Hearth Fire

1.66


Stronric broke the reeds with his shoulder and entered the fight. The swamp's noise fell away. He saw everything at once. Rugiel planted firm as a pillar. Dane bracing with his shield but sinking. Serene trembling at the edge. Kara's hands shaking frost that slid useless off the beast's scales. Lirian limping with a blade still bloody. Giles raging at the edges and in the center, the Komodo dragon. It was massive and patient, driving them back with every sweep of its tail.

"Stand down!" Stronric's voice struck the mire like a hammer on an anvil. "Rest yerselves! This one's mine."

They hesitated with shock, relief, then disbelief. Rugiel caught his eye and made the smallest nod. She knew when to yield a fight.

The dragon swung its head toward him, jaws opening to show curved teeth the size of chisels. Stronric hefted his axe. The crystal shimmered faintly, edges shifting as if eager for his hand. He stepped forward into the pool, the muck sucking at his boots, and set his stance low.

The beast charged.

Stronric met it with his crystal axe in battle axe form. The axe had a long haft with a wide crescent double blade, similar to the shape of his axe of hearth fire. He swung into the gaping jaws with a blow that would split oak. The scales rang like struck iron, sparks leaping. The dragoon reeled back, more stunned than hurt.

"Good," Stronric growled. "Ye've some bone in ye."

The creature's tail lashed wildly aiming a strike at the attacking dwarf. Stronric shifted his grip and the weapon shortened, the head compressing into the heavy single bladed form. He caught the blow on the flat of his axe blade, absorbing the attack with his arms and shoulders like a smith turning a bar on an anvil. The impact shoved him a pace back through the muck, but he held his ground. The beast's tail was still pressing into Stronric when the dwarf shoved back, axe grinding against the scaled tail until it wrenched free.

The beast lunged again this time with his claws raking and its jaws snapping. Stronric stepped to meet the attack. With a thought, the axe split in his hands, cleaving down the haft into two smaller hand axes, sharp and fast. He hacked at the softer flesh beneath its forelimb, strikes quick as hammer-taps. Blood spurted dark across the water. The beast bellowed and reared.

Behind him came the rush of water. Stronric spared once glance back over his shoulder to see Monitors, the smaller lizards, rushing through the water and reeds all drawn to the blood and chaos.

The Mountain Canary hit them first. The mighty bird slamming into the nearest with talons wide, driving it face-first into the muck. Its beak snapped down, ending a lizard in a jerk. Another darted in at Stronric's back, but the Canary intercepted again, raking its eye and forcing it to wheel away. Stronric turned back to the dragon before him, not sparing a second glance at the arriving lizards; his trust in the Canary was iron.

The dragon struck down with its jaws. Stronric hurled one of the hand axes. The weapon lengthened mid-flight, stretching into a throwing axe, head heavy, haft short. It spun end over end and buried itself in the roof of the beast's mouth. The creature roared, thrashing its head side to side. Stronric raised his hand, and the axe shimmered, dissolved, and reformed back into his grip.

"Ye'll need more than scales to best me," he muttered.

The dragoon's tail came again, faster, but Stronric ducked low, mud splashing across his beard. He surged forward, weapon shifting back into the battle axe, both hands gripping as he swung for the joint where neck met shoulder. The blow split a ridge of scale, cracking bone beneath. The beast staggered, bellowing in pain.

Still the beast did not stop, it came again pressing its weight.

Stronric braced, axe planted across his body. His breath came deep and steady. Bellows, forge, hammer, he had found his rhythm. The dragon's bellow shook the water with rage but the dragon's eye glinted with wit. It pulled back, circling Stronric, tail dragging a trench through the mire. Its eyes tracked him with a predator's patience now sizing up his prey he had underestimated.

Stronric shifted with it, never letting his stance falter. His axe split into the twin axes, hafts short, and the blade edges biting. He slashed them in crossing arcs, sending water and mud spraying, not at the beast's body but at its eyes. The dragoon hissed and blinked. That was the opening.

Stronric lunged, hooking one axe behind the dragon's injured foreleg, then pulled with all his weight. The second axe carved upward into the joint, bone grating under the strike. The dragon collapsed forward, chest slamming into the muck.

It thrashed, snapping jaws wide, but Stronric was already moving. The weapon dissolved and reformed into a throwing axe. He hurled it into the side of snapping jaws, the haft wedging against its teeth. It forced the creature to open its jaws wider than it wished. The creature roared, its throat exposed. Stronric wrenched the axe back to his hand and shifted it. Again the axe shifted, the edge swelling broad and brutal as Stronric swung it down. He aimed for the exposed throat and as the blade crashed down, scales cracked, sinew tore, blood erupted.

The beast rolled, tail whipping, forcing Stronric to fall back.

Behind him, the monitors surged again with their smaller bodies and quicker teeth. Stronric didn't turn as he heard the rush of the smaller lizards surge again. He heard more than felt the weight of the Canary behind him in the soft steps of its calculated steps. Stronric's gaze was trained on the dragon who had slinked back into the thicker reeds slowly trailing back and forth in a half circle, likely considering its injuries to the threat before it. The Canary made a short chirp, informing Stronric of an attack just moments before a surge of small teeth drove towards the pair. Stronric spun, splitting his axe into dual blades and striking out. He caught both lizards mid lunge. The first lost its head in the clean arc of Stronric's attack and the other's spine was split into two. The Canary shrieked in triumph with its feather flared before darting out to drive another pack back.

"Good beast," Stronric muttered, breath steady as he trained his eyes back to the moving reeds before him, "Try keep the curs off me."

The dragon's head rose again, parting the reeds as its body heaving up onto a more solid mound of mud. Deep red blood matted at the wound on its chest, while the bright red blood dripped down onto the ground. It had learned so it did not rush. Instead, it churned the water with its tail, mud boiling around Stronric's knees, sucking at his legs. Its weight pressed the swamp against him, trying to drown him in place.

Stronric answered with patience. He let his axe swell into the single axe form; a wide flat edge braced before him. He advanced one step, then another, each one measured, pressing his weight into the root-lines beneath the muck. The dragon hissed sliding into the muck and started to circle, but Stronric refused the game. He cut the circle, stepping straight, making the beast adjust to him.

"Yer no forge-master," he growled. "Ye can't set the rhythm."

The axe stretched long into its battle axe form, and Stronric swung, not at scale but at water. The impact sent a spray of mud into the beast's eyes again, buying him one more precious step. He raised the weapon, shoulders loose, chest steady. The forge in him was hot but banked, he wouldn't need it for this fight.

The dragon lunged and Stronric did not back down. He raised the crystal axe over his head and set his feet then swung.

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The swamp did not let go easily. Even after the dragon's corpse sank into the mud, the stink of it clung to the air. Stronric dragged his axe free from the carcass with a wet rip, the crystal blades shined of light. He planted the head into the soil and leaned on it, letting his breath settle. The mud started to drink the beast whole inch by inch, bubbles breaking the surface like it was chewing its last meal.

At first, Rugiel and Bauru said nothing. They only stood nearby, their eyes sharp on him. They had both fought enough battles to know when silence served better than comfort. Stronric kept his head bowed until the Mountain Canary clicked its beak and trotted back to his side, blood on its talons from the smaller lizards it had torn apart.

"Ye did fine," Stronric murmured to the bird, rubbing his thumb along its neck. His voice was rough, but softer than usual. The bird leaned into the touch before shaking free and stalking ahead again.

Serene, however, was not as patient as the dwarves. She came at him almost too quickly, boots splashing muck, her hair half in her face. Before he could stop her, she wrapped both arms around his head, nearly knocking him off balance.

"You… you just…" she stammered, still flushed from watching the fight. "That was… gods, I've never been happier to see you."

Stronric blinked up at her, awkward as her arms clung tighter. His axe was still dripping, his beard damp with sweat, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Aye," he rumbled, not moving. "It's done. That's all that matters."

Rugiel tilted her head, her lips twitching toward a smile she didn't let through. Bauru just raised a brow, muttering under his breath, "Why, it would seem she has taken quite the fondness, has she not?"

Dane stepped forward then, offering his gauntleted hand. "You have my thanks as well, master dwarf. That beast would have gutted us."

Stronric clasped his hand, firm and quick. "Keep yer strength. We'll need it yet."

It should have ended there, but Giles broke the air with his voice, sharp as a snapped bowstring.

"Is zis what we 'ave come to?" he shouted, 'is face aflame. "Trusting in beasts and dwarves, dragged through ze muck like dogs? Every step worse zan ze last, every battle more bitter zan before!"

The words came too fast, too raw, as though the anger had been sitting inside him all along and only now found air. Kara's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, but she did not pull him back. If anything, her touch steadied his fury, and gave it ground.

Rugiel drew herself up, her tone cool as tempered steel. "Mind your tongue, manling. Your breath endures only by his arm."

Bauru stepped forward too, his one eye narrowing. "Aye, and if ye think to spit on that, ye'll answer to me."

Stronric lifted a hand, silencing them both. His gaze stayed on Giles, calm but ironbound.

"Let him speak," Stronric said. "He's not wrong. I was the one who fell to the trees. I was the one who left ye without yer shield. If blame is to be had, it's mine."The air hung heavily. Even Kara's eyes flicked, just slightly, as if she hadn't expected him to take it.

Finally, Rugiel stepped forward. "Brother…"

But Stronric only shook his head. He planted his axe across his shoulders, bearing its weight as easily as truth. Giles stared at Stronric intensely but broke eye contact and stomped off.

"Where's Armand?" he asked. "Where's the knight?"

The question struck like another blow. Silence answered first. Then Dane finally spoke, his voice grim.

"We have not seen him since we fled the tree-creature."

Stronric's jaw tightened. The swamp hissed and gurgled around them, as if mocking their loss.

"Then we find him," Stronric said, his voice low and final.

The Mountain Canary shrieked once, a high sound that cut across the mire, and the group turned toward the fog. Shapes were moving there, shadows circling. Eyes, bright and hungry, blinked open in the mist.

"Form up," Stronric ordered, his axe shifting in his hands. The crystal sang as it changed shape, the twin edges splitting into two hand-axes, their weight perfect in his palms. He stepped forward into the muck as the first growl rolled through the swamp.

Around him, the mire stirred. Shapes pressed close, the slick bodies of swamp spawn crawling from the muck and reed beds, drawn by the death of the dragon. Yellow eyes gleamed in the half-light, jaws dripping, scales clattering. But none of them dared to close the distance. They hissed, low and uneasy, circling the edge of the clearing. The stench of hunger hung over them, but so did wariness. The dragon's killer still stood, calm and unshaken, and the weight of that victory kept them back.

The Mountain Canary swept down from the cypress limbs and landed at Stronric's side, crest flaring wide. The bird gave a piercing screech and danced, wings snapping, talons striking the mud. The smaller creatures shrank from the display. As they slithered back into shadow, the Canary followed them with arrogant struts, squawking and bobbing its head like a king sending vassals away.

Stronric spat into the muck and lowered his axe. "That's right," he muttered. "Off with ye. Ye ken what waits if ye push it."

He turned to the others. They still sat slumped where they had dropped, too tired to rise. Dane's shield leaned beside him, his shoulders loose with exhaustion. Serene had her head against Rugiel's shoulder, eyes half-shut but bright with stubborn wakefulness. Giles was silent, his face drawn, Kara at his side with her hand resting faintly against his arm. Bauru crouched over the meat, working with steady hands, though his good eye kept flicking to his brother.

"Find us dry ground," Stronric ordered, his voice even, not loud but heavy enough to stir them. "We'll drag the carcass there. Rest, eat, and regain yer strength. This lizard's meat will serve us better than the swamp's air."

They obeyed without question. Even Giles, bristling, did not argue. Together they moved toward the rise of mud and stone Stronric had pointed out, a patch where reeds gave way to firmer ground.

The fire burned low, its crackle weaving in time with the chorus of frogs and insects hidden in the swamp beyond. The meat of the slain dragon hissed above the flames, rich oil dripping into the coals. Its scent was heavy and sharp, the kind of aroma that clung to the nose and announced itself as a meal for warriors. Stronric sat near the fire, axe resting across his knees. He had carried the dragon back on his shoulders as if it weighed no more than a smith's ingot, and even now there was no sign of strain in him. His breath was steady and his eyes were fixed on the dark water.

Around him, the others sagged with exhaustion. Bauru had stripped the meat and prepared it with quiet efficiency, his single eye always flicking back toward his sister. Rugiel leaned against a log, hands in her lap, her mutton chops damp with sweat but her posture still dignified. Serene and Dane sat close to the fire, their legs stretched out, the young woman still bubbling with excitement though fatigue tugged at her features. Giles brooded off to the side, Kara at his elbow like a shadow draped in silk.

The Mountain Canary roosted on a half-submerged branch, its feathers puffed to make it appear even larger. Every so often it clicked its beak and let out a sharp squawk, as if reminding the swamp that it now belonged to them. The smaller reptiles that had gathered earlier had long since retreated, cowed not only by the dragon's fall but by the raptor's bold display. It circled the campsite, wings flaring, a sentry of feather and fang.

Then the air shifted. The fire's glow stretched, shadows bending as though something unseen passed through them. Rugiel blinked, sat forward, and then stilled.From the marsh's edge padded the rabbit. Its white fur shone like it had been washed in moonlight, though no moon hung above. Its paws touched the damp ground without leaving prints, and every reed it brushed leaned toward it, as though seeking its warmth. The brand on Rugiel's hand prickled, the faint burn of Morgal's mark answering some unseen call.

The rabbit stopped just outside the firelight. Its eyes were black pearls, not dull but fathomless, reflecting not flame but a soft, steady glow. For a heartbeat it seemed to look only at Rugiel, head tilted in that familiar, almost comical way, but the weight of its presence hushed the camp.

Serene's chatter faded. Dane closed his mouth mid-thought. Even Giles, bitter words still smoldering on his tongue, fell silent.

Rugiel stood slowly, her armor whispering. "You again," she murmured, voice reverent despite herself. She reached out her burned hand, not daring to step closer, yet the rabbit did not flinch. Instead, it padded into the firelight and sat, calm as a stone in a river.

Stronric watched it carefully. The dwarf's face betrayed little, but his grip on the axe eased. He had seen spirits before, echoes of the ancestors, shards of stone given will. But this was different. The rabbit was no ghost. It was flesh, yet not bound in the same way other beasts were.

The Mountain Canary tilted its head and gave a low trill, feathers settling. For once, it did not flare or squawk. It bowed.

"By Morgal's forge," Rugiel whispered. "It bows."

The rabbit flicked an ear and turned its gaze toward the dragon meat spitting above the fire. Without moving, without hunger in its stance, it gave a single sniff. The flames flared higher, burning clean and bright, as though the fire itself acknowledged the purity of its presence.

Bauru muttered under his breath, "I dinnae like it." But his voice held no malice. Only respect.

Serene broke the silence with a whisper, almost childlike, "Is it… yours?" She looked from the rabbit to Rugiel with wide eyes.

Rugiel shook her head. "No beast can be owned when it walks with the gods. It comes and goes by its own will." Her hand trembled slightly as she lowered it. "Perhaps it judges us."

The rabbit hopped once, twice, and settled near her boots, curling into a perfect coil as though it had always belonged there. No more than that. No speech, no divine proclamation, only the calm of its being. Yet the whole camp seemed lighter.

Stronric finally broke the spell. His deep voice carried across the flames, steady as the ring of an anvil. "Then let it judge. If it finds us wanting, better we know it now." He looked each of them in the eye, his gaze holding longer on Giles. "But we'll not falter tonight. Rest. The swamp will think twice before it tries us again."

At his words, the tension eased. Dane leaned back with a sigh, Serene still staring at the rabbit with quiet awe. Rugiel lowered herself again, her features soft, as though the weight she bore had been eased by the creature's presence.

The meal was eaten in silence, dragon meat filling bellies with strength that felt earned rather than stolen. One by one, the party drifted into sleep, save for Stronric, who remained by the fire with his axe in hand. The rabbit stirred once, lifting its head as though to meet his gaze. For a moment, dwarf and beast regarded one another, neither blinking, nor yielding. Then the rabbit tucked its head beneath its paws and slept.

Stronric snorted softly, almost a laugh. "Aye. Ye've judged us worthy enough for now." He rose, rolled his shoulders, and turned his eyes back to the swamp. His watch began, and the night held its peace.

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