“So it is! Light them with this at once. No time to explain. Get to the ship and cast off as soon as the way is clear.”
“Hurry!” warned Trenn. “They are getting closer. They will see us.”
Theido held the flame and lit the first pyre. “Hide, all of you! Get ready. When I give the signal run for the boat.”
He lit the other fires and hid himself beside the trail. Raucous laughter floated up from the beach. It was quite apparent that the soldiers had helped themselves to a firkin of wine and were beginning to feel its effects. A few others had joined the first and were making their way to the woods to relieve themselves.
Quentin looked at the pyres in their dishes of sand. Nothing was happening that he could see. A few wisps of smoke drifted upward, all but invisible in the darkness which had settled over the wood.
Then, as he watched, a great bubble of smoke rose from the central pyre, followed by a bubble from each of the others. The bubble flattened and spread, snaking out over the sand toward the beach.
“Look!” said Quentin to Toli, who crouched at his shoulder. “The dragon’s roar!”
Bluish smoke now billowed from the pyres and poured onto the beach, creeping low along the ground like a mist spreading over the sand. The smoke boiled forth, lit by green fire from the burning pyre below. It writhed in curling tendrils as it stretched down along the slope of the beach reaching toward the water.
The first soldier, stumbling up the path, singing a rude ditty at the top of his lungs, stopped and peered drunkenly down at the path as the snaking smoke curled about his feet and licked at his legs. He stepped back, almost falling into the two coming up behind him. For a moment they all stood staring as the mysterious mist swirled about them, thickening, racing on.
Quentin felt it before he heard it-a low thrumming note which vibrated in his chest. He fancied the rock beside him quivered in response to the sound.
The note grew in volume, becoming louder and louder still. To it was added a shrill hiss, the sound of steam escaping from a fissure in the earth, or of a monstrous snake coiling to strike. Then all at once the woods shook with a roar. The bushes rustled as if in the wind, but there was no wind. Leaves fell from the trees.
A thrill of excitement raced along Quentin’s ribs. He turned wide-eyed to Toli who returned his gaze with a grin. “The dragon’s roar.”
The three soldiers on the beach, at first puzzled, and now alarmed, faltered and fell back. They turned as if to run, but remained anchored to the spot where they stood. The singing around the fire by the shore had stopped. Several stood looking into the woods.
Again the roar. Louder this time. From somewhere back in the woods a great light flashed-a bolt of lightning out of a clear sky. In that brief flare Quentin saw the terrified faces of the men on the beach; the look of unspeakable horror which appeared magically upon each brow sent a tingle of fear through his stomach. What if there were a dragon?
The flash of light was followed by a strange sound, the weeping creak of trees snapping off at the trunk, and the muffled crash as they fell to earth.
“The gods save us!” came a cry of dismay from the shore. “The dragon is coming!”
The slithering smoke had reached the huddled knot of men on the beach. “The dragon’s breath! We’re doomed!”
Two who had been entering the wood ran screaming back to the campfire, leaving the other collapsed on his knees with his hands clamped over his ears and his eyes squeezed tight in terror. He sobbed mournfully and then pitched over, facedown in the sand.
“We’ll all be killed,” someone screamed. The horses, tethered to the back of the wagon, broke free and whinnied wild-eyed with fright, lashing out with their hooves at anyone who came near. Men began rushing to and fro upon the sand, arming themselves.
Then, from the smoking pyres, a weird glow went up, bathing the scene in a lurid green cast. The roar sounded again, rattling the branches overhead and, Quentin was certain of it this time, shaking the rocks in the earth. He cast a timid glance over his shoulder and fancied that he saw the huge black shape of a nameless dread moving through the deep shadows of the wood. The rending of trees and the crush of the undergrowth increased. The stench of burning sulfur filled the air.
The pyres, casting an eerie hue over all, now suddenly erupted in a shower of sparks and tiny cinders, becoming fountains of sparkling flame.
The soldiers, scattered and confused, shrieked as one. The horses bolted and ran down the beach. In an instant of hesitation, the men dropped their weapons and melted away, some to flounder in the ocean, calling for the waves to cover them. Others streaked away along the strand to hide among the rocks. Within the space of three heartbeats there was not a man to be seen upon the beach save the soldiers who had collapsed in the sand.
“Move out!” cried Theido. Quentin found that when the call came his legs were already moving as fast as they would go down the beach to the water’s edge.
He threw himself up the rickety wooden ramp and over the rail of the small ship. He floundered across the deck to the mooring rope which he struggled to unloose from its post. He did not look up when he felt Toli’s hands upon the rope working feverishly with his own.
“Are all on board?” called Theido. Ronsard, standing at the bottom of the ramp, his arms holding a load of swords and a shield or two, hollered back, “I cannot see Durwin. He must be coming…”
Quentin glanced back up the strand toward the wood. In the green glare of the smoking pyres he imagined he saw the great shape of a black dragon lumbering into the clearing. Two great circles of eyes burned into the night. Once more the water-freezing roar thundered. And then, inexplicably, Durwin emerged from the smoke, dancing down the path to the boat.
FORTY
FROM HIS high parapet Prince Jaspin watched the last-minute preparations for his coronation. Below, on the greens of Askelon, a hundred brightly colored pavilions had blossomed like early summer flowers. Lords and their ladies strolled the lawn while servants fluttered among them on errands of pending importance.
The air fairly billowed with the fragrance of a thousand bouquets and the savory aroma of meat roasting in the pits and sweet delicacies being prepared for the high feast. Everywhere he looked, color and festivity met his gaze, and even to Jaspin’s jaded eye the sight dazzled and delighted.
He rubbed his pudgy hands and hugged himself in paroxysms of pleasure.
Jaspin had readily assumed the appearance of a king. Rings rattled on every finger; gold chains hung about his neck; his rotund form fleshed out a handsome brocaded jacket with wide lacy sleeves; a flattened cap, embroidered with gold, perched upon his head, and his long brown hair had been curled for the occasion. On his feet he wore boots of gilded leather; his legs were stuffed into the finest stockings which issued forth from his short velvet trousers fastened at the knee with silver buttons. He, though he had to admit it himself, had never looked so splendid.
His entrance into the city the day before had been no less grand and majestic. All his lords, bedecked in their finest armor, astride their best horses, rode with him in triumphant procession through the town. The streets were thick with throngs of onlookers who sent their cheers aloft as the occasion required. To an objective ear the cheers might have been more effusive and heartfelt; nevertheless, to Jaspin, caught up as he was in his own pomp and circumstance, the tidings seemed the greatest possible adulation. In fact, the perceived acclaim so overwhelmed Prince Jaspin that he unaccountably loosened the strings of his purse and began flinging ducats of gold and silver into the throngs. This, of course, produced a heightened approval from the populace, most of whom made up the lower echelons of the realm. Those who had no great love for Jaspin, the more sincere citizens, stayed away from the procession altogether.