"The Horde of Jih'Callas"

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. But one now certainly occupied the Sunset Spire, the peak that stood like a silent sentinel at the distant end of the Valley. The drake erupted from the entrance every few suns, skirted the tops of the vast forest that spread out across the lands, then returned with a beast or two for its dinner.

The Spire was the destination of three traveling dwarves, and they were tasked to trade with that particular dragon. They’d also been instructed not to fight it, as if they’d willingly attempt such a suicidal task, but instead to offer an item they’d brought, in exchange for something the dragon held in its horde.

It took the better part of a week for the trio to travel by pony Sunward to the Valley. Eventually, the three travelers turned off of the hard roadway and slipped into the woods where their map instructed them, angling up an old overgrown trail that curved until it faced directly to the Risingside. They followed the path of packed earth and thick weeds for three more suns as they passed beneath the branches of the encroaching forest, heading for the lone mountaintop that stood brooding in the distance.

On the afternoon of the third sun, they brought their ponies to a halt as the old trail died out completely at the base of a wall of stone, hard against the edge of the rocky mountain proper. The river boulders and smooth rocks that formed it were large and chosen to fit together well, yet were joined with no mortar, as if the designer merely placed them one on top of the other and expected that to be enough. The boulders were enormous and must have weighed close to ten tons each, and bore scars and deep scratches on their topsides where they had been grasped. The trail at one time might have entered the mountain here, but not in recent times, surely not since the wall was thrown up.

“Looks like we walk from here,” their leader, Draupnir Dvalin'son, said.

He gathered up a few items, mostly lengths of rope and sharp iron spikes and two waterskins, while Hobehn, a more slender dwarf, packed a single cloth-covered item carefully in his backpack. Gourndov, the elder of the three, unsaddled the mounts, piled their gear high up on the boulders, and tied off a line for the ponies. Draupnir unbelted one of his two swords and propped it against the rocks beside Gourndov, who selected a perch a few feet up on a wide boulder as far from the trees as he could get. He sat down cross-legged with a loaded crossbow on his lap and a pair of torches nearby.

Draupnir and Hobehn began climbing up a narrow alley that clung to the Settingward slope of the hill as Gourndov sent them off with a wave of his crossbow.

After working their way back and forth across the face of the mountain, Draupnir spotted a dark opening high up on the face they maneuvered on, and they aimed for that almost inaccessible black spot. It was past midsun when they hauled themselves into the great open cavity that was the mouth of the dragon’s cave. From the looks of it, it appeared for all the Land like any other cave, except for the large deep scars across the open floor.

Draupnir peered deeper at the scars. They were definitely made by a dragon, a big one, taking off and grinding to a stop here. And that dragon lay ahead, somewhere deeper in the cavern. His darksight told him little more, only that the cave, about ten paces wide, continued unobstructed far back into the mountainside.

Hobehn stood perilously close to the cliff’s edge, facing the woods far below. His nostrils flared as he picked up the heady smells from dozens of creatures, and the perfume that sailed up from the blossoms of thousands of trees and flowers. The odor from the dragon deeper in the cave wafted out to him as well, though the breeze here carried it mostly away from him. Hobehn stood and stared with unseeing eyes to the Sunward, and asked Draupnir in a quiet voice, “What’s it like to be able to see a great distance?”

Draupnir paused. “Well, it’s like...it’s like you could put your hands out and feel the trees away down in the forest, despite the distance. You can see the haze in the air ‘tween here and far, and the wind as it rolls through the treetops. Remember that hard road we were on before we entered the woods? I can see it right down there running Sunward to the sea.” He tried to express how wonderfully satisfying a view like this was. “You almost feel like you could fly right over the tops of the branches and soar above them like a hawk, and return right here when you finished.”

“Exactly how I feel,” said a low rumbling voice behind them.

Draupnir froze. His only movement was sliding his eyes sideways just enough to watch Hobehn’s fingertips splay outward, readying to catch himself should he be pushed.

The rumbling voice behind them continued, “It’s not just that you can see a long way, half-man. You can see when someone’s approaching, and you can prepare for them. Height provides an advantage that you can only dream of.”

As soon as the words ended, the two dwarves turned slowly about in unison. Behind them was the giant scaled head of a dragon wider than they were tall, with a body that filled the cavern from side to side and disappeared off into the tunnel beyond. His eyes were glittering blue diamonds, bright with intelligence and twinkling with mischief. The plates that formed his skin shifted from deep blue to aquamarine as he breathed, their radiance catching the high sun and throwing back sparkling azure reflections. His teeth were straight and pure white, and fit together perfectly when his mouth closed. His forehead displayed a crest of cerulean ridges that, when his eyelids opened and closed, roiled like great ocean waves, while a full set of blue-to-white spikes ran across his brow and down his back. But the most amazing feature was the glowing blue ember that lay back in his throat, pulsing when he spoke, the source of his burning-cold breath and, when angered, a chilling cone of frost that froze opponents ice-solid dead.

The dragon bowed his head somewhat formally. “My name is Jih’Callas, Sovereign of the Ebony Woods and Master of the Sunset Spire. Pardon my little attempt to throw a scare into you.” He raised himself up to his full height there on the open platform of the cave mouth, stretching his wings wide and flapping them twice before refolding them across his back. “My one bad habit, sneaking up on people and frightening them. You’d think I’d have outgrown it by now.” A long rolling rumble emanated from deep in the dragon’s belly, possibly a laugh, or a reminder of an overdue meal.

Draupnir swallowed, looked back at the edge he and Hobehn were much to close to, then bravely spoke up.

“I am Draupnir son of Dvalin, leader of the Iron House, and Defender of the Mines of Mohrkronin. And this is—”

“I used to like dealing with you dwarves,” the dragon interrupted, “before your trading died off. What happened? Better prices from another dragon?”

“No sir, we—we lost the Mines. Got overrun some years back by an invasion o’ goblins.”

“Ahhh, goblins,” Jih’Callas said, lowering his bulk down with a reverberating thump to the cave floor. He wrinkled his mouth in an obvious sign of distaste. “All green skin and gristle, and bad attitudes to match. I don’t relish goblins too much.” He chuckled, and his long blue upper lip curled away from his teeth in a slow smile. “Bad for my digestion.”

Draupnir couldn’t quite tell if he was being toyed with, but Hobehn knew better. He sensed from the dragon’s tone that they were being measured, and decided it was time to introduce a little levity on their side of the negotiations.

“Oh, great Jih’Callas,” he intoned in mock seriousness, “your Eminence is much too powerful to bother with digesting the likes of two such unpalatable creatures as ourselves.” He embellished his words with a flourish of his gloves, bowing at the waist and cavorting about dangerously close to the cave ledge. “Still, if you have the briefest of moments to spare for us, we have a small boon to ask of your mighty self.”

The dragon looked over at Draupnir and tossed his spiked head back at Hobehn. “I like him. Is he with you?”

“Yes, great Jih’Callas, his name is—”

“Hobehn of the Seven Senses,” Hobehn interjected, “Master of the Teleporting Hand, and Lord of all I survey.” He straightened back up and winked in Draupnir’s direction.

The dragon lowered his head right down to their chest. “So, half-men, what is it you want from me? On a sacrificial pilgrimage to meet your God, is it? Want to join up with old Beerbreath on the heels of a dragon-fry? Well, I can surely accommodate you on that level.” Jih’Callas began sucking in a tremendous lungful of air, drawing up dust and pulling their cloaks forward with the force of his inhalation.

“No no no no!” Draupnir yelled as fast as he could, his hands held up in front of his face in a feeble attempt to ward off the impending blast of icy death. “We want to trade with you!” His head was thrown back and his eyes were squeezed shut. He counted two, three heartbeats and thought he might just survive the next few moments.

Jih’Callas crouched there with his huge head pulled back in preparation to exhale, his scaly cheeks puffed out with his held breath. He squeezed out the words from one small corner of his mouth. ”Trade, eh? Don’t wanna die?”

“No,” Hobehn replied airily, “if it wouldn’t spoil your plans and all.”

“Don’t want a free ride to dwarf heaven?”

“Not just yet,” Draupnir added cautiously.

“Oh, alright then,” Jih’Callas said, exhaling his pent-up breath over their heads. The gust blew icy-cold above them, and little clouds of snowflakes drifted down to melt upon their heads and shoulders. “Trade, you say? And just what of yours would I possibly have the slightest interest in?”

Hobehn slid his left hand into his backpack and extracted an intricately carved silver candelabra. With a wave of his right hand, the seven braziers lit themselves with a warming flame, each pillar a different hue, as if a living rainbow had been released from within. The flames sung with a hypnotic choir, unlocking buried memories in the listener’s ears. Draupnir was immediately touched by their magical beauty, and felt a sudden surprising sorrow that they’d have to part with it.

Jih’Callas smiled a toothy grin. “Nice little item you’ve got there. Made it yourself?”

“Oh, no,” Hobehn said, twirling the candelabra slightly, which caused the flames to dance and spin. “Found it lying around.”

“I’ll bet,” the dragon said drily. “Well, if you’ve come all this way to trade, you'd best follow me.”

He swung about and swished his great tail close by the front of their faces, nearly brushing them off the cliff face to tumble down the bright hillside. Jih'Callas paused and turned his face back around. “And don’t go picking up anything you don’t intend trading for. Understand me, Master of the Teleporting Hand?”

“Lead on, Great Jih’Callas. I will hold myself to the same high honor I’ve maintained throughout my life.”

Jih’Callas turned again and lumbered off into the cave, an echoed laugh and a comment about “Master of the Teleporting Hand! That’s a new one!” drifting back to them.

Draupnir bent down to hastily gather together their rope and gear as Hobehn extinguished the candelabra with a snap of his fingers. Draupnir looked up at the now quiescent item. “You’re quite handy with that thing all of a sudden. When did you plan on telling me you’d learned how to turn it on?”

“Oh, some sun or another,” Hobehn responded, “but we’ve been kind of busy. You know how it is.” He tossed a thumb at the receding mass of Jih’Callas rolling back in the cave. “Think he cares that I’m a thief?”

Draupnir swiveled his head slowly from side to side. “Nah. Doesn't bother him a bit.”

The darkness quickly enveloped them as they followed Jih’Callas further away from the cave mouth. Draupnir’s darksight showed him the smooth walls of an ancient lava tube that must have spewed out across the mountainside eons ago. Every so often, a side tunnel branched off, but only the larger ones, big enough for the dragon’s bulk, remained open. The smaller ones were walled up in the same fashion as the trailhead down below, with giant boulders packed tight. There was no doubt now who’d blocked the lower entrance.

They continued further in, took a hard right at one intersection, and travelled a gently sloping path downward. They curved to the left and passed one opening that led into a room that was stacked full of skeletons, one piled on top of another. Many of them were so old that nothing was left but their bones and the armor that encased them, though a few were fresh enough to still have bits of leather and clothing attached to them. They seemed to be human remains from their size, but he did notice smaller ones here and there. He held his breath as they passed and said nothing to Hobehn, though after a few paces the thinner dwarf spoke up.

“Guess a lot of fellows must have wanted a look at what we’re about to see.” He laughed a short laugh. “I use the word ‘see’ figuratively, of course.”

They continued on in silence through three more tunnels, Hobehn tapping his staff the entire way. He made a mental map of everything they passed, and sensed that they had actually taken a more circuitous route than was needed. Most likely, the dragon had intended they notice his ‘storeroom’ of dead adventurers.

The hallway dropped down again and levelled out, then met a hewn hallway of possibly dwarven construction. The wide walls were buttressed with marble and other rare stones, and ran directly into a larger room at its end. And as they passed under the high carved lintel at the hallway’s end, they stopped and stared in wide amazement.

Actually, Draupnir stared. Hobehn listened to the echo of the great room as Jih’Callas settled his bulk in the very center on a massive pile of gems, jewels, and jewelry. The roof, the blind dwarf estimated, must rise forty feet at least, and the walls to the left and right held alcoves that each seemed to be room-sized in breadth. The far wall was distant enough that he would have to walk it out for himself to be sure, but he estimated it to be several hundred paces away.

Jih’Callas reclined on a hill made of every shining gem and jewel a dwarf could name. Sapphires as big as shields, emeralds of hundreds of hues, diamonds both faceted and uncut, lay piled to a height fully four or five dwarves high. Here and there, necklaces covered with gold and expensive decoration glistened, as well as rings and bracelets and tiaras. He stared at one crown that could have bought every dwarf in the Land an ale, so fine and rich were its adornments. Thousands upon thousands of gold coins lay intermixed, not a copper or silver among them. And the topmost layer was made entirely of blue sapphires and emeralds and amethysts, some of which clung to the dragon’s softer belly scales like a surcoat of deepest cobalt.

Not a weapon nor piece of armor lay in that magnificent bed. Jih’Callas (or someone else) had gathered them all up and set them on display along the right and left walls. Long rows of broadswords and great two-handers lay in ranks along the left, opposed by halberds and other gem-encrusted pole arms along the right. Their points had been rammed into the floor, and small cracks shown in the stone at their meeting point.

In the alcoves behind them were suits of incredible value. Full sets of plate armor stood tall, propped by ingenious crossed weapons fused together and braced under their arm sockets. Chain hauberks were displayed further back, though most of these were the bright Elven chain, extremely rare and precious because mages (it was said) could wear them and still cast spells. A few chain shirts were fashioned of an even brighter silvery metal and sparkled like the sun. Draupnir identified their metal as mithril, the work of the greatest of the dwarven metalsmiths, and older than any he’d ever seen, except for those in his own mine’s Great Hall.

The right side held stacks of wands, staves, and rods, with gems at their heads and bands of decorative metal around their lengths. Lances leaned against the walls there, and at the tip of each one sat a helmet, many gilded with the same metal as the grip and ornamentation of the lance itself.

Along the back of the hall, stretching past the limits of his darksight, were boxes and crates of every shape and size, as well as woven baskets encasing jugs, and heaps of metal and glass flasks. This was certainly the greatest treasure-trove any dwarf had ever seen! Even the most legendary dwarven rulers never amassed a collection such as this.

Jih’Callas rolled onto one side and lifted a front leg until it pointed at the ceiling high above. “Approve of my modest collection?”

“Splendid. Truly remarkable,” Draupnir said in a voice that echoed weakly in the great space.

“Yes, well, I daresay you two are the first adventurers to walk in with permission. I expect that means you’ll also be the first to walk out as well.” The dragon rolled back down to his feet and tucked them under his body, then dropped his head down to his front feet. “You there, Hobehn. Teleport the candelabra over to that chest there.”

Hobehn bowed and carried the silver icon gingerly to his right, prodding carefully with his staff to avoid clumps of gems and coins that trickled down from the main cache. He located a small, lacquered chest near the foothills of the treasure pile, set the candelabra down and lit it with a wave of his right hand. He backed away the direction he’d come, without using his staff and without stepping on a single coin.

“So, half-men, what is it that you’re looking for?”

“Actually, great Jih’Callas,” Hobehn said with honest deference, “we’re interested in a brass chest with three locks. And we don’t even need the whole chest’s contents, just what’s in the very bottom. If it please you, sir.”

“Very well, Master of the Seven Senses. I keep all the chests of value behind me. Many of them have not been opened in a long time.” He swiveled a long claw-tipped finger and pointed at a spot behind him on his right. “I know I have at least one brass chest back there, but with only two locks on it. You may look at it if you like. But bring it forward before you open it, please.”

The two dwarves again bowed together, and Draupnir glanced over at Hobehn and wondered how he knew exactly when to bow.

They walked off cautiously, skirting the great mound of treasure, and working their way towards where Jih’Callas had pointed.

At the end of one wide row, after they’d passed by dozens of chests and boxes all locked tight, they spied one dully-gleaming yellow box at the bottom of a stack four high. The front was closed with two stout brass bands, and each was clasped shut with a matching brass lock. Draupnir licked his finger and touched the dull metal and retouched his tongue. “Brass it is,” he told Hobehn. “But like he said, there’s only two locks. And there’s not another one like it anywhere else.”

“Let’s bring it,” Hobehn decided after a brief hesitation. “Perhaps we’ll discover another lock when we inspect it fully.”

They worked to remove the other chests above it, unpiling them and gingerly restacking them in the wide lane behind them. Draupnir pointed out that a handle was bolted onto the left and right sides of the brass chest. They picked up a handle each and hefted its weight between them, walking duck-like back to the treasure mound in front of Jih’Callas.

“Ahhh, that one. It’s been back there for quite some time.” The dragon lay his head onto his hands and eyed them through narrow slits. “I’d like to tell you you’ve made a wise decision, but frankly, I was never able to open it.”

Hobehn heard little of Jih’Callas’ comments as he knelt in front of the chest. Removing his backpack and laying it on the floor beside him, he blew the air from his nostrils to clear his nose, then sniffed deeply at the lock on the left, then repeated the series with the lock on the right. He swept his hands across the extremity of the chest, around the sides and back, then lastly over the top. He had Draupnir pick up one end as he continued his inspection underneath. He spent several more moments prodding and poking the locks, the edges, and the fittings themselves before turning his face up to Draupnir’s and saying resignedly, “This chest has only two locks.”

Draupnir placed his bearded chin in his hand and held his elbow with his other hand. He stood there for a time staring at the chest before he slowly said, “Maybe the other lock is on the inside?”

Hobehn smiled widely and shot a finger back up at Draupnir. “Maybe you’re right!”

He dug in his backpack and produced a thin bundle wrapped in an oiled cloth. He lay it on the ground and unrolled it, and a collection of thieves’ tools and picklocks sprang into sight. With his head still facing the chest, his hands chose two thin metal prods, which he manipulated into the lock on the left.

Draupnir watched closely as Hobehn fiddled with the lock. He’d rarely been this close to a thief as he performed his risky duties, preferring (like most experienced adventurers) to stand a good distance back, in case of an explosive trap. He spoke softly to the thief, so as not to disturb him. “Do you expect this to take—”

A snap and an audible ping rang from the lock as Hobehn finished Draupnir’s sentence. “Long? No, not these. I’ve done their kind a hundred times before.” He shifted to work on the right one, and shortly, that one also sprang open with a click and a ping.

Jih’Callas grunted. “Good thing you were invited.”

Hobehn nodded briefly at the comment, then laid the two locks on the floor in front of their hasps. He touched each hasp carefully before folding them upwards, then ran his fingers along the entire lip of the lid. Satisfied there were no obvious traps, he shot a comment to Draupnir as he grasped the lid in both hands. “Hold onto your sword.”

Hobehn’s muscles bulged as he attempted to lift the lid, but the chest remained closed. Puzzled, he tried again and only succeeded in raising the front of the chest half way off the ground. “Well, this is different,” he said through gritted teeth, as he tried a third time, with no success. He selected a long, paper-thin metal tool, and tried to insert it into the crevice where the lid met the box, but it wouldn't enter more than a hair’s width.

Scratching his head, Hobehn sat back on his haunches as Jih’Callas leaned back himself. “Same problem I had. Fool thing refused to budge. Couldn’t open it no matter how I wished.”

Hobehn’s head twisted to the side quickly, then he aimed his unseeing eyes up at the dragon’s head hovering beside him. He smiled and opened his mouth for a moment, then nonchalantly said, “I wish this chest were open.” With an audible ca-ching, the chest lid popped up a fraction of an inch. Hobehn smiled broadly and shrugged his shoulders as he turned back to the chest.

“Well, tan my hide and use it for a shield, but I never tried anything as simple as that,” Jih’Callas said with serious chagrin.

“You’ve never been as motivated as we are,” Draupnir replied.

Hobehn swung the lid open and then did a double-take upon feeling the contents of the chest. Crammed to the top, still retaining the shape of the inside of the lid, were dozens of neatly folded robes. Purple ones, green ones, embroidered ones, dyed ones. Hobehn gently touched the top robe and felt under it, pulling out the edge of an expensive blue silk cloak. “I trust this’d look mighty nice hanging off a pair of strong dwarven shoulders. Does the color go with Gourndov’s armor?”

Draupnir scowled and began carefully pulling out the folded cloaks and robes, laying them neatly on the floor beside the chest. He got to the bottom quickly then looked about in consternation. “There’s nothing else here.”

“Don’t have much need for cloth,” Jih’Callas intoned in his deep voice. “Doesn’t hold its value as well as hard currency.”

Draupnir felt with his hands around the inside of the chest walls, then along the bottom. Nothing! The chest was empty!

As Draupnir sat back in consternation, Hobehn leaned forward. “Lemme give it a try.”

He lowered his bare hands down into the chest and softly moved them across the inside walls. He stopped as soon as his uncovered fingers touched the empty chest floor. “There’s magic here,” he said, “powerful magic.” He thrust his right hand roughly into the bottom, and as Draupnir watched in amazement, Hobehn’s arm disappeared up to his elbow. Hobehn saw none of this, only felt his hand and forearm push past what felt like a membranous wall, then enter into a cool open space. He called up to Draupnir as he fished his hand around in the obviously extradimensional space, “And just what are we supposed to find here?”

“I have no idea,” Draupnir said back, “only that once we found the chest, we were to search until we found nothing, then look some more.”

“Sounds like the words of an old illusionist safe in the privacy of his —” Hobehn stopped short and his arm froze. “Got something,” he said softly.

He slowly withdrew his arm from the chest. He held a brass arm band, thickly molded and designed in the style of bracers, made to encompass an entire forearm from elbow to wrist. This one was forged to look like it had been woven from strands of thick leather, and might have been painted to look indistinguishable from one created that way. He held it up for Draupnir’s inspection. “You think this is what we’ve come for?”

Draupnir examined it closely. Even his inexpert fingers felt the power in the bracer as he turned it over in front of his eyes. It was molded to fit a thick human right arm, but he knew from experience that many magic items adjusted themselves to the size of their owner. Rings, bracers and sometimes even full suits of armor would magically conform perfectly to the wearer’s dimensions. The metal shone dully in the reflected light from the room, yet the pulsing energy he felt in his fingertips emitted no visible light. Draupnir held the bracer tightly in both hands. “I think this is it.”

Hobehn nodded and returned to fish in the extradimensional space. He stopped suddenly, felt quickly with his fingers, and drew up another bracer, identical to the first. He handed it up to Draupnir as he said, “At least we have a matching pair.”

“I doubt that.” Draupnir held the pair up in front of Hobehn’s fingers so that the blind dwarf could run his digits carefully along both at the same time. The curve of the bracers was identical. Just as he was about to comment, Draupnir spoke the words for him. “They’re both made for a right arm.”

“Fascinating!” the dragon exclaimed earnestly.

Draupnir watched closely as Hobehn pushed his entire arm into the chest’s invisible hiding place, rummaging so deeply that Draupnir felt compelled to grab his shoulder and hold on, lest he fall in and disappear. Hobehn refused to give up and presently exhaled in triumph as he withdrew a third bracer, exactly the same size and bend as the first two. Hobehn went back to rummage further, and after a few more moments, sat back on his heels. “I daresay that’s all that’s ever going to be found in there.”

Draupnir pulled a sack from his own backpack and began to place the bracers inside, then stopped and held the three up for Jih’Callas’ inspection. The dragon craned his huge head and long neck down to look at the matching dull brass bracers, sniffed an icy cold breath and then pulled his head back. “They’re not my style. Not glittery enough. But take them in trade, brave half-men, and go with my blessing. And when next you have a wondrous item like this,” he said as one long dexterous hand reached down to retrieve the burning candelabra, “please do come a-calling. But knock first.”

The great dragon rolled over on his back and played with the candelabra held high over his head, dousing the magic flames and relighting them over and over again.