As the serpentine neck snapped forward, Elias dove towards the dragon's chest, plunging his sword towards the wound that had been made when his blade had first punched through her scales. This time, the point found its mark, slipping between two armored plates, and burying itself nearly to the hilt. He felt the point of his weapon glance off of a bone, and it pulsed under his hand as he clung to it. He had struck her heart!
The colossal reptile roared, the sound echoing around the room, drowning out all other noise. He clung to the hilt of his sword for dear life as the dragon snapped at him, unable to reach him where he was crouching between her forelegs. The shouts and screams of his warriors barely pierced the shroud of his pulse thundering in his ears and the scraping and gouging of the dragon's claws on the stone.
He tried to pull his sword out of the dragon but his hands, covered in searing hot dragon blood, slipped off of the handle, unable to grip it. He let go of the weapon and sprinted out of range of the flailing dragon mother, cursing and wiping the burning blood off of his hands with his tunic.
Something grabbed his ankle and jerked it out from under him, causing him to fall face first onto the ground. He rolled as he was drug backward, his ankle being shaken violently back and forth. The last dragon had a hold of his boot, and was chewing painfully on the thick, tough leather. When it realized it had Elias prone, it scrambled forward, releasing his ankle as it rushed to bite at his throat, and this time, Elias had no weapon with which to defend himself.
He grabbed it by the neck as best he could and pushed it away from him, the dragon's scales burning his hands as he held it back. The beast's claws dug into his shoulders from behind, and tried to pull him into the gnashing, snapping jaws. The creature's frenzied eyes were locked on to Elias, and he could feel himself slowly losing his grip as the strength of the dragon pulled him closer while his hands burned. Soon, he would lose his grip, and that would be the end.
A flash of blue on either side and abruptly, the dragon pulled away, roaring and thrashing back and forth. Three warriors had jumped onto the beast, and started stabbing it under the scales with arrows held in their hands. One of the sea elves, Kahu Whero, had climbed all the way on top of the serpent, and straddled it like a horse. Howling as the heat from the dragon burned his legs, the young warrior stabbed frantically, thrusting the tip of his arrow into the eyes of the beast, gouging one of them out. Shaking powerfully, the reptile threw off its attackers, and bolted for the lava pool.
Elias rolled to his feet as the remaining elves that had possession of their bows unleashed a volley of arrows into the fleeing dragon. A second volley struck, nearly every arrow finding its mark, sliding under the rear-pointed scales like they weren't even there. It collapsed near the edge of the magma, shuddering as it fell still.
~ ~ ~
Elias limped along the tunnel, his ankle throbbing. The dragon hadn't broken it, but it had definitely done some damage. Five dwarves and thirteen elves accompanied him. His hands were blistered, burned by the blood and flesh of the dragons he had grappled with, and a few of the warriors had suffered similar injuries. Kahu Whero, who had leapt onto the dragon's back, walked slowly, the pain on his face plain, though he tried to hide it. His inner thighs were blistered, though, thankfully, the elf's loincloth had protected his more sensitive anatomy from any severe damage.
Seven warriors in total had been killed. Seven warriors, two of which were so badly maimed that there was almost nothing left to bury. They decided to leave the bodies in the cavern, to be retrieved when they could return; they had no way to transport the fallen, and the wounded took precedence over the dead.
Each of the warriors that had come with Elias had known the risk. They had known exactly what they were getting into, and they had agreed to accompany him. He had known that this was a dangerous task, but he had hoped beyond hope that every elf and dwarf that walked down that tunnel with him would walk back out. As it was, he very nearly lost his life several times.
For their part, the dwarves mourned the fallen, despite their standoffish and prickly demeanor towards the elves in general. They promised that they would honor the dead and give them a proper funeral, since Elias would be unable to provide for burial at sea, while the sea elves would do what final rituals they could, despite being as far as they were from their islands. Despite the weight of the loss sitting heavy on his heart, Elias hoped that the two races working together was a sign that improved relations between them were possible.
When they got back to the dwarven city, an enormous crowd had gathered in the main chamber. Every scrap of floor space was covered by dwarves, milling about and waiting for Elias and his warriors to return. Elias had no idea that so many dwarves lived in the underground city; when he had come through the first time, there were hardly any dwarves to be seen. Now, at least fifteen or twenty thousand dwarves were crowding the main chamber.
A deathly hush fell over the enormous throng as Elias led the sea elves out of the tunnel. Greggor stood at the front of the crowd, his arms crossed over his chest. He glanced to one of the miners that had accompanied Elias. The miner met Greggor's gaze and nodded once, curtly.
Greggor returned his eyes to Elias. “You're wounded.”
Elias nodded once.
“And you've lost some of your companions.”
Elias nodded again.
“Thank you. We will celebrate their lives, though we didn't know them. They have done a great service to our people.”
“Thank you for your kind words,” Elias said, “though the dead are unable to hear them.”
“I wouldn't be so sure, Elias of Stromgard. I'll wager you've never attended a dwarven wake. If the dead can hear anything, they will hear that.”
Elias stepped gingerly on his ankle, shifting his weight. Standing at the head of the crowd was making him feel uneasy and on the spot, not to mention that he had been walking for six hours, having to move more slowly on his wounded ankle. “I am sure that they will be honored in the afterlife.”
Greggor beckoned to Elias. “Come, come, let's get your wounds treated. You can rest in the safety of our city. We will send messengers to your people at Rockhill that you are well, as well as with the names of the fallen, so that their comrades can mourn them.”
~ ~ ~
Elias sat in a rather large chair that had been made especially for him that morning. It had been after midnight when they had returned from the dragon's chamber, and after his wounds had been bandaged, he slept. There were no beds that were large enough for him, so he had to make do with several furs thrown over a pile of straw in front of a hearth.
When he awoke, fantastic smells were filling the chamber. Gingerly, he rose to his feet, and found that his ankle was greatly improved; the tight wrapping the dwarven healers had given him did much to relieve the pain. His chest and shoulders still hurt, but that was to be expected, what with the tears caused by the dragon's claws, and though they had applied salve and bandages to his hands, they sent bolts of pain up his arms with every movement of his fingers. He slowly, awkwardly drew on his tunic, and walked carefully to the door.
Outside, the tunnel was well lit, and led to the main chamber of the dwarven city. Long, wide tables had been set up, and were laden with all sorts of bread and pitchers of wine and beer. There were massive slabs of meat, a kind that Elias had never seen before and couldn't readily identify.
He took a seat among the dwarves, and was warmly welcomed. The abrupt shift in attitude was striking, though he didn't mind it. To his left sat Greggor, and to his right was Darby. He recounted to them the events of the battle, focusing on how to kill the dragons.
“Their scales lay flat on their bodies, like a fish. If you try to hit them from on top or from the front, the scales cause the blow to glance off. However, if you can come in from behind, you can slide under the scales and hit flesh. Their hide is tough, of course, but a sharp weapon can cut it.”
Greggor nodded. “That seems like a viable method. Surround t
hem, and whenever they turn their back on you, shoot them from behind.”
Darby drained a tankard of ale, washing down a mouthful of crusty bread. “Aye, I've never been one t' attack from th' rear, but with these beasts, we ain't got much choice, now do we?”
Elias drummed his fingers on the table. "Something was strange about them, though. As I said, these weren't the first dragons I've encountered. We met a dragon in Greenreef, a humongous silver dragon named Sargoth. He was intelligent, had hands like a man, and spoke to us. He was not aggressive, and while he could have easily killed us, he didn't. Instead, he helped us rid the islands of pirates, and accompanied us peacefully back to Lonwick.”
Elias shook his head. “These dragons were more like enormous lizards. Of the five we killed, none spoke to us, and only the largest seemed like she had any sort of intelligence to her.”
Darby and Greggor exchanged glances. Greggor set down his goblet. “Five, you say?”
Elias furrowed his brow. “Yes. Four young ones and their mother, I am assuming.”
Darby frowned. “Lad, we only found four dead dragons down there. Three whelps and the big 'un.”
Elias shook his head. “There were definitely five. I killed three of the younger dragons myself, and I gave the killing blow to the matriarch. The last one died just before it made it to the lava to escape. The sea elves that came with me filled it with arrows after gouging its eye out. That's the one that almost ripped off my foot.”
Greggor frowned. "It's possible it played possum until you left. Dragons are known to be wily creatures. The ones in these mountains are few and far between, and as you said, they're more like beasts than the one you spoke of, but they're not stupid, like a snake or a lizard.”
Elias shook his head. “With the number of arrows stuck into its hide, I'm not sure it could have. It was a pincushion.”
Darby snorted next to Elias. “I'm glad the arrows worked at least. I didn't see too many of them when we went to carve the beasts up. I was worried they hadn't been of use.”
Elias lifted an eyebrow. “Carve them up?”
Darby grinned. “Oh aye. We ran outta meat months ago, since goats an' sheep an' cattle don't thrive underground. We've been living off o' bread an' grain stores ever since, which is no fare fit fer a dwarf.” He chuckled. “I ain't never had dragon meat before. I think I like it.”
Elias looked at the slabs of meat on the table again. Thick cut, marbled, almost like a sort of poultry, the pale flesh had a more exotic scent that Elias had initially attributed to spices or other dishes. However, when he sliced a section off of the roast in front of him, it was clear that the smell was the meat itself. The taste was not like anything he had ever had before, though the texture was much like turkey. Not bad, by any means, but it would take some getting used to.
Greggor sliced himself a steak as well. “Between the dragons we skinned up and butchered, we got enough meat to preserve and supplement our meals for at least another year. We won't be eating like proper dwarves, of course, but if this war drags on for that long, we'll run out of grain, so that would be the least of our troubles.”
Greggor chewed a mouthful of dragon steak. “Now that the way is clear to complete the tunnel south, we should have access to some of our settlements in the small valleys there. We've got farms hidden in the forests, far enough off the path that Lonwick hasn't found them yet.”
Elias poured himself a goblet of wine. “Why would Lonwick care about your farms so much that you need to hide them?”
Greggor shrugged. "Not keen on paying taxes to a kingdom that doesn't give us any service. Taxation without representation? That's theft. We can barely grow enough food in secret for our own people, let alone enough to send off to Castle Lonwick. Let them stock their own larders.”
Elias frowned, puzzled. “I thought that there were dwarves in court at Castle Lonwick?”
Darby snorted again. “There's dwarves in court, sure. They are about as much use as a muzzled, chained hound, though. Not much t' be done, but those arrogant bushwalkers get t' say they're bein' fair.” Darby glanced up at Elias. “Uh, no offense.”
Elias chuckled. “None taken. They didn't like me much either.”
Greggor washed down his latest mouthful with a drink from his goblet. “So, Elias, you've held up your end of the bargain, we will hold up our end of it as well. Tomorrow morning, we'll announce that we're looking for volunteers to go above ground and exact vengeance for the raids that came from the Northlands. You can explain the details, and whoever wishes to go with you will go with you. Maybe it'll be ten, maybe a thousand, maybe none. Like I said before, we don't force our people into servitude.”
Elias nodded. “I understand. I would have it no other way. I have faith that your people will not make the sacrifice my warriors made be for nothing.”
Greggor lifted his goblet to his lips again. “As do I.”
~ ~ ~
Elias and the remaining thirteen elves stood near a massive fire built in an enormous terracotta chimera in the center of the great hall. Towering over the gathered crowd, the firepot was close to twenty feet across, and fifty feet high. Where they had kept it, or how they moved it into the main chamber, Elias could not tell.
Smaller chimeras were scattered around the chamber, warming the ordinarily chilly cavern to a comfortable temperature. The entire population of Silverdeep, it seemed, was in attendance, gathered around the warriors. Greggor and Darby stood with them, alongside the six other dwarves that had been in the room with Greggor when Elias had met him, all wearing simple clothes, each bearing a simple earthenware carafe filled with spirits in each hand.
The remains of the warriors who had been killed were wrapped in heavy linen and laid out in front of the mouth of the chimera on thick wooden planks as wide as their shoulders, while the remains of the warriors who had gotten eaten by the dragons were gathered in a fresh pine box. The thirteen sea elves spoke their words and sang their chants over the bodies of their comrades, and each fallen warrior's weapons were laid across their chest or set upon the pine box. The bows and spears were tied to their owners with a thin red cord, binding the weapons to the warrior.
Greggor stepped forward, holding his carafes aloft. “Brothers! Sisters! Citizens of Silverdeep! We stand here in witness of seven warriors who gave their lives in service of our kingdom! The fiery beasts that divided the north from the south have been slain, and our miners can once more work towards connecting our kingdom! No more will we be forced to walk the roads of the surface world, where the tyranny of Lonwick soldiers keep us bent under the facade of law!”
He stepped towards the wrapped bodies of the fallen warriors. “Since we are unable to give these valiant souls the burial their people would have, let us instead send them to the afterlife in a manner befitting our warriors!”
Greggor poured some of the liquid from one of the carafes onto the chest of the first warrior. “May Geos bear you forth to the afterlife of your people, and may you dwell eternally in Paradise,” he intoned reverently. Moving to the next body, he repeated the phrase, pouring more of the strong spirits onto the slain sea elf. Behind him, Darby and the rest of Silverdeep's council followed suit, drenching the wrappings of the sea elves in dwarven spirits. Even the pine box that contained the remains of the mangled elves was soaked, the liquid puddling onto the floor.
Elias watched, fascinated. The funeral rituals of the Northmen were vastly different in practice, but in the end, they burned their dead as well. The sea elves usually buried their fallen at sea, and he had participated in those rites when he had been among them, fighting to rid their islands of the pirate scourge that had plagued them for centuries. The elves of Lonwick, however, tended to bury their fallen in graves or crypts, venerating the bones of their ancestors with markers or elaborate mausoleums.
When the last member of the council had emptied the final carafe, they started lifting the planks that the fallen elves were laid upon, one dwarf taking position at the fe
et, two others at the shoulders. One end of the plank was set upon the edge of the chimera's opening, then the plank and body were propelled into the roaring flames. The spirits that were covering the body instantly burst into flame, causing the conflagration inside the terracotta structure to roar even higher, blue and yellow tendrils flowing into the upper reaches of the furnace.
As the thick black smoke billowed out the top of the chimney into the upper reaches of the cavern, the assembled dwarves let out a deafening cry, reverberating off of the domed ceiling of the cavern. A massive drum started beating out a simple, slow beat, which was joined by the citizens of Silverdeep stamping their feet or beating their chests. Some of the dwarves began intoning a wordless chant with their deep voices, adding to the reverberations, making Elias's ears buzz with the sound.
One by one, each warrior was added to the flames, the assembled dwarves letting out a mighty cry with each, until none were left. The drumbeat continued, picking up its tempo, until it was like the very heart of the mountain beat in time with the rhythm of the drums and stamping feet of the dwarves.
A heavy hand landed on Elias's shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. It was Darby standing to his right, reaching up to pat him on the back. He had removed his shirt, his broad, hairy shoulder covered in tattoos that reached nearly to his belt on his chest and back. A thin layer of sweat coated his arms and shoulders from the blazing inferno inside of the chimera.
“Now, Elias, we celebrate their sacrifice. Join us in sending your kin to the next world with the gratitude of the dwarves at their backs!” He pressed a goblet of the same strong spirits that they had used to anoint the fallen warriors with into Elias's hand, and upended one of his own, draining it in a single draught.
Elias followed suit, the cold liquid burning like fire all the way down. He nearly choked, coughing as he drew the goblet away, much to the amusement of the dwarves near him.
Thunderbolt (Dynasty of Storms Book 2) Page 9
