Chapter 7 — Smog Lies Here

“Look here, intermediary,” Ismat said when Jakyra approached, the coairse paying more attention than usual to his inner reserves of mana — for someone unacquainted with the feeling, sensing it was a struggle. “The dwarven kid had a staring problem and it caught my curiosity. Is that wrong?”

Jakyra opened her mouth to defend her new acquaintance Gunnar when Ismat immediately added, “And he’s probably a rookie at magic refinement and manipulation. It showed on his face. Nobody else would throw such a contorted look towards a construct, not unless they knew enough about how tremendously challenging it is to create one as elaborate as myself.”

“You don’t know that, he could be just terrified,” Jakyra said, her sight sweeping over the fields of dwarves as the chiefs rallied them.

“I’m logically inferring with my limited knowledge, which admittedly allows for error. Then again, I do not recall deduction being your signature skill, so I suggest you leave this to a professional, yours truly.”

Jakyra rolled her eyes at this when Ismat said three progressively unexpected things: “I like him. Observe him and see if you can learn about who he is, what he does, and how he fights. And while you’re at it, carry me.”

Before the coairse dragon could digest what she was told, Ismat visibly shrank as his appendages crumpled, head shriveling up and melting into his body until it all collapsed into an icosahedral gemstone. Ismat’s heart clinked as it tapped the earth, the glowing red facets making the pinks look lifeless.

Had the other dragons and dwarves watching not been baffled by Ismat straight-up folding on himself, Jakyra’s amused huff would’ve better resembled a grumble. She scooped up Ismat with her claw, then reconsidered and used her less unwieldy tail.

Good, now my body won’t congest these tunnels, unlike some other winged lizards, Ismat said with a sneer. Or rather, Jakyra believed he would sneer if he had a mouth right now.

I feel like I’m your horse, she thought.

Intermediary, I don’t and won’t use mind reading until I regain my psychic magic. Move your tongue if you wish to address me. The statement didn’t click right in Jakyra’s mind — how could he know she was thinking to him without doing the mind reading thing? — but she still made herself mutter the words aloud.

She regretted it, as this gave Ismat a power he shouldn’t have. Nay. Nay, you are no stallion of mine, but enough nonsense. Rein in your thoughts, you’ve a mine to explore and untold peril to fence off in my—

“Stead,” Jakyra finished as Chief Herod’s team moved into the shaft, Brimir commanding the dragons to come in afterward. Going through the entrance, she tried her best not to think of her movements as akin to trotting and shoved back the hoarse cackles, pun intended, reverberating at the back of her head.

Ismat, a construct amazed at the sight of grass, could do equine wordplay. How did that make sense?

Just to appease him, Jakyra did keep an eye hovering over the young dwarf named Gunnar as she kept rhythm with the others. The teams hugged the right side, avoiding the rails and deposit-carrying minecarts that ran on the other end. The passageway seemed strangely tailored to hosting dragons in her opinion, but then again, there were times when the dragons lived underground and took to mining for precious metals. Now they traded with the dwarves for all their needs.

Either way, Ismat could afford to walk around if he wished. The lower floors might be more troublesome since the tunnels would only get narrower from here, but there was more than enough room for three dragons to walk alongside. Discounting the rail track on the left, of course, that would allow for four.

As long as I don’t need to squeeze through some tunnels anytime soon, I’ll be fine, Jakyra thought as she passed by many side corridors thankfully not too tight for a dragon to fit into.

Speaking of which, as the path sloped down, a chittering noise came from one of those tunnels. A pair of eyes seemed to flicker in and out along with its rodent-like body — or a lizard’s? — before it retreated, perhaps to hide in a crevice. Normal as this seemed, it gave Jakyra an interesting thought: was that badge Herod wore, the one called Fear Factor, a repellant to ward off hostile cryptids?

She got her answer a good while later, once the tunnels slimmed down a little. She had her focus on the rail tracks when huge bats hanging a distance away from the lanterns scattered at Herod’s approach, taking to other caverns. Not even a minute later did she spot two humanoid, flaky lizards of small stature running off in all their squealing glory, leaving behind the carcass of a rodent they were eating from.

A few dwarves reacted unfavorably at this, and not because of the rat. “Kobolds don’t roam around here in the light,” Herod said. “Must’ve been giving the miners a hard time.”

“Bad news?” Brimir asked, eyes flickering to a slime slithering off from a distant corner.

Herod shook his hand. “Kobolds, territorial cryptids, mark places with good natural defense and plentiful food and throw themselves at whoever disturbs their grounds. They don’t abandon their home except out of necessity.” His finger pointed at the dead rodent, its body shaped like a lizard in some ironic, twisted joke on cannibalism. “That screams necessity.”

I sense negative vibes, Ismat said, the confusion surrounding his current psychic abilities returning in full force for Jakyra. How much psychic mana did he really have, and what exactly could he do with it? Something to probe him on later, but maybe she could get started by explaining the situation and examining his response.

Except when she did so, the gem-heart wiggled in her tail’s hold as if to shrug. Nothing more. Wow.

“Surely the others down here wouldn’t disturb a kobold camp,” a dwarf muttered.

“Oh please, the party sent before us isn’t stupid enough to mess with kobolds,” another said, sparking a murmur within the crowd.

“Yes, but accidents do happen, and for all we know the lot of them have—” a third said when his words drained into a growing chorus of voices. Jakyra’s mind went into alert mode as the chieftains tried to quell the spreading chaos while the other dragons sat it out, maintaining a faux composure. Something was bound to notice the racket.

Well hey, here’s a herd of heedless, heretic heroes for the herald of our hastening doom to overhear, how hilarious! she mockingly thought, awaiting the inevitable patter of footsteps announcing danger’s approach.

Ah, and there rang out the sound, echoing from the tunnel with the partially collapsed mouth. The declarative noise overcame the dwarves, hushing them as they formed a perimeter behind the dragon force and drew their weapons in almost perfect sync. Jakyra tested her talons out, ready to spring at the shout of voices —

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Dwarven voices.

A light drove away the mist of darkness inside the mouth, a lanky figure its bearer. “Oh pardon, dragon allies, were you sent—” she began when she saw the men situated behind the dragons. Her mild tone escalated to a yell of joy as she craned her head back. “Everyone, we have company!”

A small stream of dwarves emerged no sooner did she say that, starting a short yet lively moment of greetings and relieved cheers. Dwarves rejoiced, dwarves hugged, dwarves laughed, and the dragons stared on. Even the chiefs didn’t try to hush them, submerging themselves in a lighthearted mood that could strip the darkness of the underground away.

Well. That was one way to find those other dwarves.

“This disregard for caution will be the end of us,” Ulm complained.

Jakyra pinpointed Gunnar within the sea of dwarves, hugging someone who looked similar but had a leaner frame. “So? They already slipped up once,” she said, mentally noting Gunnar had a brother in case Ismat got picky about familial details.

Ulm opened his mouth to argue when a glare from Fumnaya shut him down. “Give them their moment, Ulm,” Brimir said, the iron-colored metallik from the Dragon Crown nodding along. “The mountain dwarves all shared a disquiet for the scouting party sent ahead, now let them share in their joviality.

The old, blue metallik sighed, Jakyra flashing him an apologetic smile before she bit back a hiss, an intoxicating scent wafting most of the advance team members. Blood.

Blood on their foreheads, gashes on their temples, splatters of red on some of their clothes. In Gunnar’s brother’s case, his forehead looked worse for wear, but no one seemed to be seriously injured. They fought something, she concluded, finding more blood discoloring their weapons. Wonder if those kobolds had something to do with it?

Luckily, no sobs or disheartened cries broke out. So no one died, good to hear.

Soon the pleasant atmosphere settled out, Herod explaining the circumstances to the joining dwarves. During this time, Jakyra found Gunnar staring at her with a strange expression, eyes shifting to the gem in her tail. He didn’t notice Ismat squeezing himself back into his heart? Someone really didn’t want any more interactions with him for the time being.

“Now that we’re together, we have a choice,” Herod said, turning to Brimir. “We can either depart and not risk any danger to our lives, or we can confront the threat in our caverns.”

“With all due respect, Chief,” one of the battered dwarves said, “we’ve locked on to the source of the strange smog. It’s lying around a former kobold settlement, whose starved and ousted inhabitants attacked when we tried to get close. We’ve tried a few tunnels but couldn’t get close enough to know what’s making it in the first place, and we were just heading back to get a less-weary team to confront it. Seeing you all equipped and with dragons even to aid us, I would say to get it over with before worse things occur.”

Herod looked to Brimir, who turned to Jakyra. “Ismat,” she whispered as many pairs of eyes cast a spell of anxiety on her.

Judging from your tone and the general mood, came his voice, you’ve found those other dwarves, and you have clues to the location of the thing messing with my dangersense? And I’m being asked for advice on fighting the threat in these caves?

Jakyra was all but certain Ismat had, for some time-defying reason, enough remnant psychic magic to read minds. I do sense it nearby, whatever it is, he continued. It appears dangerous but manageable for our team, so taking it out as soon as possible is my choice. And again, I don’t need to read your mind, though I can tell what you’ll think next: ‘liar.’

Li- Jakyra stopped herself, disgusted at nearly falling for that. That wily construct and the guttural laugh he was making! But mockery aside, she shared the sentiment: curbing the danger now was best for everyone.

And so she voiced this, ignoring the stares people gave her and the gem she held. “Then we go,” Brimir said.

Herod agreed. “Explain more if you can, my dwarven friends.”

The dwarf who spoke up nodded. “There’s a mushroom grotto over yonder,” he stated with a flick of his hand. “Miners in our team said the kobolds around these parts used to live there and posed no problems, up until that smog rolled in — it isn’t deadly, but definitely hard on the lungs. We’re certain some foul magic is at play.”

Herod turned to another chieftain — wasn’t he Chief Barin? — who muttered, “I distributed refined magic that can uplift the smog. Which path would be most convenient for a group of this size?”

“Let me show you,” The dwarf from the scouting team said, giving directions as everyone reorganized themselves.

Onward they went, taking a turn into a tunnel barely any smaller than the previous and without any of the pesky rails for Jakyra to poke her feet on. Her eyes flickered constantly to Gunnar, who was quietly talking to his brother, and the difference in their physiques struck her again. Though the brother looked older, he wasn’t rugged and meaty as Gunnar. Maybe even a little shorter.

Was this something Ismat wanted to know? She couldn’t tell.

Mushrooms, some luminous, sprouted all over as the tunnel lost its artificial look, the wooden beams left behind. Lantern lights flashed throughout the crowd along with Ismat’s own luster, leaving rocky surfaces and overhanging stalactites meshed in lights of the three primary colors. Jakyra couldn’t help but jiggle Ismat around, maximizing the surreal effect.

A few kobolds fled into adjacent passes at Herod’s appearance, dropping kindred corpses they appeared to be tending to. The weapon marks and blood covering said bodies diluted the otherwise mystical scenery, but what really promoted the eeriness was the foul, cloudy substance absorbing the lights running at the recesses of the pathway.

Smog.

Jakyra composed herself. This thing apparently had to do with whatever threatened both dwarves and dragons.

Whatever’s going on, we’re coming, she said, interested to see what was the source of this heavy haze. A forgotten, critical-threat cryptid that took over those kobolds’ home? A magical incident corrupting the place? Actual undead, rising from who knew where?

Or something else just as killer. Though I’d rather not have any casualties, thank you.

Silence dominated the caverns as the team and the smog met up, a dwarf reaching for a pocketed ball and rolling it over. The ball gave a soft glow of white as the smoky air recoiled, pushed back by another force. Another dwarf followed, then another, forcing the smog to fall back with each new ball repelling it and clearing up the path. An opening revealed itself, expanding into a hollow whose size couldn’t be measured on account of all the gray clouds in the way.

The sound of wings flapping reached Jakyra as Ismat suddenly went crazy. COWARD’S RUNNING, THROW ME IN NOW! he demanded.

It was an involuntary reaction. A few seconds passed before Jakyra realized her tail had flicked Ismat’s heart away, everyone giving her a muddled look before Ismat’s roar resounded. “Argh!” another voice yelled, thumping against something. “What sorcery?”

Brimir’s eyes dilated. “Him?” he said before commanding the dwarves. “Clear the way in, the scoundrel’s trying to escape!”

Herod yelled, the dwarves speeding up the process fourfold. Larger spheres wildly flew into the hollow, clearing much of the space and allowing Jakyra to break in. Her vision paid no heed to the visage of a grand village built out of giant mushrooms and the light-producing shrooms illuminating it, instead scanning for Ismat and the source of that other voice.

She easily found both. Ismat, in full draconic form, was waving his hands as fiery barriers were conjured, which another dragon kept flying into. He had a gleem’s graceful build, his light gray scales blending well with the smog shrouding him. Madness darted in his eyes as he took in the incoming forces, shaking his yellow horns with his mouth set in a disgusted snarl.

Brimir grinned. “Iye, outcast scum, what part of my father’s sentence of banishment didn’t you get?” he said, capturing Jakyra’s attention. The way Brimir recognized the outcast dragon could not bode well.

Ismat’s tone was more formal. “On the king’s behalf, exiled criminal, I put you under arrest. I can block off any escape route you take, so stand down.”

The dragon called Iye scoffed, giving Jakyra and Fumnaya a special look of contempt. “To think I am to be buried in mounds of dirt,” he said. “Not today, construct. Smog, to me!”

Something in his claws shone — a spear, its shaft a charred silver and the oversized head made of onyx of a similar color, the tip replaced by a hole. Jakyra was too far away to see what was inside, but as the smog shuddered and lost its intensity, swirling into the hole, she had a guess.