“Have we gold?” Gathmor demanded suspiciously, appearing at the old man’s side.
Sagorn kept his eyes on Rap. “Thinal has.”
“What!” Rap shouted.
“In Finrain, he stole for Andor again; to bankroll more of his philanderings.” The old man closed his eyes and seemed to crumple. ”Before he went away, he put a coin in his mouth.”
Rap howled. He struggled to his feet, swaying.
The fire beyond the hill was growing larger, and louder. Trees were exploding, smoke pulsing up in huge black clouds. High overhead, the column was drifting westward. The dragon was coming.
“Why?” Rap demanded. Frowning, Gathmor reached out a hand to steady him.
“He almost always does,” Sagorn said sadly. “It is the only way any of us can keep anything for himself. What is inside us goes with us—so Thinal usually hides away a coin like that. When he returns, he has that much, at least. He is only a common sneak thief, remember.”
“And the dragon can tell?”
“Maybe it can. Dragons are not wholly mundane. They have powers of their own. This one may be sensing Thinal’s gold.”
GOLD!
Rap staggered and almost fell as another twisting wave of torment tore at his mind. Could the dragon even hear his thoughts, as he seemed to be hearing its? He wished Sagom had not told him about the gold.
“Then call Thinal! We’ll throw the coin away and run!” Fire was glowing through the forest at the crest of the hill as the dragon ascended the far slope.
Sagorn shook his head. “Useless! A taste of gold and the drake would devastate the countryside for leagues. Its frenzy would last for days while it went through another stage of metamorphosis. We should never escape.”
“Then tell him the damned word!” Gathmor bellowed. Apparently he had gathered a fair idea of what was going on. “No!” The old man glared stubbornly. “I am too old! I need it all!”
“You won’t need it very long—here she comes!”
At the top of the hill, the last fringe of trees erupted in one brilliant flash, and the dragon emerged, its whole incredible length pouring out like a string. Not pausing at all, it continued down the slope, slithering at a speed that would have left a racehorse standing. With wings furled, it looked very much like a gigantic metal worm, every scale flashing color in the sunlight, and even at that distance, Rap could feel the heat from it.
In desperation he gathered all his strength and hurled a command: Go back!
The monster shied, spreading wings to brake and shooting out a hail of sand and rocks beneath its talons. It reared up on its hind legs, tall as a castle tower, jetting a deafening howl of white fire. Returning waves of power battered into Rap’s mind with stunning force; he felt as helpless as he had in the surf and tide. Half stunned, he reeled back, and only Gathmor’s steely grip stayed him from falling.
Ishist? came the thought. Two-legs speaks? Is Ishist? The silver form curled forward, front claws sinking into the ground. The great back was curved like a cat’s as the dragon pondered, but Rap thought more of a dog encountering its first porcupine. The massive triangular head swayed from side to side on the scaly neck, regarding the problem from different angles; while all around the sand darkened as it began to melt, then the closer regions started to glow. The whole monster was hotter than a smith’s furnace. Heat wraiths blurred the air around it, molten glass puddled below.
“The word?” Rap cried.
“Tell me yours!” Sagorn demanded.
Rap tried to rally what little courage he had left. He felt ill and faint and very stupid. But he wasn’t going to yield his word now. Not if he died for it.
“No! Remember what Andor said when we met the goblins? The tables are turned, Sagorn. It’s my talent that’s needed now, not his! Not yours! Mine! But I must have more power.”
This was what he had planned, the reason he had let Jalon walk into the trap; but he had thought he would be bluffing. He had thought he would be able to control the dragon and bully Sagorn into telling him the gang’s word. Now it was no bluff. He could no more control this monster than he could arm-wrestle it. He greatly doubted he would do any better as an adept, either. Probably only a full sorcerer could coerce a dragon.
Sagorn looked ill also, haggard and livid. His eyes flickered toward the cliff. “There may be a cave. If I can hide from it, it may not sense Thinal in me . . .”
“No!” Rap lurched forward and grabbed the old man by his bony shoulders. “That won’t work, and you know it! It will blow fire in at you. Tell me! Tell me now, or we’re all going to die.”
Not Ishist! the dragon concluded. Two-legs not Ishist.
It hurtled forward, splashing molten rock behind it. It came seething down the slope. Thombushes vanished in flashes of white flame as it went by.
Sagorn wailed, and bent his head near to Rap’s. “Well?” Rap screamed. “Speak!”
“I can’t! It hurts!”
Rap shook him like a feather bolster. “It’ll hurt a lot more in two seconds!”
The old man choked, staggered, and slumped over Rap’s shoulder, suddenly a dead weight. Strange noises grated in his throat, as if he were having a fit. Rap was struggling to hold him up.
“Sagorn!” Rap yelled. “Doctor! Tell me!”
The dragon was on the flat and coming faster than anything Rap had ever seen, faster than a swooping falcon. Bigger and bigger, jewel eyes blazing . . .
And then Sagorn roused himself just enough to mumble his word of power into Rap’s ear.
2
Being struck by lightning might be an experience like learning a word of power. Nothing else was.
For one eternal, lifeless moment, Rap thought he had blown apart. Lights seemed to soar all around in darkness, and there was music and a great silence. Fanfares and carillons and a deep, deep stillness like the musings of mountains. Solitude and whirling stars. There was pain. There was ecstasy.
There was no time to enjoy the experience. He looked up and the dragon’s monstrous head was almost on top of him, its heat was blistering his face. He smelled burning cloth from his robe. Sagorn and Gathmor had turned and were staggering away, screaming. The giant gemlike eyes shone down on all of them with a deadly inhuman intelligence, with thoughts no man could think, with alien emotions no human would ever comprehend; the vast mouth was opening to reveal rows of crystalline teeth around an internal blaze like a captive sun. Scales shone like metal, radiating heat.
GO AWAY! Rap yelled, not knowing whether he spoke the words aloud or not.
Again the dragon reared up into the sky in shock, and this time it toppled backward. Claws grappled air; it impacted with a concussion that shook the world and blasted a belch of purple fire from its mouth. Boulders came crashing down from the ridge at Rap’s back: scales and armored back plates and half a rib. He ignored those. The live dragon was much more perilous than the dead one.
A barrage of mental explosions seemed to pour from it, and at that range they should have burned out Rap’s brain, but he blocked them.
“Go home!” he commanded fiercely. “There is no gold here. Go away!” He felt a shimmering response. It was unreal and outlandish, but vaguely reminiscent of Firedragon, the Krasnegar stallion: anger, and shame, and fear, and a juvenile silliness.
No gold?
“None! No metal! GO!”
The dragon spun around in coils, like a snake, and went rushing back up the slope, somehow seeming to slink at the same time. Its wings spread, flapped. Dust whirled up in thunderclaps as the monster rose to run on its hind legs. A few more hurricane beats and it took to the air. It veered past the column of smoke still rising from the burning forest, causing it to swirl and writhe like a candle flame, sending a wall of fire roaring through the trees. The dragon dwindled rapidly into the distance.
Rap heard tiny mutterings of complaint—no gold—and then even those faded away.
He stank of scorched cloth and hair, but cowl and stubble had protected most of his face. His tattoos hurt, and he could see tiny blisters on them. Apparently his farsight would now work like a mirror, and he couldn’t remember being able to use it like that before. He could see the backs of the hills, though, which was certainly new. The whole world had a sparkle, a sharpness, that he could not recall noticing earlier, but some of that glamour might be the afterglow of a very narrow escape. Life felt extremely good right now.