Prince of Dragons

Chapter 7 - Below ground

And so it happened that a few moments later, Arwund was running through the village, following the tracks left by the woman and her friend Bedreigh in the snow. 

At first, the tracks were clear, but then they turned around a corner and disappeared in the middle of an alleyway. Arwund looked around, but all he saw were the walls of houses. There weren't even doors here. Where could they be? 

He tried distinguishing their smell. His sense of smell had always been exceptional: it was probably one of those abilities draconic humans had. And indeed he smelled a trace of their scent hanging in the air. A trace that somehow seemed to get stronger when he knelt down in the snow. 

He began searching the ground with his hands, brushing away snow, feeling if there was anything below it. Suddenly, his hand touched something hard. 

He took a closer look and then he saw it: at the side of the road, cleverly disguised in the snow, was a trapdoor, covered in some kind of hard material that looked just like snow, but didn't move an inch. 

"Ingenious," he whispered to himself. He had never seen anything like it and was curious who had designed the trapdoor. Who among the Servants of Darfith had knowledge of such rare and strange materials? 

Behind him, he heard two people approaching. He looked up and saw Enorwin and Maréin, running towards him. 

"Have you found them?" Enorwin asked. 

"They're down here." Arwund pointed at the trapdoor. "The snow over here is fake: in reality, it's a kind of hard material concealing a trapdoor." 

"How do you know they're down there?" 

"Well, for a start, their tracks end here," Arwund explained. "On top of that, I smell them." 

"You smell them?" Enorwin asked. He sounded vaguely disgusted. "What are you, a dog?" 

Arwund shrugged. "Dogs can be useful." He tried to lift the trapdoor, but it turned out to be locked. 

"Do you really find it that difficult to see Arwund in a positive light once in a while, sir Enorwin?" Maréin asked. Arwund felt slightly surprised at the tone of Maréin's voice: instead of sounding sarcastic, he actually appeared to be curious. 

Enorwin grunted. "You have no right to judge me," he said, before drawing his sword and pushing it under the rim of the trapdoor. Arwund got up and stepped aside to give him more space. 

"I'm not judging you," Maréin said. "I am merely an observer." 

"Shut up," Enorwin snapped. He pulled the hilt of his sword towards him, using it as a makeshift lever. With a loud cracking of wood, the trapdoor was lifted. 

The three men looked into a dark cellar. A wooden ladder led down, but they couldn't see the floor. 

"Has any of you got light?" Enorwin asked. 

"Has any of you got a stick and a piece of cloth?" Arwund asked. 

"I do," Maréin said, tearing a strip of cotton from his tunic and producing a stick as long as his forearm from under his cloak. 

Enorwin looked at him in surprise. "Why were you carrying a stick with you?" 

Maréin smiled. "You never know when stuff like that might come in handy." He handed the objects to Arwund, who began wrapping the cloth around one end of the stick. Tying a knot in the cloth to prevent it from falling off the stick, he said: "I don't have any oil with me, but I suppose it will work out all the same." 

"I've got oil," Maréin said. 

Both Enorwin and Arwund looked at him questioningly now. 

"What?" Maréin said, producing a flask of oil. "I like to sleep near a fire during the winter."