The Dragon God (Book 2) (16 page)

In the next round, Trillius delivered a punishing blow to Patch and Tigg. He knocked them out of the game. However, as he reached to rake in his winnings, Patch grabbed his wrist, “I smell a cheatin’ rat.”

“You’re crazy, gnomes don’t cheat, I won fair and square. Though I did see someone take something at this table.”

Patch released his grip, everyone eyed each other suspiciously. Trillius scooped his winnings into his pouch as he knew the finale was on its way.

“Which one, gnome?” Scurvy Joe asked.

How appropriate that it was him, he thought. Trillius responded, “Why don’t
you
tell us.”

“What? I don’t know what ye be talkin about.”

“You might want to check his pockets.”

Scurvy Joe searched himself until he pulled forth the pearl. He stared at it in shock.

Big Jack jumped to his feet shoving his chair out into the crowd of onlookers. He pointed at Scurvy Joe and shouted, “Hey, that be me lucky pearl.”

Scurvy Joe was flustered, he stammered, “No, Big Jack, I be hornswaggled.”

Scurvy Joe’s plea fell on deaf ears. Big Jack tossed the table aside; mugs of back-washed Grog flew into spectating pirates and cards flipped in all directions. He smashed his fist into Scurvy Joe’s jaw, cracking the bone. Drunken pirates scrambled to sweep up the coins rolling around the floor from the upturned table, which caused more skirmishes to break out. Trillius slinked his small body through the jumbled mess of humans with his heavy, loot-filled sack in tow.

Young Lufra studied the long line of taverns lining the Alley, turned to El’Korr and asked, “What are we waiting for?”

“It’s too risky to go poking around each of these joints looking for the pipsqueak.”

Rozelle was concerned, “But what if he’s in danger?”

“That gnome is a danger to himself. It’s just a matter of time before he alerts us to his whereabouts.”

Suddenly, from a tavern midway down the Alley, they heard hoots and hollers of the celebrants change abruptly to screams and grunts. Pirates and women clamored through windows and doors to escape the action inside the establishment, while other pirates fought their way inside to join the brawl.

“He’s in there. I can feel it in my dwarven bones.”

They rushed to the Fish Head tavern, where they heard glass being smashed inside. A chair flew out an open window and crashed into the street.

“You two stay out here while Rondee and I head in. Keep an eye open for Mister Guinea-sack.”

The powerful fighters, El’Korr and Rondee, ran into the tavern slamming their fists into bloated guts and whiskered jaws; tossing pirates around like sacks of grain.

Trillius escaped through a side window of the tavern and hid in the shadows outside. He looked up and down the Alley and instantly spotted Lufra and Rozelle, focused on the bar, standing in the street. He easily snuck up behind them.

“You guys out for a leisurely stroll this fine evening?” asked Trillius.

Both of them jumped and turned around. Lufra turned pale.

Rozelle screeched, “Trillius! I’m gonna kill you.”

“Wow, what seems to be the problem here?” he gazed at the huge brawl.

“As if you don’t know,” Rozelle mocked.

“Me? Why would I have anything to do with pirates fighting in a bar? It’s not like this isn’t normal for their kind. This probably happens nightly here. Boy, I would hate to be in there right now.”

“El’Korr and Rondee are inside looking for you,” Lufra exclaimed.

“Now why would they go and do a silly thing like that?”

“Cause maybe they care about you,” Rozelle snapped.

“Me? I will tell you why they went in there. It is because dwarves and pirates have the same spirit—always looking for the next fight. It’s certainly not my fault.”

Rozelle turned and took a step toward the tavern. She closed her eyes and instantly transformed into a large black bear.

“Rozelle! No! Don’t go in there!” Trillius yelled.

It was too late, the black bear charged inside the chaotic melee and roared. Shocked pirates and barmaids whirled in their tracks, facing the sound. Their eyes opened wide when the bear rose on its hind legs; the massive snarling beast clawed the air. Half-cocked fists froze and mouths dropped open at what loomed before them. Female screams were stifled in clasped throats. Concluding it was not a figment of their imagination, chairs and tables were pushed aside and overturned as terrified patrons scrambled out of the tavern.

El’Korr and Rondee emerged. They were battered and bruised. Blood trickled out of Rondee’s nose and El’Korr’s left eye was swollen shut.

“Nice one, Druid,” El’Korr said while embracing Rondee with one arm around his neck.

They hobbled out into the street with Rozelle lumbering behind them. Trillius and Lufra stood outside waiting.

“Two things, Gnome. First, thank you,” El’Korr stated with a grin.

“Really?” Trillius responded nervously.

“Yes, Rondee and I haven’t had a bar-fight like that for quite some time. It reminded us of our younger years.”

“Great, you’re welcome, I guess.”

“Second,” El’Korr’s tone became serious, “you will be giving all that money to Captain Elsbeth as your fee for stowing away on her ship.”

“C’mon! That’s not fair. I worked hard to get that money.”

Everyone glared angrily at Trillius.

“Fine! I’ll do it.”

El’Korr nudged Trillius to start walking back to the ship.

Trillius turned toward them with his hands up, “Hey, it’s still early guys,” he pleaded.

“Not a chance Gnome, now move it before my fist uses your nose as a punching bag.”

T
he heroes cautiously began to ascend the ancient stairway that led deeper and higher into the mountain. Abawken took the lead followed by Dulgin, then the ordakians. Suddenly, the roar of grinding stone echoed around them. They looked back down the stairs and saw the cliff wall come together, blocking the entrance and sealing out the light.

“No turning back now,” Bridazak commented.

A soft glow permeated from the rock itself as they continued their climb deeper into the tunnel. The air was stale and the scent of wet granite increased the further they traversed.

“The tale of the frost dwarves says that they were the first of the dwarves to exist. Legends say that they are the creators of all the snow for the entire realm of Ruauck-El,” Dulgin’s voice spoke matter of fact and it echoed a calming effect on the heroes. “The ancient name for this place was actually Deegosh Sond, which simply means, ‘white shield.’ Now though, it’s just Te Sond.”

“Are frost dwarves friendly?” Spilf asked.

Dulgin turned and smiled, “Of course, just look at me, I’m friendly.” His scowl then returned and he raised the right side of his upper lip.

In an attempt to keep his friend’s courage up, Bridazak said, “Don’t worry Spilf, I am sure they will greet us with open arms.”

“Yeah, a festival in your honor awaits, little-ones,” Dulgin teased as he continued his way up, “and dwarven ale, let’s not forget.”

“Yeah, how can we forget that gem, Dulgin?” Spilf turned and whispered to Bridazak, “How would my parents find their way, with what we just went through? It seems unlikely they would have made it this far.”

“We must continue to have hope, my friend,” Bridazak placed his hand onto Spilf’s shoulder. “Have any of our steps led us to a dead end yet? Everywhere we’ve gone we’ve found another clue. Let’s focus on where this path takes us.”

Spilf nodded and grinned his appreciation of Bridazak’s comforting words and then they continued.

They climbed what seemed to be an endless stairway, each step hand chiseled by the Dwarves. All breathed heavily as they increased in altitude; they gasped at the thin air as they slogged along, but finally Spilf wheezed and began to slow.

Dulgin turned and said, “Should I start calling you ‘Wheezy’ now?”

Spilf glared at his friend, but was unable to respond as he leaned his back against the rugged wall and bent over, breathing hard, steadying himself with his hands on his knees.

Bridazak said, “Let’s rest to catch our breath.”

Dulgin turned away and grumbled, clearly not wanting to stop, but knew he couldn’t convince the daks otherwise.

Abawken shuffled down to Spilf’s step, knelt, and offered, “Master Spilf, it would be wise to keep moving until we find a suitable place to rest. Climb onto my back.”

Spilf looked to Bridazak, who nodded, and then he obliged the human and climbed aboard, wrapping his arms around his neck. Dulgin raised an eyebrow as Abawken passed by and then followed.

Suddenly, Dulgin turned to face Bridazak, “Don’t even ask. No free rides on my back.”

The halfling smiled and then reached for his coin pouch, “How much, then?”

Dulgin shook his head, “I’m not liking you right now.” He then turned and stomped up the steps, climbing to catch up to Abawken.

Sweat dripped from their brows. Another hour elapsed of the hike into the mountain when they finally reached a flat chamber opening. The ceiling of the cavern scaled beyond sight, and on the opposite side was an entrance to another tunnel. A cold breeze rushed out from the new passageway. Blue
icy tendrils wrapped themselves around the edges of the granite opening as if gripping the walls and trying to break out from within.

“There’s a pile of wood over here and a burnt out campfire,” Spilf pointed.

Abawken investigated the black soot of the long burned out fire, “It’s old. No one has been here for quite some time.”

“It’s a frost dwarf sentry post, but they wouldn’t need a fire. This wood came from someone else.”

“Where are the sentries?” Bridazak asked.

“I don’t know, why do you keep asking me?”

“Maybe cause you’re a dwarf. Ever think of that?” Spilf quipped.

Dulgin pointed his finger, “Shut it, Stubby!”

“Let’s rest for the night,” Abawken suggested.

Spilf sighed in relief and plopped to the ground.

“Fine, I’ll take first guard shift,” Dulgin grunted. He threw his backpack next to the wood. “Make yourself useful Stubby, and make a fire.”

“Why me?”

“You found the wood, that’s why. Unless you want to check out the tunnel with Abawken to make sure it is critterless.”

Spilf looked at the imposing exit across from them, then said, “I’ll make a fire.”