#goddessoftechnology

Graham rounded a corner, cloak flying out behind him, and dove into a dark corner behind tall stalagmites. They towered over his head like bars, like a cage. Just continuing the theme of the day, then. He scrambled deeper—he had to take a second, catch his breath. He hadn’t been running that long, but ohhh, he still could taste the minty knockout flavor on his lips and he could see stars twinkling in the shadows of the cave, threatening to chew his vision to darkness again. And he wouldn’t be able to get free a second time, he was quite certain.

Manny would never give him a second chance.  

His head and hand were possibly both bleeding again; he wasn’t sure. The little scrap of cloth he’d wrapped around his cut thumb wouldn’t stay put, and he couldn’t see what the side of his head looked like after Manny’d torn a huge chunk of hair out, but the side of his face felt damp. Sweat, or blood, who could tell in the darkness of the caves. He swiped at his hair, winced, dropped his hand to his chest, tried to soothe his rabbit-quick heart.  

“I should have blindfolded you,” Manny continued. His voice rebounded off cave walls, a sick susurration building upon itself. Graham didn’t think the little knight was anywhere near him, but it seemed like Manny was whispering in his ear. All the more reason to calm his sharp breathing. His gasps could certainly carry right back. “I’ll start by breaking your knees this time, how does that sound?”  

Graham decided he’d stayed still quite long enough at that charming threat, and he started creeping along a side tunnel with as much haste as he could manage while still being completely silent. His metal tipped boots were great for adventuring, less great for sneaking, but he’d rather not take them off. He’d already had enough injury done to his person today without stepping on something sharp in naught but tattered socks.  

Mmmmaaaaaybe this tunnel, try this one. Or what about that one. Stars, which way?

“You’re too resourceful by far. I should have expected that. How did you escape?”

Very painfully, Graham thought, glancing down at his hand, which he had accidentally cut while slicing ropes off his wrists. He wondered if he was leaving a blood droplet trail for someone to follow. Humans wouldn’t notice, but with goblins on his trail...

And there were goblins. He’d been tackled by them earlier, and while they’d not been in sight while he’d been, ah, detained by Manny, he knew they couldn’t be far behind. Manny couldn’t recapture him on his own, Graham figured, not while Graham was on high alert and watchful. Manny tended to be more talk than fight, right up until the point when he caught someone unawares, or, even better, had them tied wrist and ankle to a chair.  

Then, he was all fight.

All knife, rather.

Ow.

Out of the darkness, to his left: “Graaaham.”

Okay, that one sounded close. Echo, or truth? Graham froze, one foot half raised, and glanced behind him—no one, but the whispers were rattling around the cave now, as Manny called again and again, gently, softly. “We have so much more to talk about, dear friend. Come back.”  

“He wants to get in your head,” Graham mumbled to himself, spinning around another corner. “Don’t listen.”

“Feeling dizzy, Graham?” the shadows asked. The shadows sounded a little smug. “Feeling nauseous? Come lie down, Graham. I’ll take care of you.”  

The problem was, he was feeling a bit off. The knock out potion, the anxiety, everything. Adrenaline could carry him far, but his strength was waning, and fast at that. Still. Keep going, keep going. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t...

“Graham.”

Okay, stop. His head, pounding worse than his heart. Leaned against cold cave wall, sharp stone digging into shoulders. Don't faint, don’t faint. Deep breath, deep breath. It’s okay, it’s okay.  

“Graaaaahaam.”  

He was half tempted to shout at the voice. “Go away!” he wanted to wail. “Stop following me! Leave me alone!” He didn’t, of course, but he did project the thought as loudly as he could.

Manny’s echoes kept building. The calls never seemed to stop. Whispers and murmurs and lies and pleads and. And. His name, endlessly crowding against his ears, dizzily confusing him—which direction had he come from? Which direction was he going? Which tunnel? Which cavern? This? That? Where? It was so dark, and the voice was everywhere. His name, everywhere.  

He tripped over something, stumbled, banged against the wall, the floor, a ringing clatter and a harsh gasp for air, in pain, he was making too much noise, was going to be caught. He scrambled up, hands scraped raw, hurried down another tunnel, don’t stop, but the echoes followed.

“Graham.”  

“Graham.”

“Graham.”

“Please,” he whispered, head in hands. “Stop.”  

In the darkness ahead of him, an unknowable distance, a low growl cut through the whispers like a knife. A growl sharp and deadly. Tasting of fire and brimstone and death and dragon. Graham’s blood went icy, and his hand immediately fumbled in his cloak for his bow. He grabbed it, held it, his other hand tracing the purple fletching on the accompanying arrow, waited in silence, scarcely breathing. Staring into the darkness, daring it to blink back. It didn’t.

He realized the whispers had stopped completely. Weren’t starting again. He thought he heard a muffled curse, and footsteps, sounding uncomfortably close, hurrying in the opposite direction, but couldn’t be quite sure. A wave of relief surged through his achy, abused joints anyway.

Odd, that. A dragon, here, in the darkness somewhere, and it was less alarming than Manny.  

To be fair, it was hard to miss a dragon in a room, but Manny could always appear from any angle. Graham straightened. The horrible brimstone reek was practically tangible, and threatened to dig into his memories and summon horrible visions of the past, of loss, but he shook his head firmly, forced that same distant detachment he’d needed when he’d touched his own stolen locks of hair not an hour earlier.

He’d been prepared to meet it again. He knew it was here, he knew what to expect. He hadn’t been idle in the years since he’d last been in this labyrinth of smoke and shadow and death. There wasn’t a lot of information—most of the books he’d been able to find were a bit, ah, singed.  

It was deadly, dangerous...but an animal, acting on instinct. There were things he’d learned on adventures that could help. Mostly those things were don’t get caught, but at least a dragon wouldn’t drug you, tie you up, and stab you with a leatherworking hook.  

He’d been practicing what he’d do. Practicing how to breathe. How to think. How to act. Not easy, stars above, not easy, but. There was a glimmer of hot courage, deep in his core, and he breathed deeply and carefully, focusing. It felt like how he’d worked hard to learn how to shoot his archery kit. A concentration that absorbed his body, his thoughts. He could do this. This was his original obstacle, after all. This, he could handle, now, or he would never have come down here in the first place.

Plus, he could sort of tell which direction the dragon was, so. Easier to avoid than Manny.

Speaking of. He didn’t hear Manny, but that didn’t mean Graham was in the clear. Those goblins were probably still spread out behind him, hunting him, and he doubted Manny would call them off. The little knight wouldn’t mind if one or two of them turned into dragon snacks so long as he caught his ultimate prize again, but Manny himself almost certainly would be taking himself back to his little torture room to sulk among his knives and poisons.

So, the dragon, and the caves ahead of him. That, he could handle.  

He would never forget what the dragon had done. But the dragon wasn’t the despicable, hideous beast Daventry had made him out to be, not really. He was just a caged animal that had never been shown any kindness. Those deeds, terrible as they were, could never, ever be forgotten.

But forgiven? Perhaps.

Graham nodded firmly to himself. Keep going. Manny might be gone for now, but the goblins were probably still around, and it was definitely time to see sunshine again. Go.

~*~*~

A shimmery light caught his eye, but it wasn’t sunlight. A different sort of light.

The mirror.

He hadn’t expected to stumble across it, not after all that had happened. He’d kind of forgotten about it, honestly.  

He spun, squinting—and, yes, there, high above him, the rock he’d leaned on...stars, it might have been hours, might have been days, who knew. Either way. The rock he’d leaned on, right before the goblins jumped him and slammed him into the dirt and smothered his breath away. Which meant if he could figure out how to get back up there, he could get out of these thrice-damned caves.  

And, delightfully, he would be successful in his quest, too.

The mirror gleamed at him even in the darkness. As he picked it up, he looked into it, to see what horrible yanking and mauling Manny had done to his hair. But rather than the ragged patch of hair, he saw....

He nearly dropped it.

Startled, he looked behind himself, looked behind the mirror, patted the ornamentation with his hand as though looking for a trick of magic. Oh, there was magic here, all right.  

Magic that had planted him firmly in a crown. Had washed the blood from his cheeks for an instant, had fixed his tousled and torn hair, had crowned him. The reality of his face drifted back in after a moment, the raw, jangled fear in his eyes and the scrapes and the tears, but the ghostly crown still hovered above his brow. He reached up to his real hairline, and felt nothing—reached out to the mirror’s crown, and his bloody thumb smeared red across it. It didn’t fade.  

But the mirror didn’t lie—it couldn’t lie. It was a mirror, after all. He ducked his head away, looked back, as though he could trick it into disappearing, still saw a crown...and then looked away again when he heard chittering and scraping and chatter echoing behind him. The crown moved with him, and the mirror showed the look of alarm on his face.  

The goblins were coming, and he was standing here with a magic mirror, a handful of arrows, and really nothing else in his favor.

Except...well, there was a crown. He had that to work with, now. And maybe something more.

The Graham in the mirror grinned.  

~*~

The goblins rounded the corner eagerly, spears in hand, vaulting over rocks and splashy puddles and glowing mushrooms. They had a mission: the goblin that smelled of sky and sun and outside had sent them to catch the funny tall fellow in the red cloak sneaking around in the tunnels. They didn’t exactly know why. But the sky goblin was brave enough to spend lots of time above ground without even a spear, so he was worth listening to. At least for right now.

It wasn't like they’d had anything else they were doing right then. A big game of hide and seek was always fun.  

But the goblin in the lead stopped—they were entering dragon territory, here, and it wouldn’t do to catch big Hornswoggle’s attention. The dragon had a temper the length of a broken femur and wasn’t fond of goblins.

Probably because he hadn’t particularly liked the goblins trying to tie a saddle to him and take him for a ride, but that was neither here nor there.  

It didn’t smell like dragon at the moment—Hornswoggle tended to carry a reeking scent of brimstone and bone that never fully faded from the tunnels, but it did drop to more of a general heat when he wasn’t in the immediate area. But it was best to be clever and quiet here, or else they’d end up as goblin snacks.  

Anyway, the goblin in the lead stopped, but no one behind him was paying attention, so one by one they all slammed into each other and collapsed into a little heap of armor and spears and flailing arms. This new punching game was kinda fun, until someone’s helmet got knocked off in the ensuing scuffle and someone’s ear got stepped on and then there were unhappy tears and yelps and they scrambled up, glaring at each other and swearing and insulting and generally grumbling a lot.

From the cavern ahead of them, a voice—regal in bearing, filled with majesty and a touch of irritation: “Who disturbs my peace so improperly? I would have you kneel before me!” It echoed around them, and the goblins leapt to attention.

This seemed like a new game.

They nosed their way out into the cavern, and were delighted to find a trail of glowing mushrooms leading up to a plinth with a throne. They eagerly hurried up the path, and came to another halt when the king—magnificently imposing, sprawled over a throne draped with fabric, with a glimmering crown on his brow—glared imperiously at them. “This is highly improper,” he intoned gravely. “Why were you not properly announced at the castle gate?”

The goblins chittered excuses all at the same time, their voices echoing off each other, and the king glanced around. “I suppose I may fit you into my desperately busy schedule,” he said with a weary sigh. The room was completely empty, and the goblins snickered, pleased with the joke. “Even without a formal introduction, however, I suspect I can guess your claim. You seek a man, yes? A man in a red cloak?”  

The goblins nodded eagerly. Had the king seen the man?  

“He is not here,” the king told them.  

One goblin tried to point out the red cloak the king was very clearly sitting on, and the others swatted his hand down. No sense spoiling a good game.

“So, now you are without your prize,” the king said. He waved a hand airily in their general direction, a scrap of damp fabric fluttering behind the movement. “I should have you know, that man is under my kingly protection, and I do not like my men being bothered. I demand that you cease chasing him, and tell your leader the same. You don’t want to tempt my wrath, for I am,” he took a deep breath, and yelled, “the Dragon King!”

His triumphant, majestic claim bounced around the caves, down corridors and tunnels and stalactites, and the goblins chittered again, gesturing for the king, grand as he was, to maybe keep his voice down. Hornswoggle wasn’t nearby, but he might hear dinner yelling, and then they all might be in a lot of trouble. Crispy fried trouble.

“You see my crown!” the king demanded. “You know my importance! The dragon will not harm me, for I am its king! The, uh, Dragon King!” It sounded a bit less impressive the second time.

The goblins looked doubtfully at him. King or not, he still looked pretty chewable, and they were starting to think maybe this new game was running its course, and they had a job to do before they could go home and play Cinderella. They’d just acquired a new glass slipper from some caravan a few days ago, after all. They took a step toward the makeshift throne, starting to raise their spears.

The king sat up hastily, bounced to his feet. “You demand a show of my power? I shall be compassionate toward you, if you do my bidding, if you talk to your leader—even though I have no need to be kind to you, I shall honor our agreements. I am a very honorable king, you know. But I am also thoughtful, and I am, erm, very brave—and I shall prove both to you now!”  

He drew a bow, the bow the goblins had neglected to take from him when they’d caught him earlier, notched a purple feathered arrow, seemed to whisper a word or two, and let the arrow fly into the darkness, far above their heads.  

Not at the goblins, who had huddled together in alarm at the bow’s appearance. He missed entirely. The arrow shot away, high above their heads, vanishing into the shadows.

They started to laugh, to separate—an archer with such bad aim! What a silly king!—but then something happened that made them freeze and draw back together with a yelp.

A bell. Clear and proud, struck with an arrow and ringing bright and clear and echoing.

Immediately followed by a deep dragon’s roar that rattled the caverns and shook the floor.

“I am the Dragon King, and I can fearlessly summon the dragon to do my bidding as I see fit!” Graham yelled, over the suddenly terrified goblin chittering. “But I shall not attack you with him, if you promise to honor my agreement!” All the goblins stared in utter silence, waiting for what would save them. “Tell your leader that I am protected, that I am not to be trifled with, that I am to be left alone, and if he dares shows his face above ground in Daventry there will be trouble, I swear it.”  

The goblins nodded frantically.

“Then, go!”  

And suddenly the king was standing alone in a cavern, the pale glow of mushrooms illuminating his grim smile.

~*~*~

Graham carefully removed the delicate crown. The glowing mushrooms left a trace of glimmering dust on his fingers, in his hair. “Take that, Ginger,” he said proudly. “I knew that minor in creative costuming was gonna come in handy someday!” The little makeshift crown—made hastily but rather well, he thought—of sticks and mushroom stalks and the little glowing caps, didn’t look much like Edward’s under scrutiny, but in the shadows, it was just impressive enough to stay some goblin hands long enough for him to talk.  

And, with luck, they wouldn’t work with Manny anymore, which would make it harder for Manny to put another kidnapping scheme into play. And if that didn’t work out long term, if Manny got them back under his thumb later, he’d at the very least bought enough time to get above ground and make plans to protect himself. Royal Guard Number One would probably have an idea or two, too.

The dragon roared again, and it was much, much closer this time, the scent of brimstone rolling through the tunnels ahead of it. It wanted dinner, and it was going to have it if he kept standing around.

Well. He’d sort of forgiven it, as best he could, but he definitely didn’t need to be here when it arrived. He pocketed his precious, beautiful bow and its perfect, precious arrows, flung his cloak back over his shoulders, and hurried away. While he’d been scanning the room for the bell while waiting for the goblins to approach, he’d finally seen the path leading up, and from there it would be maybe five minutes to the surface. To home. To safety.  

To. Um. Well, he could process that shiny hat part later.