by Jim Galford
“I’ve run from bog wights, you idiot. Not all legends are fake, Raeln. Just because we haven’t seen a dragon doesn’t mean they aren’t out there. Looks like the undead woke one up. Let’s hope it’s not on their side.”
As Raeln watched, the lizard creature—he could not bring himself to say “dragon” even in his own thoughts—circled back after soaring farther southeast. It wheeled about in the air and began a fast descent toward their location.
“Greth…” Raeln whispered, slapping at Greth’s arm to get him moving. Neither of them budged. “…is that coming toward us?”
The dragon accelerated, growing larger with each second. It flew fast toward where they stood, letting out another cry that felt to Raeln as though it had physical substance to it, making it hard for him to breathe. Within seconds, he could make out the glitter of sunlight on the creature’s green scales and the dingy white of its teeth and claws as it neared the ground and coasted directly toward them.
“Run!” Greth barked at Raeln, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the woods.
They ran hard into the trees, trying to find some cover. All Raeln could see was the dragon, its claws a foot or two above the grass, raising plumes of dust in trails near the passing of each claw and battering down small trees that were in its way. It was so large they only managed to get halfway out from under it, and the taut green-skinned wings roared past over their heads as the dragon flew by.
Raeln and Greth slid to a stop to watch the dragon continue on, seemingly ignorant of their existence. It went straight toward the largest group of the undead upstream, undaunted by their numbers.
With a rumble, the dragon hit the front line and then flapped its wings to gain altitude. In its passing, hundreds of bodies and broken trees flew in all directions, scattered both by the impact and the dragon’s claws. Several undead appeared to cling to the dragon until they were far over the ground, then lost their grip and fell back to the plains with faint thumps.
“Is that enough distraction to get ahead of them?” asked Greth, punching Raeln’s arm. “We need to get moving, no matter how much we want to watch. I think it’s on our side.”
The entire undead army stopped where it was, the zombies reaching toward the sky helplessly in an effort to reach the dragon as it wheeled about and began another dive.
Running for all he was worth, Raeln pushed his muscles until they burned, easily outpacing Greth, though he made sure not to get too far ahead. Each time he got more than a few feet ahead of Greth, he slowed his pace to ensure they were not separated. As he fell back to let Greth catch up, a wave of heat washed over him, his fur almost instantly drying to the point of standing on end. The warmth baked his skin and burned his eyes and neck, and all he could think of were spells like those Ilarra had shown a sudden talent for.
The heat grew more intense, and Raeln drove his feet into the sparse grass to slide to a stop as Greth neared him. Throwing his arms around the other man, he threw them both to the ground and covered Greth’s face with his body while curling himself as best he could to minimize the skin that would be burned.
Flames rolled over Raeln and Greth, completely burning away bits of Raeln’s fur and clothing, and passed like a deadly wind. The air around them began rapidly cooling after, though Raeln found it difficult to breathe for several more seconds, as if the air had been sucked out of the entire area briefly.
Peeking out under his steaming shoulder, Raeln watched as the undead forces fell back farther upstream as a diagonal stream of blue-white flame poured onto the dry plains, igniting everything in its passing. A similar burned section of ground between where he lay and the river ran in a long black line and continued across the far side of the water. Steam rolled off the water, and the undead floating past appeared truly dead…and burned to a crisp.
Raeln looked up and saw the dragon—he barely even noticed he called it that—was flying past overhead again, smoke trailing from its mouth as it gained altitude.
“Going anywhere with you is hazardous to my health,” Greth told Raeln, shoving him off to one side. The tips of Greth’s fur had burned black in several spots, even with Raeln atop him. “Turessians, legions of zombies, and now a dragon. My father would say I need new friends if he’d lived to see this. He thought Olis was bad—he only got me into fights with other wildlings and the occasional hunter.”
Raeln could not find words and his mouth felt like it was full of soot. He wheezed as he breathed, watching the undead retreating to a more defensible position near some hills northwest of where he and Greth sat. The dragon continued to circle overhead, making two more attack runs to push the undead farther away. From what Raeln could see, the dragon was actively herding the undead away from Lantonne.
“We need to get moving again,” Greth told Raeln, slapping his arm. He stood up, then gave Raeln a worried stare. “Can you stand?”
Nodding, Raeln tried to get up, but the tightness in his lungs made it difficult to keep his balance. He stumbled, grabbing Greth’s arm to steady himself.
“You’re burned pretty bad,” said Greth, drawing Raeln’s attention to raw patches on his arms and legs where the flames had scorched his skin after burning away his fur. Blisters had already coated much of his exposed flesh. “We’re still a day or more from Lantonne if we hurry. Can you run?”
Raeln’s legs gave out and he only managed to stay upright by clinging to Greth.
Hooking his arms under Raeln’s, Greth said, “That answers that. Yesterday afternoon, I saw a camp of some kind between here and the city. I’d guess no more than four hours, probably past those trees in the distance. Do you think you can make it that far? They might have a healer of some kind there, or at least a doctor or herbalist.”
“Warn the city,” Raeln wheezed, his lungs feeling aflame when he tried to talk.
“Kiss my furry ass, idiot. I’ve kept you alive this long, I’m certainly not going to tell Ilarra I let you die this close to the city, assuming she doesn’t die with you. We’re going to the camp, even if I have to knock you out and drag you there.”
Raeln gave him a weak smile and did not even try to argue as Greth took most of his weight, helping him limp along. It was very slow going, but within the hour, they had put the undead and the dragon far behind them and neared the tree line Greth had indicated. Past it, Raeln could see the plains sloped down slightly toward Lantonne, with a vast field of white tents, wide fields of various crops, and several small wooden buildings spread out in front of them.
“Tents are probably refugees, slaves, prisoners, or some other kind of laborer,” Greth told him, slowing them so he could help Raeln down the hill. They soon reached the bottom where the trees were thicker and gave plenty of shelter for Raeln. With Greth’s help, he settled into a nook that hid him in shadow, making it unlikely he would be seen even if someone passed within a few feet of the trees.
“I’ll go ahead and see what we’re getting ourselves into and whether they have a healer. Don’t go anywhere. It may take me a while, but I will come back. If you’ve made it this far, you’ll be fine until I do. Stay alive until then,” warned Greth, waving a fist in front of Raeln’s face. “If you don’t, I’ll let the undead raise you so I can hit you for dying. Don’t think I won’t…I’ve done dumber things to impress you.”
Raeln tried not to laugh, but a chuckle still made him gasp and wheeze.
Despite being unable to help further, Greth took a long time kneeling at Raeln’s side, holding his hand while looking over the burns. Finally, he patted Raeln’s hand, got up, and ran toward the camp.
The first hour or two, Raeln lay in the shadows and concentrated on breathing in short puffs without coughing. He stared at the sky where it filtered through the leaves of the trees, watching the light fade toward night. He wondered if Greth had been captured or given up on him when the last light disappeared and the sky to the west took on a purple cast as the sun went down behind the mountains.
Raeln waited until the first of the stars appe
ared, and then he decided not to wait. He hid his remaining weapon among the roots near him, then grabbed the trunk of the nearest tree and dug in with his claws to hoist himself upright. Once he was sure his feet would support him for at least a few steps, he staggered out of the woods and into the nearest field.
Though none were near him, Raeln could see several dozen people at the far end, packing up baskets of gathered vegetables and making their way north toward the camp itself. One of them, a massive ogre woman, spotted him limping into the field, dropped her basket and ran toward him.
The grey-skinned woman reached Raeln as he stumbled and caught him in her tree trunk-like arms before he collapsed. Without so much as a grunt, she picked him up in her arms and began walking quickly after the other farmers, occasionally glancing down to make sure he was still conscious.
“You look worse than the others. Accident with a fire pit?” the woman asked, her voice thick and deep, her Altisian accent all but hidden by speaking around large tusked teeth. “You sound like you caught the drowning cough. I lost my husband to that—you should not take it lightly, little wolf.”
Raeln grinned at the name the woman gave him, finding it amusing anyone could call him “little.” All his life he had been one of the largest people he knew, but the ogre stood almost a foot taller than him and might have outweighed him by almost two hundred pounds of muscle.
It was then Raeln first noticed the woman’s horns. Like all ogres, she had circling horns like a ram’s, but hers had been cut short, leaving a blunted end. He had never seen an ogre do that to their horns, but he also had not known many in his life. It could well have been something common in the woman’s home city of Altis, but struck him as peculiar.
After several minutes of quick walking, the ogre woman stopped as shouts came from somewhere ahead of them. She grumbled something under her breath, but Raeln could not make out the words.
“Keep your mouth shut and I’ll do what I can,” the woman told him a second later. “Taskmaster is coming and he’ll have a lot of questions. Don’t speak at all, and you might not be punished for sneaking off the farm.”
Raeln’s stomach lurched at her words, and he had no doubt that his eyes had gone wide. In Lantonnian lands, there was no slavery, so the mention of a taskmaster had taken him by surprise. Greth’s offhand guesses had been right.
“That’s him!” came Greth’s voice. “Hurry!”
Raeln turned his head and saw an elf and a human were running toward him with Greth at their side. For some reason, Greth had changed his clothing from the hides and leather they had worn to a ragged set of Lantonnian clothing. The man had even taken on a slight limp, though Raeln could not imagine when he had hurt his leg.
The human ran straight up to Raeln and the ogre and gave the woman a nervous glance before focusing in on Raeln.
“He’s been burned,” the man said, looking angrily at Greth. “You said he had something wrong with his breathing. Where did he get this clothing?”
The ogre woman interjected, “He has the drowning cough. The burns are from rolling onto his campfire the night before last. I saw it myself. He did not wish to bother you with it, but the cough has grown bad. He hid these clothes until his chills grew too bad to wear cloth. The little man was just trying to keep warm.”
Greth gave the woman a confused stare, but hid the expression as the elf looked at him. “He didn’t want me to talk about the burns,” he said, sounding as though he was truthful. “I think he was embarrassed and worried he would be flogged for wasting the healer’s time. The cough came as a surprise this morning and he tried to work through it.”
The human nodded and glared at Raeln, then bent over to listen at his chest. “Sounds a little different than the others,” the man noted, then stepped away. “Still, something’s wrong with him. Get him to the healer. I’ll check in later tonight to see if he’s dead or better.”
The ogre woman thanked the two men and began walking again, with Greth falling in at her side.
“Thank you,” Greth whispered to her. “You didn’t have to do that.”
She grinned. “I did. We slaves have to stick together. Besides, the little guy reminded me of my baby boy. He died of the cough before the healer arrived in the camp. I won’t see any more die like that, if I can help.”
They crossed the rest of the field and hurried through the camp toward the buildings at the far side. As they did, Raeln saw hundreds of men, women, and even a few children of all races, some wearing clothing were of styles Raeln had never seen before. They all looked at him somberly in passing, most likely seeing him as another casualty. It was terrifying to have so many strangers give him a look that said he was already dead.
“Who is he to you?” the ogre asked as they neared the wooden buildings. “A brother?”
“No, no relation,” answered Greth.
“He is more than a friend if you lie like this for him,” she noted, smiling over at Greth. “I know neither of you belongs here. Your eyes give you away, as do the way they watch him. I think you lie about this to protect him and he is actually kin.”
“I’m just his friend,” snapped Greth, making a point of staring straight ahead. He did not look at Raeln the rest of the walk.
The ogress carried Raeln up to the door of the large wooden building and stepped in front of Greth on the stairs.
“In this world, we all die sooner than we intend,” she told Greth. “Be true to yourself or regret will follow your path long after the moment you should have acted.”
Greth stared her down, then turned and walked away into the camp, disappearing among the tents as he muttered something.
“I know you cannot speak yet,” the woman told Raeln, shoving the door to the building open with her foot. “You will meet our healer now. Treat him well. Like I told your friend, regret and sorrow follow the healer and may for the rest of his days. I worry for the child and wish him some happiness…if you can cheer him, please do.”
She proceeded into the large single-room building, which Raeln realized was only lit by a handful of small candles at the edges. Inside, dozens of poorly dressed people lay practically one atop another, crowded in far beyond the design of the room. Most of them were nursing obvious wounds or coughing violently. From what he could see, not one person there was in any condition to work. Despite the warm day that had just ended, many of the sick huddled around a small fireplace, shivering under blankets or pelts.
“Healer,” the ogre called out, carefully stepping among the resting people, making her way toward the back of the large room. “This one could not walk himself here.”
Raeln looked toward the corner the woman was trying to reach and thought for a moment that no one was there. All he saw at first was a pile of blankets. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he realized that a wildling man sat there, hunkered under a thin blanket in the darker shadows of the corner. The man looked as though he carried the weight of the world on his thin shoulders, his eyes never leaving the floor as they approached.
The wildling’s breed was a mystery to Raeln, but he could tell that the man had not been raised in a place like this. Grey-furred with white and black patterning around his large orange eyes, the man picked with filed-flat claws at the rags he wore, which Raeln could see were once Altisian in make. It was not until the ogre sat Raeln down practically atop the man’s feet that his eyes focused on Raeln.
“How were you hurt?” the man asked Raeln, taking a slow breath that made it sound like a struggle for him to even muster the energy to talk.
“He cannot speak,” the ogre said for Raeln. “When he tried, he coughed badly. I thought maybe he had the drowning cough.”
The wildling’s eyes drifted over Raeln’s burns, then he nodded and told the ogre, “Thank you. I will take it from here.”
The ogress bowed slightly and departed, cautiously picking her way through the room to keep from stepping on anyone.
“I haven’t seen you before,” the wil
dling man told Raeln, lifting Raeln’s hand to stare at the burns down his arm. “These aren’t from a campfire, in case that was the lie you were going to give me. I’ve seen enough injuries of all kinds here that lying is a waste of time. No one listens to me anyway, so once I heal you, I would like you to tell me the truth for my own amusement. Agreed?”
The man did not wait for Raeln to attempt to answer before he laid his hands on Raeln’s chest. Almost immediately, warmth flowed through Raeln’s entire body and a strange itching sensation tingled across his burns. Soon, he began to breathe easier as his lungs cooled.
“You owe me an explanation,” the man told Raeln, sitting back against the wall and huddling in his blankets. “Humor me with the truth.”
Raeln sat up and stared at his arms. Where there had been crusted burns seconds earlier, fresh pink skin had already been covered with a fine layer of fur. He took a deep breath, finding his lungs entirely back to normal. Raeln had been tended to by many country healers and doctors over the years, but this man was one of the most skilled he had met.
“Can you give me your name?” Raeln asked. “I want to know who to praise for saving my life.”
“They call me ‘healer’ or ‘you’,” the man said, shrugging. “I gave up on having a real name when they enslaved me. Someday, I hope to have a name again.”
“There are no slaves in Lantonnian lands.”
The wildling grinned, his white teeth standing out against his black muzzle. “You tell me, then. We sit on Lantonnian lands, and you can see what we are. Tell me if there are slaves in Lantonnian lands.”
Raeln felt his ears droop sadly and could not find words. As he lowered his head, he found himself staring at the thinned fur on the healer’s wrists and ankles where manacles had clearly been fastened frequently.
“You were going to tell me a story,” the man added. “A story about why you’re here.”
“They sent me here to work,” Raeln began, then saw the man’s face harden angrily. “I just got to the camp…”
“I told you not to lie to me,” growled the man, grabbing Raeln’s wrist. He pulled it up, making Raeln look at his own hand. “Your claws say more than you are willing to. They are grown out. You wouldn’t have been put in the camp without having them cut off. Those who have just arrived normally still bleed from where the claws were cut far too short. You come from farther away than this camp. I can still smell the woods on you. I smell places I dream about every night, buried under the smell of burnt fur. Even that bracelet you wear would have been taken long ago…your lies aren’t even good ones.”