Da’Nel was amused by all this, and glad for a lighthearted distraction, but he didn’t want to lose sight of why there were all foisted on one another in the middle of nowhere. “Come, let us sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow and who knows what we’ll be facing.”
That seemed to sober the dwarves up a bit, and each of them got their sleeping bundles ready and set them close to the fire for warmth. Da’Nel lay on his side, book next to him, with his arm around it for protection. He listened for the sounds of slumber taking his two companions and then opened the book to another blank page. Rather than pricking his finger this time, he opened a nice sized cut on the palm of his hand, and made a tight fist, squeezing out a small waterfall of blood. It splashed on the page, deluging the unseen markings, allowing itself to be drawn into the sheet (and not for the first time, Da’Nel wondered what they were made from), sacrificing its liquid self to the absorption in order to create something even more powerful.
Da’Nel watched with awe as the page came to life as he wrapped a small piece of torn cloth around his hand to stop the bleeding. Words began to form, small, tightly written, so close together it was difficult to tell where one ended and another began. Not only did it fill the blankness, but it also filled the margins and every available space on the page. Da’Nel moved his face closer until the tip of his nose was touching it. The writing refused to stay in focus, rolling over itself like children wrestling. He reached down with his right index finger and placed it on the center of the page, closed his eyes, and made a shushing sound. The writing began to grow still, and Da’Nel kept on, as you would soothe a fussy baby. When all movement had ceased, he placed a fingertip at the beginning of the page and moved it over the words, convinced he heard some of them giggle as he brushed against them. He could see the words in his mind unfolding as he continued to trail his finger over the page, and while it was yet another language he failed to recognize, he still knew what was being said. Something in his spirit welled up and interpreted the writing, allowing him to understand. For the better part of the night, Da’Nel kept at it, realizing that comprehending the words was one thing, but having to divine their meaning and intention was quite another. The old ones spoke in vague, poetic language, relying on the beauty of the words and their cadence to communicate their meaning rather than the words themselves.
Da’Nel could appreciate that sentiment, but thousands of years later was not the time for him to do it. As a result, the process was slow and laborious. His eyes kept closing, and finally, his head slid from the hand it was perched on and made a pillow of the book. His slumber was deep and complete, and when he awoke the book was closed and back in its usual place within his robe.
Petram was already up and tending to breakfast. Da’Nel could smell the strong aroma of the crushed bitter beans he used for coffee. He reached into the folds of his garment and produced a small basket of fresh eggs and gave them over to Petram, whose drooling stare was the only thanks he needed. Kiandra was loading her pipe by gripping it between her knees and grabbing a pinch of the tobacco to place in the bowl. Da’Nel thought to go help her, then decided against it, thinking it was better for her to learn how to adjust. There was no sign in the book about growing back a hand, but he had every hope one would show up somewhere along the line. At the thought of the book, he placed a hand on its cover and began stroking it slowly the way he would a cat or other beloved pet.
“Magic isn’t miracle-making,” the book said, startling Da’Nel.
“I’m aware of that,” he replied, a detached coolness to his voice.
“Nothing will grow a hand back.”
When Da’Nel said nothing the book continued. “One could create a hand from whatever materials are available, and imbue it with magic, if one were skilled enough, which you aren’t.”
“I can throw you into the fire and not think twice about it,” Da’Nel said clearly annoyed.
“And you don’t want to know what I could do to you,” the book said in such a way, it gave Da’Nel the shivers and he pulled his hand away from the cover as quickly as he could.
Kiandra was puffing on her pipe now quite contentedly when Da’Nel decided to go over and sit next to her at least and try to have a conversation. If nothing else he wanted to hear what happened while she was in the woods. Kiandra tried to mask her making a face as Da’Nel approached and moved away a bit from where he was going to sit. Taking a deep breath, she made smoke rings and blew them in his direction.
“You did well with the pipe,” Da’Nel offered feeling rather awkward. The idea of making this type of conversation was anathema to him and made him realize even more why he avoided people.
Kiandra gave a curt nod and blew more rings in his direction.
Da’Nel looked to her lap where her arm lay, and where her hand would have been. Anyone passing by would have never known it was missing. As much as he wanted to blame Kiandra for her own folly, there was a part of Da’Nel that still felt guilty. “I’m truly sorry Kiandra, I am. I can’t make a hand grow back, but I may be able to make a replacement. It wouldn’t be the same, but...”
“No,” she interrupted, nearly spitting the word out. “It wouldn’t at all be the same. It would be an even worse reminder when I try to go and do something with it and realize I can’t.”
Da’Nel looked away, deciding not to pursue it for the moment.
Kiandra glanced at him from the corner of her eye, a little smile lifting the corner of her mouth. “Thank ye though.”
Petram cleared his throat, ending the uneasiness both felt and brought over two bowls of breakfast. He went to retrieve his own and then sat down on the other side of Kiandra. “Well then,” he said, “where are we headed to?”
Da’Nel looked to Kiandra who then looked to Petram and back to Da’Nel. “The cave obviously, that’s what you all decided yesternight wasn’t it?”
“So you’re coming then?” Petram asked.
“Of course I am you jug-eared weasel, why else would I come back?”
“B’cause you wanted to play toad in your hole with me?”
Da’Nel choked on his eggs, and set his bowl down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “By the Queen’s tits Petram, I didn’t need to hear that!”
“What? It’s a card game I invented, she was the only one who could get the best of me! Get your mind out of the whorehouse, degenerate.” Petram couldn’t help but laugh anyway, and Da’Nel finished his eggs without further comment.
Once they had cleared the camp, made sure the fire was out, and emptied their bladders and bowels, they started off on their journey again. Da’Nel offered to carry them on his back again as a stallion, but they declined.
“It just don’t feel right,” Petram said, though the truth was, he disliked riding on anything as high as a horse. “I know you don’t mind, but it seems unfair.” Kiandra agreed with him, and so they all walked in a single file, with Petram in front, and Da’Nel in the rear, to keep Kiandra protected. The sun, too lazy to turn up the heat, was content to shine a bit, allowing the clouds to hide her rays. Even with that respite, they built up a good sweat, and by mid-morning, all were ready to take a short break by a small pond.
Da’Nel kneeled by the side of the pond and splashed water on his face. then cupped his hands to hold a bit for a sip.
“We have fresh water you know, no need to drink that swill.”
“Nothing beats fresh water straight from the source. If you ventured out more often, you’d know that, Petram.”
Petram grunted his displeasure and scowled. “I’ve done enough in my life, don’t need to do more.” He drank from a wineskin to end his sentence and gave it to Kiandra who then dunked it in the pond to fill it up.
“How much further is this cave?” Da’Nel asked.
“Should be able to get there by nightfall.”
As Petram finished his answer, Da’Nel cocked his head, squinting, holding a finger to his mouth for the others to keep quiet. A twig snapped and Da’Nel
turned his head, scouting the area. While there were fewer trees than where they’d been, the grass was high and could easily hide all manner of creatures, friendly and otherwise. Seconds passed into minutes and when Da’Nel was satisfied that whatever was there had gone, he let his guard down.
“What was it?”
“Not sure Kiandra, probably nothing, it’s gone now I think, whatever it was.” Neither dwarf put their arms away but held them at their side, Petram leading them away, his senses sharp and keen, had Kiandra on his mind more than anything. Making sure she was protected was his sole aim. Da’Nel can take care of himself, he thought.
Even missing one hand, however, Kiandra would still be a formidable foe, based on her tenacity alone. Even Da’Nel would have second thoughts having to face her in combat. He’d never known a more courageous being.
As they walked as quiet as possible, they left the copse of trees and tall grass and came to the main road. Da’Nel left his spot and walked over to Petram. “What say you?” he asked.
“Not far at all now, another couple of hours or so at most, but something seems off.”
“Too quiet, there should be some sign of others on the road, traders at the very least.”
“Yes,” Da’Nel said under his breath, “and we’re being followed.” Petram turned and looked around eyes wide and focused. “Ease up Petram, but I think we should stay on the road for now,”
“Out in the open where they can see us?”
“Where everyone can see us. Come, we walk side by side, Kiandra in the middle.”
Kiandra made a face, not because she didn’t want to be in the middle, she didn’t care where she stood, but the reasoning behind it rankled her. “I am not a cripple,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can kick both of your asses and not break a sweat.”
“I have no doubt, and if we unearth someone with ill intent, you’ll be the first they go for, allowing Petram and myself to attack.”
“Well, bait isn’t what I had on mind, but better than being thought incompetent.”
Da’Nel laughed, “That’s the last thing I would think of you.”
“Smart for an elf,” Petram said.
Shoulder to shoulder they marched down the middle of the road, which was little more than a path created under the wheels, hooves, and feet of suppliers, merchants, traders, and all other sundry travelers. The feeling of eyes upon them never left Da’Nel, and it was making him nervous, as it had been going on for hours now. Whoever, or whatever it was stalking them was certainly being patient.
“Stop,” Petram said, holding up a hand, then looking around to his right. “Over here, at the base of these mountains, that’s where it is.”
“Lead on then,” Da’Nel said, and once again they walked shoulder to shoulder, off the road and towards their final destination.
Tree branches rustled, the sound of a dying wind blowing through them. Footsteps crunching dry grass, kicking up pebbles and small stones seemed to come from around them. Petram pointed, “Over there, I can see it!” Without any of them saying anything, all ran for the entrance, as the noises grew louder and footsteps quickened. As they approached the mouth of the cave, there was one final sound, a “Thwick!” of an arrow, before Kiandra fell down, the arrow in her back.
Da’Nel and Petram had reached the lip of the cave before they realized Kiandra wasn’t with them. As they turned around and saw her body, both made to go for her but were drawn back into the cave by an unseen force, almost like a hook yanking them. As they tumbled to the ground, a hooded figured appeared from further in the cave, and waved a wand in front of the entrance, creating a barrier. Petram was the first to his feet, and he ran headlong into the barrier and received a nasty shock, singeing the top of his head.
“We need to get her!” His eyes were wild with fear and confusion.
“Then you will die. Your friend is dead already, my condolences.”
Da’Nel stood and went right to the hooded figure, “And who are you to decide?”
The stranger pulled the hood of his robe down and fixed his eyes on Da’Nel. “Your companion knows me, very well.”
Petram turned and stormed over to the tense duo and stopped in his tracks. “Todrick?”
“Good to see you Petram, some were worried you’d been waylaid, and with the Wilderen about, I was beginning to have my doubts.”
“Wilderen?” Da’Nel said, looking confused.
“They’re a roaming band of primitive, I don’t even know what to call them, but they’ve not been seen in hundreds of years. Surely they can’t be more than a folktale anymore.”
Todrick pointed to the entrance, and both Petram and Da’Nel looked, their eyes wide. There were about two dozen of them, all no taller than a foot and a half, all carrying spears or bows. Each was adorned with animal bones and badly dried out skins to for makeshift loincloths. They encircled Kiandra’s body, stabbing her with their spears, then bending down to drink the blood which flowed from the wounds. Petram turned away, face red with anger, cheeks wet with tears.
“I swear I will kill every single one of them. I’ll roast them alive over a fire and throw their burned corpses to the wolves.” Neither Todrick nor Da’Nel said anything, though Da’Nel did put a hand on the dwarf’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. When Petram had the fortitude to turn around again, he saw the Wilderen dragging her body away, leaving a trail of deep grooves in the dirt and grass. Petram walked to the entrance and watched, while Todrick and Da’Nel withdrew to the back of the cave.
Todrick brought a dying fire back to life, and Da’Nel conjured some water in his wineskin, pouring some out for Todrick. “So,” the wizard said, “you’re the Druid of legend. I thought you’d be fiercer looking.”
“I get that a lot.”
“You may wish to adopt that fierceness, as the new King is in the process of destroying the country. I thought you were some others I was expecting, but glad to have you all the same.”
“What’s happening?”
“That is quite the tale, so settle in.”
“Da’Nel got comfortable and listened to the wizard while watching the dancing flames that seemed to illustrate his tale.
25: Glistening Maw
“You never said there was a fucking dragon under the castle!” Kharisi said to Saerus. He and Jeremiah had shrunk back behind a mound of rocks to avoid being seen by the dragon.
“I never knew!”
“Well someone put it here! It didn’t pop out of the ground like a mushroom!”
Jeremiah rolled his eyes and stepped on Kharisi’s foot to get his attention. “Worry about how he got here later, we need to find a way to get past it.” Jeremiah’s boyish face suddenly became old, weathered, and beaten to Kharisi. The look of someone who grew up too fast and had no childhood worth speaking of. Kharisi peered over the rocks to get a better look. The dragon appeared to be sleeping, its head laying on its front leg, looking away, its emerald eyes halfway closed. Small puffs of black smoke emanated from its flaring nostrils at a slow regular measure. It wasn’t a huge dragon by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was it demure. If Kharisi had to guess he’d say it was a somewhat young dragon, on the verge of adulthood.
“It can still kill us as easily as you break wind,” Saerus said. “But I think we can try to sneak past if we’re careful enough.”
Jeremiah’s face went pale as fear hid his almost feminine features under its mask. “No other ideas?” he said barely above a whisper.
“It’ll be fine, take my hand and do what I do.”
“This is no time to get drunk and fuck whores,” Saerus quipped. Kharisi ignored the remark and began to make his way around the mound, tiptoeing and keeping his back to the wall once they got past their hiding spot. Jeremiah mimicked everything Kharisi did, moving only when the elf did, keeping their steps in unison. Kharisi kept his breaths as shallow and as slow as possible, though Jeremiah had a harder time at that.
As Kharisi took another s
tep, a loose rock slid from beneath his foot and he lost his balance, and only Jeremiah’s pulling him back kept him from falling. Kharisi held his breath, eyes riveted to the dragon for any sign they had disturbed it.
“I think I shit myself,” Jeremiah whispered. Kharisi leaned down and took a long whiff and crinkled his nose at the smell. He then placed a finger against Jeremiah’s lips to keep him quiet as they began their trek again. Their progress seemed agonizingly slow to each of them. With every step they took, it seemed to grow two steps farther away. As they reached the midway point, Kharisi began to relax a bit. His steps became longer, and the pace quickened.
“Don’t rush!” Saerus warned.
Kharisi nodded and picked up the pace even more, as the ground became more solid, and they grew further away from the dragon’s gaze. As they finally reached the mouth of the cave Kharisi let out a sigh of relief. They were about to make a run for it, when the dragon’s tail slammed down in front of them, blocking their exit. Jeremiah gripped Kharisi’s arm so tight, Kharisi was afraid he’d cut off the blood circulation.
“Don’t say anything untoward,” Saerus advised. “It’s not killed us yet, so that’s a good sign.”
The dragon struggled to turn around and when it did that was when Kharisi noticed the massive iron collar and chain around its neck. “Why have you disturbed my slumber, mortal?” Its voice was gruff and short but not angry.
Sounds like you in the morning, Saerus thought, letting Kharisi see it.
“We beg pardon, we had no idea you were down here, we didn’t mean to wake you.”
“Yet you did, and now I’m so very, very, hungry.” The dragon lowered its head to sniff at Jeremiah and Kharisi. It wrinkled its nose and blew flames from its nostrils over their heads.
“You smell of fear and shit, young one, though those things often go together,” Kharisi smirked at that. “You elf smell of a pickled fish, not altogether unpleasant, but there is something underneath it, that I cannot discern.” The dragon looked around, then leaned in once more until the dragon’s mouth was so close to Kharisi he could have kissed it. “Is there another hiding somewhere?”
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