Chapter 4: The Knight\’s Claim

The smell of them reached her before the sound of their boots on the mountain stone did.

Barjuchne lifted her head from the pile of coins she’d been arranging, her nostrils flaring. Sweat. Leather. The acrid tang of oil used to clean metal, although she’s not sure why she immediately recognised that. It must be some sort of dragon instinct. And beneath it all, the bitter scent of unwashed men who’d been travelling hard for days, making their way up the dense mountain trails. Her thin, whiplike tail lashed behind her.

People were coming.

She rose from her hoard and moved to the cave entrance, her claws clicking softly against the obsidian gateway. The forest beyond was still, the morning mist clinging to the treetops in pale wisps. But the scent grew stronger, and with it came rough, male voices.

Her scales prickled.

Veliah emerged from her room, her eyes wide. “What is it?”

“Stay inside,” Barjuchne said. Her voice came out flat, cold. “Hide in the back.”

“But -“

“Now.”

Veliah hesitated, then retreated.

Barjuchne turned back to the forest and waited. It looked like the knight she had been waiting on had arrived, and he’d brought company with him.

Thankfully, she had the foresight to prepare and the advantage of having had enough time to do so.

They came into view moments later, crashing through the undergrowth with all the subtlety of a landslide. Ten men, armoured and armed, moving in a loose formation around a central figure who rode on a large, bipedal bird while the others walked. The rider was broad-shouldered and thick-necked, his dark armour polished to a gleaming shine that caught the morning light. A red plume sprouted from his helmet, and a sword hung at his hip, the pommel wrapped in golden wire.

A knight, most certainly.

From her hiding place deep within the cave, Barjuchne watched through the darkness. Her heart began to pound, but she remained perfectly still as she watched the intruders approach from down below the cave’s entrance, entering into the clearing.

The knight reined the large, bipedal bird he was riding to a stop twenty paces from the entrance.

He removed his helmet, revealing a square-jawed face with a neatly trimmed beard and cold blue eyes. He surveyed the obsidian gateway with a mixture of suspicion and interest.

“So the merchant was telling the truth after all,” he said. His voice was deep and carried easily across the distance. “Some kind of cave. Whatever monster or brigand the old fool was rambling about is likely here.”

One of his soldiers stepped forward nervously. “Sir Malwas, perhaps we should -“

“Silence.” Malwas dismounted, tossing the reins to one of his men. “The girl is in there somewhere. We go in, retrieve her, and be done with this foolishness. If she’s dead, then the old man is next for wasting my time.” He clicks with his mouth, hissing between his teeth in annoyance. “I paid handsomely for her. I shall be made whole, one way or another.”

He drew his sword, the blade gleaming in the morning light. “I am Sir Malwas of Valdisheim, sworn knight!” he called toward the cave entrance. “Girl! Show yourself! Your father has sent me to retrieve you from whatever vagabond took you!”

Silence answered him.

His jaw tightened. He gestured to his men. “Inside. Find her. Kill anyone who gets in your way.”

The soldiers exchanged uncertain glances but obeyed, spreading out as they approached the entrance. Barjuchne melted further into the shadows, her dark scales making her nearly invisible in the darkness of the cave now that the fires had been extinguished in preparation.

They never saw her at all.

And as for the crude sign by the entrance saying, ‘Stay out! Only death inside!’ — They all ignored it.

It was worth a try.

The first trap inside of the dragon’s dungeon triggered before the intruders had gone ten paces.

A section of floor gave way beneath the lead soldier’s weight, and he dropped into the pit below with a scream that cut off abruptly. The others froze, staring down at the sharpened stakes now slick with blood.

“What in the hells -” one of them gasped.

“Traps,” Malwas snapped from behind them. “Watch your step, idiots. Probably set by whatever bandit scum is squatting here.”

They advanced more slowly now, testing each stone before putting weight on it. Barjuchne watched from alcoves and shadowed corners, perfectly silent, perfectly still. They never once looked up to see her clinging to the ceiling, her powerful claws dug easily into the stone with enough force to allow her to traverse there like a lizard.

The knight stopped and then grabbed some of his men, shoving them forward. “Go,” he ordered.

The second trap caught the two of them almost immediately after when a tripwire released a cascade of rocks from above. One man died instantly, his skull crushed. The other crawled away, whimpering, until a third trap, a vine-swinging log hidden in the crevice, finished him.

Seven left.

“I said watch your step, you fools! Keep moving!” Malwas barked. He spat, looking at one of his dead men as he did so. “I’ll take my pound of flesh from her and that old weasel for putting me in this mess,” he swore in a mutter. He seemed more upset about the inconvenience than about the death. “Whoever finds her first can have what’s left of her when I’m done,” he snarled at the retinue.

The cave was deeper than it once was. If one had never been here before, they would never know. But Barjuchne was keenly aware of it. In the past days, the dungeon had been stretching and expanding itself, as if it were somehow aware of the need she had of it. The cave, which was once an open cavern against the mountain face, was now buried deep in the core behind a long, winding tunnel.

Barjuchne led them on without their knowledge, always just ahead, always unseen. She’d spent days preparing these defences, carving channels in the stone and rigging crude mechanisms with rope and counterweights. Veliah had helped, pointing out weak points and suggesting angles and ideas for traps that she had seen during her father’s travels. She had a sharp, cunning mind behind the facade. It seemed that she picked up a lot of odd skills as the daughter of a wandering merchant.

By the time Malwas reached the central chamber, only three soldiers remained at his back, and they looked ready to bolt. They would, but doing so would mean being hanged. Malwas himself was breathing hard, his armour dented and dirty, but his eyes burnt with what a fool would call determination, but a sharper man would recognise as wrath.

He stepped into the wide, circular room where Barjuchne’s hoard glittered in the firelight from the braziers she’d placed around the perimeter. His eyes swept over the coins, the candlesticks, and the bolts of silk.

Then they landed on Veliah.

She stood back near the furthest wall of the cave. Her face went pale when she saw him.

“There you are,” he said. His voice was soft now, almost gentle, but the candour of it simply didn’t fit with the look on his face and eyes. He seemed like a jackal, trying to coax a rabbit into coming out of its burrow. “Come here, darling. I’ve come to save you. It’s time to go home.”

Veliah shook her head, pressing herself against the wall. “I’m not going with you.”

“Yes,” he said, sheathing his sword and crossing the room toward her with open arms. “You are. I paid your father good coin for you and I intend to get my money’s worth.”

“Stay away from me!” Veliah yelled, her voice shaking.

“Don’t be foolish, girl. I’ve come all this way. Lost good men for your sake,” he said, scanning the area for her captor. “You’re coming with me whether you -“

Approaching, he reached for her, his gauntleted hand closing around Veliah’s wrist.

A shadow dropped from the ceiling in immediate response.

Barjuchne landed between them with enough force to crack the stone floor, her thin tail lashing behind her for balance. Malwas jerked backward in shock, his hand releasing Veliah as he stared at the slit-pupilled creature that had appeared from nowhere.

Stolen story; please report.

For a moment, there was total silence.

Barjuchne straightened slowly, her eyes locked on his face. She was small compared to his broad, trained frame, barely coming up to his neck, but something in her gaze made his soldiers, at least, take an involuntary step back.

“What -” Malwas started.

The world turned red.

Barjuchne’s vision narrowed to a single point: his hand, still extended from where it had touched what was hers. Her hoard. Her treasure. Her Veliah. The dragon instincts that usually purred quietly in the back of her mind roared to life, overwhelming every rational thought, every shred of hesitation, because he touched what was hers. Nobody touches anything of hers. This sin was worse than that of the intrusion itself.

She moved without thinking.

Her claws raked across his arm, screeching against the metal, and he jerked back with a shout of surprise. She lunged again, faster than anything her size should have been able to move, aiming for his throat. He brought his sword up just in time to block, but the force of her strike drove him backward across the chamber.

“It’s a dragon!” one of his soldiers screamed. “A dragon! Look at it!”

“Impossible,” Malwas gasped, staring at her with wide eyes. “Get in here you fools!” he yells at them. “Help m-”

She didn’t let him finish.

She was on him again, her new strength making her movements blindingly fast. Her claws found the gap between his breastplate and pauldron, sliding through leather and into flesh. He screamed and swung wildly. The blade caught Barjuchne’s shoulder, drawing a line of blood, but she barely felt it in her frenzy. Barjuchne wasn’t even thinking tactically anymore; this was just pure animal instinct triggered by a dragon’s natural possessiveness of everything it collects.

She was as if possessed, mindless, feral.