Heart of the Mountain

"You won't give any of it to charity, then? You don't want to feed the hungry, or help the poor?"

"Why would I do that?" Iden asked, crossing his arms as he sat on his rock. "The poor are free to slay their own dragons if they wish. I'm risking my own life, is it not fair that I alone should reap the rewards?"

"You believe in the Gods, but is it not written that men of great wealth seldom reach Heaven?"

"Now you're starting to sound like a Paladin," Iden grumbled, taking another swig from his canteen. "Let the Gods judge me if they so choose, I'm not afraid of death, couldn't be in my line of work."

"Perhaps you have more in common with this dragon that you know," she said, shooting him a grin. "You both seek to brood over mountains of gold that you can never spend."

The girl walked over to the horse, giving its flank a pat as it drank, its tail whipping back and forth idly. She seemed to have taken a liking to the beast. Horses were not farmed for milk or meat, and so she might not have come across them very often.

"What's her name?" she asked.

"Doesn't have one," Iden replied.

"You didn't name her?" Isabelle said, looking back over her shoulder to pout at him. "Don't worry," she continued, turning her attention back to the horse. "If this brute won't give you a name, I will. Let's see..." She looked around for a moment, perhaps seeking inspiration in the patches of flowers and the scrubby bushes that protruded from between the rocks. "How about...Heather!"

"It's as good a name as any, I suppose," Iden grumbled. "Do you name all of your livestock?"

"Heather is a noble steed, not mere livestock," Isabelle shot back. "Isn't that right, girl?"

"We should reach the foot of the mountain by nightfall," Iden said, glancing up at the ominous peak. "Let's keep moving."

***

The sun had passed behind the mountain as it began to set, casting a long, dark shadow across the valley. Iden felt as though the temperature had dropped to that of a winter's night, the cool wind now biting and harsh. Isabelle shivered beside him, rubbing her hands together beneath her tattered shawl as she lugged her heavy vase along. As unwieldy as his armor was, at least his gambeson was thick enough to insulate him against the cold to an extent.

He watched as the girl lost her footing, stumbling amidst the rocks that littered the ground. She grazed her knee, wincing as she struggled back to her feet.

"Say," she said, looking up at him from below. "Might I have a turn on the horse?"

"First you eat my food without recompense, and now you expect to ride my horse? I can't fit you behind me, there's little room to spare with my shield and my pack."

"Just for a little while, so that I might rest," she pleaded. "My feet are blistered, and hunger has made me weary."

She looked so miserable down there, and he wondered again why she was so ill-prepared for this trek. What had she expected to happen? Could she really be so naive as to think that she could scale a mountain with no food, wearing a pair of farmer's boots? He gazed at her for a few moments from beneath his open visor, then he sighed in exasperation, his armor clattering as he made to dismount the horse. Her sad eyes brightened as Iden dropped heavily to the ground, and he thrust the reins into her hands with a gauntleted fist.

"Very well, but only because the exercise might warm me. And take some food from my pack. Naught but a morsel of bread, you hear? I won't have you complaining about your stomach until we make camp."

She scooted around behind him, and he felt her rummaging through his pack as she searched for the loaf of bread. He heard the rustling of the paper, and then she tore off a piece, chewing into it ravenously. With her meal in hand, she slipped one of her feet into a stirrup, struggling to mount the horse. Iden sighed, helping her up into the saddle. He realized that she probably didn't know how to ride, and so he took the reins from her, leading the horse along as he started on his way. The last thing he needed was both his horse and the girl vanishing into the night if the animal got spooked by something.

"Thank you," she said sweetly, bobbing back and forth as she sat atop the horse and dug into her bread.

"Uh-huh," Iden grumbled from beneath his helmet. He was starting to wish that he had set off a day later, and that the dragon had made a meal of her. Not that she would ever have reached the peak without his help.

It was a little harder to see in the shadow of the mountain, but he was used to long marches, and he was none the worse for wear by the time they were ready to make camp. The sun had dipped below the horizon now, and the stars were twinkling in the cloudless sky, like bright beacons against the endless expanse of inky blackness.

"We should make camp here," he announced, the horse stamping its feet as they came to a stop. He raised a hand and helped Isabelle to dismount, then began to shrug off his shield and his pack. "See if you can find enough dry wood to start a fire, there must be some dead bushes and shrubs around here to provide enough kindling."

The girl headed off to search while he unpacked his tent. He unrolled a bundle of fabric and drove a pair of sharpened poles into the ground. It was rocky here, and the earth was tough, he had to beat them with his gauntlet to drive them deep enough that they would stand upright. He draped the canvass over the top of the primitive framework, creating a wedge-shaped shelter with a flap on one end, perhaps three or four feet tall. It wasn't luxurious by any means, but it was enough to shield a prone occupant from the elements. The wind was already tearing at it, and he retrieved some metal stakes from his bag, driving them into the ground to secure the four corners. When he was sure that the structure was reasonably secure, he began to move his gear inside.

There wasn't much that he could do for the horse, but it wasn't as if there was a blizzard. The animal would be fine come morning. He secured her lead to a nearby bush, if she uprooted it in a panic for some reason, then so be it. He couldn't take her very much further anyway.

By the time he had laid out his sleeping bag, Isabelle had returned with an armful of gnarled sticks. He made a circle out of stones, and stacked them inside, striking a piece of flint into a bundle of dried plant matter. He blew on the orange ember until it sprung into flames, and then he pushed it gingerly between the twigs. Before long, the small fire was crackling, and the pair huddled around it for warmth as the flames cast dancing shadows.

Isabelle shivered, and he shared his canteen with her, starting on another piece of mutton as she watched.

"Where will I sleep?" she asked, eyeing his one-man tent apprehensively.

"I wasn't planning on having company," he muttered, talking with his mouth full. "I suppose you'll have to squeeze in beside me."

"I can't share a tent with a strange man in the wilderness," she replied, "what would my father say?"

"Not much, I'd presume," Iden replied. "He's letting you visit a dragon after all. Besides, what do you expect me to do? Should I cede my sleeping bag to you, and dig a hole for myself like a rabbit?"

"Fair point," Isabelle said, stoking the crackling fire with a long branch. "Are you...the type to take advantage of a woman in a compromising situation?"

"What do you think?" he scoffed, a little insulted by the insinuation.

"I think that you're a large, strong man who doesn't hesitate to take what he wants, at least where battle is concerned. A man who has been traveling alone for days or weeks, and who might have...pent up urges that he may seek to satisfy with a woman who would be powerless to resist his advances..."

"If that's what you think, then take the horse and head back to town," Iden said as he gestured to the tethered beast. "Nobody is forcing you to stay with me."

"I didn't mean anything by it," she said, her tone apologetic. "I suppose that if you wanted to ravish me, you would have done so by now."

"Are you hungry?" he asked, and she nodded. He passed her a piece of mutton and another hunk of bread, and they ate together as they stared into the smoldering embers. It was so silent in the mountains, there were no chirping birds, no buzzing insects.

"So what happens if you don't prevail against the dragon?" Isabelle asked, glancing over at him as she gnawed on the tough bread. Her green eyes reflected the firelight from beneath the shadow of her shawl, the wind tugging at the patchwork of fabric and fanning the flames. "Are you survived by anyone? A wife? Children?"

"No," he replied tersely, washing down a mouthful of meat with a swig from his canteen.

"Why not?" she continued, watching him expectantly.

"I'm a mercenary, starting a family is the least of my concerns right now."

"Isn't there anyone waiting for you back home?"

"Home is wherever work is, I'm never in one place for very long. I sleep at a different inn each night, if I'm not camping out in the wilds, or marching with an army. I have my fill of food and women wherever I happen to be."

"I see, so it's like that?" Isabelle chuckled. "And here I was starting to think that there was a heart of gold under all that metal and brawn."

He realized that his cheeks were reddening, and for the first time in recent memory, he began to feel a little ashamed of himself. Tales of slaying his enemies and bedding scores of women usually earned the admiration of his comrades in arms, and the attention of loose barmaids. Isabelle was neither, and her sensibilities were quite different.

"Perhaps...I have been on the road for too long," he muttered. "But if I can claim this prize, then I'll be free to settle wherever I wish. I could marry...maybe. If I could woo a noblewoman, then my children would be Lords and Ladies."

"I wouldn't marry for money or for status," Isabelle said as she finished off the last of her bread. She leaned forward to drop a few more sticks onto the campfire, giving it a prod with her branch, the wind carrying away the wisps of smoke. "I'd wait for the right man to come along."

"Let me guess, you'd wait for a charming Paladin in a bejeweled raiment to sweep you off your feet? You'll be waiting a long time out here, girl."

"Don't call me girl," she complained, "I'm not as naive as you think. True love happened for my mother and for my father, for my grandmother and my grandfather. So why not for me?"

"I never said that it wouldn't" Iden added, "but you can't sit on your hands and expect something like that to happen on its own. If you want something to happen for you, then you have to make it happen. You want love? Go out and seek it. The Gods won't do it for you, and nobody else will care enough to arrange it in your stead."

He began to unwrap another paper parcel, tossing the string into the fire and watching it burn. This one was some kind of spiced sausage, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a knife and slicing off one end. He picked up a twig and speared it, holding it over the fire. It didn't need to be cooked, but a little smoky flavor might do it some good.

"I've seen too many people become complacent," he continued, "sitting idle because they expect fate or destiny to fulfill all of their desires in good time. Men who see themselves with a beautiful wife and gold to spare, just as soon as the stars align in their favor."

"Is that what you're doing?" Isabelle asked, "making your own fate?"

"I'd like to think so," he said, taking a bite of his sausage. "I'm not waiting for a fortune to fall into my lap, I'm going to take it for myself."

"And that's why you like fighting so much, because you alone hold the reins, your life is in your own hands?"

"Getting a little philosophical here, aren't we?" he muttered. She went quiet, no doubt realizing that it wasn't a subject of conversation that he wanted to pursue. The awkward silence was eventually broken as he rose to his feet, his armor making a racket.

"I'm about ready to turn in," Iden said, making for the tent. Isabelle stood too, wringing her hands together nervously, not looking forward to sharing a sleeping bag with him. He paused by the flap of his tent, holding it open with one hand as he waited for her to join him.

"You'll catch your death if you sleep out here in the open. Come on, I'm not going to bite."

After another few moments of fretting, she finally gave in, approaching the tent and ducking in under the open flap. The interior was cramped, the tent was only intended to be occupied by one person, it was just enough to cover an average sized man while he lay on the ground.

"It's tiny," she complained, and he laughed at her disappointed expression.

"Were you expecting me to build an entire inn for you? I might be handy with an axe, but only when it comes to felling men, not trees."

He had already laid out the sleeping bag, little more than a tube of quilted fabric, and she tested it like a cat kneading a blanket. She sat on it, then turned to watch as Iden began to remove his armor plating. He slid off his gantlets first, placing them on the ground, and then began to remove his vambraces. Iden always struggled with his breastplate, and he reached around his sides, trying to unbuckle the belts that held the two halves together.

"I could do with a little help," he grumbled, "can you lend me a hand?"

"What do I have to do?" Isabelle asked, shuffling closer so that she was kneeling beside him.

"Just unfasten those clasps for me...yeah, that's right. Now help me get these pauldrons off."

"Pauldrons?" she repeated, not familiar with the term.

"The big metal shoulder pads," he explained, "just help me pull them off. They make it hard to raise my arms above my head."

"Why is it so dented?" Isabelle wondered, removing one of the heavy pauldrons and setting it aside.

"If you see a dent, that's probably where someone hit me. Before you mock me for my lack of luster, know that each of those blows could have mortally wounded me. This armor has saved my life more times than I can count."

She helped him to remove the heavy pieces one by one until he was eventually stripped down to his gambeson and his leggings. The gambeson was thick and padded, both to act as a cushion that would prevent his armor from chafing, and to serve as a form of protection in itself. It was relatively warm, and so he saw no reason to remove it, least of all in Isabelle's company.

"There's only one sleeping bag," he said, "we'll have to share if you don't want to freeze. You're pretty small, there should be room enough for the both of us."

"You promise to keep your hands to yourself?" she asked, eyeing him warily.

"Cross my heart."

"Very well," she grumbled. She slid off her boots and took off her shawl, but she kept the rest of her clothes on as she slid into the bag. She shifted uncomfortably, her face screwing up in displeasure. "It's scratchy."

"Yeah, it's lined with straw for insulation," Iden explained. "Don't tell me that the farmers in these parts can afford to sleep on mattresses stuffed with goose feathers?"

"No, but ours are more comfortable than this," she grumbled.

"Perhaps I should skin Heather so that you might wear her pelt?"

"No!" Isabelle protested, giving him a horrified look.

"Relax, I'm joking," he laughed. "Now scoot over, I need to get in there too."

After a lot of shifting and shuffling, they finally managed to get into the sleeping bag together. It was a tight fit, and Iden could feel her soft, slight frame pressing up against him. She had turned her back to him, perhaps thinking it a more modest position to sleep in, but her plump rear was resting against his hip as a result. He could feel her cheeks through the fabric of her skirt, firmer than those that he was accustomed to, shaped by years of labor.

Her body was probably sculpted beautifully beneath those billowing clothes, there was nothing quite like a woman who had been made hard and strong by the daily rigors of a physically demanding profession, like a stonecutter or a warrior. He had met a few female mercenaries during his travels, and he'd had the opportunity to bed one or two of them. They were aggressive and vigorous, and they possessed the stamina to keep up with him, a rare treat indeed compared to a giggling bar wench.

His instincts commanded him to throw a strong arm around her waist, and to drag her closer, to hike up her skirt and to slide his member between her smooth thighs. She was young, in the prime of her life, no more than twenty at the most. A ripe, juicy fruit waiting to be picked from the branch.

Perhaps he could entice her, whisper into her ear, and promise to instruct her in the ways of lovemaking. He was a brute of a man, rugged and dangerous, his own body a veritable playground for the wandering fingers of a curious girl. He was a clear foot taller than her, his muscles like slabs of rock, his hands rough and calloused. Iden knew what women liked, if they admitted it freely or not.

No, he had given her his word.

Iden rolled over to face away from her, driving the urges from his mind. Isabelle wasn't like the other women that he had met during his travels, he got the feeling that she wouldn't appreciate his advances. He was getting side-tracked, he had to stay focused on his task. If he could slay the dragon, then he would have all of the women that he desired. Maybe even Isabelle, if his feats impressed her enough.

"Tomorrow, we shall begin our climb to the peak," he heard her mutter as the wind battered the tent above them. "Are you still set on this course of action?"

"I will not falter," he replied confidently, "the dragon will die by my pike. And what of you? Do you still insist on accompanying me? Know that if the beast should turn its fury on you, I will not be able to guarantee your safety."

"I trust that the dragon will accept my offering. It is not my own life that I fear for, but yours. If you strike at the dragon with the intent to kill it, I have no doubt that it will respond in kind."

"Then so be it," Iden said, "there is no great reward without great risk."

***

"You're setting Heather free?" Isabelle asked, watching as he began to remove the horse's saddle. The night had been uneventful, they had both slept off their exhaustion, and then Iden had made them a modest breakfast once the sun had begun to rise. The tent and the sleeping bag had been packed away, and he had enlisted the girl's help in putting his suit of armor back on. Now they were ready to tackle the next hurdle of their journey, scaling the mountain itself.

"I can't very well have her climb a mountain," Iden replied as he slipped the animal's bit out of its mouth. "She's no sturdy donkey, she'll break her legs up there on the rocks. Better to see her on her way. When I descend this mountain, it will be with enough riches to a buy a legion of horses, or I will not descend at all."

He gave the animal a pat on its rump, and it trotted away, heading back down towards the foothills.

"Will she be okay on her own?" Isabelle asked, shielding her eyes against the sunrise as she watched the horse descend.

"There's water down there, and ample grass, the beast will be fine. As for us, however..."

Iden turned to face the mountain, peering up at the harsh peak that towered above them, sheathed in wisps of cloud. It was not the tallest mountain that he had ever seen, but it was a day's climb or more, and at the top was the dragon's lair.

"This is your final chance to turn back," he said ominously, "will you not heed my advice?"

"I won't," she replied, hefting her vase in her hands.