The First Dragoneer by M.R. Mathias
Copyright 2010
Smashwords edition
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1
“So what are you gonna do? Have you decided yet?” Brendly Tuck asked his best friend.
They had known each other all seventeen summers of their lives. Brendly hoped that since he didn’t have the option of getting out of Prominence Valley as March Weston did, that his best friend would decide not to leave. It was a small hope though, because Brendly couldn’t remember March ever talking about anything else. March was always asking him things like, “Where should I go?” Or “What should I try to become? Should I go downriver to Camberly? What about up North to the borders? Maybe I could hire on as a guardsman, or maybe go down South to the coast and work a ship?”
Brendly loved his friend dearly, but as the finality of their last summer together grew closer, the gnawing sense of loss, and feelings that bordered on jealousy, were growing inside of him. If March kept rubbing it in, Brendly thought that he might just have to give his best friend a good ole thumping to take with him when he left.
Wondering now why he had asked the question, Brendly stopped on the woodsy game trail that they were traveling and waited for the answer that he didn’t really want to hear.
“I don’t know yet where I’m gonna go, or what I’m gonna do,” March replied. March could sense Brendly’s discomfort so he added, “But I sure wish you could come with me.”
“So do I.” Brendly dropped his head with the weight of the words to look at his scuffed up leather hunting boots.
“Well, let’s make the best of it till midsummer, when I’m to leave. We can worry about it then.” March forced a grin and started back up the trail. Brendly waited only a moment to follow, but March had already disappeared under the thick canopy of the woods causing Brendly to have to quicken his step to catch up.
“We won’t even get a rabbit, much less a stag. Not if we keep skulking about thinking of that stuff,” March called back over his shoulder. “Come on, it’s getting late.”
Remembering that they were hunting, Brendly caught up with his friend and let the worries of the future slip away.
They were hiking their way up toward Cander’s Ridge. It was a little farther from Prominence than they usually came to hunt, but not so far as to cause concern. They were still easily in the kingdom’s border, at least as long as they stayed on this side of the slope. Topping the ridge would only invite trouble though.
A pack of dark skinned, pointy eared, kobles had been spotted recently. The feral humanoid creatures could best be described as two legged dogs. They weren’t very dangerous alone, but if you ran into a pack of them you could be in serious trouble. They seldom ventured across the kingdom’s established border, which meant that they weren’t completely void of sense. Only the hungriest of them ever hunted in the protected lands of Prominence Valley, and though a few had killed villagers and hunters in the past, those were usually hunted down and killed. The dead then hung up in the trees, to draw carrion, for their violation.
This side of the ridge was kingdom territory, and not even the huge dark skinned wood trolls that roamed the foothills dared to trespass. King Timothy’s border guard patrolled the boundary well and often. The border guard was feared by even the giant Karsithian warriors, who sometimes ventured too far south out of their high mountain territories.
The game trail the boys were following led them to a clearing that held a small pool. When they stopped and looked around for tracks, they both noticed the valley spreading out below them. The rich, dark shades of the green tree tops flowed down the mountainside on their way out into the lower slopes of the valley. The trees thinned into large clumps, only to disappear completely in the valley floor. There, squares and long rectangles of brown, gold and russet took over. Some of the greener fields were speckled with the black and brown dots that were livestock, but most were empty of life save for the rows and rows of crops. The silvery-blue thread of the Prominence River wound its way through the pastures and crop-fields, splitting the valley into two misshaped halves. The river was speckled with dots, but those were the fishing boats and cargo ships that used its flow as a source of bounty. It was a view that neither of the boys had seen before. They were entranced by its overwhelming beauty.
“Let’s make camp here,” March whispered as if his voice might disturb the tranquility of the valley far below.
“Yup,” Bren replied simply, not taking his eyes away from the sight before him.
They made a circle of rocks and started a fire inside it. Then they went about setting up a makeshift tent by draping an oiled sheet of canvas over some low hanging branches and stretching it wide at the bottom. They fastened the corners of the canvas with wooden stakes so the breeze couldn’t flutter it away.
They had planned to be hunting for at least five days, or until they got a fat, late spring buck, or some other sizable game that they could carry home and parade proudly around town. Neither of them got in a hurry over anything.
They both knew that this was a goodbye hunt. In only a few short weeks March would set off to find his fortune. His father, and two older brothers, would take care of his mother and sister, and the family farm. It was the unspoken duty of a third son in a struggling family to move on and make his own way. March didn’t mind. He had been dreaming of leaving since he found out that he would someday have to.
Brendly had no brothers. He did have four sisters that he and his father would labor to care for until they were eventually married off, but even then Bren wouldn’t be free. He was destined to take over the family’s herd of horses, and the small farm where they raised them. It wasn’t likely that he’d ever escape the boring, yet ever growing village of Prominence.
Prominence was at the eastern most edge of the kingdom. It was originally a river stop for the copper miners that had once swarmed the other side of the valley. As time wore on and the veins in the mountain dried up, farming and ranching had slowly taken over the area. A large reservoir, up in the eastern foothills at the head of the river, was rich in krill and whisker fish. If you had a net boat, you could fetch a fair share of coin in Camberly, a city that was a two day float downstream to the west.
Prominence sat at the base of the large jagged mountain range known simply as the Teeth. Throughout the Teeth, wood and rock trolls roamed, as did kobles, and many other unfriendly creatures. Brendly and March had both heard the myriad horror stories that their parents had used to keep them close to the home fires when they were little. They both knew that the stories weren’t just wives tales either. Much blood had been spilled over the years to make the kingdom safe for humanity. King Timothy’s border guard was one of the main reasons for the sense of security.
As the sun disappeared and the moon washed them in a pale silver glow, they were content to sit by their small fire and listen to the symphony that the forest provided. The woods could be frightening at night, but both Brendly and March felt comfortable. They were men now. They had been on many a hunt, both with their fathers, and without. They felt safe inside the borders of the kingdom.
“When I was looking for firewood by the bigger pool upstream I saw fresh tracks,” March said quietly. “If we can get up early enough, we can find a spot near there, and maybe get a shot at something coming to water at daybreak.”<
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“Yup,” Brendly replied half heartedly. He was thinking about March leaving again and wondering who he would hunt with after his best friend was gone.
“You can’t be a sad-sack till I go, you know!” March jested.
“March, I don’t want to be stuck in the valley all my life,” Brendly responded passionately. “I don’t want to be a horse rancher. I want to go on an adventure like you.”
“Bren, you're gonna marry Canda Shilling, or Deanda Bargery, and have a family, and a good happy life!” There was more than a little envy in March’s voice. “It’s going to be a lot of boring days and nights without my friends and family for me, no matter where I decide to go. It won’t be all fun and exciting like you think.”
“But what if I went with you?” Brendly lit up at the thought, as if he would really run off in the night and leave his structured world behind. “You’d have a friend with you, and we could make our fortunes together.”
“Your ma would hunt us both down, and then strap you all the way home. I can’t let you come with me!” March laughed.
Bren laughed too, and after a long awkward silence said, “I’m sure gonna miss you.”
“I’m not gone yet, Bren. Let’s get some sleep so we can get up to that bigger pool before daybreak.”
2
When the sun broke the horizon, they had a perfect view of the tracks by the pool. Each of the boys was at one end of a thick heavy shrub that hid them well from whatever might come to drink the cool crisp water. Yet, they weren’t so far apart that they couldn’t communicate silently with the hunter’s hand signals that their fathers had taught them. The air was cold and charged with anticipation. Birds were just starting to chirp their good mornings to the world. The forest was coming to life, bringing with it the promise and blood tingling excitement of the hunt.
Brendly, sitting there alert with an arrow ready to loose, had forgoten his sadness for the moment.
March was feeling alive inside. He was anxious to see what would show up to drink on this most perfect of mornings.
The moment was broken by the distant, yet clear, sound of dried wood cracking. The boys looked at each other excitedly. Whatever it was, it was moving noisily toward them. Both of them began to scan the tree line across the pool for any sign of movement. Instinctively each raised his bow toward the area of the noise.
Bren was trying not to breathe too loudly. It was always a chore for him to keep calm and contain himself when this moment came on a hunt.
March just wished his nose would stop itching. It seemed to him that every time he was in a position that he couldn’t scratch his face, it began to itch. As the sound of the approaching animal grew closer, the discomfort got so bad that he decided that Bren could have this one and he silently relaxed his draw so that he could scratch his face.
“Whew!” Bren exhaled rather loudly. March turned and looked at him with alarm. Bren glanced toward him, and whispered, “It was only a wild sow -- or a little-- uh.”
His words abruptly stopped as a new sound carried toward them. It was a snort, a loud one. It was accompanied by the sound of rattling branches.
Bren instantly went back into firing position; alert, prone and ready. March gave his nose a last second scratch as he re-aimed his arrow. The soft sound of Bren’s excited breathing was the last sound he heard before he tuned the world out so that he could focus on the tree line.
First it was a small doe, a yearling, March thought. Two fawns and another larger doe appeared. With nervous darting eyes, the biggest of the four deer lowered its head and began to drink. Slowly the others followed suit. March was thrilled. He hoped that Bren would be patient. A buck was sure to present itself eventually.
Bren almost loosed his arrow on the larger doe, but at the last second thought better of it. He wanted a buck to show off to his dad. His restraint however was mostly due to the two awkward moving young fawns frolicking near their mother.
Suddenly, all four of the deer rose from the pool and froze in alarm. In a flash of movement, a big cracking sound erupted from behind them. They were off in a series of leaping bounds that carried them instantly out of sight and back into the forest.
Here he comes, March thought. He expected a wide heavy rack of antlers to emerge from the trees, announcing the leader of the herd. Instead, the creature that showed itself nearly stopped his heart.
As silently as he could, Brendly took in a deep breath as the magnificent beast stepped out of the tree line. Cautiously, it moved into the clearing and looked around.
It was a white stag, majestic and awe inspiring. Its antlers were long, and only slightly curvy. They twisted and forked only thrice, and in perfect symmetry. The stag’s chest was thrust forward showing its dominance of the forest, and its short white fur was clean and glossy, like frozen snow. It strutted toward the pool with kingly grace. Its large black eyes didn’t dart around as the does had. These eyes were full of confidence. There was only the hint of the creature’s natural caution showing in them. Throughout this forest of paupers and peasants, this creature was royalty. As far as non predatory animals went, this was the undisputed king of the forest.
March dropped his aim slowly. He wanted to look and see if Brendly was about to take the shot, but he was afraid to take his eyes off the rare beast that stood before him. Thousands of camp fire stories ran through his head, all of them about this legendary creature. He was taken by its beauty, and suddenly he didn’t want Bren to take its life. This was the moment in time that he wanted to remember when he thought about his home and his friend. No matter how far away he traveled, or what his situation might be, he wanted to be able to close his eyes and know in his heart that this creature still roamed the valley around Prominence. He would live his life knowing that he and Bren had been graced by its presence.
Brendly’s heart was trying to pound out of his rib cage. Instinctively he began to calm himself enough to steady his aim. What a reception they’d have if they returned to Prominence with such a kill. His father would beam when he told folks of his son’s bounty. All the other hunters would envy him and March forever.
Brendly took his time and lined up the shot perfectly. He wanted to hit the stag’s heart. He carefully checked the range to determine the slight arch he had to consider to place the arrow where he wanted it to go. It wouldn’t do to let this creature suffer. He finally got the white furred buck sighted. He knew his shot would swiftly end its life. With a sigh of resignation, he let out his breath and made to let his shaft fly.
Suddenly, March jumped from the bushes, waving his arms like a mad man. “Run away!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.
Brendly’s arrow went astray, flying well over the stag and disappearing into the forest. The stag raised its head from the pool and snorted its disapproval over the interruption. Proudly, the magnificent animal strode out of the clearing, disappearing as if the two boys were of no concern.
“Don’t stop running!” March yelled. “Don’t ever stop.”
“Why March?” Brendly asked. He wasn’t angry, but he was far from pleased. He had his shot lined up perfectly. He could already see the look of pride in his father’s eyes at the sight of such a kill. He could even feel the congratulatory pats on his back from the other hunters. Then March had jumped out and ruined his moment. He looked at his friend with a questioning glare.
“Promise me Bren,” March started with a look of wild elation. “Promise me that you’ll never kill that stag! I don’t care if you see him a thousand times after I leave.” March waved his arm around stupidly causing Bren to laugh and lighten his mood. “You can’t ever kill such a majestic and beautiful animal!”
“You’re as crazy as a bald-eyed giboon,” Brendly said as the tension fell completely away from him. “I had him, you know!”
“Yes, I know. That’s why I scared him away.” March’s smile was wide and infectious as he walked over putting his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “Just think, if you’d killed him
, then we’d have to pack him back down into town and our hunt would already be over. This way you can live all of your days, knowing in your heart, that you had the white stag in your sights but chose to let him live on.”
Brendly thought about that for a moment, then laughed at March’s cheer. “So what do we do now?”
“Let’s go back to camp and eat a bite, then go exploring.” March was feeling electric. His blood was charged. He felt immortal. “Let’s go all the way up to the ridge!”
“To the ridge?” Bren questioned, with only a hint of alarm in his voice. He too was feeling the invincibility of youth coursing through his veins. He was now bound and determined to make the best of what was sure to be the last hunt he ever had with his best friend. Adding a little danger to the kettle only seemed to make the idea of it all the better.
They ate and then broke camp. Neither of them was able to sit still for any length of time. To make it to the ridge before nightfall would be easy, but to find a safe place to camp up there might take hours. They moved with intensity and purpose as they gathered their things and loaded their packs. Neither of them wanted to have to search out a place to camp in the dark, and building a fire too close to the ridge would only serve to alert the wilder things to their presence. As adventurous as they felt, there were things in the Teeth that they didn’t ever want to cross paths with, and they both knew it.
The climb grew more laborious the higher they went. With every step the air grew thinner, the foliage thicker, and the ground less agreeable to their soft leather boots. When they were finally forced to make camp, the ridge was still a quarter mile above them. It was getting dark and they were relieved that they could make a fire. They were still well within the kingdom’s patrolled boundary. They didn’t have to worry about anything attacking them. This would allow them to sleep without watches. This way they would be able to explore the ridge in the morning, in the daylight.
The colder, higher altitude demanded that they keep warm, and they wasted no time using the dusky light that was left to gather wood and get a blaze started. They strung their canvas on a rope between two pines at the edge of the tiny clearing they had chosen, and settled in for the night.
The First Dragoneer Page 1