EPIC: Fourteen Books of Fantasy (380 page)

“You think Laughless was not mighty?” Slowly Tyermumtican began to shrink, his scales forming back into skin, and soon the gnome called Laughless stood before us, his eyes as milky white as before, but now matching our gaze. “Power comes not just from size, Ren. Every one of us has power of a sort, and power is power. Axiomatic though that may seem, it is true.” Tyermumtican shrugged his gnome shoulders, holding out a pudgy hand. “Do you think I could walk into Stonehaven as myself, instead of wearing this guise?”

“No,” I answered. “The reaction of the gnomes aside, I have seen the gates. You could not fit.”

“So Laughless could go where I could not. Further, Laughless could more accurately gauge the intent of those who approached my lair, to discern their true intent—theft, trade, or peace. Thus, Laughless has a unique advantage over me, having a skill that I do not. In the right circumstances, Laughless, that blind, ancient gnome, is more powerful than I could ever be.”

It made sense, but his case seemed to be entirely theoretical. “Unless you need to go somewhere only a kobold can go, then I doubt I have more power than you do.”

Tyermumtican’s gnome face became an impish smirk. “And what makes you think I couldn’t appear to be a kobold?”

I threw up my hands. “Even more reason!”

He laughed, the dragon in gnome form seemingly overcome with mirth, but then the amusement slowly evaporated from him.

“Ren, I know it can be hard to see, but there is some truth in what I’ve said. Someday you’ll discover that there’s a power within you that’s more than you are now. Your friend is too stupid to do anything like that, but you…I sense something about you. I sense you are destined for great things.” A sad edge filtered into his tone. “And great pain.”

“Pain?”

“This is the curse of all those who bear great power. Each of us suffer our burdens, and those are stones we carry until we are dead. The greater our strength, the more weight life stacks on our backs.”

I stared curiously at Tyermumtican, his frail gnome form matching my gaze. “What pains could a dragon possibly bear?”

I had expected mockery or for Tyermumtican to have some clever way of showing how stupid I was, but I got something else. “Do you know why they call me Laughless?”

I shook my head. “I thought it was just a name for your gnome-face.”

“Laughless was what the gnomes called me, what I called myself to them. Names have meanings, Ren.” His tone became wistful. “I knew a gnome once. The most beautiful female I’d ever seen…witty, charming, and with a disarming smile. Her name was Embermoss. Despite our obvious differences, I fell in love with her.”

“Love?” It was a strange word. Definitely draconic, but not one I’d heard before. The root word meant
close ally
, but it was conjugated in a way I had not seen before. “What is love?”

Tyermumtican smiled at me and, despite his kindness, I had the distinct impression that he was grossly oversimplifying the matter, as one might do when talking to a hatchling. “Something stronger than any magic. A force that, if nurtured and grown, can overcome any adversity, survive through any hardship. A power as immortal as stone itself.”

He was talking down to me, but I still didn’t understand. “So dragons are love?”

He laughed, a loud, shaking boom that seemed so strange coming from such a frail creature. It reminded me of the dragon within.

“Ren, you are adorable. No, love is many things. A feeling deep within you. It is knowing that you care for someone, care for them so deeply and utterly that you are, in a way, a part of them. If that love is returned, it is one soul inhabiting two bodies. A friendship set on fire. Two hearts beating as one, possessed with a profound longing for each other.”

“Possession. As though, from a ghost? Or a daemonic force?”

“Some might say that the feeling is somewhat similar to being haunted or having a raging demon within, yes. But it is a good feeling.”

I did not see how having a pit-spawned monster or a vengeful spirit sharing space within my body could ever be considered good. “If you tell me it is so, Tyermumtican. What happened after you were possessed?”

 
“After I was…
possessed
as you say…Embermoss and I talked for hours on end. We told jokes, riddles, rhymes. We made each other laugh. Few can keep up with a copper dragon when it comes to humour, but she was ever my equal. Better, perhaps. We eventually married.”

“What is married?”

“It means permanently mated to one another and only each other.”

I frowned. “Permanently? To one partner? What about the genetic diversity of the community or the potential for one partner to die before the other or—”

Tyermumtican held up his stubby gnome hands. “Ren, please.”

I fell silent, and he continued.

“We married, and we conceived a child. I was, of course, in the form of a gnome—but younger, with a full head of hair.” He seemed pleased at the memory, and I studied him intently. “We raised our child as well as we could, teaching her all that we together knew, which I assure you was quite a lot. We named her Chime, for the sound of her easy laugh, and she grew to be strong, eventually leaving us to wander the world to see what we had spoken of. Embermoss and I shared a life together.” The dragon’s voice cracked as he spoke. “Her life.”

I shuffled my claws on the stone. “Tyermumtican, how many years ago was this?”

“Three hundred years since Chime left for the surface. More or less.”
 

“So Embermoss is long dead of old age, then.”

Tyermumtican closed his milky gnome eyes. “Her grave is deeper in my lair. And Chime would now be dead, too. Her children, if she had any, would be as old as this body—or dead too. The day Embermoss died, the day that one soul inhabited one body again, was the day my laughter left me. This is what I mean when I speak of burdens.”

I was not comfortable contradicting a dragon, especially so often as I had been. “But you do laugh. I’ve heard you laugh. You did just before.”

“Of course. I am what I am, and I find joy in small things. But nobody can make me laugh as she did. Laughing until it hurts. Laughing until you think you’re going to die from lack of air, laughing at something so ludicrous and impossible it comes alive and renders you completely helpless.”

“Why would anyone want to be helpless?”

Tyermumtican shook his head, his face falling. I struggled to find meaning behind his words but I knew I had failed to grasp the point of some subtle but important lesson.

“I just don’t understand,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. You have amused me and brought back many memories, which makes me happy.” He shifted, then turned back to me. “Thank you for the visit, Ren of Atikala, but I feel that it’s time you and your friend departed.”

I lowered my head, biting down on my lip. I had not learnt who I was and had gained nothing except a vague sense of confusion. I had heard lessons I didn’t understand either the content or purpose of. “As you wish,” I said, “but where do we go?”

“With Atikala destroyed, I suggest you head towards Ssarsdale. I’ll wager you will find your cousins there accommodating.”

“We had the same idea,” I said, “but we were unsure as to the way.”

He seemed to anticipate this response. “Perhaps I can assist then. Truly, you will find the journey perilous as you will have to cross the surface, but I can provide you with a map that will allow you to avoid many obstacles.” He gave me a warm smile. “And if Six-Legs bothers you on your way, just tell him that you travel under my banner. That should send him scurrying back to his dung-filled hole.”

The memory of the spider sent a shiver down my spine. “You know of Six-Legs?”

“I
made
him Six-Legs.” Tyermumtican licked his lips. “Dragons can eat almost anything.”

Chapter XII

I
SAID
MY
GOODBYES
TO
Tyermumtican, confused by his lessons and replaying what he had said over in my head. Very little of it made sense to me, but at least we had his map. How he had come by enough parchment and ink to create such a thing was a mystery to me, but dragons often had rare and valuable things in their hoards. I cradled his gift in my arms as we walked, reluctant to open it and break the beautiful wax seal that held it closed, an image of Tyermumtican’s gnome face crafted with more detail than any mundane artisan could possibly create.

Khavi had not said a word since Tyermumtican commanded him not to speak, but as soon as we were out of earshot of the watery lake, a torrent of speech burst forth.

“That vicious monster broke my sword. Bent it in half, chomped it up, then crushed me until I couldn’t breathe. I whacked it as hard as I could, right on the buttocks, but my sword just bounced off. That’s the power of darkness, I tell you. Of evil. What a wicked, cruel, monstrous beast. The things that the elders told us about their kind were true; that dragon got some sick glee out of taking my weapon first, making me watch, helplessly, as he tormented us. Didn’t you feel disgusted having to talk to him after what he did?”

Khavi’s anger was understandable, but I was too caught up in my thoughts to placate him. Instead, I just said what I felt. “No. Honestly, I just feel mostly confused.”

“Confusion.” Khavi nodded sagely, vindicating some inner thought. “Coppers have the tongues of devils, Yeznen told me. They trick you, confuse your mind, twist around your thoughts until nothing you think is your own anymore. That’s how they beat you. We should get rid of that map, by the way, it’s probably a trap.”

Khavi made a grab for the scroll, but I pulled it away. “You’d destroy it without even reading it?”

“It was made by a copper dragon.” Khavi stared at me as though I were missing some obvious fact. “It can’t possibly be useful.”

“I happen to think it is. I don’t think Tyermumtican would lead us astray or to our doom. Why would he?” I cradled the scroll close to me protectively. “He had ample opportunity to kill us if that’s what he wanted.”

“Don’t remind me,” groaned Khavi. “But I do think we should get rid of the thing. Leading us in circles could be his idea of a sick joke.”

I did not think that likely. “We’re keeping it. It’ll show us to the surface.”

Khavi glared at me, his eyes pulsing with an angry ruby hue. “You think you can make these kind of decisions for the both of us?”

I wrinkled my nose and glared right back at him. “I’m the patrol leader. This isn’t something you have any say over. I’m in charge, and that’s that.”

I could see the struggle of Khavi’s training, between blind obedience to orders given by legitimate authority and the venom towards Tyermumtican’s kind our teachers had poured into his ears. “We’re putting our lives in the hands of an evil dragon. We’re trusting everything that we have to a liar. This isn’t right. The dragon is playing a cruel trick on us, taking us for fools and leading us to a much more horrible fate than simply being torn to shreds by his claws.”

“I didn’t get that impression at all.”

“Well, perhaps you need to open your eyes and look around you.” The hate in his voice startled me, and I stopped walking. Khavi wheeled around to face me. “Ever since we left Atikala you’ve been…
different
.”

Everything had changed. Our world had disappeared in the blink of an eye, and now it was just the two of us. Things weren’t different, they were completely foreign. “Of course I have been. Think about what we’ve been through; you’re acting differently, too. More angry. More impulsive.”

“I would say that I’m acting with a clarity of vision that you lack.”

There was a challenge in his words, a direct attack upon me that I couldn’t ignore. I glared at him, straightening my back as best I could. “You’re a warrior. You’re not trained to see beyond the length of your sword—”

“A sword I don’t even have anymore.”

“Then find something else to fight with. I don’t care.”

Khavi stepped to the edge of the tunnel, rapping his knuckles against one of the tunnel walls. “What, shall I bludgeon our enemies to death with rocks now?”

“What am I, your blacksmith?”

“Fine,” said Khavi, pointing to the sword on my belt. “Give me the rapier.”

“What?” I’d only held the weapon for a short time, but it was now unmistakably mine. I couldn't explain the connection but imagining it in Khavi's hands seemed very wrong.

“I said, give me the rapier. I’m the stronger fighter, and you have your spells. It makes tactical sense.”

Some part of me agreed with Khavi, but I shook my head. “It’s mine.”

“
Yours?
” Khavi hissed. “Since when do kobolds own things?”

“Sorcerers are permitted keepsakes—”

“Which is a stupid rule, especially out here when that blade is best put into my hands for the benefit of both of us!”

“I’m the patrol leader, and I say that the sword stays with me!”

Khavi snapped his jaw shut and glared, burning me to death with the heat of his eyes. “Some patrol leader you are—going to get us both killed for nothing.”

I pointed down the tunnel. “Move,” I said. “Take up the lead position while I read this map.”

For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to obey me, but he spun around and began stomping down the corridor, his feet making enough noise for anyone who cared to listen.

I would have to wait until his rage played out before I tried to discuss this with him rationally. Sighing heavily and trying to put the exchange out of my mind, I broke the seal of the map.

It was as detailed a work as I had ever seen. A myriad of tunnels, winding and interlocking, spun themselves all over the surface of the parchment. The same design, with much less detail, had been on the gnomish map, but this one was written in draconic.

Atikala, nestled snugly underneath a city labelled Stonehaven. To the west and down, Six-Legs’s lair was meticulously detailed, every twist and turn exactly as I remembered it. From Tyermumtican’s den stretched a thin golden line, weaving through tunnels towards a small cave opening leading to a flat plane I could only presume to be the surface. From there the path meandered across the surface before disappearing into another cave, diving down a series of tunnels until it led to a green dot. Ssarsdale.