Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  ‘I'll send money to their family’s when we get back...’

  ‘Yes do that. Honestly though Meg, there is no use worrying about it until we get off this blasted island.’

  Ghene sipped his tea then put his cup down gently on a nearby flat rock. Meggelaine would have usually swooped in to check if it was empty, and if it was then take it and clean it, but for now she was content to stay cradled in Roztov’s left arm. Wind swirled briefly into their camp and kicked up some sparks from the fire.

  Gradually the wind died down and the fire settled. Seeing that the other two were too comfortable to move Ghene stood and fed some more wood onto the fire.

  ‘Tell us what your friend the dragon told you then Roz,’ he said.

  ‘His friend Mrs Dragon, apparently.’

  Roztov carefully relayed to them everything he could remember about what Lorkuvan had told him. The Chasm, the Spire, the names of dragons he had learned and the details of their nature. After he had finished, the other two digested this information until finally Ghene said, ‘Roz are you seriously telling me that the King of the Dragons... wears a toupee?’

  Meggelaine exploded into a fit of giggles and as he also laughed Roztov said, ‘apparently so!’

  It took a while for Meggelaine to recover from her hysterics. She then got the hiccups.

  ‘Well anyway,’ said Ghene. ‘It’s good to know the Chasm dragons have no magic. Dragons with magic we can never win against, but if those fellows down there have none then we have a chance at least.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Roztov. ‘They are big, and hugely powerful, but that’s all they’ve got. If they can’t see you they can’t find you.’

  ‘Or burn you to a crisp,’ put in Meggelaine in between hiccups.

  ‘The one exception being this dragon called Shumakkak,’ said Roztov. ‘She’s the lithe green one, a sky tracker apparently, whatever that is.’

  ‘Well, because of her we change the plan?’ asked Meggelaine. ‘Take the manhunter route through the Spire hunting grounds to the east?’

  ‘I’m not sure Roz,’ said Ghene. ‘Can we trust this dragon of yours?’

  ‘I think so. Besides she told me when I asked about the manhunters. I didn’t mention I was planning going north or that I was with anyone else.’

  ‘Bloody dragon girlfriend now,’ grumbled Meggelaine, who was still sat in the crook of his left arm.

  ‘What can I say? I’ve always been popular with the ladies,’ he said as he ruffled her hair.

  ‘Even so,’ said Ghene. ‘Let’s not be hasty. We should head back to Moletown again now anyway. I’d like to spend a few more days attuning I think. Focus my attention east.’

  ‘Good idea.’

  They set off after lunch, saying farewell to their cosy little campsite they had spent four nights in. It would take them three hours to fly back to Moletown so they would have plenty of daylight. There had been a heavy snowfall in the morning and the trees were freshly covered. The sky was overcast and a few flakes continued to fall here and there.

  The peaks were clear of trees, but the valleys were full of them, packed so tight that in most areas the ground could not be seen. The rivers were either iced over or clogged with snow. This area around the chasm was the tallest part of Tanud and spring would arrive late. The early flowers were already blooming down on the south coast, where they had been shipwrecked, but up at the chasm it would be a while yet before the primroses and idelstems bloomed, peeking out from amongst the snow.

  The three birds swooped into the valley they already knew would take them south, and followed the river back to where they had left the others five days before.

  ***

  Despite everything they tried they could not make a camp that was as comfortable as the druids were capable of. With a druid, a camp felt like home, warm and welcoming. Somehow the snow and the cold felt at bay, as if viewed from inside a nice snug cottage, looking out through the window.

  Without them though, it was misery. Floran was a master of fire and could certainly keep one going, but they were too scared to make anything other than a small campfire, just large enough to cook with. Not that they had much to cook on it. The wildlife was pretty docile, but none of them were hunters. Salveri had literally tripped over a rotrok the day before and its meat had been the first they’d had since fleeing Moletown.

  ‘It is so cold!’ groaned Tankle as she warmed her hands by the fire. ‘My arse is freezing off!’

  ‘Can we not build up the fire a bit, my lord?’ asked Salveri looking up at Floran who was stood with his rear pointing at the flames.

  ‘Well, perhaps just a bit.’

  ‘It’s amazing what a difference having the druids around is, isn’t it my lord?’ observed Arrin, not for the first time.

  ‘Indeed yes,’ said Floran. ‘Druid magic. You don’t always see it at work, but it’s there.’

  ‘Do you think we should stay here my lord?’

  This was the afternoon of their third day out from Moletown. The first night they had fled north (they hoped) and made camp in the roots of some massive unknown variety of tree. It had been utterly miserable. The next day they set off in hope of finding a better campsite, failed, attempted to return to the first camp, got lost and then settled where they were now for the second night in a wet, moss filled gulley with a tree fallen across it. They had leant some branches against one side to keep the wind off the fire, but the moss had all been churned up into mud and they were all covered in it.

  ‘I think so,’ said Floran who had no idea what to do, but didn’t seem too bothered about it. ‘We should probably wait until the druids turn up.’

  ‘They will find us?’

  ‘Oh, undoubtedly.’

  Salveri was cutting up rotrok meat with his knife, poking the strips of flesh onto sticks and cooking them on the fire.

  ‘What a bloody mess,’ he grumbled to no one in particular.

  Floran agreed, but said nothing. He was looking over the top of their shelter which was about level with his nose. He had not lied when he had said the druids would find them, he was certain of that. He was slightly more concerned that the dragons might find them first. He knew he would probably survive such an encounter, but wasn’t sure if the others would. He would probably have to do what Broddor did and hold off the attack while they fled, further splitting up the party.

  He looked over his shoulder for a moment, down at the others by the fire. Ophess was thankfully being quiet. Salveri was his usual sullen self. Arrin and Tankle were doing as well as could be expected. Floran’s eyes lingered on Tankle, drawn to her firm buxom body... Realising that thinking about that sort of thing was of no help in this situation he turned his head forward again and found his vision blocked by an apparently angry kestrel stood on the fallen tree looking him directly in the eye.

  The kestrel was then joined by a goshawk and a sparrowhawk.

  Not that Floran could have named the types of hawks he was looking at, but he knew who they were. He stepped back far enough to let them hop down onto the mud and change into their true forms.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Meggelaine. ‘What are you all doing out here? And where is Broddor?’

  Floran took a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘A man came to the settlement. It turned out he was a dragon. When we tried to leave the town the dragon confronted us. Broddor held it off while we escaped. That was two days ago.’

  ‘Let’s talk on the move,’ interrupted Ghene. ‘There is a much better camp site half a mile west of here.’

  As they walked Floran told what more he knew. When he mentioned the name of Mordran, Meggelaine exclaimed and said, ‘that’s the fellow that came to our campsite, Roztov! I must say, he was friendlier when he was with us.’

  ‘Yes, I wonder why.’

  ‘Oh well,’ said Floran who then cleared his throat and continued. ‘The dragon tried to stop us leaving, and Broddor bandied words with it for a while. It’s fair to say the dragon struck the first
blow.’

  ‘I see,’ said Meggelaine with ice in her voice.

  ‘They seemed evenly matched, from what I observed as we left. I’m not...’

  ‘Oh be quiet!’ snapped the fressle. ‘We were only gone a few days! What is it with Broddor? He has the diplomatic skills of a stink-weasel. And you are no better!’

  ‘Now then,’ interrupted Roztov. ‘It’s done now. Let’s just relocated then see what we can do to sort things out.’

  Meggelaine fumed silently the rest of the way.

  The place that Ghene had found was indeed a much better spot. It was in an area where it had recently snowed and it lay thick and heavy, but was near a half frozen stream. The druids used their magic to make a hide that was big enough for all of them and was artfully hidden from view. They quickly lit a fire and with a wave of his hand, Roztov moved some of the entwined branches above them aside to allow the smoke out.

  ‘I’ll go hunt us some meat,’ said Ghene and left the camp.

  While Meggelaine busied herself about the hide, seeking out drafts and plugging them, arranging places for people to recline or sleep and such like, Roztov told the others of their adventures to the north. When Ghene returned with a dear carcass, he got up and stretched.

  ‘Well, I’d better go look for Broddor before it gets too dark. As ever, it falls to me to go find what trouble he’s got himself into and get him out of it.’

  ‘Tradition dictates it,’ said Ghene. ‘Roz must always be the one that goes to find Broddor.’

  ‘Smart arse.’

  ‘You think he still lives, my lord?’ asked Arrin.

  ‘I expect so. He’ll be around somewhere.’

  ‘Well, stay out of trouble yourself,’ said Meggelaine as she butchered the deer carcass. ‘If Mordran has been fighting Broddor he’s sure to be angry.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, I’ve been itching to try something out and now might be a good time.’

  Meggelaine looked up from her work and growled, ‘What?’

  ‘Summon a dragon.’

  ‘Impossible,’ said Meggelaine with some relief.

  ‘I feel like I’ve got it in me.’

  ‘You’ll rupture yourself, like the time Festos tried to turn into a basilisk. He couldn’t walk upright for a month.’

  ‘I’m talking about summoning one, not turning into one... Although...’

  ‘Not a chance,’ put in Ghene as he helped Meggelaine cut up the venison meat.

  ‘Think about it though. If not here, then where else? This place is chock-a-block with dragons. If a dragon can turn into a man, may a man not turn into a dragon?’

  Both the druids and Floran made general blustering noises of protest.

  ‘Is that how it works?’ asked Salveri, once things quietened down.

  ‘Pretty much,’ explained Roztov. ‘It’s easier to turn into certain creatures when you are in their environment. And summon them too. Sympathetic druid magic. Each of us has a unique animal that we may turn into wherever we are, but otherwise it works best when in tune with the environment. Thus, bears and wolves in these sorts of northern forests are the easiest to do. In Fiarka it would be mountain lions and crocodiles, you get the idea. So here, on the island of dragons, well...’

  ‘Put it out of your mind Roz,’ cautioned Meggelaine. ‘You’ll turn yourself inside out.’

  ‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘I’ll think about it.’

  He then turned into a fox and trotted off.

  After a while Ghene looked up and turning to Floran said, ‘so Moletown is effectively a zoo for the Spire dragons?’

  ‘That is the current hypothesis.’

  Salveri was thinking about something. ‘Oh, so, what are your spirit animals then, if you don’t mind me asking? The ones you can always turn into?’

  Ghene and Meggelaine glanced at each other. ‘Well, like many of my people my favoured animal is a forest eagle. Spirit animals are more a shamanistic thing, like the skin-shifters of Vegas and the other northern kingdoms,’ replied Ghene.

  ‘Tormwood pony,’ said Meggelaine with a shrug.

  ‘What about Roztov?’ blurted out Arrin.

  ‘Oh never ask him that!’ said Meggelaine with a laugh. ‘He’ll never tell you anyway.’

  ‘Besides, no one can give a name to it anyway,’ whispered Ghene with a hidden smile. The druids then turned fully to their task of cooking and preparing the meat, dividing it up into rations, and would not be drawn further on the subject.

  ***

  It had been quite a fight. A tale to tell in the taverns of Tullis and Timu that was for sure. When Mordran had come for them, Broddor had charged, meeting him head on. As the others fled, he leapt at the dragon, his sword Gronmorder held above his head.

  At first the dragon had merely attempted to swat him aside, and had earned a deep cut along its left foreleg for its trouble. Now fearing the blade and seemingly losing its temper it then drew back its head and unleashed its dragon’s breath. Like all the white dragons of the Spire, Mordran’s breath was not fire, but of snow and ice, and the blast would have killed him instantly had he not been in his armour and even so he felt its effects as it chilled him to the bone. The air was full of icy steam and Broddor was lost from view. As it cleared he could be seen at its centre, covered in ice and snow crystals.

  His feet were stuck to the ground, embedded in inches of solid ice, and the arm joints of his armour were frozen solid. The dragon made to go past him, thinking him dead, but Broddor strained his arms and shattered the ice around him enough to be able to swing his sword again. He struck the dragon in the flank and it reared back in surprise and pain.

  The beast lashed out with its right claw, but was cut again as Broddor met the blow with his sword. The force of the impact shattered the ice around one of his legs and he took a step back.

  The dragon breathed again and as the steam and snow cleared it watched to see the result. Broddor was covered in rock hard ice, immobile, a frozen statue in the rough outline of a dwarf. The dragon waited a few moments to confirm its victory, and just as it turned its head a voice echoed out of Broddor’s frozen helmet.

  ‘I’m still alive.’

  The dragon spoke something in Draconic, a language Broddor did not know, but its meaning was clear enough. How can this be?

  ‘Magic armour, mate. The smiths of the Holy Order of Aerekrig don’t piss about.’

  Broddor grunted and the ice fell from his arms again, in heavy chunks. He swung his sword a couple of times to shake the ice off it.

  ‘Hey, don’t wander off,’ said Broddor as the dragon made to leave. ‘Look, I’ve got my leg free again. If you go after my friends, I’m going to be right behind you. You have to fight me first.’

  The dragon snarled and leapt up into the trees, then crashing through the upper limbs of a stand of pines it took to the air. It cried out, though, when it discovered it had a determined dwarf in full plate armour holding onto its tail.

  Screeching it turned in the air and snapped its jaws at its unwanted passenger, but reared out of the way as Broddor brought his sword up. The dragon flew on for a few wing beats, trying to gain some height, but the dwarf was now hacking at its tail. Not big blows, hardly even drawing blood as he struggled to maintain his grip, but certainly enough to be annoying.

  Mordran, somewhat panicked at how things were going, dove back down into the trees and they landed together in a heap. The dragon was first on its feet, throwing trees off his body like kindling. It looked around, and saw its enemy picking himself up, shaking his head and leaning on his sword.

  The dragon was not used to fighting people that could fight back, but even so it could not quite decide to flee. It didn’t fancy facing that long sharp sword the dwarf wielded either and while it stood in indecision Broddor got his bearings back and walked up to it.

  ‘Come on then.’

  ***

  Two days later the fight had more or less ended in a draw. The dragon, besides its
frozen breath, claws and teeth knew plenty of magic and had expended much of its energy on spells that were seemingly useless against Broddor’s holy armour. After the first few hours the combat was effectively over and they had spent the rest of their time resting until one of them felt strong enough to attack the other, then the fight would recommence. This became the pattern and as it became obvious to both of them that neither could defeat the other they had come to a standstill.

  They had ended up with Broddor stood on one side of an area of trees that had been flattened in the last bought, and the dragon lain down at the other. Broddor didn’t mind overly much that this was the current situation, reasoning that each hour that went by was extra time for his friends to sort themselves out.

  A fox trotted up to him.

  ‘Fox Roztov?’ he asked.

  The fox turned into the man and said, ‘hello Broddor.’

  ‘Did you use your druid magic to find me?’

  ‘Druid magic?’ snorted Roztov. ‘You and this dragon have laid waste to literally miles of forest. A blind man could have found you.’

  ‘Right right,’ sighed the dwarf. ‘I admit I’m nae in the mood for banter right now lad. Do you have any water? I’ve been eating handfuls of snow, but I still have a raging thirst.’

  ‘In the name of Etruna, have you been fighting for two days? Here.’

  Broddor thankfully took the druid’s water bottle and drained it. Once he was finished he smacked his lips and handed it back.

  ‘Now that you are here, I can have a pee,’ the dwarf turned so he was facing the dragon and began to unfasten some of his armour. ‘No peeking.’

  As a long steady stream of steaming dwarf piss hit the ground he continued to talk.

  ‘He’s a tough one, I’ll give him that. I’ve been keeping him pinned down, waiting for you to get here and make the others safe. He threw all his magic at me to begin with, but he’s spent now. It’s a stand-off.’

  ‘Well, I’m here to rescue you now.’

  ‘Rescue?’ laughed the dwarf. ‘Dinnae talk nonsense. All I needed was someone to watch the dragon while I took a piss. Now I can go over and slay him, just you watch. Knusmig...’