Adventure (Dragons & Magic Book 2) Read online

  Just before dawn, Daffodil crouched next to Edmond and rested an arm around him. “It took Melinda?”

  He nodded.

  “The dragon hasn’t eaten anyone from the village in years,” Daffodil said. “I thought Reg’s plan was working.”

  “It didn’t eat her, just carried her away into its caves. It ate the barbarian, so it can’t eat her yet. According to books, dragons eat a human every five days. They save any extras for later. People have escaped... but not often.”

  Daffodil shuddered. “That’s almost worse.”

  “No, it’s good. It gives me a chance to rescue her. In every book I’ve read, the damsel is taken by the dragon and then the hero rescues her.”

  “Edmond, you’re not a hero. You can’t run down the street without getting winded. You get confused by noughts and crosses. Heroes are strong, smart,…”

  “...brave.” Was Daffodil right? He’d run instead of facing the dragon. Edmond shook his head. She was wrong. He’d been caught off-guard in the night, with no armour or weapons. Given the chance again, he’d have fought the beast.

  “You’ve seen the adventurers who go into that dungeon and don’t return. Compared to them, we wouldn’t last five minutes.”

  “We?”

  “Well,” Daffodil said. “I couldn’t let you go down there alone, could I?”

  “You don’t even like Melinda.”

  Daffodil shrugged.

  “I brought that dragon here,” Edmond said. “You’re the only one who knows that. I have an obligation to get rid of it.”

  “If you try, you’ll get us both killed.”

  “You fight wights for fun. If anyone’s made to be a hero, it’s you.”

  “Forget Melinda,” Daffodil said. “And forget why the dragon came here. The only obligation you have is to live a long, happy life. You don’t need to kill a dragon to do that.”

  Edmond’s hand went to the charm around his neck. When he was a boy, he’d wanted to be a great scholar. A dream he’d given up when his parents had been killed. Something inside made him want to try, though. A great scholar would rescue the love of his life; would conquer a dungeon no one else could. A great scholar would come out of there with his clothes singed and a scowl that told of untold horrors experienced.

  He got to his feet and went to look at Mr Winchow’s shop. Daffodil trailed after him.

  The shop was destroyed, and Edmond’s source of employment with it. Mr Winchow poked through the embers with a long stick, muttering and cursing.

  “I’m glad you got out in time,” Edmond said.

  “It’s something, I guess,” Mr Winchow said. “Why couldn’t the dragon have burnt down the potion shop? Those lotions would have made much prettier colours.”

  “At least gold and silver don’t burn,” Edmond said. “You can pay to have the store rebuilt.”

  Mr Winchow nodded, thoughtfully, then his frown brightened a little. “Or I could retire. Once this cools down, I could take all that gold and silver and buy myself a nice house somewhere quiet. Somewhere near water.”

  “Sure,” Edmond said.

  “I’d pay you severance,” Mr Winchow said. “Enough to build a small shop of your own; one to fill a newly opened gap in the market.”

  Edmond stared, his eyes wide. Such generosity was out of character for his boss. It wouldn’t come again. But Edmond didn’t want to run a store.

  He walked closer to the smouldering shop. A set of scorched shelves jutted up at an angle, the goblin armour from the day before poking out from beneath them.

  “Can I borrow your stick?” Edmond asked.

  Mr Winchow handed it across with a confused glance.

  Edmond did his best to sweep the ashes away from the armour and bronze axe beside it. Hooking a strap, he tugged the armour out. The axe required more sliding and fiddling, but he managed to ease it onto the mud of the street. Both the armour and axe were unscathed by the fire.

  “Keep the gold and silver,” Edmond said. “Can I have these? And your hourglass?”

  Mr Winchow pursed his lips and peered down at the hourglass hanging from his belt. “They’re barely worth anything... other than the hourglass.”

  “He’s right,” Daffodil said. “With gold and silver, you can buy better armour from Strongarm. Besides, that’s a throwing axe. It wouldn’t even be any use in a stand-up fight.”

  Edmond knew they were right, but something drew him to the armour and axe. They were nothing special, but that might have been why he liked them: he was nothing special either. “That’s fine. I’ll take these, if that’s okay?”

  “Sure,” Mr Winchow said. “You won’t be able to open your own store with just those, though.”

  “I’m not opening a store. I’m going to rescue Melinda and kill the dragon.”

  “Not necessarily in that order.” Daffodil bounced from one foot to the other. “You’re crazy, but maybe that’s why I like you. Wait there, I’ll be back.”

  Edmond stared at the soot-covered armour. After several minutes of rubbing with his sleeve, he added a layer of mud to the grime.

  “Edmond, you’re not a hero,” Mr Winchow said. “It’s regrettable that the dragon took Melinda, but no one can fight that monster. That’s why we keep sending it heroes to eat.”

  “That’s what people always say at the start of an adventure. The hero is always the unlikely one. I think one might even have been a pig herder.”

  Mr Winchow shook his head. “I should never have lent you that first book.”

  Edmond turned. Mr Winchow had a misty look in his eyes. “I owe you so much. Enjoy your retirement.”

  Mr Winchow held out the hourglass. “Good luck, Edmond.”

  Edmond could see Mr Winchow didn’t expect him to last five minutes, let alone kill the dragon, but Edmond knew he was right. All the books talked about it: the hero triumphed because he had a noble quest. And what quest was nobler than saving your one true love?

  He pulled the armour on. The buckles lined up with the holes, and the width fitted comfortably across his shoulders. Edmond’s lack of muscles gave him a body not unlike a scrawny goblin. The axe was heavy, but he slipped the handle through his belt anyway.

  Daffodil tore back up the road and skidded to a halt. Instead of her usual leather apron she wore custom-fitted plate armour and had a sword strapped to her side.

  “You made all that for yourself?” Edmond asked.

  Daffodil nodded. “Strongarm said I could have it, once he heard I was going on a quest.”

  Edmond took a deep breath. “A quest.”

  “A quest.” Daffodil bounced up and down, armour clanking.

  “Edmond, at the first sign you might not make it, please turn around and come back.” Mr Winchow pointed at a splodge of shiny metal where his gold chest had been. “My offer will still be open, if you do.”

  “Thank you, but I won’t need it.” Edmond studied the hourglass. It had a mark for each hour in the day and he’d already wasted enough of them standing around. He beckoned to Daffodil and strode up the road toward the cave entrance.

  His swagger faded as they got in sight of the hoardings. Dozens of posters and signs had encouraging slogans for the heroes. Messages that might have helped—if he hadn’t written most of them himself.

  “Come on,” Daffodil said, punching him. “We’ve got something none of them had.”

  “What’s that?” Edmond asked, trying not to rub his shoulder.

  “Each other.” She frowned. After a few moments, she raised two fingers. “Plus, we’re not after the gold. That has to help, too.”

  He appreciated her trying to find upsides, but he knew she was struggling.

  Chapter 3

  Enter the Dungeon

  The map booth next to the cave leaned at a slight angle, sodden paper and scorched wood littering the surrounding ground. Reg Boyson emerged as Edmond and Daffodil approached. “What are you two doing here? Daffodil, shouldn’t you be opening Strongarm’s Smith
y?”

  As town elder, Reg had his fingers in just about everyone’s business and knew most of what would happen before it did.

  “We’re going to rescue Melinda,” Edmond said.

  Reg shook his head. “You know better than anyone how silly that is.”

  “It’s not silly.” Edmond squared up to him, shoulders briefly unrounding. “I’m going to rescue my one true love, like in the stories.”

  Reg frowned for a moment, then pulled a pamphlet from the wreckage. “Look at the back.”

  Edmond turned to the last page, one that proclaimed wealth and glory would be his.

  “What’s it say at the bottom, in small writing?” Reg asked.

  Edmond squinted. “Board for the Propagation of Heroic Acts. Results may vary. This instructional guide is no guarantee of victory and is for entertainment purposes only. All rights reserved.”

  “Entertainment purposes only,” Reg said. “Books aren’t written by adventurers. They’re written by people like you: homebodies who don’t get themselves eaten by dragons or squished by giants. I’m sorry Melinda was taken, but there’s nothing any of us can do about it.”

  Edmond folded the pamphlet neatly and tucked it into his armour. “Even if all that’s true, there has to be something behind the stories. No one sits around making up things from scratch.”

  “What about the rest of the village?” Reg pointed at a soggy pile of paper. “If you go in there, who’ll make the posters we need? Hundreds of heroes have followed the promises you’ve written. Of those, only a few return more than three or four times. We need a constant supply of champions to sustain the economy.”

  “Maybe what we need isn’t a champion,” Daffodil said. “Perhaps we need someone like Edmond.”

  “You won’t need any more posters,” Edmond said. “After we go down, there won’t be a dragon left to fight.”

  He strode past Reg, his resolve only growing stronger. After a moment, Daffodil jogged after him. He almost asked her whether they had a hope, but realised she’d probably tell him the truth.

  Peering into the gloom, he crept over the cave threshold. He’d never been inside before. About ten paces ahead, a thick stone wall stretched across the cave with a narrow arched opening in the centre. Beyond the opening, rough-hewn stone steps lead downward. Something didn’t seem right, but he wasn’t sure what; and pondering what was wrong wouldn’t rescue Melinda. Brandishing his axe in what he hoped was a heroic fashion, he beckoned Daffodil forward.

  The steps were at odd angles and none were the same size, turning his bold descent into an almost stumble. He slowed to a walk as the light from above faded; tripping on the steps on his way into the dungeon would be an embarrassing way to die.

  A few paces later, the stairs brightened again before opening into a stone room, about ten paces square. Torches burnt in the sconces, illuminating walls of polished bricks and a solid wooden door with a chain hanging next to it. Edmond hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting, but well-maintained rooms hadn’t been it. “Someone built this. Did Reg do this?”

  “Not as far as I know,” Daffodil said. “We’d have seen people going into the cave with bricks and mortar. What’s that above the door?”

  Something was written over it. Edmond read it out loud, “Brave heroes, dare ye enter this labyrinth and face yon dragon of untold might below? If ye do, thou art more fools than hast ever lived.”

  “What’s that mean?” Daffodil asked. “It’s all garbled. Did you read it right?”

  “I read it fine,” Edmond rested his hand over his reading charm. “It’s misspelled; like someone doesn’t know how to write properly.”

  “Maybe it adds ambiance.”

  Moving closer, Edmond pressed his ear against the door. After a few breaths, he made out a scratching sound. Whatever was on the other side had claws. “There’s something behind the door.”

  Daffodil pressing her ear to the wood beside him. “Sounds like a rat.”

  “Or a chicken, if it was scratching at a stone.”

  “A chicken? Dungeons are filled with monsters,” Daffodil said. “This must be the first one.”

  Edmond gripped his axe harder. The door lacked a handle, so the chain must open it. “Are you ready?”

  “I guess we’ll find out. It can’t be stronger than a wight, can it?”

  Edmond yanked the chain. The door rose with a grinding sound. He watched it slide into the frame. Why hadn’t they built a door that opened normally? Wouldn’t—?

  A burst of scratching broke his reverie. A few paces beyond the door, down a corridor, a fluffy creature with flat, round ears scrabbled at one wall with short claws. Every few moments, it paused to examine its progress. Apart from being as tall as Edmond’s waist, it looked like a fat mouse.

  “I’ve read about these,” Edmond said. “They’re called chinchillas. I didn’t know they were so big, though.”

  “It’s cute.” Daffodil crouched and held out her left hand. “Not a monster at all; are you, girl?”

  The chinchilla turned, big, moist eyes staring up at them. Then it opened its mouth with a squeak bark and leapt through the doorway at Daffodil. Large, flat teeth screeched across the front of her armour.

  Edmond yelled to give himself courage and threw his axe at the chinchilla. His throw went wide enough that neither the chinchilla nor Daffodil noticed the axe spinning past them into the corridor beyond the door.

  Daffodil tried bring her sword around, but the chinchilla was so close she had trouble manoeuvring. After hitting the floor a couple of times, she gripped the blade halfway down and plunged it into the chinchilla’s back.

  Squealing, the creature jumped away, tearing Daffodil’s sword from her hand. The beast circled them, sword wobbling in its back. It would have been sad, and slightly comical, if it hadn’t been trying to kill them.

  Edmond shuffled forward half a step, trying to get to his axe, but the chinchilla moved between him and doorway cutting him off from it. Whether by choice or chance, Edmond didn’t know. Either way, it had taken both of their weapons out of the battle.

  “Grab a torch,” Daffodil said.

  Edmond grabbed a torch from a nearby sconce and he held it in front of him. The flames dripped on the floor, creating little spots of fire where they fell.

  Daffodil took the torch from his hand, then pushed him behind her. “Stay back, I got this.”

  When she waved the torch, the beast stopped circling. However, when she advanced, it hissed at her and scrabbled the floor. It wasn’t about to budge from its spot in the doorway.

  “Now what?” Edmond asked.

  “We need something better than a torch. This time, don’t miss.” Daffodil dropped the torch in front of the creature and grabbed Edmond’s belt.

  “What are you—?”

  With a grunt, she heaved him through the air.

  The chinchilla bounced up on its back legs as he arced over it, but its teeth snapped shut on thin air.

  Before Edmond could rejoice, the floor rushed toward him. Air whuffing from his mouth, he rolled along the corridor before coming to a stop beside his axe. He did his best to ignore the aching all over his body, picked up the axe, and stumbled to his feet.

  The stench of burning fur filled the air as Daffodil poked the chinchilla with the torch. Each lunge pushed the beast back for a moment, but also almost extinguished the torch. Soon Daffodil would be reduced to prodding it with a stick—at least until it chewed her face off.

  The axe might have been made to be thrown, but Edmond had his own ideas. He sprinted forward and hacked at the chinchilla. Clumps of bloody fluff flew in all directions. With a sharp bang, the chinchilla disappeared.

  Axe-blade bouncing off the floor, he stumbled into the space where it had been. When he recovered his balance, he noticed two large drumsticks on the floor. Daffodil’s sword lay beside them. “Where did it go?”

  Daffodil shrugged and retrieved her sword, then picked up the drumsticks.
r />   Edmond shook his head when she offered him one.

  “We didn’t pack for a long trip,” she said. “I don’t know about you, but I only brought a little hard-tack.”

  Sighing, he took the drumstick with two fingers and put it in the pouch on his waist. She was right, they should’ve brought more than weapons and armour into the dungeon.

  “Are you sure you want to keep going?” she asked. “We almost got killed by the first monster in the dungeon. Things will only get tougher from here.”

  “We have to continue. My true love is down there.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she stepped into the corridor. “Come on then.”

  He frowned. She was always trying to drag him off into the woods to look for monsters. Surely she should be enjoying the adventure?

  Chapter 4

  Progress

  They were underground, so Edmond had expected some kind of dripping noise; but, apart from their footsteps and the hiss of burning torches, the corridor was quiet. And where was the dust? He didn’t think the heroes they’d been sending into the dungeon would have taken the time to clean up after themselves.

  He strode quickly, gaze flicking faster and faster. Something was waiting for them, somewhere. He just wanted to get it over with.

  “Slow down,” Daffodil said.

  There wasn’t time. Marching harder, he tumbled forward as something snagged his right foot. His chest smacked into the floor, the armour doing nothing to stop the pain.

  As Edmond rolled, he saw a balk of wood arc through the space above him. A spike on the end embedded itself into the wall with a crack. Beneath it, a thin thread crossed the corridor at ankle level.

  He hadn’t seen any sign of the trap until he’d stumbled over the tripwire. If he hadn’t been lucky enough to fall, it would have buried itself in him instead. He said a silent prayer of thanks to his parents and got up.