The dragon reared back, crossing its mighty fore-limbs over her golden chest. Her eyes burned an even darker red.
'The thieves are not mighty. They are cowardly and small,' the dragon said, looking at each of the pirates in turn. 'And that is the problem. They have taken my egg into the volcano where they have wards and magical protections against one of my kind. Out here, I would crush them, but I cannot follow them into their lair.'
'What's in it for us?' asked the captain. 'If what you say is true, and we did come here for your egg, then what's stopping us from just taking it and carrying it off in our ship?'
The dragon snorted, blowing another plume of watery vapor out that nearly reached Clay.
'If you do I will destroy your ship and kill you all.'
'Let me get this straight,' said the captain. 'Either we risk our lives trying to retrieve your egg from the inside of the volcano, or we die.' Clay crossed his arms over his chest. 'That's not much of a deal.'
'If you succeed,' said the dragon, 'I will let you go-unharmed.'
'That's very kind of you.'
'I have gold,' added the dragon. 'Lot's of gold.'
A smile spread across Clay's face. 'What did you say your name was?'
'Kraxx,' replied the dragon.
Captain Clay placed his palms together and bowed as hed seen men do in his travels to far Kara Tur.
'Well, Kraxx, I think you have yourself a deal.'
The dragon lifted one of her wings, pointing deeper into the jungle.
'The thieves took my egg into a lava tube on the southern slope,' Kraxx said as she turned and headed toward the beach. 'I will be awaiting your return, beside your ship. If you are not back by nightfall, your crew will die.'
At the southern slope, just where the dragon said it would be, a circular opening led into the rough basalt mountain. Unlike the rest of the jungle, the base of the volcano was completely void of all vegetation. The smell of burned plants and sulfur filled the air.
'Well, maties,' said Clay, gripping the hilt of one of his daggers, 'it's down the hatch for us.'
The captain entered the dark opening. One step over the threshold and Clay's damp skin became instantly dry. It was as if his whole body had been wrapped tight in a curtain of hot, dry air, and he felt as if he'd just stepped inside the bellows of an iron forge. Every strip of exposed flesh was pressed back by the oppressive heat, and the captain had to squint to keep his eyes from drying out quicker than he could blink.
The passage was narrow-barely wide enough for two men abreast-and dark except for the sunlight coming in from outside. Ahead, it appeared as if the tunnel they were following made a very subtle turn to the right. Clay couldn't make out much more. The light simply didn't penetrate that far. Clay looked back over his shoulder.
'Tabor,' he called quietly.
'Aye.'
'You're going to need to take the lead,' said Clay. He stepped aside to let the dwarf pass. 'In this darkness, my eyes are about as good as a Veldornian mainsail.'
'You're too hard on the Veldornians,' quipped the dwarf as he made his way past his captain. 'They may not have much use for a sail, but even they could make one that works better than your old human eyes.'
Both Mansa and Hadar let out a snicker.
Clay ushered the half-ore up next to the dwarf. Hadar grunted, then he and the dwarf headed down the passage.
The farther they went, the darker it became. Soon Clay couldn't see anything at all. He followed the sounds of the half-ore's footsteps and ran his hand along the wall to make sure he didn't fall over. At first the wall was rough, like pumice. Clay just let his fingertips rest against the rough surface, using the feeling of solid stone to reassure him as they plunged deeper into the volcano. But after a time, the stone became smooth. The deep crevices and sharp ridges gave way to a soft, almost polished feel, and the walls grew warmer.
'This volcano reminds me of the Peak of Flame,' said Mansa.
'It's not the Peak of Flame,' said Hadar.
'But what if it is?' replied the portly pirate. 'Maybe Dendar the Night Serpent took the dragon's egg.'
'This isn't the Peak of Flame,' repeated the half-ore.
'I'm just sayin'. We don't know where we are. This could be the Peak, and if it is, and the Serpent took the dragon's egg, then this is the beginning of the end.'
Clay heard a scuffle, then he felt his chin run smack into Hadar's back.
'This isn't the Peak of Flame', Hadar said one more time.
They continued on. Around the next corner Clay began to see a faint red-orange glow. The smooth rock reflected the light, making the ground and the walls look quite slick. The farther they went, the brighter the light became. The curve in the passage continued around and finally opened into a large chamber.
A snaking pool of bubbling lava split the room in half. A walkway of hardened stone ran along each edge toward an opening on the other end. The red-orange of the molten stuff lit the room, exposing several jagged shelves and pillars of cooled lava.
'Look out!' shouted Tabor.
A dark figure fell upon them, concealed from above by one of the basalt shelves. Clay shifted to his right, bringing his dagger up with his left hand. The creature landed square upon the polished steel blade, and it let out a terrible noise-a scream that sounded like the combined anguish of a man and a wolf.
Still unable to make out what was attacking him, Clay pulled his impaled blade from the creature and swung back across its body. The beast lifted its head, its eyes locking with Clay's. The captain's dagger connected with the creature's neck, and the beast slumped to the ground, thrashing once then falling still.
Clay stepped back from the body. For lack of a better name, the creature on the ground before him was a dwarf. It was short and squat, and it's arms, chest, and legs were thick with ropy muscle. But other than general size and shape, the thing had no other resemblance to the civilized Tabor.
'Tabor, it's your cousin,' quipped the half-ore.
'Laugh it up, pig boy,' spat the dwarf.
'Enough.' Clay leaned over the creature and asked, 'What is this thing?'
'Looks like a wild dwarf,' Tabor replied.
'A wild dwarf?'
'Not our greatest moment,' Tabor admitted.
A loud hoot echoed through the chamber, and there wasn't time for further discussion. More of the scraggly figures dropped from the overhead shelves, filling the room. Clay and his mates were under attack by nearly two dozen wild dwarves.
In an instant Tabor had his rapier out and skewered the first of the mangy dwarves through the gut. Hadar ran another through with his stump knife. Mansa grabbed one by the forearms, locked into a grapple, but that was all Clay saw. The chamber turned into a flurry of claws and flying steel. The pirate captain knocked one attacker to the ground, burying a thrown dagger in his eye socket. Dodging left and right, slashing at eyes and avoiding teeth, he danced with the growling foes.
At one point he heard Mansa shout some words of praise to Umberlee. There was a brief flash of yellow light and half of the dwarves cowered from the portly pirate as if they had seen a pit fiend. In the clearing they left, Clay could see the bodies of at least half a dozen of the wild dwarves, lying at the feet of his mates. He'd killed three himself, and several were either cowering against the far wall or outright fleeing the chamber.
Hadar cut another through the belly, lifting a second off the ground with his good hand and hurling it into the bubbling lava. The creature let out a howling wail, and it thrashed like a man overboard in a tempest. Tendrils of black smoke rose from the dwarf's body, and its sustained cry of pain grew in pitch. Those bits of exposed flesh that weren't already submerged in the magma burst into flame, and in a flash of orange-yellow, the flailing dwarf was consumed.
Two of the wild dwarves stood before Tabor, menacing him with their claws, but the well-dressed pirate held them both at bay with the tip of his rapier. He was cut across the face, and his normally well-kept pantaloons had a large tear across his thigh. Though bloodied, he looked no worse for the fight than just a couple of scrapes.
The half-ore was another story. From head to toe he was covered in blood. There was no way to know if it was his own or the blood of his foes. Most of the time, he wielded his stump knife with great finesse. But
