Chapter 15: Emily and the Dragon

The air inside the Crucible was thick and smelled of metal and brimstone. Stripes of glowing magma pulsed behind thin sections of the cave walls, casting the space in a shifting red light. The rock floor warmed their feet even through the thick soles of their makeshift hareskin boots.

“By the Frostfather’s sweaty armpit, it’s hot!” Sigrid grunted, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. The leather of her top clung to her damp skin. “Feels like my Uncle Fjornar’s forge!”

“Yeah,” Emily agreed, “and it’s only going to get hotter.” She pulled at the shoulder strap of her outfit, already soaked with sweat. Surprising even herself, she recalled with some fondness of the days near the start of her adventure, when she had walked down country roads and through forest glades in the nude, the air cool and pleasant against her skin. Prolonged nudity had, perhaps, lessened her tolerance for uncomfortable clothing. She didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

The women continued through vast caverns and narrow tunnels, hoping that it would lead them to the heart of the volcano, where the dragon’s lair must surely be. Their way was lit by magma flows, which cast dancing shadows against the rock walls.

Every so often, Sigrid would stop suddenly, hold out an arm to arrest Emily’s progress and listen for danger. But they seemed to be alone.

After what felt like hours of trudging through the oppressive heat, a new sound reached their ears, faintly at first, but growing more distinct. It was a rhythmic sound, metal clanging repeatedly against rock—the sound of mining.

“There’s someone else here,” Sigrid muttered, her hand instinctively going to Grognak. “Several someones, by the sound of it.” She crept forward with renewed caution.

“I hope they’re friendly,” said Emily.

“That’s no fun.”

Emily sighed.

With Sigrid in the lead, they followed the noise through a narrow, twisty tunnel that opened into a surprisingly large, domed chamber, much better lit than anywhere they had been thus far. The source of the light was a series of glowing fissures in the floor, crisscrossing the chamber like fiery veins. The rhythmic clanging was much louder here, accompanied by the hiss of steam and the occasional grunt.

Clustered around one of the larger fissures, which seemed to function as a natural forge, were figures unlike any Emily had yet encountered. They were short, barely reaching Emily’s waist, but incredibly broad and powerfully built. Their skin ranged in color from deep charcoal to a dull, ruddy orange. Their hair and beards were uniformly bright orange, bursting from their skin like fires. They wore simple kilts made of woven fiber, leaving their muscular torsos covered only by their fiery beards. Each one wielded a pickaxe, a hammer or both—the source of the rhythmic clanging.

They were dwarves, if Emily had to guess.

Sigrid let out a low whistle. “Wasn’t expecting fire dwarves here.”

One of the dwarves, whose beard was a particularly fiery orange, looked up from his hammering, his glowing amber eyes fixing on them. He let out a sharp bark, and the other dwarves, perhaps a dozen in total, stopped their work, turning as one to face the intruders. Their expressions were stern and unreadable where they weren’t hidden by orange fuzz.

“Halt, surface-dwellers!” the leader boomed, his voice surprisingly deep and resonant for his size, echoing in the chamber. “This is the domain of the Klagstone Clan! State your purpose!”

Before Emily could speak, Sigrid stepped forward, still gripping the handle of her axe. “Hail and well met, fire dwarves of Clan Klagstone! I am Sigrid Wyrmtamer of Frostfang, and this is Emily Stone-Shell-Bearer. We’re looking for a big, old, stone dragon, and something called a Heartflame.”

Emily was grateful that Sigrid had not simply attacked the dwarves, but wasn’t totally sure that immediately laying all their cards on the table had been the right move. She hadn’t expected the Crucible to be inhabited? Would these dwarves take kindly to the idea of two surface dwellers plundering them?

The dwarves exchanged glances. The one who had spoken stroked his beard, his gaze slowly sweeping over them. His eyes narrowed, and a look of disapproval, bordering on disgust, crossed his features.

“Hareskin,” he growled, his voice dripping with contempt. He spat onto the hot rock floor, where it sizzled and evaporated instantly. “You come before the disciples of Ignis Draken, Guardian of the Heartflame, draped in the flayed hides of innocents?”

Emily blinked, confused. Her hands went up to her hareskin top. “We ... Sigrid hunted them. For food, and ... well, we were freezing. We, uh, kind of didn’t have anything else to wear. It’s a long story.”

Another dwarf, whose skin was a deep, volcanic black, thumped his hammer on the ground. “Flesh is not food! Skin is not clothing!”

“Quite right, Gunther,” said the first dwarf. “You have silenced the songs of these beautiful creatures and desecrated their remains!”

“They ... sing?” Emily asked, not sure if she should be incredulous or horrified.

“As do all living beings!” the first dwarf, who seemed to be their leader, declared. “The fire dwarves of Klagstone are sworn protectors of all life, great and small, within these sacred Wastes. We subsist on the fire-lichen that grows in the deeper vents and the crystal-salts from the magma flows. We share the vow of Ignis Draken to harm no living creature!” He looked darkly at Sigrid’s axe before lifting his own hammer proudly. “We use our tools to build, rather than destroy.”

“You’re ... vegans?” Emily blurted out, the word feeling strangely out of place in the volcanic chamber. Thessolan truly was a land of wonders.

The dwarves looked at each other, clearly unfamiliar with the term. “Ignis Draken chose harmony over bloodshed at great personal cost,” said the leader at last. “It would appear that you surface-dwellers have done the opposite.” His fiery eyes bored into their leather outfits with renewed disdain.

Sigrid, who had been looking increasingly uncomfortable and confused during this exchange, finally found her voice. “No offense was intended. But just as it is your custom to subsist on the mountain’s bounty, it is the Frostfang’s to reap the bounty of the land above, animal and vegetable alike.” She shifted her weight, Grognak glinting in the forge light. “I assure you that the proper rites were observed in the killing of these hares, and their spirits blessed by the Frost Father.”

“We do not care about the primitive superstitions of a barbaric race,” the leader said, spitting on the hot rock floor once again.

Sigrid’s grip tightened around Grognak’s handle, and Emily placed a hand on her arm. She looked into Sigrid’s eyes, pleading with her to keep her temper. A low growl sounded from Sigrid’s throat, but she remained still.

“We’re very sorry,” Emily said to the leader, tears pricking in her eyes. “It was an act of desperation. Is there anything we can do to atone?”

From the leader’s facial expression, Emily guessed the answer would be in the negative. But before he spoke, another dwarf—younger, judging by the modesty of his beard—scampered up and whispered something in his ear. His expression shifted from disgust to mild annoyance, and he conferred with the younger dwarf in a low voice.

After a long and quite animated exchange that neither Emily nor Sigrid could hear any distinct words from, the leader sighed deeply and turned back to them. “The cold-hares must be given a proper burial,” he said. “Once this is done, we shall accept your atonement.” He cast a dirty look at the younger dwarf, who was beaming from ear to ear.

“Thank you,” said Emily.

The young dwarf stepped in front of the leader, holding both hands out in anticipation. “I’ll see that the hares are taken for burial at once.”

Emily had a feeling she knew where this was going. She gave Sigrid a knowing look, at which Sigrid’s face went pale.

“Um, okay,” Emily began, choosing her next words carefully. “Thank you. Do you ... do you have anything else for us to wear in their stead?”

To Emily’s relief, the young dwarf nodded vigorously and scampered off to confer with a group of his fellows.

“Maybe it won’t be as bad as I thought,” Emily whispered to Sigrid, who still seemed shell-shocked.

The young dwarf returned, hands laden with small, strappy objects made of thick brown fibres—sandals. “These’ll keep your feet cool,” he said, handing a pair each to Emily and Sigrid. “Much more effective than skins, I can promise you.”

“Where’s the rest?” Sigrid demanded.

“Rest?” asked the young dwarf innocently. “I have no idea what you mean.”

“The, uh, rest of the clothes,” Emily added, already dreading the reply. “You’re asking us to take off our hareskins and put on ... sandals.”

The young dwarf nodded vigorously, still beaming. Leaning in close, he whispered, “Old Hodor won’t be happy I let you have the sandals, but don’t worry about it! I know how to deal with the humorless old bastard!”

“I’m not going to strip for you, you little twerp!” shouted Sigrid, raising her axe.

Silence descended in the chamber as the rhythmic clangs ceased. The eyes of a dozen dwarves instantly focused on Sigrid, their tools held at ready. The air was thick with tension.

Once more, Emily placed a pacifying hand on Sigrid’s axe arm. “We don’t know how many more of them there are,” she whispered through gritted teeth. “And we need their help to get the Heartflame.”

“They’re a bunch of perverts!” Sigrid whispered back.

Emily sighed deeply, nodding. “Just ... go with it, okay.” She reached back to undo the crude fastenings of her top, deliberately avoiding meeting the eager gaze of the young dwarf. The words of an old animal rights slogan came to her mind, “I’d rather go naked than wear fur.” It was not something she’d ever expected to say, much less act upon.

But what made her feel worse than removing her own furs was what she knew she would have to do next.

“Sigrid Wyrmtamer does not—ah!” At that moment, a shard of sharp rock shot up from the ground and sliced clean through the leather of Sigrid’s top, causing it to fall. As she grasped her chest in panic, a second shard sliced through the side of her loincloth, and it dropped as well.

“I’m sorry,” Emily said, looking away from Sigrid’s mortified expression. She let her own top fall to the ground, and then swiftly yanked down her loincloth and kicked it off. Shame ate at her, mostly, this time, from what she had just done to Sigrid.

Sigrid’s eyes, wide with shock, locked onto Emily. “You,” she spat, her voice choked with rage. For a heart-stopping moment, Emily thought the axe would swing in her direction. But under the weight of a dozen dwarven stares, she couldn’t muster the energy. Grognak’s head trailed on the rocky ground, Sigrid’s knuckles white on its shaft.

The young dwarf scooped up the skins, finally collecting Emily and Sigrid’s bracers and boots, the latter of which were exchanged for dwarven sandals. “Much better,” he said. “You are both very beautiful without the stench of death about you. For humans, anyway.”

“Thank you,” Emily said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. With an arm over her chest and the other hand covering her crotch, she nonetheless stood up straight, determined to face whatever lay ahead with as much dignity as she could muster.

The young dwarf, who introduced himself as Fimbur, beamed, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort of the human women before him. “Allow me to escort you to our village. Tonight, you are guests of the Klagstone Clan. A memorial service for the cold-hares will be held tomorrow. Your attendance is, of course, essential to completing your atonement.”

“Guests?” Sigrid finally managed, her voice tight. She was now trying, with limited success, to use Grognak as a shield for her torso. “You expect us to walk through your village like this?”

Fimbur tilted his head, raising a fiery orange eyebrow. Then he broke into an easy smile. “Don’t worry, the villagers won’t mind. Now, if you were still wearing these pelts, that would be rightful cause for uproar.” He held the hareskins out in front of his body with an absurd reverence.

“Come, come!” Fimbur chirped, already turning towards a different tunnel, clearly considering the matter settled. “The village is this way!”

When the two women still didn’t move, Fimbur’s face fell. “I didn’t want to rub it in, but this is part of your atonement, okay? Shame as penance. I had to talk Hodor down from much worse, I promise you.”

A strangled cry died in Sigrid’s throat. Emily breathed out a heavy sigh and started to follow Fimbur. With no other apparent option, Sigrid soon followed. Emily kept her arms in place over her front, while Sigrid attempted a series of different positions for her axe, finding none of them satisfactory.

The fire dwarf village was in a naturally lit cavern, shafts of sunlight filtering down from fissures high above, illuminating a bustling settlement carved directly into the volcanic rock. Houses, if they could be called that, were more like hollowed-out alcoves and smoothed-out chambers, but each was a different shape, and many were adorned with intricate carvings. The air was warm, filled with the scent of strange spices and hot stone. It was as different from the goblin towns as one underground habitation could be from another.

Dwarves of all sizes bustled about, some tending to glowing patches of lichen cultivated on rock walls, others hauling baskets of glittering crystal-salts, their fiery hair and beards a vibrant contrast to the dark stone. And every single one of them, Emily noted, was wearing at least a kilt.

The arrival of two conspicuously tall, pale, surface-dwellers, naked save for their sandals, did not go unnoticed. Work stopped. Conversations died. Dozens of glowing amber eyes turned towards them. Emily felt a blush creep from her neck to her hairline, and she could hear Sigrid making a low, strangled sound beside her.

Fimbur, however, seemed to take the attention as a positive sign. “Behold!” he announced cheerfully to the nearest group of onlookers. “A show of penitence from two surface-dwellers, Emily and Sigrid, come to seek an audience with Ignis Draken!”

A murmur went through the crowd. Some dwarves nodded slowly, their expressions thoughtful. Others simply stared. In addition to her own discomfort, Emily could practically feel Sigrid’s boiling anger beside her.

“This way to the Guest Cavern!” Fimbur chirped, leading them through the gawking crowd towards a larger, slightly more private-looking alcove. “It’s not much, but it’s warm, and the sleeping ledges are quite comfortable, or so our very occasional visitors say!”

Emily, still uncomfortably clammy with sweat, shuddered at the thought of what a dwarf who lived in a volcano might consider warm. She kept her gaze trained stiffly on the back of Fimbur’s head, studiously avoiding the eyes of surrounding dwarves and walking as quickly as she could manage.

In front of a large archway Fimbur announced as the Guest Cavern, a stout, middle-aged dwarf greeted them, her eyes widening as she took in the tall forms of Emily and Sigrid. For her part, Emily had to stop herself from gasping at the woman’s full beard, which was plaited with obsidian beads and hung low enough to cover her breasts.

“Got some visitors for you, Huldrua,” said Fimbur, bowing slightly. “Emily and Sigrid, visitors from the surface seeking an audience with Ignis Draken.”

The woman’s face broke into a warm smile and she bowed deeply to Emily and Sigrid. “Welcome to the Guest Cavern,” she said, ushering them in.

As Emily and Sigrid entered the cave, Huldrua fell back and, almost too quietly for them to hear, asked Fimbur why it was that the surface dwellers weren’t wearing any clothing. “Is the heat too much for them?”

Fimbur muttered something inaudible, indicating the skins he had been clutching to his chest. Huldra nodded sagely. Then, in a louder voice, he bade Emily and Sigrid farewell. “Have to prepare these for the ceremony tomorrow!”

The two women cast a longing look at their erstwhile clothing as he disappeared through the archway, leaving them alone with the bearded lady dwarf.

Huldrua led them through a narrow entrance hall and then down a smaller, twisting hallway into a simple, circular room with two raised stone ledges fitted with woven fiber mats. A small, naturally glowing fissure in the wall provided dim, warm light. The room did not appear to have a door—the only privacy it afforded was a couple of sharp twists in the short hallway they’d just walked through, which shielded it from the main cavern.

“I hope the accommodation will be to your satisfaction,” said Huldrua. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you need for your stay.”

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Emily said, keeping her voice even and cordial, even as her hands sweated from prolonged contact with her skin. “We would really appreciate it if you could organize some clothes for us. Something simple? Even a sheet?”

Huldrua frowned. “Fimbur told me about your penance. Those poor hares. Lovely, delicate creatures they are.” She looked Sigrid and Emily up and down. “Consider yourselves lucky. There would have been harsher penance in my day.”

Not only had their hostess given them a room without a door, but she was refusing them clothes. Emily found herself unsure how to respond. “That’s, um, well ... we’re very sorry of course. But we wouldn’t want to offend anyone. Or, well, you know it’s hardly sanitary—”

“Nonsense!” Huldrua replied. “Fimbur told me he’d announced your penance on the way here. The whole village is well aware of the circumstances and certainly won’t be offended. What would be offensive would be if you tried to get out of your penance.”

“But we’re naked!” Sigrid burst out, her voice cracking. “And everyone’s staring at us!”

“That is part of the penance,” Huldrua said. “But I think you’d get the same stares whatever you wore or didn’t wear. We do not see many humans in this part of Thessolan. You’re much taller than I expected. Even I am curious ... do you shave your faces? That’s probably why Fimbur took a shine to you. He convinced his wife to shave once. It was all anyone talked about until her beard grew back!”

Emily stopped herself from making a face. Even with Huldrua right in front of her, she was still having trouble accepting the idea of dwarven women having beards. “Human women don’t grow beards,” she said. “Well not most of us, anyway. And if you do you end up working at the circus.”

“Fascinating,” Huldrua said, stroking her beard. “I could never shave mine! But enough chit-chat, I’ve got broth on the boil!” With a curt nod, Huldrua turned around and walked out of the chamber.

Emily placed two fingers on the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment. Public nudity as a penance for not freezing to death in the snow. It was just her luck.

“A fine mess you’ve gotten us into,” Sigrid said, glaring at Emily.

“Me? How is this my fault?”

“You stripped me!” Sigrid spat. “With your bloody rock magic!”

“I stripped myself too! And anyway, what choice did we have?”

“We had plenty of choices.” Sigrid made a few aggressive swiping motions with her axe.

Emily raised an eyebrow. “Oh, of course, we should have attacked the well-armed dwarves who outnumbered us six to one on their home turf, unprovoked. Why didn’t I think of that wonderful idea?”

“It would have been more dignified,” Sigrid growled.

Emily glanced down at her naked body, considering Sigrid’s words. Could they really have taken the dwarves? Perhaps, but that wasn’t how Emily operated. “There’s nothing dignified about unnecessary violence,” Emily said. “I ... don’t agree with the dwarves reaction to our outfits, but it wasn’t worth killing over.”

“So we should parade ourselves for them instead,” Sigrid retorted. “Did you see the expression on Fimbur’s face? He was loving it, the little perv!” She sank onto one of the ledges with a groan, burying her face in her hands. “I’ve faced ice wyrms, battled frost giants, and wrestled snow trolls in their lairs,” she mumbled into her palms. “But this is pure torture.”

Emily sat on the other ledge, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Just go along with their customs, and we’ll get to see the dragon. That’s what we came for.”

“You mean the dragon will get to see us,” Sigrid retorted, sighing dramatically. “A memorial service. For hares. Tomorrow. Naked. Truly, this is the strangest quest I have yet undertaken.”

Emily smiled sympathetically. “I had to attend a merfolk gala naked, once.”

Sigrid did a double-take. “You were naked for that? You didn’t mention that before.”

“I may have ... left some of the more embarrassing details out of my stories,” Emily replied, blushing deeply.

Sigrid’s eyes narrowed. “How many other times have you had ... these kinds of experiences?”

Emily cast her mind back and began counting on her fingers. “Um, a lot,” she said. “I was actually in the middle of a bath when I arrived in that stone chamber in Castle Elid. And there was nothing to wear in that whole place! I didn’t really get any proper clothes until I got to the pirate ship. Well, unless you count the cursed mind-controlling outfit Elara gave me. But that was worse than nudity!”

Sigrid’s eyes widened. “I did not expect the bundled-up firemage I met in Eyri Abbey to have this kind of backstory. Thought you were a prude.”

“I am!” Emily said. “Just a really unlucky one...”

Just then, Huldrua returned two rough-hewn stone bowls, filled with steaming broth. “Lichen broth, seasoned with crystal-salt,” she said, passing a bowl to each of them.

Emily didn’t relish the idea of eating either lichen or crystal-salt, but the broth smelled delicious and was delightfully savory. The rich flavor was almost overwhelming after nearly a week of bland, chewy cold-hare meat. Sigrid wolfed hers down greedily and immediately asked Huldrua for seconds, the food almost taking her mind off her nudity.

“Of course!” Huldrua boomed, taking her bowl. “I love to see a guest appreciating my food!”

Following the meal, of which Sigrid ultimately ate four portions, the women turned in for the night, laying atop the firmly fitted fibre mats on the stone ledges. Blankets had not been provided, but the room was very warm.

“I guess,” Sigrid yawned, “I guess if a prude like you can get used to this, maybe it’s not so bad.” Her curled-up posture contradicted this sentiment.

“Glad to be an ... inspiration,” Emily replied, not sure she actually was glad. She lay on her back, hair piled atop her breasts and both hands resting over her crotch. The mat was surprisingly comfortable.

“I don’t know how I’m going to sleep like this,” Sigrid growled, tightening her grip on her axe. “Lightly, I s’pose, and ready to chop up any dwarf that tries to sneak in here.”

Emily questioned the wisdom of sleeping with an axe as one might with a teddy bear, but decided not to voice her criticisms. She still felt back about slicing off Sigrid’s clothing earlier, as much as it had been the only rational choice. And the idea of Sigrid defending their dignity with Grognak was not an unwelcome one, just then.

Sleep came quickly, despite everything, perhaps due to the cavern’s soothing warmth, and was long, deep and dreamless. Far from being too hot, the warmth of the cavern seemed to be just the right temperature for the two humans to sleep without blankets.

Eventually, the sounds of dwarven voices, footfalls and clanging tools indicated that dawn had arrived. Emily opened her eyes and stared up at the rough stone ceiling, highly conscious of the warm air against her skin.

Tomorrow, she realized, was the summer solstice. Her friends at Paja Abbey would be preparing for the ritual and anxiously awaiting her return with the Heartflame. This realization only heightened her anxiety.

Sigrid was already awake, sitting up on her slab and staring intently at the cave entrance, axe in hand.

A series of light, quick footfalls echoed down the hallway, and Emily had to jump to her feet to stop Sigrid from attacking the dwarf who now appeared at the entrance.

“Good morning, fair guests!” Fimbur chirped, his eyes as wide as saucers as he took in the sight of two tall, naked human women wrestling an axe. “The Rites of Passage for the Blessed Cold Hares will commence shortly in the Great Plaza! It is a most auspicious occasion! All of the village will be in attendance!”

Emily released the axe and snapped into as modest a stance as she could muster, her arms returning to the posts they’d attended throughout most of the last day. Sigrid hugged Grognak to her body, glowering.

“The whole village...” Emily repeated, slipping her feet into her sandals. “Great. Just great.”

Walking through the village was no less mortifying than the previous day. The dwarves were already gathering in the central plaza—a large, open space underneath an enormous glowing fissure that lit the space almost as well as if it were above ground. Most of the dwarves turned to look at Emily and Sigrid as they walked by, pointing and whispering to each other in low voices.

Fimbur led them to a slightly raised platform near the center of the plaza, indicating they should stand there. “For our penitent guests of honor,” he explained.

Hundreds of amber eyes bore down on them, and Emily wished, not for the first time, that her hair was long enough to cover her butt—though she had not trimmed it since her arrival in Castle Elid, it still had a long way to go. She kept her gaze fixed in front of her, above the dwarves’ eye level, her expression as neutral as she could make it. Beside her, Sigrid wore a permanent scowl, her jaw set, her knuckles white where she gripped her axe.

What made the whole thing worse was this raised platform stood exactly in line with another platform at the edge of the plaza, upon which Emily and Sigrid’s cold hareskin outfits were lovingly arrayed. Emily had half a mind to make a dash for them, and could see that Sigrid was even more keen on the idea. She gave Sigrid a stern look, receiving a pout in return. Emily knew that Sigrid blamed her for their current predicament and wasn’t exactly wrong to do so.

The ceremony began. Hodor, the orange-bearded leader, strode forward and took up a place next to the hareskins, bowing respectfully to them before turning to face the plaza. Silence fell over the assembled masses.

“Friends, clansmen, penitent guests,” he began, casting a sharp look at Emily and Sigrid. “We are gathered here today to honor the lives of our fellow beings, and to mourn the tragedy of their vicious end.”

Sigrid muttered something incoherent. Emily shushed her.

Unperturbed, Hodor continued his speech, his voice loud and resonant, echoing across the great plaza. He spoke of the interconnectedness of all life, of the special place nature provided for the cold hare, of the beauty of the songs they sang, and the grace of their movements.

“Their brief lives, though cruelly cut short,” he continued, eliciting a grunt from Sigrid, “now contribute to the Great Cycle of All Things! Nothing dies! Nothing ends!”

Hodor waxed rhapsodic about the beauty and value of all life, quoting liberally from the sayings of Ignis Draken. He spoke with such conviction and heartfelt feeling that Emily felt a pang of guilt for wearing the hares’ pelts as she had done. At the start of the ceremony, she had longed to wear the pelts again. Now, she felt that to do so would be akin to coating herself in the hares’ blood.

Sigrid, Emily noticed, was also affected, though she tried to hide it. Her stony expression had softened, and her eyes were just a little bit watery. Emily couldn’t help but smile at her companion’s sentimental side.

Finally, Hodor’s speech drew to a close. “The cold hares have joined the Cycle, as we all will. They go before us and we thank them for preparing the way. Nothing dies! Nothing ends!”

“Nothing dies! Nothing ends,” the other dwarves chanted, their low, sonorous tones causing the rocks around them to vibrate. Across the plaza, all eyes were closed, and the chants slowly degenerated into a unified, hypnotic hum that made it impossible to think of anything else. For a time, Emily forgot her self-consciousness and felt herself swept away, caught up in the ritual.

But this was not to last. The hum quietened and then died away, and as Emily returned to herself, she felt the eyes of Hodor fall upon her and Sigrid. “Nothing dies and nothing ends, but the hares’ time on this plain was unnaturally shortened by these surface dwellers, the selfsame ones who now seek an audience with Ignis Draken.”