The hatchling fidgets, excitement radiating from him as he looks from the advancing dragon back to his niche in the wall. Hunger wins the battle and he scrambles to meet Kilita. The emerald dragon drops the deer, gutting it with one swipe of her fore-claw and placing the steaming entrails in front of the hatchling.
He practically nose-dives into the pile, tearing chucks of bowel and filling his mouth.
Geramn exhales a long, slow breath of relief and leans his head back against the wall. He closes his eyes for a moment and sends a prayer to the Lady to help them save this small dragon.
~!~
Jadrun transports beside the massive black dragon and moves over to his left side to slowly pour water along the scales of the dragon’s flank. He watches in amazement as the dragon soaks up the water, like a huge sponge. He empties both water skins then transports back to the stream and refills them. Closing the tops of both, he scoops up some water to try and wash out the bitter taste transporting leaves in his mouth. The taste is mostly on the underneath, toward the back and sides of his tongue. He rinses his mouth several times, spitting out the water onto the ground. It helped, a little.
Shouldering the straps on the water skins, he continues his chore. His mind chews on the wound left in his heart by his missing mate. He forces himself to remember that Blanche is a resourceful woman; she will have used every means to survive.
Blanche mated below her station. When they met and courted, Jadrun was apprenticed as Shaman. Apprenticed in a Society whose existence, or even the fact Shaman existed, was a secret. This forced Jadrun to present himself as a young man without a trade, for he could not tell her of the Society, at least not until they mated and he brought her with him to the caverns as he continued his training.
As the daughter of a town Headman, she could have had her pick of suitors. Yet, not only had Blanche accepted his courtship, she found a way to cause her sire to accept him. Yes, his mate of eighteen winters was nothing if not resourceful and determined.
He must contact those searching as soon as he gets back from this task; perhaps she has been found. He sends a prayer to the Lady that Blanche has been found well and unharmed. His mind filled with worry for her, and grief for his lost son, Herlan, he persists with his work. Many trips later, he glances up to see the emerald dragon flying into the cavern with a deer carcass. Now, why would she take it in there to feed?
He steps over to the tree his packs lie beneath and drops the empty skin; shouldering the remaining full one, he transports to the ledge. A chill breeze causes him to pull the throat of his tunic tighter. He pauses and stares out at the mountains sprawling below and around him. The majesty of the view is breathtaking, the higher ridges tower over the crest where he stands like guardians. Maru’s crash site beneath him is easy to see and his eyes are drawn to the large body of a Volastoque that lies a short distance from the clearing where he left his packs. Searching the area, he locates two more Volastoque bodies broken upon trees and one splattered at the base of the rock face to his left. May the Lady help him; he found gratification in seeing their lifeless bodies.
By the Lady, it must have been a horrid battle. He swallows hard against a dry throat. His Herlan faced such creatures. In his mind’s eye he can all too clearly picture the attack that killed his son and left his mate missing. He wipes his forearm across his eyes to clear his vision, suddenly bleary from tears.
Turning from the view, he enters the tunnel. The passage is dark. He should have brought one of the orbs from his pack. Using one hand against the smooth side of the tunnel he works his way along carefully. He can make out a faint glow of light ahead. The tunnel turns to the left and light increases as a vast chamber opens in front of him.
His jaw slackens and he stares, wide-eyed, at the slaughter before him. From what Kilita said, one creature caused this devastation. A stab of pain in his chest accompanies the thought that his Blanche faced many more in that attack. Amidst the mangled bodies of several hatchlings, Kilita tears chunks off the deer carcass and places them in front of a bright-green youngster. The gold eyes of the hatchling whirl in a dance of excitement as he scarfs up each offering with relish. Sitting at the base of a ledge at the rear of the cavern, Nor Geramn looks on with a bemused expression on his long, narrow face.
“Please move slowly, Nor Jadrun, this youngling is yet a bit skittish.” Kilita’s Mindspeak is almost a whisper. The emerald dragon has not paused in her efforts, or turned to him; she must have heard him in the tunnel.
Jadrun keeps his movements quiet and quells his agitation, which he has to admit is tinged with a good dose of fear. He has never been this close to a dragon hatchling. This one looks like it could tear him asunder, it is so nervous. He steps out of the tunnel and the hatchling’s head jerks his direction. A sibilant hiss fills the cavern as its mouth, loaded with sharp dagger-like teeth, opens wide. Kilita plops another chunk of deer in front of the hatchling, moving her body so she stands between it and him.
“Shush, thou has nothing to fear from me or these humans.” Kilita lowers her head to stroke her cheek along the hatchling’s neck. “Feed, thou needs to eat to grow stronger. Thy sire will wish to see thee looking well.”
The hatchling subsides; giving him a stark glare, it resumes feeding.
“Sleep, little one, sleep.
The moons are high above.”
Jadrun looks at Nor Geramn in surprise. That song. He and Blanche used to sing it together, their voices mingling in harmony, to settle the twins as infants. The Healer shrugs and continues singing.
“There is no reason to weep.
I will shelter you with my love.”
Easing a few strides into the chamber, he jerks to a halt when he draws the hatchling’s attention. Clearing his throat, he joins in singing the child’s song. Tears course down his face as he automatically takes a slightly lower pitch to harmonize with Geramn, just as he had with Blanche.
“Close your eyes and rest.
There is no need to fear.
For I shall do my best.
To keep you safe and near.”
Its golden eyes soften and the whirling slows. Bobbing its head in rhythm to the song, the hatchling resumes feeding.
“At least thou has a respectable voice.” Kilita’s Mindspeak has the tone of amusement as a soft hum fills the chamber when she joins them in a repeat of the stanzas.
Trella loops a lazy circle around the supply wagons at the back of the convoy as they pull into a field beside the road to set up camp. A shrill warning bugle shatters the quiet of the evening. Trella jerks her head the direction the alert came from. A covey of Volastoque dart toward the convoy from cover of nearby hills.
Her heartbeat pounds in her ears as she turns to engage the attacking creatures. A quick count and she estimates there are over fifteen of the beasts. The twenty escort dragons pelt toward the location where the beasts attack the convoy.
The first Volastoque reaches the front of the convoy and blasts wagons with its Killer Frost. The creature’s barbs pound down upon the humans like hail. Many of the barbs strike humans and Trella sees them turn upon their companions. Horror ripples through her as Volastoque take control of the human’s minds and sires strike down their offspring and mates, turning to set the very wagons they had been fleeing in ablaze.
Bugled dragon challenges and humans shouting a rally to battle fill the air. She still has not reached the location when volleys of arrows cut skyward from the archers in the convoy. One Volastoque falters as the rain of arrows hits it, another’s wings shred beneath the onslaught and it tumbles groundward.
Trella streaks toward the faltering Volastoque, her battle flames ready. The creature sees her coming and blasts a torrent of Killer Frost her direction. She folds her wings, quickly drops altitude, to duck beneath the deluge. She power strokes to come up beneath the beast. Her battle flames scorch its underside. Executing a tight turn she flames it again. Two of the beast’s four wings burst into flames.
T
he Volastoque shrieks as it tumbles and crashes in a crumpled mass on the ground between two wagons. Humans leap forward to thrust spears into the creature until its thrashing ceases.
Trella’s trumpet of victory is cut short as another Volastoque darts from above to rake claws across her back. She twists to avoid the beast latching on. The long furrows slashed through her scales sets her back on fire with pain.
Rage fuels her wing strokes and she darts after her attacker. Her ribcage swells as she inhales deeply. Igniting her battle flames, she exhales in a whoosh that engulfs the beast. Trella’s eyes narrow to mere slits as she focuses on the searing flames. The Volastoque’s wings shrivel beneath the onslaught and she folds her wings to follow it groundward, keeping the inferno on the beast.
Frigid pain slams into her right wing. Killer Frost washes across the entire length, rendering the wing useless. A scream of terror rips from her throat as she plummets down. Her frantic efforts with her left wing slow her descent only a minute amount and she crashes into the ground, her right wing crumpling beneath her.
Jagged, shooting pain washes across Trella. The impact knocks the air from her and she struggles to breathe. Above her the Volastoque folds its wings and drops with claws extended and its mouth wide. She attempts to flame the beast, but she cannot draw enough air into her lungs.
Helpless, she watches as her death streaks toward her.
A red flash rams the creature. Natal! The crimson dragon sinks his teeth into the base of the Volastoque’s neck. Blood splatters down in a rain upon Trella, so close to the ground do they battle. The creature wails as Natal backstrokes and yanks it over so it is no longer directly above her.
She cringes when Natal’s grip slips and releases the Volastoque. Quick as a blink, the beast reaches back to grasp the red dragon by the throat.
The ground trembles as the two crash close to Trella. Tan wings and red thrash as the struggle continues. Heaving herself up, Trella staggers to them, dragging her shattered wing behind her. Her jaws find one of the Volastoque’s wings and, setting her teeth, she pulls back with all her might, jerking her head from side to side to shatter the wing struts.
Desperately she tries to find a more vital spot, as the red dragon is slowing, strength fading in the beast’s grasp. Through the tangle of wings and limbs—the glint of an orange eye. She lurches forward, sinking her teeth into the orb. Shrieking, the creature releases Natal. The red dragon slumps, his body lying half across the Volastoque.
Her body screeching in pain, Trella clenches her jaw. The Volastoque’s wings batter her unmercifully as she tenaciously clamps even harder, until the orbital rim shatters. Spitting out splinters of bone, she backs off.
A shrill keening wail reverberates through her as the tan monster flings itself upward, reaching for her throat. Her neck whips sideways and she dodges the vicious maw, filled with serrated teeth. Jerking her head, Trella manages to snag the soft underside of the Volastoque’s jowl. The flesh tears under her sharp teeth; blood and chunks of flesh sling away as she worries the tissue.
She wrenches as hard as she can and the entire underside of the creature’s jaw rips out. Its tongue flaps from her mouth as she jerks her head away. Flopping and gurgling, the Volastoque falls, to rise no more.
Trella unsteadily drags herself to the prone form of Natal. Sobs shake her body as she sees the fixed, glazed eyes of the red dragon. Weak and battered she lays her head beside him and slips into unconsciousness.
~!~
Maru is still sound asleep when Geramn arrives beside him via transport by Jadrun. The hatchling fed well and instantly curled up to sleep beside the remaining deer. He glances up as Kilita passes overhead with the last body of the murdered hatchlings. Now that the chamber is clear of bodies, he will perform another Healing, and Jadrun will transport Maru into the cavern.
His heart swells with compassion for Maru; as a father he cannot fathom how the dragon will survive the news of his offspring’s slaughter. He glances at Jadrun’s drawn features. It must be even harder for the Shaman to be here. Less than a drama has passed since he lost his own son. Pushing the anguish from his mind, he centers his thoughts and prepares to enter a Healing trance.
The scales on Maru’s side are brittle and dry when he lays his hands upon them. He can see a few spots where the water Jadrun brought has helped, but the dragon is still quite dehydrated. He glances at the Shaman.
“Can you transport him twice?”
“Twice?” Jadrun’s green eyes look startled and his shaggy eyebrows rise in question.
“Yes, I think we should take him to that stream, or even a lake if one is close, to rehydrate him before taking him to the cavern.”
“Ah, I see. I suppose I can do that.” Jadrun steps back and surveys the size of the dragon. “But I shall have to rest before the second transport. The multiple transports on the way here have significantly depleted my resources.”
Geramn nods. “Not an issue, he should remain in the water long enough for it to have an effect.”
“Will you be going with us too?”
“If you can take both of us, yes. I need to do several Healings, and can start while he rehydrates.”
“You mentioned there was a water source in the cavern?”
Geramn glances up to the ledge above them. “Yes, but I did not investigate, it may be no more than a trickle.”
“I think I will take a look. If we can transport him there, it will only be one trip and he is where he needs to be.”
“Very well.” Geramn turns toward the tree where the satchels lie. “I will grab a bite to eat while I wait; would you like me to get something out for you?”
“A piece or two of jerky will set well; transporting brings on a sharp appetite.” Jadrun turns his gaze to the ledge and disappears.
Geramn rummages through his pack. A piece of parchment catches his eye and he pulls it out, unfolding it to read his mate’s message once again. He folds it and places it back in a pocket in the satchel. His gaze turns to Maru. There must be some way to safeguard the young of the dragons. It is only right that they have peace of mind about their families as they help in the battles.
Digging into the pack, he extracts two strips of jerky and a couple of yarin-cakes. He takes a bite of the yarin-cake and chews, savoring the delightful flavor. Yarin-cake tubes with a spiral of sticky roasted pine nut paste, these were good, although not as good as those his Sheina made. His mate always added more honey, making them gooey with sweetness. He chuckled; that may be because she knew of his sweet-tooth.
Jadrun pops back in beside the dragon.
“There is a small pool, and the chamber is more than large enough to hold Maru.” He strides over and lifts his packs, slinging them on his back. “Gather your stuff and come stand with me beside the dragon and I will transport us there. You will need to light an orb.”
Geramn tucks the two pieces of deer jerky in his pocket, stuffs the last of the yarin-cake in his mouth, and pulls out an orb. Closing the pack, he recites the incantation that lights the orb and joins the Shaman beside Maru.
Jadrun places a hand on Maru’s side and grasps Geramn’s forearm. A moment of emptiness. They pop in to existence, standing waist-high in slightly warm water.
Geramn takes a quick inhale and his eyes fly wide. “Thank the Lady it is no deeper.”
Jadrun turns his head toward him. “I am sorry, Healer, I thought you realized we would arrive in the water.”
“I should have.” He forces his body to relax. “I do not swim; it simply caught me off guard.”
Jadrun wades to the stone shore. “How is it you cannot swim?”
Geramn eases his way along the dragon’s bulk until he reaches the forearm. “I can, but abysmally.” He grasps the strap of his pack and slings it upon the shore. “It is not a skill I ever took time to improve.”
Jadrun pulls the pack further from the water and sets his own down beside it, sinking to sit cross-legged beside them. “I suppose you were rather
tied up learning all the Healing arts.”
Geramn glances at the Shaman, then back to the elevation of the dragon’s back. “I need you to come hold this orb. I do not think I can climb and hold it.”
“Of course.” The Shaman rises to his feet in one smooth, effortless movement. He pulls off his footwear and trousers, laying them flat upon the rock to dry, and wades to the dragon’s side covered by his loin cover and tunic. “Did you want me to go up first, and help you make the climb?”
His eyes travel the upright mass before him and Geramn nods. “Perhaps that will be best.”
Jadrun steps upon the dragon’s elbow and reaches high above his head to grasp the first forearm ridge. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulge as he hauls himself up the scaled arm of the dragon. He steps to the second forearm ridge and leans down to offer his hand to Geramn.
It does not take much effort on Geramn’s part, as Jadrun hauls him up the steep slope. When he is standing on the first ridge, Jadrun turns and climbs up, using the ridges as steps to reach the massive shoulder blade ridge. Geramn follows right behind and, as the Shaman scoots sideways to allow him to pass, moves quickly to the wound on Maru’s neck.
The dual crescent-shaped wounds are comprised of multiple punctures, each at least two and a half handspans in width. Each puncture has scabbed-over. Geramn kneels beside the closest puncture and lays his hand upon its slightly-bulging surface. Heat radiates from beneath his palm. Pulling a small knife from his pocket, he scrapes the scab away and purulent, thick fluid oozes from the hole.
“Agh, that smells vile.” Jadrun says.
Geramn glances up at the Shaman. “A bite wound is often the most subject to infection. We are going to need some cloths to cleanse this and an ointment I have in my pack.” His eyes run across the multiple wounds. “I doubt I have enough, but perhaps we can spread a thin coat on each wound until I can make up some more.”
Jadrun makes a choking sound, drawing Geramn’s attention back to him. The Shaman’s face is pale, his eyes narrowed as he swallows convulsively. “I am afraid I will not be much help there, Healer. I cannot abide this smell, nor the sight of that.” He hands Geramn the orb and steps back. “I will get the supplies, but other than holding that orb, I am afraid I will not able to help you.” He transports to beside the packs.
Dragon Nemesis Page 8