Vargoth Ember's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

Torches spilled down the cliff. The mercenaries would reach the lighthouse before the gold could be moved. Vargoth's hoard sat heaped in the open tower, bright and helpless. He could not fight them here. The stone floor gave him no cover, and the stairs let them come at him one by one. He needed ground he could hold. Below the tower, a sea cave gaped in the rock. Its mouth had caved in long ago. Broken slabs framed a low, dark throat, wide enough for one man at a time. Vargoth saw it and knew. One narrow way in. His back to solid stone. He could burn anyone who tried to enter. He dragged the gold down in the net, load by load, and packed it deep inside the cave. Then he searched the wrecks along the shallows for something heavier. He found a cannon half sunk in the sand, its barrel crusted red with rust. He hauled it up the rocks and wedged it across the cave mouth. It would not fire. It did not need to. It was iron, and it was a wall. The first mercenaries reached the beach. They spread out and moved toward the cave, blades drawn. Vargoth filled his chest and breathed. Red fire rolled across the entrance. Two men fell back, cloaks smoking. But there were too many. They circled wide, out of his reach, and began to climb the rocks above the cave. He could not breathe in every direction at once. "You dug in like a crab," said a voice behind him. Vargoth turned. A young dragon-kin stood in the shadows at the back of the cave, horns curling from black hair, red scales climbing his arms. Ember Scalewing. Vargoth's own blood, half his size and twice as loud. The last time they spoke, the boy had laughed at his empty claws and called him a beggar with wings. "You came," Vargoth said. "You made enough noise to wake the coast." Ember drew a blade from his belt and grinned. "Someone has to guard the door while you hold the wall." They fought as a pair. Vargoth breathed fire at the mouth and kept the front clear. Ember darted along the broken slabs, fast and low, and cut down the men trying to climb over the top. The mercenaries pushed, and the two dragons held. Bodies dropped. The rest lost heart. They pulled back down the beach and vanished into the dark past the cliffs. Vargoth stood in the cave mouth, smoke curling from his jaws. The gold was safe behind him. He had a wall of rust, a narrow door, and kin at his back. But he could not stay walled in a cave forever, and the mercenaries had only retreated, not surrendered. They knew now where the hoard sat. They would come back with more.