by Doug Niles
“Yes,” the female agreed, but she raised her chin in determination. “Remember the White Lady, too. She wouldn’t lie!” she declared, glancing at Jaymes and Dram, emphasizing that her assessment did not necessarily extend to present company.
“You guys coming too?” she asked.
“Yes,” Jaymes replied with a small nod.
Dram huffed and scowled. “Well, if Pete knows how to finish the damned compound so it can do something besides fizzle and smoke, then I’d like to hear about it. But I do hate mosquitoes.”
The human grinned. “Once the dracos start swarming, I guarantee you won’t even noticed the bugs,” he remarked.
Sulfie’s eyes were wide, but she wrapped her little arms around herself and started down the grassy bluff. The others followed and approached the moss-draped trees that marked the edge of the Brackens. The sunlight seemed to dim, and a thick, grayish haze lingered in the air, masking the brightness—though not the warmth—of the sun. If anything it was even hotter at the base of the hill, and the air was thick and steamy.
The mosquitoes were thick here too, a steady whining drone in their ears. The companions also heard birds cawing angrily to each other and a chorus of croaking frogs. A myriad of smells greeted them, none of them pleasant. The sooty, metallic stench seemed almost asphyxiating. The swamp was a green-black wall of dark, mossy trunks, vines and creepers, with thick ferns sprouting from the ground.
No obvious path presented itself, but Sulfie led the way, pushing away some vines and stepping between two ancient tree trunks. The others followed. In single file they plunged into the trees, trying to move soundlessly, surprised as the noisy frogs abruptly fell silent. The ground was wet everywhere with pools of stagnant water, and sometimes they had to hop from one gnarled tree root to the next. A large snake slithered across their path. Something bigger splashed in the water nearby, and they hurried on.
Deeper and deeper into the swamp they progressed, pushing vines out of the way, ducking under creepers, edging past hooked thorns. By the time they had advanced two dozen paces, sunlight was but a distant memory. Now they couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. The mosquitoes swarmed over them.
They came across another snake—this one a black, venomous viper that coiled menacingly and raised its wedge-shape head, hissing. Jaymes pulled Giantsmiter from the scabbard on his back and brought the huge blade down with a single chop, cutting the snake into two wriggling segments. They pressed on in the sucking mud. The warrior held his weapon upraised.
Sulfie slipped off the gnarled root of an ancient cypress, sliding into what looked like shallow pool. With a little gasp of dismay she sank to her waist and began to settle deeper. She clawed at the root, then grasped Dram’s strong hand. Grimacing, the dwarf set his feet and pulled the gnome free. She was covered in mud and nearly gagged at the leeches wriggling on her leggings—but swatted them off. Grimly she rose to her feet, nodding when the dwarf said he would take the lead.
The smells grew stronger, swamp gas rising in choking clouds as their feet disturbed long-dormant layers of rot. A stink like carrion made Jaymes gag, and he held a handkerchief across his mouth, blinking away tears as he strained to see through the murk. Still that metal-smoke scent permeated everything, growing stronger as they penetrated deeper into the Brackens.
“Hsst!” said Carbo, drawing a big sniff through his wide nostrils. “Do you smell that smell?”
Jaymes nodded, his nostrils twitching. “Yes. Smoke, but not from wood.” Indeed, the vapor smelled bitter, acrid, more like something raised from a foundry than a campfire.
“That’s Pete!” cried Sulfie. “I’d know that stink anywhere! He’s busy cooking his stuff!”
“Stuff?” Dram asked.
“Yep. We each had one kind of stuff, Pap taught us about. Like my specialty is the yellow rock.” She gestured at the dirty sack on her back, which was filled with the samples of sulfir.
Carbo nodded. “Mine is charcoal. Pete’s stuff is the strangest of all, and he was very secretive about it—we don’t really know that much about it. He was always doing funny things with fire. But I know that smell! It means he’s still alive—it has to! This way!”
The gnome made to crash through the underbrush, but Dram placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. “Easy does it,” the dwarf whispered. “The dracos are probably still alive, too.”
With visible reluctance, Carbo nodded and moved on more cautiously, soon stepping out from the trees onto a narrow, muddy path of sorts. The others emerged after him, and without hesitation Carbo started toward the direction that seemed to lead deeper into the swamp and from which the strong smell emanated.
The new trail was narrow and muddy, twisting around the larger trees, but even Jaymes had enough headroom, as the vines and low branches had disappeared.
“You thinking what I am?” asked Dram, with a glance at his human companion.
“Yes,” Jaymes said. Who—or whatever—used this path was tall enough to clear it to a height of better than six feet above the ground.
The acrid scent grew steadily thicker. After a few minutes, the path opened into a shadowy, narrow clearing. Trees draped with moss and vines enclosed the space, with a tiny patch of sky overhead. That glimpse of blue only seemed to emphasize the gloom of this fetid place.
“There!” cried Carbo, pointing toward a gaping pit in the center of the small open space. The hole in the ground was dark, lined with mud, and venting an assortment of noxious gases. Greenish vapors were visible in narrow tendrils rising from the pit and wafting through the dense air. “He’s going to be down there!”
The gnome darted toward the pit. He didn’t hear the leathery wings flapping loudly overhead, but his companions were more alert.
“Duck!” cried Sulfie, leaping forward to tackle her brother. They tumbled to the muddy ground as a shadow flashed by. A black serpent swooped past, diving from overhead, barely missing the two gnomes. The creature’s large wings flared as it alit. It was not armed with any weapon, but its claws and fangs gleamed as it crouched and eyed the two gnomes. It looked like a small dragon. Crocodilian jaws gaped to reveal a forked, thrusting tongue, and its leathery wings buzzed.
Carbo sprang to his feet. He pulled his little dagger and was about to charge the strange serpent when, once again, his sister bowled into him, knocking him to the side just before a stream of yellow liquid spurted from the monster’s maw. The two gnomes rolled away, barely avoiding the lethal strike. The reptilian creature lashed its head on its long neck, following the course of the rolling gnomes, and started forward. It was indeed dragon-like, though more like the size of a large—and winged!—alligator than a truly monstrous wyrm.
With a strangled shout, Dram charged the creature from behind. The dwarf’s axe split the spawn’s head open, and it collapsed, one wing flopping into the pool of acid left from its earlier blast. Carbo and Sulfie climbed to their feet, wide-eyed and trembling.
Jaymes had his sword in his hand and was looking up at where the dragon spawn had been lurking. He spotted a platform high up in a sturdy tree. Another black, reptilian form crouched there with slitted eyes—then the second dragon spawn leaped at him, spitting acid. He twisted away so that only a few drops landed on his cape and trousers, foaming on the woolen cloth.
The spawn landed a few feet away, hissing and flapping in menace. Glowering, Jaymes twisted the hilt of the sword in his hands. Immediately the weapon blazed to life, blue flames running up and down its keen steel edge. The dragon spawn recoiled, rearing onto its hind legs—but its reaction was too slow. With twin slashes, the warrior gashed its breast, then cut its head from its lashing neck. He stepped on the acid that hissed and bubbled on the ground but quickly wiped his boots on some ferns. The acid ate away at the plants, spewing foul gas as it soaked into the dirt.
Both spawn bled greenish, viscous blood from their wounds. Jaymes scanned the treetops. The swamp was utterly silent—no longer were the birds cawing and frog
s croaking. For the moment, there was no sign of another threat.
“Quick—into the pit!” whispered Dram. “Get out of sight!”
He uncoiled his rope and tied it to a tree, tossing the other end across the mud and into a hole nearby the others had not noticed. It looked to be about thirty feet deep. Carbo descended quickly, hand over hand, followed by Sulfie, and Jaymes. They all scaled downward until their feet struck the bottom of a muddy chamber. Dram came last.
Enough daylight filtered down for Jaymes to make out several tunnels branching outward from this round subterranean lair. The air smelled terrible, and they had to strain not to choke or cough, blinking watery eyes, covering their noses as best they could. The human found that if he bent, he could breath a little easier—the worst of the vapors seemed to rise toward the damp and dripping ceiling, flowing up and out the vent hole.
“Does this smell like your brother too?” Dram asked.
“Yep. Follow the stink,” Carbo urged. “I can’t see!”
Jaymes drew the sword he had sheathed during the descent, and once again flames flickered along the blade. The blue light was faint but enough for them to make out a few details. The chamber showed signs of crude excavation, as if animals had burrowed it out of the soft dirt. There were no shoring timbers supporting the ceiling or arching above the tunnel mouths for four small passages leading deeper.
“Over here,” Sulfie said, sniffing at one of the passages. “Pete’s over here, somewhere!”
They moved into the passage that boasted the worst stink, straining to see in the murk. The flickering sword helped a little. At least the side passage had a high enough ceiling that even Jaymes could walk upright. Roots and tendrils dangling down looked, in the blue illumination, like furry, wriggling tentacles, and they eyed these warily as they progressed.
Shortly they came to a fork, where the wide passage began a gradual descent and a smaller corridor continued on another level. The two gnomes sniffed carefully but could not reach a consensus.
“Might as well try the wide one,” Dram suggested. “It gets more use, seems like.”
Jaymes took the lead, holding the sword at his shoulder so the others could see better. The floor was slimy with rivulets of water. With each forward step the path seemed to get steeper, and Jaymes began to slip and slide.
The warrior paused, squinting ahead.
“Unless Salty Pete has grown gills, this is the wrong way,” he declared. “There’s more and more water down there, filling the whole tunnel. Looks like this might be an underwater bolt-hole.”
“No gills—so let’s try the other way,” Sulfie said. Dram extended a hand to help the warrior back up the steep, slick slope. Soon they reached the previous juncture and this time took the narrower corridor.
They had not gone far before they spotted the glow of firelight ahead, spilling into the corridor from a large room off to a side. Jaymes doused the sword-fire, and they all crept forward.
They came to a chamber that looked like a crude blacksmith’s shop, with a mound of coals glowing in a huge pit and several cluttered benches along the far wall. A small figure bustled about, tossing logs onto the fire, then running back to stir something in a large cauldron.
“Pete!” shouted Sulfie, rushing forward.
The gnome looked up, gaping in surprise, then wrapped his arms around his sister and brother in a frantic hug. He was bearded like Carbo, though with a shock of graying hair where his brother was bald.
“No! Yes! You guys!” he declared. “Wow—I can’t believe it! After all this time. Have I got a story to tell you! You’d never believe—” He paused, looking around in confusion. “Wait,” he said. “How come Sheedra let you in here?”
“Who’s Sheedra?” Dram asked.
A slithering figure with dark scales, invisible in the shadows, slid past the doorway. Something huge and black.
Jaymes spun, his sword in his hands, but he was too late. A large, gray rock tumbled into place, blocking the doorway as neatly as a cork in a bottle.
They were trapped.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
SHEEDRA
Jaymes and Dram hurled themselves at the boulder, driving their shoulders against the slick stone surface, legs pumping, boots churning on the muddy floor as they strained to move it out of the way. They gasped and grunted, strained and cursed, finally collapsing.
The rock hadn’t budged an inch.
“It weighs too much. You’ll never be able to get it out of there. Even the dragon spawn can’t move it. Only Sheedra can,” Salty Pete explained.
“Who in Reorx’s name is Sheedra!” demanded Dram, between gasps for air. He sat in the mud, his back against the immovable rock.
“She’s the black dragon who lives here. She uses that rock to keep me locked in when she goes away. Now I guess she’s using it to keep you guys locked in here too.”
“Why hasn’t she killed you?” Jaymes asked, shaking his head. “Two years in a dragon’s lair must be some kind of record.
“Oh, she protects me, actually. The spawns would have pulled me apart and eaten me up right away, if not for her,” Pete admitted.
“Why?” asked Sulfie, as she glanced at the various kettles and cauldrons around the firepit.
“I think she wanted someone to talk to. She even sings, a little, and the spawns don’t care about singing or talking. They’re pretty stupid.”
“Great. Violent and stupid, too. How many spawn are there around here anyway?” asked Dram.
Pete shrugged. “Maybe twelve. Or a few more. They all look alike, so it’s hard to count them, and some are in the lair while others are always prowling around in the swamp. I never see the whole group of them all together.”
“It’s so terrible, you being kept prisoner down here,” said Carbo.
“Well, it hasn’t been so bad. Sheedra lets me eat better than her spawn,” Salty Pete explained. “Probably because I keep her fire going, and I make her stuff. I think that’s why she had the dragon spawn capture me. They can’t build and can’t cook either. Like I say, they’re pretty stupid.”
The little gnome’s face brightened proudly. “She really likes my frog chowder.” Then his expression darkened, and he shook his head sadly. “Not that I would recommend it. Nothing like the carrots and lettuce we used to get in Dungarden. And beef! Oh, I remember beef!”
“Tell us more about Sheedra,” Dram encouraged.
“Well, she’s a black dragon, like I said. I think she’s been living here a long time—one of her songs is about fighting the Golden General in the Lance War. Her friends all got killed in some big battle, and she got her wing burned off and crawled into the Brackens and made this her hideout. She’s lived here since then.”
Salty Pete scratched his head. “Let’s see. She’s enormous. And mean as a snake. Except that she brings me stuff, so I can work. She’s taken a liking to me, I guess. She got me these cauldrons and kettles and sends the spawn to bring me plenty of firewood. The spawn frighten me, but they’re more scared of her, so they don’t hurt me. They bring me plenty of frogs, so I can cook them up. I’ve grown partial to frogs.”
“Dragon spawn’re left over from the days of the Overlords. Came here to hide, maybe during the war, maybe before,” the dwarf guessed, looking grimly at Jaymes.
The warrior nodded. “You guess there are about a dozen of them close by, maybe more?”
“Yep. They come and go. Sheedra does too. Like I said, she likes to sing her songs. She tells us that we’re all her children, but the spawns don’t listen much. I admit I do, though. Passes the time.”
Pete sighed, slumping his shoulders. “After she sings, she puts that rock there.”
Jaymes had been studying the massive boulder. He crossed the room to poke around the long workbench. He found a sturdy iron bar, as tall as he was, and went back over to the barrier. Dram followed him, bringing a stout kettle, which he inverted to serve as a fulcrum. The warrior jammed the edge of the pry bar under
the rock, then balanced it on the upturned pot, trying to exert some leverage. Even with both of them leaning on the bar, straining with every sinew, the huge stone wouldn’t budge.
“We’ll never pry it loose, not without this Sheedra’s help,” Dram said in disgust, backing away from the boulder and glaring at the big stone in fury. Jaymes, his face slick with sweat, agreed.
“Peteeeeey?”
The voice, soft and yet thunderous, rising musically at the end, penetrated through the rock to fill the smoky air in the workshop. The companions all looked to Salty Pete, whose eyes had grown very wide. He gulped and cleared his throat.
“Um … yes, Mistress Sheedra? I’m in here,” the gnome called out in an exaggerated sing-tong tone.
“Yes, Petey, but who is in there with you? Are they bothering you? Are you afraid of them?”
“No, I’m not afraid, Mistress. These are … these are some old friends, who have come to see me.”
“Petey … remember, I am your best friend. You remember, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes Mistress Sheedra. I certainly always remember that you are my friend. My very best friend!”
“Other friends are not true friends. Others are nasties … do you have nasties in there with you?”
The gnome looked helplessly at his siblings, at the human and dwarf. “No, Mistress Sheedra … not nasties! Good friends. Um, not as good as you, though.”
“Sheedra is Petey’s best friend. Not nasties who come through swamp. Not friends, nasties.”
“No … nasties are not my friends,” Pete answered, with an apologetic look at his would-be rescuers.
“Petey? Sheedra is Petey’s best friend. Only Sheedra.”
“Um, yes Mistress Sheedra. That’s right, my only best friend.”
“Others are nasties. Will you kill them? Or shall I?”
“Good idea, but maybe you should leave the killing to me,” the gnome stammered. “Um, yes. Give me a little time. I’ll … um … I’ll kill them all. Or else let you know if I need help.”
