Blood of the Dragon: An NA Epic Fantasy

by Warren, Samantha

  Ychthorn saw the beast tense and flew into action, knowing he would not be in time to save his friend. He wished he could fling the gray monster through the trees and briefly imagined himself doing so. In the next moment, the creature was lying broken under a large oak, limbs twitching in death. The other wolves paused only momentarily at their leader's unexpected demise before jumping into action, giving Prigol ample time to slit his target's throat from ear to ear. Lana steadied her bow and put an arrow straight through the heart of the wolf closest to Bolgor, giving the young man space enough to pick up his mace and bring it to bear.

  Too large to fit in the clearing, Thorn remained perched atop the wagon, reaching down while the wagon tipped precariously to snatch another wolf in his jaws, a sickening crunch telling him when the creature had met its end. A fireball whipped past Ychthorn's head, setting a wolf on the far side of the camp aflame. It howled atrociously until Prigol ended its suffering with a quick thrust of the sword.

  The final wolf, realizing the tasty flesh of human was not to be savored on this day, slinked away from the battle to the small corral holding the six horses. After surveying the best plan of attack, it dug a shallow trench under one side of the fence and slid forward. Its jaws opened to snap at the nearest frantic horse, but all it tasted was the wooden shaft that pierced its skull. The beast fell heavily to the ground and did not move.

  Prigol and Bellithana set themselves to calming the horses, while Lana and Ychthorn calmed the shaken human. As the sun rose, they ate breakfast before breaking down the camp. The bodies of the wolves were dragged further into the trees and left for the scavengers. Lana settled herself onto the driver's bench, Bolgor already drowsing at her side. Prigol and Bellithana took to their bed chambers for some much deserved sleep, and Ychthorn settled down on his feather bed, replaying the events of the evening in his head.

  Something had happened that he had not expected. It had saved Bolgor's life. After much thought, Ychthorn focused on a book across the room and imagined it floating to him. It wobbled and slid off the dresser, nearly hitting the ground before steadying itself and slowly crossing the open space. A proud grin broke over the dragon's weary face and he settled down to sleep next to his favorite book, Tales of the Dragon King.

  Chapter 16

  The heat grew steadily unbearable as they neared the Flametongue Deadlands, native home of the fire spitters. When they were not driving or on guard duty, the friends spent much of their time sleeping in front of Prigol's newest invention—four tilted paddles set at right angles, all attached to a stick set in a solid base. The paddles turned using a complicated set of constantly shifting weights. The breeze the device generated was mild, but enough to lift some of the oppressing dead heat that hung inside the wagon. They had set the object, which Bolgor had named the Silent Wind, in front of the window in Ychthorn's room, and the girls stretched out on top of Thorny to sleep while Bolgor drove and Prigol took over guard duty.

  The landscape along their route grew sparse; the thick, green forests gave way to rolling, green plains. The rolling green plains slowly lost their color and turned into barren, orange hills, dirt and rock broken by the occasional withered, struggling tree or sparse clumps of tough, brown grass.

  Water sources grew few and far between and they had to conserve what they had. The horses became top priority, as the wagon would not move without them. Progress slowed as the strength of the black creatures, accustomed to cooler weather, began to flag in the oppressing heat. The lack of cloud cover caused night time to be comfortably cool and the group changed their plan. They would find or create shelter during the hottest parts of the day and travel during the cooler hours, thus sparing the horses from further torment.

  Four days into the Flametongue Deadlands, their water began to run dangerously low. There had been no visible water source since they passed the border and they began to worry. The last barrel they had went to the horses in the middle of the fourth night, each of the group taking a small sip before they poured the remaining contents into the trough attached to the side of the wagon.

  In a stroke of pure luck, they found a shallow cave halfway up a small hill, just after the sun rose high above the peaked cliffs that stood to the east. Inside the cave, they found a deep, cool pool at the back, where they tethered the horses and filled their water barrels.

  Ychthorn planted himself at the mouth of the cave to watch the wagon and protect the sleeping crew from invaders. Prigol propped himself against the wall in the back corner, near the horses, and promptly dozed off. Bellithana stretched out on her sleeping mat on a small shelf next to the pool, close to the coolness of the water, but safe from the accidental shifting of the resting horses. Chelandra propped herself against Ychthorn, head resting on a curled elbow. Bolgor slid down next to her, watching her silently, a frown upon his face.

  A friendship that stood strong through thick and thin for eighteen years had grown tense and tortured over nearly four months of near constant contact between the two. Overwhelming fears for each other's safety caused them to poke and snap at the other to cover up new feelings neither of them understood. The friendship had taken an unexpected turn at Legh, a small kiss during an excited moment, and both of them were having trouble acknowledging the change.

  Lana glanced up as he slid down next to her, his leg brushing gently against hers. He had cracked a joke the previous evening and she had snapped at him excessively. She gave him a small smile in apology and laid her head back on Thorny's elbow. Bolgor returned the smile and adjusted so he could comfortably rest his hand upon her arm as they both drifted off to sleep in the cool comfort of the cave.

  A quiet hiss woke the couple as the sun grew lower in the sky. Bolgor's head had slipped from Ychthorn's flank and rested on Lana's soft shoulder, their fingers entwined. Bolgor straightened, wiping the sleep from his eyes, leaving his fingers in Lana's until she pulled her hand away to walk to the front of the cave. A sad confusion crossed his face briefly and he went to join her. They could see the light outside growing dimmer. Lana placed her hand on Ychthorn's side and Bolgor followed suit, placing his fingers a hair's breadth from hers but avoiding actually touching them. Thorn told them he had seen movement further down the short slope. He could not be sure what it was, but he knew it was bigger than a horse. He had seen merely a shadow, possibly a trick of the light, but more likely a beast of the desert.

  They had all heard of the Flametongue Wanderers, a band of rogue dragons who refused to be captured and enslaved. They were the original fire spitters—violent, savage, and bloodthirsty. Most of them were a dark orangeish brown, the color of desert clay. They wandered the sands in small groups led by tribal leaders. It was said that they were organized and had twice-yearly meetings to discuss tribal borders, hunting grounds, and other matters of concern to the inhabitants of the desert. They set up raiding parties and ambushed unwary travelers passing through the desert. They were especially fond of taking out the king's caravans heading to or from the military installations on the southern border of the deadlands.

  The shadow moved again, stepping from behind an enormous boulder, forming into a massive desert-orange scaly beast, nearly as large as Ychthorn, but not as thick. Its tail was twice as wide as Thorn's, a solid lump of fat. Sharp horns curved over the creature's head, a web of skin stretched between them, shading its eyes from the glaring sun. Ychthorn shuffled away from the entrance of the cave as the dragon below surveyed the landscape. Bolgor crouched low near the open door and watched the creature carefully. It did not see them and eventually moved off to the north, back along the path the group had just followed.

  They remained in the cave much longer than they had intended, watching carefully for any other wanderers. After they were sure the coast was clear, they packed up the freshly filled water barrels, hitched up the horses, and began the treacherous journey to the south end of the deadlands, in search of the Gypsy camp they were to launch the attack from. They plodded on through the night, doublin
g the watch, Ychthorn flying circles, searching for deadlands dragons with his exceptional night vision.

  For the next few days, they noticed nothing amiss. They encountered another water source where they could fill their barrels and water the horses, but they dared not camp there. The ground near the spring, which bubbled from the hillside and formed a shallow pool in the dry crusty dirt, was packed hard, showing evidence of being well used by other creatures, most likely dragons and other dangerous beings. They moved on as soon as possible to find a safer shelter that could be defended if necessary. Just after dawn the next morning, Prigol, who had better vision than the humans, though it was not as good as Ychthorn's, spotted movement behind them. Thorn landed on the wagon and remained close, unwilling to abandon his friends even long enough to search the area.

  Prigol made his way swiftly to the area he had seen the movement and discovered a dragon very similar to the one they had seen days before. It watched the wagon closely, following it steadily without showing any inclination to attack. Prigol did a wide search of the area as well as he could, discovering many tracks, but unable to tell whether they were a day or a week old, as he had little experience with tracking in the desert. He made his way back to the wagon, having been gone more than an hour, and gave his report using the CITS device, as Bellithana was driving and Ychthorn was still on top of the wagon. Bolgor and Lana listened intently, Lana leaning inconspicuously closer to Bolgor as Prigol described the beast and the tracks he had found.

  Prigol went to the front to tell Bellithana what he had found and left the couple alone. Bolgor looked at Lana and saw fear lacing her eyes. He reached out to take her hand and she instinctively started to pull away. He clasped it tightly and glared at her.

  "Stop it," he pleaded.

  She made as if to protest, then laughed at herself and rested her head on his shoulder. He slid a strong arm around her and kissed her forehead as she sighed.

  "How far is it to the Gypsy camp?" she inquired.

  "Hopefully only another two days, but we really can't be sure. The map we have is decent, but not to scale."

  "Hmnh," came her response and he could feel the fear and uncertainty sitting tensely in her shoulders.

  They found a small outcropping later in the day that provided a relatively defensible spot with a shallow overhang and set up camp. With a bit of creative effort and the use of the extra horses, they were able to get the wagon up to the outcropping as well, setting it securely at a right angle to the back wall. They tied the horses to the wagon in the shelter of the outcropping stone and set up as much of a defense as they could manage. Ychthorn set himself at an angle on the ledge, giving him the greatest possible view of the surrounding area that he could manage.

  Lana and Bellithana positioned themselves inside the wagon on the side closest to the edge, watching through the windows and using the wagon itself as a cover. Bolgor took up a spot in front of the wagon near the path they had used. He was not well versed in long-range weapons, but he was deadly when it came to wielding a mace and he would be more than a match for anything that attempted to come at them from that avenue.

  Prigol, invisible to the Flametongue dragons as far as they knew, stationed himself south of the camp, sheltered by the sun near a clump of rocks just off the path. When they were all settled in, Bellithana created a veil, camouflaging the stark black wagon set against the orange desert sand.

  Those remaining on the ledge napped in shifts of two, the others keeping watch. Prigol, being a Hidden, could function at full capacity for several days before needing sleep. The sun was starting to set when Prigol heard a shuffle from further up the road. The path itself remained clear, but he spotted three dragons making their way along the base of the hill, working quietly and steadily toward the outcropping. He set off a signal, visible only to Ychthorn and Bellithana, and began picking his way back to the camp. Ychthorn saw the signal, but he was already preparing for battle, as two more of the savages were heading toward the camp from the north. Lana had spotted the dragons to the north as well and woke Belli. They all took up their positions and readied their weapons.

  The Flametongues moved at different paces and did not coordinate their attacks well. The two from the north reached their mark several minutes before those from the south and went on the attack without waiting for their support. The orange dragons rushed up the path to the outcropping and, seeing only the one dragon and a feeble human, were eager to take the travelers down before their tribemates arrived so they could claim the spoils. Ignoring the human, they both launched themselves at the red dragon. Bolgor took full advantage and quickly buried his mace deep into the lead attacker's chest, crushing bone and pulverizing the beast's heart. It fell before it reached its intended target, blood soaking the ground.

  The second dragon paused briefly before closing in with Ychthorn, attempting to spit fire as it came. Bellithana cast a spell in the nick of time, effectively blocking the spit glands and causing the creature to choke. It recovered quickly, however, and clashed heavily with Ychthorn, knocking them both off the ledge and down the hill. They tore at each other with sharp talons and ripped at flesh with sharp teeth. With both dragons thus engaged, the humans prepared for the onslaught of the other three dragons, who quickly surrounded the wagon. An arrow whipped out of one of the windows, piercing the lead dragon in the right shoulder. It did not faze him as he sauntered up and peered in through the veil.

  "That hurt," he accused Lana as he stared at her through the small hole.

  Bellithana jumped to Lana's side and prepared a fire ball of her own to launch at the dragon, but held back as Bolgor was lifted into the air by the back of his shirt, struggling uselessly in the creature's talons. Lana dropped her bow, her jaw tightly clenched.

  Taking his eyes off the women briefly, the dragon glanced down at those battling below. Ychthorn had gotten the better of his opponent and had the creature pinned to the ground. It was bleeding heavily from large gashes in its flanks and neck, eyes rolling widely as it struggled feebly.

  "Thank you," the lead dragon called down to Ychthorn. "He has always been a thorn in my side."

  Ychthorn looked up in horror and saw his companions surrounded. He stepped off the defeated dragon, who did not get up but continued to struggle weakly.

  "Come, join us," requested the orange beast. "And have your Hidden friend end Misol's struggle before he heads this way, please."

  Ychthorn glanced at Prigol, who had only made it halfway back to the camp before the attack. He returned to his friends as the invisible blade cut through thick flesh and ended the wounded dragon's suffering. Once they were all back at the wagon, the conquering dragon surveyed the small group, Bolgor still dangling helplessly from his claws.

  "Well, then. This was an interesting encounter. I must admit I did not expect to suffer so many casualties. But, alas, that is what happens when you must use inferior warriors." He sighed with irritation. "Regardless, you will come with us. Unveil the wagon, hitch up the horses, and let us move on before the sun sets."

  He set Bolgor down, picking the mace up off the ground with his other clawed hand. "Assuming you do not wish to continue this battle, of course," he added, as he hefted the mace onto his shoulder and eyed the confused and thoroughly defeated group of weary travelers.

  Chapter 17

  It took them nearly two hours to reach the Flametongue Wanderers' enclave, a collection of deep caves built into the side of a small mountain. Along the way, one of the orange dragons accompanying the Flametongue leader pulled medical supplies from a pack around his neck and bandaged several of Ychthorn's more severe wounds. Very few words were spoken after introductions were made all around. The head dragon introduced himself as Sajan Flamen. He was the leader of the Flamen clan, most respected and feared of all the clans in the Deadlands, and he was also the head dragon of the entire Flametongue tribe. The dragon who patched Ychthorn's wounds went by the name Forel; he was also a Flamen. The third dragon, slightly smalle
r than the others and of a noticeably brighter shade, was Cron, of the Ardur clan.

  A tentative question from Ychthorn brought the explanation that Cron was part of an exchange program that existed between the majority of the Flametongue clans. Young dragons who were heir to the leadership of their own clan were traded for short periods of time, usually no more than a few years, to another clan to learn what they could from that clan's leader. A young dragon would often spend time with multiple clans throughout the early years of their life before returning to their own clan to prepare for leadership under their father or mother's care.

  Some of the lesser families who were not in line for leadership often followed this same custom, after receiving the approval of both leaders from the involved clans. This practice kept relations between the multiple clans on a fairly civil plane, as well as discouraging inbreeding among individual clans. Unlike the two rogue tribes in the cold north, the Flametongue Wanderers did not follow feudal practices of marriage. A child was not married off for money or power. Instead, they were encouraged to find a match that was suitable to their own needs. Millenia of experience had proven to the Flametongues that such pairings were more successful and less volatile than those created based on matters of wealth and influence.

  The sun was high in the cloudless sky as the group neared the caves. The humans and Prigol had all retreated to the relative shelter of the wagon, but the horses began to suffer from the extended exposure to the unabated heat. Lila began stumbling frequently, even after she was tied behind the wagon and not forced to pull. Lily and Lola began foaming at the mouth, thick globs of white saliva plopping around their feet as they plodded along. Lolly's eyes began to glaze over, and Maggie and Mitsy glistened darkly with a heavy coating of sweat. With an unseen signal from Sajan, six dragons flew down from the mouth of the largest cave. The horses were unhitched and large swaths of thick cloth were wrapped around their midsections. Each dragon grasped the ends of the cloth wrapped around one horse and lifted it gently up to the cave. The horses, dehydrated and exhausted, did not struggle. The wagon was placed in the shelter of the mountain and two small dragons were set to guard it. A larger dragon flew down with straps attached to his flanks. All but Ychthorn slipped their arms through the straps, allowing them to be lifted into the large cave, as the clan's home was not designed for access by humans.