The Dragon in the Dust

Chapter 15 — The Dragon in the Dust

Jandar had always believed ruins should contain treasure.

Otherwise they were just old buildings with inconvenient floors.

He stood in the dead city beneath the mountain, wiped gnoll blood from his blade, and looked at the blue crystal they had spent far too much time trying to move.

It continued to glow.

Zook had pushed it.

Deacon had tried levering it.

Vegon had examined it from every possible angle while explaining several reasons why they should stop doing exactly what they were doing.

Jandar had helped dig.

Xil had eventually stood back and watched the entire effort with the expression of a man observing five people lose an argument with a rock.

Nothing had worked.

The crystal emerged from the ancient floor as though the city had been built around it. They had cleared rubble from the base and discovered only more crystal descending into stone.

Jandar rested both hands on the handle of the tool he had been using.

“So,” he said, “we agree it lives here.”

Deacon straightened and rubbed at his shoulder.

“It lives here.”

“It doesn’t live,” Vegon said.

Jandar looked at the cold blue light.

“It brings gnolls out of nowhere.”

“That does not make it alive.”

“It refuses to move.”

“That also does not make it alive.”

“It annoys you.”

Vegon stared at him.

Jandar nodded. “Strong evidence.”

Zook laughed from the other side of the excavation.

Xil stepped closer to the crystal but did not touch it. “We have learned what we can without better tools.”

Vegon was still looking at the thing.

Jandar knew that look.

It was the same expression Vegon had worn over the carved stone before accidentally moving all of them to a volcano.

Jandar pointed at him.

“No.”

Vegon glanced over. “No what?”

“Whatever you are thinking.”

“I have not said anything.”

“You don’t have to. I recognize the face now.”

Deacon picked up his crossbow. “He’s right.”

Vegon looked between them. “I was only considering whether the crystal and the other device might be related.”

“That,” Jandar said, “is exactly the sort of sentence that ends with me underwater.”

For once, Vegon did not argue.

He gave the crystal one last look and stepped away.

Good.

Jandar had survived a volcano, the bottom of an ocean, a sealed hole underground, gnolls arriving out of blue light, and more ancient architecture than anyone reasonably needed to see in one day.

He was ready for something simpler.

Preferably gold.

They left the crystal behind.

Its glow followed them through the ruins.

The passage beyond the courtyard climbed through another collapsed portion of the buried city.

What remained of Tavalon had been swallowed unevenly. Some streets had vanished completely beneath the mountain. Others survived in fragments—doorways leading nowhere, walls supporting thousands of tons of earth, rooms preserved almost exactly as they had been except for four centuries of dust.

Jandar did not like thinking about that part.

People had once lived here.

Someone had cooked in these rooms. Someone had complained about neighbors. Someone had owed someone else money. Children had probably run through the streets.

Then the world had broken.

Now five strangers walked through what remained, looking for whatever had survived.

Jandar preferred treasure hunting when the former owners had been dead slightly less dramatically.

Zook moved ahead with him.

The gnome kept his attention on the floor, walls, ceiling, and anything else likely to bite, collapse, explode, or conceal something useful.

Jandar approved of the method.

Behind them, Vegon was still talking quietly with Xil about the stone.

Jandar caught the words sequence, destination, and alignment before deciding he was happier not knowing.

Deacon followed last.

Jandar glanced over his shoulder.

“You’re awfully quiet.”

Deacon looked at him. “I’m walking.”

“You can walk and talk.”

“I can.”

“Yet you choose not to.”

“Yes.”

Jandar considered that.

“Strong argument.”

They reached an open archway.

Jandar stopped.

The arch had once been magnificent.

Even damaged, he could see that much.

Stone swept upward on either side, meeting beneath the carved head of a dragon. Its jaws were open. Its long neck disappeared into decorative stonework running around the arch. Portions of the face had cracked away, and one horn had broken off, but the creature remained unmistakable.

Jandar stared up at it.

“Dragon.”

Vegon came forward immediately.

“Obviously.”

“I was making an observation.”

“You were naming what you saw.”

“That is frequently how observations work.”

Zook tipped his head back.

“It’s big.”

Jandar pointed toward him. “See? Zook understands scholarship.”

Vegon moved closer to the carving.

Dust coated the dragon’s face. Its stone eyes looked down over a city whose people had been dead for centuries.

Xil joined him.

“This was not decorative by accident.”

“No,” Vegon said.

Jandar stepped beneath the arch.

“Everything old has dragons on it.”

Vegon looked at him sharply. “No, it doesn’t.”

“It seems that way.”

“It only seems that way because you ignore anything that does not contain money or weapons.”

“That is an unfair characterization.”

Deacon passed beneath the arch. “It’s accurate.”

Jandar followed him into the chamber.

“Accuracy does not make something fair.”

The room beyond had once been circular.

Part of the ceiling had collapsed, crushing one side beneath enormous slabs of rock. Cracks split the floor. Four great fireplaces occupied the surviving walls, their hearths cold and buried beneath ash that had long ago become gray powder.

At the far end stood a throne.

Jandar smiled.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“There’s a skeleton in it,” Zook said.

Jandar’s smile faded slightly.

“There usually is.”

The skeleton sat slumped against a high-backed chair carved with wings that curved around either side. More dragon imagery surrounded the throne—claws cut into the arms, scales across the back, the suggestion of a long neck rising behind the sitter’s skull.

Jandar approached slowly.

Nothing moved.

He checked the floor.

Then the throne.

Then the skeleton.

The dead person wore the remains of clothing so old that touching it would probably turn it to dust.

No crown.

No jeweled sword.

No chest of coins hidden beneath the chair.

Jandar crouched.

“Who builds a dragon throne and dies without anything valuable?”

“You sound personally offended,” Xil said.

“I am.”

Vegon moved along one wall, studying faded stonework.

“This may have been an audience chamber.”

“Excellent. Audiences bring gifts.”

“Four hundred years ago.”

“They could have forgotten one.”

Deacon examined the collapsed side of the chamber. “You believe ancient civilizations routinely forgot piles of gold?”

Jandar stood.

“I believe in people.”

“That is not what that means.”

“It is when gold is involved.”

They searched.

They found dust.

Fragments of ceramic.

Rotten wood.

Pieces of metal corroded beyond usefulness.

In an adjoining chamber, they found what had once been a kitchen. Whatever food had been stored there was long past even the point of rot.

Another room held broken furniture.

Another contained shelves filled with books.

Vegon nearly ran to those.

The first volume he touched collapsed beneath his fingers.

He froze.

The expression on his face made Jandar almost feel bad for him.

Almost.

Vegon tried another.

The binding disintegrated.

Hundreds of books surrounded him.

None had survived.

For once, Jandar kept his mouth shut.

Vegon stood among the ruined shelves, staring at centuries of knowledge that had endured long enough to be found and not long enough to be read.

Xil stopped beside him.

“Anything?”

Vegon shook his head.

“No.”

One word.

That was all.

Jandar looked away.

There were some things even he knew better than to joke about.

They continued.

The final section of the ruin had survived better than the rest.

Jandar noticed it before Vegon said anything.

The doors were heavier.

The stonework tighter.

Fewer cracks split the walls.

Whatever this portion of the city had been, its builders had expected it to matter.

Which meant Jandar finally had reason to be optimistic.

He ran his hand along one wall.

Zook was investigating the opposite side.

Deacon waited in the center of the room, crossbow lowered but ready.

Xil watched the entrances.

Vegon examined another faded relief.

Jandar pushed at the stone.

Nothing.

He moved farther.

Pressed again.

Nothing.

“You know,” Deacon said, “if you keep touching the walls, eventually one of them may fall on you.”

“That would still be more interesting than what we’ve found.”

A grinding sound came from behind him.

Everyone turned.

Zook stood beside a narrow section of wall that had shifted inward.

Jandar stared at him.

Zook smiled.

“Found something.”

“I was about to find that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“I was spiritually very close.”

Deacon raised his crossbow.

“Open it.”

Zook pulled.

The hidden section of stone moved far enough to reveal darkness beyond.

Jandar drew his blade.

He went first.

Because of course he did.

The chamber beyond was small.

A figure stood inside.

For half a heartbeat Jandar thought it was another statue.

Then its head lifted.

Blue light crawled across its skin.

A deeper glow burned from within its chest.

Its voice came rough and dry from a throat that had not spoken in a very long time.

“You have disturbed my rest.”

Jandar stopped.

The guardian raised its weapon.

“Die.”

Jandar sighed.

“I was going to introduce myself.”

It attacked.

The chamber exploded into movement.

Jandar slipped sideways as the weapon came down, the blow striking stone hard enough to chip the floor. He drove his blade toward the creature’s ribs and felt the point scrape across something harder than flesh.

Zook darted through the doorway.

Deacon fired past them both.

The bolt struck the guardian high in the shoulder and barely slowed it.

“Hard target,” Deacon warned.

“I noticed!”

Jandar ducked beneath another swing.

Vegon appeared in the doorway behind Xil.

Magic gathered around the wizard’s hands.

Jandar felt the familiar pressure in the air.

Wrong.

The same corruption that clung to every spell.

Vegon forced through it.

Arcane energy struck the guardian and sent it staggering backward.

Xil followed.

Divine light flared against blue skin.

This time the creature reacted.

Good.

Jandar liked enemies that reacted.

It meant they could be hurt.

He circled while it turned toward Xil.

There.

The opening.

Jandar stepped inside the creature’s reach.

His first strike drove its guard outward.

His second found the narrow gap beneath its arm.

The blade sank deep.

The guardian twisted violently.

Jandar ripped the weapon free and retreated before it could catch him.

Zook hit it from the other side.

Deacon’s second bolt followed.

The blue glow within the creature flickered.

Xil raised his weapon.

Light crashed through the chamber.

The guardian collapsed.

Silence returned.

Jandar stood over it, breathing hard.

Then he looked at the others.

“I believe the introduction went well.”

Deacon began reloading.

“It told you to die.”

“It remembered me.”

Behind the guardian lay another chamber.

This one made everything else worthwhile.

Jandar knew it the moment he entered.

An altar stood against the far wall.

Another dragon had been carved above it.

Not merely a head this time.

A full creature crouched atop the stone, wings folded against its body, tail curling down around the base.

Dust softened its edges.

Age had broken part of one wing.

But it was beautiful.

Jandar found himself approaching more slowly.

There was something strange about seeing so many dragons in one place.

Dragons were stories.

Old ones.

Gone with the world that had existed before the Sundering.

Yet the people who had built this city had carved them everywhere.

Not as monsters.

Not as warnings.

As symbols.

The dragon above the altar looked almost protective.

Vegon came to stand beside him.

“They knew them.”

Jandar glanced at him. “Dragons?”

Vegon nodded.

“Perhaps.”

“You can tell that from a statue?”

“No.”

Jandar smiled.

Vegon looked at him.

“I can tell that whoever built this place considered dragons important enough to place them in ceremonial rooms, audience chambers, and entrances.”

“That was almost an admission that you don’t know something.”

“I frequently admit when I do not know something.”

“No. You explain why nobody knows it until everyone forgets you didn’t answer.”

Xil walked past them.

“He does.”

Vegon frowned. “I do not.”

“You do,” Deacon said from behind them.

Zook nodded.

Vegon looked around at all four of them.

“This has become unnecessarily hostile.”

Jandar grinned.

“Welcome to scholarship.”

Then Zook found the compartment.

It was built beneath the altar.

The seam was so fine that Jandar had missed it entirely.

He knelt immediately.

“Wait.”

Zook stopped.

Jandar inspected the edges.

No wire.

No obvious pressure plate.

No markings.

He checked again anyway.

Ancient people had already thrown him into an ocean today.

He was developing respect for their ability to make bad things happen unexpectedly.

“At least pretend to stand farther back,” Jandar said.

Deacon took two steps away.

Xil did not move.

Vegon leaned closer.

Jandar looked at him.

“Farther.”

Vegon sighed and stepped back.

Jandar opened the compartment.

Gold caught the light.

He stared.

Then smiled.

“Oh, finally.”

The compartment was deeper than expected.

Coins filled much of it, mixed with smaller quantities of platinum and old electrum. A large gemstone lay wrapped in what remained of a decayed cloth pouch, changing color as Jandar turned it toward the light.

Even Vegon forgot the ruined books for a moment.

“That is alexandrite.”

Jandar looked at him.

“Is that expensive?”

“Yes.”

“See? This is why I keep you.”

Vegon ignored him.

Beneath the coins were other objects.

A small vial.

A pair of delicate crystal lenses mounted so they could be worn before the eyes.

A strange set of gloves made from sinew, chitin, and something Jandar decided not to inspect too closely.

A ring.

Folded studded leather armor that had survived impossibly well.

And a robe covered in sewn patches.

Jandar picked up the armor.

Despite centuries beneath the mountain, the leather remained supple.

“Mine.”

Deacon looked over.

“You don’t know what it does.”

“I know what it is.”

“You know it’s armor.”

“I know it is better armor than what I currently have.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jandar held it up.

“It has survived four hundred years inside a dragon altar.”

Deacon stared at him.

Jandar added, “And it looks excellent.”

“There it is.”

Xil lifted the patched robe.

One small piece of fabric resembled a ladder.

Another looked like a lantern.

Another appeared to be a door.

He turned it around.

“This is strange.”

Jandar glanced at it.

“You should wear it.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be funny.”

Xil lowered the robe.

“That is not a reason.”

“It is a very good reason.”

Zook carefully picked up the vial.

“What’s this?”

Vegon leaned toward it.

“Do not drink it.”

Zook looked at him.

“I wasn’t going to.”

Jandar pointed toward Vegon. “He remembers the volcano.”

Vegon closed his eyes briefly.

The ring went into a pouch for later examination.

So did the lenses.

The strange gloves were wrapped carefully.

Nobody volunteered to wear them.

The coins created a different problem.

Jandar stared at the cache.

Then at their packs.

Then back at the cache.

Deacon noticed.

“What?”

“We have too much money.”

Deacon stared at him.

Jandar lifted both hands.

“I never thought I would say it either.”

Zook laughed.

“We can carry it.”

“Some of it.”

“We’ll divide the weight.”

“That sounds suspiciously like work.”

“You wanted treasure.”

“I wanted portable treasure.”

Vegon picked up the alexandrite.

“This is portable.”

Jandar took it from him immediately.

“Excellent point.”

Deacon shook his head.

“You are not keeping that.”

“I am protecting it.”

“From what?”

Jandar slipped it into an inner pouch.

“Poor decisions.”

Xil looked at him.

“Whose?”

Jandar smiled.

“Everyone else’s.”

They took what they could reasonably carry.

The rest took longer.

Coins were divided between packs until everyone complained about the weight. The unusual objects were wrapped separately so they could be examined safely in Windmarch.

Jandar kept the armor.

No one had technically agreed to that.

No one had technically stopped him either.

That counted.

Before leaving, Vegon sketched the dragon above the altar.

Then the throne.

Then the arch.

Jandar watched him work.

“You think it matters.”

Vegon did not look up.

“Yes.”

“The dragons.”

“Yes.”

“Because they’re gone.”

Vegon stopped drawing.

“Because these people lived before they were gone.”

Jandar looked back at the statue.

That was different.

He had thought of Tavalon as old.

Ancient, even.

But those were just words.

Standing beneath a carved dragon made the age of the place feel different.

There had been a time when dragons were not legends.

Someone had looked at one.

Perhaps spoken to one.

Perhaps feared one.

Perhaps followed one.

And then someone had carved its face over a doorway because everyone who entered would know what it meant.

Now nobody did.

Jandar suddenly understood why Vegon had looked so miserable when the books fell apart.

The treasure had survived.

The explanation had not.

He disliked that thought.

So he returned to one he preferred.

“At least the gold made it.”

Vegon looked at him.

Jandar shrugged.

“What? I was becoming melancholy.”

“That would have been terrible.”

“Exactly.”

Vegon returned to his drawing.

Jandar smiled.

They passed the blue crystal again on the way out.

It still glowed.

The bodies around it did not move.

No more gnolls appeared.

That should have made Jandar feel better.

It did not.

The crystal was too clean.

Too bright.

Everything around it belonged to a dead city.

The crystal looked as though it had been placed there yesterday.

Deacon stopped beside it.

“We tell the Order everything.”

Vegon nodded.

“The stone first.”

“The crystal first,” Deacon said.

“The stone can transport people across enormous distances.”

“The crystal brings gnolls.”

Vegon considered that.

“The crystal first.”

Jandar stepped between them.

“Here is a radical suggestion. We tell them about both.”

Neither answered.

“Excellent,” Jandar said. “Another problem solved through leadership.”

Xil walked past him.

“Keep moving.”

They climbed out through the buried city.

Past the broken streets.

Past the waterfall.

Past the remains of the archaeologists whose deaths had brought the Order there in the first place.

The outside air felt astonishingly good.

Jandar stopped beneath open sky.

For several seconds he simply breathed.

No sulfur.

No ocean.

No ancient dust.

No gnolls appearing out of glowing crystals.

Just wind.

Zook came out behind him.

Jandar spread his arms.

“I have decided I like the surface.”

“You were born on the ocean.”

“That is still a surface.”

Deacon emerged next.

“You complain about ships too?”

“Never.”

Deacon gave him a look.

“Almost never.”

Vegon and Xil followed.

Vegon looked back toward the waterfall.

Jandar saw it again.

That expression.

Calculation.

Curiosity.

The absolute certainty that Vegon would return if anyone gave him the slightest excuse.

Jandar stepped beside him.

“We are leaving.”

“Yes.”

“You understand that?”

“Yes, Jandar.”

“No secret last examination?”

“No.”

“No touching the ancient teleporting stone?”

Vegon looked at him.

“No.”

“No experiments involving the crystal?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Vegon started down the trail.

After several steps he said, “Although once Eticus has examined my notes—”

Jandar groaned.

Zook laughed.

Windmarch came into view hours later.

Jandar had never been so pleased to see walls.

Real walls.

Current walls.

Walls built by people who had the decency not to hide teleportation devices beneath them.

The weight of the treasure had become considerably less exciting over the final stretch.

Every coin seemed to have doubled.

The armor strapped to Jandar’s pack had begun digging into his shoulder.

Zook carried his share without complaint, which Jandar considered personally insulting.

Deacon simply endured.

Xil remained Xil.

Vegon had spent half the walk talking about symbols.

Jandar had stopped listening somewhere around the third explanation of how the phases of the moon might relate to destination selection.

Now they passed through the gates.

People moved through the streets.

Merchants shouted.

A wagon blocked part of the road.

Someone argued over the price of bread.

A dog barked at Zook.

Normal life.

Jandar liked it immediately.

Deacon slowed beside him.

“You know we’re going straight to the Order.”

Jandar looked toward the nearest tavern.

“I know.”

“You’re looking at the tavern.”

“I can know one thing and want another.”

“We report first.”

“Food first.”

“Report.”

“Drink?”

“Report.”

Jandar sighed.

“This organization has terrible priorities.”

Xil, walking ahead of them, said, “You joined under threat of imprisonment.”

“That does not mean I cannot improve it.”

Deacon almost smiled.

Jandar caught it.

“There. You agree with me.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to. I recognize the face now.”

Deacon looked at him.

Jandar grinned.

Vegon was already several paces ahead, carrying his notes as though they contained the secrets of the universe.

Perhaps they did.

That was the trouble.

They had gone to Tavalon looking for missing archaeologists and gnolls.

They had found a murdered camp.

A city buried beneath a mountain.

A stone that could throw a man across the world.

A crystal that could bring an army through empty air.

Rooms built beneath the carved faces of creatures everyone believed had vanished centuries ago.

And treasure.

Jandar refused to forget the treasure.

He adjusted the ancient armor on his shoulder and followed the others toward the Order.

Behind them, somewhere beyond Windmarch and beneath miles of stone, Tavalon remained dark.

Except for one cold blue light.

And now they knew enough to understand that leaving it behind did not mean leaving it alone.