Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  T'kar snarled. "You're right," he growled. "Galik could have fashioned me some warriors from blood and earth. Then, I would have an army of archers in the sky."

  "There may be something I can do," Lilit said. "I have fashioned homunculi before. It is a basic spell, a test really."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Building a homunculus is one of the first spells a witch learns," Lilit explained. "My kind, and those of the Earth have done so for thousands of years. While typically only one is ever fashioned to act as a familiar, it is not unheard of to make multiple homunculi."

  T'kar grinned, taking one last look at the wyvern before returning to her table.

  "What do you need?"

  "I have everything I need," Lilit said. "Your fortress is full of insects, much to my dismay. And as for the blood, I'm quite sure you have plenty to spare."

  T'kar glared at her with a humorous curling of his lips. He could indeed spare blood for the spell, and the thought of her using it for this purpose was almost lustful in nature. If only she would draw it from him.

  "I do," he said. "And your blade shall draw it."

  She returned his glare, gritting her teeth and grinning widely, her dark eyes flashing in pleasure.

  "Your will be done, Sire," she said.

  "Elk and Bear!" Olav shouted back to Hafdan, who stood just outside the Meadhall. "Both tribes!"

  Hafdan turned and entered the hall, rushing excitedly toward Svengaar, who sat half asleep upon his throne as the others drank quietly.

  "Jarl!" Hafdan called out, rousing Svengaar. "Two tribes have come. Wulfgar and Ubbe."

  Svengaar jumped up from his throne, grabbing his axe and rushing out to meet his kin. The others in the Meadhall followed, all of them mumbling and chattering amongst themselves. Hafdan drew his blade as he rejoined Olav on the ridge. He could barely see the standards that the two tribes carried, but the moonlight showed the outlines of the elk and bear.

  The tribes had heard Svengaar's call and saw the beacons, and they had come together.

  "Lo there!" Ubbe shouted as he came into the torchlight. "Ubbe comes with great warriors. The best warriors in the land."

  "Shut your mouth, Ubbe," Olav shouted back, drawing laughter from the large crowds of men. "Always so dramatic."

  Svengaar arrived, grabbing Ubbe and lifting him from the ground with a howl of laughter.

  "Ubbe!" he said. "Still short and ugly, I see."

  "Aye, friend," Ubbe said. "Still hug like a woman, I see."

  More laughter erupted, and the men of the three tribes mingled together in greeting. Hafdan felt great happiness at seeing everyone together, and his heart was filled with hope. Svengaar's sudden change of heart had brought the old feeling of glory back to him, and it strengthened him throughout.

  The thrill of battle would soon be felt by all.

  "We've come, Svengaar," Wulfgar said, approaching the Jarl with a wide grin. "Tell us why you have summoned us."

  "Join us in the Meadhall," Svengaar said. "And we'll discuss it over a drink or twelve."

  "You did what!?" Bertram shouted in disbelief.

  "I said I allowed the Bodach to live," Dearg replied calmly but firmly. "The creature is not a threat to you or anyone else."

  "I told you to kill it as a condition of our allegiance."

  "No," Dearg corrected him. "You said defeat it, not kill it. I defeated the Bodach in combat, as requested, and now it is done."

  Bertram stood and approached him, looking almost comical as he glared up with his pudgy and sagging face.

  "That monster has killed dozens of our warriors over the decades."

  "Of course it has," Dearg said, holding up the tooth so Bertram could see it. "They entered its lair for the purpose of killing it. It was merely defending itself. I would, too. Wouldn't you?"

  Bertram scowled, sitting back down on his throne, propping his head on his shoulder. Dearg waited for him to respond, but the man seemed adamant. He knew this would happen, as Bertram was dead set on killing the Bodach. His disappointment was obvious.

  "How can I convince you that the Bodach was never any danger?" he asked. "How can I get you to understand that it simply wanted to be left alone?"

  "It killed dozens of our warriors," Bertram repeated.

  "Yes, it has. But ask yourself where these men were killed."

  "In its lair, of course," Bertram said, shrugging.

  "Has it ever killed anyone outside of its lair?"

  Bertram fell silent and stared at him for what seemed like forever. Skulgrid stepped forward and leaned his elbow on the arm of his throne, hanging his head in what looked like shame.

  "He's right, Bertram," Skulgrid said. "Other than the legends, which cannot be verified, the Bodach has never been seen outside its cave."

  Bertram sighed. "What are you saying, Skulgrid?"

  "That perhaps it has been we that were the monsters."

  "Not monsters," Ivar said. "You were men who lived in fear of something that has been misunderstood for centuries. Your legends were built out of fear of the unknown, and they have grown so ingrained into your minds that you have been blinded to reality."

  Dearg glanced over at Ivar for a moment, surprised by such a coherent statement. Not that he believed Ivar was a simpleton, but he suddenly seemed more articulate and understanding at that moment. Even Bertram's expression betrayed his own inner turmoil. It seemed that the chieftain was considering Ivar's words.

  "Dearg," Skulgrid said. "Explain how you got the Bodach's tooth."

  "I knocked it out during our battle," he said, turning it over in his hands. "I was fully prepared to kill the creature with my bare hands when I heard it whimper."

  "Whimper?" Bertram said incredulously.

  "Yes, whimper. It was terrified, and it cowered in the corner like a beaten dog."

  "And you spoke to it?"

  "I did," Dearg replied. "It told me how frightened it was of your people, that it has tried to stay hidden from you. But you kept sending men to its lair to kill it, and it never understood why. It could only defend itself. But I saw no ill will toward your people."

  Bertram sighed loudly, and an expression of horror spread over his face. He was having a horrible epiphany, Dearg guessed; one of shame and disgust.

  "Oh my," he said, slumping down in his chair.

  "Sometimes ugly things are nice," Fleek said, smiling. "And sometimes pretty things are mean."

  Everyone looked at Fleek then, and there was a collective grunt of understanding. Freyja put her arm around Fleek and leaned her head against him. He kept his smile, and Bertram retuned it as he got up and went to stand before him.

  "You, Fleek," he said. "You are a wise man. Sometimes I forget that those whose minds are not clouded with judgment are often the wisest of them all."

  "I like clouds," Fleek replied. "Clouds are pretty."

  Bertram chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. "Yes they are, my friend. Clouds are pretty indeed."

  He sighed again and sat back down on his throne, looking at Dearg with a strange expression. Dearg felt a glimmer of hope then, and he looked around at his friends. They too awaited Bertram's decision with growing hope.

  "Done," Bertram said. "You have proven your worth. We will join you."

  "I must return to my people," Igrid said to Morrigan.

  "I knew that would happen when I saw the beacons lit," Morrigan said with a smile. "A gathering has been called for, I would imagine."

  Igrid smiled, putting her hand on Morrigan's shoulder. "Yes," she said. "When Dearg returns, tell him the gathering has come, and our people will fight."

  "I will," Morrigan said. "This is a great day. Not only for that, but for meeting you, shieldmaiden."

  "We will discover what this kinship is, my friend," Igrid said. "But in the meantime, take care of my tribesman. He will make a great husband someday."

  Morrigan blushed, as it were, as much as was possible. She lowered her head, nodding, her hands clenc
hing and unclenching nervously. "I will," she said quietly.

  Igrid turned and mounted her horse, holding her fist in the air in greeting. Morrigan returned the gesture, and the shield maiden spurred her horse on, disappearing into the shadows, the only sign of her existence the fading clopping of her horse's hooves.

  "She will return, lass," Liam said behind her.

  She turned and smiled. "I know," she said.

  "You seemed to be close to her for some reason."

  Morrigan shrugged, not really sure how to explain it. She didn't understand it herself, so there was no way to describe the strange feeling, not even to herself.

  "The Dragon works in strange ways," Liam said. "So does the Great Mother. Whatever confuses you, will be made clear when it needs to be."

  Morrigan felt a bit of relief then. Liam was a wise man, always had been, and his words were comforting, non-judgmental, and as true as any words ever spoken.

  "Sooner rather than later, I hope," she said. "Until I understand it, it will drive me mad."

  Liam laughed, putting his arm around her as they returned to the fire. The other clansmen gathered around it, resting from a long day's work. In just one day, the men and women had felled many trees, fashioning them into lumber, and constructing a great platform that reached up to the ridge overlooking the valley to the south.

  It would be a defensive position, and one that could be used to keep watch on any approaching armies from T'kar's fortress. There, an alarm bell would be built that could be sounded upon the sighting of the enemy, and the entire valley could be alerted. Everything was moving quickly and efficiently, all thanks to Liam's engineering skills.

  "Have a seat, lass," Liam said. "A pint of ale will do you some good."

  Morrigan sat down on a crate, taking a mug that was passed to her. She drank quietly, watching and listening to the other men and women around her. There was no dancing or singing this night as there usually was. But the mood was warm and positive. Her people were in good spirits, and that was good. The last few days had been rough for everyone, having lost family members, wives and husbands.

  But Dearg and his people had brought hope.

  Tonight, she knew, her sleep would be troubled. She worried for Dearg and his friends, and was also bewildered by the strange sense of kinship with Igrid. She would toss and turn all night, never being sure of either concern. But it was no matter. Her people were alive and safe, and she knew in her heart that Dearg was too tough to die. She was sure of that much.

  "They have returned!" a shout came from the nearby stack of lumber.

  Morrigan's heart quickened as she jumped up. She stood, wide-eyed, as the small group of men approached from the mountainside. She recognized Dearg, and rushed to meet him. He greeted her with open arms.

  "Morrigan," he said, pulling her tight. "We were successful. The Riverfolk will join us."

  "That is good news," she said. "And I have good news as well."

  "What is that?"

  "A woman named Igrid was here," she said. "She just left a moment ago to return to your tribe. Look."

  She turned and pointed to the north, where the faint glow of a signal fire could be seen just over the horizon. Dearg laughed as he saw it.

  "So Svengaar had a change of heart," he said. "He has summoned the tribes."

  "I knew that rotten bastard would change his mind," Ivar said.

  "Liam," Dearg said. "The Riverfolk will need lumber and more hands to fortify their position."

  "Done," Liam said. "And I see you have brought my son back safely."

  Alric embraced his father, patting him on the back.

  "I told you I can take care of myself," he said.

  "I know, son. How was your trip?"

  "It was fun," Alric said, winking at Dearg. "I killed twelve men."

  Liam shrugged. "Well then… that's good."

  The group laughed, and Dearg led them all back to the fire. The clansmen gathered around to hear his tale, and the tales of the others. Fleek was mobbed by the same folk who had befriended him before, and he was overwhelmed with embraces and kisses from the women who gathered around him. His smile seemed permanent.

  Dearg's tale of the Bodach was of great interest, especially to Morrigan. She was impressed with the mercy he had shown a creature that had inspired such terror in the Riverfolk. It showed that he had a heart for all creatures, not just humans. It was definitely a sign that the blood of the Dragon flowed in his veins. For that, she loved him greatly, and his return would ease her sleep that night.

  She would rest soundly in his arms, knowing she lay next to the man who would one day be king.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Jarl Borg already tried that once," Wulfgar said. "And he was crushed. The Northmen were slaughtered, and T'kar put their bodies on spikes."

  Svengaar nodded, accepting Wulfgar's words. "That is true, my friend," he said. "But he did not have the swords of the other islanders. The Highlanders are prepared to fight, and with their help, we could form an army much larger than Borg's."

  "How do you know this?" Wulfgar asked.

  "My kinsman Dearg and his friends tell me so," Svengaar said. "Even now they are in the Highlands leading some of my warriors against T'kar's forces."

  "T'kar has never come this far north," Wulfgar said. "How did he get to the Highlands without passing the Riverfolk? Did he destroy them?"

  "I don't know just yet," Svengaar replied. "Truth be told, I don't even know if he still lives. I sent my shieldmaiden to find out."

  "Igrid?" Wulfgar asked with a grin. "How is she these days?"

  "I'm fine," Igrid said as she entered the Meadhall.

  Svengaar stood to greet her, glad to see that she had returned so quickly.

  "Igrid," he said. "What news?"

  "T'kar's army was defeated," Igrid said. "And the Highlanders are fortifying their lands against invasion."

  "Dearg still lives?"

  "As far as I know," Igrid replied. "Even now he is off to convince the Riverfolk to join us all."

  "That is good news," Ubbe said. "How many Highlanders are there?"

  "Hundreds," Igrid said. "All of them willing to take up swords."

  Svengaar raised his mug. "Well done, Igrid," he said.

  "I am curious, Jarl," Igrid said, grabbing a mug of her own and heading to the keg. "What made you light the beacons?"

  "Kronos has given me a sign," he said. "It arrived in the form of a herd of horses."

  Igrid cocked her head, grinning. "Horses?"

  "Likely T'kar's," Svengaar said. "Left abandoned on the shore and led here to our village by the will of Kronos, or the Dragon. Who knows?"

  "How many horses?" she asked.

  "Two hundred, at least."

  "They just showed up in your village for no reason?" Ubbe asked, skeptical.

  "It would seem so," Svengaar replied.

  "Someone had to have led them here," Wulfgar said. "But who?"

  Svengaar shrugged. "Does it matter? They are ours now, and we will ride them to victory."

  The Northmen all raised their mugs as Svengaar stood.

  "Kronos has bid us to help the people of Eirenoch in the name of the Dragon. We will answer his call, and unite to do so."

  "Who will lead this army?" Wulfgar asked. "Do you claim the title of King?"

  Svengaar lowered his mug, eyeing Igrid as she folded her arms across her chest. He knew it would come down to this, but at least the High King was not present.

  "There is no need for anyone to claim that title," Svengaar said. "We are no longer in our homeland. We make our own laws here on this island. Our ways can be different."

  Igrid moved next to him, her gaze stern. "It is time for us to claim independence from Thorgrymm," she said. "His line is why our people left the Northlands in the first place. We will no longer live under the rule of tyrants. We will live on our own terms, and forge new traditions of our own."

  The Jarls were silent as they considered he
r words. The others whispered amongst themselves, seemingly unsure of how to proceed. Svengaar's heart raced, and he hoped they would all just accept working together, instead of keeping the traditions of their people. If they form an army under mutual leadership, then they could fight effectively. But, Svengaar knew it be hard to avoid the inevitable struggle for kingship.

  And Svengaar was not to claim that title.

  "The strongest of us should rule," Ubbe said.

  Svengaar sighed. This was what he was trying to avoid. Though he had hoped the suggestion of adopting new ways would be appealing to all of the tribes, Ubbe's words had dashed all of those hopes. He would never cooperate without a proper king.

  Or queen.

  "I claim rule," Igrid said. "And I will face anyone who challenges me."

  The crowd erupted into shouts and scoffs, all directed at her. Svengaar held his hands up in the air in protest, shouting to gain everyone's attention.

  "Calm yourselves," he said when they finally settled down. "Igrid is a strong warrior, and she would make a good leader. There is no need for challenges."

  Ubbe stood, his hand on his blade. "That is our way," he said. "If she claims rule then she must face any challenges."

  "Do you challenge her, Ubbe?" Svengaar asked.

  Ubbe was silent. He stared at Svengaar for a moment before turning his attention to Igrid. He was unflinching, Svengaar saw, and knew that he did not fear anyone. But would he challenge Igrid and fight her for the helm?

  "For Kronos, I will fight her," he said.

  Svengaar sighed, leaning on the table with his head lowered. He did not wish to lose either Igrid or Ubbe. They were both capable warriors, and would both make great leaders. But with a challenge, one of them would have to die. The winner would take the helm, and the loser would be buried in shame. He wanted that for neither.

  "Please reconsider, Ubbe," he pleaded. "You are my friend, and so is Igrid. I do not want my friends to die."

  Ubbe snorted. "You have grown weak, Svengaar," he said. "Thirty years ago you would have accepted this. This valley has changed you."

  "Then allow Igrid to lead us," Svengaar said. "She has not grown weak."

  "Not without her proving that she has a right to lead," Ubbe said. "Kronos demands strength, not the promise of strength."