by Mel Odom
“We found a way out,” Sonne replied. “Two, actually.”
“Where?” Brant demanded, focusing his attention on her.
“This stream is one of them,” Sonne answered. “It lets out into a big cavern at the end, but there’s a way out there that puts you on the other side of the mountains.”
Wick reached down and helped old Lago to his feet, who thanked the little librarian profusely. The old dwarf had worn worse for the wear during his captivity as well.
“So you’re still alive?” Hamual greeted Wick.
“For the moment. There’s still the matter of the dragon.” Wick helped Hamual push a goblin body from his sword.
“What dragon?” Brant asked.
“What dragon?” Lady Tseralyn asked.
“Shengharck,” Wick responded.
“So the legends are true?” Brant asked.
“Yes.” Wick quickly sketched out the meeting between the goblins and the dragon that he and Sonne had witnessed.
“You know,” Cobner said, brushing blood from his eye, “if we could find that blasted wyrm’s hoard I bet we could all walk away from here rich men.”
“If the dragon found us,” Wick pointed out, “it’s more probable that we wouldn’t walk away at all.”
“Perhaps another time, little artist,” Brant said. “Even as strapped as we are for gold, I’m going to count this as a good day if we can simply walk away from here.”
Wick searched through the goblins and finally found his backpack amid the gear they had taken from Brant and the others. He opened the pack briefly and checked inside for the four books he’d found. They were still there. Despite the wetness from the stream that had soaked the outside of the pack, the oilskin he’d wrapped them in had kept them dry and protected.
“We’ll take the boats downstream,” Brant declared.
Lady Tseralyn joined the master thief, a small smile on her beautiful lips. “The dragon lies in that direction.”
Brant nodded. “So does the other side of these infernal mountains.”
“And what would you find on the other side of these mountains that you couldn’t find on the west side?”
“Lady,” Brant said easily, “there are far too many of Orpho Kadar’s goblin troops searching for my friends and me to entertain any ideas of staying here.”
“I could use a few more men,” Tseralyn offered.
Brant smiled. “A tempting offer, Lady, I assure you. But I’m not a man of premeditated violence.”
“You’ve been a mercenary before. I’ve felt the calluses on your hands, and I’ve seen the way you move and think.”
“I’ve had my fill.”
“So it’s better to be a thief?” Tseralyn challenged.
Brant didn’t take the bait and remained respectful. “It is for now.”
“There is much that can be done against Orpho Kadar here,” the elven mercenary commander stated.
“By attacking the slave caravans?” Brant shook his head. “No, I’m all for a trip to the nearest port in Blackgate Cove, then a ship bound for somewhere far from here. At least for awhile.”
“Then I guess this is goodbye.”
Brant swept her hand up in his and lightly kissed it as he bowed. “For now, my lady. Only for now. Had I not somehow raised the ire of Fohmyn Mhout, I might consider your generous offer of potentially dying on some goblin’s blade deep in the Forest of Fangs and Shadows. And I’ll even admit to a certain curiosity as to who your present employer is, as well as how someone like you came to be in these circumstances. But there are those pesky Purple Cloaks to consider that I thought would have surely—”
“Purple Cloaks! Purple Cloaks are here!”
Wick turned back toward the rearguard as Brant drew his sword in a twinkling.
“Purple Clo—” The warning cry broke off painfully.
Wick watched the shadows further back in the tunnel suddenly break. Mercenaries flew back toward the dock like catapult-launched missiles. A dot of orange and yellow color swiftly grew on the palm of one of the arriving Purple Cloaks’ hands. The Purple Cloak threw the burning orb and it rapidly expanded into a three-foot-wide fireball as it streaked toward the group.
“Down!” Dahvee roared, taking Lady Tseralyn to ground within his arms only a half step ahead of Brant’s own reaction.
Wick stood, transfixed, unable to move, watching as the fireball streaked straight at him.
Then Cobner reached up and snared the little librarian’s traveling cloak and yanked him down. “You can’t stand up there and take a fireball in the teeth like that,” the dwarven warrior growled. “Why, you’ll crisp up in no time.”
Wick swallowed hard and tried to find his voice. “Thanks.”
“Archers!” Dahvee roared.
The mercenary archers rose to one knee and smoothly put arrows to strings.
The Purple Cloaks charged down the tunnel, their faces grim beneath the hoods, brought out of the shadows by the light of the bonfire. One of the Purple Cloaks staggered as an arrow took him deep in the chest. The rest of the fletched missiles were deflected away by their spells. Then the archers flew backward, twisting like rag dolls.
“To the boats!” Brant ordered. “Get to the boats! We’re going downstream!”
Wick glanced over his shoulder and saw the hard look on Dahvee’s face. He’s not going to retreat!
“Dahvee,” Tseralyn said at the mercenary captain’s side, “we’re going to retreat. That’s an order.”
“Yes, Lady Tseralyn.” Dahvee raised his voice. “Retreat! To the boats!”
“Come with me,” Cobner said, yanking Wick up from the ground.
Another fireball sped by and landed in the stream. The fireball extinguished in a roaring hiss that filled the tunnel with heated white fog.
Wick didn’t think that any of them would have time to board the boats before the Purple Cloaks were among them. The little librarian dropped into the near-freezing water beside Cobner and discovered that it was deep enough to come up to his chest. He tramped after Cobner, half-dragged by the big dwarven warrior.
The volcano rumbled threateningly again and debris splashed down into the stream. Then, even as the thundering echoes died away, another din took its place.
Wick whipped his head around to look downstream, gazing in disbelief at the small army of goblinkin that raced up from the tunnel in that direction. There had to have been at least a hundred of them, all of them screaming ferociously and waving their weapons. Some of them plunged into the water after the thieves and mercenaries, but a greater number of them ran past the water to challenge the Purple Cloaks.
The little librarian looked on, totally amazed. Maybe in the confusion of sound, rumbling, and white fog from the extinguished fireball most of the goblins thought that the Purple Cloaks were the real invaders, not knowing that the slaver group had already died at the hands of the mercenaries. Whatever it was, for the moment it worked out in their favor. The Purple Cloaks were kept too busy dealing with the goblins to offer any more threat to the escaping thieves and mercenaries.
Wick grabbed the nearest boat and was about to haul himself aboard when Shengharck’s angry bellow filled the tunnel. He gazed back downstream and watched, terrified, as the great dragon raced through the tunnel toward the battle.
The tunnel was only half as tall as Shengharck. The dragon had to keep its wings folded tight against its body to make it through, but it moved as quickly as a cat along the narrow confines.
“Interlopers!” Shengharck roared. “Defilers! You’ve managed your own deaths this day!” The mighty jaws opened and flames roiled in its throat.
“Get underwater!” Wick yelled. “Dive or you’re going to be cooked!” He heard Brant, Dahvee, Cobner, and Tseralyn take up the cry as he shoved himself beneath the water. Hypnotized by the incomprehensible events, the little librarian gazed up through the freezing water so cold it made his teeth chatter.
In the next moment, flame blasted from the
dragon’s jaws, spewing out to fill the tunnel. The water around Wick lightened so much that he could see the streambed clearly. When the flame breath ended, it left dozens of burning goblins in its wake. The little librarian wasn’t sure if they’d lost anyone themselves.
Shengharck continued running, racing past them. The tunnel shook with the thunder of the great dragon’s passing. The rending talons cut through dead and dying goblins that lay in smoldering heaps along the edges of the stream.
Mind racing, Wick surfaced, pulling himself up beside the boat. He shook the water from his eyes and watched as the dragon battled the Purple Cloaks. Fohmyn Mhout’s minions had enough power to stand against the dragon even after surviving the flame-breath attack. Shengharck rocked slightly from their attacks, but its great maw flashed and gobbled down a Purple Cloak whole.
“The boats!” Brant called. “Climb in and cut them loose!”
Wick scrambled over the side of the boat and hauled himself in. His backside throbbed painfully, but thankfully was partially numbed by immersion in the freezing water. He grabbed one of the short, fat paddles in the bottom of the boat and watched as some of the thieves and mercenaries cut their vessels free. They’re too slow! the little librarian realized at once, as the boats started downstream. Shengharck will overtake us easily!
He glanced around quickly, looking at the holes cut into the wall that filled the stream. “Cobner!”
“What?” Cobner asked, about to chop the boat free with his axe.
“The stream’s too slow. We won’t reach the other end of it before Shengharck gets us.”
Cobner nodded in agreement. “There’s nothing we can do about that except hope for the best. Some of us will make it.”
Maybe. Wick wasn’t convinced. “We can do something about it.”
“What?”
The dragon roared again, then belched more flames at the Purple Cloaks. Even they weren’t going to stand against Shengharck’s wrath for long.
“If we can break those holes bigger, more water will pour into the stream. The stream will move faster.”
Cobner glanced at the funnels sluicing water into the stream. He nodded and grabbed his battle-axe, heading for the funnels.
Wick glanced back downstream, watching as more of the boats drifted away. Brant, Lago, Hamual, and Sonne yelled at them to hurry. The little librarian gazed back at the dragon still battling the Purple Cloaks. Although the Purple Cloaks didn’t have a chance, they couldn’t break off the fight either because Shengharck was totally focused on them. Will that last long enough?
Shivering from fear and the wet clothing, feeling the sodden lump of the backpack on his shoulders, Wick drew the long knife he’d found. He stared at it, then at the leather strap binding the boat to the pole thrusting up from the stream. All I have to do to get away from here is cut the leather strap. Then he looked at Cobner, already hoisting himself up over the stream’s edge. There were no other boats left tied up. And if I do, Cobner will be stranded here.
Reaching his decision, terrified of how things might work out for him, Wick stepped from the boat again and landed in the water. He pulled on the boat, moving it to the side, keeping it even against the stream’s current with difficulty. I can do this. I’m a Third Level Librarian—the most experienced Third Level Librarian at the Vault of All Known Knowledge. He slashed through the leather strap with his knife, holding the boat with one hand long enough to sheath the knife again. Then he started backing it toward the stream’s edge where Cobner was taking his first blow at the funnel system.
Rock chips and sparks flew from Cobner’s strong blade. He drew back and swung again and again and again. Fist-sized pieces of rock fell from the funnels, and the flow into the stream started to get a little stronger.
Wick discovered the increased flow also meant greater work and risk for him. The greater buoyancy he experienced had him walking on his tiptoes at times, skidding downstream inches at a time, getting further away from Cobner and almost losing the boat. Please! Please let me be strong enough!
Cobner’s axe fell as relentlessly as an executioner’s, chopping larger pieces of stone from the wall now.
Wick continued pushing through the water, occasionally shoving burned goblin corpses from his path. Then he was at the stream’s edge. The coarse rock rubbed against his shoulder, chafing him. He lacked the strength to crawl back into the boat and hold it in position at the same time. Fearfully, he glanced back at the mighty dragon, watching as Shengharck managed to trap the last Purple Cloak. The huge jaws gaped, then the dragon’s head shot forward. Even as he was being bitten in two, the Purple Cloak never uttered a word. Twisting its head over its shoulder, Shengharck gazed downstream.
No! Horror filled Wick with such mind-numbing intensity that he almost lost his hold on the boat tugging forcefully at his grip.
“A halfer,” Shengharck roared. “What are you doing out of chains?” Suspicion narrowed the dragon’s eyes. Then it shifted its attention to Cobner, still hammering at the shattering funnels. The dragon turned and started forward.
“Cobner!” Wick yelled in warning.
The big dwarven warrior took one final swing. When the axe blade connected, a two-foot section erupted from the wall. A huge stream of icy cold water shot from the wall at Shengharck’s feet.
Startled, the dragon swallowed the fiery breath it had been about to disgorge, then backpedaled almost comically from the water.
The dragon can’t stand the cold, Wick thought. In the next moment, the surging deluge poured over him, lifting the water level well above his head and lifting the boat up as well. The boat reached the end of his arm and kept going, dragging him up. The little librarian reached out frantically with one hand, managing to snare the stream’s edge barely within his reach. He held onto the boat stubbornly, afraid at any moment he was going to lose it and whatever chance he and Cobner had of escape.
Through the water, he watched Cobner step into the water with him. The dwarf threw his battle-axe into the boat, then grabbed the boat with one hand and Wick’s wrist with the other.
“Get in the boat!” Cobner ordered.
Wick had no chance at a response. Cobner lifted him bodily from the water and flung him into the boat. Stunned, Wick struggled to get to his knees, intending to help Cobner board the boat. The dwarf had both hands on the boat as it sped along the increased stream current. Wick seized one of Cobner’s arms and started pulling, desperately aware that the dwarf’s weight pulled the boat over so that water slopped into it.
Without warning, another tremor shivered through the mountain from the volcano. Suddenly, the wall where the water poured in from broke asunder. Cracks spread out from the funnel section Cobner had destroyed. In the next heartbeat, the water pressure from the underground river on the other side of the wall cast aside immense stone blocks and a torrent filled the tunnel.
25
The Dragon King’s Hoard
The area of devastation spread from the funnels that had poured the controlled flow of river water into the dwarven-made streambed. Cracks spread across the wall from top to bottom in the tunnel. More sections broke free of the wall, raising the water level in the tunnel drastically.
Wick, hanging desperately onto Cobner’s wrist, rose and fell with the boat as it floated higher and higher. “Come on, Cobner! Get in the boat!”
The dragon roared behind them. Wick looked back just as the foul creature unleashed a gout of fiery flames directly at them.
We’re dead! Wick thought miserably, but he couldn’t let go of Cobner.
Before the flames could reach them, the tunnel wall split even more, cracking along the stream now, still reaching from top to bottom in the passageway. Water shot out, dousing the flames less than ten feet away.
Wick felt the blast of blistering heat slam into his face even after the water quenched the flames. His knees thudded painfully against the bottom of the boat as the little vessel bobbed like a cork on the current. Half the time, Cobner�
�s face was underwater.
“Let go of me,” the big dwarf bellowed. “I can’t make it into the boat.”
“Yes, you can,” Wick argued, tears stinging his eyes along with the acrid stench of the dragon’s breath. “If you let go, Cobner, I swear I’ll jump in after you.”
The dwarf gawped at him.
“Now stop your bellyaching and help me help you into this boat!” Wick pulled harder, ignoring the throbbing wound in his backside, determined not to lose the dwarf.
“Well, since you’re not going to quit griping at me …” Cobner grabbed the boat’s side with renewed vigor and managed to haul his upper body over the side.
Wick seized the dwarf’s belt and rolled him into the boat, falling in beside him. They lay there for a moment, struggling to recover, gasping for breath. Without warning, the boat surged up dramatically, bringing them within inches of the ceiling. The boat’s prow slammed against a stalactite, jarring them.
“Paddles,” Cobner croaked hoarsely, pushing himself into a sitting position when the boat dropped back down a few feet. “If we don’t control this boat, we’re liable to crack up on the sides of the tunnel.”
Wick nodded and pushed himself up as well. Three paddles remained within the boat. They each took one.
“Take the right side,” Cobner said.
“The starboard side,” Wick automatically yelled over the roaring current. He’d been too long on One-Eyed Peggie to let that layman’s mistake go by.
Cobner ignored him, however and set himself on the port side of the boat. He paddled furiously, digging into the water with just enough force to barely let them clear the wall.
Wick paddled as well, sometimes pulling backward to realign the boat, and sometimes paddling backward to help Cobner’s efforts. His arms and back and hands ached, but he stubbornly held on. I am a Third Level Librarian. I have accepted the responsibility of protecting the world’s knowledge in spite of Lord Kharrion’s savagery. I will get those books that I found back to the Library.