The Dreaddrac Onslaught (Book 4)

by C. Craig Coleman

  “You’re not going to try another of them transmutation things, are you?” Wide-eyed, Dreg began backing away from the cart, shuffling backward down the road.

  “Get ahold of yourself, Dreg. And it’s those transmutations, not them transmutations.” Still gasping, she turned sideways, pushed herself upright off the cart, and after a moment to recover, sat down on a log by the roadside. Looking at Dreg, she patted the log beside her.

  Dreg cocked his head, studying the witch. He hesitated, then shuffled over and sat down. They sat thinking in silence.

  “I miss Zendor the Magnificent,” Earwig blurted out, shattering the silence.

  “What’s that you say?” Dreg stared at her. “You done complained about Zendor from first you saw him. You ain’t never said nothing nice about him before.”

  “Yes, well, that gasbag had his good point, however faint that was.”

  “Did I hear that right?”

  “Yeah, well, we can breathe now. However, the old nag did have a certain feisty attitude I could relate to,” she replied, staring off into the forest across the road. She smashed a grasshopper with a stick.

  Dreg was keeping an eye on the road. “Maybe some traveler will help us get a horse. Don’t you go trying to steal the traveler’s animal. I hopes you remember the last horse you tried to steal.”

  “Me! Steal! You wound my very heart, you ungrateful lout.”

  “Don’t you have some spell that’ll make the cart fly on its own?” Dreg asked, speaking before he thought.

  “I could see if there’s something in one of the books we salvaged. If they’ve dried enough to unroll without tearing them.” Earwig heaved herself up, wheezing, and started over to the cart. When she looked back at Dreg, his bottom jaw had dropped.

  “That’s OK, Miss Irkin. We’ll gets a horse soon, I’m sure. Don’t you go troubling yourself with them spell books.” He jumped up and tried helping her back to the log, but she jerked her arm away and glared at him. She’d have none of that.

  Earwig was on a mission and began rummaging through the moldy junk pile on the cart. “Here’s something of interest.” Earwig drew out a damp parchment spotted black with growing mildew.

  “Maybe we oughta wait for a horse,” Dreg pleaded.

  Earwig looked up at Dreg, who was scanning up and down the road. “You’ve no faith in your mentor.” Earwig returned to the scrolls, intrigued by the book in hand. She scanned it, ignoring his veiled warning.

  “Now let me see, it seems we need some common ingredients, and there are a couple of spells. Drat! Part of the second spell is missing, torn away in the stream I suppose.” Earwig began to scrounge ingredients and play with a stick to substitute for her lost wand.

  “Please don’t attempt to make the cart come to life, Miss Irkin,” Dreg begged. “Didn’t that fanged rat thing learn you anything?”

  “I heard that!” Earwig spun on the spot and shot a stare at him that would freeze dragon’s blood. “How dare you bring that up! You know it was only a simple mistake. It had many horse attributes.”

  “Yes, but them other attributes almost eat us up!”

  Earwig fumed. Using the stick she was fiddling with, she shot a feeble wizard-fire bolt at the poor unfortunate. The stick was crooked, its fibers weak, and the bolt fizzled before it reached Dreg, crouched and cringing at the expected strike. That made the witch even madder, and she attempted the shot again, only to have the stick smolder, glow, and fall as ash at her feet. “Get up and go find us something to eat. I’ll fix this cart so we can go to Dreaddrac with some dignity and not dragging the thing like peasants.”

  Dreg shook his head and wandered up the road in search of some source of food, shaking his head all the while. “I ain’t coming back ‘til I gets a good look at what you conjures from a safe distance.”

  Earwig sneered at him. She collected her ingredients and piled them near the fire. One by one, she inspected each before tossing them into the pot hanging over the fire and began to mumble her incantations. The first spell brought a chartreuse glow from the bubbling pot. So far, so good.

  “Now what would the last of this second spell be?” Earwig mumbled. She reread the scroll, but there was no hint of the missing section, only “and then” at the end before the scroll melted away. “I should know what this spell is; it’s an old one. I must have studied it before.” She slammed her fist down as the scroll rolled up with a snap.

  Earwig had first salvaged her beloved caustic mushrooms when the cart flew into the stream. Everything else had gotten wet and was piled onto the cart in their haste to flee the possibly returning fanged horse. Mildew quickly spread over the mushy mass until it ran into the mushrooms. The two fungi fought a violent, if silent, battle under the bedrolls’ protective cover. The mildew was no match for the mushrooms, and the mushrooms mutated again, feeding on the helpless new fungal food source.

  Earwig began to get a buzz from her most recent red mushroom meal. Very quickly, she was intoxicated and mumbling unintelligible incantations over the pot on the fire. The pot rumbled, and a pop came from the cauldron with a subsequent ring of smoke that billowed up and settled its chartreuse glow over the cart.

  Earwig was startled at the unexpected reaction and sobered up with the pop. She stared at the dray that seemed to drift in and out of physical mass and finally settled as a quivering energy field like a mirage. She caught a glimpse of Dreg peering out from the bushes where he was hiding across the road.

  “See,” Earwig said toward the bushes. “Nothing to worry about.”

  The witch regained her composure and slowly moved over to touch the cart, testing to see if it was there or not. A spark from her bony finger shot into the vision.

  “Poof!” The spark ignited the vapor left there. In an instant, the cart and all its contents disappeared in a cloud of smoke before the horrified witch’s hand. Earwig turned left and right. “I hope no one saw that.” Exasperated, she sat back down on the log by the fire and empty pot. She smiled and put her knobby hand on the beloved mushrooms still in their basket by her side. “At least I still have them to grow for nourishment and medicinal purposes, even if all my other treasures are gone.”

  When the air cleared and Earwig was calm and piddling by the fire, she noted Dreg coming out of the undergrowth and back to the fire. She pretended nothing had happened, even unconcerned as if he’d never left.

  “What happened to the cart?” Dreg asked.

  “How should I know? It just disappeared,” the witch said, not looking up but fidgeting with a stick in the dust. “Is it gone?”

  “What did you do to make the whole cart disappear?” Dreg asked. He stood up straight, facing her.

  She jumped up in his face. “Now there you go always assuming I did something when anything goes wrong,” Earwig shouted.

  “I’m sorry,” Dreg said, chuckling. “I guess the fanged horse came for it.”

  Earwig frowned, pursed her lips, and narrowed her already beady eyes to warn him not to continue. “I don’t wish to discuss the cart’s disappearance or your assumption I had something to do with it.”

  Dreg said nothing else, just shook his head from side to side. He walked over to the still evident wheel tracks, looking down and scratching his head. He came back to the log and held out half of a root he’d dug up in the woods to eat.

  Earwig hesitated and then reached out with her knobby fingers to snatch the root. A peace offering I suppose, she thought. She looked up and smiled momentarily, then started to gnaw on the tuber so her mouth would be full and she wouldn’t have to answer questions. The wild root was bitter, but after her daily caustic mushroom intake, it seemed to Earwig like a sweet treat. Chewing it with tooth stubble was worse.

  Dreg reluctantly ate the rest after roasting it over the fire to make it palatable.

  *

  That evening, they heard a noise in the woods across the road.

  “Maybe it’s a traveler on horse,” Earwig said. She looked at Dreg for c
onfirmation.

  “Why’d he be in the woods if he’s a traveler?” Dreg asked. “Oh I don’t care if you steal his horse or not. I wants to get away from here.”

  “Hello,” Earwig called. She moved toward the rustling leaves. Her voice was dripping artificial sweetness not even a rock would think sincere. “Anyone there?” she asked when there was no reply. “Do come join us here by the fire.”

  The leaves rustled again, but there was still no reply.

  Dreg stood up and clutched his knife handle.

  “Now, Dreg,” Earwig whispered. She put her clammy hand on his arm to restrain him. “Whatever caused that rustling is big enough to haul me to Dreaddrac.”

  Dreg looked at her, “You, just YOU.” He pulled his arm away from her grasp.

  Unexpectedly, a beast like none either had ever seen before leapt from the bushes and charged them by the campfire. The thing was some composite created by evil magic. Someone probably sent it to roam the countryside, terrifying the local population and demoralizing them for the coming invasion. It had a huge bird of prey head with a beak that could snap a man’s leg in two. The large black and yellow eyes could suck in all available light, aiding its nighttime stalking. The torso was that of a hairy man perched on two massive muscled bird legs resembling those of other flightless birds. Instead of wings, it had arms. Its fingers and the three toes of each foot were armed with long, sharp cycle-like slashing claws. The creature shrieked at the two awestruck people and attacked in a direct dash.

  Dreg grabbed for a big stick and, holding it in both hands, swung it back, checked his grip, and spread his feet to steady himself. Seeing transportation, Earwig rushed around Dreg to greet the charging creature.

  “Stop!” Dreg said.

  The creature stopped suddenly in mid-stride amid a swirl of dust. Its murderous stare disappeared as Earwig approached. The cocked head eyed the approaching, unrecognizable thing. Suddenly, the creature abandoned its attack and fled.

  Desperate, Earwig leaped at it, wrapping herself around the creature’s neck. She hung on there like a sack of potatoes. The creature flailed and spun around but couldn’t dislodge the witch for all its efforts. It clawed at her arms locked around its neck, but Earwig kneed the beast each time until, exhausted, it finally submitted to its fate.

  Earwig was panting, as was the beast, but she wouldn’t let go of it. When it stood there, defeated, Earwig dropped her legs from around its chest and, holding it by the throat, dragged it closer to the fire.

  “Do we eat this or ride it to Dreaddrac?” the witch asked.

  Dreg stood dumbstruck with his jaw hanging. He said nothing in response, just stared at the defeated monster. Earwig continued in a matter of fact tone.

  “It looks too foul to taste good, pardon the pun, so I think we’ll have to make something we can hitch it to, to take us north.”

  “What’re you going to do with it?” Dreg asked.

  “I’m not going to do anything; you’re going to find something to tie it up with so we can get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll discover how to best use it to haul us north.”

  Dreg was able to find enough rope scraps to tie the beast’s hands and hobble its feet so that they slept soundly that night after all the excitement. In the morning, Earwig confronted the creature with both hands propped firmly on her hips to appear more intimidating to the humiliated bird-beast.

  “Get this straight if you can understand me, beast, we’re going to Dreaddrac, and you’re going to take us there,” she commanded. The beast couldn’t do anything but watch and shake its head. “I want no trouble out of you, and if you cause me any problems, I’ll bash you from here into tomorrow, understand?”

  The demoralized creature couldn’t understand her language, but it understood her tone. She was a nasty threat in any language. Forlorn, the brute nodded and waited stoically to see what she would do with, or possibly to it.

  “Do you like this beast any better than Zendor?” Dreg asked when he recovered his composure.

  Earwig shot him a mean look, and he quickly wiped the smile off his face.

  “Now we have this creature, and the cart is gone,” the witch mumbled. She turned and stared straight at Dreg. “Well, I’m riding the bird-beast. You can walk, Dreg.”

  “Why get mad at me? I didn’t vaporize the cart,” Dreg said.

  Again, Earwig shot Dreg a threatening look. He’d better not bring up the cart’s disappearance again, she thought. “Get down on your hands and knees; I need a step up onto the beast’s back if I’m going to ride him to the Munattahensenhov,” the witch said.

  Dreg dropped down beside the monster’s menacing feet. The creature cocked its head sideways to see what the man was doing. It squinted its eyes and stamped its threatening, if hobbled feet next to the man now within kicking range. Dreg jumped each time the monster kicked its huge clawed feet. Earwig couldn’t get a step up without the two moving.

  “Hold still!” she said.

  “This thing’s done gutted more than one meal by kicking them slashing toes,” Dreg said, jerking his head to look at the feet for any sign of movement. He cringed as the feet kicked dust in his face.

  “Stop that, you beast!” Earwig ordered, staring down the bird-beast. “Hold still or I’ll beat in your brains.”

  The creature looked at Earwig, trembled, then dropped its gaze submissively. It stood still, and Earwig held its shoulder while she climbed up on Dreg, then heaved herself onto the bird-beast’s shoulders. The startled creature first dropped under the enormous weight on its back and then stumbled about. It was still tied securely and had only limited movement.

  “Now let’s see how fast those bird thighs can run to Dreaddrac,” Earwig said. “Don’t you be thinking of getting smart with me, either.” She turned to Dreg, who had just gotten up and dusted himself off. “Dreg, untie this animal, and we’ll be off.”

  “But Miss Earwig,” Dreg said, “you sure you want to ride that wild thing?”

  “But Miss Earwig nothing, do as you’re told,” she snapped.

  Dreg untied the creature from the tree and jumped back. Earwig put a strangle hold on its neck. After a moment to let the thing settle down, Dreg did as ordered and took the hobbling rope off the creature’s lower legs.

  Immediately, the freed monster flailed about, whirling around to toss off the witch, but for all his efforts, the bloated witch held onto its neck until it nearly choked.

  “See, I told you this worthless creature would do my bidding,” Earwig said, wheezing through a victorious grin. She took one hand off its neck and waved it in the air. “Now I’ll ride to Dreaddrac. You’ll have to try to keep up, Dreg.”

  “Wait for me, Miss Earwig,” Dreg yelled as she dug her heels into the creature’s sides and it raced off up the road.

  Earwig looked back to see Dreg hurrying up the road after them until he wore out and, stooping over to catch his breath, finally dropped back to a walk.

  *

  Around nightfall, he came over a hill and saw the disheveled witch sitting in a mud puddle under a tree branch. As he drew closer, he saw a large knot on her head and a dazed look on her face.

  “Where’s your beast?” Dreg asked as he approached within hearing distance.

  “Shut up!” Earwig said. Eventually, he came closer and she stuck out her gnarled hand. “Help me up.”

  Dreg pulled and tugged and strained to get the marbled lump out of the mud. He finally succeeded just as he completely wore out. He sank down to rest, hands on his knees.

  Earwig stared down at him with hands turned up. “What are you going to fix us to eat?” she asked.

  The poor hunchback rose slowly from his momentary resting place and, without a word, lightly pushed the arrogant Earwig backward. She fell back into the mud puddle with a ‘plop!’

  “See if you can catch us some fish,” he replied as he walked on up the road toward Dreaddrac alone.

  10: Wizard Hendrel in Hador

  “That monster cir
cling overhead will level the city,” Duke Jedrac mumbled. He and the chatra were in a subterranean chamber deep in the granite mountain beneath the Hadorhof. The soft golden torchlight was soothing after the raging flames spitting about among the towers high above. The nearly total quiet was in sharp contrast to the sounds of swooshing wings, panicked screams, crackling of burning structures, and crashing blasts of crumbling buildings. The moldy smell in the cellars replaced the caustic smoke in the tower ruins. The duke stared blankly at the floor, trying desperately to think of another response to the raging dragon demolishing Hador unhindered.

  “The Wizard Hendrel is in the city, Your Grace,” the chatra said.

  “Hendrel?” the duke repeated. He removed his helmet and scratched his head. “Wasn’t that the wizard King Saxthor vouched for on his tour here?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. That’s the wizard. He lives in Hador. The guards on the city gates mentioned he returned only a few days before Dreaddrac’s attacks began. Now that your grace is without a wizard, you might try and get word to the sorcerer to come to the Hadorhof. He might be able to deal with this dragon. With the city surrounded, no one is able to get in or out. With Magwaddle ruling the skies, picking off anything that moves, what do we have to lose?”

  Jedrac paced the cold stone floor, listening to the sound of grit crunching beneath his feet. The musty smell of the poorly ventilated chamber reminded him of the old artifact smells in his grandfather’s museum. “I feel entombed in here.”

  The chatra paced with the duke. “Yes, depressing.”

  “Good idea, Chatra,” Jedrac said all of a sudden. “Get a volunteer to sneak through the streets to the wizard and bring him back here.” Looking at his minister, he added, “Alive.” He looked around at the darker back of the cellar, where someone coughed.

  “Being crowded in these damp cellars with the garrison’s soldiers for days is taking its toll on everyone’s nerves. Something has to be done to kill the dragon. It’s pinned down the whole city. Soon supplies will start to run out,” Jedrac whispered. The chatra bowed and left.