Chapter 1
Felthing slithered out of the dark.
“Finally,” it whispered. “We are free!”
It scraped and clawed through rocks and rubble until it could stand. Most of the cavern was filled with broken stone shelves and colossal boulders. None of the other soul harrows remained. Their stolen bodies had been crushed and their spirits had been cast out. Felthing had been fortunate. When its arm was severed, it had been pushed into a chasm that protected it when the cavern collapsed.
“We are in one piece again.” it said, touching its new limb.
It had lost the arm, during the battle with the dragonlings, but the severed limb had grown back. This was one of many advantages to being a soul harrow; it just took time. Now, Felthing could use both its big arms again. It also had two emaciated looking little arms with vise-like claws, but needed them to clutch the mummified talisman containing the nethergrim soul to its chest. This was the only thing that allowed Felthing to stay on this mortal plane. It was not meant to be here. The poor soul acted like an anchor or Creation Itself would expel him into the Outer Darkness from which it had come! It laughed; so dramatic. It did not respect the laws of Creation. It despised, well, everything, except itself, of course.
“How long has it been?”
It always talked to itself. Who else was as reliable and trustworthy? Who else was as smart and interesting? Even other soul harrows were barely worth the effort. It made the last imprisonment in the chasm for a hundred harvests more bearable to have such an engaging conversation partner. Felthing snickered. Now freedom was within its grasp.
The journey through the cavern took several moons. Not that Felthing saw the twin moons above traverse the heavens, but it could feel their influence. They tugged at its awareness irritably, and it despised them for existing. One day it would tear them from the sky. It hated them both, the one that was a moon and the one that was not. Maybe Felthing was just hungry. Thank the Dark there was food to be had in the meantime. The caverns were teeming with foul creatures, drawn to the same unholy beacon as Felthing.
“Almost there, Dragon King!” it wheezed like an old man.
Something hissed and slithered nearby. Felthing pounced. The cave python hung limply from its claw, and it ate the silent serpent head first.
“That’s how we get stronger. We eat one slimy snake at a time. Finally, we’ve reached the biggest snake of them all!”
It had come to a broken archway with faintly glowing runes on its surface. The arch was partially blocked by debris. An old warding spell still clung to the portal and Felthing was careful not to touch the cold stone pillar that remained as it slipped through a gap. Inside, surrounded by shadowy treasures, lay coiled the slumbering elder dragon.
Felthing paused. Even soul harrows had learned to fear the oldest remaining great wurm. However, the Dragon King stayed deathly still, and Felthing began to relax. It could tell the dragon was more than asleep.
“But not dead,” Felthing pondered.
The great dragon was not dead, but the soul harrow could sense the dragon’s fiery spirit was absent. A dragon’s soul was too fierce for a soul harrow to endure without protection. Soul harrows, hideous trans-dimensional fiends that they were, could possess bodies to grow stronger, and then emerge when it suited them, but they were always on the prowl for a new host. A soul harrow couldn’t normally get close enough to possess a dragon, but without a soul, Felthing could get much closer. It giggled nervously. A soulless elder dragon seemed too good to be true.
“Greeting, Majesty.” Felthing murmured, as it crawled forward carefully. “I am here to serve you once more. How can I help you?”
The dragon remained quiet. Felthing began to salivate as he approached.
“You look faint, Lord. Let me feel your pulse.”
Felthing slowly placed long cruel claws upon the forearm of its sleeping sovereign. There was a pulse of sorts, but it was odd, mechanical.
“Oh, my!” Felthing said with poorly disguised glee. “I must check your breathing too, dearest king!”
It was enjoying this irreverent charade far too much. Breathing was shallow as a shallow grave. Too weak even to hear a death rattle. Only the magical nature of the great wurm kept him alive at all.
“Lovely!” Felthing crowed.
The soul harrow continued to cackle as it pried its way between the dragon’s terrible jaws and vanished into the cavernous maw. Presently, something changed about the dragon. If someone had been watching, they might have witnessed a sort of thawing or shifting, as if the shape of the dragon imperceptibly slumped. The horrible defiant face, even in slumber, had appeared timeless, as if chiseled from the hardest stone. Now, age crept into corners of the closed eyes, making them sag. Sadness caused the toothy mouth to drawn down in a slight frown. Tiredness weighed on the serpent’s shoulders so they bowed lower by only a shadow of a shade. A brittle sound like melting ice crackling could be heard from the dragon’s diamond hard scales, and a foul smell of decay permeated the stale air.
Then breathing became audible, with chilling hisses of air that increased and became a hideous laugh. The dragon’s eyes opened to reveal they were milky with blindness. The great serpent lifted its head, jerking like a marionette at first, and then it spoke.
“Dear Lord Dragon, it said. “I fear you have caught a dreadful cold, but don’t worry. I will stay with you.”
The laughter returned, and a horrible pale light shone from the blind eyes. The great bulk of its scaled limbs shifted and its terrible horned head rose, lips drawing back to reveal rows of monstrous teeth.
“I think we will be together for a very long time!” Felthing said with the dragon’s voice.
