Prophet of Moonshae - Douglas Niles [28]
The seasoned wood of walls and roofs burned quickly, and in minutes, the inhabitants ceased their pathetic wailing. Those courageous enough to break from their shelter met a faster and more merciful end that was nevertheless just as fatal and violent.
Satisfied that no more humans survived on the small island, the wyrm went to each corpse and tossed it into the sea. The sheep, too, he gathered and killed and tossed into the brine. It wasn't that the gruesome bodies would have affected the dragon in any way. It was simply that this, too, was part of the plan of Talos. Once again Gotha could do naught but obey.
Next he followed the shore of the islet along its full circumference, noting several wooden-hulled fishing boats pulled up beyond the reach of high tide. These he punctured, driving one sharp claw through each keel and then pushing the vessels into the surf, where they quickly foundered and sank. One cove held several slightly larger craft, bobbing at anchor, and these too he sank, crushing the hulls with forceful blows of his massive foreclaws.
Finally the serpent returned to the cave. The rock-enclosed cavern sprawled beyond a narrow niche that cracked the top of the island's tallest summit. Gotha pulled and tore at the rock, widening the entrance and clearing the field of view down the slope. Using the strength of his massive forelegs, he excavated parts of the shelter that did not meet his fancy.
In the course of this quarrying, he collapsed a thin shelf of rock that separated his cave from a lower network of passages. Delighted, he pressed forward in eager exploration. The lower tunnels led to a vast sea cave, where salt water splashed in a great pool. It was low tide, and Gotha could feel the wind scouring past. The tunnel was open to the sky!
This was a splendid discovery, for one of the finest features of any lair was the existence of an escape route to the rear. At low tide, at least, the dracolich would be able to sally forth at sea level.
Gotha crept upward again, toward the large chamber he would claim as his sleeping room and, perhaps later, the site of his hoard. More of his flesh and scale had fallen away during the exertions of his journey and the claiming of the island. His wings were bare outlines of bone, and his ribs showed as white streaks on both sides of his wretched, decaying body.
Yet he felt no weariness, none of the stiffness nor sore muscles that would have plagued him five hundred years ago should he have attempted such a vigorous campaign. No hunger gnawed at his belly. The bites of meat he had taken during the killing had been enough, apparently, to maintain his fiery breath weapon.
Neither did he feel any need to sleep. This, too, he marked as an advantage, since a dragon was always most vulnerable during the time he lay curled in sleep.
Gotha coiled himself, awake, and lay still for a time. His flesh continued to rot, but his evil soul remained as vital as ever. He needed only to wait now for the inevitable commands from his god.
The Raging One spoke to Gotha, then, in the midst of the rain-lashed night.
You have found your lair, my wyrm.
Instantly the dracolich tensed, hissing smoke from his gaping nostrils and fixing his crimson eyespots on the opposite wall of his cave. "Give me my task, treacherous one."
The god may have chortled internally at Gotha's insolence. In any event, Talos did not punish his servant. You will participate in a mighty triumph of chaos, for we shall bring down a kingdom that has been founded upon law and justice! In its place, we shall set a reign of unadulterated evil and corruption.
"What reign is this? How do we destroy it?"
Several kingdoms shall fall-one of the Ffolk, and others of the northmen. We topple them by bringing about