Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  The creature, only slightly taller than it was in the painting, appeared as a demon as it emerged. It stood at its full height, twice as tall as Dearg, as it roared with all the fury of Hell when it saw the Northman. It charged at him immediately, rounding the column on all fours and leaping straight at him with its claws bared.

  Dearg rolled to the side, hitting the rough stone wall, but getting back to his feet just before the creature's claws smashed the rock behind him. He ran at full speed, rounding the column to get at the creature's back. The creature guessed his strategy, however, and turned his way, snapping at him with its fanged maw.

  Dearg backed away and leaped to the side, spinning and attacking with an overhead slash. The creature dodged, striking out with claws that ripped through the air above him as he ducked. He chopped in an upward arc, missing the flying claws and striking the stone walls.

  "Damn it," he cursed, taking off around the column again

  He stopped, facing the column directly, trying to see from which side the creature would emerge. It came from the left, swiping it claw around, barely missing Dearg as he rolled to the right. He charged again, coming around behind the creature and letting out a battle cry as he struck.

  His blade impacted, and he pulled it across, barely slicing into the creature's flesh before it pulled away, roaring in agony. Dearg dashed behind the column again, grinning and breathless with the thrill of battle.

  "Come!" he called out. "Let's get it over with!"

  The creature roared again, smashing into the column. Chunks of rock fell from the ceiling, nearly striking Dearg before he leaped out of the way. As he landed and rolled to his feet, the creature charged at him again. He stood firm, rearing back his blade in preparation. The giant maw snapped at him again, and he stepped aside, swinging his sword downward.

  It caught the creature's skull, bouncing off of the tough flesh, barely leaving a mark. His arms were jarred with the impact, and for the second that he was stunned, the creature's arm came across and knocked his sword from his hands. He was thrown to the side, slamming into the wall of the cavern roughly.

  Though his wind was knocked away, he managed to dodge as the creature charged again, turning back to leap onto the its back. The beast thrashed and howled as it tried to claw behind it, but Dearg held on, wrapping his powerful arms around the Bodach's neck. He gripped his hands tightly, squeezing with all of his strength.

  The Bodach slammed itself against the cavern wall in an attempt to crush him, but he held his breath and shouldered the pain. If he let go now, he was doomed. He wrapped his legs around the creature's chest to keep himself from letting go. He squeezed tighter and tighter, growling in rage as he held on. The creature's thrashing subsided, and Dearg knew that it was growing weary.

  As the Bodach fell to its knees, Dearg put his full weight on it, freeing one fist to bash its ribs. He pounded harder and harder, hearing the screams of agony as the Bodach's ribs were broken. It fell forward, barely able to howl, and Dearg released it, keeping his weight on its back as he pounded its face from behind, over and over again until his knuckles bled.

  Breathless, he reared back his fists to deliver one last blow. He would knock the thing unconscious, and then retrieve his sword, finishing it off with a beheading strike. But as he prepared to strike, he heard the pitiful sound of whimpering. He froze, listening, his fists unclenching.

  The Bodach was crying.

  "What the Dragon?" he exclaimed.

  His heart sank. For some reason he felt a sudden wave of pity come over him. But why? This monster had killed dozens of Riverfolk, likely eating them alive in its cave. Who knows how many more it had killed in its excursions outside.

  But still, something kept him from continuing.

  He rolled off the creature, crouching a ways away as he watched it regain its breath. It continued to whimper, and slowly rose to its hands and knees. Dearg imagined it charging at him again in one last ditch effort to kill him, but instead it crawled to a small depression in the cavern wall, cowering pitifully.

  Dearg could only stare in confusion. Why was the thing cowering? It was aggressive before, but now it was pitiful. So much so, that he actually felt sorry for it. Perhaps there was something about it that Bertram and the other Riverfolk were not aware of.

  "Can you understand me?" he asked.

  After a moment's whimpering, the Bodach peeked through its folded arms, its eyes fearful and desperate.

  "Yes," it whispered in a harsh voice.

  Dearg relaxed, leaning back against the column to make some sense of things.

  "Why did you attack me?" he asked.

  "You came to kill me," the Bodach replied. "Like the others."

  "Because you have killed dozens of Riverfolk," Dearg said. "I was sent to kill you to stop you from killing more of them."

  "If I hadn't have killed them, they would have killed me. I don't want to die. I don't want to kill, either."

  "But you have," Dearg said. "They are terrified of you."

  The Bodach raised its head, looking at him curiously. Dearg stared back, still feeling pity, but now more confused than anything.

  "I am terrified of them," it said. "They send men to kill me. But I have done nothing to them."

  "Then why do they want you dead?" Dearg asked. "Surely you have attacked them before."

  The Bodach shook its head slowly. "Never," it said. "I hunt for food only. Animals, eggs, fish. Never them."

  Dearg understood. They were frightened of the Bodach because of its horrifying appearance. Despite never having been attacked by it, the Riverfolk created a false image of it; it was an image that was so strong that they were now terrified of it.

  And all for no reason.

  "The Riverfolk have misunderstood you, then," he said. "They have sent dozens of men to kill you, and you only killed them to protect yourself."

  "Yes."

  Dearg sighed. This was a quandary for sure. He had promised to kill the creature, and if he did not do so, they would not follow him. That meant failing, but his heart could never do something so dark. Killing this poor creature went against everything he stood for. If he killed it, he was no better than T'kar.

  "I am sorry," he said, finally. "Had I known all of this, I would never had agreed to come here."

  "The Riverfolk told you to kill me?"

  "Yes," he said, but then stopped.

  They had not specifically mentioned the word "kill". Bertram had said "defeated". He had truly defeated the creature. Dead or not, he could convince Bertram that there was no need to fear the Bodach any longer. He could simply return and say he had killed it. Maybe his very return would convince them that he had. But then, he could have just sat by the cave or over the hill and waited, only to return and say that he killed it. That was no good.

  He stood, holding his head in his hands, trying to figure out some way to prove that he had performed the deed he asked to do. He grabbed his sword, sheathing it, and then stopped and cocked his head as he saw the old weapons.

  "What weapons belong to the last man that came to kill you?" he asked.

  "The red shield," the Bodach replied. "And the gold helmet. I do not know where his sword is."

  He found a gold helmet, picking it up and holding it for the Bodach to see. "This one?" he asked.

  The Bodach nodded.

  "Then I will take this back to show them," Dearg said. "Surely this will convince them."

  The Bodach spit in his direction then. He thought perhaps it was an aggressive gesture, but he saw that within the small, slimy puddle of bloody saliva, there was a long and sharp fang. He grinned, picking it up and holding before his eyes. It was perfect.

  "This might do," he said.

  He stuffed the tooth in his belt pouch, held the helmet under his arm, and again approached the pitiful creature. It timidly looked back at him. Though still horrifying to behold, it was calm, harmless, and seemed to hold no malice toward anyone. This menace was done.

&nbs
p; "No one will ever bother you again," Dearg said. "I promise you."

  The Bodach was silent, but uncurled itself from its hiding place, crawling back to the other side of the cavern. Dearg watched it go, his heart still heavy as he realized he almost killed a helpless creature that meant no one any harm. He was glad that his rage had not overcome his hearing, otherwise he would have bashed the creature's head in.

  "Live in peace," Dearg said. "And once again I am sorry if I hurt you."

  "The Dragon will forgive you," the Bodach said. "And so do I."

  Dearg shook his head, turning to make his way out of the cavern. When he returned, it would be difficult to convince Bertram that he had fulfilled his promise, even though he literally did what he was asked to do, semantics or not. He had defeated the Bodach, and that was his story.

  Jodocus watched Dearg leave the cave and begin his journey back to the Riverfolk. His heart felt Dearg's warmth, and he saw the man's confused look. It was then that he knew he was looking upon a man of true heart and character.

  He had spared a creature that could have easily killed him. He had let it live, despite the fact that by not killing it, he would likely make the very reason he had come pointless. Rather than betray his own morals, the man was willing to risk not having the allegiance of the Riverfolk.

  This was definitely the Son of the Dragon.

  Fleek stood watch at the ridge, staring off into the direction Dearg had gone several hours earlier. Despite Ivar's suggestion that he have a few drinks and relax, Fleek simply could not wait. He had downed two pints of ale and took up watch, not moving from his spot since then.

  Every single sound, every single movement of the shadows, and every gust of wind filled him with hope, only to let him down again when he saw that Dearg was not on the road. It seemed to him that his friend would never return, and his heart became heavier and heavier as the hours passed.

  He missed Dearg.

  But, as the sun was beginning to set behind him, he caught sight of yet another movement on the road. There was the glint of metal, and the sound of rocks crunching underfoot.

  As Dearg's form appeared over the last hill, Fleek's eyes went wide, and his heart raced with joy. He dropped his hammer, and his empty mug, and jumped from the ridge. He ran at full speed toward his friend, laughing and howling as he saw Dearg's smiling face.

  He crashed into Dearg, grabbing him and lifting him into the air. Dearg struggled to breathe, and laugh, and groaned with the pressure.

  "Alright, alright," Dearg said. "It's good to see you too. But I… can't… breathe."

  Fleek laughed, letting Dearg drop back onto the road. "Dearg returns," he said with a huge grin.

  "I have returned, my friend," Dearg said. "The creature is no longer a threat."

  "Bodach dead?"

  Dearg stopped. "No," he said. "But I will explain it when we get back to Bertram's house."

  The two walked back to the village together. Ivar awaited them at the end of the dock, leaning against a post with a smile.

  "The mighty Northman returns," he jested. "With the monster's head in a bag, I assume?"

  "Not quite," Dearg said. "Come. I will explain."

  Chapter Twenty Three

  In T'kar's great hall, Captain Jarka bowed before his king, disheveled but alive. He was accompanied by only one soldier, whom Jarka had introduced as Lorcan. The captain related to T'kar how Lorcan had shielded him from harm and allowed him to escape with his life. The king was impressed with Lorcan's bravery, and stood when the young man bowed next to his captain.

  "I'm glad to see you both return safely," he said, placing his hand upon the young man's head. "And you, Lorcan, your actions have earned you my respect. Loyalty and the willingness to die for your captain and your king is always rewarded."

  "It is an honor to serve you, my king," Lorcan said.

  "Yes, yes," T'kar laughed. "It is, isn't it?"

  He turned and sat back down on his throne as the two men rose, trying to decide whether to punish Jarka for his failure. He had assumed his forces would prevail, but they had vastly underestimated the enemy's strength. That was infuriating. Fortunately for Jarka, Randar spoke on his behalf.

  "It was I who recommended the invasion, Sire," he said. "I'm sure Jarka did the best he could with what he had available. I take full responsibility for this failure."

  T'kar growled. "Fine," he said. "Jarka is forgiven. But next time, I want Jarka involved in the planning. And this Lorcan, I want him there, too."

  Randar bowed his head in agreement. "The young Lorcan has shown great quality," he said. "Seeing how he is loyal to not only his king, but to Jarka, I would recommend he be assigned to serve as Jarka's personal guard."

  T'kar nodded. "That sounds good. What say you, Captain?"

  "I trust Lorcan with my life," Jarka said. "He would make an excellent guard."

  "Very well," T'kar said. "Lorcan you are now Jarka's personal guard. You will answer to him directly, and give your life to protect him from harm. Do not fail him, or you will find yourself in my warg pit."

  "Understood Sire," Lorcan said.

  "Fine. Jarka, rest yourself. We will assemble once more and try a different strategy."

  "Very well, Sire," Jarka said.

  The two left, eyeing Lilit as they passed her. She glared at them both, then returned to her table as they exited. T'kar went to her, curious as to what she had divined with her magic. She had promised to find this Druid's location, and it seemed that she had found something that had caught her attention.

  "What have you discovered?" T'kar asked.

  Lilit folded her hands in front of her, giving him a sideways glance.

  "I can certainly divine the Druid's location," she said. "But I am afraid it would be pointless to send Randar after him."

  "Why is that?"

  "Randar is a mortal man," Lilit explained. "As skilled as he is, he is not capable of causing this being any harm. The Druid is a part of a divine being, assigned to this area of the world to assist in maintaining the Dragon's spirit. He cannot be harmed by a mere mortal."

  "Anything can be destroyed or killed," T'kar said.

  "That is true, Sire," Lilit said. "But even if we hunted him down and killed him, he would simply reappear. The cost and risk are too great. He would destroy anyone we sent after him, and their deaths would be in vain."

  T'kar growled in frustration, clenching his fist and gritting his teeth. "Then what do we do about him?" he asked.

  "Nothing," Lilit replied, folding her arms across her chest.

  "Nothing?"

  "He is inconsequential. He cannot interfere directly in the affairs of men. It is not his duty. He can only observe, and offer guidance to them. His primary allegiance is to the land itself, and to the Dragon. Thus, the Great Mother."

  "Kathorgo says he is a danger," T'kar said. "That he should be destroyed."

  Lilit laughed, throwing her head back. Her long, silky black hair flowed around her like dark water.

  "For his own selfish purposes, no doubt," she said. "Even Randar knows that, I would guess."

  T'kar looked at Randar, who shrugged. The king shook his head, growling.

  "I have a better idea," Lilit said.

  She closed her eyes and began chanting a spell. The water in her scrying bowl began to glow a bright red, fading to a darker maroon as the surface danced with the image of a dark cave.

  "What is this?" T'kar asked.

  "Reaching the enemy has been a problem," she said. "The patrols you have sent to the northernmost areas have disappeared without a trace. Even Jarka's forces were crushed. All because we have no way of knowing where the enemy actually lies, and its numbers."

  "So?"

  "As your seer, I offer you a solution in these foul creatures you see in the surface of the water."

  T'kar and Randar bent down to look into the bowl. Within the shimmering image of the cave, they could see the vague forms of several creatures. They appeared reptili
an, almost lizard-like, but larger and fiercer, armed with tough scales and sharp teeth.

  "What are those?" T'kar asked.

  "Wyverns," Randar said, smiling and standing straight again, clapping his hands together.

  "Ah," T'kar said, not sure what she was getting at. "Explain."

  Lilit reached into the water, tossing a handful of it behind them onto the center of the great hall's floor. There, an image of the wyvern grew, becoming its actual size. It was winged, with sharp claws, piercing eyes, and a horrifying look that made T'kar nearly drool.

  "Wyverns are mindless," Lilit said. "But they can be controlled, and their minds probed. They are capable of acting as spies, so that you may send your men to the enemy with the full knowledge of their whereabouts and numbers."

  "Problem solved," Randar said. "Excellent work."

  T'kar grinned almost ear to ear. His excitement was stimulating, as it had been awhile since he had received good news. The wyvern was an impressive creature, almost dragon-like in nature, yet his to command. What a great gift.

  "I want them," he growled. "Bring them to me!"

  "Of course, Sire," Lilit said. "It will take time to prepare the spell. But once I begin, the Wyverns will hear the call and they will flock to your fortress like crows."

  T'kar rubbed his hand together in a heated fashion, laughing to himself as beheld the terrible form. He could imagine the creatures revealing everything he needed to know, showing themselves to the enemy at just the right times and inspiring fear within them. And those claws! They could rip a man apart in seconds. Commanding them to do his bidding would make him invincible. It was an excellent plan, and Lilit had made it possible.

  "With these creatures in my army," he said. "The enemy will have nowhere to hide. We will hunt them down like dogs."

  "Are their wings strong enough to carry a man away?" Randar asked.

  "Not a full grown man," Lilit said, maintaining the spell by stirring the water in her bowl. "But if you find men of small stature, they can be saddled and ridden."

  "How small?" T'kar asked. "Children, older boys?"

  "Preferably young women," Lilit said. "But a boy of twelve would do. You may be hard-pressed to find a boy that age willing to fight for you."