Dragon Nemesis

by B.J. Whittington

  “It is good to see a familiar face.” Geramn speaks in a quiet voice as he pulls off his cloak and settles in the seat. “I have not attended a Council meeting before.”

  “I have sat through far too many.” Jadrun yawns and nods at the Healer. “You will find most are lengthy and often settle very little. How are our charges doing?”

  “Maru and the hatchling thrive, as does his mate, Aura.” Geramn grins. “Your son is becoming quite a hand with the care of Falcop.”

  Jadrun cannot help the swelling of pride he feels as he responds. “Montello says he is called to the work. I am pleased he does well.”

  “How goes the search for Blanche?”

  Jadrun stares blankly at the tabletop for a moment. “They have called off the search.”

  “Oh, Jadrun. I am so sorry.”

  “They have, I have not. I will continue to seek her, or her body. I cannot leave it like this.”

  Geramn nods, his eyes shadowed with compassion.

  Shaman Hern calls the meeting to order and both men turn their attention to the Head Shaman.

  “The reports speak of steady incursions by the Volastoque; once again with heavy losses the Shaman and dragons drive them back at each encounter.” Hern shrugs. “Any who wish to read these in depth are welcome to do so, however the situation is declining.”

  “Our efforts to remove people, and young dragons, to the caverns progresses well.” The Shaman who speaks is not much older then Jadrun and his brown eyes and face show fatigue. “The dragons now fly escort and we have far fewer losses in route.”

  Hern nods. “It is good progress; perhaps when we have solidified our people in the three caverns, we can better defend them.”

  A buxom, elderly woman rises. “I need help with the rodents. Our grain supplies are beset with rats and mice. They damage, or consume, vast quantities daily.”

  A Shaman wearing a red crystal clears his throat, then speaks. “Perhaps we can devise a repulsive shield against vermin; I think we can alter the spells used with the camouflage barrier where the property of the shield repulses them, yet will not affect humans.”

  “Soon,” the woman replies, settling back in her seat. “Before they have eaten us out of a season’s grain.”

  Geramn speaks; he talks of the need to train additional Healers and makes a suggestion that they take on apprentices. Jadrun half-listens, fighting against nodding off, as the Healer continues to speak about a young lad that he found to have potential.

  He, himself, has come to make a similar suggestion on training additional Shaman, but he cannot seem to focus on the discussion. His tired mind keeps drifting to his son as he last saw him. Montello entered their apartment as Jadrun was leaving for this meeting. His son, returning from working with Falcop, wore a grin that split his face from ear to ear.

  Jadrun finds a small glow of peace in his soul that his son has found some happiness in this turmoil.

  Chapter 20

  Montello places his hand on the trembling shoulder of the green hatchling to soothe him. They stand on a jagged outcrop at the back of the mountain overlooking a green expanse cupped between the near-vertical sides of the surrounding crags of the Kitloka Mountains. The grass in the natural amphitheater is brown with the onset of autumn. Goats confined by the steep sides are not left there more than a day or so, since the chill has stopped the growth of the grass.

  The hatchling beneath his hand vibrates with excitement as a blue flash above them heralds the reason for the goats being there. A silver-blue youngling dragon spirals past them in a slow circle; coasting past the waterfall on the far side he appears almost the same color as the cascading water.

  The youngling’s wing strokes are a mere whisper on the wind as he chooses his target amongst the goats below. A brief tensing of his silver-blue body, then he folds his wings to plummet groundward. The goats shriek, scrambling over each other as they attempt to flee.

  Montello’s eyes never leave the youngling as his claws sink into a brown and white goat and he reaches down to tear out its throat with a snap of his powerful jaws. Montello also trembles, in awe of the savage beauty tempered by such intelligence and elegance.

  The surviving goats flee to the far side of the area as the youngling settles down to feed. A tall, brown-haired youth strides out beside the adolescent dragon and his words of praise drift up to them on the wind.

  The agitated scuffling of Falcop’s claws upon the rough stone where they stand draws his attention back to his charge.

  The green hatchling’s body is as tight as a strung bow as he leans over the drop-off at their feet, his attention riveted to the kill below.

  “Easy, Falcop, lest you fall.” He tugs on the hatchling’s neck. “You must fly before you can begin to hunt on your own. Your sire and dam wish that you watch, so as to learn, but you are not ready yet. Please move back a bit.”

  Falcop swings his serpentine neck back to look at Montello. His golden eyes swirl with flecks of amber and brown from his exhilaration. He grudgingly steps back and then returns his gaze to the feasting youngling. His head still hangs off the precipice, his neck straight as an arrow as he becomes still as a statue while he stares.

  As Montello watches Falcop his eyes feast on the almost mint-green shimmer of his scales. The hatchling grows at a tremendous rate. Already his back is above Montello’s head in height. Montello strokes his hand along Falcop’s side, luxuriating in the sleek feel of the scales as they depress slightly into the light padding of fat beneath the skin.

  They have fallen into a daily routine where Falcop is bathed and oiled after the nightfall feeding. His scales are vibrant with his good health as they glisten in the bright sunlight. A soft thrum starts in the hatchling’s throat and Montello gives him a good-natured slap on the shoulder.

  “Come along, obviously this has stirred your appetite, we can get your nightfall meal early.”

  A tingle of anticipation begins at the back of Montello’s scalp and he takes that as agreement as Falcop swings around to scramble up the rocky slope to the back entrance to the cavern. They pass another bonded pair as they reach the entrance. Montello feels a surge of pride when he notes that his Falcop out-gleams the red hatchling. He nods a greeting to the lad and hurries Falcop past the other hatching lest they pause to posture.

  He grins as Falcop almost lopes ahead of him down the tunnel. The first time Falcop and another hatchling engaged in the posturing scared him to death. Only Maru explaining to him that it was normal in the young, growing dragons, and never led to serious assaults had calmed him after the brief encounter.

  Reflecting back on the incident, as he hurries along behind Falcop, he feels a moment of pride. A black, much larger than Falcop, had issued the challenge. Falcop took one glance at the male and then rose on his hind legs, wings extended to shriek at the other hatchling. His neck swinging like a pendulum before him, he advanced on his hind legs to tower over the other male, glaring furiously with his mouth wide, exposing every gleaming, white tooth. The black hatchling had backed down quickly enough.

  “Falcop, go to your nest,” Montello calls as, ahead of him, Falcop reaches the branch in the tunnel. “I shall be but a moment.”

  Falcop’s golden eyes seem to glow in the dim light of the tunnel as he pauses and looks back. Then with a slight nod of his head, he shuffles down the right tunnel.

  Montello hurries down the left tunnel. Falcop will sleep after his meal, which should give him time to start reading the texts on dragons he gathered the day before from the library.

  Once again a grin splits his face. His sire will shake his head in wonder. Never before has Montello sought study time. Herlan was the bookworm. His grin fades to a soft smile, but for the first time the memory of his lost twin does not curl his insides with grief. He has no trouble imagining the awe and wonder Herlan would find in the developing relationship with Falcop.

  “I shall make you proud, my brother.” Montello speaks the words softly. More at peace tha
n he has been since the attack, he enters the slaughter chamber. Hurrying to the ledge, he grabs a barrow, then moves onto the ledge and glances at the sky. Yes, there is an incoming dragon laden with mountain goats. Falcop will have a fresh kill for his nightfall meal.

  ~!~

  Kilita fastidiously cleans between her front claws. She uses her teeth to work a bit of hide from the sheath of her retractable claw on her right talon. She twists her neck and peers at the wound. Her neck wound is all but healed. It gives her no further discomfort. It will scar, the skin healed with a bit of a pucker and the edges form a crescent shaped weal across the base of her neck. Already the newly-formed scales are a bit malformed where they grow in to cover the new skin.

  She brings her attention back on task. She has no mate that she needs worry about her appearance. And Timac, were he still here, would view her scars as badges of honor. They fought side-by-side in Rejack’s battle covey for many seasons in the defense of the Palmir People.

  Perhaps three or four more dramas she may yet participate in the battles.

  She raises on her hind legs and her left fore claw drops to caress her still-flat abdomen. She can feel the life quickening inside her. Soon, she will be too gravid with their clutch to risk her unborn in the battles.

  Her heart fills with love for her and Timac’s offspring.

  In a way, knowing her beloved mate will continue through these eggs she carries makes it easier. She reflects on the announcement made earlier in the day. The Shaman Council made known arrangements in progress for clutches. The dragon elders have decided to work with Shaman to place clutches of eggs in stasis. Since so many devastated lairs with dead or orphaned hatchlings were found, they feel the eggs should be delayed in hatching until it is safe for the young.

  Kilita agrees, although she mourns the lost ability to sit her nest, she can see the wisdom of delaying the young’s entry into the world until these Volastoque are banished.

  Her eyes grow a bit misty as she envisions the expression Timac would have worn as he watched their hatchlings tumbling in their lair at play.

  She lowers her forequarters to stand on all four legs. Shaking her head, she thrusts aside her daydreams and brings her mind to bear on her departure nextday. She and Aura have been placed with the covey of dragons flying escort to villagers fleeing to sanctuary. The frail and young humans will be transported. But those with the capabilities to travel will form a convoy transporting foodstuffs and some personal belongings from each village or town. Already two such convoys were annihilated by attacks reroute, thus the need for dragon escort.

  She unfurls her wings and with a last lingering glance at the small lake where she had bathed, launches skyward. Water sheets from her body and sings as she quickly gains altitude. She turns toward Kitloch. The crags of the Kitloka Mountains extend as far as the eye can see below her. The lovely little lake soon disappears in their depths as she flies east.

  A sentry’s bugle rips the quiet and a yellow female appears in broad slices as the dragon penetrates the camouflage. First her head and neck appears, followed in rapid succession by her shoulders, wings, back and finally her tail as she exits the cloak barrier hiding the valley. Kilita responds with a greeting and slows her advance to allow time for the yellow to recognize her. With the Volastoque’s ability to subservient their victims as their minions, only dragons who are known to be unburdened with the creature’s control are allowed entry into the valley.

  The young yellow female hovers for a moment, studying her. She says, “Enter Kilita, I hope your hunting went well.”

  “Yes, it did. Thank you.” Kilita nods and enters the barrier, a tingle presses along her body as she moves through the invisible bubble and now different scenery sprawls out below her. The valley teams with people and herd animals as a multitude of refugees with wagons and carts make their way up the steep road to the cavern entrance.

  She tilts her wings and spirals down to a pasture where dragons sprawl, sunbathing in the warm midday sun. She counts eighty two as she sweeps over the field. Aura is curled near the edge of the field and she lands beside her.

  “Lady’s blessings, Kilita.” Aura extends her neck in a languid stretch as she opens her golden eyes.

  “And to thee.” She settles to lie on the ground with her tail curled around her body. She studies the mahogany dragon. The multiple locations where the Killer Frost damaged Aura have gained color; they are a light red against her deeper mahogany scales. “How are thee? Thou look much better.”

  “I am well enough.” Aura spreads her wings and inspects the light-colored patches. “They look worse then they are. The membranes in my wings are healed, as are the patches where the Killer Frost hit my scales.” She turns her gaze to Kilita. “I doubt they will ever regain their true color. But that matters little to me. And thee? Thy wounds have healed?”

  She raises her neck to display the wound where her neck meets her chest. “As thou say, healed if not attractive.”

  Aura folds her wings and her gaze runs across the other dragons sunning in the field. “There are few who do not bear such scars.” Her eyes turn back to Kilita and a slow rotation begins in their depths. “Words cannot express the gratitude and debt I have to thee Kilita. Should thee ever need or desire something of me—“

  “As I said before, seeing you returned to thy mate and hatchling are all the recompense I need, or wish for.” A bit embarrassed that Aura feels the need to thank her so often, she snugs her nose beneath her tail and closes her eyes, hoping to forestall further discussion.

  “We are placed with Phocaea’s escort covey. I was told we leave before nightfall, Maru leaves nextday with Rejack’s battle covey.”

  She opens one eye. “Phocaea? I thought she flew with Estrola’s battle covey?”

  “She did. We lost Faille when the last escort the covey flew took a large number of fatalities and injuries. Phocaea was brought in to lead as she has a plenitude of battle experience to guide us.” She pauses, then her Mindspeak takes on a softer tone. “I thought you would return to Rejack’s battle covey with Maru?”

  Kilita raises her head; she can see her rouse of attempting sleep is pointless. “I requested to fly convoy.” She shakes her head. “I wish to continue to aid in our efforts against the Volastoque. However,” she pauses, her gaze dropping to contemplate the brown grass of the field. “Battle coveys engage with each mission. Due to my condition, I thought to help while reducing my exposure to combat, as an escort covey often does not face combat with each flight.”

  “A sensible choice.” Aura’s eyes whirl with worry as she continues. “Yet, it seems the escort coveys fall under attack almost as often as the battle coveys. Perhaps thee should remain at Kitloch as sentry or hunter. Thee risk much, laden with thy clutch.”

  A soft hiss of exasperation escapes her lips as she jerks her gaze back to that of the mahogany’s. “I risk more by not aiding the efforts. My clutch will not survive if these beasts prevail. I shall continue to fight until my pheromones announce my condition to others. Then, it would not be right to continue, as the dragons around me would attempt to protect me, as their instincts dictate, thus endangering themselves needlessly.” Her gaze pins the mahogany female. “Thou, shall not speak of this to anyone. Nor shall thee put thyself at risk by attempting to shield me if we engage in battle.”

  “I shall tell no one thou are gravid. Yet, I will do what I can to see thee come to no harm. I would do so whether thee were gravid or not, it is the least I can do to repay thee for when thou came to our aid at our lair and my recovery from the Volastoque.”

  “I would do the same for any dragon so attacked or captured. That does not mean thee should risk thyself unduly on my behalf.”

  Aura’s eyes take on a softer cast. “Thee would guard a gravid female as well, as shall I. Do not presume to ask me to avoid what thee thyself would do.”

  “Thee are far too nimble with thy tongue to negate my wishes so,” She grumbles as she once more tucks her nos
e beneath her tail and closes her eyes. She can hear Aura’s soft chuckle, but refrains from further discussion. It is obvious it will get her no where.

  “Kilita, thou need to consider.” Aura pauses and she can hear her settling as her tail rasps across the grass. “Perhaps to protect thy gravid state may be more important then thy participation in the battles. To win, we must survive. Thy, and others like thee’s offspring are the future of our species.”

  Kilita keeps her firmly eyes closed. Yet, sleep will not come, in spite of her full stomach. Her mind swirls with Aura’s words and a deep worry permeates her soul.

  ~!~

  So many. Geramn scratches the back of his head as he studies the group of youths gathering to apply for apprentice Healer positions. With only a dozen Healers available to take on apprentices, he could easily assign them each ten and still have applicants left over.

  He glances at Healer Frandem and Healer Derness where they stand beside him. “Any ideas?”

  Derness shakes her head, her brown eyes wide; it is obvious she is astounded at the turn out. One announcement was made at sunrise meal that the Healers would accept applications for apprentices after the meal; by the time they ate and arrived at this field over one hundred had assembled. She gestures at the additional youths making their way across the sun-drenched pasture. “They yet come; we will end up with close to three hundred at this rate.”

  Healer Frandem scratches the stubble on his chin, his bushy eyebrows furrowed. “We cannot possibly take them all on here. Perhaps our best course is to sort them into groups. Some will be without family here at Kitloch and can be taken to the caverns at Burick Lake or Genilox. Perhaps some will even have extended family at those locations. Either way, the Healers there can take on some of these.”

  “Excellent suggestion, though we need to coordinate with Shaman for transport.” He glances at Elish. “See if you can find Shaman Jadrun or Shaman Hern and bid they join us here.” The boy nods and tugs on his forelock, then runs off toward the road to the cavern.

  “I will start sorting them out.” Derness gathers the fabric of her simple gown into one hand and strolling a distance away, climbs upon a large rock at the edge of the field. Geramn turns to the group of Healers as Derness’ voice lifts and she explains the groupings they wish the applicants to form.