Torch

It wasn't the first time Hodges was glad that the scarves Shula had enchanted were still working. The imperial had passed only weeks ago, but their enchantments had worn out many times more quickly than this. He sat, as always, atop Torch's head. Behind them, Ink and Drusilla trailed, quietly conversing in coatl.

They were heading deeper than many of them had dared venture before. Sixten, one of the more sensitive among the Oakrest Hunters, had marked a space beyond which he did not dare to travel. And it was only by firelight and Ink's dim light magic that they were not stumbling blindly through the winding paths.

Hodges sorted through his gear again, hearing his father remind him one could never be too thorough. The vials of sprouted vines were still tucked neatly within his bag. A blessing, really, as he and Torch were both nature dragons, and no roots from the desert above drove this deeply within the earth.

It was cold down here, but not perternaturally so. The group traveled with the ease of those who know themselves safe.

They stopped to rest several times at supply caches that had been set up along their route in preparation for this journey. They had already been gone for days, and they may well be gone for weeks or months. No one knew quite how deeply the trouble lay, but each of them knew they would die to protect their clan if that were necessary.

After a final rest, the four found Sixten's wards. Drusilla inspected them, the stone-etched runes shimmering in the dim light like the crystals within geodes. "He went no farther," she said. "Be alert."

Then, she carved another rune, and the wall that errupted behind them was visible for only a moment before it faded in the darkness.

The group, secure in the knowledge that whatever Sixten had sensed would not be able to broach Drusilla's wall, continued. It was a long hike before Hodges patted Torch on the forehead. "I feel it," he said as quietly as he could.

They were silent for a time before Ink spoke up, her common deeply accented. "As do I," she said.

The silent air grew oppressive and heavy. The blackness grew so cold it felt it might shatter the marrow in Hodge's bones. And far ahead, a single light burst into radient existence.

A low, soft laugh, like scree bouncing down the mountainside, echoed through the tunnels towards them.

"Speaking my language," Torch said, squaring his shoulders and striding forwards.

"Caution," Ink advised. "We don't know what it is."

Drusilla swept ahead, her nimble fingers and quick eyes investigating the land for runes and other traps. And by the time Torch's lumbering gait approached, Drusilla's work was already done, and the path was clear.

They paused at the edge of the light. It was clear from here that the source was a greenish flame set upon a stand deep within the chamber ahead. Hodges uncorked a vine and let it fall to the earth below. There, Torch's magic let it grow rapidly, sweeping towards the greenish light.

And when it touched it, it curled upon itself. As Torch encouraged it further, the vine progressed, but it was clear the little plant was enfeebled. The laugh struck again.

"Why don't you come in, young ones?" a voice hissed through the air. It twisted and hissed like smoke upon the breeze. And it was only after that Hodges noticed that the words spoken were not the same common that they spoke today. Some spell had twisted the spoken words so they could understand them.

Ink stepped forward and cast a magic bolt of light at the ensconced green flame. The light source flickered, then went out. Ink shot another bolt of light, this time towards the ceiling, and let it burst and shine like a chandelier.

"It should be safer now," she whispered.

The laugh again. "I grow tired of waiting, little ones. Let us begin our game."

Torch stomped his feet hard to settle them more surely in his gauntlets. "Let's go," he muttered, and the rest of them nodded in silent agreement.

Hodges took flight above his friend, and the two coatls sped in like lizards to the safety of a crevice. Torch himself charged in, and Hodges hurled several more vines to coat the floor.

"Only the four of you?" The owner of the voice was visible at last. An ancient creature, fleshless with a mouth like knives, sat enthroned upon a dais. At his feet, the skeletal remains of some unfortunate dragon had been crushed to powder beneath enormous feet that looked an awful lot like Torch's.

"Four's plenty," Torch snarled, and he charged.

The ancient creature laughed, and while Drusilla and Ink worked magic from the back and Torch soaked what got through the walls, Hodges cast his gaze upon the monstrous being. He could see the Shade struck through its mortal remains, preserved against time by the infernal pact that had been struck.

And he knew, suddenly, that there was nothing here that would destroy this creature. Hodges drew the vines up, trying to bind it. They took purchase, and for a moment it seemed to work.

Torch drew close enough to clamp his flame-blessed jaws upon the fiend, and all it did was laugh. The vines started to wither as they touched the fiend's flesh.

Torch drew away with a maw full of papery flesh. He spat it to the ground before rearing up to strike with his mighty claws. And though the blow landed upon this being of dust and whispers, the bones beneath it seemed to coalesce and heal whatever chunk Torch had taken from its form.

The being laughed harder and deeper. "Very good, young ones," it snarled. "But now it's my turn!"

It chanted in a tongue Hodges had never known before, and from the earth a howl erupted. Then, an enormous wyrm flashed forwards from the stone beneath their feet. Its narrow face ended in a piglike snout, and eyes like blue flames erupted into terrifying life. It howled again, and the bones that made up its body shook loose to reveal a phantasmal form.

It plowed into Torch, who stumbled hard before the fiend. Then it turned towards Ink, but Drusilla's wards glowed brightly before flickering out as the beast thrashed against it.

Torch drew to his feet, and Hodges swept down. "We should withdraw," Hodges shouted over the din as the phantasm thrashed towards the coatls. "We need to regroup!"

Torch glanced at his friends, then nodded. "I'll hold him. The three of you, back to the tunnels!"

Hodges took flight again as Torch once more charged the fiend, who only laughed again. Hodges hurried to the coatls. "We have to withdraw. Back to the tunnels!" he shouted, waving them towards the way they had come.

"Let it hunt you there!" the fiend spat, and a blackened sphere began to form between the fiend's wings. "But not before I take this one to nourish my form!"

Hodges saw it coming. He did the only thing he knew to do. He hurled the vines beneath Torch and shoved him out of the way.

The blackened bolt passed over the snapper's prone body. And it struck Hodges in the chest.

For a moment, everything felt like ice. He coughed hard as his fragile body struck the earth.

He saw his friends turn towards him, horror on their faces. And he reached up a hand that swiftly turned to ash.

And for a moment - just once - he heard Shula's voice echo through his head. "Not this time, friend. Not today."

And in a puff of wind, he was nothing.

Time passed like the ringing in his ears. Then, as if he had fallen from the Behemoth itself, he struck the earth one final time, his body whole and the wind forced from his lungs. An arcane sigil of teleportation still faded on the earth beneath him, and it took some time to get his wind again.

And when he could at last stand and take his bearings he realized: he had no idea where he was at all.

In the last week, Agrippa had seen all manner of trouble at the gates to Cairnstone. Troubling spirits and foul energies had rallied the Hunters and the Stonetouched to the enormous carved doors in an effort to keep the Citadel safe. The other Hunters had been recalled, but Torch, Ink, Drusilla, and Hodges were still deep inside the tombs. All anyone could do was hope they'd make it safely back to the Citadel before things got real bad in there.

Every morning, Butternut or Copperlight came by the tombs to see how things were holding up. And every morning, Agrippa gave the report - bad, but not real bad. They'd seen worse before.

And in the evenings, one of the other Hunters took over the watchdog post so Agrippa could get some sleep and spend some time with his mate, Camille, and attend to their nest of three. It was an exhausting set of days, but Agrippa wouldn't trade it - not when he looked in Camille's eyes and saw the softness, and not when he looked over their children together and saw all of their potentials.

He was on watch again when the rumbling started. Curious, as he had always been, he looked inside the doorway to Cairnstone and saw the phantasmal wyrm rearing and breaching up from the stonework and into the air before slamming back down, howling and shrieking. Ahead of it, just barely, was Torch - the embers of his enchantments practically dead, with Ink slung over his shoulder and Drusilla leaping ahead towards the doors.

The runemaker quickly arrived at the Citadel side of the doorway, her claws making quick work with what ink she had remaining. Meanwhile, Torch expertly dodged the clumsy attacks of the half-bone, half-dust wyrm that slammed again and again into the earth.

Agrippa watched Drusilla for a long moment, then remembered his duties and rang the evacuation bell. Better safe than sorry. The Hunters hurried to the gates, each one of them watching in horror as the wyrm finally got a lucky hit on Torch, and both he and Ink went sprawling.

Sterling pushed forward, as if to cross the line into Cairnstone, but Sixten held him back. "Don't," he said. "Dru needs to finish the wall. For all our sakes."

The tension soaked into the group. All of these brave, talented individuals, and none of them could fight that thing. They watched together in agonized silence as Torch scurried to put his own body as a shield between Ink's limp form and the towering wyrm.

It was then that Copperlight arrived, massive and steady as the earth he stood on. He looked over the situation, took inventory, then asked the question no one had dared ask. "Where's Hodges?"

Drusilla's claws went still for a long moment as she tried to keep her tears inside. Then, knowing the work was still more important than any of them, she scrawled more runes to cover the lintel. She couldn't or wouldn't speak.

Paige looked at Sterling first, then Sixten. "My body will disrupt the runes," she said, "but will my magic?"

Sixten stared her down, then looked up to Drusilla. "What do you think, Dru? Can we let a little light pass over your work?"

Her breath came out as a shudder, but she nodded. "I'll leave space," she said.

Paige nodded to Sterling, and the rest of the hunters gave them space as they mounted an attack on the wyrm. Bolt after bolt of blinding sunlight seared through the darkness, and the wyrm turned on them at last.

"Let's go, Torch!" Agrippa shouted. And the snapper quickly snatched up his fallen comrade and bolted towards the doorway.

He raced beneath the thrashing wyrm, and as he crossed the threshold, Drusilla sealed the last rune around the lintel. A wall of pale red errupted, and Copperlight turned to Agrippa. "Close them," he said. Then, "The rest of you, to your stations. We defend our civilians first, our comrades second. The oaks still stand strong, and so too shall we."

The others dispersed, and Agrippa stared at the enormous doors, closed for the first time in his memory. From within, the horrible shrieks of the wyrm and the distant thud of its impacts on the stones were still audible through the heavy stone doors. Agrippa stared at it in fear, then slowly backed away.

A thought struck him, horrible and distressing, and his frills snapped back in revulsion. "Camille," he hissed. His beautiful mate, one of the few imperials in Oakrest's citadel - if something like this got a hold of her, then there was nothing even the most talented Hunters could do against an emperor.

He hurried towards the docks, as it was the only place he knew she might be found.