by David Adams
IT TOOK KHAVI AND I some time to work out exactly where we were, pouring over the map we had taken from the corpse of one of No-Kill’s party. Our sense of altitude told us that there was only one part of the tunnel network we could be in. Based on what I knew of Tyermumtican’s lair and the gnome settlement, we figured out which of the dots on the map was the dragon’s home.
We were closer than we thought.
The more we talked about it, the more Khavi became his old self. Navigation was a strong point of his, and perhaps something he was good at doing helped return his energy.
I looked around at the campsite, at the disorder and our mutual carelessness, and on Khavi’s face was a look of disdain and shame. It mirrored my own.
We cleaned. It was a good feeling to sharpen our weapons at last, to gather all our water, food, bedrolls and blankets, and to restore everything to their rightful place within our haversacks.
This simple act of discipline gave me more hope than it really had cause to give. It was more than simply reorganising and sorting; it was me asserting that I still had influence over the world, still had some part of existence that I controlled.
Khavi, though, still seemed to have a shadow over his heart despite his outward improvement. Perhaps whatever weighed upon him affected him more than I, or perhaps the goal of visiting Tyermumtican affected me greater, I didn’t know. But to his credit, he cleaned too, and soon our packs were set, and we were ready to depart.
The sooner we were gone from that tunnel where it was too easy for us to lay down and wait for death to take us, the better.
We strode into the gloom, following a map we did not understand, written in a language we did not read, but my spirits were higher than they had been in a long while.
Time passed quickly as we moved down and west, away from the catastrophe that had befallen our home. I had imagined this journey many times in my dreams and during my waking hours, so to actually do it was a great personal moment. I imagined myself walking at the head of an army, bashing down the wrought iron gates of a dragon’s lair and bursting inside, demanding the answers that were already laid out before me, presented for my inspection. I would read them, digesting every word, and everything in my life would be complete.
And then I would learn who I was.
Instead, I was a cold, sore, hungry, and tired kobold, travelling not with an army, but a grump who had lost the will to fight. The dragon’s lair, too, failed to live up to my expectations.
The tunnel led to a subterranean lake, hundreds of feet wide and with a ceiling dotted with stalactites. By my reckoning it was higher than the gnome settlement. Inlets poured in from above, columns of water adding to the pool, filling the hollow dome with a constant rumble. Light crystals lined the edge of a centre ring, bathing the water in their faint blue light. The centre was large enough for the greatest of dragons to fit inside.
A pool within a pool. “So this is what a dragon’s lair looks like,” I said.
“Looks like a lake to me.” Khavi scowled and reached over, claws disappearing into my haversack, rummaging around. “Let me see that map again.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head.
“No?”
I flicked my tail, pointing inside my haversack with it. “No. Well, look at the map if you want, but this is the place. I can feel it.”
“More of your feelings,” said Khavi, closing my pack. “They endanger both of us.” I heard him unfurl the map, and I knew he was reading it, trying to make sense of the gnomish script.
I shrugged off my haversack and squirmed out of the chainmail I’d taken from the dead Darkguard. I barely heard Khavi’s distracted muttering as I removed the padding, then my belt and weapons, stripping down to bare scales, then dipped a claw in the water. Cool and calm, perfect to drink.
Or other things.
I slipped into the water, the stones underneath my feet smooth and slimy. The surface of the water rippled out as far as I could see, washing up against the inner ring, distorting the perfect mirror shine. I’d never felt water like this before, deep enough to walk into, and the ripples felt strange against my scales. I worried about the depth of it, but it felt so calming and relaxing that I kept walking out. When the water level rose to my chest, though, I knew I could go no further.
“Khavi!” I called out over my shoulder. “Come in and help me get across to the other side!”
“What in the hells are you doing?” he called back, his question ending in a hiss. He put down the map and scrambled over the stone, splashing roughly into the water’s edge. “You’ll die!”
I didn’t think I would. I paddled around, feeling my body respond to the movements of my hands. “Come on in,” I laughed to Khavi, frozen at the water’s edge. “it’s not dangerous!”
“You’re insane!” Khavi stared at the water just like he did to the bottle No-Kill had drawn from the underground river, clearly uncomfortable with it just up to his ankles.
“You big coward!” I laughed again and dared to push off with my feet, away from where I could stand.
I sank below the water. Instinctively, my feet reached out for the bottom of the lake, but there was none. I searched with my tail but found only water. Now that it was over my head the cool and refreshing feeling vanished; it suddenly felt cold and smothering. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t tell which way was up. I tried to call for help and inhaled a mouthful of chilled water. I flailed uselessly, sloshing through the dark water, and reached for anything to grab hold of.
My claws sank into something soft, and I gripped for all I was worth. The thing wriggled, moved, drew me deeper into the water.
Or towards the surface. Light—faint—from the crystals surrounding the lake’s edge.
I burst to the surface, gasping for air, thrashing around feebly. I was being dragged up, scraping my scales on the stones, then I was lying flat on my back.
I twisted around my neck to see who had dragged me out of the water.
A gnome man, older than old, with white hair, sat rubbing his arm. He wore thick robes, soaked completely through. His eyes were milky, vacant and unseeing.
Behind him Khavi had his weapon in hand, slowly advancing towards the stranger.
I flopped over onto my belly and tried to speak, but instead I threw up a lungful of water. I coughed and drooled as the gnome rubbed the armour on my back and spoke comforting sounding words in the fey tongue.
“Wait,” I said between gasps, shaking my head at Khavi.
“You speak draconic?” said the gnome, switching languages, his old face wrinkled into a calm, easy smile. “This is good. If you speak the tongue of dragonkind you must be supplicants seeking Tyermumtican’s wisdom. I am Laughless, guardian of the great one.”
Laughless. What kind of a name was that? I worried that Khavi might do something reckless, but fortunately he stopped his approach. Khavi’s posture did not relax. I thanked him with my eyes.
“We are supplicants,” I said, but more water found its way up before I could continue.
“There, there,” the gnome said, his voice soft and soothing, “let it all out.”
I jerked backwards away from his touch. I wanted to shout for the gnome to leave me alone, to never touch me again, but instead I simply hacked up the last of the water, vomiting onto the stone.
“Quite often do the gnomes of Stonehaven come to us bearing gifts,” he said, looking at me but not meeting my eyes. “But so rarely do they drown themselves in tribute.” He tilted his head, his hands massaging my back, soothing my protesting lungs. “I’m not sure why you thought the great Tyermumtican would favour a gift like this.”
Stonehaven. The gnome settlement had a name at last.
“It was an accident,” said Khavi, prompting the gnome to turn his head in the direction of the noise.
“Oh? You have a friend, how lovely.”
Khavi pulled a face, twisting his snout up in disgust. “We’re—”
“Friends,” I said, f
orcing my tongue to work despite an overwhelming urge to vomit. “We’re friends.”
“Indeed,” said the gnome, “and does this friend have a name? Do you?”
“I am Ren, and this is Khavi. We’ve come—” Our true home almost tumbled out of my lips by reflex, but I caught it on the very tip of my tongue. “From Stonehaven.”
“Ah, I see. I was not aware our people had any supplicants I had not yet met.”
“We’re young,” I answered, “but that’s not important. We’ve come seeking answers.”
“Answers are dangerous things.”
“I know,” I said, “but I have to know. What has happened? What caused the ground to shake?”
“I felt such a thing.” He hesitated. “But I sense that is not truly why you are here.”
I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough. “I am a sorcerer. I also want to know where my power comes from. What blood flows through my veins.”
The gnome’s blind eyes shined in the lake’s dim light. “Do you think it’s your blood that makes you different? That gives you power?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
He wheezed out a laugh. “Then you really don’t know anything, do you?”
I was vaguely offended, and Khavi’s anger was building. Being mocked by a gnome was not an insult he would bear lightly. “That doesn’t seem fair,” I said.
“If you truly want to meet with Tyermumtican you should prepare for further unfairness, Ren.”
I stared at the gnome, my eyes locked on his unseeing eyes, my hands firmly by my sides.
“I will keep that in mind.”
He tittered, far too whimsically for my taste, but seemed pleased. “Make sure you do.” He arched his back, ancient bones creaking. “Tell me, Khavi, are you a sorcerer too?”
Khavi shook his head at me, his claws uncomfortably close to his weapon for my tastes. I motioned for him to move them away, but he deliberately ignored me.
“I am a warrior,” he said to the gnome.
“Then why are you here?”
I was confused by the question. Khavi seemed to be as well, looking to me for support. I shrugged helplessly.
“I am here because Ren is here. She is my patrol leader and my duty compels me to follow her orders.”
“It is a strange gnome that speaks of duty with such reverence.”
I wrinkled up my snout in confusion. Why would gnomes be so lackadaisical about their duties? Was that a trick of theirs to disguise their wicked nature, or could they not control themselves to obey legitimate authority?
“Uh,” said Khavi, “is it?”
“In my experience. The gnomes who come here speak of fondness for their friends and desire to protect them from harm, or academic interest, or perhaps greed. But very rarely duty.”
I glared at Khavi. “Khavi is a strange one,” I said, “but he means well.”
“Does he now.” The gnome pursed his wrinkled old lips.
“He does.” I took in a shallow breath, trying to keep my nerves under control, willing the gnome to grant us passage. I had never met anyone who could not see before. Kobolds would never tolerate such weakness, nor permit someone to suffer through such an uncomfortable life. They would be killed, mercifully and quickly, and nothing more would be thought of them.
Despite his clear disadvantage, though, this strange gnome seemed to have found quite a niche for himself. In a way I was almost jealous. Would I give my eyes to live in this place?
“So, what do you think?” I asked. “Can we see him?”
“I think that it’s rare that kobolds try to reach Tyermumtican’s lair.”
I hissed, drawing in my breath, feeling my heart leap into my chest. Laughless knew. The gnome knew I wasn’t one of his kind.
“Surprised?” said Laughless, his blind eyes blinking. “You shouldn’t be. I have stood guard for Tyermumtican as long as I’ve been alive. I’ve seen many tricks from many races. Humans come to skin him for his hide. Gnomes to pilfer his hoard. Kobolds to tap into his magical energy. Your scent gave you away the moment you entered this cave. I will not take you to him, liar. You are no different from the rest of your kind.”
“That’s a shame,” I said, and ever so slowly inched towards the Feyeater at my belt, gently closing my digits around the finely crafted hilt. “We don’t want to harm him. Everything else I told you was true. I’ve told you why we’ve come. To seek knowledge.”
“As all your kind have come. Knowledge, though, is power, and power can be used for good and for ill. I’ll not see my master’s power in the grip of those who are unworthy of its greatness.”
With as much care as I could muster, I gently began withdrawing the blade, scraping my feet on the stone to disguise the sound. “The decision is final, then?”
Laughless seemed resolute. “It is.”
Silently drawing back my weapon, I aligned it to his heart. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time.”
The gnome smiled, a genuinely pleasant action. “As am I. Thank you for your understanding.”
My will began to falter. What if this one was like No-Kill, different from what we had been told of his kind? Perhaps I could win him over in time?
No. His mind was made up. I could not persuade him.
I thrust the blade forward, the matte steel of my magically enhanced weapon gleaming as it leapt for the heart of the gnome who had denied me what was mine. I noticed that the weapon, though, did not elongate as it had when Khavi had killed No-Kill; it remained short and black, a normal dagger.
Laughless caught it between his fingertips like an insect, stopping the weapon dead.
I stared in shock, hardly able to process what I saw. The weapon’s edge was razor sharp, his fingers should have been mincemeat even without the enchantment.
“You think your feybane steel can kill me, wyrmling?” said the gnome, his thin voice suddenly carrying a weight I had not heard before. “You think your guile can match that of a true dragon?”
Dread filled every scale on my body, a fear so intense and deeply entrenched that my rational mind retreated, leaving me weak and helpless. The Feyeater fell from my grasp, clattering on the stone, but the sound didn’t register in my head. All I could do was stare, terrified and gibbering, as his body expanded and grew taller than any gnome could be. His jaw elongated, hands became clawed like mine, and green-brown wings sprouted from his back.
I knew I should have thrown myself forward on my face to grovel before the power of our masters, but instead all I could do was wet myself in terror; my only action before one of Tyermumtican’s claws slammed into my chest, pushing me down against the stone floor, his agile and strong fingers holding me down. His enormous snout hovered above me.
“Please,” I gasped, trying to breathe with his grip wrapped tightly around my chest, “kill me quickly.”
“That usually is my preference. Any further requests?” said Tyermumtican, his breath washing over me, reeking of bitter acid.
“Let Khavi go.” I laboured to speak; it seemed that every time I inhaled, Tyermumtican’s claws would squeeze tighter, consuming my breathing room. “Coming here was my idea. It was I who had questions for you. Please do not eat him.”
Tyermumtican peered at me, eyes green and sharp, and for a moment he seemed to consider my request. Thin lines of saliva ran down his fangs, each incisor longer than my sword. I whimpered, praying to any gods who may still live that Khavi would not have to suffer for my foolishness.
“Granted,” said Tyermumtican, “I am feeling charitable this day, although my charity began when I controlled my laughter at being told you were a gnome named the draconic word for nothing.” He chuckled, a booming noise that echoed in the cave. “Tell me, though, in exchange, what knowledge did you seek? What magical power did you think could be yours?”
“No magic,” I managed. “I only wanted to know who I was.”
That answer seemed to surprise him, enough for him to not immediately crush me. I won
dered how kobolds would taste to a dragon and what kind of death he would give me. Would he toss me in the air and let me fall into his mouth? Would he tear me to pieces with his claws? Perhaps he would tenderise me with his breath, using it to melt my body, making it softer and easier to digest. Visions of my final moments swam in my mind as I lay completely at the mercy of the dragon I had been careless enough to try to murder.
“How do you not know who you are?” said Tyermumtican, his iron grip on my body relaxing ever so slightly. “Your kind are meticulous with their—”
I heard the loud clang of steel on something hard. “Ouch,” said Tyermumtican, his tone flat. “Excuse me.” He reached around behind him and grabbed Khavi, squirming and snarling in Tyermumtican’s hand, my friend’s two-handed blade bent almost in half.
Tyermumtican tossed Khavi high in the air, almost to the ceiling, his maw opening as Khavi descended. I shrieked for the dragon to stop, to spare my friend, but Tyermumtican’s claw caught Khavi before he hit the stone. His teeth clamped around the bent blade, then closed, breaking the weapon in half.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. I knew then that this was how we would die—tossed in the air by a predator toying with its prey.
“Delicious,” said Tyermumtican, chewing thoughtfully on the metal like Khavi or I would chew on glowbug flesh “Deep kobold iron, infused with carbon to make steel. Finely crafted, too. Few impurities. No magical essence to speak of, but very flavourful.”
“You…eat swords?” I dared to ask.
“A dragon can eat almost anything,” said Tyermumtican, swallowing his meal and licking his jaws, “including gems and metals and flesh, but I have a particular taste for kobold iron. It is mined so deep in the earth it develops a tender quality. The very flesh of Drathari, the juiciest cuts of our planet’s meat. When your kind come to me for information, I trade their metals for my knowledge.”
“I am glad that it pleases you,” I said, trying to keep the terror from my voice.
“It does, in a quaint kind of way. Usually I am not required to pluck gifts from my hide. Usually visitors are not so foolish.”
I twisted my head to Khavi. “Why did you attack him?” I hissed.
“You attacked him first, you—”
The dragon squeezed the air from his lungs.
“Quiet, angry one. You are mindless and suited only for battle; you have taxed my patience enough. It will do you well to remain silent unless spoken to.”
Tyermumtican relaxed his grip on my body. I didn’t get up though, preferring to lay in a puddle of my own piss rather than raise my head before a dragon.
“Speak,” Tyermumtican commanded. “You seem to have a brain. Tell me why you do not know who you are.”
I struggled to get words past my lips, and it took me a moment to find my tongue. “My egg was laid in the city, like so many others. But it was dead, I was stillborn, dead before hatching. I—my egg and I were thrown into the furnaces, all record of my parentage destroyed. But the flames didn’t burn me. Instead, my egg was brought back to life. Now no records exist of who I was. Who I am. Hence, my name is nothing.” I stared up at Tyermumtican, at those eyes that caught the dim light of his lair. “I want to be something. I want to know who I am before I die.”
“You have gold scales,” said Tyermumtican, one of his claws extending to me, touching my cheek. Despite the considerable size difference between he and I, the dragon’s grace was such that hovering the impossibly sharp tip of his claw over my scales seemed an easy feat. “I suspect that your lineage springs not from your home city.”
“My egg wasn’t laid in Atikala?”
Tyermumtican shook his head. “No, you misunderstand. It was. Your kind are not accepting of golden scales; your existence would have only been permitted had you been laid there as one of them. As an outsider you would have been killed. No, your mother was Atikalan at least, and your father…” he trailed off, seeming to stare off into nothing.
I waited.
And I continued to wait.
“Tyermumtican?”
My voice shook him from his trance. “Ren, the answer is clear to me now.”
I inhaled, my bruised ribs and the stink of piss forgotten. “Tell me,” I implored. “Please. Mighty Tyermumtican, powerful copper wyrm, please. Please tell me who I am.”
“I said only that I know, not that I would tell you.” He looked at me, and the fear in my heart dissipated, the dragon’s aura of terror leaving me. In his complex eyes, I saw an edge of sadness. “Regretfully, I cannot tell you who you are.”
“But I need to know!”
Tyermumtican exhaled through his nose, the air forcing me to squint. “I said I knew who your father and mother were, but those factors together do not dictate who you are.”
I scrunched up my face, propping myself onto my elbows. “I don’t understand.”
“You are of Atikala, yes? That place forms part of your identity. But it is not you. You are separate from it…able to walk a different path if you choose. This one,” Tyermumtican indicated to the suffocating Khavi with his nose, “chooses not to. However, his choice is not your choice. You are different than he is. Khavi embraces his home, using it to form his identity. Too stupid to know any better. But you, you are different. You can forge your own destiny; your path is whatever you wish it to be.”
“I understand,” I said. “I do. But I’ve waited so long to know the truth. Whoever my father and mother are, I do not care. I just have to know.”
Tyermumtican released Khavi. He gasped for breath, his face a dark, breath-starved brown.
“Sometimes, wyrmling, we ask questions that we do not wish to know the answer to, and sometimes ignorance is preferable to the truth.”