One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  We are running to a dead end! Catanya realised. Still, they kept up their pace while Jael and Joffren persisted with their sharp, four-note whistle.

  “Where to now?” Catanya shouted at them both.

  “Jump,” Joffren called back.

  “Semsdi? What did you say?” Catanya shouted back, confused. There was nowhere to go. Then the unexpected happened.

  Jael reached the path’s end and leapt off into the air with arms spread wide as though she intended to fly. Close behind, Joffren did the same. Catanya dug the heels of her boots into the dirt beneath her, sliding to a halt right at the cliff face. She watched in horror as the two priests plummeted through the sky toward the ground, miles beneath them.

  “No way…” Catanya exclaimed.

  With a sudden gust of wind followed by bellowing roars that tore at Catanya’s ears, two enormous fire dragons came spiralling down from the mountaintop and dove down beneath Jael and Joffren. The dragons matched the speed of the falling priests allowing them to land gracefully upon their backs. Catanya watched in awe at the cliff face.

  Next came a ground shaking thump directly behind her. A third dragon had landed and stood next to Catanya, looking at her, snorting loudly. It lowered itself and arched its head toward the saddle at the base of its neck.

  “Okay,” Catanya said. Not wanting to show any more weakness, she jumped up on the dragon’s back, positioned herself in the saddle with her feet in the stirrups and pulled the straps tightly against her shins. She grabbed hold of the large, leather saddle horn just before the dragon leaped off the cliff. Gripping with all her strength, she squealed as the dragon tucked its wings in and fell into a spiral.

  The dragon dropped straight down, picking up speed so fast that all Catanya could think was—do not let go! Soon, they caught up with the other two dragons and Catanya’s dragon unfurled its wings slightly to reduce its speed until all three flew in formation, one behind the other with Jael leading.

  Catanya sealed her lips tight, trying to hold a scream of excitement mixed with terror at bay. The three fire dragons were massive—much larger than Rubea—and in the cloudless sky their bronze scales sparkled brilliantly. Their dancing reflections shimmered against the rock face as they sped down the mountainside. Jael’s dragon let out a guttural roar. The other two dragons followed suit. Catanya could feel the roar of her dragon vibrating through its body and her own. The sound loosened rocks on the cliffs and sent them tumbling down the mountainside.

  For the first time, Catanya felt privileged to be a part of the priesthood and vowed to see her training through.

  “Then next time, jump!” the deep, cavernous voice of her dragon replied in her mind.

  Catanya grinned. “I promise… next time I’ll jump.”

  The three dragons reached the northern side of the Romgnian mountain range and Catanya saw a break in the cliff face, out of which a flat bed of stone protruded. The dragons all swung wide, extending their wings, and landed one at a time on the platform.

  Jael, Joffren and then Catanya alighted from their dragons. Catanya watched as Jael and Joffren walked to the front of their dragons, bowed and touched their foreheads against their dragons’ noses. It was a gentle, intimate moment. The dragons closed their eyes and seemed to purr much as a cat would. Still shaking and breathing heavily from excitement, Catanya walked to face her dragon. It lowered its head to meet Catanya’s and its eyes changed colour as Rubea’s had done—settling on a brown colour just like her own. She placed the palms of both hands on its large nose, feeling the bristly texture of the tiny scales that formed its reptilian cone shape. Each nostril was a foot long teardrop that blew warm air across Catanya’s body. She bowed forward, placing her forehead on its nose and closed her eyes.

  From the moment they touched, Catanya felt warmth flow through her body. A flood of thoughts and emotions followed as she and the dragon formed a bond with one another. Catanya was hesitant to allow this creature to know about her hopes, dreams and fears but the dragon was embracing them without judgement and eager to share his own. She learned that his name was Brue and he was over two hundred years old. His favourite food was deer and those from the western borders of Allumbreve proved the most tender and therefore most to his liking. He liked the scent of Catanya’s hair and noted it carried the aroma of jasmine. Catanya thanked Brue for his kind words and complimented him on his impressively long tail. She told Brue she hoped she could travel with him to the western border to hunt deer some time and thanked him for allowing her to ride him.

  Catanya had disappeared into a strange, intimate world with the dragon when she felt a hand on her shoulder. She bid Brue farewell and lifted her head, turning to face Joffren.

  “You’ve made a friend,” Joffren said, releasing her shoulder. Catanya blushed and looked to the ground as Brue swung his tail around and admired it. Catanya stepped back and turned away, embarrassed at being seen in such an intimate moment.

  “You should be pleased, Semsarian. In time you will get to know all the dragons of the realm, as will they know you,” Joffren said. “You will of course have some thoughts you wish to keep to yourself. In time you will learn discretion as it suits you.”

  “Thank you, Semsdi.” Catanya saw that Jael was standing at the precipice of the platform looking off toward the west.

  “This is the Domult Lookout,” Jael said without turning. “It gives a good vantage point down to the Traas River that flows from Froughton Forest.” She pointed down, over the cliff. Catanya came forward and looked down to a wide river below that flowed from west to east and disappeared into the Romgnian Mountain ranges. From the lookout, Catanya could appreciate the vastness of Froughton Forest. For as far west as she looked, she could see nothing but tall trees that extended to the horizon, many miles away.

  “Where do you start looking for the dragon youngling?” Catanya asked, wishing she could go with her.

  Joffren joined them, appearing keen to hear Jael’s response.

  “We will follow the river upstream into Froughton,” Jael said. “Then I’ll go alone on foot through to the Valley of Shadows and into The Core. I will speak with the OhUid people and from here, pick up the youngling’s trail. Two or three days and I should find him.”

  “The Core?” Catanya asked.

  “The very centre of Froughton Forest,” Joffren said. “The stronghold of the OhUid clan—the last people of the Earth Realm.”

  Catanya knew nothing of Froughton other than it was a place to be feared and avoided. She certainly knew nothing of people residing within its dark depths.

  “There are many secrets within the realms, Semsarian,” Joffren explained. “You are now privileged to know about the OhUid clan. It is the discretion of such knowledge that has assured their survival.”

  “I understand,” Catanya said.

  Jael reached over her shoulder and pulled a strange, two-foot long bronze shaft from its scabbard. Catanya had never seen anything like it before. Along the shaft were intricate carvings of exquisite detail that she recognised as Fireisgh insignia. The object blazingly expressed itself as an instrument of the Fire Realm.

  “It is a Ferustir’s lance,” Jael said, seeing Catanya watching her inquiringly. She gripped the weapon tightly in her right hand and the engravings illuminated brightly in a brilliant amber that glowed through her fingers. The ends of the shaft shot out violently in length with a loud cracking sound to become a five-foot long double-ended weapon with razor sharp tips as formidable as any dragon talon. She spun the lance around with precision before the blades sank violently back into their handle, extinguishing their amber glow. Replacing the lance in its scabbard, Jael pulled a dozen arrows from their quiver and groomed the fletching of each one between two fingers, carefully removing any stray feathers with her teeth before placing them one at a time back into their quiver. Catanya was entranced by Jael’s demonstration.

  “Ready?” Joffren asked.

  “Ready,” Jael answered. She replac
ed her weapons and tightened the buckle again. She and Joffren embraced one another’s forearm and said their farewells. Jael turned to Catanya and offered her arm in the same manner. Catanya embraced her in the same way.

  “In my absence, train hard, Semsarian.” Jael held a serious expression.

  “Yes, Semsame,” Catanya replied.

  Jael mounted her dragon and strapped her legs into the stirrups. The dragon squatted and tensed its large hind legs before thrusting up and over the cliff face. It soared down the mountainside toward the Traas River below. Soon, Jael and the dragon had ventured out of Catanya’s sight.

  Catanya turned to Joffren for instruction. He was already seated on his dragon who arched his head back and released a long stream of fire from his open mouth that leapt out across the mountain sky and stretched on for close to half a mile. Satisfied, the dragon closed its wide maw with a snap and blew the last remnants of flame out of his nostrils. Catanya’s legs went weak with shock. It was the most powerful expression of strength she had ever witnessed and yet it came so effortlessly from the creature. She was overcome with emotion, yet was not sure why. A tear rolled down her cheek as she tried to come to terms with the ferocity of this beast beside her.

  “Come, Semsarian. Let us return to the Romghold!” Joffren shouted as his dragon leapt off the stone platform and started his ascent up the mountain. Catanya regained her composure and looked at Brue.

  “Don’t you do that, please,” she pleaded and climbed into her dragon’s saddle once again.

  DECEPTIONS

  Magnus sat in a prison carriage, pulled by two huge black horses. His hands and feet were bound together with thick rope that gnawed at his flesh. The carriage was open to the elements with steel bars forming the walls and roof, bolted through the floor. There was a horrid stink that festered inside. Magnus figured it was likely from one of the other prisoners who sat or lay beside him. He looked to the old, wooden floor. It was blood stained, some of it old and brown, and some of it crimson—evidently recent. His bleeding forehead contributed to the stains and pounded with pain. He could feel that several of his ribs were cracked, too, all thanks to the altercation in the Great Hall. He thought of how he could have played his part better in negotiations, but knew in truth, from the moment he stepped foot into the Great Hall, his fate was sealed. Neither Crugion nor Trager would have had it any other way.

  He wondered why Ganister sent him to the Great Hall like a lamb to the wolves. He knew of Father’s history with the Authoritarium. Magnus had no idea his father had caused them so much trouble. Then again, Ganister had no idea the Authoritarium had dealings with the Quag, or that they were indifferent to his lands being overrun. At least, Magnus conceded, I may yet see my parents again in Ba’rrat.

  “Your travelling companion is quite a character.”

  Magnus turned to the voice and saw Crugion riding alongside the prison carriage that was now beyond the city walls.

  “His story of you being a Rhyderman proved true. Well… a half breed Rhyderman perhaps… if ever there was such a thing.” Crugion was smug. “Whatever you are, you have found yourself a trickster for a friend in that old man.”

  “He’s a good man,” Magnus mumbled, scratching at the ropes binding his ankles.

  “Is that so?” Crugion laughed out loud. “I remarked to him just before how impressive your thoroughbred Astermeer was, for I could not catch the two of you on my steed—a purpose-bred warhorse himself. Before I knew it, your friend was bargaining with me to make purchase of her.” He laughed again. “I intended to kill the man and he has the audacity to try and sell me your horse!” Crugion frowned. “Alas, the old man has many friends in Guame and of a braver sort than the folk in Hugmdael. Trager too, it seems, is not fond of violence within the city walls. We agreed to set hostilities aside.”

  “What is your point?” Magnus asked, tired of his gloating voice.

  “An agreement was struck. You friend escapes with his life and I have a prize Astermeer in my keeping.”

  “You are lying.” Magnus scowled. He turned away, trying to appear disinterested.

  “See for yourself.” Crugion looked over his shoulder. Magnus turned back and followed his gaze. At the rear of the carriage he saw Breona walking with a Quagmen riding either side of her. One of them was Briet. They each held a steel pole welded to a clasp locked around Breona’s neck. Her hide was blood stained and scarred as though from a whip. Magnus’s heart sank and, as he was becoming accustomed, it quickly manifested into anger.

  “Leave her be and set her free. You have no quarrel with her,’ Magnus pleaded between gritted teeth.

  Crugion grabbed a steel rail of the prison carriage, pulling himself closer to Magnus. “I have no quarrel you say? I have quarrel with all of Allumbreve. And all shall fall to their knees before my people soon enough.”

  “I will kill you long before then, Crugion!” Magnus shouted.

  “One thing is for certain, Magnus of J’esmagd, I find you very entertaining.” Crugion’s men laughed at the comment. “But this I promise you—you will have your chance. With my father’s blessing, we shall fight one another in Ba’rrat’s arena where the finest of our Quag warriors prove themselves against less fortunate scum like you. And your parents shall bear witness to your death. A fit form of revenge for my brother.”

  “You will die by my sword in front of your father come that day,” Magnus shot back.

  “By your sword? Do you mean this one?” Crugion drew Magnus’s sword from the pack on his saddle and examined it. “A Rhyder sword of fleu-steel. You do have exquisite taste, I’ll grant you that. I’ll make you a deal. You arrive at Ba’rrat alive to be presented as a prize to my father and I shall return it to you for our meeting in the arena.”

  Magnus looked away from Crugion and back toward Breona. He tried to feel her emotions but just as he touched her consciousness his attention was drawn further back to the walls of Guame and the gates that divided them. He caught a glimpse of Eamon, who moved swiftly behind a group of travellers leaving the city.

  Curse you Eamon, Magnus grumbled under his breath. You led me right into this.

  Magnus slouched down against the side of the carriage, resting his throbbing head against the shaking carriage bars. Rubbing his bound and bloodied wrists he was surprised to feel Catanya’s bracelet still attached. With everything he had been through, he felt pleased that her enchantment had held true and protected it from damage.

  Within the carriage were three other prisoners. One was an old man dressed in rags who mumbled incoherently as he gazed off into the distance. Going by his state of cleanliness, Magnus picked him as the source of the dreadful smell. Another was a robust woman with frizzy brown hair. Fast asleep on the bloodied floor, she smelled of the wine spilled over her filthy dress. Finally, there was a middle-aged man with a short beard and bald head. He was looking at Magnus. Magnus turned away from him, not wanting to elicit conversation nor trouble. The man however, persisted with his gaze.

  “In a spot of trouble are you?” the man said quietly. Magnus ignored him. He let his thoughts stray from his predicament for he knew there was nothing he could do to rectify it at this point. Instead, he thought of Lucas and wondered how he was faring with his recovery.

  As time wore on the carriage moved further along the Northern Road, back the way Magnus had come that morning. He continued to think of Lucas. He pictured him healthy and smiling as he was before all this trouble began and wished they were back in the Crescent Woods hunting rabbits or scaling the cliffs of the western coast. They were always able to get themselves in and out of dilemmas they never thought they would get away with. The thought sparked enthusiasm in Magnus. He imagined he and Lucas were in the prison carriage together, figuring out a way to escape. There is no way Lucas and I wouldn’t be able to escape from something as simple as an old prison carriage. Magnus imagined the conversation he and Lucas would have—

  “Okay Lucas, there are four Quagmen on horseback
… and Crugion makes five. This carriage is being towed by two more horses… and then there’s Breona—we need to free her and ride her once we have escaped.”

  “Is that it?” Lucas responded. “We could do that blindfolded!”

  “Well, our hands and feet are tied, so that makes it interesting,” Magnus thought in response.

  “Interesting, but not all that much harder, Magnus! So who else is in here with us? Anyone who could help?”

  “There’s a crazy old man, a drunk woman and another man watching us.” Magnus cast a cautious glance at the bald man, who now seemed to be studying the floorboards of the carriage.

  “Excellent. He’ll be of help then. What about Breona… are those shackles really going to keep her from going free?”

  “Not for long I imagine. At least, not once she knows we have a plan to break free.”

  Magnus cast another quick glance at the bald man, then to Breona who was staring right at him. He knew the answer to escaping rested with these two. Breona breaking free of her shackles would create a distraction and he just needed to enlist the support of the bald man. Magnus searched for Crugion and saw he was now leading the carriage. Good. He extended his thoughts to Breona but in return he received a muddled selection of mixed emotions ranging from fear to despondence. He needed her to understand he was working on getting them out of this predicament.

  “You’ve got something brewing in that head of yours?” the bald man asked quietly without turning to face him.

  “Aye,” Magnus replied in the same manner. “I need to convince my horse back there to break free.”

  “I can be of help,” the man said.

  “Aye, it will take us both to break out of this carriage,” Magnus confided.

  “You are Magnus of J’esmagd. I heard the man say so. I knew your father. He is a good man. My name is Barron. I am a resident of Guame.”

  Magnus gave Barron an affirmative nod. Barron continued to study the floor of the carriage.