Realms of the Dragons vol.1

THE TOPAZ DRAGON

The Year of the Turret (1360 DR)

Up ahead, Kraxx could see the sun's light reflecting from the shell of her one perfect, topaz egg. The egg that only moments before had been stolen from her lair.

She could catch the thieves if she were on open ground. She would dive on them from above, dismantling their mangy little bodies one at a time. She would bite their heads off and smash their bones into pulp. Then, just for the shear pleasure of it, she would smear their remains across the land, leaving the stain as a reminder for all those who would dare steal from her again.

But the thieves were smaller than her, more agile and able to maneuver through the jungle, and the island had little open ground. Only the short sandy beach and the open caldera of the island's active volcano escaped from the clawing jungle that covered everything else. The trees parted as the great topaz dragon forced her bulk through the brush.

Up ahead, the egg disappeared from her view. With a final desperate burst of speed, the dragon broke through the last of the trees, emerging at the base of the basalt mountain in the middle of the island. She caught one last glimpse of her egg, shining golden and orange in the mid-afternoon sun. Then it was gone, carried into a lava tube at the base of the volcano.

Unfurling her wings, Kraxx closed the distance with one quick sweep. Slamming her head into the lava tube, she let out a tremendous roar, shaking the walls and spraying the inside of the tunnel with her billowing breath. But it was too late. The thieves were already beyond the reach of her attack. She clawed forward, but it was no use. Her body got stuck at the shoulders. She was simply too large to fit inside.

Pulling herself out of the tunnel, Kraxx took to the air, circling the volcano. It had not been the first time her eggs had attracted the attentions of the greedy and the powerful. There were those who would pay dearly for such a prize-including the dracolich who lived deep within the volcano.

Kraxx watched the molten lava bubble from the top of the open basalt mound. No, she-would not take the undead creature's bait. She would have no chance of defeating him there, inside his own lair. But if he could get the egg inside without coming out, then perhaps she could get it out without going in.

With a keening wail, the topaz dragon turned away from her circling and glided back out over the jungle, toward the ocean.

¦GOS-*

A loud crack rattled the windows of the captain's cabin, and every pirate aboard Expatriate let out a hoot.

Captain Clay came out into the sunlight, absently flipping one of his twin daggers in his left hand. The sky was a perfect clear blue. The sea was at a dead calm, except for the hint of a tiny ripple.

Lifting a handkerchief to his face, he wiped the ever present line of sweat off of his brow then looked up at the billowing sail. A smile spread across his parched, withered lips. It wasn't a hard wind, but it was wind all the same.

"Mr. Mansa. In my cabin."

A portly man turned away from the bustling crew and answered, "Aye, Cap'n."

Inside it wasn't much cooler than on the deck. Even though the windows were open, there hadn't been a breath of wind, not even the slightest breeze, in so long.

Clay sat down behind his large oak desk. Sifting through a pile of parchment, he selected one that was to his liking and unrolled it.

"You wanted to see me, Cap'n?"

"Aye, Mr. Mansa," said the captain without looking up. "Now that we have some wind, I want to discuss our course of action."

"Should I round up the other mates?"

"In good time, Mansa, but for now, I'd like to figure out where we're going and set a course while the winds are in our favor." Captain Clay pinned the corners of the parchment down with four stones and ran his hand over the worn map. "The sooner we find that island the sooner we claim our prize."

"And all become rich," said the first mate. "Praise Umberlee," he added

The captain chuckled, and a smile spread across his face. He couldn't help himself. Treasure always made him smile.

"Aye, Mansa. Once we have that egg, we'll be rich men indeed."

Clay's fingers traversed the miniature Sword Coast, lifting off the page when they reached the Nelanther Isles, as if touching them might burn his flesh, then dropping back down after they crossed Asavir's Channel. They continued on, dipping quickly into the Shining Sea, casually bypassing Calimshan and Tethyr, then following the Chultan peninsula to the edge of the Wild Coast. There Captain Clay circled his index finger in a wide berth. The weathered map crackled.

"We're here." Under his finger, the pirate captain indicated the open sea. "And-"

"Captain. Captain!" A skinny man came bursting into Clay's chamber calling, "Captain, come quick."

Clay stood up and asked, "What is it, Tasca?"

"You wouldn't believe it if I told you. You better come see for yourself."

Clay bolted out from around his desk, Mansa close behind. Just outside the door of his chamber, the world went white. A thick fog had rolled in. The warm sweat that had plagued his brow was suddenly cool. The dampness on his face was transformed in an instant from sweat into dew. Looking out over amidships, Captain Clay couldn't even make out the mainsail.

Over the side of the ship, what had been mile upon mile of endless open ocean and clear blue sky was nothing more than a gauzy film that seemed to have swallowed the entire world. Even the sun was blotted out by the billowing whiteness.

The wind picked-up, and the partially slack sail snapped taut. Clay could hear Expatriate's deep hull slipping through the water.

"What in the name of Talos?" the captain murmured. "Where did this fog come from?"

Tasca shrugged and said, "Dunno. It just arrived."

"You didn't see it roll in?"

"No, Cap'n," Tasca replied. "Like I said, one minute it was clear, the next, fog. It was like the sea itself just lifted its hands and covered us up."

"We must be getting close," Clay said. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Come to Captain Clay you great big topaz egg," he whispered.

Members of the crew began to materialize out of the thick mist. Every one of them carried something-belaying pins, hooks, lengths of chain, or broken bits of wooden crates. The captain had seen it before.

"All right lads, let's just calm down."

The crew began to grumble.

"It's witchery," shouted one.

"No good can come of this," shouted another.

Captain Clay raised his hands, and the men quieted.

"Now listen, you swabbies, all of you, back to your posts. Keep your eyes peeled and a sturdy piece of wood nearby. Mind that you don't fall over the edge, and we'll get what we've come for. Understood?"

"Aye, Cap'n," came the collective response.

"Very good," he said, then he turned and headed back into his cabin. "Mr. Mansa."

"Cap'n?"

"Round up the other mates."

"Aye, aye."

Inside, Clay stepped behind his desk and stared down at the map. He laughed. He didn't need to look at it anymore. The jagged lines of the coast were permanently burned into his memory. For three tendays he'd stared down on that same wrinkled, brown parchment while Expatriate had sat off the coast of Chult searching for the island. First no wind, then the fog, were the gods conspiring to keep him away from that dragon's egg?

Mansa knocked on the cabin threshold and called, "Cap'n?"

Clay looked up. Mansa was flanked by a half-ore and a dwarf. "Come in, gentlemen."

The half-ore was garbed in little more than torn rags, held together by a series of belts and straps at strategic points along his waist, biceps, and thighs. His hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail and held in place by a strip of thick, rancid-looking black hide. At the end of his left arm, where most other sailors had a hand, the half-ore had a wicked-tipped blade strapped to his ruined stump.

The dwarf on the other hand looked as if hed just stepped out of a fancy inn after a good night's sleep and a bath. His beard was in three long braids all tied together-near his knees-to a shiny brass ring. A clean, dry rolled bandanna of yellow silk covered the top of his head, a perfect accompaniment to his blue pantaloons and purple vest. He wore a series of golden rings in one ear. His burley bare arms were covered in tattoos of mermaids drinking flagons of ale. On his belt swung a jeweled sheath with a keen-edged rapier inside.

The collected mates entered, each taking a chair around the heavy desk.

Clay steepled his fingers in front of his chin and asked, "Any guesses about this mysterious fog?" He looked to the dwarf. "Mr. Tabor?"

The immaculately dressed mate shook his head and replied, "I'd say we're getting close."

Clay nodded.

"Mr. Hadar?"

The half-ore grunted, "Smells of witchcraft to me."

Clay slapped the desk and said, "Aye. Which means someone doesn't want us to find what we're looking for. I'd wager my weight in gold that when we find our island we'll find the mage responsible for our bad luck."

The three mates shook their heads.

The ship's timbers complained, creaking and screeching under the sudden pressure. There was a crunching sound, followed by a long, slow grind, and Expatriate lurched. The captain's heavy desk shifted, adding to the noise, and the three mates were thrown to the floor. Captain Clay went sprawling over the top of his desk, thrashing the map and the stones that held it open and sending them flying.

"What the-?"

Clay's words were cut short.

"Land ho!"

The captain got to his feet and scrambled onto the deck, followed closely by the dwarf and the half-ore. The sky overhead was visible, the sun coming through a large hole in the sheath that had covered the ship. Where before the amidships had been socked in by fog, traces of the ship were revealed. The thick mist seemed to dissolve, dropping away from the planks and sails as if it were a wave, already spent, slowly drifting back into the sea.

Tasca was facedown on the deck, surrounded by at least five other sailors, all pulling splinters out of their palms. The lookout, perched high up on the mainmast, hung to the edge of the crow's nest by one hand. His legs dangled below him as he surveyed the deck and the spilled pirates.

As the foggy whiteness drifted away, Captain Clay got his first look at what had caused all the commotion.

"Shiver me timbers," he whispered.

Before him, not more than a league ahead of Expatriate's bow, sat an active volcano. A column of sooty smoke rose out of its top, and a bright line of orange-red lava rolled down its side.

Clay dashed down across the deck. Leaning out over the spinnaker, he looked down on a rocky beach.

"Mr. Mansa," he shouted.

The portly mate had just managed to pull himself up off the floor of the captain's cabin and stagger out to the deck.

"Aye."

"We're going ashore."

"Aye, cap'n," replied the first mate. "I'll gather the repair party."

The damage wasn't extensive, but the ship was taking on water. Expatriate had come ashore quite softly, only crashing to a halt when its hull collided with a huge, melted piece of basalt jutting up from the bottom of the sea.

Once the leak was fixed, it wouldn't take much to get the boys to push her off the sand and get her back out to sea. The crew Mansa had rounded up was coming off the ship. It would take them at least a few hours, if not a few days, to fix the hole. Then a few more hours to bail the hold.

"You know the drill, gentlemen," shouted the captain. He strode toward the jungle in the near distance. "Let's cut some lumber and patch her up."

Machetes in hand and with little more than a grumble, the entire crew, save for those few unfortunates left aboard to mind the ship, followed their captain across the blistering shore.

Reaching the edge of the trees, Clay turned around to take a look at Expatriate. His ship seemed to flicker in and out of existence, disappearing in a wave of heat as if it were caught in a raging storm deep at sea.

"Split into pairs," ordered the captain. "Each of you take a strong tree back to the ship."

"Aye, cap'n," they said in unison.

The pirates split up, searching the jungle. Clay turned to his mates.

"We'll leave them to their task," he said with a smile, "and get on with ours."

The three mates nodded and silently followed their captain into the jungle. The trees were tall and thin, and the ground was completely bald in large patches, as if it were swept clean by a legion of maidens with brooms. That far off the water, the damp humidity was even more noticeable. Having spent most of his life on the high seas, Clay was not unaccustomed to warm, damp weather. Somehow, though, being surrounded on all sides by an ocean made the humidity seem more natural, more welcome. There, deep inside a tropical jungle, it just seemed wrong.

When he got deep enough into the jungle that he could no longer hear the chopping and cussing of his sailors, Clay sat down on the soft earth and unrolled his map.

Mr. Mansa lowered his portly girth down beside him. The dwarf and the half-ore stood on either side.

"Any guesses where we are, Mr. Mansa?" asked the captain.

Mansa leaned over the map, dabbing at his forehead with a handkerchief.

He pointed at a small island and said, "Here, Cap'n."

"TheMother-of-Mists?"

"Aye."

"Not even in a hurricane could we travel that far in less than a day." The captain pushed his first mate's hand out of the way and continued, "At dawn, just before the mists, I spotted the southern tip of the Kobold Mountains. That's nearly four hundred miles."

Mansa shrugged and said, "There aren't any other islands out here. Never has been."

"It doesn't seem possible," the captain said. "Then again, neither did that fog." He looked up at the half-ore. "Hadar, you know these waters better than any of us. What say you?"

The half-ore didn't even look at the map, just said, "The Dead Islands are farther north."

"The Dead Islands?" asked the captain.

Hadar explained, "Those islands at the far south end of the Nelanther chain with no fresh water and nothing a pirate could want." The half-ore shook his head. "Ain't good for nothin' except dyin' on."

Something rattled the trees in the near distance. Hadar dropped into a crouch, dashed between a pair of trees, and disappeared into the jungle. Tabor stepped sideways and seemed to simply melt into the shadows under the canopy. Mansa leaped to his feet as quick as a cat, moving as if he was a man half his size and a third his age.

Clay too was ready, gripping one of his daggers by the gleaming, polished steel blade. He ran his eyes over the immediate vicinity. Out on the waves, Clay had some of the best eyes around, being able to spot fat cargo ships long before some elves even. But in the dense, dark jungle, he was at a disadvantage.

Behind him, another crash rumbled through the jungle, shaking the ground. Mansa nearly jumped, startled by the sudden sound. Then the man let out a squeal and backstepped. Twisting, the pudgy man fell onto his rump. Clawing the ground, Mansa tried to push himself backward but slipped and landed flat on his back.

Clay spun around to look up into the most terrible face he'd ever laid eyes upon

Eye's burning red like the fires of the Abyss looked down over huge flaring nostrils, covered in yellow-orange scales. Crystalline fangs jutted out of its upper and lower jaw, crisscrossing on either side of the creature's mouth like the bones of the Jolly Roger.

Captain Clay staggered back a step and stammered, "D-d-dragon."

The creature stood on its hind legs, its wings pressed back against its considerable bulk. Hunched, the dragon's shoulders reached nearly to the top of the jungle canopy. Huge bony spurs jutted out of its hide along its spine and the length of its tail. Its long neck, thick and heavily muscled, snaked down from high above.

Though the monster's enormous head filled most of Clay's vision, he could see that the creature held both Tabor and Hadar captive, one in each of its front claws.

The dragon let out a short, powerful breath through its nostrils, and a plume of watery vapor floated out.

Trying to remain calm in the face of such a beast, Clay lifted one of his daggers, prepared to throw.

"That would not be wise," bellowed the dragon.

The captain looked to Mansa-still flat on his back-nodded, then lowered his hand.

"So," the captain asked the dragon, "what happens now?"

The wyrm's eyes narrowed and it replied, "We parlay." Clay swallowed.

"All right. I'm Captain Clay." He looked again at Mansa. The portly mate shrugged. "This is my first mate, Mansa. And those two-" the captain indicated the two pirates the dragon held in its grasp-"are Hadar and Tabor, also mates."

The dragon's eyes shifted from Clay to Mansa then back again.

"Before we begin," Clay said, nodding again at the trapped mates. "I would ask you to release your captives."

The dragon snorted and said, "You are in no position to ask for concessions."

"Then as a show of good faith."

The pirate captain slipped his dagger back into its sheath.

The dragon growled but released the two pirates.

Clay lifted his hands, showing his empty palms. "Our ship, Expatriate, was beached-"

"I know how you got here," interrupted the dragon. "I brought you."

Clay understood.

"So you're the mage."

The dragon didn't reply.

Clay had been in similar sorts of negotiations before, though never with a dragon. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, then tried to proceed as if he was talking to a rival captain.

"So, what is it you want of us?"

"You've come for my egg," replied the dragon.

"Egg?" bluffed Clay. "We don't know anything about any egg, our ship was run aground-"

The dragon blew out another strong breath, its lip curling, as it said, "Do not play games with me, human. I know why you were looking for this island. You've come to barter with the thieves for my egg."

A cold lance of fear shot up Clay's spine.

"Are you going to kill us?"

The dragon leaned back, giving the captain a bit more space, and said, "That depends."

"On?"

"You're not the only ones who have an interest in my egg," explained the dragon. "The thieves who stole it have taken it deep into the volcano where I cannot go-

"What do you want from us?"

"I want you to go in and retrieve my egg."

The captain cocked his head, a bit confused. "You want us to retrieve your egg?"

"That is what I said," replied the dragon. The captain laughed.

"If whoever took your egg is so powerful…" Clay struggled for the right words. "If you can't retrieve it yourself, what makes you think we'll be able to get it back for you?"

The dragon reared back, crossing its mighty fore-limbs over her golden chest. Her eyes burned an even darker red.

"The thieves are not mighty. They are cowardly and small," the dragon said, looking at each of the pirates in turn. "And that is the problem. They have taken my egg into the volcano where they have wards and magical protections against one of my kind. Out here, I would crush them, but I cannot follow them into their lair."

"What's in it for us?" asked the captain. "If what you say is true, and we did come here for your egg, then what's stopping us from just taking it and carrying it off in our ship?"

The dragon snorted, blowing another plume of watery vapor out that nearly reached Clay.

"If you do I will destroy your ship and kill you all."

"Let me get this straight," said the captain. "Either we risk our lives trying to retrieve your egg from the inside of the volcano, or we die." Clay crossed his arms over his chest. "That's not much of a deal."

"If you succeed," said the dragon, "I will let you go-unharmed."

"That's very kind of you."

"I have gold," added the dragon. "Lot's of gold."

A smile spread across Clay's face. "What did you say your name was?"

"Kraxx," replied the dragon.

Captain Clay placed his palms together and bowed as hed seen men do in his travels to far Kara Tur.

"Well, Kraxx, I think you have yourself a deal."

The dragon lifted one of her wings, pointing deeper into the jungle.

"The thieves took my egg into a lava tube on the southern slope," Kraxx said as she turned and headed toward the beach. "I will be awaiting your return, beside your ship. If you are not back by nightfall, your crew will die."

At the southern slope, just where the dragon said it would be, a circular opening led into the rough basalt mountain. Unlike the rest of the jungle, the base of the volcano was completely void of all vegetation. The smell of burned plants and sulfur filled the air.

"Well, maties," said Clay, gripping the hilt of one of his daggers, "it's down the hatch for us."

The captain entered the dark opening. One step over the threshold and Clay's damp skin became instantly dry. It was as if his whole body had been wrapped tight in a curtain of hot, dry air, and he felt as if he'd just stepped inside the bellows of an iron forge. Every strip of exposed flesh was pressed back by the oppressive heat, and the captain had to squint to keep his eyes from drying out quicker than he could blink.

The passage was narrow-barely wide enough for two men abreast-and dark except for the sunlight coming in from outside. Ahead, it appeared as if the tunnel they were following made a very subtle turn to the right. Clay couldn't make out much more. The light simply didn't penetrate that far. Clay looked back over his shoulder.

"Tabor," he called quietly.

"Aye."

"You're going to need to take the lead," said Clay. He stepped aside to let the dwarf pass. "In this darkness, my eyes are about as good as a Veldornian mainsail."

"You're too hard on the Veldornians," quipped the dwarf as he made his way past his captain. "They may not have much use for a sail, but even they could make one that works better than your old human eyes."

Both Mansa and Hadar let out a snicker.

Clay ushered the half-ore up next to the dwarf. Hadar grunted, then he and the dwarf headed down the passage.

The farther they went, the darker it became. Soon Clay couldn't see anything at all. He followed the sounds of the half-ore's footsteps and ran his hand along the wall to make sure he didn't fall over. At first the wall was rough, like pumice. Clay just let his fingertips rest against the rough surface, using the feeling of solid stone to reassure him as they plunged deeper into the volcano. But after a time, the stone became smooth. The deep crevices and sharp ridges gave way to a soft, almost polished feel, and the walls grew warmer.

"This volcano reminds me of the Peak of Flame," said Mansa.

"It's not the Peak of Flame," said Hadar.

"But what if it is?" replied the portly pirate. "Maybe Dendar the Night Serpent took the dragon's egg."

"This isn't the Peak of Flame," repeated the half-ore.

"I'm just sayin'. We don't know where we are. This could be the Peak, and if it is, and the Serpent took the dragon's egg, then this is the beginning of the end."

Clay heard a scuffle, then he felt his chin run smack into Hadar's back.

"This isn't the Peak of Flame", Hadar said one more time.

They continued on. Around the next corner Clay began to see a faint red-orange glow. The smooth rock reflected the light, making the ground and the walls look quite slick. The farther they went, the brighter the light became. The curve in the passage continued around and finally opened into a large chamber.

A snaking pool of bubbling lava split the room in half. A walkway of hardened stone ran along each edge toward an opening on the other end. The red-orange of the molten stuff lit the room, exposing several jagged shelves and pillars of cooled lava.

"Look out!" shouted Tabor.

A dark figure fell upon them, concealed from above by one of the basalt shelves. Clay shifted to his right, bringing his dagger up with his left hand. The creature landed square upon the polished steel blade, and it let out a terrible noise-a scream that sounded like the combined anguish of a man and a wolf.

Still unable to make out what was attacking him, Clay pulled his impaled blade from the creature and swung back across its body. The beast lifted its head, its eyes locking with Clay's. The captain's dagger connected with the creature's neck, and the beast slumped to the ground, thrashing once then falling still.

Clay stepped back from the body. For lack of a better name, the creature on the ground before him was a dwarf. It was short and squat, and it's arms, chest, and legs were thick with ropy muscle. But other than general size and shape, the thing had no other resemblance to the civilized Tabor.

"Tabor, it's your cousin," quipped the half-ore.

"Laugh it up, pig boy," spat the dwarf.

"Enough." Clay leaned over the creature and asked, "What is this thing?"

"Looks like a wild dwarf," Tabor replied.

"A wild dwarf?"

"Not our greatest moment," Tabor admitted.

A loud hoot echoed through the chamber, and there wasn't time for further discussion. More of the scraggly figures dropped from the overhead shelves, filling the room. Clay and his mates were under attack by nearly two dozen wild dwarves.

In an instant Tabor had his rapier out and skewered the first of the mangy dwarves through the gut. Hadar ran another through with his stump knife. Mansa grabbed one by the forearms, locked into a grapple, but that was all Clay saw. The chamber turned into a flurry of claws and flying steel. The pirate captain knocked one attacker to the ground, burying a thrown dagger in his eye socket. Dodging left and right, slashing at eyes and avoiding teeth, he danced with the growling foes.

At one point he heard Mansa shout some words of praise to Umberlee. There was a brief flash of yellow light and half of the dwarves cowered from the portly pirate as if they had seen a pit fiend. In the clearing they left, Clay could see the bodies of at least half a dozen of the wild dwarves, lying at the feet of his mates. He'd killed three himself, and several were either cowering against the far wall or outright fleeing the chamber.

Hadar cut another through the belly, lifting a second off the ground with his good hand and hurling it into the bubbling lava. The creature let out a howling wail, and it thrashed like a man overboard in a tempest. Tendrils of black smoke rose from the dwarf's body, and its sustained cry of pain grew in pitch. Those bits of exposed flesh that weren't already submerged in the magma burst into flame, and in a flash of orange-yellow, the flailing dwarf was consumed.

Two of the wild dwarves stood before Tabor, menacing him with their claws, but the well-dressed pirate held them both at bay with the tip of his rapier. He was cut across the face, and his normally well-kept pantaloons had a large tear across his thigh. Though bloodied, he looked no worse for the fight than just a couple of scrapes.

The half-ore was another story. From head to toe he was covered in blood. There was no way to know if it was his own or the blood of his foes. Most of the time, he wielded his stump knife with great finesse. But sometimes his bloodlust got to him, and he became a bit more messy.

"What I wouldn't give to be back in the Copper Coronet right now," mumbled the captain under his breath.

Clay remained mostly untouched. The first of the mangy creatures had caught hold of his left hand with its grimy claws. He had a painful cut along his thumb and down his forearm, but he'd had worse. During the course of the fight, all four pirates had worked their way into the middle of the room. They were precariously close to the pool of lava, and the captain took a step back from the edge, just for good measure.

Turning to check on Mansa, he heard the first mate yell, "Look out!"

Clay glanced up just in time to see another wave of dwarves climbing toward them. Unlike those they had fought in the first wave, some carried heavy clubs and several even had good steel weapons. If it was the whole tribe, Clay had no intention of parlaying with their leader.

"Run!" he shouted.

Reaching the opening on the other end, Clay glanced back over his shoulder. Tabor was right on his heels. Mansa was several steps behind, and Hadar was covering the rear. There must have been at least fifty wild dwarves already on the cavern floor, and more poured down the walls.

Ducking his head, Clay plunged himself into, the pitch-black tunnel, fleeing what was surely a massacre. His right hand on the wall, his eyes open as wide as they would go, Clay charged through the tunnel as fast as his feet could carry him. At any moment he expected to be knocked flat by a low hanging stalagmite. Behind him he could hear the labored breathing of his mates and the cacophony of footsteps of their pursuers.

The dark cavern took a sharp right turn, and Clay nearly lost his balance making the corner.

"Hard starboard," he shouted, then he dashed on.

Around the corner, the light began to grow. Bursting out of the darkness, Clay entered a large, hollowed-out chamber. The floor roiled and popped, being little more than a lake of molten lava. A narrow ledge snaked its way halfway across the chamber along the cavern walls. Overhead, huge stalactites hung from a shadowy ceiling, looking like inverted mountaintops.

In the center of the molten lake, splayed out over a mound of hardened black stone were five glowing pillars arranged in a semicircle. They seemed to defy everything about the place. Made from a translucent blue stone lit from inside by a brilliant white light, the pillars looked like huge icicles, light and cool in the smoldering bowls of an active volcano. In the center of the crystals, inscribed on the basalt of the cavern floor, was a series of arcane runes, lit just like the pillars, each touching the next until together they made a half-moon shape. At the focal point of the two crescents sat a tremendous gemstone.

"Praise the Bitch Queen," blurted Mansa.

The first mate froze, his eyes locked on the precious stone as if it were a siren. As big as the world's largest half ling, the teardrop-shaped topaz glowed a deep orange-red, lit by the molten lava.

"The dragon's egg," whispered Clay.

The island the egg sat upon was surrounded on all sides by burbling lava, except for a small walkway that led to a large opening at the far end of the cavern.

The first of the dwarves began pouring into the chamber. The mangy creatures seemed to almost roll over one another in a frenzy to reach the four pirates. Hadar was already in a crouch, ready to take the first of them. Tabor pushed past Mansa to back up the half-ore. Balancing on the ledge of hardened lava, he held his rapier poised to strike.

"We're trapped," Clay said as he looked to the hardened lava island. It was too far to jump. He pulled his daggers and prepared to fight. "If you've got any bright ideas or last words, now would be a good time to voice 'em."

The scrabbling sounds of the wild dwarves racing around the edge of the chamber came to an abrupt stop. The riling mass turned toward the small entrance to the cavern and collectively dropped to their knees.

Through the sudden silence, a voice boomed through the cave, "Who dares enter the chamber of Ras Nsi?"

From out of the darkness a figure appeared. Tall and lean, his skin looked pale and unhealthy even in the ruddy red glow of the molten lake. His eyes were sunken and his head shaved. But the most remarkable feature was a blue triangle, tattooed in the middle of the man's forehead.

Clay turned to Hadar and asked, "Ras Nsi?"

The half-ore replied, "A bara who hunted down and exterminated the Eshowe people for their crimes against Ubato." Hadar glanced back at his captain. "That was four thousand years ago."

"You recognize that mark?" Clay asked, pointing to his own forehead.

"It's from Mezo," said the half-ore. "The holy city."

"What does it mean?"

Hadar's lip curled up, and he turned his gaze to the tattooed man.

"It means he's a criminal," said the half-ore, "and he's been banished from the city."

"Aye," said the captain. "The kind of man who gives respectable criminals a bad name."

The tattooed man walked farther into the room, around several of the prostrate dwarfs.

"Bow to Ras Nsi," he bellowed. "I command you."

"We are the officers of Expatriate, the scourge of the Shining Sea," Clay shouted back. "We take commands from no one."

The tattooed man raised his hands in the air and began chanting. His voice grew deeper, echoing off the basalt walls, doubling then redoubling as it built upon itself. Then he bit off his last word, throwing his arms out to his sides.

The shadows seemed to coalesce, unhitching themselves from the basalt and wrapping themselves around the pale, tattooed man. His body began to grow, changing shape. His head lifted toward the top of the cavern. His arms extended, turning long and wispy, unfolding and unfolding again until they looked like the sails of a pirate ship. And his fingers grew sharp, transforming into wicked-looking claws.

The man claiming to be Ras Nsi transformed completely into a skeletal, undead dragon. Clay swallowed hard.

"That's a pretty good trick for a guy four thousand years old," said the captain.

The undead dragon clawed at the ground once, and opened it skeletal mouth with a screech. Jags of lightning shot from the creature's open jaw, banishing the remaining shadows with an eerie blue-white light.

All four pirates scattered, diving to the deck. Clay felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the magical bolts struck the wall just over his head and ricocheted toward the ceiling. The magical energies bounced back and forth between two stalactites, and bits of broken stone crumbled to the floor.

A loud snap filled the chamber, and Clay looked up to see the larger of the two stalactites shake once then plummet toward him. Kicking his feet over his head, the pirate captain rolled backward. Coming to his feet, Clay hurled himself against the cavern wall, trying to make his body as small as possible.

The tip of the stalactite impacted the floor, just where Clay had been lying. The stone shelf collapsed under the weight, and the inverted mountaintop slipped sideways into the molten lake. Toppling to one side, the broken end of the stalactite crashed down atop the hardened lava island right beside the dragon's egg.

The other three pirates got to their feet, and so too did the wild dwarves.

"We'll never take 'em lads," shouted the captain.

With that, Clay jumped on the fallen stalactite and made for the other side as if he were running across a boarding plank. The blackened stone hadn't fully come to rest, and it shifted as the captain crossed it. Used to the shifting movement of the ocean, Clay took one more step then leaped over the lake of lava toward the island at its center. For a brief moment, the pirate captain hung in the air, his legs suspended over nothing but instant burning death. Then his toe touched down, and he dived forward, clawing at the solid rock.

The sharp pumice tore at his hands and shredded his pantaloons, but the tiny island was stable, and he wasn't sinking into the lava. Scrambling to his feet, he moved away from the edge and turned to help his mates.

Tabor and Hadar were already across the makeshift boarding plank. The dwarf leaped off, tumbling once then coming to his feet with a practiced flair. The half-ore was less dramatic, but his strong legs hurled him over the molten lake without much difficulty.

Mansa, however, was a different story.

The first mate had lost his balance, and he clung to the side of the slowly sinking stalactite. Right behind him, the wild dwarves had made it to the edge and were beginning to climb onto the stone bridge.

Without blinking, Clay jumped back onto the perilous basalt column.

"Hadar, Tabor, grab hold of this end."

The dwarf and the half-ore did as they were told.

With two great bounding leaps, Clay was at his first mate's side. With one hand he grabbed the back of Mansa's tunic. With the other, he hurled one of his daggers at the first of the oncoming wild dwarves.

The mangy little creature took the blade in the chest and reeled back, falling into the next dwarf and blocking the path.

With Clay's help, Mansa managed to get to his knees.

"Good enough," said the captain.

Turning around, Clay charged back toward the island, the egg, and his two other mates, partially dragging Mansa behind him.

"Shove it in," he shouted.

Hadar and Tabor didn't hesitate. Both men leaned in and pushed the stalactite with all of their might. The column made a brief grinding sound, then the end that had landed on the island came free.

Clay pulled Mansa forward and shouted, "Jump, you swabbie."

He hurled himself once again over the bubbling lake of lava. One instant he was in midair, the next he was crashing into Tabor and flopping to the ground.

Mansa had a similar landing, smashing into the solid, outstretched arms of the half-ore.

Without the support of the island the fallen stalactite turned sideways and slipped completely under the scorching lava. Those wild dwarves still standing on it fell in as well, trashing momentarily then dissolving in a cone of flame and smoke.

Clay got to his feet.

"Come on you swabs," shouted the captain "Grab the booty and get back to the ship." He looked out over the lava at the fuming dracolich. "This is a fight we can't win."

The four sailors lifted the dragon's egg off the ritualistic semicircle and carried it through the tunnel at the far end of the chamber. As they disappeared into darkness, Clay could hear the undead dragon let out a howling roar.

The egg was heavy, and it slowed their progress through the tunnel. Tabor led the way, shouting commands back to his comrades. With their prize between them it was easy enough to stay together. The four pirates ran and ran, the tunnel getting smaller and smaller the farther they went.

Around a final corner, they could see the sunlight coming in from the mouth of the lava tube. As fast as they could with the egg between them, the pirates finally made it out into the light of day. The sun's bright rays were beginning to go down.

"Let's just hope there's enough sun left in this day to save the rest of the crew," Clay said as he headed toward the thick brush. "Into the jungle."

Bowling blindly through the trees, the pirates ran with all of their might. Slowly the trees and vegetation became less dense, and the dying light of the setting sun became brighter. With a final few steps, the pirates flung their weary bodies out of the jungle and onto the beach.

Out in the open, a huge dark cloud passed over them, and all four stopped dead in their tracks, dropping the

egg-Standing before them, its unfurled wings nearly blotting out the sunlight, was the undead dragon. "No one steals from Ras Nsi," said the hulking

beast.

The undead dragon swept its wings forward and opened its jaw again, preparing to shoot lightning at the helpless sailors.

Clay reached for one of his daggers, but his fingers grasped an empty bandoleer, and he felt the pit of his stomach sink as if it were a boulder into the deep.. Behind the dragon, he could just make out the silhouette of Expatriate. That ship had been good to him. Hed miss it.

Just then the wind picked up. The palm fronds on the trees behind them began to whistle, and the sand swept back and forth in the turbulent air. The undead dragon looked around wildly, searching the sky and the beach.

"Look," shouted Mansa, pointing to the sky.

Clay followed the first mate's finger to see a yellow-orange blur streaking toward the beach.

There was a high-pitched whistling shriek, and the undead dragon reeled back, lifting one claw into the air. The yellow-orange streak transformed into a topaz dragon, its razor talons tearing one of the undead dragon's wings from its body as it collided with the beach, pinning the dracolich to the ground and throwing sand in the air.

"No one steals from Kraxx", roared the topaz, swiping its powerful fore claws across her foe's throat.

The undead dragon let out a strangled cry, trying feebly to fight back with only one wing and the rest of its body trapped under the larger dragon's weight.

"You have no wards against me out here," taunted Kraxx.

The topaz dragon bit down on the dracolich's chest and shook her head. Bits of gore-soaked flesh rained down on the blackened sand and the pirates had to cover their heads. The undead dragon struggled on, thrashing under the attack.

A moment more, and its body went slack, succumbing to the larger dragon.

Still Kraxx did not slow her assault. The topaz dragon went to work on the carcass. Tearing bits of flesh away from the bones like a hungry seagull. Littering the beach with the undead dragon's remains.

Finally, Clay had to turn away. There were some things even a pirate couldn't stomach.

Clay leaned against the rail of his ship, smiling as he looked out at the retreating volcano. They sailed northwest, around the point of the Chultan peninsula toward the Shining Sea. He absently twirled a gold piece between his fingers, and his smile grew even larger as he thought about the pile of treasure safely resting in Expatriate's hold. Not even the egg of a topaz dragon would have fetched that much coin. Not a bad couple days of work, he thought.

High over his head, the mainsail billowed, full of as much wind as she could carry. At the top of the mast the Jolly Roger flew, and at its side a new flag waved in the magical breeze. It bore the silhouette of a dragon-yellow and orange with glowing red eyes.