“Where?” asked Heraldin. “We can’t go back to—”
“Back to the city,” said Gorm.
“Of course you’d say that.” The bard threw his hands in the air and gave Gaist an exasperated look. “Of course he’d say that. I should just stop talking altogether!”
“That’s what we’ve all been saying, yes,” said Jynn.
Gorm had no time for such bickering. He was already stomping back across the narrow stone bridge between the dragon’s dais and the stone grove. “We need to get back to the surface before Johan realizes his trick with the Golden Dawn ain’t worked. There’s only a narrow chance...” He paused and looked at the others. “Come on! And Laruna, tell the dragon to stay here, for her own safety.”
“I can’t talk to her,” protested the pyromancer. “The gem shattered. I mean, I get a vague idea of her mood and I think she understands us up to a point, but there’s a language… barrier…” The mage fell silent as Gaist didn’t speak over her protests. Wordlessly, he stepped up in front of the dragon and crossed his arms.
The dragon regarded him coolly. Its scales turned a cold gray, tinted amber around their edges.
“Did he just interrupt me?” Laruna asked.
“Hush,” said Heraldin. “I don’t want to miss this.”
“Miss what?” Gorm asked, watching the exchange, or lack thereof, between warrior and dragon.
Gaist nodded. Kulxak shrugged her titanic shoulders. The weaponsmaster opened his hands. The dragon flashed a brilliant ruby, then yellow. Gaist tapped his temple. The dragon reared back, its scales a vibrant citrine. They continued the discussion, or perhaps argument, in total silence.
“I think it’s working,” Heraldin hissed.
“And that’s strange, right?” said Gorm.
“Right?” said Laruna. “It shouldn’t work.”
Yet it was. The basics of body language were far older than Mankind itself, let alone the dragon, and so Kulxak seemed to understand Gaist’s meaning well enough. Likewise, reading the threat displays of dragon-kin was etched into the primordial brain of every hero, and since every display that a reptile the size of a barn makes is at least a little threatening, the weaponsmaster held his own in the debate.
Eventually, the weaponsmaster turned to the bard and shrugged, then moved to follow Gorm off the dais.
“The dragon will stay,” Heraldin said, trotting after him. “She wanted to anyway. Some sort of unfinished business or something.”
Gorm glanced behind him. “And how can ye get all that from—”
He caught Gaist’s eye, and the weaponsmaster gave him the most absolutely clear glare he had ever been on the receiving end of. More than a werewolf’s predatory sneer rejoiced in a hunt; more than a giant’s confident grimace boasted; even more than a gazer’s central eye said “death beam,” Gaist’s face said that if Gorm was so thrice-cursed dense as to not understand basic nonverbal cues, he should just shut up about it and accept the wisdom of those who could.
“Oh. Right.” Gorm was both mollified and mortified. “Well, good. We’ll see her on the other side.” He managed an awkward bow to the dragon, and the others followed suit.
Kulxak inclined her head toward them.
“We’ll be back,” said Gorm, “Once this is all settled.”
The dragon looked at Gaist, who shrugged and made a very succinct gesture. Then, apparently satisfied, she curled around the ring of statues and wrapped herself in her huge, battered wings.
“So can I assume there’s some sort of plan here?” Jynn asked as the heroes charged through the great grove of stone pillars.
“More like an idea and a deadline collidin’,” said Gorm.
“That’s more of a plan than we usually have,” said Heraldin.
“Does it account for that strange blue light?” asked Laruna.
“Uh,” said Gorm, slowing to a trot as he rounded a pillar.
Several of the stone trees were covered in glowing azure liquid that ran up and down the better part of their trunks through the intricately patterned carvings on their surface. The luminescent flow drew similar designs along the walkways surrounding the pillars before pouring off them in shimmering waterfalls that lit the endless darkness below.
“It ain’t acid,” said Gorm, withdrawing the toe of his boot. “Let’s go.”
“You’re just going to run over it?” asked Jynn.
“Well, I ain’t drinkin’ it or splashin’ it on me skin,” said Gorm, already stamping through the stream. “And we should be quick, in case there’s fumes.”
“But we don’t know what this water is,” said Jynn. “This could be powerful magic, or latent prophecy, or the work of divine or demonic agents, or—”
“Could be anything. Could be the residue of that barrier fallin’, or some ancient trap halfway to bein’ sprung. But I ain’t got time to sit here studyin’ it, because the one thing I’m sure of is that it could attract attention from above.”
“You think it’s divine, then?” asked Laruna.
“Nope.” Gorm stopped at the largest of the stone grove’s pillars. He pointed to the doorway on a landing with a stone spiral staircase at its base, and followed the masonry all the way to the ceiling of the great cavern. “I’m more confident than ever them stairs wind up somewhere in the mountain behind the palace.”
“Johan,” snarled the pyromancer.
“Aye. I been wonderin’ how that bastard and his Golden Dawn got that magic contraption down here,” said Gorm. “The one they tried to use on that magic barrier. I mean, they didn’t carry it into the dungeon. Not by the path we took.”
“It didn’t seem like anyone walked the path we took at all… oh!” said Heraldin.
“Exactly!” said Gorm, tracing the pathways branching out above them. “Also explains how Johan pulled off that surprise entrance at his own funeral. Ah. There!” He pointed to one of the archways out of the cavern and followed the path all the way back to the large spire. “That’s our way out. Quiet now. I bet there’s a bloody huge echo in here.”
