Belly filled, Black Kalgalath’s flight now took him southward, toward Kachar, for he had not harassed that Dwarvenholt for more than two full seasons: when, in his quest to wreak vengeance upon Elgo’s kith, he had fallen upon Men and Dwarves locked in War with one another; when he had harried the Men, pursuing them, killing them; when he had discovered the foul truce between Man and Dwarf and had slain many and had driven the enemies inside a stone prison together, and had buried the gate, trapping the belligerents in an unbreakable embrace that they would come to rue. Not since the days after, when he had slaughtered a Dwarven work party at the rubble before the gate, not since those days had he displayed his prowess unto these puny creatures.
Yet now he would do so once again.
And so, at winter’s end, midmorn of the day of the spring equinox, Black Kalgalath hammered across the sky and unto the Dwarvenholt of Kachar, brutality and violence in his thoughts.
Sentries stood before closed gates when at last the Drake arrived, and with cries of terror they fled through side posterns as his deafening roars rent the air, splitting it asunder, for he was enraged to find that the portal was no longer buried. And in a frenzy, he whelmed upon the great iron doors, BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! reverberating thunderously within. Yet the gates held, and furious, he flew to the mountainside above and clawed and shattered rock, raining boulders and slabs and scree upon the portal below, filling the forecourt and beyond, tons and tons of granite and schist and basalt thundering down, a great sliding mass ramping upward, the talus reaching out into the vale and sloping upward far beyond the top of the gate.
Now, let these insignificant fools dig free of that! And when they are nearly finished, then will I return and cover it over again!
It was midafternoon when Black Kalgalath flew back into the mountains nigh Dragonslair. And as he neared, he cast forth his senses, seeking Utruni. And the Dragon exploded in rage, for the Giants were high up in the dormant firemountain, and someone within the lair itself threatened his very hoard!
CHAPTER 41
Winter’s End, 3E1603
[The Present]
“There it be, Princess,’ growled Thork, pointing. “Dragonslair. Home, they say, to Black Kalgalath.” Yet Elyn did not need Thork’s words to know that the dark mass ahead was the legendary abode of the Drake. That it was the firemountain they sought, she had no doubt, for vapors vented from the jagged truncation atop the bulky massifs.
“Where is his covert, Thork, or at least the entrance?” Elyn’s eyes futilely scanned the slopes for some sign of an opening.
“I know not,” responded Thork. “Whether this side or the opposite-or even within the core-I cannot say. Not even the Châkka Loremasters know.”
Again the sound of cleaving stone cracked through the air about them, yet no sign of broken rock did they see. Still, even though it was nigh spring, deep snow yet lay upon the slopes, and ice often split stone asunder beneath the whiteness, especially at this time of year when the melt of the day trickles into cracks and crevices to become rending ice in the night. But Thork had never before heard such frequent splitting of rock; it was as if someone quarried stone deliberately. And he cautioned Elyn against the slides that at times followed the rending of rock above.
Yet now their attention was upon dark Dragonslair, looming miles ahead. Long their sight searched the distant slopes, but no sign of the entrance to the den did they see, for it was yet too far to make out that manner of detail. Still it drew their eyes as would a lodestone draw upon iron, but at last, they moved onward, down the slant before them, heading into the vale leading toward the foot of Dragonslair.
Two days later Elyn and Thork made camp at the base of the mountain. They had seen no sign of Black Kalgalath’s whereabouts, and it was not certain that any Dragon lived here at all.
“Thork, this mountain is enormous,” said Elyn, her hand shielding her eyes from the Sun, her sight scanning the slopes above. “It could take days, weeks, months, just to discover an entrance to the lair.”
… needle in a haycock. .
“Aye,” responded Thork, brushing away snow and setting rocks in a fire ring. “And this side-”
“Draw him out,” interrupted Elyn. “Mayhap we should do something to lure him forth from his den, lure him to us, then fight him here, in the open.”
“You forget, Princess, Black Kalgalath flies.” Thork struck flint to steel, sparks flicking into the tinder. Blowing upon the shavings, the Dwarf coaxed forth a tiny flame, and fed it dried leaves and twigs and finally larger branches, and quickly had a small smokeless fire burning, setting a pot of water to boil for tea. “Nay, to draw him to us would be to yield to him that advantage, and he would strike us down from above with his flame.
“It is best that we ambush him within his cave as we planned, where he cannot get above us and evade the hammer.”
“But that requires we find his cavern,” said Elyn, again scanning the mountainside, “and at the moment I have little confidence that we can do so.”
Thork eyed the position of the lowering Sun, gauging how much daylight remained ere he would extinguish the fire so that no gleam through the night would reveal their position to hostile eyes upon the Mountain above. Then, scanning those same slopes, long he looked, at last remarking, “Forget not, my Lady, you are with a Châk, and we have a sense concerning where to seek caverns.”
One to guide. .
Elyn’s doubts lessened with Thork’s words, though her hand strayed to her throat where once there had dangled a silveron nugget, and, feeling somehow exposed, she wondered whether a Drake did know of all that passed within his domain.
They took a small supper as the Sun slid down the sky: smoke-cured venison from a hunter’s larder, hardtack and honey, and tea.
The next morning at dawn, Elyn bolted upright from her sleep, a thunderous roar slapping among the mountains, causing snow to avalanche and rocks to tumble.
The Drake!
Thork was on his feet, axe in hand, ready for combat, though how he came to be there, he did not know.
Again the roar crashed among the crags, and Elyn, now on her feet as well, saber in hand, whirled and faced the mountain.
“There, Thork!” she cried, pointing with the blade. “High up! ’Tis Kalgalath!”
But Thork had already seen the mighty Fire-drake, launching upward and outward, the great dark wings bearing it to the west.
“Did you see?” Elyn’s eyes never wavered from the ledge high above, setting off its exact location in her mind.
“Aye, Princess.” Thork, too, noted the specific place whence the Drake had sprung. “Ledge. Above that sheer facing. Left of the tall crag. Do you mark it?”
“Aye, Thork,” answered Elyn. “Under the dark stone. Right of the great crack.”
Agreeing with her, Thork set aside his axe, taking up his cloth-covered shield and slinging it across his back. He slipped the strap of a waterskin and a small bag of rations over one shoulder, and slid the Kammerling into his belt. Looping a coiled rope over his other shoulder, he turned to the Princess, who was likewise preparing for the climb, searching among the supplies for the small oil lantern. When she was ready, she grimly nodded to the Dwarf.
And thus they set off up the slopes, afoot, to slay a Dragon in its lair.
It took all morning to reach the vertical face below the ledge, some six hours of arduous, dangerous, icy ascent, Thork showing Elyn the way upward, through ice and snow and barren rock. And though it did not seem so from below, lying over all was a treacherous frozen glaze, and often hands slipped, or feet, Death waiting below. Yet Thork’s skill was equal to the task for both he and Elyn. And so, up the mountain they crept, Thork leading up the icy way, telling Elyn where to place hands and feet, guiding her, until at last they came to the foot of the vertical rise.