The Price of Freedom

4: WYRM

He was trapped, buried alive in a cave system deep beneath Darkroth Forest. It didn't worry him much: Belanyr's labyrinthine caves usually had more than one entrance. But it paid to have a back-up plan. If he didn't return to Elbrooke within three days Phoenix Claws would take action. It was a good system, one that strengthened a society built around teamwork. In the eight cycles he had been a member of the autonomous organization called Phoenix Claws, he had experienced only one complication - that being his own decision to seal a damaged Rune Gate from the other side. His sacrifice had resulted in three cycles' worth of independent exploration on another plane of existance in order to escape and return to Aramir. But it was time well spent. He had made many discoveries that the leaders back at Phoenix Claws appreciated massively. The artefacts and information he'd retrieved would be used in the ongoing fight against the Beltharins' enemies and Aefion had been offered a reward for his dedication.  

But the exploration of the Rainbow Void had been reward enough. He smiled inwardly; thinking of things both beautiful and terrifying he had seen: creatures whose bodies could change colour; cities built entirely from glass; giant, metal machines as tall as buildings and battles raging between burning skyships against the dark blue backdrop of distant heavens.  

His mind returned to his current mission. This was something that needed doing; it wasn't some fetch quest in return for a handful of floryns. He would try his best, his personal motto echoing in the forefront of his mind: never give up, never surrender.  

A large cave stretched out before him, at least fifty metres from wall to wall, and was lit all about its edges by spiky clusters of giant crystals. They glowed dully with a red light. High up on small ledges jutting from the opposite wall stood ten statues. It looked like they were carved from white marble. Each formed the shape of a rising serpent, their whip-like tongues flickering from cavernous mouths. Their bright ruby eyes seemed to glare down at him threateningly. The air was dank, and smelled of something musty, and long forgotten. A faint dripping sounded, somewhere out of sight. The centre of the cave was draped in deep shadow.  

'Locked tween earth and serpent-cave,' Aefion murmured, harkening back to the crude, satyr poem.  

Rubbing his forehead, he crouched down by a clump of quartz and reached for his knife.  

His hand closed on the empty sheath. He had left his knife in the archer's chest. That had been foolish, although the action could have saved him a grave injury. He lashed out with his boot. A chunk of crystal came free and he picked it up in his left hand. It gave off a decent light, illuminating the immediate area around him. Holding the makeshift light up, his right hand closed into a fist and ready to fire, he strode warily towards the centre of the cave.  

The floor was covered in a layer of loosely packed earth. There were no rocks or other debris, and the dirt shifted beneath his feet. What was this place, he thought, what purpose did it serve here? He looked up, but he couldn't see anything except for a veil of blackness.  

Suddenly it was obvious. Just as he realised what this place was, Aefion's boot caught on something. He kneeled, using the crystal to dig around. It wasn't long before he unearthed something he wished he hadn't.  

It was a skull.  

And beneath that were even more bones, layer upon layer of them. Gouging out a hole, his jaw tightened as he unearthed more and more remains of what looked like the victims of a centuries' old massacre. Looking closer, he noticed strange depressions on either side of the skull, near the forehead.  

Satyr skulls.  

Immediately he dropped the crystal and spun around, his eyes scanning for enemies. This was a prime place for a trap. It was dark, spacious enough to swing a sword in and big enough for many warriors. Feet planted firmly on the floor, he readied his Fyr'Akharyn.  

'Come on, creatures, where are you?'  

He was answered by a lengthy silence. But somebody or something had to be guarding the princess; he knew it.  

Moments passed and he remained motionless, his ears and eyes straining to detect the slightest movement. He heard nothing.  

'This is ridiculous,' he hissed, 'they say the worst part of a battle is the waiting. Come out and fight, beasts!' His voice rang loudly like a tolling bell, the echoes bouncing off the walls. With a slight shifting of the shadows, something moved up ahead. It was like a pile of stones, a murky heap looming against the far wall.  

'Finally,' the elf snarled, seizing up the crystal and striding cautiously towards the shape. The light reflected from shiny, rounded discs that glinted with a metallic sheen. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and stepped closer. Shining the crystal as close as he dared, he mentally acknowledged what he was looking at.  

These weren't rocks. They were scales.  

Quietly now, he told himself, quietly. The beast yet sleeps. Perhaps he could get around it somehow... 

He crept alongside the gigantic, red-glinting coils towards where he supposed the creature's head lay. Suppressing the urge to run his hand tenderly along the scales, he could just make out a deep rumbling.  

A bit further and he'd see the face of the majestic creature he'd disturbed.  

A massive, draconic head reared into view, eyes flashing dangerously. Two horns curved upwards from its noble brow and its jaws parted slightly to reveal a set of vicious teeth, each one the size of a short sword. Instantly the vast body began to move, and Aefion stood still, emotionless, as the colossal serpent towered above him. Dimly, he could make out the canopy of the creature's vast, bat-like wings spreading out above, and the uncoiling, serpentine tail tipped with a fearsome arrowhead.  

'Well elf,' a deep voice boomed, 'you certainly took your time.'