To defend.
Here, Trent silenced his harp and spoke in a soft voice, his words heard by alclass="underline" “It is told that twice the Dwarves tried to regain their lost cavern, yet each time the Dragon’s might was too great for them, and at last they abandoned their dream, their hearts falling into sadness for a Realm lost forever.”
Now the Bard raised up his voice once more:
Would you fight to the death
For that which you love,
In a cause surely hopeless.
For that which you love?
When the Bard fell silent, a great quiet filled the hall, some eyes glimmering with tears, each in his secret heart trying to answer Trent’s last question.
The sayings and tellings and singings went on through the night, as wondrous Bardic tales filled the hall. Some brought great laughter; others, tears. Still there were those that filled brave hearts with fire; Elgo’s eyes burned brightly with these.
There were tales to fill the very soul to the brim with a longing for the times of legend; songs that brought a glitter to the eyes of a Warrior Maid; songs of the Wolfwood where beasts of the elden days once dwelled: High Eagles, White Harts, horned horses named Unicorn, Bears that once were Men. . the forest ruled o’er by great Silver Wolves-or mayhap the Wizard that ran with them-shunned by those who would do evil.
And there were those roundelays that all joined in to sing. But even these came to an end, and people-filled near to bursting with the argent echoes of Trent’s silver harp, as well as his treasured voice-at last took to their beds.
CHAPTER 9
Spring, 3E1594
[Eight Years Past]
“Great bard or no, he mocked me before all!’ Elgo “paced back and forth upon the throne dais as would a caged beast.
It was early the next morn, and except for the few servants at the far tables, cleaning up the clutter of the morning meal, he and Elyn were alone in the great hall, where they’d gotten to after the departure of Aranor and his retinue. . and of course Trent, the subject of Elgo’s ire.
“Aye, Elgo, what he did was thoughtless,” responded Elyn, seated upon a dais step, using her dagger to scrape a dottle of mud from her boot. “Yet he said it in light jest, for Men do not slay Dragons, I am told, except in hearthtales.” The Princess stood and made her way to a sideboard, where she wiped the blade clean upon a soiled breakfast napkin.
“Fie! Light jest?” Elgo stopped his padding and faced his sister, his eyes burning with rage. “He sneered at me, and would be taught a lesson were he not a bard.” Again the youth took up his angry pace.
“Elgo, I think you make too much of this small jape of his.” Casting aside the napkin, Elyn returned to the step and sat once more.
“Then let me ask you this, dear sister.” Elgo faced Elyn again. “Were the slipper on the other foot, would you feel the same? Would you call it but a light jest had Trent said”-here Elgo’s voice took on a fleering tone-“ ‘. . no doubt preparing to slay the beast. . a Warrior Maid in the making’?”
An angry flush swept over Elyn’s visage.
“See!” Elgo flung himself into the throne chair, one leg draped over the armrest, one foot on the floor, a dark brooding upon him. “One day, Elyn, I will slay Sleeth. . by Adon, I swear it! And then will Master Trent sing a different tune.”
At these bodeful words, Elyn’s mood turned quicksilver swift from one of anger at an imagined slight to one of troubled concern. “Take not an oath in vexation to do such a deed, Elgo, for such hasty swearings have a way of turning upon the oath taker.” The Princess rose and gazed down upon her twin. “Ah me, Ruric says that your pride will be the death of you yet, my brother, and I begin to think it is so.”
“Ruric!” Elgo leapt to his feet. “Elyn, let us speak to that canny dog. He would know if any have slain a Drake, and if so, how they did it.”
As the two left the hall, the few servants within whispered among themselves.
They found the Armsmaster in the stables, perusing the horses, for he was castle War Commander in times when Aranor and his retinue were absent from the holt.
“Nay, lad, none that I know of,” responded Ruric when Elgo put the question to him. “Aye, Drakes were slain in the Great War, but I don’t know how ’twas done. Neither did my da’, Alric, and he was a Loremaster and told me much. Yet as to how Dragons be killed, ’tis beyond my ken. Mages and Drakes, say some, combined to slay the renegade Dragons. Others tell that it was the Elves. But in this, I don’t know the right from the wrong.”
“But there must be some way to kill a Drake,” Elgo persisted. “They can’t be all that powerful.”
“Lad, ye know nought o’ that which ye speak,” exclaimed Ruric. “Drakes be monstrous beasties. Nearly beyond imagining: great wings and flames; claws hard as diamonds and long as sabers; an enormous great tail that lashes about; or be they a Cold-drake, where all is the same except the beastie’s breath doesn’t burn-instead ’tis poison vapors, and ach, spit that chars wi’out flame.”
“Even so, there has to be something that will slay a Dragon,” declared Elgo.
“Aye, lad”-Ruric cast his thoughts back-“Loremasters say that the greatest Dragon o’ all will be slain by the Kammerling.”
“Kammerling?” Elyn cocked her head to the side.
“Aye, lass,” answered Ruric, “Adon’s Hammer: The Kammerling. But mayhap it ha’ another name as well, for the Dwarves are said to call it the Rage Hammer, though why that might be, I’ve not heard. Made o’ silveron, they claim it be, perhaps e’en forged by Adon Himself. But none that I know can say where it lies, though some tell that it be wi’ the Wizards under Black Mountain in Xian, whereas others say ’twas stolen long ago by its intended victim.”
“Intended victim? Who might that be?” Elgo’s tone was one of eagerness.
“Why, Black Kalgalath, lad,” answered Ruric, not failing to note Elgo’s look of disappointment, “the greatest Fire-drake o’ them all, he that lives in Dragonslair, the dead firemountain along the Grimwall to the east.”
“Firemountain?” blurted Elyn.
“Aye, though this one be dead. Ach, perhaps not completely dead, for still there be an occasional wisp of smoke, I hear, but that is only when the earth rumbles. E’en so, I’ve heard it told that Kalgalath draws strength from the mountain itself, though how that could be is not in my ken. Perhaps a Fire-drake can somehow take sustenance from a mountain o’ fire, be it dead or no, for mayhap fire breeds fire, e’en though one be Dragon’s flame whereas the other be the flame o’ the very earth itself.
“But be that as it may, ’tis the wise who say that Black Kalgalath be the mightiest Fire-drake living-Nay! The greatest Drake o’ all, be it Fire-drake or Cold-. . though in the past whether ’twas he or one called Daagor, well, that be an endless claim the Loremasters will dispute fore’er among themselves, some saying the one, some the other, my own da’ not choosing ’twixt the two. Still and all, at least in this age the Kammerling seems meant for Kalgalath: his doom.”
A stillness fell upon the three, and they sat without speaking, all reflecting upon these legends. At last Elyn broke the quiet: “What about their treasure hoards, Armsmaster? Have Men taken any?”
“Not any that I can say,” ruminated the warrior, “though ’tis known that many ha’e died in the trying. Why, Sleeth alone ha’ slain hundreds, mostly Dwarves; but whether they were trying to win the treasure, or reclaim Blackstone, or both, I cannot say. Even so, Dragon hoards are tempting, for the great Drakes gather plunder unto themselves and sleep upon it, I am told.”