his master would do just as he intended — destroy the bronze dragon Duranix and make Zannian chief of all the plains.

“My mother has the Jade Men drawn up,” he replied. “Will you come see them?”

“If I must. How is your mother?”

Coming from the green monster before him, this question struck Zannian as oddly funny. He laughed briefly, then stifled his mirth when his master’s face curled into a frown. A long green leg uncoiled, striking Zannian in the chest. He flew across the tent, hit the oxhide wall, and slid to the ground.

“Do not open your foolish mouth at me!” Greengall snapped. “I hate it when rodents bray.” He rolled to his feet. In this form he was imposingly tall, but very thin. His reedy physique was as deceptive as the rest of his appearance. All the power and strength of a green dragon resided in him, no matter how awkward his outward shape.

Zannian slowly got to his feet. His chest ached from the blow, but no bones were broken. Greengall’s buffet had been a measured one.

“My mother awaits your attention with the Jade Men, Master,” he said hoarsely. He lowered his eyes as the shambling green scarecrow stalked past him.

Attended by his yevi escort, Greengall strolled from his tent. Outside, the squalid camp stirred. They were a long way from Almurk and the Edge of the World. A day after the two women slaves had escaped, the green dragon announced it was time to begin the advance on their enemies. The entire band, one thousand strong, had mounted their horses and ridden out of their dank hideaway, following an unmarked trail set out for them by their monstrous master. They did not go alone. In the midst of the mass of horsemen trudged a mob of slaves and stolen animals, both groups whipped forward with equal brutality.

On the open plain, the raiders swept all before them, capturing small bands of plainsmen and their herds. Those they did not capture or kill fled, and before long the great plain was barren of animals and men.