Northern Barrier Range

Mikkin crawled over the ridge that separated him from the dragons and Ice Lake. He was careful to watch where he placed his hands and feet, careful not to make a sound. The day had dawned especially cold. He clutched his cloak tightly around him, shivering against it. A light snow had fallen the night before, making it harder to go unnoticed. He would need to wipe his tracks when he retreated back to the camp he and Jamie shared in a nearby cave.

His outlook was a small hideout disguised by a dense pile of brush. He made himself comfortable and began to observe. His routine had been the same for nearly two weeks. In this time, he had learned many of the patterns these dragons were prone to. When they fed and slept. When they came and went. He had even witnessed a few little spats. Though often harmless, they occasionally grew into deeper acts of violence towards each other. A deep sense of restlessness had settled over the beasts. That's when he had learned the most.

Today they appeared especially restless—more so than usual. "Something is different," he muttered. A new frown pulled at his lips.

Eyes narrowed, he watched their behavior.

There was no flittering and flying about today. The dragons had assembled on the far side of the lake, clinging to the rocky crests near their lair. Their sharp talons, sharp enough to slice through flesh and sinew, made deep gouges in the cliff ridges. Their wings were held open, kept in constant motion to maintain balance. Some threw their heads about, snapping at air with their jaws.

A bone-rattling roar split the air. He shuddered, watching as the clan of dragons moved as one. They jumped, massive bodies vaulting into the air. A flash of blood-red scales snapped his head to the left. The clan's leader. Beasts formed up around it.

His grip tightened on his bow. Instinct had him moving, loading an arrow, pulling. He paused, shaking his head, releasing the tension. There was no way he'd hit a single dragon at this distance. It would only betray his location. Growling, he sank back to the ground, hiding himself again. Helpless.

He watched the creature responsible for murdering his family—for taking Mardra from him. Watched it depart, moving farther and farther away from him. A new hollow formed in his chest. Growing. Engulfing his heart as the dragons disappeared over the ridge.

And then they were gone.

Silence pushed in around him. Gods, he was foolish! What had he expected, coming here? That he might have vengeance from a poorly crafted plan? A plan with no chance of success? He stood and kicked the nearest tree, howling as pain shot up his cold toes and into his leg.

The dragons had departed, and who could say when they would next return? Scrambling away, he raced through the forest, caring little for the noise he made. Not bothering to wipe his tracks. The dragons were gone, weren't they? So they wouldn't see his trail.

He all but crashed into the cave he and Jamie shared.

Jamie gave a little shout, jumping to his feet, Gobelin sword at the ready. He'd been sharpening it near the small fire. "Gods above!" Jamie breathed, eyes wide. "Be quiet! Or someone will find us."

He stared at the lad, his chest heaving. "The dragons. They've all gone."

Jamie's sword arm fell. "You...you're sure? But if they've left, that would mean..."

"Yes, exactly."

He shook his head and began pacing. His innards squirmed, as if filled with worms. He had done nothing in his time here—no good whatsoever—to help future victims who might suffer the clan's wrath.

"But—" Jamie glanced around, looking at all the weapons they had laid out to inventory, weapons they had taken from the Gobelins they had killed during their journey. "But we are so close. I've got everything sharpened and...and we..."

"We'll have to wait." His shoulders fell. "Wait until they return."

"No! I'm done waiting," Jamie hissed. "Mikkin, we've been here nearly two weeks. If we cannot deal them a blow, if we cannot weaken them in any way, then what's the point? We're going to freeze to death before we do a single thing. It may be autumn for the rest of the kingdom, but here in the mountains, winter is upon us."

"I...I know." He ran a hand through his matted hair, long overdue for a haircut. They didn't have adequate clothing to survive once the heavy snows came.

"Think, Mikkin. Think of all the damage they will do, all the damage they are about to do now that they've gone. Had we acted sooner—"

"Listen to yourself," he cried, his temper getting the better of him. "We could not have acted sooner. All my observations, all my—"

"We could have! If you would've let me help! I get it, you promised my father you would protect me." Jamie tossed the sword aside in his anger. It clattered, the sound reverberating through the small cave. "What about all the other fathers out there? All the other fathers who are about to lose their sons when the dragons attack? Gods! We don't even know where they're headed. Who's next? It could be anyone."

Mikkin's shoulders slumped. "We don't. You're right. But that's all the more reason we shouldn't jump to conclusions. Perhaps they've simply gone hunting, or to explore, or—"

"You don't believe that, do you?"

Mikkin sighed. Somewhere in the past few weeks, Jamie had grown up. "You're right. I don't. But they will be back. And yes, your life, as much as I wish to preserve it, is not worth hundreds more that might be taken."

Jamie stood a little straighter. "Then let me help you."

"Fine...fine." The words came reluctantly, but they came. If they managed, he and Jamie could use this time to prepare for the clan's return. They needed to be ready to strike.

The days passed in aching slowness. Jamie was thrilled by his newfound freedom, and Mikkin was forced to trust that the lad wouldn't do anything stupid. He was carful not to hover. Jamie would see that as a lack of confidence in his abilities.

He and Jamie took regular watches at their outpost, waiting for the clan's return. In their off time, they either hunted or sparred with each other in the cave, building muscle. They'd be little use against dragons otherwise.

At dawn on the third day, Mikkin found himself particularly restless. "I'll be back," he said after a meager breakfast. Jamie was getting better at hunting. He'd bagged them a couple of squirrels and a rat, as one could not survive on rabbits alone. It wasn't much, but it was enough to hold them.

"Don't stay out too long," Jamie murmured as Mikkin passed out into the daylight, squinting against the glare of the sun.

Another light snowfall dusted the ground. He grimaced when he saw the path left by his tracks. He did his best to cover them with a branch, but that only made a sweeping mess that looked nearly as obvious. There wasn't much for it, and he could only hope there would be no more Gobelins like Unka prowling about.

At the hideout beside the lake, he made himself comfortable. As he had guessed, the dragons still had not returned. The day prior, he had promised to remain calm. Two days was barely time for an excursion into Dragonwall. But now he was beginning to have his doubts. His worry was two-fold. Some of it was selfishness. If the dragons did not return, how would he seek revenge? That was his biggest concern, though his real concern should have been the people of Dragonwall, for what might befall them.

He sat watching, rubbing his tired eyes every so often. They closed for longer and longer periods as he waited, bored out of his wits. Until he heard a snap.

He must have dozed off. Probably Jamie coming to scold him for staying away so long. The lad was never as quiet as he should have been. He turned.

His eyes widened. A thunk and a sharp pain at the back of his head was all he knew before darkness took him.

Mardra greeted him at the door, rushing to him. Her hug was warm, her kiss, sweet like honey. He took her in his arms, burying his face in her hair. Thomas and Devden rushed to him, squealing with glee. He loved returning home, returning to them—

His eyes fluttered, slowly opening. His mind turned over, sluggish, mulling over the images in his dreams, Mardra especially. He groaned. Pain split the back of his head. He twitched his fingers, attempting to rub the hurt. His arms didn't feel like moving. Neither did his feet. He twitched his toes, then his legs. At last, he hauled himself up.

His mind was fuzzy. Too much wine with Mardra the night before? Where was he? Was it morning again?

He rubbed his eyes with his fists, blinking and squinting, trying to see in the muted light. His hand went to the back of his throbbing head and he winced against his headache. What the hell had he done?

Memories began returning. There was no Mardra. She was dead. No drinking either. He was in the mountains hunting dragons. Was he back in the cave? His eyes went in and out of focus.

No. Definitely not the cave.

A loud clang forced him to his feet. Several more followed. Sounds that were suspiciously like the opening and closing of iron bars. Still groggy, he backed away until his back came against a rocky wall. In front of him—bars.

He was in a cell.

"Gods damn it all to hell!" he snarled.

Iron bars ran floor to ceiling. The other three walls were made of rock. He glanced about. Trapped. His heart raced, splitting his headache wide open. He gripped his head and keeled over, attempting to get his breathing under control.

In. Out. In. Out.

His nerves calmed, easing some of his headache, allowing him to stand again. Perhaps losing his family, his home, made him less of a victim to fear. Fear was for those who had something to hold on to, but he had nothing, and that made him stronger. Or so he hoped.

Muted words drifted toward him. He stepped up to the bars and listened. There was the sound of boots against rock. Someone was coming. Somehow, he already understood where he was—deep within the bowels of Shadowkeep. His heart spiked again. His hunting knife was gone. So was the Gobelin blade he wore at his hip.

He blinked. Remembering. Mountain men, dressed in furs, ratted hair, browned teeth, dirtied faces. Cave dwellers. He'd heard of them before. Hadn't expected to see them so close to the sorcerer's lair, though.

A figure came into view, cloaked, face hidden. Time seemed to slow. His skin erupted into gooseflesh. Then the man spoke, and he knew immediately who it was.

"Good evening." The voice was unnatural, grating. "My men found you camped by my lake. As was their command, they have brought you to me."

Mikkin swallowed against his suddenly dry throat.

"At first, I thought nothing of it, you see. A lone man, gruff as you appear to be, camped out in my territory. Surely you are no more than a stranger, traveling through the mountains, no doubt captivated by what you have seen here." The sorcerer stepped closer to the bars. Two white hands wrapped around them. The hooded head leaned forward. "But after some thinking, I have decided that you are not here by mere chance."

Was this Unka's doing? Had the little urchin gone straight to Kane? He should have killed the damn creature. Jamie was right.

"Tell me your name and I will tell you mine."

"I already know yours." His voice surprised him.

"Then you have me at a disadvantage."

"Why would I tell you my name?" Something of boldness crept into his chest. A desire to fight against the puppet master pulling the strings. "You, being who you are, you'll probably find some way to use it against me."

"Tsk-tsk. Then I shall cut to the point. Why are you here, snooping about my lands? Speak carefully. If you give me the truth and I judge your reasons benign, I might just release you."

He snorted. "Right. And these mountains are full of fairies. Coins grow on trees. And horses fart rainbows. You really expect me to believe that?"

"Hardly. A smart man would not. But I'm not certain...Tell me, are you a smart man? If you were, you would not be here."

He shrugged. "It's like you said. I am traveling through the range to Kalderland and happened upon this...this place. I saw...I saw..."

"You saw the dragons?" Kane's voice was a pleased purr.

"Yes."

"And what did you think of my magnificent beasts?"

"I..." He cleared his throat. "Magnificent, my lord. Something I could not have imagined in my wildest dreams."

"Yes. Truly magnificent." Kane inhaled deeply. "Too bad you smell of lies. Why are you here, traveler?"

"Because your men captured me...obviously."

"Feast on your defiance all you like. Your words will change when you meet my bats. They are growing into something even the dragons will fear." The sorcerer's words left his skin crawling. "It is a shame really. I am in such a hurry, else I would get the truth from you through other means. You ought to see my library. It is something even the most creative mind cannot imagine. But never mind. I must be away. Important tasks await. Particularly with Fort Squall. I ought not to be late."

A chill ran down his spine. Fort Squall? Flashes of Belnesse, his beautiful city engulfed in dragon fire, wormed into his mind. Would the Drengr at the fort be enough? Would their defenses save the city?

"Think on the truth while I am away. Consider wisely. When I return, I might still feed you to my bats. Nothing would make me happier."

The sorcerer had vanished. He blinked several times. All fell silent...for a time. And then he heard something entirely new. It started as a coughing laugh. A voice from the shadows said, "You are wise not to trust him." A gravely voice, as if it had not been used in a long, long time. "Kane will never free you, even if you do give him what he wants."

"Who...Who's there? Who are you? Show yourself." He moved forward, close to the bars. His wasn't the only cell in the dungeon. There were others along the corridor beside and opposite him, though he couldn't see the occupants, if there were any.

There was a shuffling from across the corridor. A shape appeared in the gloom. "I was known as Berbik...once. That was my name...a long time ago."

Torchlight fell upon a small figure, stooped, and...hairy. He blinked. A fur-monster? The creature was heavily bearded, with hair that fell in its face, all the way down to the floor. Then the shadowed face lifted and Mikkin's jaw dropped. "You...you're..."

"A Dwarg...yes."

It was the first Dwarg he had ever seen in all his life.

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