Dragon Nemesis

by B.J. Whittington

  An agony-filled shriek of the Volastoque mingles with the deafening roar of the burning trees as she slowly achieves altitude. Her wings batter against the sheer sides of the canyon, sending jolts of pain down their lengths. Muscles burning with effort, her wings whipping in a blur, she lifts the enormous creature to dangle by its bowels. Wrenching sideways, she slings the beast into the hottest inferno beneath her. A horrid squeal follows its plunge.

  Smoke chokes Kilita as she flounders to clear the canyon’s sides, the creature’s wails echoing through the narrow chasm. She surges clear of the smoke and heat as the wail abruptly cuts off behind her.

  Relief washes over her. The Volastoque is dead. She closes her eyes for a moment, once again envisioning the slaughter at Aura’s lair. The hatchlings are avenged. Thank the Lady, Aura is now free from that creature. With weary strokes of her wings, she turns to find Rejack and the mahogany dragon so that they can take Aura to Maru.

  ~!~

  “You cannot just lie there. Trella, get up.” The strident voice drops to a whisper. “You cannot be dead too.”

  Trella forces her eyes open, just a slit. “Child?”

  Pearlitta throws her tiny body against Trella’s snout. A radiant smile breaks across her filthy, tear-stained face. “I thought you died.”

  Trella winces at the waves of pain coursing through her body. “I think I came real close.” Gently pushing the girl back, Trella raises her head. Dizziness threatens to overwhelm her and she closes her eyes, remaining motionless as the waves pass. Forcing her eyes open she searches the sky. “The attack?”

  “They are gone. At least the few that survived.” Pearlitta glances over her shoulder, drawing Trella’s gaze to the bloody wreck of the Volastoque she and Natal had slain.

  Natal.

  Pain surges across her neck as she turns. The carnation-red dragon lies beside her, his scales already losing the luster of life. She chokes back a sob of grief as she recalls his attack on the Volastoque which saved her life.

  “I am sorry for your loss; he seemed like a nice dragon.” Pearlitta moves close and gently strokes Trella on the chest. “I will go find a Healer for you.”

  Forcing her gaze from the lifeless form of Natal, Trella inspects her surroundings. The cries of the injured and dying, both human and dragon, penetrate the haze that has engulfed her since she regained consciousness.

  Beacons of light break the dying twilight across the convoy. A good twenty percent of the convoy’s wagons are in flames. Several score of injured, dead, or dying humans are in her immediate vicinity. By the level of wailing, both of pain and grief, she is certain that number is much higher across the convoy.

  Crumpled forms of dragons and Volastoque splatter across the area. Healers are working on many of the dragons and humans, but she can tell many are past their help.

  “Pearlitta, is thou injured?” Trella swings her head down to peruse the tiny human.

  “Only a sprained wrist.” Pearlitta gives her a reassuring smile. “Not even as bad as when I fell out of my swing and broke it.”

  “Then remain with me, child. There are many more grievously injured who require the Healer’s aid.”

  “But, your wing.”

  “My wing is shattered, yet none of my injuries are life-threatening. The Healers need to tend to those with the most need, first.”

  Pulling her cloak more snuggly around her, Pearlitta sits to lean back against Trella’s chest.

  “I will stay with you until they can come take care of you.”

  Trella curls her neck around her body, enclosing the child.

  Pearlitta’s voice, barely above a whisper, comes to her, “I do not understand. Why do they keep attacking us?”

  Trella pauses to consider her answer; at thirteen winters, this child has lived with the attacks throughout her life. “No one knows. They simply showed up and started killing dragons and humans.” She sighs. “All attempts to communicate with the Volastoque fail.”

  “Did we do something to make them mad?”

  “I think the fact we exist is enough. Some creatures do not follow the Lady and without her teachings, they can be driven by instinct alone.”

  “Why does the Lady not talk with them?”

  “I am sure She has, perhaps they cannot hear Her or do not listen.”

  “I want them to go away.”

  “Yes, child, so do I.”

  She closes her eyes and sends a prayer to the Lady for the injured and for those lost in this battle. The soft crying of Pearlitta tugs at her heart and she vows to ensure the child is returned to her sire safely.

  Chapter 15

  Aura’s wings falter in mid-stoke and her body jolts as the Master’s death releases her mind. In a daze she flutters groundward. Her landing is rough as she trembles with aftershocks of loathing and revulsion from her servitude.

  She crumples to the cold, stone-littered earth. Her mind reels, reliving the harsh guttural commands that held her immobile as the creature slaughtered her children. Anguish boils across her, inflicting additional pain upon her battered body. She barely glances up as the bronze lands a short distance away. She shudders, queasy with a swirl of emotions. Aura has looked into the heart of her enemy, and still fails to comprehend the hatred that compels the Volastoque.

  A second dragon, Kilita, lands. Aura raises her head to peer with bleary eyes at her neighbor. A large, jagged wound at the base of Kilita’s neck spills a bright-red path of blood down the green dragon’s chest. Kilita’s golden eyes are still bright with battle rage, her body tense as a coiled spring as she folds her wings and settles to the ground. Fresh scars from Kilita’s battle at the lair spider her sides.

  Aura’s head drops and she sends in guilt-laden Mindspeak, “I am so sorry.”

  “Aura, thou did not have any choice.” Kilita glances at the male bronze. “Rejack knows the beast controlled thy actions.”

  Aura glances at the male. “Did I harm thee?”

  Rejack ruffles his wings then allows them to settle against his side. “Not more than a warming of my scales.”

  “Come, thy mate and hatchling await thy return.”

  Aura’s head jerks toward the green. “One of my hatchlings survived? And Maru?”

  Kilita nods, her eyes welling in compassion. “Falcop and Maru await thee in safety. Maru was injured, but heals, and Falcop is uninjured.”

  Aura collapses, relief washing through her.

  “I shall start back to the Shaman.” Rejack gazes to the southeast. “As the two of ye can, make your way in a straight line toward Shadrock Point. I will try to bring the Shaman to you, should I find him available before ye have made it that far. If not, we will know where to find you.”

  “I want to go to Maru and Falcop.”

  Kilita curves her neck and methodically begins to cleanse her wound, slowly, through strokes of her tongue that bathe the gash. “They have been taken to the caverns at Kitloch. Thou is too weak to fly that far. Indeed I am not sure I may sustain flight that long a distance with this wound.” She glances at Rejack. “We will make our way as we can.”

  The bronze nods, raising his wings.

  “My thanks to thee, Rejack.”

  His golden eyes, bright with compassion, meet hers. “We but took back our own. Rest, then make thy way to Shadrock Point. I would see thee reunited with thy mate and child.” Two strong downstrokes have him airborne.

  She watches as the male arrows southeast, his scales molten in the rays of the setting sun. She looks back at Aura. The bleeding has slowed, but the wound still seeps blood. “Can thou fly with that wound?”

  “Not well, but we need to remove ourselves from the vicinity of that fire.” Kilita glances at the flames raging in the gully. “The light and odor may draw others of his kind.”

  Hatred and resolve stiffen her spine and Aura scrambles to her feet. “I would love to kill more of those beasts.”

  “No,” Kilita’s Mindspeak is soft but firm. “Neither of us is in c
ondition to engage them in battle. Fly true to southeast and we should make it to Shadrock Point by mid-morning.” She unfurls her wings and with a painful grimace launches into the air. She looks back at Aura. “Come, I promised thy mate I would return thee to him.”

  Aura launches. Her heart and thoughts on her reunion with her mate, she does not notice the flicker to the north from a set of large wings.

  ~!~

  Two sunrises after the attack, the faint light of pre-dawn simmers across the sky as a Shaman transports Trella with her young charge to the location selected for the funeral pyre. It took her the better part of the previous evening to convince them she would not leave, not before she paid her final respects to Natal and the others who lost their lives in defense of the convoy.

  Her wing juts behind her at an awkward angle as she settles on the hillside above where seven dragon bodies, Natal’s amongst them, have been laid out in tight spiral layers that form a cone of bodies on the rocky ground. The oils used to coat their bodies bring an ethereal shine to their scales. Three other injured dragons rest near Trella, their countenances reflecting the pain of their injuries and grief combined. Beyond the cone of dead dragons, humans congregate in a respectful mass. They committed their dead to the ground the previous afternoon in a ceremony that Trella found touching, and that left Pearlitta in tears.

  Silence rules, except for the birdsong greeting the new day. The nine remaining, uninjured or already Healed dragons form a circle around their dead comrades. Dawn’s first rays slash across the hills, striking the dead dragons and setting their scales aglow. The circled dragons inhale and, as one, they ignite their battle flames.

  The whoosh of the flames shatters the quiet. The oil catches rapidly and soon the dead dragons are ablaze. The circled dragons cease their infernal onslaught and each of their throats begins to quiver and a low thrum fills the air. Pulsing in a wild rhythm reminiscent of winds driving waves in a storm, it builds until Trella’s body vibrates with the cadence. She and the other injured dragons add their own thrumming to the symphony and she begins to sway along with the pulse.

  A brown male, Helthan—one of the circled dragons—stretches his long neck skyward and a musical trill rises above the deep thrumming. A black female beside him points her nose up and adds a whistle two tones lower; her call weaves in and out around the brown’s trill. An enormous black male with gold-tinged wings adds a deep bass call of “Ahh-NAa, Ahh-Naa,” the sound so resonant it can be felt as well as heard.

  The bodies crackle as the fire consumes them while Trella and the other injured dragons keep up the steady, driving, rhythmic thrum. One by one all the dragons in the circle add their voices, blending into a melody that celebrates the lives of their lost comrades. The song swells for over an hour.

  Helthan lowers his neck and his strident bugle silences the singers; only the injured dragons continue to softly thrum the pulsing rhythm.

  “We dedicate our fallen to the Lady.” Helthan’s Mindspeak rings out across those gathered. “We beseech Thee, Lady of the Mist, have mercy on these who have sacrificed their lives for others and guide them as they go forth upon their journey from this world. We call to Thee in grief and sorrow: help us to know Thy presence in the dark emptiness of these trying times.”

  Trella and Pearlitta join with the others in the response. “May Thy gentle hand guide us.”

  Deep sorrow fills Helthan’s black eyes as he leads them in the forlorn death song.

  Trella’s heart feels crushed as she bids a final farewell to Natal. Pearlitta hums along with the death song as she presses close to Trella’s chest. Somehow, her presence there feels right.

  ~!~

  A screech claws into his sleep and Maru jolts awake, his battle fires already igniting as the call of his offspring wrenches him from sleep. In the small alcove, Falcop stands, his wings fully extended and his neck low to the stone floor as he hisses at a trembling youth. The youth has frozen a few strides into the chamber, clutching a fresh bale of bedding and a rake in front of him like a shield.

  “Falcop, leave off. He is no threat; he but seeks to clean thy nest.” Maru watches as his son folds his wings and grudgingly steps to the far wall of the chamber.

  The gangly lad throws Maru a grateful glance over his shoulder.

  Maru tamps back his battle flames and nods. “Montello, thou shall not come to harm, proceed.”

  The terror in the young man’s brown eyes somewhat abates and he moves gingerly toward the nest.

  Falcop narrows his eyes and glares at the young man, but remains motionless.

  Montello lowers the bale of straw and applies the rake to clean away discarded shards from the hatchling’s last meal. His blond head pivots on his neck in a constant attempt to keep both his work and the green hatchling within his view. He sweeps the bone shards into the pile on the right side of the cavern where Falcop leaves his droppings.

  Maru settles back in the warm, amber waters and keeps an eye on the proceedings in the alcove. His body aches, everywhere.

  The Healers have worked on him three times since their arrival midday the day before. They say his head wound is as improved as they can make it; now it must complete healing on its own. The piercing headache he has had since his crash has abated, leaving but a dull ache.

  In the alcove, Falcop settles to his stomach as he watches Montello add the fresh bedding to the nest, using his rake to fluff the pile.

  Maru swings his head around to study the wounds upon his back. Most of these are closed and only the pucker of his black scales indicates their location. He cannot see the gashes on his belly, but even as he sifts in the water, the ultra-sensitive burned flesh of the wounds testifies that they are nowhere near healed.

  A grumbling from the alcove pulls his attention back to his son. Falcop growls as the lad pushes a handcart into the alcove.

  “My son, I have told thee to leave off.”

  Falcop lowers his head to the stone floor and Maru can feel a tentative touch from the hatchling’s mind. Falcop is afraid, lonely, and hungry.

  “Montello, if thou would. My hatchling hungers. Perhaps, if thou could bring him food, his attitude may improve.”

  The youth stops, drops the handles of the cart, and, turning toward Maru, tugs on his forelock. His voice rings clear across the space separating them. “Nor Maru, I was going to bring him his feeding when I completed cleaning.”

  “He is too young to have found patience.”

  “Of course, I will get it now.” Montello turns the cart toward the location in the cavern where the food is stored.

  “When thou has finished, I would not find a deer or two amiss, myself.”

  The lad throws a nod over his shoulders, never breaking stride as he rushes to get Falcop’s food. Maru settles a bit lower in the water. Falcop prowls around his alcove, then settles in his newly freshened nest. Maru gazes around the large chamber, noting at least four other dragons soak in the Healing waters besides him. The chamber is a hive of activity; many humans scurry about intent on errands as others prepare the foodstuffs or perform Healings on dragons or, over to one side, on humans in a separate alcove.

  The alcove for the human Healings is packed. He can see over a score of sleeping platforms from his position, all filled with injured people. From the buzz of conversation in that alcove, he can tell there are many more out of his sight within the chamber. A tall arch to his left apparently leads to chambers for recovering dragons, as he has seen the ones who now lie submerged in the water come from that entrance.

  Montello trundles the cart back, loaded with cuts of goat. He enters Falcop’s alcove and pauses near the entrance to pitch a fore-leg in front of the green hatchling. Falcop sets upon it with voracious appetite. The lad continues to sling the meat to the hatchling until the cart is empty. Maru can feel the satisfaction welling from his son as Falcop surveys the pile while he consumes the first piece.

  Keeping a watchful eye on the hatchling, Montello shoves the cart from th
e alcove. “Nor Maru, I shall bring you a deer. Do you need it cut up?”

  “No, lad, there is nothing wrong with my jaws.”

  Montello grins and strides toward the provision area, the cart squeaking along in front of him.

  “You seem much improved.”

  Maru turns his head to find Healer Geramn striding across the cavern toward him. The healer no longer appears bedraggled. He is fresh-shaven, sports a new haircut and a bright green tunic with the three diagonal amber slashes of his profession embroidered on the front. “As does thou.”

  Geramn grins, tugging at the front of the tunic. “My mate made this for me.”

  “I am happy to see thee well-rested. Thy efforts for me and my son had worn thee to a frazzle.”

  Geramn turns his gaze to study Falcop. “Your hatchling seems to have settled in.”

  “Only while he is feeding, he is lonely and scared. I cannot do much to alleviate that until I may leave these waters.”

  “What can I do to help?” Geramn steps a short distance away as Montello arrives and dumps a deer carcass in front of Maru.

  The youth slides the cart out from under the deer and looks up at Maru. “This one is fresh-slain. I can bring you another, but the others are from last nightfall’s kill.”

  “My thanks.” Maru reaches and shears the forequarters from the deer. “I do believe I will take another, if thou would be so kind.”

  Montello nods and turns his cart back toward the provision area.

  Maru crunches on the deer; it is barely warm, but rich with fat as it is a young doe.

  “Perhaps you can give me some insights to his personality that may help us in working with him.”

  Maru swallows the venison and turns saddened eyes to the Healer. “It grieves me to say, however, I do not know mine own son. Aura stayed with the clutch. I have been gone more than I have been home since the hatching.” He shakes his head. “I felt the threat of the Volastoque held precedence. I thought there would be plenty of time to get to know mine offspring. And now, I am relegated to these Healing waters and not much comfort to my son.”

  “So, until Aura is returned, Falcop needs comforting. Someone he can get to know who will allay his fears.” Geramn watches Montello loading the second deer into his cart, his expression thoughtful. “He needs a friend in this place, so it will not seem so frightening and strange to him.”