Cursing, Durin thrust a hand into his pocket. Before he could get the stoneskin ring onto his finger, however, one of the dragonkin raked his shoulder with its talons, spinning him around. Gasping at the fierce pain of the furrows that had just been torn in his flesh, Durin fell to his knees, blood flowing from his shoulder. Something tugged at his backpack-and his arms were wrenched backward as the pack was ripped off his back.
The dragonkin were gone.
So was Frivaldi.
Staggering to his feet, Durin looked wildly around. The dragonkin were wheeling through the air above the dragon, first one grabbing the pack, and another, their shrill roars filling the hall. Frivaldi lay on the floor below, his Delver's pack hanging from his shoulder by one strap. The dragonkin must have plucked him from the gallery and dropped him. He was still conscious-he rose, unsteadily, to his knees, holding his head.
"Frivaldi!" Durin shouted. "Get away from the dragon before it wakes."
Frivaldi either didn't hear him over the racket the dragonkin were making, or was still groggy from being dropped. He managed to clamber to his feet, but then staggered. He slapped a hand against the side of the dragon, steadying himself. Then he peered closely at its scales and did something that made Durin's mouth gape.
He knocked on the dragon's head.
Overwhelmed by the boy's stupidity, Durin nearly abandoned him then and there. Standard delving procedure called for him to cut his losses and retreat; the location of Torunn's Forge was far more important than a single Delver's life. It would be painful, after all of the decades that had culminated in at last finding the Hall of Hammers, to turn back, but Durin could return again with a new partner. A more experienced one. The order wouldn't fault him if-
"Hey Durin!" Frivaldi shouted. "I've found it. I've found the Bane of Caeruleus!"
Durin winced. The four dragonkin, still playing their winged game of snatch-the-stone with his pack, flew out through the illusionary wall, disappearing from sight, but the dragon was still in the hall below. Surely Frivaldi's shout had awakened it. Cautiously, Durin peered over the gallery rail.
The dragon hadn't moved. Frivaldi, standing beside it, was beckoning furiously. Had he spotted the weapon? Had the Bane forced the dragon into a magical slumber? Was that why it wasn't waking up?
Durin took a deep breath and winced at the pain of his wounded shoulder. He slipped on the stoneskin ring, picked up his weapon, and walked, slowly and carefully, down the stairs. As he approached Frivaldi, he pitched his question in a whisper. "Where?"
"Here," Frivaldi replied.
He rapped the dragon's head a second time. A hollow, metallic echo sounded.
Durin felt his eyes widen.
"It's… it's iron," he gasped. "A statue."
"And look at this," Frivaldi said, pulling the dragon's jaw down. The mouth opened smoothly and silently, revealing a row of daggers that had been set into the jaw like teeth. "It's articulated. So are the wings. And the scales are all attached individually, to make the body more flexible. But what's most interesting of all is that, despite the fact that it's made from iron, there's not a speck of rust on it. The workings are as good as new. Which means it must be-"
"Magic," Durin said, completing the thought.
He ran a hand along the dragon's flank. It was true. The iron had an unusual bluish tinge, but otherwise seemed fresh from the forge. Yet it was clearly something that had been made long ago. It hadn't just arrived recently in the Hall of Hammers. It had been sitting there for centuries, waiting to launch itself through that illusionary wall.
"A golem," Durin whispered. "A golem in the shape of a dragon. So that's why the Bane of Caeruleus was too large to move."
"My conclusion, exactly."
Durin ignored the young dwarfs cocky comment. He sighed. Maybe Frivaldi was right. Maybe he was getting old. How had he not recognized the "dragon" for what it was?
Frivaldi peered at the golem, head cocked, and asked, "So how do you make it go?"
"You can't," Durin said. "Only a golem's creator can command it."
"That's Torunn, right?" Frivaldi asked. Durin nodded.
"And Torunn's dead, so it's useless. We've come all this way for nothing."
Durin balled his fists. No. It couldn't be. All those decades, searching for the Bane, only to find…
Wait a minute. Closing his eyes, he recalled verse two hundred and seventeen of the saga, muttering it aloud.
"And when the Bane at last was wrought, "Bold Torunn ensorcelled it with a thought. "Its purpose to slay the dragon blue, "Yet this the bane would never do." Durin opened his eyes.
"Torunn did command it," he said. "The saga said so."
"Then why didn't it fly off and attack Caeruleus?" Frivaldi asked.
He let go of the jaw, which spring shut with a clank.
Durin glanced at a goblin skeleton that lay nearby, then at the illusionary wall. He could guess the answer-the goblins had overrun the Hall of Hammers before the illusionary wall could be dispelled. The golem, unable to see its intended target, had remained in place, waiting for it to appear, down through the centuries.
"We didn't come all this way for nothing," Durin said, an embarrassing amount of excitement in his voice. "The golem is lying dormant, just like the horde beetles. If a target should appear-if an illusion of a blue dragon could be created outside, and the illusionary wall was dispelled, the Bane might be lured back to Silverymoon." He slapped Frivaldi on the back. "We've done it!"
Frivaldi wasn't looking at him. He was staring at the illusionary wall-and his eyes were getting bigger and his face paler by the moment.
"Uh, Durin…"
Durin glanced over his shoulder and felt his own face blanch as he spotted the dozen dragonkin who had just flown in through the illusionary wall. They landed on the floor of the hall and strode menacingly toward Durin and Frivaldi, talons clicking on the stone floor. The largest of the clutch-a dragonkin with one broken horn and a nasty sneer on its snout-pointed at Frivaldi.
"Magic," it barked in a crude approximation of the Dwarvish tongue. "Give. Or die."
Behind it, the other dragonkin chuckled.
Frivaldi glanced at Durin and asked, "What do I do? Give them my pack?"
Durin almost cracked a smile. Frivaldi, asking him for advice? He raised his axe. Even with the stoneskin ring, he wouldn't last long against such odds, but perhaps if he managed to look threatening enough, Frivaldi might be able to escape, to carry word that they'd found the Bane back to the order. He kept his expression stoic, careful not to betray the pain of his wounded shoulder. The blood had soaked his sleeve and was dripping onto the floor. He was already feeling a little faint. If only he had the healing potion-but it had been in his pack, which was gone.
"You're younger and faster," he told Frivaldi. "Toss your pack into the middle of them. They'll fight for it. Then run. Return to Silverymoon. Tell the Order…"
Frivaldi wasn't listening. He squatted down, unfastening his pack.
"Much magic inside," he told the dragonkin leader.
"What are you doing?" Durin asked, exasperated. "Go!"
"These guys are part dragon, right?" Frivaldi asked. "Yes, but-"
The dragonkin moved closer, elbowing each other as they angled for a look inside the pack. Their leader growled, elbowing the nearest ones behind it.
"And the golem's primed to attack dragons."
"Not any dragon," Durin gritted. His hands were sweaty on the grip of the axe. If Frivaldi didn't run soon…."Just Caeruleus."