Forced Shortcut

MOTE Week 32, 2026

This week on MOTE, I was prompted by Fiona Grey: The shortcut – with all its flaws – was the only path left open.

This week I wrote the next chapter in the annals of Darak the Dorinthian. The last chapter can be found here.

—

Darak the Dorinthian headed through the fields to the monastery in front of him. He was tall, and his dark hair flowed down to his shoulders. He wore but the cheapest leather armour. He had only a single weapon, a long two-handed sword that he had earned unexpectedly on his last adventure.

By his side was his sole companion, Linthia. She had been captured by bandits during a raid, and had been freed when Darak came upon them and slew them all rather than accept their hospitality once he realised what manner of band they were. She always claimed thereafter that she chose to serve Darak to pay him back for restoring her freedom to her. She had long blond hair, down to her waist, tied with a leather thong. Darak had insisted that she wear his chainmail vest, despite it being big on her, and she wore a wide leather belt to cinch it in around her waist. Attached to the belt was the scabbard for her dagger. She had a bow, and an empty quiver rested on her back. She was not particularly skilled with the blade, but had attained adequate skill with the bow. Darak still worried that she would not survive the next danger he faced, but she continued to insist on travelling with him.

Both had heavy packs on their backs, containing all their worldly goods.

The monastery was dedicated to Brother Palisus and was where Darak had been directed to find a scabbard for his sword, the sword of Brother Knight Palisus, one of the Great Artifacts.

Darak reached the open gates of the monastery, and politely rang the bell.

It wasn’t long before a monk arrived to see who had arrived. “Welcome to our humble abode. How may the followers of Palisus be of assistance to you?”

“We wish for bread and board for the night. I also desire to speak with your Abbot as soon as it is convenient for him.”

“The bread and board we can supply as a donation to the faith. The meeting with the Abbot might be harder to arrange; might I enquire as to its purpose?”

“You may. It is related to a personal quest that I have chosen to attempt. I was informed by a Bishop that one of the pieces of equipment I need may be obtained here. I would prefer to say no more than this in the open.”

“Then I will send the Abbot a message, and he will respond as he sees fit.”

Darak and Linthia were shown to separate rooms in the guest wing of the monastery. Darak’s room was small, the only furniture being a bed and a small table beside it. There were toilet facilities in a separate room down the hall.

Darak had only a short time to organise his pack before a monk arrived with a message that the Abbot wished to see him.

Darak left his pack beside the table and followed the monk to the Abbot’s office, taking the sword with him.

The Abbot’s office was similarly plain, with utilitarian furniture. The only sign of riches lay in the small library, which contained between ten and twenty books. It would have taken hours to faithfully copy the text of each of these.

The Abbot greeted him and they sat down on wooden, somewhat uncomfortable, chairs.

“It is unusual for travellers so well armed to seek sanctuary within our walls. It is even more unusual for one of those to visit my office armed.”

“I hope I have not caused offence,” began Darak in response. “My visit here relates to the sword I carry, and I deemed it simpler to bear it to this meeting than to leave it in the rooms your Order has generously granted me.”

“That is intriguing. Please explain.”

“As you desire. A short time ago, I was passing through a village in the next valley over, and I paid for lodging by promising to investigate the lack of contact with the monastery up the valley.

“I headed up there with my companion, and discovered that it had been taken over by followers of Khrezhpok. We were initially duped, and were captured. They took us down to the crypt, where lay the sword of Palisus. I had little choice but to pick up the sword, and used it to clear the grounds of the fiends and the undead they had created.

“I sought to hand the sword back to the bishop that was sent to investigate, but he declared that I had been chosen to bear it for a time. He suggested I come here to obtain a scabbard for the blade.”

“Then I understand. It was a terrible crime, what those followers of that false god did. The news of what happened was sent to all the strongholds of the faith in the area, and we have heard in that missive of the great deeds of the hero Darak of Dorinth.”

“I claim no such title, Sir Abbot. If others see me as a hero, I will not gainsay them, but I seek only to demonstrate that those who name me such have a solid foundation of my deeds upon which to build that monument.”

The Abbot chuckled. “If you continue to perform the deeds you have already been doing, you will soon be known as a hero in lands where you have not already been. I will not suggest that you desist for there is a need for such as you, and that need will not cease for a long time yet.”

Darak nodded. Truly, he had no desire to be widely known. If news of his deeds came back to Dorinth, the king might not be too pleased that one who he had sent out had neither died in his name nor returned home.

“May I see the sword of our Brother Knight Palisus?”

“Of course.” Darak laid it on his hands and held it out for the Abbot to take, but he did not. Instead the Abbot only looked at the sword, as if studying it from sapphire pommel to tip.

“It is a fine weapon, and now that it has chosen you, it may not be safe for another to lay hand to hilt.

“Your quest here was for a scabbard for the sword. It is not my place to approve or otherwise for your wielding such a weapon, but I do so regardless, and you may have the scabbard you seek. I will issue the orders that it be brought out of our vault.”

“Thank you, Sir Abbot.”

“Thank me not yet, for I have a request to make of you. It is not payment for the scabbard, for that is my duty as leader of this community to hand over, but a separate matter. There are rumours of evil doings to the east of here. I request that you investigate.”

“I will do so, Sir Abbot.”

“Excellent. If my sense if time is not mistaken, it is now almost the hour for the evening meal in the refectory, followed by evening prayers in the church. You and your companion are expected to join us in the former and would be warmly welcomed to the latter.”

“For myself, I would be pleased to accept your invite. I must leave to my companion the decision as to whether she will attend.”

“As it should be.”

As this last sentence finished, bells started loudly ringing. At their sound, Darak flinched. He instinctively grasped the hilt of the sword with both hands, and stood as if to defend the office from whoever came in.

The bells stopped. Darak realised what he had done, and sought to apologise while simultaneously returning the sword to its temporary travel wrappings.

The Abbot halted his attempt. “You have heard the bells rung as warning to all. It is no shame, nor anything to apologise for, to instinctively react as if the bells of timing are being rung for that purpose.”

Things proceeded in an organised manner. Darak was permitted to return the sword to the cell that he had been lent before he accompanied Linthia to the refectory.

The meal was simple, but filling. It was well cooked and tasty. The refectory was full with all the benches filled with the monks who had gathered from all parts of the monastery for the meal. The convention seemed to be that the meal was eaten in silence once grace had been spoken for all.

After the meal, the monks processed through to the church. They sat in their rows, Darak and Linthia sitting in the back row on the left, alone.

Darak had never had an opportunity to attend evening prayers at one of the communities of the faith before. All the monks were clearly familiar with the service, chanting the prayers one after another, apparently without error. He listened and absorbed and said ‘Amen’ a fraction of a second after everyone else. It was a refreshing service, and Darak went to bed that evening feeling renewed and ready for his next task.

Breakfast was held the next morning in the refectory. It was a plain, simple meal. Near the end, when almost all had finished eating, two monks came over to where Darak and Linthia were sitting, bringing a scabbard with them which they presented to him. Darak thanked them and requested that they give his thanks to the Abbot.

They departed after breakfast. At the gate, Darak asked the monk on duty directions to the next valley over.

“Follow that road east towards the mountains. About a half-day’s walk you’ll reach a fork. You’ll be better off taking the right fork. The left fork is a shorter route, but is much more dangerous, especially in the wet, and those clouds look rain-bearing.”

Darak nodded, thanked the monk for the directions, and headed out.

The road was reasonably well maintained, but showed the signs of being little used and of being rather muddy in the aftermath of heavy rain. The land sloped ever upwards towards the mountainous ridge.

The pair reached the fork at around midday. Darak decided that it was a suitable location for a midday meal. As Linthia prepared this, he explored the right fork.

The road curved south, and started to run parallel to the ridge, though climbing all the time. However, there were a number of streams running into the valley that the road crossed with bridges. The first was down, recently destroyed by fire. That stream Darak was able to ford, but the next bridge was also down. That bridge crossed a defile with the stream gurgling along the floor of the gorge below.

Darak studied the landscape. He was confident that he could cross the defile safely, climbing down and then up. It might be possible for Linthia to do likewise, she had proved herself quite capable, but there was too much doubt, and besides, this might not be the worst crossing they would have to attempt on this route. He decided that the short-cut for all its reported flaws was their best option.

He returned to where Linthia had produced an excellent meal and reported his findings. She agreed that the known risks of the left fork were better than the unknown risks of the right fork.

The pair had barely enough time to finish eating and pack everything away before the clouds, which had been getting darker all morning, broke. There was nothing to be done, but go on and try to find some form of shelter as they went.

The route up the left fork was much steeper than that taken by the right fork. It hugged the right-hand side of a valley leading up into the mountains with a stream flowing swiftly below. As the rain continued to fall, the path became slippery, water flowing down the sides of the valley and across the path.

The drop off the left side of the path grew steeper. It soon became clear that going over the edge would be extremely dangerous in dry weather. In the current rain, it would be near impossible to climb back up even if by a miracle the faller wasn’t seriously injured, and heading down to assist a faller would be so dangerous that such action could only be described as reckless.

About an hour into the climb, a cave appeared in the slope to their right, and Darak suggested that they shelter there until the rain stopped. Linthia agreed with clear relief.

The cave was dry, but dark. The combination of storm clouds and rain meant that the light outside was dim, inside it was non-existent. Only a small area near the entrance had enough light for them to see anything.

It was essential that they light a fire, both to dry off, but to enable them to see dangers should there be any in the deeper dark of the depths of the cave. Darak set to lighting the fire with a heavy heart, for though it was essential, feeding it for the rest of the day and then the night would use up most of their stock of firewood, and he knew not when they would be able to restock.

The flickering flames sparked by his flint and fed by their precious sticks, kept dry in the depths of their packs, gave an amber light. It showed that the cave was deep, deeper than Darak could see. What he could see was barely wider than he could reach stretching out both arms as wide as he could go. The floor was bare rock with the occasional stone and rock, shadows flickering as the light from the fire shifted from side to side.

It wasn’t safe to head back outside into the rain. It wasn’t safe to stay in the cave if there was a dangerous creature resting in the shadows further in. Being sensible required that he explore to the extent that that was safe. It would use up more firewood for he would need a torch to see where he was going and see any dangers before it was too late.

Darak prepared the torch and lit it, and then headed further in, leaving Linthia to watch the fire. He should have restocked her quiver after their fight with the Eternal Emperor, for it would have given her a better chance to defend herself against anything wild that came through the mouth of the cave, but he had chosen to delay doing so.

The cave ran near straight, only a slight bend to the left, and seemed neither to widen nor narrow. It was empty of life. After a while it seemed as though there was a light from ahead. A few steps later, and he was sure of it.

Darak rested the torch against the wall of the cave, taking care that it would not fall to the ground or otherwise burn out too quickly. Then he crept onwards towards the light.

It was well that he crept, for what he had taken to be a cave was actually a narrow tunnel to a larger cavern, and in that cavern rested a dragon, whose scales were glowing, giving out a golden light. Darak now understood. The dragon had been the one who had burned all those bridges to force travellers to take the left fork, presumably very recently for the monk hadn’t known of it, nor had the Abbot warned him of the presence of a dragon.

If it had not been for the rain, the pair would have kept going up the pass, and would have passed the entrance to the larger cavern. Dragons were rumoured to have exceptional senses when they were awake and concentrating; the dragon would have been upon them swiftly, giving him little time to respond.

Now, though he had a chance. The dragon seemed to be sleeping, not expecting any prey to use the pass in the rain.

Darak drew his sword. He looked carefully at the cavern floor. He thought the dragon seemed young, perhaps only recently chased from his mother’s territory, for the hoard was small. The floor of the cavern was almost entirely empty of gold and jewels and everything else that dragons value. It would be relatively easy to approach to striking distance without making a sound.

The question then was where, where would it be best to strike? Would it be better to strike at the neck, trying to sever it at its narrowest point? Or better to try for the heart, stabbing through the beast’s chest? Darak might only have one chance. If his first strike failed to kill, the dragon would wake, and then things would become much more dangerous.

What Darak could not do was leave the dragon alive. When the rain ceased, he and Linthia would take the pass. A live dragon awaiting them as they passed the cavern entrance was not to be borne. He could not take the risk, even though he would be prepared for the beast’s eruption onto the trail.

Neck. The heart might be surer, but he couldn’t be certain where it was. The neck he could aim with confidence at its narrowest point.

Darak crept across the floor of the cavern, slowly approaching the sleeping beast. He made it close enough, raised his sword above his head, holding the hilt in both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could.

The sword parted the dragon’s scales like a hot knife through butter. There must have been a spine, but he felt no resistance as the blade fell. Before Darak could react, the tip of his blade struck the floor of the cavern, throwing sparks into the air.

The neck was severed completely, gushing black blood, which vapourised on contact with his sword. The blood started to pool beneath the beast, and began to spread. Darak stepped backwards before the growing pool could reach his feet. As he did so, the tip of his sword passed through the black liquid, and the pool erupted into flame. In seconds, the entire body of the dragon was aflame.

Darak stumbled backwards and retreated as fast as it was safe for him to do so. Once he was safely back in the tunnel, he reclaimed the torch and returned to Linthia as soon as possible.

It was still raining. He would tell Linthia what he had slain when the rain had stopped and they were able to proceed.

—

My offering this week went to Leigh Kimmel.

Please head over to MOTE, and read what everyone comes up with over the rest of the week. I’m looking forwards to reading everyone’s responses.