The Dragon Ring (Book 1) (22 page)

Saxthor realized Yamma-Mirra Heedra was dying. It was strange, but he felt sorry for the dragon. It dawned on him he’d destroyed a thing of unimaginable power, yet he pitied the creature as though he were a kindred spirit. Saxthor stepped inside the crystal-encrusted cavern and faced his defeated – but not dead - enemy head-on.

“I’m truly sorry, Great Dragon.”

Yamma-Mirra Heedra raised his head, his breathing shallow and labored.

“Take out the ring from your pocket, Prince Saxthor.”

Saxthor jerked upright at the deep-voiced command.

“How does a dragon I’ve never seen before know of me, much less an old, broken ring in my pocket?”

Shaken, Saxthor took out the ring that glowed sympathetically with the blue fire of Yamma-Mirra Heedra’s eyes. As the dragon’s strength ebbed, the brilliance of his eyes and his golden plating dimmed. Saxthor watched as the dragon dissolved into reddish-bronze fire, his eyes into blue flame.

Shocked, Saxthor dropped the hot ring.

The dragon’s flames drifted over the floor and disappeared into the ring as if smoke sucked into a draft. When the flames were gone, Saxthor stared at the ring glowing blood red before cooling into gold. The blue fire filled the once vacant cavity in the ring’s crown. As he watched, the ring’s metal reformed as entwined dragons, one on each side of the flame. The claws, horns, and ears held up a brilliant, deep blue topaz that radiated the blue fire of the dragon’s eyes. The dragon and ring were one.

“So that’s what I was supposed to find on Tixos,” Saxthor said. “Memlatec hoped I’d discover my inner strength. I could only gain real courage if I faced my worst fears.”

Hesitant at first, he slid the ring on his finger. Its warmth radiated through him.

“I have the strength and courage of Yamma-Mirra Heedra. No threat is as terrifying as the fear that grows in its anticipation. I’ll not question my own strength again.”

*

Bodrin saw a man come out of that cave where a boy had entered. Saxthor said nothing, but stood straight, shoulders back. There was no slumping or hint of self-doubt. A most peaceful look of confidence showed on his face. Bodrin had never seen such a calm self-assurance there before.

“Is it over, all that rumbling inside, and the smoke?” Bodrin asked.

Saxthor smiled but volunteered nothing.

“Are you going to tell me anything?”

“Yes, it’s over,” Saxthor said. He looked down, fondled the ring on his finger and smiled. Resignation and sadness infused his melancholy expression.

“That’s not the same ring?” Bodrin asked. He felt his eyes bulge as he stared at the gold dragons that held up the most magnificent, radiant gemstone he’d ever seen.

“We’ll camp in the tunnel tonight where we can have a fire and hot food,” Saxthor said. He gazed out over the valley.

“Is that all you’re going to tell me? You’ve changed from a caterpillar to a lion, and you’ll only say where we’re to camp? What happened in there?”

Saxthor turned to Bodrin.

“It’s a frightening yet wonderful thing to face yourself. That’s Memlatec’s gift.” He turned away and again looked out over the valley at something not seen that brought him peace.

Bodrin stared at Saxthor for a moment, and then realized that was all Saxthor had to say. In his frustration, Bodrin jerked up some equipment and started to move it into the tunnel. Saxthor followed with more.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be mysterious,” Saxthor said. “Were it not for you, I wouldn’t be here. Give me a bit of time to sort out all that’s occurred. I’ll share the story with you later.”

“Better than nothing, but don’t take too long figuring it out.” Bodrin picked up the last of the gear and handed it to Saxthor. “Whatever was in there, it must’ve been serious to have left you like this.”

“It’s good.”

Frustrated, Bodrin pinched his lips. He shook his head and went into the tunnel to start a fire.

“Let’s rest if you’re through spouting profound thoughts. We should get away from here as fast as possible in the morning.”

With that, they cooked, ate, and went to sleep - Saxthor soundly, Bodrin still grumbling.

11: Return to Tixumemnese

Habbernee and Loyalty of Friends

At dawn, Saxthor and Bodrin climbed back down the mountain, much of the time riding the sliding mantle of rock rubble. Bodrin groused, yet Saxthor seemed unaffected by his surroundings. Hoping it would make Saxthor divulge more of his story, Bodrin sulked, but Saxthor’s calm retrospection held.

“We need to hurry back to the old general,” Saxthor said. “I hope he’s still where we left him. Maybe Tournak has returned by now and is taking care of him.”

“Let’s go back by way of these other two mountains. We don’t want to run into something coming after us.”

Saxthor was compliant. They moved along a sort of footpath through the rock and scrub over the middle mountain’s face and then along that of the left most mountain.

“Stay close to the mountain-side. The inset and the brush on the outer edge should provide more cover in case someone’s hunting for us and searching the slopes from below.”

“What an exposed and vulnerable situation,” Bodrin said. “With this straight rock wall on the inside, and the steep slope on the outside, we’re boxed in. We can’t hide if we run into anyone or anything.

It’s midday and we’ve hiked for two days. Let’s stop up ahead to rest and eat before the path widens. The lone, scraggly tree provides the only shade up here.”

Saxthor studied the tree. “Those tough, twisted roots, and wind-strained branches reflect a determination to survive despite unending hopeless conditions.”

Bodrin poked his studious friend. “The gnarled features remind me of old Memlatec.”

As they ate, a sudden racket boomed out. Saxthor spotted more debris tumbling down the hillside. On a ledge above, stood two piles of rock --
that moved
.

“Did two stacks of rocks move?” Bodrin asked. “They moved, didn’t they?”

“I think so.”

“How can they be part of the mountain?”

Saxthor and Bodrin exchanged glances.

“Rock-dwarves!” Saxthor said.

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Choppy, labored movements revealed more rock-dwarves mined the peak and dumped the rubble to spill down the slopes. How could we’ve missed all the movement until now, Saxthor mused.

“I thought dwarves weren’t supposed to be in daylight,” Bodrin said.

“The Dark Lord made these things. I guess it’s the real elemental dwarves who can’t be out in the sunlight. Maybe Dreaddrac’s king gave these some protective covering,” Saxthor said.

“What’ll we do?”

“Socockensmek told us stories about rock-dwarves,” Saxthor said. “I wish I’d paid more attention. He said they were among the Dark Lord’s earliest living creations. They’re supposed to be stiff and simple-minded. Their dull, slow but strong movements make them good for mining, stone cutting, smelting of ores, and forging weapons.”

“Now we know they exist.” Bodrin dodged a stone that careened down by him.

The boys observed the endless stream of dwarves as they shuffled forward to dump their baskets of rubble over the ledge. Rockslides caused plummeting chips to shower the area around them. They dashed to shelter against the path’s granite side. A dislodged boulder toppled down and smashed into the tree where they’d crouched a moment before. The old tree trembled. Groping roots, ripped up by the impact, flung dirt and rocks in all directions. The doomed tree clung to the mountainside with only two remaining roots.

“You Okay?” Saxthor asked.

Bodrin nodded. “The rock dwarves must’ve caused the hammering we heard coming here. From the amount of loose rock below, I’d say the dwarves have hollowed out half the peak. Their mining ore and forging weapons would explain the rusty slime in the stream we crossed.”

“We’ll have to go back and around the mountains before they spot us. Stay alert and keep quiet.”

They hastily packed up and retreated toward the middle Highback. The trekkers walked straight into a fully armed cohort of orc soldiers marching up the trail, cutting off their escape. The noise of falling rubble had masked the rattling armor.

“Stop!” an orc said.

“No place to run,” Bodrin said.

Outnumbered by a dozen, the adventurers surrendered. The orcs prodded them with spears. Satisfied the boys offered minimal threat, the orcs led them to a causeway and over a moat hidden from view from below. The guards passed the band through the gate and to the rock-dwarves’ captain in the fortress’ entrance hall.

The reception hall was a vast cavern carved from the solid rock with a domed ceiling three stories high. The floor, walls, and ceiling were undecorated. A stone table served as the captain’s desk. Only the entrance and a single passageway down into the mountain broke the reception chamber’s monotony. Rock-dwarf guards stood stiff and blended in around the hall.

“Search them,” the orc’s sergeant said.

The few things of interest to the captors were Saxthor’s ring and the boys’ swords. The ring in particular caused quite a stir among both orcs and rock-dwarves.

“What you got on your finger?” the captain asked. He pointed to the glowing jewel. “A dragon? We don’t likes dragons.”

Before the orcs could make Saxthor give up the treasure, defiance replaced his initial fear. The ring resonated with Saxthor’s rebellious energy. Its glowing intensity increased exponentially. When an orc grabbed Saxthor’s hand and touched the ring, the prince’s sudden anger unintentionally focused and ignited the dragon’s power within. A blue bolt flashed from the ring’s Celestial Fire Topaz, incinerated the orc sergeant, and exploded the rock-dwarf commander in a shower of gravel. Both orcs and rock-dwarves jumped back stunned. They stared at the ash and rubble.

“Cripes!” Bodrin gasped. “How’d you do whatever you did?”

“I’ve no idea, but let’s not stay here trying to figure it out.”

With the soldiers caught off guard, the boys snatched their swords. They turned back toward the gatehouse exit, but the attendants had pulled up the oak drawbridge.

“Quick, this way,” Bodrin said. He bolted for the only opening available, a tunnel that led down into the mountain. The ring’s flash gave Saxthor and Bodrin a moment’s head start and they raced for the aperture.

“Yeah, this is where the hammering noise we’ve been hearing comes from,” Saxthor said. They continued to descend. “The pounding from some of these side tunnels is deafening. They must be making weapons.”

“Heat from the forges is getting hotter. Probably doesn’t bother rock-dwarves, but I’m tiring fast,” Bodrin said. He poked his head in each passageway as he searched for one going upward. The pale green radiance from Sorblade and firelight from the forges provided minimal illumination in rough-hewn shafts. They half stumbled, half felt their way along the walls.

“Let me go ahead, Bodrin, I have the sword’s glow. The few burning torches are so far apart you can’t make out where we’re going.”

“Low light isn’t slowing the rock-dwarves. You hear stone grinding?”

“Probably rock-dwarf’s joints, they’re catching up to us.”

“Cripes!” Bodrin said. “The noise of hammering metal or banging rocks comes from all the side tunnels. This can’t be the only passageway leading up. We’d have run into the dwarves taking out baskets of rock by now.”

“Keep going; take any tunnel trending up.”

They went deeper into the warren until the tunnel leveled off. The boys passed three openings on the right that led to a massive gathering hall.

“Must be their armory,” Saxthor said. “They’ve stacked lots of weapons, swords, shields, and the like along the walls.”

“No time to investigate, they’re too close behind. If we get out of this, we have to warn Memlatec.”

Saxthor felt his face flush and rubbed sweat from his eyes.

“We’re going deeper into the mountain,” Saxthor said. “I’m having trouble breathing in this heat and dust.”

“We’ve got to get out of here or find some place to rest if only for a minute,” Bodrin said.

Saxthor’s heart pounded. “We can’t keep going down.”

“The rock-dwarves are catching up. We gotta go faster.”

Their eyes having adjusted to low light, Saxthor and Bodrin rushed along the corridor. They gained some distance on the slow but steady stone guards, whose joints crunched and ground behind them.

“I can’t stand the temperature and smoke much longer,” Saxthor said. He coughed, sweat rolled down his gritty face; his clothes were wet, and even Sorblade seemed too much weight to hold up. Exhausted, they stumbled more.

The tunnel widened and two opposing side passages branched off before the main shaft again shrank and continued. Saxthor investigated the hot, rough-hewn passageway on the left, going down a sharp decline with heat and smoke rising up. Bodrin checked the opening on the right.

“This one turns up. I don’t hear any hammering or mining sounds, but no light’s coming from the other end. Sheath Sorblade and come this way,” Bodrin said as he took the lead again.

They ducked into the corridor’s darkness and felt their way along the rough-hewn walls until finally the corridor widened into a cool, visually impenetrable chamber.

“If we can’t find an escape, we’ll have to go back to the main tunnel,” Saxthor said. “I hope the dwarves and orcs haven’t caught up. We don’t want to be trapped in here with no way out.”

“They’d kill us after you zapped their leaders,” Bodrin said - “Cripes!”

“What’s the matter?”

“I tripped over something.”

In the pitch black, a moan rose from the floor. They froze-- the voice was human.

“Who… who are you?” Bodrin asked.

“Help me.”

“No time for chatting,” Saxthor said. “The rock-dwarves will be coming back searching side tunnels any minute. Your voice is familiar, who are you?”

“I’m a prisoner. Save me,” the dry, cracking speech whimpered.

Though the rock-dwarves and orcs were nearby, Saxthor drew and lowered Sorblade. The pale light revealed a heavy iron chain holding a thin, ragged captive to the wall.