Jean Rabe - The Lake of Death

Ragh was so preoccupied with his discovery that he didn’t notice another tremor racing through the stone nor the approaching footfalls of the young red-haired dwarf who had followed him all the way through the tunnel.

“Dragonmetal,” the sivak repeated, mesmerized by his discovery. The draconian had lived a very long time and had traveled most of Krynn. He’d never seen dragonmetal, but he’d heard of it from fellow draconians who had witnessed the pool beneath the great Stone Dragon in Foghaven Vale. That was believed to be the only place on Krynn where dragonmetal existed.

“A gift from the gods,” Ragh recalled from the legend.

It was said the gods of light bestowed the pool in the Vale, along with the secret of working the metal, to the master armorers of Ansalon. A skilled smith, using the artifacts known as the Silver Arm of Ergoth and the Hammer of Kharan, had forged the dragon-lances from this innately magical metal. It was called dragonmetal because of the dragon statue that loomed over the pool and because of the deadly lances made from it that could slay evil dragons. Solamnic Knights had used it for forging other weapons and armor, but these pieces were generally reserved for members of the order who were particularly distinguished.

“There was said to be only the one pool,” Ragh said to his shadow. “That one was under the huge Stone Dragon in Foghaven Vale, but this is also dragonmetal, I’d bet my teeth on it. That makes this absolutely priceless.”

“That makes you dead.” The young red-haired dwarf stood at the entrance of the small chamber, lantern in one hand and a pick in the other. The pick was tipped with the silvery metal. He hung the lantern from a stone peg on the wall and shook his fist at Ragh. “You sealed your fate when you came down here! I’m going to have to kill you and the meddling elf, too, when I find her.”

“Wonderful,” Ragh grumbled, turning on his knees to face the fresh menace. With a thought, the globe in his hand grew bright, then he let it fall to the edge of the pool. He crept closer to the dwarf, then stood, stoop-shouldered, his clawed hands held to his sides but at the ready. “Look, I’ve really no desire to kill you…Campfire, right? That’s what’s going to happen if you press this fight.”

The dwarf chuckled. “Funny, I’ve every desire to end your pathetic life.”

Feril had no trouble keeping up with Feldspar, but she marveled at his deftness and at the speed with which he could travel through the winding tunnel. He was surefooted on the ascending stone, sidestepping patches of loose rock and ducking nimbly under the low support beams. He stopped only once, and this was when the mountain shook and one of the beams shifted and ominously cracked.

“Fool, fool elf…and more fool me,” he said. Feldspar let out a string of Dwarvish curse words as he shifted the lantern to his other hand. “We’re almost there. You better get that scale quick as a rabbit—if you can. Understand?”

“I understand.”

“Then you and the sivak are going to pay us something for it. That scale’s got to be worth a lot to you, to risk coming here with the world rumblin’ so.”

At last the tunnel widened considerably, with the ceiling reaching high above them. Feril found herself in a natural cavern, the floor of which was slick in places with guano. There was no sign of any bats, however, and Feril suspected that when the first quake hit they flew out through a crevice above, opening to the sky.

“Is that the crevice you mentioned?” Feril pointed to it.

“Yeah. You’re thin enough to slip through it, ain’t you? I ain’t going to work to make it bigger, don’t want to weaken the ceiling anyway.” The dwarf held the lantern high, the light barely stretching above, but it was enough to show a black strip wedged near the top of the cavern. “That’s the tip of your dragon scale. Looks like it’s in there pretty tight, Dawnspringer. Think you’ve got a way to…”

“To get it out of there? You said you planned on watching me, Feldspar. Well, just watch.” She crouched and stooped to enter the crevice, then managed to hold the satchel behind her as she found finger- and toeholds. Awkwardly, but making surprisingly easy progress, she climbed the wall. “Obelia, I’m so very close,” Feril whispered, hoping the specter could hear her through the flask.

The wall trembled slightly, but she held on and climbed higher, finally reaching the slash in the rocks where the scale was lodged. Only part of it was visible in the faint light provided by Feldspar’s upstretched lantern. Feril ran her fingers over the edge of the scale, finding it nearly as sharp as a blade and as hard as metal.

She offered a silent prayer to Habbakuk for guiding them to these dwarves, the basin, and to this tunnel. Then she thrust her arm into the tight gap, trying to feel for the scale. At the same time she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing and forced herself to relax. A tingle raced from her chest and down her arm to her fingers, which were exploring the shield-sized scale and which were somehow molding the stone, cradling it as though the granite were malleable clay.

“I’ll get you loose,” she vowed. “Might take a few minutes.” She pressed and smoothed the stone, while continuing to explore the edges of the scale with her fingers. Her body ached from being wedged so tight, but she pushed the pain aside and focused on the granite and the scale. “That’s better. A little more.” The rock flowed around her hand and arm as if trying to accommodate her.

“How’s it going?” Feldspar asked when he heard Feril’s sharp intake of breath. “Are you all right up there, Dawnspringer? ”

Feril couldn’t be bothered with answering him. Her arm had stretched as far as it could inside the gap in the rocks. Her fingertips had passed over chips and flakes in the scale that might have been caused by battle or by the rocks, and they were now feeling a split in the scale that covered several inches.

“Ruined,” she said with dismay. “You were right, Obelia, it is damaged.”

“What? Are you all right? Who’s Obelia? Mine name’s Feldspar!”

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” she said finally, holding back the tears that had settled at the edges of her eyes. “I came so damn close and for nothing.”

“It’s no good for ya, that scale up there?”

She shook her head and released the spell she’d been concentrating on. She withdrew her hand. The stone hardened again.

“Then let’s get out of here, Dawnspringer, the faster, the better. I won’t charge you for all the fuss. I bet dinner’s on, and I’m as hungry as an urkan worm. You and that sivak are welcome to join us…if it doesn’t eat too much.”

“All for nothing.” No, she corrected herself. She’d spotted other black scales when she scryed with Obelia. This particular venture had proved fruitless, but there were additional shed scales to be found and examined in the swamp.

“C’mon, hurry. Shouldn’t be in here now, anyway. Not with all the…”

Just then a great rumbling resounded through the cavern. The walls shook. Rocks broke loose from the ceiling and clattered to the stone floor. Feril was caught between shifting stone and cried out in pain, the sound of her voice lost in the increased rumbling and the great cracking noise of the ceiling of the cavern.

She heard support beams snapping from the tunnel beyond, more rocks falling everywhere, and the final desperate words of her dwarf companion.

“By Reorx’s bushy beard! The mountain’s coming down on us! Fool, fool elf!” Feldspar called. “Fool me! Now we’ll never get out of…”

His light went out. She heard Feldspar scream, his voice trailing off into nothingness. The cavern seemed to explode, huge chunks bursting from the walls and ceilings. She couldn’t see anything anymore. Everything was blackest black. The ground beneath her gave way, stone dust enveloping her, so she could barely breathe. She was falling. Feldspar was surely dead, and she would be next.