The First Dragoneer (2016 Modernized Format Edition)

by M. R. Mathias

  Chapter Three

  Bren woke with a shock as icy cold water splashed across his face. March’s hysterical laughter filled his bewilderment. The sun was already up. The sounds of the birds chirping and whistling filled the cool air between March’s deep belly roars of mirth.

  March handed Bren a pan full of scrambled grouse eggs which he had collected and cooked earlier. With a grimace of friendly disapproval, Brendly took them and wolfed them down with his fingers. After that, they put their bulky packs under the canvas shelter and checked their gear. They each tested the sharpness of their long skinning knives and made sure they had plenty of arrows between them. They put enough water and dried beef for the day in their belt pouches and left the things they didn’t think they would need. March pushed his head, and one arm, through a coil of rope and checked to make sure he had his tinder box. They were both accomplished hunters and had learned from experience not to go off unprepared. Bren even went as far as putting a small wood ax in his belt.

  It took longer than they thought it would to reach the ridge. When they finally got there they were almost disappointed not to see hordes of kobles and wood trolls gathering on the other side. What they found was a small valley, very small compared to Prominence Valley. The dense forest continued down the steep terrain to the valley’s floor some three hundred yards below them. There, a small stream could be seen through the treetops winding its way down the hill.

  Not far below them, the trees gave way to a rocky outcropping that looked interesting. Without a thought, March started down toward it with only a smiling glance back at Bren’s hesitation.

  Swallowing his nervousness, Bren hurried to catch up. He nearly tumbled over his feet as the steepness of the slope was revealed. By the time he reached March’s side, he was out of breath, and more than a little worried.

  It only took them a few minutes to get to what turned out to be a flat shelf of rock that protruded out over the tree tops. On either side of the shelf, the trees and the undergrowth were as thick as thieves at a festival; but for this one small area, about a hundred paces wide, the rocks prevailed.

  March eased out to the edge to look down at what he was sure would be a cliff-like plummet into the sea of treetops below. Bren stayed back and nervously waited for March to tell him what he saw. After a few moments, March stopped his cautious approach. He then pulled the rope he was carrying back over his head and began uncoiling it.

  “I’m going all the way out to the edge to look.” March looked excitedly back at Bren then threw him one end of the rope. “Hold this in case I slip. I don’t want to go all the way over.”

  “Here I was worried about you leaving,” Bren joked sheepishly. “You’ll not live to set foot out of Prominence Valley.”

  March grinned as he tied his end of the rope around his waist. “You’re a bald-eyed giboon, Bren,” March laughed. “We're not even in Prominence Valley anymore.”

  “Oh. Yeh.” Bren swallowed hard, remembering that they were also beyond the kingdom’s boundary.

  “Now come on, gibber lips,” March chided. “The rope’s not long enough for you to stay way up there.”

  Bren eased close enough so that March could lean out over the edge. He found a depression in the rock where he could dig in his heels and create leverage if it became necessary. When he saw March get to his belly and begin crawling out, he dug in any way.

  “Don’t fall, March!” Bren yelled out as his daring friend got to the edge and looked over. “What is it? What do you see?” His curiosity was drowning his concern.

  March quickly scooted back and stood up. A giant smile had spread across his face. When he saw how eager Bren was to know what he’d seen he purposely kept from saying anything.

  “Come on, March. Spit it out!” Bren yelled. “Just tell me!”

  “There’s a cave down there!” March was beaming. “A big ol’ cave!”

  “You wanted to go on an adventure, sad sack. Let’s go on one!” March said, moving back up the hill on one side of the rocky shelf. “There’s a way down over here,” he pointed.

  Bren quickly pulled all the slack out of the rope and nearly yanked March off of his feet. Between laughs he said, “At least—untie yourself first, you big giboon!”

  March blushed, realizing that in his rush to get down to the cave he had completely forgotten he had a rope tied to his waist. He gave his end a good yank, pulling it free from Bren’s hands. He yanked it hard enough to give Bren a burn in his palms. Even though he was the one laughing now, it took him only seconds to untie himself. He coiled the rope back up quickly, and then shouldered it.

  The descent proved to be tedious. The ground was loose and rocky, and the trees were in all the wrong places. They ended up going away from the shelf, out into the forest where the grade seemed a little better. They had to backtrack twice and ended up going too far down slope. When they finally realized this, the cave was above them, looming up the slope like a hungry maw. Climbing back up to it, they began to feel the humidity of the forest. The sun was directly overhead now. The trees shaded the ground well, but the canopy was so thick that it held in the ground moisture. It wasn’t long before both of the boys’ woolen shirts and leather pants were soaked with sweat. To make matters worse there was no breeze to be felt at all. The trees kept it from reaching them.

  The dark mouth of the cave grew as they approached it. They could see that it was deep. What hid in those depths was the mystery. The only thing about the hole that was inviting was the knowledge that inside the cavern they could cool off and take a short rest.

  The natural opening was easily ten paces wide and half again that tall. The rock formation seemed out of place sitting there by itself in the middle of the dense forested greenery. Scattered here and there up along the cliff-like face were clumps of mossy growth and a few patches of vines that bloomed with brilliantly colored little blue and yellow flowers.

  March didn’t hesitate. Just inside, out of the sun, he plopped down on a piece of rock and began rummaging through his pack for food and water. Bren joined him, already sipping from the deerskin canteen he carried at his hip. Both were winded from the climb back up to the cavern so neither spoke for a long while. They ate and sipped cool water and let their bodies rejuvenate. All the while the endless possibilities of what could be hiding down in the cavern kept culminating in their imaginations.

  After a while Bren whispered, “I wonder how far back it goes?”

  “We’ll find out soon enough, won't we?” March laughed confidently. “Why are you whispering?”

  “This is a big cave,” Bren answered seriously, his voice still a whisper. “Something big could live back there.”

  March hadn’t thought of that. His mind began to race through all the creatures he knew of that were big enough to do them harm. He turned to Bren, dropping his tone and volume to match his friend’s. “We’ll be quiet and go really slow.” He turned back and peered into the darkness of the tunnel-like shaft that the cavern formed. He couldn’t see very far at all. “We’ll have to make a torch.”

  March stood and began looking around the lighted part of the cave. He found a length of dried wood as big around as his thigh, and after feeling its weight, he quickly discarded it. Bren was rummaging through his belt pack so March headed back out into the woods to seek out a better prospect. He returned with a piece of green wood nearly four feet long and about as big around as his wrist. It was heavy but it would be handy as a club if the need arose. He noticed that Bren had strung his bow and had moved his quiver of arrows from his back to his hip.

  He’d never tell Bren, because it would swell up his friend’s melon head, but he thought that Bren was the best archer he’d ever seen. The thought was comforting. He’d once seen Bren shoot a gobbler out of the air. Bren had fired two arrows in rapid succession and both had hit their mark. It was improbable to have hit a bird in flight even once. Bren had hit it twice back to back, and with lightning speed. March was sure that B
ren hadn’t been lying when he had said the white stag had been lucky.

  “How are you gonna make a torch out of that?” Bren asked.

  March just shook his head. How could such an accomplished hunter be such a giboon, he wondered? He sat back down near his friend and cut an arm’s length of rope from his coil. He tied it tightly around one end of the limb. Then he took out the silver flask of Master Beryll’s brandy hooch and poured a few dollops over the rope until it was saturated with the liquid. He offered Bren a sip from it, but Bren refused. March took a good-sized swig and then put it away. With a red-faced grimace, he held the limb out to Bren for inspection. “Torch,” was all the sting of the liquor would allow him to say.

  Bren was uneasy, almost scared, about going deeper into the cavern. He would never let it show though, not to March. He had said he wanted an adventure. Now here he was, across the ridge in the unprotected Teeth, about to venture into a cavern big enough for a bear, or a family of rock trolls, or even a small dragon to call home.

  Not that Bren really thought that there was a dragon here. The mighty dragons hadn’t been seen in the area for dozens of years. Even when they had, they were seen from great distances as they flew overhead, doing whatever it is that dragons do in the sky. Still, the possibility of what might reside deep in this cavern was unnerving.

  In between his short bouts of fear, Bren found himself terribly excited. He wondered how March could remain so calm. Maybe March was scared too. Maybe March was just able to hide it better. Or maybe March was just that confident.

  March didn’t look terrified, but he was. It wasn’t easy always taking the lead. Bren had wanted an adventure, and March wanted to have a hunting trip that they would both always remember forever, so here they were. He wished that Bren hadn’t said anything about something living in here. Up until then he had only been excited. Now, he was truly afraid. But he couldn’t let Bren see it. He told himself that this was just going to be an old, empty cavern and did his best to swallow his fear.

  “Are you ready?” March asked quietly. He took out his tinder box and prepared to light the makeshift torch.

  “Yup, just stay to my left, and keep the torch flame up high, so it stays out of my eyes.” It took great effort to keep his voice from trembling as he added, “I want to have a good clear shot if we run into anything hungry back there.”

  March lit the torch and then handed it to his friend while he put the flint and steel back into the tinder box and put it away. He unsheathed his skinning knife and took the torch back from Bren. With the brightly flaming brand in one hand and the long blade in the other, he started moving deeper into the cave.

  The flickering light of the brand allowed them to see about twenty paces ahead. The flames caused exaggerated shadows to dance around the tunnel like ghoulish specters. Beyond the shadows, the thick blackness swallowed up the light like a hungry beast.

  There were webs deeper in the cave. Some of them spanned the entire width of the shaft like forgotten fishing nets. More than a few fist-sized spiders scurried from the noisy brightness of their approach. After only a few hundred feet, March was forced to get in front of Bren because the shaft began to narrow.

  “Don’t get too far ahead of me, March!” Bren whispered nervously. Even at a whisper his voice reverberated off the rough rocky walls.

  “I won’t,” March joked. “I don’t want an arrow in the back when one of those spiders drops on your fat head.”

  “Not funny.” Bren wasn’t laughing. His attention had been drawn up ahead of them. He gripped the semi-drawn arrow with the index finger of his bow hand so his right hand was free. He reached forward and tapped March on the shoulder with it. When he had his friend’s attention he pointed up ahead at what he saw, then drew back his arrow again and stepped around March.

  “What is it?” March asked. He had to squint his eyes to block out the glare from the torch flame. “Is it a rock?”

  “Only if the rocks in here grow fur!” Bren said as his arrow loosed at the thing.

  The arrow struck with a thump and sunk deeply into the creature. Before March could take a breath, Bren had another arrow ready to fire.

  “It’s not rock,” said March, moving toward it cautiously. “And it stinks!”

  “It’s not alive,” Bren stated the obvious. His arrow was still trained on the thing though.

  They were relieved to see that it was just a dead deer. That relief faded quickly when they saw that it was only part of a deer. Half of it had been torn away, leaving a puddle of thick, black muck that was littered with pieces of broken bone. A trail of splotchy red and black led from the carcass into the darkness.

  “Pretty fresh kill,” March commented after kneeling and examining it. “The stink is from the curdled blood, not the meat.”

  “It’s time to get out of here, March,” Bren said sternly. “Something bit off the whole back half of that doe. I don’t want to meet it!”

  March wasn’t listening. He was already moving farther into the cave. He’d seen something else and was heading toward it. Bren hurried after him, and was just about to yank his friend back by the shoulder and haul him out of there when he saw what March was after. He gasped loudly.

  It was the skeleton of a human. It was whole and still encased in rusty ringed mail armor. At the side of the body was a dusty but wicked-looking sword. Several small packs were attached to the dead man’s belt, and a large leather backpack was still strung over his shoulders.

  “Hold this,” March said as he thrust the torch to Bren. Reluctantly Bren took the brand, even though holding it meant that he wouldn’t be ready to fire an arrow if trouble came. He looked on in horror at what March started to do next.

  “You can’t steal from the dead, March!” Bren said rather loudly. The word dead echoed around the cavern and down the tunnel like an ominous warning.

  “It’s not stealing,” March justified as he unlocked the sword belt and fastened it over his shoulder. “This isn’t digging up a grave. This guy has been here a long time.” He rolled the skeleton over and almost jumped out of his skin as it broke apart in his hands.

  “All right, but hurry! I don’t like this one bit.”

  March pulled the leather backpack free, causing the skull to roll over and look up at him as if it were still alive. He took a deep breath and repositioned the body in a more comfortable-looking position. “Rest peacefully, whoever you were,” he said softly.

  He slung the pack over his shoulder and was about to reach for the torch, but a glittering sparkle underneath the dead man’s neck caught his eye.

  Bren, seeing his friend reach back down to the body, yelled out in frustration. “COME ON!... On... on.” His voice echoed down the cavern.

  “Just a moment,” March growled back up at Bren’s impatience.

  He groped through the dust where he’d seen the flashing reflection and found a small chain with his fingertips. As he pulled it out from under the dead warrior, he could feel the substantial weight of something that dangled from it.

  “Light, Bren!” He ordered. Bren sighed and held the torch forth so that he and March could both see what it was.

  The firelight reflected so brilliantly off the thumb-sized gem mounted in the dirty medallion that it nearly blinded them.

  “Wow,” March gasped, turning to his friend. “Its--”

  His voice was drowned out by the sudden angry growl of something very big and very close.

  March pulled the medallion’s chain over his head and grabbed the torch back from his friend.

  “Let’s go!” Bren yelled again. His bow was instantly drawn and his arrow trained at the area of darkness from where the sound had come. “Now!”

  March gave no argument. He immediately began backing through the cavern towards the entrance, holding the torch out toward the sound they had heard. They awkwardly tried to stay side-by-side as they continued moving backward as quickly as they could.

  They heard the thump of heavy
footfalls pounding rapidly toward them from the darkness. A strong alien scent filled the air. Whatever it was, it was four-legged, and it was closing in on them.

  A deep, rumbling growl began and quickly turned into a screechy roar. It was right there, just outside of the torchlight. March could see several glistening reflections in the darkness, all of which were at least a head taller than he was. He was sure it was eyes and teeth, or maybe scales that he was seeing.

  “Loose, Bren!” March yelled. An arrow thrummed by his ear from his friend’s bow.

  A vicious screech filled the cavern then, and the head and wing claws of a snarling young wyvern charged into the torchlight. Its scales were pale, almost pink. It was dragon-like, but not nearly as large as even a young wyrm was rumored to be. It’s long, sinuous body was the size of a small horse, or a big tree cat, and it’s toothy serpent head was already lunging. Two huge fangs curled up from its bottom jaw and jutted above plum-sized nostril holes. Behind them, eyes that looked like cherry walnuts glowed with indignant rage. Menacingly, the strange reptilian creature roared at them and crouched to strike. The arrow Bren had fired protruded harmlessly from the creature’s shoulder. Bren didn’t hesitate to fire again, this time aiming for the vital chest area between the creature’s stumpy forelegs. The arrow sank deeply, but didn’t even slow the bursting charge. A huge, raking claw lashed out at March and though it barely missed his flesh, it hung in the thick leather sword belt he had taken from the corpse. He, and the torch, were slung violently into the cavern wall.

  Bren fired two more arrows at the beast, but the force and speed of the attack on March, and the way the torch had gone flying across the air, had been dizzying. Even still, he had struck the sun-starved creature well enough to stop it in its tracks. The dying torch was behind the wyvern now, near where March was stirring. The creature was perfectly silhouetted and Bren went to fire another arrow. Reaching in, he found his quiver empty. He looked down at it in shock. He never retrieved the arrow he had loosed at the white stag. At that very moment of realization, a razor-sharp claw ripped down his hip, tearing his leg wide open.

  He crumpled to the ground without a sound. When he looked up, he saw stars swirling around the blackness. Then there was nothing, nothing at all.

  With a lustful, triumphant roar, the wyvern’s serpentine head lunged toward Bren’s limp body. The victory growl was cut short though. The sound quickly turned into a horrid, pain-filled screech as the smoldering end of the torch came down on its pink scaly back. The brand sizzled and popped back to life, flaming hotly before it rolled off and hit the ground. The torch rolled to a stop just under the raging beast’s underbelly. March instinctively reached to his belt for his knife, but it was not there. He had dropped it when he was smashed into the wall. He didn’t panic though; instead he reached back over his head and grabbed hold of the ancient sword’s hilt in an effort to pull it from the scabbard. At first it wouldn’t come free, but with his second try, it did. The heavy metal hand guard cracked him in his ear and sent him stumbling head first across the cavern floor toward the creature. The razor-sharp blade sliced across his scalp, cutting him to the bone as it slipped free. March had to grab the sword by the blade to turn it around so that he could hold it correctly. He cut his palms open in the process, but not so badly that he couldn’t grip the hilt.

  March looked up to see the slithery beast fighting to turn around and face him. It was trying to avoid the torch flames that were licking its tender underbelly. March’s heart hit the floor when he caught a brief glimpse of Bren’s torn and bloody body crumpled against the wall. He saw Bren’s thigh bone fully exposed, and the huge pool of blood surrounding his friend. He feared Bren was dead.

  A deep rush of anger-fueled adrenaline shot through his veins. He gripped the sword with both hands. The grip wasn’t very good due to the blood leaking from the wounds in his palms, but it was good enough for him to raise the blade over his head and charge recklessly into the range of those horrible, finger-long fangs. At least the albino beast was easy to see in the muted torch light.

  March was getting dizzy, and he could feel his warm blood sluicing down his back from the head wound. Luckily, his rage took over as he brought the gleaming sword down into the exposed flank of the turning creature. He felt the blade slice deep into flesh before it was yanked from his hands.

  The wyvern bucked wildly, slamming March and itself into the rocky wall. Then it hopped backward into the darkened cavern. It was too late for the wyvern though. The slam into the unrelenting surface of the wall had driven the sword deeper into its vitals. With a series of deep, guttural moans that resounded with a hissing wetness, the creature curled and thrashed until it finally stilled.

  March reached for the back of his head. His wound was bad. He could feel his bare skull. But, he quickly forgot his pain when he heard Bren’s familiar voice moaning from across the cavern. Stopping only to retrieve the still smoldering torch, he went to Bren’s side.

  A finger-deep gash ran from Bren’s hip to just above his knee and a fat purple knot was forming on his cheek, from where it had impacted the rocky floor. He had lost a lot of blood, but was slowly regaining consciousness. March pulled the old pack off his back and gently put it under Bren’s head. He then tore off his shirt. Using Bren’s skinning knife, he cut the cloth into wide strips. He wrapped the strips around Bren’s thigh, pulled the wound closed with them, then tied them tightly. Only after he was sure his friend wasn’t going to bleed out right there on the cavern floor did he use the last strip of cloth to tie around his still bleeding head.

  When that was done, he poured a generous dollop of the brandy hooch along the length of Bren’s wound.

  “No… no,” Bren said weakly as the burn of the liquid shot through his leg like a length of forge-heated steel. After a moment of wincing and clench-jawed groaning, he hissed, “Drink.”

  “Here,” March tipped the flask to his friend’s lips and let him take the last of it.

  March shook the flask over his hands and let the last few drops sting the wounds on his palms. Then he rubbed them together. He cut off a piece of Bren’s shirt and tore it into two strips which he then tied around them.

  “You’re a damn giboon,” Bren said quietly. He adjusted his upper body and pulled a fist-sized stone from under his arse.

  “Well, if you’d have been a better shot, maybe we could have avoided the ruckus,” March forced a chuckle as he staggered to his feet.

  “Is it dead, or did it just run off?” Bren asked with worry. He started to roll over to look, but his wounds kept him from turning.

  “It’s just down there resting,” March answered seriously. “I’m gonna go get wood for a fire. Just yell as loud as you can if it comes back.” He then started off into the darkness.

  “March! Hey, don’t leave,” he choked as he rolled over despite the pain. He stopped yelling when he saw the albino wyvern’s pale, lifeless bulk at the edge of the torchlight. Four arrows protruded from the thick, pinkish-white scaled body. The blood-covered hilt of the sword March had pilfered protruded from the thing as well. Below the sword hilt there was a gash big enough to crawl into, and a massive pool of black, thickening blood. The creature would have been ten or twelve paces from head to tail if it was stretched out.

  Relieved, Bren lay back, closed his eyes, and slowly slipped into blackness.