Wexel nervously sidled his way along the narrow stone ledge between the wall and the pit edge. He couldn’t see the bottom, but he did clearly see the deep scrapes in the stone that marked where an enraged storm dragon had just clawed her way out. He then climbed over the broken rocks that were the remnants of a heavy stone slab that had blocked the end of the corridor moments before.
Ruka stood just inside the room, in girl form again, with her arms crossed, vainly trying to conceal her impatience as she watched Wexel and Hevik make their way to her. She was smiling at them in a way that Hevik could only assume was supposed to be friendly and reassuring. Even if he hadn’t just seen her as a lightning-enveloped creature of rage incarnate shattering stone, he didn’t think she could pull that off. She certainly seemed to be trying to assuage their fears, but even as a girl, there was just too much of the predator in her gaze and stance. The small lizardman supplicating at her feet didn’t help her benign image much.
“It turns out,” Ruka attempted to maintain her reassuring smile as she spoke, which only turned it into a creepy grimace, “that there was an easier way in.”
She pointed to a small opening near the top of the far wall that let in daylight. That wall seemed made of jumbled, loose stones, held up by two great beams of wood stretching up nearly fifty feet high to the ceiling of the towering chamber. The narrow sliver of afternoon light streaming in made the room bright compared to their shadowy trek here.
“I think,” Ruka said, an edge of ire creeping back into her voice as she looked down at the cowering Ratnosk, “that he didn’t want to take us around outside; he claims this way was safer than the cliffs. I believe he just dislikes daylight that much.”
“But he did deliver,” Ruka admitted, waving expansively at the small ship that dominated most of the room.
The ship had a pair of small lanteen masts, with old sails still furled around them. The sight of the boat and the faint sound of waves outside brightened his spirit a little—until he noticed the chamber’s other contents and purpose.
“It’s a tomb!” Wexel gasped.
“Of course, what’d you think? People just hole their boats up for later generations?”
Ruka looked around speculatively, then went on. “You’d be surprised what crazy stuff kings and nobles want to be buried with.”
“You raid tombs?” Wexel couldn’t keep the accusatory tone from his voice.
“Sure,” Ruka just shrugged, unoffended, “but I think someone has already beat us to this one.”
Broken chests, shattered pottery, and what looked like a partial wardrobe flung unto the mast arm, hinted at a thorough looting. But the most damning evidence was the remains of a shattered sarcophagus mixed with scattered bones. The sarcophagus had apparently been pushed off a platform on the center deck of the boat.
The boat itself sat raised on a pair of beams as heavy as tree trunks. The boat-support beams were of a kind with the outer wall supports and ran right up to them. A pair of heavy chains hung from the shadows of the ceiling and lay in a loose pile on the floor with the ends attached to the aft side of the boat-support. Probably how they got the craft into this tomb, Wexel mused.
Ruka turned over the top half of the broken sarcophagus lid, and carved there in stunning detail were the head and flowing hair of a woman. But the nose had shattered when it hit the stone floor, giving a skull-like cast to what would otherwise have been a beatific visage.
“Hmm? Anyone you know?” Ruka asked, effortlessly holding the heavy stone carving up for them to inspect.
Both Hevik and Wexel shook their heads in silent negation.
Ruka propped the half-lid up against a wall, bowed briefly to the relief.
“I humbly request the use of your boat to assist these poor fishermen in their hour of need. If you grant us this, then they shall forever honor the name of… err…”
Ruka glanced around at the shattered remains of the sarcophagus for a moment until finding what she was looking for, then finished brightly, “Lady Magdeena.”
They all stood quietly for a few moments, looking at each other.
“Well then, I guess we are good here,” Ruka said, with a faint and somewhat condescending smile at Wexel.
Her smile vanished when the deep rumbling began. Wexel hunkered down near the edge of the boat as the chamber began to shake.
“Earthquake!” he shouted.
Hevik didn’t react, he stood calmly in the open as dust and pebbles began to rain down. He was staring at the carved image of the Lady Magdeena with a bemused look. Wexel hadn’t noticed before, but in the dim light, it looked like the stone face was smiling. And with the shaking, it appeared to be barely suppressing a laugh.
Miraculously, no large stones fell from the ceiling to strike the boat, Wexel, Hevik, or their strange allies. In fact, the entire room remained mostly undamaged by the brief but violent shaking, with the exception of the back wall.
The loose stones shifted, first with a deep rumble of warning, then seemed to explode outward from the room in a tumbling avalanche. The two great beams were set in a huge, solid block of stone at the top. Suddenly, without any other support, the heavy stone fell outward like a great two-hafted stone hammer. The beam bottoms were caught, and the whole thing swung as if hinged.
Heavy chains attached to the sides of the wide stone did not slow the fall. The chains were being pulled noisily through some mechanism in the ceiling. The other ends, attached to the aft side of the boat-supports, were rapidly pulling up the piled slack.
Wexel looked at Ruka, who looked back, realization hitting them both at the same time.
“In the boat!” Ruka yelled, one-handedly lobbing the squealing Ratnosk through the air to land on the deck.
Wexel was already scrambling over the taffrail. Hevik followed with a much gentler push from behind by Ruka; he still cleared the railing by a foot and landed on top of Wexel.
Ruka had only one hand on the rail when the chains ran out of slack and yanked the backends of the boat support beams toward the ceiling. The boat and its yelling occupants shot upward.
The front of the boat-supports were hinged like the wall beams, and apparently had a locking point where they stopped. That happened a split second after the great splashing thud outside signaled the huge block striking through water to bedrock.
Boat and passengers did not stop their ascent as quickly. The boat flew up another half-foot and its passengers soared upward twice that, seeming to float for a brief instant before the spirit of earth once more asserted its pull.
Somehow Ruka used that brief moment to vault over the rail and land nimbly on the deck, almost casually keeping the two men from striking their heads, as they all came down with a crash.
The boat hit the now steep-angled beams with a bone-jarring crack that loosened the furled sails. And the boat began sliding downward, gathering speed.
Wexel was sure he heard a girl laughing. He looked with alarm at the stone relief of Lady Magdeena as they sped from the tomb. Then he realized the laughing was from Ruka.
The dragon-girl whooped as the boat accelerated down the wood beams and hit the water with a tremendous splash that covered them all with spray.
“Alright! That was amazing!” Ruka declared. Smiling brightly, she seemed more like a young girl than she had since assuming that form.
“It’s a shame we can’t do it again,” she waved back at the plunge of doom.
Wexel just groaned a little as he pulled himself upright. The ‘meep’ sound from Ratnosk indicated that he felt the same way the men did about it.
Ruka practically danced across the deck, loosening a sheet line and trying to get the old sail-cloth into position. It was the first he saw her struggle with anything. Wexel came over and tentatively tried to demonstrate, but Ruka just grinned wider and handed him the rope.
As he and Hevik set the sails with the wordless precision of a near-lifetime working together on boats, the two men finally began to feel the world right
itself somewhat. With ship and wave under them and rope in hand, they felt just a tiny speck of control return to their lives.
Ruka made her way to the aft rail, staring at the open tomb mouth.
“Lady Magdeena, our most heartfelt thanks for your generous gift!” she called out in a voice unnaturally loud for her small form. “If there is anything that we can do to honor your name, send us a sign and I vow it to be done.”
A sudden wind came up, and the one remaining garment that had been caught in the rigging blew free and wrapped itself around Ruka’s shoulders.
She held up a pretty white sundress with frills, lace, and yellow flowers on the bodice. Then she eyed the tomb and declared firmly, “Oh no, not my style!”
A distant rumble and small cloud of dust signaled the old tomb collapsing in the distance.
“Oh, all right, but I’ll look ridiculous.”
Just stepping through an amber glowing portal-ring was a golden-haired young man flanked by the dreadful sight of the hulking figure in ebony armor that still haunted Theria’s mind. She was frozen like some weak prey-animal once more in presence of the Dragon Master.
“Theramon?” Anya asked tentatively, staring with a faint frown at the young man.
“Yes,” the young man replied, “I thought I’d slip into a skin more suitable to some of my current endeavors.” He spun about like a boy displaying a new favorite shirt.
“The wise-old-sage skin was necessary for you to believe in me at first, but I think our friendship has passed beyond that now, don’t you agree?”
“Of course,” Anya replied.
The young man had violet-shaded eyes, strangely vibrant and disturbingly familiar at the same time. Theria felt she should know this human, but whenever her thoughts tried to focus on him, they skidded away in a cloud of confusion. Each time, she ended up with just an image of Scorch for some reason. What did this strange man have to do with her little one?
Other than a small shift of that faint red glow emanating from the visor slit of his full helm, the Dragon Master stood still and silent. His one gauntlet was raised slightly palm-up, fingers bent as if he was gripping something. And indeed, Theria felt the force that held her like a titanic hand.
“You’ve succeeded in restoring him?” Anya asked, glancing nervously at the dark armored form.
“Urekar is still not fully awakened yet. I have enkindled more shards of the spirit clinging to his armor with the power of an elder orb. We just need a real spark to ignite his glorious return. I left the key to that with you, but now I fear she is no longer on this ship.”
Theramon still spoke calmly, standing there smiling pleasantly, but there was an ice to his presence that was chilling.
“A minor setback,” Anya blustered, trying to maintain her normal aura of arrogant command. “She was broken; we will recapture her shortly.”
“Broke? Who told you that? Your foolish dabbler?”
The wizard Sigfus bridled as Theramon’s disdainful gaze was cast in his direction. He made a move to retort, but the princess’ hand stopped him.
“I told you, our lost prize has more layers than that. No, I’m afraid you failed. But it is not all lost. As valuable a pawn as the young dragon was in this endeavor, a far more crucial piece in the grand game was forced to expose herself in the rescue.
Theria strained on the invisible bonds that held her, but although this disturbing young human and the princess were ignoring her, the Dragon Master’s attention had never wavered.
Theramon went on, almost more to himself than to the princess. “I can sense my sister’s power at work on this ship. There are few who could sabotage the ancient Aerde Crystals so subtly that you would not notice until miles away.”
“Who?” Anya asked sharply.
“No one you need to concern yourself with,” he said, still seemingly musing to himself. “A near-perfect precog is a difficult opponent to pin down. You must make sure that all outcomes lead to your eventual victory, but that is a longer game than this.”
“And you have more pressing challenges to deal with,” Theramon went on, looking out over the ocean waters. “You have at best two days before your escaped dragon reaches the Queen.”
“To great-grandmother?” Anya asked, a slight glimmer of outward nervousness starting to peek through her confident shell.
“You are missing quite a few greats,” Theramon pointed out with cold amusement. “You of all people know the Eternal Queen Amerelis is more than she seems. If you ever want to be queen yourself, you need to get better at following my advice, Your Highness.”
“This is just a minor setback,” Anya said, gesturing toward Theria. “We can use another as a key to awaken him.”
So that was why Mallona wasn’t here!
Hearts of fire know no fear, but they know burning rage. They know revenge. Theria would use that rage to break the bonds that held her, if only for an instant. That is all it would take to snuff the life from this foul woman and her abhorrent ally. Perhaps the Dragon Master would slay her then, but it wouldn’t matter.
Theramon sighed quietly and gave an almost imperceptible nod. The black gauntlet of the Dragon Master closed into a fist, and Theria’s body fell to the deck with a resounding thud. Her breathing failed in her crushed chest; her heart-fire suffocated to a mere fading ember. Through the white failing of her sight, she saw Theramon step forward, and over the ringing in her ears she faintly heard his voice.
“This one has no value,” he said, somehow looking down on her from his small stature like an insect he was considering if it was worth the effort to crush.
“She’s still a valuable asset to my forces,” Anya stepped forward nervously.
“Your forces?” Theramon turned his cold, superior smile toward the princess. “Do you really believe you could ever truly control her with just your power and the shard? The only thing that’s held this one in check is an aberrant flaw in her psyche that causes actual devotion for her offspring. I found it fascinating how a fire dragon could have such a deficiency as maternal instinct. Completely unique, in an otherwise total spirit of destruction. That is why I restored her spawn to her and brought her here. But now,” Theramon turned his head to Anya with a look of mock sympathy, “you’ve sent that little wyrm to its death in a vain attempt to spy on your escaped guests.”
A veil of deep crimson descended on the world. The deck groaned, and the heat-blackened wood splintered with Theria’s titanic efforts to launch herself at these foul creatures. She could see the armored form of the dark master shift its stance, its arm quivering slightly with the first signs of effort to hold her. She redoubled her struggle, forcing her head up a small margin from the deck.
Anya backed nervously away, her sycophants forming up around her. But Theramon just looked back and forth between her and the Dragon Master with calm interest.
“Maybe some small value in a test,” Theramon said to himself, then turned to Theria with his piercing violet eyes. Something in that look made the flames of Theria’s heart flicker with dread. He was only a fang’s length from her quivering jaws, his skin beginning to flush from the heat. But his cruel smile was unwavering and his cold eyes showed no signs of fear.
“The story will be told how the vile little wyrm was cleverly ambushed by the brave and noble spiritblade, his powerful blades cutting through the young flesh in an instant. And before it could cry more than once for its fiendish mother, it was gone. Good cheer was passed all around, with comrades patting each other on the back at vanquishing the beast before it could ever grow into a threat.”
Scorch! She stopped her struggle for a moment and reached out for the eldritch mark she had lovingly placed on him. He was nowhere. Gone! Even dead, she should be able to track his body by that mark.
“Such fine, bright crimson scales the little one had,” Theramon went on, no amusement left in his tone, just pure cold calculation as he watched Theria closely. “The heroes stuffed the carcass gleefully in their portal-bag
next to their trinkets and turnips.
Theria grew still, her anger growing first cold, then into an inexplicably quiet inferno. But instead of releasing it, she held it in and let the fire build in pressure.
“The hide of dragon-young is the best for human footwear, you know. What better use for the remains of such an ignoble creature than on the prancing feet of a bard on stage. The scaled hide of the creature forevermore part of a motley uniform for the entertainment of jeering humans.”
Theramon began walking away, nodding slightly to the dark form of the Dragon Master as he passed. He then turned and continued. “Such is the way of heroes; those brave valiant souls so lauded in song. Heroes like those who hunted and slew your parents, and like these current heroes, the so-called Heroes of Ravenford!”
Theria erupted in a fiery explosion as her soul burst with her anger and sorrow.
Uncle Vic was clearly more than just skeptical of the fortune teller. His distrust of her was deep and personal. And Merry thought she saw an occasional haunted expression on his face when he thought she wasn’t looking. What had happened to him all those years ago as a result of some dark prophecy Elistra gave?
So, he had them hustle up that steep hill at a frantic, driven pace. In spite of his burned shoulder and the obvious pain, he climbed like a mad man. And Gully virtually bounded up the incline, with his normal limitless energy. As Merry watched them both from increasingly further behind, she began to wonder, between huffing breaths, if she spent too much time reading books.
Staring into the crystal to learn that pattern was impossible while climbing. Trying, she tripped twice, smacked her shin on roots thrice, and nearly slipped back down the leaf-covered wooded slope more times than she could count. She finally gave up, placed the crystal carefully in her pouch, and tried to catch up.
Gully bounded back down to her, as surefooted as a goat.
“Give me the crystal,” he held out his hand. “I can be up there and throw it way before you get there, slow-poke.”
Merry had a sudden image of Gully gleefully throwing away the most magical object that she had ever seen before she had a proper chance to study it.
Tales From Thac Page 37