You can bake ham in honey? The rat nodded, and Spot gave a low rumble. I want some too!
The feast went on for a long time. The large hall was filled with laughter, singing, and people telling stories. Spot listened in between bites of fabulously flavourful food. Most of the stories were about dwarves from long ago, but there was one story about a dragon. He didn’t sound very nice, but he had been very big. Hopefully, Spot would get very big too. Eventually, somewhere between eating honey-baked ham and grilled mountain trout, he decided that he liked the dwarves. They were loud and rowdy, but they had plenty of good metal and lots of good food. The dwarf who had been bringing him food was really nice too, and he’d been happy to tell Spot all about the food he brought. Beside him, Chomp had decided to take a nap, something he usually did once he was full. Lots of the dwarves seemed to like Chomp, and they were talking about studding him for some reason. He didn’t know what that meant, but he hoped it wasn’t bad. Otherwise, he might have to eat some of the dwarves. With his stomach a lot fuller, Spot wanted something to drink. Water was good, but he’d noticed his mother drinking a lot of something during the feast, so he asked her what it was. Maybe he could have some too.
“This?” his mother tilted her mug at him, so he could see the fluid inside. It didn’t smell like juice or wine. “It’s mead. Do you want some?”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” the twerp asked. Spot pitied her. She hadn’t been able to eat nearly as much as him, and there was so much great food right there. But humans had much smaller stomachs than he did, and she was pretty small for a human too. Hopefully, they could save some of the fried quail for her. He was sure she’d like it. “What if he gets drunk?”
“Drunk? He’s part corruption dragon. He can’t get drunk.” His mother took another sip of her mead. “Or maybe he can… hey, idiot!” she shouted. “Can Spot get drunk?”
“Probably not,” the idiot said. “But do you really want to take the risk?”
“Ah, let the laddie try some.” It was the same dwarf who had been serving him throughout the feast. “He fought well today. Let him enjoy a good drink like any other warrior.”
Spot nudged the dwarf with his head. He liked this dwarf. A bowl full of mead was set down in front of him since his claws weren’t good for holding things like mugs. However, he had noticed a few changes in them recently that might make it easier to hold things in the future. Slowly, he bent down and drank some of the mead. He trilled happily and fought the urge to flap his wings. It’s good!
“Good?” one of the dwarves nearby banged his mug down on the table. “It’s better than good! That’s the finest dwarf mead in the world! Good! Hah! It’s the best!” He got up and eyed Spot closely, moving his hand back and forth in front of Spot’s face. “Hmm… you’re handling it well.” He grinned. “I’ve never faced a dragon in battle before, but this seems as good a time as any! Let’s see how your stamina is, little dragon!”
Little? Spot bristled. Do you want to fight? He wasn’t about to lose to some dwarf in a fight. He might have a lot of growing to do, but he had his pride as a dragon. If this dwarf wanted to fight him, then Spot would show him how strong he really was.
The dwarf laughed and waved his hands. “Not that kind of fight, laddie. I’m talking about a drinking contest. A man should be able to hold his liquor. Let’s see if you’re a man… or a boy.”
Spot tilted his head to one side. I’m a dragon.
“I know that.” The dwarf laughed again. “But… ah… how do I put this?” He emptied his mug in one long sip and then turned his attention back to Spot. “It’s like this, laddie. We’re on the same side, so it’s not like we can kill each other. Instead, we’re going to see who is tougher by seeing who can drink the most before passing out. Do you understand now?”
Spot nodded. He liked competitions, especially those that involved eating or drinking things. The only person who could ever beat him was Sam, and he wasn’t here right now. Okay!
“That’s the spirit.” The dwarf raised his fist into the air. “Listen up!” he cried as the dwarves around them fell silent. “I, Kerin Bronzefang, have challenged this dragon to a drinking contest!” Cheers rang out, and the dwarves began to stamp their feet and clap their hands. “No dwarf has ever beaten a dragon before, but today might just be the day!”
Spot grinned toothily. This might be his first drinking contest, but he wasn’t going to lose.
Kerin called for mead to be brought over, in a mug for him and in a bowl for Spot. He raised his mug toward Spot and drank the entire thing in one go. “That’s one, laddie. Let’s see how high you can count.”
Spot finished his bowl of mead in one go as well and bared his teeth. One.
An hour later, Spot had apparently been declared the champion, and Kerin was slumped onto the table, snoring. Spot smiled as he was given the spoils of victory: more food and drink. He could get used to this.
“Okay,” the idiot said. “I think it’s safe to say he can’t get drunk, which is a good thing because having a drunk dragon in the middle of a hall full of people sounds like an awful idea.”
“I told you so.” His mother smiled warmly and scratched his chin. “Good work, Spot. You showed them.”
The feast gradually began to wind down, and Spot followed his mother and some dwarves to where they would be staying. Chomp was with them too, and the dog yawned as he found a nice spot by the fireplace to sleep. Spot nudged his mother with his head, and she gave him another scratch on the chin.
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t chew on my hair.”
When his mother went to bed, he climbed in beside her. He wouldn’t always be small enough to do this. He knew that. But that was one of the reasons he liked to do it while he still could. She was warm, and the smell of her was comforting. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, Chomp’s rhythmic snoring the only other sound in the room except his mother’s breathing and the sure, steady beat of her heart. For some reason, he dreamt of a star falling from the sky, except somehow it felt familiar. He smiled and curled up to his mother. She was so much warmer than most people. Stars were made of fire, and dragons loved fire.
* * *
As the others slumbered, Amanda walked alone and unseen through the halls of Cavernholme. It had been a long, long time since she’d set foot inside this city. The others had feasted merrily – Spot, in particular, had taken to dwarf cuisine with gusto, eating enough to impress even the dwarves – before retiring for the night. She, however, did not need to sleep as much. Ancients seldom slept, save for the decades-long slumbers they indulged in from time to time. Nor had she eaten as much as they had. Vampires could eat regular food, and many liked to from time to time, but she could only eat so much of it when she wasn’t in her true, eldritch form. Blood was her fare, and it had been that way for centuries. Cloaked in darkness and illusions, she walked until she reached a place she knew very well.
The Halls of Memory were a sacred place to the dwarves, a place where the memories of their past, both the great deeds and the great sorrows, were forever immortalised in stone for all of their descendants to remember. She walked until she found a familiar carving. It depicted a lone woman atop a mountain of goblin corpses as a young dwarf with a crown was led away. Yes, centuries ago, when the goblins had launched their great offensive, Everton had not been strong enough to repel them. Yet they had tried – she had tried.
Alas, the goblins had not been alone. They had been aided by eldritch powers, and she had still been carrying grievous wounds from the pivotal battle against the empire. Even with her powers, those wounds had taken years to heal, and she had been far from her best when she had rushed to the Broken Mountains to aid the brave but hopelessly outnumbered dwarves.
She had arrived to find the dwarves already in full retreat as one of their outlying cities was overrun. She had held the goblins back as long as she could, slaughtering hundreds, perhaps even thousands of them, before she had been forced to retreat by gob
lins that had somehow been able to channel eldritch powers capable of harming her. The king had died, but his son had lived, and the dwarves had never forgotten what she’d done for them. This carving had been made to immortalise her actions, and she had later fought to retrieve the king’s body for a proper burial. He had been a friend, that long-dead king, and he had deserved better than to have his body torn to shreds and thrown onto the mountainside for the birds.
“I had wondered if you would come here. I wasn’t sure if you were the one the stories speak of, but when I sensed your presence here, I knew. Only she would linger at this place.”
Amanda revealed herself and turned to Barin. The king was sombre despite the festivities they’d enjoyed only hours ago. His thoughts had likely already turned to the future, to the battles the dwarves would have to fight simply to survive. Heavy was the head that bore the crown. “It has long been said that none may walk the halls of this mountain without the king’s knowledge. I am glad to see those words still ring true.” She looked around. “Yet to wander without an escort… Your Majesty, that is a dangerous thing.”
“I have my magic,” The king replied. The metal in their vicinity shivered in response. “And if you wanted me dead, I doubt an escort would help against the Bloody Councillor.”
“An interesting name although the woman you speak of would surely be dead by now.”
“If she was human, yes, but vampires live much longer – and being a vampire would certainly explain some of her bloodier feats.” Something that was almost amusement tugged at his lips. He was well acquainted with his people’s history, it seemed. “And she would only have grown more powerful since then.” His gaze drifted to the carvings. “My family owed you a great debt even before today, and although we dwarves are famous for never forgetting a grudge, we don’t forget our debts either.”
“Indeed. But you already know why we are here. War has come again, and Everton stands threatened once more. Will the dwarves stand by our side as they did long ago?”
Barin sat down on one of the stone benches nearby. The king’s powerful frame was weary. “Rid us of these damn goblins, and we’ll gladly fight at your side again. As it is, my people cannot commit forces to the war against the empire with the goblins poised like a knife at our throats.” He looked to where another set of carvings was being made. “Diamondgate was perhaps the mightiest of our fortresses, yet the goblins were somehow able to take it. The horde you slew today was but a portion of the force that assailed Diamondgate. Worse, I fear we may have been betrayed, for even such a force should not have been able to take Diamondgate before we could march to relieve it. The only other alternative is…”
“That the otherworldly powers the goblins serve have stirred once again.” Amanda tensed. “Those same powers were strong enough to drive back even members of the Council although they were hardly at their best in the days just after the First War.”
“Yet here we are.” A smiled tugged at his lips. “And I must say the aid you brought was most appropriate.”
“There is a saying,” Amanda began. Her lips curved into a smile as she remembered an old, dear friend who had delved into the secrets of the dead. What a cheerful fellow he’d been. He’d have gotten along well with Timmy although his love of bright colours might have perturbed the Grand Necromancer the same way Katie’s love of pink did. If only he hadn’t fallen in the final stages of the war, then perhaps the tragedy of the dwarves could have been averted. “That you should never get into a battle of attrition against a necromancer. I believe the goblins are about to find out how true that saying is.”
“And a Grand Necromancer at that,” Barin said. “Aye. I know who he is. There are few dwarves that don’t. He might be a necromancer, but we dwarves have dealt with him before. He has purchased metals and other materials and devices, and he has always paid up front and in full. Such men are rare in these troubled times, and he has never marched his forces against us.”
“He wouldn’t.” Amanda rose as another memory surfaced. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. Can we continue this conversation later? There is somewhere I wish to go.”
“Ah.” He got to his feet and nodded solemnly. “They are where they have always been. We keep things in good order. I doubt you – of all people – will need a torch, but if you want one, there should be some near the entrance. If you use one, return it when you are done.”
Amanda watched the king walk away. Was it the fate of everyone who lived this long to be forever looking backward? Perhaps it was only natural. Her past had only grown in length over the years. It would also explain why so many ancients went insane. With a heavy heart, she made her way to the royal crypts. The newer names were unfamiliar to her, so she kept walking until she found the names she sought. Grandfather, father, and son – all had been dear friends. The grandfather had fallen on the plains of Everton in the final, cataclysmic battle against the Eternal Empire. He and his royal guard had all perished, but they had died well. She had found their bodies surrounded by hundreds of the empire’s elite troops, along with a dozen of their Lords of Magic.
The father had fallen to the goblins as they had swarmed the outlying cities of the dwarves. Their sheer numbers had done what skill alone could not. It was in those dark, turbulent days that the dwarves had started calling her the Bloody Councillor. The son had died years later, an old dwarf in his bed after spending his entire life stymieing the goblins’ advance. He had been a practical dwarf, able to recognise that retaking their lost territory would not be easy. Instead, he had opted to shore up their defences and wait for a suitable opportunity rather than attacking recklessly and losing everything. She had been with him at the end, and she had been glad that he had not lived to see his grandsons squander his life’s work with pointless offensives that had won much prestige but cost far too many lives without establishing long-lasting gains.
“We will take it all back,” she promised them with a whisper. “As we would have all those years ago if Brandon had not fallen.” Brandon had been a member of the First Council, and the only one of them to be a necromancer. His dark arts had proved pivotal to the war, but he had fallen at the hands of the emperor himself. Yet he had been avenged, and the power he had forced the emperor to expend had proven vital to wearing the absurdly powerful ruler down enough to strike a killing blow. If Brandon had lived, the goblins would never have gotten so far. “Your lives were not given in vain. Once more, I promise you, the banner of your people shall fly atop the mountains east of here, as it did in the old days.”
Chapter Nine
Spot walked alongside his mother, the twerp, and Chomp with a big smile on his face. Unfortunately, not everybody liked his smile as much as his mother did. He’d asked the twerp about it, and she said it was because dragons had lots of very big, very sharp teeth. Apparently, that scared people. Spot huffed. Scared of some teeth? People were weird. Showing plenty of teeth was the only proper way to smile. How else was he supposed to show people he was strong and healthy without showing off his teeth? Never mind. There must be something wrong with them. They must be jealous of how awesome dragons were. His mother had said that, so it must be true.
The twerp had come along after the idiot had asked her to keep an eye on them. Spot couldn’t understand why the idiot was worried. If they ran into any trouble, they could easily fight their way out of it. He and Chomp were pretty tough, and his mother was even tougher. Anyone who started trouble was going to regret it. Maybe the idiot was sending the twerp along, so they could watch her while he talked to the king about stuff. The twerp wasn’t weak despite being small. If anyone needed watching, it was the paper pusher. But he was with the people eater, so he should be fine. It was also nice having the twerp around. She didn’t mind when he asked questions, and she was good at explaining things in ways he could understand. It was a pity Rembrandt had to come along too. The rat could be kind of mean sometimes, and he didn’t like explosions as much as the demolition rats. At least Bramante and som
e of the demolition rats had come too. They always had the best ideas even if they didn’t always get the chance to use them.
What’s that? Spot pointed one claw at a hole in the ceiling high above them.
The twerp squinted. Oh, right. Her eyes weren’t very good, which was why she had to wear glasses. Spot didn’t need glasses. He could see better than anyone except his mother. “That’s a ventilation duct. You see we’re deep inside the mountain, so it’s hard to get fresh air. If you aren’t careful you can suffocate.” Spot nodded. That seemed like a good idea. Back home, he’d explored some of the caves with Sam where the air was very still and smelled funny. The horror had told him to be careful since unlike most creatures, Sam and his kind didn’t need to breathe whereas Spot did. “So what the dwarves do is make tunnels for air to flow through. It’s quite ingenious. They use a combination of artifice and magic to bring new air in from outside while moving old air outside. That way, there’s plenty of fresh air, and the inside of the mountain is more comfortable to live in.”
Do they only have one? Spot didn’t think it would be good to have only one. Things broke all the time, sometimes for no reason – like the vase that had somehow broken while he had been playing with Chomp. It had mysteriously broken, and the idiot had warned him to be more careful before using magic to fix it.
“No. They have lots of them.” The twerp paused. “Most of them are harder to notice than the one you saw, and the places that bring air in from the outside are hidden. You don’t want people throwing things into the ventilation ducts or crawling through them. There are records of goblins sneaking into cities through ventilation ducts, so the dwarves have ways of closing them off. They always have people defending them too.”
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