Tears For The Dragon Ch. 01

He spun to glare at Vilmos. "You said this was a tomb!" he hissed.

The mercenary shrugged. "It is, pretty much."

The young mage took a step back in shock. Could this man be that stupid? He swept an arm at the massive mound of wealth. "Are you mad? That is clearly the hoard of a Great Wyrm!"

Vilmos snorted. "You didn't have a problem when you thought the job was stealing from dead people. What's different about stealing from a dead beastie? Now come on, let's get at it." He began striding forward. "It's like you said. I figger we get the choicer bits now, and then get some mules and come back for more later on."

Tibor ran after him and grabbed at his shoulder, only to get his hand batted away. The mage found himself staring again at the point of Vilmos' short sword, then looked up into the pitiless blue eyes of the mercenary.

"Hands off, friend," snarled Vilmos. "There's plenty here and I'm feelin' generous, so you can have your share. But if you push me, I'll gut ya and leave ya for the wolves."

Tibor nearly shouted his reply but managed to keep his voice down. "The dragon isn't dead!" He glanced over in fear at that huge cushioned nest. He almost ran right then and there, but some vestige of his rationally-focused past made him stay and try to talk sense into the idiot.

Vilmos snorted. "I've asked around here, right? Nobody's seen the dragon in at least thirty-five years."

The words seemed to thunder in Tibor's ears. "You knew? You knew this was a dragon's lair?"

The mercenary snorted. "Of course. That's why I came to you. Everybody else around here woulda told me ta get lost. But you're new to the area, so you didn't know any better."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Tibor tried to keep the whine out of his voice.

"Because I knew you'd turn into a damn bedwetter like the rest of 'em. And sure enough, here ya are bellyaching about pissin' off a dead beast. Now, are ya gonna help me pick through this stuff or not?"

"You FUCKING..." Tibor swallowed his shout. Not out of fear of Vilmos, oh no. He now feared what else might hear them. The mage now knew why he had seen no wards at all in this place. "You madman. Don't you know that Great Wyrms live for thousands of years? They can sleep for fifty years or more at a stretch, it's like a catnap to them!"

Vilmos paused, and Tibor hoped that his words were starting to get through. "But you didn't see any wards," said the mercenary with suspicion.

Tibor covered his face with his hand. He was going to die, he was going to be eaten alive by an ageless horror. And all because of the boundless depths of human stupidity and greed. "I'm sure there are wards all over this place. We've probably been triggering them ever since we got past that first one." He was pretty sure some local hedge wizard had put that first ward in place to scare off any stupid kids.

The older man's sword rose to point at Tibor. "What do you mean? Did you set 'em off deliberately?"

Tibor dropped his hand wearily. "Draconic magic is completely different than human spell-craft. It's like those First Empire lights. The sages can't even agree on what it might be based on, let alone start to make sense of it. My Second Sight can't see any of the dragon's magic, and that includes its wards." He glared at Vilmos. "As I would have told you, if you'd been up front with me at the start." He pointed behind him at the nest. "Do you see a corpse there? No? Then that damned thing is alive and it was woken up the moment we crossed into its lair. It could be anywhere in here!"

"That means we need to move fast," replied Vilmos. He lowered his sword and moved again towards the pile.

Tibor tried one last time. If the stupid bastard wouldn't see sense, then he was running for it. "If you take one single coin of that pile you may as well slit your own throat. There is no greater affront to a dragon, particularly a Great Wyrm. It will hunt you down no matter where you go."

As Vilmos paused to glare at him, he continued in a gentler tone. "Listen, please just listen. Our only hope is to leave now, and fast. If we run into the dragon, we beg for mercy. They can be reasoned with, they're not mindless killers. Our story is that we were simple adventurers passing through, we stumbled upon this cave by accident, and we let our curiosity get the better of us. But that will only work if we touch nothing in here. Do you understand?"

He had one moment of hope as the mercenary paused. But then Vilmos shook his head. "Such a bedwetter."

"I'm out of here," snapped Tibor, and turned to run. He heard a grunt of effort from Vilmos, followed by a huge explosion of pain in the back of his head as all went black.

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Vilmos regarded the mage's crumpled form and shook his head. The last thing he needed was to have that pansy running around drawing attention. Then the mercenary looked up with joyful lust at the hoard. All he had to do was fill his pockets and he'd be as rich as the finest merchant in the kingdom. If he couldn't come back due to an angry dragon...well, he would just have to settle for being stinking rich. He gave one last glance at Tibor and wondered if the mage was dead. He hadn't pulled his pommel-blow, but it shouldn't have been a killing strike. Maybe he should slit the bedwetter's throat before he left. The blood should attract any nearby dragon and make his escape easier.

But first things first. Vilmos took another step towards the pile as his eyes lit on a ruby. That would do nicely for a start...

Something like a whip cracked down on his sword-arm, scoring a direct hit on his wrist. The sudden shock and pain made him drop the blade. It fell with a ring of metal on the smooth stone floor, but before he could lunge to retrieve his weapon that same whip-like appendage flicked the sword away into a far shadowed corner.

He sensed rather than saw something off to his right. Vilmos was a big man with many years of fighting experience and he instinctively knew what to do. When attacked, counterattack. He made a skipping hop and slammed a kick into his assailant. That kick had the full force of his substantial frame behind it. It was a kick that had taken down ogres.

But this time, it felt like he'd kicked a mountain. He rebounded off of his attacker and went sprawling on his back. He caught a glimpse of something huge moving towards him, a green and golden form the size of a bear. In a panic he scrabbled at his belt, trying to find his dagger. He managed to pull his weapon out...but then felt that prehensile appendage wind with bone-cracking force around his wrist. He dropped the dagger with a despairing gasp of pain.

At last Vilmos knew mortal fear. He looked up and saw a pair of clawed hands reaching for him. And above those hands was a fanged mouth and a pair of blood-red and pitiless eyes.

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"Ahh! Ahh! Ahh! Ahh!..."

The rhythmic hoarse screaming was the first thing that Tibor heard as he came to. His head throbbed with pain, and for one moment he thought he'd passed out after a drunken night of revelry. But he hadn't indulged like that in years, not since Natalia's death. Then the last few days came back to him with full force. That bastard Vilmos, tricking him into thinking there was an untouched First Empire ruin. The two of them walking right into what was actually a dragon's lair. Vilmos clubbing his skull when he'd tried to leave.

He remembered the Great Wyrm's hoard.

Tibor kept his body still and cracked one eye open. His head was lying on the stone floor and pointing back towards the center of the wyrm's bedchamber. The sight that met his sight puzzled him, then froze his blood.

The dragon's body was mostly turned away from him, and he could see Vilmos trapped beneath its bulk. The mercenary was the source of that hoarse, periodic screaming that Tibor had heard. The dragon's long triangular head was covered with an ornate pattern of green and gold scales and topped with a red spiny crest. That crest was now flared out in apparent anger. Below its head was a snakelike neck that led to a pair of muscled shoulders. The strong limbs that emerged from those shoulders gripped Vilmos' wrists and held the man's arms splayed out above his head.

Below those forelimbs was a strong, sinewy body about twice as wide as a man. Tibor could see the wyrm's leathery wings folded flat against its back. Below those wings were a pair of hips connected to a pair of powerful legs that were digitigrade like a dog's. The dragon's feet were tipped with claws as long as his finger, and he had no doubt that they were sharp enough to cut through armor plate. Past its hips, the dragon's greenish-gold scales continued in a long and serpentine tail that ended in a twitching, whip-like end.

The wyrm squatted on top of Vilmos and growled as it rocked its hips back and forth. It was hard to tell from this angle, but it didn't seem like the man was wearing any pants. Tibor had a brief moment of horrified confusion. What was the dragon doing? Why wasn't he just eating the mercenary? Then he took another look at the swell of the dragon's hips, and also caught a glimpse of what might be mammaries around the edge of its broad and muscled back. He glanced over a little and saw Vilmos' leather trousers lying in a shredded heap nearby.

The dragon was a 'she', not a 'he'. And she was...raping Vilmos? The mercenary certainly didn't seem to be enjoying the beast's affections. The wyrm's rocking sped up, and Vilmos' cries turned into a continuous babbling that sounded like a wordless pleading. Then the mercenary threw back his head and screamed like his guts were being torn out. The wyrm shuddered on top of him in response, and its rocking slowed and stopped. The crest on top of its head flattened down as it panted.

Then she looked down at Vilmos. Her crest rose again as she spoke in a low and guttural voice. "Give me moooorrre."

Vilmos gave a hopeless cry as the wyrm began to move again. Tibor could hear a squelching noise as the dragon slammed its hips down on the mercenary over and over.

Tibor had seen enough. Vilmos was apparently getting fucked to death by a horny monster, and if he didn't want to be second on that list he needed to get going. But he also needed to go slowly so he wouldn't attract that damned thing's attention. He turned away from the horrible spectacle behind him and pushed himself up on his elbows. He didn't dare stand up; that would definitely be seen. Instead, he groveled forward on elbows and knees until he reached the passageway. As he slowly crawled along it, Vilmos' screams turned to periodic moaning. The wet noises and grunts of the creature venting its lust were now more prevalent, and in a way Tibor was glad to hear them. If they stopped, then the beast would be coming after him. And then he'd have to try to struggle to his feet and run.

His head ached so badly that his eyes watered. Tibor's vision was blurred, but he could still see well enough to know that he'd finally reached the end of the passageway. He crawled around the corner out of sight of the wyrm, and paused for a few breaths. His legs felt ominously weak and he wondered if that blow to the head had done more damage than he thought. He leaned against the stone wall and panted, then reached up and gripped Natalia's locket through his shirt.

As always, the feel of it in his hand gave him strength. He pushed himself back against the wall with his legs and kept pushing, driving himself upward until he was more-or-less standing. He could see the exit tunnel a couple of hundred yards away. That was nothing, he should be able to make that distance even with a throbbing head. Distantly he could still hear faint moans from the mercenary mixed with lustful growls from the dragon. He felt a slight stab of pity for Vilmos, even though the bastard had likely planned to leave him for dead.

Tibor stumbled forward and felt a sudden sharp nausea. He kept himself from vomiting through sheer willpower. If he threw up, that damned dragon would almost certainly hear and smell it. His world narrowed to nothing but the approaching tunnel mouth. All he could do was put one foot in front of the other. If he stumbled, if he vomited, if he fell he was a dead man. He managed to get up the shallow steps without doing any of those things.

He fetched up against the wall next to the tunnel and breathed a quiet sob of relief. It was still hard to move. If anything, the ache in his head was increasing. But at least his nausea seemed to be under control. He slid along the wall and into the tunnel, pushing himself along with shaking legs while letting the smooth stone wall hold him up.

Tibor was getting out of this mess. Of that he was certain. People tended to dismiss him because he was young and personable. But under his pleasant and smiling exterior was a core of unbreakable steel. He had survived being stabbed through the gut and he had survived the resulting fever that would have killed stronger men. And so he was also going to survive this. To fulfill his oath of vengeance, he would survive anything the world could throw at him.

The bend in the tunnel approached. He couldn't hear anything behind him any more, which was a small relief. He felt a little flare of hope in his chest as the corner drew near. He could get to his pack, and then he should be able to get a few miles away before collapsing. Maybe that would be far enough. The dragon might consider her honor suitably defended and decide to not chase after him.

He rounded the corner and his hope flickered and died.

"No," he croaked as he stumbled forward. He fell to his knees in front of the smooth expanse of granite that now blocked the tunnel completely. Tibor looked all around the edges in a panic and saw no seam, no indication that this was a door. It looked more like it had simply appeared here. He reached out a hand, hoping against hope that it was some sort of illusion. But his questing fingers met hard, cool stone.

Tibor dropped his hand just as he heard the faint tapping of claws on the stone behind him. He didn't bother to stand or turn around.

The voice that filled the tunnel was low but distinctly feminine. It had the a hint of sibilance in it. "You would leave uss without sssaying farewell? That sseems a little rude."

Tibor touched the locket under his shirt one last time. I'm sorry, Natalia, he said silently. I've failed you. But he would be damned if he was going out groveling. He stood up on shaky legs, but he did not turn around.

His voice sounded surprisingly composed to his own ears. "Well, madam, you seemed very...occupied. I gathered it would be more rude to interrupt you, so I thought I'd show myself out."

A hissing laugh sounded behind him. "Excellent! You show much better ssspirit than your assssociate. All I got out of him was sscreams and blubbering." The tapping came closer. "Now, if you pleassse, turn around and face me."

Tibor took a deep breath and turned around. Two large red eyes held him fast. They had vertically-slitted pupils, like the eyes of a cat...or of a snake. The wyrm drew herself up in front of him, her crest flaring up as she crossed her forelimbs. Now that he was this close, he could see that those fore-limbs looked more like a human's arms in structure. Her front paws were more properly called hands, with four fingers and a thumb. Those hands were half again as big as Tibor's own. Her long head was the size of a horse's. Her belly was covered with pale yellow scales that contrasted with the deeper golden green of her back. And now that she was facing him, Tibor could see that she did indeed possess a set of slim breasts that stood perkily up off of her chest.

She was not quite able to stand up straight in the tunnel, so she squatted on her rear legs. Her tail trailed behind her down the tunnel. He avoided looking at the junction of her hips, as he figured he was going to be up close and personal with her intimate areas soon enough. Tibor wondered with a distant panic if he was going to be raped to death like Vilmos or simply torn to pieces and eaten.

Her lips pulled back in a sneer, revealing a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Then she leaned forward and stared fixedly at him. The front of her snout had a pair of nostrils which twitched as the wyrm scented him.

"What iss your name?" she finally asked. She sounded much less guttural than she had while screwing Vilmos to death.

"Tibor Sarkany." He didn't even think about lying.

Her crest subsided a bit, and she gave a grave nod. "Very well, Tibor. You may call me Emsari."

He felt a little bit better. If she was bothering to give her name, then perhaps she wasn't going to kill him right away. That hope faded when she pushed her snout right up to his nose and glared at him with her deep red gaze. There was no white in her eyes. They were the color of rubies, or perhaps of arterial spray.

He was breathing so hard that he was almost panting. There was a long moment as she simply looked deep into his eyes.

"I have a very important quessstion for you, Tibor Sssarkany," she said in a low, growling tone.

He wetted his suddenly dry lips with his tongue. Tibor was pretty sure the question was going to be something along the lines of How do you want your remains displayed?. But aloud, he said "What is that?" He was pleased that he'd kept most of the waver out of his voice.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Her voice was suddenly much milder, and its previous sibilance was gone.

"What?" He looked over and saw that one of her hands was next to her head. The dragon's pinky and thumb touched each other, and the other three fingers were held up straight. He saw that those fingers were tipped with short and claw-like nails. His confusion was complete, and all he could do was answer honestly. "Three?"

She nodded, the tip of her snout nearly brushing his nose. "Good. At least you're not seeing double." She drew back a bit and her other hand came out to grip his shoulder in a gentle but firm hold. "And your pupils are the same size. Now, please lean your head forward a bit...that's it, thank you." He complied and felt that first hand gently part the hair around the part of his head where Vilmos had hit him. Her claws traced along his scalp over the injury.

"Are you feeling nauseous?" she asked.

Tibor was beyond thinking about his replies. He just let the words spill out. "I was, for a bit there. I'm feeling better now."

"Weak legs?"

"Yes."

Emsari gave a tutting sound. "You have at least a concussion, then. But I don't think he cracked the skull. The lighting here isn't good, and I need to clean this blood off. If you'll permit me?" Before he could ask what he was giving permission for, her forearms scooped him up as if he was a bride being carried across the threshold. She lifted him with ease, and his arms and legs dangled while she turned and began trudging back down the tunnel.

He worked up the courage to speak. "Madam..."

"Call me Emsari, please."

"Emsari, I just want you to understand, this was all a huge mistake. I didn't know this was your lair..."

"I know. I was off in the corner watching you argue with that violent idiot."

Tibor knew that, given how big the dragon was, there was no way that it could have been simply hiding. They would have seen it...seen her, rather. Maybe she had hidden herself with a spell? If the camouflage was done using draconic magic he wouldn't have seen anything amiss.

"I'm sorry," said the wyrm, interrupting his confused musing.

"For what?"

"I didn't expect him to attack you that quickly. I wasn't close enough to prevent it." Her kindly words and matter-of-fact tone confused him. Was this the same creature that had just been raping a man to death?