Monster Den

Standing at the edge of the entrance to the dragon’s den, Sir George paused, not only could he hear something moving about in the cave, but there was a smell, something putrid buried under the odor of soot and smoke, something foul.

Shaking his head, George knew that stench, troll. There were two kinds of trolls, cave trolls, and the more dangerous rock trolls. The question was which resided in the cave? There was no way trolls, either rock or cave would have dared come into an inhabited dragon’s lair, though they might vie for control of the lair if the resident dragon were still very young.

Frowning, he knew he had a responsibility to at least check, he owed that to Daffyd. Returning to his horse, he unfastened his sword from the saddle, slinging the sheath over his shoulder and buckling it over his chest. He also grabbed a couple of torches and walked back near the maw of the cave, grabbing a fair sized rock on the way. Hefting the rock a couple of times in his right hand, he launched it into the darkness beyond the mouth of the cave, listening to crash as it bounced away. There were some guttural noises, grunts and growl in response. If they were rock trolls, they would remain concealed in the cave, seeking to lure him into tighter quarters and overwhelm him, but if they were cave trolls, he could draw them out into the open where he would have the advantage. Sliding the sword out, he stepped back.

When he saw the green gray colored hunched creature lumbering forward into the light, a small smile touched George lips, cave trolls. Standing eight feet tall, the thing rushed toward him, propelling itself on all fours. Generally clumsy creatures, they were equipped with a thick near impenetrable hide. It bellowed as it approached. George shift his weight on his feet, sword poised.

The beast swung a thick arm toward the knight. Nimbly ducking the telegraphed strike, he drove his sword into the creature’s exposed armpit, the sharpened steel easily into the practically undefended flesh. The momentum of the creature carried it passed the knight several steps, jarring the blade out of his grasp before it came to a stop and dropped to its knees, crumpling forward in a heap. Walking over to the carcass, he took the handle of his sword in both hand and jerked it free, dark colored ichor attaining its silvery length.

There was another bellow from the darkness, the sounds of other creatures approaching. How many? It was hard to tell. Backing away first fallen troll, he wanted to try and remain in the open. If he got cornered or pinned, the trolls would have him.

Fortunately, the beasts were neither cunning nor clever and within short order there were three dead cave trolls.

Again, he lobbed a hefty stone into the cave, listening for any sounds from anything that might still be lurking within. Nothing. Striking a torch, he entered the cave, pausing to wrap a cloth about his face to filter the stench within. The cave proved to be much deeper than he had thought, so he re-drew his sword just to be careful there wasn’t some other nasty surprise hiding there. A glint of reflected light caught his. Lifting the torch higher, he espied a piece of twisted metal wedged in against some rocks. It wasn’t until he was fairly close he recognized the wreckage as a shield with the stylized eagle crest of Sir Ellard painted onto it. Prodding it with his toe, he nodded to himself.

So Ellard and Roderick had found this lair. Had they killed the dragon, precipitating opportunity for its current occupants? He needed to venture deeper into the underground depths to find out.

Pushing further into the cave, he soon came upon an opening into a large subterranean cavern, the air thick with an acrid smell. There was a shallow pool of some unidentified viscous dark liquid, the source of the pungent stench hanging so heavily in the air. Near the center of the chamber were the remnants of a dragon’s nest, two bashed in eggs and one that appeared to have hatched before being smashed.

Looking back the way he had come, he tried to piece together a sequence of events that made some sort of logical sense. Ellard and Roderick in their quest had stumbled upon the dragon’s lair, intent on dispatching the beast, instead of finding the dragon, the discovered a nest with one hatchling and the other two eggs. The hatchling fled while the knights destroyed the clutch and the mother dragon returned to find her brood destroyed, killing the two knights. With the eggs destroyed, the mother dragon might have abandoned the den fearing it was no longer safe for her to try to have more babies.

Plausible, but what about the hatchling? Given the time frame, could it have been the one he and Daffyd encountered by the stream?

How had it evaded being killed by the two knights? Since there was no evidence of it, why would the mother dragon abandon her progeny?

Exploring the perimeter of the cave, he came upon an opening opposite where he had entered, this one too small for an adult dragon, but small enough to accommodate a smaller beast.

Travelling through the natural crevice in the rock, he stumbled upon an opening overlooking a huge cavernous space, the area eerily lit up in a faint green glow from the bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls and dangling from stalactites.

There were several collapsed structures lining what appeared to be a marbled promenade, leading to one partially intact building resembling a temple perhaps. Once a great building now crumbling, masonry stained green in the wan light.

He shook his head in disbelief. Could this be one of the five fabled lost cities?

From within interior of the one standing structure, was a faint blue luminescence, emanating outward, only slightly brighter than the moss, but bright enough to catch his attention.  Dousing the torch and sheathing his blade, he down the rocky detritus to the cave floor, crossing over ancient paving stones, passed toppled and broken statuary of heroes long dead whose names had faded into time and ascended the wide broken stone stairs leading up to where the light was coming from. Passing through the space where wooden doors may have once barred entry, the building opened up into a grand hall.

Had they ever been furniture in the great hall it was long decayed with time, similarly, any art that had been on the walls, washed away and forgotten.

At the back of the room was a great circular ring like structure made of stone on an elevated step, like some giant’s ring standing on edge facing him. The edge inscribed with symbols unfamiliar to him.

The opening or interior of the ring resembled the mirrored surface of water, glowing faintly and swirling in a counter clockwise direction. There was an electricity in the air and Sir George could feel the hair on the back of his neck and arms stand up.

Through the centuries thick accumulation of dust on the floor was a path, leading directly up to the ring and abruptly vanishing at the edge. Crouching down, he traced his fingers over the prints in the thick dust. “Recent,” he voiced, nodding his head.

This was a portal. There were wizards alive today who could conjure one. The little dragon had gone through, and judging on the evidence, more than once. Did the creature take Daffyd through the portal to whatever place existed beyond?

“Only one way to find out,” he said with smile, confidant Beauregard and the other animals could fend for themselves in his absence. Stepping forward, he walked into the swirling magic.