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The next morning, the tribesmen led them to the rest of their clan, who had a temporary settlement a few leagues west of the trade road. There were thousands of horses and cattle grazing freely throughout the area, guarded closely by groups of Deola who continually patrolled the herds. As they drew upon the settlement, the companions saw hundreds of domed huts that had large wooden wheels jutting from their sides, making them mobile. All the huts had been covered in thick cow hides to help repel rain and insulate from the cold. Dozens of huge vicious looking black dogs roamed the settlement at will, and when asked what their purpose was, Bativa explained that they were used to help herd the horses and protect the cattle against wolves.
They slowly made their way through the settlement to the largest of the mobile structures. Bativa dismounted and gestured towards the hut. “This is my humble abode. Please allow me to offer my hospitality before you return to your noble quest. I have already sent word to have a feast awaiting us upon our arrival.” He smiled broadly. “It is the least I could do after you hosted that splendid little get-together with those goblins.”
They followed the chieftain into the spacious hut, which had been elaborately decorated with expensive-looking furniture and superbly-crafted tapestries. There was even a large fireplace that had been painstakingly built into the mobile structure out of polished marble. A large table with a dozen ornately-carved chairs stood in the center of the room, almost groaning under the weight of the enormous feast that Bativa had promised.
“Let us eat, my friends!” The big tribesman said graciously. What’s mine is yours.” He poured himself a huge tankard of ale, then drained it without pausing.
There was more food than Damion had ever seen at one time. There were huge cuts of tender steak, still sizzling from the pan stacked a foot high on large platters, and enormous cauldrons of stew with large chunks of beef and vegetables. There were dozens of loaves of fresh baked bread, and a large tub of honey butter. Several young Deolan women stood off to one side filling tankards with ale for the companions from a huge keg that had been bolted securely to the wall.
They fell into the feast like they had never eaten before. The large variety of succulent food was nearly overwhelming after spending the last few weeks on the road, living off their meager supplies.
Once everyone had finished gorging themselves on the extravagant feast, the Deolan chieftain led them back outside. “I have a gift for you, my friend.” He told Damion, leading them to a large fenced pen that had been constructed out of long sturdy logs.
A dozen of the largest, most fierce-looking horses that Damion had ever seen pranced proudly around the enclosed pen. They each stood nearly ten feet at the shoulder, with thick shaggy coats, and long flowing manes. They were magnificent, far superior to the weary mounts that they had rescued from the goblins.
“You saved my life last night, and I wish to repay you.” Bativa gestured to the prancing beasts. “These are the pride of my people.” The huge tribesman told him proudly. “They are the largest, most fierce warhorses in the world. Bred to be aggressive, and trained for battle. Each stallion is worth a king's fortune.” He turned to Damion. “I wish for you to choose one, as a gift from the Deola. A fierce warrior has need of an equally fierce steed. Take your choice, with my heartfelt thanks.”
Damion was speechless, overwhelmed by the tribesman's generosity. He stared at the enormous stallions, then at Bativa, who gestured at the warhorses with a huge smile.
Sly let out a low whistle. “You must have made quite the impression on our new friend. These horses are the Deola's most prized possessions. It is truly a royal gift that he is giving to you.”
Damion cautiously slipped over the fence and stood staring at the huge beasts as they pranced proudly around the pen. One warhorse in particular, a fierce-looking smoky grey stallion, caught his eye when it trotted up to him fearlessly. It was the largest of the lot, and quite obviously the most aggressive. Muscles coiled and rippled beneath its skin as it moved with a proud, almost arrogant grace. Its large fiery-brown eyes belied an intelligence that one normally wouldn't expect to find in a horse. It stared at him for several long moments, then tossed its head back and neighed fiercely. After another moment, its gaze still locked on his, it moved close enough to allow him to reach out and stroke its neck.
Bativa laughed a deep, booming laugh. “It looks as though Storm has made the choice for you!” His face took on a puzzled look. “That’s rather peculiar, though. He has never willingly allowed anyone to approach him. He's the most vicious brute in all the herds. He hasn’t even been broken, yet.”
Damion scarcely heard the tribesman's words as he gazed at the magnificent warhorse. He gently stroked its powerful neck, and felt as it relaxed beneath his touch. After several moments, he took a deep breath and pulled himself atop the stallion's broad back, completely prepared to be tossed right back off. But, to everyone’s surprise, the huge warhorse didn't react to the sudden presence of a rider on its back.
“I can’t believe what I’m seeing.” Bativa murmured in astonishment. “That brute should have thrown him the instant he tried to sit down.”
The huge warhorse calmly waited as Damion got settled, then tossed him a questioning look, and pranced forward a few steps.
Damion gave the huge brute a gentle nudge with his heels, and it immediately took off in a powerful stride around the enclosed pen. He nudged it into a canter, then to a full gallop. He was amazed at how fluid the stallion moved, and its speed was unlike anything he had ever experienced before.
After several minutes, he touched the beast gently on its shoulder, and it immediately slowed to a stop in front of the others. He slid from its broad back and gently patted its neck, then turned to Bativa, who had opened the heavy gate in the fence. “How can I thank you for such an amazing gift?”
The savage-looking chieftain gave him a serious look. “Just stop the dragon and the madman who controls it.” He glanced at Storm, who continued to prance proudly at Damion's side, and suddenly laughed. “Besides, I should thank you. That brute has bitten me on two different occasions, and has injured dozens of my men. I think he turned out just a little too aggressive.” He laughed again, then looked to the others. “I have also taken the liberty of replacing your mounts with fine horses from my own private herds, and added several strong pack horses with full supplies. I'm sure you will find them quite satisfactory.”
Another tribesman suddenly came running up to the chieftain in a clear panic, and began rambling excitedly in a strange language.
Bativa cursed violently, then turned to the others. “The dragon has struck the Alanoa tribe, about thirty leagues east of here, then disappeared to the south! Hundreds were killed!” He shouted instructions to some passing warriors who immediately scurried off, then turned to Damion. “I must help my people prepare to break camp. We are going to push our herds to Mercedia for safety.” He grasped Damion's forearm tightly. “Be well, my friend. I hope we will meet again soon.” He turned and disappeared into the growing crowd of Deola, who were already breaking camp with a surprising efficiency.
“Shouldn’t we go west to try to catch the dragon?” Dar asked with an anxious expression.
Sly grunted, then shook his head. “It wouldn't do any good. Bativa said that the dragon already disappeared to the south. Besides, we still need to find the sword. We should just continue with our plan to locate the trolls.”
They found their new mounts awaiting them, saddled and ready for travel. Damion opted not to saddle Storm, but settled for a soft riding blanket and a bridle. The huge stallion pranced eagerly when he threw himself atop its back, and with a gentle nudge, they led the others back towards the trade road.
Once again, Damion was amazed by how gracefully Storm moved. The power that the enormous stallion was capable of was staggering, and it responded to his slightest touch, almost seeming to read his very thoughts. He quickly understood why the warhorses were so treasur
ed by the Deola.
They continued through the grasslands for the next week without encountering anymore tribesmen or seeing any trace of the dragon having struck again. They eventually reached the White River that cut across the plains, and the colossal stone bridge that led into the fortress city of Mercedia.
Damion was dumbfounded when he first caught sight of the city, which rose up from the grasslands like a solitary mountain amidst an ocean of grass. He could hardly believe that something so colossal could be constructed by human hands. The towering spires of the fortress soared high into the clear blue sky, seeming to reach out to the gods themselves.
The huge bridge that led across the river was nearly a half-mile wide, and rather worn looking from centuries of the Deola pushing their cattle across to the city. Tall, sturdy walls had been erected on the sides of the bridge to prevent any of the cattle crossing from slipping off into the raging river below. A large guardhouse flanked either side of the bridge, and a series of long gates built from entire trees blocked passage.
Storm slowed to a stop fifty or so paces from one of the guardhouses, and Damion turned to look at Sly. “Are we going to have any trouble passing?”
The little man shrugged. “It’s hard to tell. We may have to bribe the soldiers to cross. This bridge leads directly into the city, and they are careful about who they allow to cross, but as long as we have a valid reason, we should be allowed to enter.”
They approached the bridge at a cautious walk, then stopped once more as several heavily armed tribesmen emerged from one of the guardhouses, their faces wary. “Hold!” The largest of the group called importantly. “Identify yourselves, and your reason for wanting to cross!”
Sly slowly slid from his saddle and stepped forward to meet the warrior. “Greetings, warrior of the Deola.” He spoke respectfully, and was careful to keep his hands in plain view. “We are travelers wishing to cross into Mercedia so we can replenish our supplies.”
The tribesman sneered arrogantly, then looked at the others. “You ride Deolan horses!” He said accusingly, his face outraged. He marched over to Damion and snatched a hold of Storm's bridle. “This is a Deolan warhorse! It belongs to my people! Where did you acquire it, thief?”
Damion scowled down at the warrior angrily, and prepared to dismount, but Storm suddenly reared back, neighing and snorting in fury. Lashing out with a powerful foreleg, the huge warhorse kicked the offending tribesman square in his tattooed chest.
The warrior flew backward through the air and crashed to the ground in a groaning heap at the feet of his companions. The other warriors suddenly burst out laughing, and dragged their injured friend back to his feet. He cradled his chest, which was quickly turning to an ugly shade of purple, and threw the stallion a hateful look, then gestured angrily to the others to let them through. He threw Storm another dark look, then stumbled back into the guardhouse to nurse his wounds, still moaning pitifully.
Sly burst out laughing as he remounted his horse, and smiled approvingly at Storm, who had watched the injured warrior limp off with a contemptuous look in his eyes. “It’s seems your new steed is already proving its usefulness!”
Storm nickered loudly, then began to prance in place eagerly.
Damion laughed, then nudged the prancing beast into a canter, and led the way across the bridge towards the huge looming fortress ahead.
Omensent: Birth of a Dragon Lord Page 21