Just a Few Questions

By J. L. Ender

Nearby pines shiver, wind whipping through frost-encrusted needles. Wrapped in furs, I ignore the breeze. I’ve got more important things to worry about. Breath misting, I hold my bow ready.

In the distance, the arching mouth of a cave juts from the edge of a rocky, frostbitten foothill. A thick splatter of ice rims the rough-hewn edges.

So it is an ice dragon. Perfect. I grin and close my eyes. I cast treestep and slip into the bark of a tall conifer nearby, then exit from a smaller evergreen hundreds of yards closer to my target. The cave now looms above me. The enormous opening is tall enough for two dragons stacked on top of each other. I do not recommend stacking dragons on top of each other.

I call up a fog to hide my approach—the only other spell I’ve mastered—and glide inside under the cover of wind and mist. Once within the stout stone hillside, the air stills, but the temperature drops even further. I can’t ignore the cold now. It sinks deep into my bones. You’re a long way from home, elf.

I ready an arrow primed with a carefully enchanted arrowhead, but I’m hoping I won’t need it. I creep forward at a half-crouch along craggy terrain. The icy floor is slick in spots and crunchy in others. Two different kinds of danger. I don’t want to alert my prey with misplaced footing, and I also don’t want to fall on my backside in front of several tons of cold muscle.

The cave widens, and suddenly I’m aware of how much smaller I am than whatever lives here. Something flickers in the distance. Is that fire? That does not align with my notes. An ice dragon should be here, harboring a cold blue fire within.

I keep on creeping like a good little wood elf.

I approach a high-ceilinged, stalactite-heavy chamber. A forty-foot tall giant dressed in ratty furs sits before a roaring bonfire so hot I can feel it even from a stone’s throw away. Have I seen him before? Maybe his picture was in the broadsheets…

I lower my bow. The giant turns a spit with one of the ice dragon’s legs on it. Fat drips onto the hungry fire, sizzles echoing throughout the cavernous chamber.

What’s left of the corpse sits nearby. Wounds larger than my head perforate skull and chest. The smell of roasting meat makes my mouth water.

Well, so much for questioning the dragon.

Then again, this could be an even greater opportunity! Giants are meant to hold untold secrets, right? Perhaps he’s acquired several, ideally even a few from the dragon.

I can still salvage this. Of course I can. I’ve got this. Pasting on a confident smile, I put my bow away and stride forward.

“Hail and well met, friend!” I let my voice boom across the cavern.

The giant looks up, mouth greasy from the flame-roasted dragon haunch he’s been chewing on. “A ranger?” He snorts. “What you want, man-elf? Begone.” His voice is somewhat higher and flutier than I expected. I wonder if I can get him to sing. I’ll bet he’s got some real pipes on him.

I step forward… and regret it. Now I can smell the giant. Woof. I clear my throat and try not to gag. “The name’s Rolen. Rolen Oakenheel. Say, are you Rodric the Conqueror? You look familiar.”

“What if I am?” The giant takes another bite.

“Oh, I’ve heard stories about you. Smashing the gold dragons of Teneba, smashing the countryside of the Southern Gap. I hear you’re really good at, erm, smashing things.”

He gives me a flat look. “You here to sample my wares?”

“No, no.” I swallow. “I just have a few questions for you, good sir.” I pull out a tattered notebook. “Do you know anything about the Road of the Fae?”

“The what?”

“The Faerie roads? No? What about the Portal of the Undil Mountains?”

“Are you mad?”

“No, sir. Just very dedicated.” I clear my throat. “What about the Well of Lost Souls?”

“That sounds like a load of rubbish. You want some dragon meat? I’ll give you a talon if you shut yer gob.”

My stomach rumbles. “Actually, that sounds fantastic.”

I sit before the fire on a massive log opposite the giant. Legs dangling. I chew a chunk of dragon flesh the size of my thigh. It’s not actually a talon, but the meat from the finger just before the claw. Apparently a thorough study in smashing doesn’t include courses on anatomy.

“This is really good,” I say around a mouthful. “Do you… Do you use any seasoning?”

“What the ‘ell is seasoning?”

“Like salt or saffron or something? I think I’m detecting saffron.”

“You promised you’d shut up!”

“So I did. Sorry about that. Little bit of a fib, I guess. Ever heard of the Ghost Mirror of Marin’s Green?”

The giant roars and throws his mostly-eaten haunch aside. “I’m going to squash you to paste, you little pest!” He reaches for a club the size of a watchtower. That would definitely do the trick.

I sigh, pull out my bow, and shoot him in the chest with the enchanted arrow.

The giant’s eyes widen, and his mouth falls open a second before he turns to dust. Only a huge pair of foul-smelling boots and the club remain. The weapon fades to ash before it thumps against the ground.

I glance around the now silent cave. So much for finding answers about other planes of existence. Time to move on. My investigation will eventually continue on as it ever did.

I sit in the quiet, kicking my feet restlessly. I put my bow away and reach for the dragon finger.

I take another bite and chew slowly. “I really think that’s saffron.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J. L. Ender is the author of the superhero series Steel Fox Investigations and mecha vs kaiju mayhem The Cold Below, as well as a number of other novels and short stories. Ender has worked as a dishwasher, a beef jerky labeler, a warehouse worker, a shelf stocker, a greeter, a traveling technician, a laser engraver, a package handler, a copywriter, a graphic designer, a librarian, an editor, a dispatcher, a phone operator, a hotel clerk, and hopefully someday soon as a novelist… He lives in Ohio with his wife and fellow writer SCE Ender.

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