The Dragon God (Book 2) (19 page)

“Don’t touch it, Trillius.”

He stopped short, with his hand in grasping distance,
“You said I could have the treasure.”
Suddenly, a thought struck him,
“Wait, are you the pearl?”

The powerful voice, sounding stronger and much closer, answered,
“I am greater than the pearl. Rescue me, Trillius, and the pearl will be yours.”

Suddenly, several kelpies entered the room. Trillius darted behind a rock; the fishlike beings did not spot him as they dutifully set down treasure trinkets taken from
A Pinch of Luck
as the raid continued. The gnome spotted a distinct handbag being set down,
“Hey,”
he thought,
“that is my bag of goodies. Nobody steals what I have already stolen. That is just plain rude!”
They soon exited. Trillius approached his stolen satchel but became
distracted, and instead rushed to an area bathed in a blue aura on the opposite wall. A patch of barnacles were the source of the mystical light. Trillius inspected it and soon realized that it wasn’t the crustaceans glowing, but instead something underneath. He pulled out a knife and began to pry the shelled parasites away. The glow became brighter and a stone the size of a potato plopped into Trillius’ tiny hands, and spoke in his mind.

“Very good, Trillius. You are now my master. I have great resources for you to uncover, and as a gift you shall be rewarded. Go back to the pearl and take it.”

Trillius quickly hustled to the prize.

“Before you take this pearl, you must promise me that you will not tell anyone else about me. I’m your secret. If anyone finds out, then you will lose my power.”

“I understand. You can count on me. I’m the king of secrets.”

“I knew I chose the right gnome to find me. I’ve waited here for centuries for someone like you, Trillius. We will be good friends.”

Trillius grinned happily and plucked the pearl from its perch and then swam out the way he came.

“So, you’re a stone, huh? Do you have a name?”

“I am the Great Dal-Draydian.”

T
he heroes’ frosty breath became more pronounced as they slowly made their way deeper into the ice-crusted tunnel. Each deep intake of air chilled them to the bone. Frost particles began to gather in their hair. They took careful steps to prevent sliding and falling as they traversed. The blue-hued glaze cracked periodically as it expanded.

Spilf’s voice echoed and his teeth chattered, “We are going to freeze to death before we reach this place.”

Dulgin looked back and said, “You’ll be fine, Stubby. Strike up another torch to regain your strength before we move on.”

“Master Dulgin, what should we be expecting up ahead?”

“We are in the funneling zone. A common tactic of dwarves: funnel the enemies into smaller numbers. This is only one tunnel of many, so I suspect we will come out into a larger chamber that connects them all, and then the front gate of the Shield will soon be before us.”

Spilf ignited the torch, and the flame fought to stay alive within the hostile environment devoid of much oxygen. “So, this is not the only way to the Shield then?”

Dulgin nodded, “It would be doubtful your family came this way without an escort.”

Spilf and Bridazak sat on top of their backpacks and brought the much needed warmth to their hairy bare feet, the stabs of a hundred needles pricked through their tough, leathered soles as a small measure of
defrosting started to take effect. A form of ecstasy engulfed them as the countering effect of the intense cold was soothed. Bridazak glanced down the cavern in the direction they were headed and spotted movement. He instantly stood and alerted the others.

“I saw something.”

The ice tunnel was clear from what the others could see. “What kind of something?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see anything now.”

Dulgin continued to stare in the underlit path ahead of them and then whispered, “This place feels strange; something is not quite right.” Then he growled a command as he turned back to his friends, “Let’s get a move on.”

The light in the passage soon became brighter, and as the tunnel seemed to open a bit, the ceiling displayed frozen bubbles of captured air, and a strange static sound like a muffled rushing wind resounded in the distance. Several pillars of ice came into view ahead of them.

“This place is beautiful,” Bridazak whispered. He marveled at the discernable change from the ice tunnel to the natural beauty of this frozen, light-blue ceiling, rippling beyond sight. This dazzling place reminded him of Heaven, which harbored glory itself. Bridazak thought to himself as he looked up in awe,
“I’m so grateful to be able to see this. Thank you for the chance to return to Ruauck-El and see more of its splendor.”
Everything he now saw was a reminder of what awaited him, and what he left behind. He calmed his mind and pushed the feelings of regret away.

They passed several of the naturally formed columns, and then Spilf spotted something out of the ordinary. “What is that?” he pointed to a pillar to their left, moving closer to investigate the oddity. He suddenly noticed an outlined face frozen inside, eyes white and mouth agape. Spilf gasped, “There is someone inside!”

The group approached. Abawken wiped away the coating of frost around the encased face with his forearm. “Is it a dwarf?”

Dulgin responded as he stepped closer to inspect, “I can’t quite make sense of this. There’s no beard, so this is not a dwarf. Though its stature would indicate—”

Bridazak cut him off, “What happened to him, Dulgin?”

“I don’t know,” he responded as he glanced overhead, focusing on the smooth rolling ice pockets. Suddenly, a large shadow whisked by on the other side. His eyes widened in horror, “Move!”

An ear splitting crack echoed around them as a jet of water broke loose above Bridazak and splashed around him. The water instantly froze, entrapping him inside. Abawken withdrew his magical scimitar and touched it against the frozen block of ice as he uttered a command word to release the power held within, “Esh!” An intense countering heat rushed out, and the icicle column collapsed, freeing the dak. Bridazak, gasping, started to fall, but Abawken caught him and began to drag him away from the area. More splits of the ice ceiling were heard and more water tumbled to try to ensnare the group. Dulgin and Spilf reached the section of the tunnel where the dangerous water bubbles no longer lay waiting, and they turned to wave Abawken and Bridazak to safety. Another water spout crashed beside them in a near miss. Ice chips crackled and shattered around their feet as they hurried. Abawken was almost to them when another split occurred. He slung Bridazak ahead and the ordakian slid into Dulgin and Spilf. Abawken raised his sword up to counter the ice tentacle zooming toward him, “Esh!” Hot and cold water splashed over his body as he dodged out of danger and joined his friends.

“What was that?” Spilf asked frantically.

“Ice Pikes,” Dulgin answered. “The frost dwarves raise the monstrous fish to help them combat, or in this case trap, intruders. We were under a river. I never thought my father’s tales of them were so accurate.”

Spilf shyly posed, “If that wasn’t a dwarf trapped in the ice, then—” he hesitated.

Bridazak placed a hand on his friends shoulder and slightly nodded his acknowledgement of what Spilf proposed; the long-trapped soul had been an ordakian.

“What if that was one of my parents? If it wasn’t, then how could they have made it inside such a treacherous place as this?”

Dulgin stepped forward, “We need to find out what has happened here. None of this is right, but I feel it in my dwarven bones that was not your family, and the truth of the matter is close at hand. You need, we all need, to keep the hope we have alive.” Dulgin looked intently into Spilf’s eyes, which were glassy, “You are more dwarven than you think, my friend. You have the heart of a warrior. You only lack the beard. We stand together, all of us, with you.”

Spilf was shocked at Dulgin’s words, and could not respond. He looked to the others, to Abawken and Bridazak nodding in agreement; they were with him all the way.

Tears slid down his cheek as he said, “Thank you, all of you. I’m ready.”

Dulgin looked back at the Ice Pike chamber and said, “I always thought my dah’s stories of this place were tall tales.”

“Well, I suggest you start remembering everything your dah told you, so we don’t run into any more surprises,” Bridazak said.

“If his stories are true, then we have some mighty fine dwarven ale awaiting us,” Dulgin smiled.

“Not sure how that information will help us any,” Spilf said.

Dulgin smacked the dak on the shoulder, “It’s called motivation, Stubby.”

Dulgin’s understanding of dwarven tactics proved dependable. The heroes emerged into a massive ice cave, as he had suspected would be the case. Dilapidated wooden war machines littered the outskirts. Piles of large boulders sat waiting to be hurled at invading enemies, but were now covered in layers of ice. Ballista contraptions, once used to impale intruders coming in from the tunnels, now lay in ruin. Beyond the grand ice arena was another cave with a brightness akin to the outside sky illuminating the entrance.

“What happened here?” Bridazak asked.

No one offered any response as they all took in the sight of the vacant strategic defense, now in shambles.

After the group had worked their way further into the mess, Dulgin observed, “There are no bodies, no melee weapons, no indication of a battle—nothing.”

A howling, frigid wind and the sound of rushing water erupted from the broadly expanded opening before them. They approached with caution; the ground was layered in blue ice like frozen ripples of water. The roar intensified as they slowly made their way into the cavity that twisted back and forth in huge sweeping turns. The effect of Spilf’s torchlight lessened as the bright outdoors came into view. They stopped to take in the incredible panorama.

The towering waterfall cascaded, roaring like a hundred dragons. The liquid was frozen on the inside, creating a spectacular crystalline effect of
various sized icicles linked together. Fresh cold air whipped through, and blue, open sky was visible to the heroes. White-capped mountain tops were seen in the distance. Snow swept off the peaks as gusts of wind propelled the loose shavings into the air to form slow motion clouds.

The wide walkway arched around the breathtaking scene and there before the heroes stood the entrance to the Kingdom of the Frost Dwarves; the Shield.

Dulgin announced, “Welcome to Te Sond.”

The Dwarven structure, as massive as the waterfall they had just walked behind, was formed from the mountain itself, coated in the same blue ice they travelled upon. An emblem of a round shield covered the center of the monstrous double-door. To open an entrance of this magnitude would take several giants, and to break it down would take just as many dragons.

Dulgin said, mesmerized, “The architecture is flawless.”

“How does your kind make such things as this?” Spilf asked, clearly impressed.

“Legend says that the dwarves of old traded for the services of a great mystic to help create their kingdom.”

“That must have made quite a dent in their pile of gold,” Bridazak said.

“If we can’t protect our gold then it is pointless to hoard it.”

Standing at attention along the far wall were five statues depicting dwarven warriors. Each one stood eight-feet-tall, and had been chiseled from the rock cave. They stood proudly holding their weapons and shields by their side. Beards, frozen over with icicles, draped down to their chests. Helmets with spikes, horns, and nose-guards adorned their heads. The bland color of rock did not detract from the craftsmanship and detail of these battle-hardened frost dwarf heroes.

Spilf studied the monumental door with Lester and Ross while the rest of the party gawked over the inanimate objects of decoration, craning their necks to fully take in their features.

Bridazak called from his frozen position, “Did you find anything, Spilf?”