Deathsworn Arc: The Last Dragon Slayer

by Martyn Stanley



  DEATHSWORN ARC

  ~ Book 1 ~

  The Last Dragon Slayer

 

  By Martyn Stanley

  Published by Martyn Stanley

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  ©Martyn Stanley-2012

  Art: Isis Sousa

  Map: Martyn Stanley

  Draft Editor: Jack Pedley

  Final Editor: Mike Rose-Steel

 

  Chapters:-

  Character Portraits & Bios:-

  1.The Troll’s Head

  2. Execution

  3. Flight from Trest

  4. Another Companion

  5. The Ride to Briem

  6. Bandits

  7. The Town of Briem

  8. The Road to Duramer

  9. Enter the Dragon’s Den

  10. Glossary

  Chapter 1

  ~

  The Troll’s Head

  Saul wrapped the folds of his cloak around his frozen fingers and gripped his reins harder. The temperature had dropped as the sun had set, the blustering wind only adding to his misery. ‘Two Silavrians and a homeless dwarf…’ As he considered this sombre evaluation of the status of his mission, he thought back to his meeting with the Empress. He scowled as he recalled his ensuing attempts to assemble a band of warriors, suitable for the task at hand. The Empress had told him she felt fairly certain it was a Draconis Nobilus or Noble Dragon, an ancient, almost legendary beast, near invulnerable.  When he asked her about warriors, archers and mages; she’d simply told him that due to the orcs massing at the borders of Gharzbad, no soldiers or spell-casters were available and he would need to rely on mercenaries. Granted, she’d given him a handsome advance to procure supplies and ensure the success of the mission, but even so, it seemed strange to rely on sell-swords. Of course this might have been for reasons of discretion.  The reason for her decision didn’t seem relevant now.  He thought about the time when he’d entered the ‘Blind Beggar’; his last desperate attempt to hire some assistance, every other alehouse having met his tale of dragons with laughter and scorn.  When he’d been given this unenviable task, he’d never dreamt that he’d be thankful for two immigrant dock labourers and a dwarf for taking up the quest. Now they were approaching Trest, supposedly the last place the legendary ‘Last Dragon Slayer’ had been seen.  This was his final throw of the dice, to get an experienced warrior to join them. He only hoped the now ageing slayer would still be fit to swing a sword, and that he would be willing to join this seemingly doomed quest. Especially given that this man had already faced such a dangerous creature in combat, and had undoubtedly witnessed the death of many men at its claws. He listened to the sound of his companions’ horses’ hooves on the soft ground behind him, and peered towards the dim lights in the distance. He felt cold, tired and miserable. At this point, he didn’t care whether or not they found Mendelson, he just wanted a mug of ale and a warm bed.

  The rain began to get heavier. The riders huddled beneath their cloaks, shoulders hunched against the wind. The horses were packed for travel, their saddlebags bulging. Twilight had started to set in; both riders and horses were reduced to shadowy silhouettes, caked in mud and utterly drenched. They rode on, shuffling towards the dim lights of the town which lay ahead of them.

  As the town grew nearer, they could see it in more detail. A makeshift wooden barricade surrounded the settlement, which looked more suitable for keeping wild animals out than for protection from invading forces. Beyond the ramshackle wooden ramparts, timber-framed houses in varying states of disrepair could be seen. Some had glass windows, most had only wooden shutters. Soft candle or oil lamp light could be seen burning within most.

  By the time the riders had arrived at the heavy, iron-bound gates, darkness had fallen and they had been barred. The lead rider leant forward and thumped his staff hard on the gate three times. They heard a brief shuffling from the other side, a few muttered whispers, then a small hatch opened. The guard who peered through looked weathered by the years. What little hair he had left was thin and straggly. His gaunt face showed a network of scars, surrounding a solitary boil on his nose and a patch of warts. His teeth were yellow, black, or missing.  He peered into the darkness.

  ‘Who goes there?’

  ‘Saul Karza, servant of the Empress, blessed be her name. I demand you open this gate immediately.’ Soaked to the bone and cold, he fought through his misery to sound authoritative. The riders didn’t have to wait long before the bars slid back and the gate opened enough for the horses to pass through.

  As they rode under the large covered archway, the ageing guard closed and barred the gate after them before heading to the small, adjoining guardhouse, out of the driving rain. The guard turned as he reached his shelter and called up to Saul. ‘What’s your business in Trest, Saul Karza?’

  Saul drew back his hood, showing his full grey beard and weathered features. ‘We are here to seek Silus Mendelson. Would you know of his whereabouts?’

  ‘Aye, that I do.’ replied the watchman. ‘He’ll be where he always is this time of the night – when he has coin in his pocket – The Troll’s Head, the large alehouse at the far end of Main Street, on the big square. You know, if you’re quick you might even catch up with him before he’s so drunk he can no longer speak, or stand up.’

  Saul flashed a look of concern at his companions, who were still hiding beneath their rain-soaked hoods. Two of them were mountains of men, while the third, although even broader than the other two, was much shorter and sturdier. They said nothing, but rode on, Saul clicking his teeth and snapping his reins to urge his horse after them.

  The conditions inside Trest were little better than the road outside. The streets loomed narrow and dark, with buildings overhanging on each side, as the denizens of this place had built ever larger floor areas on every ascending level above the ground. The entire road was a quagmire, with mud deep enough that a man might lose his boot in it. In fact, as they squelched through the mire, Saul actually thought he’d spotted the brim of some recently abandoned footwear, sticking out of the mud. The air also had a distinct smell of human excrement and fluids, making it obvious where the chamber pots in Trest got emptied. Saul fought back the urge to retch, and reminisced briefly about the clean and orderly streets of the citadel in Cormaroth, where he’d had dwellings for much of the last decade.

  It was now late and dark, and most of the people of Trest chose to stay indoors, huddled by their fires or in bed, waiting for first light. As Saul and his companions rode into the main square, a solitary line of blue lightning flashed between the fields to the north and the looming clouds above, then thunder cracked in the distance.

  Nearing the alehouse, it became clear from what the establishment had derived its name. Impaled on a spike above the sign was an incomplete skull of what appeared to be a mountain troll, a large specimen by any measure. The face was expressionless, the flesh having weathered off many moons ago, leaving only wind-polished bone. However, the skull was still menacing, its jagged teeth and deep-set eye sockets threatening, despite its lifeless state. The riders pulled into the stables beyond the large building and dismounted.

  They tied their horses into empty stalls and the short, stouter figure pulled back his hood to reveal a thick, red beard and matching long red hair. ‘Master Saul, should we not visit the inn to secure a room for the night before we seek Silus?’

  Saul shook his head. ‘No Votrex. I see little point in staying the night here if S
ilus Mendelson isn’t to be found. There may be no reason to stay even if he is here... From the watchman’s account, he may be in no fit state to join our quest.’

  The dwarf grunted. ‘He may have advice for us all the same. A man who is not fit to swing a sword may yet be fit to advise on how to face a dragon.’

  Saul sighed, part of him wanted to find a warm bed and forget his quest, part of him just wanted to get to Brunwelt and get this weary task over with. One of the larger men who had been tending to his horse, now turned to them. He’d removed his sodden cloak, revealing a full head of matted, long blond hair and a full blond beard. ‘Even if Silus is an ale-rotten vagabond,’ he began, ‘he is the last known living person to see a Noble Dragon. At the very least he can give us an idea of what we’re up against.’

  Votrex nodded. ‘Aye, Harald, that is true... Though going into battle with a drunk swinging a sword next to me is not something I look forward to.’

  ‘The more warriors in our group when we face the beast, the better!’ Harald snorted.

  ‘You may wish to be caught by a comrade’s wild swing,’ began Votrex, ‘but not I!’

  Saul groaned and started for the back door to the alehouse, with his companions in tow. ‘Come,’ he muttered over his shoulder as he walked, ‘we’ve tarried long enough.’

  Having tied up the horses, they walked through the stables towards the back entrance of the ale house, thankful to finally be out of the driving rain. Before they entered, the other larger man, a barbarian, from the far north by the name of Korhan, cast a glance about the stables. He felt sure he’d seen a flash of black darting between the stalls. He listened for a moment, but all was silent and he saw no sign of movement. Satisfied, he gestured for Saul to enter.

  Saul pulled the door open to the roaring sound of drinking and merrymaking, which washed over them in a blast of warm air. The Troll’s Head was a rural alehouse, with a stone floor covered in a layer of hay. In the centre of the large room lay a huge fire pit that spanned several feet wide and several feet long. Almost all the tables and benches were full, with most of the occupants appearing to be peasants or farm hands. It seemed a peculiar place to be looking for a legendary Dragon Slayer, a run-down alehouse in a town so backwater that there weren’t even proper roads to it.

  All four of the riders had pulled back the hoods of their cloaks now, with Saul leading the way through the alehouse. In a small rural town like this, strangers did not go unnoticed, and gradually, the drinkers began to pay more attention to them. Saul, despite being one of the few licenced magicians of the Empire, would attract little more than a passing glance. The two barbarians from the north, Harald and Korhan, might attract a raised eyebrow, but Votrex was the one who drew some sniggers and looks of scorn.

  Dwarves were rare in Torea; they had been abundant in the past, but for reasons unknown to most, their numbers had declined so much that seeing a living breathing dwarf outside of the dwarfish quarter in Cormaroth was rare indeed. Votrex’s typical dwarfish short stature, with broad, burly shoulders and bushy beard, meant he immediately began drawing looks.

  The dwarves of Torea were famed for metalwork, complex machinery and for being fearsome warriors. Votrex was a proud dwarf, clan chief of the Vanguard and Gorthok of the mine Durgheim Holt.  Dwarfish culture seemed strange to Toreans. Gorthok had no direct translation into Torean, but if anything it meant something like ‘Chief Engineer’ and at the same time a mine was not just a place where minerals were extracted from the ground, a mine was a place where dwarves lived, worked, bred and fed. A Holt was more like an underground city than a mine. Being above ground and losing his status as being a person of importance, was something Votrex begrudgingly accepted.

  He became increasingly aware of the hostile glances being cast his way. He grunted and fixed his eyes on Saul’s back, not wanting to compromise their mission for the sake of pride.  When they eventually made their way to the bar Saul addressed the barman, a balding man with a pear-shaped figure. He was a grimy individual; his apron a murky beige with streaks of deep brown stain running down the length to the frayed hem. He had a mischievous gleam in his eye as Saul spoke to him. ‘Four pints of ale barkeep.’

  The man chuckled softly, then nodded towards Votrex. ‘Wouldn’t that be three, and one “half-pint”?’ This brought a round of chuckles from everyone nearby, which seemed to egg him on. Saul said nothing, and watched the barkeeper fill four earthenware jugs. ‘That’s eight coppers. I can’t give you credit if you’re short...’ This brought another round of laughter, louder this time, but Votrex bit his lip and feigned amusement at the barkeeper’s jokes.

  Saul handed over the coin and leaned in. ‘Would you be able to point me in the direction of Silus Mendelson?’

  The barkeeper leaned in as well. ‘Aye... That I might, though hmmm, I just can’t place him at the moment... A silver coin might jog my memory.’

  Saul glared at him. ‘We know he’s here, if we can find him, then I anticipate we’ll be enjoying a few jars of your fine ale. However, if he isn’t here, then we shall be on our way.’

  Saul’s response did not garner a positive reaction from the surly barkeeper. He instead grunted and nodded towards a dark corner. ‘He’s over in his usual spot... trying to drown himself in ale.’

  Saul turned, Votrex and Harald followed. Korhan paused, then glanced up at a great sword hanging over the bar. The weapon had a tarnished appearance, and was broken in two at the centre. ‘Whose weapon was that?’

  The barkeeper shrugged. ‘Local hero... Name of Hal, or so I’m told. They say he slew the troll whose skull is on the sign outside, and in doing so, broke the sword. I don’t really know the details; it was before my time... Of course a few coins might jog my-’

  Korhan groaned and walked away. When he caught up with Saul and the others they’d already taken a seat in a cold, dark corner of the room. Opposite them sat the man he presumed was Silus Mendelson, the fabled ‘last dragon slayer’. The fact was, the man sitting across from Saul, Votrex and Harald did not look like a legendary hero, but more like a one-eyed, gaunt old man, battle-weary and weakened. Clearly the years had not been kind to him.

  Korhan took a seat. ‘So, you are the great Silus Dragon Slayer?’ The man swirled his earthenware mug and downed the drink in one gulp.

  ‘As I was saying to your friend here... I don’t feel much like talking, my throat is dry, perhaps a jar of ale or two would help?’ Saul looked at Harald who nodded, then got up and headed to the bar.

  ‘What are you doing in a backwater hole like Trest?’ Votrex asked quietly.

  ‘Hah! I might ask the same question of a dwarf. I thought your kind had burrowed their way under the earth never to be seen again.’

  Votrex nodded. ‘Most of us have, but that doesn’t explain-’

  ‘You’re all fools; you don’t know what you’re dealing with.’

  Korhan butted in. ‘That’s why we’re here!’

  Silus scowled at him. ‘If you’ve heard reports of a Noble Dragon, then they are probably wrong, and you should pray to Ishar that they are wrong, because if you go looking for the beast and you find it, you will die, all of you.’

  Saul watched Harald slide onto a stool, placing two pints of ale in front of Silus. Then he turned back to the dragon slayer. ‘What exactly happened all those years ago? What can you tell us?’

  Silus picked up one of the mugs and took a long drink from it, then wiped his lips. ‘At the time, it was the first reported Draconis Nobilus in a long time. They were thought to have died out decades before, but dragons are strange creatures. They can lie dormant for many years. A sort of hibernation if you like. Swamp dragons hibernate over the winter, Noble Dragons can do this for years, decades even, maybe centuries.’ Silus stared into his drink, continuing more quietly: ‘It was thought at the time that the Dragons had wiped each other out, mostly. Dragons, Noble Dragons, are intelligent, and vain. They desire to be worshipped, to be treated as gods by mortals. Other dr
agons can be seen by them as an obstacle to this. Or so we believed.’

  Votrex supped his ale, before wiping his beard with his sleeve. ‘How did you slay the beast?’

  Silus jerked his head back and laughed. ‘You speak as if I slew the beast on my own, if only that were true. Many brave men lost their lives that day.’

  Saul raised an eyebrow. ‘How many men rode out to seek and destroy this dragon?’

  ‘Oh, two score; a mixture of spearmen, swordsmen, archers and magic users. Most were slain in an instant when the beast left its cave and breathed fire down the marching line. It seemed to know we were on our way. It came out of nowhere, giving us no time to take cover. The heat, the scorching heat from a dragon’s flames is fearsome. Some of the party were charred to black ashes in an instant, others burned so hot that nothing remained. Even the rocks along the side of the path were melted, it breathed fire that was hotter than is possible to achieve without the aid of magic.’

  Harald didn’t look fazed; he clicked his mug onto the table. ‘So, how many survived all the way to the dragon’s lair?’

  ‘A handful... Maybe a dozen or so at most... There should have been more, the spell casters had enchanted our armour and weapons to resist fire and heat, but magic has its limitations, like anything else.’

  Saul leaned forward. ‘So, the remaining warriors tracked the dragon to its lair, what next?’

  Silus shuddered; he raised his brow, looking at them properly for the first time, showing his scarred face around the patch which covered his missing left eye. ‘We fought... You’d think the way to fight a dragon was in its lair, deep within a series of caverns, not much room to manoeuvre; where the dragon can’t simply fly away if it believes it’s losing. But it was hell in that cave... For a beast so huge it moved faster than you would have thought possible. We ended up separated and on the run. Anyone who did manage to land a blow on the beast would just watch their weapon bounce off. It had scales tougher than beaten steel.’ Harald, Korhan, Votrex and Saul listened, exchanging concerned glances at every detail which emerged. Silus smiled as their expressions grew. ‘Of course the best thing is, none of that is what makes the dragon truly dangerous. The real danger is the dragon’s sharp wit and sharp tongue. When it speaks to you, the words form in your head, and it has a mind like no other being. It can see into your mind...’

  Votrex gave a deep sigh. ‘They speak, but they speak in your head. Is it possible, that you can you keep them out of our heads, Wizard?’

  Saul shrugged. ‘I know not Gorthok Votrex, no one does, but if they have the power of speech they might be spell breakers or mages themselves. Many trained magic users can invade people's heads; it could simply be that by their nature, dragons are powerful spell casters.’

  Korhan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘So, given all of this, how did you actually succeed in killing this dragon?’

  Silus leaned back and shrugged. ‘Luck... Blind luck... A dragon is a creature like any other. Yes they are powerful, and born of magic, but they can still make mistakes. The rest of the group had been killed, either trodden on, bitten in half, swallowed whole, sliced into ribbons by claw or burnt to a crisp.  The beast mocked me, telling me how futile our attacking it was, and how effortless defeating us had been. How could mortals such as we expect to defeat an ancient “king of the skies”? He also told me that even if we had defeated him, the reign of fire is approaching, the dragons will not lie dormant for long... And once they awaken from their slumber, we will bow down to our true masters... Or die. That was when its huge, scaly neck lunged at me, baring its jagged teeth. But one of the dragon’s long horns caught in a crevice over its head, immobilising it for a moment. I knew I wouldn’t get a second chance. I’d long been disarmed but another warrior’s great sword lay just close enough for me to grasp, I grabbed the weapon, then thrust the blade deep into the beast’s skull, right into the brain, before it could free itself.’

  Harald, Korhan, Saul and Votrex exchanged glances of confusion, Votrex spoke. ‘You said weapons bounce off its scales... How did you penetrate the scales?’

  Korhan cut in. ‘A magic sword no doubt, was it a named sword?’

  ‘Not a magic sword... Good steel by any standards, but not enchanted beyond a simple and fairly ineffective fire resistance spell. Dragon skin is tough, tougher than leather armour, but its scales are what give it the most protection. They are harder than steel and overlap, but the dragon must remain flexible.  When I thrust, I didn’t thrust through the scales, but between them. Here, lay your daggers on the table...’ Votrex, Harald, Korhan and Saul removed daggers from their sheaths and placed them across the table top as Silus had indicated. They then watched Silus clumsily lay the blades so one was overlapping the one below. Finally, fumbling, he took his own dagger and prodded it at the overlapping dagger blades causing a solid ‘clink’. ‘You see, this is like dragon scales. I couldn’t possibly pierce the overlaps with a dagger to stab the table, but watch.’ Then he took the dagger and slid it at a steep angle, making the tip slide in between the blades and stab the wood of the table top. This was a revelation; clearly certain weapons would be useless against a dragon – maces, clubs, possibly even axes. The weapons that appeared most likely to succeed were long, sharp weapons which had enough length to reach the dragon’s skin. Silus continued. ‘The scales on a dragon are also not all the same size. The larger scales may be impossible to penetrate this way. I’ve told you all I can. Now, buy me another mug of ale and leave me in peace.’

  Saul sighed. ‘Silus, won’t you ride with us? Your experience might prove invaluable when we-‘

  ‘Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? You are riding to your doom, and I for one don’t want to ride off to die with you.’

  Saul laughed. ‘Then what, you’ll spend the remainder of your days here in Trest? What do you do here? Farm hand? Labourer? You eat, you drink, you work, then you sleep. Hardly the stuff of legend.’

  ‘I don’t want to be famous; I want to be alive. Why are you even pursuing this folly?’

  Saul leaned closer. ‘This task has been given to me by the Empress herself. She told me the prosperity of the Empire is at stake. There is a reward, a very handsome reward. Two thousand gold pieces to be shared amongst those who vanquish the beast!’

  Silus glared at him. ‘I’d rather be a living pauper than a rich dead man!’

  Votrex cut in now. ‘What about your companions?  Don’t you dishonour them by turning away from this battle? Did they lose their lives for nothing?’

  ‘Hah! They nearly did! Luck, luck allowed me to slay the beast – not skill, or might or great strategy or anything like that.’

  Votrex shook his head sharply. ‘Luck may have granted you the chance, but you took that chance where others might have crumbled and fled, you-’ Thump!

  A hand had crashed solidly onto the wooden table, making the mugs of ale rattle, causing froth to swirl over the brims. They looked up to see a burly, broad shouldered man, with matted black hair standing over them.  Saul spoke in a soft, calculating tone. ‘What can we do for you?’

  ‘I wondered if your friend here, might allow us to test our strength against his famed, dwarfish fortitude.’

  Votrex glanced up at this. ‘I have no quarrel with you. I do not wish to fight people with whom I have no quarrel, particularly drunk people who are not thinking straight.’

  ‘Who said anything about fighting? Are you not familiar with the sport of arm wrestling?’

  Votrex raised an eyebrow at this, taking the situation in context and thinking carefully, he decided accepting this challenge might prove less disruptive to their objective than refusing. ‘Aye, I’ll take that challenge. Who wants to test themselves against me?’

  The intruder loomed forwards and grinned, showing a set of teeth in a poor state of repair. ‘Me. Follow...’

  Votrex grinned mischievously, rose from his stool, and shuffled after the man. He felt Saul reach up and place a hand on his shoulder as h
e passed. ‘Be careful Votrex, we don’t want any trouble.’

  Harald and Korhan smirked softly at the scene unfolding. Silus was if anything a little puzzled at their reactions. ‘What’s the joke?’

  Korhan gestured towards where Votrex took a seat on a bench at the opposite side of a long table to the challenger. ‘Watch...’

  A small crowd gathered around Votrex and his opponent. Coin was passed around as they placed bets. Throughout the preamble, Votrex sported a somewhat bemused look. As things settled down the challenger dropped an elbow onto the table and opened his hand. Votrex did the same, and gripped the challenger’s palm. The man grinned at him. ‘Ready? Go!’ Nothing happened at first. Votrex and his opponent sat motionless, expressionless. The challenger started to pull his shoulder in, and grip the table with his other hand. Still nothing happened.

  They sat stock still, their eyes locked, but Votrex’s opponent was starting to show signs of serious effort now, his face growing redder. He was clenching his teeth and grunting softly. Votrex on the other hand, seemed calm and relaxed, so much so that he broke eye contact for a moment and called over to his companions. ‘Harald, pass me my ale...’ Harald dropped the mug into Votrex’s spare hand while the challenger started throwing as much weight as he could into Votrex’s arm. Votrex was still not moving in the slightest.

  Votrex began calmly supping his ale while the man who had issued the challenge gritted his teeth, turned his palm and shoulder in and started grunting with exertion. He was soon pouring with sweat and panting softly while Votrex sat calm and collected, sipping from his earthenware mug and looking as if he didn’t need to exert any effort at all.

  Eventually he clicked his mug down and yawned. ‘I’m sorry friend, but I think our little contest has gone on long enough... I shall begin trying now.’ This brought gasps from the crowd, then Votrex smiled, and the first movement of arms in the match finally happened. Votrex snapped his arm over, slamming the challenger’s arm down, but slowing, so the man’s knuckles gently kissed the table. He then held his opponent’s hand firmly in place, smiling with a calm, almost smug expression on his face. A great cheer broke up around them and coin exchanged hands again.

  The man who had lost seemed surprised, shocked even. Clearly only his pride was hurt though. Votrex patted him on the shoulder. ‘You are strong friend, but humans are not built the same as dwarves.’ The defeated challenger sagged, backing away, his bruised pride giving the party a cause for concern. Coin was still being passed back and forth as Votrex re-joined his party.

  Silus nodded towards Votrex. ‘He’s strong. I didn’t realise how strong dwarves are. Not that his strength will do you any good. If you face this “dragon” you will die... All of you, I’ve told you all I know, I’ll not throw what’s left of my life away. Get me another jar of ale and be gone with you. The day I crawled from that dragon’s cave, I swore I would never take up the sword again. I joined the army for coin, not for fame or glory.’

  Saul nodded to Harald who left for the bar, only to return moments later with another mug. They rose, banging the table and muttering under their breath in frustration. Before they parted Saul leaned closer to Silus. ‘You’ll not throw the rest of your life away? Isn’t that what you’re doing? Only this way is slower, and less likely to earn you a place in Kirkfell, the banqueting hall of the dead.’

  Before he could respond, Saul, Harald, Korhan and Votrex were making for the stables. The atmosphere in the Troll’s Head had become tense since Votrex’s display of might and hanging around didn’t seem to be the best option for maintaining discretion.

  They’d been in the alehouse for some time by this point. It was getting late, but the rain was subsiding slightly. Entering the stables, Korhan grunted. ‘A complete waste of time.’

  Saul paused for a moment. ‘Not so. We’ve learned valuable information. In truth, I’m not certain Silus would have been much help in his current state anyway. I suspect his prowess with a blade has waned somewhat since his encounter with the Noble Dragon.’

  Harald nodded in agreement, then screwed his face up in surprise, and shouted. ‘Hey! Stop!’ As he saw it, the others noticed it too, a flash of black. Someone had been interfering with their horses; their return had clearly interrupted the thief. They quickened their pace, rushing to check none of their belongings had been taken. Luckily nothing seemed to be missing.

  ‘Another moment and our horses’ loads would have been lightened, that’s assuming we would all still have horses,’ Harald muttered. ‘Shall we go after them?’

  Saul shook his head. ‘Didn’t you see the speed they moved at? Whoever it was, they were quick and they’ve got a good head start on us, we won’t catch them.’

  Votrex rubbed his chin thoughtfully then looked at Saul. ‘Can’t you use magic to track them?’

  ‘I could, but we’re not here to apprehend thieves, and anyway, nothing appears to be missing, so being judge, jury and executioner wouldn’t seem fair. We don’t even know if they were trying to steal from us.’

  Votrex grumbled. ‘Don’t know if they were trying to steal from us? I somehow doubt they were ensuring the welfare of our horses, wizard.’

  Harald placed a foot in a stirrup, having freed his horse and hauled himself up into the saddle. ‘Come on, I suggest we move. We’ve got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow, we should find an inn.’

  Saul climbed up onto his horse and pulled his hood up. ‘I think I saw a place on the other side of the square. We should hurry though, it’s getting late.’

  Soon the companions were all in their saddles, riding out of the stable gate into the square. It was a large space with a raised wooden platform in the centre. Trotting across the rain-lashed square to the courtyard of the inn on the other side took only moments. The inn was a fairly run down establishment, its glory days long passed. In truth there had been a time when Trest had been an important stop off, on a trade route between the dwarven strongholds in the mountains and the main part of the Empire, the plains and the coastal region. The inn’s timber frame looked like it had carried grandeur once, but now the beams were rotten and decayed and the plaster was cracking or falling off in places.  The innkeeper could not afford a groom, so when he saw them trot into the courtyard, he ushered his wife out to tend to their horses.

  They entered the inn and scraped the mud and manure off their boots. The innkeeper appeared momentarily surprised at a dwarf entering his inn, but he showed no signs of prejudice. Money was hard to come by at this time and dwarfish coin was better than no coin, even at the best of times. Saul approached the counter. ‘We would like rooms for the night.’

  ‘Well, you’re the only guests, so if you take the common room, you’ll have it to yourselves. Stabling is four coppers per horse; that includes hay and water. The common room is four coppers each, private rooms are a silver but I have got one with four beds in, if you don’t wish to be disturbed.’

  Saul nodded. ‘We’ll take the private room, we have a long journey ahead of us and would not like to be disturbed.’

  The innkeeper smiled. ‘I’ll get Helga to show you to your room when she’s finished with the horses. Would you like a jug of mead to take to your room? It’s seven coppers.’

  Saul opened his coin purse and started counting out the money. ‘Yes, we’ll take that mead. ’

  ‘Thank you’ he said, before turning to his wife. ‘Helga, show these gentlemen to the large room at the top of the stairs.’

  His wife was thin, tired and rain-soaked. She had bags under her eyes and deep-set wrinkles in her face. Her dress was soaked, and splattered with mud and manure. She forced a wry smile, and gestured for them to follow. ‘This way please.’

  Saul and his companions followed her through the dimly lit inn. The room was simple but reasonably well appointed. She lit a lamp for them and at that point the innkeeper arrived with a wooden tray bearing a clay jug and four mugs. He set the tray down on the small table then proceeded to light the already built fir
e for them.

  In time the innkeeper and his wife left them in peace, and they all sat around the fire and drank their mead slowly.  Votrex spoke first. ‘Silus’s account doesn’t bode well for our success. We are ill equipped to slay a dragon and we are few in number.’

  Saul nodded. ‘That is true, but we must try. The Empress has commanded me. I fear we can only hope the reports are untrue. The village of Brunwelt is far from the capital and there’s every chance the beast is merely a swamp dragon terrorising the village. Our quarry may have already been slain by the time we get to Brunwelt.’

  Votrex raised his cup and drained a little. ‘I suggest we head straight for Brunwelt tomorrow. Even if it is a “Noble Dragon”, it might be a younger specimen than the one that Silus faced so many years ago. There are still many unknowns, but I suspect the Empress would not appreciate us tarrying and waiting for a large unit of soldiers to join us, particularly if it turned out to be false report.’

  Harald nodded. ‘Let us rest. We should ride out at first light.’

  Korhan shook his head. ‘We must re-stock our provisions for the trip. I suggest we use the morning to rest, recuperate and to fill our flasks and saddlebags. Then the quickest route will be back to the main road, then north to Duramer, then east to Brunwelt.’

  Harald supped his mead and sighed. ‘If not for this diversion, we could have ridden east from Dirsh, followed the edge of the great divide north, and perhaps been in Duramer in two days.’

  Votrex shrugged. ‘This diversion has been useful. We now know better what we are dealing with, Harald son of Korvak.’

  The rest nodded in agreement, finished their mead, then watched the fire burn down to embers. They turned in for the night to the sound of rain splattering onto the tiled roof, and wind howling around the eaves and rattling the shutters.

  Chapter 2