by Bruce Leslie
Flynn charged toward the road.
The Lump bounded out of the trees. He raised his leg high and planted his boot into the center of an acolyte’s chest. His kick sent the masked man crashing to the ground. The big man jumped over the fallen figure and smashed the fist gripping the hilt of his sword into another cultist’s belly. He lifted his hand and used the flat of his sword to whack a third man in the side of the head before spinning away.
A glob of the dragon’s deadly saliva struck the ground next to the Lump’s spinning feet.
Back in the trees, Ivan shouted. “They have a weapon here! You have to destroy it!”
Meena’s staff struck Ivan in the temple. His head slumped forward, and he groaned.
The Lump carried the momentum of his spin into a hard punch with his sword hand into the dragon’s underbelly. It was like striking stone. His hand erupted in pain, he was certain that some of the small bones in his hand were broken. His red knuckles swelled.
Flynn leaped out of the trees and struck an acolyte in the head with a two-handed swing of his bow.
The green cloaked man fell sideways in the road.
The other acolytes, nearly a score in all, rushed around Flynn and streamed into the trees. They were armed with thick sticks similar in size to Meena’s staff.
The sudden charge of the Green Acolytes left the Lump and Flynn facing only the dragon.
Meena swung her ash-wood staff in a furious arc that kept the rushing cultists at bay. She shoved the bag of bane at Six-Toe and shouted, “Get the smoker to Flynn! He’ll need it!”
“Yes, chief!” Six-Toe took the knapsack and grabbed one of the device’s wooden legs. He dragged the apparatus behind him as he ran toward the road.
A bevy of acolytes pursued Six-Toe and, in turn, Meena pursued the acolytes.
Six-Toe reached the road, several paces from the dragon. “Fellers, I got the smokey-blower!” A cultist’s stick crashed into his flank. He dropped the bag of dragon’s bane onto the ground.
More of the Green Acolytes bore down on the red-bearded man with their sticks raised to strike.
Meena rushed out of the trees and shouted, “Run, Six-Toe! Don’t worry about the smoker!”
Six-Toe shouted back, “Yes, chief!” He scrambled into the trees at the opposite side of the path and out of sight.
The charging acolytes brought their sticks down on the smoke-making device. They pounded it repeatedly until it was broken into more than a dozen little pieces.
The dragon hissed and swung its head in a low arc toward the Lump. The blow hit the big man in the chest like a battering ram and sent him sliding across the path. Lights flashed before his eyes, and he struggled to find his wind.
The dragon lifted its head high and sent a glob of spittle flying blindly through the air. It flew toward Meena.
Meena jumped aside, and the spittle splattered on the ground near where she once stood. It splashed onto the bag of bane and sent steam rising as the knapsack, and the flowers it held, dissolved away to nothing.
25: Allies
The Lump picked his battered body up from the ground and collected himself. Blood ran down his elbow, the rough tumble reopened his wound. Blinding flashes of light cleared from his vision, and he was shocked at what he saw. Masked men’s sticks pounded down on Six-Toe’s creation, leaving only worthless scraps of iron and wood scattered in the road. All the work, all the planning, all the lessons learned to get where he now stood, was bashed apart in a few destructive seconds. The newly collected bane dissolved into sludge beneath the dragon’s acidic spittle. There was no longer a weapon to bring down the monster, and with both eyes gone, there were no weak spots left to exploit. Dragon worshippers, angry and armed, surrounded him and his companions.
All the Lump could do now was fight, so he fought.
The Lump gritted his teeth and squeezed the hilt of his sword. He thought maybe I can get to one of those withered wings and charged back toward the dragon.
With a shouted curse and his stick held high, a masked cultist stepped forward to bar the big man’s way.
The Lump slammed his meaty left hand against the acolyte’s shoulder and knocked the man aside. His eyes burned with anger and stayed locked on Red-Line, the blind dragon.
Ivan stumbled out of the trees, brought his bound hands to his mouth, and shouted. “Get the girl! She’s a witch!” He scampered back into the wooded area and hid.
The bulk of the attacking acolytes turned their attention from the shattered smoker to Meena. Several of them surrounded her brandishing their thick sticks and sharp daggers.
Meena raised her staff, holding it across her body with both hands. Her eyes were blue and green slits and her mouth was a hard line. She spun about like a cyclone and blocked strike after strike from stick and dagger alike, fending off attacks from all directions. Her thick, red braid whipped about as she moved.
Flynn drew an arrow from his quiver and nocked it in a single, swift motion. He launched it at the mob surrounding Meena.
The missile sailed between the acolytes and narrowly missed striking Meena in the back.
Flynn grimaced. Rather than nocking another arrow, he gripped his bow in both hands like a club once again and swatted at the nearest green clad adversary.
Meena dropped low and ducked a stick swung at her head. She countered the strike with a low swing of her own staff. Her strike crashed into her attacker’s ankle and he let out a painful cry as he hopped away. The red-haired girl rose and planted the tip of her staff in another man’s belly. Without hesitation, she then twirled the bottom of her staff up and into the temple of the cultist next to him.
The Lump watched Meena take out three adversaries In one quick trip to the ground and back. His eyes turned back to the dragon in time to see its red-striped tail rush at him. He jumped onto it and held tight. The tail swung back the other way and he rode it like a wild horse, his eyes opened wide and his teeth clenched. When the tail came to rest, his hands and knees dug into the scales and he scrambled up to the dragon’s haunches. He raised his tiny sword high and slashed at the wing he split last Autumn. His sword caught the split wing and hacked off a corner. He allowed himself a satisfied grin.
The dragon’s agonized hiss cut through the air and the beast threw all of its weight to one side.
The Lump tumbled off the monster’s back and crashed to the ground. He landed on his injured elbow and his arm throbbed with pain. The big man squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.
Flynn smashed his bow across the back of an acolyte facing Meena. The masked cultist turned around and struck back at Flynn. They crossed bow with stick several times before Flynn stepped back.
Flynn swept an arrow from his quiver and rushed to nock it. The acolyte’s stick crashed into his knee. His leg buckled, and the arrow fell from his hand.
The Lump shook off the pain in his elbow and climbed back to his feet. He drew in a deep breath and gathered his resolve. He needed to keep the dragon away from his friends and away from the city. Maybe he could harass it enough to get it to leave, to get a brief respite and devise a plan.
Flynn groaned as he stumbled back to his feet. He drew in a determined breath and took a painful step toward Meena. Hands grabbed him from behind and spun him away. His free hand clutched the cloak of his assailant and the two combatants spun around like out-of-control dancers until they tumbled to the ground. The two men rolled around on the road, trading blows with hands, elbows and knees. Groans and curses rose from the fracas in the dirt.
Meena parried a strike with her staff and delivered a swing of her own. She pivoted to face a new enemy with her staff held across her body in both hands. From the rear, a stick smashed between the blades of her shoulders. Her mismatched eyes opened wide as she stood stunned for the briefest of moments.
An opportunistic acolyte grabbed the young woman’s cloak with both hands and slammed her to the ground.
Meena lay on her back with enemies all around her. She brou
ght up her staff to block a stick that screamed toward her head. A loud clack rang out as wood met wood. Two sets of hands, one at each end of her staff, clutched the length of ash and twisted it away from her grasp.
A masked cultist hurled Meena’s staff away to the trees and planted a dirty boot in the center of her torso. Other enemies raised their daggers, ready to deliver what were certain to be fatal blows.
Refusing to accept defeat, Meena grabbed the foot on her chest and twisted at it. She grunted with the effort.
A familiar voice called out from the trees on the far side of the road. “Hey, chief! Look who I found!”
The masked attackers standing over Meena turned to find the source of the unexpected shout.
The surprise caused Flynn and his adversary to allow a brief pause in their grappling as well.
Six-Toe ran out of the woods with a gray-bearded man in patchwork clothes beside him. “It’s my old chief, and all the Itchy-Legs!”
The gray-bearded man called out, “We brought back your flowers! I wanna trade ‘em for Six-Toe!”
The Lump hunkered down in preparation to launch another assault on the dragon. He shouted to Six-Toe, “They smashed your smoke blower!” A quick swipe of his hand wiped dirt off his boiled leather vest.
Flynn shouted, “Meena needs help!” He resumed his struggle with the green-cloaked man.
“We’ll smash those dragon lovers!” Six-Toe balled up his fists and looked back at the Hill-Folk. “Itchy-Legs, go help the chief o’ the Dragonblinders!”
The pack of a dozen or so Hill-Folk, clad in tattered clothing pieced together from every color one could imagine, poured out of the trees. They were armed with sticks of their own, held high as they charged. Battle-cries of frenzied whoops washed over the road as the fresh combatants joined the battle.
Four of the Hill-Folk carried a wooden crate atop two poles like a liter. It was the crate of aster flowers they had stolen during their previous ambush. They dropped the crate by the edge of the road and brandished the poles as weapons.
The Hill-Folk smashed against the Green Acolytes and the clack of sticks striking sticks rang out as the battle raged.
Six-Toe flung the top off the crate of dragon’s bane. “They might’ve smashed my smoky-blower, but I can still make smoke!” He pulled out a bundle of blue flowers. “Good and dry, they’ll burn fast but there’ll be plenty of smoke.”
The Lump nodded at Six-Toe. “I’ll keep the blind devil occupied.”
Six-Toe struck his flint into the flowers and they started to burn. He speared the smoking bane with a stick and held it up like a torch.
The Lump sprinted to the dragon’s rear and delivered a kick to its backside. He was reinvigorated by the appearance of unexpected allies.
The dragon released a shrill screech and whipped its head around, searching blindly for its attacker.
“Come on ya lizard!” Six-Toe charged the dragon with his makeshift torch held high. “Have a little sniff!”
The dragon’s front leg crashed into Six-Toe as the beast turned to snap at the Lump.
Six-Toe howled while he tumbled head over heels. He kept a tight hold on his stick during his roll across the road. The red-bearded man came to rest on his belly. With the burning bane held high, he shouted, “I’m gonna shove this so far up your nose that it comes outta your ear!”
The Lump put a hand on the dragon’s tail and vaulted over it. He made his move just in time to avoid a splatter of poisonous saliva.
Angry Itchy-Legs swarmed Meena’s attackers and exchanged blows with the dragon worshippers. The shouts from the masked men made it clear the Hill-Folks were getting the better of them.
Now freed from the foot on her chest, Meena scrambled to her feet. With her staff gone, she pulled her gold-handled dagger from its sheath and lunged into the fray.
Flynn gained the advantage against his opponent and straddled the cultist, pinning the man to the ground. He raised his bow high and brought it crashing down on the man’s head.
The man wailed when the blow landed, then lay motionless.
Satisfied that his foe was defeated, Flynn hopped off him and ran to join the scuffle near Meena’s position. He found her locked in battle with the acolytes, now drawn in close for combat without the benefit of her staff’s reach.
Six-Toe climbed back to his feet and held his smoking stick above his head. “Let’s give ‘er another whirl!” He closed one eye and charged the dragon again.
The Lump saw Six-Toe’s charge. The big man held his little sword down by his hip, lowered his shoulder, and drove his body into the dragon’s flank. He groaned as he crashed into the beast. Pain shot through him as if he slammed against a boulder. He took a step back, then slammed against the monster again.
The dragon took a quick sniff of the air and swung its head toward Six-Toe. The red-bearded man leaped high and thrust his makeshift torch at the monster’s face.
The beast’s head smashed into Six-Toe like a club swung by an angry giant.
The blow tossed Six-Toe back like a stone launched from a catapult. Moans and gargled cries emanated from the man as he flew through the air. When he hit the ground he bounced and spun before coming to rest. He lay at the edge of the forest and let out a moist, hacking cough. His legs were in knots behind him, twisted and broken.
The dragon spat a wet ball of spittle at the broken man, doubtless guided by the scent of the burning bane. The sticky fluid hit the center of the red-bearded man’s back and covered his body in deadly saliva.
Six-Toe’s body writhed for a moment, then lay motionless. His life seemed to be pulled from him by the rising steam as the heinous saliva consumed his flesh. The brave, hill-born warrior had made the ultimate sacrifice for his new clan. The dragon claimed another victim.
A few paces away from the fallen hero, the small torch of burning bane smoked near the edge of the forest.
26: Enemies
“Six-Toe’s gone!” The Itchy-Leg chief held his stick high and his face twisted into a snarl. “Let’s make ‘em pay!”
The ferocity of the Hill-Folks seem to double with their chief’s words. They hammered away at the Green Acolytes without mercy. The cultist’s screams were matched only by the Itchy-Leg’s curses.
Sticks clashed and cloaks billowed with the fighting that raged all around the Lump. He took no notice of the battle between Hill-Folks and cultists, his sole focus was the dragon.
The Lump pulled off his leather cap and flung it aside. His meaty hand ran through his sweaty mop of dark hair. He narrowed his eyes and charged. He had to keep the dragon away from the skirmishing mob.
The big man rushed the dragon’s flank and gave it a sharp jab with his sword. The blade slid harmlessly across the impenetrable scales, but garnered the monster’s attention.
The dragon whipped its head over its shoulder. A gray glob of slimy spittle sprang from its mouth.
The Lump threw his shoulders to the ground and rolled under the scaly creature’s belly. He popped up to his feet on the other side of the beast and heaved his weight up onto the dragon’s back.
The dragon let out an angry hiss.
The Lump grabbed the withered wing that he had previously sliced. He gripped it tight and pulled back hard.
The beast spun in a frenzied circle. It heaved its shoulders as it twisted, trying desperately to shed its unwanted rider.
The Lump held the wing tight, determined to stay atop the flailing dragon. Flynn, Meena and the Itchy-Legs were steadily gaining the advantage over the Green Acolytes. If he could just ride the dragon into the forest, this day’s battle could end. It might mean he would meet the same fate as Six-Toe, But Flynn and Meena could regroup. They could gather the returned bane and engage the dragon later, on their own terms.
The world around him was a blur as the Lump spun about on the scaly beast, but he caught glimpses of masked men being driven to the ground accompanied by moments of celebration from the Hill-Folks. He almost smiled, but that pos
sibility was ripped away when he heard boots striking the ground. Lots of boots marched toward the battle from Galliston.
The Lump’s grip on the withered wing slipped, and he found himself airborne. His back hit the ground hard and the air rushed from his lungs. He rolled over and lifted himself up on his hands and knees. The big man looked forward and saw the wearers of the boots.
A company of footmen marched forth from the city. Black iron mail covered their torsos, and they were armed with halberds. There were at least thirty of them, and at the head of the charge was Baron Eugene.
The Baron pointed his longsword forward. “The men in green work for me!” He swept his sword through the air. “Get the wild men!”
The footmen scattered from their formation and engaged the Itchy-Legs.
The Lump bounced to his feet. Rage filled his chest and boiled up to his head. He squeezed the hilt of his tiny sword and growled. “You no good, low down, muskrat-loving, mud-kissing, sour-breathed traitor!” His big feet slammed against the ground as he charged the Baron with his small sword raised.
The Baron sneered at the charging big man. “I won’t allow you to defeat the dragon!” He pulled his sword into a defensive position. “You won’t halt my invasion of Aardland!”
The Lump reached the Baron. His shoulder became taut cords as he brought his sword down at the man with all his might.
The clash of steel rang out when the Baron brought his longsword up to meet the blow. “You should not challenge your betters.” With a flick of his wrist he pushed the Lump’s sword aside. Without taking his cold gaze off the Lump, he shouted, “Make certain you kill the witch!” He lunged at the Lump’s ample middle.
Meena turned away from the advancing soldiers and dove toward the edge of the forest. She landed on her belly.
A mail-clad Gallisian ran after her. When he stood over her, he raised his halberd high and brought its blade down at her back.
Meena rolled over and blocked the strike with her ash staff. She had reclaimed her favored weapon with her leap. She drove her foot forward and kicked the soldier in his un-armored knee.