Akiri: Dragonbane

by Brian D. Anderson

  He smiled. “You’ll have to wait until I can find it.”

  She let out a whining grumble and took to the sky.

  He had discovered her love for cinnamon quite by accident. A few sticks had fallen from his saddlebag, and the scent had drawn her. It was as if she had discovered that her tongue could taste for the first time. He tried to keep a supply with him, but had been unable to procure any before making his ascent up the mountain. He could feel her disappointment. Patience, he thought. Scout ahead.

  “We can’t take the horse with us,” said Julla. “The path to the peak is far too narrow.”

  Akiri wasn’t fond of the idea of leaving her behind. She was the best mount he’d owned in some time. But Julla knew the terrain better than he did, and he trusted her judgment. There was plenty of grain and hay for the animal should she choose to remain, which she might well do until the food and water ran out. She would then likely wander back down the pass.

  Julla and the children helped fill the water barrel with snow, and then gave a last lingering look around the shallow cave to be sure they’d left nothing behind that they might need.

  Akiri ran his fingers through the horse’s mane, then patted her tenderly on the neck. He’d always been better with beasts than people. They were predictable; without deception. With a snort, the mare bobbed her head and turned toward the cave. She understood she was being left behind. But unlike humans, she did not complain or spew accusations of betrayal. She simply entered the cave and began feeding on the hay stacked in bundles along the rear wall.

  The children half ran, half scurried along the twists and turns of the mountain track, constantly looking up to catch any glimpse they could of Kyra. Julla barked a warning at them as the path became increasingly narrow and treacherous as it climbed.

  “Do dragons eat people?” asked Seyla eventually.

  “People?” Akiri laughed at what he considered a ludicrous idea. “Where did you hear that?”

  Seyla shrugged. “I don’t know. One of the stories Baswari used to tell us, I think.”

  “Then Baswari was trying to frighten you. Kyra is my friend. She does not eat people. Not even naughty children.”

  “What does she eat?” asked Milla.

  “Whatever she can catch,” Akiri explained. “Rabbits, wild boar, deer – but not people.”

  “She kills people, though,” remarked Seyla.

  “Only people who deserve to die,” said Akiri.

  This seemed to ease the children’s minds.

  They trudged on in silence as the climb grew evermore treacherous with each step.

  After a few hours he heard the children telling Julla that they were hungry. He hadn’t thought about food, but once they complained, he realized that hunger was gnawing away at his own gut. Letting the thought in only served to intensify the hunger pangs, but he had no intention of stopping until they reached the shelter of the monastery. He did not want to be caught out on the mountainside come nightfall. Not for anything. Julla gave no indication of fatigue or hunger, but she had to have been feeling it too.

  The higher they climbed, the thinner the air, and as it thinned, each step became more and more of an effort. Akiri felt its debilitating effects, so he could only imagine how tough it was on Julla and the children. The track was now barely wide enough for a surefooted goat; in fact, sitting would almost be more dangerous than walking. The recent snowfall made it difficult to see the edge before it fell away into the white expanse below.

  More than once Julla expressed her concern for Akiri, as her gaze darted again and again to the growing blood spot that seeped through his bandage and shirt. The wound was agonizing – more so than it had any right to be – but he refused to weaken. And his will was such that he would not. The notion that it was infected by some disease borne by the undead persisted. But if that were the case, then he was done; and as there was nothing he could do to change that, he pushed the fear from his mind. The thin air and the sheer fatigue of the journey were the likely culprits. What was strange, however, was to see someone show genuine concern for him. He could not help but be curious about the life the woman had lost. What sort of man had she bonded herself to?

  When he broached the subject, all she would say was, “A soldier. A good one, too. He should have been an officer, but he was bullheaded and had a habit of speaking his mind when he should have held his tongue. It’s what got him booted. Just as well. With all those bloody wars spilling out of Acharia, he’d likely gotten himself killed. At least we had a few years of peace together.”

  Akiri had heard tell of an escalation in hostilities back home. The Sorcerer King, Zemel, had been hellbent on expanding his kingdom’s reach whatever the cost. And the cost was great, with his forces meeting fearsome resistance at every turn. For each mile he gained, he traded a thousand lives and more. Such news always left Akiri with mixed feelings. He knew the king was mad – driven so by the power of the death god, Xarbaal. And he knew the wars he waged unjust. But the Dul’Buhar in him wanted to be there, defending his home and his people, fighting alongside his brothers. He hated the conflict it caused within his heart; the indecision. But that was a life lost to him forever. He had to accept it.

  Since fleeing Acharia, Akiri had sought out every last story, legend, and whisper of dragonlore among the archives and repositories in the many and varied cities he’d passed through, but the truth was that little was known about the fantastic beasts. Nothing he had been able to find explained the bond he shared with Kyra. Even in the east, beyond the Great Valharoth Desert, where dragons were more common, little was known. But those poor beasts were not like Kyra. They were kept as pets; trophies to be displayed by the rich and powerful. But it was their connection that was most puzzling – particularly how she had heard him over such great distances. It went beyond a bond into something else, and only seemed to become stronger as she grew. Her thoughts were easier to understand. Singular words and ideas were now expressed in short phrases and waves of thought and emotion.

  But Kyra was a mystery to be solved another time. Right now, the undead warriors were a more pressing matter. Aside from tales even less believable than those about the ancient dragons, he had never heard talk of an encounter the likes of which they had lived through. Forbidden magic had always been purported to raise the dead, but any caught dabbling with such evil were executed, their stain purged from the landscape. Friends, lovers, children, their lines were ended to ensure the taint had not spread. And yet he knew what he had faced in the village and outside the cave: creatures summoned and driven by sorcery.

  Their mindless nature suggested to Akiri that some unseen puppeteer made them dance. Alone, he suspected, they would have lacked direction and purpose, even if they had somehow clawed their way back out of the grave.

  Which begged the question: Why attack the village?

  It had no wealth to speak of. It was a ragtag collection of hovels that offered a little respite from the weather, nothing more. Of course, if it had been the village they were after, then why had the dead continue to pursue them after they escaped? He was missing something; some vital piece to the puzzle, but the more he worried at it, the more elusive it proved to be.

  They walked on.

  And on.

  Eventually the path broadened, at first only marginally, but then gradually the change became more significant until they were on a wide road. It did nothing to make the climb itself less taxing, but it removed the element of fear to the climb.

  The children quickened their pace and moved a short distance ahead. Milla was throwing snowballs at Seyla, who seem uninterested in games, keeping his eyes turned skyward to catch a glimpse of Kyra.

  The dragon called down to Akiri.

  Kyra had found a strong current of air and was delighting in a series of intricate spins and dives, reveling in the pleasure of flight. Akiri shared in her joy. He could feel the surge of elation as the wind carried her ever higher and a smile eased up from the corners of his
mouth.

  “Akiri!”

  The voice that cried out his name was muffled and distant as he allowed Kyra’s emotions to run through him.

  “Help!”

  The fear in the voice snapped him back into the here and now. Seyla had wandered too close to the edge of the trail and lost his footing. He was hanging from a thin root on the side of the cliff face while Milla desperately grabbed at his wrist, but she wasn’t strong enough to haul him up to the path.

  Akiri ran to the girl’s side. Julla was two steps behind him. She slipped in her haste, and very nearly went over the edge herself. He caught her arm before she could. Tears streaked down the girl’s cheeks as he dropped down beside her. “I’ve got him,” he promised, reaching down to take hold of Seyla’s wrist.

  The wound on his shoulder was worse than he’d thought; a lance of black agony tore through him as the root snapped, leaving Akiri to support the boy’s full weight on his injured side. Wet from rolling around in the snow, Seyla was heavier than he had anticipated, and the melt made keeping his grip almost impossible. Akiri felt the boy slipping through his fingers.

  Seyla looked him in the eye, terrified, but did not cry out.

  Milla crawled over his back in a frenzied attempt to help. But all she succeeded in doing was making it harder for Akiri to lift Seyla. His grip slipped again, and the boy hit the rocks, dislodging a powder of snow that fell away, dissolving before it reached the ground. Akiri wanted to push her off, but any sudden movement could have her following the snow.

  “Get off me, girl,” Akiri barked, as Seyla kicked at the cliff face, desperately trying to find some kind of footing. That only made matters worse. Each kick edged him down between Akiri’s grasping fingers until surely his fist was going to close on nothing but air. As the boy’s cuff rode up his arm, Akiri saw a strange mark on Seyla’s skin. For a split second, he imagined it was from the pressure of his hold, his fingers branding the boy. But the mark was far too dark, more akin to a birthmark than the result of any sort of temporary pressure.

  If he held any tighter, he knew the boy’s wrist would snap. He gritted his teeth, biting back against the pain. Milla was now screaming in terror, her balance lost and only being held in place by Akiri’s arm. Should he move, both children would plummet.

  Akiri and Seyla locked eyes. Fear-stricken, Seyla did not cry out. Another slip. Akiri could neither pull, lest he lose his hold entirely, nor could he reach out with his other arm without tossing Mila over the precipice. The inevitability of the moment sent desperation piercing Akiri’s heart. He would fail his sword brother. His only son would fall to his death. And for all the power in his body, there was nothing Akiri could do to stop it.

  Seyla slipped again, Akiri’s fingers driving his thumb into his palm as his hand seemed to shrink in on itself. The next slip would be the last. They both knew it.

  He felt a weight lift from his back; Julla had pulled her daughter away from him. Without a moment’s hesitation, Akiri reached down with his other hand and yanked Seyla up by the collar, ignoring the intense surge of pain in his shoulder as the wound screamed its protest.

  He dragged Seyla away from the edge, then rolled onto his back, hand pressed hard to the wound.

  Julla sat Milla down with her back against the rock face and came to take Seyla in her arms.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked both children, while examining Seyla’s wrist. They shook their heads silently, still trembling from the experience. Julla scooped up a handful of snow and applied it where Akiri had held him, and then instructed him to hold it in place.

  Next, she hurried over to attend to Akiri.

  “I’m fine,” he insisted.

  “Don’t talk rubbish,” she scolded. “You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

  Akiri relented, allowing her to examine his injury.

  Peeling away the blood-soaked bandage, she frowned. “Infected. Badly.”

  “I know,” he said. “All the more reason to leave it be. Unless you have the medicine to cure it here with you.”

  “Just like my husband,” she said. “Stubborn and thick headed. These bandages need changing. Otherwise the infection with spread faster. Now just lie still. I’ll be quick about it.”

  As promised, Julla cleaned and dressed the wound quickly. Akiri donned a fresh shirt and struggled to his feet.

  “Can you walk?” asked Julla.

  “I am not ready to die yet,” he said, dryly. “So, we’d best hope the monks have something to treat it with.”

  “I’m sure they will,” she said.

  There was no hiding her concern. It was a fast-moving infection, and given the nature of the creature that had caused it, that was unsurprising. It was a creeping death. His blood hurt in his veins. Without proper medicine, he would eventually succumb. He knew it. She knew it. And it might already be too late.

  Julla returned her attention to Seyla, who was still holding the snow to his wrist. After whispering a few words, she helped the boy up, and they started out again.

  After a short distance, Seyla approached Akiri, bearing a guilt-ridden expression. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. I was just…”

  “You wanted to see Kyra flying,” said Akiri, cutting him short. “I know what you did. And it was irresponsible. But you are forgiven so long as you learned from your mistake. A warrior always is aware of his surroundings. Never forget that.”

  The boy nodded solemnly. “I understand. It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  Akiri did not want to be overly harsh, given the horrors that had befallen the lad. But regardless of this, he was a young boy. Even with his father gone, certain lessons must be taught. “Show me your wrist.”

  Seyla held out his arm. The snow had worked wonders in terms of reducing the initial swelling, but the bruises were already dark purple. From beneath the boy’s sleeve he saw again the strange mark, but when he tried to take a closer look, Seyla pulled away.

  Akiri said nothing. Perhaps the mark was a source of embarrassment; something the other children had teased him about. It didn’t matter. It was not an injury, and of no importance.

  Kyra banked low, wing tips stirring up a cloud of fine snow from the ground as she did a low fly-by before she rose sharply, roaring mightily as her powerful body streaked by over their heads. Seyla didn’t so much as flinch, let alone look up, but Akiri noted the fear on Milla’s face.

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Akiri. “I told you that Kyra will not hurt you.”

  “I know,” the girl said, timidly. “But it’s… it’s scary.”

  “Kyra is not an it. Kyra is a she.”

  “She’s scary, then.” The girl smiled, tentatively. “She’s just so… big.”

  Akiri couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m big. Do you fear me?”

  Milla shook her head. “No. But that’s different. You’re here to protect us.”

  “And so is Kyra,” said Akiri. “She is my friend. And so she is yours.”

  “I’m not scared of her,” Seyla chipped in. “I bet my father could have beaten her.”

  Akiri was unsure what to say. It was the first time Seyla had mentioned his father since his village was destroyed. After an extended moment, Akiri nodded. “Your father was indeed a fearsome warrior. The finest I have ever known. If anyone could defeat a dragon, it was he.”

  “Will we see her?” asked Milla. “Up close, I mean.”

  “I would think so.”

  She smiled. “Can we touch her?”

  He cocked his head and grinned. “I very much doubt it. But you are welcome to try. She might let you stroke her, if she’s in the mood. With dragons, there is no way to know.”

  The girl began to scour the sky, then pointed and laughed gleefully as she spotted Kyra circling in the low clouds. “I bet she’ll let me.”

  “I bet she won’t,” challenged Seyla. “Dragons are wild, like wolves.”

  “What would you know?” the girl retorted hotly, obviously no
w determined to befriend Kyra and prove Seyla wrong. “She lets Akiri touch her.”

  “That’s different,” said Seyla.

  Milla huffed. “You’ll see.”

  “You know, my husband told me stories of an order of warriors who actually rode dragons,” interjected Julla. “He said they served King Zemel of Acharia, before the king went mad and destroyed them all.” A faint smile crept from the corners of her mouth. “When we were first married, he would weave all sort of fantastical tales for my entertainment. I was such a naïve young thing, and he had seen so much more of the world than I had. I often wondered how much was truth and how much came from his own imagination.” She glanced over to Milla. “You remember, he used to tell you stories before bed?”

  Milla smiled. “I remember.”

  “What kind of stories?” asked Seyla.

  Julla had a faraway look in her eyes. “Most were about magical places, distant lands, noble men, and great battles.” She lowered her head and looked around, pretending to be afraid. “But some were scary: tales of ghosts roaming the mountains and foul demons who live underground and come out at night to steal away naughty children.”

  Milla giggled, but Seyla puffed out his chest to show that he was not afraid.

  “Demons that live underground?” asked Akiri. “Where did he hear these stories?” He was aware that local legends could be based in actual events. His mind turned to the village of Plenty and the tales of lycan that roamed the surrounding countryside – lycan that had turned out to be all too real.

  “From someone in the village I think,” she replied. “The mines are dried up and have been for years, but people venture into some of them to pick mushrooms and herbs for medicine. Some say they have heard strange noises.”

  “What kind of noises?” asked Seyla.

  “All sorts,” replied Julla. “The constant striking echo of pick axes on stone, the eerie song of long dead voices ringing through the galleries… memories of the lives that were lived there. Traces. Echoes. Ghosts.” She reached down and pinched Milla’s cheek. “But they’re just stories.”