Markus Heitz - The Revenge of the Dwarves

“One more buoy,” Retar called, holding fast to the tiller. “The net at the old sandbank must be full to bursting. This storm will have fair driven the fish in for us.”

Algin hesitated. Their catch so far had been poor for a whole orbit’s fishing. Elria must have guided the shoals out to the very depths of the lake. “All right, then,” he agreed, taking his hand from the rope. Retar grinned and set the course.

That was when the fisherman noticed the cavernous hole in the cliff, opening like the circular gullet of a huge worm. It measured a good ten paces in diameter and was one third under water.

He jabbed Retar with his elbow to show him. “Take a look at that!” he yelled. “Now I know why the lake water is disappearing out from under our keel. That tunnel must lead straight to the Red Mountains.”

Retar stared at it. “What do the dwarves want with all our water?” He was furious. “I don’t get it. Why are they digging…?”

Both of them saw a monstrous shape fill the entrance. An extended neck with an elongated skull was slowly emerging and the nostrils flared at the front of the slim muzzle. The creature was testing the air for scents. Its dark green skin was covered in shimmering damp scales.

“Elria!” ejaculated Algin. “What on earth…?”

The monster looked their way, drew in a huge breath and raised its head, its eyes blazing red. Steam shot from its nose.

Retar swore and swung the helm around. The buoy he’d been so keen to reach was bobbing on the surface by the creature’s feet. He abandoned all thoughts of it.

“It’s… a dragon,” stammered Algin. “By Elria! It’s exactly like the ones in the stories.” Fascinated, he watched the creature launch itself gracefully into the water.

Its broad shadowy shape was approaching them now, just under the surface, and moving fast, faster than any fish they’d ever seen. The nearer it got, the better able they were to judge its size: from head to tail-tip fifty paces at least, they thought, and ten wide.

“Hard to port! By all the gods, hard to port!” he screamed at Retar, the fear of death in him. “Quick! It’s going to ram us.”

The dragon ducked down under their boat and disappeared.

“It’s dived! It’s spared us.”

“Who’s going to believe that?” croaked Retar.

“There’s been so much happening in Girdlegard, they’ll have to take our word for it.” Algin looked at the gaping hole in the cliff. “We must let Queen Wey know about the tunnel and the dragon right away.” He was not certain whether dwarves or dragons were responsible for digging the tunnel. “To think that one of these creatures has come back after so long. The sagas speak of dragons as being cruel and clever. What does it want here?”

“I don’t care. I’ll be offering ten of my best fish to the goddess for saving me and my boat,” a pale-faced Retar muttered. “For her protection…”

Algin observed the waters beneath their craft filling with light. Their boat was suddenly enveloped in a curtain of blood-red fire. Flames shot around the gunwales three paces high; the heat was intolerable. Algin and Retar screamed in helpless panic. To jump overboard was certain death.

All at once flames burst up through the hull, enrobing mast, sails and men, and incinerating flesh, skin and bone. Not a smudge of ash remained.

The boat broke apart. The blackened pieces of the wreck tossed on the waves and were driven off by the current.

Nothing would be found.

No trace of Algin, of Retar, of their boat…

Nor of any dragon.