The iron portcullis groaned as it lifted. Ice cracked in lazy fragments along its frame as it rose up into the curved stone wall opening, shaking loose flakes of frost. Wooden logs that braced the gate on the inside clattered aside, lifted off their latches with a resonant thump. The clamor of chains echoed above as the wooden gate tilted outward, lowering over the ice cold stream in front of the stone walls and laying it as a path into the gatehouse.

  The company crossed into the shadowed corridor of the gatehouse. Christofer felt the familiar tug through the frame as the horses stomped through the snow pulling the wagon with its wheels crunching through to the stone beneath. Shifting as they rolled over the wooden gate and then back to stone. The shredded canopy above him had frozen into jagged ribbons, rigid with frost despite the motion. He glanced up through the gaps to the vaulted stone ceiling above. Murder holes dotted its underbelly which could pour scalding water, boiling sand or quicklime down on them without any notice. Silent figures shifted above the gaps. The echo of the steps signaling unease.

  Two guards on the upper level, posted at either side of the crankshaft, gripped the iron levers. The gate rose back up, muffling the whistling wind. Then the iron portcullis descended back down with a final clanging bite into the stone floor, sealing them in. Inside the passageway another portcullis loomed ahead, barring entry into the bailey beyond.

  “You guys seem pretty on edge, what’s going on? This should be pretty far from the battlefield.” Ike asked one of the guards on the other side.

  “Lately people have gone missing when it got dark,” the guard said, “So we can’t help but be on guard towards outsiders. So we keep sharp.”

  The wagon came to a stop.

  “Raise the inner portcullis!” the guard yelled.

  A sharp clang of metal echoed from above, the order repeated by layered voices across the winch gallery. The iron portculis lifted with effort. Guards above spun the wooden wheel, teeth gritted. The sound resounded through the passageway via the murder holes. The wood groaned under strain as the inner portcullis rose up. The company advanced inside and familiar clang divided them from the outside fully. The flush of heat crept up from his collar as the green gecko slithered out from Christofer’s shoulder. It’s big eyes scanning the patrols walking throughout the fortress. Memorizing their routes.

  “All the exits have been located." The gecko’s voice rippled outward as its head swiveled around, looking at the floor, ceiling, walls and behind him. “Six o’clock, twelve o’clock and ten o’clock.”

  Meanwhile, Christofer scanned the area. Closest to him stood a large stable, a large stable, a decently large smithy to feed the needs of the fortress. Past the smithy stood a longer, lower building that fed into the inner curtain wall. The fortress center held a wide circular well, its edge rimed with frost.

  “Five civilians and twenty six armed potential combatants have been located. Twelve o’clock, Nine o’clock, Eight o’clock and- ”

  ‘Yeah, I got it. I see them.’

  Neatly to the right, tucked between the smithy and the main building, a stable had been raised. Sawdust and wet hay curled out of its half-open doors. Ahead, two guards were talking to each other, the sound of them echoing mid conversation.

  “... I heard the citizens are enraged that they wanted to build a dragon shrine next to the site.”

  “Yeah, I heard it too, I thought it was a joke when those traveling merchants told me–”

  They paused mid-conversation, turning as the carriage approached. Christofer’s eyes flicked toward the structure. Armored men entered and exited constantly. Barracks. The Gecko’s and Christofer’s focus synched. The wagon approached the shorter, but longer, stone building that similarly was linked up with the walls. The captain stepped off his horse.

  “Halvar, you lead your horse to the stables. We’ll arrange for a healer to visit shortly.”

  “Yes sir, thank you, sir,” Halvar replied and shuffled towards the direction of the stable.

  The captain continued,

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  “Hakon, take care of my horse. Make sure you water him.”

  “Yes, Captain,” Hakon said as the captain handed him the reins to the horse.

  A platoon of soldiers spilled out of the stone building, surrounding them. The captain nodded at them.

  “Felman, Calder, come with me,” the captain said. “The rest of you, cooperate with the inspection,”

  Christofer shifted, steam flowed from his lips as he sat up, trying to swing a leg over the wagon edge. Pain lanced up his side. His fingers clawed into the wooden rail for support. Light flickered across his right shoulder and arm as the timber split under his grasp, dry splinters crackling like thin ice. A guard nearby jolted, hand darting to his hilt.

  “Norseman. Not you. Lie down.” The captain said.

  Christofer looked at him absentmindedly for a moment, his mouth belching out hot steam like an erupting volcano.

  “Okay.”

  He peeled his hand away, revealing an uneven trench gouged into the wood where his fingers had been. The vivid white steam hissed even through his clenched teeth. A faint green pulse flickered under the skin of his forearm, illuminating the scarred veins in jagged lines. He leaned back into the wagon with a thump. There was a murmuring in the crowd as it split, allowing the Captain and his two men behind him to pass through. Christofer looked up. Four guards with long warbows on the battlements leaned on the railing and stared down at him. He closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Christofer felt a familiar hazy sensation. The air was stuffy. The contours of the dark room were illuminated by the blinking red light of the digital alarm clock. The whirr of the computer chassis on the table next to the bed told him where he was. He whipped his head back and forth; getting barely a glimpse of the alarm clock rematerializing.

  “Right, Dream.” He rose from the bed, “I always find myself in my bedroom...”

  Christofer shrugged and leaned over the table, his hand stretched towards the door handle; then pressed it down and swung it open by leaning back. Skipping over the table to get outside of the room, he landed in water. The surroundings had shifted. Ripples cascaded in all directions. His heart lurched. His blood froze. Every hair on his body stood at attention as he saw it. Silent rain fell in droves around him. A man with a spear through his heart stood on his knees in the water with a vacant stare; disbelief frozen in his expression. Wyrms wriggled around him in circles as blood flowed from the spear in his chest. The vacant stare turned into blood that ran down his face and dyed the water with the same color. The dead man opened his mouth as if to speak.

  * * *

  Christofer awoke in cold, clammy paranoia, an unease hung in the room as if someone had been watching him while he slept. He sat up and rubbed his arms in an attempt to get the goosebumps to relax, then massaged his temples, trying to calm his nerves.

  ‘Will I forget those eyes? I wonder.’

  He blew out a heavy sigh as his expression returned to blank. The dreams were getting worse, he didn't want to admit it but they were. Six guards that had just woken up had a loud discussion as they walked down the wooden stairs down to the ground floor.

  “...and one night me and a buddy went out in full battle rattle from our cabin for a stroll through the woods. When asked by our wives what the fuck we were doing, hunting dragons was not the response they where prepared for.” the guard said as he took a few more steps down the stairs.

  “Not even a thank you for keeping the dragon population in check? Damn people just want their kids lured into the forest and eaten these days.” the guard next to him replied.

  “His wife said something stupid about not needing full quivers of war arrows and that we were retarded man-children or some such thing. My wife just told me not to get shot or shoot anything that shoots back. I love my wife.”

  “Dragons don’t exist this far north, man. You have no idea what you’re talking about, do you?”

  A soldier behind the two commented while Christofer heard a door open. The door closed behind them and muffled the rest of their conversation. Something stepped closer. The Gecko slithered back into existence; It’s voice rippled out.

  “Someone is outside.”

  His shoulders tensed and he sat up. He focused in the direction where light seeped through around the edges of the wagon.

  “Norseman! Change of plans! We’ve got a fresh contract. Captain wants us to move out!” Ike yelled outside.

  “What time is it?”

  “Time to go.” Ike's muffled voice echoed from outside.

  Christofer fished up his mobile phone and pushed the power button. The blinding light showed the time; 03:47. Power sat comfortably at 42%. A little bit less than before.

  ‘How the hell does this thing still have power!?’

  He turned it off and pushed the phone back into the pocket he retrieved it from.

  “What will you do when the power runs out?” the gecko’s question rippled out.

  ‘I don’t know. Cry, probably?’