Raising Dragons

by Bryan Davis

  Billy hacked with his sword, but Devin blocked it, cleanly swiping the attacking blade to the side. The slayer glared at Billy, his eyes glowing an unholy red. With a deft swing, he slashed at Billy’s sword. The beastly strength of the slayer’s blow yanked the sword from his hands, throwing it into the air and making it spin lengthwise and land with a ringing thud a dozen feet away.

  “No more delays,” Devin snarled. He threw back his arms and swung again, aiming at Billy’s neck. Billy gasped, ducking and backing away, but he couldn’t dodge the swing in time. He felt the sword’s blade strike the side of his head, a glancing blow that stripped off his ski cap and cut into his skull. The razor edge then slid away, ripping skin and scalp as it scraped across his hair.

  Billy fell to his knees and raised one hand to guard against the next strike while desperately trying to wipe dripping blood away from his eyes. The light of day faded, going gray and then almost black. He tried to hold out, gasping for breath. Death lay just seconds away. He could almost feel the blade cutting into his throat, and he wondered when the last strike would come.

  A growling shout came from somewhere in the darkening mist. “Come and fight like a real knight you coward!”

  It was the dragon. Billy tried to watch. He could see the slayer like a shadow in the growing dimness as he turned to face Clefspeare again. The dragon’s presence shone more clearly, seeming to glow in the distance as it fled into the forest. Another human form emerged. Billy guessed that the dark knight had recovered. His garbled conversation with Devin was barely audible.

  “Kill the mongrel,” he heard Devin growl. “I’ll take care of the serpent! He can’t get far.”

  Billy heard wings slapping against tree branches and chain mail jangling in pursuit. With ash and smoke choking every breath, Billy gasped, fighting off his dizziness. He could sense the dark knight drawing closer, and he opened his eyes wider to see his raised sword approaching, ready to slice his throat.

  Mr. Foley stopped the car and turned off the engine. “Okay, Bonnie. This is as close as we can drive to the crash site. And there’s Professor Hamilton’s car.”

  Bonnie opened her door and supported herself on the frame as she stepped out. “Good. Now this may sound strange, but please help me get part of the way up the mountain and then come back to the car.”

  Mr. Foley walked around the car and knelt at Bonnie’s feet. “Bonnie,” he said softly, looking into her eyes, “this doesn’t make any sense. You want me to help you part way up the mountain, but I know you can’t go any farther, and you can’t walk back!”

  “I know it sounds weird, but you have to trust me. There are some things about me you don’t know, and . . .” she paused, letting her head droop for a moment, then she looked up at him again with teary eyes. “And if you can’t trust me now, then I can’t—” She stopped short and stared at him, trying to regain her composure. “I’m sorry,” she said stoically. “I’m not going to bargain for your trust in me.”

  Mr. Foley let his mouth drop open. His eyes grew wide and a hint of wetness formed at the lower lids. After a few more seconds, he lowered his head and nodded with a sigh. “I guess it won’t hurt anything.” He helped her stand away from the car and then shut the door. “Okay,” he said, lowering his body to a squatting position, “It’ll probably be faster if you ride on my back.”

  Bonnie shuffled up behind him. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled up, while he slipped his hands under her knees and hoisted her up on his back. Being a hulking sort of man, he had no trouble bearing the load, at least for a while. He grunted a few times on the steeper inclines, but after the first fifty yards or so, the going became easier, and his panting slacked off.

  Bonnie tried to find a good place to hold on. Mr. Foley’s shoulders seemed as wide as a barn door, so she hooked her arm around his neck, making sure not to squeeze his throat. She accidentally put her bare fingers on his skin, and he cried out, “Your hands are freezing! Where are your gloves?”

  “I left them at my house. We were in such a hurry.”

  “You could’ve borrowed some when we stopped at my house to get the coats.”

  For some reason Mr. Foley’s remark cut through to her heart. She knew he was just trying to watch out for her, but getting any sort of rebuke with all that was going on brought a stabbing pain. She felt her nose beginning to run and she hoped it was just the weather bringing it on and not a new round of tears. With a quiet sniffle, she tried to stop the drip.

  “Are you crying?” Mr. Foley asked.

  Bonnie hiked herself up higher on his back and tried to wrap her arms around his frame again. She laid her head on his shoulder and squeezed tightly. “No, I’m just cold.”

  Mr. Foley shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. His labored breaths puffed forth like an old steam engine. “I’m really sorry.”

  After they rounded the bend, Bonnie whispered into his ear. “Okay, I think right here’s fine.”

  Mr. Foley squatted again and let Bonnie slip down. He turned quickly to catch her hands and helped her steady herself. “So do you want me to come back for you in a while?”

  She tested her knee but kept most of her weight on her good leg. “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary, but if I don’t come back in say, one hour, then, yes, please come and get me.”

  “One hour? You’ll get awfully cold in an hour.”

  She hugged her coat closer to her body and laughed, blowing out a long stream of white vapor. “I don’t think there’s any getting around that.”

  Mr. Foley turned back toward the car and walked several steps, but he hesitated, looking back at Bonnie. His long arms drooped below his sagging shoulders, and he seemed ready to run back and snatch her up again. She had an idea of how he must have felt, leaving an injured, orphan girl standing out on a cold mountain alone. She gave a reassuring smile and waved, but she pulled her hand down again when she remembered the missing gloves. She wrapped her borrowed coat more tightly, thankful that Walter’s sister, Shelley, hadn’t taken it to college. She had protested going back to Mr. Foley’s house to get it, but when she saw that it was big enough to go around her backpack, she relented.

  Mr. Foley sighed, and a new stream of steam engine vapor poured out. He buried his hands in his pockets and trudged down the path. He didn’t look back again.

  Professor!” Walter called, rubbing his finger on a tree trunk. “Another one of Billy’s marks!”

  Professor Hamilton strode to the tree and then looked back to the path they had taken. “That’s the fifth mark, the last one coming precisely northeast of here. I suggest that we continue to follow William’s lead and—”

  A load cracking sound interrupted the professor, followed by a series of strange noises. Walter spun around and looked in every direction. “What’s all that racket?”

  The teacher tilted his head to listen. “I hear men yelling, wood splitting, and . . .” He put his hand to his ear. “Fire?”

  Walter pointed, ready to run. “Over there?”

  The professor studied his GPS device for a few seconds. “I believe you’re right, and it should all be downhill.” With Professor Hamilton leading the way and Walter still lugging the briefcase, the two rushed toward the sound of the commotion.

  From his knees Billy watched the scene before him through a veil of dripping blood. Behind the dark knight, Devin rushed into the smoky woods, hacking with his sword at anything that got in the way. Within a few seconds, Devin vanished into the cloud.

  The dark knight showed no emotion as he walked toward Billy, his sword in his right hand, his shield up and covering his left side. Billy wiped away the blood and steeled himself. The dark knight marched on, never altering his pace. When he reached Billy, he snatched a handful of his hair, pulling against the gaping wound and forcing him to stand on his feet. Billy didn’t struggle; pain and helplessness paralyzed both mind and body, and a new eruption of blood flowed down his forehead.

  The knight released Billy’s
hair and stepped back with his sword raised and his shield in place, as if daring him to attack. The fire’s darkening, smoky haze encircled his sinister form. “Any last words, mongrel?”

  Billy glared at the knight. He wanted to fight, but with his fire literally squelched, he had no weapons. He looked in the direction Devin had run. Was the evil host winning? They had lost two, but they were obviously Devin’s sacrificial lambs, their only role being to sap Clefspeare’s strength.

  And had the dragon escaped? It didn’t look to be faring very well with its weakened attempts to fly failing so miserably. Billy thought about the dragon’s face, the nobility he saw when it severed his ropes, even at its own peril. Wasn’t that love? Wasn’t that the same look his father had when he stood in the plane to take a bullet for his family?

  What other proof did he need? Dragon or no dragon, this was his true father. He had to get away and help. Somehow he had to keep his dad alive.

  Without any other options at his disposal, Billy decided to try a bluff. The candlestone was gone. Maybe if he could stall long enough, his flames would have time to return. He turned back to the dark knight and scowled. “If you give up now,” Billy said with all the confidence he could muster, “I’ll let you live.”

  The knight let out a loud, bellowing laugh. “Let me live? Bannister, I don’t think you understand your position here. I am Palin, squire of the last of the great knights. I’m going to cut your head off with one swing of my sword, and Sir Devin will have another trophy for his collection.”

  Billy’s throat tingled at the thought of the blade slicing through, and he tried not to gulp. He had to keep his composure and buy time. Maybe, just maybe, Palin was more cowardly than he was pretending. He scowled again and took a defiant pose, resting his hands on his hips and cocking his head. “Remember the scorched body of the last person who tried to kill me? Where are you keeping that trophy?”

  Palin laughed. “That stupid hillbilly couldn’t beat a dragon in a video game.” The knight held up his shield and braced his legs. “Go ahead, Dragon Boy. Give me your worst.”

  Billy tried to create fire. Surely his anger was hot enough. But he felt nothing, no boiling in his belly, only the return of dizziness as blood drained from his head, coursed around his eyes, and dripped to the ground. He cast his eyes downward and sighed deeply, dropping once again to his knees and trying not to faint.

  Palin lowered his shield. “Just as I thought.” He stepped closer to Billy and raised the sword in a striking pose. “Time to die, mongrel!”

  Billy gulped hard. There was no way he could run. His only hope was to duck away at the last second.

  With a mighty thrust and turn of his shoulders the dark knight swung the blade toward Billy’s neck. Billy watched the deadly blade coming, hoping somehow to evade the swing, but blood and dizziness made everything blurry. He closed his eyes and dove under Palin’s lunging body, wondering if he would be looking up at his decapitated body just before he died.

  Billy threw out his arms and tried to grab anything within reach. He felt two fistfuls of chain mail, and in a flash of armor and swinging metal he heaved his attacker to the side. His blurred vision caught a glimpse of Palin rolling down the hill and colliding with a tree stump. He had bought some time, but would he be able to fend off another attack?

  The wounded knight struggled to his feet and trudged up the hill, limping heavily. He hesitated, glancing at the small fires that smoldered all around. A second later, a sound like a whistling arrow zinged through the forest, and Palin grabbed his arm, crying out, “Arrrgh!”

  “Got him!” came a shout from the woods.

  The dark knight reached with his left hand to pull a short arrow from his right upper arm. When he gave it a tug, agony flashed across his face, and the arrow stayed put. He raised his sword again and staggered back into the clearing.

  Zing! Another arrow zipped in from the forest, catching the knight on the arm in almost the same spot, and he took three lumbering steps backwards to get his balance.

  “Got him again!” the voice in the forest cried out.

  Billy tried to stand up. He wanted to run away while he had a chance. He braced himself with one hand on the ground while leaning over to wipe the blood from his forehead onto any dry part of his body he could reach. It was no use. He was so disoriented he could barely remember what he did from one second to the next.

  Palin righted himself, shook his head, and switched the sword from his right to his left hand. Two arrows protruded from his arm, blood flowing down to his elbow and falling to the ground. He raised the sword and advanced toward Billy once again, wobbling, staggering.

  Billy’s head throbbed, his vision dazed. He saw two figures dash out from the trees. Was it? Yes! Professor Hamilton was running toward the knight with a crossbow raised to his shoulder. Could he possibly handle the powerful knight? Would that crossbow be enough? As the questions swirled in his mind, the curtain of blood seeped into his eyes. Seconds later, the people, the trees, and the smoky haze fled away into darkness.

  “I suggest you halt!” the professor shouted to the knight.

  Walter rushed to Billy’s side and carefully turned him faceup. He cradled Billy’s head and wiped a sheet of blood from his eyes. “Take it easy, buddy. We’ll get you out of here.”

  “Dad,” Billy moaned, his eyes tightly shut. “Have to help Dad!”

  The dark knight, pain and anger in his scowl, stopped, lowered the sword, and slowly reinserted it into his scabbard. The professor dropped the crossbow to his hip and turned to Walter. “How is William?”

  Walter tried to examine the gaping wound on Billy’s head. “I can’t tell! There’s too much blood!”

  “Keep him still!” He turned back to the dark knight. “I’ll be—” The professor swiveled his head all around. “Where did he go?”

  Walter thrust his finger toward the woods. “Check that clump of bushes over there! He couldn’t have gone far.”

  The professor squinted at the curtain of smoke that draped the forest scene. “It would be too dangerous to search the bushes for a man with a sword, and we must help William immediately.”

  Walter frowned, but he nodded reluctantly and then turned back to Billy. “He’s moaning something about his father, and he’s breathing real fast.”

  The professor squatted and looked Billy over. “He’s delirious, and he’s likely going into shock. We have to get him down the mountain right away.” The professor hurriedly stripped off all his upper garments and handed his tee shirt to Walter. “Wrap it around his head. Make it rather tight, but not too tight.”

  Walter followed the orders, trying hard not to cry as blood soaked through the white shirt before he could even finish tying it.

  “We must find something on which to drag him,” the professor said while putting his sweater and coat back on. “Carrying him down that slope will be too slow and too difficult, and we must hurry. William’s life depends on our pace.”

  Walter pointed to the clearing. “That guy left his shield! It’s right there next to that old book.”

  The professor spun around. “Perfect!” He ran to get the shield, and after stuffing the book into his coat pocket, he and Walter lifted Billy onto the makeshift litter. They took the ropes that had bound Billy to the tree and used one to tie their gear to the shield. With the remaining rope, they secured Billy, and they each took one end of the line and dragged the shield from the front, walking with the rope over their shoulders.

  The shield bounced Billy around, and their progress was terrible. They had to stop every few seconds to help the shield over stones and tree roots. After their umpteenth stop, they decided that the professor would pull while Walter pushed, and this way they glided through the dirty mixture of leaves and snow without much of a hitch.

  Walter called ahead, puffing clouds of white as he pushed the sled down the slope. “You think he’ll be all right, Professor?”

  “I won’t try to deceive you, Walter,” h
e replied without slowing down. “I don’t like the look of that wound.”

  The two continued across the silent mountain without saying another word.

  Chapter 20

  THE SWORD OF FAITH

  Bonnie’s left wing throbbed, but the pain wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been the last time she tried to fly. She wanted to stay high enough to get a wide view, but she worried that someone might notice from the nearby camping area she had spotted, so she settled for a low glide close to the treetops.

  She looked down over the leafless trees, searching for movement, anything that would tell her where Billy was.

  Where is he? Oh, dear God, please help me find him.

  She felt cold, very cold. Although she had boots on, she had to leave the borrowed coat and her backpack under a pile of leaves. Only an old sweatshirt over her regular shirt kept the wind from blistering her skin.

  What was that?

  Movement. Something big. She folded in her wings and dove toward the mountain. With a painful stretch, she pulled up and glided, skimming the tops of the trees and peering down to the snow-speckled ground. It had to be around here somewhere.

  There it is!

  She squinted and then rubbed her eyes. It’s a dragon!

  She watched the dramatic scene before her. A wildly flapping dragon battled a sword-bearing man. The dragon seemed much weaker than its size indicated. Its tail swiped like a limp celery stalk, and its claws pawed the ground to keep its body from falling over. Its wings still beat with passion, but they barely lifted the huge form more than a foot or so with each desperate flap.

  The man charged with a swinging sword and then stepped back to avoid the claws and tail. He repeated the strategy several times, seeming to dance with expert moves. After each attack and retreat he held up something that glimmered, and the dragon reacted by staggering and letting his wings and tail droop.