by Sam Ferguson
He looked down and watched as dying flames flickered out from the leviathan’s mouth and the beast twirled through the air well over a thousand meters to crash onto the hard, frozen ground below. Upon impact, the crystal serpent shattered into a million pieces, scattering and skittering across the tundra in all directions.
Gorliad let out a deafening roar and then turned his fierce gaze to the orcs and their torches. He narrowed his eyes and flew toward them. He was breathing heavy from the fight, but he was too angry to care about that.
A wry smile turned the corners of his lips upward as he saw the torches flicker and scatter. The orcs no longer held ranks. They had seen the leviathan fall.
Only one stood firm.
It was a large orc atop a chariot drawn by those strange, brutish beasts. He called out in a strange tongue, but was no doubt urging the warriors to stay.
Gorliad went straight for the orc king. A single ball of flame consumed the orc and reduced him, his chariot, and his beasts to ash. The orcs screamed and cried out, scrambling as fast as they could to run from the winged fiery death. The burgundy dragon did not let many escape. He swept left and right, bathing the tundra, and the foothills beyond, in fire and cutting the ranks of the snow orcs to a mere fraction of what they had marched with.
“These are my lands!” Gorliad cried. “To enter them is to bring death upon yourselves!” WHHHOOSH! A tsunami of flame ripped across the land and swallowed two hundred orcs in its wrath and fury, and then he turned and went after another group of fifty. Another blast of fire and nothing of them remained. By now the orcs ran in all directions away from the beast, abandoning weapons, shields, and anything else that weighed them down. Gorliad twirled magnificently, covering the whole area in fire and wiping the stain from his lands.
When he finished and all of the orcs had either escaped or been reduced to nothing, he hovered in the sky and growled. “I am a dragon, and I rule these skies.”
Chapter 30
Siravel moved into the council chamber. Her chest heaved and cramped, causing a horrible ache throughout her entire body. She coughed, producing a horrendous sound between a snarl, a sneeze, and a cough. She could taste the blood deep in her throat, but none came up to her mouth. She blinked her eyes and moved toward the pile of treasure in the room. She hardly noticed the drones patrolling the entrance, and she certainly didn’t realize that one of the drones was absent. All she could see was the pile of healing ores and jewels. She pulled herself toward the sweet music.
She slipped under the jewels, using her wings and tail to slide the tinkling treasure over her. The melody overcame her senses. The sweet music tickled her ears and soothed her weary body. The melodies that played upon her mind now reminded her of something, but she didn’t know exactly what. She closed her eyes, burying herself completely in the soothing pile. She let her mind wander, trying to find the memory called up by the treasure’s song.
Perhaps it was similar to something she had sung once. Yes, that was it. The music she heard now was like a song she had sung a long time ago. She thought of Beleriad and smiled. It had been a song for him, a song for her second chance to seal Geldryn’s love and heart to her. She relived the times she had sung with the black hatchling, smiling as she listened in her mind to the tunes she had sung to him. Only, there was a problem. None of the melodies she could recall matched any of the songs she had sung for Beleriad.
The treasure played its tune louder now, creeping into her mind entirely. With the treasure’s help, her mind recalled the exact song. It wasn’t one she had sung to Beleriad at all. It was her first song that she had sung to Gorliad. The tune had been so sweet and full of joy. Her mind then heard the little burgundy hatchling sing in answer to her melody. A pain ripped through her chest then. At first she prepared to have a coughing fit, but that was not it. The pain she felt now was not physical. It was the cold ghost of regret. She tried to banish the thought, but the treasure would not change its melody. It was impossible to escape the memory.
A tear fell over the right side of her face.
I did only what I had to do. He turned maim, and by law cannot inherit. To surrender then would have been to lose Geldryn. No, I did no wrong. I provided a new prince. In Beleriad are my wrongs made right. As sleep overtook her, Siravel’s mind did yet wrestle with her conscience.
It was a week before she woke again. The treasure had done its magic to her body, restoring her strength and banishing the frailties brought upon her by age. Still, she emerged from the treasure as quickly as her body would allow for it continued to play the melody that harrowed up her soul. She darted out from the pile, spilling gold and gems every which way over the floor. The coins and jewels sparkled under the torchlight as they danced and bounced through the chamber.
The queen snorted and blew a puff of smoke out from her nostrils. She took in a deep breath and stopped. Some gut-wrenching decay assaulted her nose. She turned her gaze to the floor, looking for blood or a sign that perhaps something had died in the room. She found nothing.
She followed the scent toward the entrance used by the nursery master. The odor grew and intensified the closer she got to the door. She put her snout down near the small space under the door and caught a whiff so powerful that she recoiled from the door.
Siravel reached forward with her right foreleg and opened the door. She snarled when she saw the half-decayed form of a drone lying in the hallway there. The flesh had fallen from the top of the animal’s body, exposing the spine and the top portion of the ribs. The once supple, tight skin was now bloated, black with rot, and squirming with maggots. A brown and green sludge formed a ring of ooze around the corpse.
Still, the skull was intact.
The queen reached in and took the skull in hand. With a pop it came loose from the rest of the remains. Siravel forced through the stench and took in a breath. She then blew fire into the dead animal to read its final thoughts.
In reverse order she watched as a flash struck from above. Then the drone moved back, sprinted backwards toward the treasure pile. It caught sight of a dwarf running away from the pile of treasure. Even from behind, Siravel recognized the captain of the hunters. Forlean held a spear as he ran.
She had seen all she needed to see.
She extinguished the flame and dropped the head to bounce along the floor.
Under normal circumstances she might call upon Ceadryl to hunt Forlean down. Then again, hunting the traitor herself might enable her to drown out the remnants of that cursed melody which reminded her of Gorliad.
The mighty she-dragon tore through the mountain in a hot fury. Her mind raced as to the reasons Forlean might have been sneaking about in the council chamber. While none of the myriad reasons she thought of made sense, she did know that Forlean had spent a long time working with Teratheal to hunt atorats. Perhaps Forlean was motivated by revenge for Teratheal’s death. Then again, even that seemed a weak reason to risk certain death.
Siravel thought of the few lesser queens that had remained after Teratheal’s death. Perhaps one of them had convinced Forlean to work with them.
The fires in her grew hot, bubbling to the surface with every breath. Smoke and sparks flew out her nostrils. Dwarves and dragon moved quickly to get out of her path. When she reached the exit she took to the skies and flew out to the north.
Her keen eyes scanned the ground, searching for any hunter. Of course they were not easy to find, but that was to be expected. It was late evening before she found one of the drake-riders near a stream. She descended to rest near the startled hunter and without a single word she formed the connection with the she-dwarf.
The dwarf went rigid and the drake shied away, squeaking helplessly as the she-dwarf shook violently. Siravel forced her way into the dwarf’s mind. She scanned and searched for any knowledge about Forlean, where he patrolled, how he worked, and where he preferred to sleep. When she found those things, she broke the connection abruptly. The female hunter fell to her knees and gasped
for breath.
Siravel flew off to the south, aiming for a particular area in the forest next to an old beaver dam and a demolished beaver house. Her anger propelled her quickly through the air. When her shadow blotted out the moonlight over the beaver home she saw Forlean lying inside the roofless mess of sticks and mud. The dwarf squirmed, but didn’t wake until she dropped down over the huddled dwarf.
Forlean startled and reached for his spear. A sharp talon went through his wrist and pinned his limb to the dirt.
“Traitor,” Siravel snarled.
Forlean averted his eyes before catching her gaze. “So you know,” Forlean said resignedly.
The queen slowly reached forward with her other foreleg and pinned Forlean’s head between the sharp tips of her talons. “I am about to know all.”
With his other hand, Forlean tossed a strange wad into his mouth, chewed once, and swallowed before the queen noticed what had happened. “You will get nothing from me,” Forlean said with a smile.
“Fool,” Siravel snarled. “Poison will not save you, nor whomever you are protecting. I can pull your memories even after death.”
Forlean laughed hysterically and pulled a small, purple flower out from his pocket. “Do you know what this is?”
Siravel narrowed her eyes on the flower and sniffed it. There was no fragrance. In fact, there wasn’t even a scent from the pollen. She looked to the dwarf and saw the hunter’s pupils dilate to four times their normal size.
“Is done,” Forlean said. “You git nufin now.” A line of foamy spittle bubbled out over the dwarf’s lips and oozed over his chin.
“No!” Siravel shouted. She shook Forlean’s head and caught hold of his eyes. Within an instant she formed the connection and dove into the mind. Instead of finding the normal catacombs and memory routes, she saw nothing. There was only a cloudy, dark fog in the dwarf’s mind. She could tell the creature wasn’t necessarily dying, but its brain was. Whatever the flower had been, it destroyed everything in a matter of seconds. Not only could she not find why Forlean had stolen his way into the council chamber, but she couldn’t even find more recent memories for the current day. It was all gone. Worse than that, the cloudy fog reached out and tickled her own mind through the connection. She had no choice but to retreat from the dwarf’s mind.
Siravel broke the connection and in a fit of rage she drove her talons through Forlean’s skull. Blood and bits of flesh fell out from the several holes when she retracted her claws and let the corpse fall. She then consumed the dwarf and the old beaver home in a wash of flame. She took back to her wings and began the flight home.
Off to the south she saw the bright aurora twinkling and dancing in the distance. To her, it seemed a sign that the Aurorean mocked her attempts to maintain control over the mountain.
Chapter 31
The next decade passed, showering the Aurorean’s blessings on Gorliad and his dwarves. They dug mines, built dens, and fashioned tools and machines the likes of which are commonly found in any prosperous dwarf hall. They amassed wealth and treasure enough to help Gorliad rest and recuperate between frequent battles with the orcish hordes throughout the years. The creatures spawned like feral rabbits, it seemed, spawning ten for every one slain.
The dwarves also grew in number. There were marriages and births. Gorliad enjoyed the honor of officiating in some of the first few marriage ceremonies, and bestowed great riches upon the newly-wed couples so they could fashion for themselves a private den to call home, decorated to their particular likings and taste.
In truth, Gorliad was a king like no other before him. He shared in the work of the mountain, digging alongside his dwarves and fighting off would-be invaders as the occasion demanded. So too, did he share in the wealth. Contrary to a dragon’s nature, he took for himself only a small share of the new treasure and let the dwarves use the rest. Yet for all of this, his mountain was no less expertly decorated than Geldryn’s. The dwarves used gems and inlay to dress up every room. Tables and columns were carved of black and red granite, with weaving designs cut into them and crowned with many precious stones and metal.
In this way, Gorliad’s mountain began to sing to him no matter which chamber he entered, for the gold and silver sang their melodies everywhere. Still, there was one treasure that Gorliad longed for.
Peace.
The orcs continued to move in, along with the occasional ice-wraith or ogre. While none of them presented an insurmountable threat now that the mountain had been established and fortified, it was wearisome, and the forests and tundra remained treacherous, deadly places for any of the dwarves to roam. In some ways, Gorliad feared that his dwarves would eventually become unhappy confined to their gilded cage, no matter how beautiful or easy life might be inside.
Hunting was also an ordeal that could only be undertaken with Gorliad’s help. For a dwarf to hunt without the dragon would invite an attack almost without fail.
For this reason, Gorliad called a council with Fenerir and Hermean in his private chamber.
“I have done everything I know to claim this mountain,” Gorliad said. “Yet something is lacking.”
“Perhaps it is just part of the trials,” Fenerir said. “No one can say you are not sacrificing everything for us, and all of the dwarves are happy with you.”
Hermean sighed and tugged at his beard. His face, which in years past may have worn a smile regardless of the topic, held the same somber expression that had become the norm as of late. “We are missing something,” he said.
Gorliad nodded. “I feel it too.” He looked up to the mosaic above him of jewels in the image of the Aurorean. “Perhaps my claim to this mountain is invalid,” he offered. “Perhaps it is not meant to—”
“No,” Hermean said resolutely. “I refuse to believe that the Aurorean would lead you, lead all of us, here to this mountain only to take it away. That is not how it works. I refuse to even entertain that as a possibility.”
“Then what?” Gorliad asked.
“I will go back,” Hermean said. “I will go to the mountain. We know there is something in the prince’s chamber. I will find the answers there, and bring them back to you.”
Gorliad shook his head. “To do so is to risk death. Beleriad is now seventeen. He will be thick in the middle of his flying lessons. That will mean he, and his guards, will be moving along the mountains.”
Hermean nodded. “Believe me, if I thought we could avoid it, I would. Yet, here we are, a decade after you defeated the Burork and the leviathan, yet we do not hold an official claim to this mountain. The void still sends its minions at us in droves. Even if we are able to survive the never-ending onslaught, we will never truly be able to enjoy the lands. The forests crawl with scouts, and wretched frost-spiders have moved into the foothills to the east.”
“The spiders have reduced the buffalo herds,” Fenerir put in.”
Hermean nodded. “The caribou to the east are set upon by ogres as well.”
Gorliad’s eyes widened.
The hunter put a hand up in the air. “I have scouted the area and found a couple of pockets. Two in one cave, three in another. They dot the landscape and prey upon the unwary.”
“Then there is likely no other way,” Gorliad said softly.
“I would go,” Fenerir offered.
Hermean nodded. “I know what I am looking for. It is more logical that I return. You have never seen the inside of the mountain, and we cannot both go.” Hermean then turned to Gorliad. “And you can’t go because that would leave us to depend on our own strength.”
Gorliad nodded. A long, heavy sigh issued forth from the dragon, pulling a long, thin wisp of smoke out from his nostrils. “Then go, and may the Aurorean smile upon you.”
Hermean left, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
The ever-loyal drake rose from the shadows near the back of the chamber and followed Hermean out.
Hermean then left the mountain and stood looking over the frozen tundra a
nd forest below. He took in a deep breath of the cool, morning air and let it invigorate his body.
The drake moved next to him and bent down to allow Hermean easy access. The dwarf mounted his steed and patted its neck.
“Let’s get on up,” Hermean said softly.
With a sudden burst of power the two leapt from the mountainside to fly out over the forest and tundra. They hung along the clouds retracing their path that they had taken some ten years before. They passed along the same rivers, valleys, and hills that they had crossed before. Even now, he could feel the very land below him squirming at his presence. Despite Gorliad’s victories, the tundra had not been cleansed of the void, and it did not recognize its new conqueror.
With that in mind, Hermean and his drake only stopped to rest when absolutely necessary, and they stayed on the ground not a single second longer than the drake’s wings needed. After a while, when they finally reached the burnt forest where the frost trolls had attacked, Hermean looked down and surveyed the charred, scarred land.
Even now there were large swaths of blackened earth, yet amidst the ruins of what had been destroyed sprouted new life. Small pine trees rose up from the scorched earth, bringing the promise of new hope to the valley. A herd of deer mulled along the saplings, nibbling the tender shoots of new grasses and bushes. The sight brought a smile to Hermean’s face.
“So perhaps we can tame this land after all,” he told his drake. As they continued on, there was no sign of any frost trolls. Nothing remained to prove they had ever existed here in these parts. The mountain beyond the reborn forest was also peaceful, save for the tempest of snow swirling through and over the peaks. They flew through and then made camp upon the same hill on the north side of the mountain that they had camped at those many years ago.
Hermean and his drake brought down a caribou. The drake set fire to a pile of wood that Hermean gathered, and then the two ate their fill. The next morning they continued on.