Chapter 8 - The Chasm (5757)
With Ghene having flown off to Vine Street, Roztov and Meggelaine
spent the rest of the day dragon watching. They found a little nook to hide in
that gave a good view of one of the busiest areas of the chasm and settled in
to watch.
They saw the ancient red one again, lumbering out of one of the
entrances then launching himself down into the depths of the gorge only to
appear again some way off, his vast wings catching an updraft to carry him up
and out of the chasm altogether and out of sight.
The slim green dragon and the fat one were seen again, seemingly
talking together on a ledge, their heads together almost as if they were
conspiring.
Unlike the smaller dragons they had seen before, the manhunters, who
were greyish green and more or less indistinguishable from each other the chasm
dragons were widely varied in size and colour. They saw two dragons with manes,
one like a horse’s mane and another more like a lions. They saw dragons that
affected jewellery in the form of claw rings and crowns, others that wore runes
on their skin, some that looked like tattoos and others than looked magical in
origin. All in all the dragons seemed to vary wildly and they accentuated that
variety with many forms of affectation. It was a lot to take in.
When they broke for lunch, back at their campsite they discussed
their observations.
‘I don’t think I will ever see anything like it again,’ said Roztov.
‘Hundreds of dragons, some as small as ponies, others as big as houses. “Old
Red” must have a wingspan three hundred feet wide, he’s bloody enormous.’
‘I think I’m able to tell the males from the females now too.’
‘Yes, they are so varied, but the females seem to carry themselves
differently. I wish I had a notebook with me. I’m never going to remember all
of this.’
Meggelaine busiest herself preparing their food as they talked.
‘I’m sure even the bits that you remember, if we get back, will be
enough for a paper at that society of yours.’
‘They’ll think I’m making it all up. Sailor’s stories.’
Meggelaine laughed, but he was being serious. What they were seeing
was so fantastical it would scarce be believed back in Styke or Enttland where
most people had never seen a dragon and the bard’s fictitious songs and tales
got all confused and jumbled up with reality.
‘Well, if we make it back, I’ll corroborate you dear,’ said
Meggelaine.
‘Oh you are sweet,’ said Roztov knowing he was being mocked and went
to ruffle he hair. She ducked out of the way and hit his hand with a spoon.
They spent the rest of the afternoon, until it got dark, watching
another part of the chasm. They found a very wide ledge further east, that was
perhaps fifty yards wide and five hundred yards long, which appeared to be used
as a sort of meeting area for the dragons. There were statues lining part of
it, but it appeared that over the years the dragons had clumsily knocked most
of them down. Roztov could see the statues were of humanoids, but Meggelaine
squawked and fluttered her wings furiously at him when he motioned with his
beak that he wanted to fly across the chasm, a distance of about a hundred
yards, and take a closer look. Besides the statues there were several large
cylindrical cages on the wide ledge, each big enough to hold a dragon, which
hung from massive chains anchored further up on the chasm wall.
After a couple of hours of watching the dragons go back and forth in
what they now took to be a fairly typical day for the dragons a drama unfolded before
them that they took to be decidedly untypical.
A group of the dragons landed, about twenty, with three
blackish-green ones, similar to the manhunters, but larger, in their midst.
These three seemed subdued and were covered in cuts and claw marks. The other
dragons snapped and clawed at them after they had landed and then more flew
down from their perches and hallways to take a look at the prisoners. The chasm
dragons then ushered the three inside, with more snaps and snarls.
Impulsively Roztov went to fly across to take a look at where the
dragons were all going, but again Meggelaine squawked and flapped, even going
as far as to grab his wing in her beak.
Once it got dark the dragons all apparently went to bed and the
druids returned to their camp.
The two little hawks landed at the druid’s campsite and turned back
into their normal forms. Roztov hugged himself and said, ‘Brrr! It’s cold.
Let’s get that fire lit.’
Meggelaine walked over to him and looking up said, ‘Kneel down one
moment would you.’
Roztov knelt down so he was at eye level with her. She then smacked
him across the back of the head.
‘Stop trying to fly off all the time! You’ll get yourself killed!’
Roztov smiled and stood up, it had not been a strong blow.
‘Sorry sweetie, it just felt like something was going on. They had
prisoners. Must be Stovologard dragons.’
As they lit the fire and began the process of making their dinner
they talked.
‘Do you think that “Old Red” is King Blavius?’ asked Meggelaine.
‘Could be. He’s definitely the biggest one I’ve seen. But who is to
say they choose their monarchs based on size?’
‘True enough, Queen Jally was tiny,’ said Meggelaine, referring to
the last queen of Tormwood.
Wind rattled through the trees and snow fell from the branches into
the fire.
‘It’s going to be a cold night,’ Roztov remarked.
Later that night, as moonlight filtered through the trees and the
fire burned down, Meggelaine edged closer to Roztov.
‘Roz, I’m cold.’
‘Cuddle in then.’
Roz noted to himself she never complained of cold when Ghene had been
around, whatever the weather, but he knew his friend well enough to know she
would have been embarrassed about such displays in front of others. He also
knew that her assumption was that he wouldn’t talk of it either. They were both
married after all, although he was on his second and Meggelaine had kept her
marriage to Assynt secret from everyone but him. It was rare for fressles to
marry humans, but not unheard of. It had been a drunken night in some town in Borland
he had forgotten the name of. She had always been close to Assynt, it had seemed
like a good idea at the time and as far as Roztov knew it was going well.
The next morning they went back to spy on the area of the chasm they
were now referring to as ‘Main Street’. As usual the dragons didn’t seem to
come out of their caves until after dawn. The first to rise was “Old Red”,
stretching his wings before taking off west on whatever business he had in that
direction.
After that things seemed to go differently from what they had become
to think of as normal. Firstly the three dragon prisoners were lead out onto
the ledge and put into the cages. This was done with a lot of snapping and
clawing, and not just at the prisoners. The green dragon and the fat dragon,
the ones they thought of as friends of Old Red seemed to argue with some of the
others, including two they had not seen before, a long emaciated looking one
and one with a wide gaping maw of teeth.
It was getting on for lunchtime but they didn’t want to leave, it
looked like some sort of council was being had, as one dragon would do a bit of
talking, then another one. Sometimes they seemed to argue, voices were raised, the
ground was gouged with claws and dust blown up by the furious beating of wings.
After a while it all seemed to settle down. About half an hour
passed, the dragons standing about as if waiting for something to happen and
then finally a gong sounded from within the halls and they all bowed their
heads, glancing over to the largest of the cave entrances as a drumbeat got
louder from within. More time passed, the unseen drums grew louder and
eventually an enormous dragon lumbered out of the entrance and into the middle
of Main Street, flanked by black dragons that seemed to act as an honour guard.
This new dragon was large, with orange scales and a yellow mane. It looked
sickly, but strong, it’s wide girth and small wings made it look as if it would
be impossible for the creature to fly. It walked like an old man, each step a
struggle, but all the other dragons seemed to honour him.
The orange dragon said a few words in Draconic. There was some
muttering from the others, but then their apparent monarch spoke again.
Eventually one of the prisoners was taken from its cage and presented
to the orange dragon. There was some more talking and then suddenly and
brutally the black dragons set on the prisoner and ripped its wings to shreds.
It was then herded over the side of the ledge to fall down into the depths of
the chasm, crying in panic as it tried to fly with its ragged useless wings.
Where it landed there was no way of seeing, the bottom of the chasm was too
dark and distant.
The second dragon was lead out and the process was repeated.
Finally, the third and last dragon was lead out from its cage. It
immediately tried to escape, but two of the black dragons stepped on its wings
and pinned it down.
Just then a large shadow passed along the length of Main Street and
they all looked up. Old Red had returned and he didn’t seem that happy. He
landed and then seemed to openly argue with the orange dragon. Eventually the
prisoner was lead back to the cage and locked up again.
After some more talk the orange dragon gave Old Red a dismissive
look, snorted some flames and returned to his cave. Things broke up after that
and night fell.
Back at their campsite, as they prepared and ate their dinner the
druids talked.
‘I am starving!’ declared Roztov. They had missed lunch.
‘Never stand between a Stykian man and his dinner!’ sniggered
Meggelaine. ‘It’s the last of the rotrok meat tonight. If you want more you’ll
need to go hunting.’
‘Right,’ grunted Roztov as he sat warming his hands by the fire. ‘What
did you make of all of that though?’
‘I’m no expert, but I’d say that big orange one must have been King
Blavius. Seemed like he was set to kill all the prisoners until Old Red showed
up.’
‘What a brutal way they have of killing off their enemies. That last
one had a narrow escape.’
‘I never thought I’d feel sorry for a dragon,’ admitted Meggelaine.
‘I was actually pleased when the last one was saved. They cried so piteously as
they fell.’
That night Meggelaine cuddled up to Roztov again, although the wind
had died and it was no colder than it had been any other night.
The next day seemed fairly quiet in comparison. There was the usual
level of activity and the remaining prisoner lay curled up in its cage, rather
like a big scaly cat, occasionally glancing out at the comings and goings on
the ledge, over its tail.
Not much else seemed to happen on Main Street, the dragons went about
their business, the prisoner was left alone and Blavius or any of the other
more prominent dragons were not seen.
That evening on their return Ghene was already at the campsite
preparing dinner with some partridge meat he had evidently hunted on his way
back from Vine Street.
Everything was fine down there, Ghene explained, the runaways had not
seen Dreggen or any sign of unusual manhunter activity. Roztov and Meggelaine
filled him in with the recent activity up at the chasm and then they got onto
the subject of their next move.
‘There is no way we will get everyone across in one go. It has to be
done at night,’ said Roztov.
‘Agreed.
It’s a question of finding the right spot to cross,’ replied Ghene. ‘South west
of here and we end up back where we started. North east of here seems more
sensible.’
‘North east of
this place you have Main Street, then after that you have the split, and after
that the Spire. Right where we are now seems as good a place to cross as any.’
Roztov took
his pipe from his pocket, sighed, and then put it back again. He had run out of
tobacco.
‘Something
is happening up there anyway. I don’t know what dragons usually get up to and
maybe this is all normal, but it didn’t seem like it.’
Meggelaine
was busying herself around the campsite, but didn’t like to be out of any
conversation for long.
‘They seem
to keep a human day and night cycle,’ she said. ‘The chasm wakes up at dawn and
they don’t fly about all that much past nightfall. There is some activity but
mostly they seem to be in their beds.’
‘Hence the
night crossing.’
‘Even then
it’s risky,’ continued Roztov. ’We’d need to make two trips. I’ve been thinking
though, one of us needs to change into a hippogriff or whatever and fly over
there tonight to see what happens. If nothing happens then it’s probably safe
to ferry them all across. Whoever goes tonight should find a good spot to take
them all too, about a mile north of the chasm. We’ll take Broddor, Floran and
Salveri first, and then Tankle, Arin and Ophess.’
‘I’ll go
tonight,’ said Ghene.
‘I was
thinking I would. You’ve been to Vine Street and back and must be tired from
all that flapping. I’ve a desire to stretch my wings.’
Meg was
biting her fingernails and spitting them into the fire, ‘I could manage Ophess,
but I’m not sure I could carry anyone else. Floran is a grown man and Broddor
is a lot heavier than he looks. Floran can summon those giant bees of his,
perhaps he could go over like that?’
‘I’m not
sure Meg. I can do a test crossing as a hippogriff, and if that works we can go
as hippogriffs or griffons as is your preference. The thing is, we fly
silently, those bees of his make a real din. We can make three trips. It’s
fine.’
‘We should
do it from about a mile south, in the dead of night,’ said Ghene. ‘Circle up
and up, about a mile up maybe, then cross. Then back down on the other side,
always making the crossing really high.’
‘If you are
expecting me to fly up a mile I’ll definitely never manage that with Broddor on
my back,’ squeaked Meggelaine. ‘I’ve never been that high ever. I don’t like
it, too scary.’
‘Uch,’
groaned Roztov. ‘Ghene you’re forgetting about Meg’s fear of heights. Maybe I
could carry her too, she weighs about the same as a cat anyway.’
Meggelaine
went over to Roztov and nuzzled into him.
‘I’m sorry,’
she said. ‘I’m not much of a druid am I?’
‘You make up
for it in different ways sweetie,’ Roztov replied as he mussed up her hair.
‘Get off,’
she scolded him as she tucked her hair back behind her ears. ‘We can see how we
get on anyway. It sounds doable.’
That night,
for the first time, Roztov crossed the gorge. As they had discussed, he turned
into a hippogriff then found an updraft to help him climb up about a mile into
the sky. He then flew north for a couple of miles and found what he thought was
a suitable landing spot hidden in a deep snow-filled valley.
As a druid
he would have no trouble finding it again, so he didn’t bother landing and instead
wheeled around and returned to the south.
On his way
back he had sudden impulse to take a closer look at Main Street, so mid-flight
he changed from a hippogriff into a sparrowhawk and stooped down to the ledge.
The only
dragon on the ledge was the prisoner on the cage and it seemed asleep. Roztov
landed on the top of the cage and surveyed the scene. It was a clear night with
not much of a moon so the sky was full of stars. The gentle breathing of the
dragon sent clouds of steam up through the bars of the cage, shrouding Roztov
in a mist that was swirled about by the gentle drafts of the chasm.
It was a
very cold night.
Roztov was
here to look at the statues, but felt in no great hurry now that he was here. He
was enjoying the sensation of being so close the dragon and its warm sulphurous
breath heating his feet. Meggelaine was not here to caution him after all, if
she could see what he was doing now she would beat him half to death with a
ladle. It was such a lovely scene though, the starlight falling on the promenade
of statues, with the curve of the chasm wall looming darkly in the distance, he
felt in no urgent need to do anything other than take it all in.
His attention
was drawn to movement on the wall of the chasm and as he watched, he saw
several medium sized lizards, about the size of cats, darting about. They were
shaped rather like geckos and used their splayed feet to grip the shear surface
of the cliffs. It was difficult, even
with the eyes of a sparrowhawk to make out their colouring but he thought that
they might be quite varied in shades and tones, with either stripes, dapples
and spots. He swopped down onto the ground and changed his form once more.
***
Rocky was a
chasm crawler, he lived in a crack in the wall of a wide stone corridor. At
night he would come out, when the dragons were asleep, and scavenge for food
down to the area he knew as the fountain mezzanine and also all the way up to
the entrance. He didn’t often go outside, he was somewhat agoraphobic and was
always rather tense when he left his home in the crack. He was happy enough
though, he always had enough to eat and the other crawlers liked and respected
him, rarely venturing into his territory or calling him names. He hated the dragons,
they were mean and mocking and if they saw him they would either taunt him or
try and stomp him, usually the later. He stayed out of their way.
Tonight he
was patrolling around the main hall of his territory. It was a tall ceilinged
box like room covered in bass relief carvings. Along each side of the room were
carved out statues of creatures neither he nor anyone else he knew had seen
before. They were of two main types, ones that walked upright on their hind
legs and wore cloth to hide their genitalia and the other much larger creatures
that walked on four legs and had big ears and trunks. The dragons had knocked
off most of the trunks in their passing, but there beasts whole front portions
were carved out of the rock which gave hundreds of deep little hiding places
for chasm crawlers to skulk about in.
There were
other carved out sections about twenty feet up where statues of the cloth-wearers
sat with their arms folded and eyes closed in quiet contemplation. Rocky had
lived with these things all his young life and paid them no great heed. He
spent his evening sniffing around the nooks and crannies looking for bones and
bits of meat discarded by the dragons. Whatever he didn’t eat he’d take back to
his home in the crack and save for later. He spent most of his life in the
crack, he felt most comfortable there, dozing away, or thinking his thoughts.
Mostly he thought about whether Pebble, the female that he knew on the
mezzanine floor would let him mate with her soon, and if not that then he
thought of his collection of images of the outside. He had once gone up all the
way to the top of the chasm and seen trees. He sometimes wondered what they
were like close up. He also sometimes thought about what it must be like on the
other side of the chasm. The others told tales of seeing crawlers going about
on the other side, but he had never seen one. He didn’t even know how they got
there, if they were there at all. To him they may as well have been on the
moon.
He finished
chewing on a bone, and emerged from behind one of the reliefs. He tasted the
air and realised there was another crawler in the room. His eyesight wasn’t
great, but it didn’t need to be in the near total darkness. Using his other
senses he found the intruder easily enough, a large striped fellow who was stood
looking up at the main scene carved out of the wall, the one depicting a group
of cloth-wearers packed together in pairs separated by pillars.
Rocky
approached the other crawler and said, ‘Oi! What are you doing? You can’t come
here, you know, this is my hall.’
The other
crawler turned clumsily, tripping over its feet and tasted the air. Rocky hopped
from side to side nervously, he didn’t like the look of this guy, he was bigger
than him for a start and looked older too.
‘Oi, mate! I
said, you can’t come here. This is my hall, with all my stuff in it.’
The other
crawler gulped, then coughed. It cleared its throat and finally said, ‘Oh, I’m
sorry. I didn’t realise. My apologies, I am absolutely fascinated by the carvings
on the walls here. Your hall is incredible.’
The other
crawler spoke awkwardly, like a hatchling.
‘Oh, thank
you,’ replied Rocky feeling suddenly rather proud of his hall. He remembered the
main point at hand though and said, ‘You can’t have any of the food here. This
is my hall.’
‘I see, well
I won’t be long,’ said the other crawler. ‘It’s incredible. Everything me and
Ghene thought about this place is completely wrong. Well, not everything. These
people are humans, for sure, but with slanted eyes and round faces... I just
realised, we are speaking what sounds like Draconic.’
‘We speak
the language of the chasm crawlers. You are strange. This is my hall, remember
that,’ said Rocky tasting the air nervously. ‘You smell wrong. You taste wrong.
You scare me. You talk strangely.’
‘Don’t worry
my friend, I mean you no harm. You are right though, I am not like you. I am
here to look at the carvings only. I don’t wish to intrude, but I simply must
take it all in. You’ve no idea what this means to me, to see a whole other
civilisation of man. Advanced too, judging by the stone work.’
Rocky was
unsure what to do. When another male intruded on his territory they were never
as polite as this. They usually came looking for a fight or to steal food.
‘What is
your name?’ he asked. ‘Where are you from?’
The other crawler
had resumed looking at the carvings in the walls, side stepping awkwardly,
slowly around the hall.
‘Ah, my name
is Roztov. I’m a druid. I’m from a land called Styke, far from here. Do you
have a name?’
‘I’m Rocky!’
declared Rocky. ‘I’m eight years old. I live here. Where is Styke? What’s that?
Is it far? Are there crawlers there? No one has told me about that before.’
‘Oh, across
the sea. Very far away. Tell me, what do you know of these frescos?’
‘What is the
sea? Is that...’
Rocky
circled Roztov like an excited dog.
‘Across the
chasm you mean?’ Then in a whisper, ‘Across... on the other side...?’
Roztov
turned to look at Rocky for a moment and thumped his tail on the ground which
was the chasm crawler friendship signal. ‘Across the chasm and far beyond that.
Do you know anything of these creatures? Men and elephants?’
‘Not
really,’ admitted Rocky. ‘The cloth-wearers built this place. They were clever
with their hands and were friends with the other animals. That’s what my mother
told me. She’s dead.’
‘Oh, I’m
sorry to hear that. Your mother was right though. I must say, this is very
convenient, being able to talk Draconic. I wish I’d met someone like you
before. I suppose the people at Moletown might have found it odd talking to a
lizard, but I could have communicated with them.’
‘You are
strange. You talk strange.’
‘I suppose I
am yes. I’ll tell you a secret. I’m actually a man like those carvings. I’m
using magic to borrow the form of a chasm crawler.’
‘Haha,
right.’
Roztov
thumped his tail again then said, ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter. You seem like a
nice kid anyway. Thank you very much for letting me see your hall.’
‘You are
leaving?’
‘Well, I
have friends waiting for me. I should really be getting back.’
‘Oh, bye-bye
then.’
‘Take care
Rocky.’
Roztov
padded out the hall, taking the archway that led up and outside. Rocky watched
as the other crawler left the hall, heading up to surface. Rocky tasted the air
then cautiously followed.
Once outside
Roztov padded out onto Main Street and walked up to the edge. He was about to
turn back into a sparrowhawk when something occurred to him. He scuttled over
to the cage that held the sleeping dragon and looked up at it. His lizard
vision wasn’t great and he was confused by the sensory information coming from
his tongue, but even so he could hear the deep gentle breathing of the
slumbering creature.
‘Hey you,
dragon!’ he called up. ‘Hey, dragon!’
He heard
movement, then the dragon’s head reared up with a snort. It angled it’s snout
down to fix him with one of its yellow eyes.
‘Little
lizard,’ rumbled the dragon, replying in Draconic, ‘Why are you here?’
‘Just
testing a theory. So, locked up in a cage, eh?’
‘Apparently
so. Chasm crawlers are not usually so observant.’
The dragon
shifted its weight and the cage swung a little.
‘So what’s
going on?’ asked Roztov.
‘What do you
mean what’s going on, you little dung-dropping? What’s it to you?’
‘I mean. Are
you from Stovologard? Are you a prisoner of war? I mean, all that.’
‘What does a
pipsqueak like you know about Stovologard? Wait, are you a shape-shifter? Are
you a dragon from the Spire? In that case get me out of here!’
The dragon
snarled and the cage lurched.
‘I could
probably get you out, be a sport and tell me what’s going on first though.’
‘If you are
from the Spire you would know that already. Who are you?’
‘Does it
matter, if I’m the only way you can get you out of that cage?’
‘I suppose
not,’ sighed the dragon. ‘What do you want to know?’
‘How about
how you ended up in the cage to start with?’
‘My name is
Lorkuvan, I’m a diplomat. Myself and my colleagues were here at the invitation
of Rah-Ur , but that arse-bastard
Blavius broke his word and took us prisoner. We were here to broker a
de-escalation agreement.’
‘Oh right,
the war,’ said Roztov. ‘Can you give me an overview of dragons on this island
and the war?’
‘Very well.’
They
conversed for a while and Roztov learned a great deal, filling in much of the
blank areas of the knowledge he had already picked up from Vine Street, Moletown
and Mordran. The island of Tanud had three main dragon factions, the northern
dragons centred around Stovologard, the Spire dragons and the Chasm dragons.
Dragon society was pretty brutal and all three factions were in a near
permanent state of war with the other two. Recently though the Spire dragons
had receded from the political stage as the war escalated between Stovologard and
the Chasm.
‘We have the
occasional prisoner or dissident arrive from the Chasm,’ continued Lorkuvan.
‘So we knew about Blavius’s rise to power, the great pustule. You’ve seen him?
What a fat bloated fool he is. He uses the northern dragons as a handy enemy to
unite the Chasm dragons against. He means to invade the north. The current
state of affairs is bad enough without the bloodshed a full blown invasion
would cause. I was meant to be here to try and prevent it, you can see how that
went. Blavius is the last son of Buru the Golden, in case you didn’t know that.
He led the dragons of the Chasm for a thousand years before he flew east and
was never seen again. His son, Blavius the Vomit-stain, trades on his father’s
legacy, but has none of his virtues. That mane of his isn’t real you know. He
had it made for him to look more like his father.’
‘I thought
at first the big red one was Blavius,’ admitted Roztov.
‘That is
Rah-Ur,’ said Lorkuvan. ‘He was Buru’s general, but he holds no title these
days. He is well respected amongst the other chasm dragons and is respected in
Stovologard too, as much as you can respect an enemy anyway.’
‘He seems to
keep company with a green one and a brown one, who are they?’
‘Shumakkak
the Green. The Huntress. She is a devil, always leading raids to the north. She
kills and eats our slaves. Then you have Barkback the Terran. He is the chief
of the rockskin dragons, a small faction allied to the chasm and a friend of
Rah-Ur. Together with Tefnut the Lioness they form a sort of council. They are
at odds with Blavius who has no idea of organisation, only his own ideas of
glory. The bloated ember-licker is a
coward though and flees from battle.’
‘He seems to
be well served by two others I saw, a long thing one and another with huge
teeth.’
‘Gugaloris
and Ukadak. They are head councillors and lawmakers. Enablers of Blavius.
Without their backing he would be nothing.’
Lorkuvan
talked form some more, she seemed to hold nothing back but eventually she said,
‘You must release me now. It will soon be dawn and if I don’t escape now then Shumakkak
will hunt me down before I can reach my own lands.’
‘Very well,
just one more question then. The manhunters, they come from Stovologard? How do
they cross the chasm?’
‘Yes, when
the northern dragons are young they like to hunt our escaped slaves. They don’t
cross the chasm here. That would be suicide, they cross further east. The land
around the Spire is nominally the Spire dragons to hunt, but they never use it.
The manhunters cross that land as quickly as they can, sometimes the Spire
dragons will react, but mostly they will not.’
‘Oh, I see.
They don’t just cross over here at night while the chasm dragons are all
asleep?’
‘Perhaps a
fool-hardy one might, but I have never heard of it. Shumakkak has a tremendous
sense of smell, she is the islands greatest sky-tracker. She would take great
pleasure in hunting down and killing anyone foolish enough to cross the chasm.
Also, this is where the battle lines are drawn, north of here is heavily
patrolled. It is safer for the manhunters to cross to the east, the lands of
the Spire dragons and hope they don’t wake them from whatever magical slumber
they are in. Once they are south of the chasm they are safe enough, the chasm
dragon’s attention is focused north.’
‘Why do they
do it though, if it’s so dangerous?’
‘For sport.
And because it is our tradition. No more talk, get me of here!’
The dragon
clawed at the thick metal bars in frustration and the cage swung around.
‘Yes, yes.
You won’t eat me, right?’
‘I won’t. I
don’t know what you are anyway and I have a delicate stomach.’
‘You
promise?’
‘I promise.
Come on.’
The dragon
was getting nervous now, anxious to be gone. Roztov turned into a sparrowhawk
and fluttered into the cage. He then turned into his normal form. He smiled
nervously at the dragon who spoke, but now that he was no longer a chasm
crawler he could not understand its speech. Its meaning was clear though – get
on with it.
The bars of
the cage were made of iron and each was the width of a ship’s mast. He gripped
one of them and began to channel his druidic magic into it. The bar tarnished
then began to rust. The rust crumbled and bit by bit the bar disintegrated into
nothing. Roztov carefully stepped over the dragon’s tail and did the same to
another bar. Once that bar had also crumbled into a heap of rust he stepped
aside and let the dragon pass.
Lorkuvan
clambered out of the cage and flopped out onto the ledge. She stood, then turned
and with her head level with Roztov said something in Draconic which he didn’t
understand.
He turned
into a crawler and said, ‘Can you repeat that?’
‘I said
thank you. Whatever you are.’
‘My name is
Roztov, a druid.’
‘Then thank
you, Roztov. Shumakkak will most likely come north after me, but cover your
tracks just in case.’
‘I will. We
druids can cover our tracks well. Good luck.’
The dragon
turned, swept its wings and swooped down into the chasm. It then caught an
updraft, spiralled high into the dawn sky then turned north, her wings wide .
Roztov watched until the dragon was lost in the star filled sky then turned
into a sparrowhawk and flew south.
Rocky, who
had been watching from the tunnel entrance gathered his thoughts and seeing
that it would nearly be dawn scampered back down to his hall and the crack in
the wall he lived in. No one was going to believe this story when he told it,
that was for sure. He’d tell Pebble though, she’d believe him. Pebble was nice.
