Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1

by Christopher Patterson

  “Run, Warrior!” Bu yelled, smacking the horse’s rump. “Run faster than all these bastards, back to Hámon!”

  The horse didn’t need any more encouragement, and the great destrier galloped away in the opposite direction.

  “Release the horses,” Bu commanded. “Hopefully, they will serve as a distraction.”

  Bao Zi began slapping rumps, sending horses in various directions. It seemed to work, at least for a moment, as they heard the sounds of the spiders moving away from them, supposedly giving chase after the fleeing animals.

  “Now is our chance, Bao Zi,” Bu said.

  As they ran, Andu held a torch, and Bao Zi and Bu followed him. Just when Bu thought they had escaped this nightmare, he heard hissing and rattling and chattering again. He could see other torches in the forest, some close and some far away. One torch disappeared, followed by the sounds of struggle and a scream. Then another … and another. The torches started veering towards them.

  “Stay away, you fools,” Bu hissed. “Draw these demons away from us.”

  “Shall I kill them as they come into view?” Bao Zi asked, his voice even and calm even though they were running for their lives.

  Bu just shook his head as what was left of his men and the knights joined back up with him.

  They ran until they had to stop, but as soon as they had caught their breath, they set off again, running for most the night. It was hard to tell when daybreak was actually coming in the Gray Mountains, with the tall peaks and thick clouds, but Bu saw the intermittent pinks and oranges of an early morning casting lines of light through spaces in the branches of the tall trees; he had never been so happy to see a sunrise. He normally welcomed the night; he was an agent of the darkness, a creature of the shadows. It was his realm for his years as a spy, a tracker, and an assassin, but he learned to love the night when he was a boy, when his mother had gone out working; when she was away, it meant she couldn’t beat him.

  Bu stopped, and so did his men, now less than half the number who had set out with him from Hámon. They weren’t really in a clearing, although the trees were a little less cramped here. He put his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath once more, his thighs burned, and his stomach cramped.

  “Water, my lord,” Andu said, and Bu snatched the waterskin out of the man’s hand, drinking all of its contents and throwing the skin back into the easterner’s chest without so much as a thanks. He looked around and shook his head. As usual, Bao Zi understood his master’s thoughts.

  “We have lost some of the best men.”

  “It’s not good,” Bu replied.

  “We’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

  “It is,” said Andu.

  Bao Zi turned hard on the man. Andu had once served the Lord of the East, as sergeant of a small contingency that guarded the largest mining camp in Golgolithul’s employ—Aga Min. He came from a small but wealthy house in the east, and his father was a cripple. He was the only male heir, so when Patûk Al’Banan commanded his trolls and men to attack the camp, killing its old and broken master, Cho, Andu turned traitor to save his own life and agreed to serve Patûk. The general had broken the man. He was little more than a dog, but, under the tutelage of true eastern training, he had become an adept fighter, and he now served Bu with unwavering loyalty. Still, neither Bu nor Bao Zi could really stand the man, and the moment he lost his usefulness, Bu would dispose of him.

  “Not you, you yellow-bellied rat turd!” Bao Zi croaked, and Andu ducked at the man’s words. “No one gives a troll shit about you. Just keep the king’s waterskin full, and I won’t gut you like the neutered coward you are.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Andu said with a quick bow.

  “We should keep moving,” Bao Zi said, turning back to Bu.

  “Any idea where we are?” Bu asked softly, so the others couldn’t hear.

  “None, my lord,” Bao Zi replied, “but I wouldn’t feel good about staying here. Not with them still out there.”

  “Truly frightening,” Bu admitted.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it, my lord,” Bao Zi said. “They were maybe one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen in my life.”

  For Bao Zi to say something was terrifying meant it truly was; normally nothing scared the old hardened warrior. Bu nodded in agreement.

  “My legs ache,” one of the knights said, a man named Sir Caleb. Both he and Sir Garrett had survived the ordeal with the spiders. “Are we going to stop and rest?”

  Bu saw Bao Zi grind his teeth, his hand going to his sword. Bu grabbed the man’s wrist.

  “Stay here all you want,” Bu said, “and become spider droppings. I’m going to keep moving lest I wind up a cocoon with my guts being sucked out.”

  They kept moving. It was just before noon, and the snow had started again.

  “We need to find out where we are,” Bu said as they finally stopped for a short break.

  “Aye, my lord,” Bao Zi replied.

  The old soldier looked at the map for a moment and was about to hand it to Bu when he stopped, lifting his nose and sniffing at the air. Bu knew what that meant, and he crouched, squinting and trying to peer through the trees. He punched his hands through the snow, feeling for the ground, seeing if he could pick up on any vibrations. He caught a whiff of what he suspected Bao Zi smelled—strong body odor, rancid sweat, and bear fat.

  “What is that?” Bu asked, sniffing at the air.

  “Dwarves,” Bao Zi grumbled.

  “Dwarves don’t smell that bad,” Bu replied.

  “What is it, my lord?” Andu asked.

  “Shut up, you idiot,” Bao Zi cursed.

  They looked all about. Bu’s men knew something was wrong, just by seeing their leader, and they readied their weapons, but the knights hadn’t a clue, and they continued to talk and jape.

  Bu heard the sound of wood crack accompanied by the heavy crunching of snow as a fallen tree crashed through the forest. The smell grew stronger, causing Bu to almost retch. A deep growl reverberated through the trees when a giant of a man burst through the space between two tall pines, pushing them aside as if they were simple saplings.

  This wasn’t a man. It … he looked like a man, in certain ways, with two arms and two legs and a torso and head, but there the true resemblance ended. Its arms were almost as long as its legs, and it stood at least twice the height of most men. It looked as if he had no neck, and his jaw was abnormally wide with big, bushy eyebrows and a sloping brow. He had a wide, bulbous nose that resembled a dwarf’s, and his hair was black and wild and knotted into tight, dirty clumps; his beard was as bad. He wore a simple vest of some animal hide, and it extended down to his knees. As this giant man-creature stood there, surveying Bu and his men, it roared, clutching both of his dirty hands into tight fists. He didn’t carry a weapon but grabbed a thick branch from one of the trees he pushed aside and easily ripped it away, his intentions clearly to use it as a club.

  One of Bu’s men ran to the giant creature. A noble move, but a stupid one. The giant man swung its new club hard, crushing the man’s skull like a grape. Where Bu’s men moved in front of him, most of the Hámonian knights moved to run, but two more of these giant men burst through the forest. They could have easily killed them, but rather, they started grabbing soldiers and knights as yet another giant stepped through the trees, a large bag in his hands.

  “What do we do?” Andu asked.

  “Shut up,” Bao Zi said.

  “We run,” Bu said, but as he began to run, he felt a hand clamp around his arm and pull him hard, throwing him to the ground.

  As the giant man held Bu there, he twisted, his shoulder on the brink of dislocating, retrieving a dagger from his belt and jamming it into the meaty part of the beast’s inside arm. He howled and let go of Bu.

  Bao Zi came to his king’s rescue, sword unsheathed, but a giant kicked out at him, sending him into the trunk of a tree. That would have stopped most men, but Bao Zi wasn’t most
men, and he got to his feet, coming to Bu’s side once again. The giant Bu had stabbed fumed and cursed in a language that sounded oddly like Dwarvish.

  Bu watched as the giants subdued his men. The easterners that were with him tried to form a small wall in front of him, their loyalty unshakable, but not a single one made it. They were all hit over the head with a makeshift club or held underfoot until the giant with a bag could tie them up and throw them in his sack. The knights fought back as well, caring little for their king and more for themselves. Bu saw four of them, the giants’ attention elsewhere, take the opportunity to run, and Bu followed, knowing Bao Zi and Andu were right behind him. His stomach twisted, a little, as he knew his men were still back there, in the clutches of those creatures, bundled up in a sack. They had given their lives for him, something he would have done for his general, Patûk Al’Banan, and these Hámonian knights could have cared less about what happened to him. He scowled.

  “We need to rescue them,” Bu said when they stopped.

  “How?” Sir Caleb asked. “They are gone. We should just go back to Hámon.”

  “We stay the course,” Bu said, grabbing the knight’s tabard and pulling him close and then pushing him away with a disgusted grunt. “Those men gave their lives for me. It is the least we could do.”

  “Did you see those creatures?” Sir Garrett asked.

  “Of course, I did,” Bu replied. “It doesn’t matter. Find your balls because we are following them. Bao Zi.”

  The old soldier nodded with a grunt.

  14

  The tunnel through which they traveled narrowed so badly, Erik found himself crouching and, at times, walking on his hands and knees. With so little space and so little air, the torches waned and flickered, and several times, someone’s went out.

  “When do we start heading back?” Erik asked.

  “Yesterday,” Bryon said.

  “When was yesterday?” Turk asked.

  “You tell me,” Bryon replied. “You’re the dwarf. You live in environments like this.”

  Bryon chanced a laugh, and Turk joined him, even if it was forced. This was a hopeless place. Clearly, the old man in Eldmanor was crazy … and wrong. They would have to turn back soon, lest they get stuck and live out the rest of their miserable lives caught underneath a mountain.

  Erik was just considering they discuss turning back when the ground beneath him gave way. He slid down a wet slope, giving a quick yelp. His torch flared up, as fresh air struck it, but then it skittered away, struck something, and it was gone, along with its light. He seemed to slide for a long time, but then his head struck something hard, and he went dizzy for a moment.

  “Erik!” Turk called and, when he had regained his wits, Erik looked up and saw a distant torch.

  He stood quickly. The roof was clearly tall enough for him to stand. But it was dark, the only light the distant torch. Erik’s pulse quickened. He felt sweat trickle down his face and, as hard as it was, he tried to control his breathing, but failed. He drew his sword. The sound of steel on leather echoed throughout whatever space he was in.

  “Erik!” Turk called again.

  He saw a torch and the distant purple light of Bryon’s sword.

  “I’m fine!” Erik called back, and his voice echoed.

  He heard rocks shifting somewhere in the darkness, and he turned, Ilken’s Blade out and ready. His breathing quickened even more, and he gripped his sword in both hands, staring into blackness. He couldn’t see anything, save for the distant light of his friends’ torches above. He heard laughter and thought he felt something brush his cheek. He didn’t know if it was his imagination, or the mountain playing tricks with him, but he sensed they were there.

  “To the Shadow with this,” Erik muttered.

  He patted his golden-handled dagger.

  Do you think you could spare me some light?

  The tingle at his hip was all the confirmation he needed. He drew his dagger, and as soon as it left its golden scabbard, it blazed with a golden light that spread out in the darkness like a beacon. Erik heard hissing and the shuffling of feet. They were there. It wasn’t a figment of his imagination. He felt a vibration in his left hand, and the vision of a silver circlet with a sapphire studded in the middle popped into his head; Lord Balzarak’s gift to him. He retrieved the circlet from his haversack and placed it on his head. It wasn’t quite an exact fit—his head was too big—but it fitted well enough, and as soon as it rested there, the sapphire lit up like a blue beacon. Erik heard more hissing.

  “Not today,” Erik said.

  He expected to hear Sorben Phurnan’s voice, but instead, he simply heard a hiss and felt heat against his face and smelled burnt wood and coal. He tilted his head, pensively.

  “Erik!” Turk said. “We see you. Don’t move. We’re coming.”

  “Carefully,” Erik called. “Come down on your ass, and slow your descent with your feet.”

  As Turk descended the wet slope, Erik turned about, his illuminated dagger extended. He was in a giant cavern. A stalagmite had stopped him, although the ground evened out where he stood. When he looked up, he couldn’t see the roof, and when he looked side to side, he couldn’t see the walls. Looking straight forward, he also only saw darkness, and he turned around, feeling childish and foolish about being scared.

  Bryon came next, followed by Beldar. Nafer slid down with Bofim, Bofim hugging Nafer to him, seeking to protect his injured arm. They crashed into another stalagmite and seemed shaken, but only for a moment. They lost another torch, but between Bryon’s sword and Erik’s dagger and circlet, they had enough light.

  “Shall we go,” Erik said with a smile.

  “You need to be more careful,” Turk said. “A wrong move in a dark place like this can mean your death … a very dark and lonely death.”

  “I didn’t know your dagger glowed,” Bryon said as they marched through the wide-open cavern.

  “I didn’t either,” Erik said, and as he felt a tingle in his hand, he smiled.

  “And the circlet?” Bryon asked.

  “A gift from Balzarak,” Erik replied. “I figured it might glow like the one he wore.”

  “Well, thank the Creator for Lord Balzarak, but you might have tried it out a bit sooner!” Bryon said, and after everyone had chuckled, he asked, “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Forward,” Erik replied.

  “Well, that’s comforting,” Bryon said sarcastically, but as they walked on, Erik heard laughing behind him.

  The great dark cavern through which they traveled reminded Erik of Thorakest and the Southern Mountains. The temperature was mild, and the air was fresher. They twice came to small, subterranean rivers, no more than knee-deep, and both were full of small pink fish, with white bubbles where their eyes should have been. Nothing needed eyes in this place. The water though was freezing and the rock under the rivers slippery. Bofim fell in the first river, emerging shivering, and Bryon was soon second, although he popped up much faster, and his response was to curse everything he could, including his cousin and the dwarves. He didn’t get quite as wet as Bofim.

  “Are you all right?” Erik asked as Bofim’s lips trembled with the cold.

  “Just keep moving,” Bofim said. “There is nowhere to stop, and moving will keep me warmer.”

  “Bryon?” Erik said.

  “I’ll be fine,” his cousin said testily and stomped off.

  The ground sloped downward again after the second river, but not as steep as before. In places, water escaped the river and created tiny streams, flowing haphazardly past and before they trickled into the darkness. They finally came to a different part of the cavern and found the tiny rivers snaking their way around rocky formations, which rose abruptly from the ground.

  “Would you look at that?” Erik said, lifting his dagger up and casting more light on the cavern.

  As if his dagger knew what he was trying to do, it brightened, and everyone gasped. Some formations looked like shri
nes or temples, and others looked like tiny mountain peaks and ranges. They were different colors, blues and purples that looked like the dusk of a summer day and the yellows and reds of a blazing fire. There were also ones with greens and silver, and Erik wondered how they had not lost their brilliance in the everlasting darkness. As the small streams flowed in between each small mountain of stone, rock pools had formed and become home to tiny fish that created bubbles as they gulped at the surface, plucking at some unseen organism for food.

  A small, slimy creature emerged from one small pool. It looked like a frog at first, but Erik realized it was a salamander, its skin slick and wet and, not the white or clear most of the animals in this underground cavern had, it was a dull brown with black spots. It licked its face with a long pink tongue and bit at a few of the invisible insects that fluttered quietly above the water hole it called home. When Erik got closer, put his dagger down towards the puddle, it waddled away back into the puddle, and Erik could see it floating about in a deep hole amassed with other salamanders and small, white larvae bouncing about, avoiding the snapping jaws of their adult counterparts.

  Wherever there was a puddle, blooms of fungus covered the floor, even reaching up the sides of the rocky formations the pools lay next to in silky, spider web-like strands.

  “Stay away from those,” Turk said, walking by Erik as he bent down to look at one cluster of mushrooms that glowed with an almost fluorescent pinkish color. “Many of them are toxic or venomous … deadly to anything that dwells down here, including men and their dwarvish companions.”