Island of Dragons - DRAFT - Chapter 7 – Moletown Again (7111)

Chapter 7 – Moletown Again (7111)

Broddor was telling a story of his younger days, back when he was the leader of the Kardane Company. The sailors were there listening, in the main hall of Moletown, and Floran translated as best he could for the many people of the settlement who had drifted in to hear the tale.

‘…by then it felt like we were a long way from home. Luxor neighbours Joppa, it’s all mountains, you understand, and behind them is this place called the Moon Marshes. It’s cursed by evil magic, the sun never really goes there. It’s so high up on the plateaux that the air feels different, thinner, it felt odd breathing it, ye know? It’s colder than hell too. The whole place, it feels wrong. You can live with it, but you never lose that feeling of difference, a sense of wrongness. Like a toothache maybe, sometimes you don’t notice it, but it’s always there. The air feels oily and washed out.

Aye anyway, and not just that, the landscape is all wrong, it’s a network of valleys and marshes, all topsy-turvy and piled up on itself, caves and tunnels, leading from one valley to the next. Some ancient race had lived there at some point and that was how they got about. Going over those near vertical jagged mountains was impossible, you had to descend into the tunnels and just see where you popped up. If you think that sounds tricky to navigate, you’d be right.

Aye well anyway, they are called the Moon Marshes because it never sees the sun and because the valleys are all full of stinking freezing swamps. They are about a hundred miles wide north to south, and east to west, it’s at least five hundred, maybe even more as it descends down into the Norob Forest and no one I know has been daft enough to go that far.

No one that ever went up onto the Marshes had ever came back alive either, come to that, but the King of Joppa was at war with Julgia, and what with all his army fighting them on his border he needed people to cover his flank, if you see what I mean, and paid for mercenary companies to go up onto the Marshes and deal with what was up there.

Well, only the west part had anybody living in it, most of it was overrun with undead. The further east you went, the more undead it got. Great and terrible evil lurked in every cave, in every burnt out village and every valley. Nowhere was safe, tribes of huge red monsters camped out in the open plains and ye could hear their dark chanting come drifting across the hillsides at night as they carried out their terrible blood sacrifices.Not that there was a proper night time, mind you, or a day time, just a perpetual moonlight, the whole area, like I said, being under some dreadful curse.

Well, being a strong and independent company, we were sent deep in to the marshes on a scouting mission, well in advance of the main force.

We reached this valley via an underground tunnel, constructed by some long forgotten and I daresay ancient civilisation. It’s tall and vaulted ceiling provided a welcome shelter for us from the harsh cold of the open marshes. When we had first arrived we set up a simple barricade built from tree trunks at the tunnel entrance. It providedus with a good defendable point.

I was the leader then, you know, and we’d done this sort of thing before, so we had a wee sally port at one corner to allow egress and a raised step for people to look over the parapet. Despite the preparations though, we had lost a scout in the very first hour of getting there.

It wasn’t a good start.Well, you know, it was my company right enough, but back in those days the tactical stuff sort of rotated between Roztov and a few of the others and for what was going on in this valley Roztov was the raid leader. He was pretty much in charge of everything at the sharp end, the combat end. Ye had other leaders for supplies, healing, that sort of thing. There was a couple of hundred people in the company back then, I couldn’t manage it all by meself, and well, Floran will tell you, I tended to prefer to lead from the front, be in the thick of battle, showing those that followed me I didn’t mind getting my axe bloody. So Roz was in charge of those manning the barricade and all the tactical stuff.

Well, this day I’m talking about was the third day camped at the tunnel entrance. We’d already been attacked on the first and second days, but nothing too big, just testing our defences. We all knew a big attack would come soon and none of us had slept a wink.

In the morning I saw Roztov had already checked the barricade and was out about a hundred yards look over the land before us, stood there, biting his fingernails and spitting them out into the swamp. He was a much younger fellow back then, but experienced, he’d already seen plenty of battles and knew what he was doing and what he was looking for.

I daresay he was thinking about what had led us to this place. The druids, you see, are like us dwarves that serve Aerekrig, they want to see good triumph over evil. And great evil lurked here, right enough, although lurk probably wasn't the right word. Parading around in full view, more like. Evil gripped the entire region and what dared only to skulk around the forests of Angor and hide in the valleys of the Spidertooths, was free to wander in these lands.

We’d already spoken about it the day before. Roztov had said, “This is evil, Broddor, but very distant evil.  Mother Etruna would approve of our actions here, but what about the Council back in the Great Forest? To say that they don’t get out much is a gross understatement. Will they care about a war being fought in a land so far away that it’s notshown on any map east of Lodz?”

“I doubt it lad,” I replied. “But that’s not what led us here. We came for adventure and glory, but now we stay because we desire to see good triumph in the world overrun with wickedness and wrong-doing.”

I was just stood there thinking over that conversation when Roz waved his hand and called back to us, “Incoming!” I looked out past him and could just make out our ranger Shile on the brow of the hill.  The elf held up his hand and splayed out his fingers. Fifty. Then a fist. Redskins.

That’s what we called them anyway, Floran can tell you more about them, but for now imagine a race of people about eight or nine feet tall, with wet rubbery red skin, tangled black manes and bestial faces. A bit like a nog if you shaved him.

Well, the lads at the barricade knew what to do. Like clockwork, the forward combat element of the Company leapt into life. You had Mantos, decked head to foot in his famous red armour givingme a wink as he leapt over the barricade, closely followed by the other warriors and paladins, like Edehhag and Belovar the huge Vegan barbarians.

I followed after then, I was meant to be back at the command centre, but you know, as I said, if there was going to be a battle I wanted to be there.

Roz returned to the barricade and stepped up to the parapet, signalling to the other healers. Druids like himself were by his side, Meggelaine and Festos. And our clerics, dressed in platemail, hammers in hand were there, Illandria and Leedory.

We had all fought side by side since back in the Lead Hills. Some of them had been in the Company since back in Styke. Well, let me tell you, those huge savage red skinned warriors,  in single combat they could easily defeat any of our fighters, but they were too dumb to realise the help being provided from the healers behind them. They had all their magic hocus-pocus-whatever’s going on, aiding our guys in every fight. Don’t ask me to explain it, but the druids and clerics all together could make us stronger and our wounds less serious and when a fighter in the Company was badly injured he could limp back to the healers and be back in battle in as little time as an hour.

Well, we met the initial redskin charge outside the barricade then fell back, the heavily armoured warriors of the Company holding the centre of the line while the lighter troops with long spears moved around the flanks.

When the enemy seemed suitably pinned down Roztov, who was now up on the barricade co-ordinating everything cried out.

“Now! Give them everything!”

This was the signal to the others on the barricade to attack. Enttland wizards lead by Ellerina and our friend Floran the Hyadnian. Luxorian mages lead by Gothor. Assynt, the only Borland enchanter we had with ushad already been involved in battle, his magic causing confusion in the enemy ranks as one redskin would suddenly turn on another for no reason.

Well they all stepped up to the parapet and began to use their magic. Picture it if you can, great gouts of flame rocking the enemy ranks. Ice lances tearing though them, then exploding, sending even their big bodies flying. The swamp water being flung everywhere by the blasts, covering everyone in mud.

Those that lived turned to flee, but it was too late for them. Me and my fellows at the front line had nothing more to do, as the flankers hurled their spears and the archers sent volleys of arrows over their heads. None survived that I saw, their bodies lay everywhere, littering the area before the barricade. Blood and singed body parts were strewn everywhere. Ghastly enough to see someone slain by sword or axe, but fireballs blow people to bits. Seeing it was all over, I trotted up to the line and called up to Roz.

“We are all fine down here!”

Roz nodded. I suppose he could only take me word for that though as my beard was matted with dirt and blood and my armour would have been just as bad. Right enough, the unmistakable smell of the aftermath of a battle wafted up to my nostrils. Blood, sweat, fear and the sweet,and the terrible smell of roasting flesh. You know, when I smelt it, my traitorous stomach grumbled with hunger. I couldn’t remember my last hot meal and cooked flesh… well, ye get the idea.

We dragged the bodies over to a charnel pit that had been dug a hundred or so yards away. These were not the first bone harvestswe had made since our arrival, but it was the biggest. The druids have a way of moving the earth with their magic and whenever they had time they would bury the dead this way.

We didn’t have time this day though as we were hit again and again by wave after wave of redskins. It didn’t end until night time. Well, if you see what I mean, it was always dark there, but in any normal land it would have been about midnight. We were exhausted. The evil that had befallen this land seemed to be drawn to us like a moth to a flame. We were hated and the inhabitants wanted us dead.

There had been a lull for a while, and just as we were thinking of standing our guys at the front line down, we heard the cry of “Incoming!” again.

Shile came trotting back to the line from his outpost on an out of sight hill behind the nearby woods. He held up his hand. Roztov squinted to see. Fingers, then a flat palm. He then called down to the others on the ground, “Dark assassins, maybe two dozen.”

Well, let me tell you, these things, they were undead, but wore black hooded cloaks. They were like nothing I’d seen before, or since, come to that. I don’t know who out of us that had first called them dark assassins, but the name stuck.No one had any real idea what these creatures where. Some sort of ghost or ghast was the best guess of the clerics, but who knew?

They could kill the boldest warrior in seconds with their deadly touch. Dressed in long dark robes with deep hoods it was like they were made from nothingness. Hard to fight, but we had discovered that they could be killed and this wasn’t going to be the first time we had fought them.

Two dozen was a lot, they were powerful foes and we were weary, but what else could we do? I watched from my place on the parapet as Roztov coordinated the defence.

Taciturn as ever, Mantos nodded to the druid as he led the fighters into the front line positions. I gave Roz a pat on the back as I went forward, but as Edehhag and a couple of warriors were about to go past Roz signalled them to wait.

The battle began again as it had before. The heavily armoured warriors and paladins holding off the charge while the druids, clerics and Vegan shaman provided support from behind.

But the dark assassins were proving too powerful! I could see that Mantos was being, well not defeated, but harried by two foes at once and two other warriors had fallen. Three undead creatures surged forward and quickly scaled the parapet. Meggelaine let out a yelp as one reached for her. Illandria valiantly swung her hammer at it, but a cleric was no match for one of these terribly powerful undead in combat and she was quickly knocked aside.

“Edehhag! Fill that gap!” Roztov cried.

Without a word the huge Luxorianbarbarian leapt forward with his squad close behind him. Roz had to wrench his eyes away from the troubles on the battlement and look across at the main battle. I was busy rallying the warriors there, but without more help we would all surely perish. I knew that Roztov new that the assassins had more intelligence than the redskins and that they would be drawn to the magic of the wizards if they were called in to support the front line too soon. But it was now or never, everything could be lost in a moment of indecision.

“Now Ellerina, for all love!” he yelled.

Needing no encouragement at all to help her friends on the field Ellerina held her staff aloft and called down the first of her ice comet spells. It landed in the middle of the enemies ranks with an almighty crash, showering shards of broken ice everywhere. More robed figures stepped up and I saw fireballs fly over my head into the assassins, unleashed by our friend Floran and the other wizards.

But these dastardly creatures were so powerful! Six had fallen already, but there were still more left standing. And they were so quick that some could slip past the front lines and get in amongst the weaker supporting troops.

It was utter chaos. Smoke was everywhere from the spell casting, lighting was flashing and sheets of flame were lighting up everything every few seconds blinding me, and everyone else. I was beginning to wonder if Roztov hadn't just made a decision which had cost us our lives when suddenly a dark robed figure lunged at him through the smoke.

Again and again it hit him, knocking aside his staff like a twig. I rushed to try save him, but a one of the assassins caught my arm and I fell to the icy, muddy ground. I was trampled underfoot and for a while I could not get up again. By the time I got to him poor Roz was already flat on his back.

I saw that some of the healers had him though, and he was safe, so I went back to the battle.

The assassins seemed to drift away shortly after that though and I sent Shile to follow and keep an eye on them.

When he returned I went into the tunnel to where the wounded were and watched as Roz was slowly brought back to consciousness. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I smell lilies...” he murmured.

“Welcome back to the land of the living”, I heard Illandria say as she released his hand.

Seeing he was awake, I went over to him and signalledShile to come over.

“No time for lazing around now Roztov!”I said, “While we recovered from the battle I sent Shileright out into the marsh much deeper than before. He thinks he may have seen the source, or at least a source of the evil in this valley. That's right Shile?'

Shile only nodded. You rarely heard him speak. As we talked we walked out of the tunnel and up onto the barricade.

“Shile thinks that this... thing... can be tricked away from its guards and attacked.”

“But...” said Roztov, slowly gathering his wits. “Out there in the open we would be sitting ducks.”

“Yes, but Shile thinks that he could provoke it into attacking us here. Then we could fight it on ground of our own choosing. Tactics, right?”

“That's right Shile?” asked Roztov.

The elf shrugged and nodded, then standing he adjusted his bow over his shoulder and looked out across the plain, his incredible elven vision pinpointing something miles beyond normal human sight.

“We will have to be quick. It is on the move.”

Roztov grunted and kneaded his back as he stood up. He seemed to thinking quickly. I could see he was formulating a plan, he’s better than that sort of thing than me and I trusted his judgement so I waited until he said, “Go Shile, we will be ready when you get back. Goddess speed and good luck.”

The elf nodded and took off at a very quick jog. We watched as he disappeared into the tree line in the distance.

Between us we gathered the entire company into a battle line. With our gang of druids and clerics around, the warriors could be brought back to battle readiness very quickly. No one could do anything about the fact that we hadn’t slept in days though.

Quickly we were ready, everyone at the barricade, waiting for the next attack. Time passed and we began to wonder if Shile hadn’t met with a bitter end. As we considered the wisdom of sending out a third scout we saw a slight figure burst through the trees.

“He arrives!” gasped someone on the barricade.

Shile ran towards the barricade and paused at about the halfway mark and turning, fired three arrows into the tree line in quick succession.

I wondered what he had been firing at as the elf ran the rest of the way to join us. Just then I noticed Mantos, stood at my side, rocking back and forth on his heels, like an athlete waiting for the starters whistle, but then our attention turned again to the forest as a distant crash emanated from within.

The woods began to move and rustle and with a sudden burst a huge black form burst from the trees. Bigger than a troll, this huge creature stood at least twenty feet tall, can you imagine? Its robe was like the sail of a ship! They billowed around it as it knocked the withered marsh trees over like sticks. It wielded a sword near twelve feet long, the length of two men it was! Silver steel, encrusted with blood, it seemed to howl as the thing whirled it around. It came towards us quickly and we all knew terror, although none of us fled.

Without waiting to be told, or to see if anyone was following him, Mantos charged towards the creature to meet it head on. Once again Roztov nodded to his fellow healers to be ready to receive the wounded. As he stepped up to the parapet I heard Meggelaine mutter to him.

“Doomshade...”

“What?” he answered as he looked down at her.

“Doomshade, I have heard of this creature. They talk about it in whispers in the taverns ofWardernton.”

Before he could reply, the battle had started, Mantos meeting the huge ghast (or whatever it was) in a terrible clash of metal. Fear trembling in each of us, but we all knew what we had to do. Mantos was taking a terrible beating from the dread monster, but I could see the healers were challenging all their magic to keep him on his feet, blessings and prayers to their various gods. He seemed to almost pulse with the energy from it, glowing with yellow light. His yellow glow contrasted against the pale weak moonlight of these lands, the only spot of radiance in the monochromatic gloom.

They healers all chanted as one, a line of magical prayers behind the red-clad warrior to keep him strong enough to fight this terrible being.

Not far behind him, the other fighters arrived at full charge, to harrythe creature at its flanks. Belovar and Edehhag literally hurling themselves at the huge ghast, mindless of the danger they were in. I was right behind them.

I was in the thick of it and left the tactics to Roz. He told me later that as he chanted along with the other healers, their magical powers all aiding the fight, he was mindful of everything that could go wrong. Mantos was being healed in wave after wave of magic. If one of the spells was to fail then he would be dead in seconds. Using his shield as best he could to ward off the blows and even getting in a blow of his own occasionally, he was valiantly holding off the terrible horror. If he went down nothing would hold it back. Gradually Roztov could feel himself weakening. The others were exhausted as well. Using so much magic power at once could knock you out cold on your feet, or so they tell me. But still they kept chanting, it was all or nothing now.

When he judged the time was right, just as the healers were beginning to tire and falter he cried out. “Now! Hit it with everything!”

Ellerina and her wizards again leapt forward to unleash ruin on the huge ghast. Spell after spell landed on it, fire and ice, often knocking the fighters at the front to their feet in the blast. I am short, as you can see, but even I ducked as all that magic flew overhead. Wherever it landed, lumps of frozen mud and ice flew up. Red hot coals from the exploding fireballs rained down on our upheld shields.

The wizards and mages were giving everything they had. I glanced behind me as I huddled under my shield. The healers were spent though. I could see Roz was down on one knee, he had nothing left to give. Meg was the same, the others too. Meggelaine, now at eye level with Roz, shot him a glance, but she kept right on chanting, the sturdy little fressle never missing a beat.

The wizards continued to throw everything at Doomshade, and when the storm of fire and ice was over I looked back to the front and saw that the thing still stood! But as I watched I saw that it was teetering and slowly it fell to its knees. A cry of joy went up from the ranks and I lead the charge of the warriors and barbarians who were still on their feet to finish the monster off.

It was trying to rise, but was struck down again by our combined attacks. Letting out one last dreadful groan it swung its sword for a final time and then disappeared from view under our blows. I seemed to fade and drift away until all that was left was the sword and an empty cape.

A great cry of victory went up, we had done it! We could hardly believe we had defeated such a dread and powerful foe. Not only that, but by defeating him we had brought peace back to this valley. One valley out of hundreds I admit, but those other valleys are other stories.

Well, anyway, that was the tale of how we defeated the dread Doomshade of the Moon Marshes. Oh, we even recovered our lost scout, that was our friend Ghene by the way, we found him alive, barely, hold up in a burnt out farmhouse. Later, we managed to get some sleep, wounds were healed and bandaged, hunger and thirst attended to. Well, that was our mightiest battle in the Marshes, but the campaign was far from over. We were there nearly a year, all told. There are people that live up there, can you believe it? Wild savage folks, true, but people, more or less. They had a queen, of sorts, oh well, how we dealt with her, that’s another tale... Oh thank you, my throat is a little dry...’

Broddor bowed to his audience and went to sit down at the table where he had eaten his dinner. Heaccepted a tankard of homebrewed beer that was offered to him by one of the locals.

‘Not too bad that, not too bad,’ he said after drinking half of it in several big gulps.

There was a man sat next to him that he did not recognise, but then he supposed he hadn’t met everyone in Moletown after all. The main hall was dark and smoky but he could see it was a man, big built, old but still strong looking, with white hair and beard.

‘That is quite a tale,’ said the man. ‘You know I met your friends the druids just a few days ago.’

Broddor took the tankard from his lips and whiped the beer from his beard. ‘Did you?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m Mordran, a traveller. I’ve just arrived in town. Your friends were kind enough to let me warm myself by their fire.’

‘Oh I see. How is it you speak Enttish?’ asked Broddor in astonishment.

‘You could say I get around. Yes, I saw them two days ago, as I was coming down here.’

‘How were they?’

‘They seemed well enough,’ smiled the old man. ‘Is this all of you from your shipwreck then? The three druids, yourself and Floran?’

Broddor shrugged and drained the last of the beer from the cup, ‘Well, aye, if you add three sailors and a young lassto the haul, then that’s your catch.’

Most people had eaten, but there was still some fruit and bread on a plate that had not been touched. Mordran pulled it over and tore off a small crust and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed he said, ‘I try to get down this way every so often, you know. I come from up north. I’m one of the few people left that can travel this island.’

‘How can you travel unmolested with all these bastard dragons about?’

‘Oh, I know the old ways. There are valleys and areas of forest that the dragons never go.’

‘Huh,’ Broddor grunted. ‘I wish our bloody druids had known them, we might not have gotten attacked so often. I lost my second best undershirt in the last attack.’

‘That is a shame. Was it precious to you?’

‘Och, I suppose it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but it was one of the shirts my wife had embroidered. She’ll not be happy about that when I get back.’

‘How do you think you’ll get back?’ asked Mordran as he nibbled on the bread.

‘Aye well, ye would have been better asking the druids that, they have some skidtdumyt plan to steal a boat up north. Hey, if you are from up north, you’d know if they have any boats right?’

‘I think they do yes, although they might not be easy to get hold of.’

Broddor patted his sword, which was propped up at the side of the table, ‘We’ll see about that, the way I see it those blodig dragons owe us a boat anyway.’

‘You have your sword,’ Mordran said, then gestured at Floran. ‘You have your wizard, a powerful one too judging by your tale of the Moon Marshes and you have your druids. Perhaps you are right, you could steal a ship from the dragons of Stovologard.’

Floran had wandered over to the small fire that burned in the hearth of the main hall and stood talking to some of the locals in their own language.

‘Tuppence, lad,’ called Broddor. ‘Come over here. This fellow speaks Enttish!’

Floran bowed to the people he was talking to and then came and joined Broddor and Mordran at the table.

‘Hello,’ he said.

‘Well met, my friend,’ replied Mordran. ‘You speak Draconic well.’

‘I thank you. You speak Enttish well.’

‘Tell me,’ asked Mordran. ‘If you were to take a ship from the northern dragons, how would you do it?’

‘Oh. The druids come up with the plans really.’

‘I see. But how do you fight dragons?’

Floran considered for a moment then said, ‘Well, Hyadnian magic. Ice lances, comets, that sort of thing seems to work best. The dragons we have fought are not entirely immune to fire either, I…’

There was a sudden scream from the other side of the hall. Broddor looked up, and then sighed. It was Ophess. Tankle was there, holding the girl’s wrist. Ophess was trying to struggle out of her grip, but Tankle had the strength of a woman who hauled ropes all day for a living.

Broddor joined them as Tankle was saying, ‘Stop screaming you fool. Do you want to bring the man hunters down on us?’

‘I’ll scream again if you don’t let go of me!’

‘Djævelens røv! What’s going on?’ asked Broddor.

’She’s breaking the mugs. She’s broken four already. It’s disrepectful.’

Broddor looked down, there was indeed a good deal of broken pottery underfoot.

’It’s an accident!’ yelled Ophess.

’Is it bollocks,’ growled Tankle.’I saw you. Smashing them for fun.’

’Are you calling me a liar?’ threw back Ophess, snarling up at the sailor.

’I’m calling you a little shit!’

Ophess was either shocked, or pretended to, ’You swore! I’m telling Meg when she gets back! You’ll be in big trouble.’

’Why you little...’ said Tankle as she made to get her other hand around the girl’s neck.

Broddor stepped in. ’Now then. That’s enough. Time for bed anyway eh? Come on Ophess.’

’No!’ 

Tankle threw up her hands and let Ophess go, more than willing to let Broddor take over.Ophess swiped a mug off a nearby table and held it over her head, ready to smash it to the floor.

’No one tells me when it’s bed time! I’ll smash this one too!’

The people of Moletown silently watched the drama play out. They could not understand the language the newcomers were speaking but they understood the gist of it. None of them seemed overly concerned about the noise they girl was making or the loss of some of their mugs.

Broddor stepped forward, but stopped when he realised he was too short to get the mug off her without a struggle. ’Now look here lass. No one has time for this.’

Ophess grabbed another mug from the table and cried out, ’Ha!’

She held both over her head.

Simutaniously both Broddor and Tankle stepped back and folded their arms. 

’Do it then you little shite,’ grunted Tankle. ’And see how much trouble you get into.’

Ophess snarled and hurled one of the mugs to the floor. Rather than smashing though, it swooped up into the air then hovered over her head. Ophess looked up at it in amazement and let the other fall from her grasp. It too swooped up into the air and joined its brother. The mugs then gently wafted across the hall and set themselves down on the mantlepiece.

Broddor, suspicious, looked over at Floran. He could see the wizard, who stood a few yards away, had his arms crossed, but one hand was pointing at the mugs, two fingers gesturing at them, then relaxing as the mugs landed.

When the mugs lay to rest everyone in the hall sighed out a breath, then looked back at Ophess.

’That’s enough nonsense now lass. Bed time.’

Broddor was not particularly angry, but Ophess must have thought he was, as she accepted his hand and allowed herself to be led out of the hall and to the bunker she shared with Tankle.

As she got ready for bed she kept up a constant stream of carping.

’I don’t want her in my room tonight. She can sleep in the kitchen. How dare she handle me like that? I’m the captain’s daughter. He’d have flogged her for that.’

’Yes, yes. I’ll tell her. Just get into bed and sleep.’

As she got into bed and pulled up the covers she said, ’Meg always tells me a story.’

Broddor, who was on his knees laying the small fireplace in the room for the next morning looked up and replied, ’I’ve just done telling a long tale. Were ye not listening?’

’Tell another.’

Broddor sighed and dredged up some vaguely remembered story from his youth involving himself and his brother getting into trouble for smashing his mother’s favourite plate, but he only got halfway through it before she fell asleep.

He sighed then went through to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He decided to wait here until Tankle turned up, just incase the girl woke up again and possibly started wandering around outside in the dark by herself. She needed constant watching.

Tankle turned up eventually, yawning, and slumped down in the other chair by the kitchen hearth.

’What have you been doing all night, wench?’

’Oh nothing,’ sighed Tankle as she inspected the tea pot.

’There’s one cup left, you can have it. I hope you wern’t kissing Tuppence again.’

’No my lord!’ gasped Tankle, blushing crimson.

’Don’t worry,’ Broddor laughed. ’It’s hardly a secret any more. Well, I’m off to my own digs. Good night.’

Broddor stepped out into the night. He wasn’t wearing his armour, so the winter chill hit him and he gathered his coat around his body for warmth. He had felt that wandering around in his armour was slightly intimidating to his hosts so had not been wearing it the last couple of nights. He’d only taken his sword into the hall with him to help tell the story...

’Blodig Gronmorder!’ he cursed. ‘You’ve only gone and left your sword in the bloody hall you stupid old fool.’

Broddor turned in his tracks and headed back to the main hall. Dwarves have good night vision, as you might expect from a race that spent so much time underground so he easily spotted the tall figure of Mordran in the darkness. The man was some distance away and heading out of the village, into the trees.

‘Where is that daft old goof off to?’ muttered the dwarf. Curious, he followed.

Further into the forest he saw lights and as he got closer he saw Mordran join a group of villagers, some of whom were carrying torches.

Broddor stopped, somewhat perplexed by the unusual sight of naked flames in the forest. He looked up. These torches would be visible from the air, what were these people thinking? Surely the manhunters would see them.

He took a few steps forward, but then thought twice and ducked behind a tree. Whatever was going on looked like a ceremony. Some of the people were chanting as Mordran entered the circle of torches. Broddor initially thought to leave, his sense of decency telling him it was impolite to spy on them, but then he thought that perhaps he could stay and watch a bit of it, to tell Roztov about later. That druid was interested in all these sorts of local customs after all.

The circle expanded as the villagers all took several steps back and then suddenly Mordran turned into a very large white dragon. 

’Kniv mig raslet!’ swore Broddor. He put his hand over his mouth, expecting to see the people instantly devoured by the dragon, but they all seemed content enough. One of them then conversed with the beast in that harsh language they used between themselves. The dragon spoke back in a deep rumbling baritone. The conversation went back and forth for a while, then the dragon put its clawed front talon on the head of one of the villagers, in a gesture that was reminiscent of a man stroking a dog.

‘Right,’ said Broddor, turning and quietly heading back to the town.

Floran had joined Salveri and Arrin in their bunker for a cup of tea, before retiring to the abode he shared with Broddor.

‘That girl is going to get us all killed,’ said Salveri, returning to a familiar topic.

‘We seem safe enough here though,’ put in Arrin.

‘True,’ agreed the older man. ‘Long may it last. How long do you think before the druids return, my lord?’

Floran was warming his hands on his cup and staring into the dying flames of the fire in the kitchen hearth.

‘Oh,’ he said, surfacing from his reverie. ‘A few more days perhaps. Hard to say really.’

‘How long before... I mean, how long should we wait?’

Floran yawned and stretched his feet out towards the fire, ‘Until they come back I suppose.’

‘I mean, my lord,’ insisted Salveri. ‘Are they likely to get killed out there?’

‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so. Very difficult to kill a druid, they have too many tricks.’

Salveri nodded and looked over at Arrin.

‘Well your hair is growing back anyway,’ Salveri said as he lifted up the young man’s hair at the back. ‘Give it another couple of months and you’ll have a proper sailor’s haircut.’

‘Aye,’ agreed Arrin. The younger sailors on the Red Maiden had all undercut their hair, but he had not shaved it since the wreck. ‘Ophess’s hair is growing back too, she looks like a loon.’

Just then Tankle quietly opened the door and descended the three steps down into the kitchen.

‘Don’t talk to me about that pest,’ she muttered.

‘Who’s watching her?’ growled Salveri, half getting out of his seat.

‘Calm yourself. She’s asleep. I can keep an eye on the place from here,’ said Tankle as she left the door slightly open and turned her seat around.

‘You’re letting the warmth out.’

‘It’s like an oven in here anyway.’

Salveri pointed a finger at the large woman. ‘You are getting above yourself wench.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Aye,’ said Salveri, who was about to say more, but then glanced at Floran. ‘Well, you’ve got ideas above your station. I’ll say no more.’

From the door Tankle shrugged at Salveri and pulled a face at him. Salveri tutted and waved his hand at her dismissively. There was an awkward silence for a while, but as the fire died down and the last of the tea was drunk the atmosphere became pleasant once more.

Salveri’s eyes were half closed when Broddor came busting in and nearly tripped over Tankle.

‘Right good, you’re all here. Gather your stuff, we’re leaving!’

Floran turned around in his chair and smiled at his friend. ‘Why?’

‘Bloody dragons isn’t it? That Mordran is a dragon in disguise.’

‘That does make a kind of sense. It did occur to me that he might be.’

‘What?’ gasped Broddor, his mouth hanging open. ‘It occurred to you? You didn’t think to mention it?’

‘Oh sorry,’ apologised Floran. ‘It’s just that we are not so far away from the spire. Mordran must be a dragon from there. What is this place to them though, I wonder?’

‘From what I saw, some kind of petting zoo!’

‘What do we do?’

’Kniv mig! I’m talking to myself! We leave. Now!’ Broddor took a deep breath. ’Gather your stuff. I’ll go get me blasted sword. Someone go get all the druid’s gear that they left and someone go wake that girl. Do it all quietly. Meet back here. Right?’

Ten minutes later, they were all heading out of town as quietly as they could. Broddor didn’t hold out much hope of getting out without being noticed, especially when Ophess was with them. She was half asleep and quiet though, despite being angred by being forced out of bed and into her outdoor clothes. He felt a dam sight safer now, with his armour on and Gronmorder strapped to his back.

Mordran, holding an unlit torch, stepped out from behind a tree. As he came closer, flames suddenly sprung from the torch, illuminating the area.

‘It is not safe to wander around in the dark, you know.’

Broddor, was ahead of the others, using is dwarven eyesight to guide the group.

‘Oh, don’t worry about us,’ he said.

‘You should wait until morning at least,’ insisted Mordran.

‘Um,’ Broddor was no good a lying.

‘We got word from the druids, didn’t we?’ said Salveri stepping up to join the dwarf. ‘They said we had to go join them right away.’

‘I don’t think so,’ replied Mordran. ‘I think you should stay.’

Broddor slowly reached over his shoulder to the hilt of his sword.

Mordran saw this though and said, ‘Don’t do anything foolish.’

‘Dragon you may be,’ growled Broddor. ‘But I reckon I can hold you off long enough for the others to get away.’

Mordran laughed, and in an instant, where a man stood, there was a huge white dragon. He took up all the space in front of them, his head lost somewhere above in the trees. What they could see was terrifying enough, his front feet each had talons on them as long as short swords. His scales shone in the light from the fallen torch, glistening with a golden sheen.

The branches above rustled and the dragon’s head descended to Broddor’s level. Its head alone was bigger than the dwarf, even in all his armour.

The dragon seemed to smile, displaying a wide set of needle sharp teeth.

It then said, in a low rumbling voice, ‘Let’s put that to the test shall we?’

Island of Dragons - DRAFT - Chapter 6– Mole Town 6248

Chapter 6– Mole Town 6248

The next morning, as the sun rose across the inlet, Roztov turned into a fox and had a sniff about the area around Moletown, out to about a mile or so in whatever direction interested him. Foxes were not native to the island, but it was a form he felt comfortable in and there was no one around that was likely to see him anyway.

He went down along the inlet for a couple of miles, following the north shore. The south shore was about a mile away, its steep sides just visible in the low hanging mist of the morning. It looked natural, to his expert eye, unlike the magical mists that surrounded the island’s exterior.

He found no sign of boats, he hadn’t expected to and turned back. He came across two women from the town, working their way through the forest gathering pinecones. He knew that they ate the nuts from them, and used the cones for fuel. They were young and slender, seemingly at home in the forest. They did not notice him.

From there he skirted around the town to the north and watched some men catching and killing a rotrok. He noted that they left the vegetains alone.

When he arrived back at the settlement, he changed from a fox to the form of a sparrowhawk and swooped up into some high branches and watched from above for an hour or so. He had no suspicions, he was merely watching. The truth was, he thought to himself, he was internally writing a paper for the Royal Society back in Timu. Even though he seriously wondered if he would ever get back, he couldn’t help himself, it felt comforting. He was irritated at the loss of the notebooks that he had already compiled on the journey, but very thankful he had had the good sense to send copies of them home from Grenos before they left. Such writings would be of interest, but a paper about Tanud would be a sensation. He’d tried to write a book once, about his experiences in Fiarka tracing Ojumf River, but he had not the patience for it. He preferred to write papers for the Society and let others (older more settled men) digest his work and write the books.

The town had woken up at first light, and after the hunters and gatherers had gone out for the day the place was quiet. He admitted that you could hardly see the place, it was so artfully hidden amongst the roots and fallen branches. Not as well as Vine Street, which was completely hidden from all sides, but well enough apparently, to have never attracted attention from dragons or the manhunters.

He saw Yewer, the old woman Floran had been talking to, stick her head out of a door then seemingly sniff the air. She then wrapped herself in a shawl and sat on a log next to her house. After a while she pulled a pipe from her pocked and begun to pack it with something that Roztov could only imagine was tobacco.

Almost without thinking he fluttered down to sit beside her on the log and turned back into a man. Once she had got over her amazement and sat back down again she smiled and clasped her hands in greeting, moving them up and down they way that they all did here.

Roztov returned her greeting and pointed at the tobacco. She understood and even offered him her pipe, but he waved his hands and instead picked up a stick. Holding it in his hands, he shaped it with druid magic, twisting it gently until he had a smooth wooden pipe of his own.

Yewer once more was amazed and even watched with wonder as he packed the pipe and lit it with a snap of his fingers. She then held out her pipe and watched as he lit hers too, fire appearing at his finger tips just long enough to ignite the tobacco.

Together they sat and smoked.

‘I needed this!’ declared Roztov with a sigh.

After a while, both puffing away contently, they struck up a conversation, in mime mainly as they could not understand each other’s language. She made a sweeping gesture with her hands, then clasped them to her heart. She smiled and nodded. Roztov understood that she was thankful that they had arrived. They talked for a while, but the tobacco was relaxing them and it was too much effort to be constantly waving their arms around.

Moletown was different from Vine Street in many ways, Roztov reflected, not just in scale. Vine Street was dark and gloomy, very well hidden and protected from attack. Even so, the people there still seemed to be living in constant daily terror, only venturing out when the food ran out. Moletown on the other hand, despite being mostly underground seemed to take its security a lot less seriously, almost for granted. Women mushroom picking in the forest? Doors left open during the day to let out smoke from cooking fires? The people of Vine Street had been gaunt and half starved, these people seemed well fed. Was it purely down to the location or did they really have something watching over them?

This old woman obviously thought it was safe enough to have a quick pipe after breakfast.

Roztov knew he over-thought everything, his wife and friends told him so, but he had been in so many dangerous situations over the years, and had had so many narrow escapes he tended to assess every situation he got into for dangers, however prosaic it seemed. Once he’d finished smoking, he thanked her again and went to his rooms, to see what the others were having for breakfast.

In their own small underground bunker the sailors were eating their own breakfast. It was fried rotrok bacon, rotrok eggs, wild mushrooms and bread rolls made from acorn flour. A jug of water had been fetched from the stream and used to brew tea.

‘This bacon is really good, almost like pig,’ said Arrin holding up a piece before putting it in his mouth.

‘This is the best we’ve eaten since the ship wreck,’ agreed Salveri.

Tankle nodded and smiled happily between mouthfuls of hot mushrooms.

‘We should stay here,’ said Salveri. ‘I’ve been thinking. Those druids should just fly off and find their boat, then bring it back here.’

‘How? Sail it?’

‘Why not?’

Arrin shrugged. ‘Well, we are sailors after all. I’d feel we were letting the side down.’

Salveri pointed his wooden fork at him.

‘Listen. Ophess is better off here right? She’s a danger to all of us out in the forest. And Meggelaine can’t stay, so that means Tankle stays.’

‘Hey, why me?’ cried Tankle.

‘You’re a wench. I can’t go, because I’m still recovering from that spear. Besides, those druids can fly. They could leave Floran and Broddor here too. Once they’ve secured the boat they can come get us.’

‘But Sal’, argued Arrin. ‘They’ll need sailors to bring it back. Those druids have wondrous powers, but they don’t know anything about ships.’ 

‘Well you go with them then,’ snarled Salveri. ‘Fly up there on Roztov’s back. Just be careful not to fall off!’

Arrin looked down at his plate, his anger was rising but he respected Salveri’s age too much to argue back. It was not like Salveri to show cowardice, he’d went out to fight the manhunters after all, but maybe being brought back from the edge of death by Ghene had made him more cautious.

Tankle sat back from the table and picked at her teeth.

‘Would a boat make it down the coast anyway, even with a good crew? A dragon could just come along and set fire to it.’

‘The people that live here came here by boat. Sailed right up the inlet as bold as you please.’

‘Fair enough. Sounds like a good idea then, you should suggested it.’

‘I will.’

‘When?’

Salveri stood up from the table. ‘In my own good time, woman. Anyway, are we to be locked up in here all day? I can’t just sit here and turn tea into piss all day.’

Arrin and Tankle exchanged a glance and decided to let the older man rant on for a while uninterrupted. When they were needed they would be summoned.

In the end, the decision had not needed Salveri’s input. The survivors of the Red Maiden met for lunch and it was quickly decided that the three druids would go north and scout the chasm, to see if it was passable. They would be gone a few days and the others were to simply wait at Moletown until the druids returned.

‘What will we do, lad?’ Broddor asked of Roztov.

‘Well, I don’t know. Help out if you can. Just stay out of trouble. Floran, any last advice from the people you’ve talked to here, before we go?’

Floran who had been biting his thumb nail, took it from his mouth and looked up.

‘Ah. This is an old camp. Most of them are second generation and have never been more than a few miles from the place. Only the older ones remember Stovologard, but they are very much not experts on the north. They know nothing of the chasm, only to avoid it.’

‘Right,’ sighed Roztov. ‘Well, keep talking to them anyway. They still seem really happy we are here.’

‘Oh yes,’ agreed Floran. ‘They hunger for stories of the world beyond Tanud.’

With no further ceremony the three druids turned into their favourite birds, Roztov a Stykian sparrowhawk, Ghene a Great Forest goshawk and Meggelaine a Tormwood kestrel. They then fluttered up through the branches of the trees and then up above the canopy. There had been a recent snowfall, the tall dark pines were dusted in white. The druids already knew the area from their previous scouting missions and divinations so they swooped down from the hill that Moletown sat on, into a broad valley. It was thick with tall trees down to the flood plain of the frozen river. The three birds swooped down to the river and glided along it, following it north. The snow lay thick along the riverbanks of the meandering river as it flowed through the hills and the forest covered mountains beyond. The sky was overcast and dark, what light penetrated the clouds was frigid and blue light, giving the landscape a ghostly pallor.

Late in the afternoon they arrived at the fringes of the gorge, a huge chasm that bit through the unnamed mountains like a huge scar. The trees were a little thinner up here and the snow thicker, the druids felt exposed and when the shadow of a dragon crossed over them they instinctively flew down into the shelter of the forest.

They landed, then hopped along the forest floor for a few paces before turning into their natural forms.

‘Did you see the size of that thing?’ said Roztov smoothing back his windswept hair. ‘I near soiled myself when it went over head.’He spoke Peret, a language only known to druids.

‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ agreed Ghene in the same tongue.

‘I don’t think this is safe,’ said Meggelaine gathering her little cloak around her body. ‘The big ones have all sorts of magic. They could already know we are here.’

‘They may do, but do they care?’ replied Roztov. ‘Shall we at least try and get some sort of vantage point? I want to get a look over the edge at least.’

They turned into foxes and scurried north, upwards, keeping to the deepest parts of the forest until they reached a windswept hilltop which was home to a few trees and a lot of snow. From here they could see a ridge of mountains ahead of them and off to the west the black pit of the gorge. They could only see the sides of it, not into it, but from this hill, in order to get there on foot, they would have to travel back down into a valley. The valley had more trees in it, but from there they would see nothing and the other slope, the one that leadup to the lip of the gorge, was barren, it would offer them no shelter at all.

The foxes padded quietly into a stand of a dozen or so pines and turned back into their natural forms.

‘Probably as close as we should get today then,’ said Roztov as he knelt down by a tree and look out across the mountains.

‘Agreed,’ said Ghene. ‘Let’s watch from here until nightfall and then make camp down in that valley.’

They could see dragons flying up and down the top of the gorge, some flying high before swooping back down and out of sight. They were of all sizes, large and small, and of many colours.

‘It’s difficult to get a sense of scale isn’t it?’ said Meggelaine as she snuggled in beside Roztov. ‘It looks like they use it like people use a road.’

‘You’re right. Up and down they go.’

From where they sat they could see about two miles of gorge. Together their eyes followed a massive red creature, clearly visible against the snow, as it slowly made its way from west to east.

‘What business do they have do you think?’ said Ghene with a smile. ‘What takes that huge beast from where it was, to where it goes?’

‘Popping down the shops to get some bread and milk?’

Meggelaine sniggered at Roztov’s jest, such as it was. ‘Maybe he has a job at one end of the gorge but lives at the other end and this is commute.’

‘Yes. He’s knocked off for the day and is away home for his tea.’

Ghene cleared his throat. ‘You know, I understand that you apply humour to the situation. To this day though I cannot work out whether you humans and torms consider yourselves funny or not.’

‘Oh Ghene, just leave it,’ said Meggelaine patting his arm with her tiny hand.

‘There is an element of human humour that considers very bad jests to be good?’

‘It’s not worth it mate, honestly,’ said Roztov as he continued to watch the dragon’s progress. ‘What do your divinations tell you of the way ahead?’

Ghene closed his eyes. ‘We are looking at one of two spurs of the canyon that lead to the main gorge itself. It turns more to the north as you follow it to the right and eventually the spurs merge. The main gorge travels north east for about forty miles then splits into two spurs again. The right-hand spur ends at the spire.’

‘To the west?’

‘This spur we see ends in a series of shattered valleys. A landscape impossible to traverse on foot.’

‘I see. I suppose it would make more sense to go east. Better to cross one gorge than two.’

That night they camped in the forest valley as they had discussed, keeping warm in a druidic hide. First thing in the morning, as the winter sun crept up over the mountains and slowly illuminated the land with its weak light that gave no warmth, they flew east, as close to the gorge as they dared.

After ten miles of fast flying the gorge did indeed meet another spur and at this meeting, on the north west wall of the chasm they could see that a city had been carved into the rock.

Steep terraces, near vertical, climbed up from the depths of the chasm, each terrace lined with dozens of ornately carved arches. Some of the arches were big enough to sail a ship through, some no larger than a doorway for a man. Much of the stonework looked crumbled away, or clawed away by the passage of dragons. The three falcons wheeled for a few moments, taking it all in. It was still early morning, the city seemed quiet. One of the falcons swooped down into the chasm towards the northern side, the chasm was two hundred yards wide, one of the others hesitated then followed while the smallest one screeched in alarm and turned back to the forest to the south.

When she landed and found a place to hide Meggelaine said to herself, ‘Oh what a pair of fools! They are going to get themselves both killed!’

Being so small she could curl up in-between the wide roots of a birch tree. Here she pulled her cloak around her and her hood over her head. Small and inconspicuous she would have been well hidden but for the fact she was talking to herself.

‘They’ll be breakfast when all those dragons wake up. I’m not going down there. Who do they think I am? I’ll jolly well not rescue them if they get into trouble, they can think again in that regard...’

She kept this up for a while, then about an hour later, just as she was weighing the idea of going to look for them, the two other hawks landed next to her. They did not immediately change into their normal forms so she had to scald them as birds.

‘Where the hell have you been eh? I’ve been worried sick! Sick with worry! What was I supposed to tell everyone if you didn’t come back?’

The sparrowhawk shuffled its feet and looked down at its talons.

‘Too ashamed to turn back eh? No wonder, and you!’ she looked at the goshawk. ‘You should have known better than follow him. You’re a Councillor. Councillors think before they act. Him I can understand, but... hey! Where are you going? Come back, and turn into your normal forms, for Etruna’s sake or I’ll pluck your feathers!’

Roztov took the little torm up in his arms and gave her a hug. ‘Sorry Meg.’

‘I’m really scared Roz.’

‘Yes. I know, I’m sorry. I just thought I’d take a quick look before they woke up. This is a really good camp site you’ve found. This is a well hidden glade.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Meggelaine with a sniff as she dried her eyes on her sleeve. ‘What did you see? Did they wake up?’

Ghene, who was gathering up some sticks for a small fire put in, ‘They certainly did. We left pretty quickly after that. There are no other birds around here, we stick out a lot. The dragons are mostly huge, which usually means they are old. This place is ok to light a fire, yes?’

Roztov nodded, ‘Should be ok. It’s a nice little spot this. I wouldn’t have expected trees so high up, but this valley must be warmer than the surrounding mountains.’

‘It is like this all the way along the south-eastern edge. It’s like a green road that runs for a hundred miles.’

‘Lucky for us. The architecture of those arches was interesting, did you notice it? That was the work of hands, not of claws. No dragon I ever heard of built anything.’

‘The columns, they looked of the dorian order.’

Roztov shook his head. ‘I knew you’d say that when you saw them. Every bit of ancient architecture you see, you attribute to elves. They could have just have easily been late inna order. Human.’

‘You are very wrong. Dorian capitals curl downwards as did these. Inna capitals curl upwards.’

Roztov threw down a stick he was about to break over his knee in genuine irritation.

‘I know the difference between dorian and inna capitals thank you very much Ghene!’

Meggelaine rolled her eyes and let the dull conversation on classical columns carry on both figuratively and literally over her head. She busied herself preparing the fire, then preparing the food and dishing it out. The meal and the conversation, which was more friendly now, continued.

‘So, we agree that whoever carved out that city, it was done over eight hundred years ago and that... Meg will you please stop fussing!’

Meggelaine was considered rather a pest by her friends when they were eating together. She rarely concentrated on her own food, but constantly policed the eating area, topping up cups, dolling out seconds and clearing away dirty plates, sometimes at the same time as the last mouthful was eaten. She picked up waste as it was made and cleared away the broad leaves that their rolls were wrapped in. Once she had a small pile of detritus from the meal she would take it over to a spot she had designated as a bin, then return to the meal and continue patrolling it, all the time her own meal remaining half eaten.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You know it’s a fressle thing. I do it when I’m nervous.’

Roztov pulled his boots off to warm his feet by the fire. In doing so he came close to knocking over a kettle Meggelaine was boiling for tea.

The little torm yelped loudly and lunged for it although it had been in no danger of falling. She then sat back fluttering her hand at her heart with a deep sigh, ‘Oh mercy!’

‘Meggelaine! Will you please stop soiling yourself!’ said Roztov trying to tussle her hair.

‘I can’t help it,’ she replied as she darted out of the way of his hand. ‘How can they not know we are here? We are camped less than a mile away from their city.’

‘Someone approaches,’ said Ghene.

‘Oh don’t even!’ said Meggelaine sharply as she tilted her head at the elf.

‘I do not jest,’ continued Ghene as he stood up and looked around.

‘If I might warm myself at your fire for a while?’ said a voice from the darkness. It spoke in their language of Peret.

An old man approached and bowing slightly gestured towards the flames. He walked with a stick, but was tall and looked strong enough. He wore travelling clothes and a long black cloak with the hood down. His hair and beard were white.

Their camp was tucked in between the side of a large rock and the wide roots of a tree so there was not much space. Roztov shuffled along the side of the rock on his backside to make room.

The old man laid down his staff and sat by the fire. He held out his hands and warmed them.

‘I don’t usually meet people up here,’ said the old man. ‘My name is Mordran.’

Ghene introduced himself and his friends then said, ‘How do you come to speak Peret?’

‘I know many languages and I learned it in my travels. When I heard you talking I decided to address you in your own language.’

‘But how can this be?’ asked Ghene. ‘Where can you...’

‘Just leave it,’ hissed Roztov. ‘Leave it for now Ghene.’

‘Oh very well,’ said Ghene giving his friend an odd look, ‘Well, do you come this way regularly?’

‘From time to time I travel the Greenway yes. It is the quickest route east to west.’

‘You do not find it dangerous?’

Mordran sighed and rubbed his hands, ‘It can be. I have my ways though.’

They sat in silence for a while.

‘Do you know anything of the city nearby?’

‘A little.’

‘Perhaps,’ continued Ghene. ‘Ah, perhaps you could settle an argument. Do you know who built it?’

Mordran considered for a moment, then said, ‘Well, there are some that say men ruled this island many years ago, before the dragons came. When the dragons came they took the men’s cities and made them their slaves.’

‘So, ah, men then. Like Roztov?’ said the elf gesturing at his friend.

‘Much like him yes, I should imagine.’

‘Huh, looks like you win, Roz.’

‘Yes. Great,’ replied Roztov through clenched teeth.

‘If you don’t mind me asking then, how do you avoid the dragons?’ said Ghene.

‘Oh, the Chasm Dragons have no magic. They are immensely powerful but if they cannot see you then they do not know you are there. They do not keep humans as slaves either, as the dragons of the north do. If they have ever seen me at all, I doubt they cared.’

‘Oh I see. Well we had a lot of bother with dragons south of here.’

‘Manhunters from the north, yes I can well imagine. But they avoid the Chasm. King Primus and Blavius are at war, so the Stovologard dragons avoid this area, naturally. It may seem strange to travel so close to them, but while the war is on the Greenway is one of the safest places to be.’

‘Who are Primus and Blavius?’

‘King Primus is the ruler of Stovologard to the north. Blavius styles himself as the King of all Dragons, but in reality he rules over the Chasm only and even then only because the others find it convenient that he thinks that.’

‘So we are safe here?’ squeaked Meggelaine.

‘Sometimes the safest place for a mouse is under the cat’s belly.’

‘And they don’t care about people anyway because they don’t keep slaves?’

‘Correct little one. The dragons of the Chasm sleep, argue and hunt only. They have little use of slaves.’

While they talked Meggelaine was preparing a plate of food for their guest. He noticed this and held up his hand. ‘There is no need, I am not hungry.’

‘Oh, but we have plenty. More than we can manage, honestly. You would be doing us a favour...’

‘Just leave it,’ whispered Roztov through his teeth.

‘No but, I mean, we will have to throw some of this... hey!’

Roztov had taken hold of her arm and was trying to communicate something to her with his eyebrows.

‘Hey, Roz!’ she whispered loudly.

‘Well,’ said Ghene, in attempt to ignore the domestic argument that seemed to be brewing between his friends. ‘You have come from the east?’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘What can you tell us of that direction? I have seen a huge spire over there.’

Mordran nodded, as he continued to rub his hands in front of the fire.

‘I would not get too close to it, if I were you. The dragons of the spire are powerful wizards.’

‘Oh really? How close do you suppose would be dangerous?’

‘Hum,’ Mordran grunted. ‘Well, that rather depends. Are you as you appear, or do you have magic? Can you fight dragons?’

‘Oh, I see what you mean. We three are druids, we can change into...’

Roztov suddenly had a loud coughing fit. Meggelaine looked at him with consternation and thumped him on the back.

‘Sorry, must be a bone,’ he said as he recovered his voice.

‘There were no bones in the food I gave you!’ glared Meggelaine.

Ghene looked back to Mordran, ‘As I was saying...’

Once more Roztov gave three loud coughs. He held up his hand then said, ‘Sorry, sorry. Please, can you tell us more about the spire?’

Mordran smiled knowingly at Roztov, then said, ‘I know little, only what I have picked up on my travels. You will never see a spire dragon abroad, they stick to their tower and their studies. They play no part in the politics of Tanud. It is them that shroud the island in mist and keep it hidden, or so they say.’

They talked for a while longer, but the old man seemed to have little more information to offer and even though Ghene gently pressed he would not reveal where he had come from or where he was going. Eventually he stood, stretched his legs and said, ‘Well, thank you for the warmth of your fire, I will continue on now.’

‘But surely,’ exclaimed Meggelaine. ‘Surely you will stay? It’s pitch black now.’

‘Oh don’t worry about me, little one. I have my ways, I have travelled this route many times.’

‘At least take some food. No?’

‘Thank you, but no.’

They all said their farewells and when the old man was well on his way Meggelaine turned to Roztov and thumped him on the arm.

‘Why were you acting so odd all the time, Roz?’

Roztov was rubbing his face with his hands. ‘Oh Etruna,’ he sighed in quiet prayer. ‘Save us.’

‘What’s got into you?’

‘He smelled funny.’

‘So what?’

‘All three of us are shape shifters. We shift our shape, but never our smell. If you and Ghene change into the same bird I could still tell you apart by smell.’

‘Oh really?’ asked Meggelaine. ‘What do I smell of?’

‘Pie crust.’

‘Very funny. What about Ghene?’

‘Right now he smells like pine needles.’

‘Never mind that,’ put in Ghene. ‘What did Mordran smell of?’

‘Dragon.’

They all sat in silence for a moment while that new information sunk in.

‘You couldn’t smell it?’ asked Roztov.

‘When I’m around you all I smell is sweaty human,’ said Ghene.

‘Same,’ said Meggelaine.

‘Charming. Well, take it from me, that bloke – was a dragon.'

The next morning they edged closer to the city. They thought of it as such now, a city of dragons, something so incredible that they wondered if anyone would believe them if they made it back to Nillamandor.

Everything was new to them, they had nothing to gauge what was normal for a city of dragons. From where they perched, three tiny birds in a crack in the rocks on the other side of the chasm, they watched the comings and goings of the dragons. At lunch time they returned to their campsite and as they ate, discussed what they had seen.

‘They all seem pretty big anyway,’ said Meggelaine.

‘And in all sorts of colours, with all sorts of variations of horns and manes. I think I saw some of them wearing jewellery as well,’ said Roztov.

Ghene was breaking up twigs and feeding them to the fire as Meggelaine cooked. ‘That big red one, did you see him? He looked ancient. Was that the one we saw flying along the canyon yesterday? He seemed to spend some time talking to other dragons at the main entrance.’

‘Hey spoke to that long green thin one and the big fat brown one. So many different colours, shapes and sizes. I don’t know where to begin... Oh Etruna, I wish I had a notebook with me.’

‘I saw one covered in what looked like fur,’ put in Meggelaine as she stirred the pot. ‘Do you think it was real?’

Roztov shrugged and Ghene smiled. ‘You know, as I looked at the architecture, all those arches and columns, I wondered at what manner of people built such a place. You can see the occasional remains of staircases that would be of no obvious use to dragons. Despite what Mordran said, I can’t help but think I’m looking at the work of elves.’

‘Maybe, maybe not. Whoever they are, they’ve gone.’

‘It would be good to take a look inside.’

Meggelaine, who was trying some of the stew spluttered and coughed, ‘Now wait a minute...’

‘Just a thought. There must be evidence in there as to who were the builders. I mean, could it have been Dynar?’

‘You think that this could, in fact, be Hannah?’

‘I don’t know. Probably not, but...’ Ghene mused, scratching his head. ‘It’s Han-nah by the way, not the way you say it.’

Roztov laughed. ‘How can you possibly know that? Its name is derived from a scroll that is four hundred years old, written in a dead language. Not even you lot know it.’

‘My “lot”?’ said Ghene, bristling somewhat, ‘We elves have a feeling for such things. You pronounce the second “en”.’

‘Well we humans don’t. I say “Hanna”. See?’

Meggelaine rolled her eyes and started to dish out the food.

‘You know not of what you speak, Roztov,’ said Ghene. ‘We elves, we sons of Dynar, finding Hannah means everything to us. It would make a fractured people whole.’

‘Maybe, but with respect,’ replied Roztov. ‘Your people are not Dynarians any longer. In Styke we have villages like Glonk and Rogin that are an intermix of men and elves. There are no Dynarians left.’

‘There are pure blooded settlements in your country, I know of them.’

‘Reservation areas, yes. Deep in the Tanglewood and such horrible places. The self-styled “wood elf”villages. You see men there too as well though, they don’t have a lick of elf in them. It’s more of a life-style choice than a race.’

‘Well, yes, but that’s elves living in human lands. If you want to see people like me, it’s in the Great Forest.’

‘I know,’ continued Roztov as he ate.‘I don’t mean to be rude, but how many of you are there? Ten thousand, twenty?’

‘Censuses are admittedly difficult,’ conceded Ghene.

Meggelaine was barely listening to them now. Her usual instinct was to butt into any conversation that was happening, particularly when eating was going on, but this was such a familiar old subject from her two friends that she contented herself busying around the campsite.

Roztov pulled the meat off a rotrok bone and ate it bit by bit with his fingers as he went on.

‘Not enough to build an empire on is what I’m saying. And even the council has admitted you are a long way from what the Dynar were, even in terms of what you look like. You lot have the pointy ears alright, but according to the history books the Dynars all stood over six feet tall.

‘I acknowledge that I am short.’

‘I told you back on the Red Maiden I’d met sea elves right? Not just on the eastern seas, but on the west coast of Styke.’

‘Those are sailor’s stories, we in the Council know nothing of this.’

‘Sailor’s stories?’ laughed Roztov, ‘You’re living through one of them right now!’

‘Yes, well go on then.’

‘A ship came up the river to Timu. It was a few years ago now. They were explorers, adventurers from an island called Lalor. Sea elves. As thin lipped and as pointy eared as you could wish for. They were pretty rough and ready though, by elf standards.’

‘It is not possible that these were Nillamandorian elves just pulling your leg?’

‘Well, if they were, it was a very elaborate jest,’ shrugged Roztov.‘The cut of their clothes was different, they talked some ancient tongue between themselves. I went down to the docks to look over their ship. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before.’

‘Very well, but where? Nobody knows nothing about east of Norob.’

‘They had come round the southern tip of Fiarka, imagine that. East of there is another sea of islands. We know this from other traveller’s tales. A whole other sea, it’s where Ferron get’s its spice. Tuppence’s people know of it. It exists, I’m sure of it, although I admit I have not seen it with my own eyes.’

‘Marawan history has none of this.’

‘If you ask me, that’s where the Dynar went. East, not west, and they became the sea elves.’

‘No.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Roztov shrugging again. ‘One day I’ll go east and take a look.’

‘Oh, you know who went east?’ Meggelaine put in, deciding to join in the conversation, ‘Festos.’

‘Did he?’

‘Lilly sent him east to go spy on Old Bones if you can believe it. He’s probably...dead.’

Meggelaine looked down at her plate, realising she sounded silly.

‘Aye, well. If anyone could do it, it would be Festos. Just the right amount of savvy mixed in with his crazy. Half-elf right? It’s been years since I’ve seen him. Some wedding or something.’

‘Oh that would have been Coren’s wedding, oh did you know...’

The conversation moved on to Meggelaine’s favourite subject, gossiping about her friends.

After a long lunch they spent the afternoon dragon watching again then returned to the camp and spent the night.  In the morning, after breakfast, Ghene got up and said, ‘I’m going to see a man about a dog. See you later.’

As Ghene walked off into the trees Meggelaine turned to Roztov and asked, ‘He’s going to pee?’

‘He doesn’t usually announce that. I think he’s going to check on Dreggen.’

They were in no hurry to go watch the dragons without him so they toasted some rolls by the fire and heated another pot of tea for a second breakfast. About an hour later the elf returned.

‘Dreggen has gone! His trail has vanished.’

‘Eaten by a dragon?’ asked Roztov.

‘Perhaps. Thanks Meg,’ said Ghene as he accepted a cup of tea. ‘There was no blood or bones though. He walked up to an open hill top and then the trail ends.’

‘Picked up by a dragon then?’

‘I think perhaps. Could he have been in league with the dragons then, somehow?’

‘I never liked him,’ said Meggelaine with a mock shudder. ‘He was shifty, right from the beginning.’

Roztov gave her a look, but decided not to correct her. ‘Well, he’s well away from Vine Street anyway, but perhaps one of us should go back down there and take a quick look.’

‘I’ll go,’ said Ghene.

‘We’ll just do a bit more dragon watching, eh Meg?’

‘Just as long as it’s from this side of the canyone. No more diving about or thinking about going in.’

‘Very well. I’ll see you both later then,’ said Ghene as he packed up his back. ‘Expect me this time tomorrow.’