Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1

by Christopher Patterson

  Let the serpent swallow you.

  He climbed back up and pushed on the bottom rock. It moved, teetering and revealing a dark space towards what would have been the throat of the snake. He pushed on the back of the rock and tried to hold it open, even though it was heavy.

  “Give me a torch,” Erik said, reaching out but keeping his eyes on the dark space between the two rocks.

  Nafer handed him a lit torch, and Erik tried to illuminate the darkness. He saw nothing.

  “What are you doing, cousin?” Bryon asked.

  “This is where we must go,” Erik replied.

  “You are joking?” suggested Bryon. “More tunnels full of monsters. What a great day this is turning to be!”

  “Are you sure Erik?” Turk asked, his voice more level.

  “The old man was clear. And I believe we have to trust him, so yes. This is the way we go.”

  While Turk nodded, Bryon still looked unsure, but he knew he was alone in protesting. He folded his arms, his hands tucked away in a vain effort to keep them warm and watched his cousin.

  Erik breathed heavily and sat on the bottom rock, feet towards the dark space.

  “Light your torches,” Erik said, and then pushed himself towards the snake’s throat. The boulder teetered, opened up, and Erik slid inside.

  Erik landed hard on the ground of a dark tunnel, his torch the only source of light. He could hear his companions yelling for him. He stood and yelled back, his voice echoing into the darkness of the tunnel. He felt a tingle at his hip.

  I wouldn’t be so loud.

  “What’s wrong?” Erik replied quietly, looking at his dagger.

  This place is dangerous.

  “I have no choice.”

  Another boulder above Erik moved, letting more light into the tunnel. He stepped out of the way as Bryon slid through, landing hard on his stomach, his sword and torch skittering along the floor of the tunnel.

  “You could have caught me,” Bryon said, pushing himself up and retrieving his things.

  “Hush,” Erik hissed.

  The dwarves slid down the boulder, one by one, Bryon and Erik trying to help them as much as possible, so they didn’t land too hard. Last in was Nafer, and he caught his foot as he slid into the tunnel, causing him to fall headfirst. He naturally extended his arms to brace himself and cursed when a loud snapping sound echoed off the tunnel walls. He struggled to sit up and immediately cradled his left arm.

  “It’s broken,” Turk said, making a sling for the dwarf.

  “What do we do?” Beldar asked.

  “Turk, can you heal him?” Erik asked.

  “I will set the bone,” Turk replied, “and I can take away the pain, but completely healing a broken bone … that is beyond my ability.”

  Turk knelt next to Nafer.

  “Stupid,” Nafer said as he looked down at his now deformed arm.

  “Better you landed on your arm than your neck,” Turk said.

  Turk produced a vial of sweet wine, but Nafer shook his head and refused.

  “So be it,” Turk said, pushing back Nafer’s sleeve.

  With one hand on Nafer’s upper arm, and one on his wrist, Turk pulled on the arm and with a loud pop, and an even louder groan from Nafer, the bones moved back into place, and most of the deformity was gone, save for a good deal of swelling. Turk huffed and retrieved a jar of salve, which he spread over Nafer’s arm.

  “It smells like mint,” Bryon said.

  “It has some mint in it,” Turk replied. “Mostly to remove the otherwise unbecoming smell.”

  “I presume that’s for the pain?” Bryon asked.

  “It will dull it,” Turk replied. “Not like sweet wine, mind you, but my stubborn friend here is refusing to drink, so this will have to do.”

  Nafer glared at Turk, and Erik laughed.

  “At least you’re not the only stubborn ass down here,” he said to Bryon. His cousin just rolled his eyes.

  When Turk’s treatment was finished, he bowed his head and prayed quietly, holding the broken arm in both hands. In the darkness of the tunnel, Erik could see a slight glow around Turk as he whispered his prayer, and the light traveled along Turk’s arms and then surrounded Nafer. Nafer closed his eyes and breathed deeply as a look of serenity crossed his face, a small smile touching his lips.

  “Thank you, brother,” Nafer said to Turk when the moment had passed.

  “This will hold you over for now,” Turk said, “but the pain will return and then I will have to do this all over again, and soon.”

  Erik looked at Turk, and the dwarf looked back and nodded.

  “We move,” Erik said.

  The tunnel’s walls were smooth and straight, the floor void of any stalagmites and the roof tall and void of any stalactites.

  “Is this man-made—or dwarvish made?” Erik asked.

  “I don’t know,” Turk replied. “I suspect that someone might have made it but wanted it to look like it was formed naturally.”

  The air inside was stale, and it seemed warm when compared to the temperatures outside. It was nothing like the tunnels of the Southern Mountains that led to the city of Thorakest; they were comfortable to travel through, but this one was barely wide enough for Erik and Bryon to stand shoulder to shoulder. Erik had never been afraid of closed in spaces, but he felt anxious in this place, his brow sweating and his palms clammy.

  They hadn’t gone a hundred paces when in the black distance came the sounds of scratching and scuffling.

  “Did you hear that?” Bofim asked.

  Erik’s dagger tickled his hip again, although it didn’t say anything.

  “Be ready,” Erik said.

  They walked another hundred paces, and the sounds grew louder. Erik heard growling and animalistic arguing, like dogs quarreling over scraps. He leaned forward and squinted, seeking to make out what was beyond his torch’s light, but saw only shadows.

  Erik jerked backward as something flashed from the darkness. He felt a searing pain on his left cheek, felt blood trickle from a wound. He grabbed Ilken’s Blade and swung upward, as fast and as hard as he could. He felt his steel hit something other than stone. The weapon shuddered in his hand as whatever he had struck fought against the blade.

  “More light!” Erik yelled, and Turk rushed forward with his torch, but the dwarf’s head barely came to Erik’s shoulder, and even with an extended arm, his torch couldn’t illuminate the roof.

  Erik retrieved his blade, heard growling above him, and swung upwards. He struck something again, this time Ilken’s Blade cleaving through flesh. He heard tendon and ligament and bone break, and a limb fell in front of him as a screeching howl echoed through the tunnel. As quiet returned, he could hear whatever had attacked him running away, and, at the edge of the torchlight, in the distant shadows, he caught sight of the thing running up and down the tunnel walls.

  The sound of dripping water echoed off the stone walls. Erik tried to take a deep breath, but the air was so sour and stale that each breath made him want to cough. He gripped his sword with white knuckles, pushing his torch out into the darkness as far as his left arm would extend. It had been hot just moments ago, and now the tunnel was cold, almost freezing. Nevertheless, sweat poured freely from his brow, and he anxiously brushed a stray strand of hair from his eyes, escaping the leather cord that held the rest back, away from his face. He looked back at Nafer, who still cradled his left arm in his right, despite the sling Turk had made. His face looked pale.

  Erik looked over his other shoulder at Turk. He was calm, holding his battle axe in his right hand and his torch in the left hand.

  “What, by the Creator, was that?” Erik asked.

  He looked at the arm—at least, that was what it looked like, with sinewy, knotted muscles and fingers that had no nails but ended in sharp points, nonetheless. Erik wiped a bit of blood away from his cheek with the back of his hand … testimony to how sharp those long, bony digits really were.

  “Tunnel crawler
,” Beldar replied, standing beside Turk, the broad blade of his spear poised and ready.

  “This is a dark place,” Bofim said, looking all about, his spear ready as well but not as calm and collected as Turk and Beldar. “An evil place.”

  “As evil as Orvencrest?” Bryon asked.

  “Perhaps,” Bofim replied. “With tunnel crawlers, maybe even more evil.”

  “What could be more evil than the Shadow?” Erik asked.

  “Things born of the Shadow,” Bofim replied. “Things that challenge the Shadow.”

  Erik felt a shiver crawl up his spine.

  “They have no eyes,” Turk explained.

  “How do they hunt then?” Erik asked.

  “Sound and smell. They can smell blood, and sweat, and the warmth of your skin from a league away. They crawl on the walls and roofs of the tunnel, hunting any poor creature that accidentally happens into their environment.”

  Erik nodded his head to signal advancement, and the party slowly inched forward. The darkness of the mountain tunnel was so dense that their torches lit only the space where they stood; ahead and behind them was like a black wall. Erik could only think of his dreams. There were places in this world where the land of dreams and reality crossed over, and Orvencrest was one of them. This place looked as if it was another.

  The tunnel had no features, no stalagmites or stalactites. There were no undulations or curves. Just straight through the mountain, with solid floors, and a roof so high, Erik had to stretch his torch upwards to see any semblance of it. The sounds of their boots on the cold floor resounded off the walls of the corridor like a chorus of drums. Tiny drops of water falling from the roof of the passageway clanked off Erik’s armor. The flame of Turk’s torch fizzled, and he heard the hissing of moisture against Bryon’s elvish blade.

  The adventurers walked another cautious hundred paces. They made sure to shine their lights on the walls and roof as best they could as they walked, ensuring no tunnel crawler waited for them, clinging there with its claws, ready to ambush them as they passed by.

  “They are out there,” Turk said. “They travel in packs, like wolves.”

  “Oh, just great,” Bryon said, his eyes flicking left, right; up, down.

  When the first one had attacked, it was like a shadow reaching from the blurry edges where light and darkness meet. Erik never really even saw the thing, it simply melded with the darkness, becoming one with it. It was truly a thing of the Shadow.

  As Erik inched forward, Turk’s hand caught his shoulder and stopped him. He looked to the dwarf, who put two fingers to his eyes while looking at Erik and then pointed in the direction they were walking. Erik squinted and strained to see what he saw and stepped back when he saw it, more torchlight revealing more of the tunnel.

  A long, spindly, gray figure hunched over something, its back to the party. It was so skinny that the ridges of its spine poked through its skin. It moved from being on all fours to sitting back on its haunches, picking at something, tearing at it with its hands and what seemed to be its mouth. It picked whatever it was tearing apart up and shook it viciously. The men and dwarves heard the sound of bones breaking and of tendons snapping.

  Then, suddenly, it stopped. The thing dropped what it had in its hands. It put its face to the roof and began to sniff. The sound of air sucking deep into the thing’s nostrils sent chills up Erik’s spine. It was a low, scratching sound, like teeth on raw bones. It turned its head slightly and then spun around rapidly.

  Their torches flickered off the tunnel crawler. Its face had no eyes, only a smooth dome running from two slits that served as nostrils to the back of its head. A small ridge of bone ran around where the creature’s nose would be and down to its mouth, which covered half its face. Long, razor sharp teeth filled the mouth, and every time it opened, green drool spilled out. A long, forked tongue lashed about the air like a snake, taking in tastes and warning signs its nose could not pick up.

  The tunnel crawler was so thin, its ribs poked through the skin like its spine, and its knees and elbows looked too big for its body. It looked to be bipedal, but at times moved on all fours. Its arms were as long as its legs, and the creature standing straight up might have been as tall as a dwarf. Its muscles looked sinewy and knotted, a tortured mess of flesh and skin.

  The tunnel crawler hissed before it screeched and then sniffed at the air again. The creature scratched its claws against the floor of the tunnel and then, moving to all fours, ran at the party. Erik moved shoulder to shoulder with Turk, gripping his sword with white knuckles. Bryon was still at the back, and Nafer moved next to him, as far away from the fight as possible. Bofim and Beldar moved close to Erik, standing almost on his heels and extending their spear over Erik and Turk’s shoulders. Erik could feel their breath and hear it quicken as the sound of claws got closer.

  Just as the faint torchlight illuminated the sickening grey figure, it was gone, fading like a shadow banished by the disappearing sun. Erik could still hear the scratching and sucking, but the creature was no longer there.

  “Where did it go?” Erik cried, peering into the darkness.

  “Damn it, more light,” Turk added.

  Everyone thrust their torches farther into the darkness, and yet, nothing was there. As Erik poked his head forward, squinting, straining to see anything, he smelled and felt hot, putrid breath. It reminded him of his dreams, of the dead who dwelt there and their stink of death, the smell of carrion and offal … the smell of evil. Erik recoiled at the stench, leaning back and looking away, and as he did, the face of a tunnel crawler snapped at him from the darkness above. It clung to the roof with its sharp claws, hanging there like a grey, ugly monkey, whipping its tongue about, salivating and hissing.

  Erik fell back into Bofim, swinging in retaliation. The blade scratched against the tunnel’s wall, barely missing the tunnel crawler’s face and sending sparks into the darkness. The creature hissed and snapped again. As Erik tried to regain his footing, Turk jumped in front of him, swinging his axe. It missed, too, and thudded into the ground sending up shards of stone. The tunnel crawler’s claws screeched along Turk’s mail shirt, and he left his axe in the ground, using his torch like a club and smacking the beast on the shoulder with it. Its skin hissed as it burned, and with a wild scream, it batted the torch away, sending it into the darkness.

  In the light of the other torches, Turk retrieved his axe and with both hands, swung again, this time his axe hitting the wall. At the same moment, Bofim jabbed with his spear, also missing. Erik stood firm again and swung, but the tunnel crawler ducked his attack too and rolled back onto all fours, flailing its drooling tongue and hissing. The monster was like smoke, shifting with the movement of the air, always whirling away just in time, always moving too soon.

  It snatched at Erik’s legs. The man jumped just in time and swung his sword at the monster’s arm, nicking it. It drew back momentarily and howled with pain, but quickly lashed out with its other arm. It caught Erik’s ankle and pulled hard, its claws trying to dig into his steel greaves. Erik fell backward, and in seconds, before any of his companions could react, the beast was on him, its tongue licking about with excitement, and its breath rapid.

  “Erik!” Bryon yelled.

  Bryon knocked Nafer out of the way, sending him into the wall. He pushed past Bofim and Beldar, both about to raise their spears in an attack. The tunnel crawler raised its head, mouth open, ready to bite into Erik’s face, and as it did so, Bryon rushed in with his whole body, backhanding the creature and sending it into the wall and off Erik. As it bounced against the stone and hissed, mouth open and baring its teeth, Bryon punched his elvish blade through the open maw. Blood and brain matter and skin sizzled against the heat of the sword, and the magical steel even dug into the tunnel wall as if the rock became molten lava. The purple hue the weapon gave off brightened until the light was almost blinding, and, in a single, brief moment, the tunnel crawler caught fire, flared into a ball of flame, and then fell to the
floor as a pile of ash.

  “Have you ever seen it do that before?” Erik asked, staring at the elvish sword as it returned to its normal brightness.

  “No,” Bryon said, shaking his head and staring at the pile of ash with wide eyes.

  “Well,” Turk said, “praise An for your sword. Its strength seems to be growing, especially in your hands, Bryon, and I fear we will need more of its strength … and soon.”

  Erik sighed deeply.

  “Are you all right, cousin?” Bryon asked.

  Erik nodded, now back on his feet.

  “We need to keep moving,” he said.

  They saw the thing that the tunnel crawler was ripping apart when it first attacked them. It was the first tunnel crawler, the one whose arm Erik severed. Its intestines spilled out of its gaunt stomach. Even the stalwart Turk covered his nose with his arm at the smell of the dead thing.

  “Wretched things eat each other,” Beldar spat. He kicked it as he walked by.

  “Hungry animals,” Bryon said, “just like those men.”

  They walked for a while before stopping for a quick rest. The monotony of the tunnel wore on Erik, and he could tell it did the same to the others. He had no idea how long they had walked the underground pathway, but it was the same. Smooth walls, roof just out of torch light, simple floors void of any rocky formations but also a little too rough to have been carved by human or dwarf hands. There were no side tunnels. There were no changes in the inclination of the tunnel. There were no changes in the temperature. Everything was the same. Erik thought this place could be the work of the Shadow, but he also guessed it was part of the protection surrounding the dragon sword.

  “This has to be one of the nine hells,” Bryon said, echoing Erik’s thoughts. He was helping Nafer along, as his broken arm seemed to sap as much of his energy as the walking did.

  “You may be right,” Beldar replied, “with these demons down here.”