by Sam Ferguson
“Can I ask you to come up alongside to make sure we have the measurements right?” Hermean shouted from the front. “We are going to make the handles now.”
Gorliad moved to stand next to it. Hermean nodded and the others smiled satisfactorily when they saw they had matched the length of the device to the space between Gorliad’s foreleg and hind legs.
“Make the handles strong,” Gorliad warned. “The wind is not horrible, but it is strong, and the basket must be able to withstand both the weight of the dwarves, and the impact of landing and taking off. There will likely be some shifting during flight as well.”
Hermean nodded. “We will have it done before mid-day.”
Gorliad decided to lie down and watch them as they busied about. Some of the dwarves carried lengths of rope. Others carried bits of hide taken from the caribou the night before. They used both to lash the wood together. Some of the dwarves worked with axes to create notches in the logs to help them fit together tightly, without lashing. Gorliad wasn’t sure it would work at all, but he was not about to abandon their work now. He closed his eyes and decided a nap was in order. There wasn’t much a crippled dragon could do anyway when it came to building intricate contraptions. He was better suited for destroying such things.
The scent of the pine forest around him helped him relax. His ears soon grew accustomed to the shouting, the hammering, and the axes striking the wood. He gave in and allowed himself to let go of all his worries. His mind drifted off into serene sleep.
Something tapped on his head, like a woodpecker might assault a tree trunk.
Gorliad opened his eyes, sure he had only just closed them. He saw Hermean standing before him with a big grin.
“We finished.”
Gorliad noted the sun had moved quite a lot since he last saw it, and he judged it was nearly mid-day. He groaned and stretched his left foreleg out before him. The burgundy dragon turned his head to the left and saw the mighty wooden basket. Not only were the handles finished, they were embellished. The bark had been stripped from the wood and runes had been carved therein. The top log of each wall had similar runes engraved into the wood, along with smaller symbols and designs underneath them.
“Is there anything a dwarf makes that is simple?” Gorliad marveled.
Hermean shrugged. “We do the best we can with what we have been given. Do you like it?”
Gorliad rose to his feet and stretched his head over the basket. Tenderly he pressed against the side with his left foreleg. There was the tiniest bit of flex in the device, but mostly it moved as one in response to his push.
“We intended for it to have some flexibility,” Hermean said. “We didn’t want to build it too rigid, for fear it may snap during the rigors of flight.”
Gorliad nodded. “Who goes first?”
Hermean pointed to the hill. “It can hold fifty at a time, or at least that is our estimate. That means six trips. I have organized the camp into several groups. The first to go with you will have half of our warriors. They, along with the others with them, can help secure the landing zone. Then the next four groups will be comprised of the regular folk. The last group will have the other half of our warriors. That way, neither group is left unprotected while you shuttle back and forth.”
Gorliad smiled. “As good a plan as any.”
Hermean whistled and the first fifty came down from the hill, dressed in leather armor and carrying swords, axes, and hammers. They climbed into the wooden basket from the back, where a small gate had been made that lifted upwards with the use of a rope. Once they were all inside, they let the gate down and used a long branch to fasten it into place.
Hermean leapt atop his drake. “Let’s get on up!” he shouted. The other dwarves cheered as Hermean and his drake soared into the sky. Gorliad watched for a moment and then jumped up to hover carefully above the basket. He dropped his hind legs first, gripping the smooth log in his talons. Then he lowered his left foreleg, grabbing the front handle. The weight of the contraption pulled against him, but Gorliad’s wings pulled them all upward. The dwarves each nervously held onto the walls around them, or each other.
Gorliad carried them up over the trees, but he stayed only within a few meters of the tree tops. In case the basket broke, he thought it wiser to not be flying high above the ground. Hermean directed his drake under and around the basket, observing and inspecting it from every angle. Then he flew up next to Gorliad’s head.
“My drake appreciates your clean smell, by the way,” Hermean shouted out.
Gorliad frowned and looked to the dwarf. Hermean just offered a big, toothy grin. “Noted,” Gorliad said simply. “Next time I will try not to let the smell build up for so long.”
“Ha!” Hermean shouted and slapped his saddle. “A dragon with both a kind heart and a sense of humor. I like you.”
Gorliad snorted. “Well, I am still deciding about you, dwarf,” he said with a playful growl.
“I’ll drink to that,” Hermean said. “Well, whenever I have something to drink, that is,” he corrected. The hunter looked back to the basket and then motioned toward the mountain. “The basket will hold. Let’s try to pick up the pace a bit.”
Gorliad acquiesced and climbed higher and higher into the air. His wings propelled him faster through the sky. He glanced down below to see that the dwarves were no longer nervously clinging to the wall. Now they were huddling together and trying to fight off the biting wind.
They flew through the mountain, and the basket did beautifully well as Gorliad turned and altered course to glide down the southern slope. Soon they were at the flat clearing beyond the forest. Hermean circled wide around them while Gorliad slowly descended. He had to be careful. If he let go of the basket too soon it would fall and break. Yet, if he held onto it for too long, his weight might crush it as he came down from the sky.
He beat his wings enough to slow his descent. The basket touched and he allowed his knees to bend just a bit before he released the basket. The wood creaked, but held fast and the dwarves cheered. Gorliad flew beyond the basket and then dropped down to rest while the dwarves exited the contraption and began to look around.
“How much farther till we arrive?” one of them shouted.
Gorliad looked to the south. Without the aurora, there was no way for him to know exactly how far they were going. He turned back to the dwarves and simply stated, “It will be a while yet, good dwarf.”
“But there will be food there right?” another asked.
“And good mountains too yes?” another chimed in.
Hermean dropped down from the sky and addressed them. “Not only will there be mountains, but there will be mines. We will have ores and gems to work with.” He turned to the one who asked about food and poked a stubby finger at him. “You will eat roast boar, and sweet caribou. And I shall have mead once again!” The dwarves cheered heartily and each raised their weapon into the air. “And he shall be with us, to protect us from any dragon that may come. Now we are free!”
The dwarves cheered again, though Gorliad noticed that several of them frowned while looking at the burgundy dragon’s right foreleg. The crippled appendage likely did little for their hope, but there wasn’t anything to be done about that.
Gorliad went back to the basket as soon as the last dwarf hopped off. He seized the contraption and went back for the second group. Leaving the first fifty to fend for themselves until his return.
The burgundy dragon made quick work of the task. The second group was deposited next to the first in a little more than an hour’s time. The third group took a bit longer, as there were babies and small children in the bunch and they were harder to load and he had to fly a bit slower so as not to rock the basket as much. However, by the time they landed, there was a small corral made of fallen trees to shelter the dwarves from the wind. Hermean had been busy overseeing the building of a fresh camp for the dwarves to rest in.
The fourth group was similar to the third in terms of composit
ion. The heavy weight and the trips were beginning to take a toll on Gorliad though. An ache sprung up in his left wing, in the area where it had been injured those many years ago. He ignored it, knowing that to leave the group separated was to weaken the whole and leave them susceptible to attack. Even the constant barrage of the cold wind would be harder to fend off if the group were separated, as they each relied on each other for warmth and shelter.
So, instead of resting after depositing the fourth group, Gorliad went back straightaway. He flew quickly to reach the dwarves on the north side. The ache grew in his wing, warning him that soon his strength may falter.
The fifth group was almost entirely made of adults. Gorliad took off, soaring up high into the air so as to be free to fly swiftly without worry of dragging the basket along the tree tops. The ache grew into a burning, stinging throb that radiated throughout his wing, then along the left side of his back. The wind picked up then, driving toward the north and directly opposing his efforts to sail through the pass. He put his head down and pressed on. With the driving wind came a flurry of snow. It wasn’t new snow, for there were no clouds in the sky. It was snow being ripped from the two peaks on either side, blinding him and obscuring the way forward. Gorliad tried to fly higher, to get above the screen, but the wind was stronger and several of the dwarves started to shift in the basket, which threw Gorliad’s center of balance off.
He dropped down, trying to protect the dwarves from the wind as well as rebalance himself. He never saw the gray, ice-capped stone jutting out from the mountain. The basket slammed into the stone and all of the dwarves lurched forward. The timbers cracked, but the basket did not break. Gorliad managed to regain his balance and he flew on, despite the yells and curses from below. Embarrassed by his mistake, he found new strength to continue on. He flew without another incident, and deposited the grumpy dwarves into the new camp.
As soon as the last dwarf leapt out of the basket, Gorliad called Hermean over to inspect the damage.
The dwarf grabbed the joints and shook them. He used his axe to poke and prod the cracks and breaks in the wood. He then went inside and inspected the floor. The dwarf grabbed his beard and shook his head.
“How bad is it?” Gorliad asked.
“Bad,” Hermean said. “The front has a large crack across the base. The center floor piece also has a crack that runs for half its length. The joints seem stable enough, but if the base or the floor give out, then the basket will collapse.”
“I can gather trees to fix it,” Gorliad said.
“Better to just go and get the others,” Hermean replied. “Have them sit along the walls and stay out of the center.”
“It wouldn’t take long to repair, would it?” Gorliad asked.
Hermean shook his head. “We would have to dissemble the entire floor and base to replace the cracked logs. That would mean hours. By the time we finished, it would be late into the night. Better to go and get the others now. Stay low to the ground, just in case, and if it collapses then continue either on foot, or possibly make sleds. I don’t want the others left there overnight.”
“I could spend the night with them there, and you could repair the basket.”
Hermean shook his head. “No, I don’t want to leave anyone separated.”
There was something in Hermean’s tone that pulled at Gorliad’s heart. Perhaps it was the loyalty and determination to keep the group together. No, that wasn’t quite it. The dragon looked to Hermean’s eyes and saw something there he had not seen before from many dwarves or dragons. It was concern. Genuine concern for another’s wellbeing.
Gorliad nodded. “I’ll go.”
He took to the air and grabbed the basket for the final run. Over the forest he sailed, then up the smooth face of the southern slopes. He zipped between the two peaks and then glided down quickly toward the bald hill. He set the basket down and then dropped to the ground himself and rested while the dwarves loaded into the basket for the final time.
“Mind there are cracks in the center,” Gorliad warned. “Move in around the walls and find a place to hold on. We don’t need to have anyone fall through the floor.” The dragon expected murmuring or shouting, but there was none. The hardened warriors simply did as they were told, without complaint. Gorliad glanced to the peaks again. The sun was on its descent, and the temperatures would only get colder from here on in. They needed to hurry.
*****
Near the edge of the forest, Hermean directed the dwarves to build a camp. They improved upon the lean-to shelters they had made and began fashioning crude log cabins, with boughs and smaller logs over the tops to form a flat, but effective roof. When they could, they dug rocks from the ground to help fortify the foundations. They made the openings large enough to allow dwarves in and out of the shelters, but small enough to minimize the wind. All of their rope and such equipment had been used making the basket, and they had no nails or hinges to install doors. A few of the dwarves offered their own personal blankets, made from animal hides over the years, to try and cover the doors. It wasn’t much, but every little bit of wind kept out meant additional warmth for those inside.
“Remember, build them so the doors face the forest. The wind is strongest from the south. The trees of the forest will mitigate any wind from the north,” Hermean said.
“Still cold as an atorat’s heart,” one of the dwarves said.
Hermean nodded. “Gorliad will be here soon enough. He can help set fires round about for warmth.”
A loud, angry howl sounded off in the distance. Hermean turned and scanned the trees. At first he saw nothing, just the stark pines standing in the snow, their branches hanging low with the white burden they carried. Then he saw it. A faint movement, a flash really, between the trees. His instinct told him what his eyes could not discern for themselves.
“Get the young ones inside for shelter. We are under attack!” Hermean shouted. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and ran toward his drake. The animal responded with a quick snort. It looked to the trees as Hermean sprinted over and leapt into the saddle.
The drake blew a small spout of fire.
Hermean nodded and patted the drake’s side. “Let’s get on up!” The drake shot into the air like lightning. It was all the dwarf could do to hold on. The drake climbed above the trees and flew over the forest, scanning the ground below.
Another angry howl rent the sky.
Suddenly, the drake pitched downward. Hermean grabbed his axe and bent low to the beast as they ripped through the tree branches. He still could not see what it was, but he knew his drake had found something.
The two crashed into something large and furry, then tumbled to the ground. Hermean jumped up, his axe in front of him. A muscular arm swiped at him with razor sharp claws of black. The dwarf jabbed his axe up, stopping the large arm by stabbing it with the spike at the top of his axe and driving it back.
The beast howled in agony and then snarled ferociously. The drake moved in, biting and clawing at the beast so that Hermean could not get a good look at it. He pulled his axe free of the arm and then stood in amazement as the bloody hole closed before his eyes as if nothing had happened at all. The drake flew back then, slamming against a tree.
The gashes and slashes across the monster’s chest closed themselves and the blood ceased to run over its white fur. Gray, dead eyes stared at the dwarf from a face of ivory skin. Menacing fangs jutted out from the bottom jaw like a boar’s tusks. Smaller, yet sharper, fangs hung down from above. There was no mistaking the creature.
“Frost trolls!” Hermean shouted at the top of his lungs. He charged forward, bringing his axe down to defend himself from the troll’s claws as the beast swung at him. He caught the arm in the elbow joint and severed it in two.
The beast roared and stumbled back, blood spurting out from the crimson stub like a miniature geyser of liquid rubies.
“Heal that,” Hermean taunted.
The troll shrieked and roared, spewi
ng yellow slobber out from its mouth. The pinkish gray tongue flicked into the air across the troll’s fangs and then it smiled. Before Hermean could blink, a new forearm sprouted from the wound. It was small, made only of bone at first. It extended out to where the wrist should be and then branched into fingers. Hermean stood with his mouth open. He had heard of the trolls and their ability to regenerate, but never would he have imagined their powers to be so great. New muscle and sinew stretched out from the grotesque, gory wound. The pink and red muscle twitched and flexed over the bone as white tendons and ligaments grew out of the muscle attaching and connecting everything in place. Next came the skin. No sooner had the flesh covered the arm than it sprouted the same white fur.
The troll snarled and lunged at Hermean. The dwarf rolled to his left, then somersaulted forward, and came back at the beast with a chop of his axe directly in the spine. He drove the blade through the beast’s bone, hearing the spine crunch and crack as the axe bit deeper and deeper. The troll twitched and then collapsed to the ground. Hermean pulled the axe free. The wound started to close and the troll’s toes started to twitch.
Hermean jumped up and brought his axe down on the troll’s neck. The head rolled free, the face frozen in a timeless snarl. The body slumped to the snow and Hermean sighed with relief.
The drake stood now and shook its head.
“A lot of help you were,” Hermean chided.
The drake snorted and then gestured with its snout to the trees deeper in the forest. Hoots and shouts whipped up all throughout the forest. There were more of them. A lot more.
Just then Hermean spied the group of warriors running toward him. He waved at them and shouted. “We have frost trolls boys,” he said as they drew near. “Take their heads, for if you take only a limb, they will regrow it, the frigid devils!”
Hermean put a foot on the corpse beside him. The corpse moved. In a sudden thrust of power it threw Hermean to the ground and stood on its feet. A fresh, ivory-colored skull grew from its neck. As before, muscle and sinew soon followed.