by J. M. Topp
A small shadow zipped across the firelight just out of the corner of her eye. She quickly raised the torch to her face and looked down the dark corridor. A scratching sound, like claws on rock, emanated ahead. She was at the end of a hall that opened up into what looked like a large, ruinous citadel garden. She stared at the garden and made her way through the hall. Broken pillars of white stone strewn throughout the underground garden glistened in the dim torchlight. At the very centre of the olden garden lay a white marble building, which itself was crumbling like the pillars around it. Rows of dead bushes with rotten leaves and branches dotted the path leading up to the building. She crushed them softly beneath the step of her boots. As her eyes became accustomed to the darkness, she noticed the garden was full of incandescent reflections from the torch. But then one of the reflections blinked.
She stopped and stood still.
The scratching sound began to get louder. Elymiah held her breath and took a step back. At once, hundreds of glowing lights jumped from the darkness. Hulking black beetles burst from the dead shrubs at her feet, with pincers poised to kill and rows of jagged sharp teeth snapping beneath them. Elymiah clenched her jaw and ran as fast as she could through the ruins. A beetle jumped at her ankle, piercing leather and flesh with its giant pincers, sending Elymiah onto the ground. She screamed and hit the beetle in the head with her torch as hard as she could. The beetle screeched and let go of her leg as small embers burned its soft, gelatinous black skin. Elymiah jumped up and continued to run through the ruins. She didn’t know where the ruins led, but anywhere was better than being eaten by insects. Her leg burned like it had been set on fire, but she did her best to ignore it, though she winced and gritted her teeth every time she put weight on it. She couldn’t run much longer. She dropped the torch and pulled Alamánd from its sheath. The sharpened edge of the blade glistened in the firelight. Elymiah stood her ground and whipped back and forth, regarding the clicking sounds all around her. Without her steel plate arm, there was very little she could do against creatures like these. She glanced back to see hundreds of tiny eyes amassing before her. She squeezed the hilt of her sword as her eyes darted back and forth from pairs of glowing eyes to snapping pincers.
‘Shit,’ she muttered. A beetle jumped into the firelight and, with a shout, Elymiah twirled her blade and sliced the beetle’s head from its torso. Green juice spewed from the writhing body, dousing the flames of the torch. Elymiah cursed once more and turned to run. Thousands of glowing eyes followed in her wake. The rockbeetles, scratching and screeching, were nearly overtaking her. One jumped from behind, poised to pierce Elymiah’s neck, but she turned at the last minute and shoved the point of Alamánd into the beetle’s small mouth. The creature fell to the ground, kicking wildly and screaming. The shrieking noise nearly deafened Elymiah. She pulled the blade from the beetle’s mouth and kept running through the ruins. Without any light to see, she was blind. The glinting reflection was gone with the death of the torch flames, but the glowing eyes behind her persisted.
Tears began to fall from Elymiah’s eyes. Her life was over. She would die in the Caves of Vammar Sanctum, prey to scuttling bugs. She tripped on a loose tile and rolled against the ground. She picked herself up, but it was useless. The beetle horde was on top of her almost immediately.
Suddenly, a wave of flames spewed overhead, nearly scorching Elymiah’s back. She turned her face to the cold ground and closed her eyes. The torrent of fire instantly incinerated beetle after beetle, who vanished with shrill screams. The heat was more than Elymiah could bear, and she grunted in agony as the flames bit at her back. Then, just as abruptly as the fire had burst over her head, burning the beetle horde, it stopped. A soothing cool fell on her. She opened her eyes, trying to catch her breath. It must have been another trap set by the giant Kveikur. She rolled over to put out the tongues of flame on her back, and then she remained still. The burnt smell of dead insects sprang into her nostrils, but what she was worried about now was where the flames had come from. Her sword was miraculously still in her hand.
Just how many dangers and traps are in this place?
-I have heard your voice in my mind and smelt your scent before. Could it really be you?-
Elymiah froze. She knew that voice. At first, she thought maybe it was another memory coming to torment her, but then she heard it again.
-Could it be you, Hunter?-
Elymiah stood up, prepared to drop back down if she needed to. A shadow, darker than the gloom in the cavern, arched its neck and raised an elongated head toward her.
‘You’re the wyvern, the one from Khoryl Castle,’ she said, taking a step back. She strained her eyes against the darkness, trying to catch the faintest light. The wyvern’s voice had changed. It was no longer the childlike voice she had heard in the castle ruins so long ago.
-Tread carefully; she is nearby,- said the wyvern, in Elymiah’s mind. She remembered the feeling of warmth the beast emanated when speaking with her. She was tempted to succumb to the comfort, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be killed so easily. Especially after escaping the beetle horde.
Behind her, she heard the faintest sounds of scratching.
-Worry not, they shall bother us no longer,- said the wyvern. -However, they are not our greatest danger.-
Elymiah squeezed Alamánd’s hilt and held the magic blade before her. If the wyvern decided to attack again, she would be ready. But when she raised her weapon, a dark red light began to radiate from a scaly, thick chest. Her eyes widened as the beast rose from the ruins. The creature was three times the size Elymiah remembered. Ashes poured from his mouth as his chest began to burn brighter. The wyvern bared its transparent, sharp teeth at her. A stump remained where the horn had once been broken.
-Come closer.-
‘How do I know you won’t attack me?’ asked Elymiah, holding her ground. The wyvern huffed but didn’t attack; instead, he raised his front paw. A thick steel chain was wrapped tightly around his leg. Elymiah saw crusted green blood on the wyvern’s leg where it had tried to strain against its fetters.
-I am a prisoner here. Shackled to stone and darkness, destined to rot amidst broken pillar and beetle.-
‘The cyclops?’ asked Elymiah, fearing the response.
-It is she who rose up from the seas. Not cyclopses, like the rumour speaks. But a giant. Full-blooded giant from the era you humans call the First Age of Fog.- The wyvern breathed ash once more, and it became apparent to Elymiah that he was blind. Two holes were in his head where his eyes were supposed to be. -The giant, mistakenly named Kveikur, set her home here. She caught me by the wings and tied me up, calling me her pet. She took both my eyes and chewed them before me. I screamed and spat fire, but her skin was immune to my flame. For days, I screamed, searching for the giant, but she was no longer there.-
‘The Mother of Giants, is this the one who caught you?’ whispered Elymiah. ‘Where is she now?’
-This I do not know. I have heard only screams from others such as you. She will return before long, but the one who wounded me is not the one known as the Mother of Giants. This one is called Gulch.- The wyvern craned its neck and faced Elymiah. -You spared me once, Hunter. I beg you, spare me yet again.-
Elymiah swallowed hard and felt blood begin to seep from the wound in her ankle. Warmth trickled from her foot onto the cold, hard ground. The wyvern sniffed the air.
-I have not fed in weeks. There is very little sustenance in beetle and earth.- The wyvern bared its fangs. -It is pure torture to bleed before me. I may indeed break these chains and feast on you if you do not promise to help me.-
‘Threats won’t do you good, wyvern. You may burn me, but you do not scare me. I’ve faced far worse than you.’
The wyvern snorted a puff of smoke and ash from his mouth and stretched his wings out, but they were stopped by sharp hooks attached to the thin flesh. The wyvern screamed in agony, letting his wings fall. He fell to the ground before Elymiah’s feet, seemingly devoid of all s
trength. His head was now level with her shoulders. His eyes were indeed gone, and he sniffed the air, searching her scent.
-Spare me, Hunter. I do not wish this to be my tomb. I wish to feel the sky beneath my wings once more.-
Elymiah stared at the wyvern at her feet. She felt the weight of the pistol in her pouch. She could shoot the wyvern dead if she wanted to. But something inside her spoke against that. She remembered Bertrand’s face. If indeed she’d been meant to kill the wyvern when she hunted him at Khoryl Castle, Bertrand’s death and her mercy would all have been in vain. She gritted her teeth and, finally, sheathed her sword. She pulled the pistol from her pouch and aimed at the wyvern’s head, pulling the hammer back.
The wyvern stopped mid-sniff at the sound but kept still. Elymiah pointed the pistol away from the wyvern’s head and shot at the chains holding his leg. The chain shattered to pieces. The wyvern instantly raised his wings with a scream. The chains holding the dragonling immediately fell through the torn holes in his wings. The wyvern raised his wings high above his head and stretched them, then flapped them, throwing a gust of wind against the cavern floor. Elymiah shot again, this time at the chains holding his hind leg. The wyvern flapped his wings and raised himself into the air. He raised himself higher in the cavernous ruins and threw himself forward as Elymiah ducked.
He landed behind Elymiah and shook his skin, shedding some old scales from his back onto the ground beside the corpses of burnt beetles. He snarled and coughed ashes.
Elymiah had one shot left. The wyvern sniffed the air and craned its neck. -You have my thanks, Hunter. I often wondered if fate would bring us together again.-
The dragonling flapped his wings three times and then screamed. Elymiah covered her ears and noticed a trickle of blood drip from her nose. The wyvern shook his neck once more and then turned to her. -It feels good to be free.-
‘What…what do I call you?’ asked Elymiah.
-I have been named Dôrmundirovyxys by thousands of ancestors, but I realise that is a mouthful for man’s tongue. You may call me Dorma.- Dorma folded his wings against his body and licked his lips.
‘I need to find my father. He came here to kill that giant.’
-A fool. That giant cannot be killed by fire or steel.-
‘Do you know where he is?’
-I saw an armoured man pass through the ruins with a mass of beetles on his tail, but he could not hear my voice call out to him.-
‘Where?’
-There is an exit on the other side of the cavern that is hidden. I will lead you.-
Elymiah nodded. Dorma shook his neck once more and turned from her, scratching at his shoulder blades. Scaly skin began to peel off in tiny pieces, like an onion, but Dorma lumbered on through the cavern with his wings folded against his body. His long tail was suspended above the ground as he walked. Elymiah tried not to bump into it.
I can’t believe I’m following a wyvern, thought Elymiah.
Dorma tilted his head slightly but didn’t respond to her comment.
THE DRAGONLING LED Elymiah deeper into the Sanctum. Dorma had been right; she would never have been able to find the exit from the cavern on her own. She followed the wyvern through the pass. A light hit her face, and she glanced up, bewildered. Her heart skipped a beat. The cavern opened up, much bigger than before. She could see for miles upon miles through the cavern. Hills and mountains were accentuated by a blinding light coming from high above. It seemed like a raging bonfire of white flame shining light over the entire cavernous valley, much like an underground moon. She and Dorma were standing on a ledge overlooking an entire underground valley.
‘This isn’t simply a cavern. This is a world beneath the world. This cavern must be as wide as the Isles of Brume. There is strong magic here; I can feel it,’ Elymiah said in amazement.
-I heard the giant Gulch say mankind was made in this very cavern, by the blacksmith god—nameless he is, it seems.-
Elymiah saw movement from the corner of her eye. It was Artus, but he was miles away. Yet she could see the most exquisite detail on him. She could see sweat trailing down his cheeks.
‘Father!’ she shouted. ‘Dorma, I have to get to him.’
-Your eyes deceive you. He is miles away.-
Elymiah looked at Dorma’s back. ‘Maybe I can ride on your back?’
-You’ve read too many stories about dragon riders, Hunter. Remember, I am no dragon. I could not carry you and fly at the same time.-
‘What about if you carried me in your claws?’
-It would hurt you.-
Elymiah was out of options. To go after him on foot would take days. ‘My father is down there. Help me, Dorma, please.’
The wyvern turned his head toward her. -I am blind, Hunter. I only know you’re there because I can hear the beating of your heart. When I fly, I cannot understand anything save for the beating of my wings on the wind.-
‘Can you hear my voice?’
-Yes.-
‘Trust me.’ Elymiah put her hand on the dragonling’s side. Dorma shook his neck and raised his wings, lifting himself into the air. Elymiah held her arms out. Slowly, he wrapped his claws around her shoulders. She clenched her teeth as Dorma squeezed too hard on her shoulders, but she did not protest. Dorma began to flap his wings as he lifted her into the air, and then he leaned forward, folding his wings as he dived. Elymiah felt her stomach lurch into her throat as they began a free fall, but she did not scream.
A silent curse was all she could manage as her breath escaped her. The ground raced up toward her. Then, at the last moment, before the point where they would slam into the valley floor, Dorma opened his wings, stopping their fall, and rose into the air. He shot across the cavern sky. Elymiah didn’t even notice how hard he was squeezing her shoulders anymore, but it didn’t matter anyway. She didn’t want to fall from such a height.
They passed over tall hills covered in grass. The air was sweet in the monstrous cavern. Elymiah did not have to take a full breath of air. In fact, she felt as though she did not have to breathe at all. There was an odd sensation of being underwater yet still being able to breathe. Then she saw Artus, lying on his back beside a collection of boulders. Blood was trickling from his chest. The dragonling shot over him.
‘Wait, go back!’ shouted Elymiah. Dorma groaned and tilted his wings.
‘Here, drop me.’ Dorma let go of her shoulders, and Elymiah hit the ground hard. She landed on a dirt path, on her face. With difficulty, she picked herself up. She spat specks of dirt from her tongue. White light cast a long shadow behind her. She heard a grunt and saw a man on the ground.
‘Father!’
She rushed to Artus’s side.
Artus’s eyes blinked rapidly as he looked up at his daughter. ‘Elymiah, could it really be you?’
‘It’s me, Father.’ She glanced at his side. A black pincer from a beetle was stuck in his chest. His breathing was rapid, and his eyes couldn’t focus. ‘Father?’
‘My daughter, what are you doing here?’ asked Artus, struggling to breathe.
‘I came when I heard you were lost,’ she said, picking up his head in her arms.
‘I am not lost. I am here with your mother, my love.’ He looked at the light and began to mouth unintelligible words. He smiled and laughed and then began to cough uncontrollably.
Elymiah held his hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘No, Father. It’s just me.’
Tears fell from her eyes.
The earth beneath her feet trembled, and a scream, louder than anything she had ever heard in her life, shot through the cavern. She turned to see Dorma struggling to lift his body. A giant stone lay on his left wing, crushing the thin bones in it. Then a figure rose from behind the boulders. A nasty snarl emanated from the figure.
Elymiah hurriedly grabbed Alamánd. The runes immediately flashed in her hand, brighter than before. Yet the figure continued to rise. Higher and higher, the black shadow rose in the cavern. Dorma coughed sparks from his mouth and the
n spit a stream of fire. The fire engulfed the shadow, yet the giant stood, unmoving. Suddenly, the giant swung a mighty arm at Dorma’s head, knocking the stream of fire away. Dorma fell to the ground in a heap.
Sweat began to collect on Elymiah’s brow.
‘I thought I had you chained up, my pretty,’ said Gulch, who took a step forward and slammed her head on Dorma’s skull. Dorma went limp, a small squeak bursting from his jaws.
‘You bastard,’ said Elymiah as she stood up and held her ground against the giant.
‘Do I have you to thank for this?’ asked Gulch, standing up against the light.
The giant, Gulch, wrongfully named Kveikur, had a black eye-patch over a mass of scar tissue that had once been her eye. Her other eye, which stared directly at Elymiah, was bright green. Gulch was bald but sported a scanty beard that was long and scraggly. She was mostly naked except for a loincloth made of the hide of some grey beast. A small but hardened breast lay unmoving on her chest, and where the other should have been was a mass of scars. Her body was strewn with muscle, and she held a boulder in her hand.
Without a word, Gulch drew back and threw the boulder at Elymiah. Elymiah rolled out of the path of the large stone, which barely missed Artus’s body, and then she leapt at the giant’s ankles. She sliced at the giant’s flesh with all her might. The skin barely parted in the wake of the deadly blade, but it did part.
Gulch shouted and stamped her foot. Again, Elymiah dodged the attack and knelt close to the ground.
‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing, eh?’ asked Gulch as she sat on the ground and nursed her ankle. The earth rumbled in protest.
Elymiah wasted no time. She leapt and sliced at the other ankle. Gulch roared and slammed her fist into the ground where Elymiah had been only moments before. Elymiah knew that her best shot was with Gulch at ground level. In a flurry of blows, Elymiah sliced at her arms and shoulders, dancing around the giant. Gulch, realising she had lost the advantage so close to the ground, roared and jumped back up. Black blood splattered on the dusty path as she threw her arms at Elymiah.