Dragon Sword: Demon's Fire Book 1

by Christopher Patterson

  Not all the rocky formations ended in mountain-like peaks, but some were flat plateaus, the height of a man’s chest, and clusters of brilliant crystals sat atop them, white or clear, and they seemed to steal away the light the torches gave off. At the base of several rocks that only rose knee-high, steam rose from small geysers, and Erik could hear more in the distance. Wherever the geysers erupted, they found veins of emeralds and sapphires.

  “This is a dwarf’s dream,” Bryon said.

  “Now you can see how the dwarves have amassed so much wealth,” Nafer said. “In the surface world, these rocks are rare, but in the deep places of the world, they are commonplace.”

  “This dark place seems so evil and, yet, look at all this life,” Erik said, illuminating another crystalline formation with his dagger and watching translucent insects mill about.

  “An finds a way to give life in every place,” Turk said.

  “Those tunnel crawlers weren’t from An,” Bryon said as he walked by. He looked irritated.

  “No,” Turk agreed. “The Shadow corrupts.”

  15

  The giants weren’t hard to follow. Their stink permeated the forest wherever they had been. Bu’s diminished band of followers tracked them to a small camp at the edge of a wide, circular clearing in the forest. Several haphazard and primitive lean-tos sat at the opposite end of the clearing from where Bu and his men hid. A large fire blazed in the middle of the clearing, and the giants sat around it, joking and laughing. A huge sack containing some of Bu’s men sat behind one giant, and, as it moved and a sound emanated from the makeshift prison, the giant reached back and smacked whoever was in there causing commotion. It went still.

  A spit stood next to the fire, a sharpened stick running through something baking in the heat, its skin cracked and blackened and its flesh red. When Bu dared to lean closer, his eyes widened, and he gagged. It was a man … probably one of his men. They were cooking them and eating them. Just to confirm what Bu already knew, another giant reached over and pulled a large chunk of meat from what would have been the man’s side and threw it into his large mouth.

  “Is that a …” Andu began to say.

  “Shut your mouth,” Bao Zi hissed.

  Bu had seen cannibalism before. East of the Giant’s Vein, it wasn’t so uncommon, a custom of the barbarians from Mek-Ba’Dune, thinking they would gain the strength of the person they ate. As Golgolithul pushed east and established trading posts and outposts in the vast plains and grasslands of Antolika, it was a constant fear and one of the reasons why most soldiers were hesitant to bring their families east. Of course, he never saw a man-eating man firsthand, but he had seen the remnants—leftover bones, people who looked like they had been chewed upon—when he was a young scout.

  He had also seen the remains of cannibalism and heard about it, on the streets of Fen-Stévock, among the hungry and destitute poor of the capital city. It was a last resort to starvation when all the rats and pigeons had been hunted, the scraps were all gone, and the boots had been boiled. And it was one of the few things in Fen-Stévock that would earn someone an immediate and very painful death. The ruling class could have cared less if the poverty-stricken trash of the city sold their children to brothels, stole from one another, raped one another, or killed one another … but eat another man or woman, and that was a capital crime.

  This wasn’t necessarily cannibalism, but it was close enough, and it churned his stomach. He had seen all sorts of awful things in his life—burnt victims, dismemberment, brains and entrails—and he barely noticed them, but this … it affected him differently. Perhaps it was because he knew these men, whored with them and drank wine and broke bread with them. These men, most of them, had willingly given their lives for him and, even though he shouldn’t have cared, he did. He hadn’t ever really felt that way about the men who served him …cared much for them, and now that he did, that bothered him as much as the sight of a human meal. He shook his head and made a decision before he turned to Bao Zi.

  “My lord.”

  “We need to leave,” Bu replied.

  “But they’re going to eat them,” Sir Garrett said. “They’re eating them now.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” Bu replied.

  “My lord, we can’t just leave them,” Sir Garrett tried again.

  “Listen, you prick,” Bu said, pointing a finger at the man, “you didn’t want to rescue them at first, and now you do. Your lack of conviction sickens me. Most of the world doesn’t ransom off nobles and respect your station as a knight. They could give a rat’s ass. Everything in these mountains wants to eat us. I plan on my body remaining intact, and when I do die, I want to be burned so the carrion feeders can choke on my ashes. We’re going. Pray to whatever gods you pray to for these poor bastards. I know I’m sending prayers to the Princess of Pain for my men. Hopefully she finds their sacrifice pleasing.”

  Bu didn’t bother to wait for his remaining men, not even Bao Zi. He slowly backed away from the thick copse of creepers and bushes behind which they’d hidden and hiked into the forest. At that moment, he thought of Ilsa—her body, her lips, her breasts. The thought aroused him, and he tried adjusting himself without anyone else seeing. But it wasn’t just their time in bed that he thought of. He thought of someone sitting beside him while he ruled Hámon. She was a fickle woman. He could tell that much. And power-hungry. If he showed weakness, she would find another man to stick with her and convince him to kill Bu. As much as that might sicken another man, it made him smile. She was his kind of woman. Surely, she knew that he would do the same to her.

  Then he thought of Li, that spineless, burned, poor excuse for a man. He had better be keeping an eye on Bu’s wife. Her father still lived, an unfortunate result of honoring the Hámonian culture and custom of keeping captured nobles alive after battle. What a foolish idea. Nobles fought to the death in the east, if for no other reason than to save themselves from the certain torture they would experience when caught and imprisoned. In the west, they willingly gave up, allowed their peasants and subjects to be killed and raped, and expected soft pillows and fine meats in their prison cells. Hopefully, Kan, once Patûk’s second in charge and now a Duke of Hámon, Pavin Al’Bashar—former resistance leader much like Patûk and also a newly appointed Duke of Hámon—and Ban Chu—Bu’s personal guard and second only to Bao Zi—were keeping a proper eye on everything, especially his wife and Li. He trusted those men, as much as he could trust anyone.

  Bu’s lip curled. A man who cared so little for those that served him was no man at all. It was what disgusted him about the Lord of the East, and why he eventually defected into Patûk’s services. The Lord of the East cared little for his subjects. When South Gate burned under the dragon’s fire, he probably celebrated as the poorest parts of Fen-Stévock burned away rather than mourning the loss of Golgolithulian citizens.

  It wasn’t that Patûk was a kind man. He was far from it. He was cruel, ruthless, and hard. In all truth, he was a bastard, but he respected the men that served him and served them in return. He fought alongside them, drank with them, whored with them, and bled with them. That was who Bu wanted to be.

  “Where to, then?” Sir Garrett asked, finally catching up to Bu as the huge campfire of man-eating giants faded away behind them.

  Bu looked to the sky. The stars barely blinked, trying as best as they could to twinkle through the wispy clouds that consumed the heavens over the Gray Mountains. He didn’t recognize any of the constellations and wondered if they were different in the north. Then, he caught the slightest glimpse of something in the sky, a subtle glow. He had heard of such a thing in the far north—lights in the sky. This glow was green and reflected against the bottoms of the clouds. It meant something.

  “North,” Bu said. “We follow that glow, and we keep going north.”

  16

  A blind lizard, its skin pink and thin, ran about the crystal formation, snatching up what insects it could. When it sensed Erik’s
presence, it darted away, behind a patch of fungi and mushrooms growing in between two small geysers. He heard a quick chirp when the reptile disappeared and saw rustling among the fungi as if it were grass shuffling in the wind.

  Erik crept around one of the geysers and found the lizard there, dead and curled up into a ball. A spider stood next to the lizard, and, when Erik leaned forward, he saw two large puncture wounds in the lizard’s side. The spider moved, its abdomen large and fat and as big as a man’s hand and its legs as long as fingers. It was aware of Erik and faced him. It was black with no other markings, and, in Erik’s dagger and circlet light, the arachnid’s eight eyes twinkled.

  The spider tapped on the ground with one of its forelegs, sending a clicking sound out into the darkness. It bounced its abdomen up and down and then moved side to side. Erik took a step forward, and so did the spider. He took a step back, and so did the spider. He moved right, and the spider mirrored him. He moved left, and so did the spider. Erik stopped moving, and the spider crouched. Erik thought he heard the arachnid hiss.

  “Turk, come here,” Erik said. “Look at this.”

  He pointed with his sword.

  “Ah, those are tinsy mushrooms,” Turk said. “They are highly poisonous. Stay away from them.”

  “No,” Erik said, almost smiling as the spider followed his every movement. “Look at the spider. If I move left, it does too. If I move …”

  “Stop,” Turk snapped.

  “What’s the matter?” Erik asked, but did as he was told.

  He watched the spider for a few more moments. The thing hissed and tapped with its foreleg again, and then its whole body shook, exposing bristles on its legs. They rattled as it quivered. Turk put a hand on Erik’s chest and moved him backward.

  “What are you doing?” Erik asked.

  “Move away,” Turk said, “slowly.”

  The spider finally took a step forward, and then another; first, it moved slowly, but then sped up. It crawled up onto a tinsy mushroom, and then to a taller one. It tucked its abdomen underneath itself and spewed some of its silk towards Erik. It didn’t reach him, but Erik cocked an eyebrow.

  “Is it trying to attack us?” he muttered.

  He looked to Turk as if it were some sort of joke, but the dwarf’s face was all seriousness. Erik looked back to the spider. It was closer. It rattled again, and then they heard chirping and clicking overhead. Erik thought he heard fluttering, and, out of the darkness, great leathery wings spread, sharp claws extended forward and dug into the spider’s abdomen, and the spider and its attacker were gone, high into the darkness of the cavern.

  “Bats,” Turk said.

  “Big bats,” Erik added.

  “We should keep moving,” Turk said.

  “You look worried,” Erik said. “What was that?”

  “A spider,” Turk replied.

  “A big spider,” Erik said. “Was it trying to attack us?”

  “Yes,” Turk replied. “Come on. There will be time to talk later.”

  Turk poked about the cluster of mushrooms. Erik pointed out the lizard the spider had killed, which wasn’t too alarming. He had seen large spiders kill smaller lizards before. But, then, they saw another bat. It was twice the size of any bat Erik had ever seen, and if it had been able to extend its leathery wings, they might have extended as far as a man’s arms. But it couldn’t extend them. They were tightly wound in spider’s silk, and the bat wasn’t the deep black and brown colors Erik suspected it normally was, but a mottled gray. Turk nudged it with his boot, and it sounded hollow. It was a husk.

  “This is not good,” Turk said. “Let’s move.”

  As they walked, they heard fluttering above them, in the unseen darkness, followed by chirps and clicks and clacks.

  “It must be night,” Beldar said.

  “Aye,” Nafer agreed.

  “Why do you say that?” Bryon asked.

  “They are gathering,” Beldar replied, “the bats. They have a way out of this cavern, and they are about to converge on the surface world and feast.”

  “There’s not enough in this cavern for them to feast on?” Bryon asked.

  “The creatures in here are probably wary of the bats,” Nafer replied. He pointed to the hidden roof. “And there must be thousands up there. Maybe hundreds of thousands.”

  They had gone only a little further when Bryon stopped, staring out into the darkness, straining to see.

  “What is it?” Erik asked.

  “I heard something,” Bryon replied.

  “More bats,” Erik said.

  Bryon didn’t reply. He just stared forward, squinting, pushing his elvish sword out farther.

  “Lend me your light,” Bryon said.

  Erik lifted his lighted dagger up.

  “There,” Bryon said, pointing, “just at the edge of the light. Do you see it?”

  “I don’t see anything,” Erik replied. “It’s the darkness and the cavern playing tricks with your eyes and ears … and maybe mind a little too.”

  Bryon shook his head.

  “No.” He stepped forward, ever so slightly. “Something is there, just beyond the light. It has been following us. Don’t you feel it?”

  “I feel the chill of a mountain cavern and the constant numbness of eternal darkness,” Erik said. “Come on, Bryon.”

  Erik stepped forward, but Bryon reached out and caught his arm and squeezed hard.

  “Don’t move,” Bryon said.

  “What has gotten into you?” Erik said.

  “What’s going on?” Turk asked, walking up next to the cousins. “We’re waiting for your lead, Erik.”

  “Bryon thinks there is something out there, watching us in the darkness,” Erik said, “and now he won’t let me continue.”

  “There is something there,” Bryon said.

  “What is it?” Turk asked.

  “I don’t know,” Bryon replied with a shrug. “I heard it. Saw it. Sensed it.”

  “Keep moving,” Turk said, “carefully. Slowly.”

  They hadn’t walked another hundred paces when Bryon stopped again. Erik heard it this time—the sound of tapping and clicking. The rustling of leaves and the slightest hiss. It was above them, but when Erik lifted his dagger up, he saw nothing.

  “Tighten up,” Turk said.

  Erik heard something like a sack of flour drop behind them.

  “Beldar, Bofim, face the rear and be ready,” Turk commanded. “Erik and Bryon, take point. Extend your magic light as far out as you can. Nafer, take the middle with me.”

  “What is it?” Erik asked.

  “I hope I am wrong,” Turk said, “but if it is what I think it is, we are in for a hard fight.”

  As Erik took a step, he felt something crunch under his foot, like dried leaves or small twigs. The sound was so slight, but in the vacuous darkness, it was like a war drum and echoed through the cavern, but not as much as before. The walls had closed in on them.

  Erik looked down, and whatever it was that dangled from his boot had small bones and dried, stretched skin. It looked as if it was stuck in webbing of some sort. He shook his leg, trying to kick the remains away, but they clung tightly. He scraped his foot along the ground, but when he stopped, something in front of him was making the same scraping sound.

  Erik drew Ilken’s Blade and took one step forward, extended his dagger.

  “Are you with me?” Erik asked.

  “I’m here,” Bryon replied.

  The magical light caught something silver, a strand of something in a mountain wall in front of them.

  “Is that Dwarf’s Iron?” Erik asked as the light glinted off several silvery strands.

  “I don’t know,” Turk said.

  Erik took another step forward and then reeled backward with a quick yelp.

  “Son of a whore,” Erik said, breathing hard as he backed into his cousin.

  “What?” Bryon said, moving Erik aside and stepping in front of him.

  “Tun
nel crawler,” Erik said.

  Its mouth was open, baring its rows of sharp teeth, and both hands were out, fingered claws ready to strike, but it was frozen in time. Thin, white threads stretched across its face and consumed the rest of its body, hiding it in a silky cocoon. As Erik brought his dagger closer, the tunnel crawler’s skin wasn’t its normal gray, but a pale white and its skin looked stretched and worn, like old parchment.

  “Get away from that!” Turk yelled.

  “What is it?” Bryon asked.

  “Spider’s webbing,” Turk replied. “Look.”

  He lifted his torch, as did the others, fanning out slightly. The wall in front of them was barely visible, but they could make out the silver thread that mummified a myriad of creatures of all sizes, some ages-old and some fresh.

  “This is part of a horse,” Erik said, pointing to two hooves poking out from a webbed cocoon lying on the floor. “And look at this.”

  He knelt down, inspecting cloth poking from another web casing, much smaller than the horse and in the shape of a man. The cloth was once white and, from what Erik could see, had a blue square on it. A tabard.

  “It’s another Hámonian noble,” Erik said. “How? A tunnel crawler, a man, a horse.”

  “The ártocothe,” Turk said, shaking his head. “The spider you saw before, among the tinsy mushrooms, was an ártocothe. Aggressive and intelligent. This is truly the realm of the Shadow.”

  “That was a big spider,” Erik said, “but not big enough to take down a horse, let alone a man or a tunnel crawler.”

  “Or a huge elk,” Bryon added, looking at another webbed cocoon, gigantic antlers poking through the web.

  “That was just a spiderling, I’m afraid,” Turk replied. “And with the way you said it was moving, it was hunting you.”

  “Hunting?” Erik asked.