All was dark at first, strange after so many corridors filled with their own light. Huma wondered why this one was different.
Unable to see, he crawled awkwardly through the immense collection of treasures. Here must certainly be the main horde, but how was he to find anything in the dark? Was there anything to find? Somehow, he felt there must be. If this was a test, there must be some way of defeating the dragon.
His hand brushed against what felt like a sword hilt—and the room was suddenly lit by a dull, greenish glow. Huma jerked his hand away in surprise. He had hoped; he had prayed. Now, at last, he had found the very thing. Only .. . only he feared to touch it, for some reason. As if something instinctively warned him not to.
Grasp me. Wield me. Use me. I will be your will come to life.
The words rang clear in his mind, clear, sweet, seductive words.
They came from within the sword itself.
Chapter 17
Huma’s hand hesitated mere inches from the sword.
The glow persisted, but there was no repetition of the words.
The blade was impressive. The hilt was brilliantly bejeweled, including one massive green stone that seemed to be the source of the glow. A bell protected the user’s hand. The blade itself was as sharp as if newly made. Huma’s desire to touch it became almost undeniable. With the sword, he was sure that not even Wyrmfather could best him
Wyrmfather! The spell was broken as Huma remembered the dragon. With the sword—no! The knight recoiled from it. He could not say how he knew, but the sword was malevolent. It did not seek his companionship; it sought a slave to do its bidding.
As he turned away from the blade, the light reflected off a polished surface in one corner. Huma scampered over the jewels and coins to get a better look at the object.
It was as he hoped. An elaborate mirror, twice his size. The mirror of which Wyrmfather had spoken. Huma recalled the sightless eyes of the cavern dweller and wondered how a blind dragon used a mirror. It was evident that Wyrmfather had gathered his treasures over the centuries.
Mirrors. This was the third. One was owned by the nymph. Another hung in the citadel of Magius. All magical. Had they all been made by the same person? He doubted he would ever know.
“Manling, I would speak with you.”
Huma started as the voice of Wyrmfather filled the room. The chamber suddenly was filled with brilliant light, and Huma cursed himself for not realizing his mistake. There were no other entrances to this chamber because the entrance was the ceiling! Even now, the ancient dragon was tugging away the huge slab of rock that served as the lid on his house-size treasure chest. Huma scanned the endless mounds of booty, seeking something and finding that his eyes always returned to the sinister emerald blade.
“Manling.” Wyrmfather sniffed and a great smile lit its terrible face, “The smell of riches is intoxicating, is it not?”
Huma was positive he could cover the distance to the sword in ten seconds. Would he have that much time?
“It is futile to hide, manling. I can smell you out. I can lay waste to this chamber. Yet I do not have to kill you. There might be another way.”
Huma edged toward the sword. Wyrmfather’s massive head turned at the sound.
“A bargain, Knight of Solamnia? A task for me in exchange for one of my treasures? Surely, I have gathered a few things your brethren have lost over the years.”
Huma remembered the ancient remains wearing the battered crest of a Knight of the Rose. Had Wyrmfather made the same offer to him? Had he been choosing his prize when the dragon overtook him?
Loose coins slid under Huma’s foot, and the dragon’s head suddenly blocked his path. Huma readied his sword, eyeing with regret the other one so near to him. So close!
Wyrmfather sniffed. “A Solamnic Knight, indeed! The game of hide-and-seek is at an end, manling! Do you accept my offer—” The massive jaws worked into a smile again, “—or shall we see what other arrangement can be made?”
“What do you want?”
The leviathan’s ears perked up. “Ahhhl He does speak! It has been, by my estimate, nearly three hundred years since an intruder has dared to speak to me directly for reasons other than pleading! Even your voice pleases me after all this!”
“I’m glad,” Huma said. He could not think of anything else to say.
The ensuing chuckle forced him to cover his ears. “A brave one, mauling! I like you. What do you say to my offer?”
“I am willing to hear it.”
“A truly brave one! Hear me, then, manling!” The great beast raised its head high. “I am Wyrmfather, first and greatest of my dread lady’s children, first to rise at her call! I championed her cause against the hideous gods of light and their creeping toadies, and ever emerged triumphant! So great and fearful was my power that at last Kiri-Jolith himself was forced to fight me—and did so with dread, I tell you!
“We fought for over a year. Mountains were born, brought flat, and reborn. The land quaked with our struggle, the seas whipped high. At last, I erred and Kiri-Jolith defeated me. Victory was not enough, though! From the shattered earth he drew this mountain about me, enclosing me from the joyous sky! I would, he said, remain a part of this mountain. Even the slightest breeze would not reach me. Only, he mocked, only one of his own brethren would be able to release me! Only one such as he could set me free!”
The blind eyes stared meaningfully at Huma, who was beginning to understand what the dragon was leading to.
“For a long time, I believed he meant one of his fellow gods, and I raged and roared. Then I came to understand the trickery in his words. A god was not what he meant. A warrior, straight and true in the path, could do what I could not, and are not the Knights of Solamnia the sons of Paladine? Does that not make them brethren in spirit to Kiri-Jolith?”
Huma stared at the gleaming sword buried deep in the mound of jewels and coins. In him there was a yearning so strong that he nearly ran to it. But suddenly the terrible visage of Wyrmfather was again before him. The hot, sulfurous breath stung the knight’s eyes.
“Free me, Knight of Solamnia, and anything here is yours! Even the mirror, which served me so well before the darkness came!”
The mirror. Huma looked at it. If he could learn its secrets . . . His own bluster amazed him. “How does it work? I might consider, then.”
“You must think of a place you wish to go and then ask—No! Release me first!”
The very mountain trembled as Wyrmfather went into another berserk rage.
The hammering began anew—louder, if at all possible.
Wyrmfather raised its massive head and shrieked, “I will not be cheated again!”
Huma ran for the sword. The maddened dragon lashed out in anger. The massive jaws opened wide, and the long, draping, forked tongue whipped out. Wyrmfather meant to make a morsel out of the tiny human.
Huma’s hand closed around the hilt of the sword. It burned in his grip, even through his gauntlets. Despite the pain, he pulled the sword free and held it high, moving through sheer reflex and skill.
Wyrmfather’s jaws closed down on Huma, swallowing countless treasures in the process. For a moment, Huma vanished into the maw of the titan.
With a rock-shattering cry of pain, the ancient leviathan spasmed. Gold, silver, statuary, jewels, and a badly battered Huma fell from his jaws. The knight hit one of the piles below, sending shockwaves through his right arm.
Above, Wyrmfather shook its head back and forth, trying to dislodge the sword it had forced into its own head. It was a futile effort; the body was already reacting by reflex. The brain of the dragon was dead, the green blade having cut through all barriers protecting it. The dragon’s actions only served to drive the blade deeper.
Huma rose to his feet just as the massive head began its final descent. Even in death, Wyrmfather could spell the end of Huma. The knight scrambled.