by Robert Ryan
There was little to see in the dark. But if they were being followed, perhaps they would hear or see some flight of birds disturbed from their roosting place. Or if the enemy were careless, or unaware how close they were, maybe even some hint of a campfire.
There was nothing though, and she was glad of that. So too of the dark. She had no desire to see the bones in the ground on these plains, be they those of the enemy or her ancestors.
The battle plains did not last forever though, and by daylight they should have passed out of the majority of areas where battles had been fought.
But as the dawn approached they came to a vast area of barren earth. In the growing light they could see little grass here. The earth was bare and dry. Dust rose at their footfalls, and there seemed to be something eerie about the place.
“Hey, look over there,” Kubodin said. But even the little man, never subdued by anything, spoke in a hushed voice.
Ferla understood why. As they neared, and the daylight increased, she saw the vast skeleton of a massive beast. It was larger by far than anything she had ever seen before, and she wondered that something so huge could ever have trod the earth.
Or flew. Because it must have been a dragon.
The long skeleton was the length of a felled tree. But the rib cage still rose up, each bone, though flattish, still thicker than her arm. The sun had bleached everything to a dull white, even the head that rested on its side a good way off, where the two vast cavities in the bone that once housed its eyes were pools of shadow.
They came to one of the legs, and saw the massive claws at its end, each one that in life could have impaled a man like a spear. Several of these were broken off though at the base, and were nowhere to be seen.
Ferla looked around and understood. She was skilled at reading trails, and this, if thousands of years old, was a trail of sorts.
“They killed it here,” she said. “But slowly. See the broken claws? It would have attacked with those, but whoever fought this thing knew how to defend against that. They caught the claws in something and then as the creature moved its own weight snapped them off or pulled them out of the foot.”
“I have heard,” Asana said, “that the elves used great chains for that exact purpose.”
Ferla nodded to herself. She could almost see it, but the warriors who did that were brave men. Many of them would have died.
They came to other bones, and these were scattered well away from the rib cage.
“This is a wing,” Ferla said. “Or what’s left of it. Again, you can see signs of where the bones have been broken. They disabled its ability to fly, probably with those same chains. But it would take many elves or men working together to do such a thing.”
“So the legends say,” Asana agreed.
Ferla had heard legends of dragons, but not of how soldiers had killed them in battle. It was a gruesome business, but all war was.
Kubodin stuck his head through the great rib cage and pointed.
“See there? Look at all those arrow heads.”
Ferla came closer. She was not going to put her head between the bones like Kubodin. Dead as the dragon was, it was a creature of ultimate evil, and she had no intention of touching it. But she could still see clearly.
Scattered all around were the arrow heads Kubodin had pointed out. They were slender and long, suited to puncturing deep into the hide of a creature. Even so, she doubted most would have had much impact on the dragon. Its skin was supposed to be tough like armor. But she did see that many of the arrow heads were concentrated in the area where the legs and wings joined the body. In those places, the skin might have been weaker, for pliability was needed there to aid movement.
They moved along a little more, in awe of the size of the creature.
“Look at the earth,” Ferla said. “See how it’s all churned by the dragon’s claws in its death throes.”
Kubodin stepped into such a tear in the earth and jumped up and down. At the deepest point, normal ground level was up to his calves.
“But how is it after all this time,” Asana asked, “that the marks remain? Surely they should have been filled up now by dirt?”
Ferla bent down and ran her hand over the bare dirt. It was hard and shiny in places.
“I think the fire of the dragon was so hot that the soil here has been baked like clay bricks in an oven. That’s why nothing grows, and why there’s no loose soil to fill in the channels gouged by its claws.”
Kubodin took out a dagger and knelt down. Several times he drove the tip into the surface of the land, but it skittered away and on the last attempt he cut himself. He cursed, and wiped blood away from his palm on the nearest rib.
“Well, you were right about that,” he said. “The ground is hard as stone.”
Ferla did not answer. She was growing increasingly uneasy, but she was not sure why. The dragon had been dead for thousands of years. But she could still sense the residue of magic all about her. Most was from the dragon, but not all. There was sorcery here too, and it was said in the legends that sometimes elùgroths had ridden the great beasts in the air, raining down sorcerous blasts from on high even as the dragon spurted its killing fire.
“Time to be gone,” Ferla said. “We cannot spend too much time in the one place, not out in the open like this. We need to find some shelter for a camp.”
Asana reluctantly agreed, and she could sense that he wanted to study the scene in more detail. She understood, because it was the nature of a warrior and a soldier to learn how a creature such as this had been fought. Who knew when they would be called upon to fight such a thing themselves? Knowledge was power.
“Let’s have a quick look at the head,” Asana said, “and then go. I have a theory I want to confirm.”
They walked beyond the massive rib cage now, sticking up into the air like bent trees. Ahead, was the long neck. The bones here were still massive, though smaller than many of the others. But the skull was not small.
Whitened by the sun, it lay turned on its side at the end of the neck. A vast eye socket peered up at them, empty and dark. In the long snout, a nostril opened up, and strangely it seemed to Ferla that a wisp of smoke rose from it. She blinked, and it was gone, but her unease grew further.
Asana drew close, and he unsheathed his sword. Using just the tip of the blade, he poked around inside the vast cavity. Then he flicked out what appeared to be a spear head, then several more. He worked at it for a little while, eventually inserting his whole hand, and then he withdrew more spear heads and several arrow heads.
“It’s as I believed,” he said. “They immobilized it as best they could, and then they killed it via its most vulnerable point.” He inserted his sword deep in the eye socket again. “No creature can withstand damage to its head, and they drove spears and loosed arrows into the eyes until some at least reached the brain.”
Ferla shuddered. Even in war, that would be a horrible way to die.
“Time to go, then. This place gives me the creeps.”
No one argued with her, but even as they began to move away they heard a noise and looked back. The skull appeared to have shifted. Maybe some ancient bit of bone had finally decayed, and Asana’s poking around had caused it to shift. Maybe.
But even as Ferla watched, smoke twirled up from the huge nostril, and this time she knew she was not imagining it.
She drew her sword. Beside her Asana did likewise, sinking lower into a fighting stance. Kubodin loosed his axe from its belt loop as well, holding it high with a wild look in his eyes.
“My blood,” the little man whispered. “I should have known better.”
Ferla watched, and the smoke took a form, hovering above the great skull and looking down on them with disdain.
It was Lindercroft, either in spirit or conjured by the long-dead magic of the dragon woken to life by the touch of fresh blood.
“I see you, seventh knight,” the form whispered, and its voice was not Lindercroft’s but rather like
the distant roar of the ocean.
“I see you, and I know you. For the future and the past are one, and the eyes of the dead see all at once. I see you, and I know your fate. Shall I tell it to you. Do you dare listen?”
“Speak, or speak not. Lindercroft that was, or dragon maybe. I care nothing for the lies of either.”
“Brave words,” the voice answered. “And maybe wise, or maybe foolish. Who is to tell? Except the dead who know all.”
Ferla began to back away. She did not take her eyes from the vision before her, but she spoke to Asana and Kubodin.
“I trust no sorcery. Let us go, but carefully.”
They all began to back away, but the voice of the image came at them louder, and it commanded rather than just spoke.
“Stay! You will hear me, will ye or nill ye.”
And all three of them ceased to move, such was the authority of the voice.
“I know all and see all,” the voice said, and the image ebbed and flowed, moving down from the air above the head of the dragon and standing before them.
Ferla watched, unable to move, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
“You are hunted, and this you know. But he that comes against you is grown greater than any knight. He possesses magic. It will destroy you, or save you. Only I know which.”
Ferla found her voice, and though it seemed the hardest thing she had ever done in her life, she spoke.
“You mix truth with lies and lies with truth. You are a dragon, and you are dead. Your power is spent, great as it once was.”
The skull of the dragon moved, and there was a rattle of bones. More smoke issued from the nostrils, but the figure of Lindercroft remained still.
“Truth and lies?” it said. “I know truths that would sear your soul and lies that would give you an eternity of bliss. Do you really think you are wise enough to tell which is which before it is too late, or even which is better?”
“Perhaps not. But I’m wise enough to know that one doesn’t win a debate with a dragon. It always ends in death.”
Lindercroft laughed, and the sound was like the hissing of steam. But out of the corner of her eye she saw Kubodin begin to move, and though she heard nothing, she also saw his lips twitch as though he were chanting.
“Listen to me, girl that was and seventh knight that is. There are worse fates than death. Listen and learn the horror of your—”
But even as the vision spoke, Kubodin broke free of the invisible bonds that held him. His axe was in his hand, burning with fire, and he struck at the image of Lindercroft.
The sorcery flickered, and the smoke that formed it rose, making Lindercroft waver but rise in the air out of Kubodin’s reach.
But Ferla was free now too, and she uttered a word of power and with her left arm extended sent a spurt of lòhren-fire hurtling through the air. She almost sent it at Lindercroft, but at the last moment knew where it would best serve.
The lòhren-fire streamed through the air. Blue it was, pale like the sky, but at its edges it burned white. It smashed into the ribcage of the dragon, right at that very spot where Kubodin had touched it with his blood.
She could not produce lòhren-fire as hot as Kareste, or even to the strength of Faran, but Ferla concentrated hard, using the force of her mind. And her magic, if not strong, was not weak either.
White smoke rose from the bones. The image of Lindercroft billowed up in a vast cloud and then dispersed. The dragon lay still, and her fire weakened and flickered out.
Ferla stepped back, wanting to run but not daring to turn her back on the creature. Asana and Kubodin did likewise, until they were a hundred feet or so away. Then they turned and ran.
They ran a good while, for the fear of the dragon was on them. And vast must its power have been in life if its magic still endured after thousands of years of death.
But the fear wore out as the bright sun rose higher, and a new fear replaced it. They were in the open, and visible to their enemies if any were about.
Ferla slowed to a walk. “We need shelter,” she said.
No one disagreed. But they still walked for another half mile or so before they found a small patch of trees. They were not of a variety that Ferla knew, but even if they were small they still grew a wide enough canopy to provide shelter from both sun and prying eyes.
They settled down and ate a cold meal. The fear was gone now, and just tiredness remained. But, as ever, they would keep a good watch.
Yet tired as they were, Asana at least still had some questions he wanted answered, and they were not about the dragon.
“It’s time,” he said, turning to face Kubodin from where he sat. “It’s time to tell us who you really are. For you are more than you seem, as is your axe. How do you come to possess magic?”
Ferla suddenly forgot her tiredness. This was something she wanted to know. Twice now Kubodin had displayed magic, but it was not of a kind that she understood.
8. You Are My Family
Kubodin sat in silence a moment. His eyes were dark and impenetrable, his face giving away nothing of what he thought.
“Very well,” he said at length. “This is my story, such as it is.”
He sat still, only tilting his head as though remembering things long passed.
“You found me, Asana, being tortured by bandits. This we both know, and Ferla has heard that story too. When you intervened, they would not let me go and attacked you. So you slew them. All ten of them, which was no small feat. But hey, you do like to show off.”
The little man grinned at that and fingered his brass earring.
“I do not show off,” Asana muttered.
Ferla knew that was true. But she also knew this was a game between these two.
Kubodin looked away a moment, and then back at Asana. The smile was gone from his face.
“It was a lie. The torturing bit was real, as well you know. You saw what they were doing to me. But they weren’t bandits.”
Asana did not move. This must have surprised him, but he hid his reaction well.
“If they were not bandits, then who were they?”
“Dogs is what they were,” Kubodin replied. And his voice was suddenly fierce. “Dogs on a leash that served another, and did his bidding in all things no matter how foul the deed.”
“And who was this man?”
“He was my brother.”
At that, there was silence. Ferla could not believe one brother was capable of doing that to another brother, but one glance at Kubodin assured her the little man was telling the truth. His face was hard as a rock, and she knew he was remembering a terrible time in his life and fighting to ensure his emotions did not show on his face. But she sensed them roiling beneath his calm exterior.
“I’m sorry, Kubodin,” Asana said. “Small wonder it’s not a subject you speak of often.”
Kubodin sighed. “No, but perhaps I am wrong to keep it all to myself. I had thought to put my past behind me, and that if I never spoke of it I would forget. But it hasn’t been so.”
The little man shifted to a more comfortable position, and he did not look at them as he went on with his story.
“I’m the son of a chieftain. A petty chieftain by some standards, but in the hills that are my home on the lands bordering the Cheng, the clans are fierce and wild. They guard well their own, and they’re independent. They might be small in number, but they’re fierce and strong despite that.”
“You represent them well,” Asana said.
“Maybe, but despite being fierce, we have a strong sense of loyalty and honor. But we can be ambitious. In some, that trait runs strong. I wasn’t the firstborn son, so I wasn’t set to inherit rule when my father died. And he was close to death about the time you rescued me.”
Kubodin took a sip of water. Ferla had seen him guzzle beer, but he treated the water as a dangerous thing, taking only enough to wet his mouth.
“My older brother was in line to rule, and in truth I had no desir
e to do so. My life was good, and I had few responsibilities. I practiced with my axe, I ate and drank and … spent time with a number of young ladies.”
He looked at Ferla, and she felt herself begin to blush, but she did not look away.
Kubodin laughed, but then he grew very still. “Life was good to me, but by chance I discovered something I was not meant to. My brother was poisoning our father. He could not wait to take the rulership. He wanted it then, and he wanted it badly. I denounced him publicly, but I’m not sure that my father even understood. He was deathly ill, with perhaps only a few days to live.”
Asana stirred, but he said nothing. Ferla was sure there was a glint of tears in his eyes though, but he blinked and they were gone.
“My brother denounced me in turn,” Kubodin continued. “He accused me of the very crime he had himself committed. And because of his station, he commanded soldiers and I did not. He had me taken captive and thrown in the village prison. It’s little more than a pit in the ground with iron bars set in stone to secure the ceiling. Three days I spent in there, with neither food nor water and facing certain death. For I knew the council of elders would side with him. He had cultivated them well, and my father had annoyed them. There was great corruption among them, and they often took bribes to settle disputes. My father had killed several that he was able to prove had done so. But my brother was different. With him, they knew things would return to the way they had been.”
Kubodin turned and spat. It was a disgusting habit that he had, but Ferla ignored it. The man was far more than his bad habits suggested.
“Three days I spent in that prison, and I came to rue my inattention to politics. I had time to think too, and I wondered about the death of my younger brother. It had happened during a hunting trip, and somehow he was killed by arrow. It was thought to be an accident, and no one knew who had sent the shaft flying in the pre-dawn dark. But now I can make a guess.”
The sun was rising higher outside the shelter of their trees, and it was past time that they rested, but no one was ready for that now. They listened to Kubodin with all their attention.
