Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  Well, anyway, that was the tale of how we defeated the dread Doomshade of the Moon Marshes. Oh, we even recovered our lost scout, that was our friend Ghene by the way, we found him alive, barely, hold up in a burnt out farmhouse. Later, we managed to get some sleep, wounds were healed and bandaged, hunger and thirst attended to. Well, that was our mightiest battle in the Marshes, but the campaign was far from over. We were there nearly a year, all told. There are people that live up there, can you believe it? Wild savage folks, true, but people, more or less. They had a queen, of sorts, oh well, how we dealt with her, that’s another tale... Oh thank you, my throat is a little dry...’

  Broddor bowed to his audience and went to sit down at the table where he had eaten his dinner. He accepted a tankard of home-brewed beer, offered to him by one of the locals.

  ‘Not too bad that, not too bad,’ he said after drinking half of it in several big gulps.

  There was a man sat next to him that he did not recognise, but then he supposed he hadn’t met everyone in Moletown after all. The main hall was dark and smoky but he could see it was a man, big built, old but still strong looking, with white hair and beard.

  ‘That is quite a tale,’ said the man. ‘You know I met your friends the druids just a few days ago.’

  Broddor took the tankard from his lips and wiped froth from his beard. ‘Did you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m Mordran, a traveller. I’ve just arrived in town. Your friends were kind enough to let me warm myself by their fire.’

  ‘Oh I see. How is it you speak Enttish?’ asked Broddor in astonishment.

  ‘You could say I get around. Yes, I saw them two days ago, as I was coming down here.’

  ‘How were they?’

  ‘They seemed well enough,’ smiled the old man. ‘Is this all of you from your shipwreck then? The three druids, yourself and Floran?’

  Broddor shrugged and drained the last of the beer from the cup. ‘Well, aye, if you add three sailors and a young lass to the haul, then that’s your catch.’

  Most people had eaten, but there was still some fruit and bread on a plate that had not been touched. Mordran pulled it over and tore off a small crust and popped it into his mouth. As he chewed he said, ‘I try to get down this way every so often, you know. I come from up north. I’m one of the few people left that can travel this island.’

  ‘How can you travel unmolested with all these bastard dragons?’

  ‘Oh, I know the old ways. There are valleys and areas of forest where the dragons never go.’

  ‘Huh,’ Broddor grunted. ‘I wish our bloody druids had known about them then, we might not have gotten attacked so often. I lost my second best under-shirt in the last attack.’

  ‘That is a shame. Was it precious to you?’

  ‘Och, I suppose it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, but it was one of the shirts my wife had embroidered. She’ll not be happy about that when I get back.’

  ‘How do you think you’ll get back?’ asked Mordran as he nibbled on the bread.

  ‘Aye well, ye would have been better asking the druids that, they have some skidtdumyt plan to steal a boat up north. Hey, if you are from up north, you’d know if they have any boats right?’

  ‘I think they do yes, although they might not be easy to get hold of.’

  Broddor patted his sword, which was propped up at the side of the table. ‘We’ll see about that, the way I see it, those blodig dragons owe us a boat anyway.’

  ‘You have your sword,’ Mordran said, then gestured at Floran. ‘You have your wizard, a powerful one too judging by your tale of the Moon Marshes and you have your druids. Perhaps you are right - you could steal a ship from the dragons of Stovologard.’

  Floran had wandered over to the small fire that burned in the hearth of the main hall and stood talking to some of the locals in their own language.

  ‘Tuppence, lad,’ called Broddor. ‘Come over here. This fellow speaks Enttish!’

  Floran bowed to the people he was talking to and then came and joined Broddor and Mordran at the table.

  ‘Hello,’ he said.

  ‘Well met, my friend,’ replied Mordran. ‘You speak Draconic well.’

  ‘I thank you. You speak Enttish well.’

  ‘Tell me,’ asked Mordran. ‘If you were to take a ship from the northern dragons, how would you do it?’

  ‘Oh. The druids come up with the plans really.’

  ‘I see. But how do you fight dragons?’

  Floran considered for a moment then said, ‘well, Hyadnian magic. Ice lances, ice balls, that sort of thing seems to work best. The dragons we have fought are not entirely immune to fire either, I…’

  There was a sudden scream from the other side of the hall. Broddor looked up, and then sighed. It was Ophess. Tankle was there, holding the girl’s wrist. Ophess was trying to struggle out of her grip, but Tankle had the strength of a woman who hauled ropes all day for a living.

  Broddor joined them as Tankle was saying, ‘stop screaming you fool. Do you want to bring the man hunters down on us?’

  ‘I’ll scream again if you don’t let go of me!’

  ‘Djævelens røv! What’s going on?’ asked Broddor.

  ’She’s breaking the mugs. She’s broken four already. It’s disrespectful.’

  Broddor looked down, there was indeed a good deal of broken pottery underfoot.

  ’It’s an accident!’ yelled Ophess.

  ’Is it bollocks,’ growled Tankle. ’I saw you. Smashing them for fun.’

  ’Are you calling me a liar?’ threw back Ophess, snarling up at the sailor.

  ’I’m calling you a little shit!’

  Ophess was either shocked, or pretended to be. ’You swore! I’m telling Meg when she gets back! You’ll be in big trouble.’

  ’Why you little...’ said Tankle as she made to get her other hand around the girl’s neck.

  Broddor stepped in. ’Now then. That’s enough. Time for bed anyway eh? Come on Ophess.’

  ’No!’

  Tankle threw up her hands and let Ophess go, more than willing to let Broddor take over. Ophess swiped a mug off a nearby table and held it over her head, ready to smash it to the floor.

  ’No one tells me when it’s bed time! I’ll smash this one too!’

  The people of Moletown silently watched the drama play out. They could not understand the language the newcomers were speaking, but they understood the gist of it. None of them seemed overly concerned about the noise the girl was making or the loss of some of their mugs.

  Broddor stepped forward, but stopped when he realised he was too short to get the mug off her without a struggle. ’Now look here lass. No one has time for this.’

  Ophess grabbed another mug from the table and cried out. ’Ha!’

  She held both over her head.

  Simultaneously, Broddor and Tankle stepped back and folded their arms.

  ’Do it then you little shite,’ grunted Tankle. ’And see how much trouble you get into.’

  Ophess snarled and hurled one of the mugs to the floor. Rather than smashing though, it swooped up into the air then hovered over her head. Ophess looked up at it in amazement and let the other fall from her grasp. It too swooped up into the air and joined its brother. The mugs then gently wafted across the hall and set themselves down on the mantelpiece.

  Broddor, suspicious, looked over at Floran. He could see the wizard, who stood a few yards away, had his arms folded, but one hand was pointing at the mugs, two fingers gesturing at them, then relaxing as the mugs landed.

  When the mugs lay to rest everyone in the hall sighed out a breath, then looked back at Ophess.

  ’That’s enough nonsense now lass. Bed time.’

  Broddor was not particularly angry, but Ophess must have thought he was, as she accepted his hand and allowed herself to be led out of the hall and to the bunker she shared with Tankle.

  As she got ready for bed she kept up a constant stream of carping.

&nb
sp; ’I don’t want her in my room tonight. She can sleep in the kitchen. How dare she handle me like that? I’m the captain’s daughter. He’d have flogged her for that.’

  ’Yes, yes. I’ll tell her. Just get into bed and sleep.’

  As she got into bed and pulled up the covers she said, ’Meg always tells me a story.’

  Broddor, who was on his knees laying the small fireplace in the room for the next morning looked up and replied, ’I’ve just done telling a long tale. Were ye not listening?’

  ’Tell another.’

  Broddor sighed and dredged up some vaguely remembered story from his youth involving himself and his brother getting into trouble for smashing his mother’s favourite plate, but he only got halfway through it before she fell asleep.

  He sighed then went through to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea. He decided to wait until Tankle turned up, just in case the girl woke up again and possibly started wandering around outside in the dark by herself. She needed constant watching.

  An hour later Tankle arrived, yawning, and slumped down in the other chair by the kitchen hearth. She removed her woollen hat and put it in her pocket then untied her hair and shook it loose over her shoulders.

  ’What have you been doing all night, lass?’ asked Broddor.

  ’Oh nothing,’ sighed Tankle as she inspected the tea pot.

  ’There’s one cup left, you can have it. I hope you weren't kissing Tuppence again.’

  ’No my lord!’ gasped Tankle, blushing crimson.

  ’Don’t worry,’ Broddor laughed. ’It’s hardly a secret any more. Well, I’m off to my own digs. Good night.’

  Broddor stepped out into the night. He wasn’t wearing his armour, so the winter chill hit him and he gathered his coat around his body for warmth. He had felt that wandering around in his armour was slightly intimidating to his hosts so had not been wearing it the last couple of nights. He’d only taken his sword into the hall with him to help tell the story...

  ’Blodig Gronmorder!’ he cursed. ‘You’ve only gone and left your sword in the bloody hall you stupid old fool.’

  Broddor turned in his tracks and headed back to the main hall. Dwarves have good night vision, as you might expect from a race that spent so much time underground so he easily spotted the tall figure of Mordran in the darkness. The man was some distance away and heading out of the village, into the trees.

  ‘Where is that daft old goof off to?’ muttered the dwarf. Curious, he followed.

  Further into the forest he saw lights and as he got closer he saw Mordran join a group of villagers, some of whom were carrying torches.

  Broddor stopped, somewhat perplexed by the unusual sight of naked flames in the forest. He looked up. These torches would be visible from the air, what were these people thinking? Surely the manhunters would see them.

  He took a few steps forward, but then thought twice and ducked behind a tree. Whatever was going on looked like a ceremony. Some of the people were chanting as Mordran entered the circle of torches. Broddor initially thought to leave, his sense of decency telling him it was impolite to spy on them, but then he thought that perhaps he could stay and watch a bit of it, to tell Roztov about it later. That druid was interested in all these sorts of local customs after all.

  The circle expanded as the villagers all took several steps back and then suddenly Mordran turned into a very large white dragon.

  ’Kniv mig raslet!’ swore Broddor. He put his hand over his mouth, expecting to see the people instantly devoured by the dragon, but they all seemed content enough. One of them then conversed with the beast in that harsh language they used between themselves. The dragon spoke back in a deep rumbling baritone. The conversation went back and forth for a while, then the dragon put its clawed front talon on the head of one of the villagers, in a gesture that was reminiscent of a man stroking a dog.

  ‘Right,’ said Broddor, turning and quietly heading back to the town.

  Floran had joined Salveri and Arrin in their bunker’s kitchen for a cup of tea, before retiring to the room he shared with Broddor.

  ‘That girl is going to get us all killed,’ said Salveri, returning to a favourite topic.

  ‘We seem safe enough here though,’ put in Arrin.

  ‘True,’ agreed the older man. ‘Long may it last. How long do you think before the druids return, my lord?’

  Floran was warming his hands on his cup and staring into the dying flames of the fire in the hearth.

  ‘Oh,’ he said, surfacing from his reverie. ‘A few more days perhaps. Hard to say really.’

  ‘How long before... I mean, how long should we wait?’

  Floran yawned and stretched his feet out towards the fire, ‘Until they come back I suppose.’

  ‘I mean, my lord,’ insisted Salveri. ‘Are they likely to get killed out there?’

  ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so. Very difficult to kill a druid, they have too many tricks.’

  Salveri nodded and looked over at Arrin.

  ‘Well your hair is growing back anyway,’ Salveri said as he lifted up the young man’s hair at the back. ‘Give it another couple of months and you’ll have a proper sailor’s haircut.’

  ‘Aye,’ agreed Arrin. The younger sailors on the Red Maiden had all undercut their hair, but he had not shaved it since the wreck. ‘Ophess’s hair is growing back too, she looks like a loon.’

  Just then Tankle quietly opened the door and descended the three steps down into the kitchen.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about that pest,’ she muttered.

  ‘Who’s watching her?’ growled Salveri, half getting out of his seat.

  ‘Calm yourself. She’s asleep. I can keep an eye on the place from here,’ said Tankle as she left the door slightly open and turned her seat around.

  ‘You’re letting the warmth out.’

  ‘It’s like an oven in here anyway.’

  Salveri pointed a finger at the large woman. ‘You are getting above yourself wench.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Salveri, who was about to say more, but then glanced at Floran. ‘Well, you’ve got ideas above your station. I’ll say no more.’

  From the door Tankle shrugged at Salveri and pulled a face at him. Salveri tutted and waved his hand at her dismissively. There was an awkward silence for a while, but as the fire died down and the last of the tea was drunk the atmosphere became pleasant once more.

  Salveri’s eyes were half closed when Broddor came bursting in and nearly tripped over Tankle.

  ‘Right good, you’re all here. Gather your stuff, we’re leaving!’

  Floran turned around in his chair and smiled at his friend. ‘Why?’

  ‘Bloody dragons isn’t it? That Mordran is a dragon in disguise.’

  ‘That does make a kind of sense, given all the questions he was asking. It did occur to me that he might be.’

  ‘What?’ gasped Broddor, his mouth hanging open. ‘It occurred to you? You didn’t think to mention it?’

  ‘Oh sorry,’ apologised Floran. ‘It’s just that we are not so far away from the Spire. Mordran must be a dragon from there. What is this place to them though, I wonder?’

  ‘From what I saw, some kind of petting zoo!’

  ‘What do we do?’

  ’Kniv mig! I’m talking to myself! We leave. Now!’ Broddor took a deep breath. ’Gather your stuff. I’ll go get me blasted sword. Someone go get all the druid’s gear that they left and someone go wake that girl. Do it all quietly. Meet back here. Right?’

  Ten minutes later, they were all heading out of town as quietly as they could. Broddor didn’t hold out much hope of getting out without being noticed, especially when Ophess was with them. She was half asleep and quiet though, despite being angered at being forced out of bed and into her outdoor clothes. He felt a damn sight safer now, with his armour on and Gronmorder strapped to his back.

  Mordran, holding an unlit torch, stepped out from behind a tree. As he came closer, fla
mes suddenly sprung from the torch, illuminating the area.

  ‘It is not safe to wander around in the dark, you know.’

  Broddor, was ahead of the others, using is dwarven eyesight to guide the group.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about us,’ he said.

  ‘You should wait until morning at least,’ insisted Mordran.

  ‘Um,’ stuttered Broddor, who was no good a lying.

  ‘We got word from the druids, didn’t we?’ said Salveri stepping up to join the dwarf. ‘They said we had to go join them right away.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ replied Mordran. ‘I think you should stay.’

  Broddor slowly reached over his shoulder to the hilt of his sword.

  Mordran saw this though and said, ‘don’t do anything foolish.’

  ‘Dragon you may be,’ growled Broddor, ‘but I reckon I can hold you off long enough for the others to get away.’

  Mordran laughed, and in an instant, where a man stood, there was a huge white dragon. He took up all the space in front of them, his head lost somewhere above in the trees. What they could see was terrifying enough, his front feet each had talons on them as long as short swords. His scales shone in the light from the fallen torch, glistening with a golden sheen.

  The branches above rustled and the dragon’s head descended to Broddor’s level. Its head alone was bigger than the dwarf, even in all his armour.

  The dragon seemed to smile, displaying a wide set of needle sharp teeth.

  It then said, in a low rumbling voice, ‘let’s put that to the test shall we?’

  Chapter 8

  The Chasm

  With Ghene having flown off to Vine Street, Roztov and Meggelaine spent the rest of the day dragon watching. They found a little nook to hide in that gave a good view of one of the busiest areas of the chasm and settled in to watch.

  They saw the ancient red dragon again, lumbering out of one of the entrances then launching himself down into the depths of the gorge only to appear again some way off, his vast wings catching an updraught to carry him up and out of the chasm altogether and out of sight.

  The slim green dragon and the fat one were seen again, seemingly talking together on a ledge, their heads nearly touching, as if conspiring.