That One Time I Went on a Quest

Gate of Kalarinth

Twenty-one days later, we find Rutherford's lair.

It can't be coincidence that the new Apex has chosen the same lair as the old; Rutherford must have known it to be the first place we would look. The signs are clear: the trail of bones, the claw-marked ancient masonry powdered all over the canyon, the sulphuric stink, and that suffocating weight sinking into your head like the coming of a summer storm.

At the end of the canyon stands a great statue the size of a hundred giants, carved from the sandstone cliffs. Its head, with a crown of obsidian, lays shattered in the dirt. No sign of its arms; the stone shoulders from which they were rend look smooth and unmarked, the wounds long healed by the winds of time.

Peeking around the statue's feet, Kathanhiel signals to stop.

'We make camp here,' she says. 'Come nightfall, we leave the horse and the gear and proceed on foot.'

Beyond the statue, beyond the wide canyon in which we hiked for five days, is a city of giants. Massive rectangular-shaped buildings sprout from the granite earth in obsessively straight rows, stretching to the far horizon, some slim and towering, others larger and wider than all of Iborus combined. All are hewn from the same black-red rock as the roads between them, as are the crumbling statues that can be found on every conceivable structure. Little giants seem to really love sculptures of themselves.

Nine out of ten buildings are rubble. Someone – something – had put effort into grinding these hard granite structures to fist-sized chunks, yet a notable few are still intact. About two hundred paces from the canyon, striding over a debris-covered street, is a massive crystalline arch that glows blue-white in the pale sunlight.

In the distance, in perfect alignment with the arch, is a great citadel set upon a mound of what appears to be black diamonds. Of course there's no such thing as a magical castle, but the way it's glittering in the sun, the way brilliant rainbow colours bounce from its forest of spires...

'Last I was here, many of these were still standing,' said Kathanhiel, pointing to the rubble. 'Rutherford must've had them torn down...for what, I cannot say.' She indicates the crystalline arch. 'The Gate of Kalarinth, one of the seven entrances to the Exposition, the city in which the little giants displayed all their creations.'

'Display...so they didn't live here?'

'Some did I suppose. But little giants don't congregate like we humans do. This place was built to satisfy their pride, not any desire for society.' She grins. 'There would've only been jealousy here. And vicious competition.'

'Sounds exhausting.'

'Doesn't it?' She points to the mound in the distance. 'The Kalarinth Citadel, the Seat of the Wardens, the residence of those who had been charged to guard this lifeless sprawl. I slew Elisaad in its halls ten years ago. All signs are showing that –'

She yanks me to the ground; I hear it too, the beating of wings.

Five seconds later, a bronze-scaled dragon flies overhead, its wraith-like shadow combing over the earth. No way could it have spotted us from that angle, even if it wasn't so burdened with...with...

The dragon's belly is round and protruding, out of proportion with the rest of its body three times over.

'The mule,' Kathanhiel whispers in my ear, 'delivers sustenance to the Apex.'

Toward the black mound it flies, wings beating sluggishly. Globules of brown stuff is leaking out of its backside along the way, splattering and sizzling as they splash onto the granite rubble.