A Dragon's Betrayal

by C L Patterson

  The entrance to the pass was wide enough for five or six wagons to pass through, with room to spare for maneuvering and turning. Above them, jagged portions boulders had collapsed and wedged at interchanging angles against both sides of the pass, creating a rugged archway, encapsulating the path in total darkness. The foul odor of decay was stronger too, and Maerek could smell a sweetness as well as the saltiness of the traders’ sweat. They were afraid. Once the traders passed through the stone archway, Keane handed Maerek an end of a length of thick rope and motioned for him to tie it about his waist. Maerek did so, using the blanket as an overly large robe and tied the same knot that Keane demonstrated earlier. The other traders also wrapped the rope around themselves.

  A few more steps in and it seemed like night came in an instant. The songs of his ancestors swelled in his mind, reminding that his pass was dangerous. Yet the thoughts of his promise to Boshk swelled and chorused over and above the foreboding tune of his forebears. He thought back on the songs of his race as they walked, going back thousands of years and as many generations as he could in those few moments as they stepped deeper into the darkness. Not a single song told of the creation of the pass. Even the songs of Vaalkún and his explicit instruction to never enter it failed to mention how the pass came to be, it simply was there and was to be avoided.

  Once the traders were past the natural archway entrance, a sliver of a grey light from the overcast provided outlines and shapes to the surrounding rock formations, wagon, and shadowy silhouettes of the other traders.

  A few moments later, Maerek was completely adjusted to the darkness. As the group moved forward, Maerek scanned his surroundings. To their left and right were pieces and frames of what once used to be caravan wagons. The dried and decayed wood lay splintered and scattered along the edges of the road. Large scratch marks raked down the sides of the more intact wagons. Maerek cringed in the dim light, seeing the shredded remains of coats and winter clothing from traders-past. Scraps of threadbare fabric fluttered in the wind like autumn leaves, carrying the stench of death and decay.

  To Maerek, everything in the dim light appeared in a hazy hue of gray. Old streaks of faded blood-stained rock surfaces, intermixing and smearing with rough, crusted lichen to create a dull colored collage of carnage. There was much death here, and the deaths were quick, brutal and visceral in nature. This was further emphasized as they marched past a boulder that was as large as Maerek was in his true form. He was glad that only he could notice the impact stains and smears on the smoothed rock face.

  The mountain sides sloped down at a near-vertical angle, with narrow ledges high above them where only small sinewy evergreen shrubbery draped in gray mosses grew. As the wheels on the wagon turned, dirt and pebbles, mixed with a thin layer of frost crunched and cracked, sending whispering echoes around them. The sound of the wagon, combined with the footsteps of the traders, and the dragging of the dead body behind them was too loud, too unnerving. The small hairs on Maerek’s neck stood up. He was uneasy. To him, this was a death trap. He sniffed the air, searching for something beyond the traders and the continual odiferous repugnance of rot and decay. There was no other scent.

  Maerek looked up again, looking up through the pass, toward the overcast gray cloud cover and the dim band of sliver of light, then scanned slowly down as he walked. Continuous ridges and narrow outcroppings crisscrossed and intersected with small alcoves or tunnels, Maerek wasn’t sure. He assumed the indentations and darker recesses of the cliffs were tunnels that now sheltered clutches of cockatrices, much like the deep caverns and caves at Moving Mountain housed his kin. Bellow those tunnels, the stone was smooth for a long distance, bare of any plant life and breaking lines of other narrow ledges.

  Maerek looked down at the ground again. The path as comprised of a fine dirt, almost like an old layer of sediment mixed with small, smoothed rocks. Recently, the moisture in the air that was present within the pass had been forced down to the ground by an atmospheric inversion. The air declined to a freezing temperature and covered the ground in a thin layer of frost.

  As the wheels continued to crunch the dirt, the sound and its subsequent echoes flowed together in a continual echoing. It was then that Maerek understood what the pass really was. It was a high, narrow canyon, a memory from millennia of continual river flow that had long since been dry.

  There was a tug on the rope and everyone came to a stop. Keane untied himself and pulled on the rope to undo the highwayman’s hitch. He quickly coiled the rope at his feet, walked over to the wagon, grabbed the tinder box, and then softly walked back to the dead lieutenant and placed the wooden box on the ground next to the corpse. Maerek stood still, glancing up at the gray sky and the canyon walls. The perpetual noise of the crunching ground hadn’t attracted any unwanted predators - yet.

  They know what they’re doing, Maerek thought. Keane rushed over to the canyon wall, picking up scraps of fabric, splinters of wood, and planks of rotted and dried wood. He moved with ease and purpose, as he collected various pieces of debris. Maerek was surprised to see a human so acclimated to darkness.

  Using the debris gathered, Keane built the framework for a fire in a small pyramid shape around that feet of the dead lieutenant, leaving out the larger planks of wood and branches. He opened the fire box and pulled out a small ball comprised of shredded wood, coated and encapsulated in some kind of oil or resin. Keane set the coated wood-ball in the base of the pyramid and then pulled out two blocks of metal and a thin steel bar with a sharp edge. Keane took the first block of metal and the steel bar and began to scrape slivers off of the metal block onto the coated wood ball. The scrapping and scratching echoed off the wall and Maerek looked up at the skyline.

  The next moment, there was a bright light, followed by the aggressive flashing of yellow and gold flames of a young fire. Keane gently blew on the tender flames, goading them on from the ball of shredded wood to the other tinder-pieces for the fire. Before long, the fire began to grow, catching flames on the cloth and twigs that were placed. Slowly and carefully, slightly larger, and larger fuel items were added until the fire gave off a bright light that reflected off the frozen ground and cast eerie, jagged shadows from the debris that yet remained.

  The blood pattern, the spray, the smears, the rusted-out pools of darkened ground was evidence of a gruesome and chaotic death. Wood planks rested against stone, decaying from dry-rot, wheels and spokes stuck out of windblown sand and silt, and old leather reigns and other tack wrapped around all. Keane paid no attention to any of this as he picked up the rest of the debris he collected, placed it carefully in the wagon, went back to his spot in line, tied himself in, and tugged on the rope.

  As the traders continued, Maerek noticed an etching, a rune of some kind, carved deep into the wall. The rune was a simple, singular line, with three other lines crossing it on a diagonal.

  An hour later, there was an echo of a drawn-out cockatrice screech. Maerek froze and jerked his head backward, scanning the skyline rapidly, sniffing and flicking his human tongue instinctively. The line connecting all the traders went taught, Maerek took a step forward from the sudden jerk, but kept his attention behind him. Kane tugged on the rope twice, getting Maerek’s attention, and the group moved forward. Maerek saw another rune as they walked, similar to the one where the burning lieutenant was, but less on mark. Thinking that they must have traveled about a mile, he surmised that these runes were mile-markers, counting down to some midway point or rest stop.

  After six miles, the last rune was a straight line, next to a tiny trickle of a water fall, barely large enough for Maerek to cup his hands in and drink from. The water from the waterfall pooled in a small puddle on the trail, before disappearing into some subterranean tunnel. Ahead of them, and just past the waterfall, an enormous boulder blocked most of the left-hand side of the path, save for one passage that was large enough for one wagon to move through.

  The traders guided the wagon to the opening and then went into the p
assageway, covering the group in a second shroud of complete darkness. Around them, there was a constant, slow, and steady drip, drip, drip. Japeth led the group, guiding himself by touch, his left hand feeling along the wall. Maerek quickly adjusted to the dark and could see what the group was walking toward. About fifteen paces ahead was a large alcove. Maerek quickly undid the knot that held him in the line and ran ahead. He placed a hand on Japeth’s shoulder and then another hand on Japeth’s chest. Japeth stopped and tugged on the rope twice, bringing the others to a halt. Maerek went into the cave and sighed in relief. The cave was completely enclosed, with only the one entrance and exit. The granite walls were smooth to the touch, and the ground was covered in the same fine sand as the pass, save that it was only cold and not frozen over. At the center of the cave there was a small pit filled with old pieces of charcoal and burnt caravan debris. The cave was just large enough for the suon and wagon to maneuver around.

  “All clear?” Japeth whispered.

  “All clear,” Maerek replied as he came out.

  Once the group was in the cave, Keane used the tinder box to start another fire with the remnants he collected earlier. He kept the fire low, but hot, feeding a bed of coals slowly and methodically. Maerek was relieved again to realize that the sand did not crunch with a layer of frost, but was dry, albeit a little cool.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Keane said as he pushed some sand around the coals.

  “Wake me when you need to,” Maerek responded.

  With that, the traders took the canvas tarp and laid it on the sand, and then lay on top of the canvas. Maerek sat down with his back against a wall, with the blanket wrapped around him. The traders settled in, rustling around for a moment or two, adjusting to their sandy beds. Before too long, the traders were asleep, breathing slow and steady, unmoving. It was a sleep that came from sheer exhaustion.

  CHAPTER 13

  Maerek relieved Keane of his watch duties half-way through the night and traded spots with the archer. Quietly, Maerek continued to add to the fire and kept his senses focused on the entrance to their alcove. Though a large boulder hung over the entrance to where the traders slept, the dark emptiness of the evening changed to an even, quiet gray of dawn. Maerek could clearly see the alcove entrance and patches of rough lichen growing on the cave walls. Japeth, guided by some internal clock, woke the group as the morning began. Maerek, Ledría and the traders packed up what little they had, stowed it away in the wagon and continued through the pass.

  Throughout the morning, Maerek looked up at the grey sky repeatedly, but not to take in the grayness of light. Something was gliding from cliff to cliff across the chasm and landing softly on the near vertical rock slopes. It was now midmorning, and the flying creature already followed them for two hours.

  Maerek tugged on the rope and the group stopped. Maerek pointed his hand up at the air and then made a bird single with both his hands, exaggerating the motions of the bird flapping its wings so that the others could see it clearly. The suon started to grow restless and Maerek understood why. Whatever it was that was stalking them in the pass was descending on them, wingbeat by gentle wingbeat. Japeth urged for the suon to move forward, and slowly, the beast complied.

  As they moved, Maerek undid the knot around his waist, walked up to the wagon, pulled out the spear, gripped it with both hands and turned around slowly. Maerek’s eyes, sharp in the almost gray light, saw perfectly where the cockatrice landed and focused his attention there. Some sensation in the back of his mind told him that there would be more than one.

  A cluster of small rocks tumbled down the rock face to his left. Maerek turned, spear raised, ready to attack, but saw nothing. Again, he heard the wing beats, but this time they were coming from another direction, toward the front of the wagon. The song, warning him of the dangers of the Blades, played again in his memory, but Maerek shook his head, blocking it out and quieting his mind. Now wasn’t the time to fear. He needed to act.

  The suon stopped again. Naeru tried to coax the suon to move, but the pack lizard refused. It hissed, grunted and dug its claw into the ground. Aelex tried to quiet the beast, but it was too late. Another cockatrice that perched in the rocks launched up, and the dove toward the group. Maerek didn’t need his eyes to know where it was. Its distinctive loud wingbeats pinpointing its location in Maerek’s mind.

  Maerek grunted under his breath. He rushed ahead of the caravan and screamed up at the creatures, spear thrusted upward to receive their fetid flesh. The cockatrice changed direction and flew straight toward Maerek, the sharp three toed talons outstretched, ready to strike. At the last moment, right before the beast could wrap its talons around its prey, Maerek lunged forward and struck the spear deep into the torso of the cockatrice. The spearhead went through-and-through, jutting out the back of the giant bird, and the creature crumpled in mid-air, crashing to the ground. Maerek, still screaming, jerked the spear free, rancid blood spewing out like a geyser. The creature used its last breath to screech out a warning, but Maerek couldn’t hear it. He grabbed the bird by its neck, squeezing with both hands and didn’t release his grip until he heard and felt the vertebra crunch in his grip.

  He released the bird and turned back toward the humans, grunting and growling, his eyes wide and searching for something to kill. Another cockatrice was on the ground between him and the traders, his family… his keep. The cockatrice was bent low, wings outstretched, ready to charge. Maerek raced toward it, jumped on its back, and in one fluid motion, placed one arm around the neck of the creature, and the other over its beak, and squeezed. The creature thrashed and rolled, smashing into the ground, the walls, and back on the ground again. Maerek squeezed harder, hearing the blood vessels pop, the bones crunch, and the spinal column stretch under his strength. After a minute, the cockatrice was dead.

  “We need to be quick, the other cockatrices will come, looking for a corpse to feast on.” Maerek said, cleaning the spear on the plumage of the cockatrice.

  Maerek looked at the suon, locked eyes with it and flared his scent. The suon seemed to get the message, that it better start moving or Maerek was going to feed on it next. It obeyed Naeru’s command without hesitation and began to pull vigorously. Naeru had to pull back on the reigns to slow the beast, and the suon complied.

  Maerek glanced up at the narrow opening above that showed the sky. A flock of the lizard-like birds circled above. Maerek swore at himself for his foolishness. The birds could very well have picked up the smell of dragon, and now were gathering en masse for a larger kill. Even with his foggy mind, Maerek could see the birds were gathering their strength in preparation for an attack.

  “How long till the end of the pass?” Maerek whispered calmly.

  “We won’t see the other side of the Blades until tomorrow mid-day if we hurry,” Thomas replied.

  “Then let us make haste,” Maerek said. He pointed his bloody spear up at the flock that was circling above them. “Or better yet, let me run ahead. I believe they have locked onto my scent. I should be able to draw them off and then take them out.”

  “There are too many,” Keane said, grabbing the dragon’s arm.

  “I won’t let you die again,” Ledría said, placing a hand firmly on Maerek’s other shoulder.

  “I am covered in blood, my will and mental strength nearly spent, my musk recently flared, and if I stay, you all will die, either by them, or by me.”

  “The dragon is right,” Naeru said, looking up at the circling cockatrices. “His wisdom wanes, the hunger grows, his ferocity will serve him well. He has overcome death twice, perhaps it will be so yet again.”

  Without a second’s hesitation, Maerek clenched his spear and sprinted ahead, flaring his scent, displacing the smell of rot with a sweet smell of apples and tree-sap. The flock of cockatrices that circled above broke off and followed Maerek in a straight line. As Maerek disappeared into the darkness of the pass, Keane shook his head.

  “We shouldn’t’ve let ‘em go. He�
��ll be dead ‘fore the night is through,” he said, slipping into his old dialect.

  “I did not misspeak when I said his ferocity will serve him well,” Naeru said in a low tone. “You thought he was vicious before? Wait until the hunger takes over completely and pray that you will not be there to see him then.”

  [][][]

  Maerek continued to sprint down the pass, looking back over his shoulder and growling at the cockatrices. They were following him and drawing away from the traders, from his new family. If it was a two-day hike through the pass, at a full sprint, he could make it by day’s end. Leading the cockatrices along would also make the cockatrices think they were wearing down prey that at the end of the long pursuit would be an easy kill. They would not engage a dragon until it was weakened, Maerek was sure.

  Yet by the end of the day, Maerek was positive any sentience he had left would dissipate and he would become like them, witless, but fierce. It would become brute strength against agility. It was a competition that was easily won by many of his kind, but a battle of this scale fought without stratagem, Maerek wasn’t sure if it had been done.

  This will be my song, Maerek thought to himself. He smiled and flared his scent again. One of the cockatrices broke form and swooped down to make an early attack. A few others, smaller and younger, followed.

  “An early death,” Maerek yelled to them.

  He stopped running, and gripped the spear, his knuckles turning white from the grip. One of the cockatrices screeched again with its talons outstretched, a smell of mold and rotting meat flushing out from under its wings. Maerek felt slightly dizzy, like he had just woken up from a long nap. Angrily and confused, Maerek flared his scent again and immediately, the drowsiness left him. The young cockatrice banked left and began to circle back up to the group.