by Jean Rabe
He smelled something else intriguing that he couldn’t put a name to, so he continued on. He clenched his teeth when the mountain trembled all around him, and he shut his eyes, expecting to be buried under tons of rock. The thick supporting beams held and only a moderate amount of stone dust filtered down.
“Should go back,” he said. “Doubt your elf came this way.” He wanted to find out what was behind the unknown scent and just what the dwarves had been mining in this tunnel, though. The elf was curious and had keen senses; she might have come this way. His senses were also keen, and he was just as curious.
“Damn,” he said, as he noted the tunnel gradually angling downward. “Damn. Damn. Damn. She didn’t come this way. This way only goes down.”
Ragh turned around to retrace his steps, but then he smelled the unusual smell again; it was slightly stronger heading down, so he thought he might go on just a little farther. Even the faint tremor which he felt didn’t give him pause.
“You keep telling me that the elf can take care of herself,” he told Dhamon, as he felt the shadow tug in the other direction. “She’s probably doing just fine.”
The tunnel narrowed further. Ragh pictured the dwarves squeezing through. It would be a tight fit for the one called Churt—he had wide shoulders for a dwarf. It was sure tight for him. The sivak bumped his head on the low ceiling. A long string of curse words came out and faintly echoed back at him.
“Tunnel turns ahead, or maybe there’s a chamber,” the draconian said, feeling how strange it was to be talking to himself and to keep hearing his own words echo back at him. “Let’s see what we’ve got ahead, then we’ll go right back the other way and find Feril. Let’s see what’s making that smell.”
A dozen steps later the tunnel opened into a chamber so small that he imagined that all four dwarves would be hard pressed to fit. He spotted earthen jars stacked three high against one curving wall. He edged forward, crouching under the lowering ceiling. At the far side of the chamber was a small pool of liquid.
“That’s what smells.” He dropped to his knees and shuffled closer, scraping the satchel on his back and realizing that only the youngest dwarf would be able to stand up in here. Ragh inhaled deep and held his light globe over the surface.
At first he thought he recognized a trace of sulfur coming from the liquid. No, but there was the suggestion of steel or something like steel. It was nothing he was familiar with. It was at the same time a pleasant and disturbing odor, subtle and cloying, rare but memorable. It nagged at his curiosity.
His light revealed that it was a small but deep pool. Welling up from somewhere far below was a liquid metal, glistening brighter than pure silver. He tentatively reached out one finger, finding the liquid cool as a mountain stream and thick as pudding.
The liquid metal clung to his talon, and as minutes passed, he watched it harden.
“By the memory of the Dark Queen, what in all the levels of the Abyss is this?” He scratched on the stone at the rim of the pool, trying to scratch the metal off, but instead digging a line in the rock with its hard edge. “By all of the Dark Queen’s glorious heads!” He proceeded to dip each talon of his free hand in the substance, then worked on his other talons. The claws of his feet were next.
“Dragonmetal, Dhamon! This is a pool of dragonmetal.” He said these words softly, so softly he wasn’t sure that Dhamon even heard. He waited a few minutes as the metal dried. “Dragonmetal is the only thing this could be,” he said louder, excitedly. “No wonder they wanted us to stay out of their mountain. People would kill for this. Go to war over this.” He glanced at the clay jugs. “They’ve figured out a way to store it without it hardening up on them. The earth, clay, that’s it. Encased in earth it stays liquid. Wonder who they’re going to sell it to?”
Ragh was so preoccupied with his discovery that he didn’t notice another tremor racing through the stone nor the approaching footfalls of the young red-haired dwarf who had followed him all the way through the tunnel.
“Dragonmetal,” the sivak repeated, mesmerized by his discovery. The draconian had lived a very long time and had traveled most of Krynn. He’d never seen dragonmetal, but he’d heard of it from fellow draconians who had witnessed the pool beneath the great Stone Dragon in Foghaven Vale. That was believed to be the only place on Krynn where dragonmetal existed.
“A gift from the gods,” Ragh recalled from the legend.
It was said the gods of light bestowed the pool in the Vale, along with the secret of working the metal, to the master armorers of Ansalon. A skilled smith, using the artifacts known as the Silver Arm of Ergoth and the Hammer of Kharan, had forged the dragon-lances from this innately magical metal. It was called dragonmetal because of the dragon statue that loomed over the pool and because of the deadly lances made from it that could slay evil dragons. Solamnic Knights had used it for forging other weapons and armor, but these pieces were generally reserved for members of the order who were particularly distinguished.
“There was said to be only the one pool,” Ragh said to his shadow. “That one was under the huge Stone Dragon in Foghaven Vale, but this is also dragonmetal, I’d bet my teeth on it. That makes this absolutely priceless.”
“That makes you dead.” The young red-haired dwarf stood at the entrance of the small chamber, lantern in one hand and a pick in the other. The pick was tipped with the silvery metal. He hung the lantern from a stone peg on the wall and shook his fist at Ragh. “You sealed your fate when you came down here! I’m going to have to kill you and the meddling elf, too, when I find her.”
“Wonderful,” Ragh grumbled, turning on his knees to face the fresh menace. With a thought, the globe in his hand grew bright, then he let it fall to the edge of the pool. He crept closer to the dwarf, then stood, stoop-shouldered, his clawed hands held to his sides but at the ready. “Look, I’ve really no desire to kill you… Campfire, right? That’s what’s going to happen if you press this fight.”
The dwarf chuckled. “Funny, I’ve every desire to end your pathetic life.”
Feril had no trouble keeping up with Feldspar, but she marveled at his deftness and at the speed with which he could travel through the winding tunnel. He was surefooted on the ascending stone, sidestepping patches of loose rock and ducking nimbly under the low support beams. He stopped only once, and this was when the mountain shook and one of the beams shifted and ominously cracked.
“Fool, fool elf… and more fool me,” he said. Feldspar let out a string of Dwarvish curse words as he shifted the lantern to his other hand. “We’re almost there. You better get that scale quick as a rabbit—if you can. Understand?”
“I understand.”
“Then you and the sivak are going to pay us something for it. That scale’s got to be worth a lot to you, to risk coming here with the world rumblin’ so.”
At last the tunnel widened considerably, with the ceiling reaching high above them. Feril found herself in a natural cavern, the floor of which was slick in places with guano. There was no sign of any bats, however, and Feril suspected that when the first quake hit they flew out through a crevice above, opening to the sky.
“Is that the crevice you mentioned?” Feril pointed to it.
“Yeah. You’re thin enough to slip through it, ain’t you? I ain’t going to work to make it bigger, don’t want to weaken the ceiling anyway.” The dwarf held the lantern high, the light barely stretching above, but it was enough to show a black strip wedged near the top of the cavern. “That’s the tip of your dragon scale. Looks like it’s in there pretty tight, Dawnspringer. Think you’ve got a way to…”
“To get it out of there? You said you planned on watching me, Feldspar. Well, just watch.” She crouched and stooped to enter the crevice, then managed to hold the satchel behind her as she found finger- and toeholds. Awkwardly, but making surprisingly easy progress, she climbed the wall. “Obelia, I’m so very close,” Feril whispered, hoping the specter could hear her through the flask.
&nbs
p; The wall trembled slightly, but she held on and climbed higher, finally reaching the slash in the rocks where the scale was lodged. Only part of it was visible in the faint light provided by Feldspar’s upstretched lantern. Feril ran her fingers over the edge of the scale, finding it nearly as sharp as a blade and as hard as metal.
She offered a silent prayer to Habbakuk for guiding them to these dwarves, the basin, and to this tunnel. Then she thrust her arm into the tight gap, trying to feel for the scale. At the same time she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing and forced herself to relax. A tingle raced from her chest and down her arm to her fingers, which were exploring the shield-sized scale and which were somehow molding the stone, cradling it as though the granite were malleable clay.
“I’ll get you loose,” she vowed. “Might take a few minutes.” She pressed and smoothed the stone, while continuing to explore the edges of the scale with her fingers. Her body ached from being wedged so tight, but she pushed the pain aside and focused on the granite and the scale. “That’s better. A little more.” The rock flowed around her hand and arm as if trying to accommodate her.
“How’s it going?” Feldspar asked when he heard Feril’s sharp intake of breath. “Are you all right up there, Dawnspringer? ”
Feril couldn’t be bothered with answering him. Her arm had stretched as far as it could inside the gap in the rocks. Her fingertips had passed over chips and flakes in the scale that might have been caused by battle or by the rocks, and they were now feeling a split in the scale that covered several inches.
“Ruined,” she said with dismay. “You were right, Obelia, it is damaged.”
“What? Are you all right? Who’s Obelia? Mine name’s Feldspar!”
“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” she said finally, holding back the tears that had settled at the edges of her eyes. “I came so damn close and for nothing.”
“It’s no good for ya, that scale up there?”
She shook her head and released the spell she’d been concentrating on. She withdrew her hand. The stone hardened again.
“Then let’s get out of here, Dawnspringer, the faster, the better. I won’t charge you for all the fuss. I bet dinner’s on, and I’m as hungry as an urkan worm. You and that sivak are welcome to join us… if it doesn’t eat too much.”
“All for nothing.” No, she corrected herself. She’d spotted other black scales when she scryed with Obelia. This particular venture had proved fruitless, but there were additional shed scales to be found and examined in the swamp.
“C’mon, hurry. Shouldn’t be in here now, anyway. Not with all the…”
Just then a great rumbling resounded through the cavern. The walls shook. Rocks broke loose from the ceiling and clattered to the stone floor. Feril was caught between shifting stone and cried out in pain, the sound of her voice lost in the increased rumbling and the great cracking noise of the ceiling of the cavern.
She heard support beams snapping from the tunnel beyond, more rocks falling everywhere, and the final desperate words of her dwarf companion.
“By Reorx’s bushy beard! The mountain’s coming down on us! Fool, fool elf!” Feldspar called. “Fool me! Now we’ll never get out of…”
His light went out. She heard Feldspar scream, his voice trailing off into nothingness. The cavern seemed to explode, huge chunks bursting from the walls and ceilings. She couldn’t see anything anymore. Everything was blackest black. The ground beneath her gave way, stone dust enveloping her, so she could barely breathe. She was falling. Feldspar was surely dead, and she would be next.
19
“Couldn’t mind your own business, could you?” The dwarf nicknamed Campfire shook a stubby finger at Ragh. “Couldn’t stay out of our tunnels. Couldn’t stay away from our property!”
“Look, you little hairy nuisance, you don’t own these mountains,” Ragh sneered, “and this pool is…”
“Priceless, and all ours,” Campfire continued.
“It’s nothing I’m particularly interested in at the moment,” Ragh returned. At the back of his mind the sivak wondered if Dhamon might be interested, though. Those ceramic jars filled with dragonmetal would be a prime addition to the lair. “I don’t care about your dragonmetal. I’m looking for Feril.”
“I don’t believe you.” Campfire waved his pick menacingly. “This pool, it’s not the only little pool of dragonmetal in these mountains. There are two more similar nearby. Nearby and mapped out by us, ready to drain—when we’re all done with this one.” He thumped the haft of the pick against his callused palm. “We just gotta be getting us some more jars is all, but we’ve ordered them, and they’re coining. See, we have another partner, and he’s bringing jars, a wagon and bearers right now. The bearers are for the jars that won’t fit on the wagon. Got us a buyer, too. We’re going to be richer than anyone could possibly imagine, so much wealth we won’t live long enough to spend it all. That’s what Feldspar says, and we don’t intend to share a bit of it with a sivak and a Kagonesti.”
Ragh gauged the dwarf as an easy mark because of his small size and relative youth—likely he was inexperienced with fighting. The sivak knew he could take the dwarf easily, but what about Feril? What was happening to her? Better to stall a little; meanwhile, he could get some more information out of the dwarf, information about the dragonmetal. Because no matter what he told the red-haired dwarf, Ragh was very interested in the dwarves’ discovery.
“Tell me this, Campfire. How did you stumble on this great discovery, just plain luck?”
The red-haired dwarf beamed. “Feldspar and Churt, they are the real geniuses. They were mining these mountains elsewhere and found an old, old map. Feldspar’s awfully smart, and he managed to translate some of the ancient writing on it. That led us here, to this old, old castle, sunk into the hills. The map said the dragonmetal was hidden in chambers below. It took some looking and digging, but eventually we found it. The map was right.”
“So this was once a Solamnic stronghold, is that it?”
Campfire shook his head. His eyes were wild and suspicious, and his knuckles were gripped white against the pick handle. “Nah. Older than the Solamnics, and it’s dwarven construction to be sure. Priceless, these pools are, and a secret you won’t be sharing with anyone. Dead sivaks can’t talk.”
He rushed at Ragh. Effortlessly wielding his long-handled pick, the red-haired dwarf darted in and out, chopping at the draconian. One of his first swings struck Ragh, the tip of the pick sinking into the draconian’s arm. The sivak cursed. Crouched over, the sivak had a hard time maneuvering in the cramped chamber.
“You filthy stump!” The draconian spat fiercely, edging around. “Dirty little lump of flesh.” The pick was hard and sharp and had cut through to bone—a painful wound to be sure. “I didn’t want to hurt you, dwarf! Now I got no choice.”
“Hurt me, hah! Who’s hurting who?”
“No, I had no real reason to before, but I’m going to kill you now!”
The dwarf laughed. “Here’s some more reasons!” Young and nimble, Campfire skittered away from Ragh, who was shuffling awkwardly, darting in again, swinging. Again he struck the draconian, this time only grazing Ragh. “I’ll be the one who’s doing the killing, just like Feldspar is probably busy finishing your elf-friend—wherever they are. There’s no way he’ll let her live. Can’t risk it. Can’t share this. Hope he hasn’t found her yet, and that he needs my help. I’ll enjoy killing the both of you. We’ll let your bodies rot in the upper tunnel and keep our secret safe. We’re not sharing this precious dragonmetal with anyone.”
Ragh growled. “You have no idea what you’re playing with, dwarf!” The sivak glanced at his shadow, inky black and shimmering in the light from Ragh’s blue globe. The shadow had started to flow away from him. He glanced around the small chamber, knowing that in his dragon form Dhamon couldn’t fit inside the small place and wondering what was going to happen. “You’ve no idea what you’ve started! Campfire, you have no… oh, wonderful.
Wonderful timing.”
The quaking of the mountain started again, fiercer than before, the rumbling loud. Ragh could hear support beams splintering. There was a horrible scraping of stone against stone as huge slabs of granite shifted and slid around.
“We have to get out of here, you stupid lump!” Ragh screamed at the dwarf.
The single-minded Campfire showed by the set of his jaw that he was intent on slaying the sivak. “Our mine will hold!” he hollered, swinging his pick again and again, ignoring the stone and dust raining down and churning up everywhere. “We’ve braced it well here. Not even the gods could bring it down!”
“Don’t tempt the gods, you stupid dwarf!”
Again the pick sank into Ragh’s shoulder, and the sivak cried in genuine pain. “You greedy stump! You’ll kill us both by your stupidity.” Ragh dropped below the dwarf’s next swing, then bolted up and thrust his arms out. His talons coated in dragonmetal were unnaturally sharp and strong, and they dug into Campfire’s chest. Ragh tore at the dwarf’s flesh and pierced his heart.
“I told you I didn’t want to kill you!” Ragh muttered, gasping for air and blinking furiously, trying to wipe the stone dust out of his eyes. His globe of light had been dropped, but miraculously, the dwarf’s lantern was still clinging to the trembling wall. “See where greed got you?” he spat as he crawled over the dwarf’s body and out into the larger tunnel beyond. His talons were drenched in blood. “It got you dead, you greedy stump. By the Dark Queen’s heads!”
Ragh could barely see; the shadows were too thick and the lantern light was clouded with dust, but he could tell some of the support beams had collapsed and part of the tunnel ceiling had caved in. “The gods indeed couldn’t bring it down! Well now, how in the levels of the Abyss am I going to get out of here?”
