A pair of men walked briskly through an overgrown field. Their pace was urgent, and each was lost in their own thoughts. Thunder rumbled ominously to the east, stopping them in their tracks. The sound reverberated in their chests and was long and drawn out, and it sent a chill down both men’s spines. The men looked across the valley at the Sawtooth Mountains looked like a linked chain of slate grey islands rising from a sea of trees. Their peaks were obscured by angry black clouds.
“The dragon stirs,” Ricar muttered as he gripped the hilt of his sword. He was a gnarled, middle aged man who had seen much over his thirty years of service to his lord, but even he had to admit he was troubled by recent events.
Red lightning flashed over the mountains. Whether it was a trick of the lighting caused by the setting sun, an ill omen, or a foul spell, he didn’t know. At length, he tore his eyes from the mountain and turned to his lord, who was staring at him expectantly.
“I’m sorry, My Lord, did you say something?”
An exasperated sigh escaped Ilian Vergun. He was a powerfully built man with an ample belly and he, like his steward, wore chainmail under a thick travelling cloak. Normally, he would be escorted by half a dozen guards, but today, discretion was needed.
“We must hurry before some busybody sees us,” he urged.
Ricar bowed his head. “As you say, My Lord.”
Ilian looked up at the small stone storehouse on the other end of the field and shook his head. “Only one man survived out of the hundred we sent?”
“Others may have been scattered into the woods,” Ricar replied. “Or captured.”
“And this one hasn’t said anything?” Ilian ventured.
“Derein thought it prudent for you to question him, My Lord,” Ricar said. “Though he reported the man seems deranged.”
“Perfect,” Ilian’s brow furrowed with worry as they arrived at the storehouse. “What in Aertani’s name happened out there?”
Ricar placed his hand on the doorknob and turned to his lord. “Let’s find out.”
Inside, an emaciated man was chained to a sturdy chair. His chest was sunken, and his eyes were bloodshot. Three men stood guard over him with their weapons drawn. They scarcely noticed their lord’s arrival as they eyed their prisoner warily.
“We seek the font of power,” the man babbled over and over as he thrashed about in the chair. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes darted around as though what he sought was somewhere in the room.
“They found him wandering the woods close to town,” Ricar began as he eyed the gaping wound in the prisoner’s chest. It should have been fatal, but he scarcely seemed to notice it.
Ilian eyed the prisoner with distaste. “Are we sure he’s one of Niclan’s boys?”
“His name is Vindel, and he lives on Guff Street,” one of the guards replied. “I drank with him the night before they set out. We all did.”
The other two guards nodded in grim agreement.
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“Be careful, My Lord,” Ricar warned as Ilian stood in front of the prisoner. “He is clearly not in his right mind. We don’t know what he might do.”
“Do you recognize your Lord?” Ilian asked, ignoring his steward’s warning. He was over twice this man’s size and planned to wring his neck with his bare hands once he was done questioning him. How dare he return alive after failing so spectacularly?
The prisoner looked at the bear of a man and he stopped jerking about abruptly. His eyes turned lucid, and Ricar’s drew his sword. “My Lord, please, get back.”
“Ilian Vergun,” the prisoner said in an unnaturally deep voice that reverberated through the room. “My master, Glonn sends his regards and a warning.”
Ilian arched a sardonic eyebrow. “Oh?”
The prisoner’s voice grew louder, rattling the windows. “Stay away from Vinholme, or He will burn Yeryn to the ground and slaughter every last man, woman, and child.”
Ricar could scarcely believe his eyes as the prisoner’s body began to grow rapidly. The chair he was bound to splintered and his chains creaked and stretched under the strain as his body ballooned into a grotesque, misshapen mass of exposed bone and sinew.
“Now, witness but a fragment of His Power!” Vindel roared.
Ilian was the first to regain his wits. In the same motion, he drew his sword and planted his foot on the prisoner’s chest, sending him toppling backwards. Ricar was the next to spring into action. Thinking quickly, he hurled a nearby oil lamp at the creature, whose sinews had burst through his skin and his bonds.
Flames quickly engulfed the creature, but it scarcely seemed to feel them. The three guards hacked at it with their swords, cutting through its flesh. Their wounds were not deep, and the creature’s chains snapped. Its hands shot out, and a guard screamed as it caught him by the head. The creature squeezed, and the man’s head burst like an overripe grape.
Ilian let out a roar and brought his longsword down on the creature’s arm which was now almost as thick as his waist. The dwarf forged blade cleaved through its flesh before being stopped cold by its bone. The creature let out a roar of pain before sending the massive lord flying through a window with a swing of its arm.
The stench of burning flesh filled the storehouse as the flames continued to rage. Ricar smashed another oil lamp against its back and dodged a clumsy swing of its arm. The creature staggered as the flames consumed its flesh and one of the guards bravely thrust his sword deep into the creature’s chest. It flinched before grabbing both the guard’s arms by the elbows in a single paw. The man screamed as the bones in his arms shattered as it crushed him in its fist.
The guard went limp and the creature tossed him aside before whirling around to face Ricar, who had struck it across the back with his sword, inflicting little damage. The steward leapt back nimbly as the creature splintered the storehouse floor with a meaty fist. He drew a dagger from the small of his back and hurled it at the creature’s eyes. It blocked with its arm, but Ricar had merely meant it as a distraction.
Ilian had returned to the fray. He climbed on top of a table and leapt off it, bringing his sword down on the creature’s head from behind. Its head cleaved in two, the creature staggered for a moment before tumbling to the ground. The men stared it in disbelief as they caught their breath.
“Is it dead?” one of the guards asked.
Ilian let out a furious roar and beheaded the creature with a single stroke. “I don’t know of any beast that can live without its head attached to its body.”
“What foul magic is this?” the other surviving guard cried.
“We’ve all heard of strange happenings in the shadow of the Sawtooth Mountains,” Ricar remarked as he struggled to catch his breath. “Perhaps this is related.”
“The dragon stirs,” the guard whispered, white faced.
“What do we do now, My Lord? About Vinholme, and Glonn?” Ricar gasped.
“This is beyond our ability to handle,” Ilian replied after he had caught his breath.
“Perhaps we could turn to your cousin for help?” Ricar suggested.
Ilian grunted derisively. “No, if he finds out we’ve lost half our fighting men, he is just as likely to attack us as help us.”
“Then…” Ricar began.
“We will ask the Arbiters of Ildurin for help,” Ilian declared. “It so happens they have set up a base of sorts at Dinburn to investigate the strange events occurring around the Mountains.”
Ricar cast a concerned look at the mountains to the east and suppressed a shudder before turning back to his lord. “Is it wise to involve them, My Lord?”
Ilian looked down at the headless creature for a moment before replying. “We do not have any other choice.”