by R. E. Fisher
The guards escorted them from the room and began herding them toward a waiting wagon, where they climbed in and sat down on benches that ran along each rail. The tattooed man and the half-elf sat on one bench, and Winston and Ollie sat on the other. As they sat staring at one another, one of the guards went back into the dungeon.
“So, what do we call you two?” Winston asked the dour pair as he sat smiling.
“I’m Helor Koo,” the half-elf simply stated. He looked to his friend, who just rolled his eyes and shook his head in exasperation. “This is Jehosaa,” he added, realizing his friend wasn’t going to say anything.
“I’m Winston, and this is my friend Ollie,” Winston replied. “He’s okay once you get past all his exaggerations of the truth. He tends to blame others for his poor choices, but he’s a really nice guy once you get to know him.”
“Shut up, shrimp!” Ollie hissed at him. Turning to the other two prisoners, he said, “I only met this shelfling yesterday. He tried to steal my purse; he’s a little thief!”
“I’m not a thief, I’m a Reunioner,” Winston whispered as he leaned forward toward the other two men.
“Not a very good one, in my opinion. But he is a great liar, I’ll give him that,” Ollie finished.
Upon hearing that the shelfling was a thief, Jehosaa looked at Helor. “We might need him; he could be useful.” He then turned to Winston and asked, “Can you pick locks?”
“I don’t know; picking a lock would be what thieves do. As I said previously, I’m not a thief! I’m a Reunioner! However, were there a locked door between my found treasure and the rightful owner, I can assure you that I’d do whatever it takes to get that treasure to its owner,” Winston stated with a certain degree of confidence.
“Oh, brother,” Ollie breathed quietly to himself.
“What about you?” Helor asked Ollie. “What do you do?”
“I just arrived here about 3 months ago, and I learned to swing a mace about 4 weeks ago. I don’t know anything about your realm or its customs. Big help, huh?” Ollie said sarcastically.
Jehosaa leaned over and whispered something to Helor, who looked at him and quietly replied, “Do what you want, but I’m not carrying him back here.” Jehosaa looked at Ollie and grinned slightly.
Staring at Jehosaa, Ollie asked nervously, “So what do we have to go get—and why?”
Carion sat high in the rafters, safely out of the way of the dwarves, watching Laz as instructed. He needed to find out where the other one was before he could return to Jeresette. But they were speaking of what he considered “dwarvish crap,” not about the other outworlder, so Carion was only slightly paying attention. Even demons got bored sometimes.
The moons were high as Dumas entered the barracks. He looked to Laz’s bunk and saw that it was empty, as was Ollie’s, which he already knew it would be. He turned to leave, wondering for a moment where Laz might be. He looked again and saw that most of the dwarves were away as well. He knew where he would find them, so he headed in that direction. It was just as well; as it concerned the dwarves to a small extent, depending upon how they felt about their cousins. He made his way to the blacksmith’s forge, and sure enough, they were gathered around it, drinking ale and swapping stories. Upon nearing the group, Dumas observed Laz staring at the glowing embers within the forge, lost in his own thoughts. As Dumas neared, the dwarves acknowledged him with various greetings, arousing Laz from his thoughts—and Carion from his as well.
“I’ve been looking for you, Dumas. Where have you been? It’s important that I talk to you,” Laz stated as he stood up.
“I know. I’ve been trying to find out if Ollie made it back into the city after he rode away. We were following his tracks on our way back, and we assumed that he had; but when he wasn’t in the barracks with his belongings, I went to find out where one of my men was. I realize you’re not soldiers, but still, I’m responsible until you two leave.”
“What did you find out?” Laz asked.
“Well, you’re not going to like it, lad. He was arrested.”
“For what?”
“Some sort of misunderstanding.” Dumas continued, “It gets worse.”
Laz looked at Dumas, awaiting the further explanation he knew was coming; Dumas paused and looked to Sterling. “He was arrested for assault and a debt unpaid, both him and a shelfling named Winston. I don’t know this Winston, but apparently it was his debt that Ollie was arrested for. Once they were arrested, the magister told me that he had sentenced them to a recovery punishment. This also concerns you, Sterling; a chest of dwarvish gold had been in the treasury but was stolen by someone, and they were sent to recover it.”
“What? How did dwarvish gold come into the possession of the city treasury? We’ve had no trade with the city for almost a hundred years,” Sterling replied.
“I don’t know. I’m just relaying what I have found out so far. My men are still asking questions to find the answers to some of this.”
“I’m not sure how—or why—the city was in possession of it, but the magistrate said that a thief made off with the chest, right from under the watch of the king’s guard. He was a tall fellow with graying rust-colored hair, wearing heavy but quiet leather armor. It looked old and nicked up, from the report. How he got in and out of the treasury is still a mystery. That description, though, came from a guard who died shortly after giving it to those who found him.”
“What does this have to do with Ollie?” Laz asked.
“He, this Winston fellow, and two others were sent to retrieve it—or face time in the dungeons for their crimes,” Dumas said.
“And where is this chest located?” asked Sterling, yet at the same time Sterling looked to Tightbeard and commanded, “Arouse our brothers and have them ready themselves for travel.”
Tightbeard smiled and headed toward the barracks along with those who had been sharing the forge—apart from two of them, Axe Redbeard and Grimbeard, who headed toward the stables to ready the horses for their journey.
Puzzled, Dumas looked to Sterling and asked, “What is your intention here?”
“To go get what belongs to us. Or our kin, anyway. And if we can help get his friend back safely, we will do that as well. So where are we going, Dumas?” He smiled reassuringly to Laz.
“Well, I’m going with you, then,” Laz stated firmly.
“And if you take the chest, Sterling? What of the prisoners’ fates? Or what of Ollie’s fate with the magistrate and the crown? It’s dangerous. They are headed to the Valley of the Dragons,” Dumas added, looking at Laz.
“Why do you think they are headed there; did the magistrate tell you this?” Sterling asked.
“Yes. He told me that a man of that description was seen carrying a chest casually over his shoulder and simply walked out though the city gates before the alarm had been given. Rust- colored hair and leather armor. A chest full of coin would require someone with great strength, and this was no orc, troll, or giant, according to the description. Nor did the gate observe any wagons or horses leaving the city carrying a chest. What does that lead you to believe it was?” Dumas asked Sterling.
“Nay, I have trouble believing that explanation,” Sterling answered.
“A little help here…not a resident until recently,” Laz interjected a bit sarcastically.
“Dragon,” Dumas answered.
At the mention of the word dragon, Carion leaned forward, peering down over the rafter beam with rapt attention. He needed to let Jeresette know that the outworlders were going to be chasing a dragon. He doubted that his master would want the two outworlders getting killed before they found the sword he sought. He paused, waiting to hear the rest of their conversation, knowing that much of what they would say was most likely going to be meaningless—but he felt that he must, in case his master asked him.
“Excuse me; a dragon? Like a big, scary, scaly reptile? Breathes fire? That kind of dragon?” Laz asked.
“Among other things,” Ster
ling replied, causing Laz to pause. To Dumas, he added, “But it makes sense. They do covet their own gold, but especially gold that belongs to others. However, it’s quite a bit less dramatic than what the legends and stories say that the beasts do to gain it,” Sterling pointed out.
“Pardon my lack of knowledge, but how does a dragon walk anywhere, carrying anything, without being seen or anyone even wondering what the hell he’s doing?”
“Because they can shapeshift into human form when they wish to. Well, once a day, anyway,” Dumas answered.
“What the hell? So how do you tell them apart from anyone else?” Laz asked.
“Because of their eyes. They can shift their form, but they can’t change their eyes. That’s why they appear in heavy, helmed armor. On the rare occasion that they do appear, that is. They use the helm to hide their eyes,” Dumas answered again.
“Didn’t you say this person was wearing leather armor?” Sterling asked Dumas.
“Yes, but the guard didn’t see his face. He only managed to see him walking away from where he lay on the ground, from what I could gather,” Dumas replied.
“Okay, now I have a ton more questions, guys,” Laz stated.
“Save them for the journey; we’ll have plenty of time. It’s a long way to the Valley of the Dragons,” said Sterling.
“Well, regardless of how or why, that was where they were sent, and I’m going with you. One, because he is my student, and Ollie is nowhere near prepared to deal with something like that; and two, it sounds like fun.”
“No, it doesn’t. It doesn’t sound like fun at all! Sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll—those sound like fun. Not this!” Laz responded as he turned to get his gear for the trip.
“I can’t let you go along, Laz. You don’t know anything about what we may face,” Dumas stated.
“Try and stop me, fuzzball,” Laz threatened as he left to gather his equipment and horse.
Sterling and Dumas just looked at one another, then they, too, went and gathered their equipment and prepared to leave.
Shite, Carion thought. A long journey. He hated long journeys. What in Asmordia was the advantage of being a demon if you had to walk everywhere in this cursed realm? He began to crawl along the rafter, making his way out of the forge, and rushed toward the nearest building to return to Jeresette and let him know of this development. As he slipped behind it, a small puff of smoke appeared and he was gone, leaving behind the acrid smell of sulfur.
Carion arrived within his master’s keep. The fire and heat were a welcome relief from that cold plane that the humans and the rest of them called home. He walked from the receiving chamber his master had built toward his master’s throne room. The dark, unlit corridors and silence were refreshing to the minor demon. He had grown tired of being forced into the Realm of Light, unable to feed on them or wreak the havoc he so enjoyed. Upon his arrival, he had reverted to his normal form, his taloned claws creating sparks on the sulfur-filled stone passageway with each step he took. Size was relative there, and as such, he would always be less than his master until he somehow managed to take his kingdom from him—but that didn’t diminish the fact that the minor demon still stood more than thirteen feet in height. It was a number he had become rather fond of because of his observations of the humans. He had found them suspicious of anything having to do with that particular number.
His rows of metallic teeth ached from their disuse; he decided that before he was sent back to the Realm of Light, he would have to find some unfortunate imp and feast upon it. Then, maybe, should he have time, he’d find all his succubi and have a gloriously carnal evening with them. His thought was to mimic the humans in their intimacy, but substituting pain for their pleasure. Driving his talons into the flesh of his chosen succubus, pushing them deep within its flesh rather than along the footboard of a bed. Perhaps he would have them while they knelt on their hands and knees on a bed of nails; or perhaps glass, rather than the down of some fowl? Maybe he would have them kneeling in a few inches of molten stone, their hands nailed to boards with him penetrating them as painfully as the nails would. Biting the flesh from their backs and necks as he did so. Perhaps there was something to those humans after all. It was, after all, the depths of their own darkness, hidden in the recesses within them. He had seen the antithesis of these things, when he had managed to peek in upon their thoughts and souls, and it gave him these ideas. Or had they polluted him, as he had hoped to do to them? Visions of ecstasy were forced from his thoughts as he neared the throne room, listening to his master bellow his dissatisfaction at some other poor bastard that had fallen under his rule.
Carion walked into the room and approached Jeresette, bowing as he did so. The rough scales of his body slipped below one another to accommodate this seldom-performed act, making a grinding sound as he moved. “My allegiance to my master,” Carion bellowed, ensuring that his master heard him.
“Yes, yes…what have you found out?” Jeresette asked him, ignoring the greeting of esteem his servant had used.
It was then that Jeresette felt the summoning of the mage. He ignored it, knowing the mage could wait, and choosing to ignore the pact that he had made as a “dragon” that held no sway over a greater demon lord such as he.
“I have been spying on your prey, as you instructed. They will be traveling shortly to meet with the other outworlder,” he began, but Jeresette cut him off and shouted angrily, leaning forward toward Carion.
“Then why are you here? I need to know the location of them both. I would have them as prisoners!”
“Once the fat one leaves with that bear and those dwarves, neither will be in the city any longer. They will be away from all prying eyes, Master.”
Jeresette paused, his anger leaving as quickly as it had arrived, and leaned back in his throne. The stone it was made of still glowed white-hot from the heat of its creation, causing a tuft of steam to rise from the demon’s back as it scorched his flesh unnoticed. “Where are they going?” he asked Carion, ignoring the summoning from that stupid mage that was pulling at him, feeling that he had no need of the mage anymore.
“To the Valley of the Dragons, Master,” he answered, passing along the information that Dumas had gathered. However, it wasn’t the response he had anticipated.
“What better place to hide the sword than with a dragon? Who would be so foolish as to go after it?” Jeresette thought aloud. “It must be there!”
Carion looked at his master, curious as to the gleam that had risen within his eyes, not realizing that it was a gleam of satisfaction. He had never experienced satisfaction in the whole of his wretched existence.
Jeresette realized that he would have to get those two idiotic trolls, who had better still be waiting for him, so that he could go and gather the two outworlders and the sword.
“You will wait for my return,” he instructed Carion, who then smiled—just a little—in anticipation of the evening that awaited him.
Jeresette stood from his throne, opened a portal in front of him, and stepped through it.
Carion paused, ensuring that his master had left, and then turned to go feed. Still, he wondered how his master was going to find out which dragon that group had been headed to find. Even as a lesser demon, he knew that the Valley of Dragons had many dragons secluded within it.
Jeresette arrived at the Great Rock and found the two trolls huddled in the shadow below it, hiding from the sun as they had been for three weeks. The last rays of sunlight were slicing into the small alcove of darkness they had found. Both had been too scared of the dragon not to stay where they had been instructed.
Jeresette saw that the sun was setting. “Get your arses out here!” he bellowed.
Tilk and Timulsif rushed out into the dim remaining sunlight, their flesh beginning to smoke and smolder as they obeyed their master’s voice.
Good enough, Jeresette thought as he watched them. It appeared that they had managed to feed and water themselves during their stay, and he smelled
elvish flesh on them. The trolls weren’t being too particular about their meals as of late. Although they reeked of excrement, filth, and decaying flesh, he told them to climb onto his back. He knew that the fat offal piles would be unable to catch up to the party containing the outworlders. Hesitant but saying nothing, both trolls climbed upon Jeresette’s back. Not caring if they stayed on his back or if they fell, he took off by leaping upward, taking to the air as powerfully as he could. Terrified, the trolls slipped their fingers deep under the dragon’s scales as far as they could, hoping that they could stay on the beast. Both shared a similar thought of how the other would explode should they fall and hit the ground from such a height.
Once Jeresette reached the altitude he desired, he looked back. Seeing the city, he estimated the route that the party would take to the valley and began flying in that direction, scouring the ground for any sign of them. He flew for days before finally catching up with them at about the same time Laz and his group found Ollie. He landed a few leagues behind them and ordered the trolls to follow them. Should they decide to split up, he explained, one of them was to follow the human known as Laz, and the other to follow the one known as Ollie. The big one was Laz, not the bear, Jeresette explained. And the one that always appeared frightened was Ollie. He left the two trolls to catch up to his quarry on their own. He then ran toward the party he had been searching for; once out of sight of the trolls, he returned to his demon form but became incorporeal and kept his distance. He didn’t wish to raise the suspicions of those he had found.
Chapter 20
“Subterfuge, lies, and death. These are your keys to the kingdom!”