The Bane of Karrak_Ascension II of III

by Robert J Marsters

  ***

  “How long ’ave we been down ’ere now? Been so long since I lived in a cavern, I tend to lose track of time.”

  “What’s wrong, Grubb, missing your old home? Not enjoying the company of dragons?” asked Faylore.

  “I’m not complaining. Big as they are, these dragons, they’re very light on their feet so it’s surprisingly quiet… and it’s nice and dry. Remember that rain? I was soaked to the skin. My bum was that wet when I was sitting on Buster that…”

  “GRUBB!” exclaimed Lodren. “You don’t use words like that in front of Faylore. How many more times? She’s a queen.”

  “She might be a queen, but we’ve all got one. And for your information, I could have said ar…”

  “Don’t you dare, Grubb!” shouted Lodren. “Don’t you dare or I’ll whack you with my hammer… I’m not kidding.”

  “Alright! Calm down. I was just saying, it’s nice not to be soakin’ wet. You really are a touchy sod at times, Lodren.”

  “And don’t say that either,” said Lodren, pointing at Grubb. “As a matter of fact, if you can’t conduct yourself properly, don’t say anything at all.”

  “S’cuse me for breathin’,” mumbled Grubb.

  “When are we leaving, Your Majesty?” asked Lodren, rather over-emphasising his polite tone.

  Faylore smiled at him and then at Grubb. They were the most unusual pairing and although Grubb could be a little crass and Lodren sometimes behaved like a mother hen, there was an unmistakeable synergy between them. She let out a little laugh before she answered, “Are you in a hurry to leave?”

  “Oh no, quite the opposite. I’d stay here forever if they let me,” replied Lodren.

  “If you were to ask them, Lodren, they would allow it. Or would you prefer that I ask?”

  “Neither, thank you. If we didn’t have all the problems with stopping Karrak, I’d love to stay for a while. All I’m suggesting is that maybe we should be moving out soon, Jared and the others might need us.”

  “I need to consult Thelwynn and the others before we can leave. And then there’s the eggs to consider,” said Faylore.

  “Eggs?” asked Lodren, a little confused. “Where am I going to find fresh eggs?”

  “She means the dragon eggs, you pillock!” mumbled Grubb.

  “I can’t do that!” exclaimed Lodren. “I can’t cook dragon eggs. Even if we weren’t here, I could never cook a dragon egg!”

  “Nobody wants you to cook dragon eggs, you berk! Just listen to Faylore and stop interruptin’,” said Grubb with a sigh.

  Lodren scratched his head. Turning to Faylore, he pushed his head forward and raised his eyebrows, eager for an explanation.

  “We have to wait for the eggs that the dragons have laid to be halfway through their development, only then will the dragons open the Fenn Immar.”

  “And what’s the Fenn Immar?” asked Lodren, calmly.

  “A stream of fiery rock in which they place the eggs to transport them,” replied Faylore.

  “Transport them to where?” asked Lodren.

  “The borders of my homeland,” replied Faylore.

  “And why would they want to do that? Surely, they’re better here, where they can look after them.”

  “What does it matter, you annoying Nibby? They just do. Can’t you just take that as an answer?”

  Lodren gave Grubb a look of disdain, “I’m just interested, that’s all. I don’t need to know I’ll admit, but I would like to know.”

  “It’s a wonder your nose hasn’t been cut off before now, pokin’ it in other people’s business. If it was bigger, you probably would’ve lost it by now.”

  “It’s alright, Grubb. An inquisitive nature is harmless when knowledge is sought for no ill purpose,” said Faylore.

  Lodren gave a big grin and jokingly poked his tongue out at Grubb.

  “They have to move the eggs to allow them a cooler temperature,” continued Faylore. “The dragon fire is far too hot for the poor little things.”

  “So why not just put them into the ice outside?” asked Lodren.

  “That would be just as bad I’m afraid, far too cold,” replied Faylore.

  “It seems as if they’re very fragile. Surprising really when you look at how big and tough the parents are,” said Lodren.

  “Indeed,” said Faylore. “That is why we Thedarians help them. They can’t keep travelling backwards and forwards to check that the eggs are safe, they might be noticed. We protect the eggs until they begin to hatch. When a shell begins to crack, we send it home so that its parents can be there at the birth.”

  Lodren leaned forward and whispered, “But how do they know which egg is which? I mean, all eggs look the same, don’t they?”

  “Oh, not at all. If parents have more than one child they can recognise which is which, can they not?” asked Faylore.

  “Well yes, I suppose so, but we’re talking about eggs, not people,” said Lodren.

  “But you must understand Lodren that to a dragon, no two eggs look the same. Those two eggs actually look as different to a dragon as you and I do to Grubb.”

  “That’s fascinating!” said Lodren. “I’ll never look at eggs the same way again. To think of all the chicken and duck eggs I’ve cooked over the years, and they all looked the same to me.”

  “That’s ’cause they were, ye prat! It’s only dragon eggs that are different. Weren’t ye listenin’?” sighed Grubb.

  “That’s easy for you to say!” exclaimed Lodren. “They’re not your babies. What about all the mommy birds? I bet the eggs don’t all look the same to them.”

  Grubb pretended to bite his fist in order to contain himself.

  “I think we’re straying a little from the important part of this conversation, Lodren…” said Faylore, once again acting as mediator, “… the subject of how we intend to reach Thedar.”

  “Yes, sorry, Your Majesty, please continue. Got a little carried away I think.”

  Grubb began to laugh, “Oh, you’re going to get carried away alright, just you wait and see. Carried away faster than you’ve ever been carried before, and much warmer too.”

  “What do you mean faster and warmer? Faylore, what’s he talking about? Ooh, are the dragons going to take us on their backs? That would be faster.”

  “But it wouldn’t be very warm, would it? Flying through the clouds above a land covered with ice?”

  Lodren scowled at Grubb, “It was only a guess,” he said.

  “Well, it wasn’t a very good one,” replied Grubb.

  “Come with me, Lodren,” said Faylore quietly, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “There’s something I want you to see.” She began to stroll away and Lodren hurried to her side, sliding his arm under hers as if he was terrified that she would attempt to escape.

  “What is it, Faylore? What are we going to see?” he asked.

  “If I tell you, it will spoil the surprise. Be patient for a few minutes,” she replied. “Trust me, it’s worth the wait.”

  They wandered through the brightly-lit caves for what, to Lodren at least, seemed an age. His height was proving to be a bit of a disadvantage. Occasionally, a dragon would cross their path and completely obscure the way ahead, causing Lodren to duck or stand on tiptoes in order to see either under or over the obstruction. Not once did it cross his mind that dragons were far too honest to hide anything, and far too big. A small space to one of them was a medium-sized field. It had taken no more than ten minutes for them to near the spectacle that Faylore had intended to show the impatient little Nibby. Suddenly, he stopped. “What’s that noise?” he asked. In the distance, there was a faint gurgling sound.

  “Come along…” said Faylore, “… nearly there.”

  Their pace quickened and the noise grew louder, resembling the sound of rocks being ground together in a giant machine. Lodren noticed that there were far more dragons here than he had seen together before, at least a dozen in fact. Their demeanour was also different. Clos
er to the entrance they seemed very relaxed, almost lethargic. Here they seemed far more purposeful and focussed on whatever they were doing. Exactly what that was, Lodren was yet to discover. As usual, it was only a matter of seconds before Lodren’s eyes glazed over and the huge silly grin appeared on his face as he watched the numerous wyrms before him.

  Faylore nudged his shoulder gently and pointed at one of the dragons. “Watch what she does now,” she whispered.

  When they had first encountered the lone dragon, it had its back to them and for a brief moment, Lodren could have sworn that it was singing. He could hear no words, only a distant melodious cooing. The dragon began to turn slowly as it detected their presence, and only then did Lodren realise why this particular behemoth was behaving in such a peculiar manner. Cradled within its huge, clawed hands, was a freshly-laid egg. Lodren let out a huge sigh and was inexplicably drawn toward, what he assumed to be, the proud mother. To witness a Nibby five-feet-tall approach a dragon thirty-feet-tall that was holding one of its young would, to anyone else, sound like the beginning of a tale that would not end well. Many times, Faylore had held a dragon egg as its mother looked on and she now watched Lodren in a similar way. As Lodren stood at the dragon’s feet, it actually reached down to him, proudly displaying her egg.

  Lodren reached out and stroked it gently. “We’ll all be seeing you very soon,” he whispered.

  The dragon walked away and Lodren followed, eager to see where her egg was to be put. As he walked, smoke began to drift across his path, thickening with each pace and burning his eyes.

  “That’s far enough, Lodren, if you go much further, we’ll be sweeping up your ashes,” called Faylore.

  “Sorry!” exclaimed the startled Lodren, suddenly coming out of his trance. “Didn’t realise I’d gone this far. Where is this anyway?” he asked, looking around him.

  “You were headed for the Fenn Immar,” replied Faylore.

  “I thought that was where we were supposed to be going.”

  “Not yet,” replied Faylore, “and definitely not without some scales and an eggshell.”

  Lodren had no idea what Faylore meant by this, and undeterred, resumed his line of questioning, “Where’s she taking her egg? Can we see? Are there any baby dragons here?”

  Faylore, realising that there was no way the Nibby could be fobbed off, grabbed the shoulder of his tunic and marched him toward a natural crack in the cave wall, a rough incline that led upwards, parallel with the Fenn Immar. “You can see all you need to from up here, Lodren,” she assured him.

  As they climbed, the scene with which they were greeted was awesome. The molten river seemed endless, skirted on both sides by dragons of all colours and sizes, each holding an egg or attending to one that they had already placed in the magma. The Fenn Immar was the fiery causeway on which the eggs would travel, the greatest trust being placed in the hands of the Thedarians, who would nurture them on behalf of the dragons until they were almost due to hatch. Lodren tried his best to not even blink as he looked on in wonder, but a thought crept into his mind as he studied the scene below. Dragons existed in this environment, heat was not an issue but, a Thedarian, a Vikkery, a Nibby and a pony did not. How were they expected to survive a journey across this river of fire?

  Advising Lodren to mind his step, Faylore left in search of Thelwynn. The Nibby stood in awe of the scene below him and was about to begin his descent when he noticed something that seemed much further away than the cave could reach, but glowed far brighter than any of the jewels embedded within its walls. Lodren held up his hand, physically plotting a course toward the mystery as he waggled his finger in mid-air. He headed down the rough slope, a fervour in his inquisitive Nibby-nature renewed by his mysterious discovery. He weaved between dragon’s legs as they crossed his path.

  Apologising profusely, he would bow hurriedly before spinning around and resuming his course, only to repeat his actions just a few yards further on. He could now feel the ever-present throbbing in his chest far more intensely than he had so far, and it was obvious to him that his new-found interest had something to do with it. Suddenly, he was facing a tunnel. How he had not seen it before was a mystery to him, when he tried to look down it, the brilliance of the light in the distance made it impossible for him to keep his eyes open for more than half a second. He held his hand up in front of him to shield his gaze from the light’s intensity.

  “Hypnotic, isn’t it?” asked the voice.

  Lodren immediately felt an overwhelming sense of contentment. No thought troubled his mind as he stood smiling dreamily down the tunnel. He was no longer covering his eyes, but stared quite openly into the comforting light before him.

  “I think that’s long enough for one so small,” came the voice once again.

  Lodren was bathed in shade by the immense figure standing before him. It was Thelwynn.

  “Terribly sorry, Thelwynn,” chirped Lodren. “Didn’t see you there. Was there something I can help you with?”

  Leading the way, Thelwynn guided Lodren back to Faylore, the smile on the Nibby’s face immoveable.

  Seeing Lodren, Faylore turned her inquisitive gaze toward Thelwynn.

  “Merrent Barndull,” he whispered.

  “Ah!” said Faylore, nodding knowingly.

  CHAPTER 11

  Yello waved his staff across the doorway. Dawn was breaking and neither of the Gerrowliens had seen nor heard any more of the hissthaar. Lawton had insisted on taking first watch, switching with Poom in the early hours and allowing the old wizard to sleep soundly throughout the entire night.

  “You should have roused me. I was more than prepared to take my turn,” Yello protested.

  “What was the point, old chap? After all, your lot are bad enough during the day, what would you hope to see at night?” asked Lawton.

  “That’s not the point and you know it.”

  “Listen, Yello,” said Poom, reassuringly. “There was a point, that point being that it would be pointless you staying awake because you wouldn’t be able to see anything at night. It’s morning, we’re all okay, thanks to your magic and now it’s time to leave. You did your bit, and we did ours.”

  Lawton and Yello looked at one another. Yello opened his mouth, but before he had time to speak Lawton shook his head vigorously, closed his eyes and held his hands out in front of him. “Don’t…” he urged, “… just… don’t.”

  Yello shrugged his shoulders and chuckled. Stepping into the cool morning air, he stretched himself and gave a loud yawn. “How shall we do this?” he asked. “Should I go on ahead and you catch up, or the other way around?”

  “I think it best that you go on ahead, Yello. Don’t you agree, Poom?”

  “Couldn’t care less to be honest, just make a decision…” called Poom, “… and do hurry up, we haven’t got all day.”

  Yello looked at Lawton and smiled. “See you later then,” he said and, tapping his staff on the ground three times for effect, vanished.

  “Right, he’s gone. Now what are you really going to do with that?” asked Poom, pointing at Tamor.

  “What do you mean, what am I going to do with it, I mean, him?” replied Lawton.

  “Well, surely you’re not going to follow that old loony for the next two hours carrying a dead king on your shoulder?”

  “Yello is not a loony. He is a little eccentric, I’ll give you that, but he’s not mad. Furthermore, old pal of mine, King Tamor is not dead.”

  “He’s doing a bloody good impression of it then. He hasn’t so much as twitched since yesterday. Look, easiest thing, we dump old nearly-dead in the river, catch up with the world’s wobbliest wizard and tell him we lost the king. We’ll just say we must have dropped him somewhere along the way and it would be pointless to go back for him as he’d probably be dead after being left on his own.”

  “Or better still, Poom, old friend, we could tell him that the king suddenly got better and ran off into the forest, heading for home,” suggested Lawton,
sarcastically.

  “I take it you don’t like my idea then?” snorted Poom, indignantly.

  “I’ve heard better… from lunatics!” exclaimed Lawton.

  “In that case perhaps we should make a start. We don’t want to keep old-wobbly waiting, do we?”

  “Do not make the mistake of letting him hear you call him that, Poom. I dread to think what he might turn you in to, something intelligent perhaps.”

  Poom began to laugh, “I don’t think that would be much fun do…” His laughter ceased abruptly as the penny dropped and he scowled at Lawton. Snatching up his spear, he bolted forward. Lawton slung the unconscious king gently over his shoulder and a few seconds later, he too sprinted away leaving the devastated Cheadleford behind.

  The Gerrowliens were roughly halfway to their meeting point with Yello. Poom had travelled ahead, acting as scout and ready to alert Lawton of any obstructions or dangers. He was now crouched in a patch of tall grass, waving his arms frantically, indicating that Lawton should approach with stealth. Lawton crept across the ground, his chest and stomach mere millimetres above the earth as he silently joined his friend. Poom pointed at his own eyes, instructing Lawton to look, and then signalled toward a ridge in the distance. Lawton studied the spot that Poom had indicated and immediately saw the band of hissthaar, but he was completely confused by the fact that they were out in broad daylight. Lawton heard a voice. It was not the hissing, high-pitched voice of a hissthaar but a deep eloquent voice that, by the tone, was used to giving orders.

  “My friends. As you can see, we mean you no harm. Take me to your chief, your leader. If you do not and he discovers what opportunities have passed him by, he may punish you, and I’m sure you don’t want that.”

  Poom crept closer in an attempt to get a look at the hidden stranger. The hissthaar swayed from side to side, making it difficult for Poom to see. He could see its legs, which ruled it out as being from another hissthaar tribe. Luminous green skin that could mean any one of a dozen races, the voice spoke again, “My name is Ramah…”