“Ah, good, you’re awake,” Cyril said, going to a makeshift clothesline strung up nearby and retrieving Ben’s spare clothes. “Here, change into these.”
Ben nodded wearily and started to undress. The warmth of the fire against his face and chest clashed with the chill of the cool evening air against his back. Within a few minutes he was wearing dry clothes and felt much better for it. The sky was just losing its blue. He tried to remember what time they’d come to the river, but his head was still a bit foggy.
Cyril handed him a bowl of hot stew. Ben smiled in thanks and dug in, savoring the warmth of each bite, but still wondering where they were—particularly in relation to the Dragon Guard. After he’d eaten, he took a look at everyone else. They looked just as cold and spent as he felt. Hound was asleep, as was Frank. Imogen poked at the embers with a stick, her eyes very far away. John stood with his back to the fire, watching the nearby river.
“Won’t they see our fire?”
Cyril nodded without looking up.
Ben frowned, taking a moment to work through his grandfather’s thinking before questioning him. It didn’t take more than a moment to understand that they wouldn’t have survived the night without warmth. Certain death now versus potential death later—bad choices and worse choices.
“How much distance did we gain by floating the river?”
“Enough for now,” Cyril said. “Tomorrow is another matter. Rest, we’ll be on the move at the first hint of dawn.”
“How are you doing?” Ben asked Homer, gently stroking his side.
“The fire feels good. It makes me sleepy.”
Ben scratched his ears and lay down, curling up in his blanket and drifting off to sleep. He woke to find himself in the dreamworld again, the eyes stalking him in the night. It was nearly identical to the previous attacks, except this time he knew immediately that he was dreaming. With a thought, his coin appeared in his outstretched palm, then floated effortlessly into the air.
He moved toward the eyes, putting himself in position to guard Hound, who was rooted to the ground and entirely oblivious of everything save the eyes. Rather than fight, Ben willed the fog to dissipate. It vanished so quickly that even he was a bit surprised. Still, the eyes watched him, snarling in the dark.
As they started to move toward him, he willed the night to become day, transforming his dreamscape into a bright sunny afternoon in the woods. It happened so quickly and so suddenly that Ben was again surprised by his omnipotence in this place. The stalker shrieked in pain and then vanished. Ben marveled at the ease of it. With a thought, he sent Hound back into sleep, his presence in the dream fading away as if he’d been willed from existence. Ben sat down and took a moment to consider the power that he had in this unreal realm. It was everything he ever imagined that magic could be, and yet he knew that it wasn’t magic at all. With that thought, he slipped from dream into sleep.
He woke to find Cyril shaking his shoulder. The forest was black as pitch. The fire had burned down to coals, heat still radiating from the pit but the light was all but extinguished.
“Dawn is coming.”
Ben nodded, rubbing his face and yawning, taking a few moments to clear the sleep from his mind before he got up and began packing his things, gathering his dry clothes from the line.
Light was just beginning to dim the stars when they set out along the riverbank.
Chapter 14
The sun had risen just to the tops of the trees and the morning air was still cool and damp. Ben realized after a time that he felt much stronger. He was more alert and able to take in some of the serene natural beauty of the wilderness. It struck him as an odd dichotomy that the world could be facing such a powerful force of darkness and evil, yet here, in this place, there was no evidence of it at all. Nature entirely ignored the plight of man.
He wished that he could ignore it as well, but that was no longer an option. The Dragon Guard had demonstrated how relentless they were. If he was to survive, if his family and friends were to survive, they either had to run away and hide somewhere outside the grasp of the wyrm … or they had to slay the dragon.
He nearly chuckled at the thought. As a child, he’d read stories about the knight in shining armor courageously standing up for all that was good and decent in the world in the face of unspeakable evil, bravely entering the dragon’s lair and facing his nemesis in mortal combat. It seemed so much more believable on the pages of a story. His new reality was something altogether different.
He simply didn’t have the power to succeed against such formidable enemies. If he was being honest with himself, he didn’t have the courage either. The idea of fighting the Dragon Guard made him shrink with fear. Standing against the dragon, a creature of magic and terrible strength, was preposterous at best.
And yet, others had done just that. The resistance had defeated four of the five dragons. Admittedly, they’d had the help of one of those dragons—if the stories were to be believed anyway. Ben wondered at the courage of those people, known today only by the titles they’d used to protect their true identities. What drove a person to risk everything for such a slim chance at something better?
Searching his own soul, he found himself wanting by comparison.
“Just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean you shouldn’t stand up to a bully,” Homer said, bringing Ben out of his self-reflection.
“Maybe it does when the bully is a hundred times bigger than me,” Ben replied.
“You know what they say … ‘It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.’”
“Really?”
“Just saying.”
“And what would you do against the wyrm?”
“Bite him on the ankle. Probably the only place I could reach.”
Ben chuckled, his spirits buoyed by the ridiculousness of being lectured on the merits of courage by his talking dog.
“What’s so funny?” Frank asked.
“I was just imagining the absurdity of fighting the dragon.”
“Why the hell would you want to do that?”
“It’s not that I want to,” Ben said, shaking his head. “It’s just that, well, someone has to or he’ll win. Every year, the wyrm grows bigger and more powerful. Eventually, the whole world will fall to him.”
“So? That won’t happen for a long time,” Frank said. “We just need to go somewhere that the dragon doesn’t control.”
Ben sighed. “But what about everybody else?”
“What about them?” Frank said, looking at Ben like he was crazy. “If they want to live, they’ll run too.”
“Not everyone has that luxury,” Imogen said, a tremor of fear and sadness in her voice.
Frank just shook his head.
Ben put his hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention. “We’ll get him back,” he whispered.
She forced a smile.
“You seem to be feeling better today,” she said.
Ben nodded. “I think the stalker is gone. Last night, I was able to gain control over my dream. I think I banished it.”
“I feel better today, too,” Hound said. “I don’t remember much of my nightmare, except it suddenly got light and the eyes went away.”
Ben smiled to himself. It felt good to have the power he needed to be safe from his enemy—even if that power was just a dream.
They stopped at a narrowing of the river as it plunged into a cataract where it cut a swath between two rising bluffs. The roar was deafening and the spray of the torrent chilled the air.
“Looks like we have to leave the river,” Cyril said, turning to John. “Any idea where we are in relation to the trail?”
“Some … I think,” he said, looking into the trees and picking a direction with a hint of uncertainty before heading out.
They stopped to rest and eat lunch in a clearing bathed in sunlight. Ben was tired from the walk, but his exhaustion of the past few days was quickly fading. After lunch, he carefully
peeled away his bandage and inspected his wounds. They still hurt, but the signs of infection and the angry, unnatural blackness was all but gone.
Cyril sat down next to him.
“Let me take a look.”
He inspected the wounds and nodded approvingly. “Looks like the honey has eliminated the infection. More importantly, the magical taint left by your injury seems to be gone as well.”
Ben hesitated for a moment before deciding to recount his experiences in the dreamworld.
His grandfather listened intently, silencing Frank with a gesture when he tried to scoff at Ben’s story.
“You did well,” Cyril said with a proud smile when Ben had finished. “Lucid dreaming is difficult to master. Likely more so with the presence of another’s will in your dream.”
“I’m a bit disturbed that we were having the same dream,” Hound said.
Ben nodded. “Me too.”
“Do you really believe any of that?” Frank said. “I mean seriously, you were both just having a fever dream.”
“You weren’t there, Frank. It felt a lot more real than any dream I’ve ever had before.”
“Same here,” Hound said, a haunted look in his eyes. “Maybe, when we have a chance to stop for a while, you can teach me how to control my dreams too. I hate the idea of being helpless in a fight no matter where the battlefield is.”
Ben smiled at him, nodding agreement.
Cyril looked at John and said, “So where do you think we are?”
“I’m pretty sure the Red Blanket River runs along the other side of that ridge,” he said, pointing roughly north.
“So that puts the trail over there, then,” Cyril said, gesturing east.
John nodded.
“That ridge looks pretty rugged.”
“Yeah, but the Dragon Guard will be looking for us on the trail or along the river. We should probably avoid both,” John said.
Cyril grimaced slightly at the steep climb ahead.
It wasn’t long before Ben’s legs were burning. Each step required deliberate effort, but each step also carried him closer to the ridgeline and the descent that would follow.
By midafternoon, they were resting at the top, looking through the trees at the flat-topped caldera of Mount Mazama in the distance. Snow still clung to its slopes, glistening brightly in the sunlight.
“Chen’s place is down there,” Cyril said, pointing into the forest. “We should be able to make it there by dusk.”
“And then what?” Frank asked. “The Dragon Guard aren’t going to give up looking for us.”
“No, but they won’t find us there,” Cyril said with a knowing smile.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’ll see,” he said. “We should get moving.”
The descent was nearly as tiring as the climb had been, but for different reasons. Ben found himself moving with far greater caution. Coming up, a wrong step just meant that it would take a few more steps to reach the ridgeline. Going down, a wrong step could be disastrous. They moved from tree to tree, using the sturdy trunks to arrest gravity’s pull.
By the time they reached the valley cut through the forest by the Red Blanket, everyone was once again exhausted. While they rested near the fast-moving stream, Ben found himself wondering what had happened to Zack, a pang of guilt assailing his conscience at the thought. Objectively, he knew there was nothing they could have done to free him from the Dragon Guard—they had barely escaped as it was. But still, he felt bad for his friend, even if his plight was mostly his own doing. He wondered if he would ever see him again.
“How much farther is it?” Frank asked.
“Maybe another hour,” Cyril said. “It’s hard to say from here. I’ll need to get my bearings.”
They set out again following the stream, Cyril stopping every so often to look for landmarks. Ben was just starting to worry that Cyril might be lost, when his grandfather stopped and smiled broadly, looking at a distinctive rock formation rising up through the trees on the far bank.
“We close?” Hound asked.
“We are,” Cyril said. “Let’s get across the river.”
This one was far smaller, and much more shallow than the previous river. Ben didn’t relish the idea of another soaking in a frigid mountain runoff, so he was grateful when they found a tree that had fallen across the water, providing a natural bridge.
Cyril led them over the river and up the far bank into a boulder field that had been overgrown by the forest. Giant rocks, some the size of houses, competed with the scattered trees for dominance of the hillside. It took a few minutes of searching before Cyril set out with renewed confidence.
He led them to a cliff that rose twenty feet straight up before continuing to slope sharply toward the next ridgeline. A few minutes later, they came to a large crack in the cliff, hidden by a thicket of trees. Cyril lit his lantern before leading them into the narrow cave entrance.
“I thought you said he lives in the forest,” Frank said.
“He does,” Cyril responded without slowing.
The opening took them into the earth for twenty feet before it turned and sloped up sharply, a series of time-worn stairs cut into the stone. The stairs led to a landing of sorts, more a wide spot in the cave than anything else. Standing in the center of the small room was a stone marker with a complicated rune carved into the face of it. Cyril gestured for everyone to stop as he approached the marker, lantern held high and one hand outstretched.
He muttered something under his breath and laid his hand on the stone, a knowing smile spreading across his face.
“All right, everybody cross to the other side of the chamber.”
He kept his hand on the marker until he had crossed the threshold, then spoke a few more words before removing it.
“Where to now?” Frank asked, looking at the walls surrounding them. “And what was that all about? That thing looks like a dragon marker.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” Cyril said, going to a place in the wall and searching momentarily before reaching into a crack and taking hold of something within. A grinding noise, deep inside the bedrock surrounding them, reverberated through the chamber. Cyril laid his hand on the wall and pushed gently. A giant stone, balanced perfectly on some unseen fulcrum, turned aside, revealing another passageway.
“How the hell?” Frank asked, marveling at the size of the stone that Cyril had just moved with a gentle push.
“Go on.”
After they filed through, Cyril pushed the stone door back into place. A grinding click confirmed that it was once again secure. Another few minutes of travel through a series of stone corridors, some cut, but most natural, brought them to the light of day.
They emerged into a verdant meadow surrounded by trees, which were in turn surrounded by cliff walls. The entire area was a hundred feet across at its narrowest point and looked like it might be two hundred feet long.
A little man with a completely bald head and a long white beard sat in the center of the meadow. He was perfectly still save for his easy and precisely rhythmic breathing. As they filed out, his eyes opened—sharp, intelligent eyes, filled with wisdom and compassion.
He smiled with mischief and came to his feet with fluid grace. He moved far more easily than Ben would have thought possible for a man of his age.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said, his eyes landing on Cyril. His voice was small and gentle—almost tentative, as if he hadn’t spoken in a long time.
“It’s good to see you,” Cyril said, going to his friend and giving him a big hug.
Chen chuckled gleefully. “The years have been kind to you.”
“You as well,” Cyril said. “Your grotto is as serene as ever.”
Chen smiled wistfully, looking around at the cliff-enclosed sanctuary.
“I’ve been well protected here … I get very few visitors, which has been a blessing, though I do occasionally get lonely.”
“I wish our visit
was under other circumstances.”
Chen nodded sadly. “So the battle has been joined again.”
Cyril nodded solemnly, turning to his companions.
“The wyrm’s minions have taken my daughter’s son,” he said, presenting Imogen.
Chen smiled at her sadly, taking her hands in his. “I hope that I can offer you some measure of kindness while you take rest here. Trust that your son is well and will soon be reunited with you.”
“Thank you,” she said, bowing her head.
“These are my grandsons … Benjamin and Franklin.”
Chen bowed to Ben, smiling warmly. “You have your mother’s eyes, and her fierce spirit, I think.” He looked down at the dog by Ben’s feet, cocking his head to one side, his ready smile turning to a look of wonder. He glanced at Cyril briefly before kneeling in front of Homer and gently putting his forehead against the dog’s. He muttered a few words in Chinese—words that carried a tone of great reverence. Homer wagged his tail and Chen laughed, coming to his feet easily and facing Frank.
He regarded him for several moments, his face becoming stern, before he grasped him by the back of the neck and pulled him close to whisper in his ear. Frank went slightly pale, pulling back from Chen with a look of fear.
Chen turned to Hound.
“Rufus Hound, at your service.”
Ben couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the big mercenary extending a measure of respect to Chen that Ben wouldn’t have thought possible.
“You are a true friend to risk so much in a fight that is not yours.”
Hound shrugged. “I like to fight.”
Chen smiled and patted Hound on the shoulder, turning to John next.
“John Durt.”
“The Highwayman,” Chen said, nodding with appreciation. “Your reputation is well deserved, I trust.”
“I’ve never lost a person in my care,” John said.
“I can’t imagine a truer measure of competence for a man in your line of work.”
Chen stepped back and appraised the group. After a moment, his eyes fell on Cyril. “Come, you are tired and in need of a hot meal.”
The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1) Page 14