Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  It was almost comical the way Igraina had bashed him to bloody pieces, splattering—no, smearing— him over the rocks like a spoonful of jam on a slice of toast. The Druid had even chuckled a bit, after a brief and frivolous craving for toast.

  Now he watched as Igraina rounded up the horses, showing a gentleness that he knew she was fully capable of expressing. They seemed to trust her, and did not shy away as she approached. In fact, they gathered around her, possibly sensing some good in her. Though Jodocus knew that goodness would be short lived, it was there for now.

  After gathering the beasts together and assuring them that she was their friend, Igraina began to lead them north along the shore. There, past the outcropping, the shore became a black sand beach upon which the beasts could safely navigate around the north end of the island. There, he knew, the Northmen would welcome them, and they would finally be in good hands.

  Jodocus smiled as she disappeared around the end of an outcropping. So far, she had done well, and this first act of benevolence would definitely put the odds in her favor when she finally stood judgment before Gaia. He hoped that this would not be her only act of goodness, though, for he knew her future was dark and disturbing. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, it would be a long series of good deeds rather than just a few.

  Whatever the case, he knew it was time for him to make himself known to the Son of the Dragon. Soon, at least. Very soon.

  Chapter Twenty

  The morning brought new hope to the gathering of Highlanders and Northmen. Dearg was amazed at the unity the clans displayed, despite the fact that the stories he had heard portrayed them as constantly warring with one another over territory and lordship.

  Members of each clan worked together to fortify the entrances to the valley, felling trees and disassembling existing structures to obtain building materials. Caillain was an excellent leader and planner, and every clan took his direction. There was a sense of brotherhood within them all, and it was a sense that filled Dearg with hope.

  When he awoke that morning, he found it difficult to find his friends among the large crowds of busy people. Ivar had just awakened, and Fleek and Freyja had joined the men in building the day's fire and preparing a communal meal of stew and bread. Some of the others were gathering supplies for their journey, and Liam was talking with his sons to decide which one would go with Dearg into the Riverfolk's territory.

  "Why the hell do these people get up so early?" Dearg asked Ivar, who grinned as he stretched and yawned.

  "They're up before the gods themselves," Ivar replied.

  Morrigan poked Ivar in the side with her sheathed sword. "It's better to awaken before the gods," she said. "That way we can always be one step ahead of them."

  "Stop poking him, woman," Dearg jested. "He gets cranky like an old wife."

  Morrigan smiled, poking her sword his way. "You should both have some stew before we leave," she said. "Caillain has drawn up a map of the paths we need to take."

  "You don't know the way?"

  Morrigan shook her head. "I didn't even know the caves existed. This is not my territory. Besides, the valleys and rivers are confusing down there. Seeing as both rivers come from a single spring, it's hard to tell which way is north or south."

  "Both rivers?" Ivar said.

  "The Varg River, as you call it, and the Dibon River, which flows south."

  "Ah," Ivar replied, shrugging.

  "So the Riverfolk live where?" Dearg asked.

  "Over a man-made lake off of the Varg River," Morrigan said. "Just north of where Donal was probably killed."

  "Right," Dearg said. "It sounds like a dangerous trip. But I'm ready."

  "Like I said, get some stew. Both of you. You'll have food for the road, but it's always best to eat up beforehand."

  With a nod, she turned to assist in gathering supplies. Ivar was smiling, and Dearg knew why.

  "Yes," he said. "She's like a wife already."

  "I was thinking more like a mother," Ivar said. "Don't forget to bring your cloak, little boy."

  Dearg shook his head, laughing. The two men wandered over to the stew pot, where Fleek was stirring it with a large ladle. He grinned as they approached, pointing toward the stack of bowls guarded by a stern-faced old woman. She handed them a bowl each, and a piece of bread that she ripped off with her bare hands.

  "Good morning, miss," Dearg said with a smile.

  Her expression did not change.

  "Good stew," Fleek said as he ladled out a serving for each of them in turn. "Smells like Svana's."

  "How did you get recruited into serving it?" Dearg asked.

  "I was hungry," Fleek said.

  They walked away smiling, sitting down at the largest table. There were other Northmen there, younger ones who had volunteered to ride with Dearg, despite the Jarl's objections. They gave Ivar and Dearg a respectful nod, going back to their conversations.

  "This is good," Ivar said as he took his first spoonful. "It's better than Svana's."

  Dearg chuckled, accepting the humorous insult to his mother's cooking.

  "The Highlanders put potatoes in everything," Dearg said.

  "That's because we like them," Liam said from behind.

  Dearg turned, seeing that Liam had a young man with him about Freyja's age. He gave Liam a nod of greeting, feeling somewhat embarrassed at his comment.

  "Potatoes are good," he said. "No worries."

  Liam laughed, waving his hand indifferently and sitting down at the head of the table.

  "I've decided on sending my youngest son, Alric, with your group," he said. "He's smarter than his brothers, and he's not so quick to fly off the handle."

  "Good," Dearg said, taking Alric's hand in greeting.

  "Baleron is already at the cave entrance with his lieutenant," Liam said.

  "How many will be going with us?" Dearg asked.

  "There will be you and your friends, Alric, and the two rangers altogether. The Alvar will not be going."

  "Why is that?"

  "The Riverfolk are suspicious enough as it is," Alric explained. "They don't trust us, much less the Alvar. They'll return to the forest south of the caves with the rest of the rangers and keep watch on T'kar's activities."

  "I like the rangers," Ivar said. "They're sneaky, just like me."

  "You're about as sneaky as a rolling boulder," Dearg said.

  "One thing you lads will have to keep in mind," Liam said. "The Riverfolk are not only suspicious, but they'll have hidden outposts everywhere. It's unlikely you'll sneak up on them, but be careful nonetheless. Always keep your weapons handy, but keep your hands off them unless absolutely necessary. Caillain will give you some trinkets to offer in trade. They like gold and gems, and will be friendlier if you have something to offer them."

  "They sound like Northmen," Dearg said. "Always looking for shiny things."

  "Aye," Liam said, standing. "Bring my son back alive or you'll be answerin' to a host of angry Highlanders."

  "I can take care of myself, father," Alric said.

  "I know, lad," Liam said. "But you're the only son I have that has a brain in his head. I'd prefer that you pass that along."

  The group met Baleron and a younger man inside the forest near the foot of the mountains. They stood near the cave opening, waiting patiently and checking their arrows and other equipment. Baleron bade his companion to come and meet everyone.

  "Dearg," he said. "This is my lieutenant, Odhran."

  "Good to meet you, Odhran," Dearg said.

  Baleron introduced everyone, and motioned for them to follow as he and Odhran descended into the cave entrance. It was small, barely large enough for two men to pass side by side, and the walls were moist and brittle.

  "There is another underground spring here that feeds the Varg River," Baleron said. "It passes through this cave system to the west, and you'll hear it. It will sound like thunder. Don't be alarmed."

  "I won't be alarmed," Dearg said.

  "I like
loud noises," Fleek added.

  Baleron turned with a chuckle, leading the group into the darkened corridor. The cave widened, becoming what looked like a series of chambers with high ceilings covered in stalactites; some of them reaching to the floor. They navigated around the stalagmites that jutted upward like strangely skeletal trees. It was all bizarre to Dearg, as he had never been inside a cave before.

  Soon, they heard the rushing of the spring, and felt the cool, damp air that wafted out of a nearby passage that sloped downward at a steep angle. Fleek stopped to listen, smiling widely as he moved his head to some perceived rhythm that no one else heard.

  "Do you hear something we don't?" Baleron asked.

  "The Earth plays music," Fleek replied.

  Though he grinned, Baleron went to listen as well, and his grin turned into a curious expression. He waved the others over to have a listen. Though it was faint, Dearg could hear what sounded like the pounding of drums. It was definitely rhythmic in nature, and he glanced at Baleron in question, hoping the ranger would have an explanation.

  Baleron shrugged. "I've never noticed it before," he said. "It sounds like war drums in the distance."

  "Who could be pounding war drums?" Freyja asked.

  "I don't know," Baleron replied. "Maybe it's just an echo from the Riverfolk."

  "Do they play drums for no reason?" Ivar asked. "Or are they preparing for an attack?"

  Baleron cocked his head. "That's a good question," he said. "We should hurry."

  The ranger led the way, and Dearg followed close behind. The slope steepened as they went, and the moisture began to subside as the sunlight shined in from ahead. The last chamber they reached had an open roof, with a jagged hole the size of a wagon that allowed the sunlight to spill through. Scattered on the floor were the remains of several animals who likely fell through while grazing.

  "A deadly trap for sure," Dearg said. "That fall would kill a man."

  "A man could never climb the mountains above us," Odhran said. "Unless he had magic."

  "Or wings," Fleek said.

  "The exit is just ahead," Baleron said.

  They turned a corner at the end of the chamber, following another corridor that opened up onto a wide ledge. Dearg stopped as he exited into the open air, staring in awe at the landscape before him. The ledge led downward into a forest below, following the mountainside as if cut purposely. Off in the distance, the land sloped gradually downward to the south until it reached another line of peaks. Beyond that, the entire island seemed infinite as it faded off in the distance.

  "It's beautiful," Freyja said. "I've never seen this side of the mountains before."

  Baleron pointed off in the distance, toward a strangely-shaped mountain. There, a massive flow of water spilled from the open mouth of what looked to be a stone giant. The water flowed down a rocky slope toward them, spilling into a pool and flowing north.

  "That is the source of the Varg River," Baleron said. "The flow splits between two openings. One half flows north, the other flows south."

  "Where does it come from?" Dearg asked.

  "Somewhere deep within the Earth," Baleron said. "Only the Dragon knows."

  They followed Baleron downward, keeping their eyes open for outposts. Baleron and Odhran seemed to know where they were going, as they moved less cautiously than the others. It was only when the lake came into view that they stopped and crouched. Off in the distance, at the end of a redirected branch of the river, was the Riverfolk settlement. It was a wooden village built directly on the lake, with docks and platforms connected into one large network of buildings and houses. Dearg suddenly wondered why they were called Riverfolk if they lived over the lake.

  "I hear the drums," Fleek said.

  Baleron turned and nodded at him with a grave expression. "The enemy is near the river," he said. "Look for yourselves."

  Dearg peered off into the distance, where the river branched off and flowed down toward the lake. There, a battle was taking place. Black-armored soldiers pressed eastward toward another group of men, clashing into them with a thunderous roar of hundreds of battle cries. Dearg's hand immediately went to his blade, and he looked at Baleron in question.

  "We have to help them," he said.

  Baleron nodded, motioning for Odhran to scout ahead. The group readied their weapons and followed the twisting path downward toward the river's bank. The sound of war drums began to echo around them, prompting them to quicken their pace.

  "Freyja," Dearg said. "Ready your bow."

  Freyja moved up behind Odhran, putting her hand on his shoulder to announce her presence. Odhran motioned for her to follow and they both climbed higher up the rocky walls surrounding the path. Baleron directed the rest of them take position at the mouth of the path, several hundred yards away from the scuffle.

  "How is Freyja with her bow?" Baleron asked.

  "She's never missed," Dearg said. "Even while running."

  Baleron dropped against a large flat rock, eyeing the enemy forces below. Dearg could see the officers in the back, riding from side to side to support their troops. They were far away, but Dearg had confidence Freyja could hit one of them.

  Baleron lifted his hand, making signals for Odhran to see. Dearg heard the two archers draw back their bows, and he watched the battle as he waited for them to loose. Two twangs sounded, and seconds later, two horsemen fell from their mounts.

  "Again," Baleron said.

  Two more arrows were fired, dropping the remaining two horsemen. Baleron urged the group on, and they charged down the path toward the battle. The Riverfolk saw them coming, and the rear line turned to face them. Baleron held up his left hand as they charged, attempting to signal that they were allies. Freyja and Odhran's bows twanged, firing into the left flank of enemies. The Riverfolk saw them fall, and hesitantly returned to battle.

  "Around the Riverfolk's flank!" Baleron shouted to Dearg.

  Alric rushed behind him, keeping to his right as they rounded the confused Riverfolk warriors. Ivar and Fleek charged down their middle, directly joining the battle right at the front lines. A small group of enemies broke off to charge Dearg and Alric, and Dearg rushed in front of the young man to shield him from the charge.

  "Keep behind me," he shouted. "I made your father a promise."

  "I told you I can take care of myself," Alric replied, passing him and letting loose his battle cry.

  Dearg plowed into the charging soldiers, knocking several down before his sword went into action. Alric had drawn two short blades and charged ahead, leaping from side to side in a confusing pattern that afforded him three kills before he spun to deliver a gut-spilling double slash at another soldier.

  Dearg swept his blade in a non-stop arc, cutting down two men, and then bashed another in the head with its pommel. He ducked low as another swordsman swung, and chopped him in the legs, allowing him to roll over his back as he fell. Dearg flipped him away just as a spear was thrust at his face. He dodged to the side, grabbing the spear with his free hand and pulling its bearer toward him and onto his blade.

  As he withdrew, he looked around for Alric. The young man was still at it, taking down enemies left and right without so much as a wild swing or a missed thrust. The young man was a fighting beast, and Dearg could only chuckle as he joined him in the fray.

  The Riverfolk eyed the two of them as they sidled up to join the bulk of the fight. It didn't take long for them to realize that Dearg and Alric were fighting on their side, and they accepted it without question.

  Seeing an opportunity to surround the enemy and push them back toward the river, Dearg dashed to the left, shouting to the men at the left flank.

  "Follow me around!" he called out.

  Alric came his way, keeping the enemy from splitting off, signaling for the Riverfolk to follow. They crowded toward Dearg, curving around the enemy's flank.

  "Close the gap!" Dearg shouted again, running for the river bank.

  The Riverfolk followed him
around, forming a thick circle around the enemy, trapping them within a giant arc. Leaderless, the enemies continued to fight, despite their new situation. Thankfully, Baleron had seen what was happening, and ordered those on the other side to close in.

  Soon, the enemy was pushed back against the bank, and some of them began wading into the deep water. Dearg could see Freyja and Odhran firing at them from the shore as the swordsmen protected them.

  "Push them in!" Dearg shouted. "Use your spears!"

  The warriors of the inner lines poked their spears through, impaling the enemy soldiers and pushing them into the water. Farther into the river, the current was rough, and those that were pushed into it were swept away, only to be shot by arrows. The Riverfolk began to roar as they realized they were winning, and their aggressiveness took over. The swordsmen in the front lines chopped with all their strength, using their shields to knock the enemies back.

  Soon, the Riverfolk were wading in as well, turning the water red with the blood of their enemies. The archers among them took either flank and finished off those were tried to swim across. Then, the river itself was choked with the floating bodies of the dead, each of them swept away by the current and down the falls.

  The Riverfolk cheered, raising their blades into the air and shouting together in victory. One of them came toward Dearg and Alric, eyeing them suspiciously, but smiling crookedly. Dearg sheathed his blade and held his hands out at his sides, hoping the man would see that he meant them no harm.

  "Who are you?" the man asked.

  The bulk of the warriors turned his way, gripping their blades as they watched. Baleron and the rest of Dearg's group slowly made their way over, accompanied by a few of the Riverfolk warriors.

  "I am Dearg, son of Olav of the Tribe of the Wolf."

  The leader coked an eyebrow, giving him a sideways glance. "You're no Northman," he said.

  "It's true," Baleron spoke finally. "He is from the northern tribes, as are these others."

  "Then who are you?" the leader asked.

  "I am Baleron, and we have come from the Highlands to speak to the chieftain of your people."

  "That would be Bertram the Wise," the leader said. "I am Skulgrid, the Warchief, and I do not speak for the tribe, only the warriors."