Treasure Chest

 

"I told you the map was worth it," Farsinger had declared as the hilltop castle had come into view.

"It will only be worth it if we find the chest."

Ritter and Farsinger explored outside the ruins for most of two days. Strangely, there was no village or ruins of a village in the area. Most castles had a town nearby for farmers and craftsmen to raise a family.

Most disturbing of all, there seemed to be no way into the fortress.

Farsinger had flown all around and through the ancient castle. "There are no gates for those on two legs or four. But I think you can work your way up an old stairway on the other side."

"How did they resupply the fortress without gates for the wagons?" he wondered out loud.

Ritter had spent most of another day huddled in a partly-roofed guard shack as cold spring rain lashed the hilltop, sending rivulets down from a hundred drainages.

He ate pemmican and drank captured rainwater. He mended his armor and took a nap. Eventually, his boredom grew so bad he tried to teach Farsinger a dice game. She didn't quite understand, and she kept making off with the dice, the "pretties", to play with.

On day four, some blue started appearing in the pewter sky, and they made for the old stairway. A rusted gate blocked his progress for an hour, but he got through by brute force and persistence, rocking the gate back and forth until a loose hinge finally surrendered.

The stone stairs were slick with rain and ages of moss, and handholds were few and mostly rotten.

When he reached the top, an archway marked his first true entrance into the ruins.

"Ah, I never noticed this before," Farsinger said as she landed on a discarded sword. She pecked at the red jewel in the pommel. "Pretty."

"Not a bit of rust on it," Ritter said. "Curious. I wonder how long this has been here." His senses were already on high alert; the keening of the wind on the exposed hilltop had him on edge, bringing to mind the wail of a lonely ghost.

It was possible that someone had gotten here first. Had they beaten him to the chest? Why leave your sword behind? Were they still here?

He turned to look back down the stairway, and he noticed the symbol of a red dragon carved and painted on the archway. Then it made sense.

"We need to leave," Ritter said. "Now."

"Take the pretty with you," Farsinger squawked and clawed at the red jewel.

"No time. This is a dragon keep. If they smell us, we're dead." That's why no wagon-sized entrances were needed. The dragons and their riders could simply fly in and out with their loads of cargo.

"I saw no dragons."

"You are too small to strike their fancy. A juicy morsel like me won't be so lucky."

Ritter almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a rumble of distant thunder. The wailing wind picked up.

"Shit. Storm is coming." He saw a dark line on the western horizon.

"We can stay here until..." Farsinger started, then she stopped. "Oh, no. Look."

The dark line in the west slowly resolved into a line of dragons, maybe twenty, gliding in on the storm winds, coming straight for the castle." They would be on them in minutes. No way to retreat this time.

"Fly back to the outpost and tell them what happened. I will try to join you later if I can."

Farsinger blinked, nodded, and leapt into the wind. She vanished like a dark leaf in a gale.

Another rumble. Thunder or dragon?

Now what? Hide and try to sneak out? What about the chest? His mind turned to the sick house at the outpost. It had been filling for days as the plague hunted down old and young alike. The healers needed the chest, filled with healing scrolls rumored to be here.

No. No hiding. No sneaking. The outpost needed those scrolls.

No fighting this time, either. So what was left?

Guile, wit, and charm. Not his best qualities.

Ritter took a deep breath and fished around in his haversack. His hand closed around a gently curved, oval-shaped disk. He took it out and hoped for the best.

He climbed up to a broad clearing; maybe it was a landing field for the dragons. It offered no hiding places.

The first wave flew over him without noticing. They were magnificent, massive beasts of every hue, but reds and blacks predominated. When the second wave came over he whistled loudly and said, "Welcome home. I've been waiting for you."

He heard a man's voice call out, and a black dragon and rider landed in front of him, back-winging like a cyclone. Ritter leaned into the gale so he wouldn't be knocked down.

The dragon rider drew his bow.

Ritter held up the golden dragon scale from his haversack. "I bring greetings from the Queen of the Golden Dragon. She needs your help."

Part 2

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