Chapter 75: The Dragons and the Dwarves |
Dragons and dwarves did not always get along. Doomwing knew this well. Greed was a problem for both species. It had not been an issue in the First Age. The gods had been there, and the dwarves had been close allies with the titans. In those days, the titans had not yet gone into seclusion, and the mightiest amongst them had been enough to give even the legendary dragons of old pause. When the Broken God had awakened, the titans had not shirked their duties. They had gone forth to do battle to ensure the gods could assemble, and they had paid for their valour deeply. They had been driven almost to extinction, and they had struggled mightily in the Ages since to replenish their numbers. Mother Tree had once told him that as difficult as it was for dragons to achieve a Fourth Awakening, it was harder still for giants to become titans.
According to the dryad, titans were amongst the oldest of the gods' children. Their own gigantic forms were supposedly made in the image of the Seven Gods who were truly colossal beings, dwarfing lesser gods like Dion. Furthermore, their alliance with the dwarves had driven the titans and giants to cover the dwarves' retreat when the Broken God had laid siege to their ancestral home. Thus had many other titans and giants fallen, choosing to lose their lives before they lost their honour.
In the Ages since, dwarves and dragons had clashed from time to time. Dragons loved treasure and riches like few others, the dwarves were little better. Sometimes, it was dwarves seeking to take what rightfully belonged to a dragon. At other times, it was a dragon seeking to plunder a dwarf kingdom out of simple avarice and jealousy. Yet not all dragons and dwarves clashed. Doomwing's father had been on good terms with the dwarves of the First Age, and Doomwing had held some of the dwarves of the Third Age as dear friends indeed. Even outside of the few he considered friends, Doomwing saw little reason to wish ill upon the dwarves. He was no petty thief, and whatever treasures the dwarves of later Ages might possess, they were unlikely to have any that truly caught his eye. Of course, should any dwarves seek to take what was rightfully his, he would face them with fire and fang and claw. More than once he had done just that, reminding them that as mighty as their spears, axes, swords, and hammers were, they were less than leaves before an inferno when faced with his wrath.
With dwarves now under his command, he could not afford to choose rashly when assigning dragons to the area where they lived. Any dragon he chose had to be able to get along with them. Ideally, they would even view the dwarves favourably. Fortunately, he had found precisely such a dragon during his time at the meeting, and he had brought that dragon with him. That dragon - Pyreheart - was of the same lineage as Ashheart, albeit only at the Second Awakening. However, he had a keen interest in craftsmanship and a background that suggested he would have no problems working with the dwarves.
Indeed, it was that very background that had brought Pyreheart to his attention.
Doomwing gazed at the younger dragon before him. A dragon of the Second Awakening, and one of Ashheart's lineage too, though his appearance differed slightly from his friend. This dragon's appearance was less like molten rock and more like jagged shards of obsidian stuck together. Still, the baleful, orange light gleaming from within his scales was similar, and it was likely the origin of his name as well. What stood out most to Doomwing was the sheer solidity of his foundation and the purity of his magic. This went beyond simple talent. This could only be the result of a priceless treasure being used during his Awakenings. Yet Pyreheart was an independent dragon, one with no major backer. To be fair, he was well known. Dragons from Regal Flame's faction had vouched for him, as had dragons who answered to Quakeclaw and Ashheart. By all accounts, Pyreheart was reliable and honest in his dealings.
"You wish to join me?" Doomwing asked.
Pyreheart nodded. His eyes were a vivid orange like fresh lava. "I do."
"Why?" It was the simplest question, but how he answered it would reveal much. "You have had dealings with dragons who serve Ashheart and Quakeclaw. Both are more similar to you than I am. Why serve me and not them? Is it mere ambition?"
Pyreheart considered his words careful. "I will not deny that I wish to rise high. I too wish for greater things, and I will admit that it would be harder for me to achieve them in factions where others have already entrenched themselves. Yet that is not the main reason I have sought you out."
"Then why?"
"Because there are dwarves under your command," Pyreheart said.
Doomwing's eyes narrowed. He had asked others about Pyreheart's history, but the other dragon had kept his past closely guarded. No one could tell him about what he had been doing before he achieved his First Awakening. "Speak," Doomwing said. "But realise that I shall know if you lie."
"I have no intention of concealing the truth," Pyreheart replied. He chuckled softly. "Indeed, I have often wished to speak of it, but I could never find a good time." He shook his head. "But if not now, then when?" A rumble came from deep within his chest, and the great fire within him flared before ebbing until the orange glow between his scales was barely visible. "I was young when great eagles felled my parents. We lived in the mountains, and the eagles ruled the peak adjacent to us. But there were many of them, and their mountain no longer had enough space for them all. So they came for our mountain."
Doomwing said nothing. Great eagles were mighty foes for lesser dragons, especially in large numbers. They might not have the sheer size and physical strength to confront a dragon directly, but they were amongst the few who could match dragons in aerial combat. In sufficient numbers and with good coordination, it was not unusual for dragons of the First or Second Awakening to fall, especially if they were isolated and far from aid. Naturally, great eagles were far less bold against stronger dragons. There were several flights of great eagles in the lands near Regal Flame's territory, but it had been Ages since they had the audacity to pursue a dragon. The last time they had proven so bold, she had brought fire and ruin to their aeries. Their leader, an eagle known as Typhoon Talon had been foolish enough to meet her in battle. Typhoon Talon had been strong, an eagle born in the Second Age. Regal Flame had torn him limb from limb and then cast his broken body down upon the aeries before setting them ablaze. Of those aeries, nothing remained save for great craters of melted rock. The eagles had never challenged her again.
Pyreheart's eyes glowed softly, streaks of yellow growing amidst the orange. "I was young then, far too young and small to aid them in battle. They ordered me to flee and hide in a place they had shown me before. They promised to find me after the battle was concluded. I waited there for three days."
"And they did not come to find you, did they?" Doomwing murmured.
"No. In truth, I knew after the first day that they must be dead. If my parents had won that battle, it would never have taken a whole day. And if they lost, the eagles would never have spared them. But still I waited. Still I hoped, however foolish it might have been. But on the third day, I could no longer ignore the truth, and I could no longer fight off my hunger." Pyreheart's claws clenched. "I fled away from the mountains. I was young, yes, but I knew what would happen if the eagles found me. I dwelt in the forest for a time, hunting dear and other prey. But I was so small then, so young and foolish. On one hunt, I ran into a hydra. I should have fled, but I was hungry, and so I fought. It went poorly." His lips curled. "I barely survived, but I could not even make it back to the cave I called my lair. Instead, I collapsed along the way."
"You are fortunate to have survived," Doomwing said. "A young dragon, wounded and alone, there are many who would seek to take advantage of such a situation." Even a young dragon's heart and other body parts could be quite useful to creatures seeking to ascend. "What happened?"
"When I woke, there was an old dwarf with an axe standing over me," Pyreheart chuckled. "I thought he would kill me."
"But...?"
"Instead, he laughed and put aside his axe. He said that if I'd actually been dead, he would have cut my chest open and harvested my heart, but since I was alive, he'd help me." Pyreheart grinned. "When I asked him why, he said it was because killing a child, even a dragon child, would have made it hard for him to sleep at night. I didn't believe him at first, but he gave me several potions and tended to my wounds. He also asked how I ended up so badly wounded. When I told him I had fought a hydra, he called me a fool and said my parents should have taught me better." There was no bitterness in Pyreheart's gaze, only a fond nostalgia that Doomwing understood all too well. "And then I told him that my parents had died before they could teach me better. He gave me this... look, and then he told me to follow him. He had a cabin in the forest, you see, and it would be safe there for me until I was better."
"Did you go with him?" Doomwing asked.
"Yes." Pyreheart nodded. "I know very well how foolish that must sound, but I had been alone since my parents died. I was lonely, and he seemed kind."
"Loneliness can make people do strange things," Doomwing said.
"Fortunately, his kindness was no act. He really did have a cabin, and he really did allow me to stay there until I healed." Pyreheart sighed. "When it came time to leave, I hesitated, and that was when the dwarf made me an offer. He alone just like I was, and he made a living by hunting and mining in the forest and selling whatever he caught or found in a nearby town. However, he was getting on in years, and he could use an extra hand and some company. We could split things down the middle and work together. He also offered to teach me what he knew of mining and craftsmanship, along with how to survive in the forest."
"You must have been suspicious."
"I was suspicious, but I was lonely and desperate. I was lucky to escape the hydra. I doubted I would be so lucky again. I also thought that if he betrayed me, I could slay him. At the very least, slaying him would be easier than slaying the hydra. And if he kept his word, I had much to gain, so why not try?" Pyreheart looked up at the sky. "It was the best decision I ever made."
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"Is that so?"
"I stayed with him for thirty years," Pyreheart said. "And in that time, we faced many foes together and dug many riches from the earth. He taught me all he knew about how to survive in the forest and defeat the creatures within, along with all he knew of dwarf craftsmanship and magic. He had no family or friends, you see. I was all he had, so he gave me everything he had." His smile turned sad. "And he was all I had. I... truly considered him family. And then one day..." His gaze grew sorrowful. "We quarrelled. It was a terrible thing. In the end, he told me to take the storage pouch I had and leave. I was so angry that I did exactly that. I left, and I did not look back. It was only later, much later, when I had calmed that I looked through my storage pouch and realised he had left a letter for me in it."
Doomwing had lived long enough to guess what might be coming. "It was an act, wasn't it? He drove you away on purpose."
Pyreheart's jaw clenched, and the fire within him blazed until volcanic light spilled out from between his scales. It was like staring at a great, blazing monument of obsidian. "In his letter, he explained why he was living alone in that forest. In his youth, he had been a dwarf of high standing. He had been a great miner and warrior, as his father had been, and his father before him stretching back to the end of the Third Age. Long before he met me, he had set his sights on a mountain that his people considered cursed. It was a wretched place, and all who sought to explore it perished in horrible ways. But my friend was confident that he could survive the mountain's curse. That mountain belonged to his king. My friend's family was wealthy, and so he offered the king a kingly sum indeed to purchase the mountain and all within it. The king agreed, and my friend led a great expedition to that mountain. Through cunning, wisdom, and careful preparation, they survived the mountain's curse. They delved deep into it, and they uncovered many riches. Amongst those riches, there was one in particular that was valuable above all the others. Hearing of it, the king grew greedy."
"Greed has ever been a problem amongst the dwarves," Doomwing said. "The greatest of their number guard carefully against it. The worst fall prey to it."
"The king went back on his word, and he demanded the treasure that my friend found. When my friend hesitated, the king's forces attacked. My friend's family was slain, along with many of his friends and followers. Only he and a handful of others escaped. After that, they went into hiding. But you know what happens when dwarves leave their mountains."
"They dwindle," Doomwing said. "And the long years given to them soon fade like mist on the breeze."
"Yes. One by one, my friend's remaining companions left him, whether by misfortune, battle, or the dwindling you speak of. In the end, only he remained, eking out a living in that forest, far from the eyes of the kingdom he'd left behind. How much it must have grieved him. How many nights he must have stared into the darkness wondering what he had done to deserve such a fate. And then he met me." Pyreheart smiled ruefully. "He knew that his days were coming to an end. He had no friends to share those days with, no family or followers to carry on his legacy. There was only a foolish, young dragon. There was only me."
"He was discovered," Doomwing said quietly. "That was why he sent you away, wasn't it?"
Pyreheart said nothing for a long moment. "It was our success that proved to be his undoing. Working together, we achieved great things, and those things drew unwanted attention. The merchants in that town, unbeknownst to my friend, some of them had begun dealing with the kingdom he had fled from. During one of his trips to purchase supplies, my friend saw them, and he knew it would only be a matter of time before they found him. You see, he never gave that treasure he found to the king. He escaped with it, but knowing that it was not something he felt safe keeping with him, he hid it far from where he ended up settling. His plan had been to retrieve once he and his remaining followers re-established themselves, but that day never came."
"He quarrelled with you, so that you would leave because if you stayed, you would die," Doomwing said. "A mere thirty years later. You would still have been an Unawakened dragon. And one old dwarf and a dragon of that level facing the elites of a proper dwarf kingdom... that could only ever end one way."
"I would have gladly died fighting at his side," Pyreheart said. "Which is why he made sure to fool even me. At the end of that letter, he told me where the treasure could be found."
"Did you find that treasure?" Doomwing asked.
Pyreheart took out a box. Doomwing recognised the material. It was a substance the dwarves had created to conceal items of great power. On its own it was a treasure that any dragon of the Second Awakening could be proud of. Indeed, as concealment items went, it would have been a fine possession for even a dragoon the Third Awakening. Truly, Pyreheart's friend had either been a master craftsmen or extremely wealthy to possess such a thing. Pyreheart opened the box, and Doomwing's eyes widened.
"That... is no small thing," Doomwing murmured. "To think your friend found the heart of a mountain, and no ordinary mountain either. That is the heart of a volcano."
Pyreheart closed the box. "A treasure worth more than an entire kingdom - a treasure that cost my friend everything."
"You are brave to show me that," Doomwing said. "Are you not afraid that I will take it from you?"
Pyreheart shook his head. "This is the first time that we have met, but you are Doomwing. Your character is known to many. If I thought you were the kind of dragon who would take it from me, I would not be here." He paused. "Besides, if I wish to progress further, I cannot continue to keep it a secret."
Doomwing stared at the box. "Show it to me again." Pyreheart opened the box. "I see. The power it contained was more than enough to help you reach your First and Second Awakenings. Yet that power had begun to fade and dwindle. You are no fool. You must know that a volcano's heart can absorb the magic around it. If you could restore the power it once held, it would serve perfectly as a catalyst for a Third Awakening, even a Fourth Awakening. But restoring the power of such an excellent item will not be easy. You would need a truly impressive place, and such places are all under the control of primordial dragons or those of similar strength."
"Yes," Pyreheart said. "My parents are dead. My friend is dead. I am all that remains. To honour them, I must continue. I must Awaken further." He bowed his head. "That is why I wish to join you. Your territory contains lands that can restore the volcano's heart. Moreover, there are dwarves under your command. My friend taught me all he knew, but he would often speak of my affinity for dwarf craftsmanship and wonder about the possibilities of learning more from other masters. We parted before that could happen, but it is not too late for me to fulfil that wish. You spoke of the beauty of combining different forms of magic. I agree, and I do not think there is a dragon alive, other than you, who is better suited to integrating the magic of dragons and the magic and craftsmanship of the dwarves than me."
Doomwing studied Pyreheart intently. "You have spoken truly. Very well. I will accept you."
Pyreheart bowed. "You have my gratitude and loyalty. I will not fail you."
"Tell me, do you know what became of the dwarves that went after your friend?" Doomwing asked.
"I do not. I was too weak to pursue them at that time, and by the time I had grown stronger, the Sixth Catastrophe had come upon the world."
"Ah." Doomwing asked Pyreheart to tell him more about which group of dwarves his friend had come from. The younger dragon shared all the details he knew. "If it is those dwarves... then vengeance is no longer possible."
"What?" Pyreheart asked. "What became of them?"
"I slumbered for much of the past thousand years, but in my moments of waking, I would contact those I knew. Amongst those people, a friend of mine ventured into the territory once held by those dwarves. He wished to commission a suit of armour from them. But when he arrived in the mountains where their halls had stood, he found them empty. With blood magic, he sought the truth of the past. As you know, the Sixth Catastrophe drove many mad. Family turned on family. Friend on friend. With such... traitorous people amongst them, like the king who betrayed your friend, what do you think happened?"
"They turned on each other," Pyreheart whispered.
"Yes. Their halls drowned in their own blood. The few who survived that madness scattered to the wind, unable to hold those halls against their enemies. Whether any of their descendants still remain, I cannot say, but their kingdom is dust, and their power is broken."
"A fitting end," Pyreheart said.
Doomwing watched as Pyreheart talked to the dwarves. They seemed to be getting along very well. Indeed, it wasn't long before they were discussing matters of alchemy and mystical crafting, along with various forging and mining techniques. Truly, he had done well to accept Pyreheart into his service. As a lull in the conversation emerged, Doomwing spoke.
"Your friend," he said to Pyreheart. "You should tell the dwarves his name, so they might raise a cairn in his honour. That was the custom amongst the dwarves of your friend's heritage at that time. It is no longer commonplace, but they should still remember how to do it."
"A cairn?" Pyreheart asked.
"Those dwarves - the ones your friend came from - built cairns to commemorate their dead. You never had a chance to bury your friend, but you can still build a cairn for him." Doomwing bared his teeth. "Those dwarves believed that only the spirits of those who are remembered are eternal. The ones who killed you friend. Who lives now that can remember them? But you... you still live, and you still remember your friend. They are gone. Your friend is eternal."
Pyreheart trembled and then slowly nodded his head. "You had friends amongst the dwarves," he said. "How did you honour them?"
"There were no bodies for me to bury, and the places where they dwelt were either swallowed by the sea or fell from the sky. The Third Catastrophe saw to that." Doomwing flared his wings. "But I remember them all, and their names can found on the monument upon the great plateau. As long as the world exists, as long as I still draw breath, they will never be forgotten. That is how I honour them."
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