by Drew Hayes
When he did emerge, Rathgan was changed. No longer was he was the wise, albeit headstrong, leader the other dragons had known. Now, he possessed an edge of madness to him and spoke of impossible things, beings beyond the veil of their reality. And he was angry about it—furious, really. What had begun as a simple diplomatic gamble had quickly escalated. Rathgan refused to allow another merchant or caravan to pass through his territory un-assaulted. After every raid, he would carefully pick through the goods they’d taken, always searching for another artifact like the first he’d acquired. He cared for nothing else, allowing the other dragons to divide the gold, jewels, and magical items equally amongst themselves. That alone spoke to how far gone he was. A dragon losing their taste for gold meant something was truly wrong.
“From there, things grew only worse,” Bulek said. They’d taken shelter in a mountainside cave some distance from where the ledge had slowed them. It was big enough to fit the half-healed hatchling, but barely. Thistle had only healed Bulek out of life-threatening danger—whether due to caution or limits was undetermined. If the dragon minded, he didn’t say so; this seemed to fulfill their bargain by his standards.
“Rathgan grew angrier the longer we came up empty. He became convinced the kingdom had more like what he’d found and ordered us to begin raiding the nearby villages, searching for them. Even if we came up empty, he wanted to make enough noise to draw out Alcatham’s royalty. Once they sent a messenger, he was able to demand every piece of the artifact they had. Either they have none or are unwilling to surrender them, because instead of turning more pieces over, they seem to have organized all these adventurers against us.”
“Well, that does explain why the kingdom knew about the general appearance of the Bridge but not what it did,” Thistle said. He’d sat patiently, listening to the tale, absorbing every detail into that strange mind of his. “They were going off Rathgan’s own description when he demanded more of them.”
“The Bridge. You called the artifact that before,” Bulek noted. “Tell me what you know of this cursed item, and why it has corrupted the head of my nest.”
There was a brief moment where a few cautionary looks were exchanged, but no one actually voiced dissent at the idea. They knew precious little as it was, and Bulek had certainly held up his end of the bargain so far. It would be in poor taste, not to mention risky, to suddenly start dealing with the dragon in bad faith.
“What we know is scarce.” Thistle’s words were short as he visibly pondered how best to explain this to Bulek. “Even the name we use, the Bridge, was taken from a mage we met who’d already discovered a piece. We do know that these pieces are unlike any other kind of magic out there. In fact, they are undetectable by magic, save for when they are in use. The Bridge has all manner of strange abilities, but the most frequent of which is that it seems to show certain wielders more of our world than we can normally see. And the beings reaching in, impacting our world... Rathgan is not the first to see them.”
“It also weakens the barrier between the planes,” Eric added. “We had to deal with a lot of demons last time one of these was found because the wizard was using it to constantly repel invading adventurers. Do you know if Rathgan uses his piece often?”
Bulek shook his head, wincing slightly at the lingering pain in his neck. “Those closest to him whisper that he stares into it often, only touching it for brief amounts of time. They say he fears that holding it for too long would drive him to insanity. He cannot see how far down the path he’s already traveled.”
“He’s right.” Grumph held out his right hand, the one he’d used to clutch a piece of the Bridge for a brief moment in Aldron’s lair. “It shows too much. Fills your mind. Tears away everything else. It will drive anyone mad, eventually.”
“Is that really how it felt for you?” Eric was hunkered down near the back of the cave, watching intently as the conversation unfolded. “I wonder... maybe it affects magic-users differently than people like me, because I never got that sense of losing myself. In fact, holding the Bridge felt, well, good, if I’m honest. Like I was connecting to something I’d always felt but had never been able to touch.”
“Perhaps those who wield magic are the only ones aware enough to recognize their slipping minds,” Bulek suggested.
“It is the most logical explanation.” Everyone else noticed that while Thistle’s words seemed like agreement, they actually weren’t. He was merely conceding that Bulek’s point made the most sense, not that he believed it to be right. “And I can imagine that even one with magic as powerful as an ancient dragon would eventually fall under its sway.”
Bulek let out a snort that warmed the air around them. The noise that followed seemed deep and rough, almost like a growl working its way forth. Several hands twitched a hair closer to their weapons before it became clear that Bulek hadn’t taken offense from Thistle’s comment, he was laughing at it.
“Rathgan is far from an ancient dragon. Their kind do not often associate with the younger. He is an elder dragon. Strong, wise, and powerful, yes, but with millennia of aging and learning left before he claims the title of ancient.”
“Forgive my mistake. The way Rathgan’s power was described to us, I simply took it for granted that he was an ancient,” Thistle said, bowing his head in apology.
“No offense taken. You creatures have a diluted scale of what is powerful; it’s no wonder you’d imagine one like Rathgan to be at its very top.” Bulek rose slightly from his resting position, craning his neck outside the front of the cave entrance. “I must leave soon. If I do not return, my nestmates will think me killed and come searching. Not all will agree with the bargain we’ve struck today. They see the only good adventurer as a dead one.”
“There are many adventurers who feel the same way about dragons,” Grumph said.
“Perhaps they are both wrong. How well we uphold our ends of the bargain shall serve as proof either way.” Bulek glanced back to Thistle and the small stack of freshly-written parchment by Thistle’s feet. “You have the directions for how to proceed from here. The way is filled with traps, although I think I correctly recalled all of them when giving warning. I cannot promise you will meet no opposition, but that is the path with the least chance of encountering another dragon. Should you meet one, even if I am there, you understand that I can offer you no aid, correct?”
“Aye.” Thistle nodded gravely. “Just as you understand that we cannot allow ourselves to be killed and will fight back if needed, correct?”
Bulek hesitated for several seconds before finally dipping his snout down into a nod. “Wound rather than kill, if you can. I have no desire to lose more family than needed over this. But the blood will not stop flowing until Rathgan is parted from this ‘Bridge’ artifact, so do what you must to see the goal accomplished. The directions will lead you to his chamber. Once there, you are on your own. Hatchlings like myself are not permitted in such exalted places.”
“The aid you have given is more than we could have hoped for,” Thistle said. “Farewell, Bulek. When next we meet, I hope it will be as friends, with this whole ordeal behind us.”
“That is a fine wish indeed,” Bulek replied. He slithered his way out of the cave, then poked his head back in briefly. “Stay here for the night, if you can. Our vision is keen, even in starlight, and there will be more dragons patrolling, hunting for easy prey in the darkness. Rest up, regain your strength. You’ll need it for tomorrow’s journey.”
Then he was gone; only the sound of wings flapping betrayed that Bulek had ever been there at all. A sigh of relief seemed to trickle out of the party as a whole at Bulek’s exit. Although he’d never made a move to betray their truce, it was hard to be at ease with a dragon crammed into a cave with them.
Thistle rummaged around in his pack until he found an enchanted headband, then took it and the pages to the back corner of the cave.
“Studying?” Eric asked.
“Memorizing,” Thistle corrected. “Our
instructions are made of paper, and we’re dealing with dragons that breathe fire. Better to have these stored in our minds than our packs, just in case.”
“Good point.” Eric dug around in his satchel and pulled out a headband of his own. “Let me know when you’re done, and I’ll do my best to memorize them as well. Gives me a better chance of spotting the traps if I’m not constantly checking the pages.”
“Am I the only one wondering just how smart it is to trust a dragon’s instructions?” Gabrielle asked. “Yeah, he didn’t try to kill us, but that doesn’t mean he really gave us a straight path to Rathgan’s chamber.”
“You’re quite right, Gabrielle. There is no proof that these pages won’t lead us to certain death.” Thistle’s eyes never stopped skimming as he spoke, taking in the carefully written notes he’d jotted down less than an hour before. “However, the point is an irrelevant one. The fight with Bulek proved that we are, at our best, barely a match for a hatchling dragon. Should we continue bumbling about, it will only be a matter of time before we meet another and perish. There is at least a chance that Bulek genuinely wants us to reach Rathgan’s chamber. That presents far better odds than what we had before, so we must seize the chance.”
A soft chuckle echoed through the cave. All eyes turned to Eric, who was just finishing the process of snapping his enchanted headwear in place. “Sorry, what Thistle just said made me laugh. That we barely beat a dragon hatchling. Made me think back to when I was the worst guard in the mayor’s house. I wonder what everyone in Maplebark would say if they knew we held our own against a freaking dragon.”
“Somehow, I think my parents would be more shocked and aghast than impressed.” Gabrielle slid into a corner of the cave, far-off eyes fixed on a homeland she could no longer visit. “Still wish I could see their faces, though.”
“The road of life is a long one, and you’d be surprised how many once-thought-lost paths will loop around and cross back further down the line,” Thistle told her. “The key is living long enough to see those moments. Which is why I suggest everyone take Bulek’s advice and get some rest. Whatever awaits us tomorrow, we want to be in top shape to deal with it.”
Everyone settled in after that, pulling out food and water from the magical implements Elora had made them purchase. Their minds were not on the task at hand, however. Some were thinking of a small town back in Solium, while others were wondering what trials awaited them come sunrise.
And one mind was pondering why it seemed to be the sole consciousness to have come in contact with the Bridge and not been dragged into insanity by its power.
Chapter 48
The going was slow and steady. Any sound, even the slightest noise, would cause everyone to fall silent. Timanuel had wrapped two bedrolls around himself, which was all he could do to muffle the sounds of his armor as they made their way up the path they’d chosen. Sometimes, the sounds they heard were claws on stone, dead giveaways that a dragon was nearby. Other times, they would hear screaming and know that another group of adventurers had met an unkind fate. Occasionally, there would be heavy noises, thuds and thunks and the cracking of rocks. Usually, those were also followed by more screaming and served as an excellent reminder to the group that they needed to stay wary of traps.
Eventually, the tunnel led back to the outside of the mountain, joining with several others and reuniting the party with more adventurers. It was a short-lived reunion, as less than an hour later they came to another split in the path. Only one of these returned to the interior of the mountain; the rest were different routes to climb higher on its surface. As Wimberly pointed out, they might as well have marked the options as “Traps vs. Battle,” since a lone tunnel leading inward was almost certainly secured to the high heavens. Another party—one with two rogues—took that option. For Timanuel, Gelthorn, Wimberly, and Chalara, there was never any debate. Dragons, they could outrun—or, failing that, perhaps outfight. But one well-timed trap could do them all in, since they lacked a rogue.
They parted ways with the other groups as each took a path of their own, hoping that luck or the gods would guide them to a route they could survive. Half an hour further along, and Gelthorn’s keen ears picked up roaring and screaming from not too far away. She said nothing, however. Timanuel was a paladin; if he knew of people in need, he would be compelled to aid them, if at all possible. In the tunnels, that was one thing—he couldn’t very well reach them, even if he’d wanted to. But out here was a different story, which was why Gelthorn remained mute, noting that the sounds quickly died away.
Perhaps it was cruel or merciless, but Gelthorn didn’t want to die. She wanted to see the trees again, to run freely through the forest—and, perhaps, to find out what on earth was in the chest they’d carted all the way from that damned wizard’s tower. Timanuel might have to throw his life away at the sound of screams, but she was under no obligation to actually bring them to his attention. They needed their paladin alive.
Step by step the air was growing thinner. And although they weren’t near the top yet, there could be no denying that they were drawing closer.
* * *
It was a pleasant conversation, until the first swing of the axe. Terkor’s Guile checks allowed the group to pretend they had taken shelter during the first wave of attacks and were only now catching up. Given that the party they were lying to had just backtracked to the giant cavern to rest after getting caught in a series of traps, the excuse seemed absolutely plausible. During the talk, Mitnan was able to learn a lot about what had transpired so far. The giant battle, the splitting of parties, the screaming from tunnels, all of it was highly useful. The tidbit he was especially thankful to glean was which tunnel this group had gone down, as it was the one with all the traps already deployed. It was that information which convinced Mitnan the conversation was over. He gave a covert signal to the others, and then quickly grabbed his axe.
The fight, if one could even call it that, was brief. Strong as the other party might have been given even ground, they were heavily wounded and caught off guard. Terkor’s daggers danced, Mitnan’s axe split the air, and Glezidel called down burning fire. Before they’d even fully managed to get to their feet, half of the other party was dead, and not long after that, the remaining pair was picked off.
That done, Mitnan’s group began carefully looting the corpses of their fallen foes, sorting through the gold and the mundane and magical items. Glezidel would have to burn a fair bit of mana identifying the magical ones, but it was a cost well worth paying. It was always smart to know exactly what an item did before using it. The last thing they needed at this point was to don something cursed.
When the sorting was done and the equipment doled out by need (greed would come later, when they sold things off), Mitnan pointed to the tunnel that the other party had come from and ordered Terkor to take the lead. There was always the chance that a few traps had not yet been sprung, after all. Better to put the rogue up front, just in case. If he spotted the waiting obstacles, he could disarm them. Or, if he missed them, he’d pay for such failures with his health points. Either way, the odds of Mitnan taking damage were minimal.
The barbarian grinned as they made their way into the tunnel, heading farther up the mountain. If the adventurers were already splitting up and taking damage, that would make the rest of their trip much easier. Clearly, luck was on their side.
* * *
“Aaaaand got it.” Elora cut the final rope, causing an enormous landslide of boulders to come crashing down forty feet ahead of them. Had they kept walking without her help, the landslide easily might have knocked them down the mountain. Even if it didn’t kill Agrut and Everett, Elora felt certain it would have cost them half a day or more of progress. Not that it would have mattered to her; getting caught in a giant landslide of boulders would certainly have turned her into pulped rogue.
“Look at that, finally earning your share of the gold,” Agrut muttered, impatiently tapping his foot as he waited for the
rocks to stop falling.
“Couldn’t you have just stopped it from springing? We’ve effectively announced our presence to every dragon on this side of the mountain,” Everett complained.
Elora debated telling him to sit on a dagger, then swallowed her annoyance and slapped on a fake smile. They were so close to the top, there was no way she was risking pissing them off and having to fight for her share of the treasure. “What the dragons almost certainly think they heard was a group of adventurers getting killed by a rockslide. At most, they’ll send a sentry or two to investigate, and we can hide out while they pass over. Couldn’t be easier.”
The knight stared down the brim of his slim nose at her. “I don’t cower in the shadows from mere sentries. If they come, we will dispatch them. It’s as simple as that.”
“Judging by the air and our location, I’d say we’re perhaps another half-day’s journey from reaching the top, at best,” Agrut said. “It might be wise to conserve our mana and strength until we reach Rathgan. One imagines that he will present at least something of a challenge.”
Everett considered the point; the knight was so dumb Elora could practically see the wheels turning slowly in his mind. “Very well, we shall allow the rogue to hide us if anything bigger than a hatchling appears. Otherwise, we deal with it.”
“It’s your call on the fighting; I’m just here to deal with traps.” Elora watched patiently as the deluge of rocks slowed to a stream, then a trickle, and finally died off entirely. Part of her was tempted to call it a day. Agrut and Everett had already found and raided the nests of several lesser dragons during their journey up. Right now she had more than enough gold to justify the outing. Heck, she might even let herself take a vacation when all was said and done. She didn’t need to keep pressing on with these assholes—as soon as they turned their backs, she could slip into the shadows and vanish.
