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They found another rope dangling down but Kormac found it simpler to leap from boulder to rock until he reached the ground. Lomar joined him a few seconds later, alone.
“What happened to the soldiers?” Kormac asked.
“Thought it best if we checked out the cave first in case we find something we don’t want them to blab about. I told them to give us warning if the dragon comes back,” Lomar stated.
Kormac glanced back at the pile of rubble blocking the pass with the soldiers standing atop, eyeing the sky. “Probably a good idea.” Fighting a dragon might sound like fun, but he’d want a spear at the very least for the attempt. The stories about them claimed their hard hide tended to deflect regular blades. “Shall we?” He swept a hand towards the cave.
“Think there’s more dragons inside?” Lomar didn’t hide his eagerness to find out.
“The doorway doesn’t seem large enough, at least for the one that just left.” Its bulk was easily twice the width.
“So not a dragon’s lair?” Lomar didn’t hide his disappointment.
“Probably not but I’d say we definitely found something.” Kormac pointed. “Look at the wall around the opening. There are carvings in the stone.”
Lomar approached the wall, which was slick with ice, and tapped some of it with his fist, cracking it off to reveal faded sigils. “Hunh. So, not a wild animal den. I can’t read it, can you?”
Kormac shook his head and glanced at the stones littering the ground, pushed to the side. “These rocks were mortared in place.”
“Why would someone brick up a cave?” Lomar mused aloud.
“There are only two reasons. Either to keep something out...”
“Or something in…” Lomar couldn’t hide his excitement. “Let’s see which it is.”
They entered, and while the light didn’t penetrate far, it provided enough for them to see the vague outlines of a decent-sized chamber. The ceiling was a few feet overhead, the room about twenty paces round, and empty.
Kormac scuffed the floor with his boot, disturbing some of the dust and dirt. “There’s tile underfoot.”
“Who would tile a cave?”
“Probably the same people who painted the frescoes.” The walls appeared to have images, the colored paint faded, and yet he recognized the shape of a dragon, blue and silver in color, along with other beasts the likes he'd never heard of. A string of writing ran underneath the images, illegible to him.
“We need light,” Lomar grumbled.
“I didn’t bring a lantern, but I do have my flint. We just need something to burn.”
“I left all my torches at home. Hold on, I have an idea. It won’t last long, though,” Lomar warned. He pulled a rag from his pouch, the one he used to clean his axe. He wrapped it around the head and Kormac lit it, the smoke from the soiled cloth unpleasant but the flames bright enough to illuminate the spaceand reveal a door at the far end of the rounded chamber. They could also see clear imprints of boots going to and from that door.
“Someone’s been here,” Kormac murmured. The garrison troops or someone else. The ropes going over the collapse seemed to indicate the former.
Lomar approached the door with his torch and gave it a light shove. The portal swung open silently and revealed a corridor, the stone smooth and also intricate, decorated in whorls and lines. Their makeshift light didn’t extend enough for them to see how far back it went.
As they stepped into the hall, they startled as the ceiling illuminated, the light glow showing them the way.
Lomar stared suspiciously at the ceiling. “Is it magic?”
“I don’t know.” Not something Kormac liked to admit, but he had no other reply. Lights didn’t just happen without fire and a source of fuel.
“Should I put out the torch on my axe?”
“Yes. Let’s save the rag in case we need it again.”
Lomar stomped out the flame and they continued down the long hall, the ceiling ahead lighting with every pace until they reached a massive door, outside which sat a satchel and a pair of actual torches.
Kormac crouched and used the tip of his dagger to lift the flap of the bag. “There’s a notebook inside,” he remarked, pulling it free. A flip of the cover showed the pages covered in drawings and notes. “It’s Khaal’s writing.” Or so it seemed, the looping scrawl familiar.
“He found this place and didn’t tell you?” Lomar didn’t hide his disapproving tone.
