by J H G Foss
He then picked up another and offered it to Dreggen who was hovering at the mouth of the dog-leg.
‘Not that I have to give you an explanation,’ he said, ‘but someone should look after the womenfolk.’
Arrin said nothing and went to join Salveri.
Tankle wanted to go with them, but her right arm was still in a sling. She picked up a sword and tried it in her left hand, but it so wrong and awkward that despite her desire to do so she saw no sense in joining the battle.
At the mouth of the cave, Salveri had stopped, unsure what to do and fearful. Arrin joined him in time to see a young dragon crash through the burning trees and land on the ground near the cave entrance. Seeing the three men the dragon shook the burning branches from its wings and advanced.
‘We’ve no chance...’ was all Arrin managed to say before Floran suddenly acted.
His hands shot out straight from his body and a bolt of ice one foot wide and ten feet long appeared from nowhere, flew through the air towards the dragon then exploded with a deafening crack. Shards of ice and lumps of dragon flew in all directions. Floran swept his arms up and a barrier of magical energy formed flickering before him. At the same time Salveri and Arrin instinctually held their arms up to shield their heads, but the ice and flesh bounced off the barrier harmlessly.
Floran let his hands drop to his side, turned to them and smiled.
‘Blimaron’s balls,’ muttered Salveri, looking at the mess of ice and dragon all around them.
‘If you want to join Broddor, then now would be a good time,’ said Floran gesturing to where the dwarf, outnumbered, battled the armoured men.
The sailors jogged over to the melee. Arrin and Salveri screamed at the top of their lungs as they charged into the battle amongst the burning branches and shattered trunks.
Dragon breath hit the earth near them, narrow beams of flame that splashed onto the ground in fiery puddles. Salveri’s sword clattered against a spear, sending the man falling back. Arrin hit at another, but his sword merely clanged off the metal armour.
Just as Arrin realised he was making a terrible mistake in attacking a man armoured in full platemail while he only wore his normal clothes, Broddor leapt from a fallen tree and kicked the dragon rider fully in the head with a steel boot. The sturdy dwarf then landed with a metallic thud and immediately regained his balance to fend off two more enemies as they rushed in through the flames and smoke. It was a confused skirmish, and for several minutes the dwarf and the sailors put up a stiff resistance, but the ferocity of the defenders was not enough to win against the greater numbers of the attackers. In a lull, the sailors and the dwarf regrouped, but then found themselves surrounded. The armoured men did not attack, but simply edged closer with their spears. Broddor was bracing himself to charge the one closest to him when a hippogriff landed nearby with a thud and walked towards them. It clawed at an armoured man and sent him crashing into a tree, then clawed another, slamming him into the ground. The others dropped their spears and fled. Without breaking its stride as it walked through the smoke, the hippogriff changed into Roztov.
‘Whoever they thought they were hunting, I doubt they expected such stiff resistance,’ said the druid.
‘Are we done?’ asked the dwarf.
A bolt of ice arched through the sky and struck a dragon as it flew over their heads. As dragon parts landed all around them, Roztov replied, ‘we are done.’
Back at the cave entrance, Broddor stood guard, a silent sentinel dressed in full plate armour with both hands resting on the pommel of his sword and the tip of the blade resting on the top of a smouldering dragon haunch.
Inside the druids tended to the wounded. Floran was unharmed, but Salveri had a deep stab wound in his right arm and Arrin had a big bruise on his head where he had run into a branch.
‘Bones blood, that’s painful!’ Salveri hissed as Ghene applied his hands to the injury.
‘Our magic speeds up the healing process,’ explained Ghene, ‘but it can also intensify the pain of the wound. It shall pass soon.’
Meggelaine was at the rear of the cave, comforting Ophess, so Roztov was tending to Arrin.
‘You ran into a tree?’
‘During the fight,’ said Arrin. ‘When we were all running around like crazy men. I charged right into it. Lucky though. There was none of them near enough to get me while I picked myself up.’
‘Lucky,’ agreed Roztov. Then addressing everyone, ‘I don’t think they were expecting us to fight back. I’ve a feeling more powerful dragons will come soon.'
He glanced outside, there was a forest fire starting in earnest now. Even though the trees were damp, the dragon fire burned longer and stronger than normal fire.
'We should leave this area,' agreed Ghene.
‘Well, it is on fire after all,’ stated Floran with no hint of sarcasm.
Tankle joined the group in the cave and asked for details on the battle. She addressed Floran first.
‘I did not see all of it. I killed three dragons,’ he told her. He then looked at Roztov, ‘how faired the battle it in the sky?’
‘Oh I’m not sure,’ muttered the druid. ‘Maybe four or five between us.’
‘We on the ground killed three men and wounded four others,’ called Broddor from the entrance. ‘No prisoners,’ said Ghene. ‘A strange battle. Why did they come for us?’
‘I’ve no idea. And men mounted on dragons. I’ve heard of it, but never seen it. In history wasn’t there... ahh...I forget.’
‘The Dynar were said to ride wyverns,’ said Ghene. ‘Some of the eastern kingdoms have griffon riders, not the same thing I suppose.’
Arrin looked like he was about to say something, but held his tongue. Roztov still had his hand on his forehead, healing the wide bruise that lay across it.
‘Speak,’ said Roztov.
‘My father told me that the Knights of Ertia rode dragons. Hundreds of years ago, before the nogs.’
‘Yes, that’s right I remember now. They were said to be the first men, by those in the south anyway. It’s not commonly known of in the north. I think, yes that’s right, I saw a statue in a nog town down there, of a man on a dragon. I asked a nog and he told me he didn’t know where it had come from but it was assumed to have been built by the “first men”. How did your father know about it?’
‘Sailor’s tales I suppose.’
Ghene had finished with Salveri and stood up to look at the other druid. ‘Is there no land you have not travelled? No kingdom you have not visited? And how did you enter Ertia? The nogs have built a wall at the border.’
‘You, a druid, ask how I got in?’
‘Oh,’ said Ghene with a smile. ‘I suppose that was a stupid question. And why did a nog talk to you?’
‘This was just after the war.’
Ghene gave Roztov a long look then said, ‘sometimes I wonder. Anyway, the “first men” are legends. They never existed. You humans and your history, half of it is made up you know.’
Roztov was used to sparring with his friend, enjoyed it even.
‘I didn’t say it was true, just that that was what the nog told me. There, Arrin, you are done. Go lie down for a few minutes before we leave.’
Roztov also stood, then walked out of the cave past Broddor.
‘Where do you go lad?’ asked the dwarf.
‘To take a look at one of those armoured men.’
Together they walked over to one of the fallen enemies. There was enough light from the burning trees to see the corpse clearly.
‘What do you make of his armour?’ asked Roztov.
‘Steel. Well made, right enough. Ornate. The helmet is the work of a master craftsman.’
‘Yes. These are no forest savages. They were all wearing the same armour. Manufactured.’
Broddor nodded in agreement as he looked down at the body.
‘The ones I fought all wore the same armour. Like a uniform.’
Roztov knelt down and ran his hand over th
e breastplate.
‘This level of work, it would need civilisation to make. There must be a town or even a city around here. In fact, look at the emblem embossed on his breastplate.’
It was dark, but by the light of the burning trees they could see it bore the design of a tall tower or finger of rock looking out over a coastline, surrounded by concentric circles.
‘Could be hundreds of miles away though, if they flew on the back of dragons.’
‘True.’
Roztov unbuckled the helmet and removed it. The head of a man with blonde hair was revealed. He was young and handsome.
‘Huh, I don’t what I was expecting, but it wasn’t him,’ said the druid.
‘He’s a man anyway,’ grunted the dwarf, ‘Not a goblin or a nog.’
The druid stood up.
‘Well, whoever he was, we don’t have time to bury him. We’d better leave.’
They gathered everything together then left the camp and the burning forest. After no more than an hour of travel they encountered more men. Ghene had spotted them at much the same time they had seen him, as he led the others through the dark forest. When he stopped, they stopped also. Ghene was fairly sure there were only two of them. They looked young, but at home in the forest, even at night. When no one made any aggressive moves they stepped forward.
At first one of the men spoke, but Ghene and the others at the front of the line could not understand what they said, so with hand gestures the men indicated they wanted to be followed.
Ghene was at the front and passed the message down the line.
‘Two men. Seem friendly. They want us to follow them.’
Roztov, out of curiosity came up the line to take a look. He looked over the two young men. They appeared to be scouts, dressed in dark leather clothing and carrying bows. They were dark skinned and short of stature, with black hair and dark brown eyes, very unlike the armoured men that had attacked them. They appeared peaceful.
Ghene shrugged at him.
‘Fair enough, but keep your eyes open,’ said Roztov.
‘You say to me, a druid - keep your eyes open. Here, in the forest, at night, after a dragon attack. You think I won’t keep...’
‘Yes, yes, all right. Just get moving.’
Roztov shooed the elf away and let everyone else file past before taking his place again at the end of the line.
The men led them through the forest for about five miles or so. They followed animal trails and Ghene could tell that they knew the forest well. Eventually, as dawn was breaking and the near total darkness of the forest floor became a dim twilight, they arrived at their destination.
Ghene followed the men into a narrow gorge choked with undergrowth. They approached what at first seemed to be a wall of thorns, but the men swept them aside with their bowstaffs to reveal the entrance to a narrow covered street.
They street was just wide enough for two people to pass. On the right hand side was the rugged wall of the gorge and on the left were a series of huts that were covered in turf and bushes. The street too, was overhung with trestles that were thick with thorny vines. Ghene could see that even during the day there would be little light down here. There was no light on the street, but very dim lanterns shone in the small windows of some of the huts.
The men led them to what may have been the equivalent of a town square or meeting hall, depending on what you thought was enough cover to constitute a roof. Then with hand gestures they were told to sit on the wooden benches that were positioned around the area and they did so. It had been a long night and they were each carrying heavy bags of supplies that they were very happy to now put down.
Everyone was silent, even Ophess. One of the men went away and brought a few older men back with them. They too were dark skinned and short of stature. They then discoursed in a language that Ghene did not understand. He noticed that Floran was cocking his head to the side, as if he might be recognising the tongue.
One of the old men approached the group and eyed them up and then addressed himself to Salveri, however the sailor did not understand what was said to him.
‘Not me, chief. Try one of that lot,’ he replied with a hand gesture towards Ghene and his companions.
The chief tried again.
‘Anyone understand that?’ asked Ghene looking around to the others.
‘It sounded like he said “grumpy sluts” to me,’ said Roztov.
‘Not helpful. Anyone else?’
The chief spoke again, slower this time.
‘It did sound like “grumpy sluts” to me too,’ put in Meggelaine, as if genuinely trying to help.
‘Wait,’ said Floran and stepped forward.
He then spoke a few words in a language no one else understood. The chief shook his head and spoke again. Floran cleared his throat and said a few more sentences. Eventually they seemed to get a dialogue going.
Meggelaine tugged at Roztov’s sleeve and he bent down so she could whisper in his ear.
‘What language is that?’
‘I don’t know, but if I had to guess, I’d say it is Draconic.’
‘Huh. ’
After a while Floran bowed to the chief and turned to the others.
‘Yes well, these grumpy sluts as you call them are runaways from the north apparently. The ones that attacked us, they call manhunters. Also from the north. From a city called Stu-vlug-urd.’
‘Stovologard?’ asked Roztov trying to wrap his tongue around the strange language.
‘Close enough. Anyway, the chiefs name is Ber, the scouts that found us are Nac and Wen. They saw the flames from an observation post they have at the top of the gorge and came to take a look. They are very surprised and curious about who we are and how we look. This place is called - well I’ll translate it as Vine Street or Vine Road.’
‘They speak Draconic then?’ asked Ghene.
‘A sort of Draconic pidgin, yes. It’s hard to understand. Not as hard as Stykian though.’
This was a dig at Roztov and Meggelaine’s native tongue, which was rendered impenetrable to most non-native speakers by the number of modes of address.
Ber spoke some more, nodding and smiling at Floran and Roztov.
‘He says we may rest here for now. He can offer us a place to sleep. Oh, and a place for the women and children. He thinks Meg is a child.’
The chief gestured at Ghene in the gloom.
‘Oh, you are also a child apparently,’ Floran said to Ghene with a smile.
‘What am I?’ grunted Broddor.
‘Some sort of wizened old grandfather I should imagine,’ replied Floran. ‘They didn’t say.’
They were all shown to their accommodation, low-beamed single room huts made from hewn tree limbs and packed dirt. It was two to a hut and Ophess shared with Meggelaine, who she was getting more and more dependent on. Ophess simply collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. It was cold and of little comfort but still better than the floor of a cave, there was a blanket too and she pulled it over herself gratefully.
With her eyes half open she watched as Meggelaine removed her coat, then her woollen jumper and blouse. Down to her slip she then took off her boots and britches. All her clothes, she neatly folded on a chair by the bed. She then reached into her bag and pulled out a night gown. Ophess marvelled at how small Meggelaine was. She was so small she was barely the height of a five year old human child and so much smaller than Ophess. The fressle commanded respect from the men though, even the other two druids. She was powerful in whatever this “council” was that they talked about and seemed to know a lot of things.
Meggelaine made sure Ophess was also made ready for bed, then got into own and pulled up the blanket. She then said good night and blew out the candle. Ophess wanted to ask Meggelaine how small fressle babies were, but she was too sleepy.
In the early morning she was woken by the little woman getting dressed again.
‘Where are you going?’ Ophess asked.
‘Oh, I’m going with
Roz and Ghene to do a bit of scouting. You can go back to sleep.’
Ophess grunted and rolled over. She was asleep again in a few breaths.
Meggelaine finished dressing then opened the small door of the hut and walked out onto the covered lane. It was a cold and crisp morning. She could see her breath and the waterlogged air hung around in the close confines of the concealed settlement. There was a path that led up to a hidden lookout and she joined the other two druids there. Roztov was dressed in his old campaign gear, a chain shirt, a dented helmet and his ancient old scimitar in a scabbard by his side. Ghene was dressed in his usual leathers and carried only a knife. Unlike many of his kind, he never carried a bow.
‘What’s the plan?’ asked Meggelaine.
‘Just a wee flap about really,’ said Roztov pulling on his beard. ‘Something small so as not to draw attention. Hen-harriers maybe.’
‘Goshawk?’
‘Kestrel?’
‘Yes yes. Stick together.’
The three druids changed into various small birds and took off into the sky, flying north. For a while they enjoyed the feeling of freedom after the confined camp, but remembering the dangers of this land they then returned to treetop level and skimmed along as low as they dared. From above the forest looked like a wilderness. The trees were tall and tightly packed and some still bore patches of snow on their branches. The terrain was rugged and mountainous, with deep valleys and in the distance they could see jagged snow topped mountains. The air was as cold as ice, the sky a dull overcast grey.
After an hour or so they found a burnt out clearing and landed on some charred stumps. It was an area of forest, maybe an acre or so, that had been scorched unevenly and was still mostly black and covered in ash. The birds squawked at each other and hopped about, then finally turned back into the three druids. Ghene looked up at the sky, turning as he did so.
‘Dragon breath did this,’ he said.
Roztov walked over to a pile of wet ash and kicked it. There were bones underneath.
‘Vegetain remains,’ he said.
Ghene was the expert on Garumuda, but Roztov knew more about dragons in general.