Heart of the Mountain

Iden would never admit it to her, but he had found her smooth scales and her chubby tail more than a little alluring. At first, he had thought himself attracted to her human features in spite of the draconic ones that had begun to crop up, ignoring them as he focused his attention on her more familiar assets. Yet over time, he was starting to find things to appreciate about her more exotic traits. The silkiness of the scales on her smooth underbelly, the softness of her hands, the agility of her oversized tongue. Just thinking about it made blood begin to rush to his loins.

"I still haven't seen you eat anything yet," he mumbled over a mouthful of beef. "How long do you usually go without food?"

"I was considering going out in search of a meal today, actually," she replied. "It's been about a week since I last ate my fill. I have a store of meat in the cave that I pack with snow so that it keeps, but that's more for emergencies. I prefer my kills fresh."

"Oh, you'll be leaving?"

"Only for a short time," she said with a nod. "I think I can trust you with the gold for a few hours while I fly out in search of something to eat, now that you know there's no hope of claiming it, and now that we have more of an...understanding."

She sauntered over to him, leaning down to run her slim fingers through his hair, Iden pausing his chewing as his face began to redden. She giggled at his expression, her girlish voice contrasting with the deeper contralto of her dragon form.

"I'll be back before nightfall, try not to get into any trouble."

He watched her as she walked across the cavern, heading for the towering pile of treasure. Her clothes burned away to leave her nude, Iden's gaze drawn to her shapely rump, her hips swaying with every step. At the base of her spine, blue discoloration appeared, her tail sprouting from her body to trail behind her on the stone floor. It thickened and grew, more of her iridescent scales spreading across her body, her skin cracking to form the hard plates. By the time her leathery wings were emerging from her back like a pair of shriveled arms, she had reached the pile, her slight frame expanding to take on the stature of her true form.

Nine feet, she had taken on the appearance that he had become so intimately acquainted with the night before. Fifteen feet, the base of her tail was now as thick around as her torso had once been, her posture changing as she began to lean forward. Twenty feet, she had dropped to all fours, her feminine figure morphing into a new, less familiar one. Her great wings unfurled, the quills that ran down her spine extending to their natural length, like a forest of sharp knitting needles. Her hide thickened as layers of bony scutes formed along her back, her great horns now as long as his arm, her powerful legs swelling with muscle to support her new weight.

She reached her final size, around eight tons, twenty-five feet and change. Iden was no less intimidated by her appearance, as normal as it was becoming to see her shapeshifting. She was so tall that he wouldn't even have reached her hip, her head alone was as large as he was. She radiated an animal strength that made him wary of even getting close to her, lest he be accidentally crushed underfoot, or dashed by her swinging tail. He could see the brawn beneath her scaly skin rippling when she moved, the copious fat that filled out her enormous frame shaking with each impact.

The illusion of grace and power was somewhat marred as he watched her flop down onto her pile, rolling in it like a giant dog playing in the grass. Her serpentine body wound back and forth, her wings splayed out wide, her four limbs waving in the air. The pile of gold began to collapse on the near-side, like an avalanche cascading down the face of a mountain, unearthing more treasures as it went. After a few moments of this, she righted herself, the cave floor trembling as she landed back on her feet. Iden saw that there were coins lodged between her colorful scales in places, glinting in the torchlight, a fortune's worth clinging to her like burrs to a sheep. She shook herself, dislodging some of the looser ones, sending a shower of them clattering to the ground where they bounced and rolled away.

She noticed him looking, her scaly lips pulling back to expose her teeth in a gigantic smile.

"I pay for my meals," she explained, Iden remembering how the shepherd that he had encountered back in the inn had told of how gold had rained from the dragon's body. She set off up the winding passage that led to the mouth of the cave, Iden watching the tip of her long tail vanish out of sight, leaving a few solitary gold pieces in her wake.

He took his time finishing off his meal, waiting a good half hour to be sure that his companion was long-gone. When he was certain that she wasn't going to come walking back down the tunnel, he rose from the gilded throne, setting his silver cutlery down on the table. It was time to set his plan into motion.

Iden recovered his pile of discarded clothes and armor, stripping off the magical garments that Isabelle had created for him with considerable difficulty due to their tightness. He pulled on his gambeson and leggings, struggling for a few minutes to strap on his breastplate. It didn't take long for him to be reminded of how inconvenient it was without a second pair of hands. He wondered briefly if Isabelle could sense that he was undressing, if she would have a way to know what he was about to do through some magical means. It didn't matter, he was already committed.

He finished tightening the belts on his armor, now realizing that it was considerably less comfortable than the silken outfit that Isabelle had conjured, as much as he had complained about the form-fitting garments. He retrieved his short sword, returning it to its scabbard on his belt. His pike was broken, and his tower shield would be of little use to him now, better to just leave it behind lest it slow him down.

After ensuring that he still had some food left for the journey, and that his sleeping bag and tent were still intact, he slung his pack over his back. He turned to face the pile of gold and treasure, more riches than even a hundred men could have spent in their lifetimes. That all too familiar lust burned in his belly, greed demanding that he fill his pack with bejeweled scepters and silver goblets, his eyes drawn to the glittering hoard like moths to a flame. Just one ornate crown, just one handful of rubies...

No, he tore his eyes away from the mound, focusing them on something else. He marched around the circumference of the pile, kicking coins out of his path like they were no more valuable than pebbles. The bookshelves were his new target. Isabelle had said it herself, to the right buyer, these ancient tomes were worth a fortune in their own right. A fortune enough to set Iden free from the life of a sellsword? He couldn't be sure, but what other options did he have? She was right about him not being able to transport the gold, even if he could claim it. There would be a target on his back, he could trust nobody, he would be robbed or murdered before he could spend a solitary penny.

But who would slit his throat in his sleep over musty old books? Who would rob him for what would look like worthless paper to the uninitiated? Only collectors and archivists would know the true value of his take, any brigands or innkeepers that he might meet would be wholly ignorant.

He perused the shelves, his open pack clutched in one hand, not knowing which ones to take. Some were surely more valuable than others, but how would he know? He could scarcely even read. As his eyes scanned their dusty spines, he spotted one that he recognized. It was the book that Isabelle had read aloud to him, the life and works of de Mercier, the warrior poet. Had she not said that this book was unique?

Iden pulled it from the shelf, dropping it into his pack, pulling more from their shelves at random. He couldn't carry them all, only enough to fill the remaining space in his bag, so he'd just have to hope that it would be enough. He couldn't spend books, of course. He would need to travel to one of the major cities where libraries and Paladin archives could be found, and he would need coin to spend along the way. Once he was done with the books, he would take a couple of pocketfuls of gold, enough to pay his way without drawing too much unwanted attention to himself.

His heart raced as he piled the tomes into his rucksack, each one accompanied by a cloud of dust. He didn't want to be anywhere near here when Isabelle returned and realized his betrayal. With any luck, he'd be long gone, and she would have no way of finding him.

An odd sensation came over him, almost like a wave of nausea. Memories of Isabelle's smiling face as she read to him from atop her pile flashed before his eyes, the scent of her auburn hair, the feeling of her clawed fingers massaging his scalp.

Iden shook his head, banishing the intrusive thoughts, turning his attention back to his thievery. He needed these books far more than Isabelle did. She had more treasure than she could ever make use of, simply for the pleasure of having it. She wouldn't go hungry, she wouldn't be destitute if he took just a minute share for himself. Iden would be sleeping in a drafty tent in the woods, he'd be eating stale bread and rancid meat, he would almost certainly die with his guts spilled on a battlefield if he didn't do this.

Yet still, that pit remained in his stomach, an ache, as though someone had just punched him in the belly. Why was this making him feel so damned...bad? He was a warrior by profession, he had killed scores of adversaries over the years, no doubt leaving grieving widows and orphaned children in his wake. So why did this feel so much worse?

He tried to ignore his conscience, throwing a couple more books into the bag, drawing it closed and slinging it over his back. As he made his way towards the exit, he knelt to grab a few handfuls of coins, stuffing his pockets and filling some of the empty pouches on his belt. He had to fight the desire to take even more, the gold really did have an almost supernatural power over him.

His boots echoed as he made his way up the winding passage that led out of the cavern, following the gold that had fallen from Isabelle's massive body like a trail of breadcrumbs. As he neared the mouth of the cave, he began to feel the cold wind on his face, carrying the scent of fresh air with it. It howled as it whipped down the passage, tugging at his clothes, already starting to chill him to the bone.

The bright sun made him shield his eyes as he emerged onto the snow-covered mountainside, his vision slowly adjusting as he tried to blink the bleariness away. It had been days since he had seen sunlight or a blue sky. The mountain range below him was sheathed in clouds, a few solitary, snowy peaks rising up through the puffy blanket here and there. Iden took in a deep breath, preparing himself for the climb down. He turned to look down the tunnel one last time, swallowing as if it might somehow dislodge the lead weight that had settled in his stomach.

His mind made up, he began to make his way down the rocky slope.

***

The rolling foothills extended into the distance, fog hanging low over the valley, the shadow of the mountain looming at Iden's back as he marched. The naked rock and freezing snow had been replaced with purple thistles, hardy grasses, and boulders coated in clinging moss and lichen. He was still exposed to the elements, there were no forests in sight yet, but the worst of his climb was now behind him. He had reached the foot of the mountain in good time, the sun was only just starting to dip towards the horizon. Isabelle must have returned to her cave by now, but if that was the case, then she hadn't come looking for him. Her magic didn't make her omniscient, after all. It might take her some time to figure out where he had gone, or what he had taken.

He should feel elated for having pulled off his heist, yet he couldn't shake that lingering feeling of guilt. Iden tried to ignore it, lowering his pack and fishing for his tent. The ground here was soft enough that he shouldn't have any great difficulty driving in the pegs. If Isabelle should come searching for him, then she might have a hard time seeing it from the air. It was relatively well camouflaged, and it wouldn't stand out against the terrain. Hiding from highwaymen and brigands who might rob him while he slept was just as important as concealing his sleeping spot from airborne dragons.

He had to remove a few of the books to access his gear, stacking them gingerly on a nearby rock. They didn't look too fragile, but they were certainly very old. The last thing he needed was for one them of them to fly open, disgorging its yellowed pages across the landscape like fallen leaves on the wind. As he withdrew another tome, his eyes were drawn to the calligraphic text that adorned its leather cover. His heart skipped a beat as he read off the title, it was The Life and Works of Gerard de Mercier again. He stared at it for a moment, feeling worse and worse the longer he held it, then he set it upon the pile with the title facing down so that he wouldn't have to look at it.

"Pull it together," he grumbled to himself, turning his attention back to his bag. He was just tired from the climb, that was all. He would feel better once he got a good night's sleep. He'd wake up the next morning refreshed, and then once he was eating a hot meal at the inn down in the village, he could put this business with the dragon behind him. He'd be a hundred miles away from the mountain in short order, and then he could just forget about it. Gods, it wasn't as if he had killed anybody...

Iden set up his tent, the wind whipping at it violently, then placed his sleeping bag inside. He returned the books to his pack, then began to shed his armor, crawling through the flap and closing it behind him. It did little to shut out the frigid gale, cold air creeping in under the breaks between the pegs where the tent was being lifted from the ground. Iden shuffled into his bag and wrapped it around himself tightly, his teeth chattering. It was best not to start a fire, it would certainly give him away to the dragon if she came searching for him.

It was impossible to keep his mind off the silken bed that Isabelle had fashioned from luxurious drapes and fancy gowns back in her cave, all of that wealth just thrown into a heap so that they might sleep together comfortably. He missed its softness, and what's more, he missed the warmth of her body beside him. The way that she held him close, her smoky scent, the feeling of her fingers combing his hair as she whispered to him...

Never mind. When he sold the books, he could buy all of the willing wenches that he wanted. They'd be throwing themselves at him, they'd do anything that he asked. He could share his king-sized bed with a different woman every night if he so desired, he could build his own harem.

Yet the promise of carnal delights did not sate the feeling of loneliness that was growing within him. It felt like there was a hole in his chest, empty and gaping, like he had left some crucial part of himself up on the mountain. He tossed and turned in his sleeping bag, trying to take his mind off it, sleep eluding him as his mind ran in circles.

He was jolted back to alertness by the unmistakable sound of hooves and clanking armor rising above the howling wind. A surge of adrenaline made him sit up straight, his heart starting to pump faster, the instincts of a career soldier informing him that enemy horsemen might be nearing. There was no time to don his armor, and so he grabbed his holstered sword from its resting place beside his sleeping bag, holding it in his hand as he shuffled towards the flap and emerged into the cool evening air.

Standing around his tent was a circle of mounted knights, their horses snorting, stamping their hooves in the scrubby grass. These were Paladins, there was no mistaking their gilded, white armor and their winged helmets. Iden turned to face each one of them in turn, six in all, keeping his sword at the ready without drawing it from its scabbard. He had no chance of taking on half a dozen mounted knights, but the Paladins were not brigands, quite the contrary. They ranged from insufferable do-gooders who stuck their noses in affairs that didn't concern them, to dangerous zealots who might strike a man down for using the name of one of the Gods in vain. While they didn't pose an immediate threat, they were not to be trusted...

"State your business, Sirs," Iden demanded. He was angry at being surrounded like this, but it was wise to show a little respect. There was nothing to be gained by offending a Paladin.

"You are the mercenary that the shepherd spoke of," one of them said, his helmet giving his voice a tinny quality. "We expected to find your blackened bones in the dragon's lair."

"The shepherd?" Iden asked, relaxing somewhat. "I know the man of whom you speak, he's a drunk that frequents the inn down in the village, I met him when I arrived in the valley. He spoke to you of the dragon?"

"Indeed," the knight replied. "He told of a mercenary who sought to claim the bounty that the magistrate had placed on the beast's head. I am surprised to find you alive."

"Well, I'm flattered that the Paladins would concern themselves with the welfare of a sellsword," Iden muttered. "Ever the defenders of the downtrodden, you lot. But I'm afraid that I don't require your assistance."

"We concern ourselves not with your safety, but with the dragon's reign of terror," the stranger replied tersely. "We march on the mountain with the intent to slay it. How is it that a simple hedge knight has climbed the dragon's mountain and lived to tell of it? Don't tell me that you slew the thing single-handed?"

He thought for a moment, trying to come up with a story that the knights would believe. They were sworn to a life of celibacy, and they didn't take kindly to fornication at the best of times, never mind with a dragon. If they even had laws that governed such subjects, the penalty would not be lenient. Did they really mean to kill Isabelle? Good fucking luck. Based on what Iden had seen during his fight with her, it would take a whole army to bring her down. These toy soldiers stood no chance.

"I never made it to the peak," Iden replied. "I had every intention of facing the dragon and claiming the bounty, but I caught sight of the thing one day, and turned straight back around. It's forty feet long at least, covered in scales as tough as steel, and it breathes fire that can melt stone. I doubt that any mortal weapon can harm it. If you want my advice, it's better to turn back and leave the creature be."

"You made a sound decision," the Paladin replied, "the likes of you would have no hope of prevailing against a dragon. The Paladins have tools and strategies for subduing magical beasts, passed down to us through the order's ancient archives. Our forebears dealt with such creatures in ages past, and we are well equipped to do the same."

"How's that?" Iden asked, a hint of worry creeping into his voice. He had thought himself prepared to fight the dragon too, but Isabelle had spoken of her kind being hunted in the past, and he had no way to be sure that these Paladins didn't have some kind of weapon that could hurt her. If anyone would have access to such things, it would probably be them. Their order was centuries old, and their archivists hoarded ancient secrets like Isabelle hoarded gold.

"Dragons are possessed of supernatural powers," another of the knights explained, Iden turning to face him. Having to raise his head to speak to the faceless figures while they were perched atop their horses was a little unnerving. "It is good that you came to your senses, sellsword. Had you attempted to pierce its hide with your blade, you would have found it quite impenetrable. A dragon must first be incapacitated through magical means in order to neutralize its great strength and to deny it its fiery breath. Only then can it be destroyed."