The Dragons of Neverwind

by K R McClellan

  A few paces in and it was obvious that we weren’t going to be allowed to see what was behind the doors. A sharp turn to the right took us through a side door of the room and into a long, dark hallway. After a short distance, we made a left turn that led us to a large, dark wooden door with a small window with three iron bars a few inches apart.

  “Nice. A room on the ground floor,” I said, my nervous humor coming to the surface. Nyssa nudged me with her elbow as if to tell me to be quiet.

  “Silence!” one of our shiny escorts barked. Another inserted a large skeleton key into the rusty metal keyhole and turned it. The inner mechanism of the lock fought against the intrusion but finally gave way with a clank. The door opened, revealing a downward stairway lit by torches.

  So much for our ground floor accommodations…

  Without hesitation, we were pushed onward, Gnath ducking to clear the door frame as we began our descent. Behind us, the door closing sounded much more ominous than it did when it was opened. Nothing sends chills down one’s spine like knowing you’re being led to a dungeon, and the door is locked behind you. I hate that.

  The stairs spiraled downward into the darkness. Every few dozen feet they would hit a landing and turn to the right to continue downward again along the next wall, repeating the process many times. There was no railing; nothing to prevent you from falling to your death if you lost your footing. The stairs seemed to go on forever.

  Echoing up from below were the sounds of screams of hapless people begging for mercy and crying in agony. They were not happy sounds; thus, they did not make me happy. At one point I honestly thought I heard what sounded like bones being broken, followed by screams that sounded as though they were coming from someone who’s bones were being broken. I considered my own tiny, fragile bones. They couldn’t hold up to very much breaking.

  At the bottom of the large square pit beneath the castle was what was obviously the torture chamber. There were racks for stretching – I wanted nothing to do with being stretched again – and pits of hot coals with pokers protruding from them. An iron maiden stood along one wall and several other furnishings that I could only imagine the evil applications of sat about the area. A fresh trail of blood that appeared to have come from a body being dragged away from the rack still glistened in the pale light.

  A passage went off to the right, and I could hear pleas for mercy echoing down the hall. Both sides of the passage were lined with doors. Most likely, the doors of cells.

  Ahead, a malnourished man with a long, unkempt beard was being dragged out of one such cell by two men and led past us towards the torture area. He mouthed the words help me as he passed.

  Our guards stopped at one of the cells and rattled through his keys. Finding the correct one, he opened the heavy creaking door. Nyssa was the first to be shoved into a cell, and the door locked behind her. Gnath was second, and I third.

  The cell was damp and dark. When my eyes adjusted to what little light there was coming through the small window in the door from the torches outside, I could see there was a bucket in the corner and a thin cot on the floor next to the wall.

  At least I have a bed.

  But the place smelled like urine and feces. I don’t mind telling you, my spirits had never been lower. At least, if there was anything of a bright spot, I wasn’t chained to the wall like I was in Ebony City.

  I sighed as I considered the situation. I took a seat on the mat and tested it for comfort. There was none. The mat was a good size for me, but poor Gnath dwarfed me twice over, in both length and girth. He was going to be less happy than I, by far.

  The large chamber was empty, save for the large throne at one end at the end of a grand red carpet. The room was void of the suits of armor that adorned the entryway to the keep, replaced by actual knights in parade dress armor and adornments. Lit by torches every ten feet high above the head of most men along both walls, two large windows split the left wall into three sections. The dark gray stone walls betrayed no warmth, only a sense of focus that the king was the most important person in the room. There was no place for anyone else to sit. They either stood or knelt before the king.

  Two figures were at the head of the room. One sat on the throne, the other paced before the king, and when he talked, his hands emphasized every point. Between breaths, he wrung his hands tightly, rolling them over and inside themselves, around and around almost fluidly.

  “It is only a minor setback, King Banderon,” Zaleus said with all the confidence a great sorcerer should display, though his pacing betrayed his mettle. “Diatsieg will be fully healed and ready within a week, and with the Wizard of Whitshire dead, there will be nothing to stop him. The entirety of Neverwind will be mine, and I will rule over it as I see fit.”

  “And just where do I fit into these plans?” the King asked, already having a good idea what the answer would be – even if the sorcerer chose not to answer honestly. The king stood and wandered over to the large window in the great chamber that held his throne, his hands behind his back. “Am I just a puppet for you now?”

  The sorcerer laughed. He respected the king for at least being bold enough to voice his all-too-real concern. The sorcerer walked up to the throne and sat in the gold-trimmed chair, testing its fit. The king turned to see the mage pounding his palms on the armrests as if to check its sturdiness.

  “Comfy?” the king asked, peeved at the sight of his domain being trespassed upon.

  “It will require some adjustment. Been many years since a real man has sat in this chair.”

  “I could have you executed for that remark, or even for sitting on the throne. I could—”

  “You could do nothing. I could turn you into a toad in the time you uttered the first syllable of your first order to the guards outside the door.”

  “So, answer my question. What of me?”

  “Oh, you are free to keep your precious throne,” the sorcerer said, slipping from the seat and walking away, gesturing for the king to retake his seat. “I have no desire for such trivial things. As long as you pay my tribute and provide me with an army and navy when the need arises, I have no problem keeping you around as, oh… what do they call it? Figurehead?”

  “Damn you, Zaleus!”

  There was a knock at the door, a guard stepped in and looked down the length of the room as King Banderon once again took his place on the throne.

  “What is it?” the king said. “Speak up.”

  “There is an orc named Dhell here to speak with the wizard.”

  “Sorcerer!” Zaleus bellowed. “I’m not a damn wizard!”

  “Please forgive me, great sorcerer. The orc named Dhell is here to see you.”

  “Do not make that mistake again! Send him in.”

  Without another word, the guard backed out of the room, quickly followed by the barbarian Dhell entering the room. Once inside, he stopped, his hands moving about as though he didn’t really know what to do with them before he spoke. Finally, he settled with just interlocking his fingers behind his back.

  “Come closer, you dolt! Come here and give me my report.”

  Dhell quickly walked forward, then knelt before the wizard, which King Banderon found to be particularly annoying.

  “The prisoners are being locked in the dungeon as we speak. As you ordered, great sorcerer.”

  “This is good news. I am happy you were able to do this one thing right.”

  “Yes, Master Zaleus. What shall I do with them now?”

  “Just lock them up. Don’t feed them for a week, let them drown in their own piss. Then I may have a chat with them… I may not. No hurry now. They won’t be going anywhere.”

  Dhell stood up backed up two steps cautiously, then Zaleus held out his hand, palm down and made a gesture as though to shoo the orc away. Dhell turned, walked briskly to the door and found his way out.

  “Pathetic barbarian,” the king said, adjusting his seating position.

  “But loyal to a fault.”

 
“I see that.”

  Chapter 35

  The young man sat against a tree, the campfire burning lightly, tiny sparks rising into the air. He thought about how hungry he was, and though he wanted to go back into the city and try his luck once again at the card table, he knew better. His last trip in there almost got him killed. Still, he was at a loss as to what to do about food. He had gone days without eating. The five d’nar he had didn’t last him very long, and the dragon claw was not the hot item he thought it would be.

  It was when both his mood and the forest around him became the darkest that he heard something. At first, he thought it was his imagination, but the sound of someone approaching became unmistakable. At the edge of the light of the campfire he could make out the outline of a figure.

  It was the image of a man in a cloak, hunched over a bit and walking with a cane. He stopped just far enough away that the boy couldn’t make out any of his features.

  “You look hungry,” the voice of an old man said, breaking the silence.

  “What’s it to you. Leave me alone. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  “Why would you want to hurt me. You are an impatient, irrational boy. You might want to think before you speak. You never know when fortune might turn in your favor. Harsh words might send good fortune off to another.”

  “What do you want?”

  The old man stepped into the light, and the boy could see that the man was old and frail. Certainly, if need be, he could outrun him. Or rob him!

  “I hear you are the one with the dragon’s talon. Is that true?”

  “It might be. What business is that of you?”

  “I would like to buy it from you. Do you still have it?”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “May I see it.”

  The boy hesitated, but after a moment, he reached into his bag and produced the talon.

  “Ah, that is a mighty fine example of a dragon’s talon. What would be your price, for such a fine claw as that?”

  “You don’t have enough money, old man. Now go and leave me be.”

  “But you have answered my question, exactly. How much. Answer, for I grow impatient.”

  The boy fidgeted a bit. What should he ask for such a rare item? He was hungry, for certain. He decided to aim high. He named his price.

  “Five hundred d’nars.”

  “That is a lot of money, young man. What would you do with that much money?”

  “I would eat, that’s for sure.”

  “Eating is always good. Five hundred will buy you a lot of food, surely you have something else in mind.”

  “What I do with it is none of your business. Do we have a deal?”

  The old man made his way over to the boy, still sitting on the ground holding the bag with the talon into the air, shaking it gingerly. The man pulled a small pouch from his bag and handed it to the boy.

  “What’s this? You carry a bag with exactly five-hundred d’nar everywhere you go?”

  “Don’t be silly. Let’s just say, I knew what you were going to ask. Count it. It’s all there.”

  The boy opened the small bag and inside were five, one-hundred-d’nar coins.

  “Holy dragon breath, I’ve never seen hunert d’nar coins before. Let alone, five together at the same time.”

  “Is it a deal? May I have the talon?”

  “Suppose I decide to keep it and take your money?”

  “You’re free to try. It would not be your smartest move.”

  “Just what are you going to do to stop me?”

  “You don’t want to try me. I suggest you be happy with your d’nar, and hand over the talon.”

  The boy thought about it for a moment, ran through some scenarios in his head, but even after every outcome he could imagine ended with him having both the item and the money in his possession, he handed over the talon.

  The cold, damp floor and walls of the dungeon area sent chills through Rika’s bones. Having to stay camouflaged for such extended periods of time drained her mentally, and physically. She felt hot and cold more intensely than she would normally and trying to remain silent while shivering had been very difficult. Ahead of her, her three friends had been led to the darkest part of the dungeon and locked in separate cells. Through all the whimpers of other captives in the dark place, she could hear one she recognized. The pathetic pleas of Gnath…

  “Hungry.”

  When the last of her friends were secured away, the head guard, the one carrying the big ring of keys, turned and walked towards her along with several guards. One of them was questioning whether the sorcerer would have the new prisoners fed to the dragon, thumbing over his shoulder back down the passage. She flattened herself as close to the wall as she could as to not be run into by one of the guards. Once he passed by, Rika followed.

  Trying desperately to conceive a way of getting the keys and letting her friends out without causing a disturbance, the only solution she could think of was to kill them all silently. Burdened by the weapons of her friends, especially the large sword of Gnath’s, she grew tired. She knew that the moment she sat them down they would become visible again. She had to make sure she was quick, and precise in order to not give herself away.

  As the two guards continued down the passage to the main chamber, the head guard turned from the passage into a little alcove where a lone torch illuminated a crude desk and chair took up more than half the space. A pen and quill sat at the corner of the desk, and few scrolls, probably official orders of incarceration or punishments from the king, sat haphazardly across the surface. The guard sat down, tilted back against the corner of the room, and propped his ragged boot covered feet on the corner of the desk.

  In the outer chamber, two other guards were talking about making ready some torture device, and what lay ahead in their day. Rika glanced back at the head guard, who now had his head tilted back and eyes closed. Rika pulled her dagger out of its sheath, and the moment she raised it, she became visible again. Without a sound, she sliced his neck open from one side to the other, cutting almost effortlessly through his windpipe making a cry for help impossible. His eyes shot open, grabbed Rika’s arm, and in that brief moment before he died, he saw Rika’s face smiling down upon him.

  He went limp, almost as soon as he realized what was going on, his head slumping backward to an almost peaceful resting position. Rika wiped her blade clean on the man’s shirt and returned it to its sheath. She decided it would be a good time to relax her camouflage and place the other weapons she was carrying on the ground. She stood there and took some deep, purposeful breaths, allowing her energy to recharge just a bit before finishing off the other guards in the dungeon. She left the keys on the head guards’ belt for the moment. No sense in carrying around something that, with the slightest jostle, would give her away.

  She could feel her body recharge as she rested. The magic that had sustained her invisibility was not unlimited, and she needed to make sure it would stay with her just a bit longer. When she felt her magic level return to a comfortable level, she again slipped into thin air and silently left the head guard’s office to make her way out to the main chamber.

  The guards were sitting on some sort of torture table drinking some frothy liquid from a dirty looking tin cup. One would take a swig, then pass it to the other, who complained that the first took more than their fair share. Then they’d dip it in a small pale sitting on the table and do it all over again. It was clear that they were getting a little tipsy over whatever swill they guzzled.

  “Hey, what ya say we see if the dragon wants some?”

  “Yer crazy. Dragons don’t like grog. Besides, he’d roast us for sure.”

  “Yah… I’m just yankin’ yer chainmail.”

  “Shut up and pass the cup.”

  Neither had any way of knowing Rika was behind them. Neither had any idea that within a few seconds, one after another in rapid succession, their throats would be cut.

  Chapter 36

  T
he old man found his way to an old, abandoned stone house. The roof had caved in a century earlier, and the floor was covered in dirt, dried and decomposing leaves, and moss. He kicked at the crud beneath his feet to discover the floor was once wood, but now decomposing as well under the damp top layer of debris.

  He sighed and made his way to an opening that once served as a window and brushing the dust and grime from the sill where he made himself a seat. From his gray coat, he pulled out the bag that held the dragon’s talon. He undid the drawstrings and removed the treasure. To the unaware, just a large trinket. A keepsake. To a mage, it was a great source of magic. He held it up to the light, marveling at the aura that only he and others like him would see. The bluish hue that radiated from the object was a sight to behold. Dragons were magical by their very existence. But the talon, for whatever reason, seemed to be the focus of the energy. In the hands of the right wizard, or sorcerer, it could raise dragons from the netherworlds. Depending on the mage, they could be good, or evil.

  The wizard looked down and again reached into his bag. After fumbling around for a moment, he pulled out a scroll. He smiled at grabbing the right one, and after setting the talon in his lap, he unrolled the parchment and reviewed the foreign words on the top of the scroll. It was a long script for a scroll with for such a simple title: Summon Dragon.

  I could hear the clank of several doors outside in the passageway, and I expected shouting to begin, the begging for mercy from my friends, and scuffling as they fought to drag Gnath to his torture session, but there was none of that. Within moments, my own door unlocked and opened. The joy at seeing my friends waiting on the other side of the door was almost overwhelming. Gnath stepped forward and took me into a bear hug strong enough to squeeze the wind from my lungs.