Chapter 9: Foul Beast

The Paladins struggled up the rocky crags, the weight of their armor and their heavy shields making their progress all the more difficult. They had tied the horses up at the base of the mountain, the climb would have only resulted in broken legs, and it had taken them almost a whole day to reach the peak. The terrain here was all jutting rocks and knee-deep snow. Perilously high falls and slippery surfaces had resulted in more than one accident, but none of their number had been injured thus far.

The Knight Commander was leading the way, leaning his weight on his spear, using the haft to probe for footholds in the snow as he navigated the hazardous mountainside. He had five Lieutenants in tow, hand-picked by their superiors for the task at hand. They were sterling fighters, their combat prowess matched only by their loyalty to the Order, their faith as strong as their sword arms.

They had risen above the cloud layer now, the sky above them a deeper azure than the Commander had ever seen before, the air growing thinner with every step.

“Have you sighted the cave yet, my Lord?” one of the Paladins asked. He was trailing a short distance behind the leader of their party, the whistling wind tearing at his surcoat.

“It has to be here somewhere, Lieutenant” the Commander replied. “The reports have led us true so far, this peak is where the beast makes its perch.”

“Commander!” another of the Lieutenants shouted from the rear. “To your right, I see a cave!”

The Commander squinted through the narrow slot in his visor, spotting the telltale shadow of a cave mouth nestled amidst the rocks. He waved his men forward, the standard that was tied around the tip of his spear fluttering in the wind.

“Good eye, soldier! Keep your wits about you, according to the archivists, the dragon will be lurking somewhere deep inside the mountain.”

They climbed their way up onto the rocky outcrop, two of the Lieutenants helping up a straggler, the Paladins readying their weapons as they inched closer to the cave. The shadowy tunnel wound deep into the rock, its curving walls preventing them from seeing what lay at the end.

“Ready the artifacts,” the Commander ordered, raising his tower shield lest the dragon burst out at them from the darkness.

The Archivists had entrusted the team of Paladins with several ancient relics that would help them defeat the dragon. Chief among them was the long pike that one of the Lieutenants carried across his back, its haft forged from an unknown alloy using techniques that had been lost to time, the metal decorated with ornate banding patterns and mottling. The tip was carved from dragon horn, shaped into a deadly point that would be used to spear the creature’s heart, delivering the killing blow once it was subdued. The weapon was priceless, and there were few like it, but its true value lay in its ability to pierce the armored scales of a dragon.

Next were the tools that would deny the dragon its brute strength and its fiery breath. The Archivists had produced another relic of the ancient world from the depths of the Order’s vaults, a net woven from the silk of a long-extinct breed of gigantic spider. It had to be handled with extreme caution, as it would stick to any living thing with a bond that was impossible to break through conventional means, the strands themselves too durable to cut through with even the sharpest of blades. Once it had entangled its victim, the fine mesh would begin to constrict around it, growing tighter the more the prey struggled.

The final weapon in their arsenal was the most unassuming, a simple leather-bound book. Instead of ink, its pages were marked with the blood of a frost giant, a mythical creature that was said to have inhabited the frozen North in ages long past. The spells and incantations within carried its power, the faded text imbuing the reader with the ability to command the elemental forces of snow and ice. This, they would use to silence the dragon’s pyromancy long enough that the final blow could be dealt.

“Hand me the pike,” the Commander ordered. One of the Lieutenants retrieved it from the back of his companion, passing it to his superior. The Commander weighed it in his hand, finding it to be incredibly light despite its great length, impeccably balanced. There were no living smiths who could produce weapons like these.

“Lieutenant Gregory,” he continued, “are you certain that you can perform the incantation that will silence the dragon’s breath?”

One of the Paladins opened the clasp on a leather holster that was sewn to his belt, withdrawing the ancient tome from its protective carrying case. He opened the cover and leafed through the yellowed pages, the wind making them flutter.

“The Archivists have instructed me well, my Lord,” he replied. “I am confident that I can perform the spell.”

“Very well. Prepare the net.”

Two more of the Paladins produced crossbows, gripping the stocks firmly between their thighs as they began to crank the levers that would wind the strings back, the limbs creaking as they bent under the pressure. When they were ready to be fired, the two men armed them with bolts. They looked like training arrows, their tips dull and weighted, rather than sharpened to a point. These arrows were not intended to pierce the hide of their adversary, but rather to carry the net over it. He watched as a third knight knelt and removed his pack, fishing out a carefully sealed parcel about the size of a dinner plate. He unwrapped it gingerly, revealing what looked like a bundle of fine silk, beads of glittering moisture clinging to the thin strands.

He lifted up the spider silk net, taking great care to only touch the loops at the corners that were intended to attach to the bolts. One would have expected the howling wind to blow the net into the bearer’s face, but somehow it remained untouched by the elements, hanging in the air with an ethereal quality. The Lieutenants wielding the crossbows took up position to either side of him, and he attached the corners of the net to their bolts, the trap now ready to be sprung.

“Follow behind me,” the Commander said, making his way deeper into the cave. “Gregory, keep your spellbook at the ready and be swift with your incantation. You must not allow the dragon to use its breath. Alder, Rowen, strike true. If you should miss the beast, then we will not get a second chance. Loose your bolts at the first opportunity that presents itself, even a moment of hesitation could leave one of us dead. Once the dragon has been entangled, I shall close in and strike at its heart.”

“Chances are, the dragon is already inside its cave,” a knight to the Commander’s right added. He produced a torch and lit it with two pieces of flint, holding it aloft to light their way in the darkness. “If we should happen upon an empty lair, then we can lie in wait, and prepare an ambush for its return. Either way, we should maintain the element of surprise.”

“Dragons are said to be wily creatures,” the Commander said, rounding the first corner of the winding passage as his men marched behind him. The walls here looked like they were made from melted rock, the stalactites that clung to the ceiling broken off in places, as though something large had passed through. There was scoring on the stone that looked suspiciously like giant claws marks. “They are not the dumb beasts that some might assume, so keep your wits about you. Expect trickery, deception, we don’t know exactly what we might encounter down here...”

As they continued on, following the tunnel as it snaked deep into the mountain, there was the sound of metal on metal. One of the Paladins paused to examine the ground, the Commander glancing back at him.

“Look, Knight Commander,” he exclaimed as he knelt to pick up a coin. “There are gold pieces strewn about the floor.”

“The dragon surely came through here,” another said with a nod, “we’re on the right track.”

“Don’t stop for gold,” the Commander muttered, ushering them onward. “Your reward will be the satisfaction of serving the Gods. The beast’s hoard is destined for the Order’s treasury, not your pockets.”

There was muted laughter as they pressed onward, their footsteps echoing in the empty tunnel. It was nigh impossible to move silently while wearing armor. The Commander hoped that they would arrive to a deserted cave, so that they could plan an ambush as his brother knight had suggested, giving them more chance to take the creature unawares.

As they rounded the last bend, the Commander stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. He heard gasps from his Paladins, one of them muffling an exclamation.

“Have your eyes ever beheld such a thing?” Alder asked, his awe leaving him breathless. Before them was a cavern the scale of a cathedral, held up by rock pillars as thick around as the trunk of a sturdy oak, lit only by a ring of flickering torches that adorned the cave wall. The cave was impressive enough, but that wasn’t the sight that had everyone so captivated.

In the center of the room was a mountain of treasure, so large that the glittering coins that made up its mass seemed no bigger than grains of sand. Bejeweled crowns and scepters glittered, precious stones reflecting the wavering firelight, riches beyond imagining just sitting out in the open. Even the Commander found himself bewitched for a moment, but his mind soon turned to his holy purpose, and he steeled his heart against the wondrous sight.

“Stay alert,” he whispered, inching forward with the dragonhorn pike resting atop his shield. “Do not allow yourselves to become distracted.”

They entered the cavern proper, turning their heads this way and that, searching for any sign of the dragon. It was surely too large to hide itself, even in such an expansive cave. The shepherd that they had met down in the village and the mercenary in the foothills had given slightly different size estimates, but there was nothing approaching forty feet in here...

After a good few minutes of searching, they finally felt safe enough to let their guard down, the Commander lowering his shield and removing his stifling helmet. The Paladin that had been holding the torch set it down on the floor, the cavern was lit well enough already.

“It seems clear,” he said, turning to appraise his surroundings one more time. “Rowen, Alden, I want you positioned near the cavern’s entrance. Aim your net right across the mouth. Gregory, behind the pillar over there, try not to draw its attention lest it attempt to interrupt your spellcasting. The rest of you, on me. It falls upon us to distract it until our comrades can do their jobs.”

“Commander!” Rowen shouted, pointing behind him. The Commander spun around, turning to see a short, slight woman standing on the rock beside the pile of treasure. She had auburn hair, her clothing tattered, her feet bare and caked with dirt. She looked haggard, her green eyes sunken in their sockets. Where had she come from? It was as though she had just appeared from the darkness. A hidden side tunnel, perhaps?