The Lake of Death

19

“Couldn’t mind your own business, could you?” The dwarf nicknamed Campfire shook a stubby finger at Ragh. “Couldn’t stay out of our tunnels. Couldn’t stay away from our property!”

“Look, you little hairy nuisance, you don’t own these mountains,” Ragh sneered, “and this pool is…”

“Priceless, and all ours,” Campfire continued.

“It’s nothing I’m particularly interested in at the moment,” Ragh returned. At the back of his mind the sivak wondered if Dhamon might be interested, though. Those ceramic jars filled with dragonmetal would be a prime addition to the lair. “I don’t care about your dragonmetal. I’m looking for Feril.”

“I don’t believe you.” Campfire waved his pick menacingly. “This pool, it’s not the only little pool of dragonmetal in these mountains. There are two more similar nearby. Nearby and mapped out by us, ready to drain—when we’re all done with this one.” He thumped the haft of the pick against his callused palm. “We just gotta be getting us some more jars is all, but we’ve ordered them, and they’re coining. See, we have another partner, and he’s bringing jars, a wagon and bearers right now. The bearers are for the jars that won’t fit on the wagon. Got us a buyer, too. We’re going to be richer than anyone could possibly imagine, so much wealth we won’t live long enough to spend it all. That’s what Feldspar says, and we don’t intend to share a bit of it with a sivak and a Kagonesti.”

Ragh gauged the dwarf as an easy mark because of his small size and relative youth—likely he was inexperienced with fighting. The sivak knew he could take the dwarf easily, but what about Feril? What was happening to her? Better to stall a little; meanwhile, he could get some more information out of the dwarf, information about the dragonmetal. Because no matter what he told the red-haired dwarf, Ragh was very interested in the dwarves’ discovery.

“Tell me this, Campfire. How did you stumble on this great discovery, just plain luck?”

The red-haired dwarf beamed. “Feldspar and Churt, they are the real geniuses. They were mining these mountains elsewhere and found an old, old map. Feldspar’s awfully smart, and he managed to translate some of the ancient writing on it. That led us here, to this old, old castle, sunk into the hills. The map said the dragonmetal was hidden in chambers below. It took some looking and digging, but eventually we found it. The map was right.”

“So this was once a Solamnic stronghold, is that it?”

Campfire shook his head. His eyes were wild and suspicious, and his knuckles were gripped white against the pick handle. “Nah. Older than the Solamnics, and it’s dwarven construction to be sure. Priceless, these pools are, and a secret you won’t be sharing with anyone. Dead sivaks can’t talk.”

He rushed at Ragh. Effortlessly wielding his long-handled pick, the red-haired dwarf darted in and out, chopping at the draconian. One of his first swings struck Ragh, the tip of the pick sinking into the draconian’s arm. The sivak cursed. Crouched over, the sivak had a hard time maneuvering in the cramped chamber.

“You filthy stump!” The draconian spat fiercely, edging around. “Dirty little lump of flesh.” The pick was hard and sharp and had cut through to bone—a painful wound to be sure. “I didn’t want to hurt you, dwarf! Now I got no choice.”

“Hurt me, hah! Who’s hurting who?”

“No, I had no real reason to before, but I’m going to kill you now!”

The dwarf laughed. “Here’s some more reasons!” Young and nimble, Campfire skittered away from Ragh, who was shuffling awkwardly, darting in again, swinging. Again he struck the draconian, this time only grazing Ragh. “I’ll be the one who’s doing the killing, just like Feldspar is probably busy finishing your elf-friend—wherever they are. There’s no way he’ll let her live. Can’t risk it. Can’t share this. Hope he hasn’t found her yet, and that he needs my help. I’ll enjoy killing the both of you. We’ll let your bodies rot in the upper tunnel and keep our secret safe. We’re not sharing this precious dragonmetal with anyone.”

Ragh growled. “You have no idea what you’re playing with, dwarf!” The sivak glanced at his shadow, inky black and shimmering in the light from Ragh’s blue globe. The shadow had started to flow away from him. He glanced around the small chamber, knowing that in his dragon form Dhamon couldn’t fit inside the small place and wondering what was going to happen. “You’ve no idea what you’ve started! Campfire, you have no…oh, wonderful. Wonderful timing.”

The quaking of the mountain started again, fiercer than before, the rumbling loud. Ragh could hear support beams splintering. There was a horrible scraping of stone against stone as huge slabs of granite shifted and slid around.

“We have to get out of here, you stupid lump!” Ragh screamed at the dwarf.

The single-minded Campfire showed by the set of his jaw that he was intent on slaying the sivak. “Our mine will hold!” he hollered, swinging his pick again and again, ignoring the stone and dust raining down and churning up everywhere. “We’ve braced it well here. Not even the gods could bring it down!”

“Don’t tempt the gods, you stupid dwarf!”

Again the pick sank into Ragh’s shoulder, and the sivak cried in genuine pain. “You greedy stump! You’ll kill us both by your stupidity.” Ragh dropped below the dwarf’s next swing, then bolted up and thrust his arms out. His talons coated in dragonmetal were unnaturally sharp and strong, and they dug into Campfire’s chest. Ragh tore at the dwarf’s flesh and pierced his heart.

“I told you I didn’t want to kill you!” Ragh muttered, gasping for air and blinking furiously, trying to wipe the stone dust out of his eyes. His globe of light had been dropped, but miraculously, the dwarf’s lantern was still clinging to the trembling wall. “See where greed got you?” he spat as he crawled over the dwarf’s body and out into the larger tunnel beyond. His talons were drenched in blood. “It got you dead, you greedy stump. By the Dark Queen’s heads!”

Ragh could barely see; the shadows were too thick and the lantern light was clouded with dust, but he could tell some of the support beams had collapsed and part of the tunnel ceiling had caved in. “The gods indeed couldn’t bring it down! Well now, how in the levels of the Abyss am I going to get out of here?”

A growl of determination came from deep within Ragh, and he squeezed his eyes shut. His chest felt tight and he willed it to become even tighter and smaller, picturing in his mind the body of the young dwarf that lay bloody and lifeless behind him. The scales receded into his body as the mountain continued to shudder. His long arms and legs shrank while his silvery skin grew tanned, his fingers stubby, filthy, and callused. Hair flowed from his head and face, an unruly red mass that was becoming thick with the stone dust that continued to rain down.

His smaller dwarf form was able to fit under the broken beams and through an opening near the collapsed ceiling. He nearly left the satchel behind, as it would be easier going without it, but the magical baubles inside could help Dhamon—provided Dhamon made it out of the mine alive. Come to think of it, Ragh muttered to himself, nice of Dhamon to wait and worry about his old friend Ragh.

“Dhamon! Wait for me!” Ragh shouted. His Campfire voice sounded coarse and unfamiliarly dwarven. He couldn’t see well enough behind him to know if Dhamon’s inky form was behind or in front of him. Well, shadow, dragon, or man, Dhamon could take care of himself. “The whole mountain’s breaking down on us! You’d better be leaving with me! The mountain’s coming down!”

The rumbling grew to deafening proportions. The ground shook and buckled. A chunk of stone struck Ragh squarely on his dwarf shoulders, slamming him down against the floor. The entire tunnel ceiling seemed to give way—just as Dhamon resumed his dragon form and the lantern fell to the floor and died.

Utter blackness coincided with wholesale destruction.

Dhamon’s massive body was expanding. He pushed hard against the falling rocks and collapsing walls, praying that the sivak had the wits to hunker down behind him and avoid the deadly rockfall. As he pushed his massive head up to the top of the tunnel, pushing against what remained of the ceiling, he felt his barbels drag across Ragh.

“Ragh! Let’s get out of here!” Dhamon shouted, his booming voice adding to the rumbling as his neck bent at a distorted angle against the collapsing ceiling.

He felt the sivak shift beneath him, rising and scrambling forward into the darkness. Ragh felt the hot breath of Dhamon’s words against his back.

“Hurry, Ragh!”

Moving his legs required tremendous effort as the weight of the collapsing tunnel threatened to flatten him. Somehow he managed to plod forward a little, and then a little more. He couldn’t feel the sivak beneath him any longer.

The world was black. The noise was thunderous, louder than the din of the greatest battle he’d ever fought with the knights, more noxious than any storm he had flown through while mounted on the back of his blue dragon partner Gale. His every small breath was filled with rank, dust-filled air that burned his lungs. Dhamon fought for more air and gained little. He was suffocating.

Not enough air to breathe! his mind screamed. Not enough room to move! Not enough time to break free!

It would be so easy to let the mountain take him, to let his spirit drift with those of Jasper, Fiona, and Rig, but with Feril’s whereabouts unknown and the sivak’s fate uncertain, he couldn’t give up now. He forced himself to take another faltering step, then another, legs bracing against the rocky ceiling that was continuing to break apart, tail lashing behind him, batting away falling rocks.

Got to keep moving! If any part of him hesitated, the falling stones would bury him. The rumbling grew louder but the stony floor suddenly stilled. The center of the quake had moved elsewhere inside the mountain. Grateful, Dhamon moved faster, his claws burrowing through the rocks in front of him as he prayed Feril was all right and that the sivak had managed to escape. Faster!

He heard the scream of stone, the old castle walls laid into the hillside giving way, the thump of rock falling. Faintly, he heard something else. A voice?

It was the draconian calling to him. He threw all his might into straightening his legs, forcing his back up against the sagging ceiling, and moving forward into the blackness that was giving way to bands of gray.

Dhamon didn’t know how long he struggled. It felt like forever, and by the time the darkness receded his muscles felt on molten fire. He didn’t think he could take another step, until he saw a pale blue glow coming through an opening.

He thrust his snout forward, finding the larger tunnel leading to the mine entrance. In a daze he saw Ragh beckoning him, except that the sivak looked like the dwarf Campfire and was holding a blue globe of light in his hand.

“Dhamon, be quick!” Ragh said in a dwarf voice. “By the memory of the Dark Queen, hurry!”

Dhamon understood, and folding in upon himself until he was an inky pool, he stretched to become Ragh’s shadow. He flowed out of the mine attached to the sivak. Then they were safely coming down the hill, which continued to shake violently.

The stars were just emerging, with the sky a hazy dark blue from the dirt and stone dust that increasingly blanketed this section of the Kharolis Mountains.

“Campfire!” The dwarf woman was frantically waving her arms and motioning Ragh away from the mountain. “Campfire!” The other dwarf named Churt was with her, looking equally frightened but cursing the gods for ruining their mine.

Dhamon was surprised to see Feril lying on the ground at the two dwarves’ feet. She looked sorely battered and bruised, and her arm was in a sling, but he could tell at a glance she was breathing. Grannaluured waved a skillet above the Kagonesti menacingly.

“Campfire!” Grannaluured bellowed. “Get over here now!”