Sarazin polished his ring of invisibility till its silver shone in the sun. He anointed his jade-green dragon-bearing bottle with oil and buffed it up. He sharpened his sword. He did some stretching exercises to free up his muscles.
He was ready for the greatest challenge of his life: to save Selzirk from the Swarms, which were at the gates of the city and were expected to break through those gates before sundown.
'I, Sean Kelebes Sarazin, known to the world of war as Watashi, dedicate this day to the salvation of Selzirk.'
So said Sarazin, who was safe from Glambrax's mockery since the hyperactive dwarf had been locked away in the highest room of Plovey's house.
Stern in resolution, he stepped to the street. And was not overly surprised when Glambrax fell in beside him. He was, neverthelss, curious. 'How did you get out?'
'Out?' said Glambrax. 'Out of what? I got from my mother's womb, I remember, by means of being dragged. Or is it something else you're interested in?' 'Never mind,' said Sarazin. 'Never mind.'
High noon in Selzirk. Sarazin released his ring of invisi- bility from its chain and put it in a pocket where it would be ready for instant use. If his dragons failed to defeat the Swarms, he might need that ring to survive.
The Swarms were without the gates, and those gates were groaning under the onslaught of the monsters. Some of the diehards who had remained in the city had sworn to stand and fight – but now they were turning and running.
'Hold fasti' cried Sarazin. 'I have magic herel Magic with which to save the city, the world.'
But all the people ran, and he was left alone. He was piqued to think there would be no witnesses to his heroism. Would that spoil the prophecy? And, even in the confusion of the moment, he still found time to wonder how his father's death came into it.
– But I decided that already, didn't I? He died in Shin. Didn't he? He was dead enough as far as I was concerned, even though he lived. So that satisfies the prophecy. Doesn't it? Please?
– But what if the prophecy's a lie anyway. Could it be? Do I die here, today? -Impossible.
For the magical snuff bottle in his left hand was the one the druid had given to him, the one which held a dread of dragons totally obedient to his command.
– But they will live only briefly. That's what the druid said. Will briefly be long enough? -It must be!
Wood graunched and ruptured. The gates shattered. Through the wreckage came a tunneller, a creature of the Swarms built like a sharp-pointed obelisk. Hundreds of multi-purpose limbs jutted from its body in every direction. Those which happened to be in contact with the ground were presently being used as its feet. The tunneller quested. Blindly. This way. That. Sarazin found himself trembling. -The bottle, man. The bottle!
His fingers stumbled over the polished jade. Grasped. Tugged. The top would not come out! 'Stuck!' he wailed.
A quick-limbed blue ant the size of a calf slipped past the tunneller and advanced on Sarazin, fighting mandibles clicking – 'snick snick snick!' – like castrating scissors from an Oedipal nightmare.
Then the top came – sclop! – out of the bottle. And up roared the dragons, billowing into the air with a rush of fumes and fury, filling the air with the smells of cin- namon and low-grade sulphur. Their wing-clap fury filled the sky. The creatures of the Swarms shrank back, retreating from the dragons.
Yes, there were nine of them.
And nine dragons made an army. It could not be doubted. They were the most dragonish dragons ever seen, fire-winged creatures each a hundred paces from head to tail, and they were his, they were his alone, so strong, so proud, so beautiful that Sarazin wanted to weep and laugh at the same time.
'Well,' said Glambrax, resolutely unimpressed. 'Don't just stand there gaping. Command them.'
The dragons, having flaunted their fury in the skies above, settled to the rooftops. The largest alighted on the battlewall above the shattered gate. Sarazin glanced at the Swarms, which were hesitating in the gateway, then said in a battlefield voice:
'I am Sean Kelebes Sarazin, named in war as Watashi. I stand before you as lord of Selzirk, as prince of the Harvest Plains, as saviour of my people, fulfiller of prophecy, warlord and dragonmaster. Acknowledge my rule!'
The dragon on the battlewall, the largest and most lordly of them all, answered:
'I am the dragon Untunchilamon. Verily, thou art lord of my will. What is thy command, my master?'
Sarazin, face flushed with the heat of the dragon's breath, said: 'Destroy the Swarms and save Selzirk.' 'To hear is to obey,' said Untunchilamon.
Forthwith, all nine dragons launched themselves into an all-out attack on the Swarms. Roaring, dragons grappled with monsters. But To Sarazin's horror, before his very eyes the dragons were torn apart. Their forms shuddered, smoked, decayed to clouds of sulphurous fire, then disintegrated altogether and were blown away on the breeze.
Tour dragons, you see,' said Glambrax, talking sober sense for once, 'were no more than illusion. Beautiful illusion, extravagant illusion – but illusion for all that.' 'I see,' said Sarazin. Speaking as one dazed.
He realised now that his dragons had been but a form of fireworks. Most beautiful and intelligent of fireworks, capable of speech, and, perhaps – however briefly – of thought. But fireworks for all that. Beautiful, transitory
– and ultimately useless.
'Now, my master, lord of my will,' said Glambrax. What is your command?' Then, as Sarazin made no reply, the dwarf tugged sharply at his sleeve, and said again, urgently: 'Shall we run?'
Yes,' said Sarazin, as if waking from a dream. Yes, I suppose we must.'
And, as a bevy of blue ants advanced on them, they did indeed run. They sprinted, in fact. Sarazin was fast enough
– but Glambrax was not. One of the ants gained on him, seized him. 'Sarazin!' he squealed.
Sarazin turned, saw, swore. Jammed the ring of invisi- bility on to his finger. Drew his vorpal blade. Strode back and hewed the head from the nearest blue ant. Then grabbed Glambrax and hauled him away. As Sarazin grabbed him, Glambrax too became invisible to the monsters of the Swarms.
The ring was hot on Sarazin's finger. Getting hotter. It hurt, it hurt! It burnt! As they rounded a corner, Sarazin dropped Glambrax then wrenched the ring from his finger. Threw it to the ground. Where it burst into white fire. With sun-bright flames it consumed itself, then was gone, leaving only an ugly rust-red scar on the stonework of the street to show where it had been.
Sarazin watched the immolation of his hopes and dreams from the nearest doorway. Then one of the monsters of the Swarms edged round the corner. A small black and tan dog stood in the middle of the street barking furiously at it. A moment later the dog was trashed to a raggage of blood and bone.
Sarazin slammed the door, bolted it, and joined Glam- brax on a quick retreat to the cellar.