They were following a trail that seemed little more than an ancient wash in the grim and waterless mountains surrounding them. Perhaps it was a goat path, though no goats were to be seen. They had not seen another living creature since the sun rose over this accursed land. They stumbled wearily along, stones turning under their feet, slippery shale sliding away beneath them and bringing them to their knees again and again, snarling at each other, spitting curses with each breath.
"There's nothing here!" one of the kapaks growled.
"This is the way," the sivak answered in an even tone. "Krass has been here many times in the two years since we arrived on this island. Isn't that right, Krass?"
The baaz wearily nodded his head.
"I think Krass is lost," the kapak said. "Why would his lordship live out here in this barren waste, when he has all of Mount Nevermind to do with as he pleases?"
"You have answered your own question, Dreg," the sivak said. "The gnomes of Mount Nevermind give him no peace."
"Rebels?" the kapak, Dreg, asked.
"No, tinkers. They're always poking and prodding at him, trying to find out how he works. He can't kill them all. He's tried. They're worse than gully dwarves," the sivak said.
As they topped a small, razorback ridge, the baaz scout stopped and pointed into the valley on the other side. Clambering up next to him, the other draconians saw a wide, low-roofed cave yawning blackly from the opposite hillside. A tendril of oily smoke streamed from the upper lip of the opening.
"There it is," the sivak gasped while pressing a fist into his cramping side. "Pyrothraxus's lair."
They scrambled down the side of the ridge and up the opposite hillside, finally reaching the mouth of the cave just before dark. From this point, by looking south down a long valley, they could see the summit of Mount Nevermind blushed with pink from the setting sun. The long shadows of the hills had followed them down the ridge, until now they stood in a peculiar half-light, where every boulder and stone stood out in stark relief, as though cut from paper, while the entrance to the cave was a dark and misty hole, without depth.
The gleaming yellow bones of dozens upon dozens of creatures-men, beasts, gnomes, and dwarves-lay strewn about the mouth of the cave, relics of the insatiable appetite of the dragon of Mount Nevermind. Three years ago he'd come in a storm. He'd conquered the ancient mountain city of the gnomes in a single day-much to his own chagrin. Those who should have trembled in his presence instead prodded him with questions or worse. They slipped into his lair while he was sleeping and stuck him with stovepipe-sized needles attached to steam-driven syringes. They begged him to breathe fire on them so they could test their newest flame-retardant fabrics. Where was the joy in destroying creatures who cared so little for their own destruction? They, in fact, measured and recorded the manner and level of their own destruction! Such were the circumstances which drove Pyrothraxus to seek safety in a cave unworthy of his tremendous importance, a cave barely large enough to hold his beloved bed of treasure, much less his gargantuan self.
Still, the entrance to the cave was large enough to sail a ship through. As the draconians entered the cathedralsized chamber, they were awed by its size and more so by the huge gouges in the solid rock of the floor, evidence of the dragon's passing. There was little among dragonkind which could impress a draconian, but the ungodly size of Pyrothraxus, as well as that of the other new dragons from across the sea, filled them with wonder and just a little fear. They walked cautiously, reverently, holding their collective breaths, drawn by the thought of what awaited them within the cave. They stepped inside.
The dim light from the twilight outside was enough to illuminate the mountain of gold and steel that rose before them. Never in all their lives had they dreamed of such wealth. The sight of it was almost a religious experience, stirring them to the very core of their draconic souls. It rose like a great ocean wave, bearing upon its crest two entire ships! Gems gleamed like stars, in color, in light, and in countless multitudes. The wealth of half a world lay before them… unguarded!
"His lordship doesn't appear to be home," Dreg whispered with a hiss.
Before anyone could answer, there was a bone-crunching thud. Droplets spattered them. A second crunch sounded hollowly from above. Staring up, they saw a reptilian head as large as a two-masted galleon gulping down the remnants of Dreg. The three remaining draconians cowered in terror.
"Lord Pyrothraxus, we come bearing tidings from Master Iulus," the sivak hurriedly explained.
The huge head turned to gaze down upon them, its red eyes glowing like two dwarven forges. A gout of flame shot from one barrel-sized nostril, illuminating their upturned faces. The sivak, glancing around, spotted a niche in the passage, which might offer some protection.
"A kapak!" the huge dragon boomed, his voice shaking stones loose from the walls. "Kapaks give me indigestion."
One massive claw splashed ringingly in the coins nearby, followed by another. The dragon pulled itself off its ledge above the entrance to the cave and slithered down to the bed of treasure. The underbelly, passing so near and hugely round, radiated heat that dried the moisture from their mouths and eyes. Last of all came the great serpentine tail, as long again as its entire body, head, and neck. It settled onto the coins and began to bubble and purr, stoking the fires in its belly and filling the chamber with a sourceless red glow.
"What have you brought?" the dragon asked, bored.
"Tidings, O most puissant lord. Gunthar uth Wistan is dead," the sivak declared.
"Brilliant, General Zen!" Pyrothraxus roared. "Most excellent news indeed." He lifted his head and shot a victorious gout of flame splashing against the roof. Gobbets of molten rock rained down. "So the plan is proceeding?"
"He knows you, my general?" the baaz asked the sivak.
"I first negotiated with his lordship for permission to build our castle in his territory," General Zen answered. "In exchange for protecting us from the prying eyes of the south, we promised to give him the Solamnics' lands when they are won." Then to the dragon, he shouted, "Everything is ready, Your Eminence."
"It is all working out exactly as you promised, General Zen," Pyrothraxus laughed. The volume of his voice set ripples flowing through the sea of coins.
"Indeed it is, my lord Pyrothraxus. In fact-" the sivak began, but his thoughts, and the attention of the dragon, were interrupted by the chiming of a small silver bell.
"What is that noise?" Pyrothraxus asked.
The sivak cursed under his breath. "A magical device, my lord, for communicating over long distances. One of our agents in the south-"
"Answer it," Pyrothraxus demanded, the fires in his eyes flaring.
After one final moment of hesitation, Zen reached into a pouch at his belt and removed a large silver hand mirror. As he did so, it rang again, more loudly this time. He waved one clawed hand over its surface three times while fingering the strange designs carved on its handle. The reflective surface of the mirror dulled, then went black. A face appeared, hazy, almost indistinguishable.