Spell Fade (26 page)

“After you, then,” Dartan said with a bow.

The closest thing to a cave Dartan had ever been in was the well on his farm. It had been on a dare, and while the prospect of it housing a dragon had been essentially nil, it still had not been a pleasant experience. At least this cave was larger than the cramped walls of that well, then again, none of them was a fifty foot dragon. It was fairly linear, following a path back under the valley above. Dartan lit the way with what he called, “Something I’ve been working on.”

They moved steadily through a series of caverns, until Logan abruptly stopped. “This is it,” he announced as they gathered around him. At the far side, on a raised stone platform, sat a box. It wasn’t large enough to be called a chest, and laid almost directly beneath the gateway above, Dartan reckoned. As they drew closer they could see it had a textured covering, like overlapping tiles of stone. The light from Dartan’s spell bounced and glittered off the box, throwing dancing shadows into the far corners of the cavern.

“Are those dragon scales?” Aliet asked hesitantly.

Logan was nodding even as Dartan reached out, trying to touch it with his mind. It didn’t exist.

“Yes,” both men affirmed simultaneously.

“What do you suppose is in it?” Aliet asked. They all turned instinctively to Logan, who could offer little more than a shoulder shrug.

“All I can tell you is what the dragon showed me. It was bound here to protect that box, and the gateway.”

“And we assume it was Alain who did the binding?” Aliet inquired.

“Who else?” Dartan answered. “Not that he’s bothered to show up to offer any help or guidance,” he added in a louder tone, hoping Alain might be eavesdropping. He stepped forward and examined the box. “Like, for example, how to open the box. Or even if we should open it.” Aliet put a calming hand on his arm as she stepped past him. She reached out and touched one of the white handles on the side of the box.

“Bone?” she asked, looking back. Dartan and Logan slowly nodded. “Of course it is,” she said with a grimace as she wrapped her fingers around it and gave it a cursory lift. She released her grip and wiped her hand on her pants. “Well, it’s not heavy, and it isn’t stuck. I say we deliver it to Alain.”

Dartan nodded. “The only instruction we have is to keep it from the Northern soldiers,” he reasoned. “We can’t just wait around down here until they find us.”

Marcus pushed forward, grabbed both bone handles, and lifted the box from the stone platform. “Let’s get moving,” he said, already headed out of the cave. Aliet and Dartan exchanged a quick glance, then both turned to follow him. Only Logan remained.

Logan stared at the empty platform as shuffling footsteps took the box further away from him. He closed his eyes and slowly turned around the room. There it was.

The pull.

He opened his eyes, expecting to see the retreating backs of Marcus, Aliet, and Dartan. Instead, he was facing a deeply shadowed wall.

“There’s still something in here,” he mumbled. He took a step forward, and felt it increase. He spoke louder this time. “There’s something else down here.” Everyone froze.

“And by ‘something’ you mean?” Aliet asked.

Logan shrugged. “Just something. Smaller than a dragon, but bigger than that box,” he clarified. “Give me some light over here, Dartan.” The wall was instantly lit, revealing an opening just large enough for a dragon to squeeze through. “In there,” Logan pointed as he walked towards the hole, followed closely by the others.

Dartan’s spell illuminated the entire adjoining chamber, but none of them moved past the entrance.

“How many do you think there are?” Aliet whispered.

“Hundreds,” Logan answered. Spread out before them in neat rows reaching all the way to the back wall of the cavern were two-meter tall dragon eggs. Each one stood on end, propped in a nest of rocks, which Dartan noticed, included what appeared to be spellstones.

“What do we do?” Aliet asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“
We
don’t do anything,” Logan said. “You all are going to get that box out of here, and I am going to take care of this.” He pulled his remaining sword from its sheath and stepped forward. He was stopped by Aliet’s hand.

“You can’t do this alone,” she said softly.

“What other choice do I have?” He lowered the sword and faced them. “I can’t ask you to drop that box and help me. Whatever is in it is too important.”

“Then we’ll all come back together,” she implored him.

“When do you think that will happen?” he asked. He continued without giving her a chance to respond. “I can tell you that a dragon will normally only produce one egg per year, and that egg can remain viable for hundreds of years. I can also tell you that a newly hatched dragon can reach full maturity anywhere between twenty years and a few hours, depending on the age of the egg. What I can’t tell you is why these eggs haven’t hatched, or how long it will be until they do.” He rested the sword on his shoulder and ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and weary merely thinking of the task at hand.

“Do you realize each one of these eggs contains a member of a species that was very nearly successful in removing ours from this world?” He paused, looking out at the rows upon rows of potential foes. “If even one of these dragons escapes this cave, its actions will be my fault.”

“You will come with us,” Marcus said. “In three days you and I will return here together to deal with this.” It wasn’t a request, or even a suggestion, and Logan had no illusions he had a choice. He let out a heavy breath.

“Three days?” he repeated, to which Marcus grunted and nodded. “Well, at least I’ll have someone here to talk to.” That prompted another grunt, but it was from Dartan, and it was actually a stifled laugh.

“Lead on, then,” Logan said, pushing the others from the room. He paused another moment, casting a last glance over the darkening room. He closed his eyes and felt for the pull, testing its strength. It was there, but very weak, almost like the nagging feeling he had forgotten something. It was nothing like the undeniable pull of the dragon that had led him here.

“Don’t anybody go anywhere,” he called out to the still room. “I’ll be back soon.” Only silence answered him, much to his relief.

The ropes were just as they had left them, and the question they faced now was how to get the box to the top of the cliff.

“One of us will have to wait,” Dartan offered. “Aliet has already touched the chest more than she would like, so I’ll secure it to my rope and Marcus can pull it up once he reaches the top. Frankly, I don’t trust Logan not to wander back into the cave if left down here on his own, so I’ll go last.”

“Frankly,” Logan said, grabbing the closest rope, “no one argued with you.”

Aliet put a hand on his arm. “I know I’m not going to,” she said and punctuated with a small kiss on the cheek. She took her own rope and began tying it around her waist. Dartan was watching the curves of her body being slowly revealed by the tightening rope, when his view was interrupted by the dragon-skin chest.

“Make sure it’s tight,” Marcus said, holding the box out to Dartan.

“Sure,” he said absently, taking the box from Marcus’s waiting hands. He wrapped his hands around the bone handles, and was surprised by how smooth it was. It was also cool under his palms, even though Marcus had just lugged it from the cave.

Realizing the others were well on their way to the top while he had been examining the box, Dartan moved to the fourth rope. He knelt to secure it around the box, ensuring it was tight. His hands brushed against the ridged scales, and he wondered what it would have felt like to soar through the sky on the back of such a beast. A small shower of stones and dirt from above disturbed the thought.

Looking up, he saw all three had now reached the top and were disappearing from view. He placed a hand on the rope, ready for Marcus to begin pulling, and he waited. And waited.

Something’s wrong. Should he call out? Not that he would be heard over the wailing wind, but it was something. Then, without warning, the slack left the rope and the chest began to ascend.

When it passed beyond his reach, Dartan stepped back, tracking its progress upwards. Strange. No sign of any of his companions at the top. No Logan peering over to check the box or steady the line. Not even Aliet, taking a chance to look down on him and perhaps tease him with the threat of just leaving him perched there. Nothing.

He stepped back to the very edge of the narrow landing, watching as the box reached the top. It hung for a moment under a small overhang, then, with a single reckless tug and another shower of dirt, disappeared from view.

I guess it’s a good thing it’s made from dragon scales, Dartan thought with a shrug. Although, the last dragon he had seen hadn’t faired so well against the side of a mountain. The thought prompted him to turn and peer down into the mist-covered canyon just beyond the tip of his toes. At least, he thought that dragon had met its end, but perhaps he assumed too much. He leaned over, peering further into the depths, and, there – surely some of that mist was really smoke. And wasn’t that the flash of a scaly red hide?

He backed away quickly, his imagination getting the better of him. He stopped only when his back touched the cliff wall. He looked up, searching for his rope, but still saw nothing. The wind shrieked by, tugging his cloak, reminding him of the dragon’s roar. He wondered, could he feel the emptiness, the void, left where a dragon filled the space? He shuffled back to the edge, and peered over into what now appeared more like a smoking pit. He started to reach out, searching for the dragon, then a thought occurred. If he could sense the dragon, could it do the same to him?

Without another thought, his back was pressed tightly against the rock wall again. “Any time now!” he called up when there was a sudden break in the wind. His eyes remained fixed ahead, hoping not to catch a glimpse of anything creeping up from the canyon. When the spool of rope landed on his head, he was thankful for the renewed vigor of the shrill winds, which covered his own shriek of surprise.

Rope secured to his waist, he gave it a tug and began his ascent. He had barely put foot and hand on the wall though, before he began to be hauled up.

Must be more than just Marcus pulling, he thought as the top sped towards him. The image of the box crashing in to the overhang flashed in his mind, followed by similar visions of his body colliding with it. He didn’t think his body would withstand the abuse as well as the box.

“Whoa! Whoa!” he called out, and the pulling stopped, leaving his head just below the top and his legs swinging in the breeze. He carefully reached over his head, searching for purchase, when his hand - no, more like his entire forearm - was enveloped in the strong grip of a single hand. Are Marcus’s hands really that big? It was what he was thinking just before his entire body was lifted into the air. That is definitely not Marcus, and then his mind went silent, unwilling to process what was right in front of him.

As a boy, one of Mother’s favorite bedtime stories was one she called ‘The Boy Who Cried Troll’. She told it often, and she told it well. As he got older, Dartan recognized the story for what it was – a cautionary tale about the dangers of lying, especially to gain attention. As a child, however, Mother’s telling left him with the impression it was more of a cautionary tale about the danger and cruelty of Trolls. Perhaps it was because in her version there were no villagers left to scold the child for his false claims of Troll, as the real Troll had eaten them all. As a result, Trolls became a frequent fixture of his childhood nightmares, even with Mother’s assurance they were rare creatures that lived far from them in the Northern Mountains.

So, it came now as no great surprise when he came face-to-face with one, he could not even summon the breath to make the word his lips were trying to form – Troll.

From his vantage point, dangling over ten feet in the air, he had a good view of everything around him, but his mind refused to focus on anything beyond the beast in whose grip he now found himself. It held Dartan at eye-level, which appeared to be the only part of its body that hadn’t sprouted hair, and regarded him with yellow eyes.

“Not much to look at, is he, Reginald?” The question came from somewhere in front of Dartan, but the answer was a disapproving snort in his face. The stench nearly brought tears to his eyes.

“I guess it’s true what they say about becoming King,” the voice continued. “It’s all about who you know.”

“Tell your troll to drop him, Roal!” It was Marcus, from somewhere to Dartan’s left. He turned in the direction, but saw only a large pile of boulders.

“You had your chance to talk, Marcus,” Roal called back. “You weren’t interested in my offer. Remember? It’s too late now.” Roal, a thin and pale face peering out from a heavy hooded cloak, appeared beside Dartan. “Come along, Reginald. It’s time we introduce our guest to King Jarel.”

Reginald replied with a growling laugh, which was interrupted by a high whistle, changing it into a roaring scream. The grip on Dartan’s arm released, and he fell to the ground. Above him, the hulking Reginald was holding his arm, now pierced with an arrow.

“I told you to put him down,” Marcus’s voice came from the boulders again. Reginald fixed his glare on the pile, snarled, then snapped the back of the arrow off and pulled it from his arm.

“I think you made him mad,” Roal said with a smile. Reginald drew from his side a sword as long as Dartan, and charged towards the boulders. With Reginald’s massive form out of the way, Dartan now saw the remaining Northern force of just over thirty men. They too were headed for where Marcus, and he assumed Aliet and Logan, lay hidden. Forgetting about Dartan for the moment, Roal turned to watch the massacre unfold. “You brought this on yourself,” Roal added. “All we wanted was the box and the boy, but now we’ll have your lives as well.”

Being plucked from the side of a cliff, dangled in the air by his arm, and then dropped into the snow had left Dartan’s mind a little sluggish. Seeing his friends being surrounded and threatened snapped everything back into sharp focus. He had to do something, but what?