Flex Ironthews's Arc

Chapter 5 of 6

Flex carried the scroll down the mountain, and it fought him. The pages twitched under his arm. He felt them push against the cord, trying to peel open. He clamped it tighter and kept walking. Below the fog-line, the mist thinned. A broad old oak stood beside the trail, its low branches heavy with drifting fog. He stopped there to bind the scroll shut with a strip of his belt. That was when he heard them. Two of the adventurers stepped from behind the oak. Flex knew them. Last he saw them, the beast had chased them past the fog-line. Now one leaned on the other, his armor split, blood dry on his neck. The other held a bent blade in a shaking hand. Both had watched their friends die between the drake's jaws. "Give it here," said the one with the blade. "We paid for that scroll. We paid with their lives." The wounded one lifted his head. His eyes were glassy, far away. "They're still in there," he whispered. "I heard them. Inside the pages. If we open it, they come back." He reached for the scroll with both hands, grinning. Flex stepped back. He could fight them. His arms were thick, his fists were hard, and these two were half-dead. But the delirious one was strong with fever, and the other still had steel. If he brawled here, he might lose the scroll in the tangle. He looked at the fog-line, twenty paces up the slope. Then he had it. "You want them back?" Flex said. "Then open it yourself." He tore the belt loose and unrolled the scroll. Ink rose off the pages. Horns formed. Eyes bloomed across a forming skull. The wounded man laughed and lunged, arms wide, as the drake's jaws took shape. The beast finished building and closed its mouth around him whole. His laugh cut off. The other man screamed and swung his bent blade. It skidded off the scales. A heavy foot came down and crushed him against the roots of the oak. Flex was already running. He crossed the fog-line and rolled behind a stone. The drake charged after him. He counted. Ten. The green scales went pale. Twenty. The horns turned gray. The jaws slowed near his boot. Thirty. The beast smeared into nothing. Flex snatched the fallen scroll from the dirt and rolled it shut. His hands shook. Both adventurers were gone. No one else knew he had it. No one could reach Gilding first. He pressed the scroll to his chest and looked down the last stretch of trail. Two men had died at his own hand, in a way. He told himself they had chosen it. He wiped his mouth and started walking. Gilding wanted proof of strength. He would lay this at her feet and watch her face change.