The dragon’s head and neck, part of its upper body, and its dagger-sharp spiked tail reared up out of the molten lava. The head and neck were black, black as the darkness left behind in Kairn Telest. Its eyes glowed a ghastly, blazing red. In its great jaws it held the body of a struggling soldier and, as Edmund and I Watched in horror, it loosed its jaws and dropped the man into the magma.
One by one, the fire dragon took up each of the soldiers, who were attempting, with their pitiful weapons, to battle the creature. One by one, the dragon sent them plunging into the burning lake. It left a single body on the shoreline—the body of the king. When the last soldier was gone, the dragon turned its blazing eyes on Edmund and me and stared at us for long, long moments.
I swear that I heard words, and Edmund told me later that he thought he did, too. You have paid the price of your passage. You may now cross.
The eyes closed, the black head slithered down beneath the magma and was gone.
Whether I actually heard the fire dragon’s voice or not, something inside me told me that all was safe, the dragon would not return. I removed the magical net. Edmund dashed out of the tunnel before I could stop him. I hurried after, keeping my eyes on the boiling, churning lake.
No sign of the dragon. The prince reached his father, gathered the old man’s body into his arms.
The king was dead, he had died horribly. A giant hole-inflicted, perhaps, by the sharp spike on a lashing tail—had penetrated his stomach, torn through his bowels. I helped Edmund carry his father’s corpse back to the tunnel. The people remained at the far end, refusing to venture anywhere near the lake.
I could not blame them. I wouldn’t have gone near it either, if I hadn’t heard that voice and known that it could be trusted. The dragon had taken its revenge, if that’s what it was, and now was at peace.
I foresee that Edmund will have a difficult time convincing the people that it is safe to walk the path on the shore of the Lake of Burning Rock. But I know in the end that he will succeed, for the people love him and trust him and now, whether he likes it or not, they will name him their king.
We need a king. Once we leave the shores of the lake behind, we will be in Kairn Necros. Edmund maintains we will find there a land of friends. I believe, to my sorrow, we will find there the land of our enemies.
And here is where I have decided to end my account. I have only a few pages of the precious parchment left, and it seems fitting to me to dose the journal here, with the death of one king of Kairn Telest and the crowning of a new one. I wish I could see ahead in time, see what the future holds for us, but not all the magical power of the ancients allowed them to look beyond the present moment.
Perhaps that is just as well. To know the future is to be forced to abandon hope. And hope is all that we have left.
Edmund will lead his people forth, but not, if I can persuade him, to Kairn Necros. Who knows? The next journal I keep may be called The Journey Through Death’s Gate.
7
Inspected his ship, walked the length and breadth of the sleek, dragon-prowed vessel, studied masts and hull, wings and sails with a critical eye. The ship had survived three passages through Death’s Gate, sustaining only minor damage, mostly inflicted by the tytans, the terrifying giants of Pryan.
“What do you think, boy?” Haplo said, reaching down and fondling the ears of a black, nondescript dog, who padded silently along beside him. “Think it’s ready to go? Think we’re ready to go?” He tugged playfully at one of the silky ears. The dog’s plumy tail brushed from side to side, the intelligent eyes, that rarely left its master’s face, brightened.
“These runes”—Haplo strode forward, laid his hand on a series of burns and carvings inscribed on the ship’s hull—“will act to block out all energies, according to My Lord. Nothing, absolutely nothing should be able to penetrate. We’ll be shielded and protected as a babe in its mother’s womb. Safer,” Haplo added, his face darkening, “than any baby born in the Labyrinth.”
He ran his fingers over the spidery lines of the runes, reading in his mind their intricate language, searching for any flaw, any defect. His gaze shifted upward to the carved dragon’s head. The fierce eyes Wared eagerly forward, as if they could already see the end of then-goal in sight.
“The magic protects us,” Haplo continued his one-sided conversation, the dog not being disposed to talk. “The magic surrounds us. This time I will not succumb. This time I will witness the journey through Death’s Gate!”
The dog yawned, sat down, and scratched at an itch with such violence that he nearly tipped himself over. The Patryn glanced at the animal with some irritation. “A lot you care,” he muttered accusingly.
Hearing the note of rebuke in the loved voice, the dog cocked its head and appeared to try to enter into the spirit of the conversation. Unfortunately, the itch proved too great a distraction.
Snorting, Haplo clambered up the ship’s side, walked over the top deck, giving it one final inspection.
The ship had been built by the elves of the air world of Arianus. Made to resemble the dragons that the elves could admire but never tame, the ship’s prow was the dragon’s head, its breast the bridge, its body the hull, its tail the rudder. Wings fashioned of the skin and scales of real dragons guided the vessel through the air currents of that wondrous realm. Slaves (generally human) and elven wizardry combined to keep the great ships afloat.
The ship had been a gift from a grateful elven captain to Haplo. The Patryn modified it to suit his needs, his own ship having been destroyed during his first journey through Death’s Gate. The great dragonship no longer required a full crew to man it, or wizards to guide it, or slaves to operate it. Haplo was now captain and crew member. The dog was the ship’s only passenger.
The dog, conquering the elusive itch, trotted behind, hoping that the long and boring inspection was nearly at end. The animal adored flying. It spent most of the journey with its face pressed against the porthole, tongue lolling, tail wagging, leaving nose-prints on the glass. The dog was eager to be gone. So was its master. Haplo had discovered two fascinating realms in his journeys through Death’s Gate. He had no doubt he would be equally rewarded on this trip.
“Calm down, boy,” he said softly, patting the dog’s head. “We’ll leave in a moment.”
The Patryn stood on the top deck, beneath the folds of the dragon’s central sail, and looked out on the Nexus, his homeland.
He never left this city without a pang. Disciplined, hard, and unemotional as he considered himself to be, he was forced to blink back the tears whenever he left. The Nexus was beautiful, but he’d seen many lands just as beautiful and never unmanned himself by weeping over them. Perhaps it was the nature of the beauty of the a twilight world whose days were ever either dawn or dusk, nights were never dark but always softly brightened by . Nothing in the Nexus was harsh, nothing in the Nexus existed in extremes except for the people who lived there, people who had emerged from the Labyrinth—a prison world of unspeakable horror. Those who survived the Labyrinth and managed to escape came into the Nexus. Its beauty and peace enfolded them like the embracing arms of a parent comforting a child having a night—Haplo stood on the deck of his flying ship and gazed out on the green, grassy lawn of his lord’s mansion. He remembered the first time he’d risen from the bed where they’d carried him—more dead than alive after his trials in the Labyrinth. He had gone to a window and looked out on this land. He had known, for the first time in his scarred life, peace, tranquility, rest.