‘It’s too hard to explain,’ Nogdo said. ‘I need Kibsigy.’
The butcher turned to the doorway with the intention of visiting his son’s room, but Marella threw herself in the middle of the doorframe, blocking his exit. ‘If anyone sees him, they’ll take him to that cursed fort! Tell me what you know, Nogdo, before I slit your throat!’
‘The hunters know about the dragon meat curse,’ he hissed. ‘They only want to look at his scales, then they’ll give us an egg and leave us alone.’
Marella’s forehead crinkled, as did the skin at the corner of her aging eyes. ‘And you need a dragon egg because…?’
‘That’s what cures the curse.’
‘Oh, good,’ her eyes brimmed with tears. ‘There is a cure for the curse.’ But then her eyes dimmed a little. ‘What do they want with the children, then? They ain’t gonna kill them, are they?’
‘No. They’re gonna fly ‘em, once they turn into proper dragons. They want to mount ‘em and use ‘em like horses.’
Marella’s mouth was wide open now. ‘They’re children!’ she shrieked. ‘We gots to alert the soldiers. They’ll deal—’
‘Papa?’ Kibsigy appeared shirtless under Marella’s arms, still raised to block the exit. A thin fold of skin now connected his ribs to his arm, like a bat-wing. His fingernails had lengthened into claws.
Nogdo felt his innards being crushed with the grief of his son’s grotesque transformation. Unbearable, heart-wrenching guilt held his breath prisoner in his lungs. He scooped his son into his arms and gazed intensely into his wife’s eyes. ‘I met a magician,’ he told her. ‘He can heal him with the egg.’ Nogdo patted the boy’s head and smiled at him warmly. ‘We’re going to fix you right up.’
Kibsigy gasped gleefully. ‘Really? Thank you, Papa.’
Without another word, Nogdo picked up a cream-coloured shawl from a nearby armchair and wrapped it about his son’s naked torso. He pushed past Marella, ignored her shouting, and left his home.
‘What’s wrong with Mama?’ Kibsigy asked, his eyes wide with fear.
‘We’re gonna meet some warriors, they want to see your scales,’ Nogdo replied, lifting his son up. ‘Be brave, we’ll be back home soon.’
‘I trust you, Papa.’
As they made their way into the forest, Nogdo focused on the chirps of chit-chit birds and the squeaks of squirrels. As they approached the hundred or so barbarians, Kibsigy leaned in closer to his father.
Orgvand inclined his head and said, ‘I didn’t think you’d come back.’
Nogdo froze, his arms tightening around his son.
‘Put him down,’ the master ordered.
‘Yeah? And what’ll you do with him, eh?’
‘We’ve decided he’s to come with us to Fort Greystone. I will keep my word, no harm will come to either of you.’
Nogdo curled his upper lip. ‘My wife, she’ll worry. She’ll come looking for us.’
‘Put him down,’ Orgvand ordered coldly.
Several barbarian hands went to the hilts and handles of weapons.
‘Papa,’ Kibsigy said with a trembling voice.
Nogdo put him down. ‘It’ll be well, lad.’
‘Come here, boy,’ said Orgvand. ‘I only wish to see your beautiful new markings.’
Kibsigy hugged himself and cautiously stepped forward. The barbarian towered over Nogdo, and he must have seemed a giant to Kibsigy.
‘Are you pained?’ Orgvand asked the child.
‘Sometimes,’ he squeaked. ‘It itches, mostly.’
Orgvand met Nogdo’s eyes. ‘We will take control of Fort Greystone tonight. Only when we succeed may you return home.’
‘With the egg,’ Nogdo said, challenging the master with a stern expression.
‘Of course.’
‘None of this makes any sense. Why do you need me to go to Fort Greystone? How do you even know where the children are being kept?’ the butcher asked.
The dragon hunter sneered at him. ‘You will see. King Geldon of Enslain wants all dragons dead. But not I, no, not me. We will have a dragon army, and the king will see their use, once and for all.’
Orgvand clicked his fingers. Nogdo and Kibsigy were seized, tied up, blindfolded, and thrown into the back of a cart.
Nogdo felt warm breath in his ear. ‘And if you say anything, butcher,’ Orgvand whispered menacingly, ‘I will teach you the true meaning of pain.’
* * *
When their blindfolds were removed, twilight had descended. Nogdo manoeuvred his legs about so he could sit up and peer over the side of the rickety cart. In the distance, across grassy lands, was a stockade erected around an old fort. Signs pierced the ground like spines on a porcupine. The writing on the signs gave Nogdo chills.
Go Back
Unclean
Blackscale Plague
In the opposite direction of the Fort Greystone stockade, further down the way, a campfire sparked and flickered in the grey darkness. From the clang of steel and gruff voices he heard, Nogdo guessed they were soldiers posted to further enforce the warnings.
He stole a quick look at Kibsigy, who buried his face into his drawn legs.
‘Be brave, boy, all will be well,’ Nogdo said.
Kibsigy glanced up briefly from beneath his lashes, but he looked no more reassured.
Nogdo looked back at the soldiers, then again inspected the walls of the stockade. Was that it? Five guards? Maybe there were more inside.
The butcher worried that the dragon hunters would start a war with the dragons, who would swarm together to scorch the lands of Enslain.
If Kibsigy weren’t sitting across from him, he’d have been plotting Orgvand’s death. As it was, such things were impossible. If he failed, his son would see him die, and if he succeeded and lived—however unlikely that was—his son would see him commit murder. He sighed hopelessly.
A cry rang out, sad and forlorn. As if the sun would never rise, and the flowers never bloom. The soulful sound lingered in the air long enough for Nogdo’s heart to weep with the sufferer. It was a young dragon’s cry. He imagined that would be Kibsigy in a month’s time, and his stomach sunk with despair.
‘Did you hear that, Papa?’ Kibsigy asked, his face raised above his knees, his fingers spread on the ground beside him.
Nogdo inclined his head.
‘That sound, it seems familiar.’ Kibsigy clutched his neck. ‘I can feel them in my throat. Dry. In pain.’ The boy reached out to Nogdo. ‘Can we help them?’
Orgvand whispered orders to his men, distracting the butcher from his son’s questions. ‘Take out the guards,’ the master of dragons said.
Ten warriors slunk through the bushes in such a stealthy, crafty manner that it took the butcher by surprise.
Soon, a shout came, then two more. The soldiers’ campfire died. The creeping warriors returned.
‘Bring the boy!’ Orgvand ordered with a raised hand, keeping his eyes fixed on Fort Greystone.
‘Papa!’ Kibsigy cried as men seized him.
‘Courage, my son!’ Nogdo watched helplessly. Orgvand mounted his horse, pulling Kibsigy up by one arm and positioning him over the front of the saddle.
The dragon hunters started moving forward, breaking free of the trees and exposing themselves under the large moon. The butcher’s gaze flicked anxiously between his son and the stockade.
The whooshing chorus of beating wings made the hairs stand up on Nogdo’s arms. The blurred outlines of hundreds of dragons appeared against the grey sky. An ominous, terrifying sight, they even looked like giant bats. Kibsigy started crying. Nogdo wanted to shush him out of fear he’d upset Orgvand or the dragons.
Orgvand dismounted, pulling Kibsigy off with him, and they stood two metres in front of the group. He drew a large dagger and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Bring the butcher.’
The ropes on Nogdo’s wrists were severed, as were the ties about his ankles. He quickly ran to the master, collapsing on his knees and embracing his son. Kibs
igy hugged him tighter than he ever had.
‘I can’t be brave, Papa. They’re going to feed me to the dragons.’ He burst into sobs and wailed loudly in Nogdo’s ear. ‘What did I do, Papa? I’m sorry for whatever it is.’
‘Quiet!’ ordered Orgvand. ‘Light your torches, men!’
Nogdo hadn’t noticed that every hunter now clutched a blade and a lamp of some kind. The darkness retreated as the soft, yellow light flooded the field, making it more difficult to see the dragons in the sky. Nogdo released Kibsigy and put a finger to his lips. The boy clamped a hand over his mouth, but continued whimpering.
The dragon swarm circled the fort in a wide, sweeping curl. After their threatening display of roaring, swooping, and fire-breathing, the dragons landed out of reach of the light emanating from the hunters’ lamps. As the beasts hit the ground, Nogdo felt the vibrations in his legs and boots. About forty must have landed at once, for the ground rumbled beneath them. The butcher gathered up his son’s hand, squeezing it tight to comfort not the boy, but himself.
Tolcan and Venussa stepped forward into the light. Nogdo’s eyes widened. Wedged between their teeth were dragon eggs. They carefully placed them on the ground and rolled them forward a little.
A figure slid from Venussa’s back; whoever it was held up a staff, or a torch. Venussa let out a small bolt of fire and hit the shaft, and the torch sparked to life. Fire illuminated the figure’s face. The magician!
What is he doing here?
As more dragons stepped forward, Nogdo inspected their faces. All carried eggs. They were here to save the children!
Orgvand sneered at the magician. ‘Old fool. Should have killed you the last time we met, eh?’
The magician crossed his arms. ‘Magic versus steel? You didn’t have a chance then, and you’ve less of a chance now.’ The magician cackled and tugged at his beard. ‘Leave now, and you’ll live. Smelly barbarian.’
Tolcan roared in support of the magician’s words.
‘What…?’ Nogdo gaped at Tolcan. ‘Why are you here?’
The beast glanced at him. ‘I am the Dragon King.’
The butcher glanced at Orgvand, who showed no surprise at this news. The master of dragon hunters already knew!
‘Huh? So you’re—’
‘King Samire’s son, yes. With me now are the children I turned into dragons. The shame—’
‘He’s so ashamed’—Orgvand shouted loud so that both man and beast could hear—‘that I knew he would come here this night to stop us, to save the children.’
‘You set a trap!’ Nogdo blurted, then realised he’d pointed out the obvious.
A cheer rang out from the dragon hunters.
Orgvand’s face crinkled into a joyous and triumphant smile. Quicker than the blink of an eye, his hand clutched a handful of Kibsigy’s hair. Nogdo stepped forward, but he was quickly restrained.
Smoke poured out of Tolcan’s nostrils as he watched. A warning growl bubbled in his throat.
‘Stop!’ Nogdo cried, never taking his eyes off his son. ‘You swore him no harm.’
Kibsigy’s arms were raised to his side defensively. His hands trembled as Orgvand pushed him closer to Tolcan.
‘You promised!’ Nogdo shouted at the master.
Orgvand stopped just short of Tolcan’s towering head and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Provided the Dragon King grants me leadership over all dragons, the boy will live.’
Every beast raised its head to shriek at the moon. Nogdo’s ears rang. Younger, more innocent growls returned the dragons’ call from behind the stockade. How many were there?
Tolcan snarled so ferociously, the butcher feared he might accidentally bite off Kibsigy’s head. The Dragon King’s eyes flashed like lightning strikes. ‘Never.’
Orgvand choked Kibsigy a little and exposed his neck. He put the tip of his dagger to the boy’s throat and nicked the soft, fleshy skin. ‘I will kill him.’
Beside him, Orgvand’s men shuffled uneasily. The men knew they were outnumbered by dragons and if the master was bluffing, they would all die this night.
‘Only a dragon can be a Dragon King,’ replied Tolcan.
Orgvand clicked his tongue impatiently. ‘Come now, dragon. We both know that isn’t true.’
‘Master Orgvand,’ Nogdo said.
The hunter turned, a scowling, murderous gaze locked on the butcher. ‘What?’
‘Let me convince Tolcan.’
He considered the butcher’s words for a moment. ‘Very well.’
Nogdo was freed, and he moved closer to Tolcan. When he was two feet away from the master, he pretended to trip. He dived on top of his son and flattened him against the ground, shielding him with his body.
Cold, sharp pain made him gasp as Orgvand’s dagger sunk into the left side of his back, at the edge of his shoulder blade. He raised himself a little, afraid the blade might go through to Kibsigy underneath him. Nogdo squashed his face into the dirt to keep from screaming.
He felt a horrible, suffocating pressure grip his chest; he tried to breathe, but painful, bubbling fluid crawled into his throat. The blade must have punctured one of his lungs.
Tolcan roared overhead, and the butcher turned just in time to see the dragon rend Orgvand’s head from his body. The other dragons surged forward, and the barbarians roared as they charged forward to meet them.
After seeing several barbarians dismembered by giant dragon claws, Nogdo put his cheek against Kibsigy’s face and said, ‘Keep your eyes closed, my son.’ As he spoke, his voice cracked a little.
‘Retreat! Back to the forests!’ cried a barbarian, but Nogdo knew they would never get away. The dragons were too numerous, and far too powerful.
When the horrible, nightmarish sounds of the slaughter faded, Kibsigy whispered, ‘Papa.’ And opened his eyes.
Nogdo rolled off his son and gazed at the battlefield. There were few corpses, but many discarded weapons and torches. Horses galloped away, whinnying with fear. A dragon half flew, half galloped after one of them, and as it sunk its jaws into the mount’s hide, Nogdo covered his son’s eyes.
The magician touched the butcher’s shoulder. ‘Get up, butcher. Silly butcher, half-wit butcher.’
Nogdo tried to get to his feet, but he felt dizzy, and weakness sapped his strength. A horrible series of coughs followed, and bloody froth dribbled down his chin. The pain in his chest was unlike anything he’d ever felt. His forehead broke out in a sweat.
‘Papa!’ Kibsigy said in dismay.
The butcher turned his head, trying to fixate clearly on his son’s face. ‘I’m well. See? I can talk. I’m well.’
The magician knocked the boy out of the way and started administering vials of awful liquid that he’d stowed away in the deep pockets of his robes. When Nogdo spluttered, he grasped the butcher’s jaw and forced it down his throat. The pain dissipated, and a peaceful hum replaced the jarring, searing agony. He breathed easier, and his left lung felt freer.
A sudden flash of icy cold jolted through his body, as if he lay in snow, not against grass warmed by the day’s blazing sun.
Tolcan and Venussa peered down at him. ‘It is good to see you again, butcher.’
‘Good?’ Nogdo echoed doubtfully, then he smiled and his lungs crackled as he laughed. He gasped for a proper breath but failed.
Kibsigy clutched his father’s hand so desperately that he thought his fingers might break. The boy’s eyes were swollen; his tears had washed away all dirt from his rosy, delicate cheeks. ‘Oh, Papa.’
‘I love you, son. And I’m proud of you.’
‘Can you save him?’ Tolcan asked the magician.
The magician glared at the dragon. ‘No, but you can, can’t you? A silly, stupid question to ask in front of his child anyway. This man deserves to live. Why not grant him your—?’
‘No!’ Tolcan growled. ‘To give him power over all dragons would be foolish!’
‘Dragons and men need to stop their squabbling,’ the magician sh
outed. ‘Save his life.’
Nogdo coughed, and as his throat closed a little, he took a sharp, raspy breath. ‘Stop talkin’ in riddles, you two.’
The magician leaned over the butcher, his beard sticking to some blood on the man’s shirt. ‘If the dragon names you Dragon King, you will heal and live on for many thousands of years.’
Nogdo laughed—and then coughed, hard. This time, gooey clumps of blood filled his mouth, and he spat them out. Not long now, he thought. He raised a limp hand and squeezed the magician’s shoulder. ‘No. Not me. No.’ He slid his eyes to his grieving son. ‘Kibsigy?’
‘Yes, Papa.’ The boy leaned in close, nuzzling his father’s face.
‘Promise your Papa you will be a friend to all dragons.’
‘I will,’ he squeaked.
‘Tolcan,’ Nogdo said.
‘Yes?’
‘Teach Kibsigy…of your’—he inhaled sharply, almost drowning—‘history. Bring men and dragons together. That is my dying wish.’
‘In your name, brave Nogdo, the most foolish of butchers to ever live, I will try one final time to bring beast and man together.’ A single tear escaped the dragon’s sullen eyes. ‘…and more. I will do so much more.’
And Nogdo’s life slipped away.
* * *
Ten years later.
The sun sat halfway down the western horizon. The clouds were thick pillows spaced separately from one another. Tolcan soared over the capital city of Ashos. Spears from thirty ballistic towers flew at him from every direction. He tipped one way, then another, and when one nearly caught his head, he ducked and lowered himself to avoid five more. He’d spent years training for this moment.
‘Did you see that one? So close!’ Kibsigy shouted. He gripped Tolcan’s saddle and sat up in his seat, the toes of his boots secured against pegs. Now a young man, skilled as both a flyer and a hunter, Kibsigy had spent his life as his father had wished with his dying breath—learning the ways of dragons. He’d made no progress in securing a peace treaty with the King of Enslain.
Hundreds of dragons emerged from the underside of the cloudbank, and their sudden appearance confused the soldiers firing the spears.
The Dragon Chronicles Page 9