Fantasy Gone Wrong

by Greenberg, Martin H.

  “Shouldn’t you have a lamp?” she asked, shifting backward.

  “Wouldn’t want to trip and break one,” Hamster apologized. And you wouldn’t be jumping at a candle lamp, now would you?

  After several misdirected attempts, Hamster sparked the torch to life. He took it back from the Aishail and swept its fiery end toward the now visible columns. “Now these here are the dragon’s claws. Eight of ’em in all. Limestone—as ya can see from those lines. Back at the guesthouse, there’s some art y’can buy made by Mo rian Torguth, a famous artist in Pebble Pass. Carvings.” And he sure has come a long way since the back streets of Falushad.

  “An’ if ya look close on these walls, ya’ll see scoring from our first journey through this tunnel. See those—look like scratches? Tried to track our passage. Mind ya keep up, I tell ya. Me and my mates were lost here fer days before we found the right turn down to the beast’s hoard. . . .”

  Talking without much chance for a breath, he kept them going for another candle’s mark down twisting passages broken up by sporadic high-ceilinged caverns. When they came to a half-caved-in passageway, he insisted on taking Lady Orshire’s hand and leading her over the broken rocks—much to her delight. Hamster was certain he’d be the cause of some blushing tales upon her return.

  After a climb just hard enough to wind the marks, he paused to show them a hole deep enough that they couldn’t see the bottom . . .

  “Papa, are we there yet?”

  . . . And just big enough to eat a small child.

  Hamster’s face grew red at the kid’s more-than-apparent boredom. Bloody brat’s going to ruin it if I don’t fix him soon.

  With a growing sense of urgency, Hamster stalked down the tunnels, urging his travelers forward through a slick, water-damped chamber complete with broken lanterns and shards of glass. A rusted gauntlet lay desolate amid the wreckage. “This here be where some of the best knights of the realm were brought low. Ya can see the claw marks gouging the rocks. Those patches o’ brown ’re blood. Never sure as they were dragon fodder or cave creatures. Real fun stuck ’ere at night I tell ya. The mangled bodies were all I e’er found—no good leavin’ ’em ’ere. Put ’em up right proper down below.”

  “Papa, can I see?” the young Lereian pleaded, his brown eyes glowing almost gold as he tugged on his father’s belt.

  “Tis a sight to chill hearts, dear sir.” Hamster pitched his voice low, knowing it would still echo enough for all to hear. “It mightn’t be right to expose the boy to such—”

  “Papa, I want to see!”

  “Oh, I’m sure the lad can take it. If an oldster like me hasn’t dropped dead yet, your son should be able to take it, Hanshian.” There was a note of friendliness in Kettlebank’s words.

  Don’t tell me they know each other—I’d have to chalk another up for the old-timer.

  Lord Hanshian nodded his agreement. “I don’t see much harm in it.”

  Refusing to be discouraged by the lack of even a short argument, Hamster nudged the Lereian in the side. “Good on ya. A sure dragonslayer in training, your young sir.” When the Lereian didn’t laugh, Hamster offered a mental curse.

  Casting the northerner a worried glance, he did the only thing possible—kept talking. Forcing a laugh, he offered a less than pithy, “Least they be long dead. It’s been ten years since I struck down the beast.”

  As he gave them a fictitious history of the caverns, Hamster brought them down a rough spiral tunnel. After what seemed like far too long—with the brat complaining loudly about there having to be a quicker way down, any time was too long—the stale air thickened with steam and their handholds grew precarious from the damp. Moments later, he had the lot of them standing at the edge of a deep pool of odorous water. Flames from his torch caught ripples in the hot spring, giving off an eerie reflection.

  With a casual step, he ensured he was standing next to the slightly dishevelled Lady Orshire, who was eyeing the water dubiously. Walnut lover should drink this right up.

  “As ya no doubt ’ave heard, these waters swell with mystical properties. Heated from the still cooling blood of the great beast lying below, thar known to have a restorative effect on those who drink of ’em. Ya’ll heard the tale of young Kaera and Kel the miller? Kaera was an old woman a’fore I brought ’er to these springs, now she and her love are enjoying abiding vigor down in Pebble Pass.” He gave Lady Orshire a salacious wink.

  “Even now, ever gracious for ’er gift of youth, she’s put ’er life to’rd making charms, each containing a flask of these waters. These special charms are available at a reasonable cost at the guesthouse, along with complementary oils from Mount Dajara. Should yer wish it, we may stop for a few candle marks here, upon our return.”

  “Oh,” the Turmalin lady said, gulping down Hamster’s offered hook. She reached out for her husband’s hand. “I daresay, we must.”

  Lord Orshire’s red face was visible even by torchlight, and his coughing set the pack of nephews to laughing. Even the Aishails joined in.

  Past the hot pools, a new tunnel began, one slanting upward for a quarter mark before breaking into random directions. Taking the one with the steep slope down, Hamster pointed out the water seeping down the rocks they passed, and then sidestepped to show them a cavern hung with thousands of tiny rock icicles.

  It wasn’t another half candle mark before he had them close enough to their destination that his every word would echo into the wide-open chamber below.

  “Now, we get to the exciting part, ’at ya all came ta see,” he said, keeping his voice loud and resonant, sure to carry. “From here—the dragon’s cave ain’t a hunnert feet away. Watch ’er step as ye step here. Lots o’ traps protect the dragon’s hoard a’ gold.”

  “Gold? Papa.” Gushi, silent since before the hot pools, tugged on his father’s belt again. “That’s just a legend!”

  “You know you shouldn’t disrespect those around you child. Be a good lad. Patience.” Lord Hanshian glanced up at Hamster, giving him a less than approving look.

  Hamster bit his lip, more than nervous. Thank gods we’re almost there. Once I get them there, it’ll be good. I’ll make it extra special. No doubts. No cause for doubts. Perfect.

  The others fortunately were already beginning to clump together as if the dragon’s death they had come to hear about would take place right before their eyes. It was a scene Hamster was used to seeing. Even the Lereian lady had joined the crowd, her own thin hands gripping Lady Orshire’s. He thought there was murmuring . . . words of comfort he assumed. Ladies were into that—thinking random foolish talk would ease their fear. As if it would.

  As they continued forward, the passage grew steeper, narrower. He had to hold the torch before him, knowing those following were getting little more than a glimmer of it and long, snaking shadows. More than one outcry sounded as elbows and knees knocked against rough out croppings.

  “Farshik!” cursed one of the Aishails as his ducked head smacked an especially sharp rock. The dank passageway magnified the expletive, making the Aishail wince.

  Just ahead, a glimmer of light began to brighten the path, lessening the jumping shadows from Hamster’s handheld torch. Turning to the dozen adventurers, he brought his finger to his lips. “Ya must be quiet now. The dragon’s jus’ ahead. That light be his chamber, where death was given to virgins and knights alike. The day I came in here, I snuck in like a thief—a dagger my only weapon. Two of me mates had swords. Lot a’ good that did them. Mind your attention. Even in death, this ’ere dragon has killed.”

  Sheep. Lots of sheep.

  As the tunnel widened, the ceiling abruptly rose six feet. Hamster tangled his feet on a loose outcropping of rock and pitched forward, rolling down the steep carved steps leading into the dragon’s den. As he fell, he tossed the torch away, hearing the splash as it dropped into the water below.

  Lord and Lady Orshire screamed in unison. The boy’s high-pitched voice broke above them with the wail of a death
-cursed ghost. Hamster topped them all as his practiced fall degenerated into an uncontrolled pinwheel and he tumbled roughly, landing hard on his back at the base of the stone steps.

  “Gasht!” Hamster wheezed out the curse even as he fought back undragonslayerlike tears. His left ankle throbbed with pain but he didn’t think it was broken. He lay silent for a moment, staring at the gold-tasseled rope swinging in his face. The barrier rope to keep people from the dragon. As he moved to sit up, a wool-cloaked arm reached down to give him leverage. Kettlebank, Hamster realized. Not even thinking about the barrier—and he knows what it means. Oh gods.

  “Young man, you need to watch your step—you’ve tumbled every time I’ve come.” Lord Kettlebank said. “Though this looks to be the worst. You’ll need a soak in your own hot pool after this.”

  Hamster almost choked, not having considered what his tumble would look like on multiple occasions. I shoulda known better . . . changed it up. I’m get’n too set in my ways.

  With Kettlebank’s help, Hamster crossed back to the “safe” side of the barrier—finding himself in the light of the sparkling waterfall he had first seen a decade ago. Its clear mountain water tumbled over the edge of a large break in the cavern’s ceiling and gathered into a large pool within. A patch of cobalt blue was plainly visible in the dragon-size rift, rays of bright afternoon sun making it easy to pick out the now-unlit torch floating in the water.

  Spot on target!

  Forgetting the waterfall, the pain, and the mass of red-gold at his back, he turned back to his patrons, the rest still at the top of the stairs.

  “Be careful now, lad. Mind your steps.” Kettlebank let go of his arm.

  “I’m not hurt,” Hamster called upward. “Watch ’er step coming down.”

  One of my better falls. I don’t think I’ve ever heard panic that well done.

  “You sure?” one of the Aishails called.

  “ ’Course. Just a stumble.”

  One by one the visitors made their way down to stand at Hamster’s side, stunned as he once had been by the incredible size and beauty of the cavern. For a moment, none noticed the reason for their arrival.

  Too caught by the glass.

  Opposite the waterfall stood a sheer face of rock, dotted with glistening glass beads reminiscent of gemstones. He knew from experience the beads sat on thin ridges but to his paying travelers, they would look like the rock itself was encrusted with brilliant diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds.

  “Look at them, Pory,” Lady Orshire said to her husband. “There’s more here than in the Elector’s treasury.”

  “Or in Arashlin’s chest,” one of the brothers whispered, speaking of the legendary founding of his country by a pirate living off gold exchanged for a kidnapped princess.

  Lady Madashiri gasped, her tears glistening in the ray of sun peeking down through the waterfall’s vast opening. Her husband’s eyes were almost black, hands clenched into tight fists.

  Another one wanting the treasure. That at least was easy to deal with. Hamster laughed, glad to be back on course. “Don’t even think about it, m’lord. This treasure’s protected by a powerful dragon curse. I seen a fool try once. He ne’er even made back to the surface. Trust me, I’d a’ tried long ago if it weren’t so deadly.”

  He bit his lip, wanting to bring the story back to the dragon, the reason they had all come. “As yer can see, I left ’em exactly where he fell.” He motioned toward the enormous red-gold dragon lying in the center of the cavern, one luminescent wing half dipped into the waterfall’s pool.

  “But Papa, dragon’s don’t leave bod—” This time the boy’s voice was impossible to ignore.

  The Aishails glanced between the boy and the dragon. “You never did tell us how you killed him,” one said, his tone gaining an edge.

  Hamster took a deep breath. “Well, you see . . . the dragon attacked us—you can still see here the blackened stone where he caught my two mates.” Gods, I’m losing the accent. Come on. Just a bit more. He spoke more rapidly. “Dragon’s fire burns so’s it never fades. Ya can see the black from his breath under yer feet.”

  Point to the stone. It’s fresh black from last week.

  “Chunks o’ dragon-fired rock can be bought in the guesthouse. A great gift for yer tykes. Maybe ya wants one for yerself?” Hamster asked the brat, trying desperately to win him over.

  The kid snorted. “I don’t need your raff.”

  And we wanted northerners? Not a bloody sane one in the lot. If I hear that kid one more time. . . .

  “Hey look, Ru. See the way its claws stick up? Bet you I could have one of those off in no time!”

  Hamster turned on the Aishail who had spoken, lowering his voice to bear more than a hint of threat. “You don’t want to touch the dragon’s carcass. Their scales are poison!”

  “Oh, sure—how’d you kill him then?” the young man demanded, black hair flying as he ran toward the edge of the stairs and jumped the barrier rope. “Just watch me!”

  Hamster dove after, managing to come up with the edge of the boy’s shirt despite his still throbbing ankle.

  “Hey! All I want to do is see!”

  “Fine then—see!” Hamster twisted the Aishail around until his face lined up with the display of bones dug up from the deserted logger cemetery. “Think you’re the only fool? Those ones are folk who tried to touch the dragon—you care to join them?”

  He shook the young man a bit harder than he should have. “They don’t look like much now after the creepers got at them—but when it first happened, their skin broke out in a blotchy red rash that turned pus-filled. Between that and the vomiting, there wasn’t much left when they died. I don’t want to watch it again.”

  As Hamster expected, the Aishail went limp when faced with the show of human remains set out artistically on slabs of limestone. Three torsos. Four heads. Seventeen feet.

  “That’s disgusting!” he said, staring a skull in the eye socket.

  “I warned you.” Dropping his grip, Hamster turned to the others—gathered at the bottom of the steps and about as far away as they could get from the barrier and the dragon beyond. “Come on down—stay back from the rope and nothing’ll harm ya.”

  The dragon’s head was facing them straight on, his mouth dangling open just enough that everyone could see his man-long ivory teeth. Timid after Hamster’s description of the dead who had dared to touch, they stayed back a decent pace as he guided them around the back of the dragon, pointing out his barbed neck ridges and spikelike claws. As they passed a foreclaw, the dragon’s tail crashed down ahead of them, drenching Kettlebank and his nephews.

  Lady Orshire shouted. Her husband caught her around the waist and clutched her against his chest. “What the gods have you brought us to, trickster?” he demanded of Hamster.

  Bloody Mei! Hamster cursed. He turned hastily, composing an excuse even as he bowed low before the Orshires. “Sometimes the corpse can move. That’s what ya get with something so big. Just a twitch, I tell ya. Be safe, lady. No harm can come to ya here.”

  Kettlebank laughed, breaking the tension. He came up and took Lady Orshire’s hand, eyes glistening with delight and good humor. “We didn’t drown. The heat will dry us out before the return. Trust me—this’ll be the best part. Don’t fear.”

  The best part?

  Hamster tried to keep the splintering show together. “Look around, ask questions. You heard me talk about these poor folks—the ones o’er there opposite were the first knights in the cave. I told ya about them at the be ginin’ ” He stretched an arm out to draw their attention to the piecemeal rusted armor bought from a Westland trader for a half-gold. Here and there dry bones were visible, poking out of the appropriate holes. Sheep’s bones. He hadn’t wanted to pay for more skeletal remains. “Those, sirs and ladies were the ones too lambshanked t’ handle the dragon.”

  After a pause for his own silent snort, he added, “So we’ll spend a mark or two here—and when you’re all
ready, we’ll head back to the hot springs.”

  With that taken care of, Hamster led the Orshires to a rickety bench he had made for the fainthearted. While Lord Orshire comforted his wife, Lord Kettlebank and his nephews drifted off to study the dragon. The Lereians had paused by the waterfall’s pool, talking in low voices.

  Hamster took the moment to compose himself—walked away from the others and around past Meisherane’s left eye. “Tail was a bit much, don’t you think?” he muttered.

  In response, Mei’s eye blinked open and closed, revealing a well of dark brown filled with humor. The dragon had a sense of showmanship even he couldn’t beat.

  From their first meeting it had all been about showmanship.

  He had been standing on the scaffold, wind chilled enough to make him wish they’d get it over with. The gods-cursed herb witch stood next to the mayor of Ke jery, gloating still after catching his trick with the ginger-laced red wine cure-all. Soon he’d be warm. Dead, but warm. As the mayor called his name, unseen hands pressed him forward. A man in a black robe brought a noose close.

  Hamster fell back as the blast of wind that was Meisherane barreled out of the sky. Claws scraped him up with long bony talons to the screams of panic of the mayor and the executioner. Whisked through the air, view filled with palm-size shiny red scales because he was too afraid to look down, he knew he was going to die. Least the gallows would have been quick.

  Centuries later, he was dropped to the rough floor of a cavern. His terror-filled eyes lit on the clear mountain waterfall and a wall of brilliant jewels. Too shocked to fear, Hamster faced down the monstrous dragon whose breath could crisp him where he stood.

  ::I have a proposition for you.:: The dragon’s words echoed through Hamster’s mind. ::I am Meisherane.::

  “Meisherane!”

  The spoken name sparked fear through Hamster’s stomach. He rose hastily, every nerve on edge. No one knew the dragon’s name. No one. He was always careful to call Mei “The Dragon” when he spoke to others.