The Horsk Dragon (Swords of the Bloodline Book 1)

by A. R. Wilson

  The sounds of a braying horse drew Jurren’s attention to the water. He ran to help, calling over his shoulder, “Kidelar, grab that horse before he bolts!”

  Too late... His mount was already running.

  Arkose came alongside Jurren as they waded to cut the drowning animal free. A freakish sensation wriggled up Jurren’s ankle to his knee and sucked him down. He jabbed his sword at the tightness on his calf. The tension slacked, and he stood up in chest high water. Stumbling back to shore, he decided to count the horse as a loss. Whatever was in there was strong enough to pull a full-grown horse out of sight in under a minute.

  Walking onto shore, he noticed Arkose’s eyes fixed on his leg. Jurren lowered his gaze. A bleeding tentacle clung to his calf. His arms snapped out. Kicking at the air did nothing to remove the twitching stump. He reached into the fold of his other boot for a dagger. After a few precise twists at the base of the suction cups, he removed a four foot long member from his leg.

  “What was that thing?” Arkose brushed at his own leg as though the member that grabbed him were still attached.

  “Sorry, I’m not native to this country. I wouldn’t know.”

  “You’re not funny, Jurren.”

  Screeching filled the air. A sound different from the screaming of a horse. This was more like a horsk dragon.

  Jurren turned.

  Nearly fifty yards out, where the water had steepened from deep to shallow, a head twice the length of a horse’s skull crested the surface. Then another. Then another. Their bird-like faces looked as if they had been set on fire and doused right before the flames singed the bone. Blackened, wrinkled beaks opened wide to expose several rows of pointed teeth. Three tall, winged fins ran from the brow ridge to the base of the skull. Gills protruded on the necks below the jaw.

  Stretched, black, scaly skin covered their rising necks. More fins ran in irregular lines down the massive necks stretching upward. Up and up and up the heads lifted until they hovered more than twenty feet in the air. The necks joined into one mass and still the heads rose. Three sets of arms arched forward. The fingers of the arms moved like the wiggle of a flame. Two of the fingers were noticeably shorter than the rest. And bleeding.

  Jurren felt a yank in his mind. Instinct took over, and he managed to shout. “Run!”

  Arkose bolted away from the river, and Jurren was right behind him.

  A moment later, another member slithered up and tugged at Jurren. He swiped his sword down and to the right. Without the resistance of water, Jurren severed his tether in a single stroke. The sudden release dropped him to the ground.

  Rolling into a crouch, he hesitated, taking in the majesty of the beast. One of its six hands recoiled in pain. A different hand extended. The middle finger shot toward him. He twisted and rolled away, watching it reach almost to his shoulder then snap back. Springing to his feet, he bolted into a sprint.

  Something grabbed Jurren’s shoulder, pulling him upward.

  “Hold on!” Kidelar shouted.

  Jurren felt Kidelar trying to pull him up while guiding a spooked horse. With one solid kick against the ground, Jurren gripped a hand into the saddle, gave a hop and swung onto the rear of the horse. A shift of weight brought him centered behind Kidelar. The scholar guided them to the left with Jurren’s horse following them on the right.

  As they approached Arkose, Jurren shouted for him to grab hold. The man jumped onto the back of the horse mid-run. The three rode hard into the desert until the cries of protest from the creature in the water were too faint to hear.

  Slowing their horses, they gradually can to a stop at the first shady spot. Jurren dismounted to gaze back at the eastern horizon.

  “What was that thing?” Arkose gripped one hand at the back of his neck and the other on top of his head.

  “I believe it’s a kraken.” Kidelar slid off his horse. “They keep to the sea in the north mostly. This is the first I’ve heard of one living in freshwater. There are only two on record, and both live at least a two month journey away.” He stood next to his horse, staring back in the direction they had come. “I think we now know why no one came back from attempting a path beyond the Avian Expanse.”

  Jurren nodded. No one traveling on foot would be any match for that thing. “Hopefully, this seer will not send us back this way. Where do we go from here to find her?”

  The scholar dug into his soaked pack. Pulling at a piece of treated leather, he unwrapped the book. A few streaks of water had found their way in, and he brushed them away. He turned to the page with the map.

  “The more I look at this, the more I wonder if most of these marks are estimations. Guesses meant to refresh the memory of a person familiar with this path. The note down here says, ‘She left to travel beyond the known lands, to the west, to make a home in the Avian Expanse.’ That’s all the information I have. There is nothing specific to look for once we get there.” His hand rubbed at his forehead a moment before turning a few more pages.

  The scholar adjusted his hold on the book as a cascade of drips rolled from his sleeves.

  “Wouldn’t someone like her leave a sign for others to find?” Jurren moved closer.

  “That is a logical guess. She defied a direct order from the Grand Wizards and was banished. I cannot see any other reason for her to remain out here unless she wanted to be found. There are other lands to travel to, yet she stayed a day’s travel beyond the Xanz River. Just beyond the reach of the Grand Wizards.” Kidelar’s gaze fell vacant.

  “If she knew of the previous goblin sighting, then her desire to stay could be tied to what she thought might come next.”

  “She does have sight beyond sight.” Kidelar looked toward the west.

  Arkose put a hand behind his head and half-forced a grin at Jurren. Shrugging, he looked at Kidelar then back at him. “We’re down to two horses, so that changes things a little.”

  “Good thing you brought me that extra travel pack.”

  “Good thing I’m strong enough to take it back from you.” Arkose’s grin deepened.

  “Two brushes with death in three days and still have your sense of humor. Good man.”

  “No denying I could take it from you. Good man.”

  Jurren laughed as he stooped down to catch his breath and empty the water from his boots. Arkose did the same. The horses rested for a few hours, and Kidelar continued browsing through his book, occasionally making notes.

  By late afternoon, they headed out. Both travel packs were secured to the scholar’s horse. Arkose and Jurren rode tandem on the other.

  Riding at a soft canter so as not to overexert the horses, Jurren scanned the horizon. A few trees dotted the landscape between sparse clumps of thin brush. Odd that the land was so lush on the Bondurant side of the Xanz River. Did it have something to do with the limits placed on the Grand Wizards? Hopefully not. If they were the reason Bondurant and the Great Northlands had such widespread peace and prosperity, what would happen if they fell? Or turned against one another?

  He pushed the thought out of his mind. The only thing that mattered was getting to that seer and then to Tascana. After that, his sole mission would be to get his family as far from this place as possible.

  When twilight settled over the desert, they stopped for the night. Jurren suggested they spread out their gear to help it dry, especially since their bedrolls were still soaked. The other two agreed.

  * * *

  Morning’s first rays pushed Jurren’s eyes open, and he stood to stretch. Looking to the horses, he noticed they had pulled their tethers taunt trying to get a few more bites out of a bush. He untied them from the tree and led them in the opposite direction to a clump of dry grass. They needed better fodder and water soon. Jurren woke his companions, and they went to work brushing the horses and repacking their supplies.

  They started out at a trot. Much slower than he wanted to go, but they had no choice. The horses were tiring.

  In the late afternoon, Jurren noticed a di
p in the horizon that shifted into a haze of distant mountains. It could only be one thing. As the legend went, eons ago a violent series of earthquakes shaped the land. A long twist of mountains pushed toward the sky, separating what would one day be Bondurant and the Great Northlands. Many miles to the south more mountains tore out of the ground. The series of quakes rocked the mountains for so long that it pulled the very earth apart along the southern range. The opening formed a slight S shape as it wrapped itself along the southern border of the range on the east end of Bondurant, while the other half of the rift cut through and skirted it to the north. Those who migrated into the land north of the rift named the divided mountains the “Xanz” after the tale of a man torn in half by grief over a lost love. The range several days’ walk to the north was named “Jestine” after the mate of Xanz.

  Since then, many tales have been retold of brave men making attempts to try to find a means to cross the divide. Some told of those following the rift to its end and backtracking to the other side. Others told of climbers scaling down to the bottom to find a way up the other side. Regardless of how the stories went, they all ended the same: the hero never returned.

  As the dip in the horizon became an irregular line of rocky formations, Jurren slowed his horse to a stop.

  “What’s wrong?” Arkose leaned around to see what was in front of them.

  Kidelar came up alongside them. “It would seem we are close.”

  “Everyone keep your eyes open. Point out anything unusual.” Jurren flicked the reins to urge the horse back into a trot.

  Jurren guided them to the edge. Approaching the great chasm held a similar awe from the first time he saw the ocean. That incredible sense of feeling so small next to something so large. Then daring the risk of taking that first step closer. As a child, his father gripped his shoulder. With a stern hand, Father pointed to the serpents gliding lazily in the water. “Anyone who walks close enough to look into those depths will witness the instrument of his own death.”

  Those words of warning from decades ago sent shivers through Jurren’s hands, and he tightened his grip on the reins. He survived the journey off that island, and he would survive this too.

  The noonday sun shone into the crevice. Jurren gestured for Arkose to dismount then shifted in the saddle to hoist himself down. Standing on the ground added to Jurren’s feelings of smallness. He took a few steps closer to the edge. The sunlight faded into a dim haze toward the bottom of the canyon. In a way, it did not even seem real.

  From his view, a cascade of jagged rock faces led down into the heart of the earth itself. A hollow wind called out from the depths. Chancing one more step forward, Jurren craned his neck to look for a bottom. Nothing. Not even the line of a river.

  “What do we do now?” Arkose rubbed the back of his neck.

  “We start looking for signs.” Jurren looked to Kidelar.

  The scholar nodded.

  CHAPTER 10

  Reexamining his map, Kidelar gestured to the right. “We should head west from here and follow the cliff edge.”

  “You are certain?” Jurren scratched at the stubble on his chin.

  “If my assumption is correct, with the Xanz River being the boundary line of power for the Grand Wizards, Ellesha Shan Shair would want to be at least a full day’s travel beyond that point. We must turn west.”

  Standing for a moment, Jurren searched his gut instinct. A bird flew past him out over the Avian Expanse, hovered for a while, then glided back toward them. Jurren sighed. Not even a bird dared to cross that divide. Would they ever find a way to follow the horsk dragon?

  Staying on foot, Jurren took the reins of his horse and guided it west. The horses needed the rest, and he needed a slower pace to look for clues.

  For hours, Jurren led them along the canyon’s edge until the setting sun blinded him. “We might as well stop for the night.”

  “Not so much as a hint of anything all day.” Arkose suddenly averted his eyes. Either because the sun bothered his vision too, or he realized the folly of his words.

  The scholar looked back and forth between them. “We are still in range of the time frame I predicted.”

  “I have no choice but to trust you. My daughter cannot be found by ordinary means, so I would not expect an ordinary journey.”

  Arkose nodded and turned to start brushing the horses. “We’re almost out of water.”

  “Even seers need water. Wherever she is there will be a water source nearby, and I’ll add it to my map.” The scholar began tending to his own horse.

  No one spoke another word before bedding down for the night. In a way, Jurren was glad for the silence. His mind was so full of wondering he could barely stand it. Thoughts of Tascana cowering on his bedroom floor as a dragon snatched her up stabbed behind his eyes over and over that day. Each time he would dig his fingernails into the palm of his free hand. Then the scene would shift to Heluska hiding from a pack of goblin-infected youths.

  Somewhere between frustration and faith, Jurren’s mind paused long enough for sleep to come. He awoke, what felt like moments later, to see a hint of dawn’s light. Morning was already coming. He moved to wake his companions and stretch the stiffness out of his back. After the horses were brushed and the supplies adjusted, Jurren led them on foot.

  For hours he scanned the area, occasionally looking back to ensure the other men were keeping up, hoping to see a sign. Then he saw it. Something different. Jurren quickened their pace to get to where the others could see it too.

  “Hey, look at that.” Arkose pointed ahead and to the left.

  The cliff ebbed and flowed in its uneven pattern then turned sharply toward the south. It looked like a shelf of cliff jutting out away from the canyon’s face. A discoloration in the plateau drew Jurren in. He could see the distant canyon wall through the rock.

  “There’s a hole in it.”

  “What?” Kidelar rose higher on his mount.

  “There is a hole straight through that plateau over there.” Jurren pointed in the direction Arkose had indicated.

  “How can you tell?” The man behind him leaned forward, squinting.

  “Never question Jurren’s eyes. Let’s go take a look.” Kidelar urged his horse into a canter, moving ahead of them.

  With a snap of the reins, Jurren was right behind him. A half-mile later, they slowed to a trot in step with the other horse. The hole was less than 100 yards away.

  “It’s a perfect circle. Like someone carved it out of the rock.” Arkose was leaning forward again.

  “Let’s get down and take a look.” Jurren waited for Arkose to dismount first.

  Passing the reins to his co-rider, Jurren started toward the formation. It was about fifteen feet wide and stretched out almost 200 yards long. He walked to the east side where it first pushed away from the cliff face. Nothing seemed unusual. Walking to the western face he noticed Kidelar staring wide-eyed into the Avian Expanse.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I believe I may have discovered what we’re looking for.” Kidelar’s voice caught on the last syllable.

  Jurren came alongside the scholar to look down the western side of the plateau. A set of steep stairs ran along the far side of the jutting, underneath the hole, then doubled back toward the cliff face as they continued their descent. The stairs set recessed into the rock as though a tunnel once ran through the jutting of rock then split in half when part of the plateau sheared off.

  “There is no way a horse can take that path.” Arkose had his hand paused on his shoulder.

  “I agree. You stay here and keep watch over the horses. Kidelar —” The scholar jumped at the sound of his name. “You can do this.” Jurren adjusted the fit of his sword at his side.

  “You want to send me down there?”

  “We are going there. This is my quest, but Ellesha Shan Shair is your kind of people. I’ll need you when I find her.”

  Kidelar put a hand to his stomach and craned his neck closer to t
he cliff. Several small motions in his chest showed his breath quickening.

  Smiling, Jurren put a hand on the scholar’s shoulder. “Just don’t look down. We’ll get there one step at a time.”

  A nervous laugh accompanied Kidelar’s shaking head. Then he closed his eyes and nodded. “I can do this. We must do this.”

  “I’ll go first.”

  “Yeah. That sounds logical.”

  Jurren walked to that first two-foot wide step. Leaning into the plateau, he took a few steps and looked back. “Keep at least eight steps behind me. We want to give each other room to balance in case either of us stumbles.”

  Kidelar clamped his eyes shut, nodded, then took those first few steps. As soon as the cliff rose to shoulder height, he pressed both hands against the rock. Keeping his back to the infinite drop behind him, he side-stepped his way down.

  For several minutes, Jurren wrestled with whether it was a good idea to bring the scholar down these steps. If Kidelar lost his nerve and froze, Jurren couldn’t carry him back. The sandstone feel of the rock made the stairs hard enough to manage with only his own weight.

  “How you doing back there?” Jurren glanced at the man who was now walking with his left shoulder leaning into the rock, a quarter of his body positioned toward the stairs.

  “Please don’t interrupt. I’m trying to think of all the herbs that start with the letter T.”

  “What?”

  “If I focus on herb groupings then my mind doesn’t have time to calculate about how long it would take me to plummet to my death. So please, don’t interrupt.”

  For a brief moment, the sight of a middle-aged scholar cautiously inching his way down a rocky staircase looked like a squirrel clinging to a too thin branch. A laugh escaped Jurren.

  With Kidelar more than a dozen steps behind him, Jurren paused. The plateau stretched high above him, arching like an unfinished tunnel. A narrow path of stairs sliced sharply back to the canyon rim. Long threads of rock layers streamed away from the stairs for miles along the face of the canyon wall. The view to the side curved back, leaving the thin haze of what was probably the far side of the expanse. All of these details blurred into a non-specific color as Jurren allowed his eyes to dip downward.