by Levi Samuel
Kane fought the claws, his strikes full of ferocity. Swinging the oversized weapon as if it were the weight of a feather, he struck with unnatural speed, deflecting each swipe.
The sword was chipping away his talons, piece by piece. It wouldn’t be longer until they’d be too weak to pierce hide.
"Hold!" Gareth shouted, hoping the others would follow suit. Gaining proper footing, he knew he couldn’t be moved. With renewed force he thrust hard, watching the steel tip pierce the dragon's scales.
Kane spun around, putting everything he had into a single, solid attack. How he could withstand the beast's strength was beyond him. It didn’t matter. He needed to find weakness if he was to end this.
Autzumo roared in pain, feeling the spearhead sink into his soft innards. Blood seeped from beneath the scales where the pole-arm had penetrated. He was on limited time. Did I make a mistake? Did I get sloppy by staying here too long? Where's my flight? The final thought awoke something inside him. My flight! I have been forsaken! He hissed at the slayers, striking at the armored warrior with everything he had. How did he not smell it before?
Ravion took advantage of the dragon's distraction, counting the time between attacks. Waiting for Kane to deflect the next blow, he ducked beneath the swipe and rolled his blade.
Malakai listened to the sounds of battle. They had the upper hand. Hearing the deflection, he charged, flipping his rapier in-hand. The tip pointed down, he jumped and stabbed as hard as he could. It passed through scale and sank to the hilt.
Autzumo hissed his pain. The betrayer had been chipping his claws, distracting him. He hadn't noticed the thin one roll into range. Sticky fluid dripped from beneath his scales. He stared at the severed claw, cut smoothly from him. His leg was pinned to the ground by the other one's sword. To his surprise, it didn’t overly hurt. In fact, it still felt like it was attached. He tried to pull his leg free of the rapier, but it wouldn't budge. His other front leg was useless, lying detached on the ground. Only a few pieces of torn flesh dangled around the bone. The spear tip shot in, awakening the pain inside him. Extending his neck, he howled louder than ever howled before.
Seeing his chance, Kane spun, letting his sword swing wide. The tip passed through the beast’s throat, neatly severing its windpipe.
Autzumo’s strength began to wane. His fight evaded him, replaced by the need for air. Panic took hold. He was dying. What's this dreaded feeling— Fear? So that's what it's like. His body too weak to resist, he laid his head down, the scaly eyelids too heavy raise. It was no matter. He didn't really want to see his final moments. His entire existence was a betrayal. Expecting death to claim him soon, he counted his gold one last time, feeling lost four-thousand and seventy-two times over.
Gareth knew the fight was won, but the beast had to be finished. Gathering his strength, he thrust deep, sending the pointed head into the dragon's heart. It pierced with a pop, spurting a thick liquid from the enlarged wound.
Autzumo gasped his final breath, feeling the pounding of his ruptured core slow to a stop.
Kane reached down and pulled his dagger from the creature's jaw. The metal was pitted, nearly useless. Tossing the ruined weapon to the ground, he felt a hand against his shoulder.
"Well done lad.” Gareth smiled, admiring the successful hunt.
Chapter XII
A New Friend
Krenin jumped, hearing the first sounds of battle. Had his friends come to rescue him? No, they betrayed me and left me here to die. The realization washed over him. He didn't have any friends. If they returned, it was for the purpose of killing him and claiming the treasure. If it wasn't them, who knew about the treasure? And who would be willing to face the dragon? He pulled against his chains, testing their strength for the thousandth time. He was growing weak from lack of food, relying on the small bits of moss and fungus he could reach. “I have to get out.” He calmly stated to himself, letting the weight of the chains fall to the ground.
The half-orc search for anything he could use as a weapon in the event it would be needed. The room was littered with jewels and gold, glowing like a beacon in the low-lit cavern. It was odd. He’d craved such wealth his entire life. And now that he had it, it wasn’t worth the price. Crawling toward the pile in hopes of finding something he could use, the shackles reached their end, yanking against him. He didn't need to see them to know the thick bands were cutting into his wrists. He could already feel the deep red bruises forming in his green-tinted flesh. Scooting on his rear, letting his arms extend behind him, the tendons tensed from the odd angle. It hurt, but it was a small price to pay for freedom. His feet were just within reach. Kicking at the pile, he uncovered a few trinkets and treasures not previously seen. Coin spilled around him, threatening to cover his legs. Again he kicked, feeling something sharp cut his foot.
Withdrawing his leg, he bent it to see the bottom. A shallow gash laid across the calloused heel. Sharp means a weapon. He felt relief for the first time since awakening in the cavern. Carefully sticking his feet into the pile once again, he swept the treasure away, hoping to find the item that cut him.
A weakened roar echoed off the walls, telling him the battle was nearly over. Worry set into his stomach. He was running out of time, he had to act fast. He could feel the edge of the item, but it was too heavy to dislodge. He needed to uncover it. looking around for something, anything, to dig it out, Krenin spotted a decomposing body not far from him. The remains were unrecognizable aside from the fact that it was human. The skin and meat was nearly gone, leaving the majority of a shattered skeletal structure intact. Only a few pieces of rotting meat held it together.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself from the heap. Moving toward the body, he grabbed hold of one of the arms. Twisting it above its head, he felt the dried tendons snap. Pulling as hard as he could, using his other hand to secure the rest, it popped and the ball separated from the socket. The arm came free in his hand.
Moving back into position, he extended his reach, using the bone hand as a scoop. Shoveling the treasure away, he saw, for the first time, what had scraped him. Lying there amidst the scattered loot was his battle axe. He smiled his fortune upon the lost weapon. Knocking it closer to him, he discarded the arm and lifted his long-lost friend. His only friend. The leather wrapped handle felt good in his grip. Like a favored toy that had been misplaced long ago.
He listened for the sounds outside the entrance of his prison. The battle had all but subsided. All he could hear now were voices— human voices.
Krenin spun the axe in hand, facing the blade away from him. Pulling against his shackles he put as much pressure on the stakes as possible, hoping they wouldn't ring out. He smacked the sides with the flat of his axe, working it back and forth. Within a few moments, he was free.
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but in the stories I've heard, aren't dragons usually accompanied with tales of treasure?” Malakai asked, looking deeper into the cavern. His eyes squinted in search from the flicker of his torch and a nefarious smile lingered on his lips
Gareth wiped the thick blood from his cutlass. He looked down at the dragon's freshly severed head as proof of the creature's death. “I’ve heard such tales. So long as we have the head, there's no harm in exploring a little further. Especially if there's treasure involved.”
Ravion lifted the blood-soaked pike, plucking the tip from the dragon's heart. Flipping it around, he quickly thrust it forward, impaling the head upon the long shaft.
Kane turned, hearing the sickening pop. He watched the slender scout lift the bear-sized trophy. The shaft flexed against the weight, staining to hold it up.
Ravion carried it to the wall and laid it to rest where the blood could drain without soaking the handle. Glanced at the young warrior, noting his interest, he offered explanation. “It makes transportation easier and offers a slightly more intimidating means of displaying victory to one’s enemies.”
Nodding his understanding, yet still sickened by the supposed trad
ition, Kane turned to accompany the others deeper into the cavern.
The group slowly made their way into the unknown, following the contours of the moist and jagged walls. The sound of footsteps and jingle of gear echoed all around them. The torch flickered against the faint breeze, creating shadows on the far side, leaving all on edge and anticipating ambush. The ceiling lowered, forcing them to crouch down or risk hitting their heads. Moving little faster than a crawl, they found a narrow passageway just large enough for two men to stand side by side. How a dragon, be it a small one, could move through such confined spaces was a mystery in its own right.
One by one they stepped through the narrow passageway and into the large chamber glowing from the orange flame. Pile after pile of gold, silver, and gems stood illuminated. Even in the darkness, they could see how large the room truly was. It was far from full, but it looked to go on forever in the darkness.
They stood in awe, lost in the sight of the treasure before them.
A coin hit the ground, ringing out in the silent room. Gareth leaned closer to his companions, whispering as quietly as possible. “We're not alone.”
The half-orc ducked behind one of the piles, watching the torchlight flicker off the walls. It messed with his vision, made it hard to see the men headed toward him. Squinting against the blinding light, he watched them step into the open, lost in the sights before them. He leaned in, getting a good look at their faces. They were human by appearance, except for the tall one, maybe. He had the look of a the alfar. Maybe half? There was no telling with their kind. It was so difficult to see anything with that accursed torch. In his quest to get a better view, he hadn't realized how much he was leaning against the pile. He felt it shift beneath him, several pieces sliding from their perch. Adjusting his position, he removed his weight, halting all that he could. His heart sank, hearing a tiny coin bounce off the stone floor. It rang out, betraying his position. He closed his eyes, silently cursing himself.
Tightening the grip on his axe, Krenin readied to defend himself. Today not the day I meet Osirus! He waited for them to charge, surprised at their lack of action. Perhaps they didn't hear the trumpet-like coin that betrayed him?
He glanced over the pile, stealing a quick look. They were still there, admiring the loot before them. The one carrying the torch stepped closer. He had a foreign look to him. His mustache twisted and curled toward his nose and the dark red leather on his shoulders and arms didn’t match any style he’d seen before.
“How do you reckon we get it out of here?” The foreigner asked, turning toward the others.
“A cart at a time, I suppose.” The heavy, bald one announced scratching his head.
It seemed he was in luck. They clearly hadn't heard him. This meant he had a chance to get the first strike before they could recover. And with any luck, the short one's armor looked like it might fit him. Lifting his axe, he exhaled a hearty battle shout and jumped from his perch, aimed to cut down the man with the torch.
A cool breeze carried the scent of pine through the air. Birds chirped from their nests, and squirrels frolicked around the sides of the massive trees.
Kane took another exhausted step, listening to the crunch of leaves beneath his boot. The sun beat down on him, draining his energy with each step. Sweat poured from his pores, dripping into the linen tunic beneath his armor. He wished he could admire the orange and brown leaves littering the forest road, but he was preoccupied. The dragon's head weighed a ton from atop the pike. Why they had to transport it that way seemed silly, but the others insisted. His footsteps were muffled by the commotion behind him.
The half-orc grunted. Sweat beading down his green-tinted flesh. His small tusks jutted from his lower jaw, displaying his gritted teeth between them. A thick rope was draped around him, securing his arms to the twin poles dragging the ground behind him. He pulled hard against the overloaded gurney. Gold and silver were piled high on the crude contraption, held in place by a patchy, canvas tarp.
Gareth, Malakai, and Ravion marched on all sides of the orc, keeping him in line.
“That's enough grunting, you green-skinned bastard. You don't have that much farther to go.” Gareth taunted, keeping the half-orc's anger constant, but controlled. “You've been given plenty of water. Another mile and you're good for all the bread and water you can stand.”
Krenin pulled hard, dragging the small portion of treasure behind him. His rage kept him moving, kept him strong. The thought of escaping the bald man and biting down on his throat made him smile. The sweet taste of blood in his mouth offered hope.
“What the hell are you smilin' about? You failed. You attacked too early. You could have also done without that weak shout before rushing us. You might have gotten a blow in before we captured ya’.”
His words were infuriating, but he wasn't wrong. As much as he wanted to kill him, he was kind of likable. He's kind of like orc. Krenin shook the thought from his head. No! He the enemy. I was defeated and he not kill me. This not go unpunished.
Ravion hid his smile, knowing exactly what Gareth was doing. He had to keep him fueled or he would die from lack of food. Never mind the fact that he would have made the trip much easier if he weren't being used as a mule, though it made sense. The half-orc was young. He attacked prematurely. For that, he had to be subdued. His only saving grace was that he hadn't hurt anyone. But using him as a slave seemed wrong.
Gareth glanced at the scout, reading the concern on his face. “Ravion, run ahead and announce our arrival. Let the people witness the fall of their dragon. They should celebrate after they've feared for so long.”
The ranger picked up the pace, surpassing the young warrior at the head. He crested the hill and looked back, timing their speed. It was amazing how quickly a wider step could advance your position with no more or less energy consumed. Calculating their arrival time, he turned and made for town.
They could hear the commotion before they reached the forest edge. The smell of meat and wine lingered far and wide. Reaching the clearing, they heard the cheers of joy erupting from those who saw the dragon's head. More and more people rushed to the road hoping to see the heroes responsible for the beast's death.
Kane felt the eyes upon him. It was a wondrous feeling, but he wasn't sure he cared for it. He smiled passing them, hoping to reach the pub and get inside as quickly as possible.
Ravion stepped in front of the group, rejoining them. He didn't care for the attention, but Gareth wasn't wrong. These people needed cause to celebrate. Perhaps it was for the best.
Krenin lugged the treasure past the wall of humans. He hated being placed on display like this. Why they not just kill me? They want to do it public? Why so happy? I'm nobody. Not like Thievesmaster Zanthin. He kept his eyes straight ahead, walking where the bald man directed. If he was to die, he'd go out fighting. But now was not the time.
Smoked meat, pipe tobacco, and the smell of wine radiated from the tavern. Bards played their music, and patrons cheered their joy into the wee hours of the night. Every seat was filled, leaving a large number standing throughout the common room.
The largest table at the center was littered with cooked boar, fruit, bread, and the finest ale, mead and wine of Shadgull.
Master Remle De Leon sat at the head, rocking his tankard back and forth in tune to the music.
Gareth sat beside him, content with his roasted turkey leg and ale, while the patrons scrambled to be near them, each one trying to make themselves known to the heroes.
Kane sat back in his wooden chair, feeling the effects of the mead in his head. He laid his tankard to rest on the table, the light brew within sloshed against the sides. Grabbing a piece of bread, he took a bite hoping to regain his composure.
Ravion sat properly, refusing drink. His sword hung at his side, ready for use if needed. His eyes darted about the room, cautiously scanning the crowd for any would be aggressors. His elongated pipe rested in his hand, a light waft of smoke slithering from the bowl. He took a pu
ff, blowing the solid white cloud into the air.
Malakai spoke through the food in his mouth, retelling the story of the battle and how they narrowly escaped the dragon with their lives. He was careful to add as much excitement and detail as possible to keep the listeners interested and on edge. His hands moved with embellishment, his tankard in place of his sword, small amounts spilling out as he stabbed and slashed, reenacting his part.
A loud crash shook the walls, silencing the music. Hearing it stop the crowd grew quiet, listening to the muffled outside world. The warriors jumped up, grabbing their weapons. Many of them too drunk to stand, let alone fight.
The pub doors burst open and an unnatural darkness spilled into the room.
Gareth stood, letting his chair fall behind him. Drawing his cutlass, he glared at the void. “I knew I'd find you here, you dark-skinned bastards!” His tone was low but deadly. Spring into the darkness, he disappeared from sight.
Ravion drew his longsword. “Dreu?” He questioned himself. Sword at the ready he casually stepped into the night, following after the impulsive warrior.
The darkness rolled in like a wave, devoured over half the room. Patrons disappeared inside it, heir screams echoing all around. The unnatural shadow moved as if it were alive. It traveled across the area leaving a wake of dead where cheerful citizens stood moments before. Blood poured from the fresh wounds, seeping into the cracks of the wood planked floor.
Lifting his great sword, Kane charged, ready to halt the strange shadow. Swinging with all his might the blow struck home, sinking into something solid but soft. He twisted and shoved deeper, hoping the wound was fatal. Withdrawing, he spun around, ready to attack again.
