Author’s note: This story is my submission for the April 12, 2023 prompt on Iron Age Media titled “The Warden”
Author: James Meyer
Along the High Road between Waterdeep and Helm’s Hold lay the jagged and forbidding summits of the Sword Mountains. But these are different from the alps that some adventurers are familiar with. In centuries past, the mountains were two separate ranges. Now, they have joined together into one. Although Neverwinter Forest holds its own, the forests nearest the previous crags have adapted to the tundra weather. The old plains and grasslands between Longsaddle and Triboar have vanished. New foothills have been created to replace them.
The climate surrounding Icespire Peak favored the colder seasons. Autumn often arrived early, and winter overstayed its welcome equally as much. Nevertheless, the frozen waterfalls of midwinter fascinated the minds of the most seasoned travelers, even those who returned. The falls could inspire creative magic in the hearts of the most distraught and hollowed bards and artists. Veins of mithril snake deep beneath the mountain, like roots supporting a great tree.
The crown jewel of this frozen, rugged reach is Icespire Peak, which towers over the rest of the highlands. The famed Clan Icehammer holds dominance over the icy crest. Nothing lives or travels through the mountains without them knowing. Though many races have tried to wrest control of the peak from them, all have failed. Their greatest coffers, the Iced Vaults, are rumored to contain enough treasure to fill a glacier. But the dwarves do not live alone.
Soaring mightily and gracefully above the snowcapped mountains, Brygaim surveyed his shared domain. Often referred to as the Silver Champion, his same-colored scales glistened in the early morning. His claws sharpened and ready to pierce the toughest hide. He changed course and climbed high into the misty peaks. Above the clouds, he inhaled deeply and loosed his chilling breath. A proud defender and an excellent example of the metallic dragons.
The dragon had lived among Clan Icehammer for a minimum of four centuries. Brygaim initially sought his own caves away from the dwarves. This arrangement worked until a great monster forced an alliance between Clan Icehammer and the Silver Champion. Afterward, Brygaim sheltered along with the dwarves. Slowly, he grew attached to them, learning their language and customs and serving as a special advisor to the Icehammer monarchy. With great friendships making life hale and hearty, the dragon did not complain.
After four more practice runs of his freezing breath, Brygaim dove back towards the earth. Gravity rocketed the dragon back down to the mountains. The sudden acceleration would test the grip of the mightiest barbarian. After a short freefall, Brygaim forced himself against nature into a sharply banked turn. Still keeping a reasonable distance above the soil, the dragon flew his morning patrol. Retracing all the known and unknown caravan paths and hiking trails tested the alertness and readiness of the guards and scouts on morning watch.
After crisscrossing the snowy ranges to his satisfaction, the Silver Champion arrived at the new Icespire Hold. The old one fell away during the calamity, and its location was still being excavated and researched to determine its usefulness. A stone pad hewed from the mountain provided enough space for Brygaim to land. An aged but not elderly dwarf dressed in fanciful winter coats awaited him.
“Good morning Lunealyn,” the dragon welcomed his waiting companion.
“Good morning Brygaim,” replied the dwarf, her natural tongue providing a distinct accent of his name.
After the greeting, Brygaim polymorphed into a five-and-a-half-foot-tall well-built human having auburn hair streaked with silver and a magnificent beard. A hybrid of his own style and of those he lived alongside. The dwarf presented him with his winter garments which the altered dragon accepted and changed into. The pair then trekked through the outpost and into the winding halls carved under Icespire Peak.
“Which matters is my assistance most needed?” asked the disguised humanoid.
“Your presence is requested for the trade envoy’s appearance. They want us to lower the taxes from the High Road so that overland trade is more friendly to the merchants from the south,” explained Lunealyn.
“The merchants do like making a profit, and right now, that profit comes from a partnership with the mariners and sailors,” mused Brygaim.
“True, but towns like Triboar and Longsaddle complain that our tolls are encouraging this practice and robbing them of better goods,” countered the dwarf.
“This is also true,” agreed the dragon.
More preliminary chatter was maintained between the pair as they traveled deeper into the mountain. Every ninety feet, torches provided dim light along the smaller carved tunnels. The natural hollows created excellent blueprints and starting points for adding more interconnecting passageways. This web of caves slowly grew to encompass the main Dwarvish stronghold and form new ones. Some of the more adventurous and boasting miners claimed that the mines burrowed so deeply Clan Icehammer would break through to the Underdark.
Brygaim and Lunealyn continued reviewing the day’s events, including the formation of a new rescuing unit, the christening of an archive extension, and the conclusion of the last bi-decade accounting of the Iced Vaults. The dwarf expressed blunt happiness that the review had been completed. Evaluating any minute positive or negative changes on such a gargantuan scale in perfect detail always proved tedious. The dragon empathized with her feelings.
After journeying, the duo arrived at the primary stronghold: Icehammer Citadel. The central node amongst the network of underground bastions and the main sanctuary for handling visitors. The grandiose presentation rivaled such cities as Waterdeep and Neverwinter. The humungous, well-lit, and well-kept cavern housed many fanciful hotels and inns for well-to-do VIPs and extravagant entertainment, instruction, and relaxation venues. The perfect place for wealthy or influential guests to conduct business or satisfy pleasure.
The pair continued toward Castle Torunedar, Clan Icehammer’s seat of power. Named after the village on the mountain’s surface where the dwarves started, the castle stood as immaculate as the stronghold it overlooked. It rested against the back wall of the rocky grotto as a mighty symbol of the clan’s significant progress. It housed the Icehammer royal family as well as essential advisors and diplomats.
The twosome strode into the familiar halls of Castle Torunedar, greeted by the royal guard standing at attention. Paying respect to the sentries, Brygaim and Lunealyn briefly wandered the castle’s splendid halls before diverging. Both needed to visit their chambers and dress appropriately for the trade party’s arrival.
“I shall see you again in the throne room, Special Advisor Brygaim,” Lunealyn bid the dragon goodbye.
“Indeed I shall your highness. Farewell,” replied the polymorphed creature.
The queen and the sage separated to prepare themselves for the particular party. The latter departed for his own chambers within the castle. Once there, he discarded the winter outercoats and exchanged them for his advisor robes. A fleeced garment custom tailored for his altered form, predominately white accented by silver and light blue trim. The last compliment to Brygaim’s formal attire was a simple necklace with a dragon icon merged with the Clan Icehammer crest.
After taking fifteen minutes to change clothes and groom, the Silver Champion wandered to the throne room of Castle Torunedar. The Icehammer royalty received guests and conducted diplomatic matters within the brightly lit chamber. The walls were adorned with items of the finest Dwarven craftsmanship. At the opposite end sat King Ruznic and Queen Lunealyn, flanked by about half a dozen advisors. Off to the side, away from the nobility, sat a scribe with parchment and quill ready to record the conversation.
“Welcome, special advisor Brygaim. We are honored that you chose to join us in these negotiations,” greeted the king.
“You summoned me, and I arrived. Long live King Ruznic and Queen Lunealyn,” replied the polymorphed creature, kneeling respectfully.
“Come champion, you do not need to be so formal with us given your willing service. We do not summon you to these matters. Only request” retorted the monarch.
The king spoke a large grain of truth in his sentence. As a show of respect to him, the dwarves never called upon the dragon to sit as an advisor. On the contrary, they always asked him to do so. Brygaim retained the choice to not appear if he desired, but that option had never been exercised.
“With due respect, King Ruznic, my duties on foreign matters are a token of gratitude and thankfulness for our co-existence,” the Silver Champion politely undersold.
“Your presence for this envoy is appreciated regardless of the circumstances. Come join us now,” the king briefly paused before concluding the conversation.
With grace and poise befitting his draconic nature, Brygaim walked to reach the circle of counselors. He quickly detoured to speak to and exchange pleasantries with the scribe, then cloistered around the king and queen awaiting the envoy. The wait proved short as a herald announced the envoy’s entrance and ushered them into the hall. The delegation consisted mainly of humans and elves with single representatives of other races. The standout attendee was a scholarly-looking tiefling who stepped forward with one of the humans.
“My name is Arthur Cowls, and this is Wands. Long live King Ruznic and Queen Lunealyn,” the pair bowed in homage.
“Welcome to Icehammer Citadel. You have come a long way to speak with us,” answered the monarch.
“We are thankful that you granted us an audience,” explained Wands.
“So you are here to discuss trade and taxes along the High Road. Is that correct?” questioned King Ruznic.
“Yes, your Highness, we are,” confirmed Arthur.
“Well, speak what you wish to say,” opened the king.
The conversation began in earnest with persuasion, arguments, and counterarguments. The crux of the envoy’s perspective centered around Clan Icehammer’s toll rates being too high, thus causing merchants to only use large port cities to hop up and down the Sword Coast. King Ruznic countered that high rates were necessary since the dwarves provided extra services to the surrounding areas. Cool tempers like Brygaim mediated the negotiations, offered additional insight, and discussed finer talking points.
The dialogue persisted for about an hour. Eventually, both parties reached a conditional compromise. The dwarves would send messengers proclaiming lower tolls along the Sword Mountains. Meanwhile, the envoy’s members agreed to disperse and work to create and send more foot trade along the High Road. For their reward, these new, unique caravans would receive a sliding tax based on their size as a show of good faith. It was hoped that as word spread about Clan Icehammer’s new lower rates, it would attract other trading parties, thus solidifying the more flexible tax and turning the High Road competitive.
This tentative plan held many details to be examined and ironed out, but the core framework positioned itself to be a good starting idea. The talks would have kept going except for an interruption. A single brazier among a group of dozens suddenly alit with a bright blue flame and loud roaring. Its manifestation caused the entire hall to turn and focus on it. The brazier burned for several seconds, then vanished. This omen caused Brygaim and the dwarves to become very anxious.
“Was that one of the vault warnings?” asked King Ruznic.
“Patience, sire. It could be a false alarm or an accident. Wait and see,” cautioned the polymorphed dragon.
The room’s mood changed from diplomacy to fear as even the diplomats held themselves with bated breaths. Moments became long and drawn as everyone waited for something else to happen. The brazier lit again, but this time a different white flame. A moment of respite crossed faces, and sighs of relief escaped lips. Then it flickered lively again but with a dark blue hue. Shortly after, two more alight in the same color. Too many warnings to ignore.
“This better not be an elaborate drill. If it is, I will personally behead those dullards who thought it a good idea and without my permission!” bellowed the king with a voice mixed with rage and fear.
“High guards! We have a breach in the Vaults! Escort the envoys to safety and prepare a response force! Deploy as soon as they’re ready!” commanded Queen Lunealyn
The throne room’s emotion changed from understanding to panic, buzzing to life amidst the queen’s declaration. The guards quickly ushered the trade delegation to a safer place and began activating sending stones to call upon reserves. The monarchs and advisors were likewise spirited to prepare for the worst. Instead of retreating, Brygaim discarded his robes and sped away from Castle Torunedar. Clearing the front gate, he reverted to his natural dragon form.
The Silver Champion leaped within the stronghold with a mighty roar, gaining height above the enclosed city. Then, with a swift circle around Icehammer Citadel, he discovered his target: the Tremormade Tube. These giant fissures directly connected the other strongholds and served excellently for mass, rapid mobilization. The dragon flew straight toward the crevice, pierced through its gaping entrance, and feverishly navigated down to the Iced Vaults.
The Vaults housed generations and generations of Dwarvish riches. Gold, silver, platinum, and jewels of all shapes and colors lay hidden under lock and key. Heirlooms tracing history back to the founding clans to artifacts not yet researched and studied lay within the vaults. Scholars from far and wide beyond the realms visited the fantastical storerooms of treasure. Any foul scoundrel or villain coveted this great wealth. To the corrupt minds with great imaginations, the possibilities of what could be done with it seemed endless.
Brygaim swooped and soared through the massive tunnels. Flying three times as fast as a dwarf could walk, he willed himself towards his goal. Fervently, he hoped to make it in time to stop the intruders. At last, the glacial bowels of the Sword Mountains appeared before him. With a thunderous crash, the dragon landed on the rocks below. He made no attempt to hide. These caves were his domain, his lair. He earned and upheld his epitaph of Silver Champion. The newest intruders would be quick to learn how.
As the dust settled from his landing, the dragon’s sharp eyes began searching the area for signs of the trespassers. The small crags and nooks among the hallways made excellent hiding holes for smaller creatures. Being keenly aware of the multitude of crawlspaces, Brygaim slowly stalked around the vaults, keeping all his senses alert. Finally, a scent catches his attention. A concoction of ale, venison, polish, leather, and smoke. Telltale signs of a specific foe.
“Your rations and gear give yourself away, iron monger. Show yourself,” commanded the dragon.
A human reveals himself from behind a stalagmite. He tosses his traveling pack falls aside, and unhooks a large maul, scarred from other fights. He is clad in a dull grey suit of full-plate armor. The breastplate reveals the icon of the Cult of the Dragon. A ring with a tourmaline bead adorns one of his fingers. His demeanor indicates some past amount of battle experience.
In Brygaim’s eyes and mind, seeing the awful symbol turns their distinction from interlopers into sworn enemies. He knows this unlawful paladin and his friends are far worse than meddlers. No, they want something more, and he knows exactly what. Righteous anger swells within the Silver Champion. No quarter would be given to these pretending robbers.
“So, the Cult wants him, do they?” the dragon’s question’s tone is laced with toxic contempt and disgust.
“We will take him and resurrect him with the jewels from these vaults,” proclaimed the tyrant knight.
“You will fail and die. Now where are your companions? I know you’re not alone. Spare yourselves a prolonged and painful death,” taunted Brygaim.
“The only one who will see death is you, you mewling metallic wyrmling,” replied a now visible Shadar-kai mage.
“Beware my might and menace you evil acolytes! Come at me!” challenged the Silver Champion.
No sooner he had laid down the contest than it was answered. A swarm of foes appeared from nowhere. A wild and vicious melee began earnestly. Along with the paladin and wizard, the invading party included a barbarian, rogue, ranger, druid, and artificer. A balanced party but with a possible weakness.
Brygaim proved to be slow on the attack, but his menacing presence scared the barbarian, rogue, artificer, and wizard. He selected the paladin as the first target of his ire. Clawing and biting his way through the slightly magical plate armor. The paladin returned as good as he received, and his ranger supported him. As the fleeing frontline retreated into their spellcasters, Brygaim unleashed his chilling breath. All enemies except the barbarian were heavily affected by the blast.
The battle raged on fiercely. The Silver Champion’s fearful presence slowly wore off on his adversaries. He flapped his wings violently, knocking the conquest paladin and spellcasters down. With this upburst, he switched sides and landed next to the weaker party members. Luck proved to be on his side as his breath returned to him again. The next blast of freezing draconic cold downed the wizard and druid, but the barrage of projectiles and spells allowed their revival.
Teeth pierced like arrows, claws countered against blades, and tail matched against the hammer. Credit be given to where it was due. These villains had done their research. They understood who they would be fighting and prepared accordingly. The battle became arduous but not lethal. Yet Brygaim knew that it would not last forever. He knew his victory depended on slowing these intruders enough for the dwarves to arrive.
The ranger scored a critical strike with a lightning-infused arrow. The silver dragon resisted the effects, but time started slipping away faster. The rouge alternated between unleashing bolts at range and hiding out of sight. A maneuver that proved reliable. The druid and wizard kept entangling him and forcing him to be quick, an attribute he struggled with. Would he fall? Would Brygaim fail his task?
The dragon’s question would be answered by someone else. The spellcasters and archers had clustered together. Suddenly, all foes save for the druid became immobilized. The nature caster shouted a warning which caused everyone to take notice. To Brygaim’s surprise and relief, a familiar tiefling stood with an outstretched arm, focusing on magically holding everyone in place.
The tide of battle conclusively turned in the dragon’s favor. He forced the barbarian’s and paladin’s attention onto him. With his allies paralyzed, the druid tried to break the new wizard’s concentration, but the effect was counterspelled. Wands responded with a great fireball which downed the whole backline. After the support fell, the frontline fighters demonstrated themselves to be easy prey. Soon, all seven interlopers lay dying on the rocky floor.
“Should we save them?” asked the friendly wizard.
“No. These evildoers will die no matter what happens,” coldly explained the Silver Champion.
Silence hung in the air as Brygaim caught his breath and recovered his strength and stamina. Soon, the response party arrived. They collected the robbers’ bodies and took them away, whether or not the corpses breathed. Again, the dragon and the tiefling discovered themselves alone. Whereas the previous silence held tension and the rush of battle, this new one only gave awkwardness and odd companionship. Strange acquaintances forced together into a spontaneous struggle among the ruins of dwarves.
“You are very adept with the arcane. I now understand your choice of adopted name,” complimented the dragon.
“Being a direct understudy of Archmage Solana Uribanise holds many benefits,” explained the wizard.
“Indeed it does,” agreed Brygaim.
“May I ask a question?” spoke Wands.
“You may,” came the answer.
“I wrote a scholarly paper about the creation of the combined mountains. Is it true that Komberth is buried here?”
The dragon stared intently at the tiefling, not with menace but with seriousness and gravity. The grim answer to the question was a secret kept under heavy Dwarvish and Draconic secrecy for centuries. It revived awful memories for the Silver Champion, who turned away and slowly gazed among the assortment of strongrooms and reviewed the scene of the recent battle.
The Iced Vaults were not only treasuries. One specially crafted hall lay hidden away from the others. Its purpose was not as a storehouse for gold but for bones. A crypt for a monster so dangerous its actions uprooted the natural balance, devastated the landscape into the new mountain range, and forced the alliance now controlling them and Icespire Peak. A tomb holding the undead beast which the cultists had desired to take. A prison which the silver dragon appointed himself warden over.
This unique chamber held the skeleton of Komberth, Lord of Ice. The ancient white dragon who claimed to be the sire of Cryovain. The monster who bargained for undeath and received it. The tyrant who desired to expand and rule all the Sword Mountains. The fiend which caused the calamity that grew new peaks and forced the separate ranges together. The terror that massacred nearly all creatures living on them. The dracolich who was abhorred by his own family and slain by Brygaim himself.
The Silver Champion often pitied most criminals, believing most could be rehabilitated. He reserved contempt, disdain, and disapproval for the ones who turned evil and crime into power, like the recent intruders. But this one creature received nothing but pure hatred from the silver dragon. Rage, revulsion, wrath, disgust—no vocabulary would be grand enough to describe the emotions this abomination had earned during his reign of destruction.
“Yes. Komberth is imprisoned here. Incarcerated and entombed within the very object of his own extreme hubris and folly. And I am his jailer.”
James Meyer 