Dragon Nemesis, Page 3

  “Of course, take what time--”

  “Three sunrises. I have to leave for Taloxville to relieve the transportation Shaman there in three sunrises. I shall seek Blanche until then.”

  “Perhaps there is a way you can be relieved of your duties.”

  “No, we have too few transport Shaman as it is. When word comes of a Volastoque assault on a town, village, or convoy, we are all needed to transport in the dragons. Even one fewer transport Shaman available to take the defense Shaman and dragons in could result in hundreds of lives lost.” Jadrun shakes his head. “My Blanche would not wish me to sacrifice the lives of others to find her.” His heart in his throat, Jadrun barely chokes out, “I have three days to search—if I cannot find her… well, I must accept she is lost to us.”

  “I shall pray for your success.”

  Jadrun shakes his head. “I do not place much faith in prayers lately. It seems the Lady has turned a deaf ear to our needs. However I would ask that you watch over Montello. He is here.”

  “Of course, I shall have Montello join the groups of boys who aid in the Healing cavern. He will be safe and it will give him something to occupy his mind.”

  “My thanks.” Jadrun starts to rise.

  Hern reaches to place his hand atop Jadrun’s, stilling him. “You know I love that boy as I would a grandson. You have no reason to fear for Montello, I will take care of him for you.”

  “I know.” Jadrun clasps his hand and gives it a brief squeeze, then turns to leave.

  “And Jadrun? Please take care of yourself, for my old heart cares deeply for you as well. Return safe, with your mate.”

  Jadrun pauses at the door. “Every fiber of my being hopes the same. I shall see you upon my return.” He exits and Hern allows himself a moment to mourn the loss of Herlan and prays for Jadrun’s success in his quest.

  ~!~

  The first streaks of dawn paint the sky as Maru steps out of the tunnel and upon the ledge in front of their lair. Filling his lungs with the clean, crisp morning air, he sends a heart-felt prayer to the Lady in thanks for the new day and asks She guide him in a successful hunt for game to fill his family’s needs.

  He stretches. His entire body is stiff and his shoulder screams a protest at each movement. He ignores the pain and continues to rotate the shoulder, limbering the tight joint.

  The past six winters have made him accustomed to the discomforts of recovering from wounds. His once-smooth, black body shows multiple ridges where old scars have healed. For a moment, he yearns for the simpler life, before their kind became allies of the humans. Not that humans were unworthy allies.

  He grimaces as the shoulder grinds, but he must continue to loosen it until he has enough range of motion to attempt flight.

  Jagged crags and peaks tower around their ledge, casting it into a deep shadow. Below him tree limbs reach skyward, loosing their riotous color as their tattered leaves cling and flicker like banners in the brisk autumn breeze. He and Aura have been happy here. Raising their clutches and for the most part simply enjoying mated life. They seldom even involved themselves in the affairs of their own kind, past socialization.

  Until the Volastoque.

  Last nightfall’s fog dissipates; only a few scraps remain settled in the deeper hollows across the mountainside. He stays in the yawning shadow of the ledge, working his shoulder, as his gaze methodically searches the landscape for the creatures.

  The Volastoque attacks starting six winters ago, on the northernmost portions of the dragon’s territory and lands of the Palmir People, destroyed their simple life. The creatures came in coveys of at least a score and annihilated all dragons and humans in their path. Initially, the two species fought their own battles, each settlement or territory of lairs mounting its own defense. And losing. Virtually all of those initial invasions resulted in few if any survivors. It was Yalkin, one of the most respected elders of dragonkind, who suggested the alliance with humans. Over that first winter, the alliance solidified and organized the current defense strategies. The surprise emergence from within the Palmir People of the powerful Shaman Society had perhaps been the salvaging factor in their resistance. Without the Shaman using the crystals to support and transport the dragons, all would have been lost in that first winter.

  The warble of birdsong drifts across the treetops. Maru raises his triangular-shaped head to point his nose into the breeze. He draws a deep breath through his nostrils, giving close attention to the rainbow of scents. The familiar reek of the creature does not taint the air. A handful of fluffy clouds ride high in the sky and he scrutinizes them. They scoot across the blue expanse, appearing innocent enough. He cannot see any sign of Volastoque hidden in their depths.

  Finally satisfied, he steps to the edge and launches. A sharp, grinding pain strikes his shoulder the moment his wings catch the air and intensifies as he rises with strong wing thrusts. He clears the surrounding cliffs and his neck swivels around to inspect his shoulder.

  The wound is closed; the Healer’s treatment before he left Taloxville repaired the worst of the damage. Healer Geramn performed two Healings and told him to rest, to allow the joint time to mend. He had thought to rest when he got home. His shoulder is still grossly swollen, the movement beneath his scales jerky in comparison to the left shoulder. He steels himself against the pain and turns his head south, angling his wings in that direction.

  There may still be geese in the marshes behind Yarro Lake. The distance would have precluded Aura hunting there, as the only defense of the nest; she could not leave them that long. This late in the season, geese would be layered in fat against the upcoming winter. The sun sits a handspan high on the horizon when he reaches the lake. Maru sends a prayer of thanks to the Lady when the body of water, with thousands of geese dotting its surface, comes into view.

  Hardening himself against the pain, he locks his wings, arrowing down toward the lake. Honks fill the air as panicked geese take flight. He scoops four up on his first pass, crushing them in his mouth and dropping their mangled corpses on shore before he swings around for another pass. Geese rise from the lake like a swarm of mosquitoes. He snags five on the second round, two of them flay against the side of his muzzle as he crunches their lower bodies between his sharp teeth. He manages five passes before the flock scatters too much to make an attempt worthwhile.

  He searches the skyline for Volastoque, then gathers the geese into one pile, twenty-two and all of them fine, fat geese. He settles on his haunches beside the catch and pulls one from the pile. Feathers tickle the roof of his mouth as sweet, warm blood coats his tongue while he consumes the goose with relish. One of his favorites, for he loves the slick feeling the fat leaves on the surfaces of his mouth.

  A score of the braver, or dumber, geese land back on the lake. The males keep a watchful eye on him as their females continue to feed on aquatic plants and schools of minnows darting near the surface. Maru’s stomach rumbles as he finishes the goose, demanding more to eat. He glances at the geese; many of the males have resumed feeding. Dumber, he decides as he launches into another attack. Six more geese fall to his attacks before they are once again scattered.

  Maru plops four onto the pile and consumes the other two as he casts a vigilant gaze across his surroundings. The sky has cleared; the azure expanse holds nothing except the geese and a single eagle hunting to the west. The long marsh grass beneath his feet has begun to yellow, the heads heavy with seeds. Late-blooming harkipan bushes are abuzz with insects and bees invading the sweet-smelling purple blooms to harvest the last of the season’s bounty. Yarin trees line the shore near him, their gnarled roots reaching into the lake and their twisted branches laden with long, orange seed pods. Seed pods that should have been harvested long ago. Yarin seeds, pounded into flour, were a staple for the Palmir People. Their presence gave mute testimony to the toll of the on-going battle. So many humans have fallen to the Volastoque that the few who remain have not reached this area to harvest.

  Maru trie
s to shake off the melancholy that pervades his mind as he thinks of the numbers of dragons and humans lost. The humans have begun calling the Volastoque incursion The Plague from the North, for the beasts rip across the land annihilating all in their path—like a swarm of locusts. His sire, dam, and all but two of his siblings have died in the battles as have all the offspring of his and Aura’s previous clutches. Only the eight in this clutch still live.

  Maru rises, fortified by the fat-laden geese and resolute to provide for his hatchlings. They will survive. His mouth is filled to over-flowing when he picks up the pile of twenty-five geese. His thoughts focusing on getting this meal to his offspring, his opens his wings. Two powerful thrusts have him airborne. He sweeps north, the sweet aroma of the geese’s blood masking a familiar musky stench, like putrefied mushrooms, wafting up from the marshes below.

  Chapter 5

  Elish rubs a weary hand across his eyes and stumbles into the boy’s dormitory. The oblong orbs set in the ceiling give off a faint glow; someone has dimmed them to twilight setting. His sleeping platform is at the rear of the spacious chamber. Most of the beds standing in four rows, two to each side of the wide central aisle, are empty. A few hold blanket-covered lumps. Some of these resonate with snores, others with soft, choking sobs.

  Elish swallows hard through a constricting throat and hurries past the bed occupants who cry. The urge to do so himself is never far from the surface since his arrival here three dramas ago. He forces anger to squelch the temptation to join them in curling up in his bed to sob. He has already done enough of that.

  He still suffers the dreams. The memories which fade with the light of day lurk to pounce upon his night. Vivid dreams filled with images of flames scorching across the sky as dragons battled the wretched creatures that slaughtered his family.

  The dreams always start with the sensation of his cheek, pressed into the rough grain of the pickle barrel he crouched behind as the screams outside were cut off by Killer Frost that raked across the villagers. His dama calling his name had drawn him from the provision room. On trembling limbs, his mouth dry with fear, he crawled toward the door that still stood open and wide as he left it when he had entered to get the yarin flour his dama sent him to fetch.

  The kitchen was empty, the ingredients his dama prepared just moments ago abandoned on the table. He half-rose from his crouch and rushed across the empty room to kneel by the door.

  He peered out the door. Bodies filled the street, the orange glow of the setting sun shimmered on the crust of frost covering them. Hurley, the Farrier, strode down the street, a blazing torch in one hand and a pail in the other. The surge of relief that filled Elish was short-lived. Hurley splashed oil from the bucket against the glazier’s shop and ignited it with his torch. The Farrier blithely strode on to the next building and once again ignited the wooden structure.

  Elish fled as Hurley splashed the last of the oil in the bucket against a front corner of his home. Elish caught a brief glimpse of Hurley’s face when the large man laid the torch against the oil. Hurley’s eyes and expression reflected horror at his own actions, yet he still held the torch to the oil splatter long enough to ensure it burst into flames.

  Elish stops beside his sleeping platform, for a moment paralyzed with the same fear that always brought him out of his dream to bolt upright in his bed drenched in a cold sweat.

  Once again, he feeds his anger, building a rage inside to squelch the jagged edge of fright that made him a shaking, frightened rabbit.

  He stares at his bed, knowing he desperately needs to sleep, yet dreading the onset of the dream. Elish shuffles to the side of his bed, tugs the covers down, and lowers himself to sit. His hand slides into his pocket, pulls out a small pouch, and he fumbles with the tie. He manages to open the small pouch and spills six balls about the size of a robin’s egg, made of valerian herb mixed with nut paste, into his hand. He pops two into his mouth and returns the others to the pouch, drawing the string to close it, and returns it to his pocket.

  By the time he has his footwear off, the herb has begun its work. Not bothering to change into a nightshirt, he slumps to his bed and tugs the covers over his head. The tension in his body abates as the herb leaches into his system.

  His dama’s image fills his mind’s eye. The sharp line of her jaw when he annoyed her, the glossy texture of her long, black hair as it cascaded over him when she took him into her soft embrace. It took no effort to recall everything about her, down to her scent, a mixture of a touch of yarin from the breads she baked and her own warm, soft skin.

  A deep sigh escapes his lips as Elish burrows his face into the pillow and falls into a peaceful herb-induced sleep.

  ~!~

  Jadrun trudges up the incline; his weary eyes search the gullies and beneath evergreen trees. Three dragons, their bodies glittering in the fading light of late evening, make low sweeps across the area, part of the search parties. “Blanche!” His voice emerges without much volume; he shouted himself hoarse over the last three sunrises.

  Bodies. All he found in his search is bodies.

  Yet, his mate has not been among them. By the Lady, he wishes that guaranteed she would yet be found alive. However… the other two alternatives he could not bear to contemplate.

  He reaches the hill’s crest and shades his eyes against the setting sun to inspect the valley before him. The valley rolls in gentle curves, the skeletal branches of yarin, oak, and maple reaching skyward in clumps. The evergreens of the higher slopes are not evident except in small patches. Two other searchers work their way across the valley.

  By the Lady, he is exhausted. For the last three sunrises he has searched from dawn till dusk. Jadrun slumps down to sit upon a boulder. The warmth of the rock seeps into the fabric of his pants and warms his behind and the back of his legs.

  A call from the valley jolts him to his feet. Focusing on the man who rushes across a meadow, Jadrun transports. He blinks into existence behind the man, who continues to run toward a pile of fallen trees. Rushing to follow, Jadrun sees a scrap of red cloth through the twisted branches of the deadwood.

  His heart lurches into his throat when a low feminine moan emanates from beneath the fallen tree trunks. The other man reaches the pile and falls to his knees to peer within the scramble of trunks. “Here now, we are here to help.”

  Jadrun joins him leaning down to try to see who is hidden beneath the limbs. Brown hair, so not Blanche. Disappointment crashes through him even as he finds gratification in finding someone alive.

  Heart-wrenching sobs come from beneath the pile as a young woman crawls toward them. Jadrun grasps one arm, damaged by Killer Frost, and helps her extract herself from the pile. He is no Healer, but the woman obviously needs immediate care. The other searcher helps her with a water flask and the young woman gulps down several swallows.

  “Nora, are you injured anywhere except your arm?” Jadrun keeps his voice low and soothing.

  “I think my leg is broken.” She uses one grime-covered hand to sweep the hair from across her blue eyes and takes more water.

  Jadrun glances at the stout young man who was the other searcher. “I am a Shaman, I can transport her to the Healing caverns.”

  The man nods, grasps the young woman by her waist, and gently extracts her from the pile. “What is your name? I will notify them we have found you and where the Shaman takes you.”

  “Cida. My mate, Fellan, did he make it safely to the cavern?”

  The man shakes his head. “I do not know, Nora Cida.” He turns his gaze to Jadrun.

  “I have no idea, I was searching for my mate, Blanche.”

  “I know Blanche.”

  His gaze pierces the young woman. “Did you see what became of her in the attack?”

  Her blue eyes are filled with sorrow as she meets his gaze. “I saw her, she and one of your twins loaded your injured son into a cart.” She shakes her head. “A Volastoque swept toward them and she fell as the cart sped away. She screamed for the
well one to remain with the other and see to his care.” She shakes her head. “I caught a glimpse of her as she fled with another group of people escaping into the hills. Beyond that, I know not, as I lost sight of her in the havoc.”

  Jadrun nods, taking comfort that his mate apparently survived the initial assault. “Nora, if you are ready, I will transport you?”

  At her nod, he grasps her arm then meets the eyes of the other searcher. “I shall take her to Kitloch, as I am expected there this nightfall to return to my duties.”

  “Cida, mate to Fellan, I shall tell them where to find her.” He gives the woman a faint smile. “Rest easy, Nora, I will see that your mate gets the message as soon as I can.”

  Jadrun gives her a reassuring smile as he focuses his transportation powers. He calls upon the three elements of man—body, soul, and spirit—as he draws energy from his green crystal. A tingle washes across his body when his crystal attunes to his desires and he focuses his thoughts on the Healing cavern at Kitloch. In his mind’s eye he gathers the strands of power produced by the crystal and thrusts them toward Kitloch. Every cell in his body vibrates as the transportation commences and they ride the surge of power to the Healing cavern at Kitloch.

  ~!~

  Maru angles low across the meadow. The ripe scents of autumn assail his nostrils as he inhales deep of the crisp air. A steep dive and he snatches up two deer from the center of the clearing. The dear struggle beneath him until, with a resounding crack, his claws break their backs. With powerful wing thrusts he rises above the tree line on the other side of the clearing. He cants slightly to the right, favoring his shoulder as he flies a circle to turn toward his lair.

  His third successful hunt this sunrise. The hatchlings gorged on the geese and deer he already brought. Once his mate feeds until replete, he will rest. The throb in his shoulder dulls to an ache as steady wing strokes propel him toward home. His hunt has taken him far afield, as Aura hunted out the area close to their lair in her efforts to keep the hatchlings fed.