From the midst of the camp a group of lightly-armed men rose from around their campfire and wove their way between the tents. As they approached, Ilfedo smiled at their commander. “Ombre.”
“How’s the first watch coming?” Ombre slapped him on the shoulder. “If you need a better set of eyes on the ground, I’ll be more than happy to take your place!”
Ilfedo shook his head. “I want you to rouse Honer and Ganning.” He stood at the valley’s crest and pointed briefly out over the desert. “If something is out there, I want it found.”
“We could continue waiting, Ilfedo. You haven’t given it all that much time.”
“We could, you’re right. But I want whatever is out there, if it is out there, found. Rouse however many men you need and start search parties. Just make sure Honer and Ganning are in on it.”
“Too bad you didn’t bring Seivar.” Ombre cleared his throat and grinned. “I told you that bird would be handy out here.”
Too bad, indeed, Ilfedo acknowledged to himself. He left the valley, keeping inside the tree line as he made his way back to his post. Once again the men hiding in the shadows acknowledged him as he passed, and he beckoned them to remain in their positions.
He had laid the trap for whatever the inhabitants of this part of his country had encountered. Now, if it came at all, the creature would have to come to him. If not, perhaps the search party would find something.
The next morning, Honer and Ganning reported to Ilfedo that they had braved the desert cold with a hundred men. “There’s nothing out there save for lizards and rodents’ tracks,” Ganning said.
The next evening Ilfedo commanded the watch to continue while he went in search of one of the recent victim’s cabins. He found it tucked in the edge of a small meadow. The grass there was peculiar, for its blue stalks glowed. He paused at the meadow’s edge to marvel. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen. He ran his fingers along one of the stalks and found it soft … like rabbit fur.
At the far side of the clearing, a single lantern shone from one of five small windows. The place sported a second floor, but the lantern provided the only evidence of habitation.
The grass shimmered around him. It stood up to his waist, and when he looked down, deeper hues were rippling around him. He watched the ripples expand to the edge of the meadow and then headed for the cabin. The grass continued to shimmer in the starlight.
Despite the dampening air, he felt incredibly warm.
The cabin door eased open a crack, and a woman’s sharp voice rang out. “Who’s there? Tell me now or else I shoot!” A round woman of no mean size slammed the door open the rest of the way. She leveled a crossbow at him.
Ilfedo raised his arms. “There is no need for that, madam! It is your Lord Warrior.”
The crossbow clicked as the woman locked her arrow in position. “If you really are who you claim to be, my lord. I need you to stand where you are so you can prove your identity to me.”
“Very well, madam.” Ilfedo stood still and crossed his arms. “How shall we proceed?”
“I … I … I hadn’t thought about that, my lord.” The woman shrugged her shoulders. Two children emerged from behind her, clinging with tiny fists to her skirt. She tightened her tone. “How do I know you are the Lord Warrior? You could be that thing come back to take another of my babies. I will not allow it! You will pay for that, you blood-thirsty coward. Murderer!”
Whether she had intended to or not, the woman released her projectile. Ilfedo heard the arrow whoosh through the air. It struck his right shoulder, spinning him around. He gritted his teeth as he fell.
“Curse you, woman,” he muttered. “I have a child, too!”
She must have heard him, for as he looked at the shaft of the arrow sticking through his shoulder, she came running. Kneeling down she clasped her hands over her mouth. “I am so sorry! When you said that you, too, have a child, I knew it must be you. Oh, what have I done?”
A screech rent the air, like a woman’s cry and an eagle’s scream, blended in one. Ilfedo struggle to his feet as the woman barreled through the glowing grass back to her cabin. She screamed, “No!” and tackled a shadowy figure darting toward her door. The children froze as their mother fought the would-be kidnapper.
The creature!
Ilfedo’s useless right arm hung at his side. When it came to sword play, his left hand was nearly as useless. He left the Sword of the Dragon in its sheath, ignored the pain stabbing across his chest, and ran to the cabin. The glowing grass illuminated the woman as she tangled with a humanoid with feathered wings.
He swung his boot into the side of its head with all his might. The creature screamed. Two more like it leapt from the roof. The impact twisted the arrow inside Ilfedo’s shoulder. But hands raised, he faced the creatures, also fighting without weapons. He swung his fist at one creature, then another. Every blow he delivered seemed to bounce off a leather muscle in their bodies.
In a blur of movement, the thickest creature punched at him. He ducked, and his foot struck a rock. With his make-shift weapon, he battered the creatures mercilessly on each of their gaunt manly faces. They fled into the trees. The remaining creature turned from the frenzied mother. Dropping to its hands, it raised its legs and kicked the stone out of his hand. Then it stood and screeched birdlike at the trees.
Four other creatures glided from the branches and landed in the meadow behind Ilfedo. He regarded them wearily. He had lost a lot of blood in his wounded shoulder, and his arm had lost its strength again.
The big woman stumbled into her cabin and closed the door. Now the only light that remained for him to see by emanated from the blue grass.
His vision wavered in and out of darkness and then he collapsed. Again the grass seemed to warm him. The creatures cackled, and one of them walked up to the cabin and leapt through a window. Glass rained around Ilfedo. The woman and the children screamed.
“I won’t let this happen!” Ilfedo’s left hand found the hilt of his sword, and he struggled to draw his weapon. One of the creatures—men, it would seem—held him back and yanked the sword from his grasp.
It screeched and smiled at its fellows. They cackled and pinned Ilfedo to the ground.
Raising the sword, the creature stabbed it at Ilfedo’s heart. Living fire sprouted from the blade. The hilt ripped itself out of the creature’s hand, twisting as it did so to cut off a couple of fingers. The blade hovered in the air and angled at the creature, blazing with glorious light. Ilfedo felt a surge of victory.
The creature spread its wings and raced into the trees. Just as it seemed to have escaped, the Sword of the Dragon speared through the air and pierced its back. Its light illuminated the scene in the midst of the dark trees. The living fire engulfed the creature from head to toe, burning the body to ashes that rained on the dry leaves and formed a heap.
The sword floated over the remains and stabbed itself into the midst of the ashes. A voice spoke from its blade. “As spoken by his holy prophet, I am living fire. From the hand of God I came and if ever used for evil I will, of my own accord, turn upon the wicked one.”
The remaining winged men stumbled over each other as they fled into the forest.
Ilfedo could hear the woman inside the cabin fighting for her life with the one who had crashed through the window. But he could not find the strength to move. “I am coming home to you, my love!” he cried to the starry sky.
“Not so soon, my friend!” Ombre crashed out of the woods and stood over him. A contingent of soldiers swept into the cabin.
The winged man stumbled out of the window. A couple of his fellows swooped in and carried him into the darkness.
Ilfedo lost consciousness.
Ombre darted to the heap of ashes, wrapped his fingers around the cold blade of the Sword of the Dragon and carefully pulled it out of the dirt. He waited, half-expecting the frightening weapon to blaze anew with fire. But it did not. He walked back to Ilfedo, knelt, and placed it in Ilfedo’s h
and. The Lord Warrior’s wounds were beyond a quick fix. But Ombre had seen the sword destroy an enemy by its own power and of its own accord. Surely this mighty gift, if it truly came from a prophet of God, could help his friend.
Light radiated from the sword, and the grass in its immediate vicinity died. The arrow protruding from Ilfedo’s shoulder burst into flames and vanished. Blinding light sprouted from the blade in tendrils that latched onto the man’s wounds.
Ombre stepped back and closed his eyes. “God, let him live.” Footsteps scuffled beside him. He opened his eyes to find the woman of the cabin with her two children kneeling beside his friend. His helmed men came out the cabin door, lowering their swords. More soldiers darted from the forest, all of them gazing upon the awesome sight as the sword continued to keep Ilfedo alive. They shook their heads and smiled, then fanned out to search the forest for the escapees. Some of them remained and faced the forest with drawn swords. They kept their wary eyes on the trees.
The woman gasped and Ombre followed her wide-eyes to the place where Ilfedo lay. A man stood over him in white robes. The man’s countenance exuded purity, and his eyes shone like golden suns. He was fearful to behold, but Ombre could not tear his gaze away. An angel? It must be. But how was this possible?
As they stared at him, the angel smiled down at the woman’s frizzy, red-headed children. The innocent creatures had their heads bowed in humble prayer and their tiny hands, though bruised and bloody, they had folded in prayer.
Ombre fell to his knees as the angel put a healing hand on Ilfedo’s shoulder and held the Sword of the Dragon in the other. How quickly his quiet life had changed. His best friend had married a wonderful girl, and now it seemed that God himself would let nothing be simple again. First the sword with its tremendous powers arrived, along with the Warrioresses and their almost sad companionship, then the winged men appeared in the Hemmed Land, and now an angel intervened on Ilfedo’s behalf. He closed his eyes and thanked the Creator for it all.
When he opened his eyes the angel had gone and the sword was sheathed at Ilfedo’s side. Nothing remained of Ilfedo’s near fatal encounter apart from his torn clothing. His chest heaved steady and strong.
Ombre stood and smiled down at the boy and girl. They returned his gaze with weary curiosity. “The faith of the young is strongest of all, apparently.” He helped the woman to her feet. “You need not worry about those creatures. They will not return. Five hundred men are encamped two miles north of here and another five hundred are combing the woodland. They will be found.
“In the meantime, I suggest you get these little treasures to bed. They well deserve it.” He patted the woman’s shoulder and summoned four of his men. “You will keep watch here tonight. If the creatures return, sound the alarm. Reinforcements will not be long in coming.”
“My Lord Ombre.” One of the men cleared his throat. “Our original force is spread too thin to effectively cover the entire border—”
Ombre clapped him on the back. “Yes, but not for long. Lord Ilfedo already sent a courier requesting additional troops. We are going to thoroughly sweep the forests for these creatures until we find them. Also, a fort will be established in the valley along the border. When we are done, this area will be as secure as any in the Hemmed Land.”
Ganning limped out of the trees over to Ombre and shook his hand. “I heard what happened. How is he?” He glanced at Ilfedo.
“Fortunate to be alive. You’ll not believe it, Ganning, but an angel actually healed him.”
Ganning grinned from ear to ear. “Was she a handsome brunette with long wavy hair and eyes the hue of summer clover?”
Ombre shook his head. No matter what he’d say to the contrary, Ganning would never believe him. Perhaps it was his fault for being a jokester in his youth and letting it carry over into adulthood. Why couldn’t he always be sober like Ilfedo? People believed Ilfedo and always took him seriously.
“Angels indeed!” Ganning limped over to Ilfedo and shook him out of a deep slumber.
Caritha turned her back to the fireplace’s warmth and brushed back her hair, opening the door on Ilfedo’s house. Cool, damp night air rushed from outside.
“Don’t leave that open, Caritha!” Rose’el said rather sharply.
Caritha glanced over her shoulder with a knowing smile.
The tall sister pulled a blanket around her body and lowered herself into the hammock. “You … you’ll wake the baby.” She looked at the floor, then pointed at the crib on the hearth next to Evela.
“The baby is fine, Rose’el. And haven’t you used that excuse a couple times too many by now.” Laura put a dish under the pump, washed it, and handed it off. Leaning against the counter, Levena took the dish and dried it as she whistled a soft tune.
Evela was sitting on the hearth. A contented smile warmed her face as she peered into the short wooden crib. She sighed. “I don’t think any baby could be more content or secure than this one feels right now, surrounded by all of us. Rain usually calls for gloominess, but look at her. She sleeps as if there is not a thing in all of Subterran for which she’d stir.”
Rose’el rolled her eyes. She often treated these sentimental moments as trivialities. But Caritha laughed, for Rose’el’s eyes hesitated upon seeing the head of the bear Ilfedo had killed, hung above the mantle. She humphed disapproval and shook her head.
Caritha slipped outside and eased the door closed. She walked along the stone patio to the newly constructed outdoor fireplace. A scrap of flint lay on top. After throwing in a few scraps of dry wood, she sparked a flame that soon crackled warmly across the logs. An overhang made of skins and canvas kept the rain running away from the patio. Ilfedo had made a few modifications to the house before his departure to the Hemmed Land’s boundary with the northern desert.
For an hour or more the fire warmed her while she sat on a bench looking down the grassy clearing. A few bugs fought through the raindrops until the downpour lessened to a drizzle. A rabbit hopped out of the forest to nibble on the grass.
From the tallest tree in sight, Seivar glided to the patio and swooped under its roof, perching before the open fire. “Mistress, mind if I share the fire with you?”
“Of course not. I will be happy for the company. My sisters have been a little distracted of late. The young princess has won their attention more often than I.”
Seivar fluffed his feathers and raked his silver talons through them.
Caritha gazed around the remainder of the clearing. “Where is Hasselpatch? I have not seen her today.”
Seivar blinked his silvery eyes at her. “Does Mistress desire me to find her?”
“No. No, that will not be necessary.” She petted the bird’s wet back. “I only wondered.”
The rain continued to fall. The clouds thickened, then thinned and thickened again. The rabbit hopped back into the forest.
As the two sat enjoying the warmth of the fire, a curious sound caught Caritha’s ear—a distinct cough that could have belonged to a very small person. She glanced about the patio and there, on the lowest step, stood Miverē.
Seivar lunged toward him with beak open, but Caritha caught the bird’s tail feathers. “No! This is a friend.”
She knelt and held out her hand. Miverē used his silver wand as a cane and teetered into her palm. “Hi,” he managed. But his voice sounded hoarse.
“You poor thing. Did you catch a cold?”
In answer the fairy sneezed and hoarsely replied, “Yes.” He jabbed a slender finger at his throat. “Laryngitis.”
She hurried him inside where all the sisters could help. They decided first to get him warm by the fire and then give him a bath. He didn’t protest. Levena carried the hot water from the fireplace to the kitchen, and they filled a bowl for him.
He held on to Laura’s pinky, and she lowered him toward the water. As soon as his miniature toes dipped in, he shot out as quick as an arrow from a taut bow. His little body turned red to match his hair. They added som
e cold water and convinced him to try again. This time the temperature suited him fine.
If allowed, he would have remained in the bath for a long while, but Caritha pulled him out and insisted he get good and dry. He wrapped himself in a dishcloth and tapped his head with his wand. Every hair hissed, steam rose until his head dried, and his tiny quill formed out of thin air and stuck itself behind his ear. Pulling it out he smoothed the feather with tender care, then tucked it in place atop his head.
That evening he said not a single word. He sat wrapped in the dishcloth on Evela’s shoulder the whole time, coughing and gazing into the crib. Caritha could tell he wanted to say things, but his voice wouldn’t allow it. So he stared and occasionally a silvery tear rolled down his cheek.
Clearly the fairy missed his beloved friend, Dantress. He missed her a very great deal. Caritha wondered if that was why he had come—to see the infant for whom Dantress sacrificed her life.
“Is anyone hungry?” Rose’el held her stomach and it growled. “I am—very.”
Laura and Caritha prepared a soup. Dantress’s former garden had yielded a generous variety of vegetables. They sliced potatoes, red onions, and mushrooms into the pot. Rose’el muttered to herself as she walked to the back of the kitchen and opened the trap door to the root cellar. She vanished into the darkness and returned with a jar filled with a brown liquid. “Here.” She handed it to Caritha and shuffled back to the fireplace.
Caritha poured the broth in, and before long everyone enjoyed a bowl of steaming vegetable soup in front of the fireplace. For Miverē they filled a small measuring cup. He sipped the soup for a long while, still staring at the baby.
“It is good to be with you, daughters of the great dragon,” he said at last.
“Your voice is back.” Evela smiled down at him.
He sniffled and coughed but nodded.
Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) Page 9