Anthony, Piers - Dragon' s gold

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PROLOGUE
THE FUGITIVE DID NOT know that his arrival at the
small Rud farm was preordained. He would have
scoffed at the notion, had he been told. All he knew
was that his injured leg hurt abominably, that he was
so filthy he was disgusted, and that he was too tired to
fight or flee if discovered.
It was night again. He had hardly been aware of the
passage of time since his escape, except for the awful
sun by day and the cruel chill by night. Dehydration
and shivering, with little between except fear and
fatigue.
Yet this was a decent region, he knew, if viewed
objectively. He heard froogs croaking loudly in the
nearby froogpond, and corbean stalks rustling in the
breeze. Appleberries and razzelfruits perfumed the
air and set his stomach growling. The natives claimed
that these bitter fruits could be charmed to become
sweet, but he refused to credit such impossible claims.
He was not yet so far gone as to believe in magic! But
they certainly looked good! Hunger—there was another curse of the moment!
But thought of food had to be pushed aside, as did
dreams of a hot bath and a change of clothing. He had
come here, he reminded himself sternly, to steal a
horse. He hated the necessity, for he regarded himself
as an honorable man, but he seemed to have no
choice.
He crept nearer to the cottage, orienting on its
single faint light. How he hoped that there would be
no one awake to challenge him! He did not know how
close the Queen's guardsmen were, or how quickly
they would appear the moment there was any commo
tion. How ironic it would be to die ignobly as an
unsuccessful horse thief!
He paused, studying the light. Far off there sounded
the trebling screech of a houcat. His pursuers had lost
the trail last night, and he doubted that they would
swim the river to pick it up again. There were hazards
in that water as bad for guardsmen as for thieves, and
only a truly desperate man would have been fool
enough to risk it. Perhaps the guardsmen thought him
dead already. This fool, for the time being, was almost
safe.
He came close and peered cautiously in the window. A slender girl sat reading by the flickering
light
of a lamp. He gazed at the coppery sheen of her hair,
and the planes other somewhat pointed face, and the
gentle swell and ebb of her bosom as she breathed.
How lovely she seemed! It was not that she was
beautiful, for by his standards she was not, but that
she was comfortable and quiet and clean. A girl who
read alone at night: what a contrast to the type of
woman he had known! There was an aura of decency
about her that excited his longing. He could love such
a girl and such a life-style, if ever given a chance.
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For a moment he was crazily tempted to knock on
the window, to announce himself, to say, "Haloo
there, young woman, are you in need of a man? Give
me a bath and some food, and I shall be yours
forever!" But he was not yet so tired that no reason
remained. If he did that, she would start up and
scream, and the guardsmen would come, and it would
be over.
He ducked past the window and tiptoed to the bam.
He held his breath as he tried the latch on the stable
door. It opened easily, without even a squeak. This
was a well-maintained farm. He felt a certain regret
that this should facilitate the theft of an animal. It
might have been more fitting to steal from a sloppy
farm, but a squeaky door would have been an excel-
lent guardian.
From inside came the scent of horse and hay. He
felt around in the dark just past the door and found
the halter exactly where it should be. The arrangements in good Rud barns were standard.
There was the snap of a broken twig. He turned.
She stood there in the wan light from the window,
garbed in a filmy nightdress and a shawl. The first
thing he noticed was the way her firm slim legs
showed in gauzy silhouette.
The second thing he noticed was the pitchfork she
held at waist height, aimed at his chest.
He swallowed, trying to judge whether he could
dodge aside quickly enough to avoid the thrust of
those sharp tines, and whether he retained the
strength to wrestle the implement away from her. And
if he did, what, then? How could he hurt a girl he
would rather embrace? Perhaps it was a trick of the
inadequate light, but her eyes seemed to be the exact
color of violets back on his native Earth.
"Speak!" she said. "What is your business here?"
Her voice sent a thrill through him; it was dulcet
despite its tone of challenge.
What use to lie? He hated this whole business! "I
came to steal your horse. I would rather have stolen
your heart." And what had possessed him to say that?
"You are a thief? A highwayman?"
She hadn't thrust her fork at him. That was a good
sign. He decided to tell her the rest of it. "I'm not an
ordinary thief, not even a good one, as you can see,"
he said with difficulty. "I just had to have a horse. I
know you won't believe that I'm not a criminal."
"Why didn't you come openly to my door, then?"
"I—I looked in your window, and saw you reading.
You were so—so nice\ I thought you would scream if
you saw me. I—I'm a fugitive from the Queen's
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dungeon. I know that doesn't make me a hero, but
maybe it carries a bit of weight."
"You have round ears," she said, her voice assum-
ing a soft, strange quality. "You cannot be of this
planet. Certainly you are no ordinary thief. Introduce
yourself, Roundear."
She seemed to have no fear of him, only a certain
caution. It was almost as if she had been expecting
him! "John Knight, of Earth," he said.
"A name may be an omen. Knight," she said. She
smiled a mysterious witching smile and lowered the
fork. "You may call me Chariain. We shall be married
on the morrow."
He stared at her. Then, tentatively, he smiled. She
returned the smile. Then, unaccountably, he laughed,
and she laughed with him.
She took him inside the house and gave him a bath
and some food, and when he was clean and fed she
kissed him and took him to her bed. He was so tired
that he fell almost instantly to sleep despite the
presence of her warm body beside him. He didn't
even care that this might be a ruse to lull him, so that
she could safely turn him in to the Queen's guards-
men. He had to believe in her.
Thus did John Knight first encounter the woman he
was to marry. She practiced fortune-telling, so had
known he was coming: a round-eared man who was a
fugitive from the Queen. She had told no one of this
vision, so knew that his arrival was no trap by the
Queen. She had known that the man would be com-
pletely unprepossessing, but would be the one she
could truly love, and that though he had known a
woman before her, he would never know one after
her.
They married on the morrow, in a secret ceremony,
and that evening he was enough recovered to remain
awake in her bed for some time. Their life together
had begun abruptly, but had an unspoken under-
standing that was at times mysterious and at other
times thoroughly natural to him.
The following year their round-eared baby was
bom, and two years after that their point-eared baby.
The prophecy that John Knight had not known
about was on its way to fulfillment. His life was
relatively placid after he settled; not so, that of his
children.
CHAPTER 1
Dragon Scale
THE ROAD WOUND LIKE a twisting dragon's tail.
Through rank underbrush and skeletal trees. Past
boulders the size of cottages. Along a sparkling moun-
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tain stream bordered with high piles of debris left by
the late spring floods. It did not look like the setting
for the beginning of the fulfillment of a long-term
prophecy.
Two slim figures walked the road, carrying travel-
sacks and leading a donkey. One was sixteen, tall
enough to be handsome were it not for his round ears.
The other was fourteen but looked twelve, with
pointed ears. Both wore the garb ofRud rustics: heavy
leather walking boots, brownberry shirts, greenbriar
pantaloons, and lightweight summer stockelcaps
whose long tips ended in tassels of blue and green
yam. They could hardly have looked less like folk
destined to commence the fulfillment of a significant
prophecy.
Kelvin, the elder one, played on his mandajo as he
walked, picking out the accompaniment to "Fortune
Come a-Callin'," a Rud tune of great antiquity. The
three-stringed lute of Rud could be beautiful when
properly evoked, but Kelvin was not playing it well.
Some had magic that related to music, and some did
not; some thought they had magic when they did not.
Kelvin was of the latter persuasion, but he wouldn't
have cared if he had realized. His thoughts were far
away.
Jon, the younger one, brushed back long yellow
hair. A stranger, looking at Jon's alert greenish eyes
and large ears and face that showed no hint of a beard,
would have dismissed this as a lively boy. The stranger would have been mistaken, for Jon was
Kelvin's
sister. Because it could be dangerous for a girl to
go alone into the countryside of Rud, the parents
had tried to restrict her to the farm and village.
But Jon was an adventurous sort, always eager to
go out exploring. Realizing that she could not be re-
strained, they had finally yielded with two stem
strictures: always go in company with Kelvin, and go
as a boy. That suited Jon just fine, for though she
would die rather than say it, she looked up to her
brother, and wanted to share his activities. She
also rather liked masquerading as a boy, for though
her parents had been happy to have a girl, Jon
herself envied the freedoms and prospects of the
other sex. She had become almost letter-perfect
at the masquerade, but now nature was playing on
her a disgusting trick. Her hips were broadening and
her breasts were swelling. It was getting harder to
look the part, and it would be impossible without
her solid shirt. What would she do when her rebel-
lious front became too pronounced to conceal? She
was disgusted, and the very thought put her in a bad
mood.
Now Jon peered into the underbrush and up into
the branches of the trees, looking for trouble. She
carried a sturdy leather sling whose pocket held a
carefully positioned rock of the required squirbet-
braining size. Just let one of those creatures show its
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snoot now . . . !
"Fortune come a-callin', but I did hide, ah-oo-ay,"
Kelvin sang with imperfect pitch. "Fortune come
a-callin', but I did hide, bloody saber at my side,
ah-oo-ay, ah-oo-ay, ay."
"You call that old pig-gutter you're packing a
saber?" Jon demanded. She spoke with deceptive
good humor, her eyes wandering over to her brother.
To the dark handle of the war souvenir protruding
from its worn and cracked scabbard.
Kelvin lowered his instrument. His thoughts leaped
ahead to the deepening gloom and the forbidding
mountain pass. "We're not riding either," he said,
referring to another verse.
"No, but we would be if you hadn't let that horse
dealer swindle us," Jon said. She lifted the halter and
made a grimace of distaste at their pack animal. "A
horse to ride would be great, but you, you jackass, had
to buy a jackass!"
"I thought," Kelvin said lightly, his attention focus-
ing a bit, "that I could put two of them to work. You
and Mockery."
"Mockery's the name for it!" Jon snapped. "Any-
one but you would have been put off by the name, but
you had to go and hand over our last two rudnas for
it!"
"Jon, Jon, show faith in thy elder," Kelvin teased.
"We hadn't the money for a horse, and Mockery was
cheap. We'll need his strong back, and yours, to pack
out all the gold we'll find."
Jon made an uncouth noise. "If he ever lets us load!
It took us half the morning to get our pitifully few
supplies strapped to his omery back. He's got a kick
like a mule! I suppose when we want our tent, he'll
start all over."
"Not so, little brother Worrisome Wart!" Kelvin
always referred to her in the masculine, maintaining
the masquerade; what started as a game had soon
enough become second nature. "It's only that he's
jealous. We have the lighter loads. Smart animal,
Mockery. Smart enough to know when we're in drag-
on country. Anything that smart, including me and
possibly ye, knows the danger."
"Do we, Kel?" Her voice was almost pleading.
Kelvin narrowed the bluish eyes that seemed al-
most as strange as his rounded ears, in Rud. This was
not like Jon. Usually she tried with pretty good
success to appear more recklessly masculine than any
ordinary boy could be. Until today she had seemed if
anything too confident. What was bothering her?
"Jon, if you're afraid—"
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"Ain't that!" Jon snapped. "Not any more than you
8 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf
are, anyway. But curse it, Kel, if I'm going to get et up
by a dragon, I at least want a chance."
"Few people have a chance," Kelvin retorted.
"Dragons are big and strong and mean. If you run
into one, it will devour you fast. Once it bites off your
head, which I'm sure it will do early on, I can promise
you that you will hardly feel a thing."
"Great!" Jon said, not appreciating the humor. "So
we just stay away from it?"
"That's all anyone with any sense does. Or," he
added, giving a slight nod at Mockery, "anything with
sense." *
"But dragons have been killed, haven't they?"
"A few times by heroes with armor and war-horses
and lances. You know that, Jon. A few have fallen, but
not to the likes of us."
"But if we had a good sword, and a war-horse, and a
lance—"
"We'd get et, just the same," Kelvin said confident-
ly. "You ever see me ride a war-horse? Or use a sword
except for hacking brush? It takes training, Jon; it
doesn't just happen."
Jon subsided into silence as they plodded on. The
road was becoming narrower with every mile. The
debris piles were getting higher and higher. Now the
mountain walls seemed to lean inward. The sun hid
its face behind the peak of the mountain to the west.
The air became noticeably cooler as the bird and
animal sounds became more hushed and were heard
less often.
"I don't like this place," Jon said, looking about at
the tangled masses of trees the flood had left. "It's
ugly."
"Nobody comes here for a picnic, Jon. Riches
aren't found in the nicest places. If we're to get gold,
we have to put up with ugliness."
Jon flushed a little and looked away. Now and then
something Kelvin said did have a noticeable effect.
But he wondered whether he should caution her about
showing any color, that was a trait associated more
with girls, and could give her away. He decided to
keep quiet; Jon didn't like to have her female manner-
isms pointed out. There was a certain irony in this,
because in truth she was becoming a rather pretty
figure of a girl when she let herself be.
Kelvin estimated the time. It was getting to be late
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in the afternoon. Soon they would stop to build camp,
and then early tomorrow they'd find gold. Or at least
they'd search for it. If the spring floods had washed it
down from the high mountains, they might find
nuggets of it along the stream. That was their hope;
that was what made this an adventure instead of just a
chance to explore. A chance for Jon to be a boy
—perhaps one of the last chances, for soon there
would be no easy way to conceal her nature.
He wondered how he would feel if he knew that he
was really a girl, and would have to resign himself to
becoming a homemaker and never going out explor-
ing again. He shuddered; he knew he would hate it.
He wished he could at least express some sympathy
for Jon, but he couldn't; it would come out all wrong,
and she would be furious.
"Gods, Kel, look what I found!"
He blinked as he strained his sight to see what
shone so brightly in Jon's hands. His eyes were not the
best; if Jon's curse was being a girl, his own was being
inadequate in various ways like this. Jon had reached
down into a clump of ugly brown weeds, and now held
something that filled her cupped palms.
Carefully, Kelvin took it from her, bringing it close
enough for a decent focus. It was a scale that could
have come from a dragon's neck. It had the heft of
gold, and some luster through the grime. It could be
very valuable.
"It's a dragon scale, isn't it? Isn't it?" she de-
manded, hopping about in her excitement.
"Easy, Jon, easy," he cautioned her. "Don't shout
or do anything to attract a dragon's attention. This
could be fresh, and—"
"Think I'm crazy?" Jon asked. Then, "It is, isn't it?
10 Piers Anthony and Robert E. Margrojf
Gold that migrated to the scale from the nuggets
swallowed by the dragon? It's just as the books said!
Just like the shellfish that get metal in their shells from
ingesting bits of metal and then become unfit to eat!
We're lucky, oh so lucky!" She was dancing again.
Kelvin stopped her with an upraised hand. "Quiet,
fool! The dragon could be in hearing distance!" For
the scale of a dragon meant danger as well as wealth,
and suddenly he was quite nervous about this aspect.
"Around here?" Jon whirled happily. "If that's so,
why isn't smart-ass Mockery a-rearin' and a-rarin'
and kicking up his heels? You know dragons shed
scales! It probably happened weeks ago."
"Yes," Kelvin agreed. "But we can't be sure. We
can't be sure it's not lurking and waiting for us."
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Jon gave him a look of contempt. She had always
been bolder than he. "Hah. Do you think that was just
dropped?" She pointed to a pile of dried dragon dung.
Kelvin looked at the bits of white bone sticking out
of the dung, and shivered. That, he thought, could be
the remnant of a human being.
"We have to be careful, Jon," he said. "We have to
check around here to make sure there's no fresh sign.
If a dragon's been around in the last day or so, we
want to move out. If we don't find fresh sign, we'll set
up the tent, cook the squirbet you bagged, eat, and get
a good night's sleep. Then, first thing tomorrow, we'll
search." His hands felt clammy as he put the scale
into a pocket of his pantaloons. The very notion of a
nearby dragon gave him the cold sweats.
But Jon was already climbing a high mound of
rocks and weeds and piled-up tree trunks. As usual
she did not appear to have heard a word Kelvin said.
CHAPTER 2
Dragon Ire
CONTROLLING HIS FEELINGS AS much as he could, Kel-
vin petted Mockery and made plans for putting up the
tent and cooking the squirbet Jon had knocked over
earlier during the day. He took off Mockery's pack,
put hobbles on the beast, went to the nearest sapling,
and cut a sturdy tent pole with his incredibly dull
sword.
"I found another! Two more!" Jon cried from
halfway up the pile.
Kelvin's heart leaped. He controlled it. Careful,
careful, he thought. Move too fast, make too much
noise, and the two of them could become bones in
dragon dung. Were those other bones human? Had
the dragon eaten the last intrepid gold-hunters to
brave this place?
"Kel, there's six of them! All in a bunch, and
stained! The dragon must have been in a fight with
another dragon."
So that was why so many downed trees, Kelvin
thought. The flooding river hadn't done it all; dragons
had added to the carnage of this region. He shivered
in spite of himself as he imagined the size of the
beasts. Two of them? That would account for the
ground being grassless over there and for the dirt
showing. Where would the loser go afterward, he
wondered, and thought again that he really should be
curbing Jon's noisy explorations.
"Let's make our camp now, Jon. Please." He hated
sounding like a coward, but the possible presence of a
dragon made him feel very much like one.
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Jon ignored him, clambering nimbly on up the
rockpile. She had no foolish concern about monsters!
He picked at a blister on his hand as he waited for
her to finish with the pile and come down. Just how
was their tent to be constructed? And what would
they eat? The appleberry bushes had been savaged,
too; even his most ardent charm was unlikely to make
their fruit edible here.
"Kel, I've found ..." Jon's voice trailed off, forcing
Kelvin to look around for her. He spotted her atop a
jumble of boulders piled amidst tree trunks, the rock
coated with decomposed vegetation and sandy soil
from the river bottom.
"Kel, I see ... I think I see the dragon!"
"What!" "
"The dragon. I think it's dead. It's dead, Kel! It got
licked in the fight. All those scales! We're rich, Kel!
Come on up, and . . . oh-oh."
"What is it, Jon?" His heart thumped. His throat
dried instantly.
"Oh, Kel, it's alive, but I think it's almost dead. I
think we can kill it and—"
"Jon, come away from there!" If the dragon was
alive, but badly injured, they might be able to escape.
"A fortune, Kel! A fortune! Kel, I'm going to sling a
rock at it."
Total folly! "No, Jon, no!" Kelvin croaked, his
throat so tight with fear he could hardly speak.
But the intrepid little sister was already twirling her
sling. With the skill of long practice and a natural
knack she let fly and followed through with her usual
"Got him!"
Kelvin couldn't speak; his horror had closed off his
throat entirely. He held his breath as Jon stared down
the opposite side of the pile. What was she seeing
there, anyway?
"It sees me, Kel," her voice came back, rising with
sudden alarm. "It's awake. It—Kel, it's coming for
me!"
Kelvin's voice tore loose from his constricted
throat. "Run, Jon, run! Back here!"
He heard the scramble as Jon moved. Her head
appeared at the crest. She seemed to be moving
slowly, but Kelvin realized that this was really the
effect of his terror: the world seemed to have slowed
almost to a standstill. Now it came to him: this huge
pile of debris had been kicked up by the fighting
dragons!
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Fighting? Then why wasn't the loser dead? A drag-
on never left prey or an enemy alive; he would chew it
to bits just out of spite, even if he wasn't hungry.
Dragons liked to kill, to make blood splatter! Every-
one knew that! When they fought each other, the loser
always died, because no dragon ever fled from any-
thing. It couldn't have been a fight!
Then what had happened? Obviously this dragon
had been only sleeping. But why had it scratched up
such a mountain of refuse? For he was sure now: the
natural hill here had been enhanced by more than
flood refuse. Dragons were known to be as lazy as any
other creature; they saved their energy for important
things like pursuing prey and fighting and—
And mating. He remembered the stories now. The
mating of dragons was almost indistinguishable from
a fight to the death. It seemed that the females never
did mate voluntarily, so the males had to run them
down and subdue them and rape them. It was said
that the effort of doing this tired out a male dragon
more than any other activity, and that some dropped
into deep sleep on the spot. That must have been the
case with this one. Probably it would have slept for
several more hours if Jon hadn't jolted him with a
rock on the snoot.
But even a tired dragon was a worse threat than any
other living creature. There was no telling how long
this one had had to recover; it might have slept for
several days, and now be largely restored, and plenty
hungry. And they, like the fools they were, had
blundered in, thinking the scales that had been torn
off in the ecstasy of rut meant that the dragon was
gone.
Jon was coming down the ragged slope, slip-sliding
across slime-slick stones. The dragons probably
hadn't even noticed the havoc they wrought on the
landscape! The male had finally tamed the female,
probably holding her" down with his huge teeth and
claws while it rammed into her torso. There would be
blood galore, his as well as hers. Once the male's urge
was spent, his grip would have relaxed, and the female
would have torn free and departed. This was the one
encounter in which dragon did not kill dragon; she
had to go gestate, and he had to let her go. So, worn
but satiated, he slept where he lay ... until this
moment.
With a cry of despair and fright elevated to unadul-
terated terror, Jon turned and dropped, screaming as
she slid through loosely piled debris and river-bome
brush. She had fallen into a hole in the pile!
But her cries were drowned out in a moment by the
loudest and most drawn-out hiss Kelvin had ever
heard or imagined. It was the sound of the biggest,
most dreaded reptile ever to slither through a night-
mare. Then a scrabbling noise, as huge claws dug at
smooth rock to find a foothold. No worn-out dragon,
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file:///F|/rah/Piers%20Anthony/Anthony,%20Piers%20-%20Dragon's%20Gold.tx\tPROLOGUETHEFUGITIVEDIDNOTknowthathisarrivalatthesmallRudfarmwaspreordained.Hewouldhavescoffedatthenotion,hadhebeentold.Allheknewwasthathisinjuredleghurtabominably,thathewassofilthyhewasdisgusted,andthathewastootiredtofightorfl...

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