Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  ‘I’ll never sleep like that,’ she muttered then went over to where the bear was gently snoring and pulled herself up onto its back. It didn’t notice as she lay down on top of it. Meggelaine snuggled in, and from her warm spot in the bear’s fur watched the fire for another hour, her eyes glistening in the light, before finally falling asleep.

  When she woke in the morning the bear was gone and she was wrapped up snugly in Roztov’s cloak. Light filtered in from the cave mouth where she could see Ghene, Broddor and Floran talking. She sat up, yawned and stretched.

  ‘Where did he go?’ she asked as she approached the others.

  ‘North,’ answered Ghene. ‘He’s gone to scout out Stovologard. He said we should wait here until he returns.’

  Meggelaine sighed, feeling responsible for her friend’s sudden departure.

  ‘He better not get himself killed. How long? He didn’t turn into a dragon did he?’

  ‘Two or three days I should think, he should just be looking for the next safe spot to camp. And no, he was a sparrowhawk,’ replied Ghene.

  ‘Although knowing him he might have a look around for boats worth nicking,’ said Broddor.

  ‘Right fine,’ said Meggelaine, then sighed again, ‘I’ll get breakfast ready for everyone.’

  Chapter 13

  Dragon Lands – the mountains south of Stovologard

  For the rest of the day, after Roztov left, there wasn’t much for anyone to do apart from watch the weather from the cave entrance. It was a tall wide crack in the side of a mountain that went back further than anyone cared to explore.

  'If this was Styke,' remarked Meggelaine. 'This cave would be rammed full of hibernating bears.'

  'It does seem odd,' agreed Ghene, 'I suspect though, that this island has never been home to them, or wolves either.'

  Outside the low cloud cover obscured everything from view except the sleet and rain that fell close to the entrance. When night came they couldn’t even see that.

  Floran lit a fire a good way back from the mouth of the cave and kept the place warm. Meggelaine continued to complain that she would not be able to sleep on the cold rock and everyone else complained about the food supply.

  ‘How much is left?’ asked Broddor.

  ‘Enough meat for today,’ said Meggelaine looking through the bags. ‘Enough potatoes to last two days if we go sparingly on them.’

  ‘No crabs left?’

  ‘No, you ate them all yesterday, you greedy pig.’

  Broddor sighed. ‘You druids can summon food though? I’ve seen you do it before.’

  Meggelaine scowled at him while Ghene answered the question. ‘Yes, but it’s tricky. It would be much easier to go hunt something up. If he’s not back soon I’ll go bag some rabbits or a goat.’

  ‘Maybe Roztov will bring something back,’ said Broddor picking up a potato and sniffing it.

  ‘He seemed in a bad mood when he left,’ grumbled Salveri as he unwrapped a piece of smoked meat.

  ‘Oh, he’ll be fine when he gets back,’ said Ghene. ‘He forgets his anger very quickly.’

  ‘A goat would be great,’ mused Broddor, rubbing his belly. ‘Cut up into cubes and skewered on sticks then grilled on the fire, I could eat...’

  ‘A girl died!’ cried Meggelaine. ‘Eaten by a dragon! And all everyone can think about is their stomachs!’

  A silence descended on the cave that lasted for the rest of the day, any kind of idle chatter smothered by Meggelaine’s grief.

  The whole of the next day too, was spent in the cave as the wind whipped the rain and sleet around in the mist outside. By the start of the third day since Roztov had left they were all starting to feel frustrated and annoyed at being cooped up.

  'I'm getting cabin fever,' remarked Ghene. Floran nodded, but Broddor shrugged. He felt more at ease in a cave than anywhere else.

  In the afternoon the wind blew all the clouds away and they tentatively went outside to take a look around. The wind was strong and cold, but for a while they could see all the way down into the valley. There was a village at the bottom, situated beside a meandering river.

  The sailors stood together and talked.

  ‘Those are men down there,’ said Salveri shielding his eyes from the sun with his hands as he observed the valley. 'That’s civilisation. I can see a man chopping wood from here.’

  ‘That big building in the middle looks like a tavern,’ said Arrin wistfully.

  ‘Or a town hall,’ said Tankle.

  ‘It’s a tavern,’ said Salveri with certainty, although he had no way of knowing. ‘And that’s where I’m going tonight. Bones blood, I’ve still got silver in my pocket I’ve carried all the way from the Red Maiden.’

  The other two looked at him in alarm.

  'Are you crazy?' said Arrin.

  'No,' growled the older man. 'You are crazy if you stay in that stinking cave any longer. It's been three days! Do you think that druid is coming back? He's either dead, captured or decided just to fly off for good.'

  He turned his back on them and walked off to look over the other side of the ridge. Arrin turned to Tankle. 'He's all talk. He'll never do it.'

  Later, Salveri had made up his mind, those other two could do what they liked, but he reckoned that the town at the bottom of the valley was no more than three hours away. Getting up from the fire he muttered that he was going out to empty his bladder and took a walk along to the outcrop they had stood at when they’d seen the town.

  It was misty again, but the wind had died down a bit. He thought he could just make out lights. What annoyed him the most was that the other two, Arrin and Tankle, obviously thought he wasn't going down there as they'd made no further attempt to talk him out of it. He stood for a while in contemplation, then grumbled, ‘to hell with this,’ and started walking.

  As long as he kept going downhill, following the lights, what could go wrong?

  He’d go get a drink in that tavern and wait there until Ghene came and got him. Then those dopey druids would realise there was food, drink and nice warm beds and have the sense to bring everyone else down.

  ‘Bloody fools,’ he started to mutter to himself as he stepped down the steep side of the mountain. ‘Always waiting, waiting. Waiting for a druid to make a decision about something. Too many druid’s by half. I’ll be nice and warm by the fire in a couple of hours. Takes a sailor to show them some common sense.’

  His eyes had been watching where he had been putting his feet for some time. He looked up again, seeking for the lights of the town. He couldn’t see them in the mist, but as long as he kept going downhill, then he couldn’t miss it, right?

  ‘He’s been twenty minutes, Ghene, you’d better go look for him,’ said Meggelaine.

  ‘Uch,’ grunted the elf as he stood and did up the buttons on his jacket. ‘He’ll have decided to shift his bowels I’m sure, that can take humans hours.’

  ‘Even so. After Ophess, we should be more careful.’

  Ghene waved over his shoulder as he walked out into the night. He had no trouble following the man’s trail and half an hour later he was alarmed to find a patch of blood. Drops of blood led away into the mist. He didn’t follow it immediately, but instead walked around in the rocks, looking at the ground. He kneeled down, put out his hand and touched something wet.

  ‘Oh no,’ he said quietly.

  A mighty, but distant roar echoed up from the valley, and then distant flames lit up the fog. Somewhere to his west, dragons were fighting. As he tried to make out what was going on his saw a black dot silhouetted against the lit up clouds, what looked like a small bird heading east as fast as its wings could carry it. Another burst of flame lit up the sky above him and he saw the bird pass overhead.

  ‘Roztov,’ he said. He then turned into a hawk and followed him up the mountainside to the cave.

  Roztov was just saying his hellos to the others when Ghene came up behind him.

  ‘Can I get your help with something?’ he asked his
friend, pointing back outside. He then led him to where he had found the blood. Elves had good enough eyesight to see at night and Roztov could enhance his vision with druidic magic.

  Ghene pointed to the thing he had touched earlier and Roztov gingerly picked it up. It was the top half of a man’s head.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Roztov, gently putting it back down again. He then slowly covered it with stones.

  ‘There are big hoof prints here and here, altogether I count ten sets of prints,’ said Ghene quietly as he looked along the side of the valley.

  ‘No tracks of men, besides Salveri?’

  ‘No, so not manhunters. These are not dragon claw marks. They are cloven, like a goat’s.’

  ‘Bloody big goat though,’ said Roztov as he knelt down at hoof print and took a very good look at it. After almost a minute he stood up again and said, ‘Could be yales.’

  ‘They are not real.’

  ‘Says who?’

  ‘Well, everyone.’

  ‘Well everyone is wrong,’ said Roztov flatly. ‘I’ve seen one, more than one actually.’

  ‘Where? Oh wait, let me guess. Ertia.’

  ‘Correct.’

  ‘That’s where all your oddities come from. Whenever it’s something only ever you have seen, you’ve seen it in Ertia.’

  ‘The forests of Ertia are remarkable, you should get out more.’

  Ghene pursed his lips, then decided not to pursue the subject of yales any further and instead said, ‘I can’t see more than thirty feet in this mist. They could be really close for all we know.’

  ‘Want to follow the giant goat trail?’

  ‘I’m tempted, but we’d have to follow it on foot. It could go for a dozen miles and who knows what would be at the end of it.’

  ‘A whole bunch of things with giant cloven hoofs that can take a man’s head off.’

  ‘It does rather feel as if we’d be looking for nothing but trouble.’

  ‘Right,’ agreed Roztov. ‘I mean, he’s dead for sure, poor bugger. No one survives the loss of that much head.’

  Having settled the matter, they walked back to the cave.

  Meggelaine jumped up from her spot by the fire when the other two druids returned.

  ‘So?’ she asked. ‘What’s going on.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ replied Ghene solemnly. ‘He’s dead.’

  The elf then silently walked into the back of the cave and disappeared into the darkness.

  ‘What?’ said Meggelaine, turning back to Roztov who had just sat down by the fire. ‘Roztov!’

  ‘Very dead. Sorry.’

  ‘What happened?’

  Roztov glanced around the fire. Arrin had gone white and Tankle was being comforted by Floran. He struggled to say something diplomatic, but in the end settled for, ‘critters got him.’

  'It wasn't dragons?'

  'We are not sure,' answered Roztov in Stykian, a language that only he and Meggelaine spoke. 'It was something big though. He wouldn't have known what hit him.'

  Meggelaine gulped. She was about to speak, but Roztov turned and went to stand at the entrance. Without turning he addressed the others. 'No more bloody wandering off. That's two we've lost now. Keep everyone together from now on.'

  While Roztov watched the cave entrance for the rest of the evening and Ghene kept his own company at the back of the cave, Meggelaine retreated into herself. Roztov was angry, but not with her, or anyone really. Angry with himself maybe, although he realised it wasn't useful. He would let Meg be for a while, she needed to be alone, but when the time was right he would offer her comfort. He knew she would bounce back. They had both lost people more important to them than poor old Salveri. He stood and watched the night sky, stewing over what had happened and wondering if he should have done anything any differently. He would have to put a lid on it he knew, as he had done before many times in the past. Now was not the time for recriminations and "what ifs". Mistakes had been made, but they had to move on. Surviving was the only thing that mattered.

  After a couple of hours Ghene came to the entrance and took his turn on watch. Roztov returned to the group and sat down by the fire. He had brought two large bags with him, one of which contained bread, cheese, cured meat and six bottles of beer. They used the beer to toast the memory of poor Salveri and after a suitable amount of reflection, Meggelaine emerged from her own introspections. ‘Well, how was the scouting?’ she asked.

  ‘Good,' said Roztov quietly. 'I didn’t get to Stovologard, but I’ve been around a bit. Being able to turn into a rock lizard has been handy. The people in these lands keep them as pets.’

  ‘It seems a bit odd to have a pet you can talk to.’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Roztov. Then something occurred to him. ‘The captain had a parrot that could talk.’

  ‘That’s not really the same.’

  ‘Well, maybe it makes sense. When you are ruled over by dragons, then having a pet lizard you can lord over could be therapeutic. If you’ve had a hard day being bossed about by dragons you can come home and kick the lizard. Anyway, Tuppence, pass me over that other bag.’

  Floran did so, and after he’d undone the knot at its top, Roztov began to pull out its contents. The first thing out was a purse full of gold coins.

  ‘Where did you get all that?’ asked Broddor.

  ‘I robbed a bank. They use this gold as currency mainly in the towns and the city. Further out they use this paper scrip.’

  Roztov pulled out a roll of thin papers. He peeled off a few and passed them around, but the language transcribed on the papers was alien to them all. Next Roztov began to pull out clothes that were folded neatly and tied with ribbons.

  ‘Local clothing,’ he explained. These too were passed around.

  Meggelaine finished her beer and threw the empty bottle out into the night. She went and stood for a while at the cave entrance and after a few moments Roztov joined her. They were alone.

  ‘Another one gone. I can’t stand this Roz. I’m going to burst with fear. I’m going crazy.’

  He kneeled down and put his arm around her shoulder.

  ‘I know. I’m completely frazzled as well. All we can do is keep moving forward. One last big push.’

  ‘I’m too old for this. I was too busy thinking about losing Ophess to remember to look after the others.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault sweetie, he wandered off. That was a foolish thing to do.’

  'It's so stupid. Arrin told me all he wanted was a beer. If he'd just waited he could have had one of the ones you brought back with you.'

  'There is nothing we can do about it now.'

  Before they all turned in for the night, Roztov sat down by the fire once more and addressed the group.

  ‘Well, poor Salveri is dead, but there is nothing we can do about that. All we can do is press on and hope that we all survive this.’

  It went unsaid, although they were all thinking it, that Arrin and Tankle were the most vulnerable ones left, in that they had no magic spells, or magic armour, or druidic power to protect them.

  ‘If we stick together,’ continued Roztov, ‘and no more wandering off, then I think we can all get off this island. From what I have seen, there are two options. With these clothes I brought back I think we could just about pass ourselves off as locals. So far I’ve seen mainly brown skinned people, but there are some fair people too, here and there and all shades in between, so us normal sized people should just about pass muster. We can dress Meg as a child. I think it’s not uncommon for people to migrate to the city and what with all the fighting going on at the moment there are refugees on the roads moving north. There are guards though, so Tup would have to do all the talking, that will be the trickiest part.’

  ‘What’s the other option?’ asked Floran.

  ‘I turn into a dragon, fly us all in at night, we steal a boat and we are out of here. Could do it in one day, maybe.’

  Meggelaine balked and grabbed his arm. ‘There are too many drago
ns up in the sky Roz! They are fighting up and down the whole mountain range. We’d get caught right in the middle of it.’

  As if to prove her point the entrance of the cave was lit by a flash of fire high overhead.

  ‘I agree,’ said Ghene. ‘We’d have nowhere to hide if it went wrong. The Spire is days flight away now and considering what happened last time we were there I don’t think we should go back.’

  There was a little more discussion, but in the end it was decided the most sensible thing to do was keeping going north on foot.

  In the morning they descended into the valley. They had donned the local clothing, which felt most strange after their previous outfits of tattered Nillamandorian garb and uncured animal skins. Normally there would have been a few jokes made about their strange appearance, but after Salveri’s recent death, no one was in the mood.

  As the mists cleared they saw that the village they had seen the day before had been burnt to the ground. There was no one left alive, charred corpses lay in the smouldering ruins.

  They walked along the main street looking for survivors, but found none. At the northern gate Ghene looked at the ground and said, ‘about fifty people fled north last night. There are recent wheel tracks too.’

  They headed north, and as was everyone’s perpetual habit now, as they walked they glanced up at the sky every few minutes, a sort of nervous tick they had all developed since arriving on the island. Roztov scanned the clouds then said, ‘I think the fighting has moved on. If we make good time there is a cave I found further down that we can shelter in for lunch.’

  Sleet was beginning to fall, large wet lumps of snow that made them pull the hoods of their cloaks down as low as they would go.

  ‘I really have had enough of caves,’ grumbled Ghene as they entered the narrow cleft in the side of a moss covered rock.

  ‘It’s just to get dry and have something to eat,’ apologised Roztov. ‘Look, I’ll expand it a bit.’