Dragondoom

CHAPTER 41

Winter’s End, 3E1603

[The Present]

“There it be, Princess,’ growled Thork, pointing. “Dragonslair. Home, they say, to Black Kalgalath.” Yet Elyn did not need Thork’s words to know that the dark mass ahead was the legendary abode of the Drake. That it was the firemountain they sought, she had no doubt, for vapors vented from the jagged truncation atop the bulky massifs.

“Where is his covert, Thork, or at least the entrance?” Elyn’s eyes futilely scanned the slopes for some sign of an opening.

“I know not,” responded Thork. “Whether this side or the opposite-or even within the core-I cannot say. Not even the Châkka Loremasters know.”

Again the sound of cleaving stone cracked through the air about them, yet no sign of broken rock did they see. Still, even though it was nigh spring, deep snow yet lay upon the slopes, and ice often split stone asunder beneath the whiteness, especially at this time of year when the melt of the day trickles into cracks and crevices to become rending ice in the night. But Thork had never before heard such frequent splitting of rock; it was as if someone quarried stone deliberately. And he cautioned Elyn against the slides that at times followed the rending of rock above.

Yet now their attention was upon dark Dragonslair, looming miles ahead. Long their sight searched the distant slopes, but no sign of the entrance to the den did they see, for it was yet too far to make out that manner of detail. Still it drew their eyes as would a lodestone draw upon iron, but at last, they moved onward, down the slant before them, heading into the vale leading toward the foot of Dragonslair.

Two days later Elyn and Thork made camp at the base of the mountain. They had seen no sign of Black Kalgalath’s whereabouts, and it was not certain that any Dragon lived here at all.

“Thork, this mountain is enormous,” said Elyn, her hand shielding her eyes from the Sun, her sight scanning the slopes above. “It could take days, weeks, months, just to discover an entrance to the lair.”

… needle in a haycock. .

“Aye,” responded Thork, brushing away snow and setting rocks in a fire ring. “And this side-”

“Draw him out,” interrupted Elyn. “Mayhap we should do something to lure him forth from his den, lure him to us, then fight him here, in the open.”

“You forget, Princess, Black Kalgalath flies.” Thork struck flint to steel, sparks flicking into the tinder. Blowing upon the shavings, the Dwarf coaxed forth a tiny flame, and fed it dried leaves and twigs and finally larger branches, and quickly had a small smokeless fire burning, setting a pot of water to boil for tea. “Nay, to draw him to us would be to yield to him that advantage, and he would strike us down from above with his flame.

“It is best that we ambush him within his cave as we planned, where he cannot get above us and evade the hammer.”

“But that requires we find his cavern,” said Elyn, again scanning the mountainside, “and at the moment I have little confidence that we can do so.”

Thork eyed the position of the lowering Sun, gauging how much daylight remained ere he would extinguish the fire so that no gleam through the night would reveal their position to hostile eyes upon the Mountain above. Then, scanning those same slopes, long he looked, at last remarking, “Forget not, my Lady, you are with a Châk, and we have a sense concerning where to seek caverns.”

One to guide. .

Elyn’s doubts lessened with Thork’s words, though her hand strayed to her throat where once there had dangled a silveron nugget, and, feeling somehow exposed, she wondered whether a Drake did know of all that passed within his domain.

They took a small supper as the Sun slid down the sky: smoke-cured venison from a hunter’s larder, hardtack and honey, and tea.

The next morning at dawn, Elyn bolted upright from her sleep, a thunderous roar slapping among the mountains, causing snow to avalanche and rocks to tumble.

The Drake!

Thork was on his feet, axe in hand, ready for combat, though how he came to be there, he did not know.

Again the roar crashed among the crags, and Elyn, now on her feet as well, saber in hand, whirled and faced the mountain.

“There, Thork!” she cried, pointing with the blade. “High up! ’Tis Kalgalath!”

But Thork had already seen the mighty Fire-drake, launching upward and outward, the great dark wings bearing it to the west.

“Did you see?” Elyn’s eyes never wavered from the ledge high above, setting off its exact location in her mind.

“Aye, Princess.” Thork, too, noted the specific place whence the Drake had sprung. “Ledge. Above that sheer facing. Left of the tall crag. Do you mark it?”

“Aye, Thork,” answered Elyn. “Under the dark stone. Right of the great crack.”

Agreeing with her, Thork set aside his axe, taking up his cloth-covered shield and slinging it across his back. He slipped the strap of a waterskin and a small bag of rations over one shoulder, and slid the Kammerling into his belt. Looping a coiled rope over his other shoulder, he turned to the Princess, who was likewise preparing for the climb, searching among the supplies for the small oil lantern. When she was ready, she grimly nodded to the Dwarf.

And thus they set off up the slopes, afoot, to slay a Dragon in its lair.

It took all morning to reach the vertical face below the ledge, some six hours of arduous, dangerous, icy ascent, Thork showing Elyn the way upward, through ice and snow and barren rock. And though it did not seem so from below, lying over all was a treacherous frozen glaze, and often hands slipped, or feet, Death waiting below. Yet Thork’s skill was equal to the task for both he and Elyn. And so, up the mountain they crept, Thork leading up the icy way, telling Elyn where to place hands and feet, guiding her, until at last they came to the foot of the vertical rise.

While Elyn rested, Thork moved to the far left, across the rime-covered stone, examining the crevice splitting upward, then to the far right where stood the tall crag. Finally, stripping out of his black-iron chain and hunkering down beside Elyn-“The crack to the left is choked with ice, and I have not the proper gear. The crag to the right splits away from the ledge, and up high the chimney is too wide for my body to span, while down low, it too is filled with ice. There be nought left but the perpendicular; I must free-climb the vertical face.”

Another hour passed as Thork crept up the sheer wall, completely without aids, no jams or rock-nails, no rings or harness, just fingers and feet and strength and skill, Elyn standing below, her heart in her throat, watching him find handholds and toeholds where she saw none. At last he clambered over the lip of the ledge, disappearing from view. Moments later he reappeared, feeding a rope downward. “A great cavern, Princess,” he called. “From the smell of it, the lair.”

Elyn tied all of the goods to the line, including the Kammerling, shield, her saber, his armor, and the supplies, finally calling out to Thork. Up he hauled, the equipment disappearing over the lip of the ledge. Then downward again snaked the rope.

Elyn grasped the line and began a hand-over-hand ascent. .

Come on, lass, a Warrior Maid needs this skill. Would ye have a battle lost because ye couldn’t scale a wall?

. . echoes of Ruric in her mind.

Up she climbed in the airy wind, feet scrabbling against ice-glazed stone, rope abrading her grip through her gloves, a sheer drop below her.

Gods, I did not know that struggling about upon a mountain could be so frightening.

Though fear thrilled through her, still this Woman of the plains clambered upward, hanging by a slender thread above a towering plunge, creeping ever closer to the safety of a Dragon’s lair.

As she came to the top, Thork reached out. “Give me your hand, Princess. I will pull you up.”

Elyn hesitated, glancing downward at the fall below.

Then his voice came soft and gentle: “I will not drop you.”

Elyn gave her grip to Thork, and he haled her upward and onto the broad ledge.

They rested a moment upon the shelf, Elyn with her gloves off, flexing her fingers and regaining her wind and looking about as Thork donned his armor, the Warrior Maiden seeing a wide dark opening in the wall of stone rising up, and a great ledge spread from here to yon-

“Ai-oi!” she cried, pointing to the near end of the shelf, where lay a great bashed sheet of iron. “ ’Tis the cladding from the gate of Jordkeep. This, then, is Black Kalgalath’s lair, for within that ‘vessel’ he bore away the treasure from the ruins of my sire’s castle.”

Thork stepped to the sheet of iron, and hefted upon a corner, managing but to rock it. “Too heavy for us to use, Princess.”

He returned and took up the Kammerling, looking long at the appearance of rust and cracked helve and broken peen, his mind elsewhere. “Remember our plan, my Lady: we seek a place from which to ambush the Drake, mayhap at the entrance to his lair, mayhap deeper.” Thork slid the Kammerling into his belt and untied the rope from its anchoring boulder and began coiling the line. “Should I fall in battle, seize the Kammerling and finish the task.”

A cold chill shivered through Elyn. .

Should I fall in battle, should I fall, I fall. .

… yet she said nought as she looped the strap of her black-oxen horn across shoulder and chest. Buckling on her saber, at last she spoke: “Thork, should you fall in battle and should I survive, I here and now renew my pledge to you: I will do all within my power to stop this mistaken War between our two Folk, to stop the killing. I will share and share alike all Dracongield between Jord and Kachar, and make whatever other amends are appropriate, cancelling all debts.”

Yet were you to fall in battle. .

Elyn’s heart fell bleak.

“My Lady, this pledge between us need not be renewed here and now, for it exists within each of us forever. . whether or no it is said aloud again. Yet, would it please you to hear the words, then I do so swear once more.” Thork took up Elyn’s lantern, preparing to light it.

“There is this, too, Thork,” said Elyn, shouldering her portion of the supplies: “Should we both fall in this battle, then still there is a promise of peace. . whether or not we survive. For no hatred, no vengeance, no neglect is passed on forever; each must come to rest somewhere, to vanish in the eternity of time or to die under the weight of love.

“Yet let us not speak of survival and death, for today marks the end of winter: it is the first day of spring.”

Thork glanced at the Sun above, and then to the dark entrance to the den. Handing Elyn’s lit lantern unto her-“Let us be gone,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.

And so, Thork bearing his shield on his left arm and the Kammerling in his right grip, and Elyn clutching the lantern in one hand and saber in the other, their hearts hammering and their breath harsh, down into the cavern they went, the floor sloping inward and down, the wide walls curving this way and that, the lamp lighting the way, an acrid odor filling the air about them, as of a viper pit.

At every twist and turn, at every lieu, both warriors eyed the lay of the cavern, judging, seeking a place of ambush that would give them advantage over the Drake’s great strength and over his fiery breath.

Deeper they went, and deeper still, down a slanting floor, the air becoming hot and hotter, the walls of the tunnel itself emitting heat, the smell of brimstone tingeing the air. Yet on they went, the faint light from the entrance long gone, and here even Thork’s Dwarven sight needed Elyn’s lantern to see by.

Past belching fumaroles they went, the odor horrific, the gas yellow, roiling upward through clefts and chimneys cloven through the shattered stone above and disappearing into the churning darkness.

At last they came down into a large chamber, walls disappearing in darkness, where intense heat caused sweat to runnel beneath armor, both Elyn and Thork pausing to drink copious quantities of water. As she drank, in the distant darkness, a gleam caught Elyn’s eye; corking the waterskin, she held up the lantern, stepping toward the glimmer. And as she strode forward, more and more sparkle scintillated to the eye. At last she came to where she could clearly see, and there heaped upon the floor and ramping upward lay an enormous mound of glittering treasure: gold and silver, gems and goblets, pearls and precious stones, and the like. The vast pile stood more than Man height, and reached outward to cover yard after yard of cavern floor: more than the total hoard of Sleeth, more than either Elyn or Thork had ever dreamed possible. For this was the hoard of Black Kalgalath, mightiest Dragon of all.

Elyn was stunned by the enormity of the wealth, and so, too, was Thork. Neither had ever considered that the Drake had had a trove of his own. They had only thought about recovering the treasure taken from Jordkeep. But now, that seemed a small stake by comparison.

“Princess,” growled Thork, recovering his composure, “this chamber be not the place to waylay the Drake, for though it is open-hence will not channel his flame-still we must go elsewhere, for not only will he have the space to evade the hammer, we cannot withstand this heat overlong.”

“Back to the entrance above?” Elyn asked.

“Aye,” answered Thork, “for it has four advantages: one, there are sheltering boulders at each side, giving us concealment; two, he will be coming from sunshine into darkness; three, he will have less room to move freely and thus will be easier to smite; and, four, he will not be alerted by the light of our lantern, for we will not need it there at the opening.”

“If what they say about Dragonsight is true,” said Elyn, “then be it light or dark, it is of no moment, for whether or no we have a lit lantern, he will see us, no matter. And if what they say about a Dragon’s powers is true, then whether or no we are concealed will not matter either, for he will know we are hidden within. Yet I, too, think the entrance is the best place for ambuscade, for he will be alighting ’pon the ledge, and mayhap be off balance. If so, then that may be the time to strike, between the eyes in the moment of his awkwardness. If not, then when he thrusts his head into the opening. . ”

And so, back up the slanted tunnel floor they went, back through the twists and turns, back past the belching fumaroles, back out from the heat and toward the day. And behind, a great gleaming pile of riches beyond imagination fell into darkness once more. And ahead lay the place where two warriors sought to waylay a Dragon.

Yet, ere the twain reached the opening, while it was yet some hundred paces or so removed, they heard an enraged roar.

Black Kalgalath had returned.

The two sprinted toward the wide mouth of the cavern, Elyn shouting: “I’ll take the right side, you take the left!” knowing that the right-handed Dwarf could swing harder, swing truer, if the opponent were to his weapon side rather than to his shield.

Again came an earsplitting roar, closer.

Heart pounding, Elyn skidded into position, partially concealed by the rocks flanking the cavern entrance. And she could see the great ebon bulk of Black Kalgalath descending, wings flared and churning, flailing directly toward the cavern opening, legs extended, nearly to the ledge, landing.

Thork, too, saw the great Drake’s vast leathery pinions hammering air, the Dragon ungainly as he brought his massive bulk down upon the shelf. Be he off balance, then that may be the time to strike. Between the eyes in the moment of his awkwardness.

Thork raised the hammer and stepped forth, Kalgalath shrieking in anger, Elyn’s voice lost: “No, Thork, no! Not yet!”

The wing blast whelmed down upon the Dwarf, dashing him backwards, knocking his feet from under him, the hammer lost to his grip and skidding aclatter down the sloping stone into the tunnel, Thork rolling, gaining his feet, darting for the Kammerling, his back to the Dragon.

And Black Kalgalath, now upon the ledge, drew in his breath.

Adon! The Dragonfire! Thork will be-No!

Elyn stepped forth from concealment, shouting, “Wyrm! Here!” and she raised her silver-runed black-oxen horn to her lips and blew a ringing blast: Raw! Raw! Raw!

And Black Kalgalath turned his head and loosed his fire, the flame roaring forth in a torrent, whelming into Elyn, blasting her backwards, slamming her into stone, fire searing over her, burning, destroying.

Thork turned with the hammer in hand and saw her whelmed back-“Elyn!”-hurled to the stone by raging fire. And without thought for his own safety he ran to her and knelt at her side, cradling her in his arms.

And she was burned beyond recognition.

“Elyn!”

She could not see, or feel, yet she heard Thork’s voice-“Elyn!”-calling from far off, the sound of wind all about her as she fell down and down, down toward the Night, down toward swift Death. And she struggled to call out to Thork, to call out what was in her heart, to cry out that one paramount thing ere the darkness came, to speak one last time ere the wings of Night embraced her, ere it was too late, to speak one last time unto her Thork:

“Beloved,” she whispered, and then she was gone.

And Black Kalgalath roared his laughter and stalked forth, thrusting his wide Drake’s head into the entrance, adamantine claws set to rend this weakling before him. Yet in that moment his senses detected that there was a token of power within.-The Kammerling! Fear shot through him, his Dragon eyes seeing past the glamour to the true hammer below. Yet wait! It is not empowered!

“Fools! Did you think to defeat me? I am Kalgalath, slayer of fools.”

At the sound of Kalgalath’s voice, Thork gently lowered Elyn to the stone. Weeping in rage, he took up his shield and fitted it unto his arm, and turned toward this killer who had slain his Elyn, Thork’s very soul consumed by a wrath that penetrated into unfathomed depths of fury, of anger unplumbed, as he reached for the hammer.

“Pah, fool!”-Kalgalath’s voice was filled with scorn-“You know not even how to bring potency to the token.” And he drew in his breath to cleanse his cavern of these vermin, as Thork took up the hammer, the Dwarf’s rage beyond bearing.

And the moment that his grip took the helve in hand, the Kammerling flared into life, the glamour burning away, bright light erupting.

And flame blasted forth from Kalgalath’s throat, thundering over Thork. But the Dwarf had raised his shield, and fire burned away the cloth covering, searing to the glittering skin below. Yet this was no ordinary shield: this was Dragonhide; and the burning jet splashed upon the adamant surface and was fended; flaring outward all about, flames roaring past. Even so, Thork’s leggings were set ablaze, and his hair and beard, yet in his wrath he paid no heed to the burning, for in that moment the Dragonfire died, and a rainbow glitter sprang forth before the Dwarf, the shield opalescent and shining.

And the Rage Hammer burned in Thork’s right hand, powered by a fury beyond bearing, glaring into Black Kalgalath’s eyes, both inner and outer, the shattering light blinding him, the Drake backing away.

“Yaahhh!” cried Thork, running forward, with shining shield and flaring hammer, his face distorted beyond recognition, clothes and beard and hair aflame.

And driven by all the power and fury of his wide Dwarven shoulders, CRACK! Thork smashed the burning Rage Hammer into the forehead of the Fire-drake, the hammer crashing into and through the skull, embedding in bone, lodging in the Dragon’s brain, driving him hindward, Black Kalgalath roaring in agony, thrashing about like a great snake, spewing flame, wings windmilling, teetering on the edge of the ledge, blazing Thork grimly hanging on to the hammer helve, trying to jerk the Kammerling free, trying to smite the Drake once more as he was wrenched back and forth again and again by Black Kalgalath’s wild flailing.

And in his uncontrolled lashing, the Dragon smashed Thork into the side of the mountain, whelming the burning Dwarf against stone, stunning him, the Drake flinging his head back, Thork, bedazed, losing his grip, hurling free, and plummeting like a guttering torch down the face of the sheer stone wall below.

With great brazen bellows, Black Kalgalath took to the air, flames gushing, his flight wild and looping, beyond his control.

Up and up he went, spinning up through the wide canyons between the towering clouds above, up and up, to fly past seeing in the high blue sky beyond.

And as Thork fell afire, below him the stone split, and a great hand reached out and caught him! and drew him inside, into the living stone itself!

Huge forms crowded about, monstrous hands smothering the flames, great crystalline eyes peering: sapphirine, emeraldine, rubescent, xanthic.

Yet the burned Dwarf was stunned, uncomprehending, seeing only a glittering in the darkness, knowing not that these were Utruni, ere blackness consumed his mind.

And then from one of the figures came a deep voice-“Dakhu!”-the word urgent; and all gemstone eyes turned upward, as if sighting something far above the mountain, peering past the dark stone roof of the crevice they had drawn Thork into.

And far, far above the Grimwall, high in the sky outside, came a black speck growing: a mortally wounded Dragon hurtling down.

“Shak fhan!” shouted the Utrun holding unconscious Thork, the Stone Giant cupping his hands about the Dwarf’s head and shoulders, the Utrun sitting and curling his body about Thork’s, protecting him with arms and legs as well.

The other Stone Giants seemed to meld into the rock, arms and legs outstretched, fingers and toes clutching stone, anchored in the basalt, muscles straining, as if trying to hold this part of the mountain together by grip and strength alone, as if forming a living barricade, a living shield wall to protect Thork. . against what. .

And down came the Dragon, faster and faster, as if he were hurling himself at the earth. Straight down he came, straight and swift, as an arrow loosed from some daemon’s bow. Straight and straight and straight.

And through the very stone itself the Utruni watched the Dragon hurtling down and down and down, the black speck growing larger and larger, until it was an enormous monster rushing to doom. And they braced themselves for what was to come.

And down plummeted Black Kalgalath, Rage Hammer flaring, embedded in his skull, straight down into the gullet of the firemountain, flashing past the crest, down the throat, toward the bottom. And driven by the full mass of a hurtling Dragon, Adon’s Hammer whelmed into the floor of the volcano.

Never had the earth been struck such a blow.

The mountain exploded.

The blast flattened entire forests for sixty miles around, trees blown down like straws in the wind, all pointing away from the center. And it was said that the sound was heard in the Lands beyond the Avagon Sea, and perhaps beyond the Weston Ocean as well. And the entire continent trembled from the whelming. More than half the mountain was blasted into choking dust, an inconceivably vast cloud of pulverized stone flying up into the sky, a hot churning mass of gas and rock and ash and ice, the cloud so hot that where it touched the ground, pitch boiled out from felled pine trees, and animals dropped dead in their tracks, lungs seared beyond recall. For miles, nothing living above ground survived. Hundreds of leagues away, swirling choking clouds of ash descended, suffocating life, snuffing it out. Magma vomited forth from the caldera below. Ice and water in streams under the land exploded in the volcanic heat, spewing hot clouds of ash and steam hundreds and thousands of feet into the sky. Mudflows avalanched, and torrents of snowmelt hurtled down, walls of water crashing over all within their path. Mountain streams became raging monsters, hurling boulders and splintered trees and ash and mud down across the land. Rain fell through the sky, the droplets dark, black with dirt.

For league upon league the land was ruined beyond comprehension.

And for years afterward, all about Mithgar, winters were colder, summers were shorter. Yet spectacular sunsets graced the eventides, and more rain fell upon the world than ever before.

And decades later, in the nights, those travelling through these mountains could see eerie blue flames flaring within the devastated crater-Kalgalath’s ghost-fire, some said.

Yet like a maimed hand, the middle slope of the eastern slant of the mountain still stood upon the base, topped by a vertical wall, a wall that Thork had plummeted down, a wall kept intact by the power of the Stone Giants.

Three Utruni had died in the blast, but the hammer-wielding Dwarf had been saved.