Chapter Fifty
By the time they had ridden close enough to discern the large dark opening in the side of the hill at which the bone-field pointed, there was little doubt that they were approaching a dragon’s lair.
Although Druadaen’s books rarely spent more than a few words on the approaches to such a cave, one didn’t need to be an expert to discern the unmistakable signs of a great wyrm. The slopes leading up to it were barren except for dead trees that were either splintered, severely scarred by fire, or both. There were no bones or other signs of slaughter, but Druadaen’s tomes had been a great deal less uniform on that point than legend. As a rule, campfire tales of dragons took their cues from the most lurid and horrible accounts. But the cave opening was certainly wide and high enough.
Ahearn shook his head and glanced at Druadaen, whispering, “So, dragon scholar, I never thought I’d have the reason, or foolishness, to ask such a question, but how do we go about this?”
Druadaen had ruminated upon the options many times, but he, too, was somewhat distracted by the realization that he was actually standing in front of a dragon’s lair. Fortunately, rote recitation provided the answers until his brain finally caught up with his tongue. “Firstly, remember: we are not here to kill it.”
“I know; we are here to talk to it. Might not share your interest in having a nice chat, though.”
“Then we’ll leave if we can.”
“You mean ‘run like rabbits,’ I think,” S’ythreni amended.
“If we have to fight, don’t use bows and crossbows. If you stand still long enough to aim, let alone ready another shot, you are probably dead. Besides, even a crossbow such as S’ythreni’s is not likely to pierce a dragon hide.”
“Is anything?”
Druadaen nodded at Elweyr’s despair-tinged question. “Heavy weapons may smash through. The point of a very strong sword can reportedly be thrust between the scales. Still, weapons are your last resort. Stay light on your feet. Drop anything that might encumber you, particularly shields and any awkward or heavy parts of your armor.”
“Why?” asked Umkhira. “As this day neared, I have longed for a suit of the smooth, bright plates that is made in human foundries.”
Druadaen shook his head. “Even if steel could resist its teeth or claws—and no one has lived to claim that—the force of its jaws and its blows is enough to kill you outright. So keep moving and keep to its flanks if you can.”
“Unless you want to become a living torch, that is,” Ahearn added.
Druadaen shook his head again. “It’s not just the flame you must avoid—and not all possess that ability, apparently. It’s their eyes.”
“Their eyes? What do they do? Spray tears of acid?”
Druadaen forced his tone to remain level. “No, Ahearn. The gaze of a dragon is said to mesmerize mortals. And if you are mesmerized, then you are not moving. And if you are not moving, you are as good as dead.”
The swordsman’s jocularity faded. “I can follow that logic.”
“Good. I will lead. Let’s go.”
* * *
They approached quietly and carefully. There was no sign of movement nor the faintest sound. Once within a dozen yards, Elweyr called for a halt and suggested that he scout out the entrance using one of the Sanslovan’s philters.
He stripped, drank the contents of the vial, and over the course of a minute, his skin began to mimic that of a chameleon, blending into the gray and brown of the hillside. He crept forward and after he’d made ten yards’ progress, only S’ythreni’s eyes were sharp enough to detect him until he finally slipped inside the cave. Umkhira reported that she couldn’t see the heat of his body.
A quarter of an hour later, S’ythreni squinted, sat straighter, announced, “He’s coming back.”
Once within fifteen feet, Elweyr was visible again, albeit barely so. Ahearn whispered, “Did you see it?”
“You mean the dragon? No. But I saw something much better. Coins of every kind, scattered everywhere. Fine weapons and armor, too. There was a lot of rubbish mixed in, but the whole hoard is right in the open, ripe for the taking.”
S’ythreni and Ahearn exchanged looks. “Elweyr, you know our motto.”
He nodded impatiently. “Yes, if a thing looks too good to be true, it probably is. But there’s no sign of the dragon. No remains of his prey, nothing. Maybe he’s been dead for years—decades—and no one has had the nerve to come this far into his domain. Or maybe they didn’t notice the shape of the bone-field and went to the Final Talon instead. What I do know is that we are fifteen yards and fifteen minutes away from the end of all our troubles—and the beginning of a life of ease, if we want that. Because a few full bags mean we will never again need to do anything we do not wish to.”
Druadaen and the others exchanged looks. “This discovery has made you unusually…optimistic.” The word he’d wanted to use was “hasty.” Or maybe “incautious.”
When no one disagreed with Druadaen’s characterization of his behavior, Elweyr looked around the group in annoyance. “Really? We come all this way, and now you’re afraid to cross the threshold because there isn’t a dragon to fight?” When they just kept looking at him, he folded his arms. “So I guess this means we’re going to wait for the dragon to come back?” He glanced up at the sun. “How long should we give him?” he wondered in an archly sarcastic tone. “An hour? Two? Because it would certainly be foolish to just dart in there now, fill a few bags, and leave.”
Ahearn sighed, glanced at Druadaen. “He has a point, you know.”
“He has become drunk with lust for gold,” Umkhira countered. She looked at him frankly. “Elweyr, this is not like you.”
“You’re right,” he admitted with a nod. “This is a different me. This is the me that is tired unto death wondering where and how we’re going to turn up our next meal, our next room, our next pittance of coin. And the only thing stopping us—all of us—from freeing ourselves from that worry and want is the fear of entering an abandoned cave filled with treasure. And every minute that passes increases the possibility that something will ruin this opportunity.”
“You mean, something like the return of a dragon?” S’ythreni asked facetiously.
“Maybe. But in the time we’ve spent debating this, we could have been there and gone.”
Druadaen looked around the group. S’ythreni and Ahearn were looking toward the cave with wistful longing. Umkhira met his eyes, shrugged, glanced away.
Druadaen frowned. They had all been willing to remain with him to meet a dragon. But if the dragon was not here—and neither the cave nor the hillside showed any sign that it had been recently—then he could not in good conscience become a door guard for an absent dragon that might very well be dead.
He sighed, looked around at them. “I will lead the way. If the dragon returns while we are there, I will bear the responsibility for our intrusion.”
“Not sure a dragon is going to care about such niceties,” Ahearn commented with an eager glance back at the cave.
“Probably not,” Druadaen agreed. “But it may stop long enough to talk when it sees I am without plunder.”
“Wait,” S’ythreni said sharply, “do you mean you are not going to take any of its hoard?”
“That is correct. I came here to meet and speak with a dragon. I will not abandon that. If it returns, I will expect you to drop what you have taken.” Noticing their reluctance at meeting his eyes, he added, “Do you really think you have any chance of escaping if you try to keep it?”
They shrugged. Ahearn added, “If the monster finds us rooting like so many swine around its larder, I don’t think anything you say or do could keep any of us alive. Including yourself.”
“Again, probably true. But even though I am at loose ends, I remain an Outrider of Dunarra. Besides, my journey has not been to seek treasure but knowledge. So I will keep my troth with both.”
The others shrugged. Druadaen stood, reflected that although there had been no shortage of grief and mischance, he had enjoyed his life and had accrued no regrets in his living of it. “Follow me.” They did.
He stopped at the mouth of the cave. As Elweyr had reported, it was—or had been—the home of a dragon, but there was no sign of it nor any hint that it had been there recently.
The group had arrayed themselves in a line centered on Druadaen. They alternated between staring at the scattered coins and him. He nodded at no one in particular. “I shall remain here.”
The original three of the group sprang forward, emptied rucksacks at the ready.
Umkhira came to stand beside him. “I suppose I would be foolish not to take some as well, but I am loath to leave you here.”
Druadaen smiled as the scudding darkness of a cloud passed before the sun and the light in the cave dimmed. “Do not be concerned,” he said. “If we are discovered in here, I doubt it will matter where anyone stands.”
“That statement,” said an impossibly deep, almost metallic voice, “may be the truest thing any human has ever said in my presence.”
Druadaen did not start away like Umkhira; he was too busy noticing that the shadow of the passing cloud had not moved on.
Because evidently, it had been the shadow of the dragon that was now standing behind him.