The Dragon God

  It spoke in a deep, powerful, melodic voice, “Heroes of the realm of Ruauck-El, you have defeated Niberius, a fallen one assigned to the Yasooma family. It is my honor to fill the open position as the Yasooma family’s guardian.” He turned to the child, “Approach, Lufra.”

  The boy looked at the others, who nodded for him to obey the command. He took a step forward. The angel of light reached down into the sarcophagus and retrieved Captain Yasooma’s pristine weapon—a sabre. The curved, single edged steel blade sparkled. Gold etchings were engraved from top to bottom. As the celestial being held the sabre, a sizzling sound came from the weapon as the letter ‘Y’ became engraved by unseen hands on the large guard over the hilt.

  The angel then turned to Lufra, “Your courage has conquered evil, and so it will be with this weapon. Receive your inheritance.”

  He held out his open palms, and the blade came to rest on top of them. He felt the magic pulsating through the weapon—a blessing instead of a curse; something he had never felt before. His bloodied face instantly healed and tears flowed down his cheeks.

  The guardian bowed deeply, and then vanished. Each of the heroes gathered around Lufra and embraced him.

  When things had quieted, El’Korr said, “Raina, we still need to find the information about the elements, but there is nothing else here.”

  “I have my grandfather’s journal,” Lufra chimed. “It contains notes about strange gems and other cryptic writings. I kept it in hopes of finding a way to break the curse, but the journal was beyond my understanding, and I never found the items he spoke of. I even tried to burn it, thinking it was the bane of all that has happened, but it would not burn.”

  “Can we take a look at it?”

  “Of course. Heck, you can have it.”

  “We are most indebted to you,” Raina said sincerely.

  The heroes emerged from Captain Yasooma’s resting place. The stone door closed behind them as they headed to the docks.

  Fifty yards away, a darkly cloaked figure wearing two sheathed swords on his hips asked, “What are your orders, Veric?”

  “It appears we have other guests who are interested in our little bauble. This might work out better for us. We will hold, and let this group do all the work.”

  “Hold?”

  “Yes, this might be the group my brother spoke of, instrumental in Manasseh’s fall. If that is the case, then we must be mindful of them. Rest assured, your pay will be the same, Daysho.”

  The breathtaking collection of waters at Endless Lakes were as different from each other as Ordakiankind was from Dwarf or Human. One body of boiling water bubbled turbulently, stirring up sediment and releasing mildly poisonous gas into the air. An adjacent shoreline surrounded a glacial lagoon that crackled with the movement of its frozen glaze. A third water basin lay dormant with hardly a ripple across its surface. The natural elements existed in concert.

  Bridazak studied the beautiful phenomenon, and saw a scenario that spoke to him of the warring nature of the races of Ruauck-El. He looked at the creation of this world through different eyes, having returned from the Lost City, and the unique formations of the land spoke to his soul. “You are truly amazing, God. This world you have created is beyond imagination.”

  His thoughts were jarred when Dulgin pointed to the ice-covered lake and asked, “What is that?”

  Abawken investigated the location the dwarf pointed out and saw a strange object under the surface. He drew his scimitar from its scabbard. The magnificent, gold and platinum curved blade, which was razor sharp at the front edge and five inches across at its widest point, was inlaid with jewels. Swirled etchings laced the metal from top to bottom. The human whispered a single word, “Esh.” Placing the point of his weapon against the ice, it sizzled and melted through the frozen thickness. Steam escaped as he carved a hole large enough to free the object.

  Dulgin laughed, “Good job, Huey, you found wood.”

  Abawken retrieved it, “Not just wood, Master Dulgin, but a sign.”

  The dwarf’s bushy eyebrows shot up in surprise and the ordakians quickly gathered around Abawken to get a better look. Emblazoned across the arm’s length, damp wood in faded paint, they struggled to make out the lettering.

  Dulgin read aloud slowly, “S-a-y-brook.”

  In unison, Bridazak and Spilf responded, “Brook.”

  A puzzled look engulfed Dulgin, and then he glared at the two childlike daks. Bridazak and Spilf were holding in a burst of laughter. Their faces were turning red, eyes squinting, and their lips were tightly pursed.

  “What are ya up to, ya blundering fools?”

  Unable to contain themselves any longer, laughter erupted from the ordakians. They held their stomachs and doubled over while the dwarf’s skin on his face matched the red beard and hair in uncertain embarrassment.

  Abawken watched the interaction of these old friends and smiled. These lifelong comrades had allowed him to become part of their family. He thought about the years ahead of them all, and his smile departed as he remembered his limited years as a human, in comparison to his companions superior longevity. His mind flashed back to the library in the Moonstone Mountains, when he asked Raina how to say the word ‘old’ in the elven language. He whispered the word, “ahn-keth,” to himself.

  Dulgin smacked him on the shoulder to get his attention. “Stop daydreaming, Huey. I asked ya question.”

  “Oh, I am sorry, Master Dulgin. What did—”

  “Ah, nevermind, let’s go!”

  The ordakians were still giggling while walking ahead. Dulgin emphasized each step with a stomp of frustration as he knew he was part of a joke. Abawken quickly followed. Bridazak paused to study the map and then glanced up to the mountain range that rose before them.

  “We’ve been out here for days. How close are we?” Dulgin asked.

  “I estimate that the location Spilf pointed out is within that grove of trees.” He nodded toward the pine forest.

  The thick green spires sprawled out to either side and ran several miles deep to the base of the rocky crags. Suddenly, a chilling gust of wind blew through the trees, the tops swayed and the smell of sap engulfed the heroes.

  Dulgin scoffed, “Well, it won’t take us long to figure out there is no lake in there. Stubby remembered a lake covered in mist. Why are we even here?”

  Bridazak smirked, “We are following—”

  “Yeah, I know, following the mystical-prayer-finger on the map thing.”

  Spilf sighed, “He’s right, Bridazak, there can’t be a lake here. The trees are thick from here to the mountain. Maybe we should look elsewhere.”

  Dulgin relented, “We are here now, Stubby, so let’s get a move on. We can salvage this yet by having some cooked meat. There is no lake, but I am damn sure there must be an elkhorn or two in there.”

  When the four of them stepped foot into the edge of the tree line there was a discernible shift in the atmosphere around them. Now under the pine canopies, the environment had changed from what they saw before entering. The birds sounded different, the smell of sap changed to wet wood after a rainy day, and a lingering fog weaved through as far as the eye could see in the dense foliage.

  “Whoa, what just happened?” Spilf asked while raising his hands.

  “I’m not sure, but I feel different,” Bridazak responded.

  Without a word, Abawken stepped back to the open tundra. At that moment, the air around them wobbled as though an invisible force field of magic had been activated.

  Bridazak called, “What did you sense, Abawken?”

  “I’m uncertain of your meaning, Master Bridazak.”

  “You stepped back to other side, so you must have felt something.”

  “I do not remember what you say I did.”

  The three of them on the inside of the field looked at one another, contemplating the phenomena.

  Spilf burst out in realization, “This is why I lost my memory. This field of energy somehow blocks memories and
that is why I could never find my way back.”

  Everyone nodded. Abawken stepped back through to join them.

  “Welcome back,” Bridazak said.

  “Strange, it feels like my first time entering.”

  “What is this place?” Dulgin asked, scrutinizing the shadowy realm while pulling out his battle-axe.

  Before anyone could answer, the adventurers heard the terrified scream of a small child. Abawken darted in the direction of the cry with his sword in hand, and the others followed hastily. Abawken emerged from the forest onto a misty lake shore and skidded on the pebbled shoreline. Another scream alerted him and he instantly veered in its direction.

  Spilf and Bridazak burst through the brush next and halted suddenly when they came into the clearing. The sound of lapping water hitting the pebbles triggered recessed memories inside Spilf’s mind.

  He whispered, “I remember.”

  The fog hovered upon the loch, giving its rightful name—Misty Lake. Bridazak stood in awe beside his friend.

  “This is it Bridazak. I’m home.”

  Dulgin charged through the tree line and stopped in his tracks at the sight of the body of water.

  “Well, I’ll be a bearded-babbit, there is a lake here after all.” The dwarf smiled and smacked Spilf’s shoulder. “Which way did Huey go? I don’t want him to have all the fun if some critter is about.”

  Bridazak pointed the direction and Dulgin stomped off; the loud crunch of the small worn stones with each of the dwarfs steps resounded.

  “C’mon, Spilf,” Bridazak tugged him.

  Another scream, more intense than the previous, rang in their ears. The daks were now chasing after Dulgin, who was following Abawken’s footsteps along the shoreline.

  The human moved swiftly, out-distancing his friends with his long strides. Again, he heard the cry; it seemed to come from within the trees. He charged back into the forest and shortly came upon a clearing. He was shocked to see, in the center, a young child tied down on a wooden altar. The small boy, who looked about two, was stripped of all clothing but caked in dirt and mud, with well defined tracks of tears on his face. He whimpered and sniffled when Abawken appeared. A snap of a tree branch and the roar of an unknown animal caused Abawken to spin and face the sound. Snorting and bellowing came from within a dark, shadowy section of the forest, and then the creature rushed toward Abawken and entered the clearing.

  The brown furry beast was easily double Abawken’s height, and resembled a baboon. It reared up and brought its powerful arms to beat its chest. Immense fangs of misshaped sizes protruded from its jaw. Its eyes glowed with territorial anger. Abawken stood between the child and the enraged creature.

  The monster lunged and Abawken flew into the air, flipped over, and then landed perfectly behind it, ready to do battle. The beast snarled, stopped short and spun to attack again, but at that moment the child screamed. With a roar, Abawken’s opponent changed his intention and headed for the child. The fighter knew he could not reach the boy in time. Abawken had thought the creature would continue to attack him but saw his mistake unfold. The huge ape reached for the toddler but before snatching the boy, Dulgin burst through into the clearing, and swiftly severed the creature’s hand with his mighty axe. Blood gushed out and it wailed in pain. Abawken slashed it across its lower back with his scimitar. It arched backward in agony. The dwarf swung another devastating blow into its leg. Raw, pink flesh opened and more blood oozed. It fell to the ground prone.

  Bridazak and Spilf arrived at the clearing. The mortally wounded creature labored to breathe as its vital fluid continued to spill from its wounds.

  Dulgin stood proudly over it, and said, “Bad monkey.” The dwarf’s axe came down and cut off the head.

  The ordakians moved quickly to untie the child. They instantly spotted dry blood covering the wood framed altar.

  “This is a sacrifice location,” Spilf realized.

  “Who would do this?” Bridazak asked.

  With tears streaming down his face, the child pointed into the forest and said, “Home.”

  The smell of burnt wood coming from the village dwellings wafted through the dirt pathways. Dilapidated structures resembled playhouses for human children. Repairs to the original wooden homes did not match the original engineering, and time had not been kind to this hidden community. A sense of depression and despair weighed heavily upon entering the area. A group of bone-thin women sat outside weaving baskets, while another group prepared meager amounts of food. Dirt smudges covered their faces and arms, aged feathers were woven in braids of hair, and they wore matted animal hides. When the heroes came into view, the women abruptly stopped their daily duties and huddled together in fear.

  “Yep, this is definitely where the child lives. Dirty and sorry folk,” Dulgin grumbled.

  “This was my home,” Spilf said, “but I don’t see any ordakians.”

  “Perhaps someone here knows what happened, Master Spilf.”

  “Where are the men?” Bridazak questioned.

  Abawken carried the boy. An old woman, with a wrinkled face, grey scraggly hair, and an eye, milky-white with blindness, hobbled toward them.

  Her scratchy voice spoke, “What have you done? You have brought us ruin.”

  “Look here—” Dulgin began, until being cut off by Bridazak.

  “We are looking for the ordakians, like us, that once lived here.”

  Abawken held the baby toward the woman, “And we are looking for the mother of this child.”

  “What is done is done,” she resigned, and then pointed to a large leather tent, animal hides of various coloring stitched together forming the walls and roof. The shelter loomed before them, and a light pillar of smoke rose from an opening on the top. It was the largest structure in the small village.

  Suddenly, the faded orange animal skin at the entrance flapped open and an imposing man stepped out. He paused a moment, his sallow green eyes glaring menacingly at the strange intruders. His frame reached higher than six feet with his large headdress. He wore more clothing than anyone else in the village: a tanned hide wrapped around his waist, with a beartock skin that draped over his shoulders descended to the ground and fur boots with the bones of small beasts dangled from the high tops. Each step he took toward the heroes caused the bones to clack like a wind chime.

  Other tribesmen funneled out of the tent behind the apparent leader holding spears and axes. A lone woman emerged, and instantly burst into tears at the sight of the child. She tried to run toward Abawken but she was held back by two strong members of the tribe. All she could do was yell, “Ky!” Her arms were stretched out as she cried.

  The village leader barked, “You must take the boy back now before it is too late.”

  “Why are you sacrificing your children?” Bridazak asked bluntly.

  The man turned his head slightly to see the reaction of his people, but quickly countered, “Our ways are not your ways. You don’t belong here and you bring my tribe danger.”

  “Danger from what?”

  “We must satisfy the Thaloc. It is ordained by our god.”

  “You talkin about this, Chiefy?” Dulgin unslung a large blood-soaked sack he had over his shoulder and flared the content before them. The head of the monster rolled out and landed at the chieftain’s feet. Its black lifeless eyes stared at him. Everyone gasped. The mother broke loose and sprinted to wrap her arms around her son.

  The chief shouted, “Defilers! You have angered our god!”

  His followers brought their weapons up to bear and stood ready to attack. It was apparent that they were uneasy about the confrontation, as the heroes had just destroyed what none of them thought possible.

  Bridazak held up his hands to placate the building anger. “We only want information about the ordakians that once lived here. We don’t mean anyone harm.”

  “I know nothing of your kind. You must leave and never return.”

  The mother whispered to Abawken, “Take my son. H
is fate here is to die, but you can save him.” He looked at Bridazak who overheard her plea.

  Bridazak addressed the leader, “What is your intention with this boy?”

  “It is not your concern. Now leave before more blood is shed.”

  Dulgin stepped forward, “That sounds like a threat and dwarves don’t take kindly to that.”

  The chieftain brought up his arms and then waved them in a circle. His armed followers began to fan out and encircle the heroes.

  “Good, I was getting tired of talkin,” Dulgin said.

  “What is our play here, Master Bridazak?”

  “Our play is to have a lot of widows,” the dwarf scoffed.

  “There are answers we still need to find that are here for Spilf,” he whispered back to Dulgin.

  Bridazak was at a loss on what to do next. This misguided tribe’s death was not the answer. He silently prayed for help, and a single word came to his mind—challenge.

  Just as the custodian of this community was about to order his men to attack, Bridazak stepped forward and shouted, “I challenge your god!”

  Everyone froze, eyes widened, and several gasps resounded around the adventurers. The ordakian stunned the overseer and his followers took a step backwards in slight fear of the statement.

  “Bridazak, what are you doing?” Spilf whispered.

  “What element is your god known for?” he continued without acknowledging his friend.

  “Thahaal is a fire god.”

  “Then this will be a fire challenge. You will call upon your god and then I will call upon mine.”

  “How do you know of our custom?”

  Bridazak didn’t respond to his question, “If your god wins, then we will leave and never return, but if my God wins then you will turn from your wicked ways and stop your sacrifices.”

  The chieftain squinted his eyes. He walked toward the ordakian and leaned down, face to face. “When my god wins then you will be sacrificed, and your friends will leave never to return again.”