Caleath finds himself in the Dragon's lair. He must free Dragonlair Island from the ghost that haunts it, so the refugees who travel with him can find sanctuary.
When he woke he didn’t know if he’d slept for a day or a week. A fire burned with unnatural intensity, keeping an immense cavern warm. An ambient light softened shadowed grottos. The glow gave the chamber an atmosphere that offered comfort and security, but proffered no indication of time.
Enigma nickered as Caleath looked around getting to his feet with lassitude.
“Hey old fella. You are all right?” he enquired moving to check on the stallion. Someone supplied sweet meadow hay and a measure of grain and chaff for the horse. A recessed hollow filled with fresh water as it trickled down limestone walls and ensured a constant supply for the animal.
The reek of sorcery made Caleath’s hair stand on end but despite the ethereal saturation of magic on the island he could not maintain his habitual fear. He splashed water on his face and ran damp hands through unkempt hair. The tactile pleasure of being warm and dry was euphoric.
“Welcome Deathbringer, eat and drink while we talk. You and I have much to discuss.”
“Archimage Orwin Tallowbrand, Dragon’s bane? I have accepted your hospitality. Would you show yourself?”
Caleath felt a tremor in the warm air that filled the cavern. He spun around but didn’t catch where the figure emerged.
The ghost of Tallowbrand stood robed in white. His figure boasted features of a tall middle-aged man. A neat beard and tidy hair framed a face looking out on the world with patience and compassion. Caleath expected a darker demeanour and some resemblance to the Dread lords he remembered.
“Thank you. I admit it is disconcerting trying to converse with a voice in my head. I appreciate any effort such manifestation might take,” Caleath said, before he seated himself at a table laden with plates of roasted fowl, steamed fish and baked venison. Combined with smaller platters of fruit, aromatic cheeses, crusty fresh bread and a chilled pitcher of wine he found enough food to feed a crowd. “I appreciate the gesture,” he said indicating the food.
“It is my pleasure. I have been waiting for too long.”
“So you keep saying.” Caleath took his dagger and sliced a portion of venison as Orwin hovered nearby. “Why exactly is my arrival important to you?”
“You are the key to my freedom, Deathbringer. I am imprisoned within these walls.”
“This is where you disappeared to after Sharyac’s demise?” Caleath asked with confidence. “How? Wasn’t the last battle between you and the Dragon Lord fought at Sharyac’s Tor?”
“Ahh, is it important for you to know? I am not comfortable reliving those days even now.”
Caleath shrugged, “Then no, I would not pry. There are places in memory best left alone.”
“Suffice to say I was corrupted by Dragon’s blood and shared their lust for gold, betrayed by a colleague’s lust for power…” Tallowbrand added without embellishment. To Caleath it seemed the spectre appreciated his discretion.
“A trait to which many humans succumb. Not all survive as spirits in as good form as yourself, though …for two thousand years.”
“Has it been so long?”
“Apparently. No one bothered you here? Did you want to be completely alone?” Caleath chewed the venison, savouring the succulent flavour.
“The Dragon’s curse. No one has been able to break its thrall. Hence your arrival is important. You may be able to break the spells binding me here and keeping others away.”
“I knew there would be a catch. You are called Dread lord, yet you cannot undo the magic?”
“I am dead, boy! There are limits to what Magic I can do even now.”
Caleath nodded, glad to find the sorcerer showed some vulnerability.
“Then what do you need from me? What do you offer in return?”
“I offer the island for those who are depending on you. That is what you came for isn’t it?” Tallowbrand replied with confidence. “I know you will not pass on an opportunity to save them.”
“I have made no attempt to hide my mission,” Caleath responded. “What do you want from me?”
“You must pass through the Dragon’s seal and retrieve one single piece of Dragon’s gold from the hoard. That is all.” Tallowbrand’s words echoed around the cavernous chamber with ominous clarity. Caleath knew the simplicity of the task could be misleading. He recalled the horror Dom Jaykan experienced when an image of a dragon appeared as an omen.
Essence of doubt spread through him, triggering a shudder of apprehension and fear. He knew he would make the attempt, as surely as Tallowbrand. For the bandit exiles there would be no other option. If he failed in the effort they would face the Tarack alone.
Draining the last of the rich red wine that stained his glass like fresh blood, Caleath nodded.
“I agree. What do I do now?”
“I will take care of the Dread lords’ spells, Caleath. Do not fear their magic going wild, this much I am able to guarantee. The rest will be up to you. Follow the light, it will show you the way. You will not see me here again unless you succeed. Good luck.”
Caleath tried not to feel ill as the sorcerer’s presence dissipated and the cavern seemed to shrink as light coalesced into a tight incandescent ball.
With a glance to ensure Enigma remained safe, Caleath checked the sword at his side. Taking a deep breath he stepped into the halo of light that radiated from the hovering orb. As soon as he approached the sphere began to move away, keeping out of reach as he followed.
“HUMAN! YOU DARE DISTURB SHARYAC’S LAIR?”
Caleath froze. Light evaporated as he plunged into total darkness. Only after images of illumination played havoc with his attempt to see into the void.
“My name is Caleath. I am on a mission and must do what I came to do. If this disturbs the lair, I apologise but I will continue.”
Caleath gasped as the ground beneath his feet fell away and his body became suspended in a mordant abyss. Weightless and blind he tried to struggle.
While able to breathe, his muscles refused to move. Panic welled up inside his chest but he swallowed fear. Closing his eyes he concentrated on slowing his heartbeat. He had suffered enough sorcery to know when resistance proved futile and patience became a necessity.
“Others have come before you and failed human. ‘Caleath.’ You will be tested and when we find you unworthy your body will be disintegrated and the remains will be as mites of dust.”
“That’s your threat? Death? I am familiar with Death and it doesn’t shake my determination to succeed.”
“Why have you come?”
“I am here to free the Dread lord Orwin Tallowbrand. He has been held prisoner here for too long.”
“TALLOWBRAND!”
Caleath became suddenly aware of every nerve in his body. Each pain receptor simultaneously stimulated. The exercise was repeated again and again. He could do nothing but scream, until his throat grew hoarse and muscles in his neck cramped from the strain. He hung in limbo, tortured unforgivingly for a lifetime.
As abruptly as the torment began the pain stopped.
Nerve endings twitched sympathetically as endorphins surged around his body and nanobots tried to correct over-stimulation.
“Why do you not beg for mercy?” the dragon’s voice hissed venomously, showing neurotic disappointment.
“Mercy? Mercy is a human condition, not draconian. I wouldn’t waste my breath.” Caleath gasped, preparing for another bout of inflicted pain.
“You think you know how our minds work, human?” the draconian voice asked. “How presumptuous.”
“It makes no difference to me. You are long dead, I am living and I will not leave until I have achieved my goal.”
“You are not trained. You cannot use sorcery. How do you think to defeat us?”
“I will not break. You may try forever, I will last longer.”
“You would do this for a dead wizard?”
“No.” Caleath answered with honesty. “I do it for other reasons. They do not concern you.”
“You think!” The sibilant accent snapped. Caleath braced against the onset of pain but instead his mind was assaulted by an ancient overpowering presence, which seemed to suck the air from his lungs and marrow from every bone.
He shook like a leaf tossed into the electrified air of a storm, as every shred of memory and knowledge was stripped from his mind. It seemed a myriad of amber eyes examined his brain, to dissect all memory, thought by thought.
Although not painful the sensation caused nausea. Discomfort increased with every gasping breath. No reaction rose from the Dread lords spells, although Caleath passed beyond caring for anything but an end to anguish.
“You do not come seeking our gold? How is this possible human? All who have reached our shores have come to steal our treasure!”
Caleath did not react. He really did not care what others wanted with the dragons.
“However, you think to inhabit this island the evil wizard has haunted for so long? Do you think it possible the Dread lord is trustworthy? Did he warn you of the witch? Foolish human, your noble sacrifice is pointless. We will laugh until our bellies ache when your people fall prey to his malevolent spells.”
“He gave his word.” Caleath argued with a hapless groan. He wondered if the Dragon lord knew more about the seemingly sincere sorcerer than met the eye.
“Of course he did. It suits his purpose. How do you think he defeated Sharyac? Fool. Your life of suffering will be ended without final farewells from your beloved Il’thane, Rhiannon or even a memorial on Rampart 6. You have lost everything in an attempt to save the lives of a few worthless humans, barely a meal’s worth. Who will lead the fight against the Tarack queen when you are dead?”
“Then it won’t matter if you show me how to break the seal? Will it, if I am going to die anyway?
“The seal? It is already broken, because you come not to steal our gold. You will die, human, sacrificing your miserable existence for your horde of helpless humanity.”
“Does it have to be this way? Is there nothing I can do to alter your way of thinking?”
“You have nothing of value, Human but the ability to amuse. It’s a theme through your life, isn’t it? You suffer pain to entertain others. Dread lords included. You should have learned your lesson. Now you will provide amusement for Dragon lords. There is nothing you can do, fool, but suffer.”
“You can’t kill me!”
“You think the tiny creatures in your blood will save you? Think again human. We will drain every drop out of your body before you die.”
“Then the wizard wins!” Caleath argued desperately, preparing for an adverse reaction to mention of the Dread lord. “The seal is broken and he will be free of his prison. No one will even try to stop him from working his Magic. What of Azriel? What has the witch to do with his fate? You are playing into his hands,” he pointed out patronisingly. “Dread lord one: dragons nil. You would even kill me saving him the effort. His ghost has limited power, now, once free what will he command? I am your best chance of destroying him forever!”
“What do you say? Little man, how would you destroy a Dread lord?”
“I have already killed two, or did you miss that morsel of my memory?”
“Why help one now?”
“Needs must. Even a draconian reptile as yourself must recognise my need.”
“You think insults will help your cause?” The voice reverberated through the void. Caleath winced feeling the febrile touch of mage power. With a feeling of dread he struggled to move, wasting energy in a futile struggle, as two sharp talons pared the skin at either wrist. “You are going to die. Yours will be the ultimate sacrifice, Deathbringer. Can you feel life seeping out of your veins? Struggle all you wish, there is nothing you can do.”
“Cowards!” Caleath groaned, realising the awful truth as warm blood flowed up his arms, defying any law of gravity.
“Now there is an insult. How dare you insinuate we are cowards? Never did a dragon refuse a fight.”
“Then I challenge you or your corporeal embodiment to a contest. Or are you afraid? I have been a ‘dragon slayer’ in my time.” He didn’t elaborate on the virtual properties of the dragons he dispatched. The dragon accessed his memories. It was not up to him to be literal.
“You want a quick death? Who is the coward now human?”
“Is there a reason you won’t accept a challenge? Not even one from a coward?”
“Your death is a surety.”
“If I lose. If I win, do you die? Are you afraid of dying, when you are already dead?” Caleath taunted desperately, trying to slow the beating of his heart.
“No single human has fought a dragon and won, Deathbringer. Not in ten thousand years.”
“Then you risk nothing. Fight me!”
“Very well, human. Since you insist.”
The impact of being suddenly dropped from suspension, the alteration from weightlessness to hitting the ground with a bone-crunching thud, left Caleath writhing. He scrambled to recover control of his muscles and staunch the flow of blood from his wrists, as a pale green light seemed to spread from walls reaching into the furthest cranny. It cast a dull gold patina across the uneven and peculiarly irregular surface beneath him.
The light was dim, gelid and nauseating but illuminated the grotto where he fell. The ground moved like quicksand dragging him downward as he struggled to get to his feet. Finding all effort futile, he searched the darkness for a dragon, sensing rather than seeing a huge beast move towards him.
Scrabbling to climb out of the morass he felt the texture of the ground in his hands. It was not dirt but all things gold. Cold hard coinage, sharp jewelled ornaments, weapons of all design, daggers encased in ornamental sheaths, pendants, furniture, candelabra, crockery, cups and goblets. Untold wealth piled high around walls. A hollowed out stamping ground in the cavern’s centre resembled a gilded nest.
The dragon’s hoard proved to be as unstable underfoot as the deep dry sand of a dune. As Caleath tried to extricate himself from viscous wealth, he could hear the sibilant hiss of dragon’s breath. He turned his head and watched the creature enter the grotto behind him.
Much larger than he imagined, a reptilian head snaked through the entrance, as a forked tongue tested fetid air and tendrils of acrid smoke dispersed from flared nostrils. Caleath looked into empty eye sockets, sensing a void that extended all the way to the Pits of Hell.
Nothing in virtual reality prepared him for the creature whose rapacious attention focused on his snared body.
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When he woke he didn’t know if he’d slept for a day or a week. A fire burned with unnatural intensity, keeping an immense cavern warm. An ambient light softened shadowed grottos. The glow gave the chamber an atmosphere that offered comfort and security, but proffered no indication of time.
