The Cave Part 17

"You need not be afraid of me," spoke the dragon in its deep voice that I so well recognized from the earlier conversations in the darkness. "Now you must understand that I sent you to my old friend Tharkin, and he has sent you back to me."

"He-he knew you were a dragon all along then?" I almost squeaked, unable to keep the tremble from my voice.

"Of course," confirmed Garthax calmly, "he has been my companion through many adventures. He was my first and only dragon rider, and many were the deeds that we accomplished in ages past."

I was stunned. Part of me guessed that these two were friends, possibly even had a past, but I would never have imagined the old hermit as a rider, carrying a great spear into battle atop a winged juggernaut of death. Further, when had this been? No matter how far back in my mind I tried to search, I could recall no such tales about these two. I knew that dragon riders where a thing, but it had become a mythic concept, something left to stories of other ages.

"I am thousands of years old, and Tharkin Shiverspear joined me centuries before you were born," continued the dragon. "We made a warrior's bond and pledge, which joined us for life and death. Not one without the other. Dragon enchantment accomplishes it. When I have finally returned to the crystal elements from which I was formed, he too shall make the final journey beyond this mortal plane."

"You are dying?" I asked after a long moment, realization coming upon me. Suddenly Tharkin's comment on dying for a long time, made sense now as I recalled it. This is what he meant. I had thought he spoke of just getting older, but he had literally meant that both he and his dragon were passing together.

"Everything does, child."

The dragon's great head came down on the long sinuous neck, stopping at my level so that at a simple turn, Gathrax's great right eye was looking straight at me. The glowing orb was twice as big as my own head, and his mouth could have swallowed ten of me in a row without filling. It was hard not to tremble in his presence. Now I understood the need of the shrouding magic of darkness that had been employed before to spare my fragile recovering mind. Apparently, I was deemed strong enough now to know the truth, and that both encouraged and worried me.

"But now, let us speak of the things that most specifically concern your immediate future. You are on your way to Vinesburg. Both Tharkin and I have agreed that this is the best place for you to begin your journeys. Before you leave the mountains, there is a tribe of goblin folk whom pay me homage living along the road you will travel. I wish you to stop and speak with them. I have heard through dream wandering that they are afraid of a nameless evil that threatens them. I task you with discovering what this is, and putting an end to it."

"You have followers?" I asked, interrupting the dragon, which a moment later I cringed in my boots because I had.

"Every dragon who has lived long enough to frighten folk, gathers followers to themselves," replied Garthax without a flicker of anger at my indiscretion. "If you travel far enough over this world, you may meet others of my kind both good and evil, and you will always have to keep in mind that they will have gathered people, weapons and spells about themselves."

"Am I one of your weapons?" I asked, beginning to sense the dragon wanted a frank conversation with me. Of all the tales I had heard, dragons often spoke in treacherously convoluted words, trying to obscure their plain meaning and entrap those with whom they spoke. However I found that Garthax had been direct and almost encouraging me to speak my mind and ask questions.

"I have amassed much power over my long life, and in these mountains I hold sway, though my body is slowly becoming one with the earth again. Turning to you as my agent in this matter, I would not call you a weapon, but an emissary. This will be a very good experience for you. It will help you to grow into what you shall become."

"And what is that?"

"You must discover that for yourself."

"Very well, you spared me the first time I came here and when my adventuring associates left me for dead. I will see what is disturbing this goblin tribe."

"Excellent," replied Garthax, stretching his body and rising to his feet. The ground shook, and I feared there would be falling rocks, but the ceiling held firm. Though becoming a cobalt colored crystal form, his body still worked as if it were flesh, and I could see why he had earned the name of Cobalt Death. Now, more so than before, he looked the image of his name.

Beneath the great creature, piles of gold and silver spread in a splendid bed of riches, filled with flashing white and blue gems. Right beneath the dragon, where his chest had lain, was a sword buried horizontally in a furrow of the treasure, as if kept as close as possible to his heart. The silver pommel of the weapon flashed brightly in the light of my staff, interrupted only by a dark purple leather grip. The scabbard was black and unadorned, almost as if the maker had wished the blade to pass without comment to the casual eye. However, immediately I felt there was something far more important about this blade.

"Take this child," instructed the dragon, knowing well what I was staring at. "You will have need of a means of defense upon which you can rely."

"But I have never used a sword before in my life," said I, though daggers were not really so far off. Possibly I was just afraid to walk under the dragon.

"Then you must learn, child," said he, still fixing me with his powerful gaze.

There was nothing to do but obey and retrieve the sword. I made my way hesitantly under this creature that so towered above me, I had to bend over backwards to see his head against the ceiling of the cave. Kneeling down, I reverently picked up the blade and backed away to the stone where I had sat, not daring to touch anything else, not a coin or a gem.

"This blade was made by five smiths when I was young, a time when great distrust had not split races in the way evil deeds since then have done," said Garthax. "An elf, a man, an orc, a goblin, and a dwarf smith each contributed to the forging, creating a blade of the finest bond that nothing can break it. A dragon brought the intense fire that alloyed this work, and a high mage bound the grip that keeps the blade from slipping easily away. Finally a priest blessed this weapon to serve those that serve the Maker. The blade has no name, but many great deeds to its history. I have waited long to find the right person with whom to entrust this, and that is you Cairandawyn."

I sat down, the staff leaning against my shoulder, while I held the sword with both hands, still unsheathed. I could not imagine how incredible this thing was, so old, so rich in a history of once unified commitment. This treasure was proof that peace and cooperation was more than obtainable. I wanted to know so much more about that time, and the smiths who had made it. I wanted to know why of all people, the dragon would give it to me.

"Another time, I will tell you more, child. Now, you must gird yourself for the journey and begin your work."