Key of Living Fire (The Sword of the Dragon) (20 page)

“No, this is good.” Ilfedo turned and lighted the other side of the path. It, too, dropped into oblivion. “Oganna said that Vectra took her along dangerously steep underground paths, and it looks like we’ve found one. Now as long as this continues in a straight line, we’ll head straight into the heart of Resgeria.”

He strode into the enveloping darkness, and a cool fog rolled from the depths on either side of the path. The path widened and the fog billowed upward. But instead of enveloping him and obscuring his vision, it left the path ahead of him clear, and he proceeded, feeling all the while like some infinitesimal being entering a holy realm—or was it a sense of foreboding fiddling with his mind?

He walked until his leg muscles burned, and he sat cross-legged on the path. Seivar hopped off his shoulder and stood on the stone, his silvery eyes combing the walls of fog. Ilfedo swung the pack off his back and untied it. Digging out some bread, he tore off a large chunk for himself and handed another to the Nuvitor.

As he chewed it thoughtfully, he realized that the dragon ring no longer hurt. He held his hand up to the sword’s blade and by its light examined the white-gold dragon. The miniature beast purred as if in sleep and kept its eyes closed, resting its chin on its folded hands.

He was heading in the right direction.

He stood, then marched down the path with Seivar scurrying after him. He continued in this way for a long while until the fog bowed over the path some fifty feet ahead. Dead end.

But when he walked the remaining distance, he discovered that the fog merely bent to the left and the path curved downward. It wasn’t steep but gradual, and he found the going easy. Seivar bounced onto his shoulder, and he petted the bird’s soft chest.

The fog rolled away from the path and receded into the blackness. He pointed his glowing sword into the darkness and sidestepped several sharp stones projecting from the path. Soon the way leveled, and he stepped onto a broad shelf of silky smooth stone. Gazing upward, he could distinguish the path he’d followed. Great chisel marks glistened underneath its pillarlike stone supports, and the pillars dropped into the depths of the cavern around him.

Stepping to its edge, he peered downward and rested the point of his sword on the floor. But a ripple of blue formed as the sword’s edge struck the stone. The floor shimmered, and the ripple expanded until it flashed out of existence at the far sides of the stone shelf. As if called from nonexistence, the cavern around him lit up with billions of pink bulbs no larger than bees. Far, far below, the light spread through the ruins of a wooden city, apparently human. The white spires of churches and the brown, red, and green houses flanked dirt streets that formed perfect squares. The moist, cool air fell away, and warmth filled the cavern.

There seemed no way off his high vantage point. The stone shelf’s edges formed a sheer drop down a black cliff and to the city below.

Sheathing his sword and dropping his pack, Ilfedo unwound the rope inside and let it over the cliff’s edge. Unfortunately its length fell far shy of the city. He held it over the edge for a long moment, then sighed and reeled it back in. As he returned the rope to the pack, a bell rang, then echoed through the city below. The pink lights that glowed all over the cavern fell away from the stone and floated in the air, clustering in bright swarms.

He watched them, keeping his fingers on the smooth crystal that formed his sword’s pommel.

The swarms exploded, peppering the air with their individual lights. A few floated within a dozen yards of him, and Seivar cocked his silvery eyes and squawked in curiosity. For the individual lights seemed to have feathered wings, and upon examining them closer, Ilfedo could see that each pink glow was a tiny bird. There were billions of them, all floating around in silence and providing the cavern’s only illumination.

Ilfedo didn’t know how long the creatures mesmerized him. Their little wings flapped lazily, and the tips of their pink feathers glowed poker-white. In this world of darkness, their light held his attention with unsettling power.

Spreading his wings, Seivar took flight. He glided among the miniature creatures, cooing to each of them as he passed. The pink balls gathered behind the Nuvitor, swarming behind him, shooting above and spiraling beneath him. As the creatures enveloped the Nuvitor, their light reflected off its white body and silvery eyes and talons. They formed a cloud above the city that flashed first pink and then white and silver as Seivar flitted in and out of formation.

Ilfedo called to his bird, and the faithful creature shot back to him, perching on his arm.

“They are friendly, Master!”

“So I see. And you are confident of this?”

The Nuvitor’s silvery eyes glinted pink as a miniature bird glided past. “They call themselves Dewobins. This cavern is their one and only home, and they warned me that there are creatures in the tunnels not far from here . . . Master, from their descriptions, I believe they were telling me of the Megatraths. But they talk of cruel black brutes that kill without moral consideration.”

“They cannot mean the Megatraths.” Ilfedo frowned and glanced at the city far below. It looked serene and somehow drew him as if toward home. “The Megatraths are not black. Could the Dewobins have been mistaken? They give off a strangely colored light, and that alone could change their perspective on the color of a Megatrath’s hide.”

“I think not, Master. They said a battle was fought here, not long ago, between the humans and the black brutes. Also, the city’s inhabitants live in fear, avoiding a dark corner of their city. The Dewobins are afraid of something down there. They call it a plague, Master. They said there is a creature in the city, also. Something the humans dread.”

Ilfedo gazed upon the city again. Houses and other structures rose out of a land devoid of trees. As far as he could see, the terrain was harsh and barren. He shuddered to think people lived down there.

Far below him, yellow light flickered out of a house, as if a door had been opened. He thought he discerned a scream, like that of a child. The scream cut off, and a wail pierced his ears.

“Seivar, someone down there needs help. I am going down there!”

“But how, Master? To climb down is too dangerous, and though I flew across the face of this cliff”—the bird raised its head—“there is no way down there.”

Ilfedo leaned over the cliff’s face, considering the wet surface and impossibly steep descent. Standing, he threw Seivar into the air and pulled the pack onto his back again. He drew the sword of the dragon from its sheath and hung himself over the cliff’s face by one hand. Gritting his teeth, he sank the burning blade into the cliff, up to its hilt, and grabbed the handle with both hands.

Spitting sparks, the sword burned through the stone. He held on to it with all his strength, hoping seemingly
against
hope that his foolhardy plan would succeed. Like a hook buried in cheese, the sword cut through the cliff’s face, trailing sparks and a glowing line of molten rock. With a screeching sound, the sword plunged him toward the outskirts of the city below.

Dewobins hummed by, spraying pink light on his arms and the cliff. But the sword of the dragon spouted flames from its pommel, and the birds scattered, though the Nuvitor dove through them and circled Ilfedo’s head.

With his eyes half-closed, Ilfedo felt every jarring of his body as the sword caught in denser stone. But though a few times his hands slipped, he never broke his grip, and he descended rapidly.

Ilfedo thudded to the floor of the cavern and turned. He pulled at the sword stuck in the rock face. It screeched as he drew its glorious blade out. With a smile, he sheathed the weapon and about-faced. Tongues of Living Fire licked his body as the armor of light vanished.

He gazed down a long street, flanked on both sides by rotting wood buildings. Most were homes with short picket fences fronting them. There was, however, a lone church to his left. Darkness filled every window for half a mile, yet beyond that the houses in the heart of the city were filled with candle or lantern light.

He caught his breath for a few moments, then stepped toward the rotting church at the city’s edge. The building’s roof had partly collapsed under one side of the steeple that now leaned precariously over the street. The heavy double doors had been chained shut, and the little cemetery next to it was covered in layers of dust and cobwebs.

Across the street stood a row of five identical homes. Most of the windows had been shuttered, and across every door a beam had been nailed. Cobwebs laced the shutters and windows, and rust covered the wrought-iron fences that surrounded the homes’ dirt yards.

Ilfedo pushed a creaking gate open, followed the stone path, and climbed the stairs. The Nuvitor squawked as it landed on the iron fence.

Standing on the porch that fronted the building, Ilfedo drew his sword, holding its blade in front of his face. A half circle of small panes adorned the upper section of door, and white trim outlined the otherwise dark wood.

The house creaked, and something howled in the house next door. Ilfedo jumped and growled at himself.
It’s only the wind, you fool!
He knew, however, that not the slightest breeze disturbed this underground world.

Ilfedo faced the house. He knocked and waited.

A soft cry sounded from within, and he grasped the door handle. The lock clicked, as if someone had released it. The strange thing was, he didn’t hear any footsteps and certainly no breathing.

Grasping the knob, he pushed the door open and stepped forward into a pitch-black home. He was standing in the foyer with an oak staircase rising to the second floor on his right and a narrow hallway to his left. His sword should have lighted the room with no problem, yet it didn’t. Several paintings of middle-aged men and women hung on the wall, one large one in the stairwell and two smaller ones along the hall wall. The air smelled thick, and everywhere he looked he seemed to gaze through a smoky haze. A small table stood against the wall with the contents of its open drawer spilled over the floor.

A child cried from the dark rooms ahead.

He swallowed hard and slowly advanced into the hall. The door creaked behind him and clicked shut. He swung around, a cold chill spreading from his back to his fingers as the darkness of the house closed around his sword. The Living Fire burned on, yet its light was absorbed by the darkness so that all he could discern was the blade. Glancing down, he found the light of his armor diminishing.

He stepped forward, but the woman’s face in the last picture on the wall faintly glowed. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His feet rooted to the floor. The face blinked its glowing white eyes and opened its mouth, revealing a row of sharp teeth. He swung his sword at the portrait, and it clattered to the floor in two pieces. The face opened her mouth in silent laughter.

He could see nothing around him save for the split portrait glowing at his feet until the figure of a thin man rose out of the hallway’s end. Up it rose, glowering down at him. A cold, slimy goo brushed his hand and slipped off as Ilfedo slashed his sword through the air around his body.

His hand stung where he’d been touched. His fingers spasmed. He very nearly dropped his sword. He split the face with his sword, but the halves merged again. The being’s white eyes riveted on his face, then glanced at his hands.

The dragon ring pulsed red, and the tiny creature growled, standing on his finger and spitting fire at the face. The amethyst eyes radiated their purple light, and the white-eyed face opened its mouth, sucking in ribbons of energy from the dragon ring.

Ilfedo’s mind went back to the night he had fought the specter of Death in front of his home. The feeling he’d had then—that feeling of being utterly powerless—was exactly what he felt now.

The door behind him slammed open at that moment. Pink light dimly lit the hall, and the face in the portrait on the floor faded until it was no longer visible, as did the being in front of him.

Strong arms grabbed him around the waist and dragged him back down the hall and out the door. Ilfedo’s vision was foggy, as it had been in the house. He discerned the form of a short man in a pink robe running back up the porch steps and leaning into the doorway, pulling the door shut. Hefting the board back across the door and holding it in place, the man viciously hammered it back in place with his booted foot.

“Fool!” he yelled. His beard brushed the ground as he bounded down the steps and kicked Ilfedo’s side.

Ilfedo shot to his feet, kicking the other’s out from under him. Then he loomed over the fellow, his vision clearing, and held the tip of his now-blazing blade within inches of the man’s chest.

“Wh-wait a minute here.” The fellow rolled to the side and stood to his feet. His grizzled face looked the part of fury personified. “I just saved your life, stranger! I saved your life! And now you want to gut me? What in heaven and hell is wrong with you?” He punched Ilfedo in the stomach. “Fool! God be my witness that I went in there to save you at my own peril.”