Dragon In The Darklands

by Bruce Leslie

  Meena came to a stop at the wall. She took a quick glance in both directions, then pointed. “There! There’s the bush and gate!”

  The Lump leaned over with his hands against his thighs to catch his breath. He nodded. “Let’s get out while we can.”

  Meena trotted to the gate and pulled the key from beneath her cloak. She unlocked the smallish door set into the wall and pushed it open. With a single, fluid motion, she yanked the key free of the lock and tossed it into the designated bush. “Come on!”

  Flynn followed Meena through the gate, and the Lump crouched to squeeze through it. Once they had all passed, the Lump kicked the gate closed behind him.

  The three rushed onto the barren steppe and ran without stopping until they were solidly out of earshot, and hopefully, the range of any patrols.

  The Lump drew in heavy breaths, far more winded by the sprint than his two svelte companions. “What do we do now?” he asked.

  Meena looked up at the sky, then to the Lump. “We travel back to the forest and hope the lemurs guide as as safely as they did the first time.”

  “What about those warrior people who attacked us out here?” asked the Lump. “Aren’t you worried they might find us again?”

  “They’re called Skythe,” answered Meena. “We’ll need sentries to help us avoid them.”

  “And you have some sort of sentries in mind?” asked Flynn.

  The Lump stood up straight and smiled. “Something tells me she does.”

  Meena gripped her staff in both hands and a look of concentration washed across her face. The party stood in silence for several moments until hoofbeats pounded in the distance.

  The Lump pulled his sword from its loop. “I think we may be out of luck.”

  Flynn grabbed for his bow before realizing it was still back in the temple. “And, unfortunately, I am unarmed.”

  Meena simply grinned.

  In the distance, the moonlight revealed a team of riderless horses cresting a hill. As the small, spotted horses drew nearer it became clear that they were not just any horses, they were the ones that threw their riders at Meena’s request the last time the party was at this location.

  Meena waved her staff and the horses veered to the east, fanning out into a wide line rather than running in a tight cluster.

  The Lump shook his head and placed his sword back in its loop. “You’d think I’d expect this sort of thing by now.”

  “One would think we both would,” added Flynn.

  “Let’s go,” said Meena. “The horses will show us a clear path back to the forest.”

  “That helps me feel a great bit more secure.” Flynn drew his eyebrows together and crossed his arms. “But after all this running, it would have been nice to ride the horses.”

  Meena groaned and rolled her eyes. “And what about the Lump?”

  The Lump shrugged. “I don’t mind walking while Flynn rides.”

  “Well, I won’t let you walk alone. I’ll walk with you.” Meena shifted her eyes back to Flynn. “Would you like me to call back a horse so you can ride all by yourself?”

  Flynn frowned and shook his head. “I wouldn’t think of it. If we ever get to sleep, I should see things more clearly once again.”

  The Lump laughed. “Yup, that, and not worrying about Meena getting hitched, should do you some good.”

  Interlude

  Twenty-seven years ago…

  Silas ignored the unsavory collection of folk while he searched through the disorganized cluster of stands and tents. Merigola had agreed to marry him, and for that he could tolerate any batch of louses. His would-be bride made one condition: the feisty man had to agree to settle down and start a family.

  Silas agreed at once, but he decided if he was bound to bring a child into the world, he would make berry-popping sure it’s a safe, secure one. He needed more than just his fists for that endeavor. People already called him hero, though more oft than not it was half a jape. Now was time to make that honorific sincere, rather than an off-handed moniker.

  Silas looked around and mumbled to himself. “Where is that merchant?”

  A light sprinkle of rain fell, and the dirt path was slowly turning to mud. His boot splashed into a shallow puddle as he continued to search. He needed a weapon, but wouldn’t be bothered with one of those long, two-handed swords that other fools used. He’d taken down too many longsword wielding idiots with nothing more than his speed and a few well-thrown rocks. The small, wiry man had no respect for those cumbersome weapons.

  If Silas was going to get a sword, it wouldn’t be one that slowed him down. He would find a blade he could brandish while dancing around like a dry leaf in the turbulent, Autumn wind.

  Looking for such a sword brought Silas to this den of questionable commerce, the gray market on the wrong side of the Oxhorn River, across from Molgadon.

  Whispered rumors circulated of an odd merchant with strange wares unlike any of the other shops. This fellow traded in oddities that seemed of little use, yet were hard to find. A little sword just might be the sort of oddity one could find, if one could find this rumored merchant.

  After an hour or so of irritated searching, Silas found the tent for which he hunted. It was a tall, blue box of a tent with its door-flap closed. Having the entry closed seemed a strange choice for a merchant, an act that would in all likelihood dissuade potential customers from considering his wares.

  Silas stood with his hands on his hips and stared at the closed tent flap, uncertain how to proceed. He felt like he should knock, but knocking on a piece of canvas would be a silly thing to do. Perhaps he should call out, just shout and ask if anyone was inside. If his inquiry revealed the merchant was present, it would be simple enough to ask permission to enter. The small, wiry man brought his hands up to the sides of his mouth and drew a deep breath.

  “You can come in,” said a voice within the tent. “There’s no need to shout.”

  Silas dropped his hands and his face twisted in puzzlement. He wasn’t sure how the merchant knew he was there, but he accepted the invitation and entered the tent. As he pushed aside the flap and stepped across the threshold, he looked around. He couldn’t help but feel it was bigger on the inside.

  An overly plump man greeted him. The merchant was in a blue robe like a Solson, but wore a wide-brimmed, floppy, pointed hat. His belly bounced while he laughed, though Silas wasn’t aware what the man found so amusing. A bushy, white beard covered his face leaving only the man’s eyes and nose exposed.

  The merchant suppressed his laughter long enough to speak. “So, why do you want it?”

  Silas arched an eyebrow. “Don’t you need to know what I want first?”

  The merchant shrugged. “I find that why one wants something is infinitely more important than what one wants.” He rested a hand on his round belly. “After all, isn’t the why what really determines the what you need, after all?” The plump man in blue chuckled again. “It seems to me people place far too much value on the what, rather than the why.” He raised his hands shoulder high. “Now, that brings us back to the original question. Why do you need it?”

  Silas tilted his head with a scowl on his face. “I wasn’t expecting that question.” He brought a hand to his chin. “I suppose I want it to make sure all the brigands and ne’er-do-wells between here and the Empty Sea remember their manners.”

  The merchant raised a finger. “Ah! A book on etiquette! I should have one of those around here somewhere…” He looked over his shoulder.

  Silas grunted. “I’m sorry, friend, but those sort of scoundrels aren’t much on reading.” He held up a clenched fist with a smirk on his face. “You have to teach those wretches respect the hard way.”

  “I see,” said the merchant. “That brings us back to why.”

  Silas frowned. “Because they won’t respond to nothing else.”

  “Yes, yes, that I understand.” The white-bearded merchant held out a hand, palm up. “But why the concern in the first plac
e? More importantly, why you?”

  Silas drew his brows together and nodded. “Now I think I see what you’re asking.” He buried a thin thumb into his chest. “The most wonderful woman on the whole Egg has agreed to marry me. She wants to start a family, and any child of mine is going to live in the safest, best place around.”

  The merchant threw his head back and bellowed, “And there we have it! We have the why!” He laughed and his chest bounced up and down. “That’s why you’re here for the sword.”

  “That’s right, that’s why I’m here for the—” Silas gave his head a quick jerk and furrowed his brow. “Wait, you knew I was here for a sword?”

  The merchant raised a bushy, white eyebrow. “I had a pretty good premonition.” He nodded his head. “I also had an inkling about the why, but I had to be sure you knew.”

  Silas crossed his arms and flared his nostrils. “Make sure I knew? I ought to know my why better than any skunk-loving scoundrel out there!”

  The merchant pursed his lips and opened his eyes wide. “You ought to, but you must know that most folk don’t have nearly as good a grasp on their why as they should.”

  Silas let his arms fall to his sides. “True enough, I can’t rightly argue with that.” He held his hands wide. “Now that I’ve told you my why, can I have a look at a sword?”

  The merchant shook his head. “No.”

  Silas bared his teeth. “You aim to tell me we just went round and round like a squirrel chasing its tail, and you won’t even let me look at a sword?”

  The merchant held up a chubby finger. “No, not a sword, the sword.” He dropped his finger and laughed. “I only have one.” The rotund man turned around and bent over to search through crate on the ground.

  Silas scratched his head. He hadn’t noticed the crate the whole time they were talking.

  Still bent over, the merchant said, “I’ll find it in a bit. Your child, are you going to have a boy or a girl?”

  Silas crossed his arms again. “Why, I expect I’ll have…” He paused and cocked his head to one side. “I was too quick to answer. The way I understand it, I don’t get to pick.”

  “Of course not.” The merchant continued shuffling the crate’s contents. “I had no children, sometimes I forget the particulars.”

  “I don’t see that it matters, anyway,” said Silas. “Boy or girl, I plan to give them the best place to grow up any little one’s ever had.”

  “And here it is,” declared the merchant. He rose and turned around. “I needed to make sure it got to the hero.”

  Silas narrowed his eyes. “How did you know some folk call me hero?”

  The merchant raised his eyebrows. “Oh, they do?” He waved a dismissive hand. “No matter, I wasn’t talking about you, anyway.”

  Silas asked, “Then why are you giving it to me, if I’m not the hero you’re talking about?”

  The merchant lowered his eyes and shook his head. “Never mind me, I say all kinds of strange things. I think maybe my mind’s not what it used to be.” He lifted his face and held out the sword. “Just take it and start your family.” He flashed a half-cocked grin. “Use it to keep away monsters from the Darklands.”

  “Don’t you mean brigands?” asked Silas.

  “Oh, sure. Those too,” answered the merchant. “Here, take it.” He thrust the sword forward.

  The blade had no scabbard. It was plain and small, but held potential to make one corner of Aardland a safer place. It was just like Silas.

  “It’s perfect!” Silas grabbed the purse hitched to his belt. “What’s the cost? I have a little bit of coin.”

  “Oh, I never had much use for coin…” The merchant stroked his full, white beard. “Tell me, would you happen to have anything to eat?”

  Silas arched an eyebrow at the strange request. “I have some jerky and a few pieces of dried fruit.”

  The merchant’s face lit up with a smile that stretched from ear to ear. “I’ll have some of both!”

  Silas fished the food out of his pack and offered it to the strange merchant.

  The plump man giggled as he swiped up the fruit and meat and handed over the sword.

  When Silas took the blade, he could have sworn, that for the briefest of moments, it glowed.

  18: Turmoil

  The wind filled the boat’s sail and pushed it across the wretched water. Air moved briskly, but never got violent. Thus far, the time spent sailing back to the Egg was far less eventful than the prior journey.

  Back on the steppe, horses made for excellent sentries, leading the party safely across the plain without any Skythe encounters. Upon reaching the jungle, lemurs guided them eastward, expertly avoiding snakes, wyrms, and any other unpleasant creatures of that dense, cursed forest. The travelers successfully avoided the booger-bear’s den when they climbed the dunes separating the jungle from the beach. Upon finding the ship, they were quite happy that no giant crabs were near, but shared a moment of concern when they spied the empty dragon’s cage.

  The cage was in pieces, and a section of iron bars appeared worn away and corroded, no doubt the effect of acidic dragon drool. Wind and water erased any tracks in the sand making it impossible to determine which direction the blind wyrm went.

  The Lump kept a careful eye out for the appearance of Red-Line, or any other monsters for that matter, while Meena and Flynn made some repairs to the boat. The pair gathered vines to lash the damaged mast, after which the Lump assisted in shoving the boat into deeper water so they could right it.

  Inasmuch as they could tell, no Ylamite guards pushed into the jungle to pursue them. Meena kept her connection with the lemurs as they prepared the boat for launch, the tree dwelling creatures watched for any spear-bearing pursuers. All in all, their departure was remarkably uneventful.

  No storms tossed them on their journey homeward. All three were quite happy steady winds drove them sufficiently, and they didn’t need to do the back breaking work of pulling oars. A few clouds drifted overhead, but they were the fluffy kind, not the ugly, gray ones that often brought rain.

  The Lump took off his leather cap and rubbed his head. “Now that our honey-loving quest is over, do you worry what you’ll find to fill your days?” He had his feet propped up, and looked at Meena as he spoke.

  Meena shook her head, as stern-faced as ever. “The quest isn’t over until King Ferte keeps his word and removes his footmen from the Common Lands.” She looked out, across the Wretched Water.

  The Lump chuckled. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” He put his cap back atop his head. “I don’t think he wants any more trouble. Besides, he’ll be too busy congratulating himself for getting rid of the dragon to keep causing trouble for your folk.”

  “I’ll hold him to his word, just the same,” said Meena. “I plan to collect my parents and return to the Common Lands, see to it that everyone’s lives return to the normalcy we enjoyed before Red-Line stirred in the first place.”

  The Lump scratched his beard. “I’m itching to see how Windthorne’s doing under Marty’s watch.” He crossed his arms and smiled. “Maybe Wendy’ll be back with all kinds of stories from her trip to the sea.”

  “I suspect people will be far more interested in your stories.” Flynn stepped closer to better join the conversation. “Do you think the King will really make us report our success to his prisoner?” He wrinkled his forehead. “I’m not eager to return to that dungeon cell, I’d much rather get back to the Needles and make another bow.”

  The Lump grimaced. “That Baron Eugene was an ugly sight when we saw him.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and Ferte will’ve forgotten about all that bluster.” His nose wrinkled. “And I sure don’t want to watch no ox-sniffing execution.”

  Flynn winced at the Lump’s words. “That is an unpleasant thought.”

  Meena’s expression hardened. “Id rather not be delayed by such vindictive foolishness.”

  The Lump held a hand up by his shoulder. “Maybe, when we get ba
ck, we can just sneak off to the south.”

  “Assuming the King has no one waiting for us,” said Flynn.

  The Lump lowered his hand and raised an eyebrow. “We’re not real sure where we’re going to make our landing, I don’t know how he’d have any chip-flipping idea.”

  Meena drummed her fingers against her staff. “I have to make sure the King keeps his word. Our first task is to make it back to old Molgadon and my parents, then confer with the King.” She drew a deep breath, then let it out. “Only then will the matter be settled.”

  The Lump held a hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun. “I’m glad you have a plan.” He pointed. “I think I see land up ahead!”

  Meena and Flynn whipped around in unison to look where their big friend pointed.

  Meena squinted. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  “Should we use the oars?” asked Flynn.

  The Lump shook his head. “Nah, the wind’ll do just fine. No reason to wear ourselves out now, we might have a long walk before we can rest.”

  Flynn brought a hand to his chin. “I hope we can avoid those tooth eels by the shore.”

  The Lump let out a single, loud laugh. “You don’t need to worry about that, I plan to run this mud-kissing thing aground.”

  “Won’t that damage the boat?” asked Flynn.

  The Lump shrugged. “Probably, but I can’t see as we need it anymore.”

  “I suppose not.” Flynn looked at Meena. “You don’t need to use the boat again, do you?”

  Meena sighed, an annoyed look on her face. “No, of course not.”

  “Great.” Flynn smiled weakly. “Let’s wreck the ship.”

  The rocky landscape of the Egg’s western shoreline grew larger in the distance as the wind pushed the ship toward it. The sail remained unfurled and full of air as the boat pressed on. The vessel’s passengers felt rumbling beneath their feet as the boat’s underside dragged the bottom of the now shallow water. Progress slowed rapidly until the boat refused to move, despite the wind still filling its sail.