The jaw fell off, narrowly missing the young dwarf. Sword-blade teeth bounced out of it and skittered across the floor.
Durin groaned as he realized what was happening.
'It's not defective,' he yelled over the clatter of scales raining down from the golem. 'The saga said 'dragon,' not 'dragons.' The golem killed a blue dragon-singular-and fulfilled Torunn's command. Now the elemental bound inside it is free.'
Dropping his axe, he hurled himself at Frivaldi. The stupid, blundering fool. The Bane of Caeruleus-the artifact Durin had poured decades of his life into searching for-was falling apart. Ruined. Had it remained intact, it might have at last been used for its intended purpose. But instead…
His fists closed around Frivaldi's throat as rage pounded in his ears. Standard delving procedure be damned. He was going to kill that stupid, impulsive, undisciplined-Something slammed into Durin's head from above, knocking him unconscious.
Frivaldi yanked the cork out of the vial with his teeth, opened Durin's mouth, and poured the remainder of the healing potion down his throat. Durin sputtered. The wound in his shoulder closed, the bloody dent in his scalp disappeared, and his eyes fluttered open.
'What… what happened?' he croaked, sitting up.
Frivaldi picked up a sphere of iron the size of a mace head.
'One of the eyeballs fell out of the Bane of Caeruleus,' he said. 'It landed on your head.'
As Frivaldi started to toss it aside, Durin spotted a mark on the sphere, next to the post that had mounted the eye in its socket.
He caught Frivaldi's wrist and said, 'Let me have that.'
Frivaldi hesitated then said, 'You're not going to hit me with it, are you?'
Durin yanked the sphere out of his hands. Peering closely at it, he saw a spiral of runes that had been etched into the back of the eyeball, around the mounting post. They were tiny, each no larger than an oat grain. Fascinated, Durin started to read.
'I recovered your pack,' Frivaldi said, holding it out like a peace offering. 'I found it on the floor after the golem … ah … after the dragonkin fled. One of them must have dropped it. The side pouches are all torn up-the dragonkin must have sensed the magical items inside, and not been able to get at them-but the main pouch is intact. Lucky thing, too. That's where the healing potion was.'
Durin glanced at the pack. It was a sorry sight, with its side pouches hanging in tatters and talon gouges through the Delver's 'D' embossed on the main flap. No matter. It could be repaired. He continued to read the inscription, his excitement mounting.
Frivaldi lowered the pack and said, 'Sorry about the golem. Are you still angry?'
Durin reached the end of the inscription.
'By all the gods,' he muttered, his heart pounding like a war drum. He glanced up at Frivaldi. 'If it wasn't for you…'
Durin's face felt oddly tight; a moment later he realized he was grinning. Frivaldi took a step back, stumbling over one of the chunks of iron.
'I'm sorry. Really I am, Durin.'
Durin chuckled and said, 'Nothing to be sorry about, boy.' He hefted the sphere. 'Do you know what this inscription is?'
Frivaldi shook his head.
'The complete text of the spell used to create the Bane of Caeruleus. If you hadn't activated the golem, it might never have been discovered. But now…'
Frivaldi's eyes widened and he said, 'Now we can make as many Banes as we like?'
'Exactly,' Durin said. 'And to fight any color of dragon we choose.'
He picked up his shredded pack and tucked the sphere into its central section, then carefully tied the main flap shut.
'One thing more,' he told Frivaldi. 'Thank you for saving my life.'
Frivaldi grinned.
'I figured I had to,' he said. 'Standard delving procedure. Uh … Precious ARTifacts Need Expedient Rescue.'
'PARTNER,' Durin muttered after a moment's thought. 'Partner,' he repeated, clasping Frivaldi's hand.
AN ICY HEART
16 Alturiak, the Year of Rogue Dragons (1373 DR)
Chorael slowly climbed out of the water, feeling sluggish. The sand was rough under her shell as she began the measured crawl along the bank of Lake Thaylambar. Though she was more vulnerable on land than she was in the water, she could still reach surprising speeds if she had to. But it was not one of those nights. With the moon riding high and full, it was a night for something rare and wonderful.
She moved her large body deliberately and methodically over the ground, searching for just the right location. Though none of the others believed that any dragon turtle had ever become a guardian in, the region, Chorael felt certain one had. She had loved that spot from the moment shed discovered it. It was where she always chose to lay her clutch of eggs. The location brought her luck and she had no reason to believe things would be any different.
Chorael pushed away some branches and rocks and began to dig a small hole with her blue-green, clawed hands, occasionally using her sharp beak to break up roots and such. The ground, though somewhat soft to begin with after the daily evening rains controlled by the Red Wizards, gave way easily under her insistent touch. She carefully fashioned the hole into a burrow of sorts, packing the sides and tamping them to keep them stable. When she was satisfied that it was just deep enough, she turned around and climbed partially out. Then she did what she had come to do: lay her eggs.
In short order, five perfect, ovoid shells glowed softly in the moonlight, like fey pearls. Chorael stared at them for a few moments, in quiet awe. Only her third clutch, she was still rather new to motherhood. Her other two broods had done well and almost all had survived to young adulthood. That might have been why she considered the spot lucky, if not outright blessed. Dragon turtles left some things to fate, and their clutches were one of those things. They chose the place carefully, looking for geography that offered some natural protection. Both parents periodically visited the site to see that it remained undisturbed, but that was all. Chorael treated them no differently. She looked down at the precious treasure and smiled to herself.
After a few moments, she turned and used her rear legs to carefully push the pile of excavated sand gravel and debris back over the hole, gently burying the dear cargo. Each brush of a leg brought another load of cover over her eggs. She didn't need to see them to know that they were nearly buried. She let her eyes travel the surface of the lake, not far away, and watched the moonlight splash and caper on the water's surface. It was a near-perfect night. She wondered, briefly, what her mate, Dargo was doing at that moment and if he was still angry with her. His absence was the only mar on a perfect moment.
Not long before she had left to lay her eggs, she, Dargo, and the other dragon turtles had had a heated argument. Lately, that was all they ever did. A slow poison was sweeping across the world and word of it had finally reached the reclusive dragons of the lake. A strange madness that was coming to be referred to as the Rage was blanketing the land. Wyrms of every breed and color seemed to be vulnerable to infection. A near-blinding fury seized them and drove out all reason and sanity. The lunacy blinded some to such an extent that they became vulnerable to attack and too many had already been destroyed. Some were even driven to slaughter their own young. That had brought a shiver to Chorael's cold heart. But she knew Dargo had aimed that barb at her, specifically to frighten Chorael, knowing her time was near.
The only glimmer of hope that had appeared on the bleak horizon was a message from a representative of
