One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  Over and over they rolled, horse over wyvern with Lucas stuck in the middle. Breona pulled to a stop and Magnus leapt off her back just as the wyvern scrambled to its two feet. It was furious. Lucas stood with difficulty then doubled over, wincing in pain and guarding his chest with a bloodied arm. Magnus was close to the wyvern now. His head began to thump rhythmically, the pain making him wince. It was a little like the fire dragon that tried to scry his thoughts, only more brutal and obtrusive and without any objective but to tear his mind to pieces. It screeched at him then turned away, withdrawing from Magnus’s mind.

  Lucas’s fallen horse distracted the wyvern, which sank the long claws of its feet into the horse’s belly. The horse screamed but could not move. Lucas shouted at the wyvern as best he could, waving his good arm at it. Magnus seized the opportunity and swung his sword at the wyvern’s left leg. The sword sliced deep and easily into its black, leathery flesh, almost severing its leg through the shin. It turned to Magnus, hissing with its jaw open, revealing its two-foot long fangs that hung like stalactites from the roof of its mouth. Greasy, brown saliva spat from its jaw.

  Magnus swung his sword again, this time at its head, but the animal pulled back to avoid the blow. It swung back to Lucas and lunged clumsily off its good leg, knocking Lucas flat on his back. The wyvern thrust its head at Lucas like a striking snake, sinking its fangs into the flesh of his body. Lucas screamed. Magnus jumped over to the wyvern and swung down at its back, but the wyvern had smartened to Magnus’s advances and swung its long, barbed tail, knocking his legs out from beneath him. Magnus fell to the ground, letting go of his sword.

  The wyvern released Lucas and turned to Magnus again. Lucas’s blood dripped from its fangs. The thumping in Magnus’s head returned. He was astonished at its aggression and winced as he tried to keep the creature out of his mind. Once again the wyvern became distracted, this time struggling with its injured leg.

  “Lucas!” Magnus called out. There was no response. The wyvern extended its long neck to Magnus, snapped its jaw shut and sniffed at him. Magnus pulled back from it, looking deep into its large yellow eyes with their thin-slitted irises that expanded and contracted as it focussed on him. He could smell the creature. It stunk like the decaying remains of a week old dead carcass. “You’ve been eating a dragon’s leftovers!” Magnus forced the thought from his mind. The wyvern sneered angrily, revealing the edge of one of its fangs. It moved toward Magnus then yelped as it stumbled on its wounded leg.

  With his attention on the wyvern, Magnus had not noticed Breona beside him. She reared up high and let out a high-pitched scream, then came down stomping toward the wyvern. The black creature, startled, stumbled back. Magnus rolled away from Breona’s deadly hooves and grabbed his sword, jumping to his feet again. The wyvern hissed at Breona, then hobbled backward to Lucas’s horse and sniffed it. It looked to Breona then again to Magnus, who held his sword at the ready. It seemed to consider its options for a moment, then pushed up off its good leg as best it could, flapped its gnarled wings and took flight back toward the Crescent Woods. No doubt, Magnus feared, to tell his companions of our whereabouts.

  Magnus ran to Lucas, who was lying on his back. His eyes were closed but he was still breathing gently between coughs. Magnus took his hand and held it tight.

  “Lucas, can you hear me?” Lucas groaned and opened his eyes slightly. Magnus looked closer at his bloodied arm, squeezing his forearm and then his upper arm. Lucas groaned again and Magnus could feel the broken bone moving beneath the torn flesh above his elbow. Lucas’s beige shirt was covered in blood and there were two deep puncture marks in his torso from the wyvern’s sharp fangs.

  Breona walked over to Lucas and sniffed him, sharing her thoughts with Magnus. “We must go Magnus, we must keep moving.”

  Magnus stood and walked to Lucas’s horse and tried to elicit a response but it was dead or close to being so. “I need you to carry us both, Breona.” Breona shifted nervously. “I will not leave him here to die.”

  He returned to Lucas and knelt in front of him, wrapping his arms around his body and pulling him up to a sitting position. Holding Lucas’s good arm over his shoulder he stood, dragging his friend up with him. Lucas cried out for a moment then began muttering under his breath.

  “We’re going to keep moving Lucas,” Magnus insisted.

  “Go…” Lucas mumbled.

  “Not without you I don’t.” Magnus walked Lucas over to Breona who shuffled from side to side, unsure of what to do.

  “Breona, please,” Magnus spoke aloud. He sensed her disapproval but she relented, lowering herself down until her belly was on the ground. With a bit of difficulty and a huge amount of effort, Magnus lifted Lucas onto Breona’s back. Breona then stood holding Lucas to the front of the saddle. Magnus leapt up behind him.

  “My sword,” Lucas mumbled, swaying in his seat. Magnus jumped off Breona and walked back to where Lucas had fallen and rolled. After a moment he found the unsheathed sword, and a little distance away, its scabbard. Returning to Breona, Magnus mounted again and slung the belts of both scabbards across his back, much as he would a quiver of arrows.

  Breona needed no instruction to move on, and without the need to limit her pace to suit Lucas’s horse, she ran at a much faster pace than before—even with the weight of two people. Magnus held tight to the reins with his arms wrapped around Lucas to keep him from falling. He could hear Lucas mumbling to himself incoherently as if in a dream state, then startling himself awake before drifting off once again.

  Magnus feared the worst, both for Lucas and the wyvern that was surely moments away from raising the alarm as to their whereabouts. He expected a storm of wyverns to come screeching overhead from the woodlands to the west.

  “We have to get past the Nuyan River,” Magnus projected his thoughts to Breona. Breona galloped faster and faster. Under the light of the moon, Magnus felt as if they were travelling faster than time itself and very soon, he could see the willows by the distant banks of the Nuyan River.

  Breona was closing the gap between her and the river swiftly. But even so, Magnus grew more anxious the closer they got. Then the terror he had been waiting for came from behind them—the ghastly scream and repetitive beat of wings. Breona released a pent up screech of her own and forced herself on, seemingly doubling her pace. Magnus could feel the fear she kept buried under a sea of determination. He dared turn, but the wyverns and Quagmen were not yet in sight, whereas the sanctuary of the river loomed large. Magnus’s arms ached from holding Lucas and squeezing the reins but he tightened them even more as Breona jumped a verge then landed, bringing her rear legs skidding forward across the slippery grass at the edge of the Nuyan River. They were there. But they were not alone.

  The tips of a half dozen arrows were aimed at Magnus the moment Breona slid down the embankment to a stop with her front hooves touching the waters of the flowing river. The archers shifted from the shadows of darkness, each of them dressed in flowing crimson cloth that draped across their faces and over their torsos with matching hoods. They looked nothing like the Quagman he had encountered earlier. Magnus calculated the distance to the other side of the river and up the western embankment, hoping to make a run for it, but he was too late—more archers moved out from beneath the trees in that direction, effectively surrounding Breona. They were trapped.

  Magnus raised both hands in the air in surrender, but quickly brought them back down to support Lucas, who nearly fell from the saddle.

  “I am Magnus of J’esmagd. This is Lucas of Bowthwait,” he said. “We have been chased from our homes and seek safe passage to Froughton Forest.”

  Magnus’s explanation was cut short by another cry from a vile black creature to the west. It seemed closer now, yet was still out of sight. One of the archers pulled the cloth from their face and nodded to the others. They lowered their bows.

  “Come, hide yourselves amongst the foliage.” It was a woman. She was of middle age and had olive skin like Cata
nya.

  “You are of the Uydfer clan?” Magnus asked.

  “Aye,” she nodded. “The Quag attacked our lands this night also. We are here to ensure they do not breach our northern and western borders. Our people are positioned all along the river and north of the quarry.” She took Breona’s reins to lead her but Breona pulled against her in defiance.

  “It’s okay Breona, they are friends.” He looked at the woman. “She will not be led, but she will follow.”

  The woman looked the horse over. “Very well then.”

  They moved into the shadows of a large willow and Breona lowered herself to her belly once again, allowing Magnus to alight and lift Lucas out of the saddle. He placed Lucas on his back on the soft grass beneath the tree. Lucas moaned with the movement and then coughed.

  “And what of your friend?” the woman asked, watching them.

  “We were attacked by a wyvern. They have overrun our lands.”

  The woman knelt beside Lucas. She placed a hand upon his forehead and another over his chest, causing him to wince. Unsure of her intentions, Magnus reached over his left shoulder and felt for the pommel of his sword, yanking it free from its scabbard. In quick response, one of the archers held a knife to Magnus’s neck. The woman turned and looked at the archer, then to Magnus.

  “Lower your weapons, both of you.”

  The archer did as he was told. Magnus tensed his grip on the sword and a bronze ring of light shimmered its way down the sword’s blade. He took a closer look and realised he had unsheathed Lucas’s sword, forgetting he held them both slung over the same shoulder. He was curious about the differences in the two swords—his glowing white and Lucas’s bronze. Ganister has forged these swords with an obvious difference in the metal work. He replaced the sword into its scabbard. The woman watched him closely with a curious expression on her face. Magnus knelt beside her and took Lucas’s good hand. Lucas gripped his hand tightly and smiled weakly at him. The woman watched them both for a moment.

  “I mean your friend no harm,” the woman explained, staring at Magnus. “But the next time you pull your sword on my lands it had better be to fight with us, not against us. Do you understand?”

  “My apologies. I’ve had a troublesome night.”

  The woman stared for a moment longer then looked to Lucas. “He is not well,” she mumbled to herself.

  The thump, thump, thump of beating wings circled overhead, followed by the familiar scream that accompanied it. Through the dense foliage of the weeping willow, Magnus could see a wyvern circling around several times before moving away again. Another wyvern followed, then another, and a fourth wyvern landed at the top of the riverbank, not twenty feet from where Magnus and his companions hid.

  A Quagman sat in a black leather saddle behind the wyvern’s wings, holding onto a large horn protruding from the saddle’s gullet with one hand, the other holding the reins. The wyvern wore a hard leather and iron chamfron upon its head to which the reins were fastened with iron rings. Pulling the reins, the Quagman directed the wyvern down the embankment to the river’s edge. The wyvern moved slowly, sniffing at the ground. Magnus cautiously turned and placed a hand on Breona’s head to ease her, lest she be startled and give away their position. He could feel that she was forcing herself to remain calm—her front hooves dug deep into the soft soil beneath her.

  The wyvern continued its crawl down the embankment, crouching forward and moving with trepidation. The Quagman released the horn and reins to draw a pair of black swords from either side of the saddle, holding them as if expecting a confrontation. Magnus looked to the Uydfer woman, who held her fist in the air. She turned to Magnus and whispered, “Wait until he is alone. Now is the time to draw your sword.” She turned back to look at the enemy, holding her fist to affirm the need to wait. Magnus looked to the sky as the last of the airborne wyverns moved on. He smoothly unsheathed one of the swords over his shoulder, unaware in the darkness if it were his or Lucas’s blade.

  Finally, the woman pointed in quick succession to several archers—each of them hidden within the willow trees out of sight. Instantly, they released several arrows that flew swiftly towards the wyvern, skilfully piercing its head beneath its armour. Several more pierced its chest. The wyvern fell to the river’s edge with hardly a sound.

  The Quagman leapt quickly from the dead wyvern and launched himself sideways in Magnus’s direction. A volley of arrows pierced every part of his body, yet still the big man moved. Magnus stood quickly and scuffled to the river’s edge, raising his sword. The Uydfer woman leapt down next to him wielding her own sword. The Quagman hesitated, raising his blades, but the Uydfer woman was too quick. She bounced off the bank of the river slicing at the Quagman’s midsection. With his blades still raised he fell to his knees, his dark eyes staring at Magnus. Magnus took a tentative step forward, pulling his second sword free of its scabbard so he too held a blade in each hand—matching the Quagman. But he needn’t have bothered, for the Quagman fell face forward into the river with six arrows protruding from his back.

  The archers were quick to grab the man’s dead body and carry it away, hiding it amongst the trees and undergrowth. Others brought branches and covered the remains of the wyvern, still resting on the western bank. In less than a minute no evidence of foul play could be seen from the skies.

  The woman in command walked to where the fallen wyvern lay hidden. Magnus followed her. She examined the site for a moment before addressing her men. “They will return soon enough when they realise they are missing one of their own.” She looked at Magnus, who still grasped the two swords. “You have done well to get this far. Having an Astermeer gives you a great advantage. Is she yours?”

  “My mother’s,” replied Magnus. The woman had an inquisitive expression on her face.

  “And yet you ride her?”

  “It took some encouragement. But we share a common goal.”

  “Brilliant,” said the woman, looking Breona over again. “I should introduce myself. I am Csilla. I lead this band of intrepid archers.” Her fellow Uydfermen laughed at her description of them, then moved about, busying themselves with the task of fortifying a line along the eastern border of the river with long branches of felled trees. More swordsmen and archers arrived, placing their weapons behind the line and going to work with their kinsmen, lifting shovels and helping with the fortifications.

  Magnus had several pressing concerns on his mind. First of all was Lucas. “May I ask of you, Ma’am, Lucas needs help. Do you have a healer among you?”

  Csilla nodded. “Kriser!” she called out across the river. A man turned and she motioned for him to come to her. Csilla spoke to him in Fireisgh, telling him of Lucas. The man nodded. He spoke briefly to two other men who came to the willow tree and gently lifted Lucas, carrying him across the river. “Kriser is our finest healer, he will look after your friend as best he can.”

  “Thank you Ma’am,” Magnus said.

  “You can stop calling me Ma’am. We are hard working people, there is not a Ma’am among us,” Csilla said. “Besides, should things have been different, you would marry Catanya and then you would call me ‘Auntie’.” She winked at him before moving on to attend to other duties.

  HEALERS

  The healers carried Lucas up the embankment on the eastern side of the river. Magnus stayed with them and Breona followed close behind. He looked back toward Csilla but could no longer see her. The news that she was Catanya’s aunt thrilled him. It vexed him though, that she said the same thing Catanya’s mother had—“should things have been different…” He was sure Csilla knew Catanya would be joining the priesthood.

  They walked a narrow trail through the tall grasses that weaved between trees and reached a clearing where numerous tents were pitched. The tents were basic at best, made from canvas with basic wooden frames—clearly a temporary measure to be moved on with Csilla’s company. Two of the tents already had injured men in them being attended to by other healers.

&
nbsp; Lucas was taken into a third tent where he was placed on a narrow, knee-high bed. The three healers immediately set to work. They cut away his bloodied shirt and Kriser held a lamp over his body, looking him over briefly.

  “A wyvern did this?” he spoke quickly.

  Magnus moved in closer and the other two healers made room so he could sit beside his friend.

  “Did a wyvern do this?” Kriser asked again, impatiently.

  “Yes. After he fell and broke his arm.” Magnus pointed to Lucas’s left arm.

  “The arm we will set and it will heal, that I am sure.” He cupped a hand around each of the puncture wounds the wyvern had made in Lucas’s body and looked closely at each of them. He examined his legs, feeling each bone and then looked at his face, prising his eyes open one at a time and shining his lamp in each, making Lucas wince. Kriser finally examined his broken arm.

  “Your friend is lucky in a way, not so lucky in another,” he concluded. Magnus sighed, frustrated.

  Lucas forced himself up onto his good elbow then dropped again. “How am I lucky? How am I not?” he mumbled.

  “You are lucky the wyvern did not puncture your lungs. The wyvern’s fangs, however, give venom much like a snake’s and they have poisoned you. As it takes hold, you will come to fever. We will draw out of you what we can of the poison. What you must do is stay awake, for the poison that remains will try to take you. You must resist.”

  Kriser felt Lucas’s forehead in the same manner Csilla had earlier. “Tell me, did the wyvern speak to you?” Lucas did not answer.