Chapter 5 — Danger for the Dwarves

Sauda’s yawn intermingled with the noise of flapping wings. Slumped against a tree trunk in a clearing, her eyes fluttered as she saw a pink dragon circling the clearing in a descent. The dragon awkwardly landed, grunting as stray leaves flew onto her face.

Sauda contented herself by watching Jakyra batting off those leaves in annoyance. At last, with one decisive swipe, the coairse dragon had herself cleaned off — not that coairses ever looked clean with their faded, smudged scales.

Hilariously, another batch of leaves struck Jakyra at her short-lived moment of triumph. “Ah, forget it,” the dragon hissed to herself with a shake of her thick head, her red eyes making contact with Sauda’s gray ones.

Sauda stared.

It didn’t matter that she, a slight and very diminutive elf, was lying in front of a bulky dragon, albeit with leaves on her face. Her gaze only strengthened, boring away at her contester until she was digging in her talons. Still, Sauda didn’t stop, using her palm to prop up her head and its gray, harsh pupils.

Jakyra squinted, clenching her teeth. “Yeah, good to see you too, I was hoping to find you here. You can stop now.”

“Okay.” Sauda’s voice sounded casually authoritative, penetrating her balaclava like it wasn’t there. She pressed her palms on her loose clothing as the winds tugged at it and stole the straggling leaves on Jakyra’s face, awaiting an explanation.

Of course, Jakyra chose to start with small talk. “You know, showing up here to meet whenever we think one of us is up for chat, it leaves much to be desired. Like I get it, we aren’t busy bees and have all the free time to stick around, and I don’t want to be sappy about it, but I still can’t bear all that wasted time. Ever considered not traveling on foot?”

Sauda stared. She understood Jakyra’s request: get a tamed, flying cryptid already. Later, she told herself yet again.

“Oh come on, I’m sure it’ll help with—” Jakyra cut herself off, a strange expression on her face. “You know what? Let me get to the point.”

Sauda sat up straight at those words, eyebrows arched. Something serious did happen, she thought.

She listened to Jakyra’s recount, from her battle with Wynn’s guards in training, to her interaction with the Dragon Crown and Ismat, concluding with the Blodoggs’ attempted heist. The further Jakyra talked, the more Sauda’s silence converted into speechless shock. If she wasn’t accustomed to maintaining a calm, emotionless state, the excitement of these events would make her throw her dagger at her in exasperation, accusing her of fibbing.

As it was, Sauda’s eyes only lost their focus. “Yeah, you could say that for me, today’s been inches away from blowing up,” Jakyra finished.

“Not funny,” Sauda said in a calm voice.

Her mind wasn’t so orderly. A high-grade construct, Blodoggs, and Wynn nearly becoming a smoking crater! kept looping in her thoughts. Just Jakyra becoming the underling of a forgotten, sentient, revered magic artifact was outlandish. For that artifact to warn the dragons of a serious threat in the dwarves’ tunnels, and for two Blodoggs to steal him and nearly create the mother of all explosions out of a mana pool, there was only one way to describe it: insanity.

Or the unfathomable beginnings of a high fantasy plot, she wryly noted as she stood up. “That’s a lot to take in, but okay. You’re meeting the dwarves then?”

Jakyra nodded. “Ismat’s insistence. I think I’m stuck with him now.”

The way Jakyra spoke, she clearly was overwhelmed. Understandable though. Sauda came here expecting her to relay something newsworthy, but neither of them could’ve been prepared for something of this scale. The urge to accompany her friend and learn what triggered that construct’s danger sense ate at her, but Sauda knew better than to wildly barge into affairs she had no part of.

Jakyra sighed, understanding that too. “I don’t have much spare time, so I should go. Just two things: how strong of a construct would you say Ismat is, and who are the Blodoggs again?”

“I don’t know my constructs, But Ismat’s clearly noteworthy,” said Sauda in recollection. “Don’t mess with him. Blodoggs, however, I’ve fought one. Skilled thieves, well-armed with magic tools, and cunningly reckless. You were lucky.”

“That's all you know?”

“Lupines make up most of the Blodoggs,” Sauda added quickly. “They often travel in packs, and their main group apparently has a power-enhancing raised or revered artifact. If you need more, you’re barking up the wrong blackbird’s tree. Find another little birdie, preferably a phoenix. I don’t mind you taming me a roc on the way.”

Jakyra snorted. “I know you’re smiling under there.”

Sauda was smiling, but her balaclava only showed her indifferent eyes. Jakyra couldn’t be allowed to have all the wordplay. “But really, phoenixes have good networks. Ask them when possible."

With that, she waved away the dragon, who departed after a word of thanks. Up went Jakyra as her wings fought for elevation, the dragon twisting around and flying towards the mountains.

A minute passed before the elf went over Jakyra’s news. A construct called Ismat? Artifacts weren’t named that way. Even if Ismat had chosen his own name, it hinted at how closely he resembled a living myith. No, he did resemble one — he could assume the form of a dragon. Jakyra underestimated how brilliant of a creation Ismat was.

Sauda left the clearing, traversing the hilly, tree-dotted terrain. At a moderate pace, she’d get home within twenty or so minutes. Mother must be expecting her back by now.

Fueled by fire and psychic magic, neglected at Scal’s ruins. That sentence made Sauda pause, her hand gripping through her clothes to embrace the hardness of the blade within. Does Jakyra remember who annihilated the dragon capital in the first place?

“So this is the inside of a cave,” Ismat said, indulging himself at all the gorgeously rugged angles and dynamic gray hues the spacious, artificial tunnel to a dwarven city had to offer.

Oh, stone me, Jakyra thought, her previous thought about parents telling their young to eat healthy rolling over her like a boulder — Ismat was like a child! And this was just a relapse of his inexplicable reaction to grass. The scene of a huge dragon inspecting the geometry of such a simple plant and wondering how it grew, it was enough for her to want Ismat buried in another pile of rocks. Did he never see grass before?

And then Ismat got mesmerized by the dwarves that allowed them entry. Jakyra would need a psychiatrist at this rate.

One of those dwarves, after his initial confusion at why Ismat was in awe of his garments and physique, led the group of dragons to the city of Granir. Brimir walked by his side, conveying in detail their reasons for personally visiting. The dim lighting from the hanging lanterns carved out the dwarf’s chiseled, unfazed expression as he listened.

Guards. The only beings on Fantasmyth that guard their expressions better than Sauda.

The thought highlighted to Jakyra how different she and her friend were, and not only in physique. Sauda had this reserved, watchful demeanor, like she was the serious assassin always keeping tabs on everyone. Which she was in a way, down to her battle expertise and even her everyday clothing.

And her body, she commented, holding back a grunt as her hindleg stepped on a dislodged rock. Like, if dwarves actually were dwarfish in height instead of human-sized, Sauda would fit in.

Soon enough they came to a cavity, the path winding down and into a sprawl of compact stone buildings. Lantern lights bathed the ground, while the ceiling was covered in a dense swarm of darkness that ate up the tops of the tallest of buildings. It felt like the photonegative counterpart of dragon cities, whose structures were so open that natural winds were free to roam inside.

“And I thought the underground corridors of the dragon palace felt stuffy,” Ismat said, swerving his head around to take in everything.

The dwarf guiding the dragons pointed to a tunnel on the other side. “Chief is in a meeting with two other chiefs of neighboring towns and some advisors,” he said. “They’re in the hollow cavern on the other side, speaking about present affairs and the situation underground while waiting for our team to resurface. Frankly, I’ve no clue what has them fretting, but your unplanned appearance comes off as ominous. Chief and the others should take your message solemnly.”

His eyes strayed to Ismat at that last line. Then again, due to his size, so did most dwarves out on the street.

And so did Jakyra. “With all due respect, please tell me you’ve seen grass before,” she whispered to him when she got the chance.

“You’ve seen grass before,” Ismat repeated, mimicking the frown on Jakyra’s face. “Look here, intermediary, Scal was ravaged days after I was made. Being only taken out for experiments and to show the king, I didn’t have the luxury of getting used to what you take for granted. The moment before my heart was crushed underneath a building, that was my first time seeing sunlight.” His head turned back to the void lingering above, a snarl lodged in his throat.

Jakyra bowed her head, Ismat’s reaction to green grass coming off as surprisingly logical. “That’s so gloomy. Yeah, that really doesn’t rock. My apologies for burying your good mood away.”

“I’m not deaf to puns, intermediary. Shut it.”

The pink coairse stifled her laughter. Even with those she shouldn’t mess with, irritating them was obligatory.

The dragons soon reached the other side of Granir, crossing a tunnel that forced Ismat to lower his head to avoid the ceiling. The adjoining cavity was relatively small, just sizable enough to host a mansion.

Jakyra overlooked that, however, baffled to find in front of her a cobble bridge with lanterns and still water underneath. Other tunnels connecting to this place had similar bridges, linking to an island composed of stone pathways leading to a dominating pavilion. Around it grew large glowing mushrooms and — grass? And were those trees?

Jakyra shook her head. Something was off about the supposed grass and trees. Probably artificial, she thought, guessing this place was one of many meeting places for members of the Circle of Dwarves.

The dwarf leading the dragons ran to the pavilion where a handful of dwarves sat on simple wooden chairs, forming a circle. Three of them, likely the chiefs, sat much more inward than their peers.

“Chief Herod of Granir, we have guests with ill omens,” the dwarf guard spoke out, grabbing the attention of the circle. One dwarf in a brown vest and a little hat got up, his gaze brushing past the messenger to the dragons beyond. The others followed suit, creating a band of weary faces.

Brimir took the initiative, moving forward with a courteous nod. “Chief Herod and company.”

“King Brimir.” The dwarf forced a smile. “Your direct, unscheduled appearance is an ill omen indeed. Are these all members of your Crown?”

“Not all of them.” Brimir gestured to Ismat, then to Jakyra. “These two are respectively a construct with danger-sensing abilities and his, er, intermediary of sorts.”

A collective chatter floated around the pavilion before Herod and the other two chiefs had them quiet down. “A construct? Him?” Herod said, pointing out his very dragonlike body. “And since when did you have one of those?”

A smirk overcame Brimir. “Just recently. Allow me to explain.” And he began narrating about the day’s events.

In the midst of this, Jakyra winced as a heavy jab struck her shoulder. “I presume Herod is ruler of the mountain dwarves?” Ismat asked with uncertainty.

With those words, Jakyra came to learn one of her duties: filling in her master’s peanut-sized knowledge. “You know there’s dwarves down here, but nothing about their government?”

“Come again?” said Ulm, overhearing.

Ismat’s expression blanked out, as he and the sapphire metallik had an awkward stare. It didn’t help that Fumnaya was swift to notice, giving both of them a tsk. Humored, Jakyra silently applauded the elderly coairse’s response.

“Mountain dwarves don’t have any main authority,” she told Ismat before he lashed out at the abrupt attention. “Each chief’s only responsible for their area. The Dwarven Circle of Elders is a coalition between them, meant for matters beyond their respective towns. There’s only three chiefs right here, the rest probably being the men working for them, or guild representatives.”

Ismat sighed. “Now I’m told this. Then the danger I sense around here is mainly a problem for these three chiefs, or perhaps in an earlier meeting with all the chiefs, they were assigned to deal with it?”

The first thought appealed more to Jakyra. Brimir chose to visit Herod because Ismat felt the danger most around this area, where Granir was situated. Still, despite the distance between the various towns, surely they would inform the others if there was an emergency.

“So you’re saying this may be an emergency,” Herod exclaimed to Brimir, caught up to speed. A twitch pulled at Jakyra’s lips.

Brimir shot a commanding look to Ismat, who reacted as if there was never any side conversation. “It is. Ironically, my dangersense currently is restricted to being aware of extreme threats near me, so this is no light matter. In addition, because the dangers I sense usually implicate dragonkind, we’re dealing with something that also threatens us.”

As apprehension engulfed the dwarves, Brimir and the iron-colored metallik snapped their heads back with questioning expressions. The unexpected information came upon Jakyra like an apple clogging her throat. Why didn’t Ismat say this earlier?

“This bodes well,” Herod sarcastically said, stepping down from the pavilion. “The clouds of smog and cryptids wandering outside their habitats are caused by a deadly threat to both dragons and dwarves? Are you suggesting some criminal activity is at play here?”

You’re kidding, blurted a voice in Jakyra’s head. She had long figured there would be some fighting, but now it dawned on her that this could be as dangerous as when the Blodoggs tried to steal Ismat. This wasn’t what she planned for. Then again, today wasn’t at all what she planned for. What was she in for now?

With a bob of Ismat’s head, Herod’s face seemed to wrinkle up. “And here we are, thinking the men we sent were just scouting for some unknown cryptid or item causing the smog and creature displacement.”

“You require a rescue crew?” Brimir asked, getting over Ismat’s surprise tidbit.

“That and more, I fear. If there’s hostile forces lurking in our caves right now—”

The dragon king put up his claw, silencing Herod. His gaze fell upon the iron metallik, Ulm, and Fumnaya, who expressed their will to personally help.

As Jakyra received the gesture, a bizarre excitement burned in her muscles. There was something about chasing after mysterious, great dangers alongside the Dragon Crown and a sentient magic artifact that put a smile on her face. It was all so sudden, yet exciting.

Not like I’m getting out of this pit anyway, so into the rabbit hole we go, she thought, also agreeing. Ismat naturally accepted, being bound to as a construct of defense.

“Then it’s settled,” Brimir told Herod. “We ourselves will help. And if we have time, I’ll call in a few reinforcements just in case.”

“Much appreciated.” Herod turned to the other chiefs. “Seeing the seriousness of our situation, I must ask of your able fighters. Have them appropriately armed with weapons and magic, refined or raised. Being dimly aware of our dire situation, we can’t take chances.”

He then called on the dwarf guard who let the dragons in. “Retrieve Fear Factor and Fracture Beam,” he added with a decisive, solemn air.