Dragon Slayer Page #5

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Everyone is filled with dread. Hodge is shaking. From the

castle come the rattling of shutters and Galen's muffled

cries. A sick sarcastic smile has crept over Tyrian's lips.

He tenses himself to thrust.

ULRICH:

Go on. Don't worry, you can't hurt

me.

CONJURING ROOM:

Galen stops hammering and presses his face to a crack in the

shutter. Below he can see the participants in this grisly

drama. He holds his breath. Tyrian makes a sudden movement

and buries the blade in Ulrich's chest. But the sorcerer

stands unbent, seemingly unhurt. Then, after a long moment,

he slowly sags forward over the dagger and the hand that

holds it. Tyrian shrinks back and allows the body to fall in

a heap. Very quickly he remounts. In another moment he and

his companions are gone. The others are riveted in horror.

Hodge sinks to his knees and wails his grief.

Galen turns away from the window and gazes blankly into the

gloomy conjuring room. Click! The doors unlatch themselves

and swing open.

CUT TO:

FUNERAL PYRE - DAY

Ulrich, principal magician and sorcerer of the western world,

reposes on a hardwood pyre. His hands are folded on his chest.

His face is peaceful. While the visitors wordlessly look on,

Galen touches a burning brand to the kindling. At first the

fire catches normally enough, but when the flames start to

envelop the body they suddenly turn pale green, producing an

unearthly roar. The onlookers back away from the intense

heat.

GALEN:

The erstwhile apprentice stands his ground, blinking back

tears, his face weirdly illuminated by the fire.

CUT TO:

CONJURING ROOM - DAY

Galen sits alone amidst the museum-like collection of magical

apparatus. He stares at the amulet, considering its

significance. His reverie is interrupted by the murmur of

voices below. At the window he looks down to see Hodge bidding

farewell to the delegation from Urland. Valerian is the last

to leave. He pauses at the gate and glances up at Galen.

Then he moves on. The young student of magic sets his jaw,

suddenly filled with resolve.

Moving through the room, he busies himself with the old man's

effects. He scoops up the loose books and parchments and

locks them into trunks. He drapes muslin cloths over the

alchemical devices. He sows a handful of salt over the

pentagram inscribed in the floor. Finally, he opens the cages

and releases the crow, the falcon, and the great horned owl.

COURTYARD:

Hodge is up on the burned out funeral pyre, anxiously scraping

ashes and small bones into a leather pouch -- the remains of

Ulrich. Up behind him comes Galen, now clad in a traveler's

cloak, with a pack on his back and a staff in his hand.

GALEN:

Hodge -- what are you doing?

Hodge quickly conceals the pouch.

HODGE:

Just making my farewell, thank you

very much.

He quickly climbs down, picks up his pack and follows Galen

out through the gate. As the door is pushed shut a huge oaken

timber falls into place, barring the castle against the

uninvited.

CUT TO:

HILLTOP - DAY

Galen and Hodge labor to the crest of a grassy hill and turn

to look back across a wide valley. There on another hilltop

on the far side sits Cragganmore, lit by the red rays of the

setting sun. Galen removes the amulet from his neck and

clutches it in his fist. Hodge is bug-eyed to see it.

HODGE:

Be careful with that! You don't know

what you're doing.

GALEN:

Stand back!

He raises his hands toward the castle and calls out:

GALEN:

Cragganmore! Domus non i am! Silva

celet!

CRAGGANMORE:

The vines on the castle walls begin to twitch and stretch,

magically brought to animate life. They flow upward over the

masonry, branching out and covering every surface, then up

onto the roof. Finally only the tops of the chimneys and the

highest turrets stand above the green carpet. A century's

growth in a matter of seconds.

GALEN & HODGE

On their hilltop the old retainer gives the youth a fearful

look. Galen is too flushed with excitement over what he has

done to notice.

DISSOLVE:

FOREST PATH - DAY

Galen and Hodge trudge along an overgrown cart-track under

an arch of trees.

HODGE:

Oh, it's a vale of tears in which we

dwell. It doesn't matter who you

are, a king in his robes, a peasant

in his rags, when your time comes,

no magic can save you...

GALEN:

I guess...

The apprentice's mind is elsewhere: he's got a coin hovering

in mid-air above his palm, bobbing gently as he walks.

HODGE:

...the kindest lord a man could ask

for... now he's gone. Ye gods he was

fussy about his bath. And you'd think

he could boil his own eggs with the

snap of a finger, but no, he had old

Hodge do it, of course.

(snurfling)

Up before five I was, mucking out

the cages, slopping the pigs, and

never once got so much as a thankyou

or a pat on the back...

(through tears)

I'm going to miss him.

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