The Quest For the Black Dragon

by D.E. Dunlop

  “But sir…”

  “No buts, Captain. My family worked hard to build and maintain this city. I will not allow someone to march against it without facing me first. I will lead the first company at the ambush sight and you will stay back to lead the second company, if need be.”

  “Who will ride with you?” Jessie asked hesitantly.

  “Captain Maynard.” Gerald answered. Seeing Jessie’s worried expression he continued. “I am sure that he is quite capable of looking after me Jessie. I need to be there to show the troops that they shouldn’t be afraid of superstitions. I need you here. You’re the only one I can trust to run things if something goes wrong.”

  “I understand, sir. Now, with your leave, I will have someone ready your horse and armour.” The Captain submitted.

  “Done then, but first, what of the other Platoon leader? I thought you said there were three. Who was it and where have they gone?” Gerald asked with curiosity.

  Afraid that his King would not have approved of what he had done, Jessie took a deep breath before answering. “The third is your daughter Janice. I had her go in search of the sage, William, in the valleys of Vespra.” He replied with his eyes turned slightly toward the floor.

  Silence.

  Gerald straightened his back and turned his head on an angle to look at the man before him pensively.

  “So what you’re telling me is that you sent my daughter into the wilderness in the middle of the night on a wild goose chase.” His voice ascended slightly with concern as he continued. “I can’t believe you did this! Have you lost your marbles or something? That man doesn’t even exist.” Gerald’s face went pale with the thought of this situation and a newfound doubt in the man whom, in this hour, he needed most.

  As Gerald fell silent Jessie straightened in defence of his actions and the remark about his sanity.

  “Sir, I realize that you’re angry. I should not have done this without your consent, but you must trust me in this. People have sought this man for advice on almost every aspect of life…”

  “This is the same man the children and the old maids call the Ghost of the Glenn, the man does not exist!” Gerald argued with his eyebrows raised in exasperation.

  Placing his hands on the shoulders of his dearest friend to reassure him, the Captain continued.

  “Trust me Gerald. He does exist. I have seen him with my own eyes, within these last five days.”

  “Did you speak with him?” Gerald asked in disbelief and trying to find an angle to argue.

  “Yes, sir. I did, briefly.”

  The colour slowly returned to Gerald’s face as he began to relax a little.

  The captain recounted his tale.

  “I was out on the trail about two kilometres north of the fort. I had just entered the forest when I found, upon the road, an old man dressed all in white, his robe was white, and his hair was white and in his hand he held a gnarled staff with a six point antler at its top. My pulse quickened as I recognized the man I believed to live only in myth and legend. I stopped to rub my eyes, for in that moment I believed the heat of the sun to be playing tricks on me. Looking again down the trail I saw him still, his head slightly cocked and he was staring up into the forest. I called out to him but he did not respond so I rode up to him and dismounted. As I was about to call to him again he put up his hand for silence and told me to listen. There was absolutely no sound other than the beating of my own heart. This confused me so I asked him what it meant. To which he responded.

  “I see a great storm, a storm so great the thunder will knock the stones from fortress walls.” I suddenly felt as if the forest grew darker so I turned toward the sky only to find it clear and blue. As I stared in search of any cloud I heard him say. “Beware this storm, soldier.” I was off duty and was not in uniform, so I asked him how he knew that I was a soldier, but when I turned to face him he was gone.”

  “So are you trying to tell me that you think he was not actually talking about a storm but this invasion?” Gerald asked with his eyebrow raised.

  “I’ve never betrayed your trust before and I am not about to start now. Why would he make reference to my being a soldier if he was speaking merely of unfavourable weather? Certainly there was a storm last night but it was nothing out of the ordinary. A small fraction of our electricity was lost but there wasn’t even the slightest structural damage in the whole fort.” The captain explained enthusiastically, in an attempt to convince his superior.

  “You believe then, that if William saw it coming, he may have a solution to the problem?” Gerald inquired as he turned to look out the window again.

  “Yes, sir, that is what I suspect.”

  “At least you studied the situation before you started acting foolish. Ah, perhaps you are not as foolish as I had thought.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I didn’t say that you are not, I said perhaps you are not. It remains to be seen. And, in any event, at least I won’t have to be worried about all of my children during the conflict. I assume Angela has returned to her platoon?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Well, for now, have someone prepare my armour. We can’t be certain that there is a solution. Or even that Janice will find the old man. You’re the first and only one I’ve ever heard of finding him. We must prepare for the worst.”

  After twenty minutes of Jessie’s departure from Gerald, the south gate’s portcullis creaked and groaned as the engines drew it high above the heads of the cavalry.

  It was nearing midnight of September 8th, five hundred years since the last war on the soil of Simcoe County. Gerald of Vespra marched into battle.

  **********

  Janice was the youngest of four; Angela, Lester and Cynthia were her elders. Both Angela and Lester were platoon captains. Cynthia was in the Royal Guard and Janice was a Platoon Sergeant. They were ranked lower than captains, but higher than private or even sergeant. They’re responsibilities, besides leading their platoon, included delivering messages to other kingdoms and scouting ahead of a platoon to collect enemy information. This evening her mission was to find a man who, until now, she had always considered a myth, a fairy tale to keep children in line and out of the forest that lay between the city and the Minesing Swamp.

  She travelled slowly down Patty Dunn’s Hill until she came to the place where Willow Creek passed under. As she led the horse by the bridle down to the creek various small woodland creatures scurried around. The sound of the water was gentle and soothing at this junction. A family of ducks casually darted out to the deeper water to avoid the intruders.

  Janice turned to her horse and patted the mare’s soft muzzle.

  “This creek cuts right through the heart of the forest and into the Minesing swamp.” She said. “Hopefully we’ll find Earl near its banks. After all, it is the main water source for the forest.”

  At the mention of the Minesing Swamp the horse began to back away nervously and tried gently to shake herself free from Janice.

  The Minesing Swamp, next to the Holland Marsh, was the most feared place in all the land. Of course, the marsh was mostly feared because the far side was bordered by Sitty. The Minesing Swamp generated its own consternation. It was a feral and unbroken place of darkness. Even the rays of the sun refused to tarry long amongst the branches of its ancient, overgrown, trees. Its water is supplied by three main sources; tributaries of the Nottawasaga River that snakes around the west and south sides and the Mathieson and Willow creeks from the north and west sides, not to mention uncounted number of underground springs. Its area is close to one hundred thousand hectares and it lurks within a constant grey mist. Many a tale is told of lost, unsuspecting; wayfarers and mighty hunters and explorers who braved its darkness only to disappear forever or be driven mad by the horrors within. The latter was the rarest. Many believed the swamp to be haunted by the spirits of the lost or witches who cast perpetual evil spells
. Some believe it to be the home of horrendous, unspeakable monsters, unknown, even to the wildest of imaginations. Needless to say, Allyson, Janice’s mare, shrank back when she heard the name. It wasn’t, of course, that she understood the English language it was the foreboding undertone that cannot help but accompany the name Minesing Swamp.

  “Its okay, Allyson. We’re not going into the swamp. I’m sure we’ll find him long before we get that far.” She said softly. She looked through the culvert out of the corner of her eye. She wasn’t really that certain of a successful venture.

  “Chasing ghosts and shadows.” She muttered to herself and gently tugged at the bridle to lead Allyson through the giant pipe.

  Despite the caution they took to be silent every sound still echoed loudly through the ribbed steel tube. Janice was confident their steps could be heard as far away as the swamp.

  Janice, followed closely by Allyson, crept gently through the night. They stuck close to the bank of the Willow creek, winding and twisting into the forest. For the most part the only sounds were crickets, frogs and the water flowing over its bed. Occasionally an unseen animal would disturb the night as it moved away from the water and the foreigners travelling with it.

  The light of the moon found its way through the muggy night air and danced with the fauna. The young soldier almost lost herself in the peaceful tranquility. From time to time her concentration meandered beneath the various trees, frolicking with the light of the moon or getting lost in the midst of countless stars in the heavens. She was always brought back abruptly to her task at hand by the scampering of startled animals. With her growing comfort her stealthy sneaking had become more of a casual strolling. The moon reached its apex and beyond and Janice still had not seen any indication of William’s presence. Her thoughts returned to her childhood when she and her brother and sisters played on these banks; carefree days of fun. They would chase each other through the forest playing tag or hide and seek or they would spend hot summer afternoons swimming in the crisp cool water. All the while they would be conscious of their surroundings, looking over their shoulder for the Ghost of the Glenn. As much as they were afraid to encounter him, the possibility of it added a certain level of excitement to their forest excursions.

  She chuckled lightly to herself as her thoughts stumbled over the memory of the day they thought they had encountered the ghost.

  It was midwinter and the forest was draped in a fresh, thick layer of powdery snow. They had run deep into the woods with caution thrown to the wind. They kicked and threw snow at each other, laughing hysterically when Lester nearly stepped on a partridge that had been hidden under the new snow. The cover exploded with a wuthering roar as the frightened bird fled. The loud flapping of its wings did what it was meant to. Their frightened faces went waxen and before any of them realized what had happened Cynthia screamed, “Ghost of the Glenn!” They ran screaming like the earth was about to swallow them up. They ran, with chests aching, from the forest through the gates and into the palace without stopping. They nearly ran over a butler and a nanny. “The Ghost of the Glenn!” They all blurted in response to the servants’ shocked and questioning looks and they all clutched to the nanny for dear life.

  “Well that’ll learn ya for playing in the forest.” The nanny said. “You’ve been told a thousand times if you’ve been told once.”

  “You’re just fortunate he didn’t catch you.” The butler said. “I hear he drags children, like you, deep into the swamp and hangs them in trees until the branches grow around them and squeezes the eyes right out of their heads.”

  “That’s quite enough of that talk, Jeremy.” The nanny said and ushered the children to the kitchen for hot chocolate.

  Janice smirked at their naiveté as she inched along the creek. She squinted her eyes as the moon sank in the west.

  “Oh crap!” She muttered as she realized she was ankle deep in slick boggy mud. She stopped and turned in every direction to see where the bank was. Her heart sank with the idea sinking into her head that she’d come too far. She hadn’t noticed, with her thoughts in the past, the misty fingers wrapped around the trunks of the trees. The soothing sounds of crickets and other night creatures had been replaced with eerie foreign voices. Her mind began to race and her horse grew restless. The bank could not be seen. They were in the outer rim of the Minesing Swamp. The once, unusually, muggy September night air quickly turned cool and the mist raised steadily all around.

  “As if this place isn’t creepy enough in the daytime.” Janice complained while she tried to calm herself.

  Once when they were young, she and her brother had ventured far enough through the forest to actually see the swamp. They were pretending to be trackers and, quite accidentally, wandered right through the Sunnidale Forest. They stood, slack jawed and terrified, gazing at the Horror of Simcoe County.

  “I don’t think there’s any monsters in there.” Lester said to his little sister.

  “Sure looks like a place full of monsters to me.” She said.

  “I think the swamp is the monster.” Lester said and Janice nodded her head in agreement.

  From where they stood at the edge of the forest the horizon was indistinguishable for fog and mist. The sky and ground grew together in a mass of grey and at the centre a blackened space with sparse contours of dead trees poking out here and there.

  They both agreed they would never come back to this place.

 

  “So much for that.” Janice said, trying to back track in the bog. Every time she thought she found solid ground it would give way without resistance and she would sink to her knees. Allyson grew more and more nervous with each passing minute. The aroma of Janice’s anxiety only made it worse. As much as Janice attempted to calm the horse the horse grew more restless. This in turn made Janice more anxious. The apprehension grew to the point Janice was nearly knocked into the mud. It was then she realized she needed to calm down and regain control, but the realization came too late. Something struck her head very hard, knocking her, unconscious, into the slough.

  **********

  In the pre dawn darkness Gerald’s forces moved out of the city, across the freeway valley and down toward the waterfront. Two thousand soldiers made their way carefully to the Five Points, an intersection shared by five important streets. On the north side of the intersection was Bayfield Street, which led into the fortified city and north to Midland and Penetanguishene. On the south side of the intersection Lakeshore Boulevard wandered around the lake and made its way south through Painswick, Stroud, Bradford and eventually to Sitty. The Angis road led west toward Angis, Brentwood and Staynor. Leading East from the Five points, the Angis road became Blake Street, which led through Shanty Bay and on to Oro Station and Orillia. The fifth street was more of a side street and probably had more importance to the old City than it did now. Clapperton Street led northeast through ruins and forests and was rarely used by anyone other than squirrels and deer.

  This was the place of Gerald’s strategic ambush. The first and fourth platoons were busy setting up the barriers with the rubble of some of the old buildings and the derelicts. They blocked off the Angis road and Lakeshore Boulevard about two hundred and fifty metres away from the five points.

  As Gerald and his first battalion rode in and dismounted, Lieutenant Amy stepped up, bowing her blue mane crested helm in salute of her king. She was slightly shorter than the average woman of her times, with a full height of five feet two inches, but her fierceness and inner strength were easily read in her clear blue eyes.

  “What’s the news so far, Lieutenant?” Gerald inquired.

  “The second and third platoons are engaged with the enemy’s point. In the last report there were fifteen fatalities on our side but still the enemy was at bay. Our troops will hold them off until it is no longer possible, at which point retreating to the southeast to come in behind the enemy’s main force by the
time it reaches us here. I have ordered my archers to take position on the roof tops around the barriers, sir…” Her voice was steady and clear as she informed him of the situation.

  “Very good, I’ll have my archers join yours and the rest of my troops will aid in the construction of the blockade. This should prove to be a very effective ambush, Lieutenant. Good planning.”

  The night stretched on with no report from the second and third patrols. The archers grew restless, constantly, but slightly shifting. With the monotony of the prolonged singular activity, the troops below, approaching the end of their task, were to nearly forget their purpose there. When the blockade was finished they took positions behind them and among the derelicts. Not long after that moment each individual mind began to hope at this only being a dream, or began wondering how long he or she had been there. Was it two minutes or two hours? They stared so long; it seemed, down the broken street that the shadows on the walls themselves began to craftily sneak up on the waiting soldiers. Hearts pounded near to eruption at every sound the night could offer. The odd breeze would lend a whisper of the far off battle. Nervous fingers quietly tapped on hilts and bows. Souls checked the existence of their mortal possessions through minor muscle spasms and twitches. Hour tripped over hour. Eventually it was realized that the cool pre-dawn breeze no longer carried the sounds of clashing swords. It could be remembered by none, how long it had been since the last whispers of angry steel. The entire battalion, in those moments grew, if possible to believe, more tense than they had ever been in their lives.

  At this time the sky had already grown pale with morning and the sun’s first rays began to redden the tops of the buildings.

  The low pulling of a drum now made itself known throughout the land and steadily grew louder until at last a great multitude of figures poured into the far end of the Angis road. The awaiting ambush had some advantage as the sun rose from behind them, thus putting its brightness almost full in the enemy’s eye.

  The Sitts marched on, not seeing glints of armour until they were nearly on top of the barricades. The mass stopped almost suddenly and a strange bird cry pierced the still air.