Chapter 39 | The Order of the Silver Dragon

They walked in silence, but Akra was bursting with questions. Strahd had been within reach, and they had done nothing. But she wanted to know everything — what was he like? Did he seem evil and dangerous up close? What did he want from them?

But the warlock was quiet and tight-lipped, so Akra held her questions for now. Come morning, though, she wanted to know more about their enemy.

Phaedrus led them to a clearing, and they set about making camp. But as they began to pull gear out of their packs, Hoben held up a finger. The bard scanned the ground, and selected a large stick. Akra watched, curious, as he drew a circle in the dirt surrounding the group. Ruh Ruh followed Hoben, peeing around the perimeter, which Akra was sure wasn’t a necessary requirement for whatever spell Hoben was preparing.

The halfling closed his eyes and gripped his lute, and a dome shape appeared, shimmering in the darkness. The clear circle ensconced them all comfortably, with some room to spare.

“We should be safe here for the night,” he said, pleased with his work. “Welcome to Hoben’s Hut!”

The “hut” was unfurnished, and not very hut-like, but it was a shelter against the danger and elements, and they settled down for the night. Akra huddled close to Liam, and he didn’t protest her proximity.

After a while in silence, munching the foraged berries and mushrooms discovered and distributed by Phaedrus, Stella asked, “What next?”

“Well, we got you, so that’s one card down,” Akra replied jubilantly. Stella raised her eyebrows. “Oh! I forgot we haven’t told you yet, about the prophecy.”

With Phaedrus and Amira’s help, Akra relayed Madame Eva’s reading to Stella, and the five cards that would define, and hopefully aid, their journey. Stella seemed pleased to be part of it.

“I’ll help however I can,” she said. “Barovia has long lived under the shadow of Strahd.” She chewed on her lip, deep in thought. “It’s possible the sword of sunlight is at Argynvostholt.”

“What’s Argyn-vost-holt?” Akra asked, sounding out the word.

“The house of Argynvost, a dragon that tried to fight Strahd, but was defeated by him,” Stella explained. “And where the Order of the Silver Dragon once resided.”

Akra felt a chill pass through her chest, mingling with the icy core that sourced her dragon breath. In the days spent in Barovia, haunted by humans and their dark creations, she hadn’t even considered that dragons had once lived here, too. It filled her with hope and power — until Stella’s words fully registered, and she understood that the Order had perished.

Akra had a brief longing for her own monastery, her only home — but even there, she’d felt like an outsider, never human enough, or dragon enough, for either humans or dragons. Regardless, her bloodline was draconic and she was made fiercer for it, and in that moment she wanted nothing more than to go to Argynvostholt. She could pick up the mantle of the Order of the Silver Dragon, carry on their quest, for they shared the same enemy, and she was resolute that she would succeed where they had not.

She lay awake while the others slept, watching the hint of sky beyond the trees shift in its gradient, from deep navy to a stone gray. When her companions began to stir awake, she stood up quickly, her head nearly grazing the top of the dome.

“We need to go to Argynvostholt,” she declared. They blinked at her, still groggy, but no one contested the decision.

“I agree,” said Liam. “Especially if that’s where we can find the sword of sunlight.” His eyes glinted at the thought of the weapon, and she knew enough about him to know that he coveted it.

The hut was easy to dismantle; Hoben simply snapped his fingers, and it dissipated. That’s convenient, Akra thought, bouncing on the balls of her feet, eager to get going.

They set out toward the south. Akra walked alongside Stella and Amira, who appeared to have developed a rapport.

“Can I ask you a question?” said Stella to Amira. “About your patron?”

Amira brightened. Akra didn’t know much about warlock patrons, other than that they provided power to their followers; not terribly unlike a paladin, she thought, although she’d never voice that to Liam.

“My patron is the Great Old One,” Amira said, in a tone that held both admiration and a hint of fear. “Nourn. I first communed with him when I was but 12 years old.” Her voice was calm and even, but Akra noticed that she suddenly clenched her fists.

“I always thought patrons were considered evil,” said Stella, echoing Akra’s own thoughts. “But you don’t seem evil.”

Amira smiled like she had never heard a more glowing compliment. “Nourn is not a patron of evil. The Great Old One represents knowledge and the pursuit of it, which can’t be constrained by our worldly spectrum of morality.” Her brows furrowed, the smile now gone. “My relationship with Nourn, and my reasons for it, are… complicated.”

Liam frowned at this, eavesdropping nearby.

After a few hours of traveling, the sun bright behind the hazy sky, Akra spotted the fairytale cones of a sepulchral mansion reaching upward, the turrets puncturing the clouds like sharp teeth.

“It used to be very beautiful,” Stella said, her voice soft with reverence. “Strahd destroyed it after he turned. Argynvost was the most powerful dragon.”

They proceeded toward it in a hush. Surrounded by the forest, the sunbeams finding a path behind the large tower, the mansion at its heyday was likely a vision of strength and veneration. Akra felt a surge of rage for what was taken, what was lost.

Wolves howled as they approached the courtyard, signaling certain doom and danger found within. In the center of the courtyard, a large statue of a dragon loomed above them. Its wings were tucked into its sides, and it looked with unseeing stone eyes toward the east. A frisson rippled through her chest and arms. She sensed magic emanating from the stone dragon, a familiar winter magic that she knew all too well.

Liam unsheathed his sword, and knelt in front of the dragon. It was a beautiful sight, Akra thought, the stoic soldier on his knees, unarmed in devotion before a powerful dragon. She knew he was praying to Bahamut.

When he was finished, they pushed open the massive doors to Argyvostholt.

Akra felt a cold breath on the back of her neck, and heard the grinding of stone; she whirled around, but the statue remained unmoved. Still, she was sure that Argynvost was aware of her presence here.

She stepped into the foyer, and the rest followed. Carvings adorned the walls, depicting a dragon shifting into a human.

“Argynvost could turn into a human, like other dragons,” Stella explained in a whisper.

Liam placed a hand on the art. “Bahamut has this ability as well.”

The foyer was grand, built for a king, but it had fallen to decay. Along the wall stood four busts of handsome knights. One had crumbled: half its face was now a pile of stones littered around the base of the mount, and Akra tried in vain to piece it back together.

A shadow passed over the walls, and they collectively tensed. Akra could have sworn that the shadow was in the shape of a wing, and she turned around quickly, gripping a shard of stone in her fist.

The shadow was followed by a soft bestial noise, like a growl in the back of a throat.

She turned to Liam. “Can you detect if something, a creature perhaps, is nearby?”

He nodded and closed his eyes, and faintly glowed — then opened his eyes. “I didn’t sense anything.”

Not a creature, then. A monster, or a ghost? Akra peered into the next room, which appeared to be a den. A cold, dark hearth covered much of the west wall, flanked by two small windows.

When she stepped into the room, the hearth roared to life, and the flames shifted and distorted around the form of a dragon, comprised of smoke.

“Don’t attack!” Akra cried, flinging out a hand to stop her companions. They gathered warily in the room, weapons at the ready.

She sensed the dragon was looking at them all, although its eye sockets were empty, just two dark voids suspended in the fire. Still, she sensed its gaze on her, and although its voice filled the room, she felt its message was intended for her.

“You must find the order,” the dragon said, “and return them to the light.”

The dragon vanished into the fire, and then the fire, too, disappeared.

She met eyes with Liam from across the room, and he nodded, resolute. Akra began to scour the room for additional clues or information, and identified the subtle outline of a hidden door on the far wall.

Hoben hurried over, and pushed it open. Stairs led down into a dark chamber, and he quickly ran down to investigate, and returned a moment later, his eyes wide with glee. Akra suspected he had found something to his liking. “It’s a wine cellar!” he exclaimed, confirming her thoughts.

They crawled in, stopping short when a dusky hand appeared behind a cask. It waved at them.

Hoben waved back and called out, “Hello!”

A dusk elf peered around the cask, looking relieved. They went over to him, and he clambered to his feet. He was quite tall, Akra noted, being quite tall herself.

“I’m Savid,” he said when they introduced themselves. “I live in the Vistani camp.” He looked over their shoulders, brow creased with worry. “Is it clear now?”

“Clear?” Akra asked. “From what?”

“Needle blights attacked me so I was forced to come in here for hiding,” said Savid, still clearly shaken by it. “I was looking for a young girl named Arabelle.”

“We haven’t met anyone by that name yet,” said Akra. Curious about their new acquaintance, having never before encountered a dusk elf in person, she asked, “How old are you?”

Savid gratefully accepted food from Amira and Ruh Ruh, and chewed on a strip of dried meat before answering, swallowing hard. “I am more than 400 years old.”

They stocked him up with additional supplies, for which the elf thanked them profusely.

“Anything we should know about this place?” Phaedrus asked.

Savid shivered. “I can hear undead, lurking around. I don’t know how many. I didn’t do much exploring, as you can imagine. We tend to avoid this place, because of its haunted reputation.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Akra asked as he readied to depart. He nodded, thanked them again and set off with haste.

Eager to return to their main task, Akra went back up the stairs, Liam following. “We need to cleanse this place,” he said out of earshot of the others.

“Yes,” she agreed. “We do.”

They walked into another room at the base of a spiral staircase that wound up into the unknown. Chernok hovered near her shoulders, and they waited for the others to catch up.

The sound of a howling wind filled her ears, but Akra knew not the source of it.

Above this room’s hearth hung a portrait of a knight, whom Akra suspected was Argynvost himself. She crossed the room, and lifted the portrait from the wall with ease.

The hearth hissed at her. At least, Akra thought it was the hearth, until she once again saw the shadow of wings on the wall. But this time, the wings were smaller, and she balked once she spotted a small pseudodragon flitting around the room.

It looked at her with its tiny pointed dragon face, then flew out of the room.

Portrait in hand, she went after it.

It dashed down a long staircase, and she ran as fast as she could to not lose sight of it. Akra heard the footsteps of her companions behind her, their boots pattering on the stone floor. The pseudodragon led them into an audience hall — spacious and empty, save for a skeletal figure slumped over on a chair in the center of the chamber, perched on a dais.

The pseudodragon flew to it, then disappeared. The skeleton shifted in its chair, its skull creaking as it looked toward them. It clasped a great sword with a dragon hilt, and Akra felt an urge to lunge toward it and claim the sword as her own. If that was the sun sword, Liam would have to fight her for it.

“Who are you?” Liam said, approaching the figure.

“I was once Vladimir Horngaard,” the skeleton said, his voice filling the hall. “The commander of the Order of the Silver Dragon.”

“We are here to return the order to the light,” Liam said, his voice bold and unwavering.

Akra held the portrait above her head. “Remember? This is what the order once was.”

Vladimir didn’t respond to the portrait, and Akra wondered what he could still see through his skeletal form.

“I think he is a revenant,” said Liam, muttering something about “unfinished business.”

She didn’t quite understand what that meant, but she sensed it wasn’t a good thing. The paladin unsheathed his sword, laying it down before Vladimir as a peace offering, but Akra suspected an attack was imminent.

“You must not release me from my misery,” Vladimir said, his ghostly voice gaining volume.

“Where is the sword of sunlight?” Liam asked. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his sword.

At this demand, the room went deathly silent, and Akra held her breath — until six phantoms emerged from the nothingness, and the battle erupted around her.