I tried to recall the ingredients of the potion. One I remembered immediately: Blue Heart’s flower, a fairly common plant that grew in the woods I always played in — a forest that was now covered in snow.
That realization brought on a fit of despair, but nevertheless, I tried to recall the other ingredient. Suddenly, I remembered…
‘Lion’s toe root,’ I whispered to myself. I remembered because when Agatha told me, I was instantly repulsed. Smiling, she reassured me that it wasn’t a real lion’s toe, it was the root of a Lion’s toe plant.
I had once read about it in a book and, as far as I knew, Lion’s toe was only available at the alchemist’s shop in the city.
Frustrated and terrified, I began to search for alternative solutions — when suddenly, I opened the drawer to small end table in the living room, and there it was — a Lion’s Toe plant, laying right there in the drawer.
I knew in my heart it hadn’t been there before.
I didn’t know what to think, whether it was some divine force, or whether it was my mother, or even Agatha who had somehow supplied the plant. After a moment of pointless musing, I gave up the idea of trying to figure it out.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, to whomever it was. Somehow, Agatha seemed like the most likely candidate. Even if it wasn’t, thinking that it was her instilled me with a sense of peace, as if she was saying, ‘I forgive you.’
Now realizing what I had to do, I rushed back into my father’s room, quickly exchanging the damp cloth for one wrapped in ice. ‘Father, I’ll be back,’ I said quickly. ‘I won’t be long, I promise.’
He didn’t even have enough strength to ask me where I was going. I ran out of his room and out of the house, not even bothering to cover myself in wool to protect me from the biting cold. I ran across the fields, up the slightly inclined hill to the woods. I don’t know how I hoped to find a Blue Heart’s flower, but I had already been helped once… maybe there was another miracle waiting for me.
I desperately began digging with my hands through the snow in various places — places where I had remembered seeing the plant. But every time I reached the ground, the flower either wasn’t there, or it was dead from being crushed underneath all of the snow.
I knew there was no hope. Any plants that lived in the summer should have been killed by the cold weather. Dejected, I began to look around, not expecting to see anything…
There, in the side of a small hill, was a hole about the size of my head. It was a burrow, dug by a badger or beaver or some other unknown animal. What I did care about was the Blue Heart’s flower that grew just inside the opening. When I saw it, I could feel the despair flowing out of my body, replaced with budding feelings of hope.
I bent down to examine the flower, and it seemed to me as if it was glowing, ever so slightly. Touching the flower, I whispered a heartfelt prayer to the gods (the first time I had ever done so), as well as a thank you to whoever else might have been involved with this miracle.
This done, I yanked the flower out of the ground by the bottom of its stem and sprinted back toward the house. Running down the small hill, I slipped and fell onto the snowy ground — I sustained some small cuts on my elbow, but I didn’t notice at the time. I pulled myself back up and continued running, not stopping until I burst in the door of my house.
Immediately, I dropped the flower on the table and checked on my father. His condition didn’t seem to have changed, one way or the other, but the ice on his head was already half-melted. His breathing was shallow.
Back in the kitchen, I grabbed a small pot and dunked it into our bucket of water, filling it. I then brought it over to hang it from the cooking spit, so it could warm over the fire. Afterward, I attempted to find something to grind the plants with; I was sure we didn’t have a mortar and pestle lying around, and I had seemingly already been granted two miracles — I wasn’t going to count on a third.
The best I could do on short notice was a wooden bowl and the wooden handle of a knife. I used the knife to cut up the ingredients first, then the handle to pound them together. After I was finished, I grabbed a small cup, but I had no idea how much of the ingredients I was supposed to put in… so I snatched up a wooden pitcher and dumped all of it in there. Grabbing a damp cloth, I went over and retrieved the pot of water from the spit, then poured it into the pitcher. I mixed it together with a large spoon as fast as I could, then poured some into the small cup.
I didn’t have time to rejoice over my accomplishment, if I had even made the potion right… I shuddered at the thought and brought it to my father.
‘Father,’ I whispered, my hand on the side of his burning face, ‘please drink this.’
He opened his eyes a little. ‘What is this?’
‘It’s a healing potion,’ I answered.
‘Where… did you get a healing potion?’ he asked.
‘I made it,’ I responded, trying to turn his attention to drinking the potion.
‘You… made me a healing potion?’ Father asked, his eyes opening just a bit more. He managed a slight smile and asked, ‘Are you sure it’s safe?’
‘No,’ I answered with a grin, very happy that he had made the joke. ‘But I learned it from Agatha.’
Father’s eyelids drifted closed for a moment. ‘With her skills and your determination… there’s no way it can be wrong.’
His words brought tears to my eyes, but I harshly blinked them away. Father opened his mouth a bit, and I lightly poured the concoction in, a little at a time. Father’s nose wrinkled.
‘Tastes bitter,’ he remarked.
‘It’s medicine, it’s not supposed to taste good,’ I responded, echoing his words from an eternity ago. I sat beside him on his bed, examining him visually — his face was red, his skin was clammy, and he was still breathing in shallow breaths.
‘Aidan,’ he whispered suddenly, his hand reaching for me. His hand was almost to my face when it stopped, the long fingers trembling. I grabbed his hand and put it on my cheek. ‘I… could never have wished… for a better son.’ His voice was a ragged whisper.
I couldn’t take it anymore. The feelings of pain and despair that I was trying to keep locked in my heart burst forth. Tears were flowing from my eyes. ‘Don’t speak like that, Father,’ I whispered between sobs. ‘You’re going to be alright.’ My voice faded at the end.
‘If I am, I’ll be with you,’ Father responded. ‘If I’m not, I’ll be with your mother. Either way… they both sound real good to me.’
My sobbing wracked my body. ‘I can’t do this, Father,’ I confided. ‘I… I’m not ready…’
‘Yes, you are, my son,’ Father whispered, his voice suddenly emitting more strength. ‘I’ve taught you everything… I know. And your will…is as strong as those of any knights who have walked this realm.’
I now couldn’t see through the haze of my tears. Crying, I laid my head on my father’s chest, wrapping my arm around him, and he held my head, stroking my hair. After a while, I was about to lift my head and tell him that I would see him in the morning…
When I realised it was morning.
Startled, I sat up. Father’s arm (which had be cradling me all night) flopped off of me, and dropped heavily off of the edge of the bed, hanging there.
‘Father?’ I whispered.
But there was no response. He wasn’t moving.
‘Father?’ I said again, a little louder this time. Still, nothing.
Slowly, I reached out for him, my hand drifted closer and closer… I was scared to touch him, scared of the truth.
My fingers touched his forehead lightly, and to me, it felt as cold as the ice I had handled the night before.
Father was dead.
***
‘I buried him in the back yard,’ I said, finishing the story. ‘I had to dig through the snow and ice.’
‘Gods above, Aidan,’ Derrick said, his expression devoid of his usual twinkling humor.
Suddenly, there scuffling at the front
of my tent, and a soldier peeked in. I recognized him; he was one of the soldiers from Norvin’s original scouting party.
‘Excuse me, Aidan…’ he began, his voice low.
‘Yes,’ I answered.
‘I just wanted to say that we had no idea what Sir Norvin was going to do. If I had known —’
‘You wouldn’t have done anything anyway,’ I interrupted. ‘But I appreciate the thought.’
Bewildered, the soldier looked at me for a bit, then nodded and left.
Derrick turned to me and said, ‘You’ve proven your strength through adversity, Aidan. Your will is stronger than you know.’
I thought about his words for a moment (how similar they sounded to my father’s!), and then we heard horns. The soldiers were being summoned to battle.
***
After a meal of dried fruit, we were mustered into formation to begin our march. As the units were being assembled, I walked in and took my place, where Sir Norvin happened to be, watching the proceedings. His eyes quickly fixed on me, and he gestured with his finger for me to join him.
Oh, Gods above — what now?
But I did as he expected, and as I stood in front of him, he looked me up and down, inspecting me. ‘Are you sure you’re up for this?’
You have no idea. I didn’t care that he was my commanding officer — I no longer had any respect for him. ‘What do you care?’
Rather than waste time with an answer, Norvin moved on. ‘Well, if your heart is set on it, take your place at the back of the ranks — I believe you deserve a bit of respite, after what you had to endure yesterday.’ He delivered all of this with a smug look and an arrogant attitude.
I took another step toward him. ‘I don’t need respite, or your help, but if that is a direct order, I will follow it — sir.’
Norvin nodded. ‘It is.’ Then he dismissed me with a jerk of the head. I had to absorb all of my anger — I was dangerously close to trouble with him as it was. I did as I was ordered.
Someday, Norvin. Someday.
For all the (new) issues I suddenly had with Norvin, I had to give him a little credit — he was smart enough to know that the Boulton army wasn’t likely to be in the same spot, since the element of surprise was gone, but they weren’t likely to be far away either as an army that big wouldn’t move that far in a day. He marched us directly west, with warnings to everyone to watch their surroundings, be aware of an ambush.
It was a bit cloudy on this day, but as opposed to yesterday, rain didn’t seem to be on the horizon. There was some fog in the distance, settled in the bottom of nearby valleys.
The march didn’t take long, and Norvin was right — the army of Boulton hadn’t gone far; they were settled in front of the steep hill, rather than waiting at the top of it. My guess is that with the element of surprise gone, Boulton had opted to face us head on, rather than relying on an ambush.
Norvin’s order of being aware of an ambush proved pointless — the fog I had mentioned earlier had settled in this small valley like a thick blanket completely obscuring our view of anything nearby.
Norvin called for us to halt, a fair distance away from the enemy. Now began the ages-old tradition of last-minute negotiations, an attempt to see if war can be avoided. In my heart, I wanted to make a snide comment to myself that having Norvin as our negotiator would deny any chance of peace, but I was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter who was doing the negotiating. Boulton had its heart set on war, the chance to prove itself, and nothing was going to deny it that chance.
So I knew that when Sir Norvin and Commander Hardlow met in the center of that small valley that we were going to battle, no matter the outcome. I couldn’t hear what was said, but I could see plainly that the exchange wasn’t particularly heated. After a short time, Norvin was walking back toward us.
‘No chance at peace,’ Norvin called out — from my position in the back of the ranks, I could barely hear his greasy voice. ‘Let us end this battle quickly, so we may return home, to our people… and our ale!’ Several of the soldiers laughed and cheered, but I didn’t join in.
Then Norvin took his place at the back of the army… a move that annoyed me, perhaps irrationally. True, many kings and generals commanded their army from the rear (in the scheme of things, they needed to be alive as long as possible to lead the army), but I couldn’t help thinking that Norvin was doing it simply to avoid battle. Based on my own experience, Norvin didn’t exactly have a reputation for honor and bravery.
‘Charge!’ Norvin screamed, and in an instant, the battle was on.
Standing at the back of the ranks, it was some time before my line would move, but I could hear the screams of the men as they charged into the dense fog. Not long after, I heard the clashing of steel, and the screams of the dying. With men in the front ranks falling to the wayside, the swell of men moved forward to take their place. Finally I, and the men around me, began to drift toward the massive battle.
Suddenly, I heard a commotion behind me. I turned to find a unit of Boulton soldiers, on horses, charging out of the fog, heading straight for Norvin. With all the knowledge I had attained from reading many books on war and strategy, I knew exactly what their intention was — to kill the serpent by cutting off its head. My dislike for Norvin aside, if he fell, our army would be in disarray.
Despite this, I have to admit: I almost let him die anyway.
The desperate nature of our situation suddenly hitting me, I turned and rushed toward our commander. The horses got there far ahead of me, and Norvin, realizing the trouble he was in, frantically tried to turn and run, only to find his escape route blocked. Before I knew it, Norvin was quickly surrounded.
I wasn’t the only one who charged — several of the soldiers around me saw the trouble and moved with me. I focused on a single rider, with a hold on Norvin’s saddle, attempting to hold the horse still for his comrades. Norvin was attempting to keep them back with his sword, but it wouldn’t be long before the overwhelmed weasel lost that effort.
I attacked immediately, driving my shortswords underneath the ribs of the stunned rider. He let out a howl of pain, then fell to the ground, no longer a concern.
The horse, however, was another story.
Knowing it had lost its rider, the horse attempted to flee, but unfortunately for me, I was in its way. It whipped its large body around, colliding with me, which was more than enough to knock me to the ground, and my swords out of my grasp. The horse then took advantage of the open space, escaping the battle. Its absence revealed another rider, who had seen what was happening and moved to eliminate the threat — me. Battle-axe in hand, he screamed a battle cry as he ferociously attempted to split me in half. I moved out of the way, only to be met with another attempt. I rolled back the opposite way, trying to get within reaching distance of my swords. The soldier saw my plan, and moved to cut me off from my weapons. Seeing that route cut off, I quickly realised my best chance of survival was to get back to my feet. I had my dagger, but it would be useless against the axe.
Unwilling to allow me room to maneuver, the soldier tried for another chance to split me in two. Still on my back, moving with my hands, I sent a strong kick to his midsection. He was heavily armored, but he still recoiled from the blow. Using the only opportunity I might have, I spun the other way, back to my feet. The soldier moved to swing again, but I moved toward him, inside the arc of danger. Surprised by my move, the soldier was helpless and couldn’t stop the swing of the heavy axe in time; I caught hold of it, and head-butted him twice in the face. Seeing the soldiers dazed expression, I reacted immediately. I spun around, yanking the ax out of his hands, then used it to sweep his legs out from under him, and finished him by driving the axe into his chest.
But there was no time to rest or celebrate — two riders had succeeded in pulling Norvin off of his horse, and had him pinned to the ground. A cornered rat, so to speak, Norvin was desperately fighting back, but he had lost his weapon and shield.
Pulling my d
agger from my boot, I made a critical throw — the aim was a little off, but I still managed to bury the blade deep in the shoulder blade of one of the soldiers, enough to make him gasp in pain and fall away from Norvin. Scooping up my swords, I charged at the lone assailant, and knocked him off Norvin with a diving attack. My shoulder struck his helmet, disorienting him. My momentum carried me far past them, and I rolled back to a standing position. By the time I spun around, the remaining soldier was already pulling himself to his feet, drawing his longsword. With an expression of fierce bloodlust and determination, the soldier screamed his fury as he made a lunging swing with the sword. I jumped back to avoid the blow, then sent him reeling backward with a kick. Immediately, I delivered spinning double backslash, one sword glancing off of the armor on his shoulder — the other catching him across the neck. Gasping for air, he fell to the ground.
Not long after, I heard cheering — the White Army had succeeding in routing the Boulton Army. Seeing that they had lost, the remaining riders abandoned their now-pointless objective and fled. I watched our soldiers celebrating, and smiled at our accomplishment.
In the midst of it all, there was Norvin, still on the ground, staring at me with a look of bewilderment on his face.
Then I heard groaning. The soldier I had struck with my dagger was alive, but still lying on the ground. In between gasps of pain, I could see the fear in his eyes — he was laying as still as he possibly could. I walked over and examined him from a short distance away — the dagger was high on his shoulder. He shouldn’t die from the dagger blow, and with time he would make a full recovery.
I could have killed him, maybe even should have — this was a war, and any soldier left behind is a soldier might even take your life later on. But this wasn’t an army bent on world domination, an army slaughtering innocent people in their homes as they invaded a village, or an army that executed a sneak attack on our country, in an attempt to drive us from our home. This was an army serving a country that simply longed to be accepted, and this soldier may not even subscribe to the same beliefs as his superiors — he may simply be like Derrick, a man who takes care of his family through the gold acquired by his occupation.
The Roar of a Dragon Page 9