Dragon's Blood

by Jason J. Nugent

  As they approached, Jor said in a quiet voice, “Be careful. We don’t know their customs. No sense in coming this far only to be killed for some breach of form we aren’t aware of.”

  Near the entrance, two men barely able to stand took notice of the group.

  “Hey, Bentha, would ya look at that? Ain’t never seen them here before,” the man on the right said. He was overweight with a large bald spot and a scraggly beard. His clothes were dirty and his shirt was untucked from his trousers, exposing his jiggling belly.

  “Aye, Marco, looks that way ta me,” Bentha replied. He was slightly skinnier with a full head of dark hair and deep inset eyes but was just as dirty.

  “What have we here?” Marco said, reaching out to touch Jor’s long red hair.

  Before he had a chance to remove his hand, Jor knocked his hand away and grasped his throat, slamming him against the outer wall of the tavern. Marco’s eyes widened, his friend Bentha nearly falling over laughing.

  “You touch me or anyone like that again, I won’t hesitate to sever that hand and shove it down your throat. Am I clear?” Jor growled.

  “I’d listen to her, men; she’s a woman of her word,” Tozgan added.

  Marco nodded, unable to speak because of Jor’s grip. She held a moment longer and let go. Marco rubbed his throat and slunk away.

  “Dumb foreigner,” Jor heard him mutter as Bentha joined him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, and laughing heartily.

  “Like I said, be careful. Who knows what kind of fools are inside?” Jor said, then pushed through the wooden door of the tavern.

  Inside, the place was alive with music and laughter. A band of brightly dressed musicians was to their right, playing a song Jor had never heard that spoke of a dragon that liberated their people and fell asleep after drinking too much meade.

  The tavernkeeper was a short man with white hair and a full white beard. He wore a dark brown tunic stained with alcohol and a touch of blood. He rushed from patron to patron behind the bar, filling eager customers’ mugs with ale and succumbing to all kinds of insults, which he laughed off as he took their dracs.

  Most within the tavern happily sang along with the musicians, their voices rising in a drunken chorus.

  “By Meanos, I’ve missed that!” Tozgan said, clapping Jor on the back. The tavernkeeper looked up at them with wide, frightful eyes.

  “You aren’t from around here, are you?” he asked.

  “Come on, Brahn, keep the ale flowing!” a man down the bar called out.

  “I’ll be there in a minute!” the tavernkeeper said, never removing his eyes from Tozgan.

  Brahn leaned closer. “Are you folks from the east?” He spoke so softly that Jor barely heard him over the music and singing.

  Tozgan looked to her and she stepped closer to the bar.

  “What answer gets us a mug of ale?” Jor replied with a wide smile.

  Brahn nodded slowly. “I see. You might do well to keep to yourself. Those from east of the mountains aren’t treated kindly here. Now for me, as long as you’ve got dracs you’re willing to part with, I don’t care where you come from.”

  “Brahn! Ale!” the man yelled again. Jor turned in his direction and saw a massive man with a long braided brown beard. He looked able to tear a tree in two and then carry it over the mountains.

  “Go on, take care of the man before he can’t stand it,” Jor said to Brahn. The tavernkeeper hesitated, then rushed toward the large man and filled three mugs of ale.

  “There you go, Anders. That ought to last a few minutes, at least,” Brahn said to the man.

  “Hey Jor, why’d you do that?” Ori asked with a look of distress on his face. “I really wanted something to drink!”

  “Patience. That man is larger than any of us and we aren’t here to fight.”

  Brahn returned and poured mugs of ale. “Dracs?” he asked before setting the mugs in front of them.

  Jor reached into her bag and pulled out the coins. “Here,” she said, slapping them on the bar. Brahn scooped them up and smiled.

  “Enjoy!” he said, pushing the mugs across the bar.

  “Sweet, sweet nectar,” Tozgan said, taking a long sip. Jor, Ori, and Belthos did the same. It was cool and sweet. Jor took another sip.

  A table opened up near the far wall. “Hey, let’s grab some seats,” Ori said, leading the group to the table.

  As they were about to sit, Anders and two others as large as him plopped themselves in the chairs.

  “Hey! We were about to sit there,” Ori said.

  “Is that so? Like I’d let a group of strangers take my seat,” Anders replied. He downed an entire mug of ale in one gulp, slamming the mug on the table.

  “Brahn, more ale! And tell these strangers who gets the table, will ya?” Anders yelled out.

  “It’s all right. We didn’t know,” Jor said, holding Ori back. “We meant no disrespect.”

  “The redhead knows her place! You’d all do well to listen to her!”

  Jor’s anger burned bright, but she pushed it down, unwilling to let it boil out of control.

  The musicians changed to a different tune that got many in the tavern out of their seats dancing.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Jor said to Anders and the pair with him, whisking her group toward another table that had been vacated.

  “That woman leads them like dogs! I bet they sniff her arse, too!” Anders said to one of the men. Jor heard it and spun on her heels.

  “I tried to be nice, but that’s how you wanna be?” Inside, she seethed. Tozgan and Belthos each grabbed an arm and restrained her.

  “What? It’s true. Look at them!” he said waving his hands at them. “Like little puppies following their momma.”

  “Come on, Jor, it’s not worth it,” Belthos said. “Remember what you told us. Let it go and enjoy your ale.”

  Jor’s face burned almost as red as her hair. “I warn you, watch your tongue or I’ll cut it out for you.”

  “Big talk for a little girl,” Anders said, then turned from her to watch the dancers.

  “Let it be, Jor. Listen to your own advice. He’s not worth it,” Belthos said quietly.

  Jor finally looked at him and nodded. “Fine.”

  They sat at the empty table and finished their ale and several more mugs brought by Brahn, who was all too eager to take their dracs.

  Jor didn’t take her eyes off Anders for the rest of the night. She sipped her ale while he chugged mug after mug until he could barely stand on his own. His companions eventually dragged him out of the tavern, but not without him glaring at Jor, who returned the gaze.

  After they left, Brahn stopped by their table.

  “He’s not a terrible man, just a bit rock-headed at times. Fortunately he left early. I assume you need a place to sleep tonight? There’s an inn two doors down run by a sweet woman named Emelda. Tell her Brahn sent you, and she might not charge you double!”

  “Thanks for the kindness,” Jor said in a mocking tone.

  “Any time!”

  Brahn left to break up a fight between two women who were screaming about pigs or men or ale; Jor wasn’t quite sure.

  “I say we take up our friend on his offer. I could use some rest,” Tozgan said.

  “Same here. I’m in need of a good bed,” Ori added.

  They left and soon found rooms cheaper than Jor imagined, but still more than they were worth.

  Fourteen

  After Etain’s revelation, Lailoken couldn’t stop thinking about her words. Could it possibly be true about her age? If dragons lived that long, what about halflings? Did they get some form of extended life with dragon blood running through their veins?

  Lailoken often left the cavern to explore a new area, as he did this overcast morning. Thick white clouds covered the sky. In the distance, a dark gray sky foretold future storms.

  Since the talk with Etain, he relented on his abject hatred for dragons. None seemed to want him dead, at least not t
hat they expressed toward him.

  He attempted once to enter the further reaches of the cavern, but he was prevented from exploring and the attitude the other dragons gave Etain was enough for him to let it go. That allowed him to venture freely through the forest to learn about the strange dragon lands.

  Much of the vegetation seemed normal; nothing was too odd for him. The biggest change from Tregaron were the warmer temperatures. Tregaron was cold no matter what time of year. The dragon lands were temperate and green, teeming with life.

  Climbing down from the cavern, Lailoken went further west along the seashore, enjoying the crashing waves. In some small ways, it reminded him of home. Flanked as it was on three sides by the bitter cold northern sea, Tregaron was no stranger to the water, though here, it was warmer and the ocean breeze fell hot on his face. He followed the shoreline, leaving the cavern far behind and out of sight. A small stream emptying into the ocean caught his attention. It cut through the beach and into the forest beyond. With the hot sun above, he decided to follow it, exploring while taking a break from the heat.

  A few meters into the forest, he heard faint moaning. Not expecting anyone around, it caught his attention.

  The stream wound through the forest, cutting curved lines through the trees. He stayed close to its banks as he listened for the sound calling to him.

  Maybe it’s a trap, he thought. Etain did say not all the dragons believed in her leadership.

  He almost convinced himself that it was and turned around, unwilling to find the source of the sound. But then he chided himself for being afraid of a dragon, something he certainly was not, and continued farther, grabbing a thick stick to use as a weapon since his sword had been taken by the dragons who had watched over him in the cavern.

  Carefully walking around a bend in the stream, he saw movement ahead and quickly crouched down.

  “What is that?” he said quietly to himself. He watched a person struggling in the stream. It looked like a boy of about fifteen. His skin was gray. His tunic was tattered and there was hair missing in places on his scalp. He was moaning and growling, stuck in the middle of the stream as though something had ahold of his leg.

  “By Meanos, what is this?” Lailoken asked. The boy growled louder, his arms flailing.

  Lailoken looked to either side of the boy, expecting to find a greater danger, but nothing else moved.

  Moving slowly, Lailoken remained crouched as he approached the boy. The guttural sounds emanating from him frightened the slayer. He’d never heard such feral sounds come from another person. It was like he was an animal.

  Is this what happens to halflings? he wondered. Is he struggling against his animal nature?

  Cautious of startling him, Lailoken moved closer to figure out what he was dealing with. Then, the gray boy stopped struggling and whipped his head toward Lailoken with his nose high in the air, sniffing.

  “What is going on?” Lailoken asked quietly.

  The gray boy cocked his head to the side and Lailoken noticed a deep gash in his neck with pieces of flesh hanging off. With that much exposed muscle underneath, it should have poured blood, but it was just as gray as the rest of him. Frightened by the ghastly sight, Lailoken took a step back, unsure if he should pursue his inspection of the boy. Whatever it was, he wasn’t human. At least, not human as Lailoken understood.

  The gray boy cried, a sound so pitiful that Lailoken covered his ears. He stopped and turned in the stream, and instead of crossing it like he was doing when Lailoken arrived, he shuffled his way downstream toward the slayer.

  “What the…” Lailoken said. He waited a moment to assess where the boy was headed, and when he realized he was coming toward him, he turned to flee. He’d fought and killed many dragons in his time, but he’d never seen anything like this.

  Behind him, Lailoken heard the boy groan louder, snarling and sniffing the air. He turned and the boy was closing in on him.

  “By Meanos, I will not die this day!”

  Lailoken found a small clearing and took his stand, holding the large stick like a spear.

  The gray boy followed, rising out of the stream and stumbling along the bank directly toward him. Lailoken crouched, waiting for him to close in.

  The gray boy growled. Lailoken noticed his eyes were completely gray, as though storm clouds filled him. “What sickness ails you?”

  The boy stumbled on the bank and fell. He tried rising to his feet but lost control of his body and instead of standing, he clutched at the dirt and grass, trying to pull himself toward Lailoken.

  Noticing he had the advantage, Lailoken ran to him, intending on stopping him.

  “What are you?”

  The gray boy growled in reply. A patch of flesh was missing on his cheek and Lailoken could see inside his black mouth. The slayer recoiled in disgust. “This is not natural! If this is what dragon blood does to halflings, my sweet Alushia will have no future.”

  Clawing at the dirt, the gray boy pushed himself a little closer to Lailoken, but still he could not stand. The slayer crept closer with the stick raised in defense.

  “What’s wrong with you? What ails you?”

  The gray boy acted like he hadn’t heard a word Lailoken said. Instead, he seemed intent on clawing his way to the slayer, his mouth chomping.

  Lailoken approached the gray boy and stood a few feet from him, realizing he had no chance of attacking the slayer. Out of curiosity, Lailoken walked around the boy, inspecting him for wounds.

  Wherever he had exposed flesh, the gray boy’s skin was torn away, revealing muscle and bone underneath. No blood came from his wounds. Everything was gray, from the muscle to the bone to the gnarled skin. His hair was missing in places, and one spot on the back of his skull was open, exposing his brain.

  “How can you be alive? What sorcery is this?” he asked, as if the boy would reply. As he circled him, the boy turned toward him, clawing at the dirt and trying to gain ground on the slayer. Lailoken watched in awe.

  “What are you?” he asked again.

  A crash through the brush nearly launched him into the boy. Lailoken spun, holding the stick out to strike.

  A Jade dragon stared at him. It was just a bit taller than he, but small for a Jade. Lailoken considered attacking it but waited. If this were a dragon loyal to Etain, it would not do well to kill it.

  “What do you want? Why are you here?”

  To find the gray-soul. I lost track of it earlier. It’s not safe, Lailoken heard in his head. Confused and irritated, he stepped closer to the Jade.

  “What do you mean, gray-soul?”

  The boy. He lives no more. Driven mad by dark magic, he seeks only flesh. Poor, poor child.

  “What lies do you claim? Gray-soul? You aren’t one of Etain’s, are you?”

  I serve the Dragon Lord Etain faithfully and true. She has commanded your life be spared. I want nothing more than to please her.

  “So tell me, Jade, what is this? What manner of sorcery does this?” Lailoken grinned. Months ago, he would never have conversed with a dragon unless it was to convey how it was going to die. He considered them to be mindless, horrid creatures. But now, things were different in ways he never could have imagined. He was living a life he never expected and still found confusing.

  I do not know. The magic is ancient. They appear more frequently now. It’s a terrible spell.

  “Why didn’t you attack me? Were you truly here for him?”

  Your people must truly hate us. I never intended to hurt you. My purpose here was the gray-soul. I’ve been keeping watch on him for days.

  “Days? Where’d he come from?” Lailoken turned from the Jade, confident it was not there to cause harm, and looked back at the gray boy still struggling to free himself.

  I do not know. He came through the mountains south of the wall. He was and then he wasn’t.

  “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  He was but now he isn’t. It’s simple.

  Lailok
en was confused. “You make no sense. I do not follow your words.”

  The Jade raised its arms as if to attack. Lailoken crouched low with the stick, wary of a surprise.

  “I thought you said you sided with Etain!” Lailoken poked the stick toward the dragon.

  Behind you!

  Lailoken spun to find the gray boy nearly on him.

  “How’d you—”

  The boy lurched at him, falling on the slayer, and taking him to the ground. Lailoken smelled a pungent odor of death from the boy. Teeth chattered and the boy lunged to bite his flesh. He felt hot, fetid breath on his neck.

  “Get off me!” Lailoken screamed, pushing him away. The boy continued to attack, trying desperately to rip into Lailoken’s neck. “What are you doing?”

  The boy struggled and bit down several times, nearly pulling a chunk of Lailoken’s skin away.

  He heard a loud crash and the Jade was next to him. It grabbed hold of the gray boy’s torso and pulled, yanking the boy off him, then tossing him into the brush. The boy howled like a wounded animal and then lunged toward Lailoken again, but this time, the slayer was ready. He swung the thick stick down on the boy’s head, smashing his skull in. His brittle bones did nothing to stop the blow.

  Lailoken stepped back and swung again, connecting with the side of the gray boy’s head, and ripping his scalp off.

  When the slayer pulled the stick back, he marveled at the lack of blood.

  The boy growled, but it was far less fierce than earlier and lacked conviction. Lailoken swung the stick down hard, this time smashing his face in.

  The gray boy went silent.

  The Jade dragon circled behind the crumpled mess of a boy.

  He’s dead. Again.

  “I don’t understand!” Lailoken yelled at the Jade. “How can something die twice? It’s not possible!”

  I do not have details for you. Etain must know. She has to!

  Fifteen

  Lailoken stared deep into the blazing fire. He didn’t think the dragons needed the heat, but they kept it going for him overnight, either as an order from Etain or because they felt sorry for him. He didn’t know which.