by Joseph Lallo
“Ashan'agar.” Her voice was almost reverent.
Cyrus's pupils dilated. His breath hung in his throat.
Narstron shook his head. “I think we'll pass –”
“We'll go,” Cyrus had answered, cutting off Narstron.
“Splendid.” The elf clapped, such was her enthusiasm. “The treasure hoard for this dragon is supposed to be quite rich, and of course we'll split it equally, of course, after I take my fee for leading this expedition...”
That had been hours ago. Narstron brought Cyrus back to the present, in the fire light of the cave. “She's abrasive, even for an elf.” He turned to Andren. “Why is it elves have no problem condemning other, younger races for their faults but praise is quick to flow and judgment slow to come when it's one of your own?”
“Don't go lumpin' me in with her lot.” Andren eyed the dwarf in accusation. “She may be elven royalty. No low-born elf – you know, like me,” he said with a touch of pride, “would ever lead the way she's doing it.”
Narstron laughed. “How many elven royals are in your kingdom anyway? A hundred thousand?”
“Eh, a little over five thousand members of the royal family – and that's for the whole kingdom,” Andren said.
“Makes me wonder how you get anything done.”
“Halt!” Angelique held her gem-studded gauntlet aloft in a motion to halt the march. They were in a wide cavern, with considerable webbing in the corners of the room. There was no lava or fire, which was the first room without it that they had seen since entering the caves. “We need to address some basics before we go any further. I know that some of you are new, haven’t seen much combat.” She sniffed and made a face, as though she was trying to get the stench of something unpleasant out of her nostrils.
She droned for a few minutes about basic matters of combat in confined spaces. Cyrus took the time to look around at their army. It was a distinct mix of different races. He noted that the largest part of it was composed of dwarves, elves and humans.
Though he hadn’t noticed them earlier, there were three gnomes cloistered nearby. Quite small compared to a human of his stature, gnomes were often skilled in the magical arts. Cyrus also caught sight of two dark elves – blue skinned, a little shorter than humans, with pointed ears and white hair.
Cyrus’s exposure to dark elves was limited. Although the city of Reikonos had a healthy dark elf population, they were ostracized, unwelcome in many shops, and forced to live in a specific section of the slums. Conversely, humans and regular elves were killed if they approached dark elven cities.
Most of the army seemed to be listening intently as Angelique walked them through such basics as minding your footing, sticking together as a group during battle and allowing time for the healers to assist the injured. Tuning her out, Cyrus realized that many of these adventurers had joined singly, rather than in groups as he had. Only a very few parties were banded together, seeming like islands in the middle of an ocean of people.
In the closest group to his, only a few feet away his eye caught those of a human man who had a bow slung across his back and two short swords in scabbards hanging from his belt. A slight smile permeated his lips as he met Cyrus's gaze. He touched two fingers to his head in a subtle salute to the warrior. A ranger, Cyrus thought; a wanderer of the wilds.
The ranger had three companions with him. The first was an elven woman whose sash and robes identified her as a healer, like Andren, tasked with mending wounds. Her face was expressionless.
The elf to her right was also a woman but wore the markings of a druid, a spell caster with the ability to control the power of nature itself. She had flaming red hair, almost the color of the lava and a bright smile that greeted Cyrus as he made eye contact with her.
Their third companion was wearing heavy armor that was molded to her form, but she was obscured by the shadows lingering around her. In the semi-darkness of the cave, Cyrus could see nothing of her face and only her silhouette told him she was female.
“Not bad,” Narstron said under his breath, looking into the shadows at the armored figure.
“How can you tell?” Cyrus looked at him in confusion.
Andren and Narstron exchanged a look and chuckled before the dwarf answered. “You humans can't see in the dark for shite.”
The ranger stepped forward to introduce himself. “I’m Orion.” He was confident and at ease.
“Cyrus Davidon. These are my compatriots.” He introduced the ranger to his band. “We’re the Kings of Reikonos.”
“Kings of Reikonos?” Orion looked at him with uncertainty. “Is that a guild name?”
Cyrus nodded, burying his unease at having such a bold name. “Interesting,” Orion said, voice sincere. “I can’t say I’m familiar with you. Where’s your guildhall?”
Cy held back a slight flinch. Many guilds were bands of adventurers, and had great halls with enormous quarters for each of their members. The Kings of Reikonos had an old horse barn that had been refitted into a military barracks before being abandoned. It was in the slums of Reikonos. “We’re not far from the markets and the square.”
“Ah, centrally located. We’re a bit off the beaten path in the Plains of Perdamun, about five hundred miles south of Reikonos.” Favoring Cyrus with a smile, he gestured to the regal looking healer in his party. “This is my wife, Selene.”
Turning to indicate the red-haired druid: “And this is Niamh.” She flashed a smile at their party. “Hiding in the shadows over there is Vara.” The silhouette gestured in what might have been a wave; it was difficult to tell for human eyes in the darkness.
“So,” he turned back to face them and lowered his voice, “what do you think of the leadership thus far?”
“I’m still waiting to see some leadership,” Andren said. They all got a chuckle out of that.
Finishing his laugh, Orion’s face turned serious. “We’re in for some rough times very soon. I know these caves and we are walking into great danger. There is a nest of spiders nearby,” he indicated the webs on the walls, “that are the size of dwarves. Beyond this room are the dragon’s guardians – rock giants that are at least ten feet tall, with a skin so thick it resists fire. This dragon, Ashan'agar, has a powerful hypnotic magic – he controls everything in these caves.”
He paused for a moment to let it sink in. “With an inexperienced group such as this and incompetent leadership it will be a miracle if this assault works. Stick close to us,” he said, and the confidence he spoke with made Cyrus think that the army was listening to the wrong leader.
As if to punctuate Orion’s observations, the expedition leader’s words intruded into his thoughts. “…I don’t know exactly what we’ll be facing ahead from the dragon, but I predict that as dragons are solitary creatures, we'll have a clear path to the dragon’s den.”
Cyrus looked at Orion in alarm. “Don’t you think you should tell her?”
The ranger looked amused. “I offered to counsel her with experience. She said she had it under control. I’ve walked in the shadows of these caves and she hasn’t,” he said with a trace of sarcasm, “but she has it 'under control'.” He snorted. “I’m here to help save these people when things go wrong, lest they all die.”
Chapter 2
Cyrus felt a twinge of fear at Orion's words. Human warriors were trained by the Society of Arms in Reikonos and didn’t feel fear easily, nor often. From the earliest days of youth in the Society, they had a culture based around combat. If you won, you won. If you lost, you fought harder the next time. If you died you went off to the afterlife. Cyrus had feared neither death nor pain for himself since he was six summers old, and still didn’t.
He looked at Narstron and Andren. On the outside they looked confident. He knew that inside, each was roiling. Though he never admitted it publicly, Narstron had once confessed that he knew that Cyrus was a better warrior – not because the human was taller or stronger, but because the fearlessness th
at the Society of Arms had instilled gave him an edge in combat that allowed him to make a commitment to battle that could only come from being willing to die at any moment.
Narstron didn’t feel that, nor did Andren. They would fight for their comrades, but to die in a battle for the sake of battle? Only a true warrior – and a devotee of Bellarum, the God of War – could ever feel good about that. Faith in the God of War had been hammered into him in the Society from an early age.
But this fear wasn’t fear for self, Cyrus realized. It was fear for those around him. He was their leader, and he brought them to this place. If either of them died, he was responsible. He choked on the bitter aftertaste of that thought.
A commotion broke his reverie. He watched as a spider half the size of a man spun down on a web and pincered one of the gnomes from above. Blood flew in a line, splattering across the floor, searing as it hit the hot rock. Cyrus jumped forward, along with a few others, dismembering the arachnid. Cries from behind him – and then to the side – caused him to look around.
The top of the chamber rose to a peak, and though it was too dark for his eyes to see the detail of the ceiling, he could see movement. The dome of the cavern was covered in the spiders.
Orion was at his side. “There are too many.” The ranger's eyes were fixed; staring up at the imminent danger. Warriors and rangers took positions at the edge of the army, protecting the spell casters from the encroaching spiders.
“This way!” Angelique ordered from (far) behind him. Cy caught a glimpse of her in retreat, leading the spell casters toward the dragon’s den. Shrugging at Narstron and Orion, they backed in unison out the door and onto a massive bridge that stretched for several hundred feet across a lake of lava.
The spiders halted at the entrance to the bridge. Backing up, Cyrus shot a look behind him and saw two guardians at the other end of the span. Spiders forgotten, Cy fixated on the ten foot tall giants blocking their passage. Seemingly hewn out of living rock, they stood silent guard along the path to the Dragonlord.
“Attack them!” cried a high pitched voice. With some alarm, he realized it was Angelique, and she began to charge across the bridge.
“Wait!” Orion’s voice boomed over the army, and some of them actually halted – including, surprisingly, Angelique herself. A few continued to charge – one of the dark elves, a gnome and two human healers.
Approaching the guardians, the dark elf was half the size of his opponent and the two foot tall gnome disappeared under the foot of a rock giant. The dark elf brought his sword against the giant on the left. One of the humans, a healer, whose battle abilities were limited, made the decision to engage in the melee. A giant's arm swept out, knocking the healer off the bridge and into the magma below. With a scream, he dropped into the lava, and his pale skin sank under the fiery surface.
Horrified, they watched as the giants overpowered the dark elf and the other human and sent them both to a similar fate. As they disappeared below the surface of the lake of fire, a hush fell over the ragtag army.
A few screams filled the cave as an air of panic set in on the expedition. Broken bones and gashes could be healed by a mending spell. Powerful healers even possessed the ability to reverse death. Those were rare. Death and pain still held fear for adventurers, who were by nature a blindly optimistic lot. The less veteran among them had not faced this before.
Cyrus could see the panic moving through the crowd. “This is about to get very ugly,” he breathed.
“No doubt.” Narstron raised his sword. “For a group of people that consider themselves adventurers, I don't think these fresh faced rubes have tasted the downside of 'adventure'.”
Looking back Cyrus saw the spiders had formed a wall blocking the chamber they had entered from, pincers jutting hungrily toward them.
“They’re servants of Ashan’agar,” Orion's voice came from beside him. “You know who he is?”
Cy nodded. “The Dragonlord exiled from the dragon kingdom in the southern lands. He was king of the dragon city Hewat at one point, wasn't he?”
“He was. According to rumor, something happened in their most sacred temple, south of their city in the mountains – something that caused a shakeup in Hewat about fifty years ago. He was exiled by the new Dragonlord and mystically sealed in this cave.”
“Any idea what he did?” Narstron's face was screwed in concentration as he asked the question.
“No idea.” Orion shook his head. “No one has contact with the dragon kingdom. They are not known for kindness to so-called ‘lesser beings’, so all we have are rumors and speculation.’’ He focused back on Cyrus. “Everything in these caves is sworn to his service, and they obey his will. And apparently his will is that we go forward.” Orion's expression twisted as he looked back at the spiders still advancing slowly toward them.
A call came from across the army, bringing their attention back to the rock giants in front of them. “No need to panic!” called the voice of the oblivious Angelique. “Run through them!”
Narstron rolled his eyes as Andren shrugged and Cyrus’s jaw dropped in shock. The panic in the front ranks was evident and the fore of the army began to charge again. Orion’s shouted plea for calm was drowned out in the commotion caused by the forward movement of the army-turned-mob.
Taking one last look back at the wall of spiders guarding the entry to the bridge, Cyrus started moving forward. He didn’t fight to the front of the battle line, afraid to push any of the combatants off the bridge and to their deaths.
The rock giants were swinging their massive fists, battering their attackers and taking little damage to show for it. Every few seconds, one of their blows would land, flinging some poor soul off the bridge and into fiery death below. A few fortunate members of the force were squeezing between the giants and into the caves beyond.
Cyrus watched, incredulous, as the one of the giants knocked several of their number off the bridge. He was close enough now... and the giant was leaning over, beginning to straighten up after swinging low to send combatants into the lava.
Cyrus charged at the back of the rock giant. Sure that he was invincible, the giant didn’t even bother watching his back. Cy hit him full force, slamming his pauldrons into the back of the giant's knees, buckling them. It wasn’t a blow that could cause damage to the craggy skin of the giant – in any other circumstances, the rocky creature would have been able to fall to one knee, get up and smite him. Unfortunately for the giant, he was in a position where balance mattered. Arms pinwheeling, the giant plummeted into the lava which he had gloried in sending his foes.
Turning to face the remaining fiend, Cyrus watched as Narstron and Orion plunged blades through both its legs, breaking through the external layer of rock and dropping it to its knees facing the army. He watched as the giant fell amid a bevy of blades.
“Nice work, Cyrus. Never seen anyone take a rock giant solo before.” Orion's eyebrows were raised, impressed.
“The rest of our army ran through there,” Cy brushed off the praise, focusing on the trouble ahead.
“Guess we better keep moving.” Orion was back to business.
They ran to catch up, dodging through the caves. They crossed another bridge to an island in the middle of the lava; a wall surrounded the island, extending hundreds of feet to the ceiling of the chamber. It was not a natural formation and even in the dim light of magma and fire it appeared to be made of a material much stronger than stone or brick.
They crossed under a smaller gate built into the wall and entered an enormous chamber with a circular platform raised in the midst of the magma that encircled the room. Charging through the arched entryway, Cyrus tumbled into the chamber just as somebody was half leaving – half their body flew past him, the other half was still lying on the floor at the dragon’s feet, severed by the claws of the beast. The balance of their force was huddled inside the archway, stunned at the sight before them.
Cyrus had never seen a d
ragon before – not a real one. He had seen a few drakes and wurms; pale shadows, imitations of dragon kind. There were few dragons in the north, preferring to live among their own in the southern lands. Ashan'agar was a dark red color with scales as big as Cyrus's helm, a body fifty feet long with a long neck extending twenty feet from his body and spines that protruded from his back and ran from his neck to the end of his tail.
The Dragonlord's head was focused on two spell casters on the other side of the chamber. The air around its head began to distort, and a gout of flame shot from its mouth toward its prey. The flames consumed the spell casters, immolating them. They dropped to the ground and the fires consumed them within seconds until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes.
“Interlopers!” came a deep roar. It took Cyrus a moment to realize it was coming from inside his own head.
He struck at the belly of Ashan’agar. Narstron followed him, each of them hacking at the thick scales. A roar blasted through the cavern and the dragon began to turn, trying to face the foes plaguing him. He spread his wings, filling the room from end to end and reared up on his hind legs, exposing Cy and Narstron to his piercing glare.
They scrambled for cover, running between the dragon's legs. Cy took a moment to ram his sword between two of the scales of the beast’s belly, prompting a scream that shook the cavern.
Tail whipping, the dragon set down from the attack as Cy and Narstron hid behind his ankles and started hacking away. They could see Orion standing in the archway, firing arrows at the dragon. Only about one in four was finding its way between the scales but it was causing enough irritation to split Ashan’agar’s attention.
A high-pitched warcry caught Cyrus by surprise. A woman, clad in shining armor, leapt from the archway with a two-handed sword clutched in her hands. The jump she made was, by far, too much for a human to accomplish. Her sword drove into the shoulder of Ashan’agar and her feet found purchase between the scales. Possessed of extreme litheness the elf perched on the dragon’s shoulder, driving her sword deeper into the wound she had created.