“Aaah, what’s wrong?” taunted Gelbran. “Bit scared when you’re facing someone who’s not half the size of your fetid claws!”
The dragon tilted its head back and roared, its fiery breath illuminating the surrounding area. Gelbran could see the others closing in behind the dragon. Luckily, it could not.
He stepped forward, “WHAT’S WRONG, DRAGON, AFRAID TO LEAVE THE SAFETY OF YOUR CAVE?” he screamed. “DO SOMETHING!”
The dragon moved further forward, spitting fire and roaring even louder. But it was angry and still confused by the challenge as it swayed from side to side.
“NOW!” shouted Gelbran as loudly as he could.
Before the dragon realised what was happening, four glamoch charged into its hind legs, unbalancing it and bringing it crashing to the ground. Claws and hooves tore and stamped as it rolled helplessly amid the confusion. A giant wolf sprinted toward it, the vikkery’s intention, to tear out its throat. But at the last second, disaster struck!
One of the glamoch charged forward, striking the dragon full force in the side of the head. The dragon’s jaws opened as it gasped for breath and flames erupted, engulfing the wolf. Its fur immediately caught fire and it yelped as it rolled on the floor and fell into a ditch. As horrific as it was, none of the other vikkery could risk relenting their attack until the dragon was dead. It seemed that there was to be more than one death this night.
The dragon was defenceless, now doomed as the final blows rained down on its battered body. Then a rumbling began. The dragon twitched slightly, but never again would it slaughter any innocent.
The vikkery eventually backed away, but the rumbling began once more. Now as themselves, they looked at one another. Where was the rumbling noise coming from? Their answer came almost immediately as, erupting from the ground, rose another dragon!
They were unprepared and began to flee. Charging past Gelbran, the vikkery pleaded and implored him to do the same. But he could not. His eyes were fixed on the dragon they had not known was there. Had it been buried in the ground? The dragon reared up on its hind legs as it clawed at its own head and horns. It roared and bellowed as if in great pain, but there were no signs of any physical wounds. Then the strangest thing of all happened. It caught sight of the dragon they had just slain and began to tear it apart. It was as if it were making sure it was dead! Was this the way dragons existed? Was it territorial? It suddenly dropped flat and began to howl. Turning its head, it looked Gelbran directly in the eyes.
Gelbran transformed, “WELL WHY NOT!” he bawled, “WE TOOK ONE OF YOU DOWN, MIGHT AS WELL MAKE IT TWO!”
The dragon stared at him with soulful eyes and lowered its head. Climbing slowly to its feet, it headed toward the cave. Glancing back briefly, it went inside, its wails echoing mournfully from within.
***
The vikkery sat around the fire in silence. Nervous glances passed between them, but all were lost for words. Tears had been shed as, in dribs and drabs, friends and loved ones returned to the camp. None could bring themselves to ask the obvious question. Where was Cordain?
Cordain was the vikkery who had transformed into the huge wolf. Many had witnessed his terrible fate but also hoped that somehow he had survived. To them, the fact that any of them was still alive was a miracle in itself.
Gelbran was the last to return. The vikkery gathered around, praising him for his heroism when facing the dragon. Their words felt hollow. His mind was in turmoil over what had happened, or what he thought may have happened. He was not prepared to discuss it with anyone else. Not yet anyway.
Asdor approached him and took his arm. Raising it, he placed a small wooden bowl in his hand, “Tea,” he said. “Drink it, you look exhausted.”
Gelbran gave him a weak smile, “Thank you, my friend,” he said quietly.
“What news of Cordain?” whispered Fellis as she appeared behind Asdor.
Gelbran sighed and shook his head. “Not good I’m afraid. Give me a few minutes, I need to speak with you both.” He glanced around, “Alone,” he added, and shuffled away toward the fire. Flopping down, he rubbed his face in his hands. They’ll think I’ve gone mad, he thought. But somehow, I know I’m right!
He lay back and closed his eyes, reliving the events of the night. He could still hear the roaring of the dragon clearly and see the flames vividly. Although completely spent, he knew that sleep would evade him for some time. Perhaps that was a blessing. He drank what was left of the tea that Asdor had given him, having spilt most of it as he collapsed beside the fire. It would do no good for him to dwell over what had happened. Within minutes, he rose and beckoned his friends to follow him. They wandered a few yards away from the others and sat on a fallen tree at the edge of a clearing.
Gelbran stroked his beard as he considered what he was about to say, “I don’t think Cordain is dead,” he said bluntly.
“Oh, thank goodness,” sighed Fellis.
Asdor leaned forward, “That’s impossible!” he exclaimed quietly. “You saw what happened and so did I! He was engulfed by dragon fire, Gelbran! Nobody could survive that!”
Fellis slapped his arm impatiently, “Hush up, Asdor. Let him finish!”
“Well if he’s not dead, he’s bound to be in a bad way,” Asdor groaned. “I’ll get everyone ready and we’ll mount a rescue mission immediately!”
“Just… hear me out, Asdor,” Gelbran hissed, gesturing for Asdor to resume his seat. “It seems that… well, the Cordain that we knew is gone… but Cordain himself is not.”
“Oh, that makes perfect sense!” scoffed Asdor. “He’s dead… but he’s not dead!” he shook his head. “What are you talking about!”
“Keep your voice down!” Gelbran urged him. “I wanted to hear what you two thought of my idea before I spoke to the others.”
“Well so far it’s as clear as mud!” exclaimed Asdor. “You might want to practise a bit, work on your presentation and all that,” he added.
Gelbran stood up and was about to walk away, “Forget it!” he growled. “I wish I hadn’t bothered now!”
“Just tell us!” squeaked Fellis, grabbing his hand. “Whatever you’ve got to say can’t sound any stranger than us being able to turn into beasts!”
Gelbran snorted, “That second dragon!” he said.
“What about it?” asked Fellis.
“Don’t you think it’s strange that it rose from exactly the same place as Cordain fell?”
“Him falling there is probably what disturbed the thing.”
Gelbran shook his head, “No, Asdor, I don’t think so,” he said stooping down to face them, “I think that the dragon was Cordain!”
Asdor’s eyes widened and he blinked a few times, unable to believe his own ears. “Have you gone barmy?” he laughed. “Or did that dragon bang you on the head when we weren’t looking?”
Gelbran stayed stone-faced, “Do I look like I’m dazed, confused… or joking?”
“Ooh, my word,” gasped Fellis. “You’re serious!”
Gelbran nodded slowly, “That wizard told me that the power he gave us was a gift. I now believe it to be a curse. I trusted him because I was consumed with having my revenge on the dragons. I’m beginning to think he never told me all the facts about the spell he performed on us.”
“Go on!” Fellis urged.
“I think that if one of us is struck by dragon fire, we actually become a dragon!”
“What!” exclaimed Fellis, “You mean, for good?”
“Ah, but all dragons aren’t fire-breathers,” said Asdor, quickly. “There are ice dragons as well! And then there’s that big one that attacked us, the one that uses lightning!”
“True,” agreed Gelbran. “But it’s my idea that, whatever you get struck with, determines what type of dragon you become.”
“Well I suppose it’s better than it killing you,” suggested Fellis.
Asdor shook his head again, “Sounds a bit far-fetched to me, Gelbran. Anyway, what on Pordan gave you such an idea?
”
“After you lot ran away, I lost my temper a bit, fool that I am,” he confessed. “I actually stood there and challenged the dragon by myself.”
“I was right!” laughed Asdor. “You did get a bang on the head!”
Gelbran rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the dragon didn’t even look angry. In fact, it looked rather sad. I thought it was going to cry at one point, if dragons are capable of crying that is.”
“So, what did it do?” asked Fellis, excitedly.
“Well,” answered Gelbran, “it just, kind of, whimpered… then went into the cave that the other one came out of.”
“We have to investigate, just the three of us for now!” Fellis said adamantly. “If Cordain has been turned into a dragon we need to find out for definite!”
“And then what?” asked Asdor. “Are we going to bring him back with us?”
“So, what should we do?” asked Fellis, glaring at him. “Should we just abandon him?”
“I never said that,” replied Asdor, quietly. “All I meant…”
“What if he’s changed by the time we go back?” suggested Gelbran. “What if this is how dragons have always been made? Maybe in the past, there were others like us who were tricked into the same deal by wizards? Perhaps it’s only a matter of time before the rage takes hold of someone who has been changed, making them forget who they once were?”
Asdor frowned, “That’s a lot of questions,” he groaned. “And ones I may not like the answers to.”
“Questions we won’t get answers to if we just sit around here!” Fellis protested. “Cordain is our friend and if you’re right, Gelbran, he’s out there alone. He’s probably more scared of what he has become than we are.” She moved closer to Gelbran, “Assuming you’re right of course,” she whispered.
CHAPTER 16
Barden was livid. Still disguised as Dannard, he had gone into the woods alone before changing into his true form. Damn Yello and Emnor, he thought, they could ruin everything. It had taken years for him to implement his plan and now he was close, so very close, to seizing the one thing that could bring order to the chaos that existed all over Pordan. Villages and towns were sprouting up, spreading filth and disease across what was once an idyllic world. He would not rest until he brought it to an end. He would find his prize and wait, wait for the one who would have the power to wield it properly. Once he had it, the end would be swift. However, he had not anticipated the interference of Keldenar. Aligning himself with Ballorn was simply an act of self-preservation. Only hints of one who would come to aid the dragons had appeared in the scrolls, but the word ‘Nibrilsiem’ had never been written. He had searched for years before finally discovering Krevick and even as he neared the village sensed that there was a nemilar there far different from the rest. He was convinced that the blacksmith was unaware of the power within him. Disguised as the cooper, he watched and waited.
Spying on Ballorn consumed him during his time in Krevick. Five years, to a wizard at least, was the mere blink of an eye and passed quickly for Barden. Each day was the same as the last for so long, until Lonny came. Barden had followed him with interest and studied him for days until, inevitably, he witnessed the farmer and his family being slaughtered as his farm was razed to the ground by the rampaging dragon.
Skulking amongst the trees he watched as the dragon charged after Ballorn, but somehow the robust blacksmith had even managed to survive that. Barden had seen him disappear into the hollow of the tree and was still there when the blacksmith emerged. He frowned at the resilience of Ballorn, but the frown changed to a twisted grin as he saw the gemnar pack approach. To survive an attack by something so formidable only to be torn apart by such insignificant beasts, he thought. Oh, the irony. Then, the hunter appeared. Ballorn was saved yet again!
It seemed the blacksmith lead a charmed life. If his demise cannot be left to chance, he thought, perhaps I should interject and affect the outcome myself? Despite his frustration a flash of inspiration drove him to hide in the tree. What better way to gain someone’s trust than to appear as the helpless victim?
Then of course there was his manipulation of the vikkery. Once he had cast his spell over them each had the possibility of becoming a dragon. With luck, rumours of dragons would spread, keeping the Nibrilsiem busy. Barden would then be left unfettered, free to pursue his ultimate reward. He would find the crystal alone and keep it hidden until the day came when he could hand it to… him.
***
Ballorn and Hunter were loading the cart, carefully selecting only the essentials they may need. They knew that sooner or later they would have to abandon it. However, Ballorn realised that much of their supplies would be used up as they travelled, but they would still need a goodly amount to keep them going. He had tasked Stitch to make him a large bag fitted with straps that would secure it to his back. He could carry far more than the others and having his new backbag would leave his hands free to carry his hammer.
“I’ve double-stitched it, Ballorn, so it shouldn’t split as long as you don’t put anything too heavy or sharp in it,” the tailor had said proudly.
Ballorn tugged at the seams, “I can see that, Stitch,” he said, admiringly. “Cracking job, my friend. Well done.”
“And I’ve waxed the cloth the best I could given the time allowed, it should keep the rain out easily enough. I can’t promise it’ll work if you drop it in a river or something though.”
“Water?” The question came from Dannard, who had suddenly appeared now that the loading of the cart was almost done. “Why has we got to worry about water?”
Stitch rolled his eyes, “If you’d have gotten up a bit earlier, you’d know, wouldn’t you?” he sighed. “The way Ballorn wants to go will eventually lead through the marshes, you can’t really find a place that has more water unless you go to the ocean.”
“The marshes!” Dannard said nervously. “Oh, no, no, no, we doesn’t want to be going through no marshes!”
The others weren’t taking much notice of Dannard. He scurried in front of them and stared up, seeming almost panic-stricken, “The woodles!” he whispered, glancing around to make sure no-one was watching.
Ballorn leaned against the cart and folded his arms, “The what!”
“The woodles!” hissed Dannard. “They is like giant frogs, but they eats people.”
“Most things that live in the wilds eat people,” said Hunter, “what’s so different about these… woodles?”
“They doesn’t kill you like the other beasts!” exclaimed Dannard. “They has these really long tongues what shoot out and snaffle you up. Then they drags you into their mouths and pulls you under the water, and you is never seen again!”
“I’m sure we can defend ourselves against a couple of frogs,” laughed Ballorn.
Dannard shuffled in front of Ballorn, grabbing his shirt with both hands, “That’s what everybody thinks, until it’s too late!”
“Tell you what,” said Hunter, “if we see one of your woodles, I’ll shoot it and skin it so you can wear it as a hat. Would you like that?”
“That’s the thing, you won’t see it!” pleaded Dannard. “The singing makes your brain go funny and you just walk up and lets them take you. Them what it snatches don’t even put up a fight!”
Stitch looked at him sceptically, “How do you know?” he asked, slowly.
“I has seen it with my own eyes!” replied Dannard.
“You’ve seen it?” asked Ballorn.
Stitch nodded, “So why didn’t you get lured in and eaten?”
“More to the point, who did get eaten and why didn’t you try to help them?” added Hunter.
“I was too far away,” moaned Dannard. “By the time I got close enough, they was already gone.”
“Who was?” asked Stitch.
“Does it matter?” asked Dannard, angrily. “I’m telling you there’s terrible dangers in them marshes and we should steer clear of ‘em!”
Ballorn had had enough. He sudd
enly lunged forward and grabbed Dannard by the collar with both hands. Lifting him easily from the ground, he pulled him close, “I want to know who you are!” he growled. “You’re no cooper, that’s for sure. I’ve always been wary of you, runt, and those young chaps last night knew you from somewhere!” He glanced down at Dannard’s dangling body. “But you didn’t look like this, did you? They knew you as somebody else. Start talking, or I’ll wring your scrawny little neck!”
Dannard smiled. He glanced around briefly to make sure that the four of them were not being watched. His head began to shrink, and his body began to grow. His tiny, tufty beard grew into a long black one and Ballorn suddenly found that he was holding the robes of a young man much taller than himself, “Barden Oldman,” he whispered. “And I am here to help.”
Ballorn released his grip.
“You rotten stinker!” exclaimed Stitch. “For years you’ve fooled me into thinking you were my friend!”
Barden tilted his head as he looked at the tailor, “No, Stitch, you were never being fooled,” he said. “I am your friend… I just look a little different to what you are used to.”
“Why?” asked Hunter from behind the wizard.
“Rules,” replied Barden. “And you can put down the bow,” he added turning to face the arrow that was aimed at his head. “I mean you no harm.”
“What rules?” asked Ballorn, bluntly.
“We wizards are not allowed to interfere with the natural order of things, Ballorn. However, if I do not, you and everyone you know could soon be wiped from the face of this planet.”
“Why take the risk helping us if it’s forbidden?” asked Hunter, still holding his bow.
“Isn’t it obvious?” laughed Barden. “I like you!”
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it!” exclaimed Stitch. “Lying to us, pretending to be somebody else… and not the most pleasant of somebody’s either!”
“Why not simply come and offer to help? You didn’t need the disguise,” said Ballorn.
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 15