Lord of the Rose (5 page)

“I have never seen this name before. ‘Brilliss.’ What does that mean? It is nothing but a name!”

“Think. Hard. I have reason to believe that it was an important name known to some in the Garnet Range. Everyone knows that Cornellus is the best informed lord in all these hills and valleys.”

“I tell you, I do not know this name. Where did you find this? Exactly where, tell me!” His beady eyes glittered, and the tip of his fat tongue showed between the grotesque flaps of his lips.

The man took the fragment back. “I may tell you if you tell me what I want to know first.”

“I tell you, I know nothing of this gnome! Now, go!”

For several seconds the warrior’s gaze held the bandit’s broad face. Cornellus licked his lips, making a visible and ultimately unsuccessful effort not to glance down at the shard of tablet held so casually in the human’s hand.

“I said nothing about a gnome,” the stranger noted.

“That is obviously what it is. A foolish gnome’s name.”

“So he is a foolish gnome now,” said the human warrior. With the wrist of his left arm he held his cape back, allowing easy access to the small crossbow.

“You dare to challenge me?” The half-ogre’s eyes bulged from his meaty face, as more sweat beaded on his forehead. “You
dare?”

In response the human snatched up the crossbow, spun, and fired the bolt straight into the chest of the nearest draconian—a baaz. That reptilian guard uttered a strangled growl and fell dead, already rigid.

The curved cutlass was in the warrior’s hand even before the draconian died. The two slave women screamed and ran
for the rear of the chamber as the man lunged at the throne, chopping a bloody gouge into the bandit lord’s knee, drawing an ear-shattering bellow of pain.

The axe was whirling in the dwarf’s hands as he rushed to the side, driving back the pair of draconians that had tried to close in from the right. With slashing swipes of that heavy blade he held them at bay, while the warrior pulled his sword from the bloody cut, raising it toward the bandit lord’s face. Cornellus, his eyes wide, blubbered unintelligibly.

“Left side!” called Dram urgently.

“Durafus—bizzeerr—kar
—” The gold-ornamented bozak had both hands raised, snaky eyes flashing as he started to spit out the words to a spell.

Without lowering his sword, the man whipped his second crossbow up with his left hand and shot the bolt. It took the bozak right in the gut, and the end of the spell became a bloody gurgle. With a bubbling cry the big draconian doubled forward and dropped to the floor.

“Kill them! Stop them!” shrieked Cornellus, using the momentary distraction to shift his massive bulk in his tall throne, tumbling the chair backward onto the floor. His great foot kicked out, knocking the cutlass away.

The bozak continued to thrash, screams growing weaker as it convulsed in its death throes. Knowing what was coming, the warrior and the dwarf were already moving, darting to the sides and ducking low.

The bandit lord cowered behind his overturned throne, eyes flashing from the two attackers to the dying bozak. The draconian expired and, in the next instant, exploded. The blast rocked the chamber, knocking dust from the massive beams below the ceiling and slamming the dwarf against the far wall. The man tumbled through a roll and bounced into a crouch, cutlass at the ready. The bandit lord, his face blackened by the effects of the blast, lumbered to his feet, turning his great head this way and that.

Baaz draconians, hissing with lust for blood, sprang forward
from various alcoves. Spears raised, they spread out, a trio of them converging on the man, while another joined the pair of guards challenging the dwarf. Even as they attacked, Cornellus shoved past his bodyguards, ducked through an archway, and vanished into the shadows at the rear of the room.

The dwarf’s battle-axe whirled, snapping off the tip of one draconian’s spear and holding the other two at bay. Throwing down the nub of the spear, the first baaz sprang at Dram, pulsing its leathery wings, adding weight to the attack. Both hands, studded with wicked claws, slashed toward the dwarf’s bearded face—then those hands, with forearms attached, tumbled to the floor, severed by a lightning slash of the dwarf’s axe blade.

The baaz howled and staggered away, mangled arms clutched to its chest. The others stabbed and stabbed, but neither spear could get past the dwarf’s dazzling, dancing axe. A cold grin split the thicket of beard, and Dram Feldspar began to advance, challenging first one, then the other draconian. He spun through an abrupt circle, bringing the axe into the flank of one baaz, tearing open its sinewy gut. The creature groaned a plaintive death cry, slumping, falling forward into a spreading pool of gore. The other bobbed and weaved, cautiously retreating as its comrade stiffened in the final posture of death.

Across the room, the warrior had retreated into a corner where he was using his cape like a shield, sweeping it past his chest and out again to hold spears at bay. He wielded his curve-bladed cutlass in his right hand, the weapon weaving like a living organism. A thrust here, then a parry, and with a lunge he stabbed one of the baaz right through the throat, at the same time knocking away another’s spear tip with his deceptively sturdy cloak.

Gagging, the throat-pierced baaz fell back, as stiff and rigid as a statue by the time it struck the floor, breaking off one wing before it finally came to rest. The other two draconians pressed in, hissing, snapping fanged, jutting jaws. The warrior stabbed hard at one of them, hitting the lizard-like attacker in the open mouth. The blade penetrated the draconian’s palate and sliced
through its brain—and in that instant the creature turned to stone, pinning the weapon in its petrified flesh.

With a curse the man let go of his sword and spun away from his last attacker. The baaz’s speartip thrust again and again, deflected each time by the warrior’s sweeping cape as the pair bobbed across the stone floor. Abruptly, the last draconian gasped and toppled forward. Dram pulled his axe from the back of the creature’s neck a split second before it solidified.

“Where did Cornellus go?” the dwarf asked.

“In here somewhere,” the warrior replied, starting toward the dark alcove. He stopped, looked back at his trapped cutlass, and grimaced. Shaking his head, he reached both hands over his shoulder to pull out the heavy sword he wore strapped to his back. Holding the great pommel in both hands, he held the blade angled slightly upward and squinted into the shadows. “I’m ready now.”

Nodding grimly, the dwarf held his axe ready and advanced at his companion’s side. They paused at the archway. No look, no sound, no signal was needed—each knew what the other would do. Together they burst through the opening and spun around, back to back. They stabbed deep into the shadows—and the dwarf struck scaly flesh, his axe carving into the chest of a big, black draconian. The creature, a kapak, had been lurking in ambush with a large cudgel. Now it flung away the weapon and started to stumble off. It didn’t get very far, before the sinewy draconian collapsed to the floor, thrashing and gurgling as its black body dissolved into a bubbling, steaming, toxic puddle. The dwarf skipped back an instant before the liquid spread to his boots.

The man twisted the hilt of his great sword as he slashed the long blade through the air. Flames burst, hot and blue, along its metal edge, light spilling through the shadows, revealing a door before him. The man struck one side of the wall, then the other, with the fiery blade. Flames surged eagerly into the dried logs, licking upward, spreading.

Dram stepped to his side, waving away the thickening smoke
with the broad blade of his axe. He pointed at the fire-framed doorway. “Well, it looks like he got away. He musta gone through there.”

Tongues of flame still flickered along the long, broad sword blade. Raising it over his shoulder, turning his other side toward the door, the man gave a shout of frustration and brought his weapon around in a long swing. Flames and sparks trailed from the blade, lingering in the air. The sword struck the door and sliced through the stout, metal-banded boards as though they were a tapestry. With a grunt, followed by a sharp backswing and vertical slash, the man used the sword to carve his way through the locked door.

The bandit lord Cornellus stared at them through the hole, wild-eyed, deep within another cavernous room, this one a hall with many stout timbers, whole tree-trunks, supporting a lofty roof. The huge, blubbery half-ogre backed away from them as they kicked their way through the door. With a sudden move he lunged for a piece of lumber and lifted it like a club.

“Stay back!” he warned.

“Or what?” sneered Dram Feldspar, swaggering forward.

The man edged closer, waving his burning sword, then turned and chopped into one of the support pillars. Flames immediately took hold there, crackling eagerly, licking up the length of dry wood into the dry roof.

“You’re crazy, the both of you,” spat the bandit lord, watching the growing fire. “Let me out of here, or my retainers will take their vengeance. Even now, dozens of them are flocking outside, ready to kill you.”

“Why ain’t I scared?” the dwarf asked. He lunged, and Cornellus stumbled backward in his haste to elude the dwarf’s deadly axe.

The warrior followed close behind. His sword no longer blazed, though the blade still flickered and pulsed as if the fires lingered below the hard surface of the metal. He held the hilt in both hands.

“Tell us what you know about that shard,” the human said
coldly. “You recognized it—I saw the spark in your greedy little eyes. You knew that Brilliss was the name of a gnome. If you tell us what you know, I might yet decide to let you live.”

“No! Yes! That is, perhaps there was a glimmer there, something I had heard rumored long ago,” stammered the half-ogre. He looked to either side of them, seeing no means of escape, no rescuers on their way, then back at his two tormentors. “The name … what was it again?”

“The part I can read is ‘Brilliss,’ but it looks like that’s only part of the word. What is the rest? Tell me!” The tip of the man’s mighty sword was raised and pointed at the bandit’s hammering heart.

“I—I can’t be sure. There was a band of gnomes that lived in these mountains one time, south of here. Every so often they would come here to trade. I believe they had a master named Brillissander Firesplasher or something like that. The first part of his name, anyway, I remember—it was something like Brilliss. You know how gnomes are with their names.”

“Aye,” the dwarf said, his axe poised. “Your memory is getting better. What about this Brillissander? Where is he nowadays?”

“Dead as far as I know, I swear it! The whole town—Dungarden they called it—was destroyed three years ago. It was underground, like a dwarf cavern—but full of gnomes. They were always working on foolish things. Dangerous, too! The whole heart of the place was ripped out, I think one of the dragon overlords went in there and devoured it.”

“Dead?” The dwarf scowled. “All of ’em? Not a single survivor?”

“Please—the whole town was destroyed! Firesplasher was killed! It wasn’t my fault.”

“Tell us about it,” the human pressed. “Even destruction such as you describe would not have claimed the lives of all who lived there. Where did the survivors go?”

“I don’t kn—!”

The advancing tip of the sword now pressed against
Cornellus’s leather vest, sinking an inch into the soft flesh.

“Wait! Please!”

He held up his two fat hands, pleading. “There might have been a few who lived—gnomes are hardy souls, after all!”

“Where would these few survivors be?”

“I don’t—wait, there is one place perhaps. Yes, it’s the only one that makes sense. Caergoth!”

“Caergoth?” Dram spat contemptuously. “Why would they have gone to Caergoth?”

The human eased back on his sword, squinting at the blubbering bandit lord.

“The ghetto—they call it the ‘Gnome Ghetto.’ It’s a filthy place along the waterfront. No decent person would go there, but the gnomes are living there, teeming like rats! All gnomes are welcome there!”

“What makes you so certain?” the warrior rasped. “You
are
certain, aren’t you?”

“Because—all right, I admit it, because some of them came through here! I sold them two wagons and four oxen—there were twenty or thirty of the little wretches. All that was left of Dungarden. They needed wagons large and sturdy enough to get to Caergoth.”

“Are you telling us the truth finally?” demanded the dwarf, brandishing the axe and baring his teeth.

“I think he’s lying,” the man said, holding the blade steady.

“No, it’s the truth, I swear!” squawked the lord. “You said that you’d leave here, leave me alive if I told you the truth.”

“I did? No, uh-uh, sorry. I don’t recall saying that.” The warrior swung his sword back, and flames exploded along the whole of the metallic edge. Cornellus cried out and hurled himself backward, tumbling across the floor. The human raised his blazing weapon high, took a swing at the hulking bandit lord—and missed, distracted by his companion’s shout.

“To your right!” cried the dwarf, springing at the first of two or three draconians who crashed through part of the fire-weakened wall behind Cornellus. The winged creatures swarmed at them
out of the dark, as the bandit lord shouted orders and curses and scrambled away.

With one axe blow, the dwarf dispatched the first draconian, who petrified instantly. The second one pounced atop the dwarf and bore him to the floor, snapping wildly with his huge jaws. The third kicked and stomped, but the human warrior materialized from behind, swinging his blazing sword, killing first the one atop Dram, then his gaping fellow. He kicked away the bodies as they began to petrify.

“Where’s Cornellus?” asked Dram, springing to his feet, axe still in hand.

The warrior peered ahead, realizing that the draconians had entered through a hidden storeroom. “There’s a door back there—he went out that way.” He started in that direction, his fiery sword raised over his head.

Above, flames roared through the ceiling, consuming the straw thatching overhead, sending cinders and ash spilling down into the warren of rooms. Smoke grew thicker, radiating heat. Burning straw and pieces of the ceiling fell, crackling and blazing, cascading sparks across the floor.