The Scaling

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         A long, deep rumble from deep within the bowels of Mount Thrannus, louder than thunder, roared as it shook the floor of the Fiery Flagon tavern. Bottles crashed, tables shook, casks rattled, and an ornamental shield displaying the tavern’s logo clanged against the floor after being shaken from the wall. But the hired help didn’t seem to pay any mind. Even the patrons that populated the tavern shrugged the din off as if it were a mere disturbance. Except one.

         The rugged-looking man, who had been sitting alone, tucked silently in a remote corner of the room immersed in his drink, coughed and stood up with a start. Heads turned to look at the cloaked stranger who had raised more of a fuss than the rumble.

         Not wishing to have attracted so much attention to himself as he had, he slipped back into his seat and took another swig of his ale. Idly he looked about the room. The tavern had the regular rustic feel to it, with wood-paneled walls and floor, and old lanterns dangling above each of the tables. It was crowded on this particular day, with very few empty seats left.

         Eventually the tavern returned to normal, and most of the onlookers turned back to previous engagements. A curious eye or two still remained on the stranger, but that was of little concern to him. The strange rumble, and the lack of reaction to it, tugged at his curiosity.

         Seated at an adjacent table was a frail, sandy-haired boy who tried relentlessly to peddle some goods out of his pack to a burly oaf who wanted nothing to do with the solicitor. Seeing that the sale wasn’t going anywhere, he picked up his pack and hustled over to the table where the stranger was sitting.

         “G’day sir. Name’s Folcwin, nice t’meet ya.” A glow of enthusiasm spread across the boy’s face as his hand reached across the table.

         “I’m Ersikor,” the cloaked man responded, shaking the outstretched hand. His tight grip brought Folcwin to wince, which Ersikor couldn’t help but laugh at. “And I’m not interested in your wares. But join me for a drink. I’m looking for some information.”

         Folcwin took a long time before responding to Ersikor’s request. Using the delay to study the man before him, Ersikor observed him as he had done with other people in the past. The eagerness, or perhaps urgency, was not lost in the slight twitch of Folcwin’s fingers as he drummed them on the table. His glittering blue eyes shifted nervously looking about the room and landed on his pack, which he held tightly.

         “You want information, I want a sale. Let’s make a deal,” Folcwin suggested, grinning.

         Ersikor sighed. He knew there would be little negotiating with this fellow. It would be easy: buy some worthless bauble and then he would ask some questions. “All right, it’s a deal. What do you have?”

         With a squeal of delight, Folcwin rummaged through his pack, pulling out different items and throwing them back in without letting Ersikor see what they were. “I got sumpin’ real good for you, methinks you’ll really like.” Finally Folcwin produced a ring, a fine gold band set with a large ruby. The gem sparkled in the lamplight, and true to Folcwin’s word, Ersikor did like the piece of jewelry.

         “Fine, I’ll take it. How much?”

         Folcwin chafed his hands together. “How’s about a hundred crowns? That’s a bargain in these parts.” The youth fixed his eyes on Ersikor’s as he awaited his answer. Apparently he had done this routine quite a few times before.

         Ersikor knew there was no use in trying to haggle. He rapped his hand on the table, making his cup slosh a bit of his drink. “You’ve made yourself a sale. Now, first the information.” Folcwin nodded. “What was that rumble, and why did no one care?”

         A high-pitched laugh escaped Folcwin’s lips. “Wow, you mustn’t be from ’round here, then! ’Twas the dragon.”

         “Dragon?” Ersikor’s eyes bulged as he coughed again.

         “Yup. Let me tell you the tale about the mighty Memnoc.” Folcwin waved a serving wench over to the table. “Get me a pint of ale. No, make it two, one for my friend ’ere.”

         After the wench dismissed herself to the kitchen, Folcwin leaned back in his seat, keeping his eye on the ring, and began his story. “This here city of Jakara is built on Mount Thrannus, which is the home of the dragon, Memnoc. We live in peace with the dragon, and protect his lair. You see, he’s got a huge hoard of treasure.” A twinkle formed in Folcwin’s eye at the mention of treasure.

         The wench returned with the two mugs, and Folcwin remained silent as he took a few coins from his pack and placed them on her tray, waiting until she departed again before continuing. “In return for protecting his hoard, Memnoc gives us his scales.”

         Ersikor’s eyebrows shot up and he spit some of his ale onto the table. “Gives you his scales?”

         Folcwin laughed again. “Dragons are reptilian creatures, so they also shed their skin, like snakes do. The scales are just as strong when shed. Memnoc gives us his old skin and we use it when making weapons and armor. That rumble you heard was his signal to us that he is ready to have his scales collected.” Folcwin guzzled down some more ale.

         The young man’s story was finally beginning to make sense. The citizens of Jakara were accustomed to Memnoc’s rumbling, and therefore had no reason to react. Ersikor realized his own alarm had marked him as an outsider.

         “Now, can we proceed with the sale?”

         “Oh, right.” Ersikor reached into his cloak and withdrew a small pouch of coins. The contents jingled as he fingered through them and took out the agreed amount. “A hundred crowns, as agreed.” The gold coins were placed on the table in a stack and slid across the table.

         Before Folcwin could snatch away the ring, Ersikor leaned across the table and scooped it up in hand. Folcwin frowned in disappointment, hoping to acquire the gold and regain his prize as well.

         “A pleasure doing business with you,” Ersikor chuckled with a grin as he rose from his seat, leaving Folcwin staring dumbfounded at the table.

         A room at the Fiery Flagon was reasonably priced, and only a minor setback compared to the crowns paid for the ring. Ersikor lay back on the bed and looked at the ring as he twirled it between his fingers. It was a nice piece of jewelry, the gem a decent size with the band having runes engraved along the inside of it.

         Maybe once he stayed in Jakara long enough he would find a lucky lady to give it to. It had been a while since he felt the love of a woman, but a wanderer like himself made it a point not to get too involved with anyone. They only got in the way once it was time to move on. Only he didn’t feel like moving on this time.

         Ersikor returned the ring to the pocket of his cloak, which he hung on a post by the bed. He groaned as he lay down, for he expected more rumbling from Memnoc throughout the night, keeping him awake. Rolling over on the bed he was quick to fall asleep, and despite his expectations he slept quite soundly, with no noise from the dragon.

         The next morning Ersikor woke to the commotion of one of the serving girls in his room preparing the washbasin and fresh linens. She startled as the large man stood before her. She looked to be little more than two decades old. Her long, silky black hair fell across her shoulder as she poured water from her pitcher into a large bowl, which she placed on a table by the bed. “I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. All of our guests get this service,” she said in a hushed voice, bowing her head to look at the floor. “I’m Solei, if you need anything.”

         “Thank you. I’m Ersikor, and new here to Jakara. Your custom of collecting the dragon’s scales intrigues me.”

         The girl’s rosy face brightened as she looked up at Ersikor. The soft light of the fireplace in the room highlighted her soft features when she smiled. “It’s called The Scaling. You should go with us sometime!”

         Ersikor sat on the bed again. “Does everyone go on this Scaling?”

         “No,” Solei said, shaking her head as she picked up her basket and pitcher. “Only a few of us make the trip at a time. Usually it takes ten or so to carry the pieces of skin.” As she made her way to the door, Solei pointedly kept her eyes off of Ersikor. “Meet me at the northern city gate at noon.”

         Before Ersikor could muster a reply, she was already out the door.

         Ersikor spent the whole of the morning walking Jakara’s streets, watching the people and admiring the beauty of its atmosphere. The buildings were made of a smooth, white stone, like alabaster. Those owned by the wealthier citizens, the aristocrats, stood three or four stories high, but the majority were only one or two. Most of the entrances had no doors, but all were covered by awnings made of oiled cloths that were stretched between two wooden spokes. The shops, clearly marked by colorful signs above the doorways, also had larger windows with boards on the sills to serve as counters.

         Red-tinted smoke rose from the chimney of one of the shops. Ersikor decided to make this his first stop. He leaned on the counter and peered into the window, watching as a large, heavy-set man wearing only breeches and a heavy apron labored over a hot forge, sweating profusely. A pungent odor, similar to a wet animal, filled the air, but Ersikor had never smelled it before.

         The armor smith hammered away at a suit of armor, which, instead of chain links like Ersikor’s armor, was crafted of scale plates. “One moment and I’ll be with ye,” the smithy grunted, tinkering with the mail and banging a section into place. He stopped, looked the finished piece over and covered it with a cloth before approaching the counter. “Greetings, stranger. How can I help ye?”

         “Nice armor you got there,” Ersikor said with a smile, pointing at the covered armor. “Didn’t look like metal, though.”

         The smithy let out a hearty laugh. “Sure it didn’t. That’s ’cause it’s made from Memnoc’s scales, and dragon scales are stronger than metal.” He pounded his chest with his fist and grinned proudly. “And we armor smiths know the secrets of how to craft them into armor that’s strong, durable and doesn’t restrict movement like metal.”

         “Ersikor!” Solei’s voice rang out from an indiscernible direction. The streets were crowded, making it difficult to find the girl among the bustling crowd. Finally she jumped and waved her arms in the air to grab his attention. She strutted along the street toward Ersikor, smiling brightly. Her hair was tied up into a ponytail instead of the way she wore it earlier. She looked even more beautiful in the daylight. “It’s almost noon! Come follow me to the gate. The Scaling is about to begin.”

         “But I was just about to—”

         “It can wait,” she interrupted, tugging on his arm. “Come on, let’s go!”

         Ersikor assumed it was a market day in Jakara. The air was scented with all sorts of fragrances, ranging from grains and fresh baked goods to spices and sweet perfumes.

         The numerous individuals that surrounded them, with bronzy tanned skin, were dressed in their finest clothes in rich, vibrant colors. Even the less wealthy managed to wear something other than tatters and rags. The women carried covered wicker baskets while the men carried crates, barrels, or other heavier items. The multitude of voices, conversing or haggling or merely chatting, carried on like a swarm of bees around them.

         “What brings you to Jakara?” Solei asked as they weaved through the maze of townspeople. Occasionally she would turn her head to look at Ersikor, but noticed that he kept his sight ahead of him instead of at her.

         "I’m what some would call a rogue, always on the move.” Ersikor’s eyes drifted to Solei when she wasn’t looking. Something stirred within him, but he ignored it. “Originally I’m from lands west of here, and Jakara happened to be my next stop on my travels eastward.”

         A large man carrying a barrel on his shoulder pushed his way between them, but Solei quickly returned to Ersikor’s side. She nudged into his shoulder, giggling. “Why did you leave? I couldn’t think of ever leaving home.”

         Ersikor sighed. He had never talked about his past to anyone before. Revealing that about himself made him feel vulnerable, and that was the last thing he wanted. But Solei didn’t seem like a threat to him. He reached under his cloak and drew his sword. The hilt was scuffed but the blade was kept in top condition. “I used to be a soldier, a mercenary. But I killed an innocent man. The reason I wander is to atone for what I have done.”

         As Ersikor returned the weapon to its sheath, Solei watched and saw the warrior bow his head to look at the ground. Even he had his weakness.

         “Here we are!”

         The group had already begun to gather at the gate as Solei led Ersikor into their midst. Altogether there were nine, and they represented all walks of life. Four men, taller and lankier than Ersikor, stood with their tattooed and scarred arms folded across their chests. The women gossiped together apart from the men, briefly looking up at Solei and giggling before returning to their conversation. The youngest of the group was a boy in his adolescent years who appeared well on his way to becoming one of the town guardsmen. His arms alone were thick as tree trunks, looking strong enough to break such.

         “You’re late,” shouted a snide voice from the last member of the group, a short fellow with a nose like a hawk’s beak. He was of a fairer complexion than most of the people of Jakara, and flamboyantly dressed. His purple sheen clothes and plush hat that resembled a turban gave the impression of a jester. “Who is this?”

         “His name is Ersikor, and he is a visitor to our town. I assure you he is of no threat to us.” Solei spoke proudly and confidently.

         “We can’t bring a stranger into the dragon’s lair!” Hemdar said, his voice cracking in concern.

         “There is no rule against it.” Solei poked the small man in the rib. “Besides, I’ll take full responsibility for his actions.”

         Hemdar sighed in resignation. “Now that we’re all here, I say we should let the Scaling begin.”

         A chorus of mumbled agreements came from the crowd.

         Solei grinned and ushered Ersikor onward. “Go ahead of me. Since you’re new, we don’t want you to fall behind and get lost on Mount Thrannus. Its terrain can be quite treacherous if you don’t know the way.”

         It didn’t take long for Ersikor to realize how right Solei was. The slopes of the mountain were quite steep, and it would take expert climbers, or those who knew the safe upward route, to be able to climb it. He had tried to take a shortcut, making a shorter and straighter path instead of making the wide turn the others did, but failed and almost slipped and fell. Fortunately he regained his footing and managed to catch up with the group.

         The heat on Mount Thrannus was unbearable. During the wintertime, snow would form on the peaks, but during the middle of the midsummer’s day, the sun scorched the rocks of the mountain. Ersikor tugged at the collar of his cloak, sweating under the heat of it.

         Solei noticed his discomfort and watched as he took off the cloak and stuffed it into his backpack. “People say the heat is related to Memnoc. There is a poem about him:

Inside Thrannus does Memnoc dwell,
fiery as the pits of hell.
As long as his mighty lifeblood churns,
the rocks of Thrannus will ever burn.
He shares with us his mighty skin
as long as the treasure stays within.
The safe path the dragon will show
so we may find the way to go.”

         As Ersikor listened to Solei’s recital of the rhyme, he imagined what Memnoc looked like and wondered about the grandeur of such a creature. He knew that a dragon’s scales were strong, but to be crafted into armor and weapons that are more durable than metal would be something special.

         The evening sky had darkened before everyone’s eyes, for they had been climbing all afternoon. The entrance to Memnoc’s lair finally came into view, a narrow door-sized hole in the mountain.

         “How does Memnoc get in and out? It’s so small,” Ersikor said as he looked up and down at the face of the mountain where they stood. It was tall and sheer, like a large wall of stone. He had expected the cave to be much larger.

         Solei shook her head and pointed toward the mountain. “We don’t use Memnoc’s entrance. That is on the other side, and well-hidden to protect his treasure.”

         The richly-dressed man, Hemdar as he was named, filled his lantern with oil and was the first into the entrance. Two of the tattooed men followed behind him, and Solei requested to go next. Ersikor was quick to follow her. He wanted to remain as close to Solei as possible, since she seemed to be the only one who really trusted him. During their assent, Ersikor had noticed the various looks the others gave him at one time or another.

         After all, he was the outsider.

         The entrance corridor extended for about forty-some feet before opening into a small room. The size and shape of the room suggested that it was used for storing supplies. A row of hooks along one of the walls was lined with bronze-colored capes. “Put one of these on,” Solei instructed Ersikor, handing one to him. “They will protect you against Memnoc’s fire.”

         Ersikor watched as Hemdar donned his cape first before putting on his own. It sat heavy on his shoulders, which was odd for just a mere cape. He wondered what it was made of. What he wondered more, however, was why he’d need protecting in the first place if the dragon was allied with these people? But he didn’t voice his question.

         In a corner near the corridor across from the entrance stood a barrel, which contained a number of tools that resembled large shears. Solei selected one and gave another to Ersikor.

         “What are these for? Weapons?”

         “No,” Solei laughed. “These are used for cutting the pieces of the shed skin into strips, to make it easier to carry them home.”

         While the remaining cloaks and shears were distributed to the rest of the group, Ersikor took a closer look at his own shears. The twin blades were long and thick, and tremendously sharp. They surely would have made for formidable weapons, able to lop of a man’s head with one snip. He guessed the blades of these tools were reinforced with the scales as well.

         “All right, time to move on,” snapped Hemdar from the front of the line. He seemed to be looking directly at Ersikor, who was intentionally not paying attention to the sharp-tongued man.

         The next tunnel was wider than the first, able to accommodate two people walking side by side instead of single file. The intensity of the heat within the tunnels grew the closer they got to the heart of Memnoc’s lair. Surprisingly though, the cloak Ersikor wore kept the heat off and helped him feel cooler than he had expected.

         “This is only my second Scaling,” said the boy, sauntering up behind Ersikor and Solei. A zealous twinkle formed in his eyes like a child on his birthday as he looked past the pair at the opening ahead of them. “I’ve dreamt of seeing Memnoc since the last time.”

         “It was the same for me after my first time, Dristan,” Solei replied with a smile. “And I’m sure Ersikor will too.”

         Ersikor pinched his nose. He had finally caught a whiff of dragon odor, and it almost turned his stomach. He recognized the same smell at the smith shop, but there it was of a much lesser degree. It didn’t take long for his nose to get used to the odor.

         Memnoc’s main sleeping chamber dwarfed even the largest halls Ersikor had seen in his life. The ceiling was roughly shaped like an arch that towered into the darkness overhead. Hills of gold shimmered all around them within the globe of light from Hemdar’s lamp. There was no sight of the dragon.

         But they could hear him. Memnoc’s low growl of a snore rumbled the ground underfoot. As Hemdar moved closer to the center of the room, Memnoc’s sleeping form came into Ersikor’s view. The dragon’s head, with its long, slender snout, rested flat against the floor. Ersikor gaped in awe at the sight of the majestic creature before him. His curled body looked like a tower of bronze among his hoard of gold.

         As Eriskor strolled about the room admiring both Memnoc and his treasure, something caught his eye on one of the piles. A silver medallion, embossed with an emblem of an eagle with outstretched wings and diamond eyes, struck a chord in his memory. He had seen the symbol before, in a city where he served as a mercenary. He had almost forgotten about that time, until now.

         He picked up the medallion to look at it closer. Before he could get a better look, Solei dashed over and flung the object out of his hands back into the pile. “What are you doing?” she said in a panicked whisper, her face flushed in terror. “You are not to touch the dragon’s treasure. If he caught you we would all be doomed!”

         Hemdar stormed over to stand between the two. “I knew this stranger was a thief!” he said, casting a glance as sharp as his nose over at Solei. “You should have never invited him along on this expedition!” He flashed a quick sneer at Ersikor before approaching the heap of discarded scales off to the side of the room, where Memnoc had left them.

         The scales looked at first glance to be smooth and silky, almost like a snake’s skin, but as Ersikor tried to break a piece apart, he found that it was just as strong as if it were still intact on Memnoc’s body. However, the blades of the shears were sharp enough to tear right through the material.

         The tattooed men had already begun slicing the scales into long, narrow strips, which were in turn folded by the women. They worked quickly, and as Ersikor and Hemdar joined them, it was only a matter of hours before the task was completed. The stacks of strips were then picked up and carried overhead back through the corridors and down the mountain.

         Memnoc had slept the entire time, though Ersikor couldn’t fight back the feeling that he had been awake and watching them all along. He shook off the thought, realizing that if Memnoc was awake, he would have witnessed the commotion over the medallion.

         Sleep was also beginning to sound like a good idea to Ersikor. While the rest of the party gathered in the main hall of the Fiery Flagon to celebrate, he retired to his room. He quickly fell asleep, not even taking the time to remove his clothes or the bronze cloak he had forgotten to take off before leaving the mountain.

         He dreamed that he encountered Memnoc again, outside of the mountain. They conversed about the dragon’s treasure, and he told Memnoc the story about the medallion and how he once used to wear one, but gave it back after quitting the service.

         Another person entered the dream, a faceless man whom Ersikor seemed to recognize without knowing why. With the arrival of the stranger the topic of the conversation with Memnoc changed. Ersikor’s words became a garbled stream of speech, and he often gestured toward the figure.

         The dream was quickly interrupted by more rumbling in the distance. So soon? Ersikor thought as he rose from the bed. Scalings must occur more frequently than he thought. Silence followed. Perhaps the rumble had been part of the dream.

         Ersikor washed and proceeded to the main hall for some breakfast. The Scaling party was still here, asleep at their seats in drunken slumber. Solei, however, was not around, though Ersikor guessed that she was making her rounds refreshing the linens and water to each of the rooms.

         Dristan was the first to awake, and smiled at Ersikor as he walked by the table. The excitement from the preceding event hadn’t left him, as his face still glowed. “Ersikor, join me here. I’d like to hear your opinion of the Scaling.”

         “If I were a bard, I’d be able to explain how incredible it was to behold the magnificence of Memnoc and his lair.” As Ersikor recalled his experience, a dream-like expression came over his face.

         Dristan returned a knowing smile. “I know just how you feel, sir. Perhaps you can take part in the next Scaling, which will most likely occur next summer.”

         “Next year?” Ersikor raised an eyebrow. “So the rumble I heard this morning wasn’t another invitation.”

         “Heavens, no,” Dristan said, shaking his head. “He might have just gotten hungry, and left his lair in search of food.”

         The notion of food brought another rumble to Ersikor’s attention. It was his stomach, which still longed for breakfast. He and Dristan shared some fresh-baked bread and butter as well as a plate piled high with thick slabs of spiced bacon wrapped around cubes of cheese.

         Once the meal was finished, both men leaned back in their seats to accommodate their full bellies. Ersikor fiddled under the table with the ring in his pocket and slipped it onto his finger.

         “Solei has taken quite a liking to you, Ersikor,” Dristan spoke up, grinning and giving him a wink.

         “I hadn’t noticed,” Ersikor lied with a chuckle. “She’s a good girl.”

         Suddenly a long, deep roar bellowed through the town. People outdoors started screaming. Those sleeping in the tavern were quickly roused and rushing about to the windows to see where the noise came from. As Ersikor ran outside, he noticed that the air had grown warmer since the day before. Even with the layer of clouds overhead that blocked the sun, a reddish tint had covered the landscape, as if everything had been consumed in fire.

         A great shape moved throughout the sky, and it roared again. The shape was that of a lizard about the size of two of the king’s warhorses. The bronze scales that armored the dragon’s body shone in the daylight, enhancing its brilliance. Ersikor knew at once who it was, only this time he could see Memnoc in full view. The giant, leathery wings that had been folded against his body as he slept, now fully extended, beat like thunder as he dove in for his first attack.

         “Memnoc has awoken!” someone shouted. “The dragon is attacking Jakara!”

         Ersikor grabbed the collar of a man frantically sprinting by and pulled him off the road. “What happened? Why is Memnoc attacking us?”

         The man’s face was white with fear, and he could barely speak. “Someone must have angered him by stealing his treasure. He’d never do this otherwise!”

         A ball of fire struck the building across the way, exploding inside the windows and creating a sweltering heat that Ersikor could feel even at his distance. The man pulled free from Ersikor’s grip and took off down the street toward his home.

         “Hemdar,” Ersikor uttered aloud as he tried to think of who would do such a thing. The one who had expressed so much disdain for him, it was more than likely a cover up while Hemdar was the one who had really stolen Memnoc’s treasure. “I’ll find that wretch!”

         Memnoc circled in the air twice, moving like a fish reeling through water. He opened and closed his dagger-sharp talons in fury. A glint of fire burned in his crimson eyes, which were fixed on Ersikor.

         As Memnoc swept overhead for another pass, he reared his head back and flared his cheeks. His bared fangs dripped with hot saliva, which sizzled like lava. Even an outsider such as Ersikor knew that he was preparing to breathe fire at him. There was little time to react before the searing ball of flame erupted from Memnoc’s snout and soared toward Ersikor. He crouched into a ball, wrapping his cloak completely around him and felt the intense heat engulf his body, but he didn’t feel any burn.

         The cloak had done its job. He was thankful he hadn’t taken it off. Still ducked under his cloak, Ersikor could hear the multiple twangs of arrows being fired. He looked up into the sky. Memnoc had been hit by several arrows, but only one made its mark. The dragon roared in agony and breathed another ball of flame at his attackers.

         A wrenching scream broke out. Someone else hadn’t been as lucky as Ersikor had.

         Seeing no sign of Memnoc, Ersikor stood and rushed toward a vacant doorway for shelter. Solei was there, but while she smiled, fear still lingered in her eyes. “Is Dristan with you?” she asked, looking over Ersikor’s shoulder.

         Ersikor bowed his head, now knowing the identity of Memnoc’s victim. Solei knew too, and tears began to trickle down her cheek. “He was so young, and training to become a knight.”

         “He would have made an honorable one, as well,” Ersikor replied, reaching out to embrace her.

         Solei drew back as she noticed the ring on his hand. “You did steal something from Memnoc after all!” The expression on her face shifted from sadness and concern to hurt and anger. “You brought this upon us!”

         “I didn’t take this ring!” Ersikor protested. “I purchased it from a young man, who seemed too eager to get rid of it.” The name eluded his memory. He wished it had been Hemdar all along. It would have made things much easier. “I’m going to find him.”

         “Who?” Solei’s voice faltered as she stifled back a sob.

         “The boy that sold me this ring,” Ersikor answered. His eyes were already focused on the inferno, which he knew he’d have to endure once again. “I have another deal to make with him.”

         The last words left a bitter taste in his mouth, but that was replaced by the sweetness of the kiss given by Solei as she pulled him close to her. “Be careful.”

         Ersikor placed his hand gently on her breast and smiled before leaving the safety of their hiding place. The street was desolate, scorched beyond recognition. Faint echoes of mourning cries and shrieks of terror could be heard. The fires still raged on, and Memnoc’s vengeful presence still lingered over Jakara.

         Drawing his sword, he slinked down the street. The air was thick with black, ashy clouds of smoke. He coughed as his lung took the air in.

         Only a day before, he had walked the same street in the opposite direction. It was a different sight now, the innocence and splendor of the town tarnished in fire and ash.

         Passing by the blacksmith shop, Ersikor noticed that it had also been destroyed. All of the equipment and wares were gone, but one item remained. The scale-plated armor that the smith was making was still intact, though lying on the floor. The smith himself was gone, either abandoning the shop or taken by the flames.

         Ersikor put on the dragon armor, and like the smith had said, it was light and not restrictive in the least. If Memnoc were to attack again, he was sure he would be protected, between the cloak and his new armor.

         Some of the nearby homes lay decimated beyond repair, but it seemed the tavern had avoided damage from the attack. On the inside, however, was a different story. The main hall had fallen into disarray. The furniture, either charred or shattered, lay strewn about the room, and the ornamental shield that once decorated the wall was melted into a mottled heap. Even the wood panels of the walls themselves had become warped.

         Hemdar was here, arguing with a cloaked figure holding a large sack. “For the last time, I don’t want any of your wares!” He dismissed the man with a wave of his hand.

         Both men looked up as Ersikor entered the room, each giving him a different expression. Hemdar sneered disdainfully, but the other, whose smiling face was now visible to Ersikor, glowed in apparent joy. “Ersikor, my favorite customer!”

         “Not only are you a thief, but you deal with shady salesman as well,” scoffed Hemdar, casting a disappearing glance in Ersikor’s direction. By now it had no effect on Ersikor, and he lightly shrugged it off.

         “I may have done business with this boy,” Ersikor retorted, putting his hand on Folcwin’s shoulder. A painful look crossed the youth’s face. “But I am no thief. I bought this ring from him, but where he acquired it I don’t know.”

         Folcwin made an attempt to slip away unseen during the dispute, but the firm hold on his shoulder kept him where he stood. His gaze shifted toward the exit and he bent his legs often, ready to take off running if the opportunity should arise.

         And Ersikor noticed this. “Our friend here seems to be worried about something. Perhaps he holds some secret.” Ersikor’s sword drifted to Folcwin’s throat. The mercenary inside was resurfacing.

         “I think we should take him to see Memnoc,” Hemdar said, jabbing Folcwin in the rib with his finger.

         As much as Ersikor hated to admit it, he knew Hemdar was right. Taking the true culprit to Mount Thrannus would prove his own innocence and save the town from further attack.

         The return trek to Mount Thrannus was easier to Ersikor, as he now knew the way to go. He knew better than to take the false shortcuts. This knowledge enabled them to make the trip in less time, a couple hours instead of an entire afternoon. Folcwin whined the entire time, clutching his pack and mourning the loss of his treasures. He seemed to care more about them than his own life.

         “Quit complaining,” Hemdar snapped as he gave the young man a slap to the back of the head. “It’s your own fault we’re in the mess.”

         Ersikor said nothing, but his sword remained unsheathed and pointing toward Folcwin.

         Once inside the lair, Hemdar pulled Folcwin aside into a dark corner of the supply room. Ersikor could hear the two speaking in hushed voices, but couldn’t discern what either was saying. Hemdar had assured him the discussion was strictly a reprimand, but something didn’t sit right with Ersikor. As they walked down the corridor toward the main chamber, doubt continued to eat at him.

         The sounds pouring from Memnoc’s chamber were more groans of pain than growls of anger. Memnoc lay on his side, inspecting the wound on his upper chest. Dristan had found a weak spot when his arrow found its mark.

         The dragon sat up and turned his neck to watch the men enter, as if he had known they were coming. His gaze gripped them as soon as their eyes met his. “You dare to come to me now, thieves!” Memnoc’s voice was like a heavy wind, deep and dominant.

         Unable to move from where he stood, Folcwin trembled, his teeth chattering.

         “Not all of us are thieves, Memnoc,” Ersikor said confidently. He stepped forward, feeling the effects of the paralyzing gaze upon him fade as he approached the dragon. He took the ring off his finger and tossed it onto a pile of treasure. “The true thief is with us, and I give him to you in plea for forgiveness.”

         Ersikor pulled on Folcwin’s arm and brought him closer to Memnoc. Folcwin sank to his knees, dropping his sack, and cowered into a ball. “I will confess,” he stammered in a whimper-like voice. “I sold him the ring, but I didn’t steal it. I bought it from someone. Really, I’ve never been here before.”

         The dragon looked Folcwin over. His nostrils puffed out wide as he pressed his long nose against the human’s chest to smell him. There was a long silent pause before Memnoc hummed in thought. “Go on with your confession, stranger.”

         “The one I bought it from was Hemdar,” Folcwin continued. “I bought all my goods from him. He never told me where he got ‘em.” He turned to point, but Hemdar was gone. And so was the sack.

         Echoes of Ersikor’s rapid breath filled the corridors as he rushed after Hemdar. His heart pounded in his chest, pumping blood heated by his anger. Not only had he been unfairly treated, but also by the one person who brought all of Jakara under terror by his malice.

         For a moment, as he passed through the supply room, he thought about the shears, and Hemdar’s head being between them. But leaving the darkness of the tunnel and stepping into the daylight, the sky made golden by the gleaming sun, the senseless rage drained from Ersikor’s body. Too many had already died; he would find justice by another means.

         Looking down the mountainside below, Ersikor noticed Hemdar’s diminutive figure scrambling along the descending path, cackling and mumbling in possible hysteria. Ersikor followed at a considerable distance; just close enough to keep an eye on him. The little man moved quickly, and there was a slight skip in his step. He looked as though he was dancing about in joyous victory over what he had accomplished.

         Suddenly, Hemdar started along one of the shortcuts that tripped up Ersikor earlier, his greed leading to imprudence, and tumbled into a deep chasm, carrying his stolen treasure into its depths. Ersikor watched as Mount Thrannus had served its justice. He peered into the chasm for some time before continuing his descent. His footsteps fell slow and hard along the rocky path as he made his way downward. As he walked, he pondered over the unexpected turn of events involving the real thief. Though he regretted leaving Folcwin in the mountain with Memnoc, he knew that the young man would make amends with the dragon in one way or another.

         Ersikor stepped through the northern gate into the town and sighed. Seeing Jakara again, even in its decimated state, was somewhat of a comfort to him. All he wanted to do was slip into Solei’s arms and drift off to sleep. With his sigh, a cloud of smoke filled his lungs and momentarily took his breath. He collapsed to the ground just inside the gate, and he let his eyes close slowly.

         He awoke in a familiar room, the one he had rented at the Fiery Flagon. A damp cloth covered his forehead, and he was stripped of his outer garments and belongings. Solei, with her usual warming smile, sat on a stool by the bedside. “You’ve been gone for hours, and I came looking for you. I thought you were dead at the gate.”

         Ersikor tried to speak, but coughed. “Hemdar was the one, but he is dead.”

         Solei listened intently as Ersikor recounted the events on Mount Thrannus, of Folcwin’s confession, and of Hemdar’s attempted escape and eventual demise. She looked into his eyes as he spoke, and when he finished she clung to him.

         There came a quick knock at the door before it was flung open, revealing Folcwin standing outside. He appeared quite stirred, but unharmed. “My master sends me here to give you this.” Reaching into his pocket, Folcwin withdrew a small burlap pouch and tossed it to Ersikor.

         Ersikor emptied the pouch into his hand and gasped, stunned by its contents. It was the ring he had bought from Folcwin, which he remembered giving back to Memnoc earlier in the day. “Tell your master that Hemdar has paid for his crime, but the treasure was lost in the chasm of Thrannus.”

         Folcwin gave Ersikor a nod before dashing out the door. It also appeared that he smiled, perhaps out of relief that the ordeal was over.

         A smile came to Ersikor’s lips as well, for he knew that Folcwin had made his amends and would be all right. He turned to Solei and handed her the ring. She looked at it oddly for a moment. “There is an inscription on the inside of the band. It says: The Heart Stone, for the bearer of true love.”

         Ersikor slid the ring onto Solei’s finger. There would be no moving on this time. Jakara would need rebuilding, and he would help, for he found his new home.