You are here: Home (fiction) --> Short stories --> The Dragon's Eye
Vous êtes ici : Accueil (fiction) --> Contes --> The Dragon's Eye

The Dragon's Eye

by Geoffrey Hart

Previously published as: Hart, G. 2021. The Dragon's Eye. p. 208-291 in: Hightshoe, C. (ed.) Crunchy With Ketchup. Wolfsinger Publications, Security, Colorado.

“Still, you might have left some for me.”

Freya smiled and rolled her shoulders before sheathing her sword, four feet of shining steel that seemed like a shortsword next to her imposing frame. “There were but six of the ruffians, and I left you the largest, as I know you prefer it that way.” She patted the smaller woman on the head, knowing how much her friend hated that.

Mouse snapped her teeth at the larger woman’s hand, but it was halfhearted. “Quality, not quantity…Yes. But still…”

“Never mind. Next time you can have them all, and I’ll stand back and critique your technique.”

“That seems only fair.” Mouse paused a moment, then gave her friend a wicked smile. “But surely you must be thirsty from all that exertion?”

“Me? Pshaw! I hardly broke a sweat. But I concur: we should toast our fallen foes. At their expense.” She tossed a small purse in the air and caught it; Mouse had already taken the others. One of the aforementioned men groaned at their feet; the others lay senseless, stretched at length upon the ground, showing various degrees of contusion and blood loss.

“The Boar?”

“It seems appropriate for these pigs.” She kicked the groaning man once, and then again for good measure, but her heart wasn’t really in it. Then the two women strode off in the direction of what had become their favorite drinking place in Losthaven.

As the spring weather was warm, Freya ordered a glass of chilled white wine; Mouse opted for a tankard of her usual brown ale. They raised their drinks to toast their fallen foes, but before they could bring the drinking vessels to their lips, the room blinked and they found themselves elsewhere; more alarmingly, their drinks had not accompanied them. Someone cleared his throat. They turned; hands gone to their swords.

After a moment, Freya lowered her hand. “I know you”. The mage was cloaked in shifting shadows that made it hard to see his face, though every now and then a feature emerged, like the moon from behind clouds. “Shadowseeker! Given your reputation, it seems odd you’d summon us. There’s said to be little that lies beyond your grasp.”

“I’m he, but my grasp is perhaps shorter than rumor suggests.” The wizard bowed.

The two women exchanged glances, and Mouse shrugged. Freya turned back to the wizard. “Without meaning to be blunt: Why have you summoned us?”

“There’s something I need retrieved.”

Freya snorted. “Wizards generally either retrieve their desires themselves or seek things mortals like us would be foolish to attempt. Why would we cooperate in such an endeavor?”

Shadowseeker chuckled. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “You’ve made a false assumption.”

“And that would be?”

“That your cooperation is required.”

Freya pursed her lips. “You placed a geas on us? Seriously?” Her hand returned to her sword.

The wizard waved his hand dismissively. “One works with the tools that come most easily to hand.”

“And what if those tools turn in one’s hand?” Mouse drew a handspan of her long dagger from its sheath.

The wizard frowned. “Pay attention, young lady. Have I not already made it clear you have no choice in this matter?”

“I beg to differ.” Mouse closed the gap between them in the space between words, her dagger blurring towards the mage’s throat. Before it could penetrate skin, it struck an invisible barrier and sprang from her hand, landing some distance away. The mage hadn’t even blinked. Mouse glared at him, massaging her hand, then went to retrieve her weapon. The blade was bent at an inconvenient angle. Shaking her head, she returned to stand by her large companion.

“As I was saying, there’s something I need retrieved.”

Freya put a hand on Mouse’s shoulder. “Forgive my friend. She’s a barbarian, and therefore impulsive. Tell us what you want retrieved.” Mouse tried to shrug off the hand, but Freya had a very heavy hand.

The mage nodded. “A gemstone known as the dragon’s eye. It’s currently being held by a dragon, appropriately enough.”

Freya’s throat tightened. “A dragon, you say.”

“Yes. A rather large dragon. One with a reputation for ad hoc mayhem and slaughter.”

Freya blanched. “You don’t mean… the Beast of Belfor?”

Shadowseeker nodded.

“That would be suicide.”

“Disobeying my geas would also be suicide, and let me assure you, you’d prefer to die at the hands of the dragon.”

Freya nodded. “Very well. And what assistance will you provide?”

“Nothing of much use. Dragons are famously resistant to magic—else I’d retrieve the gem myself.”

“Information, then.”

Shadowseeker thought a moment. “There’s little to be said. It’s a dragon, thus essentially invulnerable. Magic won’t work against it. But you have a reputation for cleverness that your appearance belies, and that’s likely to be better proof against a dragon than anything I could provide.” He mused a moment longer. “I can transport you to the dragon’s lair and retrieve you once you have the gem.” A small, slender length of wood appeared in his hand. “When you have the gem, break this and you’ll be returned to me instantly, before the dragon can harm you.”

Mouse made to speak, but Freya had retained her grip on the smaller woman’s shoulder and squeezed. “A promising start. What else?”

“Nothing of any use, I fear.”

“And what shall be our reward?”

Shadowseeker smirked. “Is it not true that you generally work in exchange for whatever you can carry away with you?” Freya nodded. “Then that’s what I offer you.”

“I’m sure we’ll be grateful.”

“I’m sure it would be wise if you were—and did not over-reach.”

Mouse made to open her mouth, and Freya’s grip tightened. The smaller woman winced, but held her tongue. “Then we shall follow the path of wisdom.” She sighed, took a deep breath, and visibly relaxed. “Very well. We’ll need the day to equip ourselves. We’ll return here on the morrow.”

“Be sure you do, lest…”

“Yes, we know: the geas.”

The wizard gestured impatiently, and the two adventurers found themselves back in the Knackered Boar, a fine crystal glass of white wine still rising towards Freya’s mouth. She blinked and halted its progress before it could spill down the front of her jerkin. Mouse wasn’t so lucky; her reflexive twitch caused her tankard of ale to cascade across the table, narrowly missing Freya.

“Wizards be damned!”

Freya sipped at her wine. “Undoubtedly. Yet not soon enough to be of any use to us.”

“So, then: we’ll beard the dragon in its lair and seize the gem.”

“You say that like it’s an easy thing. No man in living memory has defeated a dragon in hand-to-hand combat.” She sipped again. “Nor any woman. Indeed, only one person is said to have done so, and he had the help of a god’s enchanted weapon and armor. We have neither.”

“And yet, haven’t you defeated giants in combat?”

“It was but one…and no, not really. That’s a story for another time. More importantly, giants don’t vomit flames hot enough to turn the finest steel into a puddle of glowing iron.”

Mouse looked ruefully at her bent dagger. “There’s that.”

“Aye, there’s that. And while I’m bathing in that puddle, what will you be doing?”

“Seizing the gem and returning it to Shadowseeker. Perhaps he’ll be so grateful he’ll reanimate your smoldering corpse so we can resume our companionship.”

Freya snorted and drained her wine. “That reassures me less than you might hope. I’ll need time to think this through, and along with enchanted armor and weaponry, time’s something we lack.” She summoned the serving wench, and ordered three fingers of whisky, a sovereign remedy against sluggish thought.

Mouse attempted, unsuccessfully, to re-sheath her bent dagger. “And while you ponder, I’ll replace this piece of crap.” She flung it into the hearth—in hindsight, perhaps not the most auspicious omen. Seeing Freya’s reaction, she shrugged. “Barbarian or not, I don’t believe in omens. Neither should you.”

***

The next morning, the two presented themselves at the wizard’s home, Freya with a woven sack slung over her shoulder. The door opened before they could reach for the handle. Glowing sigils appeared along the hallway leading past several side chambers to another door. The two women exchanged glances.

“Don’t even think of it.”

Mouse raised an eyebrow. “You do me a grave injustice.”

“I’m not sure you fully understand the meaning of that term. Nonetheless: Don’t!”

Freya led the way to the door, which again opened before she could touch it. Shrugging, she passed through, followed by the smaller woman. They found themselves facing Shadowseeker across a low table. He inclined his head in a shallow nod. “Upon reflection, I thought of something that may help you.” He gestured at two crystal flasks that rested on the table beside the small wand he’d shown them the previous day.

“And those are?”

“Potions that will make you proof against flame. Well, perhaps only for one blast of dragon flame, but better than nothing I expect.” He snapped his fingers and two clay pots appeared beside the flasks. “And burn salve. In case the potion loses its effectiveness, and you need to restore yourselves afterwards.”

“Burn salve? Are you mad?” Mouse’s voice held a dangerous note, so Freya grasped her friend’s shoulder, hard.

Mouse winced and glared at her friend. “Someday I’ll have that hand for a souvenir.”

“Perhaps today will be that day.” She turned to the wizard. “What my friend meant to say is; we’re grateful for any assistance you can provide.” She sighed. “On to practicalities: How will we know the gem? A dragon’s hoard should be full of such baubles.”

“You’ll know this one by its glow. Other gems may reflect or refract the light; this one will glow a warm amber even in the absence of light. There’s nothing else like it in the dragon’s hoard.”

Freya nodded. “That seems clear enough. Then let’s be about it while we still have the daylight ahead of us.” She gathered the crystal vials, clay pots, and wooden wand and placed them carefully in her sack. They clinked against other mysterious objects.

Mouse looked a question at her friend, who ignored her, eyes still warily on Shadowseeker. “Get on with it.”

“Very well.”

The wizard spoke a word that echoed from the walls, and as the echoes faded the two found themselves standing on a hillside. A cavern mouth gaped before them, emitting puffs of sulfurous steam at random intervals. Around them, as far as the eye could see, desolate heathland stretched to the horizons.

“Welcome to Belfor, friend Mouse.”

“It seems somewhat over-rated.”

***

Freya lowered her sack to the ground, then squatted beside it. From the sack emerged a storm lantern, which she set about kindling with a lucifer. As she replaced the glass over the lantern’s eye, Mouse grimaced.

“That’s the best you were able to come up with? Fight fire with fire?”

“You had a better idea?”

“And I note you’re not wearing dragon-proof armor.”

“Indeed, your keen powers of observation have yet to fail you.”

Mouse grimaced. “Enough. What are your plans?”

Freya smiled warmly at her friend. “To utilize my considerable charm to persuade the Beast to part with its gem.”

“So long as you have a plan.”

“Sarcasm suits you poorly. Just follow my lead. Have I failed you before?”

“Not so far. But there’s always a first time.” Abruptly serious, she held out a hand, and Freya used its support to clamber to her feet. The two women locked eyes.

“Mouse…”

“Yeah. Me too.” She retrieved her hand from where it had disappeared into the larger woman’s hand. “Let’s be about this.”

“First, the potions.” She withdrew the crystal flasks from her bag and handed one to Mouse. The two clinked the flasks together, and they chimed. Then they downed the contents.

“Nice. I particularly like the honey aftertaste.”

Mouse grimaced and spat the dregs onto the ground. “Tastes like that blasted honey wine my people drink. It’s little wonder we’re all so touchy.”

The two stretched, Mouse so deeply her joints creaked. Then Mouse checked that her various weapons were loose in their sheaths, and made a sweeping bow, urging Freya to precede her into the cavern. Freya returned her bow, and strode to the cave mouth, where she paused.

“Hello the cave! My name’s Freya, and my friend is Mouse. We come seeking the Beast of Belfor. Have we your permission to enter?”

There was a long silence. Then a deep, deceptively soft voice replied. “Enter.”

The two exchanged glances and entered. The cave’s floor was smooth, as if something large and heavy had flattened or crushed the rocks long ago. Stalactites descended from the ceiling, but had been snapped off well above head height; their fallen points had been pushed to the side, where they formed windrows, as if they’d been thrust there by a double-moldboard plow drawn by a giant. The cave angled downwards, flowstone glistening in the light of the lantern, water dripping occasionally onto the bare heads of the women. There was only one path, so they followed it.

Soon, the passage widened and a golden glow reflected lantern light from farther down the throat of the cave. Freya took a deep breath, masking Mouse’s sharper inhalation, squared her shoulders, and stepped out into the open area. The walls gleamed with a pale luminescence, and the ceiling was dotted with pale blue sparks, like the constellations seen on a cloudless night far from a city’s vapors. As far as the eye could see, gold lay heaped carelessly in piles and drifts and hills, with occasional sparkles of gemstones. But it was the dragon who drew the eye.

The dragon’s body was long as two oxcarts joined end to end, with neck and tail about the same length. Its black scales gleamed like polished obsidian in the light from Freya’s lantern. With each breath, it emitted a faint but unmistakable brimstone scent, and its eyes glowed a warm amber.

Mouse grinned up at Freya. “Actually, I rather like the scent. Reminds me of using a lucifer to light a lamp.”

Freya shushed her and eyed scales thick as her fingers were long and talons as long as her dagger. She kept her hand resolutely away from the hilt of her sword and turned to meet the dragon’s gaze. “My people name you the Beast of Belfor. Have you another name I should use?”

The dragon met her gaze a long moment and Freya forced herself not to look away. “You could not pronounce my name. Belfor will do.”

“Belfor it is, then. We appreciate your making the time to speak with us.”

The dragon snorted, flame shooting several feet from its nostrils. “At least you’re polite. State your case.”

“We’re here under a geas, otherwise we’d never think to disturb your peace.” She took a deep breath. "We’re here to obtain a gem known as the dragon’s eye. If we can have it, we’ve no quarrel with you. You can keep your gold and everything else in this cavern.”

“You’re indeed a polite one. And yet you’re both well-armed—your tiny friend perhaps overly so. This speaks of less polite motives.”

Freya ducked her head, conceding the point. “I offer this small gift as proof of my honesty.” Freya opened the sack, and from it, pulled a heavy golden chain that clanked as she laid it carefully on the floor before her and straightened. “Furthermore, I offer you this: the finest distillate of the grape known to my people.” She pulled a magnum bottle from the sack. “I’m told it will burn well in your belly.” She twisted free the cork and took a large sip and swallowed visibly. “You have my word, and my deed as proof, that it’s not poisoned. As if any poison could harm you.”

The dragon bowed his head, but without taking his eyes from them. “Your offers are generous. Allow me a moment to ponder.” The dragon’s golden eyes closed a moment, which stretched uncomfortably. “I’ve considered. I find I’ve no desire to exchange my gem for your gifts. Indeed, it seems I could keep both your gold and the gem, and dine at my leisure on your smoking flesh.”

“Should you choose that option, we’d be forced to defend our lives. And though you’ve never been defeated in battle, one of us might get lucky. There’s always that risk in any pass at arms.”

Belfor snorted. “Yes, there’s always that risk. I’m losing no equanimity over it.”

Freya heard Mouse’s teeth grinding together. Her small friend had been born to a tribe of northern barbarians, and even at her birth, she’d been scrawny. As Mouse told it, her mother, as was customary after the birth of a defective child, had left her for the wolves; her people knew the weak were unlikely to survive, or to thrive if they somehow survived. But the wolves returned the infant to the village and stood guard over her until her mother relented and reclaimed the unwanted child. With some justice, they considered it an omen. Being less than half the size of her peers, she’d learned that what she couldn’t accomplish with brawn, she could accomplish with speed and skill.

Before the dragon’s words had finished echoing, and before Freya could stop her, Mouse threw herself at the dragon. She feinted right, and as the dragon’s head swung in that direction, flung herself left, onto its right foreleg. From that insecure perch, she bounded to the top of its head. A long fighting knife appeared in her hand, mid-air, and in an instant, she’d wrapped her short legs around the dragon’s neck as if she were riding a horse and pressed the blade to the corner of the dragon’s eye.

“And yet, there’s that geas of which we spoke, and politesse can only take one so far. I must therefore leave my friend’s social graces to her, and rudely insist that you choose which dragon eye you’d prefer to lose.”

The dragon licked its lips with a long, snaking tongue. “You make a persuasive argument.”

“Indeed, my argument is keenly argued.”

“Very well. The gem shall be yours—in exchange for your gifts.”

“And what guarantee have we you’ll honor your side of the bargain and let us leave when I dismount?”

“You have my word. I swear on my name.” And the dragon uttered a sound that swelled to fill the cavern, briefly causing the blue sparks on the ceiling to glow harder.

“Freya…the gem?”

Freya capped the lantern’s eye, and in the darkness that gathered, looked left and right. Atop one of the side piles, a diamond the size of a goose egg glowed warmly amidst the shadows. She waded carefully through the shifting gold and seized it, then placed the gem carefully in her sack. At the same time, she palmed something from the sack.

“Mouse, I have it.”

Mouse leapt nimbly to the floor, landing on her feet facing the dragon. “A pleasure meeting you. One I hope will never be repeated.”

“Indeed, once was more than enough.” Belfor’s thick lips curved in a predatory smile, and flames flickered in its nostrils. The sound of snapping wood in Freya’s hand was drowned by the roar of flame that lashed out and filled the cavern where the two women had been standing a moment earlier. Flame that washed over them even as they faded from view.

***

They reappeared in Shadowseeker’s chamber, their clothing falling from them in smoking rags. Freya made an abortive movement to cover her nakedness, then relented and stood proud, chin thrust forward. Mouse, naked as the newborn pups of her namesake, made no move to hide her body, and defiantly met the wizard’s eyes.

“The dragon lied,” Mouse observed out the side of her mouth.

“Indeed. I’ve a notion to return and confront her on this issue.”

“A very small notion, I hope.”

The wizard cleared his throat. “Ladies? I trust you have the gem?”

Freya nodded. “You hadn’t mentioned our clothing would be unprotected by your potions.”

The wizard raised his eyebrows. “If you’d sampled the pleasures I’ve sampled, you’d understand why I’ve no interest in your bodies. But very well.” His eyes lingered a moment on Freya’s ample breasts and Mouse’s slim hips before he snapped his fingers, and they were clad once more.

Freya nodded. “Our thanks. Now, if you’ll indulge my curiosity, I have a question.” Without awaiting his reply, she continued. “What’s the purpose of this gem? What function does it serve?”

The wizard tried to look down the bridge of his nose at her in condescension, but as she stood a foot taller than him, failed. He harrumphed. “That’s two questions. It’s…something mystical that simple swordsmen…swordswomen…such as yourselves could not possibly comprehend.”

Freya smiled, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Then it wouldn’t, I suppose, be the vessel in which you’ve stored your soul to keep it safe while you work your magicks?”

Shadowseeker blanched, but didn’t answer.

“I see,” said Freya. “That changes the situation somewhat.”

The wizard rallied. “What have I to fear? The gem’s a diamond, and unbreakable. You couldn’t possibly harm it. Nor have you the magical acumen to use it against me.”

Freya opened her hand to reveal the diamond clasped in what appeared to be a nutcracker, dwarfed in the hand that held the diamond. “And yet, jewelers cut diamonds every day using tools such as this diamond cutter. I’m confident I could get in one good squeeze before you enspell me. That would presumably be unfortunate for your gem. And for you.”

Mouse chuckled. “I need to buy you more whisky.”

Freya bowed shallowly, without taking her eyes from the wizard. “It would be impolite to refuse such an offer.”

Shadowseeker cleared his throat. “Very well. What do you want in exchange for the gem?”

Freya smiled. “I believe the traditional reward is three favors. It would seem unwise to presume upon your kindness and ask for more.”

“Unwise is hardly the word.” His glare would have blistered their skin had they not still been protected by his potion.

“Then I shall follow the path of wisdom and ask for only three. To be redeemed later, at a time of our choice.”

Shadowseeker gritted his teeth. “Very well.”

Mouse cleared her throat. “And one more thing: gold sufficient to replace the necklace we left with the dragon.”

“Done.” The wizard gestured, and a gold necklace fell to the floor at Mouse’s feet.

Mouse bent to retrieve it, then her lips quirked. “And one further thing: as we learned from the dragon, the words of the powerful are rarely to be trusted.”

Freya nodded. “Indeed. To seal our bargain, we shall require your oath upon the gem I hold.”

The wizard glared his displeasure, but complied. “I so swear.” And as he did, there was momentarily an invisible but heavy presence in the room. Freya nodded, and tossed him the gem, which he caught, juggled a moment, and then pocketed.

“If you’ve no further use of us?”

The wizard spat on the floor, then snapped his fingers, and they found themselves back in the Knackered Boar.

“That ended better than I’d anticipated.”

“Indeed, particularly since my necklace was naught but gilded lead. And there’s your offer of whisky that would further sweeten the ending.”

“A deal’s a deal,” Mouse replied, and strode to the bar.

Author's notes

If you enjoyed this hommage to Fritz Leiber's Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser series, you might also enjoy a solo adventure with Freya.

Comments from readers

To comment on this story or see other comments, please visit the blog page for this story.

Want to build on this story?

If you liked the characters or setting and want to use them in your own fiction, please do; the dialog between authors enhances the value of fiction. However, please add a suitably amended version of the following statement at the start of your story:

"The characters and setting in this story originated in [story name and URL/link], by Geoff Hart. Although Geoff encouraged adaptation of his original work, he has not reviewed my story, and the original story remains copyrighted in his name."

Then send me a link to your story, and I'll post the link here.

©2004–2024 Geoffrey Hart. All rights reserved.