“Die!” she screamed with all her might. “Die! Die! Die!”
Nithkorrh hurled itself backward, away from Esprë’s necrotizing touch. She held on to its face as hard as she could, determined to kill the creature or die trying. Her hands found purchase on the inner edges of its nostrils, and she refused to let go.
Esprë kept concentrating on her dragonmark, on forcing the chill power through her hands and into the dragon’s face. She guessed that with such a powerful creature it would take some time for the iciness to reach its heart. If she could stop that from beating any further, though, she—she couldn’t think any further than that. She just gritted her teeth and clenched her fingers tighter, shoving more and more freezing energy into the beast.
Esprë was glad she couldn’t see the dragon’s face or anything but its glowing orange eyes. She knew it would terrify her, maybe to the point where she would lose her grip.
The dragon roared, and the expulsion of its breath blasted Esprë’s body away from its mouth. She held on, her legs flapping behind her like a banner in a storm. The noise stabbed like needles into the young elf’s ears, and it left her deafened by their ringing. Tears flowed from her eyes, not in sadness or even pain but from the horrible stench that sprang from the dragon’s maw.
Nithkorrh drew in another breath, and Esprë steeled herself for it to roar again. Instead, it drove her backward with its mighty neck and plunged her bodily into the black waters of its home lake. The impact forced the air from her lungs. Now she held on not out of murderous intent but for her life. If she let go, she feared she might never find her way back to the surface. In the endless blackness, she might swim too far in the wrong direction and run out of air before she had any hope of finding it again.
Esprë realized that her only hope was to hurt the dragon as much as possible before her lungs and her will gave out. She prodded her dragonmark like she was stirring the embers of a dying fire, and at her command it sprang back to life. The burning returned as hot as ever, and the ice flowed down her arms and out through her hands so fast she was amazed that the waters around her didn’t freeze solid on the spot.
The dragon hauled its neck out of the water and roared again. This time, the timbre seemed rooted more in fear than rage.
Esprë’s heart soared as she gulped the stale air of the cave as if it were from a rain-swept sky. She had frightened a dragon. She had hurt it. That meant she could kill it. She prepared to draw on her deepest reserves to put an end to the dragon’s life.
Nithkorrh took that moment to shake its head so hard that Esprë felt her arms might break. Despite her desperate efforts, her grip on the creature’s nostrils came loose, and she went sailing through the air to splash into some distant part of the underground lake.
As Esprë plunged into the water, her only hope was that it was deep. She thanked her mother for teaching her to swim at an early age. She had loved kicking her way around Lake Cyre in those days, so much so her mother had called her “my little fish.” One of the things she’d missed most in Mardakine was the lack of any water deeper than a bathtub. She’d often sat on the front porch of her house on a hot summer day and dreamed of a cool pool to take a dip in.
She’d never imagined it to be anything like this.
When Esprë hit the water, she spread out her arms and legs to slow herself down. Even so, the force of the dragon’s toss shoved her through the water until she smacked into the bottom of the underground lake. She’d expected to smash into bare, hard rock, but instead landed in a thick layer of loamy muck. It cushioned her abrupt stop enough that she managed to keep the air in her lungs.
Esprë swung her legs beneath her, feeling for the bottom, then kicked off against it. It felt soft and sticky, like it would suck her down if she hung on to it too long. She didn’t want to thick about what it might be made of. She swam for the unseen surface as hard as she could.
When Esprë’s head broke the water, she heard the dragon still roaring in pain and rage.
“Where are you, cockroach?” Nithkorrh said, spitting each word. “I will tear out your brain with my tongue and use your bones to pick my teeth!”
In the darkness, Esprë couldn’t see a thing, not even the dragon’s glowing eyes. It must have been facing away from her, at least at first.
Then, treading water in this black cave—the water so cold it seemed to freeze even the heat from her dragonmark—trapped and lost in a dragon’s home, Esprë realized she had failed. Nithkorrh would kill her, just as she had expected. That didn’t bother her—although she knew she would much rather live. The fact that the dragon had survived her best effort crushed what little spirit she had left.
“I will find you, elfling,” the dragon said, still thrashing about, its voice filled with menace. “I will skin you alive and fashion your dragonmark into a glove.”
Esprë shuddered at the thought and held her breath, trying to keep afloat as quietly as possible.
“The dragon kings will take your skin and learn of your family. We will hunt them down and devour them all!”
The thought of all those dead elves chilled Esprë’s heart. She hadn’t lived among other elves for decades, but she remembered Aerenal from her youth. It was a place filled with history that the people of the land lived every day. To leave it behind to move to Khorvaire had felt like leaving part of herself behind. She remembered her mother had wept about it bitterly, but they had gone just the same.
“Sometimes,” Esprina had said, “history is not a platform on which you stand but a cage in which you live.”
Those words had followed them to Valenar and then up through Cyre until they reached Metrol, where they had settled. Esprë had thought then that this would be forever, but Esprina had said, “Elves live too long to think of forever.”
“If we cannot figure out who you are, from what line you hail, we will invade your precious Aerenal and destroy it. We will kill every elf we find there, and then we will go to the other lands and kill their elves too!”
“Stop!” Ibrido shouted. Esprë realized he’d been trying to make himself heard over the dragon’s ranting for awhile, but his voice finally managed to find a break in which it could ring out.
Nithkorrh came to a sloshing halt. From where Esprë was, she could see the dragon’s lantern-like eyes bear down on the dragon-elf, picking him out of the darkness in their golden-orange glow.
“An elf’s blood runs through your veins too, half-breed,” the dragon said. “Do not think I shall forget it.”
“You have let your anger master you,” Ibrido said. “If the youth is dead, railing at her won’t help. If she is alive, then you should take care you do not kill her in your rage.”
“What do you suggest I do?” Nithkorrh hissed each word at the dragon-elf as if any one of them could spell Ibrido’s death.
“Just stop for a moment and listen.”
Esprë cursed silently. She knew they would hear her as soon as the waves from the dragon’s rage quit sloshing through the lake. Even the barest sounds of her breath would echo loud enough in the cavern for Nithkorrh’s ears to catch them.
For a moment, she thought she should scream at the dragon, dare him to come and get her, to tangle with her once more. She found she could not bring herself to do it. Nithkorrh’s tossing her about had tired her out. She could barely tread water any longer, but she didn’t dare give up.
“There!” Nithkorrh said. Its glowing orange eyes spun about and focused on her, catching her in their light like a fly in amber.
Esprë grabbed one last breath and let her arms and legs go limp. She dropped away from the surface as fast as her weight, and that of her sodden clothes, would take her, but it wasn’t fast enough.
She saw the twin orange orbs follow her into the water, and then, before she could try to swim away, a taloned claw caught her around the waist and pulled her screaming to the surface.
The dragon dragged Esprë through the water and deposited her at Ibrido’s feet. “Kee
p control of her this time,” it said to the dragon-elf. “Your life is not worth as much to me as hers.”
Give them your swords,” Kandler said.
“What?” Sallah brandished her blazing blade before her. “This is a sacred symbol of my office. I cannot give it away lightly.”
“Forget it, boss,” Burch said, waving his crossbow around and around at the three groups of dwarves that surrounded them. “Let’s just kill them all and be on our way.”
Kandler lowered his own blade. “These people aren’t our enemies,” he said. “They’re just trying to protect their home.”
The justicar stabbed the tip of his blade into a small patch of dirt in front of him. “Besides, who knows what’s down in those caves?”
Burch snorted. “They do.”
“Right,” Kandler said, motioning again for the others to put down their weapons, and they did. “We could use their help.”
The dwarf who’d called upon them to surrender rushed up to them to kick their weapons away. “A wise decision,” he said, keeping his crossbow leveled at them. Kandler could see the runes carved along the bolt’s length, and he wondered if maybe he’d made a mistake. “Much wiser than your friends from before.”
“Those aren’t our friends,” Kandler said. “We’re here to rescue my daughter, a young elf who was with them.”
The dwarf sized up Kandler. “Your ears are awfully round for an elf.”
“She’s my stepdaughter.”
“Ah,” said the dwarf. He glanced nervously at the other dwarves around him. “About your bony friends there—”
“They’re not our friends,” Kandler said.
“Didn’t you see us on that airship?” Burch said. “Some lookouts.”
Sallah pointed at the embroidery on the front of her tabard. “I am a Knight of the Silver Flame,” she said. “The only truck I have with such creatures is their destruction.”
The dwarf frowned for a moment and bowed his head. “Those skeletons killed a number of my crew here, good dwarves.” He raised his eyes. “If your quarrel is with them, then we share a foe, and we are short of allies. Pick up your weapons, and join the dwarves of Clan Drakyager if you will.”
Sallah and Burch gathered their sword and crossbow. Kandler pulled his blade from where he’d stuck it in the ground. Then he stuck out his hand and introduced himself.
“Duro Darumnakt,” the dwarf said with a tentative grin as his many fellows gathered around behind him. They were a dour sort but happy to let their leader talk with the strangers for them. “Do you know why those skeletons came here? Most of them and their half-dragon leader entered the caves through that hole not long ago.”
Kandler shook his head. “They are looking for the dragon-elf’s master. It seems he lives here.” A few of the dwarves gasped. Others muttered a quick prayer to the Sovereign Host.
“Nithkorrh,” Duro said, his face as white as a ghost. “You’re looking for the dragon Nithkorrh.”
Kandler grimaced. “That could be.”
“Well,” Duro said, “I knew this day would come. I’d just hoped it wouldn’t be in my lifetime.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “This dragon of which you speak is a black-hearted beast my people have kept trapped in its lair for centuries. This is the first visitor it’s ever gotten.”
“That you know of,” Burch said, checking the action on his crossbow. Kandler noticed the shifter eyeing the bolt in Duro’s weapon too.
“Are you impugning our ability to fulfill our duties?”
Kandler stepped between Burch and the dwarf. “We don’t have time for this. Can you take us to the dragon’s lair?”
Duro started to nod but then thought better of it. “That may not be wise.”
“Forget them, boss,” Burch said. “We don’t need them. I can follow Esprë’s trail myself.”
“We don’t know what we’ll find in there though,” Sallah said. “It would seem prudent to engage a native guide.”
Kandler gazed down at the dwarf. “If Ibrido has entered your caves already with a contingent of skeletons, I think we’re the least of your troubles. Can you take us to the dragon’s lair?”
Duro narrowed his eyes at Kandler for a moment, then nodded. “If you can’t take foolish chances in desperate times, when can you?”
Kandler nodded his agreement then followed Duro into the mountain, with Burch and Sallah hot in his wake. A dozen well-armed dwarves followed after them.
They made good time through the mountain. As they jogged down various narrow and twisting passages and across expansive chambers, Kandler realized that they could easily have gotten lost on their own. Despite Burch’s legendary tracking skills, there were so many different ways to go that even a map would have been only a small help.
After a long while, they emerged into a massive chamber supported by tall, thick pillars that seemed to be in the business of holding up the night sky. As Kandler gazed up toward where he hoped a ceiling would be, he did notice a faint bit of light filtering down from above.
“We are in the Great Hall of Clan Drakyager,” Duro said. “Where you look, great louvered windows once hung, bringing sunlight into the most massive chamber under the mountain.
“We’re not far from the surface here then?” Kandler asked. “It seemed like we were heading down the entire time.”
“That matters not,” said Duro. “The mountain above follows its own mind. An avalanche covered those windows many years ago. Sadly, we have not had the resources or the need to clear them again. If we lived in this part of the caves again, that would be one thing, but the clan makes its home under peaks to the north of here, closer to the seat of the Iron Council.”
“Where to from here?” Sallah asked.
“We cross the Great Hall, then we find passages to lead us into the mountain’s very bowels. Once there, we’ll look for the Iron Door. It is a stunning piece of craftwork that legend says cannot fall while Clan Drakyager still stands. Beyond that lies the dragon, the monstrous beast itself.”
“What will we find when we get there?”
“Only the gods know that for sure. With luck, we’ll beat the half-breed and his friends there and be able to make a last defensive stand before the doors.”
Then, a rhythmic beating began echoing from all around. It sounded like a giant banging on a gong the size of a house’s roof, and it rattled the floor on which Kandler walked and shook dust from the stone pillars and the unseen ceiling.
“What in the name of the Flame is that?” Sallah said, the dust catching and sparking in the tongues of fire licking her raised sword.
“The dragon!” Duro said over the frightened words his friends murmured among each other in their own guttural tongue. “It’s trying to break free.”
An inhuman scream of frustration echoed throughout the Great Hall, and Kandler nearly dropped his sword to clutch his hands to his ears. A howl of monstrous determination chased straight after it.
“Is it trying to shake down the mountain with its roars?” Kandler shouted over the din.
Duro shook his head. “The dragon has not tested the wards we put in place around its lair for over a century. Our finest artificers laid these while the great beast slept.”
“Now that it found them, it’s furious,” Sallah said. “Will they hold?”
Duro shrugged. “It is impossible to tell. As I said, they’ve never been tested this way before.”
A large chunk of rubble crashed to the stone floor next to Kandler’s feet. “We need to put a stop to this now,” he said.
“The only way to do that is to slay the dragon.” Duro’s eyes grew wide as another blow shook the chamber, and he stared up into the darkness, looking for another piece of the ceiling to fall loose.
“Funny,” the justicar said, hefting his blade, “that’s just what I had in mind.”
With a gentle shove from Kandler, the dwarf leader regained his composure and bounded off across the Great Hall. When he reached a portal, he w
aved the others down the stairways beyond. The other dwarves led the way, with Kandler, Sallah, and Burch bringing up the rear.
“It’s not too far from here,” Duro said, following after Burch. “It’s mostly straight down, then it opens up into a large room. We should be there shortly.”
In the narrow passageway, the dwarves proved far faster than their visitors and raced ahead of them. It was all Kandler could do to keep the last of them in sight without banging his head on the ceiling.
The noise only got worse as they worked their way lower. They switched their way back and forth through a number of intertwined passages in a bewildering route. Kandler thought that even Burch would have had a hard time following anyone through this place, and he was glad—for the moment, at least—that they’d decided to talk with the dwarves instead of fighting their way through them.
As Kandler turned a corner, rubble cascaded down from the low ceiling and fell across his shoulders. Sallah dragged him back from the collapse, and he watched as a few hundred pounds of stone landed where he’d been standing. Before the dust even cleared, though, he stumbled his way over the rocks and through the danger zone. He reached back to help Sallah through and then continued on his way after the dwarves, confident that Burch would find his way through with Duro’s help.
“Prideful fools!” a horrible voice roared from below in words so loud that Kandler could barely make them out. “You dare to try to cage me? I will bring this mountain down around your stunted ears!”
The stench assaulted Kandler then. It smelled like they had stumbled across the repository of the dwarves’ sewer system. The rot in the air was so thick he thought he might choke on it. He paused only a second, though, before charging down the last tunnel.
The Road to Death: The Lost Mark, Book 2 Page 26
