Anthology - The Realms of the Dragons II

Inri nodded as he cast it, as though grateful.

"Take this spell too," said the sorceress. "It will allow us to converse without speaking."

She chanted a few arcane syllables under her breath, and a silvery radiance fell over them. Ryla flinched but grudgingly remained in the aura of radiance.

Gods! Alin said through the bond.

Yes, came Inri's voice in his mind. Try not to fill our minds with meaningless exclamations, though.

Instead of shutting his mouth, Alin emptied his mind, suitably chastened.

When they were finished, Thard picked Inri up so they could share a kiss. Cheeks flaming from embarrassment at the passionate feelings he felt through the mental bond, Alin stole a longing glance at Ryla, but the dragonslayer looked preoccupied with planning. He could also feel no thoughts coming from her-perhaps she knew how to hide her thoughts from others, even with Inri's spell. He turned away before she could read his thoughts.

The Moor Runners took up their places, Thard heading down closer and Ryla disappearing up the wall. Excitement shivered down Alin's spine as he waited. Thard looked like a hero of legend, picking his way between stalagmites as effortlessly as though they were tree trunks. All the while, he kept his eyes fixed upon the dragon's slumbering form and his hand on his axe handle.

Is it asleep? Inri asked Thard.

They could feel the barbarian's mental confirmation.

Alin clutched his rapier hilt firmly but dared not draw it, for he feared the sound it would make. Besides, he reminded himself, such a tiny blade would be nigh useless against the colossal dragon that awaited them. He called to mind his bardic tricks and the magic that would summon them, but even there he could do little but conjure dancing lights or perform feats of legerdemain. Once again, he felt useless in a fight, but he didn't feel out of place. Rather, he was there to bear witness to the epic battle sure to unfold-he would write it into The Ballad of Dragonclaw and-

Then they heard Thard's confusion in their minds. Wait, this is not the beast that attacked the caravan.

What? asked Alin. He could feel Inri's confusion and suspicion as well.

The scars are different.

At that moment, the dragon's eyes opened and its gaze fixed on Thard. Crimson, fiery death filled its mouth and its eyes were burning with terrible laughter.

Tempus!" the barbarian shouted, throwing himself forward.

Through the mental link, they felt more than saw his scorching doom. "No!" Inri screamed. "Ryla!" She began a spell of escape.

But then the words stopped as a blade protruded through her chest and blood leaked from her lips. Ryla slid the katana out and spun the elf around. Inri blinked, too stunned even to gasp in pain, and the dragonslayer took her head off with a backhand slash. The headless body tumbled over the ledge, and down into the dragon's lair.

Alin looked up at Ryla with absolute confusion. The dragonslayer smiled and planted a kiss on his forehead. Then she made her way down toward the dragon, stripping off her armor piece by piece as she went. When she reached the bottom, she stood before the beast with only the silver ring on her right hand.

The dragon growled and pulled back, as though to pounce, but Ryla laughed. Laughed!

"Oh, come now Kalag," she said. "Surely you recognize me."

"You broke the rules, Rylatar'ralah'tyma," the dragon growled.

Alin's limbs froze at the mighty sound, but his hair rose for an entirely different reason. The name-Rylatar-he had heard that name before.

The dragon continued, "You're not allowed to change. The rules-"

"Are our rules, anyway," she countered with a dismissive wave. Then Ryla ran her hands down her arms and over her beautiful, bare skin. "Really Kalag, you'd rather I were horribly scarred by some lowly green's acid gas? My beautiful body…"

The wyrm scoffed. "You're hideous as it is," he hissed.

A lovely pout appeared on Ryla's lips. "You don't like the ring?" she asked, holding it up as though modeling it for him. The silver sparkled in the firelight.

The dragon's lips pulled back in a sneer.

Ryla shrugged and said, "Fine."

She slipped the ring off her finger, and the bard watched with a mixture of horror and wonder as her body rippled and grew, her skin sloughing off and revealing crimson scales and deep indigo wings. Her head lengthened and her sparkling white teeth became fangs. Within a breath, Ryla had grown to the size and shape of the other dragon. Her red scales sparkled in the firelight.

"Eyes like fire, atop a golden spire," Alin found himself singing under his breath.

His mind seemed far away. As it stretched and snapped, he was vaguely aware that he had lost something.

"A thought occurred to me, about the age," Ryla growled. "We should assume elf bodies in the future… just so we don't seem too young."

"'We'?" Kalag asked.

"Oh, yes," Ryla said. Her talon held out the tiny silver ring to the other dragon. "I'm done being the hunter-time for me to be the hunted. I found you, now it's your turn to hunt me."

The dragon looked at the ring and asked, "Why do you do it?The adventurers? Why?"

Ryla rumbled, as though with mirth. "I enjoy the deception," she said. "And I brought you meat. What are you complaining about?'

"I wonder, sometimes, if you're not fond of them," Kalag growled.

"I'm not fond of anything," retorted Ryla.

"Sharp death in hand, whose passion knows no name…" Alin sang as he felt reason fleeing.

He fought the desire to babble incoherently, but it wasn't for fear that the dragons would hear him, but only because it would disrupt his song.

"Then you won't object when I eat the little bard who's hiding up there," reasoned Kalag.

"Actually, I would object," Ryla replied.

Kalag shot her a look that could only be a dragon's form of jealousy, and Alin would have shivered if he had maintained his sanity. Instead, he chuckled.

Ryla caught the glare and said, "I propose a new hunting game: one where we're the hunters, he's the hunted, and he gets a head start."

Alin's ears pricked and shivers of terror shot down his spine. His shattered mind hardly registered the threat, though. It was too busy putting words to his music, music twisted by madness.

"Mercy? From you, Rylatar?" Kalag smiled. "Very well then. How much of a head start?"

"Oh, five years will suffice," she said. "The lives of dragons are long-it will be but a summer's day to us, but a lifetime of fear for him."

"This bard must be special, to warrant such treatment."

At the notion, Ryla scoffed-an action that sent flame lancing out to melt a stalagmite.

"If you must know," she said. "It's because he's composing a very nice ballad. This way, he'll have time to finish it."

"Ruling her land, queen of the hunting game!" the maddened bard sang with a smile as he climbed to his feet.

Then came the most hideous sound he had ever heard- and would always hear as he ran-booming and thunderous, but dark and mocking:

A dragon's laugh.

"Worthless band o' cutthroats, scoundrels, and knaves," the dwarf spat, climbing atop a scarred oak table. His hard eyes searched the war weary faces of the crowded inn. "Who among you slakes his thirst with blood and fills his belly with battle? Who in all of Moradin's creation has so little fear of death?"

"The Company of the Chimera!" the dwarf bellowed, answering his own query with a triumphant roar. "The finest company of rogues ever to cast dice with the Gods of War!"

The common room erupted with cheers that shook sawdust from the ceiling. Flagons were raised high and naked blades flashed in the smokey light of fat-lamps. For two tendays the Company of the Chimera had occupied the Inn of the Seven Silvers, cowing the locals until none dared to pass the inn's double doors. Hired to guard over the Sembian waystation and twenty miles of the Dawnpost highway, the mercenaries had done more damage and caused more terror than any brigands in memory.