Path to the Dragon
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In the morning, Trevor and Don awoke to the sound of a friendly conversation several paces away from the smoldering remains of their campfire. He looked over and saw Michael and an elderly man calmly conversing. Ten yards farther on, the group of trolls from the day before sat watching.
They revived the fire and brought out a pan to cook bacon and some sourdough pancakes. The pancakes were a rare treat, and Michael’s ability to procure it testified to his connections. They were joined for breakfast by Tasha, who finally awoke at the smell. She avoided the pancakes, but took a double portion of the bacon. Trevor started to protest, but Don shook his head pointedly.
Michael had a writing board on which he was inking a letter. He handed the pen to the old man, who wrote something at the bottom.
“Good morning!” said Michael, as he came over and fished a white ember from the fire using a couple pine twigs as chopsticks.
“What’s going on?” asked Trevor.
“Securing safe passage,” he replied.
Soon wax was melted to affix the seals of Michael and the elder to two letters. Michael handed the man a small cloth-wrapped parcel, and embraced him in a friendly fashion. Then a couple of the trolls came to assist him as he tottered away.
“Why didn’t they have us go to him?” asked Don after Michael had seen the elder off. “We are on their land.” He was right, Trevor realized. Why would someone as important as a village elder, and an elderly one at that, come to them?
Michael pulled out a piece of paper, and began writing something. “Because I am not someone to haul in front of a village elder,” replied Michael. He wrote deftly, blotted the paper, and locked it. Nothing elaborate, just a triangle of paper cut from the corner of the letter before it was folded, passed through a cut slit. He melted some more of his wax stick, and sealed the letter with an edge of his medallion, as he had done with the letters written with the elder.
“Here, take these,” Michael said, handing one of the open letters and the locked one to Don. “This one will grant you safe conduct with the trolls, and the other is to go to Diana.”
“Diana?” queried Don, puzzled.
“The Ghost Lady. Hurry home, and for your part leave the trolls alone.”
“I could come along,” he ventured. “You might need someone who can fight.”
Michael’s eyes twinkled, “Yes, but the village is more important, and it needs looked after too. It’s your duty.”
“All right,” he replied, before setting off at a jog. With that, Trevor’s last unlooked-for connection with home was gone.
The next order of business was to make sure Tasha was travel-worthy. Trevor certainly couldn’t haul her about as Don had on the way up, nor was he particularly inclined to at the moment. Michael had bartered for a pair of soft-soled leather troll boots for Tasha, and he bade her to put them on. She required some assistance, but they fit well.
They finished packing up the camp, and headed along the trail again. The thin air and Tasha’s aching legs made progress slower than it might have been, but Michael was optimistic that they would arrive before nightfall.
As they walked along, Trevor occasionally caught sight of small groups of trolls watching their progress. He pointed them out to Michael, but the older man seemed unconcerned.
They had made it past the last of the foothills, and were now on the Dragon’s mountain. Now that they were closer, Trevor could see a Pillar extending from the summit. Even so, it was barely visible, masked with some sort of glamour. This was the first time he had been close enough to see one in person, having only Michael’s stories to describe them. He wondered why they should be hidden, as they weren’t particularly secret.
The last of the trees had given out before they stopped for lunch. After the constant toiling up the trail, the stillness was striking. The wind hissed through the bunchgrasses and low shrubs, giving the country a dry and lonely feeling that made Trevor miss the sound of the waves.
Trevor watched Tasha go through something of an ordeal with lunch. Her teeth were ill-suited for bread and cheese, and the gummy product lodged unpleasantly between her teeth. Eventually she resorted to tearing her food into small bits that she could bolt with water. Trevor wondered if they would have enough to drink for the rest of their journey but, feeling sorry for her, said nothing.
As they continued on the last stretch, the trail began to toil in switchbacks up a steep and rocky slope. Burned stumps of shrubs protruded from pockets of soil amid the rock face. This was the first evidence of the Dragon, and Trevor felt a degree of trepidation that he had not experienced before on the journey.
Further down they could see a talus slope where the rocks had fallen over the years. Trevor wondered what would happen to the Pillar once the mountain wore away. Would it still be able to hold up the sky? It seemed very close now, and had grown very uncomfortable to look at. The glamour had become almost a buzzing in Trevor’s vision as his eyes tried to slide away.
Suddenly the switchbacks ended with an alcove carved deep into the face of the mountain. It was like a scoop had been taken out, leaving a flat stone landing. At the back was a great stone aperture, black in the lengthening shadows.
“Well, we’re here,” proclaimed Michael. “The Dragon’s lair.”