As they traveled across the wastes Fenrir did his best to keep track of the distance they covered. As best he could tell, they had come a little over fifty miles from Goblintown before the illusive shapes in the distance finally coalesced into solid outlines. At first he had thought they might be mountains, but now it became apparent they were something else entirely. Fenrir's eyes widened as he took in the sight.

  Gargantuan bookcases reared their heads into the sky, seemingly sized for a creature which would make Fenrir look no rger than an ant. They were id out in maze-like patterns that from what little the direwolf could see appeared entirely random. The nearly mile-high shelves were filled with massive tomes, the sheer size of which gave Fenrir the sudden mental image of entire city blocks being ripped from the ground and pced on the shelves.

  Chief Shazrak spoke up beside him. "The nd of the Big-Legs. Once we pass under the shadow of the shelves we must move carefully to avoid being discovered. But before we go further we will stop to eat and rest."

  So they did, setting up a rude camp in the shadow of one of the towering monoliths. After a meal of dried meat and water the goblins y down to sleep, aside from a few who took up their positions as sentries. Fenrir was not seriously tired, but he took the opportunity to rest nonetheless, wanting to be at his absolute best for the trials ahead. When they awoke, they ate another smaller meal of the same dried meat then quickly broke camp and got underway again.

  As they passed the first shelves, Fenrir gnced up at the spines of the gigantic books. The symbols inscribed on them were unfamiliar to him, though they bore some resembnce to the runes he had learned under Safara's tutege. He was a little curious as to what knowledge they contained, but put it aside as a question for another day. They passed entirely through the bookcases without seeing the creature dubbed the Big-Legs by the goblins, despite, as far as Fenrir could estimate, taking around four hours to do so.

  Fenrir caught his breath at the sight presented to him when he rounded the st bookcase and saw what y beyond. A quarter mile ahead, the ground fell away into a chasm so deep it was impossible to see the bottom. Some miles out in the center of this chasm a mighty mountain reared its proud head, crowned with what looked like the grandest cathedral-city Fenrir had ever seen, including in fiction. Even from this distance he could tell it was enormous, built to a scale that, while it did not equal the bookcases they had just left behind, nonetheless dwarfed him and his companions alike.

  Bridges like ribbons, held up by floating ptforms, connected the mountain to the surrounding nd in each of the four cardinal directions. At least, Fenrir guessed that such must be case, even though the ends of three of the bridges could not be seen. The fourth connected to the nd they stood upon several miles to their right. Most of the goblins turned towards the bridge without evincing the slightest wonder at the sight before them, but several took in the view with admiring eyes, Chief Shazrak among them.

  "I have seen this many times," he told Fenrir, "but I am always awed by it all over again. The city you see out there is where the realms of Apollyon come together. Come, let us go."

  They made their way along the edge of the cliff to the nearest bridge. It was made of marble-like stone and leaped from ptform to ptform in graceful arches that covered hundreds of feet at once. There was no guardrail, only an ankle-high curb a foot wide at the edge, but the bridge was about twenty feet wide, so the danger of falling off was minimal. Even so, the goblins stuck to the center as much as possible as they hurried across.

  As they came closer to the cathedral-city, the bridge began to slope upward to reach the lowest terraces. From there, level upon level, pile upon pile, the exquisite stonework climbed to a pinnacle where stood the grandest building of all, the true cathedral to which all the rest of the city seemed to be trying to pay homage. 'Reminds me a little of Lothric from Dark Souls, except in its prime. And, somehow, even bigger. I can only imagine how many thousands of years it would take to build something like this, even with modern equipment.'

  His eyes caught movement on one of the terraces, and Fenrir stared as a giant figure strode to the edge, taking up a watchful attitude. Looking across the other terraces, Fenrir realized there were other sentries, standing so still they were easily mistaken for fixtures or statues.

  Seeing where he was looking, Shazrak spoke. "The Watchers. They are the guards of this pce, and their masters rule it."

  "What are their masters called?" Fenrir asked.

  "Some call them the Gatekeepers, but what their true names are I do not know. I have never seen them, and I do not wish to."

  The bridge came to an end where it met one of the lower terraces, and from there a road wound upwards from level to level towards the summit, occasionally passing through massive gates, thrown open, on its way. The entire city was built to a scale of over thrice that of an average human, making even Fenrir feel small. It felt empty and desote despite its grandeur, cold and lifeless. Even the Watchers, though they could be seen here and there, did not relieve the sense of loneliness. They were too still, seeming more like sentient statues than living beings. Their armor did not help this impression, looking as though it were made of some kind of stone and covering their entire body.

  The goblins were subdued now, hurrying forward without talking or looking around. The mood affected Fenrir as well, though his curiosity kept his eyes roving, taking in the statues, the perfectly kept gardens, the pristine stone faces of the buildings. But something was missing, and though it took Fenrir a while to figure out what it was, eventually it came to him. Aside from the small trees and bushes of the gardens, there was no wood anywhere in the city, and no sign of cloth whatsoever. Everything was built from stone or metal, without even any banners to soften the hard rock.

  At the top they came out into a rge open courtyard before the doors of the grand cathedral, and there they paused to rest after the long climb. A massive stone fountain stood in the center of the courtyard, easily fifty feet tall and nearly as wide. It was a work of art, statues depicting various Dark-races in fighting stances, at rest, or, as Fenrir noticed in the case of an incubus and a succubus, in sensuous and erotic poses. There was a likeness of every Dark creature Fenrir knew of, and many he did not, all posed to best express their race's proclivities. It was topped by a massive demon wearing a crown made from some bck metal, one hand raising a skull above his head while the other held the ends of a set of chains. Each chain was attached to a colr on the rgest of the beasts that surrounded him. Despite the grandeur of the fountain, however, it was dry, and somehow the ck of the sound of flowing water made the courtyard feel unfriendly.

  "Now comes the test," Shazrak said, looking up at the massive cathedral doors. In response to Fenrir's inquiring look, he continued, "Now we see if the Keepers allow us to pass. There have been times we have come this far but have been forced to turn back. I do not know why, but we are not always granted passage."

  Fenrir nodded his understanding. The chief took a deep breath, then strode forward and pced his hand on one of the mighty doors. For a long moment nothing happened, then the doors swung open noiselessly. There were sighs of relief from the goblins around Fenrir, and he thought he saw the chief's shoulders slump slightly with the same relief. They moved forward across the threshold, and behind them the doors swung to again with a low boom that reverberated through their bones.

  They found themselves in a vestibule, in the center of which on a tall plinth stood a statue of what was unmistakably Carnachias and Menoche, standing back to back and looking down at them as they entered. Menoche wore a cold and almost disdainful gre, while Carnachias had a sacious smile, one hand raised as though to pull aside the fabric which already barely covered her pussy. Conversely, Menoche seemed to be grasping the hilt of a dagger mostly hidden within her voluminous dress.

  Looking up at them, Fenrir felt the same almost foreign swell of emotion that he had felt once before, except instead of the longing and gentle love he had felt directed at him that other time, he felt a dark, almost cruel satisfaction and a bzing wanton lust.

  The goblins bowed their heads as they passed around the plinth, as if afraid to look directly at the statue. With one st gnce at the likenesses of the two that had brought him to this world, Fenrir followed the chief around the statue and out into the main hall of the cathedral.

  There, Fenrir caught his breath. Portals like giant mirrors lined the walls, each one offering a glimpse into a different world. Some were dark, as though underground. Others appeared to open onto an empty blue void, with only a few isnds floating in midair. The red glow of va emanated from several others, then there was the green of open meadows, the white of snow, the darkened murkiness of deep underwater, and even one that appeared to open into a vish sitting room.

  Looking beyond the portals, Fenrir saw that the hall was lit by gigantic chandeliers hanging low from a ceiling so high above that it was lost in shadow. At the far end of the room there appeared to be a rostrum half surrounded by huge thrones, but it was empty. Looking at the architecture of the hall, Fenrir could easily see the influence of both of the Twin Goddesses. A certain darkness pervaded the cathedral despite the more than adequate lighting, and the shapes of many of the carvings on the pilrs gave the distinct impression of eroticism. A mosaic dominated the wall behind the rostrum, depicting various acts of carnality and war in a bizarre merging which half supported, half opposed itself. 'Much like the sisters themselves, I suppose,' Fenrir thought dryly.

  Shazrak led them straight to a portal opening onto a snowy ndscape, and with only a short gnce back to ensure none of the party was missing, stepped through. The others followed, Fenrir repressing a shiver as a sudden biting cold tried to penetrate his thick fur. The goblins were pulling warm cloaks from their packs, and Shazrak offered Fenrir one.

  He shook his head. "Unless we can expect the temperature to get significantly colder than this, I won't need it, and the less goblin scent I have on me, the less chance of the White Horror suspecting anything. In fact..." Fenrir turned to a nearby snowbank and dived into it, fully burying himself in the snow. He thrashed about vigorously for a few moments, sending snow flying in all directions, then emerged, shaking himself to rid his fur of any lingering snow. "There, that's some better. The scent of goblin isn't entirely gone, but unless his sense of smell is considerably sharper than mine, the White Horror isn't too likely to realize I've been rubbing shoulders with you. ...So to speak," he added, gncing down at the comparatively tiny goblin warriors around him.

  Shazrak nodded. "A good point. If you find you need a cloak after all, tell me, otherwise, let us continue."

  With all the goblins now properly outfitted, Shazrak led the way off into the snow, all but two of the goblins following. The two who remained behind began setting up the fire which would constitute the signal to let Fenrir know he had distracted the White Horror long enough.

  Shazrak led Fenrir and the rest of the goblins on a circuitous path away from the portal, ignoring the icy road which led straight away through the snow. For Fenrir's benefit he pointed out a lone mountain about ten miles away, seemingly the destination of the road they had just left behind. "That is our destination. The White Horror has made his nest at the top of that mountain, and his hoard lies in the tunnels below. To avoid detection we will take a less direct path, at least until it is time for us to split up."

  Fenrir nodded, taking the opportunity to study the terrain. The White Horror's stomping grounds were a mix of bleak white pins and twisted mazes of frozen rock, creating fissures and canyons of various sizes between the ft mesas. Snow was a constant, banks and drifts present everywhere, while a constant biting wind exposed the occasional patch of rock or frozen dirt. There was no sign of vegetation anywhere. The full cloud cover turned the ndscape into a dull gray-white mosaic, but Fenrir was grateful, since without it the snow would likely be blinding, and his bck fur would also be that much more obvious to unfriendly eyes.

  At the base of the mountain on which the Horror had made its nest the mesas gave way to broken foothills, presenting a difficult climb but also a retively stealthy one. As prearranged, Fenrir broke off from the rest of the party here, making his way around the base of the mountain. His pn was to try to get some idea of the White Horror's size and abilities before committing himself to the fight. Shazrak and his goblin warriors were to wait about half an hour to give Fenrir time to make his move, and he intended to use the time afforded to reconnoiter his opponent and the area around them.

  With the utmost caution he made his way up the mountain, trying to avoid any wind currents which might carry his scent upwards to where he expected to find the ancient dragon. So far he had yet to see any sign of life in this frozen hellscape, and he spared a moment to wonder where the Horror's minions might be.

  At st he came to a cleft in the rocks between which he could see down into a natural little basin, the small crater at the top of this ancient volcano, for such it was. In the center, in a nest made of gigantic ice crystals, there was curled a mass of fur and scales, white as the omnipresent snow. Behind, a huge dark hole in the crater wall indicated one of the entrances to the White Horror's hoard. Even as he looked down on it, however, the white mass shifted, and a massive head lifted from the bulk to swing in his direction, a fierce icy-blue eye staring directly at him.

  "Did you think to sneak up on me, worm?" The rumble of the dragon's voice seemed to fill the basin. Its tone was bored, almost amused, but with a dangerous undercurrent, and instinctually Fenrir's fur bristled in response to the tent threat.

  There no longer being any point to hiding, Fenrir slipped through the cleft and started down towards his opponent, saying as he did so, "That was the pn, to be sure. It seems I need to polish my stealth some more, however."

  The slit-pupiled eyes of the dragon widened, then narrowed ever so slightly. After a pause of several seconds, the Horror spoke again, this time with a note of something that might have been respect in his voice. "You did better than most, at least. Now tell me what you are, wolf-thing, and why I should not kill you for trespassing in my realm."

  Fenrir did some quick thinking. The fact that the White Horror was willing to talk, even if the direwolf had the distinct impression that he intended to kill him once the conversation was over, opened up some opportunities. And the longer he kept him talking, the better, as he did not know for how long he could elude the mighty drake, especially in this, his own stronghold. But talking held its own peril. A being as ancient as the White Horror would have wisdom and cunning to match his years, so he would have to tread with caution to avoid giving too much away.

  "I am a being from a far distant nd," he finally began. "As for what exactly I am, I myself do not really know. I bear you no ill will, but I have heard that you are old beyond most beings even in Apollyon, and so I thought perhaps you may have the wisdom I need to pursue my goals."

  The dragon regarded him for a moment. "You carry yourself as a warrior should, yet you tell me you do not know yourself. Untruths will not bring you what you seek, unless it is an icy death."

  "Ah, but I do know myself. You asked what I am, not who I am."

  A glint of curiosity entered the White Horror's eyes. "To know oneself is more than just an understanding of one's own mind. Do not py with words, lest you test my patience."

  Fenrir inclined his head in acknowledgement. "My situation is... unique. I had hoped that you could assist me in some way to resolve some of the problems it brings." Internally, he added, 'Willingly or not.'

  "If you have come to beg a boon of me, you have a strange way of doing so," the dragon said, sounding more amused than angry.

  "I prefer not to beg," Fenrir replied. "I simply ask. Tell me, how long have you ruled this nd?"

  "Far distant indeed. Time means nothing here, Pnewalker." There was satisfaction in the dragon's voice. "Have you been banished here, or have you come of your own volition?"

  "Where is here? Apollyon? If so, then yes, I have been banished."

  The curiosity in the ice-like eyes strengthened. "Then you are of a realm beyond. Ruyanei?"

  "...Yes and no. Ruyanei is my home now; it was not always so."

  "Then from whence do you come?"

  Fenrir took a breath. Again, he was somehow reluctant to say, but the dragon before him was too cunning to allow him to avoid answering entirely. In this case the reticence was more understandable, but it almost seemed a foreign influence that cautioned silence as to his origin. He would have to try to speak in riddles and hope that was enough to satisfy the ancient drake. "I come from a nd where magic is a thing of myths and legends, yet there are forces which many would call magic. I come from a nd where the greatest dragons cannot be fought with steel or fang. I come from a nd of wonders that pass unseen by its inhabitants. I come from a nd like and yet unlike any other nd I have walked."

  The White Horror raised his head a little more, the satisfaction in his voice growing. "Pnewalker indeed. And now you have come here, to me. Tell me, what is it you seek here?"

  "Knowledge, wisdom, a means to walk the path I have chosen. I seek a way to return to Ruyanei, as my work there is not yet done."

  "Has no one told you that none banished here can return whence they came?" Again the booming, rumbling voice was tinged with amusement, as though enjoying a joke known only to itself.

  Fenrir shrugged. "It is only impossible until someone does it. Furthermore, I know there are some who have come and returned, sometimes more than once."

  "Ah, yes, the 'Heroes'." White chops rolled back to reveal snarling fangs. "More than one has failed to return." There was a certain savage satisfaction in the dragon's tone.

  "So I have heard. But it can be done. I still have scores to settle, and so I will do it."

  The dragon gave a rumbling chuckle which shook the ground beneath Fenrir. "You have spirit, Pnewalker, I will give you that. But is it determination that I hear, or merely foolish arrogance?"

  Fenrir shrugged again. "Who can say?"

  A moment's silence, then the White Horror moved, uncurling himself and coming to an upright position, stretching out his limbs as he did so. For the first time Fenrir was able to properly grasp the scale of the dragon, and his eyes widened as he took in its size. The White Horror's head was by itself the size of a truck, and compared to the rest of his body it still seemed almost small. His wings were vast scaly canopies that blocked out the sky, and each of his four legs was thicker than all but the mightiest of tree trunks.

  But it was the glint of something around the base of the long neck, half hidden by the fur there, that caught Fenrir's attention. He recognized it instantly as a Key of Apollyon. His eyes lingered there for only the barest second, but the White Horror saw, and understood.

  Rage flooded into the cruel blue eyes, and the dragon growled, "I see you know more than you have told. You are not the first to come seeking my Key, and you will not be the st. You have amused me, so I will give you a quick death. Goodbye, Pnewalker." His head rose up and back, an eerie glow emanating from his half open mouth, and then with a roar a strange liquid-like ice streamed from that giant maw, crossing the distance between the dragon and Fenrir with the quickness of thought.

  TheBestofSome