Lyall’s right ankle, anxious from the damage earned in the bunker, winced as Lyall dashed, lunged low, and rolled underneath Oakey’s bounding leap. The joint held fast though, and the hurried spin below the construct gave Lyall something aside from dodging a devastating squish of his abdomen. 

“Cylon, we need—!” Lyall’s tongue lost knowledge of speech turning and seeing an absence where his companion had just been. Precious time he didn’t have went to rotating on his knee searching the room lit by no source he could determine, and Lyall’s neck flared with heat finding his partner at the door. “You—!” 

At least, Cylon stood where the door had been. The same stone making up the floor, walls, and ceiling now covered the entrance. Cylon gracefully spun and charged Lyall’s way as if nothing was amiss, weapons held fast in a steady grip. Lyall strafed out of reach of Oakey’s long tail whipping at him again before hopping back at the dragon’s persistent reaching swipes. The rust-coated teeth chomped hungrily. The bite made it an inch from Lyall’s nose, and the closing jaw’s sound bore a sound disconcertingly similar to that of cleanly snapped bone. That jaw reopened to unleash another horrible roar fluttering Lyall’s hair with the rancid mix of dead wood and bitter, decaying metal watering his eyes, but Lyall could accept the stench since the fury came from Cylon having tied a rope to the end of his dagger, jamming the blade through the leather of Oakey’s right wing, and forming a loop to pull and yank. 

Cylon ground his heels upon the stone and tilted back to an extreme forcing the dragon to submit to the haul. Fraying fabric tore and split a jagged hole nearly to the end where the sturdy hem maintained its integrity. Oakey’s redirected attention gave Lyall enough leeway to ignore the shield preventing full use of his left arm, grasp his blade with two hands, and swing sideways for a clean strike against the inner half of the dragon’s left leg. Chunks of wood flew off as several nuts pinged upon the ground. Cylon then used that distraction and bounded straight under Oakey, bringing the torn wing with him. 

“What were you saying we needed?!” Cylon checked. 

“For someone to not go abandoning me for the door!” 

“Really?!” Cylon scoffed. He wrenched the rope harder, which stumbled Oakey. “I saw it turned to stone and wanted to see if that was illusionary or not—because I am not opposed to temporarily fleeing and forming a proper game plan!” 

“The game plan is to aim for its underside! That’s where the heavier rotting damage is!” Lyall paused as the dragon tried another swipe and bite. He avoided the first but gave his new shield deep gashes at the teeth catching it. “Do you have any fire projectiles?!” 

“One!” 

“I’ll make an opening, so set your shot and take your chance!” 

“Sounds good. Let me just—WAH!” 

The three of them had begun to shuffle in a circle as Oakey stamped and thrashed attempting to get its wing out from under it. When that failed, the construct proved its moderate intelligence by tossing itself into a full roll in Cylon’s direction. It increased the strain on the rope, but it also broke Cylon’s grip entirely as he let go to avoid being flattened. Cylon bounded away from the teeth. Lyall dashed the other direction, snagged Cylon’s dagger, and freed the length of rope. 

“I won’t tell you about this part, Mother,” he decided to himself. ‘This part’ included Lyall giving himself more space, running full sprint, heaving a jump onto Oakey’s back, maintaining balance somehow, and dropping flat on the creation’s head. The dragon shook and swayed vigorously, and the squeezing of Lyalls legs to keep him on were sure to bruise his knees black. He stayed on though. Lyall kept down gasps of pain by clenching his teeth as Oakey’s own put nicks on his fingers fumbling to get the rope passed through its mouth. As soon as the makeshift harness was set, Lyall put everything into finding his footing and leaping straight back to a solid landing. The rope pulled tight, and Oakey reared. “Cylon, now!” 

“HAH!” Cylon grunted. Lyall couldn’t see his companion and what he chucked, but a burst of relief welled having Oakey recoil and writhe as a billowing mass of scalding flames singeing Lyall’s cheeks red from the proximity enveloped the dragon’s weak underbelly. Unfortunately, relief sank into dismay at a sudden forcefield of purple hue same as before erupting as a barrier to nullify the flames’ damage. Lyall heard Cylon stomp his foot. “Of course they made it fireproof!” 

“Any other elemental weapons you have?!” Lyall shouted. 

“No!” 

“Dodging and smacking it is!” 

Tension abruptly released from the rope. Apparently, it had been allowed a brunt of the fire, and the enfeebled harness fell apart, dropping Lyall to his rear. Oakey wasted no time. The dragon was upon him before Lyall could get halfway to his feet, and his shield, gaining more gashes, failed to protect all of him. The claw raked along his chin and opened a wide, stinging wound dripping blood. The force put him on his back, the dragon barreled over him for a bite, and Lyall halted the cleaving of his neck by shoving the shield deep into its mouth. Now little more than a feisty chew toy, Lyall couldn’t even use his low position to strike where it would hurt. His sword was too long to angle properly while the shield groaned in warning. 

“Fuck!” Lyall let go of his sword, grimaced undoing the straps around his left arm, and snatched his sword when pushing back and earning freedom by letting another shield be reduced to splinters. He gave one brush of his sleeve against his jaw yet discovered no point in dealing with the cut any further right then. A touch of instinctual panic battled adrenaline as Lyall sprinted around the dragon to find Cylon failing to make it past the tail and land a blow. The two bolted from Oakey to the western wall. Lyall heaved, “Any ideas?!” 

“Um...” Cylon rasped in a breath. Mercy gave them another second as Oakey’s right foot partially crumpled in on itself. That didn’t prevent the beast from hurdling their direction, but it gave enough for inspiration to strike Cylon. He slapped the back of his hand against the glowing rune behind him. “These runes! They activated when Oakey did, so there’s a chance their removal might make it inert again!” 

“How do we remove them?” 

“Usually by a spell, but maybe—” 

Lyall threw himself left. Cylon threw himself right. Oakey slowed in approach, but that was for him to fling his head forward blasting a cone of spearing splinters at them. Each of the countless projectiles embedded themselves two inches clean into the stone. The rune, however, lost its glow from the cracks breaking it apart. Cylon jammed his finger at the sight. 

“Something like that! That’s what I was going to say!” 

“I wish I had that lady’s hammer,” Lyall stated dryly, not waiting for a quip in return. Cylon had run faster though, which left Lyall as Oakey’s pick. “Let’s see if I can make use of you.” 

He reached the next active rune of the eleven undisturbed enough to have powered on. Oakey went for an unhelpful bite when Lyall plastered himself before the rune yet struck true with a raking claw after Lyall circled around and put the dragon directly in front of the wall. Lunging through the gaping hole in the wing confused Oakey for Lyall to rush to the eastern side where the increased distance gushed another barrage of splinters his way. It broke another rune, but one wooden knife spliced its way along the back of Lyall’s calf and dropped him to the ground. He shoved up to his feet aware his stumbling run wouldn’t get him to the next rune in time. 

“Stop it!” Cylon’s cry came. He’d gone from wall breaking to copying Lyall by running and leaping onto the dragon’s back. One arm clenched around its neck while a dagger in Cylon’s right hand stabbed at Oakey’s face. “You’re making me look like an idiot for bringing us in here!” 

“I decided to come in here too!” Lyall remarked. 

“Aww! Thanks, pal!” 

Lyall reached the next rune and switched his sword for his dagger, hacking away at the stone until he shaved enough pieces off for it to fade. 

“It’s working! Its movements are slowing!” Cylon cheered. 

“Keep it distracted!” 

Hope overcoming the hot ooze of blood from his jaw seeping its way past his collar and every jerk of his calf, Lyall broke all the active runes on the northern half of the room. He snuck a brief glance on his run south and found Cylon able to easily sit on Oakey’s back without fear of falling. Lyall didn’t look again until every single rune was down, and the last to go was the one in the back he sketched. 

“Woah!” 

The painful burn burrowing deep by turning his neck, Lyall watched Oakey’s final, sad slump from dangerous construct to a heap of immobile wood left once more to rot. Cylon hopped off its back. Lyall pressed his back against the stone and slid to sitting, grateful for the cool chill as much as he was grateful for the stone blocking the door fading away. A thick bandage was slapped on his calf that Lyall was in the middle of binding firm as Cylon, shoulders quivering and hands clenched, reached him. 

“Sorry about your shield. It looked nice.” 

“Brand new, in fact. Whatever,” Lyall dismissed, waving his hand across the scene. “Even without the upper rooms opened, this will earn us the full payment. The money is more than enough to make me not care about anything else.” 

“Hmm.” 

“What?” 

“Eh, you just continue to show yourself different than the image I made of you. That’s it. Now, no more talking.” 

Cylon wet a cloth and mopped up Lyall’s bloody jaw best he could. Cylon then securely pressed a bandage to the wound while pressing down on Lyall’s skull. While it did stop the flow to something contained by a fresh bandage taped to his chin, Lyall’s neck now ached. He wished more than anything to sleep off the pain, but Cylon dragged him to his feet, they gave the building one last cursory search, and the pair hiked the hour-long walk to Brimmar Hills in exhausted silence. The innkeeper brought a hefty late lunch of chicken and dumplings, beans and rice, spiced corn, fresh juice, and pudding to their room and left with a little pout at Cylon denying him the epic tale of their morning adventure due to their confidentiality agreement with the Engineering Guild. Lyall sunk into a soothing but awkward bath as he kept his injured leg out of the water and was ready to collapse into bed after affixing new bandages. 

“That’s an interesting pendant you wear. I’ve never seen a stone like that. Is it a stone?” Cylon caught him with those questions. Lyall slowly lowered down onto his bed while Cylon gathered his towels for his turn in the bath. 

“It’s a gemstone called moss agate.” His thumb ran across the surface of the oval piece, which had a milky transparency with green veins mimicking moss running through it. “Most aren’t familiar with it, although it’s actually quite common. The worth of this pendant is sentimental instead of monetary.” 

“Just to check, because this is the feeling I’m getting—you're not interested in discussing why it’s sentimental.” 

“Not at all,” Lyall wore a straight smile. 

“No worries,” Cylon held his hands up. “I’m not the nosy type. A bath holds more appeal.” 

“Take all the time you want.” 

“I will.” 

Cylon left for the other room. Lyall wiggled himself under the covers and knew nothing until Cylon shook his shoulder wondering if he wanted dinner. Lyall’s grumbling stomach answered the question for him, so the two descended to the first floor and ate their fill of rich stew, warm bread, grilled vegetables, and cream pie. They slept undisturbed through the night afterwards, packed up their things, got seats with another traveler’s caravan, and made it to the Mall before dinner.