Chapter 44

Day 143:

John couldn’t be sure from the distance he watched, but this dragon felt like it was the largest yet. If not the biggest, then definitely the scariest. Her head reminded him of the worgh, with sharp spines lining every contour. A ‘mane’ of more horns flared at the base of her skull, leading to a row of them dotting her spine. Her wings were folded, and every joint, including her legs was defined by a jutting tapered spike. Her scales were deep red, with shiny platinum and gold filigree accenting every spike, spine or horn. The metal decorating her body gleamed in the dim flame-colored glow.

He studied the situation from the top of a steep, but navigable slope that led into the volcano’s center. He preferred to gather as much intelligence about what he now faced as he could. It was his extra sharp hearing that alerted him to the approaching danger.

Metal on stone clanking echoed from behind him. He glanced around and found a pair of the short fully-armored figures like the ones below, descending from sentry positions above on both sides. These had spears in both metal gauntlets, and a red glow emanating from the vision slit in each one’s face visor.

Their steps were sure footed in the uneven terrain. They would reach him in only a few minutes. He had a choice to make: either enter the dragon’s lair right now, while hungry and tired from the last Challenge, or retreat and hope to make an entrance later.

He hated to turn away, but the growling from his stomach was insistent. That organ probably would’ve made the decision for him, but the dragon chose that moment to glance his way. Even without the Sight, he knew he was spotted. If this one was anything like her sister up North, she’d keep sending ever more dangerous minions after him until he was dead. No way could she have missed his portal arrival from this short a distance.

Growling to himself, he set off at a run. His feet skidded wildly on the volcanic stone, forcing him to slow down lest he slide the rest of the way on his face. Now other armored figures were climbing off their shelf-beds and moving to cut him off.

It became a race. His opponents weren’t fast, but they weren’t slow either. He began taking longer steps, trying to get ahead of them. He swerved away, keeping as much distance as he could, but the net tightened around him more quickly than he liked.

In the end, he had to sprint the final stretch. Panting, he rasped out his, “I Challenge you!” just before the pursuers caught up.

The dragon didn’t reply, but pointed at the three dwarves who were now huddled in a group. They were farther away from the tunnel entrance fighting than when he’s first seen them. There was a geometrically smooth circular crack in the floor, and the other Challengers were standing inside.

“I greet you in peace.” John panted as he jogged up.

The trio eyed him curiously for a bit before one responded in halting, badly accented Trade.

“We return your greeting, Fey. How (something) to here?”

John gulped some water. “I was at the Sapphire Dragon’s Tower this morning. She transported me here as ... a punishment I guess you’d say.”

“How did you arrange for such (garbled) travel with a dragon?” The dwarf looked intrigued.

“I made a mistake.” John admitted. “She separated me from my friends. Even if I pass this, and I’m weak from hunger right now, I’ll have a hard time getting where I need to go.”

The speaker dwarf glanced at one of the others. John wasn’t sure yet, but if he remembered appearances correctly from his trip to the dwarf city with Raiginlef, these were Dvergyr. The dwarf indicated nodded and dug into a small satchel dangling from his hip.

This one held up a lump of something gray and vaguely slimy. He mimed putting it in his mouth.

“Go ahead, Fey.” The speaker encouraged him. “It will give you energy for the coming Challenge. We are rested and well fed (unintelligible).”

He gratefully accepted the food, bowing and smiling his gratitude at the gifter. He took a nibble. It was plain, dull, with maybe a metallic aftertaste. Not delicious by any means, but not disgusting either. If it would give him energy, he’d take it.

A glance at the dragon told him they had a few moments. He took that time to wolf the rest down, washing it with a couple swallows from his canteen. Typhon hadn’t said anything when he snagged it before walking to the portal. That and the climbing moccasins (tucked into the now empty pouch) were all he’d retained from the island.

“My thanks.” John said when he was finished. “My name’s John by the way.”

“All who Challenge steal the dragon’s strength.” The speaker replied. “I’ve met few Fey, but your people are known for their friendship with mine. So, I have (something something) to aid you. I am Jarrolim, a squad leader of the Grimaker Warclan.”

Jarrolim pointed at the one who’d given him food. “This one is Thraylin, he speaks no Trade yet.”

John bowed. “Thraylin. My thanks again.”

Thraylin smiled back and nodded happily.

Jarrolim indicated the last Dvergyr. “This is Odak, one of our scouts. He speaks the Trade Tongue, but not often.”

John gave this one a moment’s study. Odak stood balanced, his eyes never stopped scanning the area. A veteran scout then. The dwarf noticed his scrutiny, and an eyelid flickered in what might have been a wink. While Jarrolim and Thraylin both carried a sword and large (for their size) round shield, Odak’s accouterments included two shorter swords sheathed on his back, a buckler, and more knives spread over his body than John could count.

A shout from behind made them all turn. One of the armored figures was on its stomach, still struggling to stand back up. What John assumed was another scout vaulted the downed enemy and sped for the dragon. Behind this dwarf, the sounds of melee faded for a few moments. Then John picked out the stomping of feet, a lot of feet in unison. There was a crash, and a second one. The dragon’s armored troops toppled like bowling pins as a line of dwarves plowed them under.

This new group had a front rank as wide as the tunnel they’d exited, with more ranks coming into view behind. All marched in sync, and carried Roman-style rectangle shields, with a slight curve around the wielder’s body and a large brass boss in the center. The panels were decorated with a painted-on, stylized red and black lightning bolt, accented with golden rays like a sunburst.

These dwarves were a mixture of Dvergyr, Dwimar and a third type that John assumed were the Powry. Their armor was also a mixture of black and red, with gold insignia on what looked like the officers. Unlike the Grimaker dwarves, who had open-faced helmets, these soldiers had rigid face shields. The first rank’s visors were lowered, but those behind were raised as the individuals gawked at the dragon’s lair.

Ten lines of ten exited the tunnel, followed by a small motley assortment of mixed race individuals. Behind them were another group of dwarves, all Dvergyr wearing armor matching those John was standing beside. This group held about twenty-five dwarves, but carried themselves with a similar level of professional bearing as those leading the way. While they were all shorter than he was, and more muscular, he didn’t see any beards longer than an inch or so. And none had giant axes or war-hammers. All the weapons he could see were shorter, stabbing blades, though each and every person John could observe had a small-handled shovel of some kind attached to either a back or belt. This was no ‘Lord of the Rings’ army, but two groups of highly skilled warrior-engineers (miners).

The motley group consisted of a central figure wearing gold and black, linen and leather armored robes, with his hood thrown back. He was very dark skinned, like an African back on Earth, with a shock of long, white hair collected into a tail behind his neck. A smooth wooden staff, inlaid with metallic runes and capped with steel tapped the ground with every step.

Accompanying him were several others. A Dvergyr in ornately gold-accented armor, identical in style to the front troops’ own equipment, marched directly at that formation’s rear. An ugly gray-green giant of a man with a horrific under bite, a body-builder-defined bare chest, and a tattooed, shaved skull wore chopping blades like the ones John had taken from the orcs to give Sygraid, and rested a bloody spiked mace on his shoulder. Trotting at their heels was the final member of the coterie. A slight, slender person in an all-black, hooded robe. No other features or items were visible on this one.

The dragon’s reinforcement troops raced from their niches on the walls, but only formed a ring encircling this new force. The largest formation stomped to a halt as a blown whistle’s sharp staccato sung over the rhythmic stomping. At a second signal, everyone in formation, and the mixed group trailing all spoke as one.

“I Challenge you, mighty Gyor’nych!”

The Ruby Dragon nodded, raising her eyes to examine the Grimaker dwarves following. That group’s ragged “We Challenge you too!” wasn’t as impressive, but met the requirements all the same. Silence hung pregnant in the air as the dragon surveyed the crowd.

“You have brought me an army?” She sounded pleased, surprising John. “Thank you for this gift! How did you know that I love war?”

The dark-skinned man made his way around the square of troops. He bowed low to the dragon once he was in front of her.

“I have long studied your magnificence.” The man smiled in a flash of white teeth. “Though none could speak of the ordeal, the ones who returned displayed the bonds of brotherhood normally seen only in veteran soldiers who have campaigned together for years. From this I deduced that your Challenges involve group activities of some kind. So, I have brought you a group of one hundred of the finest dwarf troops anywhere in the world. All are personally selected by their centurion, and all wish to face your trials.”

“Legionnaires.” Spat Jarrolim. “I should (phlegmatic spitting). Of course those traitors would flatter the kin-stealing dragon.”

The other three (now that the lone scout had joined them) Dvergyr muttered unhappy comments in their own language.

“Why don’t you like them?” John asked out of the side of his mouth.

“Because they serve the Mage King there as his siege breakers.” The unnamed one growled. “It was they who helped him take Citadel Crossroads. Good, hard-working Dvergyr and crafty Dwimar now having to bow to a human king. It’s not right. All because of those boot-licking clan-less dishonorable filth!”

John nodded sagely, keeping an eye on the Mage King. There was something about the man that he couldn’t remember...

“I am impressed by your ingenuity.” Gyor’nych complimented the King. “I will reward you appropriately, if you survive. There are three levels of Challenge you may complete.” The dragon continued. “Each with its own reward. The first level is the least taxing. It will be a Task I judge a group of you to have a slightly higher chance of completing than failing. The reward for this level is an increase in one category of your physical or perception traits. The increase will be to both the maximum trainable level possible for you, and to your existing capability. The amount of increase will be a function of how well your group completes the Task. The second level will be a Task I judge you have a higher chance of failing than of finishing, though not significantly so. This Task will include the first level Task. You must complete all to succeed. The reward for this level includes the increase for completing the first level Task, plus each person will receive an item, weapon or armor piece with great power, of a type you chose, made from the finest materials known to us. Finally, the third level will be a Task I judge you have a truly unlikely chance of accomplishing. As with the second level, this Task will be cumulative with the other two Tasks. As with the other reward, in addition to those already mentioned, each person will have the opportunity to receive either the ability to perform what your people call magic, drawn from my own power, or a nearly perfect resistance to all heat, both environmental and flammable. Which you receive shall be your choice, though if you chose the first option, you will be offered a further choice of three minor abilities, two more improved powers, or one significant power. Developing further skill with this gift will be up to you. Now, how may wish only to conduct the first Task, and no more?”

Silence descended on the soldiers and warriors gathered there. John saw a few nervous glances around, especially from the far Grimaker group. But no one was willing to speak up.

Even the dragon’s surprise was evident. “None? Truly? There is no person here who wishes to do just the first Task?”

She waited another minute. “Very well. How many wish to do the second Task?”

This time the nervous rustling in the disciplined Legionnaire ranks was audible to all. But none of those spoke up. Behind them, about half the Grimaker dwarves stepped forward.

“We’ll do the second one!” One of them shouted.

Head nods and spoken agreement seconded him. This bunch looked like a split between gray-streaked beards and youthful stubble.

“Very well, you shall begin first.” The Ruby Dragon replied. “Are there any others?”

Her scan was perfunctory this time. “Then those doing the first and second level only may remain. The rest must go up to my mountain’s slope and camp there. My servants will fetch you in groups of ten when it is your turn.”

Gyor’nych pointed a claw at the slope John had staggered down just a few minutes before. The Legionnaire commander took control over the hundred-man group while the dragon gestured for the King to stay.

“You there, scheming one,” the Ruby Dragon hissed, “what is your name, that you have your own troops willing to risk death for my rewards?”

The King bowed again. “I am called Morgan the Mage King, ruler of a small mountainous region between the Anvil of Heaven and the demon-filled Hell’s Basin. These troops you see here are my very best, selected from a Legion of nearly a thousand dwarves. All have been banished by their own people, so I have taken them in and given them a home.”

John’s heart thudded in his chest. He’d forgotten that the Mage King had the same name.

The dragon studied Morgan, then glanced at the Grimaker dwarves who weren’t doing just the easier two Tasks.

“Is there enmity between your soldiers and the other dwarves who were here first?” Gyor’nych asked.

“There may be some, yes your greatness.” King Morgan admitted.

“Then you will camp farther down the slope outside.” The dragon commanded. “Some of my servants will station themselves between your dwarves and the others who will be closest. They shall go first, and depart before you begin. From this moment on, all Challengers are under my protection when not actually conducting the Tasks. Any who break this truce will be eaten. Do you understand, Mage King? Will you discipline your force?”

The Mage King bowed low. “I will, I promise you. Mighty dragon.”

“Then go.” She dismissed him. “I will tell the same to the others.”

The King bowed one last time, and made his way up to the exit at the tail end of his dwarves.

Gyor’nych gestured to the Grimaker dwarves who were hanging back, by the tunnel entrance. Motioning them forward her voice boomed across the entire mountain interior.

“You who wait to do my Tasks, wait just outside my lair, at the top of the slope. Do not pass my servants who mark the place between your camp and these troops of the Mage King. Any who cause trouble will be eaten? Am I clear?”

One Dvergyr, with an entirely gray beard stepped forward. He didn’t bow.

“We will wait, and keep to our own. My oath, dragon.”

The dragon shooed them away. “Go.”

Not knowing what else to do, John walked over to the Grimaker group gathering in front of Gyor’nych.

“Dragon, mighty one,” he stammered, “I am not with either of these groups. Where do you wish me to go?”

The dragon eyed him with an annoyed expression, he thought.

“You were the one who came through the portal a little while ago, are you not?” She frowned.

“I am, though not of my own free will.” He admitted. “I was sent by your sister, Typhon at the end of her Challenge, as a punishment.”

He had no idea how much the dragon’s talked, but from what they’d said so far it wasn’t ‘never’. It was a better policy to be up front about why he was here than for her to hear about it later. He had an inkling that if they wanted to, the dragons could tip the scales in either direction.

Gyor’nych sneered. “My sister? Bah! She thinks herself so clever, making the Task into a ‘growth experience’. No—c ... anyway, I have no concern for whatever ‘punishment’ she wanted. Now, you did not speak up, do you still wish to do the third level Task?”

“I do.” John assured her.

The dragon thought for a minute. “Then you will return with the first of these dwarves who also wish all three. Yourself and ten of them will come when summoned. Do you understand?”

John bowed. “I will, great dragon.”

She dismissed him with a wave of a claw.

As soon as the last dwarf exited the caldera, a dome of rock sprang up to cover the entire interior. Two of the armored figures, John assumed the same two who’d chased him inside earlier, were stationed between the Grimakers and the now-closed entrance. Another line of the servants stationed themselves downhill from them, half facing up the slope and half facing the sea.

Jarrolim introduced him to their War Chief, Orisal.

“Thraylin,” John pointed, “gave me some food, because I haven’t eaten in several days. Thank you for the aid.”

Orisal grunted. Thraylin told the Chief a few things in their own language, which Odak seconded by John’s estimation.

His voice held skepticism. “They say you claim to have traveled from the Sapphire Dragon’s Tower directly in less than a day. Is this true?”

“Yes, Chief Orisal, I did. The dragon sent me, like I said earlier as a punishment for violating one of her rules.”

Orisal grunted again. “How?”

John turned around, eyes searching.

“There!” He pointed. “Do you see how the rocks come out of the ground, looking like a broken arch?”

It was just beyond the line of Gyor’nych’s servants, and not readily identifiable as what John described.

“I do not.” Orisal sounded annoyed. “How do you travel using a broken rock?”

“Do you know the human custom of the funeral stones?” John tried.

Orisal nodded. “This I know.”

“Well,” John attempted to explain, “the stones are actually doors to another world, and connect with each other. I used one to come here from my world, which is really far away. Apparently the dragons can control them, because when Typhon sent me through I had no choice but to come out here. Making matters worse, it broke when I did, so I can’t even use it to go back.”

“Your story is not very believable.” Orisal shook his head.

Odak spoke to the Chief, interrupting him.

“But my son says the dragon knew you had done so.” The Chief continued smoothly. “While she is a vile kin-stealer, we’ve never known her to lie. As you seek to steal her power, like we do, I offer you more food, if you wish it. The same as what my nephew gave you.”

“I will, and thanks again.” John accepted the offered rations. “Why do you call the dragon ‘kin-stealer’?”

Orisal’s face turned bleak. “This was once our Hall of Heroes. Protected by impassible mountains from the foul Prince of Darkness, it served as a tomb for the greatest of our kind who ever lived. It was also a place of great power and learning. Enchanters and other Makers waited decades for a chance to learn and practice their craft in that place. Then, when the dragons arrived, the evil Gyor’nych,” Orisal spat to the side, “destroyed the College above and took the Catacombs for herself. Now, the dead’s enchanted armor serve as her servants, while their remaining power fuels the Ruby Dragon’s own. This is why we call her kin-stealer.”

“Wait,” John thought over what the Chief had told him, “why only use the armor? In the North, the draugyr undead are possessed by the spirits of deceased heroes.”

Orisal shook his head, sadly. “The Peak Kingdom is a place of much strife. The Powry necromancer-lords do this with their dead, raising them again to serve as guards for their mountaintop fortresses. That’s why the Dvergyr and Dwimar shun them. We do something else with our deceased. A dwarf’s Clan will place him in their own crypt, enchanted with the death-runes. These will cause the body to contract, solidify into a small measure of precious metal. Once the process is complete, the Clan will remove the metal and add it to their ancestral vault. What each clan does with it afterward varies, and is no one’s business but their own.”

“And the heroes’ armor?” John prompted.

Orisal’s face grew longer. “Long ago, when this was the Great Hall, our dead were interred in the crypt wearing their family’s armor. When the contraction process finished, the resulting metal was added to the armor in the form of an enchantment. As you might imagine, many of these grew powerful over many generations. Heroic deeds were less uncommon. After being nominated by Clan Matrons, and never those from the hero’s own Clan, the Conclave of Clans would decide if the person was worthy. If so, they were given the hero death-runes and placed in the Hall, still wearing their legendary suits of armor. The Hall Masters harvested the heroes’ platinum remains and their great spirits for use in our most momentous and powerful constructions.”

Orisal stared at the two sentries barring their way back inside. “When the evil dragon commandeered the Catacombs for her lair, she used all the precious metal to decorate her body. She used this process somehow to steal the enchanting power remaining and animate the heroes’ armor sets. Everything within the Catacombs is now bound to her, much like an enchanted weapon can be bound. We have tried for centuries to discover a method for breaking her hold, so we can retrieve our ancestors’ remains and do them proper honor. None have had any success; all pieces return to the Catacombs within a day, just as a bound weapon returns to your side.”

“So, you steal her power as a way of taking your ancestors back.” John summarized.

Orisal nodded grimly. “We do. And we long for a chance to strike back for her dishonorable theft.”

“I’ll bet.”

John’s stomach demanded more when another dwarf held out additional rations. He gratefully accepted two more helpings from the Grimakers and ate while the dwarves talked quietly. Their tone reminded him of the team room, back at his unit before they would depart on a high risk mission. A wave of homesickness welled up, and he had to fight it back down.