Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

"We owe the Great Mother," Tenegal said. "The affairs of men are not our concern."

  "Please, brother," Menelith begged. "Help me convince Lady Allora to allow me some soldiers to fight at their side. At least with additional rangers, they could disrupt T'kar's plans enough for the rest of the people to rally against him."

  Tenegal gazed into his eyes, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. Menelith could see the sympathy that was there, but knew that there was nothing that Tenegal could do. His heart sank, and he sighed as he lowered his head.

  "The Lady Allora has tasked you with the quest of seeking out this Mother Spirit," Tenegal reminded. "She has given us all this task. That is why we are here. There is no other reason."

  "Tenegal," came a hauntingly musical voice from behind them.

  The Alvar knelt as Allora entered the clearing, her magic lighting the way with its gentle and ethereal glow. Menelith dared not look into her eyes, lest she see the weakness he had for his friends. It was best to let Tenegal plead his case.

  If he chose to do so.

  "Menelith is correct," she continued, prompting Menelith to look up with hope. "We have always been a people of honor, grace, and gratitude. If we stray from this path, who are we then, Tenegal? What would our divine ones think of us if we abandoned those in need? What would our king think?"

  Tenegal stood, but kept his head bowed. "Forgive me, my lady," he said. "I merely sought to keep my brother on our course, to finish his quest."

  "There is nothing to forgive," Allora said, gently stroking Tenegal's cheek as she smiled warmly. "You are a loyal and honorable captain, as is your brother. Your differences are what make each of you special. Menelith's spirit is untamable, indeed, but I would not change that. It is that wild spirit of his that makes him a great warrior, for a great warrior must follow his heart if he is to remain great."

  Menelith stood, lifting his face to meet Allora's gaze as she approached him. She came close, lifting his chin with a gentle touch. As always, her eyes stared into Menelith's very soul, making his heart race and his blood surge with her great aura.

  "You must do what you think best, Menelith," she said. "We have sought out this Mother Spirit for millennia. It can wait a while longer. Help these men any way you can. Train them to defend their lands, that our legacy will remain with them forever. Take your own soldiers with you and build these rangers as mightily as you can. You have my blessing."

  "Thank you, my lady," Menelith said, his heart nearly bursting with joy.

  "And if the time comes when the people of this island are strong enough to reclaim their kingdom, we shall stand at their side."

  "My lady," Tenegal said. "They will never rally against T'kar again. He is too strong, and they are too few."

  Allora turned back to Tenegal then, a faint smile upon her rosy lips. "Something is happening, Tenegal," she said. "I have felt it. The Dragon has awakened, and a new king will rise from the ashes of Daegoth's throne."

  "Who is this king?" Menelith asked.

  "I know not," Allora said. "But his fate is not set. T'kar wields the power of the ancient ones; those who are kin to this Mother Spirit we seek. He may destroy the Dragon yet, but I feel this descendant's presence in this land. He is closer now than he was. Seek him out, Menelith. He will lead the people of Eirenoch together in battle. His victory depends on the strength of those around him."

  "How will I know him?"

  "Trust in your friend," Allora said. "Baleron will know his kinsmen when he sees him. He will come from the north, but will not be a Northman. It is up to him to find his own path, and he must hear the call of the Dragon on his own."

  Tenegal gave Menelith an encouraging nod, giving the latter a renewed sense of purpose. Having grown weary of the endless quest laid upon him by King Faeraon of Alvheim, this new task was a refreshing change. It would not only breathe new life into him, but it strengthen the Alvars' ties with the people of Eirenoch and the Northmen as well.

  Menelith bowed low as Allora turned away to depart. Tenegal approached him and they clasped arms once again.

  "You have two dozen warriors under your command," Tenegal said. "Lead them as I would, and bring them back to their Lady."

  "I will, brother," Menelith said. "And thank you for your understanding."

  "Forgive me, my brother," Tenegal added. "I did not mean to despair. Once the men of this land are prepared to face the enemy, I will lead our warriors into battle at your side."

  "I look forward to it," Menelith said. "It has been a long while since we've fought side-by-side."

  Tenegal smiled, patting his brother on the shoulder. "Go now," he said. "Make these rangers a force to be feared."

  The logging camp was strangely quiet when the rangers arrived. Even in the dark of night, many of the loggers would burn the midnight oil in their sheds while performing smaller tasks such as bark-stripping, small board facing, and any repairs that were needed on the equipment. However, when Baleron and his men arrived, there was little to no activity, and it appeared that the men were all located in the largest building.

  "What do you think they're doing?" Odhran asked as they surrounded the camp.

  Baleron shook his head. "I don't know, Odhran. But something doesn't seem right."

  "Soldiers near the well," another ranger whispered.

  Baleron rounded the company, moving behind them to get a better view of the well located at the south end of the camp. There were two soldiers there, one drinking from the well's bucket, the other gazing into the shadows around them. Baleron signaled for Odhran to join him, and the young ranger crept over to him without so much as breaking a twig. Baleron readied his bow, removing an arrow from his quiver.

  "You take the one drinking," he said. Then, gesturing to two other men, "You two quietly drag the bodies into the woods."

  Odhran drew his bow, nocking an arrow and waiting for Baleron to give him the signal to loose. Baleron took aim at his target, centering his view near the edge of the man's right pectoral region; the only place other than his head that wasn't armored.

  "Now," he whispered.

  The two arrows streaked in, dropping the soldiers quietly. The two rangers moved in silently, grabbing the bodies and dragging them into the tree line. Baleron froze for a moment, listening for other guards or some kind of alert. When none came, he grinned, nodding to Odhran.

  "Good work," he said.

  Odhran sighed, giving Baleron a strange look. Baleron cocked an eyebrow in question.

  "That was the first time I have ever killed a man," Odhran said.

  Baleron put a hand on the young man's shoulder. "You'll get used to it. Now come, let's get closer to the main building and see what's going on."

  Odhran nodded, and Baleron turned to exit the tree line. Though he knew the young man would likely feel some guilt at first, he was strong, and would soon realize that he was only protecting his people. This was the true test of a warrior's mettle; his willingness to do whatever it took to defend those who could not defend themselves. The young man had already expressed his willingness to do so, and it would only be a matter of time before killing the enemy became commonplace for him.

  Tonight, he realized, would be a true test for all of them.

  As they crept toward the larger wooden building at the center of camp, Baleron kept watch on the shadows around them. The two guards that were outside appeared to be the only ones. Strange, he thought, that the troops here were so confident in their presence, that they hadn't felt the need to post more guards outside.

  He heard the sudden snapping of a bowstring, and the whoosh of an arrow, and looked up to see another soldier falling from the edge of the roof onto the ground below. Odhran had spotted him and taken him down before he could alert his comrades. Baleron gave him an encouraging nod.

  There were lanterns burning inside the cabin, he could see, and the moving shadows indicated that several men were inside, walking around at regular intervals. Normally, the loggers slept in their indivi
dual shacks, but it appeared that they had been gathered together into the cabin; probably in order for the occupying force to keep watch on them.

  Baleron crept up to the nearest window, stepping back as he looked up into it. He could see nothing but the rafters above, and a few shadows here and there. He would have to find another window or pull himself up to look inside—a prospect that didn't seem to be a very good idea at the moment.

  Instead, he mounted the short stairway leading up to the covered porch. It was built alongside the cabin, going up three steps to the wooden deck. He stopped at the top step, peering around the corner to ensure there were no guards at the front door. The porch was clear, and there were two windows; one on each side of the door.

  He stepped onto the porch, keeping along the outer wall as he crept toward the window. As he reached the edge of the shuttered window, he could see a man sitting at a large table toward the front of the cabin. He was leaning back in his chair with his hands clasped behind his head. He looked inside, being careful not to display his face to them as he slowly moved his head toward the center of the opening.

  Now he could see the loggers all lined up on the floor in their bedrolls. There were five more soldiers, some at the table playing a quiet card game, and a few others slowly walking around, keeping watch on the sleeping workers. Baleron backed away, holding up six fingers to tell Odhran and the others how many enemies were inside.

  Odhran nodded, drawing his blade. Baleron signaled the bulk of the rangers to remain behind to guard the outside, and gestured for Odhran and two others to follow him in. Drawing his blade, Baleron leaped up and over the window sill, slamming his boot into the edge of the table. The three seated men were thrown from their chairs and onto the floor.

  Two arrows whooshed past him into the other two men just as he skewered the nearest guard. The remaining two guards drew their blades, bewildered and terrified. Odhran took down one, and the other was taken down with an arrow that came through the window.

  The loggers leaped up from their bedrolls, cowering together in the corner as the rangers sheathed their blades. Their eyes were wide with terror, and they trembled when they beheld the strangely-dressed men.

  "Stay calm," Baleron said. "My name is Baleron, and these are my rangers. Are there any more soldiers here in the camp?"

  One of the men stepped forward, still appearing unsure and cautious. "Not here," he said. "But the others'll be returnin' shortly."

  "How many?" Odhran asked.

  "At least a half dozen more," the man answered. "They went to the nearby stream to gather water."

  "A half dozen men to gather water?" Baleron asked skeptically.

  "They all took buckets," the man said shrugging. "With us and them here together, we need a lot of water."

  Baleron nodded, going back to check on his men outside. He signaled, and the nearest ranger vaulted the railing to crouch at the window.

  "There are six more men in the area," Baleron told him. "Take cover and watch for them."

  The ranger nodded and disappeared over the railing again. Baleron went back to the loggers.

  "How long have these soldiers been here?"

  The man shook his head. "Not sure," he said. "A week or so."

  "Why did they come?"

  "To supervise, I 'spose. They wanted two hundred or so long timbers. It's taken us quite some time to cut and mill them. They rounded us up in here to keep watch on us. They wouldn't let us work at night, either."

  "Can you reach the river settlements safely?" Baleron asked.

  The man shrugged, confused. "I 'spose so. Why do you ask?"

  "When we finish off the soldiers, I want you to go there. This logging camp will be closed until further notice."

  The man shrugged, looking back at his companions, who mirrored his concern. "But this mill is our life," the man said. "Without our work, how will we feed ourselves?"

  Baleron stepped closer, cocking his head. "Did you really think T'kar's men were going to pay you?" he asked. "As soon as you finished the order, they'd have killed you and put your heads on spikes."

  The man's face froze, and he gulped loudly.

  "He's right, Achaen," another man behind him said. "Short o' us not havin' lasses, we ain't got nothin' else to offer 'em. They'd have skewered us fer shor."

  "Uh, right, right," Achaen said, nodding nervously. "Alright, we'll go. We'll take the path on the other side of the river. T'kar's men avoid that side for some reason."

  There was a loud slapping sound on the side of the building, and Baleron knew a ranger was signaling him. He rushed to the window and leaped out onto the porch, crouching behind a support column and looking toward the point in the tree line where the rangers were focused.

  Harsh voices echoed from the darkened woods as the enemy squad returned. Baleron could hear his men pull back their bows in preparation, but he kept still, trusting in their ability to take them out themselves.

  But then, much to their surprise, there was the ring of steel, several screams and shouts, and then silence. The rangers stood, including Baleron, and they all waited and watched. Several groans and twig snaps later, a lone guard came staggering out of the trees. He took a half dozen steps before collapsing onto the ground, a single arrow protruding from his back.

  Baleron vaulted the railing and cautiously approached the guard as he took his last breaths. From a few yards away, he could hear the man gasp a few times before falling into silence. Then, from out of the trees, a single figure emerged.

  "Menelith!" Baleron exclaimed as the Alvar came into the moonlight. "You have returned quickly."

  "Indeed I have, friend," Menelith said. "And I have brought some friends."

  Baleron and his men stared wide-eyed and in awe as several other Alvar warriors came into the light. They numbered at least two dozen, all of them armored in the forest garb of their kin, and armed with gleaming weapons of Alvar steel. It was an awesome sight, and Baleron was nearly speechless.

  So were the other rangers.

  "This is a great day," Baleron said.

  "Indeed it is," Menelith said. "My men are here to complete the rangers' training. They will pair up one on one with your men and we shall have a shadow company in no time."

  Baleron smiled. It seemed now that their fears were gone. With two dozen men, and an equal number of Alvar, their company would sabotage T'kar's fractured forces.

  One small victory at a time.

  Chapter Ten

  It is here that the tower stands," Randar, T'kar's advisor said, pointing at the map that was laid out on the table.

  T'kar scowled as he stood over the map, fuming on the inside for his inability to find and destroy the wretched construction. For over a decade he had attempted to reach the tower and lay it to waste. But every excursion into the mountains had left him and his men lost and hopeless.

  "There has to be a direct path somewhere," he said. "But whenever we get close to it, we lose sight of it. I can only effectively see it from the top of the fortress. It is not even visible from ground level."

  Randar sighed, scratching his chin. "There is always the possibility that it does not truly exist."

  T'kar glared at him. He didn't like the man's tone. Was he implying that T'kar was seeing things?

  "Pardon me, Sire," Randar said, evidently realizing his error. "What I mean to say is that it may be a mirage of some type, caused by a trick of the sunlight or perhaps the mountains. From a certain angle it may look like a tower, when it is, in reality, just a visual combination of separate outcroppings coming together to…"

  Randar stopped as T'kar continued to glare. The king laughed on the inside, enjoying the fact that Randar was likely terrified of him, despite his calm demeanor. T'kar had to admit that he liked Randar better than his other men. The man always looked in T'kar's eyes when he spoke, never looking down out of fear. This showed courage, T'kar realized. Despite his actual fear, Randar still possessed the strength to avoid groveling or squirming
in T'kar's presence.

  "It is time to come up with a new strategy," T'kar said. "My scouts tell me that they can see the tower from the west shore. That is a straight path from the fortress. We simply ride along the shore and look for an opening into the mountains."

  "There are dangers there, Sire," Randar said. "There are many clans of Highlanders that live between the shore and the tower's location. Your men would have to wade through a sea of insane, kilt-clad berserkers and barbarians."

  T'kar laughed loudly, pounding his fist on the table. "Kilt-clad barbarians!" he choked out. "You amuse me, Randar. Imagine, men in skirts charging at us. We would ride them down like reeds."

  "How will you ride them down without horses?" Randar asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  T'kar leaned in, sticking out his bottom lip in question. "What do you mean?"

  "You cannot ride horses in those mountains," Randar said. "The paths are too steep and rocky. They would have no footing. And it is likely you may have to scale walls or climb over deep ravines. You'd be better off riding donkeys."

  T'kar growled. Randar was correct. He knew there were horses in the Highlands; he had seen them himself. But they were confined to the flat land up there; the endless, rolling hills that were so frustratingly out of his reach.

  "What is the solution then, Randar?"

  Randar shrugged. "An outright trek on foot, I suppose, leaving yourself out of course. Captain Jarka could lead them."

  T'kar nodded, grunting to himself. "I suppose that is the only way."

  "Send a detachment there with Fomorian warriors and a sorcerer," Randar said. "I'm quite sure if they can reach the tower, they can destroy it—if it's really there. I can mark out the best route on the map."

  "Very well," T'kar said. "And make sure to tell Captain Jarka to wipe out any Highlanders they may run across. Men, women and children, all."

  "Of course, Sire," Randar said, bowing. "Your will be done."

  Igraina padded silently down the dark, unfamiliar corridor. She kept out of the dim glow of the magical sconces that were mounted to the strangely carved walls at wide intervals, choosing instead to slip from shadow to shadow. She had never been in this part of the fortress before, and the strangeness of its décor was eclipsed by the even stranger absence of any guards.