Chapter Forty: Guardians of Steel

“Blueprint for a Sentry Unit:

Required materials:

1 x Celesite core

1 x Cooling unit

1 x Motion detector

1 x Command unit

1 x Processor

1 x Head

1 x Torso

? x Limbs (2-8 recommended)

? x Weapons (Fitted to the creator’s preference)

The creator may add any desired features to suit his needs, however, it is worthy to note that more features will result in lower life expectancy of the unit.”

—Part of a blueprint uncovered in the Mines of Mor’Gravar. The rest of the plans were not found.

The mines were like a city in themselves, their tunnels winding deep into the earth, past flights of stairs and elevator shafts, minecart tracks and yawning chasms, collapsed cave systems and broken bridges. They passed half-dug tunnels streaked with veins of iron, caved in cavities barely held together by splintered wood, upturned carts surrounded by the bones of the dead. Ein lost track of how many times they were forced to change direction upon hitting a dead end.

Every level they descended unearthed another layer of history. They found black and silver uniforms of alien design, branded with the Uldan family crest. They found rusted swords and pickaxes, old ledgers and dusty dockets pinned to desks, as well as stone furnaces lined with cold coals. Garax and Aeos took particular interest in each find, stopping every few minutes, touching the relics and brushing the dust from them, hefting them in their hands. Aeos hadn’t been lying about his interest in history—even the smallest piece of cracked pottery held his attention. If it weren’t for Talberon urging them on or their dwindling supplies, they would have been there for gods knew how long. It was hard to gain a sense of time without daylight to aid them. The only way they had of counting the hours and days was when they stopped to eat or sleep. Ein guessed they’d spent a total of two days wandering the mines, but he couldn’t be sure.

Eventually they broke out into the main hub, a wide, cavernous expanse like the inside of a bee hive, with layers and layers of shattered lanterns hanging from ropes like Founder’s Eve decorations. There were broken ladders and rickety ramps that spanned between levels, shovels and spades strewn along the edges, pools of stagnant water dyed black with dirt and soot.

Talberon’s firelight lit the path three feet in front of them and no more. The rest of the space was dark and smothering and achingly vast. Each step they took was echoed a thousand fold. One time Ein kicked a rock over the edge and it was minutes before he heard it reach the bottom.

The party kept their conversation to a minimum. Somehow, it felt like the earth itself was listening in on their every move.

It wasn’t until they reached the hundredth floor or thereabouts that the Druid pulled them up before an enormous steel door. There were intricate markings carved all over it, troughs and grooves coloured neon in the darkness. Light bulbs winked red above the door handle and a glass panel littered with runed buttons.

“Here we are,” Talberon declared. “The gates to Mor’Gravar.”

“These lights are made of Celesite,” Aeos murmured, staring at the door. “To think the dweor were so far ahead of us even back then...”

“What do the historians say about the dweor?” Ein asked.

“Surprisingly little,” Aeos replied.

“Too busy singing praises of their own feats no doubt,” Rhinne muttered.

Aeos threw her a scowl. “The mountain children were advanced beyond their era, reclusive and untrusting of others, and above all, incredible engineers. Following the Age of Magic, when man became the dominant race of Faengard, they retreated into their strongholds and were never heard of again. Mor’Gravar was one of the few cities we managed to capture.”

“I don’t like this place,” Rhinne said. “It feels… dark. Evil.”

“Well I’m not walking all the way back up,” said Garax. “Let’s get this over and done with.”

Talberon pressed a few buttons on the panel. The lights became green, and the door hissed open.

There was an immediate change in their surroundings. Behind the door was a single hallway of polished steel, lit on either side by Celesite bulbs. Some of them were dim while others flickered like dying fireflies, but they could see down to the very end and that was enough. Talberon dismissed his fire-light and looked around.

“This was the equivalent of a sentry tower for the dweor,” he said. “They had means of monitoring their surroundings remotely without needing to leave their seats. Past this would be the entrance to the city proper.”

Aeos had stopped in front of an open doorway. Inside was a dark room with several chairs around a black screen. Underneath it was a table with more of the marked buttons.

“Why weren’t we able to make use of all this technology?” Ein asked, looking around. “It might have helped in the fight against the relicts.”

“The dweor were tight-lipped about their secrets,” Talberon replied.

“And for good reason,” Rhinne added. “Who knows what mankind would have done given so much power.”

There was a loud bang behind them, and they rushed back out into the hallway. The steel door leading to the mines had slammed shut. The lights were red again, like eyes watching them from the shadows.

“A city with a mind of its own,” Garax murmured. “I suppose there’s no going back now, even if we wanted to.”

They wandered down the hallway until it widened into a lobby of some sort. It was well-lit with a large rectangular table of glass in the centre surrounded by plush leather seats, another of the black screens hanging from the wall above. Two barred doors stood at the far side of the room.

“One of these should lead to the city centre,” said Talberon. “The left one, I believe. Wait here while I go and scout ahead.”

“Hang on,” said Garax. “I don’t think it would be wise to go alone. We haven’t come across anything sinister yet, but that could change at any moment.”

“I’ll come as well,” Aeos said. “If I’m going to die here, I might as well see as much as I can before it happens.”

Talberon looked back towards Ein and Rhinne. “Will you two be alright to wait for us?”

Ein looked at Rhinne, who shrugged. “We’ll be fine.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” the Druid reiterated. “We’ll be back shortly.” And the three disappeared through the doorway, their footsteps echoing down the hall.

Ein walked around the room once they’d left, marvelling at its strange and exotic design. Everything had a crisp feel to it, a smooth and sterile edge. The seats were so soft he could sink into them; the benches square and aligned, the lights blinking rhythmically. He found what looked like a cupboard in the corner and opened it. It was ice cold inside, like a pocket dimension of winter, and there were clear bottles of coloured liquor lining the shelves. For a moment he was tempted to take one, but his common sense got the better of him and he returned to where Rhinne was sitting.

“We’ve never really had a chance to talk, have we?” Ein asked, sitting down. “You don’t seem to like people very much.”

“You’re right. In case you’d forgotten, they’re part of the reason behind our fall from grace.”

Ein blinked, taken aback. Rhinne sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know you mean well. It’s just…” She looked up. “I’m just so frustrated. I left my village and came all the way here, and now I’m going to have to tell my people that I failed them.”

“I don’t think you’ve failed them yet,” Ein said. “I don’t know much about the Dragonstone, but I’m sure someone knows what happened to it.”

Rhinne scoffed. “If the High King and the Druid know nothing, what hope is there left? Not that that I expected much from Talberon in the first place.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened between the dragons and the Druids in the first place?”

“You mean the storyteller didn’t tell you?”

Ein shook his head.

“That’s odd,” she said to herself,. “Cconsidering how much he rambles about the Winds of Fate and everything being connected, I thought he would have told you.” She looked at the doorway and then back to Ein. “Well, I suppose there’s not much else to do while we wait. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable and I’ll tell you a story?”

#

This is a tale my mother once told me, when I was but a dragonling waiting to hatch.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Did you know that dragon eggs are able to withstand incredible temperatures? You could place an egg inside a furnace and it would soak up the heat and retain it long after the fire has died. In fact, we dragons, or drennan as we are known in our own tongue, cannot hatch unless exposed to the heat of the burning mountain Freortahn for seven days and seven nights.

Freortahn is our heart. The very place in which Alysteria, drennanmor, Dragon Queen of the mountain was born. It burns with the heat of a thousand suns. It rains fertile ash upon our fields. It is the light that shines through the darkness on the coldest nights, and it is home to the the Drennan Kar, Dragonstone, the source of our strength.

No one knows why this is so. Just as no one knows where Wyd almighty came from, or why the sky is blue. Perhaps it is something to do with the Drennan Kar being present at our time of birth. Perhaps it is something else.

Our true forms are like the legends. Giant lizards of flame, with scales as hard as diamond and great wings that span across the sky. But unlike other beasts, we are fuelled by the Heartfire, that which cannot be seen but burns inside us all. It is our fire within, the source which we draw upon to breathe flames and transform. It is far easier to maintain a weaker, humanoid form than it is to walk as a dragon.

The Drennan Kar was described as a blood ruby the size of a closed fist. But when one gives it a closer inspection, they might notice swirling patterns within, like coiling flames. Some might even see things, of past, present and future within its depths.

The Drennan Kar emanates power. One only needs to be near it to feel its strength—but alone, it is useless. It is to Freortahn as a sword is to a soldier. None may be complete without the other. The Dragonstone is the fuel, the burning mountain the furnace. When our Heartfire dims, all we need to do is to sleep in the warmth of Freortahn, and we will be well again.

And then our precious relic was stolen.

There will be some who say it was given of our own free will. There will be some who say it was recovered, that it was man’s rightful property in the first place. There will be some who say we had no claim to it.

It is ours, and it was stolen.

We dragons are a peaceful race. We do not poke our snouts where they do not belong. Perhaps that is why we live for so long, in such harmony deep in our mountains and valleys away from the world. When travellers stumble upon our haven, we welcome them. When show them our hospitality, and we send them on their way with blessings abound.

When the Druids came to us for help, we gave them our finest warriors. We flew to battle with them, fought with fire and fang, even let them ride us like beasts of burden in the face of the oncoming threat. It was the Great War, the Forsaken One’s first conquest, the first encounter we had with the relicts and the Blight. Even though we would be safe in our havens, watched over by Freortahn, we went out of our way to help them.

And it wasn’t enough. We woke one night to find the Drennan Kar gone, the fires of Freortahn extinguished. Our Light, our Fire, our Heart had been stolen. And to make things worse, the Forsaken One was advancing. Without the First Flame to protect us, we had no choice but to commit to the Great War.

As you know, the Alliance won. As a result of the battles fought during that war, most of us used up our remaining Heartfire and lost the ability to transform. The relicts had been sealed, the Forsaken One imprisoned in the deepest circles of Hellheim. Faengard would live to see another day.

But to us drennan, it was a loss—for we never saw the Drennan Kar again. To this day Freortahn remains dark and lifeless, like an empty fireplace on a cold winter’s morning.

#

Rhinne broke off and stared at the table in silence. Ein wrung his hands, uncertain of what to say.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed.

“Do not be. It was before your time, after all,” she sighed. “Before my time as well, and even my mother’s.”

“Do you know for sure it was the Druids who stole it?” Ein asked. “It could have been anyone.”

“It was the Druids,” she said. “As surely as my flame burns bright. The eldest of our kin lived through those times, and he still remembers. It happened just after we’d returned from a great battle, one that the Alliance had lost. There are no others who could have taken it, unless it was one of our own—and if you dare suggest such a thing, I will rip your throat out and swallow it whole.”

Ein nodded. “Well, I’m sure Talberon is willing to help,” he said. “Maybe when all this is over, he’ll be able to find a clue as to where the Dragonstone is. Isn’t that a Druid’s job, after all? To preserve the peace of the races? According to the stories, at least.”

“Perhaps.” Rhinne sighed. “In all honesty, I’m glad we’re here. Hopefully the Master will take me and I won’t have to worry about returning empty-handed to my people.”

“No.” Ein stood up, eyes flaring. “You know what?” I’m going to regret saying this. “I’ll help you find it. When this is over, I’ll help you find the Dragonstone and restore power to your people.”

Rhinne blinked. “Don’t make me laugh. What can a petty human like you do? You are like a hatchling, a newborn chick who still shies away from the fire when it spits.”

“I don’t know. But you and Lord Drakhorn saved my life when I was on the brink of death, and I’ll never forget that. I’ll find a way, Rhinne. I swear it.”

“You’re interesting,” she said, and a smile slowly crept across her lips. Some of the fire had returned to her eyes, and Ein thought they gave her a fierce beauty. “You know, for a person who wanted nothing more than to work as a blacksmith for the rest of his days, you take on a surprising amount of heavy burdens.”

“Who told you that?”

“Garax.”

I wasn’t always this way, Ein thought. I dreamed of becoming a hero as well, once.

A dark memory flashed through his mind and he shook it away. “Well, it looks like fate has other things in store for me,” he said, tapping his pauldron. Then, he looked at the door. “Say, the others have been gone for an awfully long time, haven’t they?”

Rhinne frowned and stood up. “You’re right.”

The words had scarcely left her mouth before the lights within the lobby blinked and went out, plunging them into darkness.

Ein waited with bated breath, counting the heartbeats until his eyes adjusted. Rhinne had her ear to the wall and was listening.

“There’s something else in the building,” she whispered. “Listen.”

Ein crept to her side and listened. She was right; something was stirring in the distance. A mechanical whirr, like nuts and bolts clashing, steel wires rubbing against each other. Somewhere in the building, something was coming to life.

“Rhinne,” Ein said. “Grab your things. We’re going.”

Rhinne nodded, pulling tight the strings of her pack. They circled around to the door on the left where the other members of the party had gone. Ein pulled on the handle and stepped through.

“Ein,” Rhinne tugged on his sleeve. “Look…”

He froze in his tracks. The corridor ahead of them was smothered in choking mist; a thick, rolling wall of grey that blanketed everything from sight. He could see about five metres in front of him and then nothing—

And the noises were growing louder.

“Damnation,” he said, drawing his sword, and began to run.

They fled into the mist, past feebly blinking lights and panels, taking the left path whenever a fork presented itself. It was like a dream—the viscosity of it all, the pounding of blood and footsteps in his ears, the shrill growls of steel beasts. Rhinne was always two steps behind him, her knife drawn, golden eyes searching.

Then the mist parted and something emerged. It was a spindly, shambling figure of metal, of wire and glass, with glowing lights all over its body and a heart-sized chunk of Celesite in the centre of its chest. It had a single eye on its head that rolled around erratically, searching.

The eye came to rest on the two. A shrill cry emerged from the creature as it raised its arms, fluorescent neon flaring to life around its chest. Ein rolled to one side just before the ground behind him exploded.

The smell of burning metal filled his nostrils, his ears ringing in pain. He saw Rhinne opposite him, having dived in the other direction. There was a scattering of pebble-sized craters in the ground where the monster had fired a barrage of bullets.

Ein swallowed his fear. If those projectiles had hit him, he would’ve been dead. They’d blown holes in steel—steel—when arrows would have barely put a scratch.

The creature was moving again this time, joints grinding, pulses of neon flaring along its arms as they prepared to discharge. Ein cried out in desperation and swung his blade like a club, all his training forsaken. It rammed into the monster’s arm and kept going, shearing through metal plates and wires, shattering glass. The limb fell to the ground, still glowing.

The creature continued to whirr, energy gathering in its other arm, until Rhinne darted forth and shattered the Celesite core with her knife. It froze and began to tremble.

“Get down,” she cried, yanking him hard by the arm. They fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs and hair as the core detonated, sending waves of scrap metal and searing heat over their heads.

When the smoke had cleared and the mist had begun to inch back, the two climbed to their feet and surveyed the wreckage.

“I thought we were done for,” Ein panted. “Didn’t they say a single Celesite core could destroy an entire building?”

“These… things have been active for a long time,” Rhinne said, picking up the cracked gem. “They don’t seem to have too much Spirit left in them.”

“We have to find Talberon and the others,” Ein said. “They could be in trouble.”

Rhinne nodded. “It was a mistake to come here,” she muttered. “The dweor may be gone, but their constructs still remain. We were lucky this time. We might not be lucky again.” She touched the holes in the ground. “And we haven’t even reached the city yet.”

#

The mist crept upon them without warning, swiftly and silently like a falling night. It wasn’t until Talberon’s cloak had begun to meld into the darkness that Aeos realized what was happening.

“Talberon,” he called out.

The Druid stopped and waited. Garax came striding out of the mist behind them not long after, his brow furrowed in concern.

“It might have been a mistake to leave those two behind,” the storyteller murmured.

“Yes,” Talberon agreed. “I think we should turn back… but I fear that may not be possible in our case.”

“It’s too late. The layout’s already changed.”

“What are you two talking about?” Aeos asked. He felt like a child in the middle of a conversation between adults.

“See this?” Garax slapped the wall with his hand. “I scratched it with my blade not long ago. This is the very same mark.”

Aeos and Talberon looked at the place he was pointing to. There was indeed a symbol etched into the polished surface, one that could only have been man-made.

“It’s the mist,” Garax continued. “It addles our senses. That’s the ‘shadow that leaks from broken stone’, and I suspect it only grows worse in the city proper.”

“We need to find Ein and Rhinne,” Talberon said. “I need a place to visit Astreal, somewhere away from danger.”

“Some of the rope back in the mines would have been useful,” Aeos said. “It’s too easy to get separated.”

Talberon took out a seed from his pocket and breathed onto it. It shuddered and then sprouted into several fine tendrils of green, winding and coiling back upon themselves until a thick rope of vine had formed. He tied it around his waist and then passed it to Aeos and Garax.

“Good idea,” the storyteller said.

Once the three had tethered themselves, the Druid took out another seed and sang a string of words. The outer shell split and sprouted into a blade of wood, black as ash. He stood still with the sword raised, staring into the murk as if waiting for something.

Aeos’s experience with Druids and their kind were limited, but he’d read the recounts and seen their power for himself. He swallowed his impatience and waited, looking uneasily into the mist.

There was a low buzzing sound, like the crackle of electricity in a storm. Then a small shape emerged from the darkness, a hovering sphere the size of a human head with whirling blades keeping it afloat. In the centre of the device was a glass panel with a stone inside—a Celesite crystal. It moved around, up and down and side to side, surveying the trio like a pupil within an eye.

The sphere watched them for a moment. Then, Talberon lashed out with his blade, stabbing it through the core. It fell to the ground in a smoking heap, wing-blades whirling to a halt, lights dimming. There was a loud bang as the Celesite crystal shattered, spraying clear fragments everywhere. The mist engulfed them without a sound.

Somewhere deep in the building, something began to stir.

“The Master has awakened,” said Talberon.