THE DRAGON'S RETURN

The Northern Cabin

A frozen keyhole can break a dead man's fingers if he turns it too fast.

Thorn leaned his right shoulder against the heavy oak door of the mountain cabin, his teeth grinding together as he shoved the rusted iron key into the slot. Ice popped inside the mechanism, making a sharp clicking noise before the heavy wooden latch finally gave way.

He stumbled inside, dragging his boots across the cold timber floor, and slammed the door shut against the howling mountain wind.

"Lock it," Lyra urged, her silver ghost shape hovering near the dark ceiling beams. "The wind is going to blow those hinges off."

Thorn pushed the heavy iron bolt into place with his good hand. "The hinges are fine. Find the lantern."

"I am a spirit, not a matches box," Lyra grumbled, floating toward a low wooden table in the corner. "It is on the shelf beside the dry wood."

Thorn walked over, his left leg moving stiffly like a thick fence post. He reached out with his right hand, struck a small flint against a rough stone, and touched the spark to the oil wick. A warm yellow light filled the small room, revealing a squat stone fireplace, a narrow bed, and stacks of split pine logs.

"Look at your neck," Lyra whispered, her voice dropping as she drifted lower.

Thorn stepped over to a tiny silver mirror hanging on the wall beside the window. He wiped the frost off the glass with his thumb and stared at his reflection.

The dark gray stone skin had climbed all the way up the left side of his neck. It covered his jawline, his cheekbone, and pressed tight against the corner of his left eye. The petrified flesh looked like dark river granite, lined with thin black veins that pulsed with a faint purple light.

"It is moving faster in the cold," Lyra said, her light dimming. "If it covers your jaw completely, you will not even be able to swallow water."

"Then I need to find the floorboard," Thorn said, turning away from the glass.

He knelt beside the stone fireplace, using his short iron sword to pry up two loose wooden planks near the corner. Underneath lay a flat leather pack wrapped in oiled cloth, alongside a sealed stone jar and a small iron box.

"Is that the map Marcus talked about?" Lyra asked, leaning over his shoulder.

Thorn pulled the leather pack out and unrolled it on the wooden floorboards. Inside was a piece of thick parchment showing the northern mountain range, a strip of dried deer meat, and a small glass vial filled with green liquid.

"What is the green vial?" Lyra asked, her pale form wavering.

Thorn picked up the glass bottle and held it up to the lantern light. "Old military potion. It numb the nerves so you do not feel the frostbite."

"Do not drink that," Lyra warned. "Your stomach is already half stone. That stuff will burn a hole through your guts."

"I am not drinking it," Thorn said. He set the vial aside and unrolled the parchment map. "Look at the red mark near the upper ridge."

Lyra drifted closer to the paper. "That is the ancient basin. The second spirit spring."

"How far is it from this cabin?" Thorn asked, tracing the mountain line with his right index finger.

"Three miles up the steep gorge," Lyra said, her tone heavy. "But the trail goes right through the old sky temple ruins. The mountain guards use those ruins as an outpost."

Before Thorn could reply, a loud thud shook the cabin door. Cold snow blew through the cracks in the frame as a heavy fist hammered against the thick wood outside.

"Open up in the name of the Northern Garrison!" a booming voice shouted over the howling storm.

Thorn froze on his knees, his right hand instantly dropping to the hilt of his short sword.

"They followed us through the pass," Lyra hissed, her ghost shape shrinking into a tight ball of silver light. "How did they get past the fallen ice?"

"They walked around the ridge," Thorn whispered, standing up slowly.

"We know you are inside, stranger!" the voice outside barked. "We saw the smoke from your lantern! Step out with your hands up or we burn the timber!"

Thorn walked quietly toward the window, pulling the leather curtain back an inch. Three soldiers in thick wolf furs stood on the snow-covered porch, holding lit torches and long steel axes. Behind them, two more guards stood near the pine trees with loaded crossbows aimed at the front door.

"There are five of them," Thorn said softly.

"You cannot fight five guards in a tiny room," Lyra whispered anxiously. "Use the trapdoor under the rug!"

"The trapdoor goes to the wood shed," Thorn said, his dark eyes fixing on the lead guard holding an axe. "The shed has no back door."

"Then what are you going to do?" Lyra asked.

"Give them what they want," Thorn said.

He walked over to the front door, lifted the heavy iron bolt with his right hand, and pulled the oak door open an inch. Cold wind immediately whipped into the room, scattering loose paper across the floorboards.

"Step out slowly!" the lead guard shouted, raising his heavy steel axe.

Thorn stepped onto the snowy porch, keeping his right hand visible while his left side remained hidden in the deep shadow of the doorframe.

"I am alone," Thorn said, his voice rough and low. "I am just a traveler taking shelter from the storm."

The lead guard stepped closer, thrusting his burning torch near Thorn's face. The yellow firelight illuminated the stone-gray skin covering Thorn's left cheek and jaw.

The guard gasped, taking a quick step back into the snow. "Look at his face! It is the fugitive from the capital!"

"Raise your bow!" the guard in the back shouted, leveling his crossbow at Thorn's chest.

"Wait!" Thorn called out, raising his right palm. "You want the bounty on my head, right?"

The lead guard narrowed his eyes, gripping his axe handle tight. "Five hundred gold pieces, dead or alive."

"The money is inside the cabin," Thorn lied smoothly, pointing his thumb toward the open doorway. "In an iron box under the floorboards. Take the box and let me walk up the mountain."

The lead guard looked at his men, then looked back at Thorn's cold, calm face. "You think we are stupid, boy? You step inside first. Move!"

The lead guard shoved Thorn hard through the doorway, following right behind him with his axe raised. Two other guards rushed into the small room behind their commander, their boots tracking wet snow onto the timber floor.

"Where is the floorboard?" the commander demanded, sweeping his torch around the small room.

Thorn backed toward the fireplace, stopping right beside the loose wooden planks he had pried open earlier. "Right here."

The commander knelt down, reaching his gloved hand into the dark hole. "If this is a trick, boy, I will chop your good arm off!"

He pulled out the small iron box, popping the latch open with his thumb. Inside were only three rusted nails and a pile of dry pine needles.

"What is this trash?" the commander yelled, jumping to his feet in rage. "There is no gold in here!"

"I know," Thorn said flatly.

Thorn stepped forward, pulling his left hand out of his dark coat sleeve. He did not aim for the commander's armor. He slammed his stone-gray palm flat against the main wooden support beam holding up the cabin roof.

"Unmake," Thorn thought.

A sharp black spark bit into the heavy timber beam. The thick wood turned into a wave of fine, dry sawdust that burst apart in a cloud of brown dust.

Without the central beam, the heavy stone chimney and timber roof collapsed inward with a deafening crash, burying the three guards under tons of falling logs, stone, and heavy mountain snow.