The false sun in the crystalline cavern glittered in a noonday brilliance when Siegyrd returned. His draconic bulk emerged through the cavern’s mist, and his first greeting came with a cackle of laughter in his head from the ebonblade. You’ll need our help to bring down that one, the self-proclaimed immortal. Another peal of laughter of a different kind echoed through the halls as Felix sprinted, squealing, through the gallery chased by a livid Gudrun, with a moccasin in her hand waving it as a high threat.

  “Felix! You little monster, get back here.”

  Felix giggled as he bounded over the statue of a beast on a pedestal and then slid under a nearby shelf, before climbing up the back and tucking himself into a small corner of it.

  His duochroma eyes caught Siegyrd’s dragon eyes high above him, and he smiled as he put a finger to his lips then froze.

  “Ah, Gudrun of the mountains.” Siegyrd’s deep voice was a low, intimate boom. “I see your patience has improved.”

  She turned and fought with her hair to get it out of her face, her eyes flashing their jade fire before softening into weariness as she sighed lowering the moccasin, “Am I not the very picture of patience? But that brat...” She blew a loose lock of hair out of her face.

  The dragon laughed.

  “He’s many generations your elder, that brat,” Siegyrd said as he walked to the treasure, and dipped his head through it searching for something. His gigantic form filled much of the cavern, and Felix remained deathly still.

  Gudrun said, “Tell me he’s going away.”

  “Rude!” The voice carried out over the gallery, and Gudrun’s head snapped in its direction.

  Siegyrd hummed with contentment then pulled his giant head back, something filling his lip. He turned like a puppy in fresh straw, circling the bed, and then lay down with his head toward the gallery. He exhaled slowly, and a thin fog rolled out of his mouth and then formed itself into three small, childlike shapes which approached Gudrun, stood erect as soldiers and saluted her before Siegyrd continued, “if your foe uses magic, perhaps some of your own would help.”

  Felix voice cried out again, this time from another far corner of the room, “Cheater!”

  “Hmmm” Siegyrd’s hum shook the cavern, “Have you taught her the joy of play? Honest now, Felix.”

  “Can’t teach who won’t learn!” Felix voice was very distant and high.

  Gudrun spat back, “You’re a master of mischief not play, you little…” A slight clearing of Siegyrd’s throat paused Gudrun mid-sentence.

  “She’s no fun, no fun at all! I don’t wanna play with her!” There was a quick inhalation of breath, then a whirring noise like the unraveling of a clock wound past its spring strength finished with a tinny popping sound.

  Gudrun and Siegyrd looked up as two old men barreled through the air from the ceiling towards the gallery slapping at each other uselessly.

  “Right ‘dicament, E”

  “V!”

  “How can I help you?”

  “Gah!”

  Siegyrd breathed out of his mouth and nostrils at the same time creating a shimmering cloud beneath them just above the ground. Two of Gudrun’s cloud soldiers were on the move, flanking the larger cloud just as the two men shot from its sides. The cloud soldiers puffed up and caught the men, one to one, and bounced and bounded toward the outer walls with bursts of soft sounds and whiffs of fresh snow lily.

  The tall man, maybe E maybe V, he wasn’t sure, stood sputtering and scraping away the clinging cloud.

  The short man did much the same then looked around as if lost until he saw his compatriot across the gallery.

  The two locked eyes and cried out in joy as they ran to each other and embraced like old friends.

  “Close one, brother!”

  “Fell for you.”

  Laughter.

  Siegyrd huffed once, and the two men waved mirrored hands toward him, “Ah you wouldn’t understand, got no…”

  The taller man took his hand and clapped it over the shorter man’s mouth, eyes widening, “right, well message delivered and all.”

  The shorter man bit the other’s hand who responded with a screech, “Saved our lives I did, and this is how you.”

  Siegyrd smiled and spoke, overbearing their words, “Brothers, I thank you. A last thing, why now?”

  The shorter one stood tall and pressed his thumb to his nose, “Thankin us, you heard it. Ain’t never heard no dragon say thanks afore. We must be…”

  The taller one spoke over his brother, “Chorus hadn’t been used here for a might bit.”

  “You heard, E, he thanked us! ”

  “V. Well, chorus and all. Wait?” He scrunched his face then looked up at Siegyrd who was still smiling in his dragon form, “time to go.”

  He grabbed the shorter man under the arm and half-carried him out of the cavern whispering in a voice that hissed through the whole hall, “Can’t trust thems dragons what smiles.”

  The shorter man looked back with a broad, stupid grin of his own and waved over his shoulder as the two passed through the mist and outside.

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  Siegyrd sighed and Gudrun huffed.

  “You have strange friends.” The woman said.

  Siegyrd laughed and sent the hoard to dancing beneath him. Gudrun crossed her arms and leaned her weight onto one foot. Suddenly her eyes darted to the black sword hanging in the air at the back of the cavern. Its malicious aura stained the otherwise beautiful cavern.

  Siegyrd noticed the glance and spoke, “Strange and powerful. You hardly noticed it with Felix here, yes?”

  Gudrun nodded.

  “I have to go again, a dragon has his duties.” He chuckled, then continued, “but without strange company you will need a different kind of protection.”

  Siegyrd stood and turned slowly so his whole form faced the blade. He lifted his head high, inhaled a breath that caused gusting winds and then snapped his jaws shut and worked his jaw as if chewing. A melodic hum rose, and Siegyrd’s scales glowed with runic figures, and his eyes became starlight. The song of his magic rose higher into a fever pitch that forced Gudrun to cover her ears, and then Siegyrd breathed directly on top of the black blade. Where he breathed, the wave of power solidified into an encasement of glacial blue that glowed and pulsed with an inner life around the dark sword. The sword’s aura was suppressed, and Gudrun’s whole body relaxed as she exhaled with relief.

  She blinked, and the dragon was gone. Siegyrd stood before her in his human form, skin pale as ivory, eyes mercurial, the hint of scales on his chest. “I will leave some cloud children to accompany you. Will you prepare four rooms? I expect we shall soon have guests.”

  Gudrun’s eyes lit up, then her face fell as she looked around the gallery.

  Siegyrd set a hand on her shoulder, “Don’t miss what isn’t gone, daughter of the snows.”

  She tilted her head and then stood up straighter, “Guests, that I can help with.”

  “Thank you.” He said.

  “Your friends seemed to think a dragon never says thank you.” She grinned at him.

  “Not never.” He turned and walked away through the portal wall.

  Siegyrd returned wearing dark leather armour with his curved songblades hanging in their scabbards on his hips. Gudrun gathered furs and small objects from the gallery in her arms, directing the cloud children to carry some as well.

  Siegyrd almost tripped on one as he exited the portal into the broad space. “What are you?”

  Gudrun spoke quickly, “A guest’s room should have at least a little beauty.” She was looking down, and then looked up and stopped. Siegyrd stepped forward, his boots crunching on the glowstone floor. He approached the floating amethyst blade, reached for it, hesitated, then pulled back his hand.

  Siegyrd turned and spoke to Gudrun, “You will be safe for the time that I am gone, but, if the worse should happen, take the crystal blade with both hands and call for aid.”

  He turned and was just about to leave when Gudrun stood and cried out, “Wait!” Siegyrd turned and looked at her, and she nearly blushed, shifting under the weight of her chores. “Fight well, for home awaits…” The words were what her step-mother used to tell her father before great hunts. She couldn’t finish the blessing, but she felt lighter nonetheless and strode away, cloud children in tow.

  #

  Renard had to find the biggest, baddest, craziest of the gladiators and convince him. He had only one idea of who he could go to, though he was hardly excited for the meeting. The deeper the levels in the arenas the more lush the cells and apartments became. The ninth layer was the realm of Wrothmaul himself, and housed the conquest pools as well as hundreds of attendants and immense luxuries. The eighth layer was where the immortal champions resided, beings who had managed victory in over a thousand contests. There were three, and while they were powerful beyond imagining, they had been largely twisted by the games into images of Wrothmaul, worshiping him as their god. Rather, two of the three did. The third, it was rumored, was seeking a coup, to become the new ultimate champion and depose Wrothmaul himself. He was mad, they said, but he was also the only human who had ever survived so long, and no one quite understood how.

  Renard made his way through the seventh floor without incident, bribing a guard with the last of his precious treasure from two victories ago – a treasure of incense.

  Renard finally arrived at a stone door twice his height. There was a knocker held in the claws of a great golden eagle with wings of fire. Renard breathed deep to steady himself, reached up, raised the knocker, and slammed it against the stone expecting the scrape of metal on rock. Instead a cry like a bird of prey in pursuit rang out and was followed by the rushing sound of a mighty flame. When the noise had ceased its riotous echo down the hall, Renard heard a great latch thrown, and the door swung outward. He sidestepped in time so as not to be struck and stood face to chest with the largest human he had ever met. Zoran the Phoenix was well over seven feet tall, his shoulders broad as a bear and chest like a chiseled sculpture of kings of ancient days. His skin was lightly bronzed, his eyes a cold gray, and his hair the color of autumn straw, long and wavy. His face was hard and angular with a tight-cropped blonde-brown beard.

  The giant man leaned downward and looked closely into Renard’s face. Their noses almost touched as Renard arched his head back to maintain eye contact. Then Zoran spoke, “Vhy are you here, leetle Fox?” Renard kept his eyes fixed on Zoran’s eyes, but he shook despite himself, and clenched a fist.

  “A” he choked on phlegm, swallowed hard, and then continued, “a chance to depose.”

  Zoran threw back his head and roared with laughter. He wiped away a tear from his eyes and continued chuckling before surveying Renard up and down again. “Chase rabbits and squirrels. Zeeze monsters vill eat you, leetle fox.” He opened his mouth and chomped at the air and snarled. Renard took half a step back, then stopped himself and pushed forward, past Zoran and into the broad room with opulent carpets and hangings.

  “Someone is coming, Zoran.” Renard’s voice was calmer than he expected, and Zoran sighed as he let the door close and looked at his guest.

  “Someone iz alvays coming, being dragged into zhis place.”

  “No, Zoran, this thing is coming of his own accord. He breached into my mind from outside this world. A being that could do that may stand a chance to overthrow the tyrant.” Renard stood taller as he spoke.

  Zoran stroked his chin twice, shrugged and walked past Renard before throwing himself down onto a low couch of gold embroidered pillows, “So vhat if he can breach veak minds?” He waved his hand and continued, “It does not mean he has ze steel to fight a god.”

  Renard’s nose twisted upward as he spoke, “a pretender.”

  Zoran waved his hand again as if shooing the thought, “Yes yes, on zis ve agree. There can be only one vay of vorship, though ve do not agree vhich.” Zoran’s gaze fell to Renard, and he stared at him long.

  “I’m sure he will fight first, to be assessed and blend in. I know what he looks like. When he shows, will you at least be there for the fight. Assess with your own eyes, and then decide.”

  Zoran stroked his chin again, “Describe him.”

  “Human in form, but certainly not human. Skin pale as death, eyes like tempered steel. His torso was covered in thin silver scales, and he wields swords which are grooved and marked in strange patterns. His hair…”

  Zoran interrupted, “Is silver and long, and his woice is like a varrior’s song.”

  Renard stopped, gaped, and then responded slowly, “He had a strange voice, yes.”

  Zoran leaned forward and muttered to himself, “Vraithblade is a legend in my lands. Many fell to his dance of steel. It is said he held a mountain pass in ze far north for seven days by himself against a legion of our best in the time of my grandsire vhen ve vere set to rule the whole of ze north. He vas a spectre in the snow, a vhirling tumult of chaos and confusion. He slew dragons like they vere sheep, and men fell like vheat to a scythe. My sire’s sire still quaked to tell the tales.”

  Renard spoke in, “He called himself the Knight Tumult.”

  “Impossible…” Zoran’s voice trailed, and his face was a mixture of anger and awe. “I vant to fight him myself.”

  Renard started to speak, “But we” and then was cut off by Zoran raising his hand.

  “No, if he comes. I vill test him myself. I’ve a family debt.”

  “Zoran.” Renard began again.

  “Enough! If he cannot surwive me, he cannot help us anyvay.” Zoran pointed Renard to the door.