Transcendence

by Transcendence [lit]

  Darkfern,“ Brynn answered as she inspected the piece, to see the silverel lines encircling it. „That was part of a bow, a Touel’alfar bow! „

  She turnedt over to reveal a tiny signature near the tapered end.

  the mark of Joycenevial, my father,“ he explained. „This was the bow

  ranger - of that ranger,“ he said, pointing to the human remains. He isidered the piece of the bow and the mark and searched his distant memories.

  -mhem Dal,“ he decided a few moments later. „Bow your head, Brynn

  what does it mean?“

  1 means that he never made it home,“ said Cazzira.

  „And that his sword, Flamedancer, was lost here,“ Juraviel added. He looked at Brynn, his golden eyes narrowing with determination. „Are you ready to find and earn your ranger sword, Brynn Dharielle?“

  The woman stared back at him hard, then nodded grimly.

  „If the dread wurm has it, then you’ll not likely get it back,“ Cazzira was quick to put in. „Behold the devastation of the beast.“ She swung her arm about at the piles of charred and crushed bones as she spoke. „Behold the fate of the last ranger who stood before the dragon!“

  „That was hundreds of years ago,“ Brynn put in. „Can the dragon still be alive?“

  „We shall see,“ was all that Belli’mar Juraviel replied, his tone more grave and angrier than Brynn had ever heard it before. Clearly, the sight of the re­mains of Emhem Dal had unsettled him.

  Cazzira suggested that they should return to the city to search for more clues, but Juraviel pushed on down the tunnel, his pace strong.

  They followed their instincts, they followed the heat they could feel puls­ing beneath their feet, then they followed the smoke, wafting through cracks in the floor on hot updrafts.

  After three long marches, with only short rests in between, they came to a huge and broken chamber, with a shattered stone bridge that had once crossed a deep gorge. Far below, they saw the orange glow of fire, the heat radiating up to flush their faces.

  „If the dragon remains, it is down there,“ Juraviel said. „If Flamedancer remains, it is down there.“

  „You cannot know that,“ said Cazzira.

  „I feel it,“ was all the answer she was going to get.

  Juraviel stood up straight, peering across the way. „We can work our way to the entrance of the tunnel.“

  „Or we can go down there,“ said Brynn. She spent a long time staring down into the gorge, then looked up at Juraviel, whose gaze led her to Cazzira.

  The Doc’alfar chuckled under the intensity of those two looks. „What is life without adventure?“ she asked at length.

  And so they descended even farther, so far that they had to set their hun­dred foot rope several times. Sweat stung Brynn’s brown eyes as she hand-walked down rope and stone, finally coming out on what seemed to be the floor of the place.

  On they went, the air smoky about them. Soon the reflected light of flames was enough so that they did not need their torches, and rounding a bend in the corridor, they happened upon the source of the light and the heat, a wide and winding chamber full of what seemed to be water - except that the water was burning at various points.

  „There is oil leeching onto the water,“ Juraviel reasoned.

  -But what ignited it?“ came Cazzira’s response.

  learn,“ said Brynn, and she stepped out from the bank onto a

  £ then hopped to another. She paused there and bent low, and gradu-

  ‘„lowered her hand to the water, dipping it below the surface. „Warm,

  „Take that as comfort if you fall in,“ said Cazzira. „A pleasant thought before the dread wurm eats you.“

  For many minutes, they made their way along the only trail open to them,

  broken walk of small ledges and stepping-stones that wound through the fires and across the waters.

  „Do we even believe that the dragon is still alive?“ Brynn asked. „Three hundred years is a long time.“

  „Only in the measurement of humans, said JuravieL Not m the memory of the Tylwyn Tou or Tylwyn Doc, and certainly not in the memory of the great wurms, the longest living creatures of Corona.“

  „What do you know of dragons?“ Cazzira asked.

  „Only what you do, I presume,“ Juraviel answered. „Since our legends on the matter should be similar.“

  Brynn started to join in, but she stopped abruptly - so abruptly that the other two turned to regard her.

  She stood there on a stepping-stone, looking down at the orange-glowing water, and when her companions similarly looked to the base of her stone, they recognized the potential problem - for the water was lapping at the rock, as if something had disturbed its stillness.

  „Move along, and be quick,“ Cazzira instructed. „I have little desire to meet a dread wurm out here.“

  „I have little desire to meet a dread wurm anywhere,“ Juraviel added.

  Brynn pushed on with all speed, hopping from stone to stone, running along ledges, ducking stalactites when they dipped low to block her way, and choosing left or right without bothering to ask whenever they came to a tork in the way. They had to double back more than once, and saw more ripples spreading out toward them on several occasions, though they never discerned the source.

  Finally, they found an opening in the sidewall, another dark tunnel be­yond, and though they had to leap and even swim a bit to get to it, they rent on without question, just glad to be away from the fiery lake.

  ihe tunnel only went on for a short distance, opening up into a wide

  uamber, a pit, and with a larger chamber up above, one that glowed from

  e unseen light source. The climb was easy enough for Juraviel with

  is wings, and he went up without question, then sat there on the ledge

  >ove his two companions, staring into the larger chamber, his mouth

  r°Pping open.

  What is it?“ Cazzira called up to him softly.

  „Juraviel?“ Brynn chirped in when the elf didn’t make any move to answer

  „It was worth the trouble,“ he finally said, motioning for them to climb up and join him.

  The wall was nearly fifty feet high, but it was of broken stone. Cazzira verily ran up it, and agile Brynn wasn’t far behind, and as each crested the larger room’s floor, each assumed an expression as dumbfounded as that worn by Belli’mar Juraviel.

  There, spread before them, were mounds of treasure, gold and silver coins and glittering gemstones, pieces of armor and furniture, sculptures and dozens of metallic weapons.

  „So we know what happened to the powries,“ Brynn remarked dryly.

  „But more importantly, what happened to the one who assembled this hoard?“ asked Cazzira.

  Juraviel motioned to the side of the largest mound of gold and silver, to a single curving white rib bone. A gigantic bone, that even a tall human could walk under without ducking.

  „And so the wurm is dead,“ Cazzira said as they approached. „And its treasure lies unguarded.“

  „And so one of the wurms is dead,“ came a correction, in a voice that was neither human nor elf.

  The pile of gold and silver shifted and broke apart, and from within came the dread wurm, the great dragon, its scales all red and gold, its horns taller than a tall man, its blazing eyes slitted, like those of a cat, and with wisps of smoke coming forth from its great nostrils. Three sets of eyes went wide with surprise and horror, three mouths dropped open in simple awe at the most magnificent beast.

  „Welcome, thieves!“

  „Not so…“ Juraviel started to say, gasping and stuttering through each word. But he stopped his sentence and started his legs, leaping aside as a great foreleg came swatting down at him, smashing into the gems and coins where he had been standing, rending the very stone of the floor!

  Cazzira leaped in near to that foreleg and whipped her wooden club about hard, smacking it against the scaly limb.

  She might as
well have smashed it against the side of a rocky mountain.

  „Run away!“ Belli’mar Juraviel cried, and all three scattered, diving about the treasure mounds, using them for cover from the beast. The dragon thrashed its tail, sending a fountain of coins, gems, and trinkets flying about the room, showering poor Brynn, who went tumbling down over a smaller pile of spears and other weapons. She hit hard and turned about, fearing that the wurm was upon her.

  But the dragon had gone the other way, in pursuit of Cazzira. The Doc’alfar cut around one pile of coins; the dragon lowered its head and plowed right through.

  Apparently anticipating the move, Cazzira came right back out the way scaling another nearby pile and rolling right over the top, the other side.

  ‘ t’„ bellowed the dragon, and its voice boomed off the rock and?s if it W0uld sunder the very stones that supported the chamber. Tie work for my meal, that I might enjoy it all the more!“ 3 her worst nightmares, Brynn Dharielle had never imagined anything as rful and monstrous as the dragon. It seemed as if it could kill her with done, and every time it spouted a word, a bit of flame came out ‘it! All that Brynn could think of was running away, diving back down * pit and rushing back across the fiery lake. Despite the plight of her two companions, the young ranger actually started on that very course - until something else caught her eye

  A specter hovered by the pile of weapons over which she had just tripped, the ghost of a man, a To-gai-ru.

  „Emhem Dal,“ she whispered, though she had no idea of how she knew the ghost’s identity.

  The specter lifted a translucent arm, pointing to the side, and Brynn felt a command, one that she could not ignore. Pushing away the continuing thunder of the dread wurm, the shouts of Juraviel and Cazzira, the screech­ing of dragon claws on stone, Brynn rushed out to the side, toward a mound of assorted treasures, following the specter’s command. She reached the pile and began digging, having no idea of what she might be looking to find, for she had not taken the moment to consider any of this.

  She just dug and dug, tossing aside goblets and jewelry, strangely shaped coins stamped with a dwarven face, and even a helm and short sword. And then another sword…

  Brynn almost threw that second one, until she felt a wave of compre­hension as her hand closed about its fashioned golden hilt, beautiful in design. It was formed into a sculpture of an elf dancing, her arms out­stretched as she twirled, forming the crosspiece, and her head, fashioned of a light red ruby, serving as the joint between the slender blade and the pommel.

  I he blade was no less magnificent, razor thin and with delicate carvings tinning the length of the flat sides. It wobbled as Brynn flicked her wrist, it despite that, the woman could sense its immense strength. Understanding the truth of the sword, a ranger sword, Brynn looked back to the ghost. . but the specter was gone.

  : came out of her trance then, and abruptly, seeing Juraviel flying over „ mound, his bow in hand, launching a series of arrows back at the pur­ring dragon.

  sucked in her breath as Juraviel approached another treasure > thinking that it would stop him and that serpentine neck would catch up to him!

  clever elf dropped right before he got there, and the lunging

  dragon snapped over him as he fell, colliding with the mound and sending a shower of coins and gems flying about the chamber.

  „Run away!“ Juraviel cried again. „To each your own, and find a way out!“

  „No escape!“ the dragon promised.

  „Not for me, perhaps,“ Brynn said under her breath, and with a howl she charged forward, rushing past the surprised Juraviel as he continued his flight, rushing right toward the dread wurm, her sword held high.

  „Feel the sting of Flamedancer!“ the furious ranger cried, rolling past the snaking head, coming up between the gigantic forelegs. She chose her mark carefully, the hollow of the breast, and threw all of her momentum into the powerful strike, stabbing the mighty ranger sword for the dragon’s heart with all of her strength and passion.

  To the sword’s credit, it did not break.

  And to Brynn’s credit, she did manage to scratch the targeted scale a little bit.

  „Brynn!“ Juraviel cried.

  The young ranger considered the mark on the scale, realizing that if she had the time to strike a hundred times more, she might manage to get through that outer armor. With a sigh, she looked up, to see the wurm’s re­tracted head, those awful catlike eyes beaming down at her.

  Up went a foreleg.

  Brynn dove aside.

  The dragon hit the floor with enough force to split the stone, the shudder knocking Brynn from her feet. The foreleg bore right through the floor, and the overbalanced wurm fell to the side, against yet another pile of treasure, disturbing it so that it began to flow out of the chamber and into the opened crack. It wasn’t nearly enough of a flow to topple the dragon, but the momentum of it did catch poor Brynn, carrying her along on a river of gems and gold, to spill out of the chamber, to tumble and bounce and fall along a rocky decline, smashing her body and head, tearing her clothing.

  She didn’t know how far she had fallen, for she lost consciousness long before she settled far, far below the chamber of the dragon.

  Cazzira never even tried to go in against the great dragon. As soon as the beast made its presence known, the elf turned and fled, and she almost made it into a side passage. Almost, but a great tail stamped down in front of the opening, blocking the way even as she reached it.

  She stumbled into the tail, regained her balance immediately, and started off to the side, but a sudden swish of the great tail caught her and sent her flying away.

  She hit the side of a treasure mound, and the unstable nature of that pile alone saved her from serious injury. For the mound gave beneath her, then Kl d about her, and she went down in a heap, coins and gems and jew illing over her, burying her as she lay there unconscious.

  > dragon wasn’t even paying attention to her. The human woman had

  down the hole, and so the beast had started into the hole in pursuit,

  head snaking down after the tumbling human and dropping treasure.

  t the descent narrowed too quickly for the dragon to continue the pur-

  to catch up, and the great head came back out, the beast roaring in

  That rage focused almost immediately upon a second figure, Belli’mar Turaviel, skittering for the open hole.

  A huge claw slammed down in front of the running elf, barring the or seemed to, for the elf leaped, his wings flapping furiously, getting him up and around the blocking leg. And then he dropped, like a stone, into the opening.

  But this time the dragon was not caught by surprise, and with frightening speed, the quickness of a striking serpent, the great head snapped down.

  And when it came back up, the elf’s flailing legs stuck out between the beast’s huge fangs.

  Brynn Dharielle opened her eyes, or rather, one eye, for the other was caked closed by dried blood. She was not in darkness, for her glow torch had fallen beside her, but she knew at once that the globe had been cracked, for unlike the sharp edge of light it had previously shown, it was now dulled, surrounded by a glowing white mist.

  She remembered Cazzira’s explanation of the torches and feared that she would soon be in total blackness.

  Spurred by that, Brynn rolled to her side and forced herself into a sitting position. At first, her thoughts went right back to the cavern above, to the huge beast and her fall, to her friends and the grim fate they had likely found before the dragon. But soon enough, Brynn noted all the glittering items about her: gems and jewels, and her newfound sword, a ranger sword.

  Brynn picked it up reverently, then nearly threw it aside in anger, feeling that it had betrayed her with its inability even to pierce the great monster’s scaly hide.

  She didn’t throw it, though, but held it up before her eyes. „Flame-dancer,“ she said, reciting the name Juraviel had spoken. She studied the fabulous detailing of the long
and very slender blade, her ey.es and her free hand roaming down to feel the cool metal and the sculpted hilt, the female elven form with the ruby head.

  Brynn stood up and with a nod, slid the sword into her belt. She consid­ered the tunnel far above her and realized that she could hardly retrace her steps back to the dragon’s lair.

  Nor did she want to. The woman closed her eyes in a silent salute to Belli’-mar Juraviel, and to Cazzira, who had become somewhat of a friend over the days of traveling the Path of Starless night. But they were dead, she told herself - or else they, too, had escaped, and would likely do better than she in these dark tunnels. Either way, Brynn understood that she had to be strong, had to put Juraviel and Cazzira behind her, had to find her way out of those black tunnels and to her homeland, where she could lead the To-gai-ru to freedom and do honor to Belli’mar Juraviel and to all the elves who had trained her for the task.

  She searched all about the fallen treasure then, ignoring the gems and the coins, seeking a light source, or anything else that might help her on her way.

  The first thing of note that she happened upon was a beret, shining red even in the dimming light. She picked it up and put it on, more to keep her bloody and sticky hair out of her face than out of any fashion sense.

  Almost immediately, Brynn began feeling a little better, but it was a sub­tle thing and she didn’t make the connection.

  A gem-studded bracer lay nearby. Looking at her left wrist, which had been cut and bruised in the fall, she took it and tightly strapped it in place. She completed the outfit by replacing her torn shirt with a fine-looking sur-coat, lined with sown metal rings and tied with a red sash that held her sword perfectly.

  And then she picked up her broken glow torch and started off along the hot and dark tunnels, determinedly putting one foot in front of the other. She shrugged off the pain as the hours passed, and searched out some food as Cazzira had taught her.

  She made her camp in a side alcove and spent some time, futilely, in try­ing to repair her broken lamp.

  Then she fell into a fitful sleep, remembering her lost friends in terrible dreams and awakening in a cold sweat.