Heart of the Mountain

"There is only one weapon that can prevail against its thick armor," the Paladin to his left added, "a spear whose tip was forged from the horn of a fellow dragon."

"And you have such a weapon in your possession?" Iden asked incredulously. His own pike had pierced Isabelle's hand, but only while using her strength and weight as leverage. Her hide had been quite impenetrable under his own power.

"Indeed we do," the lead Paladin said, taking his horse by the reins and steering it towards the mountain. "Make your way back down to the village, Mercenary, and stay out of trouble. The Gods don't look upon your profession favorably at the best of times. It would not behoove you to fall afoul of the law."

Iden suppressed his desire to talk back, watching as they began to make their way up the slope. Who did they think they were, telling him to keep his nose clean? Easy for them to say, their armor was as pristine as fresh linen, they didn't have to eat week-old bread for dinner tonight.

As he watched their horses tackle the slope, he wondered if what they had said was true. Dragons were not invulnerable. According to Isabelle, her people had been hunted almost to extinction by ancient humans. Did the Paladins really have the means to bring her down?

It didn't really matter. He didn't think it very likely, and even so, what could he do against a whole group of mounted Paladins? Iden was an accomplished fighter, but only a fool would take those odds. No, most likely Isabelle would make a meal of them as she almost had Iden. He had his bag full of loot, he was home free, better to just cut his losses and get out of here as the Paladin had suggested.

Iden returned to his tent, setting his sword down and climbing into his sleeping bag, the lead weight in his belly only growing heavier.

***

Iden awoke the next morning feeling decidedly less refreshed than he had anticipated. He rubbed his eyes groggily, rising to a sitting position, his head brushing the top of his tiny tent. For a brief, blissful moment, he forgot where he was and what he had been doing. The realization came flooding back to him, that familiar weight settling in the pit of his stomach once again. He had stayed up late into the night, sleep eluding him, thoughts of Isabelle roiling in his head.

Intent on shaking off the strange cloud of dread and guilt that was hanging over him, he shuffled out of his tent, sitting by his pack and fishing inside it for one of his paper parcels. He withdrew one, unwrapping it and pulling off a piece of stale bread with considerable difficulty. It was as hard as a rock, and he chewed it dispassionately. Reasoning that the meat might have fared a little better, he opened another parcel, recoiling as the smell reached his nose. Frustrated, he hurled the package of spoiled meat into the grass, cursing under his breath as he took another labored bite of his bread.

How he missed Isabelle's perfectly cooked beef, he'd trade a whole pocketful of gold for just a morsel of it right now. The exterior had been so crispy and brown, the juices locked inside, pouring from the tender meat with every bite...

His stomach growled, and he gave up on the bread, tossing it back into his bag. He'd buy a real meal down in the village, something expensive from the inn, that would sate his hunger. He wasn't more than half a day's walk away now.

As Iden donned his armor, he noticed the hoof prints in the soil around his test, remembering his encounter with the Paladins the night before. They'd probably be halfway up the mountain by now, though they might face even more difficulty than he had due to their full sets of plate armor. He turned to glance at the mountain's face, wondering where Isabelle was now, and what she was doing. Had she discovered his theft? Would she be meeting the Paladins soon? Hopefully, his betrayal and the subsequent Paladin attack didn't turn her off interacting with humans altogether...

What an ugly word, betrayal. Was that really the best way to describe what he had done? Why did it make him feel like he had swallowed a lump of iron?

Too bad, the world was harsh, and life was unfair. All that mattered was survival. Still, the image of Isabelle's face when she discovered that he had made off with her treasures haunted him. She had taken such a liking to him, he had earned her trust, and then...

"Enough of this," he muttered to himself, kneeling to pack up his tent and sleeping bag. He rolled them up into bundles of fabric, then attempted to stuff them into his bag, realizing that the stolen books were in the way. Grumbling under his breath, he began to remove them one by one, stacking them on a nearby rock. One of them slipped out of his gauntleted hand, and he leaned down to retrieve it, the red leather binding giving it away as The Life and Works of Gerard de Mercier once again.

A kind of irrational anger welled up inside him, and he had to stop himself from tossing the book just as he had the spoiled meat.

"I need you more than she does," Iden muttered, "what the hell do you want from me? Should I climb back up the mountain, fight off six horsemen single-handedly, and then doom myself to a life of poverty and a violent death? All to satisfy some misplaced sense of honor or loyalty? What the hell is wrong with me?" he added, running his hand over his face. "I'm having an argument with a damned book..."

His eyes were drawn to the mountain again with a magnetic power, and he looked up at the snowy peak, sheathed in layers of white cloud. What was it that Isabelle had been trying to drill into him during their brief time together? That he had a choice, he could decide what kind of person he wanted to be. So what did he want to be? Did he want to remain a callous, emotionally detached mercenary, self-serving and greedy? Or did he want to be like de Mercier, strong when the situation called for it, but sensitive too? Did he want to keep telling himself that his conscience was clean because he took measures to avoid taking jobs from tyrants and slavers, or did he want to put his money on the table, and fight for a real cause? Isabelle was in danger, what if the Paladins made good on their promise to slay her? She didn't deserve that...he couldn't stand the thought of her coming to harm.

"Gods damn it all," he grumbled under his breath, packing his gear away and turning back towards the mountain. "If I could just learn to keep my cock in my pants, then I wouldn't end up in these situations..."

CHAPTER 9: FOUL BEAST

The Paladins struggled up the rocky crags, the weight of their armor and their heavy shields making their progress all the more difficult. They had tied the horses up at the base of the mountain, the climb would have only resulted in broken legs, and it had taken them almost a whole day to reach the peak. The terrain here was all jutting rocks and knee-deep snow. Perilously high falls and slippery surfaces had resulted in more than one accident, but none of their number had been injured thus far.

The Knight Commander was leading the way, leaning his weight on his spear, using the haft to probe for footholds in the snow as he navigated the hazardous mountainside. He had five Lieutenants in tow, hand-picked by their superiors for the task at hand. They were sterling fighters, their combat prowess matched only by their loyalty to the Order, their faith as strong as their sword arms.

They had risen above the cloud layer now, the sky above them a deeper azure than the Commander had ever seen before, the air growing thinner with every step.

"Have you sighted the cave yet, my Lord?" one of the Paladins asked. He was trailing a short distance behind the leader of their party, the whistling wind tearing at his surcoat.

"It has to be here somewhere, Lieutenant" the Commander replied. "The reports have led us true so far, this peak is where the beast makes its perch."

"Commander!" another of the Lieutenants shouted from the rear. "To your right, I see a cave!"

The Commander squinted through the narrow slot in his visor, spotting the telltale shadow of a cave mouth nestled amidst the rocks. He waved his men forward, the standard that was tied around the tip of his spear fluttering in the wind.

"Good eye, soldier! Keep your wits about you, according to the archivists, the dragon will be lurking somewhere deep inside the mountain."

They climbed their way up onto the rocky outcrop, two of the Lieutenants helping up a straggler, the Paladins readying their weapons as they inched closer to the cave. The shadowy tunnel wound deep into the rock, its curving walls preventing them from seeing what lay at the end.

"Ready the artifacts," the Commander ordered, raising his tower shield lest the dragon burst out at them from the darkness.

The Archivists had entrusted the team of Paladins with several ancient relics that would help them defeat the dragon. Chief among them was the long pike that one of the Lieutenants carried across his back, its haft forged from an unknown alloy using techniques that had been lost to time, the metal decorated with ornate banding patterns and mottling. The tip was carved from dragon horn, shaped into a deadly point that would be used to spear the creature's heart, delivering the killing blow once it was subdued. The weapon was priceless, and there were few like it, but its true value lay in its ability to pierce the armored scales of a dragon.

Next were the tools that would deny the dragon its brute strength and its fiery breath. The Archivists had produced another relic of the ancient world from the depths of the Order's vaults, a net woven from the silk of a long-extinct breed of gigantic spider. It had to be handled with extreme caution, as it would stick to any living thing with a bond that was impossible to break through conventional means, the strands themselves too durable to cut through with even the sharpest of blades. Once it had entangled its victim, the fine mesh would begin to constrict around it, growing tighter the more the prey struggled.

The final weapon in their arsenal was the most unassuming, a simple leather-bound book. Instead of ink, its pages were marked with the blood of a frost giant, a mythical creature that was said to have inhabited the frozen North in ages long past. The spells and incantations within carried its power, the faded text imbuing the reader with the ability to command the elemental forces of snow and ice. This, they would use to silence the dragon's pyromancy long enough that the final blow could be dealt.

"Hand me the pike," the Commander ordered. One of the Lieutenants retrieved it from the back of his companion, passing it to his superior. The Commander weighed it in his hand, finding it to be incredibly light despite its great length, impeccably balanced. There were no living smiths who could produce weapons like these.

"Lieutenant Gregory," he continued, "are you certain that you can perform the incantation that will silence the dragon's breath?"

One of the Paladins opened the clasp on a leather holster that was sewn to his belt, withdrawing the ancient tome from its protective carrying case. He opened the cover and leafed through the yellowed pages, the wind making them flutter.

"The Archivists have instructed me well, my Lord," he replied. "I am confident that I can perform the spell."

"Very well. Prepare the net."

Two more of the Paladins produced crossbows, gripping the stocks firmly between their thighs as they began to crank the levers that would wind the strings back, the limbs creaking as they bent under the pressure. When they were ready to be fired, the two men armed them with bolts. They looked like training arrows, their tips dull and weighted, rather than sharpened to a point. These arrows were not intended to pierce the hide of their adversary, but rather to carry the net over it. He watched as a third knight knelt and removed his pack, fishing out a carefully sealed parcel about the size of a dinner plate. He unwrapped it gingerly, revealing what looked like a bundle of fine silk, beads of glittering moisture clinging to the thin strands.

He lifted up the spider silk net, taking great care to only touch the loops at the corners that were intended to attach to the bolts. One would have expected the howling wind to blow the net into the bearer's face, but somehow it remained untouched by the elements, hanging in the air with an ethereal quality. The Lieutenants wielding the crossbows took up position to either side of him, and he attached the corners of the net to their bolts, the trap now ready to be sprung.

"Follow behind me," the Commander said, making his way deeper into the cave. "Gregory, keep your spellbook at the ready and be swift with your incantation. You must not allow the dragon to use its breath. Alder, Rowen, strike true. If you should miss the beast, then we will not get a second chance. Loose your bolts at the first opportunity that presents itself, even a moment of hesitation could leave one of us dead. Once the dragon has been entangled, I shall close in and strike at its heart."

"Chances are, the dragon is already inside its cave," a knight to the Commander's right added. He produced a torch and lit it with two pieces of flint, holding it aloft to light their way in the darkness. "If we should happen upon an empty lair, then we can lie in wait, and prepare an ambush for its return. Either way, we should maintain the element of surprise."

"Dragons are said to be wily creatures," the Commander said, rounding the first corner of the winding passage as his men marched behind him. The walls here looked like they were made from melted rock, the stalactites that clung to the ceiling broken off in places, as though something large had passed through. There was scoring on the stone that looked suspiciously like giant claws marks. "They are not the dumb beasts that some might assume, so keep your wits about you. Expect trickery, deception, we don't know exactly what we might encounter down here..."

As they continued on, following the tunnel as it snaked deep into the mountain, there was the sound of metal on metal. One of the Paladins paused to examine the ground, the Commander glancing back at him.

"Look, Knight Commander," he exclaimed as he knelt to pick up a coin. "There are gold pieces strewn about the floor."

"The dragon surely came through here," another said with a nod, "we're on the right track."

"Don't stop for gold," the Commander muttered, ushering them onward. "Your reward will be the satisfaction of serving the Gods. The beast's hoard is destined for the Order's treasury, not your pockets."

There was muted laughter as they pressed onward, their footsteps echoing in the empty tunnel. It was nigh impossible to move silently while wearing armor. The Commander hoped that they would arrive to a deserted cave, so that they could plan an ambush as his brother knight had suggested, giving them more chance to take the creature unawares.

As they rounded the last bend, the Commander stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide. He heard gasps from his Paladins, one of them muffling an exclamation.

"Have your eyes ever beheld such a thing?" Alder asked, his awe leaving him breathless. Before them was a cavern the scale of a cathedral, held up by rock pillars as thick around as the trunk of a sturdy oak, lit only by a ring of flickering torches that adorned the cave wall. The cave was impressive enough, but that wasn't the sight that had everyone so captivated.

In the center of the room was a mountain of treasure, so large that the glittering coins that made up its mass seemed no bigger than grains of sand. Bejeweled crowns and scepters glittered, precious stones reflecting the wavering firelight, riches beyond imagining just sitting out in the open. Even the Commander found himself bewitched for a moment, but his mind soon turned to his holy purpose, and he steeled his heart against the wondrous sight.

"Stay alert," he whispered, inching forward with the dragonhorn pike resting atop his shield. "Do not allow yourselves to become distracted."

They entered the cavern proper, turning their heads this way and that, searching for any sign of the dragon. It was surely too large to hide itself, even in such an expansive cave. The shepherd that they had met down in the village and the mercenary in the foothills had given slightly different size estimates, but there was nothing approaching forty feet in here...

After a good few minutes of searching, they finally felt safe enough to let their guard down, the Commander lowering his shield and removing his stifling helmet. The Paladin that had been holding the torch set it down on the floor, the cavern was lit well enough already.

"It seems clear," he said, turning to appraise his surroundings one more time. "Rowen, Alden, I want you positioned near the cavern's entrance. Aim your net right across the mouth. Gregory, behind the pillar over there, try not to draw its attention lest it attempt to interrupt your spellcasting. The rest of you, on me. It falls upon us to distract it until our comrades can do their jobs."

"Commander!" Rowen shouted, pointing behind him. The Commander spun around, turning to see a short, slight woman standing on the rock beside the pile of treasure. She had auburn hair, her clothing tattered, her feet bare and caked with dirt. She looked haggard, her green eyes sunken in their sockets. Where had she come from? It was as though she had just appeared from the darkness. A hidden side tunnel, perhaps?

"It's just a girl?" Alden asked, taking a step forwards. The Commander waved him back, bringing up his shield as the woman stared at him.

"What are you doing here, girl?" the Commander asked suspiciously.

"The wyrm took me captive," she replied, "have you come to rescue me? Will you take me back to my parents down in the village?" A tear rolled down her cheek, and she took a step closer to the captain, her arms outstretched. "Oh, thank you, Paladins. Thank you!"

The Knight Commander met her with his pike, the pointed tip pressing up against her throat.

"Commander!" Gregory exclaimed, "what are you doing?"

"Begin your incantation, Lieutenant Gregory," he replied. "We have ourselves a dragon."

The young girl's face split into a wide grin, exposing rows of sharp teeth that looked far too large for her head, her green eyes taking on an amber hue as her pupils contracted into reptilian slits. There was a rush of flame that sent the Commander staggering backwards, the tattered garments that she had been wearing evaporating into a cloud of ash to leave her naked. Her pale skin was already cracking, taking on an unhealthy, blue tinge. It transformed into rough scales before his eyes, the dragon growing by inches with every second that passed. A long, heavy tail slapped on the ground, a pair of bat-like wings unfurling from her shoulders, her face elongating as long horns sprouted from her flowing hair.

"Attack!" the Commander yelled, lunging at the beast with his pike. Even in her half-polymorphed state, she was agile enough to dodge his strike, perhaps sensing the material that it was wrought from. She swung her tail, already a good eight feet long, slamming it into his shield with the force of a war hammer. The blow sent him reeling, but he stood fast, two of his brothers rushing in to help.

They took up position at his flanks and began to jab at her with their spears, and these she didn't even care to avoid, letting their steel tips glance off her tough hide. She expanded, growing thicker and heavier, dropping to all fours as her neck elongated to take on the appearance of a giant snake. This was what had been described to them, a beast of thirty feet at least. Her shimmering scales overlapped to create an impenetrable barrier, black fumes billowing from her nostrils like smoke from a furnace, the sharp quills that ran down her spine rattling in a threat display.