While Elyn rested, Thork moved to the far left, across the rime-covered stone, examining the crevice splitting upward, then to the far right where stood the tall crag. Finally, stripping out of his black-iron chain and hunkering down beside Elyn-“The crack to the left is choked with ice, and I have not the proper gear. The crag to the right splits away from the ledge, and up high the chimney is too wide for my body to span, while down low, it too is filled with ice. There be nought left but the perpendicular; I must free-climb the vertical face.”
Another hour passed as Thork crept up the sheer wall, completely without aids, no jams or rock-nails, no rings or harness, just fingers and feet and strength and skill, Elyn standing below, her heart in her throat, watching him find handholds and toeholds where she saw none. At last he clambered over the lip of the ledge, disappearing from view. Moments later he reappeared, feeding a rope downward. “A great cavern, Princess,” he called. “From the smell of it, the lair.”
Elyn tied all of the goods to the line, including the Kammerling, shield, her saber, his armor, and the supplies, finally calling out to Thork. Up he hauled, the equipment disappearing over the lip of the ledge. Then downward again snaked the rope.
Elyn grasped the line and began a hand-over-hand ascent. .
Come on, lass, a Warrior Maid needs this skill. Would ye have a battle lost because ye couldn’t scale a wall?
. . echoes of Ruric in her mind.
Up she climbed in the airy wind, feet scrabbling against ice-glazed stone, rope abrading her grip through her gloves, a sheer drop below her.
Gods, I did not know that struggling about upon a mountain could be so frightening.
Though fear thrilled through her, still this Woman of the plains clambered upward, hanging by a slender thread above a towering plunge, creeping ever closer to the safety of a Dragon’s lair.
As she came to the top, Thork reached out. “Give me your hand, Princess. I will pull you up.”
Elyn hesitated, glancing downward at the fall below.
Then his voice came soft and gentle: “I will not drop you.”
Elyn gave her grip to Thork, and he haled her upward and onto the broad ledge.
They rested a moment upon the shelf, Elyn with her gloves off, flexing her fingers and regaining her wind and looking about as Thork donned his armor, the Warrior Maiden seeing a wide dark opening in the wall of stone rising up, and a great ledge spread from here to yon-
“Ai-oi!” she cried, pointing to the near end of the shelf, where lay a great bashed sheet of iron. “ ’Tis the cladding from the gate of Jordkeep. This, then, is Black Kalgalath’s lair, for within that ‘vessel’ he bore away the treasure from the ruins of my sire’s castle.”
Thork stepped to the sheet of iron, and hefted upon a corner, managing but to rock it. “Too heavy for us to use, Princess.”
He returned and took up the Kammerling, looking long at the appearance of rust and cracked helve and broken peen, his mind elsewhere. “Remember our plan, my Lady: we seek a place from which to ambush the Drake, mayhap at the entrance to his lair, mayhap deeper.” Thork slid the Kammerling into his belt and untied the rope from its anchoring boulder and began coiling the line. “Should I fall in battle, seize the Kammerling and finish the task.”
A cold chill shivered through Elyn. .
Should I fall in battle, should I fall, I fall. .
… yet she said nought as she looped the strap of her black-oxen horn across shoulder and chest. Buckling on her saber, at last she spoke: “Thork, should you fall in battle and should I survive, I here and now renew my pledge to you: I will do all within my power to stop this mistaken War between our two Folk, to stop the killing. I will share and share alike all Dracongield between Jord and Kachar, and make whatever other amends are appropriate, cancelling all debts.”
Yet were you to fall in battle. .
Elyn’s heart fell bleak.
“My Lady, this pledge between us need not be renewed here and now, for it exists within each of us forever. . whether or no it is said aloud again. Yet, would it please you to hear the words, then I do so swear once more.” Thork took up Elyn’s lantern, preparing to light it.
“There is this, too, Thork,” said Elyn, shouldering her portion of the supplies: “Should we both fall in this battle, then still there is a promise of peace. . whether or not we survive. For no hatred, no vengeance, no neglect is passed on forever; each must come to rest somewhere, to vanish in the eternity of time or to die under the weight of love.
“Yet let us not speak of survival and death, for today marks the end of winter: it is the first day of spring.”
Thork glanced at the Sun above, and then to the dark entrance to the den. Handing Elyn’s lit lantern unto her-“Let us be gone,” he said, his voice husky with emotion.
And so, Thork bearing his shield on his left arm and the Kammerling in his right grip, and Elyn clutching the lantern in one hand and saber in the other, their hearts hammering and their breath harsh, down into the cavern they went, the floor sloping inward and down, the wide walls curving this way and that, the lamp lighting the way, an acrid odor filling the air about them, as of a viper pit.
At every twist and turn, at every lieu, both warriors eyed the lay of the cavern, judging, seeking a place of ambush that would give them advantage over the Drake’s great strength and over his fiery breath.
Deeper they went, and deeper still, down a slanting floor, the air becoming hot and hotter, the walls of the tunnel itself emitting heat, the smell of brimstone tingeing the air. Yet on they went, the faint light from the entrance long gone, and here even Thork’s Dwarven sight needed Elyn’s lantern to see by.
Past belching fumaroles they went, the odor horrific, the gas yellow, roiling upward through clefts and chimneys cloven through the shattered stone above and disappearing into the churning darkness.
At last they came down into a large chamber, walls disappearing in darkness, where intense heat caused sweat to runnel beneath armor, both Elyn and Thork pausing to drink copious quantities of water. As she drank, in the distant darkness, a gleam caught Elyn’s eye; corking the waterskin, she held up the lantern, stepping toward the glimmer. And as she strode forward, more and more sparkle scintillated to the eye. At last she came to where she could clearly see, and there heaped upon the floor and ramping upward lay an enormous mound of glittering treasure: gold and silver, gems and goblets, pearls and precious stones, and the like. The vast pile stood more than Man height, and reached outward to cover yard after yard of cavern floor: more than the total hoard of Sleeth, more than either Elyn or Thork had ever dreamed possible. For this was the hoard of Black Kalgalath, mightiest Dragon of all.
Elyn was stunned by the enormity of the wealth, and so, too, was Thork. Neither had ever considered that the Drake had had a trove of his own. They had only thought about recovering the treasure taken from Jordkeep. But now, that seemed a small stake by comparison.
“Princess,” growled Thork, recovering his composure, “this chamber be not the place to waylay the Drake, for though it is open-hence will not channel his flame-still we must go elsewhere, for not only will he have the space to evade the hammer, we cannot withstand this heat overlong.”