Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

On guard, Duranix landed on the blighted ridge. The top was barren of trees and covered with fractured limestone boulders, some of enormous size. The sea had once washed this pinnacle as part of an ancient shoreline.

Constantly checking above and behind, Duranix advanced down the slope on foot.

A few paces along, he stopped dead in his tracks. Ahead was an open pit, partially covered by vines. The creepers had been disturbed recently, though they were still green and growing.

It was a ridiculously obvious trap. Girding himself for whatever he might find, the bronze dragon leaped feet-first into the hole. He plunged through the thin veil of vines and was swallowed by darkness.

After dropping more than twice his height, Duranix hit a stone ledge. His powerful hind legs took up the impact, and the ground trembled with the force of his landing. He expected an immediate ambush. When no attack came, he took a better look at his shadowy surroundings.

He was in an enormous cave, hollowed out of the limestone ridge by centuries of rainwater filtering down through the rocks. The air was heavy with moisture, cold and clammy. The cave was cluttered with stalactites and stalagmites in fantastic shapes, and blacker than Sthenn’s rotten heart.

Just the sort of place a green dragon might hide, Duranix thought. He pierced the chilly gloom with his powerful senses, seeking Sthenn in the depths of the cave. He saw and heard nothing of his foe, but he had an overwhelming sensation of the green’s proximity.

Lowering himself to his belly, Duranix slid forward, eeling around the limestone protrusions. The floor of the cave was coated with hardened lime. It looked like a frozen cascade of milk shot through with orange and yellow mineral swirls. Small creatures, pale and eyeless, scurried away from the slithering dragon.

Duranix followed the passage down until it arrived at a three-way split. He had no distinct feeling as to which way Sthenn had gone.

“A pretty choice, isn’t it?”

Duranix kept still. The green dragon’s words echoed through the cavern, a directionless whisper. The old wyrm was a master at throwing his voice.

“Which tunnel will you choose, little friend?”

Duranix let his barbels trail over the glassy concretions on the floor. He searched for minute cracks in the mineral that might reveal where the heavy green dragon had trod. He found none.

“I am fog, little Duranix. I am the veil of mist arising from every forest glade. I walk on thin air and dwell wherever death and decay hold sway.”

Braggart, Duranix thought at him. Do you think you can frighten me with words?

“Choose a path. Come find me. I will wait for you.”

Ah! Vibrations in the stone floor gave Sthenn away. The vile creature always had talked too much.

Hugging the floor, Duranix hurtled down the center passage. It was a narrow tunnel, and he fit only by furling his wings tightly and pulling in his broad shoulders. Sthenn’s words faded as he charged through the darkness. Something shone in the murk ahead, and the reek of the green dragon’s breath drew him on. Putting on an extra burst of speed, Duranix broke through a flimsy screen of stalagmites into a much larger chamber.

There was Sthenn, curled up amid gleaming bone-white columns of stone.

“Now!” Duranix roared. “Meet my justice!”

Rearing up, he threw himself at the quiescent Sthenn. Just as he was about to get his ancient enemy in his talons, Sthenn slithered sideways, out of reach. Duranix crashed into a hedge of sturdy stalagmites that had been hidden by the dragon’s body. The tapering columns rang from the collision but did not break.

Sthenn gushed foul poison into the cave, drenching Duranix. The greenish gas stung the bronze dragon’s eyes. Outraged, he returned a blast of blue fire.

The bolt smashed into the cave wall, and the mountain above them heaved. Long limestone stalactites fell from the ceiling like spears, followed by man-sized shards of rock and limestone chips. The tunnel entrance collapsed, and debris filled the chamber opening.

“I have you!” Duranix declared. “This is one hole you won’t escape!”

“Nor you, it seems. Shall we rend each other to bits while the mountain comes down around us?”

“Why not? You call yourself Deathbringer. How ready are you to face death yourself?” A great bronze claw closed around an intact stalagmite and snapped it off at its base.

Wielding the stalagmite like a club, Duranix advanced on his foe. Sthenn backed away until his spine was pressed against the cave wall.

“It isn’t just we who will die!” the green dragon sneered. “Think of all the rodents in Arku-peli who will perish without you to protect them! The lake will run red with their blood. And your man, your darling pet — do you know what will happen to him? I’ve given him to Nacris. She has many, many tortures planned for him. And when he finally dies, Zannian will take his skull as a drinking cup.”

Duranix hurled the stalagmite at Sthenn. It shattered above his head, throwing sharp, milky fragments over him.

“Cease your filthy raving, old wyrm! This time you’ve miscalculated! Did you think I would panic at being buried here with you? I fear nothing you can do to me! Do you think I won’t give up my life to take yours? Your death would be the greatest gift I could give to humankind!”

Roaring deep within his chest, Duranix tore through the hedge of stone. Sthenn let out a high, keening screech and flung his decrepit bulk against the wall. Desperate to escape, he continued to hurl himself against the unyielding wall until Duranix’s foreclaws raked down his neck and left foreleg. Rancid black blood welled from the gashes.

Maddened by pain, the green dragon threw himself headfirst against the brittle limestone. With a loud crack, the wall finally gave way, and he plunged through.

The honeycomb of tunnels crumbled under the force of their battering. Rock and dirt poured over Duranix, swiftly burying his feet in a flood of heavy debris. Shafts of sunlight appeared through rents in the cavern roof. By this fractured light he saw Sthenn struggling through an avalanche of his own. Leaner and longer than the muscular bronze, Sthenn put his nose in a crack no wider than an ox’s shoulders and snaked through.

Duranix roared with frustration. The last thing he saw before a torrent of earth closed around him was the tip of the green dragon’s tail disappearing skyward.

In moments, Duranix was completely encased in stone and loose soil. The ridge ceased to tremble as the upper regions of the cave filled. When all was quiet, the dragon opened his eyes.

Black dirt pressed against his face, and the pressure on his body was enormous. Coiling his muscles, he thrust his right foreleg upward, opening his claws as he moved. Closing his talons on the broken soil, Duranix used his grip to drag himself forward. He worked his left foreclaw out, seized a boulder locked in the dirt, and used it to haul himself toward the surface. He repeated this agonizing maneuver until at last his questing claw broke through. With a final tremendous heave, he threw aside half the hilltop and rose, gasping, into the open air.

As he filled his lungs and shook lime chips from his eyes and nostrils, a dry, mocking laugh descended from on high.

“Well done, little Duranix! I knew a mountain couldn’t keep you down. Too bad the ground here is so soft! I dropped far less on your mother, and she died slowly, so slowly, but that was good hard stone.”

Duranix threw back his head and bellowed with rage. The green dragon, circling a few hundred paces overhead, hastily changed direction and flew away. The bronze dragon vaulted into the sky. Though his muscles twinged with pain from the bruising avalanche, he climbed aloft in a frenzy.