dreadful echo reverberated from the rock walls, screamed death to us over and over.
I have never in my life heard anything to equal it. I hope I never hear anything like it again. The scream might have turned the people to stone, as does, purportedly, the look of the legendary basilisk. I know that I stood frozen to the spot, my limbs paralyzed, my mind in little better condition.
The scream jolted Edmund to action.
“Father!” he shouted, and all the love that he had longed for during all the years of his life was in that cry. And, just as in his life, his cry went unanswered.
The prince ran forward, alone.
I heard the clattering of weapons and the confused sounds of battle and, above that, a dreadful roaring. I could now give a name to my fear. I knew now what the runes on the map meant.
The sight of Edmund rushing to meet the same fate as his father impelled me, at last, to act. Swiftly, with what remaining strength I had left, I wove a magical spell, like the nets in which we'd caught the fish, across the tunnel exit. Edmund saw it, tried to ignore it. He crashed full-force into it, fought and struggled against it. Drawing his sword, he attempted to cut his way through.
My magic, its power heightened by my fear for him, was strong. He couldn't get out, nor could the fire dragon—on the other side—break through the net.
At least, I hoped it couldn't. I have studied what the ancients wrote about such creatures, and it is my belief that they underestimated the dragon's intelligence. To be safe, I ordered the people to retreat farther back down the tunnel, telling them to hide in whatever passages they could find. They fled like scared mice, council members and all, and soon no one was left in the front part of the cavern but myself and Edmund.
He struck at me, in his frustration. He pleaded with me, he begged me, he threatened to kill me if I did not remove the magical net. I remained adamant. I could see, now, around the shores of the lake, the terrible carnage taking place.
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
I have never in my life heard anything to equal it. I hope I never hear anything like it again. The scream might have turned the people to stone, as does, purportedly, the look of the legendary basilisk. I know that I stood frozen to the spot, my limbs paralyzed, my mind in little better condition.
The scream jolted Edmund to action.
“Father!” he shouted, and all the love that he had longed for during all the years of his life was in that cry. And, just as in his life, his cry went unanswered.
The prince ran forward, alone.
I heard the clattering of weapons and the confused sounds of battle and, above that, a dreadful roaring. I could now give a name to my fear. I knew now what the runes on the map meant.
The sight of Edmund rushing to meet the same fate as his father impelled me, at last, to act. Swiftly, with what remaining strength I had left, I wove a magical spell, like the nets in which we'd caught the fish, across the tunnel exit. Edmund saw it, tried to ignore it. He crashed full-force into it, fought and struggled against it. Drawing his sword, he attempted to cut his way through.
My magic, its power heightened by my fear for him, was strong. He couldn't get out, nor could the fire dragon—on the other side—break through the net.
At least, I hoped it couldn't. I have studied what the ancients wrote about such creatures, and it is my belief that they underestimated the dragon's intelligence. To be safe, I ordered the people to retreat farther back down the tunnel, telling them to hide in whatever passages they could find. They fled like scared mice, council members and all, and soon no one was left in the front part of the cavern but myself and Edmund.
He struck at me, in his frustration. He pleaded with me, he begged me, he threatened to kill me if I did not remove the magical net. I remained adamant. I could see, now, around the shores of the lake, the terrible carnage taking place.
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
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