Raising Dragons

by Bryan Davis

  Devin stood by a tree only a few yards away with three other men behind him. He was bundled up for the cold, and in front of his coat, the shining candlestone dangled from a chain necklace. The slayer’s face was black and blue on one side, but there was no doubt who he was, especially with the menacing voice and its biting sarcasm. “I knew you would come, Dragon Boy, but did I surprise you? I told you I would be here.”

  “Uh, no. It’s just that . . . well, I thought . . .”

  The slayer nodded. “You thought you would sense my presence. What a shame.” He glanced back at his companions, speaking in a loud, mocking tone. “Good thing I remembered to keep my stone out in the open.” He then turned to Billy, holding the candlestone up with his hand. “It has amazing properties, you know, and reducing dragon powers is one of my favorites.”

  Billy knew he should say something, a witty retort that would make him appear brave, but nothing came out. His throat had frozen, tightly clamped in fear. Was it the stone’s power that strangled him? Or was it panic? With the candlestone around, would the dragon be able to sense the danger and fly to his rescue? He looked around for Bonnie. She was nowhere in sight. Walter and the professor were right about the note, and he had fallen into the slayer’s trap.

  Walter, if the rescue map is correct, we should be nearing the crash site.” Professor Hamilton studied an instrument in his hand and then looked up the mountain.

  Walter carried the professor’s briefcase and followed behind, lifting his feet high to get over a series of rocks. “Does that GPS whatsit tell you how cold it is?”

  “Global Positioning System receiver, Walter. No, it only shows the topography of the area and our exact location within it. The plane crashed about two hundred meters to our east, so we will be there soon.”

  “But Billy told me he was supposed to meet Devin at some other place, someplace that wasn’t real close to the plane.”

  “My guess is that William stopped at the wreckage first to orient himself. We should be able to track him from there.”

  Walter marched on, following the professor’s spry lead. Both were bundled in heavy coats, boots, and gloves, but their clothes didn’t slow their determination. The professor stopped to check the map, and Walter took a breather. “I don’t understand why we didn’t see Billy’s mom. If we could have reached her on her cell phone, she could have told us how to get there. Do you think they parked somewhere else?”

  The professor looked up from the GPS and then down the mountain. “It stands to reason. They were driving a Sport Utility Vehicle. My old station wagon would never be able to climb as far. And it’s safe to assume their cellular phone was lost in the crash, so communicating with them is impossible.”

  “Too bad Hambone’s still injured. He could find anything, especially since he’s been up here before.”

  The professor raised a finger in the air. “Since we have no dog, we must use our wits in concert with our physical senses.”

  The two walked on, Professor Hamilton often glancing at his handheld map, and Walter lugging the briefcase. “Are you sure this is going to be enough, Professor? What if Devin has a dozen men with Uzis?”

  “I’m quite sure, Walter,” the professor replied without slowing down or looking back. “If I understand Devin’s psyche properly, he is too proud to use weaponry so boorish as an Uzi. He fancies himself a knight. His only protection will be a sword and a shield, perhaps some chain mail armor. We also have the element of surprise.”

  “If you say so, Professor, but—”

  “Look! That must be it!” The professor pointed to a blackened section of brush in the distance. The two hurried their pace and found several large twisted pieces of metal thrown about the mountainside.

  “So, now,” Professor Hamilton began, searching the ground for clues, “we need only find evidence of a dragging trail and then—” He pointed dramatically to a place near a wing section. “Aha! Here it is.”

  Walter joined the professor, who was already following the trail. The beginning of the path was obvious, but as they looked upslope they could see only a few footprints in the remaining snow and trampled leaves here and there.

  The professor studied the ground, picked up a freshly fallen maple leaf, and tossed it to the side. “Keep your eyes and ears open, Walter. I have done some tracking in my time, but this will be difficult.”

  “You’re not kidding. Too bad we can’t sniff him out.”

  The professor raised his head. “Yes, of course.” He tilted his head back to smell the air. “We must keep our noses alert, as well.”

  Chapter 19

  THE FINAL CONFLICT

  Devin walked a step closer to Billy and stopped. “So, Young Bannister, my sources tell me someone has been leaving gifts for you.”

  Billy’s anger rose, and with it a morsel of returning courage. “You mean that creep, Adam, is your source? I wouldn’t trust anything he has to say, if I were you.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t, but Adam has all the incentive he needs to tell the truth.” Devin twirled his necklace, gazing at the stone as each facet glowed with stolen light. “His father is a miserable creature, but Adam still loves him and doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

  Billy felt the fire kindling inside, and his face turned hot. “You think you’re a knight,” he shouted, “but you’re just a coward, fighting girls and drunk old men!” The developing flame in his belly swelled his confidence. “Why don’t you take on someone with a few more weapons at his disposal?”

  Devin opened the front of his large overcoat, revealing an inner suit of chain mail. He gently dropped the candlestone to let it dangle in front of his breastplate and reached over his shoulder to draw a shiny sword from his back scabbard. With a skillful swipe he flashed the metal blade out in front, slicing the air from left to right, and then raised it in both hands to eye level. He glared at Billy. “Someone like you, Bannister?” he asked in a derogatory tone. “You have no idea what you’re asking for.”

  Billy couldn’t hold it back any longer. His anger surged, and with it his fiery breath gushed. This time he actually watched the bright orange tongue of flame shoot out, but it sputtered. The stream of fire extended only a few feet in front of him before it disappeared in a cloud of vapor in the frigid air.

  Devin turned to one of his men, took a shield, and held the strap with his left arm. It covered Devin’s body from mid-thigh to the top of his chest, and on the front of the shield a colorful coat of arms gleamed in the sunlight. One of the panels looked like a screaming dragon with a sword protruding from its midsection.

  Devin charged forward, his sword raised to attack. Billy, taken by surprise at the sudden move, slipped on the snow and fell backwards, tumbling a few feet down the slope. He squirmed around enough to right himself, but Devin was nearly on him. With all the strength he could muster, Billy gushed forth another stream of fire, but this one was weaker than the last, and it sprayed feebly on Devin’s shield, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

  Devin laid his shield down and slid his sword back into its scabbard. He snatched Billy up by his hair with one gloved hand, and grabbed the scruff of his coat with the other. Billy felt stiff and weak, and the slayer half-dragged him back to his companions like a wounded dog. With a final push, the slayer sent Billy sprawling at the men’s feet. He lay dazed and helpless in a mixture of dirty leaves and wet snow.

  “Get my shield, and move to that clearing over there,” Devin ordered, pointing to the field where the creek ran, “then tie him up and gag him with the asbestos. Our timing has to be perfect. The mongrel’s recovery will be slow, but his fire will return.” He then took the candlestone and hid it under his chain mail. “Bring on the dragon.”

  The three men tied Billy to a tree trunk at the edge of the clearing while Devin removed his coat, fully revealing his chain mail armor. After stuffing Billy’s mouth with a fibrous rag and fastening the gag behind his neck, the men also stripped down to armor, and each brandi
shed a sword. Although their swords appeared to be sharp and just as deadly, theirs didn’t bear the strange etchings along the blade nor the ornate designs on the hilt.

  Two of the men carried their weapons clumsily. They were Neanderthals, cavemen with clubs of iron rather than paladins with blades of lightning. One of them looked familiar to Billy, but he couldn’t remember where he had seen him before.

  The third man seemed more comfortable with his sword. It glided with his body as he walked, shimmering alongside the gleam of his black chain mail at every move.

  Devin crossed in front of Billy’s glare, his limp still evident. “I’m assuming that your father’s been hiding somewhere nearby, but I’m not sure what to expect from him. Has the prophecy been fulfilled? Is he a dragon again?” He smirked at Billy’s scowling, gagged face and raised his hand. “Oh, don’t answer. You wouldn’t tell the truth anyway.” He thrust the sword toward Billy, halting it expertly with the sharp point barely pricking Billy’s throat. “But don’t worry. We’re ready in either case.” He pulled out the candlestone again. “If he’s a dragon, he should be on his way. I appreciate your willingness to serve as bait.”

  Billy struggled to speak, thrashing to get loose and wrestling against the scratchy gag with his jaws. He wanted to say that there was no way four men could ever stand against the dragon. It was huge, with a tail that would smack them down like bowling pins and with flames that would cook them like rats on a grill. But when he looked at the candlestone, his bravado melted away, and he began wondering if the slayer had good reason to be confident. How could Devin know what a dragon would do? How could he have ever faced a real dragon?

  The slayer gestured to his more competent crony. “Palin, do you have the book?”

  “Yes, my liege.”

  Billy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Palin? My liege? These guys really think they’re those old knights from Dad’s story!

  Devin extended his open palm. “Then give me the witch’s blood, and prepare to read. We have to make sure he comes.”

  The dark knight put his hand under his vest of mail, removed a glass vial from a side pocket, and handed it to Devin. The slayer pulled the stopper from the top and stood with his eyes on the cloudless sky above. The dark knight opened an old book, and Devin stood next to him, scanning the page and then reading with a singsong baritone. Billy had a hard time following the words, a melodic chant that sounded like a poem. He caught some of the language as English, but it seemed too symbolic to make any sense.

  After a moment or two the dark knight pointed upward and to their right. “The dragon comes.”

  Devin slapped the book closed. “That worked faster than I expected. Put the book away.” Devin lifted the candlestone and poured a few drops of blood on its surface, careful to ensure that no other blood spilled. Billy turned his head toward the sky, horrified at the sight of Bonnie’s blood being used by the evil knight.

  The dragon’s body grew larger against the blue background, and his shadow passed over the humans, briefly enshrouding them in its mantle. Billy didn’t know whether or not to hope for rescue. If the dragon saw them, would he attack and possibly sacrifice himself? Would the dragon even care about his own safety?

  A sparkle made Billy turn back toward the slayer, and he gasped at the sight. A brilliant beam flashed from the candlestone, and an aura flowed out of it like a river of gleaming light. The flash moved first into Devin’s breastplate and then throughout his body and into his upraised arms, engulfing his uplifted sword, streaming from bottom to top and finally out the point, sending a laser-like beam high into the sky.

  The dragon dove away from the blast, and he turned his sparkling eyes toward the gap in the trees where the four men stood. In his descent, he appeared to be falling, his reddish-brown body diving toward the clearing, closer and closer. But just before the massive form smashed to the earth, the dragon’s great wings unfurled like two huge canopies, and his mouth opened, sending a torrent of blazing fire toward the mail-clad knights.

  All four raised their shields as one, and the river of fire crashed on the front of the metal wall, splashing around and over the edges. Globs of blistering heat bounced off their leg armor and bit smoldering holes into nearby trees, catching some of them on fire. Devin and the dark knight took the two middle positions, and the men set their feet to brace against the onslaught while trying to squeeze their upper bodies and heads behind their shields. One of the inexperienced knights on the end fell backward, and when he hit the ground, he rolled away and scrambled behind a spindly ash tree.

  Clefspeare, now flapping his wings furiously to hover in place, spotted the weak one and torched the tree, sending flames shooting up the trunk. The knight bolted from his spot, but Clefspeare, with two mighty beats of his wings, pounced toward him, and with one great snuff, buried the man in a storm of fire.

  Devin shouted over the din of beating wings and crackling fire. “That was his best volley, men! He can’t have much left.” With the candlestone flashing like a rabid strobe and his limp now gone, the slayer ran the few yards to the edge of the clearing and took cover behind a massive oak. “Palin! Jerry! Find shelter! He’ll come back with the tail.”

  Billy watched in dismay as Devin’s prediction came true. Clefspeare lunged back to the clearing, spun around, and swiped his tail at the other inexperienced knight, smashing the trunk of the woodpecker-riddled snag he had chosen. Once exposed, the knight cowered on his knees, too scared to remember to raise his shield, and he awaited the dragon’s fiery wrath. It came in a jet of flame, but smaller in volume and with less force. It was enough, however, to transform his chain mail into an armored toaster, cooking the villain where he knelt.

  Clefspeare charged back, but he seemed slower, more deliberate in his actions. Instead of hurtling himself again at the two remaining knights, he headed toward Billy. With his terrible claws bared, he scratched at both tree and ropes, easily breaking the bonds. Billy fell away from the tree, his wrists still tied in the back, his ankles still fastened together with duct tape. He wriggled and rocked to a sitting position, but he couldn’t stand up.

  “See to the sword!” Clefspeare shouted.

  Billy swung his head around and looked for one of the fallen slayers. There he was, a swirling column of dark gray smoke rising from his blackened armor. He had dropped his blade during his flight, and it lay dirty but unharmed within twenty feet of Billy.

  Devin darted out from behind the oak, his shield in front and his sword raised to attack. Clefspeare slapped his tail at the other knight’s tree and sent him flying away, knocking him senseless against another tree. With Devin closing in and the candlestone shining brightly in his eyes, Clefspeare flapped to launch himself into the air, but his wings faltered, giving him only enough lift to help him scratch along the ground as he scrambled away.

  Billy scooted toward the abandoned sword, pulling furiously with his legs while watching the battle. Even in the cool air, sweat poured down his face. He had to hurry. The dragon had now fallen flat; the candlestone had sapped his strength. His swiping tail slowed down, and his fire smoldered to dripping sparks and spittle. Devin danced around the futile tail swipes and nimbly hopped closer and closer to his prey, his shining sword raised to attack.

  Billy pushed his back toward the sword’s point and raised the blade on edge. With frantic shoves, he slid his bonds back and forth. Would the sword be sharp enough? Would it cut through in time? He still had to free his feet, too, and the slayer would be in striking distance of the dragon in just seconds.

  Clefspeare let out a final desperate heave from his chest, a slow stream of gas that carried more smoke than flame, and he flopped forward, his head striking the charred ground. Devin leaped from the fire’s path, and sensing the dragon’s desperation, strode confidently to his enemy’s face, the candlestone gleaming on his chest. “Foul lizard! At last you are mine!” He glanced at Clefspeare’s position and then put the point of his sword directly in front of the d
ragon’s eyes. “Shall I convince you to expose your belly by decorating my sword with one of your eyeballs, you cowardly snake?”

  Clefspeare maintained his stare and lifted his head just enough to answer weakly. “Who is the coward, the dragon who comes willingly to save his son, or the armed band of self-proclaimed knights who bind children and use them as bait?”

  Devin placed the tip of the sword just below Clefspeare’s left eye. “My methods have changed, but I need not explain them to you. Your eyes will find a fitting place on my mantle, and if I have to hack you to pieces to kill you, I will.” With an evil smile, he held the sword in one hand and slid it slowly forward.

  The dragon jerked back, and another sword clanked against Devin’s, thrusting it up and wrenching it from his hands.

  Billy reared back for another swipe, this time aiming for the slayer’s neck, but Devin was too quick. He ducked and leaped for his sword, sprawling to the ground and reaching through the fallen leaves. Billy swung and lunged forward, almost losing his balance as he swished through empty air. Still swinging the sword wildly, he dashed toward the slayer once again. Devin had no time to defend. He grabbed his own sword’s hilt and rolled to the side, barely dodging his young attacker. With a mighty surge, he jumped to his feet, twisting his body to watch Billy as he passed by.

  With fury in his eyes and the hilt of his sword in both hands, Billy again advanced slowly toward Devin. He had no idea what he would do next; he just hoped he could keep from being killed while the dragon had time to recover. He had to feign bravery and skill, at least for a little while.

  The slayer lifted his necklace to make sure the candlestone still dangled in the open. The gem pulsated at the end of its chain, shooting radiant beams into Billy’s eyes. Billy’s legs wobbled, and the sword felt heavier by the second. He panted, sweat pouring from his chin. He’s so strong, so fast. My only hope is to lunge at him and hope for the best.