by Robert Beers
Flynn nodded. “Right you are, Miss Charity. I'm on it.” Inwardly he didn't feel much hope for his old friend. Those falls felt, and sounded, awfully high.
He turned and began the slow process of picking his way along the riverbank, looking for any sign of the tracker's body. He shook his head as the word body crossed his mind and he worked at pushing it away. Neely was a tough old dog and a survivor, to boot. If anyone could've made it, he was one of ‘em.
As he proceeded upriver, the material of the bank changed from sand and grasses to rocks and more of the woody debris. In one place an entire tree, complete with roots, lay lodged against large pink boulders. Part of Flynn mentioned to the rest of him that it looked like a good place to drop a hook.
The sound of the falls increased, as did the rockiness of the river's edge. He inched his way around a bend in the river where the bank was nearly vertical to the tree line and forced him to steady himself with his left hand along the top edge of the overhang. The falls came into view right after he rounded a house-sized rock slick with moss to a point a foot above the water line. The roar of the falling water had become deafening when he came across Neely's body. The tracker lay slumped face down half in and half out of the water.
“Neely. Oh, you poor sod.” Flynn looked over the rocks, trying to find a way to get to his friend's body. “Look what your kind act did to you, Charity an’ me, we're safe enough, but what're we gonna do without you, old friend? What're we gonna do without you?” Fat tears ran down his cheeks as he bent over Neely's body.
“One thing you can do is stop blubberin’ over me corpse an’ get me outta this water. Both of me legs is broke.” Neely's voice was slightly muffled because of the way he was lodged into the rocks, but it was his voice. Flynn had never heard anything more beautiful.
“Neely! You're alive. You ain't dead!”
“Of course, I'm alive, you big goob. It'll take more'n a bit of a fall onto some rocks to kill me. Now, get me outta here. I can't feel me legs,” Neely yelled.
Flynn reached down and took Neely by the armpits. “Hold on, Neely. I'll getcha out. If your legs is broke, it could hurt some, though.” He cautioned the tracker.
“Just do th’ bloody thing, Flynn. I'm freezin’ here.”
“Ok, Neely. Here goes.” Flynn bunched his shoulders and lifted.
“Aaaaggghhh!” Neely's scream cut across the background roar of the falls as his massive friend pulled him out of the water. He gritted his teeth as his broken legs bounced across the rocks while he was dragged up to the grassy area above the bank.
“There ya go, ol’ bud. High ‘n dry.” Flynn lay Neely gently onto the ground with his back against the bole of a large pine. “I gottcha on the sunny side so's you'll warm up.”
Neely managed a sickly grin. “Thanks. What about Charity?”
“Came through just fine. She's the one who found me.”
“Figures.” Neely waved his friend off. “Go get her. See if you can find the pack what has the doctorin’ stuff in it. These legs o'mine need settin'.”
Flynn took off down river the way he came. As he passed the area where Charity had awakened, he heard a whinny. He turned in the direction of the sound and saw Wilbut, Neely's old horse, and his mount, a beautifully marked Clydesdale, looking at him from a rise above the bank. It looked like a nice place to set up a camp with its flat ground, sheltering pines and a nice thick layer of soft leaves and grass.
He turned, jogged up the bank, and stood facing the two horses. “Boy, am I glad to see you two. And so will be Neely.” He hugged the draft horse and rubbed Wilbut's soft nose. “Looks like we all made it.”
Then he noticed the scrapes and cuts on the shoulders and flanks of the two horses. “Banged up some, I guess this'll need lookin’ after. But we all made it, thank Bardoc. I gotta go get Miss Charity, but I'll be back. You boys stay here, ok?”
He bent and plucked some tufts of green grass that he held for the horses to take. “Yes sir. We'll all be back.”
He met Charity where she had first found him. She was on horseback and her head was down. She looked up at his approach. “I went as far as I could, Flynn. I couldn't find him.”
Flynn's smile was as broad as his stomach. “S'ok, Miss Charity. I did. He's banged up some, so are the horses, but we's all alive.”
She looked at him blankly for a moment, and then threw herself off the mare and into his arms. “Alive? Oh, Flynn, we're all alive! Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She broke into fresh tears.
Flynn patted her back, not really sure of what to do. When Charity subsided, he took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I found us a good spot for a camp. My horse an’ Wilbut's there now. Neely's a bit banged up, both his legs is broke.”
Charity gasped at that, and covered her mouth with her hands.
“No, no, no. Miss Charity. Neely's gonna be all right. We needs to find the pack with the fixin's for wounds an’ such, so's we can set the breaks. He ain't bleedin’ none. I made sure of that.”
They found Neely where Flynn hadleft him with his back against the pine. The sun had moved some and a bit more of his lap was in shadow. Flynn noted his friend looked paler than he had before, and his face was drawn.
Charity wasted no time in digging into the medical supplies. She opened two small packages and mixed a few pinches of the white powders together. She reached out and felt Neely's pulse at his throat the way the old wizard had shown her, a world ago it now seemed.
“Flynn?”
“Yes, miss Charity?”
“I need some clean water, as quick as you can get it.”
The big man ran to the bank with a salvaged water bag in his hand. He clamored over the rocks and disappeared from Charity and her patient's sight.
“Gonna put this ol’ dog outta his misery, eh?” Neely's voice was weak and tight with pain.
“Don't say that.” Charity kept her eyes focused on Neely's. “You're going to be just fine. Flynn and I are going to make sure of that.”
She hitched herself backwards, and took a gentle hold onto Neely's left boot. “Don't hold it in,” she said. “Tell me if this hurts.”
Neely nodded his head, and Charity pulled on the boot, lightly, as if easing out a newborn.
“Eeeerrraarrrggghhh! Stop! For deity's sake. Stop!” Neely's back arched in agony, and he fell back against the pine, gasping.
“What happened? Why'd he scream?” Flynn ran back to where Neely lay, the full water bag swinging in his right hand.
Tears of empathy coursed down Charity's cheeks. “I checked his boots. They're bad breaks, all right. You got the water?”
Flynn held out the bag. “Right here.”
“Glad to see ... you ... got something ... right.” Neely ground out the jest between gasps.
Charity held up a tin cup before Flynn. “Fill this about half way.”
He did so, and she poured the powder mixture into the water, mixing it with the tip of her knife. She held it out to Neely when it was fully dissolved. “Drink it all, in spite of the taste.”
Neely drank. His face twisted with the bitterness of the solution, but he drank it all, as Charity had insisted. When finished he threw the cup to the side.
“Euuucchhh! But that's awful. Why can't potions ever taste good? What's this going to do to me anyway?”
Flynn retrieved the cup and put it back into the open pack. “Bet it's for the pain, ain't it?”
Charity nodded. “That and something else.”
Flynn looked supremely please with himself. “Toldja.” And then his expression changed to one of puzzlement. “What else?”
Neely stifled a huge yawn. “Yeah, what else?”
Charity looked at him with a knowing smile. “How's the pain?”
Another yawn split Neely's face. “Aaaaoouu. Eeaaaooww. Sorry ‘bout that. Pain's goin’ away ... I think. Yeah, reminds me of the time I got in a storeroom with these two scullery maids. It's really bett....sssnnnnxxxx.” His voice d
issolved away into snores.
“Sleeping potion's the other one.” Charity patted the snoring Neely on the cheek. “Now we can set those legs. Flynn, we're going to need some wood for splints.”
Flynn looked at Charity as he gathered pine branches suitable for the task. “How come you know all this stuff? I mean, no offence, Miss Charity, but you ain't old enuf.”
She searched through the branches, selecting those best for splints as she answered Flynn. “My brother and I stayed with this old wizard for a while. He knew about a lot more than just magik. He liked to go on long walks through the forest sampling and discovering what mother nature had to offer for those with their eyes open enough to see. That's how he put it. Adam and I went on a lot of those walks with him, during that winter, when the weather was mild enough. He taught us a lot about what plants are good for certain medicines and which ones to watch out for as being poisonous, along with other things. Adam and I have always had good memories. We don't forget much. Didn't, I mean.”
Flynn cut lengths of canvas cloth to tie the splints. “What do ye mean, didn't?”
Charity didn't look up. “My brother was killed, remember? In that war between Spu and Avern just before you two found me in that cornfield.”
Flynn nodded his head. “Yeah, I remember. You scared the piss outta us with that bow of yours. I remember that, too.”
Charity looked up at him and grinned. “I did, didn't I? Ok, now we've got to set these legs.”
She lay both hands onto Neely's right leg and nodded at Flynn. “Get around so you can pull this leg from the heel and toe. Do it real slow, and quietly. I need to listen as well as feel.”
Flynn did as he was told. Charity held up a hand when she heard the soft click of Neely's bones realigning. “Hold it there, now. Steady. Don't move at all. Good.”
Charity placed a splint on either side of the leg, centered at a point where she believed the break to be, and then slipped one of the canvas strips under them and the leg, and then tied it snugly. She repeated the process with two more of the strips and then checked all three of them when done. Then they did the other leg.
“Ok Flynn. You can let loose of him, but slowly. It's going to be a while before he'll even be able to use crutches.”
“How we gonna get ‘im outta here?” The big man scratched the back of his head. It sounded like sandpaper being used.
Charity looked at Neely and then at Flynn, “Think you can put him over your shoulder without banging his legs?”
Flynn considered his friend. “Oh, I can lift him, all right. Flingin’ him over me shoulder without hurtin’ his legs is the problem.”
“How about if you pick him up and I control his feet? Maybe I can keep them from slapping against you.” Charity pantomimed her idea with her hands.
“Sounds good to me.” Flynn bent and took the sleeping Neely by his left arm and his right armpit. As he straightened, the tracker came with him, and Flynn helped the motion along with the strength of his huge arms. Charity watched closely as Neely was lifted, and stepped in to control the swing of the legs.
“I think that'll do it.” Charity stepped back and surveyed Flynn and his burden. “We may as well start walking.”
Flynn kept his eyes on the ground while they made their way back to the site where he found the horses. Flynn kept Neely draped over his shoulder while Charity built a bower out of branches and one of the blankets.
“You ‘bout done, Miss Charity? My shoulder's startin’ to go to sleep.”
“Just about done ... there. You can put him down now, Flynn. Easy ... easy ... good. He ought to be comfortable there.” Charity gave the bower a critical eye.
“How long's he gonna have to stay like that?” Flynn massaged his shoulder.
“Normally, at least a month, but Milward taught me how to mix a potion that'll cut it to one week.” Charity pulled at her lower lip as she watched Neely slumber in the bower.
“Milward?”
“That was the old wizard's name. Milward. A cranky old man sometimes, but I sure enjoyed the time we spent together. I wonder how things are going with him these days?”
Chapter Seventeen
Shealauch swooped and glided from thermal to thermal in an ecstasy of flight. It felt good to leave the confines of the caverns and ride the free air up here, where the air was thin and chill. Dragons were meant to fly. That's why the creator gave them wings.
He dipped his right shoulder and turned into a snap-spin that dropped his altitude by over five hundred feet. At the bottom of the drop, he opened his wings with a crack of leather and began another climb.
Part of him felt sorrow for the adult Dragons and their interminable studies that kept them from this joy. Dragons were more than philosophers and scientists. All they had to do was spend some time up in the glorious clouds and they'd understand that. His friend Drinaugh understood. He was off somewhere having an adventure with that human friend of his. The thought of humans put his mind onto another track. Humans. He wondered about them. They did so much, and all in a life span no longer than that of a mayfly, as far as dragons were concerned. He'd never met a human and had only seen a couple of them at a distance; Drinaugh's friend, of course, and that white-haired wizard the Winglord mixed with on occasion. He decided it might be nice to actually meet some humans himself. Maybe, when he was older, he would go off on an adventure like Drinaugh, and see some.
Shealauch banked out of the thermal he was riding and swooped into a long shallow dive that took him below the clouds. There appeared to be a line of specks moving on the ground below. He transferred his vision to the telescopic; humans, a whole bunch of humans, on a course toward Dragonglade, by the look of it. He banked into another dive to get a closer look at what could turn out to be a very interesting adventure.
* * * *
“No talking!” Vedder spoke the command over his shoulder, exercising just enough volume to be heard without having to shout. There was a style to being in command and one did not obtain that style shouting in the vulgar way of the unenlightened.
“We're near the place I was told about.” Vedder continued with his instructions to his loaned cohort. “I want you to be both silent and vigilant. The minions of the evil one could be anywhere.”
“Oy. Oy, guvor!” One of the guardsmen loaned to him by the Earl of Avern raised his hand.
Vedder sighed inwardly. Hopefully these buffoons’ questions would show greater intelligence than their vocabulary. “What is it?”
“Wot do these here ... minyuns look like? How we gonna know whut we's lookin’ at iffn we sees one? They look anyfing like dragons?”
Bardoc save me from the military mind. Vedder lifted a silent prayer to his God while doing a relaxation meditation before he answered.
“Minions, my dear fellow, is only a figure of speech that means follower. The dragons are minions, or, if you will, followers of the Evil One. I want you to keep a watch for dragons.”
“Wot fer?” The guard looked puzzled. “I ain't never heard nofing ‘bout dragons bein’ these here minyuns, like you calls ‘em, milord. Wot makes you so sure?”
Vedder ground his teeth in frustration with the guard's blind ignorance. If the man was so thick he couldn't see a simple fundamental truth ... He counted to three under his breath and tried one more time with something he felt even this simpleton would be able to follow. “They are, because I say they are, and your Lord placed you under my command. That's what for.”
The guard looked relieved. This he could understand. “Oh. Why din't yer say so in the first place, milord? Cooda saved a lot o’ bother.”
“Oy! Cooeee! Inna sky!” The guard sergeant pointed upwards with his sword.
* * * *
Shealauch spread his wings to their full thirty-foot span, and pulled out of the dive to look more closely at the subjects of his interest. It was a small party of humans, a few of them on an equine, and the rest on foot. Twenty of those on foot had what looked like sticks in their h
ands. Some of the sticks were bent, with a string tied to each end.
* * * *
“It's a bleedin’ dragon!” The guard who questioned Vedder exclaimed.
Vedder looked up at Shealauch hovering overhead. He'd no idea they would be as large as this. He was going to need more men. The priest turned and looked at the cohort, their mouths hanging open as they gaped at the dragon above them.
“Shoot!” He shouted. “Kill it before it destroys you all with its flame!”
The guards responded to Vedder's command as one, and a flight of fifteen arrows arced upwards toward the hovering Shealauch.
The young Dragon's curiosity changed abruptly to pain as one of the arrows pierced his tail and another his left hind foot. The powerful wings beat down rapidly as he climbed above the reach of the second flight. He looked down at the suddenly fearsome things below him with bewilderment, and then turned back towards Dragonglade and his mother as a third flight of arrows were sent in his direction.
“You fools!” Vedder turned on the guards. “You missed it! You should have taken time to aim. If you can aim at all.”
The cohort stayed silent under the priest's tongue lashing, but a few of them expressed their opinion of his temper by the looks on their faces. Vedder ignored the looks. Let them think of him what they wish, as long as they did what they were told.
He turned his back to the guard sergeant and issued another order. “Send one of the men back to Avern. We are going to need more and better fighters.”
“At once, milord.” The sergeant replied. “But it won't do no good.”
Vedder turned back to face the sergeant. “What?” He modulated the tone of his voice to sound as menacingly officious as possible.
“Said it won't do no good ... milord.” The sergeant made the appellation more of an insult than a title. “Lord Souter, he give you us. That, an’ no more. You have me send a man back. The only thing'll happen is we're short another man, an’ the Earl gets hisself another laugh at your expense ... milord.”