Legacy of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [107]
But it seemed to me that the Almin guided me and though my faith had wavered in the days before Joram’s death, when I saw the rest and peace he found in death—a peace he had never known in life—I could only believe that all had happened for the best.
I wandered through the forest, searching for something, though I didn’t know what. And then, coming down the same path we walked, I saw this cave.
I saw something else, too. A black dragon.
The dragon was lying outside the cave and my first thought was that it was sunning itself, for it lay stretched out full-length, with its head upon a rock, basking in the sunlight.
As Mosiah has said—I am not much of an adventurer. My impulse was to flee, but I turned in such haste that I lost my footing. I dropped the Darksword. It fell among the rocks on the riverbank, landing with a clang that must have been heard by the dead back in my small house.
I froze, terrified, and waited for the dragon to rear up its head and attack me.
But the dragon never moved.
Of course, you are all laughing at me, because you know that a black dragon—a Dragon of the Night—would never be out taking a sunbath. The creatures loathe the sunlight, which burns into the eyes, causing such intense pain that the dragons lose consciousness.
At last, I remembered what I should have known all along. This Dragon of the Night was either unconscious or dead.
Cautiously, I approached the dragon, and as I drew near I saw its body rise and fall with its breathing. It was not dead.
I knew then why the Almin had sent me this way. A comatose Dragon of the Night can be easily controlled by means of the charm on its forehead. Here was the perfect guardian for the Darksword, the dragon’s cave the perfect hiding place.
I did not have much time. As I told you, I was fearful of pursuit. That fear gave me courage, for otherwise I do not believe I would ever have found the nerve to do what I did.
I had never seen a dragon this close before. The beast was monstrous, beautiful, awful. It was so black that it seemed to be a hole cut through daytime, revealing night beneath. I saw the charm upon its head, an oval diamond, shaped smooth, without any facets. It alone sparkled in the sunlight, which did not touch any part of the dragon, did not gleam on the scales or shine on the leathery wings.
I stretched out my hand, which was trembling so that I first missed the diamond completely and touched the dragon’s hide. It was dry and rough and hot from the sun and I jumped as if I had touched flame. Then, finally, I put my hand upon the diamond.
A feeling of power and authority suffused me. I knew that I could prevail over anything. You will laugh again, but I tell you that I never experienced the like before. I had such confidence in myself and my own abilities that I felt as if I alone could rebuild Zith-el, brick by brick. (Yes, we were using bricks, those creations of the Dark Arts.)
To charm this dragon and bend the creature to my will seemed a paltry thing. A child could do it. Words of potent magic flared in my brain. I spoke them aloud.
The dragon did not move, did not respond at all.
My power and my confidence began to ebb.
I pulled back my hand and noted that it was wet. Wet with blood.
Of course! That was why the dragon had been caught in the sunlight! The creature had been wounded. It had emerged from its cave at night, probably to drink from the river, when it collapsed and was now caught out in the sun.
Had the charm worked? Would it work on an unconscious dragon? Surely it would, I argued. The charm was meant to work on the beast when it was comatose.
Yet, argued that cursed part of me which never fails to play devil’s advocate, the charm was meant to work when the dragon was comatose from lying in the sun, not from being struck by one of the mundane’s killing lights.