Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1)

by E. Michael Mettille

  By the time Maelich made it back to the place where he had entered the garden, the small voice had grown as much as the enchantment of Brerto’s garden had diminished, and Jom’s face had returned to the front of his mind. All the rage and sadness he felt looking down at his best friend’s pleading eyes and knowing there was nothing he could do to help gained a sharper edge since Maelich had a taste of what the poor scrod felt in that moment. If he ever returned to this place, it wouldn’t be to train. It would be to destroy.

  Something was different about the trail. At least, it didn’t appear as Maelich remembered it. There was no gradual transformation from the pleasant atmosphere of the garden to the foreboding snow of the trail. In fact, there was no noticeable trail at all beyond the stark transition from green to white. It seemed some invisible barrier separated the two climates, both pushing against each other but neither willing to give any ground.

  Maelich tried to step into the snow, but his foot would not pass the barrier. There was no wall to stop him, no visible obstruction, he simply could move his foot no further. He repeated this exercise all around the edge of the garden and earned the same result each time. There were the strong arms to hold him. Only these weren’t physical things he could fight through. This was something he didn’t even know how to fight.

  Sitting at the edge of the garden lamenting his inability to pass seemed a useless endeavor, so he didn’t do it for very long. If he were going to solve the riddle of the place, he’d need to learn its secrets. He wandered around the mountaintop for seven days and nights looking for answers, something tangible which might give some clue as to how the place could be defeated. Occasionally, he’d stop to drink from the pond or venture into the garden to snack on fruit he had never tasted. Hunger didn’t drive these visits to the garden. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt hungry. The tastes of those foreign flavors were so enticing, he couldn’t help himself.

  By the time Maelich had explored the expanse of the mountaintop, he couldn’t recall why he wanted to leave in the first place. Everything he’d ever need was in reach. All he needed to do was reach out and grab anything he wanted. A nagging notion he was leaving something undone remained, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. All he really remembered was why he had come. He was to train with the great and mighty Brerto. It was time for that training to begin.

  Chapter 16

  Daritus’ Flight

  Total darkness on its own is enough to scare most right out of their wits. Add to it the feeling of waking someplace completely unfamiliar with no idea how you arrived, tears just might be shed. Daritus wasn’t much for tears, nor did he scare very easily. However, in that unfamiliar darkness he could at least admit to himself he was a bit on edge. After blinking several times to confirm his eyes weren’t merely closed, he gave up on them as a tool. Apparently, Kaldumahn had made good on his promise.

  Thinking about how angry his god had been at him for engaging Maelich reminded Daritus of his journey from the forest to wherever that queer place had been. He wondered if the ground might give way at any moment and plunge him once again into deep, unforgiving waters. No, this place felt different. Despite not being able to see anything, he knew the place was real, tangible. At least he was in his own body. On that horrible jaunt from the forest to Kaldumahn’s feet, he had felt he was outside of himself watching things happen to him rather than experiencing them. There was something solid behind him, and cool air clung to his cheeks. Wherever this dark place was, it was real. That was something.

  A slow grope about the ground and the solid things behind him convinced Daritus he was deep in a forest. One tree doesn’t make a forest, but night on its own could never be so dark. Deep in a cave could be so dark, but trees typically don’t grow deep in the darkness of caves. Considering there was at least one tree, and absolutely no light, deep in a forest seemed the only logical answer. That riddle was easy. The next would be a bit more difficult. How would he get anywhere that wasn’t right where he was?

  The darkness on its own didn’t offer any real peril. He could sit against that tree behind him, remain completely still, and more than likely not risk a thing. However, things lurk in the darkness, hungry things. He needed a plan and sitting in the darkness for the rest of his days wasn’t a good one. He recalled something his father had told him when teaching him to keep his belly full on the trail.

  “Many trails run through these woods,” his father’s voice echoed in his head. “They zig and they zag. They double back, and they do it again. If you ever find yourself lost among that maze, don’t just go racing along them without a plan. You will only become more lost than you had been. Instead, you ignore that trail. You pick a direction, and you stick to it. Eventually, you’ll come across something you recognize, or at least something useful.”

  Daritus shook his head at the thought. It was good, sound advice for someone who could see. However, keeping a straight line was a trick in a well-lit forest. It would be impossible in total darkness. Walking out of the forest wasn’t the answer, but maybe he could find something useful.

  Daritus slowly moved his hands across the ground, feeling every inch as he crawled around the tree he’d been leaning against. He didn’t find anything but a bunch of dirt and twigs. There may have been an acorn in there too, but he couldn’t be sure. The twigs would be useful if he had anything he could use to start a fire. Unfortunately, his gear was back in the clearing where he faced down the lad of the Lake. There would be no fire. There would be no light.

  Daritus increased the circumference of his circle. Aside from more dirt and more twigs, all he found were more trees. They were about as helpful as the dirt and twigs. As he crept along the dirt feeling about with his hands, he became acutely aware of every sound around him. The dark forest was alive. All the nocturnal critters hunting and feeding on each other scurried and grunted, a macabre orchestra, a melody dancing over the rhythm of swaying trees and rustling leaves. Then, like a solo, an eerie moaning rang out in the distance. It was a sound of deep sadness, the kind of sadness not even a mother’s love can conquer. It almost sounded like wailing. He shivered at the thought of what sadness might cause a sound so desperate, so distraught. Perhaps if he remained too long in the place, it would bring the same sadness upon him.

  The pain of the cries quickly grew more immediate. They surrounded him, nearly choking out every other sound. They were getting louder or closer. He couldn’t be sure. His thoughts turned back to his meeting with Kaldumahn. This place would be his penance. Kaldumahn’s words had been very clear. Whatever thing was making that awful noise couldn’t be anything Daritus wanted to meet. Sight would be a dream. However, punishments weren’t meant to be easy.

  Suddenly, another sound snapped him away from his thoughts. There was something rustling around in the trees, something big and close. Daritus spun his head in the direction of the sound. It didn’t do any good. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness one bit, and at some point, the wind must have picked up. He hadn’t noticed while he’d been mesmerized by the moaning or wailing or whatever that awful sound had been, but it had definitely picked up. It lashed at him with icy fingers and raised bumps on his flesh. Then the rustling came again, loud and near. It was out of sync with the rustling of the leaves and too close to the ground. It was near and quickly approaching.

  Daritus slid back against a tree. It may have been the same tree he’d been leaning against when he woke, but he couldn’t be sure. The darkness mingling with all the terrifying sounds dancing around in it had him completely disoriented. Being able to see probably wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference at this point. Well, if he could see he might just run.

  Pressing his back hard against the thick trunk behind him, Daritus remained completely still and waited for the sound to repeat itself. Moments passed, or minutes. He couldn’t be certain, but it felt like a lifetime. His heart slammed against his chest. Each beat echoed like thunder in his ears, sounding like the th
ing was beating inside his ear canal rather than his ribcage. All the while it’s rate steadily increased.

  The sound finally repeated, closer now. He tensed, fear flooding his mind like water overflowing a basin. Despite the chill air swirling around him, a bead of sweat ran from his temple to his chin. He knew he wouldn’t see anything, but he was unable, or unwilling, to give up on the idea of sight. The sound grew closer. It was big. Bigger than a scrod, maybe even a full-grown fallon. His legs may as well have been planted in the mud. They just lay shaking, ignoring his pleas to flee, to charge off into the darkness. That was probably for the best. He’d be a far easier target unconscious from braining himself on a tree.

  This was unfamiliar territory. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been truly afraid for his own life. Sure, he feared for the lives of those he’d sworn to protect, his family, his people, but he couldn’t recall ever fearing for his own skin. He tried to reason his way out of it, the heavy thing perched on his brow, the sinking feeling in his gut that he’d not see another day. If he couldn’t see anything, then nothing could see him. It wasn’t working. Fear was an enemy he just didn’t know enough about. He had no experience dealing with it. How do you stop your mind from envisioning bloody, horrible ends, and how do you stop from trembling? He was quick, logical, and always in control. He could talk his way out of most situations without even drawing his sword, but this was different. Would his voice even work if he tried it?

  It didn’t matter. A low growl began behind him just before a hellish screech rang out in front of him. Hot breath blasted his neck. It smelled like a spent battlefield, stale blood and rotten flesh. Something splashed his face. Blood? Saliva? Then something warm and wet dripped on him. Now he could see, but not with eyes. Visions of fangs stretching out from a bloody muzzle, dripping with anticipation of the next bit of soft flesh they’d punch into.

  Daritus finally found his voice and cried out, instinctively throwing his elbow back at whatever was sniffing about his throat. It landed with a crunch on whatever was creeping around the tree. He had hit something. That something howled like the souls of the Lost Wood. Whatever the thing was, it was now in a bit of pain.

  Daritus’ legs finally agreed it was time to move, and he quickly scrambled off the ground. He barely made his feet before he was slammed back into the tree. Something strong and fast had blasted him across the face and left his jaw throbbing. Blood ran down his cheek, four thin trickles streamed freely from fresh cuts. He fired his fist at the darkness. It connected solidly with a crunch. A slick ooze covered his knuckles. The thing bled. Instinct suggested he follow up the shot with another, but logic prevailed. Instead of trading blows with some beast he couldn’t see, he slid around the tree and began to run—or as close as he could come to it while feeling his way through the darkness.

  The trees and brush were a thick tangle. As Daritus navigated through the mess as quickly as he could, he realized the moaning had returned. It grew louder with each tree he leaned against or rounded. He cleared a half-dozen of them before realizing the trees themselves were moaning, rather than some creature lurking among them. The volume of their cries steadily increased. Did they cry for him or his attackers? They offered no resistance. Perhaps he could count them as friend. If only they could fight.

  The bodies crashing among the brush behind him grew closer. He had hit two of them. Based on the ruckus quickly gaining on him, there were at least five times that many. Branches cracked, and leaves rustled all around him. He reckoned they were trying to surround him, circle him up, and cut off his escape. He would have cried out again, but his voice had left him.

  Then the fire came, running from his shoulder blades down to his waist. It felt like four blades slashed him in unison, tearing open his cloak and cutting deep, bloody ravines down his back. This wasn’t a trickle. Blood gushed from the cuts, quickly saturating his tattered cloak and down to his trousers. His arms flew out to his sides as his chest shot forward reflexively trying to flee the pain. He lost his footing, stumbled into a tree, and fell around it. His back slammed into the forest floor, and his new wounds erupted, agony radiating out from them to the rest of his body. He moaned something pitiable. His voice had returned.

  The sword slipped from its scabbard, the only friend Daritus could count on in the fight. The trees cared enough to cry for him, but they didn’t raise a branch to help. Just him and his sword then. It wasn’t the first time. If he survived, it probably wouldn’t be the last. Instinct, more than anything else, sent the blade in a wide arc above his head. There was a moment of brief resistance. It was quickly followed by sloppy gore and cracking bones, and then the sound of something heavy hitting the ground beside him in more pieces than it had been. He slashed again. This cut didn’t feel as deep, but it bought him enough time to regain his feet.

  Once his boots were beneath him, Daritus was once again pushing through the brush and around the trees. He stumbled along, fighting against pain that pulsed through his back with each step. As he worked his way through the darkness far too slowly, he paused occasionally to slash behind him. His blade tasted flesh a couple times. Others earned it nothing but air. The beasts hunting him down didn’t seem discouraged by his efforts. They just kept coming.

  It seemed impossible, but the brush grew thicker. Apparently, he had picked the wrong direction in which to flee. Branches scraped his face as his pace slowed, groping and feeling his way through brambles. They were gaining, slashing at him. Nothing had touched him since his back had been torn open, but they were close enough he could feel wind on his back with every swipe.

  Then something got him. This time it was shallow and on his arm. The next caught his calf as he came as close to running as the thick brush would allow. They moved better than he did, faster. It was only a matter of time before they overtook him.

  Dizziness crept into his head. It became more and more difficult to keep his feet. The cuts on his back were deep. How much blood had he lost? It still gushed. He must have dumped a good bit of what he had in him onto the forest floor and splashed more onto the trees. He stumbled, and then fell. It wasn’t the wooziness of blood loss that got him. It was a hill, high and steep. He rolled end over end. It didn’t help his head at all. However, it did put a bit of distance between him and the horde chasing him down. They weren’t all over his back anymore. Perhaps he’d get a moment of relief before bleeding out completely.

  The bottom of the hill finally came, and Daritus stopped rolling. Scrambling to his feet seemed the logical thing to do, until the effort was abruptly stopped by something unmovable. He felt around it enough to determine he’d come to rest under a fallen tree. Perhaps Kaldumahn had taken pity on him.

  Daritus lay completely still beneath the tree. It was all could do. His fight was gone. He heard the throng of beasts make the hill. A couple of them must have fell, crashing through the brush like he had a moment prior. He gripped his sword tighter. He wouldn’t be able to slash anything from his position, but he could stab and poke, and give them something to remember him by. His breath grew steady as he lay waiting to take as many of the bastards with him as he could.

  They grew closer and closer, grunting and snarling as they came. A howl ripped through the darkness. Daritus tensed. In moments they’d be on him. Just as he was about to stab his blade into anything that got close, they charged right by. He could here claws cutting into the tree above him as they raced past him and continued deeper into the forest. Apparently, in all the excitement of their hunt for him they had given up on their sense of smell. Before long, he heard them no more. They were gone.

  Time hadn’t made any sense since Daritus had woke lost and confused in total darkness. An eternity or a few moments, he couldn’t say. It felt safe under that tree. He didn’t want to move. It didn’t seem the beasts who had attacked him were coming back, but he needed time to regain his strength. On top of that, there wasn’t any point in attempting travel in the darkness. Besides, his eyelids were so heavy,
it took all his strength just to hold them up. He couldn’t do it for very long.

  By the time Daritus’ eyes opened again, there was light. It wasn’t much. However, it was enough to tell the sun was high in the sky, and the forest was at least as dense as he’d imagined. It was also enough to make an honest attempt at finding a way out of the forest. Hopefully, he wouldn’t run into anymore nightmares in the deep wood. At least now, he could see them if they came.

  Regaining his feet proved an even greater task than he’d expected. Everything ached, and his limbs weren’t responding like they should. Eventually, he did make it out from under the fallen tree and onto his feet. It immediately seemed a folly. The trees swirled around him, spinning faster and faster. He quickly picked a spot on the ground and focused on it. The trees spun on while a thick puddle of his own blood stared back at him. His knees buckled. Moments later he was staring up at the thick canopy, green upon green with filtered sunshine sneaking through. Then darkness again.

  Reality was a tricky thing. Was he awake or dreaming? The forest was dark, just enough light to see horses approaching. Did he imagine them? Did it matter? Was he alive or dead? The next time he woke, the ground raced by beneath him. His body swayed as the horse beneath him galloped along. The wetness on his back was gone, and the sting of wounds had diminished. Many men on horseback surrounded him. He dozed again.

  He sunk into the mattress, plushness cradling him like a lover’s embrace. Had it really been a dream, a nightmare? The thought of rising fled quickly, chased away by memories of his dizziness in the forest. His surroundings were completely foreign. Just then, he didn’t care. He dozed again.

  Daritus slipped in and out of reality. For how long? He didn’t know. Finally, he woke, and everything felt real. This time he was sure it wasn’t a dream. The room he occupied was the size of a small hall. The place seemed a king’s quarters, far nicer than his own. Sun poured in through a massive window, glinting off ornate, prang frames of mirrors and fine works of art. He considered each piece separately. All depicted battles and all were scenes of men triumphantly toppling a Dragon or many Dragons. The Dragons looked fierce and menacing, while the men seemed heroic and righteous. ‘What a pack of gat,’ he thought. Still, they were beautiful, if ill informed. He noted they were also meticulously placed, each in the perfect spot to give them the exact amount of light that would present them in their most exquisite appearance.