Chapter Five
Storytime with the Ginger-Beard Man
“You know,” Julia muttered with a light shiver, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her body, “this does not look anything like a dragon’s den.”
“I told you it was just the name,” Damon replied.
The streets of Dragon’s Den were mostly empty except for a few townsfolk and the occasional patrolling guard. Most people took one glance in their direction and went about their business.
Good.
So far, the most trouble they’d encountered had been at the town border, but a couple of the guards had recognized Damon and let them pass without a fuss.
He could only hope no one else would recognize him.
Damon had been to Dragon’s Den before. It was a rather pleasant town, all things considered, except for the fact that it always seemed to be on the verge of chaos. He and Julia should be fine as long as they kept a low profile.
“Those guards back there seemed to know you,” Julia said. In the flickering lights that dimly illuminated the street, he saw her eyebrows furrow. “How’s that?”
His chest constricted at the question, but he flashed her a grin. “You know I’ve always been popular.”
“Of course.” Her features morphed into a scowl. “You had cheerleaders flocking around you back in Laudville High.”
Damon wanted to point out that he’d never been interested in any of them and that he’d only had eyes for her, but he decided to let the matter rest. Better that than for her to find out about the Collectors.
After so long, he’d finally got her back. And in the twinkle of an eye, he could lose the woman he wanted more than anything. All he had to do was say the wrong words. Or make the wrong choice.
“This way,” he said, pointing. “If I remember correctly, there’s a tavern in the next street.”
They turned, and sure enough, there it was.
“Well, that’s an underwhelming sight,” Julia commented with sarcasm. “I bet business is really booming.”
Indeed, the tavern was the size of a cabin, smaller than any of the establishments back in Laudville, that was for sure. The building slanted precariously to one side; in fact, it was a small miracle it hadn’t toppled over completely.
“It’s not exactly a business. Money doesn’t exist on Frost Mountain, not as a concept, at least. Most people work for favors and supplies or simply in service of their community.”
“Karl Marx would be proud. It sounds almost utopian.”
“ Almost ,” he told her. “Let’s go inside.”
“What, you only met me today, and already you want to buy me a drink?” She arched an eyebrow at him.
Damon opened his mouth, but no words came out. He climbed the steps to the building, and she followed behind.
He did a quick recon as soon as he was inside, his gaze sweeping around the tavern. It was even uglier on the inside. Customers sat at tables, and a few sat at the counter, drinking and laughing. A man and a woman glanced up as they passed them, but Damon doubted they’d recognize him.
He wasn’t that popular, only among a certain caliber of people, people he couldn’t afford to go back to if he had any hope of keeping Julia safe.
The duo approached the counter, where a woman with round eyes, thin brows, and disheveled hair was pouring a drink into a cracked mug. The barmaid handed the drink to the customer, then glanced up and shot Damon a crooked grin.
“What can I get you two?” she asked. “Don’t reckon you’re from around here.”
“Something like that, Angela.” Damon leaned closer. “Any chance you could get us rooms?”
The woman’s thin eyebrows knit together as if in confusion. “This is a bar. If you’re looking for a place to stay, you’ll have to discuss that with the sheriff so he can get you a cabin.”
“We just need a place to spend the night.” Damon flashed her a winning smile. “I’m sure you’ve got a couple of rooms in the back you could spare.”
Angela stared back at him for a moment, and he could practically hear the gears turning in her head. “Fine,” she said finally. “But you’ll need to help me clean up after everyone’s gone. And just so you know, there’s only one room available. I was saving it for some extra hands at the bar. Since you’re so willing to offer your help…”
“We are?” Julia piped up.
“Shh,” Damon told her.
“… I guess I could let you sleep here for tonight. Do we have a deal, big guy?” Angela cocked her head to one side.
“Sure.” Damon’s grin widened.
When the barmaid left the counter to get the room ready for them, Julia turned to Damon, her hands folded across her chest. “How did you know her name?”
Damon hadn’t even realized he’d said her name until now. He shrugged. “I guess I’m just good with names.”
The look Julia shot him told him that she wasn’t buying his excuse. With a sigh, he said, “She’s friends with someone I know, a guy named Rowan Flameheart. She doesn’t know me, but Rowan’s told me about her.”
She sniffed. “She’s kind of cute, don’t you think?”
“Well, I never really thought about it…”
“And she seems into you.”
Damon frowned at her words. “What?”
“You are Mr. Popular, after all.”
“Wait, what are you—?”
He was cut short by a deafening bang. One of the customers had slammed a table with his fist, causing his drink to spill.
“They’re a terror around these parts, those Collectors,” he said. “I tell you, they’re even worse than dragons.”
Damon held his breath, listening intently. The man was sharing the table with two other middle-aged men, both burly and bearded. He’d had enough experience in taverns across Frost Mountain to know that these were the type of guys you gave a wide berth. No one else in the bar seemed to care about the noise the man was making. They opted to mind their own business instead.
One of the other men at the table, a man with a ginger beard, raised his mug to his lips. “They’re not worse than dragons because a lot of them are dragons, like Grim Jim.”
Damon felt his left eye twitch once, then twice.
The man’s companions stared at him for a moment in what appeared to be awe. Damon realized a moment later that it was simply ignorance.
“Who is that?” one of them asked.
The ginger-bearded man blinked at him with the same incredulousness that Damon felt. “You mean you know who the Collectors are but not their leader?” He shook his head, took a long sip, and sighed. “Can’t blame the lot of you, anyway. To many, Grim Jim is nothing but a myth. But he’s real, I tell you.”
He glanced around the bar for a moment before he went on. Damon almost breathed a sigh of relief when the man’s gaze merely passed him by.
“Grim Jim is, as they say, the most powerful dragon on this mountain. Some say he’s been alive since Frost Mountain came into being. Yes, centuries . From what I’ve heard, he was among the shifters who fought against the witches during the war and was cursed for daring to stand up against them.”
“Cursed?” The two other men and just about half the entire bar had leaned in closer, eager to hear what the ginger-bearded man had to say.
The storyteller nodded slowly, clearly enjoying the attention his story was getting. “He was cursed with life . Centuries ago, he roamed the mountain. They called him the Ice Melter then, but 50 years ago, he retreated to a place on the mountain where no one would find him… a dragon’s den, if you will.”
A collective gasp swept through the bar. Damon saw the man’s chest swell a little as he reached for his mug again.
“In that den, his hunger grew—a hunger for all things rare on Frost Mountain. He loved to collect treasures, even if that meant stealing possessions and people. It’s why he created the Collectors.
“We are all lucky he’s using them now. If Grim Jim were to come out of his den, the skies would blacken, and all would suffer. The Ice Melter cannot be killed, and he is… insatiable.” The man shuddered.
The customer who’d banged the table earlier muttered something that Damon could not hear and reached for his drink.
Damon’s jaw clenched. He could feel his heart hammering outside his chest and wondered if anyone else in this tavern was experiencing the same. Probably not. He was the only Collector in here, the only one who could verify the story the man had just told.
It was true, all of it. Damon was surprised by how accurate the man’s tale was. What the man had failed to mention was that Grim Jim went by another name that was twice as unsettling and that he had his ways of getting his Collectors to stay in line. Not to mention the fact that he was the most terrifying being any of the Collectors had ever known.
Even more surprising was how uneasy Damon had become in the last minute. The mention of Grim Jim was enough to raise the hairs on anyone’s neck. For Damon, it was even worse. He had good reason to be terrified.
He glanced at Julia, who’d been watching the storyteller with the same confusion and curiosity as the rest of the listeners, and his heart sank into his stomach. If only she knew she was next on Grim Jim’s list of treasures. As far as Damon could tell, there would soon be trouble, and she would be at the center of it.
The last thing he wanted was for Julia to be involved in any of this, but here they were.
Damon balled his fists. The dilemma that had plagued him for hours faded into a single resolution: He would not let anything happen to her.
But if he hoped to protect Julia, he was going to have to act fast and act smart. He couldn’t run forever. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes. There were Collectors everywhere. He had to get to Caprichor as quickly as he could because if he didn’t, then it was only a matter of time until that storm came for him—and Julia.