by J H G Foss
Unlike the smaller dragons they had seen before, the manhunters, who were dark green and more or less indistinguishable from each other the chasm dragons were widely varied in size and colour. They saw two dragons with manes, one like a horse’s and another more like a lions. They saw dragons that affected jewellery in the form of claw rings and crowns, others that wore runes on their skin, some that looked like tattoos and others than looked magical in origin. All in all the dragons seemed to vary wildly and they accentuated that variety with many forms of affectation. It was a lot to take in.
When they broke for lunch, back at their campsite they discussed their observations.
‘I don’t think I will ever see anything like it again,’ said Roztov. ‘Hundreds of dragons, some as small as ponies, others as big as houses. “Old Red” must have a wingspan three hundred feet wide, he’s bloody enormous.’
‘I think I’m able to tell the males from the females now too.’
‘Yes, they are so varied, but the females seem to carry themselves differently. I wish I had a notebook with me. I’m never going to remember all of this.’
Meggelaine busiest herself preparing their food as they talked.
‘I’m sure even the bits that you remember, if we get back, will be enough for a paper at that society of yours.’
‘They’ll think I’m making it all up. Sailor’s stories.’
Meggelaine laughed, but he was being serious. What they were seeing was so fantastical it would scarce be believed back in Styke or Enttland where most people had never seen a dragon and the bard’s fictitious songs and tales got all confused and jumbled up with reality.
‘Well, if we make it back, I’ll corroborate you dear,’ said Meggelaine.
‘Oh you are sweet,’ said Roztov knowing he was being mocked and went to ruffle he hair. She ducked out of the way and hit his hand with a spoon.
They spent the rest of the afternoon, until it got dark, watching another part of the chasm. They found a very wide ledge further east, that was perhaps fifty yards wide and five hundred yards long, which appeared to be used as a sort of meeting area for the dragons. There were statues lining part of it, but it appeared that over the years the dragons had clumsily knocked most of them down. Roztov could see the statues were of humanoids, but Meggelaine squawked and fluttered her wings furiously at him when he motioned with his beak that he wanted to fly across the chasm, a distance of about a hundred yards, and take a closer look. Besides the statues there were several large cylindrical cages on the wide ledge, each big enough to hold a dragon, which hung from massive chains anchored further up on the chasm wall.
After a couple of hours of watching the dragons go back and forth in what they now took to be a fairly typical day for the Chasm, a drama unfolded before them that they took to be decidedly untypical.
A group of the dragons landed, about twenty, with three blackish-green ones, similar to the manhunters, but larger, in their midst. These three seemed subdued and were covered in cuts and claw marks. The other dragons snapped and clawed at them after they had landed and then more flew down from their perches and hallways to take a look at the prisoners. The Chasm dragons then ushered the three inside, with more snaps and snarls.
Impulsively Roztov went to fly across to take a look at where the dragons were all going, but again Meggelaine squawked and flapped, even going as far as to grab his wing in her beak.
Once it got dark the dragons all apparently went to bed and the druids returned to their camp.
The two little hawks landed at the druid’s campsite and turned back into their normal forms. Roztov hugged himself and said, ‘Brrr! It’s cold. Let’s get that fire lit.’
Meggelaine walked over to him and looking up said, ‘kneel down one moment would you.’
Roztov knelt down so he was at eye level with her. She then smacked him across the back of the head.
‘Stop trying to fly off all the time! You’ll get yourself killed!’
Roztov smiled and stood up, it had not been a strong blow.
‘Sorry sweetie, it just felt like something was going on. They had prisoners. Must be Stovologard dragons.’
As they lit the fire and began the process of making their dinner they talked.
‘Do you think that “Old Red” is King Blavius?’ asked Meggelaine.
‘Could be. He’s definitely the biggest one I’ve seen. But who is to say they choose their monarchs based on size?’
‘True enough, Queen Jally was tiny,’ said Meggelaine, referring to the last queen of Tormwood.
Wind rattled through the trees and snow fell from the branches into the fire.
‘It’s going to be a cold night,’ Roztov remarked.
Later that night, as moonlight filtered through the trees and the fire burned down, Meggelaine edged closer to Roztov.
‘Roz, I’m cold.’
‘Cuddle in then.’
Roz noted to himself she never complained of cold when Ghene had been around, whatever the weather, but he knew his friend well enough to know she would have been embarrassed about such displays in front of others. He also knew that her assumption was that he wouldn’t talk of it either.
The next morning they went back to spy on the area of the Chasm they were now referring to as “Main Street”. As usual the dragons didn’t seem to come out of their caves until after dawn. The first to rise was “Old Red”, stretching his wings before taking off west on whatever business he had in that direction.
After that things seemed to go differently from what they had become to think of as normal. Firstly the three dragon prisoners were lead out onto the ledge and put into the cages. This was done with a lot of snapping and clawing, and not just at the prisoners. The green dragon and the fat dragon, the ones they thought of as friends of Old Red seemed to argue with some of the others, including two they had not seen before, a long emaciated looking one and one with a wide gaping maw of teeth.
It was getting on for lunchtime but they didn’t want to leave, it looked like some sort of council was being had, as one dragon would do a bit of talking, then another one. Sometimes they seemed to argue, voices were raised, and the ground was gouged with claws and dust blown up by the furious beating of wings.
After a while it all seemed to settle down. About half an hour passed, the dragons standing about as if waiting for something to happen and then finally a gong sounded from within the halls and they all bowed their heads, glancing over to the largest of the cave entrances as a drumbeat got louder from within. More time passed, the unseen drums grew louder and eventually an enormous dragon lumbered out of the entrance and into the middle of Main Street, flanked by black dragons that seemed to act as an honour guard. This new dragon was large, with orange scales and a yellow mane. It looked sickly, but strong, it’s wide girth and small wings made it look as if it would be impossible for the creature to fly. It walked like an old man, each step a struggle, but all the other dragons seemed to honour it.
The orange dragon said a few words in Draconic. There was some muttering from the others, but then their apparent monarch spoke again.
Eventually one of the prisoners was taken from its cage and presented to the orange dragon. There was some more talking and then suddenly and brutally the black dragons set on the prisoner and ripped its wings to shreds. It was then herded over the side of the ledge to fall down into the depths of the chasm, crying in panic as it tried to fly with its ragged useless wings. Where it landed there was no way of seeing, the bottom of the chasm was too dark and distant.
The second dragon was lead out and the process was repeated.
Finally, the third and last dragon was lead out from its cage. It immediately tried to escape, but two of the black dragons stepped on its wings and pinned it down.
Just then a large shadow passed along the length of Main Street and they all looked up. Old Red had returned and he didn’t seem that happy. He landed and then seemed to openly argue with the orange dragon. Eventually the pris
oner was lead back to the cage and locked up again.
After some more talk the orange dragon gave Old Red a dismissive look, snorted some flames and returned to his cave. Things broke up after that and night fell.
Back at their campsite, as they prepared and ate their dinner the druids talked.
‘I am starving!’ declared Roztov. They had missed lunch.
‘Never stand between a Stykian man and his dinner!’ sniggered Meggelaine. ‘It’s the last of the rotrok meat tonight. If you want more you’ll need to go hunting.’
‘Right,’ grunted Roztov as he sat warming his hands by the fire. ‘What did you make of all of that though?’
‘I’m no expert, but I’d say that big orange one must have been King Blavius. Seemed like he was set to kill all the prisoners until Old Red showed up.’
‘What a brutal way they have of killing off their enemies. That last one had a narrow escape.’
‘I never thought I’d feel sorry for a dragon,’ admitted Meggelaine. ‘I was actually pleased when the last one was saved. They cried so piteously as they fell.’
That night Meggelaine cuddled up to Roztov again, although the wind had died and it was no colder than it had been any other night.
The next day seemed fairly quiet in comparison. There was the usual level of activity and the remaining prisoner lay curled up in its cage, rather like a big scaly cat occasionally glancing over its tail at the comings and goings on the ledge,.
Not much else seemed to happen on Main Street, the dragons went about their business, the prisoner was left alone and Blavius or any of the other more prominent dragons were not seen.
That evening on their return Ghene was already at the campsite preparing dinner with some rotrok meat he had evidently hunted on his way back from Vine Street.
Everything was fine down there, Ghene explained, the runaways had not seen Dreggen or any sign of unusual manhunter activity. Roztov and Meggelaine filled him in with the recent activity up at the Chasm and then they got onto the subject of their next move.
‘There is no way we will get everyone across in one go. It has to be done at night,’ said Roztov.
‘Agreed. It’s a question of finding the right spot to cross,’ replied Ghene. ‘South-west of here and we end up back where we started. North-east of here seems more sensible.’
‘North-east of this place you have Main Street, then after that you have the split, and after that the Spire. Right where we are now seems as good a place to cross as any.’
Roztov took his pipe from his pocket, sighed, and then put it back again. He had run out of tobacco, having smoked the last of the pouch Yewer has given him earlier that day.
‘Something is happening up there anyway. I don’t know what dragons usually get up to and maybe this is all normal, but it didn’t seem like it.’
Meggelaine was busying herself around the campsite, but didn’t like to be out of any conversation for long.
‘They seem to keep a human day and night cycle,’ she said. ‘The Chasm wakes up at dawn and they don’t fly about all that much past nightfall. There is some activity, but mostly they seem to be in their beds.’
‘Hence the night crossing.’
‘Even then it’s risky,’ continued Roztov. ’We’d need to make two trips. I’ve been thinking though, one of us needs to change into a hippogriff or whatever and fly over there tonight to see what happens. If nothing happens then it’s probably safe to ferry them all across. Whoever goes tonight should find a good spot to take them all too, about a mile north of the chasm. We’ll take Broddor, Floran and Salveri first, and then Tankle, Arrin and Ophess.’
‘I’ll go tonight,’ said Ghene.
‘I was thinking I would. You’ve been to Vine Street and back and must be tired from all that flapping. I’ve a desire to stretch my wings.’
Meg was biting her fingernails and spitting them into the fire, ‘I could manage Ophess, but I’m not sure I could carry anyone else. Floran is a grown man and Broddor is a lot heavier than he looks. Floran can summon those giant bees of his. Perhaps he could go over like that?’
‘I’m not sure Meg. I can do a test crossing as a hippogriff, and if that works we can go as hippogriffs or griffons as is your preference. The thing is, we fly silently, those bees of his make a real din. We can make three trips. It’s fine.’
‘We should do it from about a mile south, in the dead of night,’ said Ghene. ‘Circle up and up, about a mile up maybe, then cross. Then back down on the other side, always making the crossing really high.’
‘If you are expecting me to fly up a mile I’ll definitely never manage that with Broddor on my back,’ squeaked Meggelaine. ‘I’ve never been that high ever. I don’t like it, too scary.’
‘Uch,’ groaned Roztov. ‘Ghene you’re forgetting about Meg’s fear of heights. Maybe I could carry her too, she weighs about the same as a cat anyway.’
Meggelaine went over to Roztov and nuzzled into him.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not much of a druid am I?’
‘You make up for it in different ways sweetie,’ Roztov replied as he mussed up her hair.
‘Get off,’ she scolded him as she tucked her ginger locks back behind her ears. ‘We can see how we get on anyway. It sounds doable.’
That night, for the first time, Roztov crossed the gorge. As they had discussed, he turned into a hippogriff then found an updraught to help him climb up about a mile into the sky. He then flew north for a couple of miles and found what he thought was a suitable landing spot hidden in a deep snow-filled valley.
As a druid he would have no trouble finding it again, so he didn’t bother landing and instead wheeled around and returned to the south.
On his way back he had sudden impulse to take a closer look at Main Street, so mid-flight he changed from a hippogriff into a sparrowhawk and stooped down to the ledge.
The only dragon on the ledge was the prisoner on the cage and it seemed asleep. Roztov landed on the top of the cage and surveyed the scene. It was a clear night with not much of a moon so the sky was full of stars. The gentle breathing of the dragon sent clouds of steam up through the bars of the cage, shrouding Roztov in a mist that was swirled about by the gentle drafts of the chasm.
It was a very cold night.
Roztov was there to look at the statues, but felt in no great hurry now that he had arrived. He was enjoying the sensation of being so close to the dragon and its warm sulphurous breath heating his feet. Meggelaine was not here to caution him after all, if she could see what he was doing now she would beat him half to death with a ladle. It was such a lovely scene though, the starlight falling on the promenade of statues, with the curve of the chasm wall looming darkly in the distance, he felt in no urgent need to do anything other than take it all in.
His attention was drawn to movement on the wall of the chasm and as he watched, he saw several medium sized lizards, about the size of cats, darting about. They were shaped rather like geckos and used their splayed feet to grip the shear surface of the cliffs. It was difficult, even with the eyes of a sparrowhawk to make out their colouring but he thought that they might be quite varied in shades and tones, with stripes, dapples or spots. He swooped down onto the ground and changed his form once more.
***
Rocky was a chasm crawler, he lived in a crack in the wall of a wide stone corridor. At night he would come out, when the dragons were asleep, and scavenge for food down to the area he knew as the “fountain mezzanine” and also all the way up to the entrance. He didn’t often go outside, he was somewhat agoraphobic and was always rather tense when he left his home in the crack. He was happy enough though, he always had enough to eat and the other crawlers liked and respected him, rarely venturing into his territory or calling him names. He hated the dragons, they were mean and mocking and if they saw him they would either taunt him or try and stomp him, usually the later. He stayed out of their way.
Tonight he was patrolling around the main
hall of his territory. It was a tall ceilinged box-like room covered in bass relief carvings. Along each side of the room were carved out statues of creatures neither he nor anyone else he knew had seen before. They were of two main types, ones that walked upright on their hind legs and wore cloth to hide their genitalia and the other much larger creatures that walked on four legs and had big ears and noses so long they reached their feet. The dragons had knocked off most of the trunks in their passing, but there beasts whole front portions were carved out of the rock which gave hundreds of deep little hiding places for chasm crawlers to skulk about in.
There were other carved out sections about twenty feet up where statues of the cloth-wearers sat with their arms folded and eyes closed in quiet contemplation. Rocky had lived with these things all his young life and paid them no great heed. He spent his evening sniffing around the nooks and crannies looking for bones and bits of meat discarded by the dragons. Whatever he didn’t eat he’d take back to his home in the crack and save for later. He spent most of his life in the crack, he felt most comfortable there, dozing away, or thinking his thoughts. Mostly he thought about whether Pebble, the female that he knew on the mezzanine floor would let him mate with her soon, and if not that then he thought of his collection of images of the outside. He had once gone up all the way to the top of the chasm and seen trees. He sometimes wondered what they were like close up. He also sometimes thought about what it must be like on the other side of the chasm. The others told tales of seeing crawlers going about on the other side, but he had never seen one. He didn’t even know how they got there, if they were there at all. To him they may as well have been on the moon.
He finished chewing on a broken vegetain bone, and emerged from behind one of the reliefs. He tasted the air and realised there was another crawler in the room. His eyesight wasn’t great, but it didn’t need to be when he spent much of his life in total darkness. Using his other senses he found the intruder easily enough, a large striped fellow who was stood looking up at the main scene carved out of the wall, the one depicting a group of cloth-wearers packed together in pairs separated by pillars.