sometimes his bloodlust got to him, and he became a bit more messy.
'What I wouldn't give to be back in the Copper Coronet right now,' mumbled the captain under his breath.
Clay remained mostly untouched. The first of the mangy creatures had caught hold of his left hand with its grimy claws. He had a painful cut along his thumb and down his forearm, but he'd had worse. During the course of the fight, all four pirates had worked their way into the middle of the room. They were precariously close to the pool of lava, and the captain took a step back from the edge, just for good measure.
Turning to check on Mansa, he heard the first mate yell, 'Look out!'
Clay glanced up just in time to see another wave of dwarves climbing toward them. Unlike those they had fought in the first wave, some carried heavy clubs and several even had good steel weapons. If it was the whole tribe, Clay had no intention of parlaying with their leader.
'Run!' he shouted.
Reaching the opening on the other end, Clay glanced back over his shoulder. Tabor was right on his heels. Mansa was several steps behind, and Hadar was covering the rear. There must have been at least fifty wild dwarves already on the cavern floor, and more poured down the walls.
Ducking his head, Clay plunged himself into, the pitch-black tunnel, fleeing what was surely a massacre. His right hand on the wall, his eyes open as wide as they would go, Clay charged through the tunnel as fast as his feet could carry him. At any moment he expected to be knocked flat by a low hanging stalagmite. Behind him he could hear the labored breathing of his mates and the cacophony of footsteps of their pursuers.
The dark cavern took a sharp right turn, and Clay nearly lost his balance making the corner.
'Hard starboard,' he shouted, then he dashed on.
Around the corner, the light began to grow. Bursting out of the darkness, Clay entered a large, hollowed-out chamber. The floor roiled and popped, being little more than a lake of molten lava. A narrow ledge snaked its way halfway across the chamber along the cavern walls. Overhead, huge stalactites hung from a shadowy ceiling, looking like inverted mountaintops.
In the center of the molten lake, splayed out over a mound of hardened black stone were five glowing pillars arranged in a semicircle. They seemed to defy everything about the place. Made from a translucent blue stone lit from inside by a brilliant white light, the pillars looked like huge icicles, light and cool in the smoldering bowls of an active volcano. In the center of the crystals, inscribed on the basalt of the cavern floor, was a series of arcane runes, lit just like the pillars, each touching the next until together they made a half-moon shape. At the focal point of the two crescents sat a tremendous gemstone.
'Praise the Bitch Queen,' blurted Mansa.
The first mate froze, his eyes locked on the precious stone as if it were a siren. As big as the world's largest half ling, the teardrop-shaped topaz glowed a deep orange-red, lit by the molten lava.
'The dragon's egg,' whispered Clay.
The island the egg sat upon was surrounded on all sides by burbling lava, except for a small walkway that led to a large opening at the far end of the cavern.
The first of the dwarves began pouring into the chamber. The mangy creatures seemed to almost roll over one another in a frenzy to reach the four pirates. Hadar was already in a crouch, ready to take the first of them. Tabor pushed past Mansa to back up the half-ore. Balancing on the ledge of hardened lava, he held his rapier poised to strike.
'We're trapped,' Clay said as he looked to the hardened lava island. It was too far to jump. He pulled his daggers and prepared to fight. 'If you've got any bright ideas or last words, now would be a good time to voice 'em.'
The scrabbling sounds of the wild dwarves racing around the edge of the chamber came to an abrupt stop. The riling mass turned toward the small entrance to the cavern and collectively dropped to their knees.
Through the sudden silence, a voice boomed through the cave, 'Who dares enter the chamber of Ras Nsi?'
From out of the darkness a figure appeared. Tall and lean, his skin looked pale and unhealthy even in the ruddy red glow of the molten lake. His eyes were sunken and his head shaved. But the most remarkable feature was a blue triangle, tattooed in the middle of the man's forehead.
Clay turned to Hadar and asked, 'Ras Nsi?'
The half-ore replied, 'A bara who hunted down and exterminated the Eshowe people for their crimes against Ubato.' Hadar glanced back at his captain. 'That was four thousand years ago.'
'You recognize that mark?' Clay asked, pointing to his own forehead.
'It's from Mezo,' said the half-ore. 'The holy city.'
'What does it mean?'
Hadar's lip curled up, and he turned his gaze to the tattooed man.
'It means he's a criminal,' said the half-ore, 'and he's been banished from the city.'
'Aye,' said the captain. 'The kind of man who gives respectable criminals a bad name.'
The tattooed man walked farther into the room, around several of the prostrate dwarfs.
'Bow to Ras Nsi,' he bellowed. 'I command you.'
'We are the officers of Expatriate, the scourge of the Shining Sea,' Clay shouted back. 'We take commands from no one.'
The tattooed man raised his hands in the air and began chanting. His voice grew deeper, echoing off the basalt walls, doubling then redoubling as it built upon itself. Then he bit off his last word, throwing his arms out to his sides.
The shadows seemed to coalesce, unhitching themselves from the basalt and wrapping themselves around the pale, tattooed man. His body began to grow, changing shape. His head lifted toward the top of the cavern. His arms extended, turning long and wispy, unfolding and unfolding again until they looked like the sails of a pirate ship. And his fingers grew sharp, transforming into wicked-looking claws.
The man claiming to be Ras Nsi transformed completely into a skeletal, undead dragon. Clay swallowed hard.
'That's a pretty good trick for a guy four thousand years old,' said the captain.
The undead dragon clawed at the ground once, and opened it skeletal mouth with a screech. Jags of lightning shot from the creature's open jaw, banishing the remaining shadows with an eerie blue-white light.
All four pirates scattered, diving to the deck. Clay felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the magical bolts struck the wall just over his head and ricocheted toward the ceiling. The magical energies bounced back and forth between two stalactites, and bits of broken stone crumbled to the floor.
A loud snap filled the chamber, and Clay looked up to see the larger of the two stalactites shake once then plummet toward him. Kicking his feet over his head, the pirate captain rolled backward. Coming to his feet, Clay hurled himself against the cavern wall, trying to make his body as small as possible.
The tip of the stalactite impacted the floor, just where Clay had been lying. The stone shelf collapsed under the weight, and the inverted mountaintop slipped sideways into the molten lake. Toppling to one side, the broken end of the stalactite crashed down atop the hardened lava island right beside the dragon's egg.
The other three pirates got to their feet, and so too did the wild dwarves.
'We'll never take 'em lads,' shouted the captain.
With that, Clay jumped on the fallen stalactite and made for the other side as if he were running across a boarding plank. The blackened stone hadn't fully come to rest, and it shifted as the captain crossed it. Used to the shifting movement of the ocean, Clay took one more step then leaped over the lake of lava toward the island at its center. For a brief moment, the pirate captain hung in the air, his legs suspended over nothing but instant burning death. Then his toe touched down, and he dived forward, clawing at the solid rock.
The sharp pumice tore at his hands and shredded his pantaloons, but the tiny island was stable, and he wasn't sinking into the lava. Scrambling to his feet, he moved away from the edge and turned to help his mates.
Tabor and Hadar were already across the makeshift boarding plank. The dwarf leaped off, tumbling once then coming to his feet with a practiced flair. The half-ore was less dramatic, but his strong legs hurled him over the molten lake without much difficulty.
Mansa, however, was a different story.
