Heart of the Mountain

CHAPTER 1: WINGED TERROR

The morning mist hung low over the valley, the obscuring haze blanketing the forests and fields below, reflecting the vibrant reds and oranges of the rising sun. The shepherd shielded his eyes for a moment as he looked out over the vista, the chill wind whipping at his long beard and tugging at his cloak. He wrapped the garment around himself a little tighter, then whistled for his sheepdog, the animal coming bounding towards him from around a protrusion of jagged rocks. Her ears were pricked up, her eyes bright and attentive, her pink tongue lolling from her mouth as she raced towards her master.

The flock of sheep was making its way slowly up into the foothills in search of greener pastures, their bleating echoing across the mountain range. There were seven score and eight, he'd do another head count once they found a place to stop, just to make sure that they hadn't lost any errant lambs on the way.

"Away lass, away," he said with a wave of his crook. The black and white hound followed his command, running around to the right side of the herd, corralling a few ewes who had wandered from the group to inspect a patch of scruffy plants. The beasts trotted back to their fellows, their white wool blowing in the breeze. "Good girl, come now."

The shepherd turned his eyes to the ground, careful to avoid any rocks that protruded from the blanket of grass and moss lest he twist an ankle. He leaned some of his weight on his crook, leading his flock higher, admiring the purple heather that broke up the sea of green and grey.

He finally emerged onto a plateau of sorts, a relatively flat area of grassland where his flock might graze. The sheep spread out under the watchful eye of the hound as the shepherd took a seat on a boulder, its cracked surface covered in patches of clinging lichen. He set his crook down and took a moment to breathe. His calves ached from the climb, and he leaned down to rub his leg, glancing up at the mountain that loomed in the distance.

The sunrise was casting its craggy face into deep shadow, picking out every detail of the rocks and cliffs. Its tall peak was capped with brilliant, white snow, sheathed in wisps of cloud. The shepherd was used to the sight, but something about it seemed oddly ominous today. It looked so cold and distant, sharp and harsh, jutting into the blue sky like an arrowhead.

He narrowed his eyes as he noticed that something else was reflecting the light. There was some kind of object on the near face, glinting as it caught the sun. Confused, he took his crook in hand and stood up, whistling for his sheepdog. The hound ran over to him, wagging her tail as she sat at his feet, the shepherd scratching her head absent-mindedly as he kept his gaze fixed on the strange object. It was drawing closer, descending the mountainside like a swooping hawk on a pair of giant wings, a long tail trailing behind it. By the time he realized that it was coming in his direction, it was too late.

The great beast was upon the flock in a flash, a gust of wind throwing the shepherd off his feet, and sending the sheep scattering like woolly tumbleweeds as the flapping of its leathery wings kicked up a hurricane. He was peppered with a hail of dirt and small stones as he frantically tried to pick himself up, retreating behind the cover of the boulder, taking his sheepdog by the scruff of her neck and dragging her with him as she whined. The ground shook beneath the monster's feet as it dropped from the sky, making a sound like a thunderclap, its long talons digging deep into the soil to leave furrows in their wake like a plow tilling a field.

Its bat-like wings folded across its back as it stood tall on its four legs, as thick and as round as marble pillars. Its serpentine tail waved back and forth along the ground, cracking like a whip. Its body was covered in a layer of thick, overlapping scales that resembled a suit of shining armor, catching the light in iridescent hues of sky blue and ocean green. They tapered to a lighter beige on its underbelly, the scales there smoother and finer, like a mosaic. Powerful muscles rippled beneath its hide as it moved, it radiated such power and strength that it was almost overwhelming, a force of nature more than a simple animal. He couldn't believe its size, it must have been almost thirty feet from nose to tail, and its weight was enough to make the ground tremble.

The shepherd chanced a glance at it from his hiding place, cowering in terror even as his curiosity commanded him to peek around the rock, his dog huddling beneath him with her tail tucked between her legs as she tended to do when there was a storm.

Upon its long, winding neck was a head of massive proportions, near as long as a man was tall. Four twisted horns sprouted from a mane of pointed quills on the top of its heavy skull, almost like those of a ram, but straighter and swept back. The quills ran all the way down its spine, reminding him of the flowing mane of a horse. Unlike hair, however, these were stiff and wickedly sharp. They were patterned with faded stripes in the same beige as its underside, and as he watched, they began to move. The monster eyed the scrambling sheep, the quills shaking, making an ominous rattling sound that reminded him of the hiss of an angry snake.

Its scaly lips pulled back to reveal rows of pointed teeth as long as a man's finger, its eyes burning with infernal heat, like a pair of smoldering coals. With every breath, it exhaled a plume of black smoke from its nostrils, as though there was a furnace burning inside of its very body.

It sucked in an enormous breath of air, rearing back on its hind legs until it was taller than the tallest of trees, its barrel chest inflating as it filled its lungs. It lunged forward, its jaws opening as it belched a plume of orange fire. The shepherd recoiled, the heat of it singing his eyebrows even from a distance, the nearby blades of grass withering before his eyes. Above the roar of the flames, he heard his sheep bleating in agony as they burned.

He no longer dared to look, wrapping his arms around his trembling dog as if to shield her from the heat, even the rock against his back seeming to warm in the firestorm. He heard snapping jaws, along with a low, guttural growl that shook his very bones. The monster's feet made the earth shake, and then there was another gust of wind, its wings so powerful that they were able to dislodge stones and tear up plants. He could hear the debris pounding against the other side of the boulder, and he feared that it might be enough to cause a landslide. The flames were roaring now, its flapping serving as bellows, fanning the blaze.

The beast rose into the sky, and then with one last monumental flap of its enormous wings, it set off down into the valley. The shepherd watched as it flew over his head, so close that he could have reached up and touched its belly if he had been standing on the boulder, a pair of charred sheep clasped in its clawed forelimbs. Something rained down on him from above, clattering on the stone, but he was too awed by the sight to pay any attention. It banked, rising up towards the shadowy mountain from whence it had come, slowly shrinking until it was once again naught but a glimmer of reflected sunlight.

The shepherd rose to his feet unsteadily, releasing his hound, the sheepdog sticking close to her master as she whined unhappily. He rounded the boulder to see what remained of his flock, little more than charred corpses sitting atop blasted grass, the fires still smoldering amidst the blackened bones and scorched shrubs. He could smell the charred flesh, like overdone mutton. The creature must have devoured fully half of his flock, four score at least, and the rest had either been eaten whole or were too burnt to be recognized. The survivors had scattered, and he wasn't sure that even the dog could fetch them after such an ordeal.

He coughed, choking on the smoke as he gazed at his ruined livelihood, and then he spied something shiny on the ground. He stooped to pick it up, turning the object over in his hand. It was a gold coin, heavy for its size, stamped with the seal of a kingdom that he did not recognize. There were more like it, scattered about everywhere that the beast had trod. Was this what had rained down on him as it had passed overhead? Had they been lodged in its scales, perhaps?

He began to collect them, growing more frantic as he went, dropping one of the coins and cursing as it burned his hand. It must have been blasted by the flames. Before long, his pockets were overflowing. He wasn't an educated man, but he knew how to count sheep, and there was enough gold here to make up for his losses. He chanced another look at the mountain peak, but the creature was out of sight. Might that be its lair? He had herded sheep in these hills for his entire life, and he had never seen anything of the like.

"Come, lass," he mumbled as his dog cowered at his feet. "We must tell the magistrate what we saw, though I doubt he'll believe aught that I say. They'd think me mad if it wasn't for these coins."

***

The rain lashed down on Iden's cowl as his horse trudged through the mud, its hooves slipping in the filth. The terrain was hard going and uneven, difficult to navigate for a man wearing a heavy suit of armor, and so he was glad of his steed. There were tracks here, partially washed away by the water, but still visible enough that he could make them out in the gloom. Cartwheels, horseshoes, and boots. The path was well traveled.

This valley was a nightmare, there seemed to be dark clouds hanging overhead in perpetuity, and water collected at the foot of the hills like a wash basin. It was damp, muddy, and thoroughly miserable. He adjusted his pack, his armor clanking as he made his way along, finding it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of him in the downpour. He was burdened by his tower shield, too, as well as a long pike with a pointed spearhead. The horse's ears flicked with irritation, it wasn't happy to be out in the rain any more than he was, but it kept the pace dutifully.

He finally glimpsed the warm, yellow glow of a lamp in the distance, his destination was near. The village was nestled in the hills, hard to reach on foot, and quite out of the way of the usual trade routes. The wooden buildings almost seemed to be sagging under the constant rain, the water washing off their steep, thatched roofs in great sheets. Usually, when someone of his caliber was called out to one of these remote communities, it was to deal with bandits or highwaymen. Rarer still were Orcs and other such marauding creatures. This time, however, the bounty was for a creature so seldom seen that some doubted their existence.

A dragon had been sighted, and the crown had put a price on its head. The Paladins usually dealt with such matters, they had the ear of the King, but they weren't about to march an army all the way out here to deal with a beast that was snacking on sheep.

A dragon slayer, Iden was not. They were creatures of legend, and their numbers had dwindled to the point that only one or two might be spotted during a lifetime. There had been no opportunities to earn such a title. But he was a hardened mercenary, and the promise of a hefty reward had gotten his attention, along with the beast's hoard.

It was said that dragons nested in a hoard of gold and jewels, riches beyond men's wildest dreams. If one could slay the creature, then they could also claim those riches for themselves. Coupled with the generous bounty, he would be able to retire early, and live out the rest of his days like a Lord. There would be no more trudging through the rain for Iden, only wine and women, until he expired on a silken sheet in the company of the best whores that money could buy.

He tugged the horse's reins as they entered the village proper, directing the beast to a line of hitching posts. They were mercifully covered by a thatched awning that would protect the animal from the elements. His boots splashed in the mud as he dismounted awkwardly, clinging to his saddle to prevent himself from slipping. Gods, it was almost like wading through a bog. What kind of bumpkin farmers might choose to live somewhere like this? His horse stamped its feet as he tied it to one of the posts, and he glanced over to make sure that the nearby trough wasn't full of scum. It seemed clean enough, and if there was one thing that these people didn't lack, it was an abundant supply of fresh water...

With his pack and his heavy tower shield slung across his back, he took the haft of his pike in hand and made his way to what he assumed was a tavern. It was late at night, or at least that was his assumption, as the stars were obscured by the clouds and mist that hung over the village. This structure was larger than most, and there were lanterns lit on the inside, the yellow glow shining through dirty windows.

He put his shoulder to the oaken door, pushing it open with some difficulty, hearing the rusted hinges creak. If he lingered here for too long, his own armor might suffer the same fate. He had to angle his pike so that it would fit through the doorway. It was twelve feet long, perfect for stabbing a dragon in the heart from a safe distance, or at least that was his thinking when he had bought it. He also had a short sword on his hip for emergencies and non-draconic adversaries, a weapon that he was far more experienced with.

Finally, the roar of the downpour was silenced, replaced with the faint patter of rain on the thatched roof somewhere above. He found himself in a room lined with long, wooden dining tables, above which wooden chandeliers hung from the naked crossbeams. Their flickering candlelight cast deep shadows, joined by the dancing flames in a stone hearth, the heat of it staving off the creeping cold that had followed him through the door.

Iden closed it behind him, and then made his way towards a counter at the far side of the room. There were kegs of what might be mead or beer lining the shelves behind it, along with iron pots and pans that were hanging from hooks. He wouldn't say no to a meal and a drink, he had been riding for days, subsisting on jerked meat and little else. There were a couple of doors that led out of the main hall, probably leading to the kitchen and the bedrooms.

As his weight made the uneven floorboards beneath his boots creak, he noticed that there was one other occupant in the room. It was a man with a tattered hood, his face obscured beneath its shadow, save for a long beard. He was nursing a drink, sipping at a large, wooden mug. He might be a fellow traveler perhaps, or maybe just the local drunk. The stranger looked up at him as he made his way across the room, but did not speak, and Iden arrived at the counter to find it deserted.

He leaned across the polished surface, glancing to and fro as he searched for the tavern's owner, but there was nobody else in sight. He noticed a brass bell on the counter, and he decided to ring it. After a few moments, a woman emerged from one of the doors. She was short and portly, a little over middle-aged, and she was was wearing a very unflattering nightgown. It appeared that he had woken her, she was rubbing her eyes, and she gave him a less than friendly glance as she took up position behind the counter.

"What'll it be?" she asked groggily.

"A room for the night, and a hot meal," Iden replied. He placed a few coins on the counter, and after biting one in her crooked teeth to ensure that it was real, the woman retreated to what must be the kitchen to prepare his food. With any luck, she wouldn't spice it with rat poison as revenge for rousing her at this hour.

Iden made his way back over towards the tables, leaning his pike and his shield against a nearby wall, and shrugging off his pack. It was a relief to take the load off, and he sat down on one of the benches, his plate armor making a racket. He was looking forward to being free of that too, but he'd have to wait until he was in the privacy of his room before stripping down to his gambeson and leggings.

He wasn't sporting the shining garniture of a Paladin, nor did he have a colorful surcoat adorned with heraldry. Knights had squires to dress and undress them, along with teams of blacksmiths to maintain their armor, but Iden had no such luxuries. He was a sword for hire, he worked alone, and so his garb was more suited to his purposes. He wore a heavy chain mail coat that also had a hood to protect his head, extending down to his knees. Over the top of it, he wore a partial suit of steel armor. It was lighter than a complete set and more maneuverable to boot. He had enough experience to judge which parts of his body needed the most protection. There was a battered breastplate that was pocked with dents and scrapes from prior skirmishes, along with heavy pauldrons, and a helmet that resembled an upturned bucket with a folding visor. He wore vambraces and gauntlets to protect his forearms and hands, as well as a tasset and cuisses to shield his thighs. He had been witness to the demise of more than one man who had taken a blade across the leg in combat. Lastly was a codpiece, couldn't forget about the family jewels...

He flipped back his hood and removed the helmet, placing it on the table beside him with a clank, letting his mane of dark hair fall free. Even beneath the hood and the helmet, it had somehow still managed to get soaked by the rain, and he stopped just short of wringing it out like a washcloth. His chin was already stubbly, the beginnings of a beard growing due to his lack of grooming during his journey, and his grizzled face bore a few faded scars.

Now he seemed to have the attention of the stranger, who was peering at him from an adjacent table. Iden made the mistake of meeting his gaze, and the man practically leapt out of his chair, his mug of mead in hand as he rushed over to take a seat opposite him.

"You're here to slay the beast, aren't you?" the stranger asked. He pulled his hood back, revealing a weatherbeaten face from which a pair of beady, green eyes peered. His skin was tanned like old leather, he had spent most of his years laboring outdoors by the look of him.

"What's it to you, old man?" Iden asked. He cocked an eyebrow at the stranger, beginning to wonder if he was drunk, or merely crazy.

"I've seen it!" the stranger added, pointing to himself. "With my own two eyes!"

"Is that so?" Iden replied skeptically.

"Aye, t'was I who reported it to the magistrate. I was up in the foothills when I saw it, a great, winged beast that descended on my flock like a vulture. Must have been thirty or forty feet long at least, stronger'n stouter than any carthorse or ox that I ever saw. Its footsteps shook the earth, and it belched infernal fire, burned four score head of sheep into ash in the blink of an eye."

"And how did you survive to tell the tale?"

"Why, I took my collie in hand and hid behind a boulder, t'was only the stone that shielded us from the fires."

Was this drunk the source of the story? Surely the local magistrate would not have put out such a hefty bounty without any kind of proof? If Iden's time had been wasted by a crazed shepherd, then he'd give the old man more than a dragon to worry about.

"What proof do you have of this?" he asked, and the stranger began to rummage through his pockets. After a moment, he withdrew a cupped hand. To Iden's surprise, when he opened his fingers, a handful of gold coins spilled out onto the table. One of them rolled over to him, and he caught it in his gauntleted hand, bringing it up to examine it in the wavering light of the candles. It was heavy, certainly hefty enough to be real gold, and the stamps on either side of the coin were not those of any nearby kingdoms. The language of the text was foreign, impossible to read.