Heir of the Dragon

by Anna Logan

  Grrake started to interject something. She held up a finger. “No, I know we have the Eight and all that, but we can’t keep relying on that like a crutch. We’ve been fighting for months now,” she gestured to the other wards, “and yes, we’ve had some victories...but none that will stick. If we continue the way we have been, I don’t think we’ll last long. But, if we try a new approach…”

  Gustor was nodding. “Cut the head off the dragon. The body dies with it.”

  Yhkon didn’t realize he had started pacing until Jaylee took his hand to make him stop. “Okay. Yes. But, how do we kill the most guarded man in the region?”

  “The four of us got into Aydimor multiple times. If we had all Eight, and you guys, and an army beside?” She crossed her arms. “I think we could get into the castle. Here’s what I’m thinking. We start making attacks on the secondary base in the Black Mountains.” She gestured the direction they had come from. “Enough that Kaydor sends, hopefully, a large portion of his army there. Once he has, we can get to Aydimor quicker than they can return, and attack when it’s more vulnerable.”

  Yhkon found himself smiling. If everyone else wasn’t around, he’d probably find some awkward way to tell her he was proud of her. As it was, she was continuing, so he only listened.

  “In the meantime...as we’ve discussed before, you Wardens aren’t really suited to the types of attacks we do.” She bit her lip. “So I was thinking you guys go support the Elikwai and get the army ready, that sorta thing. And we get Wylan’s team over here to help us.”

  Resh gave her a smirk of approval. “Barbsit tails, when’d you become such a strategist?”

  She shrugged and smiled. “The trip here, I guess.”

  ~♦~

  It was painfully obvious how quiet the group was once they left the wards. It had been just the eight of them before and they’d gotten used to it, they would again...but at least at first, there was something wrong about it. About the Wardens leaving behind their wards.

  And Yhkon was still worried about Talea. She had handled the goodbye better than expected—in fact, she’d handled it too well. Jaylee had agreed with him, that perhaps she was now trying too hard to have it “all together” and be a “perfect leader.” Well, he told himself that she could manage it for awhile and that before the pressure caught up to her, Wylan would be there to help.

  Yhkon looked behind him at the Wardens. Jaylee was riding in the back for some reason, instead of up front with him. Letting Grrake take the lead, he dropped back to ride beside her. She looked pale. “Are you alright?”

  She tried to smile at him. “Yeah...I feel a little sick to my stomach, is all.”

  “Oh.” He reached across to put a hand to her forehead. “No fever. Do you want to stop a while?”

  “No...but maybe we could walk, instead of trotting?”

  “Grrake!” he called. “Slow to a walk.”

  Grrake did so, then dropped back to their position. “Is something wrong?”

  “I just don’t feel the best.”

  “Have you had plenty of water? We could stop, if—”

  “I’m alright, really.” Her smile was genuine, though still strained. “Thank you.”

  “Alright…” Grrake eyed her a moment later. Then his attention turned to Yhkon, sheepishly. Oh, blast. “And, I’ve been wanting to ask...are you still angry at me?”

  Yhkon had been acting normal, no glares or cold shoulders or anything, wasn’t that answer enough? Never so simple. Oh well, it had been foolish of him to expect that alone to solve the problem—Grrake was squeamish about these things. He needed it written in the sky before he believed it. “No. We’re fine.”

  “Are you...are you sure? Because I understand, why you were mad at me...and I want you to know I’m sorry, I never meant—”

  Oh please. Make it stop. Yhkon smirked and gave Grrake’s shoulder a playful punch. “We’re fine.”

  Grrake’s smile was tentative at first, then sheepish and happy. “I’m glad.”

  “Um, hey!” Tarol’s voice came from ahead.

  Eclipse stopped as the celiths ahead did so. Yhkon looked up—and blinked to make sure he was seeing correctly.

  Directly ahead of them were fifteen warriors in strange uniforms of tan and green, on all light-colored celiths. Their faces were shrouded by some sort of shimmery material that covered their entire heads but must have been transparent enough for them to see through. There were no distinguishing symbols on any of their gear. And then there was the weaponry—swords, but also maces, javelins, scythes, and a great deal of throwing stars.

  Yhkon lowered his voice and spoke to Grrake in Sanonyan. “Stay with Jay.” Once his father nodded, he took Eclipse to the front to face the warriors. “Are you with Kaydor?”

  “We are with no one.” The man who spoke had a heavy accent. It was vaguely familiar but Yhkon couldn’t place it. “But we are against you, if you are the one they call Yhkon Tavker.”

  Great, now I’m famous. “Why?”

  A shrug. It looked altogether too nonchalant coming from such a shrouded, strange looking man. “You’re San Quawr, are you not?”

  “He’s...sin...keer?” Tarol sneered. “Go to hell, weirdo!”

  The spokesman brandished his weapon, a mace. “Let us go together.”

  Alright, that settles that. Yhkon drew his sword, dismounted, and moved forward to meet the man. Everyone else did likewise—neither side wanted to lose their celiths so preferred a ground fight. Resh gave his Irlaish war whoop and the battle was on.

  It was mere seconds into fighting the spokesman and the warrior beside him that Yhkon began to worry. The Tarragon were good; in his fights with them he’d usually been able to handle no more than four. Now he was fighting only two of these new foes...and could barely keep up. They were precise, swift, and cunning.

  He heard Haeric cry out, but didn’t have the time to see how bad the injury was. Larak, nearest him, was obviously struggling just as badly as Yhkon was. Grrake called in Sanonyan, “I don’t know if we can take them!”

  Yhkon narrowly dodged having his chest crushed by the mace. A sense of fear he wasn’t used to feeling tingled in his spine. “Fall back!” He began an offensive against his two opponents. It was risky, but the only way to make an opportunity to escape. In retaliation, one with a sword distracted him with multiple feigns, then swung rapidly for his neck. Yhkon jumped back, the blade still nicking him superficially. He bolted for Eclipse.

  The other Wardens were doing the same. They wouldn’t make it. The warriors were too close behind—they’d either cut down the Wardens or their celiths.

  Tarol solved the problem. Having managed to mount already, he drove his celith straight into as many of the men as he could before they cut the stallion down. By then, Yhkon and the others had mounted. Keeping Eclipse as far from them as possible, he went after the warriors closest to Tarol, giving him enough time to mount one of their celiths. Gustor, meanwhile, rode through the rest of the enemy celiths yelling and slapping a rope like a whip to scatter them. Clearly well trained, the animals didn’t go far, but it delayed their riders by several seconds.

  As they galloped away, Yhkon looked over his shoulder at the group. They were all there. Haeric’s torso was covered in blood and his face was contorted with pain. Otherwise, the only noticeable injury was some blood on Grrake’s arm, not too serious.

  Tarol swore as he rode. “That was a bloody good stallion!”

  At least the animal he rode now seemed an equal replacement; it was having no difficulty keeping up. Still, it could never replace the animal a man had raised and trained himself, as Tarol had his celith. “He got us out, though.” Otherwise, he suspected they wouldn’t have gotten away at all.

  As it was, they hadn’t gotten away yet. They tried to stop after half an hour, since Haeric clearly needed to be patched up. Within seconds they heard the hoofbeats. So they kept going, Haeric holding a wad of bandages against his own stomach the best they could do at
present. Larak and Gustor rode on either side of him in case he passed out.

  Another hour and Larak called up the verdict Yhkon had been dreading: “If we don’t dress this, he might not make it.”

  Yhkon clenched his teeth. Their pursuers were still close behind, he knew that. Stopping wasn’t an option.

  There was only one possibility he could think of, and it was hardly safe.

  One glance at Haeric—sickly pale and only semiconscious—confirmed his decision. Better to try it and give Haeric a chance, than watch him slowly bleed out. He called Grrake and Larak to come up front so he could convey his plan: he and Haeric would dismount and hide in the underbrush while the rest of the Wardens took their celiths and kept going. There would be no difference in the tracks, so if they did it quickly enough, their pursuers wouldn’t know anything had happened.

  Larak’s expression was grave as he nodded.

  Grrake’s was terrified. “If anything goes wrong, they’ll see you and you’ll stand no chance!”

  “I could do it,” Larak offered, in a way that suggested he knew Yhkon would say no.

  “No.” Larak was the only other candidate, as the only other one that had as much medical knowledge, but Yhkon couldn’t jeopardize another man’s life like that to spare his own.

  Grrake was still upset. “Let me stay with you. That way if—”

  “The more of us stay, the more likely they’ll notice.” He shook his head. “You both stay and lead. It might be awhile before you can get bat, ah, back to us—don’t rush it. If possible we’ll stay in the same spot.”

  Reluctantly, Grrake frowned in acceptance. “Okay. We’ll get back as soon as we can...be careful.”

  Giving them a nod, Yhkon pulled Eclipse as close as he could to Jaylee’s celith. He’d made sure she could hear the plan. Her eyes were worried. At least she didn’t look sick anymore. She reached across and took his hand. “I’ll see you soon?”

  He lifted her hand and kissed it. “See you soon.”

  Dropping back to Haeric’s position, he tapped the man’s knee to wake him. Haeric looked at him. His eyes didn’t have their usual brightness, his skin was waxy and his movements sluggish. “Alright Hairy,” he used Jed’s nickname, from when he’d been Haeric’s mentor, hoping it would wake him up a little. “You and I are getting off and hiding. Quick and quiet. Right?”

  Haeric’s lethargic nod was hardly comforting, still, he seemed to comprehend it.

  Gustor nudged Yhkon’s shoulder. “I’ll help get him down when we stop, you get all your stuff together.”

  He did what he could to gather it while still in the saddle—food and water for two days, his pack, and medical supplies. That was everything. A quick scan over his shoulder...the strange warriors were still out of sight.

  The area they were riding through was thick, with plenty of underbrush they could hide in. Now or never. A deep breath. “Now!”

  The group stopped. Grrake and Larak took the reigns of his and Haeric’s celiths. While Yhkon dismounted, Gustor helped Haeric down. Ready, Yhkon put one arm around Haeric and held the gear with the other, and they hobbled for the best thicket. He didn’t dare let himself look to see if their pursuers had come into view. The other Wardens were galloping again, soon nothing but a cloud of dust where they’d been.

  Haeric was moaning, barely moving. And despite being the shortest of the group except Jaylee, he wasn’t light enough for Yhkon to support with one arm very far. Once they were behind some thick bushes, he lowered Haeric onto the ground and got down beside him. Hastily he ensured that no limbs were sticking out in plain sight, then pulled a few branches and leaves over them. Hearing hoofbeats, he sent up a quick prayer that they were hidden enough, and lay still. Haeric’s breathing was a little labored, otherwise he didn’t make a sound.

  The hoofbeats thundered closer...closer...and stopped.

  His heart was racing. Through branches and grass, he saw the shrouded heads studying the ground.

  “This is where they stopped.” It was the same spokesman as earlier, the man with the mace. His accent still sounded familiar, the way he gave most vowels an “e” sound…

  Asyjgon!

  “But the tracks continue.” Another said. “Let’s go.”

  They galloped on, and he relaxed. So, they were Asyjgon. They didn’t dress much like the Asyjgon that infested the Garney Mountains...which meant they were probably straight from the Islands of Mulor where the race originated.

  He waited until they had been gone a few minutes, then turned to Haeric. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Haeric was awake enough that he helped—a little—to get his blood-soaked shirt and gear off, and lie down on his back. “Oh.” Yhkon cringed at the deep gash that ran from his ribs to his hip. There was blood everywhere. No wonder Haeric was so lethargic, having lost that much. The blade had cut through a lot of muscle.

  Definitely a good thing Grrake wasn’t there. He’d be throwing up by now.

  Using as little bandaging as possible, he wiped up enough blood that he could see exactly where the wound was. When he poured some disinfectant in the gash, Haeric yelled with the pain, reaching for something to hold. Yhkon gave him his free hand to squeeze. Better yet, let the poor man sleep through the worst of it. “Here, drink this.” He poured a large dose of painkiller into a canteen, enough to make him drowsy. After getting Haeric to drink as much as possible, he waited for it to kick in before he continued.

  By the time he started stitching, Haeric was mostly unconscious. It took a lot of stitches to mend such a cut, and it wouldn’t take much movement for them to break. With any luck, there wouldn’t be the need for movement for at least a day or two.

  Once he’d thoroughly bandaged Haeric’s torso—rather a chore, with the man unconscious—there was nothing to do except lie back and wait. And wait. It could be anywhere from minutes to days before the rest of the Wardens were able to return for them. The Asyjgon might become suspicious when they tried to double back and prevent it. Or they might end up fighting again...with two less on their side, the Wardens wouldn’t stand much of a chance.

  He took a deep breath. Better not to think about that.

  Nighttime came. With it, the air went from cool to frigid and biting. And it was damp. He had his bedroll but not Haeric’s, so he put Haeric in and tucked the blankets around him to hold in as much heat as possible.

  With only a couple layers on, he began pacing, rubbing his arms and chest for warmth. That worked for awhile. It was getting gradually colder, however, and soon he was jogging in place for a few seconds at a time to stay warm. His fingers were painful and stiff, his ears and nose burned. As first one hour, and finally two, and ever so slowly three passed, his movements became slower and slower. Exhaustion was taking over. Soon he was only ambling in circles, hands tucked under his arms.

  At some point, Yhkon woke up on the ground, no longer shivering. Where…? He didn’t recognize the forest they were in. Why wasn’t he in a tent, with—

  He saw Haeric lying nearby. He’d been...he’d been injured, that was it. They were running from Asyjgon…

  “Yhkon,” Haeric’s voice came hoarse and slurred. “You’re going to freeze. We can both fit in here.”

  In where? Oh, the blankets. Bed. Why they were out in the middle of the forest, just the two of them, while on the run from Asyjgon, he still couldn’t figure out. Clumsily he made his way over and crawled under one end of the blankets. Haeric adjusted and they huddled together.

  After a while he started shivering again. He remembered one time he’d fallen into a river in the middle of winter while hunting with Larak and Grrake—according to Larak, shivering was a good sign. They’d been hunting a dragon...he’d tried to cross a river, the ice had looked thick enough...how old had he been? Grrake had told him not to and he’d done it anyway. Eighteen. They never did catch the dragon…

  Yhkon woke to a twig snapping. He sprang upright, blinking. It was morning. The night was fuzz
y in his memory...he remembered jogging to stay warm, then getting in with Haeric, and a dream about a dragon.

  The twig.

  He looked around...a barbsit, nibbling roots a few feet away. It was plump and healthy looking—a perfect breakfast. He carefully searched his belt until he found a small knife. Even more carefully, he pulled his arm out from under the blankets, taking several seconds to raise his arm into position. There.

  Breakfast was dead.

  Rather reluctantly, he left the warmth of the blankets to skin the rodent. A shiver ran down his spine, but it was nothing like the immobilizing cold of the night. Frequently rubbing his fingers to keep them limber, he made a small fire. It would have been amazing to make it larger and enjoy its warmth...unfortunately, too much smoke would risk unwanted attention. Without a pan available, he skewered the pieces on two sticks and rotated them over the flames.

  “That smells amazing.”

  He glanced back to see Haeric watching the meat sizzle. “See, and you all accuse me of being a terrible cook.”

  “Well, we haven’t tasted it yet.”

  Yhkon smirked. “Glad to see there’s some life in you yet.”

  “A little.” Haeric started to sit up, and caught his breath with a grimace.

  “All the hard work I put into those stitches,” he pointed at him with one of the skewers, “don’t you go undoing it.”

  With a conceding nod, Haeric lay back down. “Those warriors are good.”

  “I think they’re Asyjgon. From the Islands, not the mountains.”

  “That would explain the accent.”

  The meat was done. After putting out the fire, Yhkon left some for himself and brought the rest to Haeric, helping him sit up enough that he could eat. It was unseasoned, but hot and satisfying all the same. When they were done, he began removing the bandages on Haeric’s torso. “Let’s see how ugly it looks today.”