One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  The dragon shifted back and started dancing around Breona making her spin about, trying to keep track of its whereabouts. The dragon seemed to have the better of her when it became distracted, twisting and turning about itself. Magnus saw a bright blue butterfly dancing around the dragon’s head and realised it was the source of distraction. The dragon bounded off after the butterfly, deeper into the Valley and out of sight. Magnus and Breona were left in silence, bewildered by the playful episode.

  “Are you okay?” Magnus asked, running to Breona.

  “He was very annoying,” Breona responded. Magnus shook his head and smiled, his heart somewhat lightened by the unlikely experience.

  Magnus and Breona carved a path through the Valley of Shadows. It was painstakingly slow without existing trails but Magnus had no choice. Heading directly west would take them back to the Outer Rim where Crugion’s men might be scouting for him.

  They travelled in complete silence except for the occasional rustling from deeper within the Valley. It was sometimes a bird, sometimes a rabbit, but the dragon youngling seemed to have vanished. Magnus did however have the constant feeling that they were being followed. It was as though the forest had eyes and was ever evaluating their whereabouts, watching and waiting for the right moment to get the better of him or Breona.

  Near the day’s end they stumbled across a flowing river. Magnus drank greedily from it and speared several good-sized trout with the sharpest stick he could find. He risked building a small fire to cook the fish upon, mindful to extinguish the flames once done for fear the smoke may tell tale of his whereabouts. As he settled down to enjoy his meal with a selection of blackberries that grew alongside the river, Magnus found his stalker.

  On the far side of the river, a short distance away, was an oversized maple tree. The surrounding ground was red with fallen leaves. Staring out from behind the tree was a dark creature that was eerily familiar to Magnus. Its pearlescent white eyes were the same he had seen days ago before entering Froughton Forest. It stared at him without blinking or moving.

  Magnus chewed slowly on a few blackberries, hoping his casual behaviour may disinterest the creature after a time. But it did not. Its relentless stare never faulted as time slowly passed. Magnus grew more concerned and found it difficult to turn his eyes from the eerie creature.

  Half an hour passed without change until Breona sprung from her resting spot and stared into the woods to the left of the black creature. A moment later Magnus heard the source of her concern. The familiar growl of the dragon resonated through the woods. Magnus jumped to his feet and stood close to Breona. The black creature also turned its gaze in that direction. Its eyes widened as the dragon youngling hurled itself out from the darkness and grabbed the creature with its jaws. It shook it to and fro like a rag doll. Magnus covered his ears as the creature let out a high pitch scream that lasted a few moments before the dragon killed it. Sniffing its prey, the dragon discarded the carcass, flinging it into the scrub. It then rubbed its open mouth with its front paws, finally electing to go to the river’s edge and drink, it seemed, to rid itself of a foul taste in its mouth.

  Once satisfied, the dragon walked over the river to where Magnus and Breona were standing and tentatively sniffed at the two remaining cooked fish Magnus left resting on a bed of leaves beside the ashes of the smouldering fire. Carefully, Magnus leant over and took one of the trout and reached toward the youngling. It was hesitant at first but soon came forward and snapped the fish from Magnus’s hand, gulping the fish down its long neck before licking its chops with its long, sharp tongue.

  Apparently satisfied with its meal, the dragon laid itself upon the ground right beside Magnus. It curled itself into a ball and spread one of its wings out like a blanket over its serpentine body. Magnus was dumbfounded. Looking at Breona for her perspective on the matter revealed she too had found contentment and decided to lie down and rest again.

  And so, with no known destination and no idea of what his future would bring him, Magnus laid himself to bed in the Valley of Shadows in the company of a horse and a fire dragon.

  RUBEA

  It was another crisp, cool morning in the Romghold. Catanya expected an early morning start but instead of Joffren, it was Rubea who greeted her.

  “Brue told me you had trouble jumping yesterday,” Rubea shared her thoughts with Catanya, who thought back to the previous day when Jael and Joffren soared off the cliff and landed on the backs of dragons. “Yes, that was it.” Rubea was obviously reading her thoughts.

  Catanya smiled at Rubea. I really must learn to keep my thoughts to myself.

  “We can practice if you like,” Rubea said. Catanya could see the dragon was much more excited at the idea than she was.

  “I’m sure Joffren has training for me to do, Rubea.” Catanya looked across the common for any signs of her Semsdi, hopeful he would rescue her from this situation.

  “It were his idea, Semsarian. We shall train together this morning.”

  Catanya tried to look pleased. Rubea was sweet and Catanya did not want to give her any attitude and besides, she knew there was no way out of it. “What do you suggest we do?”

  The excited dragon strode over to the training green. Catanya saw this as a bad omen but followed Rubea anyway. Sure enough, Rubea led Catanya to where the lawn dropped away at the cliff edge. Catanya peered over the cliff and down. It dropped for a mile then disappeared into cloud. She turned and looked into the dragon’s big eyes.

  “I will catch you before you hit the clouds,” Rubea assured Catanya.

  “You want me to jump?” Catanya said aloud.

  Rubea touched her nose against Catanya’s forehead. As it had with Brue the previous day, Catanya’s mind became flooded with the dragon’s thoughts. Rubea was excited to be training with Catanya, but at the same time mindful that she had to take care of her. “I will catch you, Semsarian. Trust me.” Catanya tried to hold back thoughts of her fears but they manifested more so in her emotions and even more than that—“I can smell your fear, Semsarian. But you will see, all will be fine.”

  Catanya slowly withdrew from Rubea’s mind and turned to the cliff face again. “This is insane,” she mumbled. She knew though, that here in the Romghold, failure was not an option. If I don’t do this now I will be made to do it later.

  “Are you ready then?” Catanya looked at the dragon. Rubea’s fiery eyes stared into her own.

  “Yes!” Rubea replied. Her eyes flickered through a myriad of colours before settling on a familiar brown colour. Catanya knew then that Rubea was truly with her.

  Rubea drew back her wings and stood at the cliff edge. Catanya stepped back toward the middle of the training field, giving herself the distance needed for a running start. She took some deep breaths and ran for the cliff, but stopped just short of it. “Sorry… that won’t happen again.” She stepped back again and took a second run at the cliff. This time she jumped.

  Catanya was alarmed at how quickly her dive over the cliff became an out-of-control plummet down the mountainside. It felt as though the wind were trying to tear her to shreds. She wanted to scream but the rushing air forced its way into her open mouth, so she closed it again.

  “Spread your arms wide.”

  Rubea’s words shot through her mind. Catanya did as told, throwing her arms out. It levelled her out and stopped her tumbling but she was facing upwards. From this view, Catanya could see the fire dragon diving toward her. Wisps of cloud started to appear around her, so she knew she was approaching the bed of clouds below. Catanya dared not shift her position but had no idea how to land on the dragon the correct way about.

  Rubea spread her wings and twisted herself about such that her back was facing Catanya. Catanya reached forward and grabbed for the horn on Rubea’s saddle. “I’ve got it!” she shouted.

  Rubea turned over, gliding away from the mountain face, right at the top of the clouds. Catanya felt her backside slam into the saddle’s seat. Not bothering to fasten her
stirrups, Catanya leaned forward and held on for dear life. Slowly, Rubea climbed the mountain and landed softly on the training field.

  “We did it!” Catanya said through laboured breath. Her heart felt like it was pounding out of her chest.

  “Excellent! This time, spread your arms and legs wide when you first jump. You can control the fall better,” Rubea said.

  “This time? You mean, jump again?” Catanya climbed from the saddle onto the field. Rubea walked toward the cliff edge again and waited.

  Catanya’s second jump was more controlled than the first. She fell face down, arms wide, watching the clouds speed toward her. Rubea swept beneath her and tapered her speed so that Catanya could take a hold of the saddle horn and pull herself into the seat. This time she fastened the stirrups and Rubea dove into the clouds, emerging beneath them, yet still a mile above the ground below.

  For her third dive, Rubea had Catanya fall through the clouds before catching her. The wet clouds slapped against Catanya’s body and face making it impossible to see but when she finally emerged, she saw Rubea punch through the clouds to her right and glide beneath her as before.

  “I think you’ve done well, Semsarian,” Rubea said.

  Catanya was glad to hear she was satisfied. She relaxed a little in the saddle as Rubea glided slowly toward the ground below. Catanya could see a river running between the border of the mountains and Froughton Forest. From high above, the river appeared red and weaved like a trail of blood along the landscape of green toward the Corville Mountains.

  “What is that river?” Catanya asked.

  “It was once called the Little Traas River. Now it is known as the Red River,” Rubea shared. “The Battle of Fire was fought here.”

  Catanya regretted asking, remembering that Balgur was slain during this battle. She looked again at the river as they descended, finally landing on the riverbank. Catanya alighted. She was glad to have her feet on solid ground again. Behind her the Romgnian Mountains towered upwards through the clouds and on the opposite side of the river, the eastern border of Froughton Forest sighed gloomily in the morning breeze.

  Catanya knelt beside the river’s edge and examined the water flowing southward. It was the water itself that was red. She felt she should not ask why, but Rubea seemed comfortable talking about it.

  “You wonder at the colour, Semsarian?”

  “Aye.” Catanya looked at Rubea.

  “For twenty years it has run red… since Balgur was slain,” Rubea explained. “Shall I show you where?”

  Catanya nodded and climbed back into Rubea’s saddle. She flew downstream where the forest finished and the southern plains began. A mile further on, Rubea landed.

  “It was here.”

  Catanya alighted again and walked a little way. The palms of her hands brushed over the tall stems of grass. The place had an eerie feel to it. Wind blew through the grasses, whispering gently to her, as though it were telling her secrets she would rather not know. Catanya turned to Rubea who seemed to be lost in thought, for her mind seemed distant and her thoughts aloof.

  “Do you know how it happened?” Catanya asked.

  The silence between Catanya and Rubea broke, and Rubea explained, “I was not here. My role was to look after the younger of our kin and I was quite young myself. Perhaps then, it is easier for me than others to return here and listen to the winds speak to me of the past.”

  “You hear that too?” Catanya was glad she was not the only one.

  “Aye. Many unrested spirits live here. Many lives were lost in the battle.” Rubea looked into the depths of the narrow river. “It was a confusing battle. Ba’drohm warriors came down from the Cloud Mountains, OhUid warriors from the forest and the Rhydermere from the North. They were each led by an Electus. None brought dragons. My kin knew they had fallen to the Quag warmongers. But we fire dragons do not fall to anyone… at least, not until this battle.”

  Rubea continued. “A fire-sword lost its master and found the bloodstained hand of Delvion. Whether by chance or skill I do not know, but Balgur fell. In the aftermath, the Ferustir named Steyne took claim to the sword. Many felt him responsible, but who can be held responsible for a single tragedy in a battle where so many perished?”

  Catanya remembered the name—Steyne—as the priest who took Austagia away to join the order of the Irucantî. She tried to imagine what he must have been like. “It’s no small thing to have the death of a dragon on your hands,” Catanya said, feeling Steyne was perhaps judged harshly.

  “I think perhaps Steyne judged himself harsher than anyone else did,” Rubea said. “In the months to come, Steyne disappeared.”

  “Where did he go?” Catanya was intrigued that a priest had walked away from the priesthood.

  “I don’t think anyone really knows.” Rubea’s thoughts came across as a murmur. Catanya figured the dragon was thinking things over much as she was.

  “And the river?” Catanya asked.

  “Balgur fell upon the river as he died. He bled out from his wounds and the river has run red ever since, from its start at the Traas River through what is now called the Red Pass, dividing the Romgnian and Corville Mountains.” Rubea arched her long neck up and peered off to the south. “Some people say the river is cursed whilst others drink or bathe in it hoping to gain the power of the Electus for themselves. People are strange, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, we are strange.” Catanya smiled.

  “For my kin, this is a place we rarely come to, except on the anniversary of Balgur’s death.” Sadness seemed to wash over Rubea’s thoughts.

  Catanya let her words sink in and she thought about how ferocious such a battle must have been—right here at the foot of the Romgnian Mountains. “Tell me of the Electus who came to fight.”

  “It was the first time our people had heard of such a thing. Us dragons thought it to be possible. In all ways, the Electus of each realm were more powerful than all other warriors—even the Irucantî. Each had the power of a dragon within their small bodies. Their strength, their mastery of the magic of their own realms… they were a great asset to the battle. Each of the three Electi who came to battle was a child of the chosen ones, proving the powers could be inherited. It opened Delvion’s eyes. It was a power he wanted from then on, though he has never had it.”

  “Thank the Gods for that,” Catanya said. “A man as mad as him slayed a dragon—he is powerful enough.”

  “Aye,” agreed Rubea. “Let’s hope he gains no more.”

  The wind blew erratically for a moment and Catanya looked about, spotting another dragon circling above. By the long tail, she could tell it was Brue. He came in toward them and landed. Joffren was in the saddle.

  “How did you fare?” Joffren shared his thoughts with Catanya and Rubea.

  “Your Semsarian did well, Joffren,” Rubea answered.

  Joffren looked to Catanya. “Excellent.”

  “Quite a start to the day, Semsdi,” Catanya said, wondering what was next on Joffren’s agenda.

  “Indeed,” Joffren said in a distant voice, squatting beside the river. He reached for the red, flowing water with outstretched fingers but stopped short, curling his hand into a fist and standing again. He tilted his head, peering up the vertical mountainside, then glanced back at Catanya. “Shall we return to the Romghold?”

  “Aye.” Brue and Rubea both answered.

  “We shall see you back there, then.” Joffren waved to both dragons. They took flight and started their steep ascent. Catanya and Joffren were left standing alone by the Red River.

  “Shan’t we be needing them?” Catanya queried.

  Without answering, Joffren pulled a large drawstring bag from over his shoulder and placed it on the ground. He dropped to one knee and rummaged through the bag, pulling out several objects and handing them to Catanya without looking up from the bag. First came a pair of steel spiked frames with leather straps that Catanya thought resembled rabbit traps. Then came a pair of short, wooden po
les with spikes attached to them. Joffren removed another set of the same objects. Seating himself, he took the first of his spiked frames and began strapping it to the bottom of his boots.

  “These are crampons,” Joffren explained and then pointed to the spiked poles, “and those are climbing axes.”

  “Climbing axes?” Catanya repeated.

  “Yes. We should reach the Romghold by nightfall…”

  Catanya sat beside Joffren without saying another word and began to strap the spiked crampons to her feet. She could feel Joffren looking at her, but kept all her thoughts guarded, just in case Joffren was reading her mind. Instead, she glanced up the mountainside. She could only see as far as the clouds a mile up. We’re going to climb the mountain… Catanya let it sink in. So be it…

  CONFRONTATION

  Magnus heard the dragon youngling wander off during the night but was unaware it had eaten the last fish Magnus had cooked the evening before. Slightly bothered that his breakfast was stolen, Magnus walked to the river’s edge to wash before moving on.

  Looking at his reflection in the water, Magnus was surprised to see how drawn and haggard he looked. His face was thin, his eyes deep set and his forehead marked and bruised. What little amount of facial hair he had looked patchy and unkempt, matching his scruffy hair. He removed his jacket and white shirt, placed them by the riverside and dropped into the cold water to wash. He brushed his hair back with the palms of his hands and examined the bruising over his ribs.

  Breona wandered down to join Magnus and he took the opportunity to look closer at her wounds. They were mostly from the Quagmen’s whips but some were from the scratching of thorns and other spikey plants scored in the Valley. “Aren’t we a matching pair?” Magnus scooped water with his hands and poured it over Breona’s body, cleaning the blood from her hide. Breona’s injuries were not as bad as they first seemed and with the blood removed from her pure white hide she looked her usual radiant self again. Telling her as much, Breona thanked him with a hint of pride.