“I don’t know if you can understand me or not but I have to get help to fix your wing. I’ll return soon. Please don’t eat me when I come back.”
The drakon lowered its great head, large enough to swallow the lad with one gulp, and breathed warm, drakon scented breath onto Trag. Visions came with it. Gliding in thermals, wings extended. Sheep being herded to a bare field so drakons could come to eat their tithe. Curling up with a full belly on soft straw, not bare cobbles. The visions ceased. Trag understood and rolled his cart back to where Vistala was standing transfixed, gazing at him in awe.
“You’re alive. The drakon didn’t eat you. Were you talking to it? How did you do that? Did you know it wouldn’t eat you?”
“Whoa, whoa Vistala. Enough of the questions already. We have to talk with Septican and your father. I’ll answer your questions on our way back to them. Alright?”
Vistala agreed and they left the barn together, Trag suffering her interrogation as they made their way back to the keep. After such a momentous moment, it was rather an anticlimax when they entered the hall, as no one paid much attention to them on their return. That is until Vistala ran around to where her father was still talking with Septican and blurted out.
“Trag talked to the drakon and touched it.”
Both Septican’s and Wiley’s heads whipped around and they looked over to focus their eyes on Trag, sitting on his cart, as the hall fell silent. Wiley stood and fixed his penetrating gaze on Trag.
“That true boy?”
“Yes Sir,” Trag replied.
“And what did you learn?”
“Her broken wing needs splinted, the cobbled floor is uncomfortable for her to sleep on and it’s nearly the tithed feeding time and she’s feeling hungry.”
Wiley seemed surprised by Trag’s answer. He’d expected to be told some wondrous childish fantasy about drakons, not something as direct and prosaic as fixing a wing and providing food and bedding. He looked toward Septican who merely shrugged, a large smile pasted on his white bearded face, as if to say, ‘It’s your drakon.’
Wiley strode around the table, closely followed by Vistala, trotting at his heels to keep up and came to stand in front of Trag. Realising the difference in height, he thoughtfully squatted down to be on a level with Trag.
“How did you talk to the drakon lad?”
Trag thought for a moment, remembering the visions in his head, before answering.
“The drakon made pictures in my head. It was like I was flying for a moment then I felt hungry and saw sheep. There was a memory of lying on something softer than cobbles and there was pain from the broken wing. She breathed drakon breath on me. It smelled wonderful.”
Wiley was truly amazed. Of course he’d heard of those able to communicate with drakons but had never met anyone who could. Trag looked into Wiley’s face and made a decision.
“You can’t sell her. She’s too great a beast to be just traded like a piece of meat. She knows what’s going on.”
Wiley sat back on his heels, not used to having anyone, with the possible exception of Vistala and rarely his wife Malena, tell him what he should or shouldn’t do. He owned this castle and was the master of all he surveyed. He decided when and how things should occur. Septican squatted beside Wiley and regarded Trag for a moment.
“Can you talk to her now?” he asked the lad.
“No Grandfather, I only see the images when I’m beside her but I’m aware of her still. She wants me to help.”
Septican’s eyes narrowed for a moment in thought, then he turned to Wiley.
“Do you think we should go and visit the drakon with Trag and try to find out what its thinking?”
Wiley nodded his agreement but before giving any orders, looked over to his wife. Malena, used to men and their forgetful enthusiasm regarded her slim daughter and the youth on the cart. Ever the pragmatist, she suggested they finish their evening meal before going back over to the barn. Trag and Vistala, although excited, were equally relieved by her decision as they were both quite hungry by now. Everyone sat back down and Trag allowed himself to be assisted onto his chair to enjoy the meal, which was hurriedly served up by the few staff.
Trag had never dined like this before, used only to the simple fare which Septican normally prepared for them. There was a large roast, baked vegetables, fresh greens and sauces. All at the same time. Steaming loaves of bread were distributed over the table along with dishes containing butter and Trag watched as Wiley’s people helped themselves to heaped plates of food. There was just so much of it. Vistala sat down next to Trag and noticing where he was looking, took his plate and proceeded to pile food on it. She finished by plonking his plate down in front of him and grabbing a chunk of fresh bread which she put on his side plate with a little smile.
“It’s just as easy for me to fill one as two plates. I can recommend the bread. Cinta, she’s in charge of the kitchen, is an excellent cook. Her husband, Brant, is the gardener.”
Trag was grateful. Vistala was like Bethanty, helpful toward him without being condescending. She had a natural generosity about her. Applying himself to the food, Trag tucked in, not realising how famished he was. All he had done was sit on a wagon seat all day but the episode with the drakon seemed to have made him more hungry than expected. In no time at all, well that was how it seemed, his plate was clean and the servants were clearing up. Wiley rose, as did Septican and they came round the table toward him.
“Time to go young Trag. We have a drakon to visit.”
Trag scrambled down the seat and arranged himself on his cart. Septican understood and waited as did Vistala. This made Wiley aware of the fact he needed to wait also and he used this time to call over a couple of his trusted retainers to accompany them to the barn. As they set off, Vistala tagged along but Wiley put a hand on her shoulder.
“You’d better wait here girl. Never know what a drakon can do.”
Trag saw the disappointed look on her face and spoke up.
“Sir, Vistala was a great help the first time we went to see the drakon and stayed well back. Mayn’t she come with us please? I find her presence to be very helpful.”
Wiley regarded the boy on the trolley for a moment, suppressing a smile. He knew the lad was smart and manipulating the situation for Vistala’s benefit but he loved his youngest daughter and could see the hopefulness on her face.
“Very well but you are to stand near the door Vistala and come nowhere near the drakon. Any hint of trouble and you are to run outside. Understood.”
“Very well Father. As you order.” She smiled down at Trag, grateful for his intervention as she walked alongside him.
On reaching the barn, they all went in one by one with the retainers standing one each side of the door. The chained drakon watched them all carefully until Trag rolled through the entrance then its fierce gaze softened a little. Trag paused for a moment, then heart in mouth, once more pulled himself over the cobbles toward the huge drakon. The great head lowered as he neared and that wonderful warm drakon’s breath enveloped him with its slightly spicy aroma. He felt comforted as the long tongue flicked out and the tips of its forked end brushed his face again.
“Hello drakon. I don’t know your name but I’ve brought these people to help fix your wing and hopefully get you some straw to sleep on. They didn’t know you could understand things.”
Pictures formed in Trag’s mind along with the odd word of Common speech and his eyes stopped seeing as his brain took him away with the drakon’s thoughts. He saw a padded tube, slid over a broken drakon’s wing and held in place by some springy metal clips, fashioned to allow a slight pressure on the splint. Further pictures were forming when suddenly there was a roar and the drakon’s head shot out. Trag looked around in time to see Wiley on the ground and the drakon’s mouth wide open above him, saliva dripping over the multitude of teeth on display.
“NO. STOP!” was all Trag could manage to cry out but his horror must have reached across the br
idge to the drakon’s brain. It turned its head to regard the boy on the trolley for a moment before pulling its head back on its long neck. Wiley shakily arose, unharmed and stepped back, eying Trag and the drakon with new appreciation.
“Sorry lad. I just saw you sitting there so still, I thought it must be safe enough and I disobeyed my own command. Apologise to the drakon for me please.”
Vistala was amazed. Her father rarely apologised to anyone, let alone a drakon. She was also quite afraid. The drakon had moved so quickly when it knocked her father over. If it had wanted to, it could have killed him instantly and, more to the point, with the reach it had just demonstrated it could easily have killed her earlier. She was glad she was still by the door.
Trag reached over and placed his hand on the drakon’s neck forming a picture of his Grandfather in his mind before making more pictures of him binding wounds and sewing people up. He sent the word ‘Healer’ along with the visuals. Trag was used to helping Septican with his healing and had seen plenty of it. The drakon looked over to Septican for a moment then Trag received a picture of his Grandfather standing by the drakon’s broken wing.
“Grandfather, the drakon made a picture of a padded tube with springs to hold it in place over the broken part of her wing. I showed her pictures of you doing healing and asked if you could help and she agreed. I think you can safely examine her wing now.”
“I hope you’re right Trag,” Septican said as he carefully moved slowly forward, his eyes wide open, ready to jump at the slightest hint of danger. The drakon slowly unfurled its left wing and Trag could feel the pain of the dangling end as it did. Septican had reached the wing and gently supported the end of it while he thoroughly examined both sides of the break.
“It’s a simple fracture and should heal well. Tell the drakon I’m going to go for a splint with springs, which may have to be made up, as well as some herbs to assist healing.”
Septican gradually and gently lowered the wing before backing away. At a safe distance, he turned and after a quick discussion with Wiley, indicated Vistala should follow him and they went off to find the required articles. Wiley went to his two men by the door and ordered them to go and find some bales of straw and bring them back on the handcart. As they left to do his bidding Wiley turned back toward Trag.
“Tell the drakon my men have gone for straw and will be bringing some back for bedding. Hopefully the beast will allow them to spread it out.”
Trag nodded and in his thoughts, tried to convey the idea of the men returning with straw bales for bedding. He didn’t know how successful he’d been though and when the men eventually returned with a handcart full of baled straw, he bid them be careful and make no sudden moves. He needn’t have worried though as the drakon shifted out of the way as much as its fetters permitted to allow the men to spread the straw on the cobbles. The only incident was when one of the bondsmen picked up a hay fork to help with the spreading. The resulting roar shook the building and the terrified man threw the fork down and ran for his life. The other fellow, although trembling in his boots, stood where he was, frozen to the spot until the drakon calmed down. Soon there was a thick layer of comfortable bedding spread over the stone floor for the drakon to sleep on.
As the last of the straw was being spread, Septican arrived back with the necessary paraphernalia for splinting the wing, Vistala beside him carrying a bag which clinked with the sound of bottles. They carefully made their way over to the drakon’s now outstretched left wing and Trag’s Grandfather put down his armful of bits and pieces then gingerly took the offered wing in his hands.
“Inform the drakon I’m going to put the splint on, make sure its fitting comfortably then take it off again to apply some salve before replacing it.”
Trag made the necessary mental pictures for the drakon then waited, his hand on the scaly, bowed neck. He could feel the drakon making little flinches as the pain of the wing being manipulated came through his touch but it kept as still as it could. Eventually he heard his Grandfather sigh.
“Well Trag, that’s it. I can do no more. This is the first and only drakon I’ve ever treated but I think it will heal alright.” He glanced at Wiley. “Satisfied Wiley. Nothing more you want done?”
Wiley took in the scene before him, lit by the flickering lamps the servants had brought earlier. He felt a little pride at having a drakon he could communicate with, albeit through his friend’s grandson and a daughter who, although afraid, had enough courage to stand beside such a large beast and help Septican perform his healing. He shook his head in answer to Septican’s question and they withdrew.
Last to leave was Trag, who bade the resting drakon farewell as he rolled out of the barn following the serving men with the lamps, satisfied the wing would heal and marvelling at the companions he had found on his first day in Wiley’s castle.
Bed was a welcome anticlimax.
6. Dealing with Drakons
Septican woke as the first rays of morning light shone through the east facing window, the bulls-eye glass panes throwing coloured light in all directions. He idly scratched amongst his beard and stretched leisurely, the feeling of safety a welcome change from waiting for the Duke’s soldiers to pound on his cottage door and drag him and Trag out to meet an untimely end. Thinking of Trag, Septican looked over to the cot next to his bed, thoughtfully placed there by one of Wiley’s men the night before so he could keep the boy close. It was empty.
Muttering under his breath, Septican rose and felt the mattress of the cot under its covers. Cold. Where was Trag? He hurriedly dressed before picking up his staff and sweeping out of the room, hair and beard uncombed. When he entered the hall of the keep, a few servants were about preparing the tables for breakfast. Septicon drew a breath and in his imposing voice addressed a question to them all.
“Has anyone seen Trag this morning? He’s the young fellow who uses a cart to get around.”
The servants stopped what they were doing at the sound of Septican’s imposing voice and looked one to the other, shaking their heads in puzzlement. Finally one answered.
“No Sir, none of us have seen the lad, although most ‘ere knows of him by now. What with the drakon an’ all.”
Drakon! Septican nodded his thanks to the woman and strode out of the main entrance, turning immediately toward the outbuildings across the cobbled yard. He walked quickly, worried for the safety of his grandson. It was alright him thinking he could talk to drakons and he did seem to have some form of communication with it but that was a wild beast in there. No telling what it would to Trag if the boy annoyed it.
Reaching the door to the barn, which was slightly ajar, Septican prepared himself, readying his magic, just in case he needed a spell to help him with the drakon. He quietly pulled the door open far enough to enable him to slip into the dim interior of the barn, thankful the hinges didn’t squeak. He waited in silence until his eyes adjusted and took in the sight before him. Trag’s cart laid on the cobbles in front of the drakon, which appeared to be asleep, its splinted wing held out to one side of its body. Under it, cradled in the drakon’s forelegs, Trag slept peacefully, his twisted shape moulded to that of the drakon.
Septican stood silently for a moment observing them. It seemed to him that the drakon’s scales shone brighter than they had appeared yesterday. More golden somehow or was that just his imagination? He moved then, slowly and quietly advancing toward the chained drakon but when he drew closer, the beast’s eye nearest to him slowly opened and Septican found himself transfixed by a multicoloured swirl surrounding a vertical slit pupil. No warning was needed. Septican froze where he was, not daring to take another step forward. Trag stirred and rubbed his eyes, like any child waking from a deep and pleasant sleep. They opened and he looked around dazedly before spotting his grandfather standing silently, rooted to the ground, just out of reach of the drakon.
“Grandfather! What are you doing here?” Trag asked in his slightly wobbly twelve year old voice before suddenly seemi
ng to become aware of his surroundings. His face wore a puzzled expression for a moment before he patted the drakon and nodded.
“Yes. I remember now Zirca. You called to me and I came. There is so much to recollect. Can I tell Grandfather?”
The drakon rumbled somewhere deep inside itself and Trag beamed.
“Thank you Zirca, I know he’ll appreciate what we have to tell him, although I think he’s going to be sad too. Will you be alright here alone if I go for breakfast? I’ll try and get them to bring you more food but you’re not to eat anyone and try not to frighten them too much.”
The large drakon raised its head, keeping one eye firmly on Septican and rumbling some more as it gently reached forward with the foreleg now bearing Trag, who was easily sitting upright in the clawed foot. The drakon placed the boy gently on his cart and Trag shuffled around until he was comfortable before looking up innocently at his grandfather, who stood quietly observing his crippled grandson. No child deserved that deformity. Especially one as clever, bright and vibrant as Trag. His body was a punishing prison for that inquisitive mind.
“What’s the matter Grandfather?” Trag asked, intuitively feeling Septican’s mood.
“Nothing lad, I was just thinking we could have breakfast before you tell me whatever it is you have to tell me.”
Trag started energetically pushing his cart toward the door.
“Now you mention it Grandfather, I am rather hungry. So is Zirca and her wing is healing well already.”
Septican pulled the door to as he followed Trag out of the stable and across the yard to the keep.
When they opened the door to the hall, the noise reached out and enveloped them in its comforting buzz. Servants moved about among the tables serving food and it appeared most of the family had come down for breakfast. Wiley looked up and seeing the pair, waved them over. Vistala turned in her seat and her eyes immediately went to Trag. She slid down and went over to him, eyes wide and questions bubbling on her lips.
Were of the Drakon Page 6