by W. D. Newman
*****
Hob stepped out of the pathway with Gabriel and Ben right behind him. The massive West Gate loomed before them.
“You did it,” Hob cried, “we’re here!”
The gates were just as Nob had drawn them. Their broad timbers, rubbed black with pitch and bound together with thick bands of rusty iron, stood fifteen feet tall and spanned twenty feet across the sheer rock face of the mountain. Hob hurried over to the left of the gates and pressed his hand to a spot on the mountain’s rocky side. A thin line immediately became visible on the stone surface and the shape of an arched doorway appeared before them.
“A hidden side gate,” Gabriel remarked.
“No,” Hob replied. “Believe it or not, this is the West Gate.”
“Then what the heck is that?” asked Ben, pointing at the massive timbers.
“That,” Hob answered, rather proudly, “is a decoy.”
“Oh brother, that’s a little over-kill, don’t you think?”
“Not really,” said Hob, giving the door a gentle shove. “There has not always been peace between Dwarvenhall and people of Mountain Rest.” The door swung inward, revealing a dark tunnel that led downward into the mountain. Almost immediately, a drum began to sound from depths below. “There. The alarm has been activated and we must now sit here and wait. Guards will be here shortly to see who has opened the gate.”
Within a few short hours, they were standing before the Librarian. Hob was trying to explain to him what they were searching for, while Gabriel and Ben stood quietly to the side. Having now seen the Librarian, Ben could understand why the three dwarfs were hesitant to come here; he was gruff, ill-mannered, and very frightening to look upon. He was also larger than most dwarves and although dwarves, as a general rule, are not very handsome, he was perhaps the ugliest dwarf Ben had ever seen. The poor creature’s face and hands were covered with warts and a perpetual scowl just made his visage even scarier. Ben suddenly understood why he was the Librarian, squirreled away in the deepest and darkest parts of Dwarvenhall. Down here there was no one to look at him. There were no stares, no whispers, and no finger pointing. Down here were books, and scrolls, and great tomes full of rich history, knowledge, stories, and adventures. The archives offered him peace. It was a place of comfort, a place of escape. Ben was able to empathize with the Librarian, because he often felt like an outcast at school and he too found comfort and escape in books. His fears quickly turned to pity as he listened to Hob describe the items they were seeking.
“All we need is a sketch. You’ve got to have something like that in here somewhere, this place is huge!”
“I’ve been Librarian for thirty years and I’m telling you there are not any paintings, drawings, or sketches of the Dragon’s Cradle anywhere in my archives.”
“Maybe we don’t need a sketch of the Dragon’s Cradle,” said Ben.
The Librarian glared at Ben. He was not at all happy about Hob bringing an elf and a human into his archives. Hob hadn’t introduced them yet and the Librarian certainly didn’t seem to care. He crossed his arms and continued to stare at Ben, but Ben was having none of it. His fears were gone and no matter how hard he tried, the Librarian was not going to be able to frighten or intimidate him.
“Before we go any further,” Ben added, “some introductions are in order. My name is Ben and this gentleman here is Gabriel. We are very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Ben bowed low and Gabriel followed his lead.
“Hmph!” the Librarian replied. “Doesn’t matter if you need it or not – we ain’t got it!”
“I bet you have maps though. I have heard that dwarven maps are the finest maps made. Surely there are some maps of your kingdom back on Crag and I’ll bet that the Dragon’s Cradle is on at least one or two of those maps.”
Now Ben had the Librarian’s attention. Dwarven maps were indeed the finest maps in all of Camelot and the Librarian was especially fond of them. His archives boasted a large collection of maps from Crag and he knew them all by heart.
“You’re right on that account.” The Librarian uncrossed his arms and started rubbing his big warty hands together. There was a faint trace of excitement in his voice. “I do have maps. I have maps of plenty too and a large portion of them from our very own homeland, no less.”
“What about the Dragon’s Cradle? Is it on any of the maps? I really wish I could see them. I’ve never seen a dwarven map, only an elfin map.”
“An elfin map?” the Librarian yelled. “A bloody elfin map? Ah, you’ve gone and pierced my poor old heart with such heresy. If you want to see a real map, l can show you what one looks like. A bloody elfin map; no wonder you’re lost! By the way, my name is Tor, but everyone calls me Spud. I believe this is your customary form of greeting.” Spud stuck out his big warty hand for Ben to shake.
Ben did not hesitate. He thrust his hand forward and it was swallowed up in Spud’s huge meaty fist. When Ben took his hand to shake it, the Librarian gasped.
“I’ve heard great things about you, Ben. Rumors have even managed to trickle their way down to my tunnels, but I scarcely believed them. You see, most people, dwarves included, do not even like to look upon me, and much less touch me. I can see now that your heart is indeed good and I believe all of the good things I have heard of you. I will help you in your quest. Come, follow me.”
The archives were a labyrinth of narrow caverns with high ceilings that were hidden in the darkness above their heads. The shelves were carved into the stone walls and a narrow railway ran up and down the dimly lit corridors. Spud led them to an old hand car that was parked in what appeared to be the main hallway. Once everyone was on board, he began pumping the handles and the car gradually began inching forward along the tracks. Slowly, the car gained momentum. The handles flew up and down as they sped along the tracks, with the offshoot hallways flickering past them in a blur. They traveled like this for several minutes and Ben began to wonder just how big these archives really were. Finally, Spud pulled back on a long level and applied the brakes. Sparks flew from the wheels as they skidded to a halt in front of the entrance to another corridor on their right. A sign, carved into a low arched entrance, simply read “CRAG”. Beneath the sign sat another rail car on another set of tracks.
“All aboard,” called Spud, hopping off the first car and climbing onto the second one. “We are almost there.”
Everyone hopped on board with the Librarian and once again he began pumping away at the handles. There were no offshoots on these side tunnels, but there were ladders fastened to the walls between the shelves. In a few short minutes, Spud pulled back on the brake lever, bringing the rail car to a screeching halt in front of one of the ladders. “What kind of map are you looking for?” he asked Ben. “There are several that show the location of the Dragon’s Cradle. Will just one suffice?”
“Actually,” Ben replied, “that depends. We’re still looking for a painting or a drawing, but if you don’t have one of the Dragon’s Cradle, would you have one of something located near the Cradle; some kind of drawing of a landmark that might still exist on Crag and that would also be shown on the same map as the Cradle?”
“Ah-ha! You are in luck! There are many paintings and drawings of the Great Cathedral.”
“What’s that?”
“Oh my,” Hob cried. “The Great Cathedral is the center of Haven. It is a vast cavern located in the halls beneath Fire Mountain, where the female dragons go and sing their songs to attract a mate.”
“You know the story?” Spud asked Hob.
“Oh, yes. The female sings her song and the males that hear it are irresistibly drawn to her. They will fight to the death to be her mate. The Great Cathedral is unique because it has giant crystal stalactites that hang from the ceiling. These crystals also protrude through the top of the mountain and at night time, when the male dragons fight, the light from their fires illuminate these crystals and
the stone walls of the cavern appear to burn with orange and yellow flames. That, along with the sound of the female’s song, which vibrates through the crystals and is amplified in the vast openness of the chamber, can render you senseless if you are unfortunate enough to be caught there during such a ritual.”
“And you have this on a map?” asked Gabriel. “A map that we could follow from the Cathedral to the Cradle?”
“I have a map that shows Fire Mountain and the Cradle. You will need another map to find your way about the halls beneath the mountain. You speak as if you are going there.”
“We are,” said Hob.
Gabriel tried to hush him, but it was too late; Spud had heard him.
“How is that possible? Merlin destroyed the tree to Crag after the evacuation. No one knows the way back.”
“No one has known of a way back until now,” said Gabriel. “Bring us these maps and drawings that you speak of and then we’ll tell you more.”
Spud studied them with a wary eye. For a moment, Ben was afraid that he would think them crazy, but finally his curiosity got the best of him. “Wait here by the car. It’s easy to get lost in these halls and it will only take me a moment to retrieve them.”
When he returned, everyone was expecting him to have his arms full of scrolls, but he was carrying only two scroll cases and a large flat wooden container. He carefully placed these items on the rail car and climbed aboard with the others.
“We’ll take these back to the lobby area. There are tables, chairs, and better lighting to see by.”
“Will there be others there?” asked Gabriel.
“No,” Spud answered rather sadly. “No one ever comes to the archives.”
*****
