Several minutes later, he found his way barred by a huge slab of stone. Strands led around it, wrapped it, crisscrossed it. There had to be a spell involved, but he wondered whether he would also need a dozen men with pry bars to dislodge it, once any magical booby traps had been defused. He moved nearer, studying the pattern of the strands. There did seem something of a method to their positioning....
The strands faded as his eyes slipped back into more normal channels of perception. Then he saw what it was that had distracted him. He raised the lantern and moved nearer, to read the inscription he now beheld:
PASS AT YOUR PERIL. HERE SLEEP THE HORRORS OF RONDOVAL.
He chuckled. They may be horrors, he thought, but I'm going to need a little muscle in this world. So, by God! now they're my horrors!
He set down the lantern and shifted his attention back to the colored strands.
Just like unwrapping a very peculiar present, he thought, reaching forward with both hands.
He felt the tangles of power and began the motions that would unlock them. As he worked, the subaural mumbling returned, growing, intensifying, until words burst into his consciousness and he cried them out at the same time, whipping his hands back from the final threads and taking three timed paces backwards: "Kwathad!... Melairt!... Deystard!"
The slab shuddered and began to topple away from him. He realized then that the spell must have been infinitely more difficult to lay than it had been to raise. All of that power had had to be channeled from somewhere and bound up here. His own work had been more on the order of figuring out how to pull a plug.
The crash that followed echoed and reechoed until he could not help but be impressed by the enormity of the cavern that must lie behind.
He had snatched up the lantern, covered half his face with his sleeve and squinted until the reverberations and the hail of stone chips had settled. Then he moved cautiously forward, crossing the cracked monolith he had toppled.
He was about to raise the lantern to look around the vast hall, when his new key of vision registered an enormous collection of filaments, like a multicolored ball of string larger than himself, resting just off to his left. Individual strands departed it in all directions before him. He realized that it would have taken ages to work each separate spell and then, in some fashion, join them at this common center. No ... It had to have been done the other way around ... He could not yet conceive of the manner of its laying but he'd a sudden flash of insight into its undoing. It, too, could fall like the door before his new skill.
However... Could he control whatever he released. A good man had obviously spent a lot of time and energy putting the thing together. Best to have a look around before doing anything else....
He raised the lantern.
Dragons, dragons, dragons... Acres of dragons and other fantastic beasts lay all about him, extending far beyond his feeble light. His eyes caught them at another level, also. To each of them extended one strand of the master spell.
He lowered the light. What the hell do you say to a dragon? How do you control one? He shuddered at the thought of releasing any of the slumbering horrors.
Probably wake up hungry, too....
He began to back away.
Clear out. Forget this part of the family heritage. They must have bred tougher Lords of Rondoval in the old days....
As he began to turn away, his attention was caught by a single green filament. Its color was slightly darker than any of the others, and it was also the thickest one in sight, almost twice the size of its mates. What might it tether? he wondered.
Suddenly, all the dreamlands he had ever read of or conjured in song, all the fantasy worlds he had ever sculpted of smoke or walked through at bedtime as a child rose before him, and he knew that he could not leave this place without looking upon the prodigy bound by this mighty spell. Turning back, he followed the strand among the massive sleepers, averting his eyes as well as his feet in some instances.
When he reached out to brush the strand with his fingertips, a sound like a crystal bell echoed within his head, "Moonbird..."--constantly fading--and he knew that to be the name of the creature toward which he was headed.
"Moonbird," he said, fingers still feeling the pulse of the cord.
Lord, I hear, beyond the depths of sleep or life. Shall we range the skies together, as in days gone by?
I am not the lord you knew, and Rondoval has come upon sad times, he thought back, still brushing the cord.
What matter? So long as there is a lord in Rondoval. You are of the blood?
Yes.
Then call me back from these ghost skies. I'll bear you where you would.
I am not even sure I know what to feed you...
I'll manage, never fear... . And then there is the problem of this spell.
Not for one such as--
Pol halted, for he could go no further. His hand had left the strand awhile back, as it seemed tangled on an overhead ledge. For several moments, he had thought it was a huge mineral formation which confronted him--a vast mound of scaly copper bearing the green patina of age. But it had moved, slightly, as he had watched.
He sucked air between his teeth as he raised the lantern. There, there was the great crested head! How huge those eyes must be when opened! He reached out and touched the neck. Cold, cold as metal. Perhaps nearly as tough.
"How low must your fires now be, bird of the moon..." he said.
Back to him came a jumbled vision of clouds and tiny houses, forests tike patches of weeds...
...Shall we range the skies together?
The fear was gone, leaving only a great desire to see the huge beast freed.
He moved back to the first place where the strand came within reach again. He touched it as he began to follow it back out.
Patience, father of dragons. We shall see....
...And kill your enemies.
First things first.
He followed it back to the ball of plaited rainbows near the entrance. He traced its point of entry into the mass and noted each place where it became visible again at the surface. Would it be possible to tease out this one strand? Could he arouse Moonbird without awakening all the others?
He stared for a long while before he moved, and then his first gestures were tentative. Soon, though, his left arm was plunged past the elbow into the glowing sphere, his fingers tracing each twisting of the thick, green strand....
Later, he stood holding it free, its end twisted about his finger. He walked quickly back, to stand regarding the drowsing giant once again.
Awaken now, he willed, untwining it, releasing it.
The thread drifted away, shriveling. The dragon stirred.
Even bigger than I thought, he decided, staring into the suddenly opened eye which now regarded him. Much bigger....
The mouth opened and closed in a swallowing movement, revealing spike-like ranks of teeth.
Those, too...
He moved nearer.
...Must seem bold for a little longer, establish where we both stand right away...
He reached out and laid his hand upon the broad neck.
I am Pol Detson, Lord of Rondoval until further notice, he tried to communicate.
The giant head was raised, turned, the mouth opened... Suddenly, the tongue shot forward, licking him with a surface the texture of a file, knocking him backwards.
...Master!
He recovered himself, dodged a second caress of the tongue and patted the neck again.
Contain yourself, Moonbird! I am--soft.
Sometimes I forget.
The dragon spread its wings and lowered them, drew itself upright, raised and lowered its head, nuzzled him.
Come, mount my back and let us fly!
Where?
Out the old tunnel, to view the world.
Pol hesitated, his courage ebbing.
...But if I don't do it now, I never will, he decided. I know that. Whereas if I do, I may be able to do it again one day. And I may need to ...