by Sam Ferguson
He followed at a safe distance behind the fuming dwarf, listening to the man grumble and complain as he beat his way through the bushes and brambles of the forest. Hermean kept one eye on his raging companion, and the other on the darkening forest. It wasn’t long before he caught sight of a track. A footprint to be more exact. Hermean bent down and traced the rim of the boot print with his finger. It was definitely dwarf. The size and shape matched. He rose to his feet and tried to signal for Brinwal, but the dwarf was too busy mumbling to hear him.
“Brutish oaf,” Hermean said under his breath. He increased his speed, hoping to find the targets before Brinwal chased them off. He distanced himself, skirting a bit farther to the north so he could spot anything flushed out by Brinwal. As the night wore on, his eyes adjusted to the darkness and allowed him to continue on, but other than a pair of rabbits and one fat porcupine nothing stirred in the forest.
Hermean maintained a quick pace, eventually overtaking Brinwal by forty meters or so, and stayed out in front of his stomping companion until the first golden rays of the sun swept in through the tree tops. Along with the light came a cold mist that clouded the forest floor. Hermean rubbed his arms to shake the chill, but it did little to comfort him. The mist formed a veritable screen, making it very difficult to see much further than a couple of meters ahead of himself. He could still hear Brinwal though.
The brute was no longer mumbling and cursing, but his boots still fell heavily upon the ground and were easy to identify to the experienced hunter’s ears. Hermean pushed forward, scanning the area about him while mentally noting where Brinwal was.
Then a horrendous scream split the silence in the forest. Birds tore out from their nests above and small animals that had been silently scrounging around the forest for food darted for their burrows around Hermean. The scream was dwarven, but it was not Brinwal.
“Please, let me live!” the voice shouted. Hermean heard a heavy, wet thawump. The forest was silent again. Hermean’s heart quickened, thumping in his chest like a blacksmith’s mighty hammer. Beads of cold sweat formed on Hermean’s brow and a burning, sour feeling assaulted his stomach. All at once he felt the adrenaline of battle, and the fear from his childhood. He shook his head, but found himself stumbling to lean upon a nearby oak tree and falling to his knees.
There was no way for him to know how long it took for him to come back to his senses. He gasped for breath, wiped his face with trembling hands, and barely managed to resist the urge to vomit.
“Hermean, if you are near the other one got away!” Brinwal shouted. “Get to work and do your duty hunter, else I am coming for you next!”
Hermean’s mind focused. Whether it was Brinwal’s threat, or just the reminder of the task at hand he couldn’t say, but it pulled him out of his stupor and enabled him to find enough strength to push up to his feet. No sooner had he done so than something stumbled out of the bushes nearby.
Hermean turned, knives ready.
A dwarf stood only a meter away. Eyes wide and mouth open. The hunter noticed that the dwarf carried only a small axe with him, but he could tell from its ornate handle that it was not meant for battle. It resembled the ceremonial axes worn by treasurers or other officers.
“Don’t kill me,” the dwarf whimpered. He put his hands in the air, shaking his head. “We mean no harm.”
Hermean stepped forward and raised his knives into striking position.
“Please!” the dwarf begged in a whisper. “I have a wife and children.”
Hermean stopped. His muscles tensed, but he had not the spirit to make his arms strike. All he saw before him was a mirrored image of the child he had once been.
“Hermean, can you hear me?” Brinwal shouted from a ways off.
The hunter glanced in the direction of Brinwal’s voice, but he didn’t answer. He looked down to the cowering dwarf and sheathed his knives. “Who are you? Why do you seek to kill our queen?” Hermean asked. “Are you part of a larger attack?”
“Attack?” the dwarf repeated astonished.
“You met with Teratheal, why?” Hermean
“Heavens no, we have no plans to attack. Please, let me explain!”
Brinwal shouted again, this time sounding more distant than before. “Hermean, where are you and your blasted lizard?”
Hermean nodded. “You have very little time, make it count.”
The dwarf nodded. “I am Derign. I am from the dwarf tribe that serves Teratheal’s father. But, our king, and all of the dragon folk, were killed. We have no leader. It is true we are working with Teratheal, but we mean no harm. We are only trying to bring our surviving dwarf brothers into your clan.”
“No harm, then why send the atorats?” Hermean pressed.
“Atorats?” Derign echoed. “I don’t know anything about atorats! I swear! Teratheal told us just to wait a couple seasons more. She said the high queen is growing old and perhaps a new high queen will be chosen.”
“What does that have to do with you?” Hermean asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Derign asked. “If Teratheal becomes the new high queen, then she can bring us into your mountain as a gift. We have no king, and no dragons to protect us. Those that survived the attacks and the disease that swept through our mountain abandoned us. Teratheal is our only hope.”
“Then why skulk about now?” Hermean asked.
“Unless she is high queen, she can’t present us to your king. It goes against tradition. Our only other option would be to try to sneak in and assimilate with your tribe. We have managed to sneak a few of our clan inside yours, but there are more than three hundred of us that remain in the wilderness. Far too many to sneak in anywhere. We need your king’s acceptance, and that only happens when Teratheal ascends to high queen.”
“So why not kill the high queen and advance your aims faster?” Hermean asked.
Derign shook his head vigorously. “If ever such treachery was discovered, we would all be put to death. Such tactics are far too dangerous. It only takes one dragon making the connection to discover the secret. Our plan is to wait. Teratheal swears that the high queen will soon either step down, or allow a new high queen to be appointed, and even if she doesn’t, Teratheal said your king grows tired of the high queen, and may soon appoint a new one himself.”
Hermean sighed in frustration. He knit his brow together and tried to search the depths of Deering’s words. Could it be true? Was there a clan of three hundred dwarves left without protection in the wilderness? “Come with me,” Hermean said. “Come and let the high queen make the connection with you and verify your claims.”
“Are you daft?” Derign said. “To expose us is to condemn us all to death. No king would allow an ungoverned tribe to exist, especially not one near his border. It goes against all tradition and laws for dwarves to live without a dragon king. Please, just let us alone. We mean no one any harm.”
“I am afraid it is too late for that,” Hermean said.
At that moment Brinwal stomped in from the brush. Hermean turned to see the dwarf holding a bloody war hammer. Brinwal had a menacing scowl on his face and his good eye zeroed in on the cowering treasurer. “Well, what are you waiting for?” Brinwal growled. “Kill him, and let’s take his head back to Siravel so she can have the king deal with the treacherous Teratheal.”
“What?!” Derign shrieked. “Please, I beg you, don’t do this!”
Brinwal marched toward Derign and the cowering dwarf screamed out in fear. The piercing scream gripped the inner most chords of Hermean’s heart and the hunter brought out his knives in a flash. Before he knew what he was doing, Hermean lashed out and sliced the back of Brinwal’s neck. Brinwal stumbled forward and placed a gauntleted hand on his neck.
“If you want to kill me, you will have to do better than that,” Brinwal growled.
“Derign, get behind me, now,” Hermean said. The memories of his father and mother came to the surface, but this time it did not break him down as it had only minutes ago.
This time he used it to fuel his own anger, and to feed him strength. “Brinwal, the queen is wrong.”
Brinwal shook his head. “No, mate, you are just too soft to kill a fellow dwarf. You and your search for beauty outside the walls of our mountain. You have lost your grip on what it is to be a dwarf. There is no fire in your heart.”
“I won’t let you kill him,” Hermean said.
Brinwal laughed and pointed his hammer at Derign. “You think saving him will silence the screams in your head?”
“I won’t let you take him,” Hermean insisted.
“Well then, we are at an impasse I am afraid,” Brinwal said. “You see, I put my hammer through the other dwarf’s skull. There isn’t enough left for Siravel to extract the memories. I need this one behind you.”
Hermean raised his knives and set his jaw. He shook his head slowly. Even if he could condemn Derign to death, he could not even contemplate the death of hundreds of dwarves on account of his actions. There was no way he was going to let Brinwal win this time. “The only threat here, Brinwal, is you.”
“How about I reunite you with that viper from the hills eh? Maybe your two souls can slither about on your bellies in the Pits of Morinda.” Brinwal rushed forward, raising his hammer high. Hermean charged in, dodging to the left and somersaulting at the last second. He slashed out behind him. The strike would have easily severed Brinwal’s knee, if not for the iron plates that covered it.
Hermean jumped up and backed away just in time to avoid a sweeping hammer that whiffed in front of him. The hunter lunged forward, tackling Brinwal to the ground before the armored dwarf could bring his arms back in front of him. Hermean squeezed tight, wrestling Brinwal and pinning the dwarf’s arms to his chest. The hammer was stuck beneath Brinwal, and no longer a threat. Brinwal craned his neck, biting at Hermean’s face like a rabid dog, but Hermean was able to stay out of reach. A moment later, Hermean brought his forehead down to smash against Brinwal’s nose. Hermean quickly raised his head and brought it down again, and then a third time. Then he managed to slip his right hand out from under Brinwal. He gripped his knife in an upside down fashion and then plunged it into the base of Brinwal’s neck, driving it downward into the top of the dwarf’s chest cavity.
Brinwal jerked and sputtered, blood sputtering out from his mouth as he coughed violently. Hermean backed away, watching wide-eyed as Brinwal squirmed on the ground.
“The screams will never stop, traitor,” Brinwal said. “They will always plague you.” He coughed again and trembled.
“Derign, lead me to your tribe. I will help you find a place where we can live in peace. Siravel will not stop once she realizes you are still alive.”
“Where can we go?” Derign asked.
“I am a hunter, I spend my life in the woods. I can find a place. I can teach your tribe how to provide for themselves in the forest.”
“Hermean!” Brinwal sputtered and choked. “You can run, but saving this lot will not silence the screams. The screams will never be silenced!”
At that moment a blue-green drake dropped down from the sky and ended Brinwal’s life. Derign and Hermean watched the beast for a while. It flared bright red and orange flames over Brinwal’s corpse and then leapt off, kicking dirt over it like any animal might kick earth over a pile of waste. Then the drake moved over to Derign and sniffed.
“Please,” Derign implored. “Let us live.”
Hermean stepped in between them and stretched his hand out for the drake’s head. The winged animal clicked its tongue several times and then turned away, leaping into the air. He disappeared into the fog and branches above them.
“Is he going to give us away?” Derign asked.
Hermean smiled when the drake returned only a couple of moments later with a fresh caught deer in its clutches. “No,” Hermean said. “This is my drake.” He motioned for Derign to join him in sharing the drake’s catch. “We eat, and then we will find a place for your tribe to hide.”
Hermean had a good idea of a place where they could hide, on the southern outskirts of the kingdom, in a thick jungle-like forest so overgrown that they would be impossible to see from above. There were hills there, with some abandoned atorat dens that they could make their own. There they could defend themselves from predators, and find food enough to sustain themselves. Perhaps he could protect the group long enough for the tribe to be accepted into his own. Still, in the back of Hermean’s mind echoed Brinwal’s final words, and he could not shut them out.
“The screams will never be silenced.”
Chapter 7
Siravel entered the upper nursery and spied Algearon sitting on a wooden chair near the egg. The beautiful red spot on the shell shone brightly in the light of the fire in the hearth. Algearon had recently polished the egg, she knew. He had been taking excellent care of the crowned egg since moving it to the upper nursery. He posted several guards at the entrance, including a pair of greater dragons. With only the one entrance, there was little danger that could reach the egg now.
“My queen,” Algearon greeted as he rose from his chair to bow to her. “What may I do for you?”
Siravel spoke in her soft, silvery tone that had become ever more common since producing the crowned egg and moving it to the protection of the upper nursery. “Allow me a few moments alone,” she spoke.
Algearon smiled and quickly exited the chamber.
Siravel walked around the egg and curled up close to it, positioning herself so that the egg rested near her belly, with her head and forelegs facing the entrance and her tail curling up around the egg. She looked at the shell, admiring its smoothness, and imagining what color the hatchling might be. Perhaps it would be red, like her. Better yet, maybe it would be black like her husband.
Yes, black would be best. Let the hatchling bring King Geldryn ever closer to her. Let him be so pleased with the newly born prince that he would forget about all of the other queens entirely. That would satisfy her.
She smiled and gently slid the tip of her tail up over the egg. She bent her neck and angled her snout to blow a blue flame at the ground under the egg. Not enough to scorch the shell, but enough to ensure the hatchling would be well warmed inside the egg.
“The other queens have nothing like this to offer to my husband,” she said. As she said the words aloud, her mind called up Hermean and Brinwal. It had been weeks since their departure, and there had been no word from them.
Reflexively she looked to the entrance. What would be Teratheal’s next move? The atorats had failed to destroy the crowned egg, but then so had Brinwal and Hermean failed to track down the two dwarf agents. Teratheal could be planning anything.
Siravel tapped a sharp, metallic claw on the stone before her and looked back to her egg. Her precious promise that would bind King Geldryn to her and assure her place as high queen. Logic suggested that the egg would be the most vulnerable point to attack. Yet, the upper nursery was a veritable fortress in itself, situated above the high queen’s own chamber and no way of reaching it, save by passing by the many sentries posted in the tunnel. To attack the egg now would be certain death for any foolish enough to try.
The high queen swished her tail through the air as her mind probed the possibilities. If she were in Teratheal’s position, what would she do? Several scenarios played out in her mind, but none of them seemed worth the risk. Teratheal could perhaps challenge her directly, but she discounted that notion. Siravel, even in her old age, was still far larger than Teratheal, or any of the other queens for that matter, and was very experienced in battle as she had helped King Geldryn forge the kingdom from its beginning.
Better to come after the egg, but no dragon was permitted within these halls except for the two sentries that stood outside, and they were also born of Siravel and Geldryn. Though not officially recognized as sons because they were a class below the king and queen and had not hatched from crowned eggs, they were nevertheless just as loyal to her and Geldryn as if they were full princes. T
hey would not betray the crowned egg.
That left the use of agents. Siravel almost laughed within herself at the thought. The only dwarf allowed into the upper nursery was Algearon. All others were barred on pain of death. Even those servants who came to deliver supplies only came as far as the lower antechamber, which was still three hundred meters below the upper nursery. No, Teratheal would not be able to use agents to destroy the egg. The only logical play would be to wait until the hatchling was out of the egg, and look for a vulnerability when the young hatchling would be alone. That would be the best time to strike.
At least that left Siravel with some time yet to prove Teratheal’s treachery. If she could find the evidence needed to compel King Geldryn to banish her, then she could rest easy knowing that the hatchling would be safe. Siravel blasted a new blue flame under the egg and then rose to leave. Each step she took echoed in the tunnel, slightly shaking the stone as she moved quickly. She passed Algearon, merely glancing at him before disappearing down the tunnel.
When she reached her chamber she scanned the area, ensuring she was alone. Satisfied that no one else was near, she went to the back of the chamber and reached up with a steely talon to press on a rock in the wall. The rock turned on its axis, revealing a smaller den midway between the floor and the ceiling. A pair of brown skytes lay curled up against each other inside. They both woke and stuck their heads up when the queen opened the portal to their chamber.
“I have need of you both.” Siravel told them using the mental connection.
Titik, the slightly larger brown skyte with a red stripe on its snout answered. “Whatever your desire, we are ready.”
“Go to the spawning chamber. Be sure that you are not discovered. Look for Teratheal there, and stay close with her. See what you can learn of her plans for me.”
Titik blinked ad nodded. By your command, my queen.”
