Chapter XII
The crystal shattered, and Verdilith roared in frustration. The shards fell to the sandy floor, adding to the layer of crystalline fragments from other abelaat stones. The dragon flicked his tail angrily. A gold-spangled crown and an emerald scepter flew against the far wall of the lair. The crown crumpled on impact, and the scepter smashed a crack in the rock wall. Verdilith snorted, green fumes roiling from his nose.
The abelaat stones had grown unpredictable in their duration, fouling the dragon’s plans. “Worthless lackeys,” Verdilith growled, his voice rattling hollowly through the lair. He scratched one scaly cheek. “These stones are flawed! They should last hours, not minutes!” He punctuated the words with a thunderous slap of his tail and the cave rumbled like a great drum. The dragon hissed. Once he had watched Flinn for an entire night and day, whispering his magic words of despair over and over and filling Flinn with impotent rage. Previously, Verdilith could use the stones to plant evil thoughts and emotions into Flinn’s mind. The dragon’s seeds of fear and self-loathing had taken root and nearly turned Flinn’s soul black. “Now I can hardly even see him!” Verdilith roared, the sound reverberating through the cavern.
The dragon looked up at the twinkling ceiling far above. If only the woman hadn’t happened by. “Who is she?” he wondered to himself. “Who is this disruptor?” The abelaat’s attack on her had been most untimely—the tiny traces of spittle remaining in her system rendered her nearly impossible to observe through the crystals. And where Flinn was, she was nearby. Since the arrival of the woman, Verdilith had gained only brief, tantalizing glimpses of his most hated enemy. Now only one unshattered crystal remained in Verdilith’s hoard.
The wyrm shifted on his bed of gold and silver. Absently, he licked the coins and gems slipping through his front claws. One claw grasped a single large amethyst and squeezed. The gem shattered and Verdilith smiled hugely. He would be able to crush diamonds in not so many more years.
The dragon let his thoughts drift away to the latest, most disturbing glimpse he had seen through the crystaclass="underline" Flinn held aloft a greats word and spoke of slaying Verdilith to regain glory.
“He evaded my trap,” the dragon seethed darkly, his sibilant voice echoing over the stone. “Those stupid orcs. I’ll have my revenge on them.” Thoughts of the orcs dispersed when Verdilith remembered Flinn’s shining sword. “Wyrmblight!” Verdilith seethed, a green cloud issuing between his teeth.
Something dug unpleasantly into the dragon’s side. He shifted his bulk on the treasure hoard and pulled out a silver urn. A leer of satisfaction flashed across his spearlike teeth as he looked at the now-crumpled item. Then, flicking the scrap away, he returned to his musings. “I should have killed Flinn the first time,” he roared. The old witch’s prophecy surfaced in his mind—One of you will die when next you meet. “Yes—and that one will be Flinn.”
But he had wanted Flinn’s death to be more than merely physical—he had wanted to kill the man’s very soul. How delicious it has been to corrupt Flinn’s honor from afar rather than simply bite him in two, Verdilith thought. He smiled. And how satisfying the man’s suicide would have been. The dragon slowly licked one claw. “But revenge takes many forms.”
Verdilith looked down at his last remaining abelaat crystal. He needed more. He slid to one corner of his lair, pulling his massive bulk up before a large brazier. Reaching into a deep alcove, he pulled forth some aromatic herbs and flowers and placed them in the brass basin. Then he raked his claws along the rugged cave wall, sending a shower of sparks down onto the herbs. In moments, a fire flared to life. The sweetly scented smoke rose to the dragon’s vapor-scored nostrils, soothing his senses. Drawing a deep breath, the dragon began to speak, the sounds rumbling low in his long neck. The ancient command words rolled out into the smoke and mingled with it.
The miasma above the brazier began to thicken and swirl. Strange, bright colors glimmered through a veil of misty ash, like lightning bolts dancing behind summer storm clouds. But at last the colors coalesced, and the smoke took on the vague shape of a human’s face.
“Your bidding is all, Master,” came a disembodied voice as indistinct as the face in the smoke.
“Bring me more abelaat crystals,” the dragon rumbled. “Good ones this time. Make them if you must.”
“Is that all, Great One?” the voice droned.
“No!” The single word was nearly a roar, sharply contrasting to the servant’s voice. “Have you done the penance I set for you?”
A brief silence hung in the air, then the words “No, I have not.”
“Do so!” Verdilith hissed. “Do not try my patience!”
“Yes, Master,” came the barely audible reply. The image wavered and disappear. Another shadowy face formed in the smoke, as indistinct as the first. It spoke.
“I understand Flinn has regained Wyrmblight.” The words were smooth, without any detectable malice. Verdilith bared his teeth anyway.
“Yes,” the dragon hissed.
“Don’t fail in your revenge, Verdilith. Your domination of Penhaligon is critical to our plans. And, I must ask—” the speaker paused “—is that item I entrusted to you still safe?”
Verdilith smiled uneasily and said, “Yes. It is where you left it.” His eyes wandered over to the one-foot—square box resting in a corner of his cave. It was a simple box, iron reinforced with steel. Not a single gem or rune graced it. Even the lock was inauspicious—a simple clasp. Its looks were deceiving, however. Verdilith had spent more than a month trying to open the box, but to no avail. The clasp simply would not be undone, despite the dragon’s best magical and physical efforts. And neither would the box break. Verdilith had carried the box to the loftiest height he could climb and then dropped it on the rocky Wulfholdes far below. A tiny, one-inch scratch was his reward.
“Good,” the voice replied. “When you are finished with your business with Flinn and I have things settled here, I will take the box from you. Do you need anything?”
“Only the abelaat crystals, but the other one is taking care of those.” Verdilith needn’t have bothered with his response, for the swirling image had dissolved into simple smoke. The dragon turned away and hissed in annoyance. He lumbered over to the precious box and picked it up.
It fit easily into Verdilith’s palm and was inexplicably heavy. Nothing rattled inside. He tried the lock again, and as usual it wouldn’t budge. The dragon put the box down and returned to his bed.
“Vengeance,” the dragon rumbled, a green cloud swirling like a dark halo about his head. “First, death to Flinn, then to the orcs… and then to you, my fine friend.”
Yvaughan whimpered in her sleep. A voice tolled incessantly in her mind, like a death knell, but she couldn’t understand the words. Her dream was starting again, and a part of her was aware of it and feared it. She rolled over, seeking her husband’s warmth, but her arms remained empty. Maldrake was away tending other matters. Silent, bitter tears fell from her eyes to the silken pillow. Her two pet birds cooed and fluttered to her side. One nestled at her ear; the second cooed again, then flew to a dark corner of the bedchamber.
Her dreams grew more frightening. The dark, many-fanged creature entered them as he had so many times before. He was moving toward her, a man-shaped beast with brutal claws. A tiny groan escaped her lips. She knew of the dream and what was to come. She struggled to control her thoughts, to force the monster from her mind, but the angular creature continued toward her. She covered her face with her arm, trying to bar the vision from her mind.
Still it came.
The thing with the shining claws came to her bedside and bent over her. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t scream—only whimper. Drawing her arms from beneath the covers, the monster stroked them lightly over and over. His claws raked her skin just hard enough for the flesh to open and ripple with pain. Then he bit her at the tender joint of one elbow. She almost welcomed the pain, for it meant her dream was almost done.