The Kiss From a Dragon

by C. D. Pennington

  After what seemed like hours, Cerana had safely negotiated a good three-quarters of her way to her target ledge with relatively little in the form of trouble. She was getting used to the required movements and had found a good, orderly way of progression along the sheer face of the wall. Not once had she looked down. And not once had there been any sign of more denizens of the volcano.

  So far, so good.

  But as she steadied herself in two good footholds and took a tight grip with her left hand, disaster struck as the next metal bracket she needed was missing. Whereas the previous handholds had been two at a time – one for each hand – this time there was only one, and the brackets were not quite big enough for her to get two hands on.

  Panic rose again. Her legs shook so hard she feared her feet might work their way out of the holes. The next hand bracket along was too far out of reach to safely grasp, and dismay washed over her like a wave.

  I can reach the bracket, she willed herself, not allowing the sinking feeling in her heart to envelop her. She forced determination to take over once more.

  I can reach the bracket.

  Cerana knew that if she stopped to consider this, she would never do it; so she took another huge gulp of air, gritted her teeth and pushed off with her right leg with all her might, bypassing the missing bracket, straining and reaching for the next one.

  I can’t reach it!

  She had to let go of the bracket she gripped in her left hand to reach further. For an instant, she had no grip on anything until her left hand grabbed the handhold where her right hand had just been. Thankfully, she caught it cleanly. In the same motion, she pulled her right foot from the hole and stretched her groin across the wall, the foot miraculously finding the target of the next foothold. She could now reach up and grab the next handhold.

  But her relief was shortlived. Her heart skipped a beat, and she shrieked as she pulled the loose bracket clean out of the wall. Her momentum forced her backwards, and it took all her effort just to hang on to the one bracket she still gripped to avoid falling to her death in the molten river below. Instantly letting go of the metal peg that had come away in her hand, it dropped like a stone and plopped into the orange liquid, the metal glowing bright red as the deadly river absorbed it.

  Cerana threw her flailing right arm across her body and grabbed her left forearm as tightly as she could, holding onto the one safe bracket for dear life. With all the pressure on one hand, she felt her grip loosening and her strength fading.

  It was at that point she realised she was going to die.

  No longer caring about stealth, she yelled in pain, terror and effort as her sweaty fingers slowly released themselves from the bracket and her grip was lost. Yet out of nowhere, a strength and determination she did not know she possessed took over her. Cerana instinctively leapt from the footholds, breaking clean away from the wall and almost flying, her body spread-eagled in mid-air. She strained with every sinew and somehow grabbed the next set of brackets cleanly as her body thumped back against the rockface. There she hung for a few seconds as her flailing feet scrabbled to find their holes, but found only rock.

  Yet someone must have been watching over her from the heavens above. Somehow, her feet finally sank into their target holes, and for the moment, she was safe again.

  Gasping in huge lungfuls of air, dripping with sweat, and shaking like a leaf, she hardly dare move from her position. She had successfully negotiated her way this far, but her miraculous escape from death had shocked her to the core. Cerana now clung to the wall, unsure if she had anything left to make it to the ledge that was now so close.

  She knew she had to move soon; the effort from gripping the brackets and tensing her legs in the footholds was draining her fast, let alone the almighty scare she had just been subjected to. But she had to continue, for Esteri’s sake if nothing else. Cerana knew that she was her sibling’s only hope, and the thought of her beautiful sister and the horrors that she may be faced with seemed to spur her on and give her strength once more.

  Praying that the rest of her ascent to the ledge was met with no further obstacles, she set off once more, using every reserve of strength, will and determination she possessed.

  Each movement towards her goal was now a laboured effort. She grunted with each exertion; every inch closer she moved was more demanding than the last. It took her just as long to traverse the remaining few feet to the ledge as it had to get the point where she nearly fell.

  Yet make it, she did.

  Exhausted, tearful and on the verge of collapse, she slowly and painfully placed both her arms on the solid ground of the upper ledge. With an almighty effort, she hauled her sore and bruised body up out of the footholds and onto the high pathway leading between two openings in the rock. She collapsed onto her back, chest heaving and dripping with sweat, and there she lay for several minutes, recovering. Yet she knew she could not linger here; she had to keep moving. Cerana had already seen two goblins walk this same path she now lay on, out of one cave entrance to another. They could easily come back, or others may follow the same path. Struggling to her knees, she wished she had more time to recuperate, but knew that rest was not a luxury she could afford right now. She rose to her full height with a grimace and wiped more sweat from her face.

  The next decision she had to make was which way to go now she had made her ascent. She stood before the opening from which the goblins had entered. A quick glance showed her another corridor of rock that bent round to the left. Across the metal bridge from where they came was another opening of the same size.

  The bridge was around thirty feet long and looked solid. The goblins had crossed it without a care in the world, so Cerana figured it must be safe. Metal bolts secured the walkway onto the volcano wall on one side, and on the other was a sheer drop into the lava river below. A thick length of rope acted as a handrail connecting two upright supports at either end. It was the only thing that would prevent a person from falling straight into the deadly river, although Cerana did not think much to its overall level of safety.

  She quickly decided to cross the bridge and hope the passageway into the rock would lead her further into the chamber. Summoning some more reserves of will and strength, she walked to the start of the bridge and tested its stability with a tentative foot. The bridge moved not an inch as she put her weight down onto it, and as the larger goblins had passed so easily, she was as confident as she could be. Grasping the rope for support, she nervously stood on the bridge, making her way across with short, shuffling steps.

  Just as she reached the end of the metal walkway, a goblin silently emerged from the opening, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw her on the bridge. The look of surprise on his green face made him pause for a moment before drawing a shortsword from a scabbard at his belt. Cerana felt her heart sink as a wave of terror froze her to the spot, staring wide-eyed at the goblin as she paced backwards onto the bridge.

  The goblin was shorter than Cerana, yet taller than Varros. He wore a boiled leather jerkin, leather shorts and boots, and a helm with a T-shaped slit for his eyes, nose and mouth. His small blue eyes glared at Cerana with venom, and he snarled through a set of wickedly sharp teeth. He took a step towards her, keeping his sword pointed at her head. Cerana drew her daggers, and the goblin flinched.

  “Let me pass,” she hissed, the words escaped her mouth almost without her knowing. His sneering face seemed only to be amused by her boldness. But her bravery was short-lived as two more goblins appeared behind him, instantly drawing their swords.

  She knew the fight was inevitable.

  Cerana stepped backwards carefully as the first goblin followed. Then he made his move. He lunged at her, raising then swinging his blade downwards towards her neck. Cerana stepped back and across, towards the wall, blocking his attack with her dagger. Steel clanged on steel as the blades met, and the goblin glared at her before quickly springing forward and swiping again. This time, Cerana swayed out of its way, but before she co
uld counter, the goblin launched another violent swing at her head. Had it landed, it would have split her down the middle. Instead, she crossed her daggers above her, the goblin’s blade landing between them with another loud clang that made her ears ring. She shoved his sword away from her with a grunt of effort, her strength surprising him. He hesitated, which was just long enough for Cerana to kick him hard in the ribs. The force sent the shocked goblin sprawling over the rope barrier, arms and legs flailing uselessly as the screaming creature fell to his unavoidable death.

  After seeing their comrade fall, the two other goblins attacked together. The metal bridge was just wide enough for them both to fit on, but only just. The one nearest the wall struck first, screeching as his blade stabbed towards her. Cerana fended it away with her dagger and quickly sidestepped, just as the second goblin sent a flashing blade inches from her nose. They snarled in unison, and the first one lashed out again. But this time, Cerana’s parry sent the goblin’s sword towards his partner. As they stood so close together on the bridge, the sharp steel sliced through the top of his partner’s thin, sinewy arm, causing him to scream in pain.

  The first goblin was so shocked to witness the unintended wounding of his ally, he momentarily paused. Cerana saw her chance. And she took it. She swung her dagger at his throat, blood spraying everywhere as the deadly blade cut through the scrawny neck and arteries it contained. The goblin died almost instantly, falling in a crumpled heap on the bridge as a pool of blood quickly spread over the metal and dripped over the edge.

  The injured goblin had fallen to one knee, clutching his wounded arm. Blood was pouring through his fingers and trickling down his arm. He glared at Cerana as she stood over him.

  “Finish it, bitch,” he growled, refusing to beg for his life.

  She marched over to him, intent on doing just that. Yet just as she raised her dagger, it was she who now hesitated.

  A sudden, overwhelming sense of sadness and remorse gripped her, out of nowhere. Recent events flashed through her mind: she had been directly involved in the death of Pelan Corr, albeit that was not her fault. She had murdered Civilus Blackwood, pushed one goblin to his death and slit the throat of another. Now she was about to end the life of one more. What was happening to her? Was this how far she was prepared to go to save her family?

  By becoming a murderer?

  Of course, there was provocation. And the likelihood was, the creature in front of Cerana would not hesitate to slit her throat should the roles be reversed. But was that a good enough reason to kill again? The hand that held the dagger aloft dropped to her side, and she stood there, panting heavily.

  The goblin started to laugh.

  “Go on, do it!” he taunted. “What’s matter with ya? DO IT!” He laughed again, an evil cackle that rang in Cerana’s ears and seemed to get louder and louder. But then he stopped laughing, and stared at her with wicked little eyes. A grin appeared on his thin face, widening by the second. Nonplussed, Cerana could only stare back at him, not sure what to do next.

  Then she realised with horror that he was not grinning at her.

  He was grinning at what was behind her.

  The sound of the slowly tightening bowstring sent a shockwave of terror through her, and she closed her eyes in dismay as realisation dawned. Cerana turned slowly to see that fifteen feet behind her, three more goblins had emerged from the passageway. The tallest one had nocked an arrow to his shortbow which was pointed straight at Cerana’s head.

  They had her now. It was over.

  Distraught, she knew of only one option available to her. She threw down her daggers, the steel clanking on the bridge. Cerana fell to her knees in abject defeat and held up her hands, interlocking her fingers behind her sweat-drenched head.

  CHAPTER 47 – Deep Regret

  The only sound that reverberated through the enormous cavern was heavy, laboured breathing. It had taken the goblins years to construct the vast room, and it spanned four-hundred feet long, a hundred feet tall and two hundred feet wide. They had doubled it in size after it was first discovered by the mage Moriallaj, deep within the volcano that had laid dormant for centuries.

  But the goblins were changing that.

  Soon, the volcano would be powerful enough to become active once more, and the huge room they had constructed was not just an empty cavern any longer.

  It was a prison.

  Dramilath was once the leader of the most powerful force the world had ever seen – the mighty black dragonflight. Now she was the last of her flight remaining, and her daughter Coviche was the only other living dragon in existence. But Dramilath had spent the last few months of her life as a captive. Deep inside the bubbling volcano she was kept, entirely at the mercy of the mage Moriallaj.

  How much longer she would be of use to the mage, she did not know. Each passing day she wished that she would be put out of her misery and killed, for Dramilath knew that she would never be released.

  Each day, she grew weaker; her breath – her precious breath that was so important to the mage - became a little more laboured. Since her capture, she had been given no food or water. She was kept alive by the substances the little green insects injected her with, whatever it was.

  The thought of her daughter made Dramilath awash with sadness. She knew that she would never see her again, for as soon as Moriallaj had all he wanted, he would kill her - or just leave her to die. The power of the dragonstone was too great even for Dramilath, so Coviche would have no chance. And it was the power of the artefact that had helped to both capture and hold her. As long as the dragonstone was active, her powers would remain fully depleted. She was unable to transform to her human form, and therefore her magics were rendered useless. Even in her current state – a massive, three-hundred-foot-long dragon – she was as powerless as a new-born baby. Even the chains that held her down were pointless, as she had not the power to even move. Yet the vicious little creatures that held her felt much safer if she remained shackled to the ground.

  Massive, thick chains encircled her entire body, pinning her magnificent wings to her sides. A huge collar connected to a short chain tethered her long neck to the ground. Two more collars bolted to the floor stopped any movement from the forty-foot long tail with its arrow-headed tip. The goblins had even chained her mouth shut, so terrified they were that they would be incinerated with her fiery breath, or devoured by her foot-long, razor-sharp teeth. At her full might, she would have snapped the chains and bonds as if they were mere lengths of cotton, but the power of the dragonstone was so great, she would not have been able to get up even if she were unshackled. The goblins would be perfectly safe if they removed every bond that restrained her, but they were not to know that.

  Her deep yellow eyes gazed blankly at the cavern wall as once again, Dramilath lost herself in her thoughts. There was little else for her to do except think these days, and wait for the next time they would come to her and take what she had unwillingly harvested for them.

  She thought about the dragonstone, and just how in hell Moriallaj had obtained it. As far as she knew, there had only ever been two in existence. One, she had destroyed herself whilst it was inactive, the only time a dragon could so much as approach it without being left as weak as a kitten. The only other stone was purported to have been buried deep underground, far enough down as to negate its effects entirely.

  Legend said it resided in a place that was known only to one solitary member of the black dragonflight – and after his death, its whereabouts died with him. So, unless there was another in existence that was unknown to even the dragons, Moriallaj must have somehow recovered the one remaining stone, thought to have been lost centuries ago. And its power now held the mightiest force in the world as a feeble captive.

  Dramilath still could not believe how foolishly and easily she had allowed herself to be captured by the mage. Such was her excitement and desire to believe what he spoke of – and he had been extremely convincing, as well as possessing more knowledge
on the matter than he could otherwise have known – she fell for it and walked straight into his trap.

  Long ago, there were rumours within the dragon world that a new flight had emerged as a contender to the ruling and authority of the blacks. Before this, none of the lesser flights – red, bronze, emerald or otherwise – had neither the power nor the size to challenge the blacks, such was their dominance. Alleged sightings of massive albino dragons had been reported, and rumour had it they were breeding and raising an army the likes of which the world had never seen.

  However, none of the investigations the black dragonflight conducted had returned so much as a sniff of evidence to support these claims. Before long, the sightings and rumours seemed to fade away to such an extent that the threat was altogether forgotten about, and centuries passed without further concern.

  Until one day, an envoy of the mage Moriallaj somehow found his way to where Dramilath and her daughter Coviche had managed to remain hidden for over a hundred years. Still to this day, Dramilath could not fathom how the little goblin had known of their whereabouts. Despite their best efforts, interrogations and spells, it seemed that somehow even the goblin himself did not know exactly where to go to find them. He just got there. Dramilath’s best guess was that it was the work of Moriallaj’s magic, but how he knew was also a mystery.

  The envoy brought with him a sealed scroll containing a message from the mage himself. It spoke of a discovery that could potentially change the world forever – the spellcaster claimed to be in possession of a juvenile albino dragon. Even more remarkable, a male albino dragon. It would mean the only way for Dramilath or Coviche – the last two remaining dragons in the world, and both female – to continue the line of dragons. If the juvenile were to survive until it was mature enough for mating, there was a chance for the dragons to survive once more, rather than becoming just another part of history once the two remaining females left the earth.