Chapter 23
Sundry Species of Dragons
After three hours of riding through the forest, Sawney halted the line of horses near a small clearing and slid from the saddle. “Sergeant, a fire pit.”
Bronwyn dismounted and followed him. “Take a five minute break,” he said to the rest.
Sawney squatted beside a small charred circle. He played with the black embers. “It’s warm. They threw water on it to douse it.” He dragged his finger through the ash. “It’s two or three hours old, but…”
He watched the scout become lost in thought. “But what?”
“It appears the fire burnt for a short while.” He held up a stick with a scorched edge. “It’s as if they lit it simply to create a seared mark.”
“Perhaps they realised the fire would give away their position so extinguished it.”
Bronwyn looked around for clues, anything to indicate Isla had come this way. He found a brown paper bag, similar to what his parents used at the bakery to hold bread. He opened it and found a smaller bag inside. He poked in his nose and drew a deep breath. It smelt like his mum’s chocolate brownies with a hint of raspberry. He’d know the smell anywhere; no other bakery in town made them.
“They visited Mum’s shop and purchased bread and brownies.” He threw the bag into the bush. “They’re daring.” He went to his horse and removed the water flask. He took a long drink, blinking the dampness from his eyes as the sun attempted to blind him. The heat of the warming season went unnoticed in the forest, but the horrible flies pestered him. He swatted several before they drew blood. His horse’s tail slapped back and forth, knocking the insects from its rump. When he saw his men mount, he climbed into the saddle.
An hour later, the eight Aruam Castle guards looked over the Shulie River. The spring rains had filled the wide water course to capacity.
Bronwyn gazed at the sunlight dancing upon the surface. Several miles upstream, on a gentle bend lay Maskil. Many times he had looked upon the river and wondered where all the water went. Today, he wished he was watching it through the window in his quarters with Isla by his side. His thoughts went to his dad, still in the Infirmary. Surely Lord Nevell had brought him through the worst of it. He’d be home recuperating soon, being doted and fussed upon by his mum in such a way which might amount to harassment.
“Should we give the horses a drink?” Farlan rode up beside him.
Bronwyn nodded and dismounted. “Private Elkin, can you take mine?”
“Yes, Sir.” The private led the horse to the river.
Farlan handed his reins to Private Maltby and Private Dee took Sawney’s horse.
The two men followed the scout downstream as he tracked hoof prints in the soft mud.
“It’s almost as if they want us to follow,” said Sawney. “They didn’t enter the water or go to higher ground where the earth might be too hard to imprint.”
“Would Keiron use them as bait?” asked Farlan.
“Keiron is ruthless enough for anything.” Bronwyn continued along the river, searching for any sign of Isla. She’s a smart girl; she’d leave a clue behind, wouldn’t she?
Sawney’s steps quickened. He went to the river’s edge. “They crossed here.”
Bronwyn peered across the water to the opposite shore. The sediment gathered in the gentle bend of the river, forming an alluvial bar, an ideal location for travellers to cross. His eyes searched the shoreline two hundred feet away to see if any clues could be seen.
“I’ll get the rest.”
Bronwyn watched Sawney walk away. Once out of ear shot, he spoke. “What do you think? Are we following the wrong trail?”
“I don’t know,” said Farlan.
“I feel Isla would have left a clue by now.”
“What type of clue are you looking for?”
The sergeant shook his head. “A shoe? A sock? Something. Anything.”
“What did she wear yesterday?”
“The usual: trousers, a long-sleeve shirt and her vest. She had shoes and socks on, but maybe she doesn’t want to part with them.”
“Then what could she leave behind?”
“…Nothing.” He sighed. “You don’t think she’s unconscious? Or bound?” He ached to think of his daughter tied and gagged.
“We’ll find out soon enough.”
Bronwyn followed Farlan’s line of sight to see what had captured his attention. Several large black birds circled downstream. “Scavengers,” he said.
“I wonder what they’re scavenging.” Farlan glanced at his friend. “Probably a dead animal. Or maybe food these fools we’re following threw away.”
Sawney led the men and the horses along the water’s edge. They climbed into the saddle and began across the river. A few of the horses acted skittish when the cool liquid reached their bellies but came under control quickly.
On the opposite side, Sawney scoured the forest line for tracks away from the river. Bronwyn searched for tracks, too, but the circling black birds played on his nerves. A bad feeling erupted in his stomach, and he fought the nervous flutters.
Sawney gestured to a small break in the trees and guided his horse onto the rough path.
Bronwyn noticed this direction took them directly below the circling scavengers which now began to swoop towards the ground. The knot in his stomach tightened. He felt an urgency leap into his heart. He restrained himself from passing the scout and rushing ahead to prove to himself the birds didn’t circle Isla.
Sawney slowed as he approached a small clearing directly below the birds. He put up his hand in a gesture which meant to prepare for conflict. The guards drew their swords.
A few feet further and Bronwyn smelt an odd odour blowing on the breeze. He steeled his nerves. Then he saw it. Not far away, off to the left, a body sprawled across a boulder. The bloody human with thick blond hair stretched across the stone as if sun-tanning. Except the gouge marks in his chest meant he wouldn’t be going dancing tonight. The fresh meat glistened in the sun.
Sawney saw it, too. He pointed a little further along to where a dwarf lay face down.
Bronwyn dismounted and walked past the scout to get a better look at the dwarf. It appeared he spent his last breath reaching for his sword. The man’s side lay open, exposing internal organs. Whatever had attacked these men spared no mercy.
“Duck!” Farlan saw the shadow overhead and jumped from his horse.
Private Harlen reacted too slowly. A green dragon swooped from the sky and dug its massive hind claws into the human’s shoulders. With a great rush of wings, the creature lifted him into the air.
Over the private’s screams, Bronwyn shouted. “Arrows!” He scrambled to his saddle and unfastened his bow. His fingers moved quickly, but by the time he looked up to shoot, the dragon had already climbed high into the air. He watched several arrows soar towards the target, but only one made contact.
The dragon screeched and dropped the guard. The private struck several tree branches on the way down and made a solid thud against the forest floor. A quiver of arrows flew into the air. Several hit the dragon, causing it to lurch forward. It recovered and soared into the sky. The hand-like fore claws withdrew the arrows as if they were mere thorns. It roared and turned back on its assailants.
Private Elkin dropped his bow, drew his sword and prepared to defend himself. The dragon accelerated on approach, striking the elf with full force. Together they crashed through the brush. When the dragon found his feet, he turned and glared at the other guards.
Bronwyn gripped his sword. He had already lost one man, possibly two, to a dragon unseen to Maskil. He remembered stories from his childhood in which his dad had told of sundry species of dragons flying over the town. Ones familiar with the lords visited for short rest periods, but most flew on, not taking any notice of the inhabitants. Occasionally, aggressive dragons fatally wounded or carried off victims. Bronwyn had never before sighted a dragon. Why had they stopped coming to Maskil?
One sto
ry his dad told spoke about a group of young soldiers camped outside the town walls on field exercises. A green dragon attacked at dusk, killing four and spiriting another away. Bronwyn wondered if the dragon in front of him came from the same species. Certainly, its fierce behaviour drew similarities. Its green, iridescent scales glimmered in the sunlight as it lashed out with its long snout. Thick layers of plates covered the body except for the head and abdomen. They fit together like slate shingles on a cottage roof. The soft scales beneath its neck folded like the shirt collar worn beneath a suit of armour. Pale green spikes protruded from above the eyes and ran the length of the neck. Bronwyn wondered if they felt like stiff swords or bendable blades of grass.
With the story of the attack fresh in his mind, he advanced. A translucent wing lashed out, and he ducked to avoid the strike. He attacked the beast’s shoulder, but his sword came to an abrupt stop. He pulled back and swung again with the same results. The scales covering the dragon seemed as strong as steel.
The green dragon twisted and struck out with its powerful tail. It grazed Private Rorie Critch, flinging him to the ground. The full strength of the tail walloped Sawney and catapulted him into the trunk of a maple tree. The dwarf flopped to the ground, unconscious.
Farlan raced to the front of the dragon and swung at the throat. The dragon raised its large wings and the great rush of wind threw everyone off balance. It grasped the opportunity and lashed out at Private Dee. Its powerful jaws ripped the human’s arm from the body. The private swayed from side to side then slumped to the forest floor.
The beast’s large shoulder muscle jerked sideways, clobbering Farlan who smashed into the ground as the sword flew from his hands. The dragon whirled about and flashed its menacing yellow eyes at him. With one of its large hind claws, it grasped the corporal in the midsection.
Bronwyn watched in horror as the dragon rose with his friend in its grasp. He gripped his sword tightly and rushed towards the beast. At full speed, he raced up a small hill, jumped onto a boulder and leapt into the air. He snagged the empty hind leg of the lizard and began striking its underbelly with his sword.
The dragon pitched forward and shrieked. A greenish substance dripped onto the sword. He stabbed the creature repeatedly until he heard Farlan’s voice change. The dragon had released him. He let go of the lizard and fell twenty feet into a clump of ferns. He rolled to break the impact and landed beside his friend.
A great rush of wings overhead compelled him to jump up and prepare for another attack. Instead, the dragon flew to the tree tops then fled south.
Bronwyn shoved his sword into his scabbard and rushed to Farlan who rolled in pain, clutching his side. “Stay still!” He forced his friend onto his back and opened his vest. Lifting the shredded uniform shirt, he gasped at the opening. “Stay here!”
He ran to his horse. “Those who can, check the wounded!” He jerked the healing kit from his pack and hurried back to Farlan. His hands fumbled with the equipment. He found the cleansing solution and struggled to get the top off. “This is going to hurt.” That sounded stupid, he thought. “I have to clean the wound. Farlan, stay still.”
In his rush to help, Bronwyn spilt half the bottle of clear liquid over the wound. Farlan bolted from the shock. Damn! Calm your hands. He pulled out the bandages. He’d need to use every roll to contain the gash. “What the…!” He froze as a great larva the size of a banana wriggled from the wound.
“What is it?” Farlan watched in disbelief as the green larva slithered away from the cleansing solution to the safety of his dry stomach. It twisted and turned itself in the hollow of the belly button as if trying to re-enter the body.
“I don’t know!” Bronwyn grabbed for it, but it slid from his grip. The slimy creature squirmed for another opening.
Farlan twisted beneath it. “Get it off me!”
Bronwyn dove for the larvae, but again, he couldn’t get hold of it. It scuttled towards Farlan’s face. “Shut your mouth!”
Farlan slapped his hand over the lower half of his face. When the creature slipped to the ground, Bronwyn grabbed his dagger and stabbed it. He held it up and dug the end of the weapon into a fallen tree trunk. Both watched in amazement as the larva struggled against the steel.
The sergeant wiped his chin with the back of his hand and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He pulled the clean dressing from the sack and covered the gash. “Hold it steady.” He unrolled the bandages and slid one end under his friend.
“I didn’t know dragons hunted this close to Maskil.” Farlan closed his eyes as if to absorb the pain.
“Neither did I. There’s a lot we don’t know.” He pulled the bandages snug. When Farlan winced, he loosened them a bit. “Is it too tight?”
He shook his head.
“It’s the best I can do here.” Bronwyn buttoned his friend’s shirt and vest then looked around the clearing. “I didn’t expect this.” He’d seen two of his men fall; they were probably killed. He needed to check on the rest. “Can you walk?”
“With help.”
Bronwyn eased Farlan to his feet and supported him. They made their way towards Private Critch. The dwarf tended to Sawney.
“He’s out cold, Sergeant, but he’s breathing.” Rorie Critch wiped Sawney’s face with a damp cloth.
Bronwyn looked at Private Dee sprawled in the bushes. He flinched at the horrid scene of the guard’s internal organs spilling to the ground. Easing Farlan down against the tree beside Sawney, he went to Private Garret Maltby who talked with Elkin. The elf looked battered, but nothing life threatening.
“His arm is broken, Sergeant.” Private Maltby secured the damaged arm with a sling. “Otherwise, he’s fine.”
“And you?”
“I’m good, sir. A few bruises, I suspect.”
“Get him ready to transport.”
Bronwyn made his way through the low bushes to Private Harlen. As he suspected, the human lay dead from the fatal fall. He had lost two men already, and he hadn’t even caught up to Keiron, yet. The bastard would pay for this! He wanted to bury the men here, but didn’t want to linger in case the dragon returned. Besides, the families would want the bodies returned for a proper burial.
Searching the sky for signs of the green lizard, Bronwyn found only the scavengers who would feast on anything left behind. He approached the unfamiliar dead dwarf, face down in the dirt. The dragon had put an end to his running. Seeing the hand outstretched for the fallen sword, he tried to imagine the stranger’s thoughts whilst being attacked from behind. What notions raced through his mind when he realised death chased him?
Bronwyn used his foot to flip the body to its back. He recoiled when he saw the look of horror in its eyes. They stared into the sky as if the last breath hadn’t made it all the way to the lungs. Bracing his nerves, he reached down and closed the lids to hide the horrendous story of death.
He looked over the dwarf, wondering if the carcass held clues to Isla’s whereabouts. He slid a small brown sack from the belt around the bandit’s waist. Several copper, silver and gold coins rested inside; a fair amount of money for any man. In his chest pocket, he found a folding knife. Searching further, he discovered a bar of flint, a whetstone and twine.
Seeing a pouch attached to the belt, Bronwyn unclipped the hasp and looked inside. Next to a deck of cards, he found a folded piece of leather. It felt soft and well worn. He spread it out and discovered a detailed map of all the lands in Ath-o’Lea. He easily located Maskil, the road to Ellswire and the hidden trail Keiron had travelled from Linden Lake. His eyes scanned the place names surrounding his hometown. One name he read twice, dumbstruck by its existence.
The Caverns of Confusion? The prophecy had originated there, a mysterious place of legends and myths. To the best of his knowledge, no one had found the caverns. Why did this dwarf have a map showing the trail to them? Studying the map further, he found several named locations he’d never seen on a map before. Far more keeps, towers and castles than those fa
miliar to him dotted the landscape. Did they exist for this dwarf or did they haunt the dead thief’s imagination?
He’d decide later. He folded the map and placed it in his own pouch. He took the coins to give to Sanderson who’d divide them amongst the families of the dead guards. It wouldn’t replace their lives, but it’d provide a small amount of financial aid.
Bronwyn left the dwarf and went to its companion sprawled across the boulder. A quick search of the human turned up no valuable clues but several coins. He went to help Rorie gather the horses.
“How’s Sawney doing?” he asked.
“He’s awake. I think his leg’s broken. I put a splint on it.” Rorie steadied the horse in front of him. The attack had made it skittish.
“Damn,” said Bronwyn under his breath. Losing Sawney meant he lost an excellent tracker.
After helping secure the dead to their horses, the dwarf stood beside Farlan as the corporal attempted to climb into the saddle. After two efforts, Farlan’s strength failed, and he rested his forehead against the leather seat. “It’s a long way up. I don’t have the strength in my arms.”
Bronwyn called to Rorie. “Can you give us a hand?”
With his help he got his friend in the saddle. Farlan swayed slightly, but with one hand on the reins and the other gripping the pommel, he nodded to indicate he’d be fine.
By midafternoon, the men were resting on the road betwixt Maskil and Ellswire. Relieved of their bridles, the horses drank and grazed freely. Bronwyn helped Farlan to the base of a shady tree. He noticed a blood stain seeping through the material of Farlan’s shirt and added more bandages.
A silence fell between them as they sat together sharing their food.
Halfway through the ration, Bronwyn spoke. “You know what you need to do.”
Farlan eyed his friend. “It doesn’t make it any easier.”
“You’re in no shape to ride let alone fight. As senior rank, it’s your duty to see the wounded reach Maskil. You should be there by 18:00 hours if we judge our position correctly. Can you make it?”
Farlan looked at the road to home. “I’m sure we can.”
Bronwyn stared at him, battling the emotions swelling inside. In one instance, he wanted to ensure his men arrived safely at the Infirmary, but in another, he wanted to continue the search for his daughter.
“As long as you get me in the saddle, I’ll make it,” said Farlan. “Sawney and Elkin are in fair shape. A few broken bones is all. They’re strong enough to keep us going.”
Bronwyn’s thoughts drifted to the road ahead. The ride towards Ellswire would be gruelling. It’d be days, perhaps weeks, before he returned to Maskil. Alaura’s predicament suddenly sprang to mind; she’d face the charge of her arrest in four days, long before he’d return.
“Farlan.” His voice became urgent.
His friend looked at him with renewed energy. “What?”
“I had forgotten about Alaura.”
“What about her?”
“Her arrest. Remember?”
Farlan nodded. “What happened?”
“They charged her with using magic inside the town walls without permission. She faces the charges in four days. I’m her custodian. I’m supposed to be there.”
“I saw the signs go up around town. She could get three years!”
“I know.” Bronwyn swallowed. “You’ll have to take my place. Can you do it? As soon as you’re able, find her. You need to know where she is. You’ll have to inform the clerk in the dungeon of the change.” A sudden rush of helplessness invaded his thoughts. “I can’t have her spend three years in the dungeon.”
Farlan rested his arm across his friend’s shoulders. “I’ll see to her. I’ll use whatever authority I have to make damn sure she’s not found guilty. If I have to, I’ll recruit the ol’ man’s help. He’ll know a loop hole to keep her free. The last thing he wants is to have his best sergeant sitting outside a dungeon cell for three years.”
Bronwyn half grinned, but the worry remained. His exhaustion added pressure to his nerves already strained by the loss of Isla. The uncertainty of his dad’s condition only added to his stress. Casting a sideways glance at Farlan, Bronwyn wondered if he had the strength to survive.
A few short weeks ago, Bronwyn had felt satisfied; he lived the life he wanted. Now, the fear of losing everyone he loved the most played havoc with his heart.
“I’ll take care of Alaura,” said Farlan. “If I have to, I’ll unite with her before she faces the charge.”
The dwarf stared at his friend with a lowered brow.
“They won’t put a corporal’s mate in the dungeon unless she’s charged with murder.”
“Why?”
Farlan shrugged. “It’s written in the book of protocol. I learnt about it last week when Corporal Murphy used it to free his mate.”
“I’ve read the book from cover to cover, and I didn’t know that.”
“You must have forgotten it. I consulted the book. It’s there.”
“Did you find it in my copy? The one Sanderson gave me years ago?”
“They’re all the same.”
“When you get a chance, check my copy. You won’t find it.” The books supposedly contained exactly the same information. If Farlan proved correct, he could unite with Alaura to protect her if he returned to Maskil in time. He felt uneasy thinking of Farlan and Alaura united even if only to save her from the dungeon. Still, he trusted Farlan to take care of Alaura, and when he returned, the three of them would make things right. “I don’t think Selina would like the option.”
“It’s not Selina I’m worried about.” Farlan gave him a nudge. “It’s the dwarf whose blood burns like a thousand volcanoes for Alaura of Niamh which concerns me.”
Bronwyn couldn’t help but smile. Alaura would be his mate in time. Remembering that he needed to provide an official signature to transfer his custodial right to Farlan, he pulled out a piece of paper. “Alaura doesn’t have a lot of friends in Maskil. She has the most contact with Beathas, but I haven’t seen her in town for…”—he tried to think of the last time, but couldn’t—“…ever. Alaura trusts my family and you.”
Farlan coughed and clutched his side. After clearing his throat, he took a deep breath. Bronwyn watched him. He should be resting, not wasting his energy talking about Alaura.
Bronwyn spoke after allowing a moment of silence. “There’s almost twenty gold coins in this sack. I’ll tuck it into your saddle bag. Give them to Sanderson for the families of the deceased. I’m going to write this down, but I want you to know, too. As soon as you’re well enough, I want you to fill my position—”
“Whoa!” Farlan put up his hand. “I’m not taking your rank.”
“You’ll be acting sergeant until I return. I need a man I can trust, and there is no one I trust more in my office than you.” They stared at each other. “I want you there. You know my routine. You’re the best candidate. Anyway, Sanderson will need a guard he can trust in my position.”
“You’re coming back. This is temporary. I’ll protect your position by serving in it, but as soon as you pass through those gates, it’s yours again.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Bronwyn reached into his chest pocket, pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Farlan. It seemed like weeks ago he had calculated the number of guards for each race though he’d done it only yesterday morning. “Give this to Sanderson. He needs to know.”
Farlan unfolded the paper. His eyes squinted in confusion as he read the numbers. “Are these accurate?”
“You were right. Humans are taking over command at the castle.” He studied his human friend. His friend had always been loyal to him and the castle. Their lives now depended on that trust.
“I don’t know how other humans feel, but it doesn’t reflect my idea of a balanced society,” said Farlan. “I love Maskil because it’s diverse, a place where people of four races come together to work and live.” He folded the paper and tucked
it in his chest pocket. “I’ll make sure no one sees this but Sanderson.”
Bronwyn rubbed the stubble on his chin with the back of his hand. He hadn’t shaved for two days, and the roughness of a beard had taken root. He imagined it might be quite thick before he arrived home again.
“Regardless of race, you’ll always be my friend.” Farlan didn’t mince words. “And our little girl out there,” he paused to catch his breath, “she’s got a part of my heart that won’t feel right until she’s home.”
Bronwyn glanced at the guards gathering their things and getting ready to mount. He wanted Farlan and the others to arrive before darkness settled the land. Every passing hour put their lives at risk. He finished the note and gave it to him. “Make sure Sanderson gets this. He’ll be able to handle the custodial change, too.”
Thinking of Alaura, he wondered what message to send home to her. He pulled another piece of paper from his rucksack and in the finest handwriting he could muster, he composed a letter. The brief note expressed his concern for her health and well-being, as well as his hope for a quick return. When it came time to sign it, he fumbled. He wanted to sign it, Your Adoring Mate, but thought it forward. Sincerely, Bronwyn, didn’t say enough. He settled on, Yours affectionately. Bronwyn. He folded the paper and handed it to Farlan.
“Give this to Alaura? Tell her I’ll see her as soon as I return.”
“She’ll assume as much.” Farlan put the note in his chest pocket.
Bronwyn rolled another thought around in his mind. What if he didn’t return? “Farlan, if I don’t come back, can you…can you see to Alaura? Tell her—”
“Tell her yourself. She’ll be waiting for you.”
“But what if—”
“I don’t want to hear about what ifs.” Farlan grabbed him by the front of his vest and looked him in the face. Bronwyn could see the desperation in his eyes. “You’re coming back. Don’t ever give up hope. It’ll keep you alive when the odds are against you. Every sunrise, I want you to renew yourself. Think of it as a fresh beginning where the events of yesterday can be soothed in the twilight. There is power we don’t understand in the air when it isn’t dark, yet is not yet light. I’ve felt it many times. It’s as if fairies are flirting with the air we breathe, poking us with needles to see if we’re still alive. Breathe it in. Let it wash away your fears.”
This puzzled Bronwyn. His friend had occasionally commented about the twilight but never with this much vigour. “Where did you get this idea?”
“My sister.” Farlan bowed his head. “At the orphanage, she’d take me outside in the morning light and tell me stories about our mom. I don’t remember her, but my sister did. Our mother died a few short years after my birth.” He took a shallow breath. “My sister told me magic danced in the twilight. She told me to look to it for strength. The last day I saw her, before her new parents took her away, she led me outside before the sun rose. She told me all the hope one needed could be found in the twilight.” He looked at the dwarf. “Each new day I hope I’ll find her. And now, I’ll also hope you and Isla will return.”
Bronwyn listened quietly. His friend didn’t often talk about his life at the orphanage or his sister. “I’ll keep it in mind. It’ll give me strength when I need it most.” He watched Farlan fumble with a leather bracelet, one of the three he wore made by him and Isla.
“This is a loaner,” said Farlan as he tied the bracelet around Bronwyn’s wrist. “You have to bring it back to me.”
“Promise, I will. As swiftly as I can.”
“I’ll be spittin’ mad if you don’t. It’s my favourite.” A sly smirk caught the corner of his mouth.
Ten minutes later, Bronwyn watched the small caravan of wounded guards head towards Maskil. The three wounded made a pitiful sight as they dragged the dead behind them. With a little luck, the tired horses and their riders would reach the town gates in about two hours. He’d mark the time and know the men had arrived home.
Turning his horse, Bronwyn led his two remaining healthy guards towards Ellswire.