Brother of the Dragon tb-2

by Paul Cook

  “You’re welcome,” he told her. “But you must be one of the parly. Don’t go stalking off on your own without telling us.”

  Beramun agreed.

  It was a warm, sunny morning, but there were signs change was coming. Fat white clouds crowded the sun, and by midmorning, low, gray clouds had come pushing down from the north. The men donned their grass capes and hoods. Beramun had no such storm gear among Lyopi’s hand-me-downs. Paharo offered her his cape, hut she declined it, saying she’d been rained on before.

  The land flattened gradually, the hills shrinking. Trees became fewer. An ocean of waving grass displaced the patches of knotweed and flintgrass that dotted the foothills like sparse locks of unruly hair.

  As they beheld the open savanna, Amero suffered pangs of memory. He’d not been to the great plain in many years, and his childhood came back to him in a painful rush. His first dozen years had been spent out here, wandering behind Oto, Kinar, and his fierce elder sister, Nianki. Too young to hunt, he’d often cared for baby brother Menni while Kinar prowled for roots and grubs. The fingers of his left hand curled with the memory of that tiny hand in his.

  “Arkuden.”

  The ghosts of years past vanished. “Eh?”

  “Paharo has found a trail, Arkuden.”

  “Found it? Where?”

  Udi pointed at the sea of grass, waving in the cool southern wind. “It looks like the Protector alighted here. He continued on foot that way,” he said, gesturing to the south. “The trail disappears a short way on. High grass can conceal even a dragon’s footprints.”

  Amero nodded. “We’ll have to spread out. Divide into pairs. No one is to lose sight of the others at any time, understand?”

  The four young men promptly paired off, leaving Amero with Beramun. Grinning at their Arkuden and the young woman, the boys waded off into the waist-high grass, sweeping the ground ahead of them with their spears.

  “I’m sorry,” Amero said to Beramun.

  “For what?”.

  “The boys think they’re being funny.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said. She set out, parting the grass with her hands like a swimmer.

  “Wait,” Amero called. “Don’t get too far ahead.”

  “Why not? It’s my country, after all.”

  “It was mine, too,” he muttered, plunging into the grass.

  They made slow progress through the thick spring growth, and the only things they found in the grass were snakes and hopping rats. When the sun neared its zenith, Paharo sang out from his place on Amero’s left.

  “Arkuden! A track!”

  Everyone converged on the spot where Paharo crouched in the grass. A large, bare human footprint was plainly visible once he’d pushed back the tall weeds.

  “He’s taken human shape,” said Udi.

  “Walking like a man, we can track him,” Paharo added.

  Amero looked in the direction the print pointed. “Still going due south. I wonder why?”

  “The river lies that way,” Beramun offered. “The raiders must cross it somewhere.”

  They re-formed and moved out, Paharo leading, along the dragon’s trail. They moved deliberately, careful to find the next footprint before proceeding.

  Cool wind rushed over the savanna, heralding a storm. The clouds darkened, lowering until it seemed they would touch the grass itself. Amero halted the party for rest and food. Not long after they stopped, a spear of lightning flashed to the ground some leagues away.

  “We’re going to get wet,” sighed Udi.

  They finished eating quickly and got moving again. Beramun took the lead this time, slipping through the tall weeds like a deer, scarcely disturbing the stalks as she passed. Compared to her, the village boys moved like clumsy oxen, tramping loudly and leaving a plain trail behind.

  Just as the first fat drops of rain splattered on Amero’s head, Beramun came scrambling back on all fours. “Down! Down!” she hissed. “Get down!”

  They dropped on their bellies. Udi was nearest Amero, so he grabbed Udi’s wrist and whispered, “Ask her what’s amiss.”

  Udi relayed the message. Back came a one-word answer: “Riders.”

  The clouds cracked open. Lying on the ground, Amero could see raindrops running down the grass stems, making little craters in the dirt when they landed. Over the pelting rain he heard a whistle, followed by a shout. He couldn’t make out what was said, but the speaker was male and only a few paces away.

  With hand signals, Amero indicated that his companions should spread out so a single rider couldn’t stumble over all of them at once. The boys crawled off into the grass. Beramun stayed where she was. The clop-clop of horses’ hooves was plain now. Amero gripped his spear tightly.

  “Ho, Tezar!” the rider called. “Any signs?”

  Any reply from the distant Tezar was lost in the drumming rain. Amero was horrified to see Beramun suddenly get up on one knee. He gestured frantically at her to get down.

  A horse came through the tall grass on Amero’s right. Drawing in his hands and feet, Amero made himself as small and still as possible.

  There was another, brighter flash of lightning, followed at once by a booming roll of thunder. While it was still echoing, Beramun ran up to the first rider, cupped her hands under his right heel, and heaved. He hit the ground and, dazed, pushed himself up on his hands and knees.

  Amero rushed forward and struck the raider on the head with the shaft of his spear. The man dropped facedown in the grass. Glaring fiercely at Beramun, Amero waved for her to get out of sight.

  She answered his glare with a shrug, then vanished into the grass. Amero crept away, too. Moments later, a pair of horsemen reached the scene and found their comrade out cold, his horse cropping grass a short distance away.

  Amero held his breath, but the newcomers burst into raucous laughter. “Drunk again, Wenaman?” said one.

  “Better get him up before Hoten sees him,” growled the other raider.

  The men heaved their limp friend onto his horse. Lightning flared, showing that their leather chestplates and hoods were embellished with garish paint, bones, horns, and animal teeth.

  They rode on, and Amero lifted his head slightly to follow their progress. They headed northeast in the direction of Yala-tene.

  Blinking hard against the rain, Amero turned to look for the rest of the raider patrol. He expected to see perhaps a score or so of riders. What he did see froze the blood in his veins.

  Hundreds and hundreds of men on horseback, heads bowed against the rain, filled the plain in a ragged line half a league long. On their heels came a sizable herd of oxen, and behind the cattle was a bedraggled, slow-moving mob of people on foot. On each side of these obvious captives were more mounted men. Some prisoners were laden with towering packs or harnessed to long travois heaped with bundled goods.

  In all, Amero estimated there were more than a thousand people crossing the plain. This was no scouting party, but the host Beramun had warned them about. She had greatly underestimated their numbers.

  A dark suspicion rose in Amero’s mind. Was her mistake genuine or part of some complex stratagem to catch Yala-tene off guard? Was Duranix right about her?

  Amero made himself small in the grass and tried to think what to do next. He had to get his people out of the raiders’ way, then they had to find Duranix and get themselves back to Yala-tene. All without being caught.

  The sky lowered further, and though it was early afternoon, the day grew as dark as evening. Rain pounded down like a waterfall. Muddy water cut shallow gullies in the sod. Amero had to crawl on his belly through this muck to get away from the wide-ranging outriders. He thanked his ancestors’ spirits for sending the rain to shield him and his companions.

  He barely managed to get out of the way before the main body of raiders rode by. He was close enough to hear voices calling out commands, complaints, and harsh jibes. He smelled the ox herd. An odd thumping noise he didn’t recognize at first turn
ed out to be the sound of blows delivered to the backs of the raiders’ prisoners. Riders guarding the captives dealt these blows repeatedly, almost rhythmically, to keep the tired, reluctant mob moving.

  Many paces away, behind and to Amero’s right, Beramun was hiding in the grass. She had upended the first rider because she thought they could steal his weapons, but he’d been seen by his comrades.

  Peering through the grass and pouring rain, she watched the sodden herd of prisoners stumbling by. She recognized the faces of many of her fellow slaves from Almurk. She thought of Roki and the screams of her murdered family, the memories bringing anger and filling her with determination. Armed only with a short flint knife, she crawled toward the marching mass of prisoners.

  As she slithered through the mud, Beramun came upon Paharo lying quietly in the weeds. She halted alongside him.

  “We must do something!” she hissed in his ear.

  “Against so many?” he replied. “What can we do?”

  “They mean to attack your village! Here’s a chance to strike a blow before they get there!”

  Rain streamed down Paharo’s dark face. Her words obviously struck a chord. He drew a knife from his waist and nodded. “We can free the prisoners. Some may be strong enough to help us. The rest can distract the riders long enough for us to get away.”

  Beramun gave a sharp nod of agreement. Shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, the two crawled toward the plodding mass of captives.

  A mounted man passed them, eyes averted to keep out the driving rain. Paharo dashed forward in a low crouch. Beramun followed. Prisoners on the edge of the crowd saw them but wisely kept silent. Another burst of speed, and the pair reached the slaves. They slipped into the slogging crowd, masked from view by the mass of captives.

  “Here, take this,” Beramun said, giving one of them her knife. “Cut your bonds.”

  “Free as many as you can, then wait for our signal,” Paharo added. “When it comes, everybody run for it!”

  The knife was passed quickly from hand to hand. The flint blade worked its way deeper into the crowd, but those already free milled around nervously. Most wanted to run immediately. Others ached to attack the nearest raiders. They made garrotes from their rawhide bonds and surreptitiously picked up stones from the ground.

  “Any sign of the green dragon?” Beramun asked, glancing around.

  Stark fear showed on every face, and a pale woman said, “Greengall’s probably in the rear.”

  Paharo was confused by the name, and the terrified prisoners explained. None of them had seen the dragon in either of his forms since yesterday.

  Relieved by this news, Beramun pushed through the line of freed slaves and walked deliberately into the open. She kept going, even when a guard rode up and shouted a challenge.

  “You! Get back in line!” the raider barked. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She whirled and batted his spear aside. Repeating her earlier trick, she cupped her hands under his heel and upended the astonished raider. He splashed to the soggy turf. Before he could get up or call for help, freed prisoners fell on him, pounding him into silence.

  Paharo appeared. Beramun thrust the bridle of the fallen raider’s horse into his hands. “Go back to Yala-tene,” she told him. “Warn your people.”

  “I don’t ride very well.”

  “Learn fast!”

  He climbed on the animal’s back. “The Arkuden is here somewhere. I should find him!”

  “I’ll find him. You tell everyone Zannian is coming! They’ll be more likely to believe you than me.” Beramun ended further discussion by slapping the horse’s rump. The animal bolted, and Paharo had to give all his attention to staying on its back.

  The prisoners burst into action. Almost half were free, and they scattered to the four winds. Some put their heads down and ran for their lives, others remained to fight.

  Raiders on guard duty tried to summon help, but their rams’ horns were soaked and produced only mild bleating noises. They had little time to use the horns anyway before going down in a hail of stones. A few raiders charged the seething horde, spearing several prisoners. They too were dragged from their horses and beaten unconscious or killed. Smarter raiders wasted no time with either rams’ horns or resistance. They galloped away at once to get help.

  “Flee! All of you!” Beramun cried. “Go in every direction! Spread the word! Warn everyone about Zannian and his monstrous master!”

  As the lightning flared and thunder crashed, two hundred slaves took to their heels. Beramun watched them go with immense satisfaction, rain streaming across her broadly smiling face.

  She watched too long. The gray line of horsemen suddenly stopped receding and began to grow larger. Zannian was coming.

  Beramun armed herself with a stray spear. The only cover in sight was a stand of birch trees, their white bark visible through the downpour, perhaps a quarter-league west. Spear in hand, she raced for the trees.

  She’d gone fifty steps when someone popped out of the weeds in front of her. She lifted her spear to strike, then saw it was Amero.

  Dodging nimbly around him, she yelled, “Run! Zannian’s coming!”

  Together, they sprinted for the trees. The growing rumble they heard now wasn’t thunder. It was horses — many, many horses on the move.

  “We’re going to die,” Beramun gasped.

  Amero looked back quickly. “Yes, we are. Keep running.”

  The raider band spread out in a wide line to sweep up as many runaway prisoners as possible. It seemed to Amero that fully half the raiders were chasing him and Beramun, which hardly seemed fair. Was there no one else for them to run down?

  They reached the small copse of birch saplings and fell down behind them. Their pursuers saw them disappear into the stand of trees and galloped after them.

  Beramun took her eyes off the oncoming raiders long enough to see the Arkuden butt his spear in the ground and brace it with both hands. She imitated his position.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  Beramun glanced at the Arkuden, her face stiff with fear. “What?”

  “I’m stupid,” Amero muttered. “I’m too old for this! I should be home working in the foundry, bouncing my children on my knee.”

  “You have children?”

  He sighed and shook his head, eyes fixed on the oncoming horsemen. They were only ten paces away now.

  The raiders whooped and jostled each other. Many crowded in to reach Amero and Beramun, thinking they could ride through the slender birches. The springy young trees bowed, but did not break, tripping the horses. A dozen riders went tumbling in the mud.

  The riders behind them saw the danger and pulled up. Amero lunged through the press, spearing a raider in the chest and pushing him off his horse.

  Another rider impaled himself on Beramun’s weapon. The force of his fall tore the shaft from her hands. Disarmed, she ducked behind Amero.

  Amero recovered his spear and thrust at another rider. This fellow parried with his own weapon and jabbed at Amero. The flint point raked down Amero’s chest, slicing his leather vest but sparing his skin. He stumbled back out of reach.

  “Time to go!” he shouted to Beramun.

  Without a second glance, she ran. Amero tried to catch up, but she was half his age and toughened by life on the savanna. As he fell behind, he glanced back and saw more raiders coming. The ones tangled in the birch stand were also getting back on their horses.

  Amero…

  At first he barely heard it over his own ragged breathing, but it came again, this time very clearly.

  Amero.

  Duranix!

  Amero exulted, even as he sent his thoughts to his friend. Duranix, where are you? I need you!

  I am near, but I’m hurt, Amero.

  Tell me where you are!

  The dragon’s instructions filled Amero’s head. While running, he searched for the landmarks Duranix was using to guide him. Ahead on his left, at the edge of a stor
m-washed ravine, he saw a solitary gray boulder protruding from the grass.

  “Beramun!” he yelled. “This way!”

  Despite the fifteen raiders at her heels, she swerved immediately toward the Arkuden.

  You’re near, Duranix said in Amero’s head. I can smell you even in the rain. Look for the stump of an ash tree with red toadstools growing on it.

  Amero swiped rain from his eyes and searched. He saw the stump on the crest of a small rise, ten paces distant.

  Beramun overtook him. “Where are you going?” she panted.

  He wasted no breath on a reply, just grabbed her arm and dragged her onward.

  The raiders hurled short, flint-tipped spears at them — missiles the length of a man’s forearm. Though small, they arrived with great force, burying themselves in the mushy turf. All missed, but the sight of them gave extra strength to the fleeing couple’s tired legs.

  When the ash stump was close enough to touch, Amero planted his feet and spun. Not expecting his sudden stop, Beramun blundered past, crashing into the old tree.

  The ground between Amero and the raiders erupted. A massive horned head, gleaming dull bronze, rose from a hole artfully dug in the sod. Cursing, the pursuing raiders hauled back on their reins. It was too late.

  Duranix’s jaws gaped, and a bolt of fire erupted from his throat. It wasn’t his usual blue-white lightning, but a glaring orange-yellow flare. It sufficed for the purpose. In two blinks of an eye, the raiders were consumed.

  “Duranix!” Amero cried, running to greet his mentor. The great reptilian head turned toward him, and Amero halted in shock. Duranix’s eyes were dull and yellowed. He was holding himself up with both front legs, while his back legs sprawled uselessly in the hole beneath him.

  “Don’t just stand there like a fool,” the dragon snapped. “Get in!”

  Amero waved to Beramun. “Come on!”

  She balked, and Duranix snarled, “Leave that creature outside. Better yet, kill her where she stands!”

  “If I come in, she comes in, too!”

  There was no fire in the ailing dragon’s eye. His mighty head hung low as he gasped, “Hurry then. I can’t hold this up much longer.”