Shatterwing: Dragon Wine 1

by Donna Maree Hanson

  Brill stared open-mouthed at the burned remains of the vineyard. A few steps forward and he discerned a foot in the blackened dirt. From the looks of it, a dragon had dropped it after eating the owner. A wave of nausea hit him. He thought of the horror the prisoners must have gone through, of the terrifying end to their drudgery. At least those who had burned would pass into the next life. He had no idea about the ones who’d been eaten, though. Were they condemned in the same way Salinda’s mentor had been when she’d buried him in ground? Perhaps Salinda was right and there was more than one way to the source.

  “Do you feel well enough to move on?” Danton asked.

  “Yes, though I’m not sure I can locate the place he took me to. It was underground, of that I’m sure—near a large building but …” Brill looked left and right. “But there are no buildings left standing …”

  Danton shook his head. “We will check Salinda’s home site first and decide where to go after that.” His voice sounded desolate and Brill realized then that his friend cared for Salinda, really cared.

  From the cistern, Danton followed a memorized trail. Perhaps he, too, had come often with Salinda to collect dragon urine. The place was deathly quiet now. Brill had seen so many body parts and portions of burned bodies he tried not to look any longer. When they found the remains of Salinda’s campsite, Danton let out an anguished cry. Her former home was barely recognizable, except for her water urn, which lay shattered in the ash.

  Danton knelt in the dirt, searching through the rubble, and cried out, “She was not here when it burned. I’m sure. He has her, oh, Magol curse me—he has her.”

  Brill’s heart skipped a beat as memories hammered at his mind, struggling to free themselves once more. “The Inspector?” he replied, voice hollow. As soon as he said it, the sweat gathered between his shoulder blades.

  Danton stood and wiped his hands on his trousers. Sharing a bleak look with Brill he said, “Who else? We must find that underground room. Perhaps we are not too late. Come!”

  Danton sped up, leaping over the remains of vine rows, heading toward the staging area. Brill scrambled after him, slipping on loose earth and the occasional fallen vine stem. His breathing was agitated, and he kept a close eye on the sky.

  At the remains of the staging area, the rebel leader paused within sight of his two teams. “Be careful. Look for signs.”

  Brill started to scour the area around him. Suddenly he frowned. “Danton! Look!”

  The rebel leader turned in the direction Brill indicated. “Dragons. Dead dragons.”

  Carefully they approached the carcasses. Large machine-fired stakes pierced their bodies. There were about five of them ranged in a semi-circle. Brill and Danton exchanged a glance. “Infra-pact rebels?”

  Brill nodded. “Must be. Bastards were more powerful and better organized than my lot. They must have had inside help to get in and out of here so quickly, particularly with equipment like this.”

  Gouges in the earth led off in the direction of the village—deep ruts where presumably the heavily laden wagons had dragged off their booty.

  “We’re too late then. They must have come for the wine. They certainly came prepared. With most of the dragons sated on prisoners, they could pick these few off with their weapons.”

  Didly’s team reached the area inside the ring of dead dragons. His men began searching on the ground. “Footprints. About fifty men,” Didly called.

  Danton frowned and visually scanned the area around them. Then the rebel leader’s brow furrowed and he spun on his heel and called to his second. “Didly, don’t touch anything.” Didly didn’t hear him so Danton took a step forward and yelled in a panicked voice, “Ware! Ware of a trap.”

  Brill found his gaze riveted on Didly. Too late, the fool was bending down. He’d found the hatch ring. “No!” Brill yelled in unison with Danton. “Down,” Danton ordered, while leaping onto Brill’s back and forcing him face-first into the cinders. A detonation sounded. There were screams and a hiss in the air. It rained nails. Brill writhed in agony at the pricks of pain in his hands. Danton fell off him, grunting.

  A bomb. A lethal and bloody trap, manufactured to kill and maim and slow down pursuit. Brill pulled a nail from his hand. It was quite deeply embedded. Others on his forearm and the back of his leg were less so. Danton lay next to him, half on his face and half on his side. Brill walked around him shakily. “By the Wing!” he exclaimed when he saw how many nails protruded from Danton’s back. “Don’t move. I’ll take them out. Most won’t be too deep, I hope.”

  Their blood mingled as Brill pulled the nails one by one from his friend’s back with his damaged hands. Brill thought of Danton’s bravery and how his new-found friend had tried to save his life. As he had guessed most of the projectiles hadn’t embedded too far and the ones that had missed vital organs and joints. Judging by the number of nails Brill removed from the man’s buttocks, Danton would not walk or sit comfortably for some time.

  Glancing around as he finished his task, he saw that most of the men were up, picking the nails from their bodies. Those who were able assisted the injured. When he turned his gaze to the trapdoor, though, Brill gulped. Didly was a red mass of torn flesh and Twil, the man who had been nearest to him, was similarly mutilated. The hatchway smoked still, and what lay beneath it Brill could only wonder. He doubted that Salinda could still be alive if she’d been down there.

  Brill pulled the last nail out of Danton’s back and the rebel leader grunted. His cloak and clothes were so shredded in places that his wounds showed clearly. “I think I have them all.”

  Danton pushed himself gingerly into a kneeling position. “You missed one.” He turned to face Brill.

  “Danton?” Brill yelped in horror and surprise. A nail stuck out of Danton’s left eye. “Why didn’t you say? I should have taken it out first.”

  “No, I think not,” Danton replied. “Have you some cleanish cloth?”

  “Yes.” Brill hated how ill he felt as he groped for his handkerchief, the cleanest piece of cloth he possessed, in the pocket of his pants. He didn’t know how to remove that nail jutting so hideously from Danton’s face. His knees were weak, and he couldn’t stop the tremble in his hand.

  “Look for fire. You will need to burn the socket when the eye comes out.”

  “No!” Brill couldn’t help himself. “I could try to slide the nail free …”

  “Don’t fool with me, kid. The eye must come out. We will have to cauterize it to staunch the blood flow. Hurry, man. Do you want me to die?”

  Brill gripped his handkerchief and swallowed as he passed it to Danton. Then, looking around for a living flame, he turned and ran toward a smoking ember, the remains of the trapdoor thrown from the blast.

  The first ember held no flame. The flame in the second extinguished when he tried to coax it. Danton called out, urging him to hurry. On the other side of one of the dragon carcasses, Brill found some wood burning. It was the remains of a support stump, possibly reignited by dragon fire.

  A familiar sound in the distance caught his attention, the rhythmic swoop swoop of wings. “Dragons!” he called out to the others. “Take cover.” Those recently injured disappeared from sight, covering themselves in debris and ash.

  Brill hesitated. He needed to keep the flame alive, yet dared not run with it to Danton’s aid during a dragon attack. Being so close to the dragon carcass made him nervous. Did the beasts eat their own dead? If so, he was in serious trouble. A waft of sulphur reached him and a wave of smoke-laden air. Time to move. He peered over the lower half of the dragon, the scales now dull in death. He ducked behind the tail. Quite clearly the airborne dragon was headed straight for him. Quickly discarding his flame, he tried to bury himself in the dirt.

  An anguished dragon cry reverberated around the vineyard. The force of the call made the smoke tremble in its upward spiral. Loose dirt vibrated around him and he tried to shimmy deeper into the soil and cinders. Even then he couldn’t resist a p
eek at the huge beast as it landed and trod over to the dead dragons. It was the largest of the species he had seen. Its scales were burnished orange around the leg and tail. The green and mauve had faded around its head, leaving it a dull silver color. It cried out again. The effect of the call left a chill in Brill’s heart and a tingling sensation all over his skin.

  With its snout, the dragon pushed at the dead beast behind which Brill was hiding. When the deceased dragon didn’t move, it pushed harder. The carcass flipped on its side. The air whooshed out of Brill as the tail landed across his back, pinning him where he lay.

  The live dragon called again, then blew out fire. Brill held his breath as the heated gas flew over his head. He thought idly that there would be plenty of fire now. Provided he lived. The fire blow seemed to go on forever. Brill’s lungs were near to bursting as he held his breath, not daring to inhale in case there was some deadly vapor or stray flame in the air.

  All at once it was quiet and Brill could wait no longer, sucking in a tainted breath. The heavy sounds of wing beat, drawing long and deep through the air, heralded the departure of the aged dragon. Brill cleared his face of debris and looked around him, seeing that pockets of fire remained.

  The weight of the tail still held him, though. Struggling forward he tried to claw his way out from under the beast. He had to work his body lower, grinding with his hips and scooping dirt out from in front of him. Finally he eased himself free and was able to crawl unimpeded. He erupted from the ground, sending dirt and ash in a wide arc. As he had foreseen, now there was plenty of burning debris. He took a moment to select a piece of wood that would fit into Danton’s eye socket. Skirting the dead dragon, he hurried back to Danton.

  The remaining rebels emerged from their hiding places. Danton sat wearily, his head resting on his knee. Brill cringed as he neared him. How could Danton bear it?

  “Best you don’t look too closely, kid. When I give the signal, shove the brand into my eye socket.”

  Brill fell to his knees. “No, I can’t wound you.”

  Danton grabbed Brill by the shirt collar, tearing it as he dragged him closer. “You must. If you can’t manage it, find another who can.”

  Brill bit down on a retort and nodded. The wetness in his eyes shamed him.

  Danton paused, his hand hovering near the edge of the nail. It had pierced the eyeball proper and not the lid. Then, taking a deep breath, Danton seized the end of the nail. It was not as simple as it seemed. Danton needed help to remove the eye. Brill shuddered once. “Wait. I’ll help you.”

  Brill perched the brand on its unlit end so it still burned. He took his own dagger and flamed it. Facing his friend, he straddled him and readied himself to help. Danton said, his voice breaking slightly, “Don’t faint on me, kid.”

  “I won’t.” Brill swallowed and wished his hands weren’t so sweaty and shaky. Danton grabbed the nail again and tried to lever the eyeball out. His knees stiffened and he hissed pain-filled breaths through his clenched teeth. Brill could see the red skin behind the eye. He lifted the eyelid and stretched it so that he could see more of the eyeball. Gently, he slid the edge of the blade in and at the same moment Danton jerked the eyeball. With a pop it slid free of the socket. Brill cut down on the cord connecting the eye to the brain, sawing the blade. Blood gushed out. Danton’s skin was pale and blood ran down the side of his face. Brill held him still with his weight while he groped for the brand. Whimpers of pain leaked out of Danton’s taut lips.

  “Now,” he gasped out.

  Blood curtained half of Danton’s face and stained his teeth red. Brill aimed the burning brand into the socket, heard the sick sizzle of burning tissue and Danton’s agonized wail. Danton’s body contorted violently, nearly knocking Brill and the brand askew. But with his bloodied hand on top of Brill’s, Danton reached up and held the brand in place. As it cauterized the flesh Danton began to roar, his voice tinged with anguish. Brill felt the world shift around him, and he fell sideways.

  The sky was above him when he woke and realized he had fainted. Quickly he rolled over and crawled to his knees, groping his way over to where Danton lay against some rubble. His face was ashen, his dark eye socket rimmed with blisters. Dried blood caked his face and shirt. “You did well, kid,” he said weakly, lifting a shaky hand to touch his face.

  Brill surged upright. “No, don’t touch it. I think it is sealed.”

  Danton regarded him with his remaining eye, which was brown and bloodshot. He licked his lips before answering and swallowed. “You’re not wrong, my friend.” He closed his eye and his head lolled for a few minutes while Brill watched on, afraid for him. He touched Danton’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. Danton roused and said, “I need to rest a bit more before I can move again. See if you can scrounge up some food from the others and eat. You look terrible.”

  “I look terrible?” Brill frowned and groped for his water bottle. “Take this. It will help.”

  Danton nodded slightly, taking care not to jerk his head, and after a moment took the flask. “Check on the others. I want to know who else I’ve lost.”

  “Will do.”

  Brill did a scout around. The crude bomb had blown a hole in the ground, widening the trapdoor opening. The explosives had, as they had thought, been hidden in the debris above ground, carefully disguised for maximum damage.

  They were already so few in number that they could ill afford to lose anyone, especially like this. Brill averted his eyes from Didly’s and Twil’s bodies and bit his lip. It wasn’t a pretty sight. A small step and he was able to peer into the hole without causing the loose dirt to collapse further. He couldn’t see far inside, but he had an idea. One of the men approached: Earl, who was a big man with a wide-cheeked, open face and dark curly hair cropped closely around his head. He always had rope with him, usually coiled and looped over his shoulder. Earl looked down at Didly’s remains and clicked his tongue. Twil lay further to one side. Blood trickled down Earl’s neck and there were a few more ragged holes in his shirt and trousers. “You all right?” the man asked.

  “I’m fine. Mind if I borrow the rope?”

  Earl unlooped it and stood by while Brill anchored it on one of the metal pegs that had previously held the ladder before lowering himself into the dark chamber. After his eyes adjusted to the shadowed room, he didn’t have to go far to find what he was after. A flagon of dragon wine lay on a table. He shivered in spite of himself when he took a quick look around him. It was dark but the familiar damp chill of the place made his skin icy. There was a strong smell, as well. Fearing what it meant Brill trained his eyes ahead of him. It was better not to think of Salinda being in that place.

  The climb up the rope was harder. Luckily, Earl was still nearby and his smoky, tear-stained face loomed over the pit. He’d been good mates with Twil. He caught the flagon that Brill tossed up to him so that Brill could climb out. “Thanks, Earl,” Brill said, taking the flagon back so that he could check on the rebel leader. Earl asked after Danton. “He’ll be fine,” Brill responded, sounding more confident than he felt. “He’s as tough as they come.”

  Danton was sleeping fitfully and occasionally moaning. Brill could barely stand to look at the blistered, blackened socket. Placing the flagon on the ground, he nudged Danton lightly on the shoulder. “Danton,” he whispered. He dared not put the wine on his wounds without warning him first.

  “Mmpf …” Danton opened his good eye. If anything his pallor had worsened and sweat was beading on his forehead and dripping down his neck, leaving streaks in the soot and dirt caking his skin. “What is it?” Danton struggled to sit.

  “I’ve fetched this flagon. The dragon wine heals. It hurts like hell when it’s put on your wound, but you’ll be the better for it … after a bit, I reckon.”

  Danton locked eyes with him. “Do it quickly then. I don’t think I’m going to last otherwise.”

  “Lie back and don’t be surprised if you can’t talk afterward.”

  Danton la
y back and angled his head toward Brill. Biting his lip, Brill gently dribbled the wine into the socket and around the edges. Danton didn’t cry out, but his body jerked like a fitting dog. With a weak, tortured sigh, he fainted. Before resting himself, Brill inspected the eye and nodded in satisfaction. The bloody blisters looked less angry and he could see new pink skin around the edges where healing had commenced. Now all they had to do was wait and see.

  *

  It wasn’t until sunset that they gathered in the room below the trapdoor. The lanterns were lit one by one and cast flickering light over the assembled men. Danton had slept a little while they had rested. Brill had been keeping watch for a couple of hours. The others had attended to their various wounds and rested. In all, two were dead, Didly and Twil. Another rebel was seriously wounded but mobile. Brill thought that morale would bottom out soon once the men got over the relief of being alive. They needed something to inspire them. Brill feared for Danton and worried about the absence of Salinda and the effect it would have on the rebel leader’s flagging spirits.

  Even though the shadows cast by the lanterns were deep, they could tell the stash of wine was gone and that something ripely dead was down there with them. Earl poked around and reported a dead male corpse near the far wall. “Praise the Wing,” Danton whispered under his breath, loud enough for Brill to hear.

  The rebel leader turned full circle and took in the ceiling as well. “Was this where he tortured you?” Danton asked in a low voice, taking a lantern off the post and moving in ever-increasing circles. Its illumination was weak but enough to see what remained. “He must have built this after I left.” All that was left of the cache were a few splintered barrels and the indentations in the earth where the others had been stacked. Danton sat on an upended barrel with the lantern in his trembling hand. Despite the dragon wine, he was weak with shock. Losing an eye was no mean thing. At least the wound looked better; already more of the damaged skin had been replaced with new, tender pink flesh.