Dragon In The Darklands

by Bruce Leslie

  The crone’s specter maintained its sneer. “That sounds about right.” She gave her head a disdainful shake. “That numb-minded oaf is always trying to get himself killed!”

  “Please!” Meena’s face twisted in frustration. “Hurry and help if you can, he can’t last much longer.” She raised her staff to punctuate her statement.

  The crone swatted a spectral hand at Meena. “Don’t lose your boots, I’m bound to help the overgrown imbecile.” The specter turned her otherworldly gaze to the titan snake. “Oh, Splendid! Look at what a beauty she is.” She ran a ghostly, gray hand along the snake’s coiled scales. “You don’t want to eat him, anyway.” The specter let out a small chuckle. “He’d likely give you diarrhea.”

  The titan snake responded to the ghost’s command with a bob of its giant spade-shaped head and a flick of its forked tongue. Its thick body uncoiled and dropped the limp figure it held to the ground.

  The Lump fell onto his back and pulled in great gulps of air. The cyanotic blue hue of his face quickly grew pink as oxygen filled his lungs.

  The crone’s specter waved at the massive snake. “Go on now, pretty girl, leave these poor wanderers alone.”

  The titan snake obeyed the specter’s command and the dense vegetation shifted as the giant serpent slithered away.

  With the snake gone, Meena turned her attention to the crone’s specter. “I can’t believe it’s you!” She spread her arms wide and rushed forward, dropping her staff in the process.

  The crone held up a spectral hand and winced. “Girl, you shouldn’t do that!”

  Meena’s arms passed through the specter when she attempted her embrace. The absence of a corporeal form caused her to stumble forward and move through the crone entirely. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s cold, so cold, like I was dunked into a frozen stream.” A faint pallor overtook her face and accompanied the chill.

  The Lump caught his breath and stood. “Sweet hog-totter!” He pointed his sword at the crone. “Of all the ghosts I’ve seen, that’s the first scary one.”

  The crone pulled back her lips and revealed that death did not replace her missing teeth. “You should be scared by your lack of wits, buffoon!”

  The Lump lowered his face and shook his head. “It’s good to know death hasn’t changed you.” He placed his sword back in its loop.

  The crone’s specter held a crooked finger in the air. “And your failure to change was nearly your death!” She let her hand fall to her side. “You’re still trying to fight your way out of every mess.”

  The Lump lifted his face and grinned. “Please pardon me, but I didn’t have any smoke handy.”

  “Nothing about you is handy,” said the crone. She turned her gaze to Meena. “But you, girl? What’s gotten into you, as of late?”

  “What?” Meena wrinkled her forehead, confused. “I don’t understand your question.”

  “Don’t get dim-witted on me now.” The crone pointed a ghostly finger at Meena. “I count on you to be the clever one.”

  Meena lowered her eyebrows. “My wits haven’t dimmed.”

  The crone held her spectral hands wide. “It certainly looks like they have.” She waved one hand in a circle. “You’ve never been one to resort to brutish solutions before.”

  “I’m not brutish,” said Meena. “I’m being strong.”

  The crone’s specter groaned. “Don’t play the fool! You know very well that there’s a difference between strength and brutality.”

  Meena’s mouth contorted into a frown that bordered on a snarl and her freckled cheeks took on a touch of red. “I’m being bold, decisive, and effective.” She put a hand on her hip and tilted her head. “I’m trying to be like you. Isn’t that what you wanted?” She retrieved her staff from the ground and held it by her side.

  The crone’s specter balled one pale hand into a fist. “I’m half a ghastly mind to strike you!”

  “What?” Meena opened her eyes wide and her face grew pale. “Why?”

  The crone grunted. “You say silly things about being like me! I never wanted you to be like me, I wanted you to be better than me!”

  Meena furrowed her brow. “But you were always so confident and unwavering in your convictions. I thought you were exactly the woman you wanted to be.”

  “Yes, I was who I wanted to be…” The crone pursed her pale lips and looked from Meena to the Lump. “And look what it got me.” She pointed at the big man with the small sword. “Now, I’m bound to this melon-head for only Sol knows how long!”

  The Lump threw his hands up. “I’m none too pleased with the situation, either!” He crossed his arms. “Tilley was fine, but I never meant to go around collecting spirits.”

  “The man and his wife seem fine enough,” said the crone’s specter, “but the mule won’t get near anyone.”

  The Lump smiled and nodded. “That’s Tilley, alright, and I think the man and woman are my mum and pop.”

  The crone narrowed her otherworldly eyes. “Are you sure? They’re nothing like you, he seems clever and she seems wise.”

  The Lump shrugged. “I can’t figure who else it’d be.”

  The crone asked, “What about that strange, little fellow? He’s always talking about his extra toe.”

  Meena raised a hand to her chest. “Six-Toe!”

  The crone’s ghostly visage dropped into a frown. “I guess that would make for six toes, though I’m uncertain why you’re intrigued by the fact. The odd bird keeps insisting we select a chief.”

  “No.” Meena gave her head a quick shake. “His name is Six-Toe, he helped us subdue the dragon.”

  The crone raised her phantasmal eyebrows. “He’s named after a malformed foot?” She looked to the sky and asked, “What did I do to deserve this?”

  The Lump rubbed his bearded chin. “I don’t think you did anything to deserve it, I think it has something to do with the sword.”

  “Bah!” The crone’s specter spat and a tiny sphere of light fell from her mouth to the ground. “To the Darklands with your sword!”

  The Lump smirked. “That’s precisely where it is.”

  The crone hissed and waved a ghostly hand through the air. “You know my meaning!” She turned her spectral gaze to Meena. “But I’m not through talking to you yet, girl.”

  “I’m here, and I’m listening,” said Meena. “Though, I must admit I am confused by your statements.”

  “Confused? Because I want you to be better than me?” The specter crossed her arms. “The principal seems simple enough, perhaps your dunderheaded companions are rubbing off on you.”

  Meena tilted her head and asked, “What’s wrong with how you are?”

  “What’s wrong?” repeated the specter. “Well, I’m dead for one thing.”

  Meena shook her head. “That’s not what I meant! I’m asking what’s wrong with how you were?”

  “Nothing, child. Nothing was wrong with it for me, but it is plenty wrong for you.” The crone’s specter moved closer to Meena, the form seemed to glide more than walk. “You must be capable of more than I ever was. You see, I was plenty good at tearing things down, and you need to be good at that as well, but I was never much for rebuilding.” Her ghostly eyes stared directly at Meena. “You need to make things better, not just destroy the bad.”

  “Rebuild? What would I rebuild?” Meena turned her eyes away from the ghost. “I am simply doing my best to return everything back to the way it was before that Sol-forsaken dragon stirred.”

  The crone’s lips turned up into a ghastly grin and she laughed. “No, Meena, things will never be the same.” She pointed a long, thin finger at Meena. “You must make it better, now is your opportunity.”

  “I don’t have any such opportunity, I just want to remove the peril from the Common Lands.” Meena kept her face turned away as she spoke.

  The crone lowered her finger. “As long as those overgrown children sit on their thrones, the Needles will always be in peril.”
>
  “And now you expect me to depose kings?” Meena gripped her staff with both hands and leaned against it. “I’ve no interest in that.”

  The crone’s specter let out a sinister laugh. “You don’t have to have interest in it, you’ll be given no peace until it happens.” She held a pale, gray hand before her. “You can’t simply tear down thrones and leave lands in chaos, you have to rebuild something.” She snapped her hand into a fist.

  Meena finally looked back to the crone. “And how do I do that? How do I rebuild kingdoms that never functioned properly in the first place?”

  The crone’s specter displayed a satisfied grin. “Like I said, girl, by being better than me.” She arched a spectral eyebrow. “You need to shake this cold turn you’ve taken.”

  Meena brought a hand to her forehead. “So, what do I need to do to be better than you?”

  The crone gave her head a slow nod. “You need to find out who you are, but I can’t teach you that.”

  Meena exhaled loudly. “Must you speak in riddles? Can’t you answer me directly?”

  “You need to find out who you are,” said the crone’s specter. “That is a direct answer, and I can’t teach you because there are things I don’t know.”

  Meena narrowed her eyes and glared at the specter. “And have you any advice as to how I find out who I am?”

  “Yes,” answered the crone. “Go that way!” She pointed a ghostly finger westward.

  “Go that way?” Meena looked where the ghost pointed. “But our ship is the other direction.”

  “For the love of salt, girl!” shouted the specter. “You are as dense as the melon-head, nothing is going to happen to your precious boat. Just go!” She swatted her hands at Meena. “Go that way and find out who you are!”

  “This forest is filthy with monsters,” said Meena. “We’ve already encountered three and we have only just arrived.”

  “Yes,” said the crone. “And there are many birds in the sky, as well as lemurs in the trees to help you find the safest path.”

  Flynn spoke for the first time since the specter appeared. “What are lemurs?”

  “Those long-tailed, furry little fellows that hopped onto the snake,” answered the crone. “Those are lemurs, and they are a fair sight cleverer than you lot.”

  “Lemurs, that’s a fine name,” said Flynn. “I may hold on to that word for future use.”

  Meena leaned against her staff again. “Will you go with us? For part of the journey, at the very least?”

  “No, child,” answered the crone’s specter. “I am bound by some very particular rules.”

  “What are the rules?” asked Meena, her puzzlement obvious.

  The crone’s specter pointed west. “Never mind the laws that bind me, just go.” Her form faded into tendrils of smoke, then wafted away.

  Meena looked at the Lump. “What do you think we should do?”

  The Lump scratched his head. “I think we should do what she says, I don’t think I want her ghost haunting me for spite.”

  Flynn asked, “Can you sense the lemurs she spoke of? Do you feel them in the trees?”

  Meena narrowed her eyes and looked up. “Yes, I do feel them.” She paused for a moment, then added, “A bit stronger than before.”

  Flynn asked, “Do you think they can guide us safely through this wretched forest?”

  Meena nodded. “Yes, I believe they can.”

  The Lump laughed and put his sword back in its loop. “I think that settles it. Let’s go west.” He stepped forward, then stopped. “But, Meena, maybe you should lead the way.”

  10: Steppe

  The three travelers trudged through the dense forest, relying on Meena’s connection to the strange animals in the trees to guide them. They heard the long-tailed animals leaping from branch to branch overhead, but the odd little creatures went unseen. So far, their guidance had been true as no other unexpected encounters occurred.

  Flynn looked down at the vine-covered ground as he walked. “So, Lump, how do you call ghosts?”

  The Lump wrinkled up his face and sighed. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure. It’s only happened three times, and I never intended to do it.”

  “But how did you do it those three times?” asked Flynn. “What was different those three times?”

  The Lump shrugged. “The only thing I can figure is that each time I thought my luck had run out.” He held his hands wide as he walked. “I seemed to be at the end of my rope.”

  Flynn nodded. “I can’t disagree with that.”

  “So, I suppose you can understand why I’m not too eager to call them up again,” said the Lump.

  Flynn answered by nodding once more.

  Time passed slowly while they walked, and, despite the onset of darkness, they traveled through the night. Even with the assistance of the peculiar creatures in the trees, they dared not make camp in this unpleasant forest. When the sun rose at their rear, the new morning light revealed a break in the trees ahead of them. With a bit more trudging they found the forest ended as abruptly as it started.

  They emerged from the trees onto an open steppe. The morning sunlight washed over the empty landscape as the party continued moving west, more quickly now that trees and vines no longer obstructed their passage. The land was covered mostly by brown, scrubby grass with a few low shrubs. Occasional spots of bare, dry soil were scattered within the grasses. Small, rolling hills rose in the distance with exposed rocks on their faces, undoubtedly created by the ravages of unabated winds.

  They breathed easier and stepped more lightly over their new terrain. Smiles even managed to sneak on their faces, though there were still questions of just how far they needed to travel. The Lump was eager to return to his home.

  The calmness of the midmorning was broken by the sound of beating hooves in the distance. The Lump looked to his right and saw a group of wild looking men on horseback cresting a cluster of hills to the north. Aggressive hoots accompanied the hoofbeats that could be nothing other than battle-cries.

  The horses had strange, spotted coats and looked a good deal smaller than those commonly ridden in the Great Egg. The Lump surmised it might be more appropriate to call them ponies.

  The men riding the horses also made a striking impression on the Lump. There were a dozen of them in all, and they carried short, sharply curved bows. The horses were not equipped with any discernible reins, leaving both of their riders’ hands free to use the bows. Each saddle had a quiver attached to it, and the riders wore similar, distinctive dress.

  The horsemen sported gray, conical helmets that looked to be made of something akin to tortoise shells. Their upper bodies were covered in tan, leather robes that stretched to just mid-thigh. The sleeves on the robes stopped at the men’s elbows, leaving their arms largely unencumbered. The robes were cinched by leather belts around the horsemen’s waists that had hand-axes dangling from them. Breeches of shiny, black cloth covered their legs and were tucked into brown, felt boots with laces.

  The horsemen had bronze hued faces with black mustaches. The mustaches were thin, but long, hanging down past the corners of the riders’ mouths. Unlike the mustaches, the hair hanging down from the helmets was a copper-red color. Perhaps they dye their mustaches thought the Lump.

  The party scrambled at the approach of the strange, mounted men.

  The hard charging horsemen launched a volley of arrows at the three travelers.

  The Lump took an arrow to his shoulder. He jerked it out by reflex, and was happy to discover its point barely penetrated his leather cuirie.

  Flynn ducked and quickly sent an arrow of his own back at the horsemen. It failed to strike any of the fast moving attackers.

  Meena spun and her cloak billowed out behind her. She gripped her upper left arm with her right hand, an arrow had glanced her.

  The Lump clenched his jaws and looked around. “There’s no cover to take!”

  Meena turned to face the horsemen and swept her staff in a wide a
rc across the grasslands, in the direction of the fast approaching warriors.

  The horses reared in unison, like a well rehearsed troupe of dancers. The animals bucked and spun around wildly, no longer heading the commands of their riders. in short order, all the men were thrown from their mounts.

  The horses galloped away, heading back to the hills from which they emerged and taking the saddle mounted quivers full of arrows with them.

  Most of the thrown men chased after the horses, but four of the warriors dropped their bows and pulled the axes from their belts. The four fierce men charged toward the party on foot.

  The Lump raised his sword to meet the onrushing men and their hand-axes.

  Meena swept her staff again, and the horses turned around. The animals snorted and stampeded toward the men that pursued them.

  One of the warriors still had an arrow knocked in his short bow. He raised the weapon and loosed his arrow.

  The missile struck one of the horses in the breast and dropped the spotted pony dropped to the ground.

  The other men pulled their axes and prepared to hack at the charging horses.

  Meena deflected an axe-blow with her staff and kicked her attacker in the belly. She gave her staff a quick thrust toward the western horizon.

  The charging horse quickly changed direction and galloped westward, avoiding their former riders who now wielded hand-axes.

  No longer facing the charge of their horses, the men turned about to join in the assault on the three travelers.

  Flynn used his bow to block the downswing of a hand-axe and drove his shoulder into the man who swung it.

  Two men bore down on the Lump with their axes raised. He used his sword to deflect one blow, and his leather-bracer wrapped arm to counter the other. His arm burned with pain at the axe’s bite. He ignored the pain and delivered a kick to one of the warriors. His big boot struck squarely in the center of the man’s chest and sent the attacker to the ground, flat on his back.

  The Lump swung his big fist into the side of his other attacker’s head and the man’s helmet flew off. He smashed the hilt of his sword against the top of the now un-helmeted head and the man crumbled to the ground.