* * * * *
The next morning, light beats upon the party’s faces as the Kaldean sun rises from the west. The light rustles many from their rest, including Iltar. Cornar is still fast asleep, but one of his men warily awakes their champion leader.
Tilthan and Nemral are among those woken by the sunlight and both walk toward the path to examine the large prints in the dirt.
“Enjoy your meal, but be quick about it,” Iltar hurries the men camped around him, then strides along the foothills to join the two thieves examining the tracks.
“Iltar…” Tilthan looks up to the necromancer. The thief points to the strange prints in the ground and continues with a raised brow, “What is that?”
In the daylight the tracks are far more prominent. The prints, each unique and separate, have a contouring feature to them. From the onlookers’ view, the tracks move away from the mountain.
“Whatever created these must be huge,” Nemral remarks as he surveys the tracks. “Doesn’t it seem strange that these two different types of tracks are so close together?”
The tracks themselves are over seven phineals in length each, easily longer than a man is tall. The nearest of the pair is bulky, with three individual toe marks protruding from what look like the heel and arch of the creature. Ahead and to the right is another type of track, shallower than the other. At first glance, it looks like a palm of a human, but enlarged many times; however, only four finger-like-impressions spread from the palm section of the print.
“That one almost looks like a deformed giant hand,” Tilthan remarks at the set with four separate finger-like indentations. “I’ve never seen anything like this…” the thief looks back and forth at both of the pairs of prints and continues to speculate. “I wonder if this is one creature. If you look at it, the prints seem to be consistent for quite a ways down the path,” Tilthan points off into the plain from where they had come. “Like it was running from the cave.”
Unsettled by the tracks, Iltar wonders Are these prints of a dragon? Their artistic renderings were based on pure speculation. These look different than any dragon claw I’ve ever seen. But, why are they leading away from the cavern?
Shaking the thoughts aside, Iltar returns to the main group spread among the rocks of the foothills.
The necromancer’s sapphire eyes scan the rest of the party, many of whom are eating their cold morning meal. Hagen and Hex are huddled behind a rock eating their food together. Iltar looks past them to Igan, who is sitting alone.
Without a word, the necromancer strides to the lone wizard and sits down next to Igan.
Igan offers him a bowl of food from the sack beside him, and Iltar accepts, meticulously placing the food in his mouth.
“So, are those dragon tracks?” Igan asks, looking forward over the plain they crossed the previous night.
“I… don’t know,” Iltar replies, sighs and looking down at his bowl. “It could be, but the tracks are leading away from the mountains, not to them.”
Suddenly, Iltar remembers a passage from the elven scroll, “The guardian.” The necromancer’s eyes widen but he shakes himself, regaining his composure. He had not paid much attention to that line in the scrolls, but instead substituted it for a simple answer, due to the scroll’s missing pieces. The guardian is probably just a dragon to watch over the secret knowledge, but
“Your food isn’t going to get any colder,” Cornar quips from a boulder near the wizard and necromancer.
Jarred from his thoughts, Iltar looks to his friend, who is cleaning out his bowl and putting it back into his pack. Once his pack is secure, the brawny warrior crouches toward the two mages.
“I think we should let Tilthan and his friends do a little work,” Cornar looks back to the thieves who are still examining the prints. “Did you figure out what that was? Are those dragon tracks?”
“No,” Iltar shakes his head. “Tilthan thinks it was a creature running from the cave.” Looking up at his friend he genuinely asks, “Wouldn’t a dragon just fly out?”
“You have a point there, Iltar,” Igan concedes. “Tell me, what else haven’t you told us about this island that you know?”
“Nothing.” Iltar says with sincerity.
“Then I agree,” Igan looks at Cornar. “Send in the thieves.”
With that said, the warrior briskly steps away from the two mages who return to eating their food in deep thought; each thinking of what lurks behind the shadows of the cave.
Once down the path, Cornar steps up to Tilthan and Nemral, addressing them quietly, “It’s time for you two to scout out that cave. I suggest you use your cloaks.”
“You don’t think what made these,” Tilthan points to the tracks, “Is still in there, do you? Is that why you didn’t want to stay in there last night?”
Grinning grimly, Cornar chuckles and shakes his head then steps away from the thieves saying, “Just check it out and return to us with what you find.”
“Well,” Nemral shrugs as he looks to Tilthan. “It’s what we’re getting paid to do.”
Nemral reaches for his small pack and swings it around in front of his waist. The thief opens the sack and pulls a shimmering cloth from within that glistens in the early morning light; one end is gathered with a golden cord running through the fabric. At the tips of the cord are a latch and binding. The thief takes his cloak into one hand then pulls a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles out and places them on his face.
The thief readjusts his pack and wraps the shimmering cloth around his shoulders, latching the golden cord together. In an instant he disappears from sight.
“Why don’t the mages go in,” Tilthan mutters, opens his pack to reveal a similarly shimmering fabric. He reaches into the pack and pulls out a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and places them on his face.
“Because they don’t have our cloaks or lenses,” Nemral remarks from his invisible cloak. “Besides, we’re more agile.”
“Ugh,” Tilthan spits out then wraps his cloak around his shoulders and disappears in like manner.
Both thieves silently and invisibly enter the cavern with Tilthan leading the way; through their lenses they can see each other’s faint outlines.
The cavern towers over one hundred phineals in height, and is even wider. Light pours into the cave for quite a way inside and illuminates its entrance and the floor beyond it. As both thieves press forward, there is a deathly silence about the cavern; they notice a lack of any sort of life, plant or animal.
Tilthan leads the two even deeper into the cavern, and their eyes slowly adjust to the darkened area. The cave still looms large, twisting and turning, until the cavern opens into a grand chamber.
The two thieves stare at the breath taking view. Several beams of light illuminate the hollowed space from holes in the cavern’s ceiling. On the opposite side of the earthen room lies the answer to their quandary about the path.
From beneath his cloak, Tilthan’s eyes widen. In front of him lays a creature like nothing he had ever before seen. Nearly one hundred phineals in length, the beast is spread across the cool rocky surface, slumbering. Heavy breathing billows the surrounding air.
One of the creature’s front arms is out stretched with four long fingers, with one extended; the finger twitches, causing the large claw on its end to scrape across the rocky floor, piercing the thieves’ ears. The other arm remains coiled near its chest.
Along the creature’s rear, on the side nearest to the thieves, the hind leg is curled. The heel rests on the stone floor, with three large toe-like-phalanges accompanied by thick black claw.
The light from the ceiling dimly illuminates the light brown leathery texture of the creature’s skin. Boulder-sized warts line its exposed hide and rise up and down as the creature breathes. A carapace covers its back, full of two rows of protruding spikes that continue until the carapace ends midway along the tail of the creature. The light gently reflects from the hardened sur
face, further illuminating the large cavern. The tail, which is as long as its body, is elegantly stretched out and has deep creases where the skin of the beast had been pressed together.
At the opposite end, the creature’s head is adorned with two large antenna-like spikes, both differing from the other spikes along its carapace. The lower jaw of the beast protrudes, exposing its razor sharp teeth. Its eyelids are tightly shut, but the thieves see its eyes rapidly moving under the enveloping skin.
After recovering from their shock and examining the creature, both Tilthan and Nemral creep into the cavern, surveying the dome-like chamber. The walls are smooth and look as though they were made that way, instead of created naturally.
A dark spot in the cavern wall catches Tilthan’s attention; it is nearly opposite of the men but as long as one and a half of the creature’s length away from the slumbering beast. The senior thief motions for Nemral to follow him then he slowly and silently crosses the smooth floor. Upon reaching the opening Tilthan steps through it, happy to not be directly in the presence of the beast.
This second tunnel is much smaller than the first, about the size of a large hallway in any large building on Kalda. It’s wide enough, though, to hold several men abreast. Both thieves continue through the smaller passageway until the light from the larger cavern fades. Seeing that they are concealed in darkness, Tilthan motions for Nemral to turn back.
The two thieves quickly return and report to Iltar and the others; they signal their approach with a brief whistle that only their leader hears.
“Well we found out what made those,” Tilthan states as he wistfully appears from his cloak, startling half the warriors and a few of the mages. “There is a big, ugly,” he states the next word with emphasis, “Monster in there. It was at least one hundred phineals in length, with a shell and spikes. It was sleeping, but it still looked hideous.”
“That doesn’t sound like a dragon Iltar!” Hagen blurts out.
The necromancer glares at his illusionist friend, making him flush in embarrassment, and continues to listen to Tilthan’s assessment of the cavern.
“We found a… wait, what?” Tilthan leans forward, looking at Hagen and then back to Iltar, “Dragons? I don’t suppose you were planning on telling us–” The thief pauses and puts out his hand as if to stop Iltar’s words. “Wait! If you tell me you gotta pay me more! I was hired to just disable traps and scout things out, not soak up information.”
Iltar turns his menacing glare to face the thief.
“Forget it, forget it!” Tilthan says hurriedly, waving his hands as if trying to dismiss his earlier words.
“We did find another tunnel,” Nemral speaks up, “Smaller than this one, but I could feel a slight breeze, so it might lead to the mountain’s northern face. It was nearly on the opposite side of the larger tunnel’s entrance, past the creature’s lair.”
“That sounds like what we’re looking for,” Cornar chimes in from behind Iltar. “What was it like in those other tunnels?”
“Dark,” Tilthan responds, catching Iltar’s glare again. “But if the mages use their magic they can light the way. There is light coming from the main cavern but it faded quickly in the other tunnel.”
“Light?” Iltar says surprised. “Strange…” the word trails off, and he is lost in thought over the scrolls once again.
“Do you think we’ll wake the creature if we walk past it?” Cornar asks.
“I don’t know,” Nemral responds, “It was making a lot of noises, what with its breathing and scratching the ground with one of its claws and all.”
“Regardless,” Amendal clears his throat, “We should go in invisible. Pairs of three, like we usually do.”
“I agree, Iltar?” Cornar asks.
“Fine,” he responds, still in thought.
The party splits into groups of three, except for Cornar, Iltar and the thieves. Once gathered the mages cast their concealing magic, and the small groups of men vanish from the foothills of the mountains. They make their way into the large cavern and into the deeper reaches of the mountain.
After ten minutes of calmly walking through the gigantic tunnel, the cavern holding the beast comes into view. Several gasps are heard from the party, but are quickly muffled. The beams of light illuminate the creature as before and Iltar recognizes the monstrosity from tomes of various creatures, real and fictional, that he had studied throughout his life.
Leaning to Cornar, who is veiled by Iltar’s concealing magic, he whispers, “That’s a tarrasque.”
“They exist…!” Amendal’s voice whispers in awestruck admiration from behind.
“And that means what?” Cornar whispers in reply.
“According to legend, the creatures are nearly unstoppable. In ancient times they were supposed to have destroyed many cities on the now Desolate Lands. Many texts I’ve read suggest they were tools used in the dragon wars–”
“Then we need to keep moving,” Cornar interrupts Iltar’s explanation and grabs his friend.
With no further exchange, the men quickly makes their way to the dark tunnel directly in front of them.
As the two leaders are halfway to the second tunnel, a loud pounding resonates within the cavern.
Turning, Iltar looks back to see the nostrils on the beast twitch, and the tarrasque stirs from its decade-long slumber. The enormous monstrosity pushes itself up on its left side, holding itself up with its left arm and leg. It slowly raises its right leg and swings around to face the invisible men. Upon the creature’s snout its nostrils continue to expand and contract more violently than in its slumber.
“No!” Iltar growls and he can feel Cornar tugging at him.
“Run!” Cornar emphatically shouts to the necromancer and the others.
The tarrasque directly faces the hurrying invisible party, whose rapid footfalls can now be heard dashing across the litter-less floor.
A deafening roar bellows from the creature’s open mouth in response to Cornar’s command.
Iltar looks back once again and notices sharp teeth lining the beast’s upper and lower jaws, along with a tongue lashing from its mouth. It steps through the beams of light toward the invisible men. Its arms hang low in front of its belly, which is covered by small rows of needle like forms of tough skin.
A moment later, Cornar and Iltar race through the small opening and turn around after dashing twenty phineals inside the smaller tunnel. Breathing deeply, Iltar relinquishes their concealing magic; at the same time, rapid footfalls from his companions echo within the small tunnel.
Just as the leading members of the party emerge from the magic, the tarrasque slams its left hand on the ground just outside the opening. It screams another horrifying bellow, while those trapped in the enormous chamber can be heard running in the opposite direction.
The other claw of the beast quickly reaches out and grabs one of Cornar’s men between its forefinger and thumb. The grasp is enough to break the warrior’s invisibility, and the creature opens its jaws wider, tossing its victim upon its tongue. Its maw quickly shuts, trapping the doomed warrior. Agonizing cries pierce through the creature’s teeth as the warrior is shredded into pieces.
Still in the cavern and now visible, two of the warriors who had been with Hex and Amendal stand in fear. Standing in fear, they watch the beast horrifically consume their comrade in arms.
The tarrasque turns to face the two warriors left in its colossal cavern. It briefly gazes at its prey trembling beneath it, then in a suddenly lunges forward, spreading its arms outward. Its head quickly descends upon the closest warrior, the enormous jaws entrapping its next victim.
Still shaking, the third warrior runs through the cavern and out from whence they came.
As it swallows the second warrior, the tarrasque straightens its back, standing almost erect. It turns toward the fleeing warrior, completely faces the larger opening leading to the southern part of the island.
Seeing its next victim stumbling away, the monster of legend raises its shoulders and the muscles of its back press against the hardened carapace. Loud rumbles of seething rage bellow from the creature’s throat.
Still bellowing, it leans forward and stretches out its left hand. As its palm touches the stone floor it pushes off with its two back legs, galloping on all fours through the opening; as it dashes it lets out an earth shattering yelp that causes a tremor within the caverns.
Meanwhile, Lorith, and the two warriors with him emerge from the cave and dash down the beaten path leading to the plain.
“How did that thing see us?” one of the warriors questions through his panting breath.
“I don’t know,” Lorith responds. “Maybe it can smell us… or the magic.”
“We need to split up,” Hemrin yells as they continue down the path. “That will give each of us a chance to survive. I’ll go to the left. You two, go another way. Try to meet back up at the beach.”
Soon after the three men make it back out into the open plain, the tarrasque emerges from the mouth of the cavern. It stops briefly, searching the landscape for its prey. The monstrous creature lets out another bellowing cry and bolts to the right of the mountain side. It dashes on all fours, spraying the surrounding area with dirt and large rocks dislodged from the trampled ground.
6
Warrens
Deathly screams fill the concealed expedition’s ears as they listen from the small tunnel. Their companion’s last wails cease soon after the tarrasque grinds their bodies against its teeth.
“Everyone stay right where you are,” Iltar states calmly. “We’re safe in here; I don’t think the beast can reach us.”
In the other chamber, a bellowing roar pierces rock and flesh. Iltar and the others stumble from the vibration of the tarrasque’s thunderous gait out of the cavern.
After several seconds of silence, deep breaths of relief echo about the corridor, and one of Cornar’s men is the first to break it.
“What are we going to do about the others?” Grasil shakily asks and swallows hard. “Can’t we kill that thing?”
“No… I don’t think so,” Iltar says with a hint of defeat in his voice while rising from the ground. He doesn’t like admitting something might be more powerful than himself.
“Why in Heleron’s name did that thing come after us?!” Cornar demands, anger resounding in his words.
“Well,” Tilthan interjects, “Maybe someone made too much noise as they were walking…”
“Don’t start with me, Tilthan…” Cornar warns, swearing and looking for the thief. Shifting his focus, Cornar calls out, “Who all is here?”
After several shouts and some tallying the group is accounted for: fourteen out of the twenty men made it through, including all the thieves, and the mages except Lorith. The lone conjurer, the warriors with him, both warriors that had been with Hex and one of the warriors with Amendal are missing, or in the belly of the tarrasque; the survivors try not to think about the last possibility.
“Hex, we need some light,” Iltar calls out, hoping to divert their focus from the lost members of the party.
“Alright…” The wizard utters the words to a magical incantation, and in the middle of the tunnel, at about the waistline of the men, a light shines in the darkness and rises to their eye level. The source itself is invisible, as Hex has not removed his cloaking spell, but the effect shines through and illuminates the cavern.
“Good, we should keep moving,” Iltar calls out as he re-conceals himself and Cornar.
The sounds of footsteps as the party follows the hovering light deeper into the long and winding passageway. After traveling in silence for a time, the expedition reaches a branch in the tunnel, widely forking to the left and right.
“Tilthan, Nath, go search either side,” Cornar calls out from the front of the men. “Go as far as you can and then return.”
Not even a minute passes before a soft signaling whistle bounces off the tunnel’s walls to the party’s right; jarring the waiting members of the expedition.
“Well?” Iltar asks impatiently.
“We definitely don’t want to go that way…” Nath warily sighs. “There are some creatures down there. I couldn’t tell what they were, but they made a strange chirping sound.”
“Odd…” Iltar remarks. “Then we better start down the other side.”
Still invisible, the expedition presses through the left branch. The cavern is full of twists and turns with very few straight portions.
As they move through the tunnel Iltar hopes to himself that passage is uneventful. He thinks it most likely is, since Tilthan has not returned. Those creatures Nath heard worry him, though. Could they be eurbrids or traylx? But those are native to the Kaldean mainland, and none of the subterranean had never migrated to the islands.
“We need to watch our backs,” Iltar whispers, deciding not trust that they would not be followed.
“I’ve been doing that, Master Iltar,” Kalder says from the rear in a hushed tone. “As long as those creatures don’t have lightening reflexes, we’ll be fine.”
Iltar nods in satisfaction, and soon another whistle echoes gently against the cavern walls. The party halts, and the moving beams of light are stilled, shining motionlessly on the stone surfaces.
“There was light up ahead,” Tilthan states as he approaches Hex’s light. “I didn’t go outside, but I’d say the mouth of the cavern is just a few minutes away at a brisk walk.”
“Excellent! I want you, Nath, and Nemral to check the area outside… We might have company behind us, though, so if you hear battle, race back here. Understood?” Iltar’s tone is sternness.
“Perfectly, let’s go boys,” Tilthan jaunts.
“Look who’s talking…” Nath mutters under his breath, chafing at being called a boy.
The thieves’ hasty footfalls lightly echo off the tunnel and fade into silence while the rest of the party cautiously presses forward in the comfort of Hex’s light.
“Wait,” Kalder anxiously whispers. The party has only taken a handful of steps before the warrior stops them. “Do you hear that?”
The men stop and turn around, facing whence they came. The sound of scurrying claws upon the stone floor echoes along the tunnel. Suddenly, bursts of light illuminate the cavern behind them, pulsing every dozen seconds.
“Tralyx!” Kalder shouts, unsheathing his weapon hoisted upon his back and dropping his pack.
“Whoa! Wa-wait! Tralyx hu-here?” Hagen stammers. “How did they get across the water?”
“We don’t have time for that now!” Kalder shouts from the rear and dashes down the tunnel. Three others can be heard rushing forward with him.
“Drop our invisibility!” Cornar barks at the same moment the mages do the very thing. They were experienced in this sort of melee, and Cornar’s orders were hardly needed for the experienced mages.
“Shen, Grasil,” Cornar shouts again. “Stay back to protect the mages.”
Cornar, Kalder, Nordal, and Aron start running back along the earthen corridor toward the traylx. However, in that same instant a bright flash erupts around the corner.
The blinding light causes the warriors to stop and shield their eyes. Temporary spots of blackness fill their vision, but they can see the sources of the light emerging from around the tunnel’s bend.
Eight creatures, standing at chest height of an average man, move along eight legs, four appendages on each side ending in three-pronged claws. The two forward most limbs and the two farthest in the back are half the size of the four in the middle, each with three joints.
The creatures are insect-like, with slim upper bodies that flow out to a much wider part of its lower and rear end in the shape of an egg. As they move along all eight legs, the upper part of their chest above their shoulders stands erect.
Their heads resemble a curving horn, with the tip curving upward at the rear. The traylxs
’ faces are ovoid shaped, with sharp mandibles and six black eyes. Small antenna sparely line the crowns of their heads, ascending to the curving tip.
Patches of shimmering brown-yellow skin lines the entire length of their fronts and underbellies. The rest of their bodies are covered in dark brown scales.
Just as the warrior’s recover from the initial flash, another burst of light erupts from the leading tralyx’s chest.
Upon seeing the warriors, the tralyx rear up on their four middle legs. They raise their two front legs and snap their claws together in unison.
Kalder is the first to come within weapon’s reach of the tralyx. As he does, the leading creature lets out a chirping yell, its mandibles splaying, ready to seize upon the warrior now standing almost a phineal shorter than the rearing giant insect.
Taking no thought of the creature’s attempt at intimidation, Kalder swings his large sword, dismembering the traylx’s front left arm. A thick orange liquid drips from the severed limb as it hits the ground. Kalder continues his dash forward and slices diagonally, separating the creature’s upper torso from the rest of its body. The tralyx lets out a dying gasp as it falls to the ground in three pieces.
Aron and Nordal reach Kalder’s side as he lands the death blow on the lead traylx. Each warrior leap toward one of the two creatures on either side of the dead one. They engage in a swift melee with the tralyx, grappling the forward limbs with their free hands and using their swords to slay them by repeatedly stabbing and cutting.
Cornar is the last of the warriors to reach the fray, and as he does, he and Kalder rush forward together.
Meanwhile, Igan and Hex utter magical incantations of arcane and elemental magics, respectively.
In front of Igan’s hands, a large orb of pink-red magic forms; with what seems like an effortless motion, he hurls the arcane ball of energy toward the head of the creature behind the one fighting Nordal. Upon impact, the magic completely ruptures the tralyx’s head, and the creature’s headless corpse falls sideways.
Just beyond Hex’s palm, a flaming dart takes shape; in similar demeanor to Igan, he throws the flaming projectile toward the tralyx battling Aron. With incredible speed, the fiery dart pierces its head and ignites it, causing the giant insect to step backward and then fall in the same direction.
Both creatures attacked by the wizards fall to the ground as Cornar and Kalder engage the remaining three tralyx.
Kalder’s opponent rears back, raising up on its four back limbs to strike at the warrior with its forward four claws. He parries and strikes with precision, severing the attacking arms. Within seconds, Kalder levels the tralyx to the ground.
At the same time, Cornar engages the last two creatures. He moves quickly between the two giant insects, striking one with his serrated dagger and the other with his short sword. He dances between the two tralyx, cutting their limbs to stop their blows.
As Cornar digs his serrated dagger into the chest of the creature on his left, the tralyx on his right flees; frightened after seeing the other six of its small swarm slain by Iltar’s expedition.
Without one of its limbs, the fleeing tralyx quickly scurries back down the tunnel, disappearing from view.
Cornar ignores the fleeing traylx and swings his short sword, cutting through the large head of the left tralyx, then retracts his weapons. The over-sized tralyx falls to the ground and Cornar looks down the winding tunnel, but does not pursue his fleeing foe.
Once the seven tralyx fall, the warriors fling the orange blood from their weapons and briefly survey the remains of the large insects.
“I’ve never seen them that big before,” Aron remarks.
“They’re normally half that size,” Nordal says.
“Quite unusual,” Cornar agrees as he leads the others back toward the mages and the two warriors near them. “Definitely the largest I’ve encountered. Perhaps it’s this island.”
All the while, Iltar had stood there studying the creatures and pondering about what has transpired thus far on the island. He had not been worried, knowing the traylx were nothing Cornar and his men couldn’t handle. With his arms folded he watches the warriors’ return to him and the other members of the party.
“Now that they’re dead,” Hagen squeaks out. “How did they get here?”
“Someone or something might have brought them here,” Igan postulates as he takes a deep calming breath from the short-lived ordeal.
“Well, I was wondering when we would be challenged.” Iltar says with a satisfied smile.
“Challenged?” Nordal quizzically asks. “What do you call that gigantic monster earlier?”
“A minor distraction, just a distraction. If everyone were quicker, we all could have made it through the tunnel. It was wide enough for at least five people to go through at once, but it seemed everyone was going in single file or by twos. It was just a game of speed, we never were really in any danger.”
Cornar approaches the necromancer, and looks further along the tunnel and growls, “What I want to know is why didn’t it waken when the thieves walked by and into this tunnel?”
“Maybe it smelt something we had,” Hagen interjects.
“Perhaps,” Amendal jumps into the forum, “Although it could have smelled our raw magic, and we were covered in it. From what I understand of the thieves’ cloaks, those veils are more refined than what we can muster.”
“Between you,” Hagen points at Amendal, “And Iltar, I don’t know who is crazier. Creatures that smell magic? C’mon, Amendal, is there really such a thing?”
Light laughter erupts from the mages, and some of the warriors. Hagen’s odd sense of humor had always softened the tone of the most dangerous adventures, and it was warmly received in this one.
“What now, Iltar?” Cornar inquires anxiously. “That thing may get friends and come back, so we best not stay here chatting for long.”
“Of course, Cor. Let’s follow the tunnel out and see if we can find those cowardly thieves we sent to scout ahead.”
With that said, the expedition travels down the tunnel, completely visible, until they see light coming from ahead. Three silhouettes darken the tunnel’s exit.
Iltar shakes his head at the sight, but he wasn’t surprised they hadn’t come back to help.
“You missed quite a battle back there,” Cornar quips as they meet up with the thieves.
“Yeah, we heard,” Tilthan responds. “But they were just giant insects.”
“Right, no loot huh?” Cornar retorts in annoyance. “It wasn’t worth it to you to help, I’m guessing?”
The thieves stare blankly at the warrior and Iltar breaks the tense silence. “Let’s get going. We have more important things to do than bick–”
A loud sound, like the rushing of wind, roars past the tunnel and interrupts Iltar. Each of the members of the expedition turn to the mouth of the tunnel in surprise.
“What’s that noise?” Tilthan turns and asks Iltar.
“I’m not sure. I’ve never heard anything like that. Why don’t you go out and check?” Iltar suggests dryly, pointing toward the sound as he stares at the thief.
With a raised brow and a sigh, Tilthan throws his cloak around himself; he latches the cloak and disappears from sight.
“I better find something valuable,” the master thief grumbles as he exits the tunnel and steps out into the northern mountainside.
At the mouth of the cavern, Tilthan sees a switchback path to the right of the opening that descends into a valley, with only two sways before it straightens out. Ignoring the path, Tilthan continues to the right beyond the trail and onto the outcroppings of rock that line the northern face of the towering mountains. He glances above and examines the steep mountainside where the mouth of the cavern is housed.
As he moves along the foothills, Tilthan scans the area from left to right. The mountains continue in both directions, cradling the tropical valley on all sides. Directly to
the north the foothills slope toward a lush plain. In the distance to the north, the flat ground vanishes into the horizon. A dense forest of tropical trees begins several hundred phineals to the northeast of the thief’s perching.
As he turns from the trees, Tilthan’s eyes catch movement upon a cliff just to his right and above him. Seeing the movement, the thief jerks backward in surprise, almost falling off the rock completely, but he catches himself with one hand. With his other arm he pulls himself back atop the boulder.
My eyes must be playing tricks on me, Tilthan humorously thinks to himself. I thought that was a loose boulder falling.
Tilthan focuses on the cliff; specifically at a dull white-gray bulging shape. Just as he is about to confirm it was his imagination, the movement happens again.
The shape moves, the sight before him becomes majestic, striking him with awe and terror.
Gigantic wings spread open, revealing a paler white-gray under belly. Strong arms stretch outward with splaying claws, a thin webbing visible between the dull scaled fingers. Each of the fingers are tipped with obsidian talons. A long neck stretches up toward the sky, holding high its head with an elegantly long snout. Upon the crown of its head, several horns reach backward in a beautiful curve.
Still gazing at the sight in front of him, Tilthan realizes he’s been holding his breath and takes a deep gasp as the majestic creature rises on its hind legs. It stands upon four-pronged feet, with smaller talons lining the outer side of the beast’s legs, midway between the first and second joint of the thick limb.
The sound of the beast’s tail whipping against the mountainside reaches Tilthan’s ears, followed by the creaking of the scales covering the great serpent’s body. Once erect, the majestic being takes to flight. The same sound, like the rushing of wind, fills the mountainside; similar to what had been heard from within the cave.
As the creature soars into the morning light, sunlight glistens off its body; it soars through the clear blue sky, quickly fading from sight.
“I-it can’t be,” the thief mutters, recognizing the creature from stories of his youth, which all children on Kalda had been told. “A dragon!”
Once Tilthan recovers himself, he looks closer around the base of the mountains. He notices three other dragons outside the tunnel. They blend in perfectly with the landscape. Besides the one he first saw, one is lying on the ground to the right of the mouth of the cave, another sits to his left on a large boulder. The scales of both are dull, and have lost their metallic luster.
The third dragon lies at the base of the foothills, which Tilthan estimates to be over two grand phineals away. This last is fully awake and surveying the land to the north. Its scales brightly glisten in the light of the sun.
Carefully, Tilthan climbs down from the rock, ever watchful for any movement on the part of the dragons; however, they are unstirred by his movements.
Boy… I’m sure glad I have this cloak!
Once upon the path, the thief quietly retraces his steps back to the tunnel’s entrance.
Inside the mouth of the cave, Tilthan removes his cloak, and hustles over to Iltar, motioning for the others to back away from the tunnel’s opening.
“Iltar,” Tilthan whispers with excitement. “You won’t believe this, but there are three dragons out there! Dragons! Just like you didn’t tell me earlier… That noise we heard was the beating of their wings!”
The warriors, mages and the other two thieves gaze at each other with wide eyes while Iltar smiles with anticipation.
“One flew off while I was outside,” Tilthan continues, “But there are still three others laying on the ground out there. The nearest two were fast asleep and look really old. Well, I think they’re old because their scales are dull, but maybe their scales aren’t like normal metal? I don’t know!”
“How far away are they?” Cornar asks in a whisper as he steps close to the thief.
“A few hundred phineals or so; the third is almost two G.P. away. I doubt they can hear us.”
“Three dragons you say?” Iltar confirms the thief’s report and studies Tilthan’s face intently. “What color are they?”
“They are all a dull white-gray,” Tilthan answers. “Like platinum, but blending in with the mountains. In fact, I almost didn’t see them.”
“Hmmm,” Iltar smiles then mutters, “How fortunate.”
“Now what?” Cornar whispers to Iltar. “And do the mages know?”
“Yes,” Iltar answers in exasperation, “Give me a moment.”
The necromancer paces back and forth briefly then turns around to address the others. “Now that we’re here I can tell you the true purpose of this voyage. We are here to locate an ancient draconic relic, one of great power. Where exactly it’s located on this island, I do not know.
“These dragons, however, might know where it’s hidden.”
“You don’t really think they’ll tell us where, do you?” Nordal asks skeptically.
Igan clears his throat and speaks up, “From what you’ve said, I doubt they’ll want to divulge any information of its whereabouts.”
“Let’s think about this,” Iltar motions his hands towards the others then looks to Cornar. “We should set a guard further down the tunnel.”
“Of course,” the warrior answers. He looks around and spies the old conjurer. “Amendal, come with me. Aron, Nordal you too.”
“Finally!” Amendal cackles and rubs his hands together. “My pretties can come out to play.”
As the warriors and the conjurer move back down the tunnel, Iltar steps closer to the mouth of the cave and sits. He gazes out into the blue sky and wonders. Three dragons should not be too much for us to handle; and, like Igan said, they probably won’t be forthcoming. Using magic will most likely provoke them to battle, so I need another way…
A while later, Cornar and Amendal return to the others, who are resting against the cool walls of the cave.
“Cor,” Iltar calls out, “Come here.”
The warrior carefully steps around the resting members of their expedition and heads to Iltar’s side.
Once Cornar is near Iltar whispers, “I need to make these dragons trust me; go out there under the guise of a simple and weak mage.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Igan asks as he steps behind Cornar, followed by Hex and Hagen.
“Igan’s right,” Hagen squeaks. “What if they see through your lie?!”
“Don’t you remember that fable?” Hex asks. “Where the army was stilled by the dragon’s gaze.”
“I’ve heard stories they can put you to sleep with a word!” Hagen adds hastily.
“Enough,” Iltar shakes his head. “I agree we don’t know what we’re up against. All we know about these beasts comes from fables; but remember, fables are always exaggerated.
“Now, I have a plan,” Iltar says pauses to make sure they’re listening calmly. “One that will require you to watch for my signal.”
Cornar and the mages fold their arms as they listen to Iltar’s plot, “I’ll make it appear that I am truly alone and defenseless. Then, perhaps, they will let their guard down and I can meticulously extract what knowledge I need from them.”
“Or they may kill you on the spot,” Cornar retorts dryly.
“Yes,” Amendal pipes up and leans close to Iltar, “You’d be a fresh and tasty meal.”
Iltar recoils slightly from Amendal, unsure if he’s joking, but then is drawn back into the conversation.
“Even if they tell you everything you want to know, what makes you think they’ll let you leave?” Igan asks seriously.
“Because that’s where we come in,” Cornar interjects and shakes his head. “An ambush.”
“What!?” Hagen gasps, ghastly turning to Cornar.
“Exactly,” Iltar grins. “We probably won’t get everything I need without magic. So when we are ready, or if it looks like things are going awry, I will signal you. Hag
en I need your pack. When we’re ready I will turn my head toward the cave, set the pack down and pull something out of it. Exactly those movements, got it?”
“Understood,” Cornar nods his head.
“This is great…” Hagen sorrowfully glances to Igan and Hex. “We’re going to die, I know it! We know nothing about how they fight. I mean, they can fly and they’re huge. What if they deflect our magic, or –”
“Hagen!” Iltar growls. “Silence! Between Amendal and myself, I know we can kill those beasts. With his conjurations and my darkness they will succumb to us. Besides we have the element of surprise.”
Stung by the rebuke, Hagen turns away and moves to grab his pack.
“Here, Cor,” Iltar says and un-slings his small bag from his shoulders, handing it to the warrior. “Keep it safe.”
Cornar nods his head, and Hagen sullenly hands his pack to Iltar.
“Be watching,” Iltar instructs as he puts the pack on his back. “I don’t know how long this will take.” Leaving his warning hanging in the air, Iltar turns away from the others and steps up to the mouth of the cave.
Cornar and the mages watch as Iltar leaves and the warrior turns to the short illusionist, wrapping his arm around his shoulder.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Igan states with a sigh. “Iltar’s being too arrogant.”
“Let’s just go back through the tunnel,” Hagen suggests.
Ignoring Hagen, Cornar stares out the cave’s mouth and stoically says, “We need to devise a battle strategy. Let’s get to it.”
7
Deception
Running out of the cave, Iltar clumsily stumbling on the first curve and falls on the weaving path. He gets up and starts down the earthen winding pathway that soon straightens out. The necromancer knows the dragons are there, but he ignores them, aloofly looking off into the sprawling valley that stretches as far as he can see. Iltar stops about halfway down the now straightened path, still within sight of the tunnel and his friends.
Looking around with feigned confusion, he notices the dragons who are now to his left and right. His eyes grow wide with genuine amazement.
“Incredible,” Iltar mutters then looks further into the valley and stares directly at the dragon two grand phineals away.
“That one is huge!” Iltar exclaims. “It looks to be as large if not larger than the tarrasque…”
Hearing Iltar, the other two dragons nearest him wake from their slumber. Both majestic beings turn their heads to face the muttering necromancer, then briefly look at each other.
The one on the left slowly climbs down from the enormous boulder it was sitting upon and lumbers toward Iltar, while the other rises from near the trees and takes to flight.
Soaring through the air, the dragon descends in a swoop and spreads its wings, covering the sky and casting large shadows; it rapidly flaps its wings as it descends, causing strong gusts of wind that force the necromancer to the ground. It lands upon its hind legs and gently settles in front of Iltar.
The dragon stretches its elegant neck high into the air, tilting its head toward the necromancer.
“Intriguing,” the dragon states with a deep bellowing voice in the common language of Kalda. “A human here.
“What are you doing on this island?” the dragon asks Iltar with genuine sincerity.
“M-m-monsters… i-in the cave!” Iltar says in a shaky voice, “Th-there… there i-is a huge b-beast killing everyone!” Iltar frantically exclaims, pointing a shaking hand back to the cave.
As Iltar answers the dragon, the second majestic creature steps close to the other, saying in a higher voice than the first, “The tarrasque, you poor thing.”
Iltar furrows his brow as he looks at the second dragon thinking to himself, A female… interesting.
Turning to the dragon next to her, the second dragon addresses the first, “The Rilum’ama must have been too much for him.”
“What?” Iltar squeezes the word shakily.
“It is the guardian and caretaker of this place,” the female dragon answers calmly, “Rilum’ama is what you would call it in our tongue. And let me introduce myself, I am Ar’ismal’tur.”
“Yes, quite impressive isn’t it?” the first dragon asks. “Tell me, what do you think of it my human friend?”
Iltar feigns a look of horror, “It… it killed all but a few of us, then…” the words trail off, “We were attacked by swarms of overgrown tralyx. I’m the only one to survive,” Iltar buries his head in his hands, feigning remorse.
“That’s quite unfortunate,” the first dragon says seriously. “We have had nothing to eat for hours, and I’ve grown tired of tralyx. Your companions would have made a good meal. You, on the other hand, look scrawny and tough.”
Iltar’s eyes widen in genuine shock. Perhaps Amendal was right. His mind races with possible ways to defend himself, and he takes one step backward, steadying himself.
“Don’t talk that way to him, Xil’gault’nirl!” Ar’ismal’tur pushes the first dragon to the ground with her front legs. “Can’t you see he’s terrified!”
Laughing, Xil’gault’nirl recovers from the blow. He shakes the dirt out from beneath his scales and continues to address Iltar, “Now back to my first question, what are you doing here human? Conquer your dread and answer me!” the last phrase bellows from his mouth and the dragon leans his giant snout toward Iltar.
Looking past Xil’gault’nirl, Iltar can see the other dragon in the distance examining up at them. Hearing the exchange, it slowly stands and lumbers toward them.
Returning his gaze to Xil’gault’nirl, the necromancer swallows and answers.
“We came here to your island looking for an ancient artifact. I don’t really know what it is, I’m just one of the mages hired to come along to enhance the soldiers. But,” Iltar looks at his feet with feigning embarrassment, “I overheard the leader talking to another about a manuscript found on another island. It told of an artifact, an amulet with a ruby that is very powerful,” Iltar pauses, then finishes in a hurry. “The grandmaster of my guild wants the amulet. He sent an expedition here to find it and return it to him.”
Once Iltar finishes his explanation, both dragons look at each other; their features strain and Ar’ismal’tur utters several sharp sounds. Xil’gault’nirl replies back with similar noises. The sounds startle the necromancer, and he struggles to focus on them.
Amid what appears to Iltar to be a sharp exchange, Xil’gault’nirl abruptly stops, sensing the third dragon approaching from the plain. He looks behind, then returns his gaze to Iltar. “What a pity. You forfeited your lives coming here. I advise that you escape while you still can.”
With that Xil’gault’nirl rears up on his hind legs and rises into the air, forcing Iltar to the ground.
As her companion takes flight, Ar’ismal’tur turns and faces the third dragon who has nearly reached them.
Iltar can’t be sure of Ar’ismal’tur’s body language, but he thinks he sees contempt and anger in her visage for the creature approaching.
Suddenly, Ar’ismal’tur stretches out her neck, extending her large snout and bearing her teeth. She lets out a sharp, deafening shrill that startles Iltar. The majestic being that had appeared so gentle had in an instant become hostile, as if defending Iltar from the approaching dragon.
Pausing with a defiant expression upon its scaled features, the third dragon stares directly at Ar’ismal’tur with cold eyes.
Ar’ismal’tur shrieks inaudible sharp sounds in reply to the third’s gaze.
Wincing at the rigid sounds, Iltar quickly covers his ears.
From the sky, similar sharp sounds echo from Xil’gault’nirl, circling above the necromancer and the two other dragons.
Still locked in a gaze with the newcomer, Ar’ismal’tur repeats the same sharp sounds she had shrieked before then growls loudly.
“Trifle not with this, vik’sha, little one,??
? Ar’ismal’tur looks to Iltar, then rises upon her hind legs. She flaps her wings, taking to flight and joining Xil’gault’nirl in the air.
Both old dragons circle once before flying a short distance to the west. As they land they rest their scaled bodies upon the stony ground but are watchful of Iltar and the mysterious third dragon, who diabolically chuckles while approaching Iltar.
“Vik’sha,” the large dragon contemptuously bellows. “I loathe that derogatory slur. I am, Anken’mar!” His deep voice resonates off the mountainside.
Iltar jumps at the resounding declaration, raising a hand to his face, as if shielding himself. He stammers, “I-I was saying to the others–”
“I heard your pathetic tale,” Anken’mar interrupts with dismissive arrogance. “You’re searching for the Au’misha’k, how amusing. You’ve wasted your time and your friends’ insignificant lives!”
“Why is that?” Iltar asks, genuinely surprised at the estranged dragon.
“That for which you seek is not here on this island. It never has been here, fool,” Anken’mar cackles and sits in front of the necromancer.
Shocked by the revelation, Iltar struggles to hide his anger. He assumes a posture mixed with concern and fear, using both emotions to mask his anger.
Inwardly, Iltar kicks himself, I was foolish to think it would be so easy; what a cruel turn of fate. No matter, I still have my plan and he obviously knows where the amulet is.
Deciding to continue with his ruse, Iltar shakes his head and moans. He plops down on the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of the dragon. He keeps his head down and eyes focused on the ground, quickly thinking of his next step.
“I almost feel sorry for you, mage… You come all this way, lose all your friends, and for what? For nothing me thinks!” Anken’mar chuckles. “Almost, but, you’re a human and undeserving of such pity!”
Iltar feigns grief as he looks back up at Anken’mar, “So the amulet is not here on the island then? I don’t understand. The manuscripts described this island, even how to find it. What a cruel trick!” Iltar moans loudly.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anken’mar says with bored disgust, looking toward the other dragons to his right. “The Au’misha’k is a powerful device that needed to be kept hidden. It was secreted away so no one could claim its power.
“Nor do I believe anyone ever wrote where to find it. If they did, it was to trick treasure seekers, like you, into falling prey to this island and its horrors.”
Furrowing his brow in surprise, Iltar wonders to himself, Could the elvish scrolls have really just been a trick, or do the dragons not know of their existence? It would be a strange turn of events; however, Iltar quickly quells his confusion and focuses on the ruse at hand.
“We should have known. One of the others, an experienced man of war, said this was too easy… too easy! ‘Find a map and manuscripts that lead directly to an island with treasure, too easy,’ too easy indeed!” the necromancer fakes his incredulity. Looking up to the dragon he asks, “Has anyone else ever come looking for the amulet?”
“Here? No, you are the first not of our kind to come to this place. And quite possibly the last, too,” Anken’mar smiles evilly, unveiling his long sharp teeth in an intimidating sneer.
“Ah but you are wrong,” Iltar shakes his finger, attempting to appear hopeful. “When we don’t return our grandmaster will send others. And in greater number.”
“Then they will die like you and your friends.”
“So are you going to kill me then?”
“No!” Anken’mar gasps between chuckles. “I won’t kill you. But I will send you back into the tunnel, and you’ll find your fate there.”
Iltar gives Anken’mar a quizzical look then glances back at the tunnel entrance, but quickly turns to face him.
“Well, if the amulet isn’t here then why do the manuscripts say it’s here? I think you’re lying to me.”
“Why would I waste my time lying to a human? I told you the amulet is not here on this island. Who know why the manuscripts you claim your people found told of it being here in the first place. I didn’t write the thing.”
“It must be here. You’re here, and you must be guarding it. Why woul–”
“Guarding?!” Anken’mar bellows, arcing his neck forward and bringing his snout near Iltar. “I guard nothing for them!”
Genuinely frightened at the dragon’s outburst, Iltar backward falls upon the path.
Anken’mar recoils his snout and arrogantly sits up, raising his scaled snout into the air.
“B-b-but,” Iltar continues, shaken, “W-why would there be a beast like th-that horrible monster? W-why is it guarding the entrance to the tunnel leading to this valley if the amulet is not here?
“We sent two men back to the ship when we discovered that monstrosity. If we don’t return by nightfall, the ship will return home and bring more soldiers and mages. The secret of the amulet is already uncovered. My people will come back in greater numbers until we find it.”
“As I said before,” Anken’mar’s eyes narrow at Iltar’s logic, “They will all die.”
“Ah but I think not. I was able to get past the monster and make it here. Don’t you think others will also be able to do the same?”
“Then they will leave empty handed. As I told you, the amulet is not here!” the dragon emphatically reaffirms the statement.
Slightly frustrated Iltar continues, “Fine, if I’m to die here at least tell me something about the amulet. This ignorance is maddening!”
“Ha! Then perhaps I’ll let you go mad before you die, human. Or better yet, I will tell you something… Something that will truly drive you mad.” Anken’mar lowers his head slightly and curves his neck. “Something that no one else will know because you won’t be alive to tell them.”
Finally, Iltar thinks, pleased.
“No, I don’t think I want to know,” Iltar says aloud, waving his hands and closing his eyes as if changing his mind. “If you don’t tell me then maybe I’ll have a chance to get out of here alive. But if you have to kill me after telling me, I don’t think I want to know anything after all.”
The necromancer stands up and walks backwards to the tunnel.
In response, Anken’mar raises up on all fours and pounds the ground with his forward claws, shaking the ground and causing the Iltar to fall.
Rolling over onto his back, Iltar looks up to see the great serpentine beast stepping forward. Anken’mar towers over the necromancer and quickly lowers his large snout just above Iltar. Putrid odors from Anken’mar’s breath wash against Iltar’s face and the stench drives him to try and scurry away further up the path; however, the gigantic dragon lightly pins Iltar to the ground.
“You leave when I say you can leave!” Anken’mar’s words hiss with anger, accompanied by his vile breath. “You are my pet!”
Struggling for air, Iltar angrily looks away and coughs.
“Do not dare to attempt that again! You will stay and entertain me.” Anken’mar’s tone is full of contempt.
“I suppose I don’t have a choice,” Iltar sighs and coughs again.
“That’s right,” Anken’mar sneers, “It has been a long time since I’ve had any sport and I’m miserably bored. So hapless one, you have the pleasure to serve me, your serpentine god.”
“Can I at least get up… my lord?,” Iltar feigns submissiveness and dips his head, looking at the dragon’s nostril.
Not the eyes, Iltar thinks. Throughout his youth, Iltar had read enough stories to know never to look a dragon directly in the eyes. According to legend, a dragon’s stare is said to enthrall, and whoever was caught gazing into their eyes would have their thoughts penetrated. Having his mind laid before the dragon like food before a hungered beggar is not a pleasing thought to Iltar.
“I promise,” Iltar grunts. “I won’t try to run back into the tunnel.”
; “I suppose I can do that,” Anken’mar lifts his head, freeing Iltar from his grasp.
The necromancer cautiously pushes himself up and sits with his legs crossed in front of the dragon.
“I really don’t want to kill you, human. Even though you are a human, and as such are an inferior breed of animal.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” Iltar replies sarcastically.
“See, that’s why I don’t want to kill you. You have some gall. No one speaks to a dragon like that, especially a dragon such as myself! No one who wants to live that is…”
“But I’m going to die,” Iltar responds carefully, choosing the words he hopes will amuse Anken’mar more. “So what does it matter if I make you mad? The sooner you kill me the better off I’ll be.”
“Oh, but if you truly enrage me your death will be very slow and painful. None of that breathing fire bit, or eating you whole. We rarely do that sort of thing, anyway. No, I would use some of my digestive acid on you. I can spit up small quantities. Just enough to dissolve a foot, leg or arm. Whatever extremity you care for the most.” The dragon lowers his snout and attempts to gaze into the necromancer’s eyes. “It can be very painful physically and mentally, watching your own hand corroded by acid. But you haven’t enraged me. In fact, you are a quite amusing specimen, for a human.”
Thinking, Iltar reevaluates his situation, This dragon is not what I expected; completely different than the tales my father told me of platinum dragons. Seeing much more of himself in the beast than the tales of altruistic platinums had led him to believe, he decides to use their similarities to his advantage.
Clearing his throat, Iltar speaks up, “Why don’t you want to kill me? I thought you said earlier that I would die here?”
“Yes, so you shall,” Anken’mar coldly states. “But I didn’t say when. You may even grow old here, like the rest of us. Like me,” he looks at Xil’gault’nirl and Ar’ismal’tur in disgust, who are now fast asleep. The anger in his voice swells as he continues.
“You see? All they want to do is sleep, how boring. No conversation, I don't think I've had a real conversation with anyone for at least a hundred years. So you see, I think I’ll keep you around for stimulating interaction,” Anken’mar sadistically grins.
Iltar grins inwardly, thinking how fortunate it is that this dragon actually wants to converse with him. He might actually be able to get all the information they need without putting himself and the others in danger. He hopes the others do not lose their patience.
Turning his full attention to the dragon, Iltar picks up the conversation with some basic questions:
“How long have you been on this island?”
“Oh… about three hundred and fifty years I think. You lose count after so long.”
“Why did you come here? Is this where all the dragons live now?”
“You’re suddenly full of questions,” Anken’mar remarks, twisting his head around Iltar, as if the new view would give him added insight.
“You said you wanted a conversation. I thought you wouldn’t mind telling me about this island and why you are here.”
“I don’t mind, but first I want to hear about where you come from. I have seen nothing of the world since I came here.”
“Oh, alright. I can tell you about myself.” Iltar complies, spinning a lie. “My name is Alacor…” Iltar says with a tone of disappointment, “I come from a meager family in Soroth…”
After his false introduction, Iltar tells the beast the some truths about the islands he comes from but, little of his personal life is accurate. The necromancer says that he is an illusionist, a deception calculated to make it seem that Iltar is more neutral in his moral alignment; though, there have been some wicked ones in the past. He also tells of a fictitious war between two kingdoms on the main continent: the city nation of Kildath and the Kingdom of Los. He uses this war as the reason they were sent to look for the amulet, in order to keep it from either of the two nations. He tells Anken’mar that his guild of mages since become a good organization, dedicated to keeping the peace; in addition, the islands of Soroth have since had a revolutionary change for better morality.
During Iltar’s fictional retelling of history, he and Anken’mar move farther away from the cave and the switchback path, taking up a comfortable position near where the dragon was resting earlier that day.
After several hours, Iltar finishes relating his false stories. Anken’mar asks questions about some of the details he related concerning the Kingdom of Los. But Iltar had put enough truths in his story so he would not be trapped into contradicting himself. He’s almost caught once when Anken’mar asks for details about the war, attempting to discover who had influenced it; that matter appears to be of great interest to him. Iltar tells him that he might have gotten some specifics muddled; after all, he's a lowly mage and isn’t often given specifics about wars and battles. The dragon seems satisfied with Iltar’s story, yet disappointed in not knowing the particular details.
Once Iltar finishes answering Anken’mar’s questions, he speaks up, “Now, oh mighty Lord of Metal, will you answer my questions from before?”
“Lord of Metal?” Anken’mar chuckles in a pleased tone, “Interesting use of terms, my pet. Yes, I will answer you.”
Excited, Iltar fights to hold back his many questions and still his composure. He knows he must be careful so as not to rouse suspicion.
“This place,” Anken’mar looks around before continuing, “Is a sacred land. Thousands of years ago a great battle was wrought in the skies. Crimson and Platinum clashed, and their bodies littered this valley’s floor. It was a battle that crippled the true rulers of dragonkind.
“Platinum dragons come here to this island when they are old, to die alongside those that fought valiantly… usually.”
Iltar tries hard to keep his composure at this point and ponders to himself, “They come here to die? So the scroll was correct. This is the dragon burial ground, and the story of the battle did in reality happened.”
“Usually?” the conspiring necromancer interrupts, “What do you mean by that?”
“That’s not why I’m here. If I had come here to die of old age I wouldn’t have been here for over three hundred and fifty years now would I?”
“Then, why are you here?”
“I’m a prisoner, just like you, albeit for different reasons. I was exiled here. Exiled and cursed because I sought what the draconic leaders, the Ril’Sha, had deemed forbidden.”
Intrigued, Iltar nods his head and prods, “I didn’t know dragons did that sort of thing, exiling and cursings I mean.”
“They don’t,” Anken’mar hisses. “I was an exception. I believe dragons should rule the world, like we did anciently. The Ril’Sha, believe we need to stay aloof and not directly interfere in human and elven affairs; they cower in their frozen caves, cut off from the rest of Kalda.”
“We are the strongest beings on this planet! It is our right to govern!” Anken’mar cries passionately, raising himself upon his hind legs to full height. He then lets out a loud, sharp, bellowing roar.
Xil’gault’nirl and Ar’ismal’tur stir from their slumber, glancing at the exiled dragon with annoyance. However, they nestle themselves back upon the rocky ground almost immediately thereafter.
“Do you see what I mean? I can’t even provoke these pathetic excuses for dragons when I call out a rallying cry!”
“So why don’t you just fly away?” Iltar asks innocently. “Go somewhere else, some place they can’t find you?”
Chuckling darkly, Anken’mar his nearest wings, showing Iltar their underside: Long scars run from the wingpit to the wingtip.
“Do you see these scars? They removed certain muscles, muscles that a dragon needs to fly. I have limited use of my wings, but I can’t fly off this island.”
“That’s terrible! So you are right, you are trapped here just like me,” Iltar feigns
indignation.
“I am. But now I have you to keep me entertained,” Anken’mar lies down, resting his head beside the necromancer. Silence settles over the two malevolent beings as the day continues.
After a short time, Iltar muses aloud to get the dragon talking again, “So, this is the dragons' graveyard? What’s that monster for, then? The others said it was a guardian and caretaker. Why would the scrolls we found indicate that the amulet is on this island, Draco Isola? It was written in a way that made it seem like the amulet and some ruby were meant to be found again, or so I heard.... It just doesn’t make sense,” Iltar continues with frustration, partially heartfelt.
“It makes perfect sense,” Anken’mar chuckles, “And I’m amused by your persistence in the matter.”
“What do you mean?”
Turning his nearest eye to the necromancer Anken’mar explains, “First of all. If you were really trying to hide something would you record where it was really located? Or would you lead someone on a chase that took them to the least likely place?”
Iltar sighs then thinks, Why does he believe the scrolls are not true? Perhaps he is right, but no; there is something on this island, there must be! After all, he was exiled.
“I get it,” Iltar shouts and raises a hand in the air. “Whoever wrote the scrolls wanted to ensure the amulet’s safety by leaving false clues to lead them here and face that monster, a trap.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying…You are not so dumb, for a human.”
“Well then tell me this, oh wise Lord of Metal, if the amulet is so well hidden why did whoever wrote the scrolls feel the need to plant false clues?”
“Do you realize what language the scrolls were written?”
“Elvish?” Iltar asks with some uneasiness. “But how did you know?”
“By the name you called this island. Now do you understand?” Anken’mar asks, prodding Iltar to find his own answers.
“The amulet was hidden by the elves then? Some place where the elves either live or lived.”
Laughing at Iltar’s logic, Anken’mar asks “Hidden by them? No… but you’re doing superb, little mage! Now, what are the places where the elves either live or have lived?”
“Hmm, they live in their secluded cities on the western coast now. But they used to live all over, they even had a stronghold on the Isle of Merdan, right? I have heard that the place is haunted now,” Iltar hopes mentioning the other location on the elven map might prompt further insight into the truth of the scrolls.
“Ah, yes I remember it clearly, the great metropolis of Merda and its majestic pyramid fortress. The elves were very proud of it; impregnable they thought. It was,” the dragon sneers, “Until their pride was stripped away.”
“You obviously don’t like the elves.”
“No I do not. They elevated themselves above us dragons, and men too. Now what has become of them? Sniveling cowards, trapped inside their towering tombs.”
“What happened to the city?”
“Undead rule the city now. The elves and their arrogant naiveté,” Anken’mar grumbles. “They thought they were invincible, but they were brought to their knees. Now the conniving creatures are slaves, and that island nation is no more, ruled by a Ma’lisha; a being that was once a man. He lives on in a twisted form of immortality, worshiping a deity as demented as he.”
“Huh?” Iltar genuinely queries, “A mali-what?”
Chuckling, Anken’mar responds, “That is what his kind are called in my divine tongue. You humans commonly misconceive them as vampires; the latter are merely lesser beings of their creation.”
“Oh,” Iltar slowly nods his head, grateful that his expedition had not gone to Merda first. “So are you telling me the amulet was hidden with the elves at Merda?” Iltar asks casually, trying to hide his excitement.
“Did I say that?” Anken’mar smiles grimly. “No, I didn’t say that.”
“No, you didn’t, but I guessed it. Am I right?”
“You may be right, or perhaps you are dead wrong,” Anken’mar replies menacingly.
“I guess it really doesn’t matter does it?” Iltar backs off. “But what about the monster here; isn’t it guarding something important?” Iltar hopes that prodding at the tarrasque’s purpose will prompt some answer about the island’s importance, “I’m stuck here with no way off this island. It would be nice to know before I die if I am right or wrong about this place and the amulet.”
“Ha! You are a crafty one, illusionist. That thing guards nothing concerning the Au’misha’k. Maybe one day before you die I will let you know those answers.”
“Very well, you win,” Iltar replies in a sullied tone. “I’m tired and need some sleep. After all, it’s getting dark.”
With that said, Iltar removes a blanket from Hagen’s pack. Using the sack as a pillow he lays down to sleep, looking toward Anken’mar and the vista beyond the great serpent.
An hour passes and Iltar pretends to drift into slumber; in that time, the two older dragons move back near the spots where they were initially resting when Tilthan spotted them.
As his captor lets out heavy breathing, Iltar watches the large dragon, ensuring he is asleep. Once satisfied, Iltar slowly gets up and proceeds to the cave, motioning for Cornar to stand down whatever assault he has prepared.
Cornar emerges from the tunnel’s mouth with bow in hand with an arrow strung. He patiently waits and watches as his longtime companion in adventure strides up the switchback path.
“You know,” Cornar whispers as Iltar nears him, “I almost misread your actions earlier, but then I remembered you’re not one to be sloppy with your signals.”
“I know where the amulet is hidden,” Iltar’s face beams with satisfaction. “It’s on the Isle of Merdan.”
“Can you be sure, Iltar? This dragon could be playing games with you.”
“I’m sure enough; however, I would like to get more information from him. I still haven’t unraveled the mystery of the ruby, nor have I brought up the activating spell for the amulet, or the tethering stone.
“But after conversing with that beast, I think I misread or mistranslated part of the elven scroll. There has to be something here. Why else would there be a dot on the map?”
Cornar simply shrugs.
“Gather the rest and get ready to attack,” Iltar says in an impatient tone. “These two in front are old and we should dispatch them first. Then we can concentrate on the larger one. He can’t fly so it shouldn’t be too hard to take him. But I want him alive, Cornar. Also, be careful of his spit; it’s acidic and very corrosive, or so he says.”
“Understood,” Cornar nods. “I’ll get the others and we will surprise these hapless beasts.” He vanishes into the tunnel, leaving Iltar alone to watch the sleeping dragons..
Once Cornar reaches the rest of his and Iltar’s band, each of the men anxiously look at him.
“Iltar has finally finished conversing with the dragon. There are only three near here, all fast asleep. We can kill the two old ones nearest us, but Iltar wants the larger one, the one he’ll be standing by, to be kept alive. If any of you kill him, I’m sure Iltar will find a painful way for you to endure the rest of your days.”
8
Battle
Twilight falls upon the now peaceful island of dragonkind; the night sky dimly lit by the moons. A cool breeze descends from the mountain tops, filling the valley with a comfortable temperature.
Surveying the scene before him, Iltar folds his arms and whispers, “This is an evening to remember.”
Cornar and the other thirteen members of the expedition can be heard emerging from the tunnel, and Iltar turns to face them. Each of them but Cornar have various levels of anxiety showing on their faces.
Once outside the cave, Cornar nods to Iltar, then turns to face the others. The aged warrior raises his hand with his forefinger extended, motioning toward the dragon on th
eir right, Xil’gault’nirl, who is farther up the mountainside than earlier that day.
He raises his hand again, with two fingers extended, and points toward Ar’ismal’tur on their left, below the foothills.
After receiving their orders, the men separate themselves into two parties, except Cornar and Iltar. Both men walk side-by-side down the switchback trail toward Anken’mar, but stop midway between the dragon and the tunnel
Just as before, when the duo had taken on the rebel apprentices, Iltar prepares them for the coming battle. Iltar whispers the words to bring forth a green protective aura around Cornar. The dark green hue swirls in two directions around the warrior, spreading all over his body.
He utters another incantation and gray particles jump from his palm, quickly swirling around Cornar before striking his body, painlessly penetrating his skin.
Lastly and without incantation, Iltar musters a black mist from within his pores. The black magic swirls into the quiver strapped upon Cornar’s back, magically enhancing the arrows. In like manner, both of the weapons at Cornar’s side glow with the same dark substance.
Sufficiently enhanced, the warrior draws an arrow, and rests it in his bow; its tip glowing with a black magical light.
Iltar then turns his attention to himself. Black magic seethes from his pours and envelopes his body, forming his necrotic sphere of invulnerability. He splays his hands and two globes of darkness from beyond his palms. Once formed, the globes of darkness leave his hands and circle his body, softly humming.
Meanwhile, the rest of the expedition divides up almost evenly: Kalder, Nordal and Tilthan stand next to each other in front of Hagen and Hex, focus on Xil’gault’nirl. The brash warriors and the cunning thief notch their bows, their tips aiming at the dragon’s eyelids that have lost their protective scales. Tilthan pulls four arrows from his quiver, each with small fletching that prevents them from touching each other while notched in the thief’s bow.
On the other end of the switchback path, Aron, Shen, Grasil, Nath and Nemral stand ready in front of Igan.
White particles wisp from Hagen’s hands, encircling the warriors and thieves, enhancing their physical capacities.
Igan and Hex both whisper identical incantations, mustering forth a variation of barsion magic, a magic of purely protective properties. Both wizards enshroud themselves in magical barriers imbued with defensive arcane and elemental properties, respectively; similar to Iltar’s necrotic sphere of protection.
Once the protective magics take shape, the two wizards utter incantations to their devastating spells and the warriors pull back their arrows.
Amid the preparation, Amendal sits in deep concentration at the cave’s mouth. His hands tightly pressed together, and his eyes fixated on the ground. The old conjurer mouths the words of multiple spells, causing three shimmering portals to form near each of the sleeping dragons.
It is at this moment the silence of twilight turns to pandemonium.
Arrows sing through the air toward the sleeping beasts as the mystical gateways fully open. Ar’ismal’tur is woken abruptly by the arrows’ music, evading all but one of the metallic shafts; however, Xil’gault’nirl is not so lucky.
The assault from Kalder and his companions’ arrows pierce Xil’gault’nirl eyes, rendering him blind. The old dragon thrashes around, letting out a bellowing roar while reaching his front claws towards his face.
Behind the warriors and thief, Hex finishes his spell, bringing forth a ball of fire that hovers over the first group’s heads. With both of his hands above his head, Hex hurls the flaming magic toward Xil’gault’nirl. Flame streams from the orb of fire as it flies through the air. Within seconds it crashes against the dragon’s scales, and the burning heat consumes the hardened serpentine skin on contact.
Tilthan, Nordal and Kalder continue their barrage of arrows. Some of the metallic projectiles bounce off Xil’gault’nirl’s scales, but others penetrate his exposed skin, where scales had fallen off from old age.
By this time, the portal near Xil’gault’nirl is fully formed and a gargantuan creature steps through it. As the conjured creature emerges, it takes its first step on the draconic isle, which rumbles the ground. Once fully through, the monolithic conjuration looks at Xil’gault’nirl. The creature is formed out of hot solid magma, standing over twenty phineals tall. Its form is humanoid, with rippling magmatic muscles. Hot liquid streams line the creature’s creases, exuding fire as the conjured creature flexes and moves. The magma elemental moves forward, with slow motions at first, toward the thrashing dragon.
Aware only through hearing, Xil’gault’nirl rolls over on his belly and pushes himself from the ground. Sensing the conjuration from its heat, the dragon opens his gaping jaw, utters a strange sharp sound, and lets loose his breath.
Blue magical fire rushes from Xil’gault’nirl’s open maw and hits the conjured monstrosity. The freezing breath cools part of the creature’s stomach, but the chilling vapor doesn’t stop its advance. The elemental pushes forward, moving faster than at first, and crashes into Xil’gault’nirl, tackling him to the ground.
Both dragon and conjuration struggle, reeling to and fro. The conjured creature’s iced side slowly melts, further fueling its fiery rage. As they wrestle for control, the elemental grabs hold of Xil’gault’nirl’s neck with one of its flaming hands and it swiftly punches with the other, crashing its flaming fist across the dragon’s snout.
Amid the bout, Hex finishes another incantation, unleashing a dozen fiery bolts into the air. They race toward Xil’gault’nirl, arcing around Amendal’s conjuration.
Each of the fiery projectiles penetrate the dragon’s scales, burning through the metal-like covering and further weakening the old dragon; thus allowing Amendal’s conjuration to overpower the platinum serpent and suppress him to the ground.
Fearlessly, Kalder and Nordal drop their bows and draw their swords. They race side by side toward Xil’gault’nirl and the conjuration; their abilities greatly enhanced by Hagen’s magic.
Noticing the two warriors approaching, the creature moves beside Xil’gault’nirl and pummeling his back.
Soft moans leave Xil’gault’nirl’s mouth as the two warriors arrive, his large head tilted to his left.
Kalder moves in a circular pattern around the right side of the dragon’s snout and then leaps on top of it; the enhancing magic helps him clear the height. Once atop the dragon, Kalder reaches high in the air and leaps across the snout, twirling his great claymore. With the blade facing down and Kalder in motion, the warrior leaps from the scaled snout and lowers the blade with himself, putting his entire weight into the blow. The sword cuts deep into the dragon’s head with the energy of Kalder’s falling body.
At the same time, Nordal rushes toward the other side of the dragon’s head and pierces behind his eye.
Struck by the weapons, Xil’gault’nirl lets out a blood curdling scream before suddenly falling silent. Kalder is knocked off balance as the dragon jolts his last movement in pain. Nordal lets go of his weapon and pushes himself away as the dragon rolls his head towards the warrior, leaving Nordal’s weapon irretrievable.
Sensing Xil’gault’nirl’s death, the elemental moves off to assist the others. Both warriors follow the conjured creature’s movements with their eyes. To their surprise, the sight is not favorable.
Meanwhile, Tilthan turns to the illusionist behind him and shouts, “I need some more arrows. Summon me some, and make sure they have a kick to them!”