One Quest, Hold the Dragons Page 2

  "Next you'll have the girls standing out front and hiking up their skirts," said Laura. "My dear, you must leave the business to more experienced heads. Really, Priscilla—"

  "Stop calling me that!" shouted Sidney.

  "Now, then, dear," said Laura. "If you're going to scream at me, I refuse to continue this conversation—"

  "What conversation?" shouted Sidney. "We don't have conversations! I propose ideas, you sneer at them, then you lecture me! That's your idea of a conversation!"

  "Darling, you might give some slight consideration to the notion that perhaps I do have some idea what I'm doing," said Laura. "I have been running this business for close to thirty years, you know."

  "Running it into the ground, that's what you're doing," shouted Sidney, hurling the card samples onto Laura's desk and storming from the office.

  The heavy wooden door slammed behind her. Why, oh why had she let herself get dragged back into the business? She stamped down the richly carpeted hall, past the rows of oaken doors with their brass numbers. Six was the only one occupied at present, she noticed; faint moans came from within. One room out of twelve, on this floor. "Slow" wasn't the word for business.

  Well, it had been necessary to bail her mother out, hadn't it? Couldn't leave her in hock to the elven gangsters. And that left Sidney with half the family business; could she stand aloof and watch as her mother drove it into the ground once more?

  She'd run away from home once before. "Running away isn't the answer," Father Thwaite had told her.

  Well, then, she thought savagely, what is?

  "Yes, yes, delicious, thank you, Vic," said Timaeus, not entirely happily.

  "Eat up, eat up, boyo," said Vic, slapping him on the back and smiling broadly. "Can't march on an empty shtomach."

  "Mmm," said Timaeus through a mouthful of pancake; it wasn't half bad, actually. He reached for a cup of tea to wash it down. "Now, then; what was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

  Vic stared at him blankly. "Talk ... ?" he said. "What wash your name, shonny?"

  Timaeus sighed. "Timaeus d' Asperge, Vic," he said patiently. "Remember? I found the statue of Stantius?"

  Vic blinked. "Found the-wash it losht?" He frowned, and mumbled puzzledly to himself.

  Reginald entered, bearing a folded newspaper atop a silver tray. "I thought you might want this, sir," he said, handing it to Timaeus. "Special edition."

  And it was. The Durfalian News-Gazette was a morning paper; it was unusual for them to print an edition so late.

  "ISH FALLS!" screamed the headline. Timaeus didn't think he'd ever seen type quite so large.

  Vic peered over his shoulder. "Ish fallsh!" he said excitedly. "Orcsh are gonna be all over the Bibblian plain. Better get your ash in gear, shonny."

  "What do you mean?" asked Timaeus

  "Get your damned companionsh together and get cracking on this quesht, by cracky!" said Vic. "No more dillyfuddling around, or you're going to wind up in shometroll'sh larder, that'sh what I shay. You and half the human race."

  "Off on this quest thing, again, what?" said Timaeus tiredly. "You know what the others say—"

  Vic smiled faintly. "Ashked 'em recently?" he said craftily. "Maybe they've changed their mindsh. Like you have, eh, Timmy?"

  Timaeus blinked. Had he? Taking Stantius to Arst-Kara-Morn still sounded like suicide, did it not?

  He looked at the headline. The gods, duty, and nation, what? A comfortable life didn't look like it was in the cards. If he stayed here another few months, he'd probably wind up drafted.

  Yes, actually; perhaps he had changed his mind.

  "We do not," said the majordomo freezingly, "permit riffraff in the Millennium."

  "Riffraff!" protested Nick. "What do you mean, riffraff?"

  "Please," said the majordomo. "I suppose you imagine that, that thing you are wearing makes you appear to be a gentleman. The very supposition marks you out as the most vulgar, gutter-dwelling—"

  "Ahem," coughed Timaeus. "He's with me."

  The majordomo's jaw dropped. "This—are you certain, sir?" he said.

  "Yes, I'm afraid so," said Timaeus apologetically. He could see the wheels turn in the man's mind; no doubt within minutes it would be all over the servants' quarters that Timaeus d' Asperge had problems with gambling debts. Certainly Pratchitt looked every inch the racetrack tout.

  "I thought these duds were first-class," Nick complained as Timaeus guided him up the wide marble stairs. "Fellow in the shop said they were all the rage."

  "Really, Nick," said Timaeus. "Checked hose? And your hat looks like an admiral's. Next time you want to buy something to impress anyone other than your lowlife companions, do let me know. Or Sidney; she's had enough exposure to—"

  "Don't talk to me about Sidney," Nick said. "She's still mad at me for—"

  "There you are, Nick," said Sidney. She sat in an armchair by a small teak table, wearing, in deference to the customs of the club, a modest black dress. Jasper hung in the air nearby, while Vic sprawled back in his own armchair, snoring. Reginald had managed to get Vic, at least, into suitable attire. "Glad to see you're still out of jail," Sidney said.

  "I ought to be, given my legal bills," said Nick. "You can't believe what lawyers charge—"

  "If you'd stop cuckolding rich men," said Sidney, "you wouldn't wind up in court so much."

  "Yeah, I suppose," said Nick, "but the problem with cuckolding poor men is they'd rather kill than sue you."

  "You don't have to do either," said Sidney. "If you need your ashes hauled, I can get you a very good deal."

  "That's not the point," said Nick. "It's the chase that's interesting, not the conclusion."

  "Now, now," said Timaeus. "Let's not fight yet, shall we? Where's Garni?"

  "If you'd kept in touch," said Sidney freezingly, "you'd know that he left for Dwarfheim months ago. Death in the family, or something."

  "Errm, well, yes," said Timaeus, fumbling with his pipe. "I have been rather preoccupied, haven't I?"

  "No," said Nick. "You just didn't want to talk to your—lowlife companions, wasn't that the phrase? Rather hobnob with—"

  "Well, I apologize if it seemed that way," said Timaeus. "But—"

  "But nothing," said Sidney heatedly. "Nick's right. You—"

  A crash sounded from the stairwell. "By all the gods!" came a bellow. "Kraki, son of Kronar, goes vhere he vills!"

  "Oop," said Timaeus, rising hastily. "Better go collect Kraki, what?"

  There was an awkward silence in his absence. Nick tried to catch the eye of a waiter—Timaeus could probably be induced to pay for the drinks—but they seemed to evade his gaze with consummate ease. "So, Sidney," he said at last, "how's business?"

  "Terrible," she said. "And Mom's driving me nuts."

  "That was predictable," said Nick.

  "You're enjoying yourself, I suppose?" she said resentfully. "Always wanted to be rich. Now you can spend every waking hour chasing—"

  "Actually," said Nick, "I'm pretty sick of it. I'm in court all the time, I don't dare pull off a heist because I've got enough troubles, and anyway, I don't need the money; I can only spend so much time at the track before I go nuts—you know, a life of leisure is not all it's cracked up to be."

  "Poor boy," said Sidney coldly. "What about you, Jasper?"

  "Actually, you know," said the green light, "I've been quite enjoying myself. Joined up with some youngsters in a couple of little forays into the Caverns; felt good to be on an expedition again. And those lads desperately need a wiser head among them, I must say; not making adventurers like they used to. Either that, or I've forgotten how much of an idiot I was when I first started out."

  "You've taken up adventuring again?" said Sidney. "Why would you risk your life like that? You don't need the money."

  "True enough," said Jasper, "but business is down at the shop, and—you know, I quite enjoyed our little run-in. When Timaeus asked me if I wanted to join you in your venture, I—"
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  "Venture?" said Sidney. "Oh, no-Vic's quest? Is that what this is about?"

  Timaeus approached with a glowering Kraki. "Ale, lackey!" Kraki shouted at one of the waiters. "Bring it quick, by the gods, or you feel the bite of barbarian steel!"

  "Simmer down, Kraki," said Timaeus.

  "You vant another shop?" Kraki said to Jasper. "I give to you. Make very good deal."

  "Very generous of you, to be sure," said Jasper, "but—"

  "I ride for northland tomorrow," said Kraki. "Get out of stinking city. Had enough."

  "I thought you said you'd help Vic on his quest," Timaeus said.

  Kraki blinked. "Veil, sure," he said. "Good idea, test mettle against all the forces of evil, for sure. But I thought all you pansies said no, yah?"

  "We're having a bit of a rethink," said Timaeus.

  "You're having a bit of a rethink," said Nick. "Me, I've got a court date at two o'clock. Throwing my young life away on some fool—"

  "You haven't seen the papers?" said Timaeus.

  "Sure," said Nick. "The orcs have overrun Ishkabibble. So?"

  "Stay here, and you'll be drafted within the year. I guarantee it," said Timaeus.

  Nick contemplated that. "Probably," he said. "But—"

  "Do you know what the casualty rate was on the Ish front?" said Timaeus.

  "Well," said Nick. "Yeah. But I can always cut out for Far Moothlay, or—"

  "Good heavens!" said Jasper in astonishment. "I knew you were a cautious fellow, young Pratchitt, but I had noidea you were a craven swine! When the nation calls, will you not answer?"

  "No," said Nick, "I won't."

  Vic, who had woken up some time ago and had followed this exchange with interest, began to speak Words of power. The others fell silent and watched him until he was done. Vic pointed at Nick and spoke the final Words; a line of viridian energy stretched from his finger toward Nick's crotch. "Better come along, shonny," he cackled.

  "Why?" said Nick.

  "Or your thing' l1 fall off," said Vic.

  "My—"

  "Yup," said Vic. There was silence for a long moment.

  "Just promise me one thing," Nick said.

  "What'sh that?" Vic asked.

  "No dragons," said Nick. "All right? Is that too much to ask? Orcs and trolls and basilisks, fine; goblins and wyverns and the gods know what-all, jake by me. But leave out the dragons, okay?"

  "What've you got againsht dragonsh?" demanded Vic. "Fine traditional part of a quesht, dragonsh."

  "I don't like dragons," said Nick. "I don't like unicorns, either, but I'm just asking about dragons. All right? No dragons, or I stay."

  Vic shrugged. "Do my besht," he said. "Can't promishe shome fool lizard won't shtick hish head where it oughtn't to be. But we aren't heading into dragon country, anyway."

  "All right," said Nick. "I'll come, then."

  "That just leaves you, Sidney," said Timaeus. They all looked at her; she looked rather uncomfortably back.

  "What about Father Thwaite?" she said.

  "I've already asked him," said Timaeus. "He's under strict orders, apparently. I talked to the abbot, who seemed to appreciate the direness of our task, but he refused to release Thwaite from his vows. Perhaps correctly; while it is true that he's been on the wagon for some time, we cannot be confident of his sobriety once he departs the monastery."

  "And Garni's gone," said Sidney. "Oh, hell, I'll come. If they're going to be drafting every man in sight, business is going to dry up entirely."

  "Suicide," moaned Nick.

  "Buck up, man," said Jasper in disgust. "Are we not heroes? Does not the right triumph?"

  "No," said Nick, "and no. What about the statue? Every wizard in the world will be able to track us as we travel; when we get to the Dark Lands, we'll be snatched up instantly, like hors d'oeuvres on a tray."

  "Have a little faith," said Vic. "I put a shpell on it. Short of an invishibility to magic thing. Nobody'sh going to be detecting that shtatue, or my name ishn't Polykarpush Magicush."

  "Your name isn't Polykarpus Magicus," Timaeus pointed out.

  "Jusht hedging my betsh," said Vic.

  "How very reassuring," said Timaeus.

  "Shpeaking of hors d'oeuvresh—they have lobshter on the menu here, Timmy? Didn't get to be two thoushand by shitting around waiting for lunch, by cracky. Which way'sh the dining room?"

  Part 1

  Omnia Vincit Amor

  I

  Above the mountains shone a brilliant sun, casting its rays across an azure sky. Green-clad slopes lifted upward to snowy peaks; the cool mountain air was freshened with the scent of pine. Across the wilderness stretched a single road; and along that road, upward into the mountains, came a merchant caravan, consisting of a single wagon and outriders.

  An observer-a bandit, say, lurking in the woods atop one of the many rises cut through by the road-would have seen nothing amiss in the scene. There is considerable trade up and down the road, for the Iscabalian Way is the most direct route from Urf Durfal to Ishkabibble, and the Biddleburg Pass, toward which it rises, the most convenient traverse across the Dzorzian Range. And the riders, diverse lot though they were, were clad as merchants might be clad. Oh, not the bare-chested barbarian, to be sure, but it was usual for merchants to hire guards of one kind or another, in these unhappy times. Legend has it that, in the days of Imperium, an undefended lass bearing armbands of gold, roped pearls, and showers of gems might have ridden from one end of the land to the other without molestation; alas, whatever the truth of such tales, the modern world is far less orderly. Merchants habitually travel with armed guardians.

  It would have taken close inspection to shake the initial impression. A keen eye might have seen that one of the riders rode quite adequately without a mount; indeed, without corporeal existence whatsoever, as he consisted solely of a small point of green light, flitting through the air at sufficient speed to remain abreast of the horses of the others. Another of the merchants was a wizard of at least minor power, as he proved by lighting his pipe with a spell-enveloping his head in flames in the process, to no ill effect. And the sight of an ancient codger, snoring toothlessly at the rear of the wagon, might have raised questions also; what purpose would merchants have in hauling a senile old graybeard about?

  It is well, therefore, that our observers, whatever their other characteristics, were neither as keen-eyed nor as questioning as they might have been.

  Fleecy clouds floated lazily across an azure sky. Mighty firs rose from either side of the road, limbs stretching outward as if to catch the benison of the sun. The air was cool, the breeze a gentle one. It was the sort of day that lifts the soul, that seems to beckon one on to adventure. On such a day, it would take grim determination to feel anything less than contentment.

  Sidney Stollitt glowered distrustfully at the trees. Behind every curve she expected an ambuscade. She, who walked the roughest streets of the city without fear, felt utterly out of place in this bucolic wilderness. Her unease was merely sharpened by the lightheartedness of her companions: No one was keeping a proper watch.

  Kraki Kronarsson rode behind, chanting the sagas of his barbarian youth to himself. Nick Pratchitt rode aboard thewagon, reins in his hand and idly speculating on the likelihood that the mountains were inhabited by dragons. Vic, as usual, was sound asleep, snoring into his scraggly white beard. And the mages, Timaeus and Jasper, rode ahead, talking good-naturedly of nothing much.

  "Amazing engineering, those Imperial chaps, what?" said Timaeus about the stem of his pipe. Smoke curled into the pine-scented air. "I mean to say, running a road into these mountains at a constant grade. Couldn't be done today, I should think."

  Jasper floated alongside, matching the speed of Timaeus's mount. "Oh, I don't know," said the green spot of light. "Magical knowledge has increased, if anything, since Imperial times."

  "Nonsense," said Timaeus. The doctrine of decline from the Golden Age was the fundament of all historical knowledge, o
r so he had been taught at university; he was surprised that as educated a man as Jasper could hold so ill-informed an opinion. "The works of the ancients vastly outshine anything accomplished in the modern age."

  Sidney grimaced, studying the road ahead. The grade might be constant, but it was uphill; they were climbing into the mountains, whose white-capped peaks lifted high on the horizon ahead. The horses pulled onward, smoothly but under some strain; they would need to be rested soon. The road curved frequently, no doubt to maintain the grade; there was no telling what might lurk behind the next twist or turn.