They were gathered around the fire. Anthos drank the last sip of rum, courtesy of Galfrido. The cave wasn’t huge, but it fit the four of them and the baby perfectly. Outside, the storm continued to batter the mountains relentlessly. Had they not found that place quickly, they might have succumbed to the untamed power of the mountain.

  “I think now is the time for a story,” said Begryn, opening her tunic so the guide could see Drako. The man, upon seeing him, was left speechless. He had known from the start that this wasn’t an ordinary baby, but he had never imagined such rarity in a single being.

  “There are unique beings in this world, ones you may have heard of in legends or deep within your dreams. They have many names, but they are known as the Dragon Knights,” Anthos nodded, his gaze still fixed on Drako. “There is one for each species of dragon, six in total. An ancient elven prophecy says that with the blood of the last Dragon Knight to be born, sacrificed at the place where a mountain once fell from the sky and tore the earth, the gates of the Abyss will open. That crater is known as the Quarry of Avernus, and it lies in the southern part of Bloodmere.”

  “And the baby…?” Anthos asked, still somewhat incredulous.

  “The baby is the last of the Dragon Knights to be born.” He looked again at the child’s features—his white hair and yellowish eyes, the dragon-shaped birthmark on his face, the texture of his skin that at times shimmered as if covered in scales. “Nurbanduur… or Drako, was born here in a small village in Dorlan, but just months after his birth, the village was razed by orcs and the Brotherhood of the Black Flame, an ancient order devoted to bringing demons into the world. Fortunately, his mother foresaw the attack with some time to spare and, by the grace of the gods, fled to Doknar, giving her life as a final gift of love.”

  “And Faradax and the orcs…?” asked Galfrido, also absorbed in the tale he had heard before, though apparently without paying much attention the first time.

  “They serve the forces of evil. They will do whatever the Brotherhood commands. The biggest problem is that the Brotherhood has followers in every region, and it is impossible to identify them. That’s why I didn’t trust you,” the guide nodded. “When he grows up, Drako will be a great ally to the forces of good. Normally, at a certain age, Dragon Knights turn into dragons and vanish over the horizon… but until then, we’ll be able to count on him.”

  “As long as we save him,” Galfrido added.

  “We will,” said Anthos with complete certainty. “And why must we take him to Trabarioth?”

  “We’re going to entrust the child to Volrath, the city’s mage,” this time it was Kalen who spoke. “Volrath is an old follower of the prophecy and knows better than anyone what must be done with Drako… and how to prepare him for when he grows older. I also suppose he’ll have the means to keep him hidden… all mages do. On top of that, Trabarioth is the largest and therefore most impregnable city in the entire region. He will be safe there.”

  “I have a thousand questions in my head,” Anthos said, shifting his gaze from Drako to the fire almost intermittently, “but right now I can’t think of a single one. This is bigger than I imagined… Are we preventing the destruction of Dorlan?”

  The enormity that the events had suddenly taken on for him gave him a strange dizziness.

  “We are preventing the fall of all races, for if the Abyss opens its gates, there will be no place to hide… not in the skies, nor underground, nor in a walled city… not even at sea…‘And when the three-headed hound howls for the arrival of its master, the portal shall open, and with joy and delight, the children of Demento shall shake the earth and drain the seas; they shall feast on the blood of the innocent and impregnate the maidens; they shall spit curses of fire and dye the sky red; and the great eclipse shall cover the sun eternally, so that the old gods may be tormented with the extinction of their offspring, and the drowning of their palaces in the endless waves of chaos.’”

  Kalen, upon hearing that passage from the elven prophecy, shuddered, for he vividly remembered the dream he had had of that monstrous three-headed hound.

  Anthos peered out through the cave’s opening and saw that the morning sky was still overcast, but at least it wasn’t raining. Instead, a thick fog blanketed the area. Drops of water fell at the entrance and trickled down the mountain, reminding them that the cliff was only a handspan away. But they were also close to the entrance of the tunnels.

  “Today we’ll reach the smugglers’ gates.”

  “Before nightfall?” asked Galfrido, chewing on a piece of dry, salted meat for breakfast.

  “Most likely, yes. If we hurry, we’ll get there by dusk.”

  After a quick breakfast, they set off, keeping the rocky wall on one side and the cliff about two meters away on the other. The fog did nothing to help their walk, but at least they were grateful there was no rain. From time to time, Anthos turned to check on the baby, and at one point he saw the child smile at him. Begryn was constantly ensuring that the baby was sheltered and as warm as possible.

  Though if he has dragon’s blood, he should be boiling inside, and the cold wouldn’t be able to harm him. Could that be true? thought the guide.

  The day passed without any drastic changes in the weather, as if the mountain were giving them an advantage before the harsh journey that awaited them.

  Finally, at sunset, after turning at a fork in the road, an open clearing came into view, and before the travelers stood the smugglers’ gate. It was built into a wall carved with great skill—without a doubt the work of dwarves—and stood nearly four meters high. None of them had ever seen the main gate of Minas Mangur, but if the trade gate was this size, with such structure and craftsmanship, the primary entrance had to be majestic.

  Dwarves: small in height, big in ego, Begryn thought.

  “Welcome to the bowels of the earth,” Anthos said jokingly. However, no one smiled. They didn’t know what might await them inside, but they were sure no one would be greeting them with open arms and a warm smile. “It would be wiser to camp here and spend the night, and tomorrow, with more energy, venture into the tunnels. What do you think?”

  “Fine by me,” said Kalen. Galfrido nodded.

  “Perfect.”

  The next morning, after finishing their preparations, they followed Anthos toward the entrance. As soon as he pushed it, a harsh, deep sound echoed throughout the place. The door began to move heavily, yet without difficulty. Even straining their eyes, the blackness inside devoured everything. Begryn didn’t need torches, but Galfrido, Kalen, and Anthos each had to arm themselves with one.

  Upon entering, an enormous and dark tunnel stretched out before them, poorly decorated and badly neglected. Small, scattered statues along the sides showed that, despite everything, the dwarves still left their mark on their structures. Cobwebs clung to the walls and ceiling, but their absence in the center of the tunnel suggested that someone had passed through not long ago.

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  They kept moving forward with Anthos in the lead, Begryn in the middle carrying little Drako, and Kalen and Galfrido in the rear. For a while, the path remained straight, curving occasionally but without any real turns or forks. The air was stale and seemed unwilling to flow as it did outside. The deathly silence was broken only by the travelers’ footsteps.

  Suddenly, Anthos stopped and pointed at something on the ground—a trace of recent fire, still smoldering. It was clear that someone had been there not long ago. If they hadn’t crossed paths with the owners of that fire before, it was because that group had chosen to camp inside the tunnel, unlike them, who had stayed outside the night before.

  Though the sight of another’s presence was unsettling, it was also comforting to know they weren’t alone.

  “Maybe this tunnel isn’t abandoned after all,” Anthos said with a smile.

  “Smugglers?” Begryn asked.

  “No, doesn’t seem like it. Looks like only a few people, and judging by the type of fire and camp, they’re probably civilized.”

  “And if not, poor them,” Galfrido muttered, tightening his grip on the greatsword still strapped to his back.

  “Perhaps treasure hunters. Let’s keep going,” Kalen said, trying to calm his companions’ nerves.

  They continued forward, but the knight soon noticed that Anthos was starting to look uneasy.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked the guide.

  “The markings are gone. Looks like they’ve been erased.”

  “Can you still find your way?”

  “Yes, I’ve got the route memorized… but that’s not what worries me. Look.”

  He pointed to dry bloodstains on the wall—clearly made by a bloodied hand.

  “And now which way?” Galfrido asked, looking at the three vaulted archways that seemed to split the paths directly ahead. To reach them, they had to climb a set of stone stairs and arrive at a sort of balcony, then walk forward a few meters and choose a door.

  “Follow me. Don’t peek into the others,” the guide said, starting to walk toward the opening on the left.

  “Let’s go through the one that smells better,” the warrior remarked. “I once heard that if you’re lost, you should always follow your nose.”

  “For the gods’ sake, where did you hear that nonsense?” Anthos shook his head.

  They began moving through the dark tunnel when, almost immediately, they started hearing a sound coming from a few meters ahead. Straining their ears, they realized it was the unmistakable sound of a mouth chewing. Something—or someone—was eating.

  Anthos signaled for his companions to be silent, pressing his index finger to his lips. Galfrido frowned at him, moved ahead, and readied his greatsword.

  Anthos handed his torch to Begryn and leaned forward, trying to be as cautious as possible, pressing his hands against the wall and tensing his legs. The sight before him horrified him: at least half a dozen mutilated human corpses, some skinned and with their guts spilling out, lay scattered in a corner. In the center of the place, a fire burned, roasting a leg still wearing its shoe.

  The smell of charred flesh reached his nostrils, and he couldn’t help stumbling, accidentally kicking a rock on the ground. Devouring a human hand was an abhorrent creature that hadn’t yet noticed the travelers’ presence—its dinner was clearly more important. It was a humanoid figure, larger and more muscular—even bigger than Galfrido—with pointed teeth and bloodshot eyes. Bare-chested, covered only with furs and adorned with skulls of various species, it clutched a spiked bone club in one hand, its mouth smeared with blood.

  That chamber was enclosed, with no exit, meaning Anthos had chosen wrong. He motioned to his companions, and, keeping as quiet as possible, they retraced their steps.

  “What happened?” Begryn asked.

  “There was… a man… but not entirely a man. His face was savage, full of sharp teeth, and he was eating human flesh. There were pieces of bodies everywhere… By the gods, he was roasting a human leg over the coals.”

  “It was an osgor—the man-eater tribe,” Galfrido said, his expression shifting as they returned to the crossroads. “Haven’t you ever seen one before, in all the times you’ve been here?”

  “Of course not. I’d remember that.”

  “Just like you remembered the way?” Kalen said sharply.

  Anthos looked at him and shrugged apologetically. “Sorry… I was almost sure it was that way. I knew the middle one led to a dead end, but I couldn’t quite remember whether the right or the left was correct. Now I know it’s to the right.”

  “All right, let’s move on.”

  They started walking again, and now the place looked more familiar to the guide. In fact, there was a very distinctive statue of the dwarven god Kramer welcoming them. From it grew some thin-stemmed mushrooms with wide caps, a bluish-green hue that occasionally emitted a faint glow in the darkness.

  “It’s a thugio mushroom,” Anthos finally said. “If you eat it, it’ll make you feel stronger, but I’ve seen people think they were turning into goats from eating too many.”

  “Mmm… tempting. I could eat several,” Galfrido said, crouching down and looking at them with interest.

  “I prefer to eat things that grow from trees, not from rocks,” Begryn added, grabbing her companion by the collar of his armor and lifting him up.

  “Hey, just one or two.”

  Kalen smiled as he watched the elf scolding the warrior. Some things never changed.

  They kept walking. Suddenly, farther ahead in the tunnel, Begryn saw an orange glow—the unmistakable light of fire. Someone was there. Treasure hunters, maybe? There was only one way to find out, and in the end, no other path to take.

  “It’s firelight, I’m sure of it,” the elf said.

  “Is there another way?” Kalen asked, looking at the guide.

  “No, there isn’t. And I’m sure this is the way. Whatever it is, we’ll have to go through it.”

  “Damn…”

  “Maybe it’s not an osgor… Maybe it’s some smugglers, or even dwarves. Who knows? If we’re lucky, maybe they’ve got beer…”

  Everyone glanced at Galfrido, who seemed to be the most hopeful of them all. The outlook, truth be told, wasn’t very promising.

  They put out their torches and approached the glow with great caution. The orange light allowed them to see the ground faintly, and almost immediately, they noticed bloodstains. Galfrido’s hopes faded quickly, like smoke scattering in a snowstorm.

  As they drew nearer, they began to hear faint groans of pain.

  “Stop… heeelp… heeelp me…”

  The voice was cracking, and there was also the sound of a saw cutting through something that could well have been a log—or a piece of flesh and bone.

  Summoning all their willpower, Anthos and Kalen cautiously peeked inside. They saw a group of five humanoid creatures matching the description Anthos had given earlier. One of them was over a naked human man with short hair and a beard. The neatness of his beard suggested he was from a civilized place.

  The sawing sound came from one of the creatures amputating the poor man’s leg at the knee. The shock was so great that he could no longer even scream. At one point, the osgor set the saw aside and took a knife, driving it heavily into the man’s belly and pulling his entrails out. The man’s eyes opened in one final grimace of pain, and his life was snuffed out.

  Another of the monsters took the man’s viscera and placed them in a container, while the amputated leg was skewered and set to roast over the central fire.

  “Look at that,” Kalen said.

  On one side of the campfire, bound hand and foot, was a middle-aged man, still clothed, with long black hair and deep blue eyes staring in horror. Without a doubt, he was the next victim, once they finished butchering the one who had just died. Kalen and Anthos returned and explained the situation to their companions.

  “We can’t leave him there,” said Begryn.

  “We didn’t come to rescue anyone,” Galfrido replied.

  “Either way, we’ll have to fight,” Kalen answered curtly.

  “Exactly. And if we’re going to do it, I’d rather have all my attention focused on my greatsword and protecting the baby, not on rescuing someone we don’t even know.”

  “Heavens, my friend… they just gutted a man right in front of us,” protested Anthos. “And they’re going to do the same to the other one… doesn’t that bother you at all?”

  “Listen, mate, don’t bust my balls. We took this shitty path because you led us here. I’m not interested in rescuing anyone — just in saving that little runt,” he pointed at Drako, “and protecting my friends.”

  Kalen said nothing, but everyone looked at him when he solemnly drew Eldora and advanced toward the glow.