Day of the Dragon

17

At some point on the journey to where the orcs intended to keep him prisoner, Rhonin had collapsed back into unconsciousness. Admittedly, he had been aided in great part by his guards, who had used every excuse to hit him or twist his arms agonizingly. The pain of his broken finger had seemed little compared to what they had done to him by the time he blacked out.

Yet now, at last, the wizard woke—and woke to the nightmare of a fiery skull with black eye sockets smiling malevolently at him.

Sheer reflex made the startled wizard attempt to pull away from the monstrous visage, but doing so only rewarded Rhonin with more agony and the discovery that his wrists and ankles had been shackled tight. Try as he might, he could not escape the near presence of the demonic horror looming above him.

The fiend, though, did not move. Gradually, Rhonin fought down his horror and studied the motionless creature closer. Far taller and broader than the human, it wore what seemed flaming bone for armor. What he had taken for a sinister smile had actually simply been due to the fact that the demonic sentinel had no flesh covering its visage. Fire surrounded it, but the mage felt no heat. Still, he suspected that if those blazing skeletal hands touched him, the results would be very, very painful indeed.

For lack of any better thought, Rhonin tried to speak to the creature. “What—who are you?”

No reply. Other than the flickering flames, the macabre figure remained motionless.

“Can you hear me?”

Nothing again.

Less fearful and more curious now, the wizard leaned forward as best his chains would let him. Suspicious, he moved one leg back and forth as best he could. Still he received no response, not even a shifting of the head toward his moving limb.

As horrific as the creature looked, it seemed less of a living thing than a statue. Although demonic in appearance, it could be no demon. Rhonin had studied golems, but had never seen one before, certainly not one constantly ablaze. Still, he could think of it as nothing else.

The wizard frowned, wondering at the golem’s capabilities. In truth, he had only one way to find out . . . and, after all, the wizard needed to escape.

Trying to ignore his pain, Rhonin started to move his remaining fingers ever so slightly for a spell that would, he prayed, rid himself of the monstrous guard—

With astonishing swiftness, the fiery golem reached forward, seizing Rhonin’s already maimed appendage in a grip that completely enveloped it.

A searing fire engulfed the human, but a fire within, one that burned at his very soul. Rhonin screamed, then screamed again. He screamed long and hard until he could scream no more.

Barely conscious, his head slumped over, he prayed for the inner fire to either end or consume him utterly.

The golem removed its hand from his.

The flames within dwindled away. Gasping, Rhonin managed to lift his head enough to look at the horrific sentinel. The golem’s grotesque mockery of a face stared right back, completely indifferent to the tortures through which it had put its victim.

“Damn—damn you . . .”

Beyond the golem, a familiar chuckle made the hairs on the back of the mage’s head stand on end.

“Naughty, naughty!” piped the high voice. “Play with fire, you get burned! Play with fire, you get burned!”

Rhonin tipped his head to the side—cautiously at first, then more when he saw that his monstrous companion did not react. Near the entrance stood the wiry goblin Nekros had called Kryll, the same goblin that Rhonin knew also worked for Deathwing.

In fact, Kryll even now carried the medallion with the black crystal. The wizard marveled at the goblin’s arrogance. Surely Nekros would wonder why his minion still held on to Rhonin’s talisman.

Kryll noticed the direction of his gaze. “Master Nekros never saw you with it, human—and we goblins are always picking up trinkets!”

There had to be more to it, though. “He’s also too busy to notice, isn’t he?”

“Clever, human, clever! And if you told him, he wouldn’t listen! Poor, poor Master Nekros has much on his mind! Moving dragons and eggs is quite a chore, you know!”

The golem did not react at all to Kryll’s presence, which did not surprise Rhonin. Unless the goblin attempted to free the prisoner, it would leave Kryll alone.

“So you serve Deathwing . . .”

A frown momentarily escaped the creature. “His bidding I’ve done . . . yes. For very, very long . . .”

“Why’ve you come here? I’ve served your master’s purpose, haven’t I? I played his fool well, didn’t I?”

This, for some reason, cheered Kryll up again. His toothy smile wider than ever, he replied, “No greater fool could there have been, for you played one for more than the dark lord. Played you one for me, too, human!”

Rhonin could scarce believe him. “How did I do that? In what way did I serve you, goblin?”

“In much the same, much the same, as you did the dark lord—who thinks a goblin so low as to serve any master without reason of his own!” A hint of what had to be bitterness escaped Kryll. “But I’ve served enough, I have!”

Rhonin frowned. Could the mad little creature mean what the wizard thought he meant? “You plan to betray even the dragon? How?”

The grotesque goblin fairly hopped in glee. “Poor, poor Master Nekros is in such a state! Dragons to move, eggs to move, and stinking orcs to march around! Little time to think if that’s what others actually want him to do! Might’ve thought more, but now that the Alliance surely invades from the west, can’t be bothered! Has to act! Has to be an orc, you know!”

“You’re not making any sense. . . .”

“Fool!” More laughter from the goblin. “You brought me this!” He held up the medallion, then gave Rhonin a false frown. “Broken in fall—so Lord Deathwing thinks!”

As the prisoner watched, Kryll began peeling away at the stone in the center. After a few moments of effort, the gem popped out into the wiry goblin’s hand. He held it up for Rhonin to see. “And with it—no more Deathwing. . . .”

Rhonin could scarcely believe him. “No more Deathwing? You hope to use that stone to bring him down?”

“Or make him serve Kryll! Yes, perhaps he shall serve me.” An exhalation of pure hatred escaped Kryll. “. . . and no more toadying for the reptile! No more being his lackey! I planned long and hard for this, I did, waiting and waiting and watching for when he’ll be most vulnerable, yes!”

Fascinated despite himself, the captured spellcaster blurted, “But how?”

Kryll backed toward the entrance. “Nekros will provide the way, not that he knows . . . and this?” He tossed the stone into the air, then caught it again. “It is a part of the dark lord, human! A scale turned to stone by his own magic! It must be so for the medallion to work! You know what it means to hold a part of a dragon?”

Rhonin’s thoughts raced. What had he once heard? “‘To bear some bit of the greatest of the leviathans is to have a hold on their power.’ But that’s never been done! You need tremendous magic yourself to make it work! Where—”

The golem reacted to his sudden agitation. The ghoulish jaws opened and the skeletal hand started to reach for Rhonin. The wizard immediately froze, not even breathing.

The fiery form paused, but did not withdraw. Rhonin continued to hold his breath, praying that the monstrosity would back away.

Kryll chuckled at his predicament. “But you’re busy now, human! So sorry to overstay! Wanted to tell someone of my glory—someone who’ll be dead soon enough, eh?” The goblin hopped away. “Must go! Nekros will need my guidance again, yes, he will!”

Rhonin could hold his breath no longer. He exhaled, hoping that his hesitation had been enough.

A mistake.

The golem reached for him—and all thought of the traitorous little Kryll vanished as the fires once more consumed Rhonin from within.

Darkness came all too slowly and yet in some ways too quickly for Vereesa. As Krasus had directed, she had told no one about the medallion’s purpose and, at further urging from Rom, had secreted it as best she could within her garments. Her travel cloak, well-worn by this point, had managed to obscure it for the most part, although anyone who looked closely would have at least been able to make out the chain.

Shortly after their return to the party, Rom had taken Gimmel aside and spoken with him. The elf had noticed both briefly look her way. Rom evidently wanted his second to also know of Krasus’s decision and, judging by the other dwarf’s falling expression, Gimmel had not liked it any more than his chieftain.

The moment the light through the hole vanished, the dwarves began to methodically remove the stones. Vereesa saw no reason why this rock or that one had to be taken away before another, but Rom’s people were adamant. She finally settled back, trying not to think of all the time wasted.

As the last of the stones were removed, the wizard’s voice, sounding oddly haggard at first, echoed in her head.

The way out . . . is it open, Vereesa Windrunner?

She had to turn away and pretend to cough in order to mumble, “Just finished.”

Then you may proceed. Once outside, remove the talisman from wherever it is you have hidden it. That will enable me to see what lies ahead. I will speak no more until you and the Aerie dwarf are out of the tunnels.

As she turned back, Falstad came up to her. “You ready, my elven lady? The hill dwarves want to be rid of us quickly, seems to me.”

In fact, Rom stood by the entrance even now, his dimly seen form impatiently gesturing for the pair to climb out into the open. Vereesa and Falstad hurried past him, picking their way up to the widened hole as best they could. The ranger’s foot slipped once, but she managed to regain her ground. Above her, the wind beckoned her on. She had no love for the underworld and hoped that circumstances would not send her back there soon.

Falstad, who had reached the top first, now extended a strong hand to help her up. With easy effort, he lifted her high, then set her standing next to him.

The instant the two exited, the dwarves began filling up the hole. It dwindled rapidly inside even as Vereesa got her bearings.

“So what do we do now?” asked Falstad. “Climb up that?”

He indicated the base of the mountain, even in the dark of night clearly a sheer rock face for the first several hundred feet up. Try as she might, the elf could not see any immediate opening, which puzzled her. Rom had led her to believe that they would see it almost immediately.

She turned to call down to him, only to discover that barely any sign of the hole remained. Vereesa knelt, then put an ear by the small gap. She could hear nothing at all.

“Forget them, my elven lady. They’ve gone back into hiding.” Falstad’s tone revealed a hint of contempt for his hill cousins.

Nodding, the elf finally recalled Krasus’s instructions. Pulling her cloak aside, she removed the medallion from hiding, placing it squarely on her chest. Vereesa assumed that the wizard would be able to see in the dark, else he would be of little aid to them now.

“What’s that?”

“Help . . . I hope.” Krasus might have warned her not to tell anyone, but surely he did not expect her to leave Falstad guessing. The dwarf might think her mad if she started talking to herself.

Everything is quite visible, the wizard announced, causing her to start. Thank you.

“What’s wrong? Why did you jump?”

“Falstad, you know that the Kirin Tor sent Rhonin on a mission?”

“Aye, and not the foolish one he mentioned, either. Why?”

“This medallion is from the wizard who chose him, who sent him on his true quest—part of which, I think, required Rhonin to enter the mountain.”

“For what reason?” He did not sound at all surprised.

“That has not been made completely clear to me so far. As for this medallion, it enables one of those wizards, Krasus, to speak with me.”

“But I can’t hear anything.”

“That, unfortunately, is how it works.”

“Typical wizardry,” the dwarf remarked, using the same tone of voice he had used when commenting on his hill cousins’ deficiencies.

You had best move on, suggested Krasus. Time is, as they say, of the essence.

“Did something just happen to you? You jumped again!”

“As I said, you cannot hear him, but I can. He wants us to move on. He says he can guide us!”

“He can see?”

“Through the crystal.”

Falstad walked up to the medallion, thrusting a finger at the stone. “I swear by the Aerie that if you play us false, my ghost’ll hunt you down, spellcaster! I swear it!”

Tell the dwarf our goals are similar.

Vereesa repeated the statement to Falstad, who grudgingly accepted it. The elf, too, had reservations, ones she kept to herself. Krasus had said that their goals were “similar.” That did not mean that they were one and the same.

Despite those thoughts, she passed on Krasus’s first instructions to the letter, assuming that he would at least get them inside. His directions seemed peculiar at first, for they forced the pair to circumnavigate part of the mountain in a manner that seemed far too time-consuming. However, the wizard then led them along an easier path that quickly brought them to a tall but narrow cave mouth that Vereesa assumed had to be their way in. If not, then she would certainly have a word with their dubious guide.

An old dwarven mine, Krasus said. The orcs think it leads nowhere.

Vereesa studied it as best she could in the dark. “Why have Rom and his people not used it if it leads inside?”

Because they have been patiently waiting.

She wanted to ask what they waited for, but suddenly Falstad grabbed at her arm.

“Hear that!” the gryphon-rider whispered. “Something coming!”

They backed behind an outcropping—just in time. A fearsome shape strode purposefully toward the area of the cave, hissing as it came. Vereesa noted a draconic head peering around, red orbs faintly glowing in the night.

“And there’s an even better reason why they’ve not used that way before,” Falstad muttered. “Knew it was too good to be true!”

The dragon’s head stiffened. The beast turned toward the general direction of the two.

You must remain silent. A dragon’s ears can be very sharp.

The elf did not bother to relay that unnecessary knowledge. Gripping her sword, she watched as the behemoth took a few steps toward where they hid. Not nearly so great in size as Deathwing, but nonetheless large enough to dispatch her and Falstad with ease.

Wings suddenly stretched behind the head—wings that, with her night vision, the ranger could see had developed malformed. Small wonder this dragon acted as guard dog for the orcs.

And where was its handler, for that matter? The orcs never left a dragon alone, even one cursed never to fly.

A barked command quickly answered that question. From far behind the beast came a floating torch that gradually revealed itself to be in the hand of a hulking orc. In his other hand he carried a sword nearly as long as Vereesa. The guard yelled something to the dragon, who hissed furiously. The orc repeated his order.

Slowly, the beast began to turn from where the pair hid. Vereesa held her breath, hoping that the warrior and his hound would hurry off.

At that moment, the gem in the medallion suddenly flared so bright it lit up the entire area around the outcropping.

“Smother that!” Falstad whispered.

The ranger tried, but it was already too late. Not only did the dragon turn back, but this time the orc reacted, too. Torch and blade before him, he started toward their hiding place. The crimson leviathan stalked behind him, ready to move at his command.

Remove the medallion from around your neck, Krasus commanded. Be prepared to throw it in the direction of the dragon.

“But—”

Do it.

Quickly removing the talisman, Vereesa readied it in her hand. Falstad glanced at his companion, but held his tongue.

The orc drew nearer. Alone, he represented enough of a challenge, but with the dragon at his side, the ranger and her companion had little hope.

Tell the dwarf to step out, reveal himself.

“He wants you to go out there, Falstad,” she muttered, not sure why she even bothered to tell the dwarf such folly.

“Would he prefer I walk into the mouth of the dragon or just lie down in front of the beast and let it gnaw on me at its leisure?”

There is little time.

Again she repeated the wizard’s words. Falstad blinked, took a deep breath, and nodded. Stormhammer ready, he slipped around Vereesa and past the protection of the rocks.

The dragon roared. The orc grunted, tusked mouth widening in an anticipatory grin.

“Dwarf!” he growled. “Good! Was gettin’ bored out here! You’ll make good sport before you’re fed to Zarasz here! He’s been feelin’ hungry!”

“’Tis you and yours who’ll make for good sport, pigface! I was getting a little cool out here! Crushing in your thick skull will warm my bones up, all right!”

Both orc and beast advanced.

Throw the talisman at the dragon now. Be certain it lands near the vicinity of his mouth.

The command sounded so absurd that at first Vereesa doubted that she had heard correctly. Then it occurred to her that perhaps Krasus could cast a spell through the medallion, one that would at least incapacitate the savage creature.

Throw it now, before your friend loses his life.

Falstad! The ranger leapt out, surprising both sentries. She took one fast glance at the orc—then, with expert aim, threw the medallion at the mouth of the dragon.

The dragon stretched forward with equally amazing accuracy, catching the talisman in his jaws.

Vereesa swore. Surely Krasus had not expected that.

However, a peculiar thing happened, one that caused all three warriors to pause. Instead of either swallowing or tossing aside the medallion, the leviathan stood still, cocking his head. In his mouth, a red aura erupted, but one that seemed to have no ill effect on the dragon.

To everyone’s bewilderment, the behemoth sat down.

Not at all pleased by this turn, the orc shouted a command. The dragon, however, did not seem to hear him, instead looking as if he listened to another voice far away.

“Your hound’s found a toy to play with, orc!” mocked Falstad. “Looks like you’ll have to fight your own battles for once!”

In response, the tusked warrior thrust his torch forward, nearly setting the dwarf’s beard ablaze. Cursing, Falstad brought his stormhammer into play, coming close to crushing the orc’s outstretched arm. That, in turn, enabled the guard to make a jab with his sword.

Vereesa stood undecided. She wanted to help Falstad, but did not know if at any moment the dragon might suddenly break out of his peculiar trance and rejoin his handler. If that happened, someone had to be ready to face the beast.

The dwarf and his adversary traded blows, the torch and sword evening matters against the hammer. The orc tried to drive Falstad back, no doubt hoping that his foe would trip on the highly uneven ground.

The elf took one more look at the dragon. He still had his head cocked to the side. The eyes were open, but they seemed to be staring off.

Steeling herself, Vereesa turned from the leviathan and headed to Falstad’s rescue. If the dragon attacked them, so be it. She could not risk letting her comrade die.

The orc sensed her coming, for as she thrust at him, he swung the torch around. Vereesa gasped as the flames came within scant inches of her face.

Yet her coming forced the guard to fight on two fronts, and because of this, his attempt to burn her had left him open. Falstad needed no urging to take advantage of it. The hammer came down.

A guttural cry from the orc nearly smothered the sound of bone cracking. The sword slipped from the tusked warrior’s quivering hand. The hammer had shattered the arm at the elbow, leaving the entire arm useless.

Fueled by both pain and fury, the crippled guard shoved the torch into Falstad’s chest. The dwarf stumbled back, trying to beat out the fires smoldering on both his beard and chest. His brutish foe tried to advance, but the elf cut him off.

“Little elf!” he snarled. “Burn you, too!”

Between the torch and his own lengthy arm, his reach far exceeded her own. Vereesa ducked twice as the fire came at her. She had to end this quickly, before the orc managed to catch her off guard.

When he swung at her next, she aimed not for him, but rather for the torch. That meant letting the flames come perilously near. The orc’s savage face twisted into an expression of anticipation as he thrust.

The tip of her sword dug into the wood, ripping it from the startled sentry’s fingers. Her success far better than expected, Vereesa fell forward, pushing the torch with her.

The fire caught the orc full in the face. He roared in pain, brushing the torch away. The damage had been done, though. His eyes, nose, and most of his upper countenance had been seared by the heat. He could no longer see.

Acting with some guilt, but knowing she had to silence him, Vereesa ran the blind orc through, cutting off his pained cries.

“By the Aerie!” snapped Falstad. “Thought I’d never put myself out!”

Still gasping, the elf managed, “Are—are you—all right?”

“Saddened at the loss of so many good years’ beard growth, but I’ll get over it! What’s the matter with our overgrown hound there?”

The dragon had dropped down on all fours now, as if preparing to sleep. The medallion still lay in his mouth, but, as they watched, he gently dropped it to the ground before him—then looked at the pair as if expecting one of them to retrieve it.

“Does he want us to do what I think he wants us to do, my elven lady?”

“I am afraid so . . . and I know by whose suggestion, too.” She started toward the expectant behemoth.

“You’re not seriously going to try to pick it up, are you?”

“I have no choice.”

As the ranger neared, the dragon peered down at her. Dragons were rumored to see very well in the dark, and had an even greater sense of smell. This close, Vereesa would surely not escape.

Using the edge of her cloak, she gingerly picked up the talisman. Left so long in the dragon’s mouth, it dripped with saliva. With some disgust, the elf wiped it off as best she could on the ground.

The gem suddenly glowed.

The way is clear, came Krasus’s monotone voice. Best you hurry before others come.

“What did you do to this monster?” she muttered.

I spoke with him. He understands now. Hurry. Others will eventually come.

The dragon understood? Vereesa wanted to ask the wizard more, but knew by now that he would give her no satisfactory answer. Still, he had somehow done the impossible, and for that she had to thank him.

She replaced the chain around her neck, letting the talisman once more dangle free. To Falstad, the ranger simply said, “We are to move on.”

Still shaking his head at the sight of the dragon, the dwarf followed after her.

Krasus remained true to his word. He guided them through the abandoned mine, leading them at last down a passage that Vereesa would have never thought led the way into the mountain fortress. It forced the pair to climb a tight and quite precarious side passage, but at last they entered the upper level of a fairly spacious underground cavern.

A cavern filled with scurrying orcs.

From the ledge on which they crouched, they could see the fearsome warriors packing away material and filling wagons. On one side, a handler put a young dragon through the paces, while a second handler looked to be preparing for imminent departure.

“Looks as if they’re all planning to leave!”

It seemed so to her as well. She leaned over for a better look.

It worked . . .

Krasus had spoken, but Vereesa knew immediately from his tone that his words had only been meant for himself. Likely he did not even know that he had said anything out loud. Had he planned somehow to make the orcs depart Grim Batol? Despite her surprise at the wizard’s handling of the dragon, the elf doubted that he could have this much influence.

The one dragon readied for flight suddenly moved toward the main mouth of the cavern. His handler finished strapping himself in and readied for flight. Unlike in combat, this dragon was laden with supplies.

She leaned back again, thinking. While in many ways the abandoning of Grim Batol meant great things to the Alliance, it left too many questions and more than a few worries. What need would the orcs have for Rhonin if they departed here? Surely they would not bother to bring an enemy wizard along.

And did they really intend to move all the dragons?

She had waited for Krasus to give them their next steps, but the wizard remained eerily silent. Vereesa looked around, trying to decide by which path they might quickest find where Rhonin was being held . . . assuming all along that he had not already been slain.

Falstad put a hand on her shoulder. “Down there! See him?”

She followed his gaze—and saw the goblin. He scurried along another cavern ledge, heading for an opening far to their left.

“’Tis Kryll! Can be no other!”

The elf, too, felt certain of it. “He knows his way around here well, it seems!”

“Aye! That’s why he led us to their allies, the trolls!”

But why had the goblin not let them be captured by the orcs? Why turn them over instead to the murderous trolls? Surely the orcs would have been interested in questioning the pair.

Enough wondering. She had an idea. “Krasus! Can you show us how to get down to where that goblin is heading?”

No voice echoed in her head.

“Krasus?”

“What’s wrong?”

“The wizard seems not to be responding.”

Falstad snorted. “So we’re on our own?”

“For now, it seems.” She straightened. “The ledge over there. It should take us where we want to go. The orcs would want the tunnels to be fairly consistent.”

“So we go on without the wizard. Good. I like that better.”

Vereesa nodded grimly. “Yes, we go on without the wizard—but not our little friend Kryll.”