The Elder's Curse Andrew Walbrown (red scrolls of magic .TXT) 📖

Ulam, smooth and hard, much like those atop the head of a bull. Nilawen, Kona, and Amantius grabbed onto the left side of the tail, while Mazargo and Ulam lined up on the right. Ulam had intentionally waited for Mazargo to latch onto a spike first so he could follow him, determined to be in a perfect position if the staff were to be dropped. Hopefully, there are hidden rocks along the ground for Mazargo to trip upon.

“Are we ready?” The Matriarch called over one of her yellow-scaled shoulders. “Watch your step, there will be bones and rocks, among other things, inside.”

Perfect.

The Matriarch lurched forward, her tail slithering behind her. The warm evening sunlight of the lair’s entrance died as soon as they entered the tunnels, suffocated by cold, musky darkness. As they delved deeper and deeper, a sense of dread began to take hold of Ulam. The oppressive gloom of the place was greatly unsettling to him, causing his imagination to run wild with what may or may not be lurking in the shadows. Aside from Amantius’ occasional cursing or the sliding of scales on stone, Ulam heard nothing else. They could have been walking into the razor-sharp jaws of a much larger dragon and he would not have known until it was too late.

More importantly, though, his trepidation arose from the lack of opportunity to seize the staff from Mazargo. Originally he had hoped an unassisted accident would occur, but since nothing of the sort had happened, Ulam decided he would need to take matters into his own hands. He knew that if he did not act soon, he would not get another chance.

Ulam quickened his pace until he felt Mazargo’s tail brush against his chest, followed by the Mwai’s apology. Not only did this let him know Mazargo was near, but where his feet were as well. Ulam thought about attempting to snatch the staff out of Mazargo’s hand, or possibly even holding onto a different part of the bloodwood rod, hoping to be so clandestine that no one would notice. But walking through the pitch blackness of the tunnels and holding onto an object he could not see would be incredibly difficult, too much so for Ulam to attempt. Instead, he decided to go with a more physical approach: intentionally tripping Mazargo.

I need to touch the staff at least one more time, Ulam thought as he readied his heavy boot to swipe Mazargo’s feet. He felt awful, but he believed that was the only way he was going to have Kuruk’s staff in his possession one more time before its disenchantment. Forgive me, Mazargo.

With a clean, powerful strike Ulam kicked the outside of Mazargo’s right foot, the force pushing it inward until the mage tripped over himself. With a shout, Mazargo crashed onto the ground somewhere in front of Ulam, precisely where he did not know, nor did he care. Assuming the staff had been dropped, all that mattered to Ulam was finding the magical item before anyone else.

“What happened over there?” Amantius shouted, his voice echoing a hundred times off the walls of the tunnel.

“Mazargo has fallen,” the mage replied with pain in his voice. “He has tripped and lost the staff!”

He lost the staff!

“Ah dammit,” Amantius grumbled, “I should’ve known…”

Ulam let go of the Matriarch as an unbridled exhilaration swept over him, the dragon continuing her march despite Kona and Nilawen’s joint protests. He then fell to the floor, running both hands over the rugged ground as he desperately sought the staff. He knew he only had a matter of seconds before the others joined the search, specifically Mazargo, who had guarded the item like it was his most prized possession.

As Ulam fumbled around he became aware that the Matriarch stop walking, her heavy footsteps no longer shaking the ground. Panic seized him as he heard the others implore her to help, believing she would navigate Mazargo to the staff since she was able to see in the dark. But despite Kona and Nilawen’s pleading, no draconic words came from the Matriarch’s lips. Instead, a deep rumbling filled the cavern. Then, much to Ulam’s surprise, the darkness softened, the cave suddenly glowing with crimson and gold.

Ulam looked to the front of the group and saw the Matriarch standing tall with her shoulders squared, sparks flickering inside her torso. For an instant, Ulam was afraid the Matriarch was about to engulf the small area in dragon’s fire, but he quickly realized she was acting as a torch, providing what little light she could without incinerating them all. Though her scales obscured the flames burning in her chest, the light was just enough for Ulam to not only see the faces of Amantius and the others, but also the sparkle of the amber powerstone.

In an instant Ulam crossed the distance between himself and the bloodwood staff, knocking aside the ribcage of some long-dead animal as he crawled across the ground. Driven by a thirst for answers and buttressed by the fear of never knowing them, Ulam lunged for the staff, twisting his fingers around the cane with as much strength as he could muster. Distantly he was aware of Amantius’ shouting, but with a concentrated effort, he was able to block out the turmoil surrounding him, focusing all his energy on the staff.

Are you there?

No answer. Ulam shifted his hands, unsure if he had to hold them in a certain position to communicate. Please, I do not have much time.

Still no answer. Ulam felt the leather of Mazargo’s gloves on his arms, as well a set of Human hands. Both started pulling on him, but he held on even tighter, refusing to surrender the staff so easily. I have questions, will you answer them?

“Perhaps,” the same venerable voice said, filling Ulam’s head. “That entirely depends upon the question. My apologies for the delay, I was engaged in magical experiments, as wizards often are.”

A rush of excitement filled Ulam, giving his muscles newfound strength to resist Mazargo