One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  “What do you mean?” Magnus asked.

  “To his mind,” Kriser said then addressed Lucas again. “Did you hear his thoughts? Did he speak to you?” Lucas shook his head. “That is good.”

  “He spoke to me,” Magnus said. Kriser glanced at him. “He was thumping away in my head. Like he was trying to get in. But… I think there were too many distractions for the creature to persist.”

  “It seems the wyvern attacked one of you with its teeth, the other with its mind.” Kriser pointed at Magnus. “You may have saved your friend today.”

  “What of it?” Magnus asked again. “What harm could come of it?”

  “Wyverns are very near the nastiest of creatures.” Kriser scratched his forehead.

  “How so?” Magnus pushed for further information.

  “There is malice in a wyvern’s heart.” Kriser’s lip curled. “Their poison gives aid to a mental assault so they can manipulate and deceive the victim. Rhyme and reason is twisted into turmoil and madness. To be overcome in such a way is a cruel fate for the worst of men.” He shook his head, looking from Magnus to Lucas. “I can extract poison from a wound, but a meddled-with mind is another matter. I am a healer, not a sorcerer.”

  The healer looked into Lucas’s eyes again. “Yes, your friend will begin to fever soon.” Kriser turned to one of the other healers, a young man who was grinding a powder within a stone mortar. The third healer, a slightly older man, was pouring small vials of fluid into the mixture. When the young man was satisfied, he handed the mortar to Kriser.

  “Walt has prepared a potion that should help.” Kriser sipped the fluid and savoured the flavour for a moment before handing the mortar to Magnus. “Here, feed this to your friend.”

  Magnus cradled Lucas’s head forward, slowly feeding him the potion. Lucas drank quickly then laid his head back to rest. “That was disgusting,” he murmured, looking at Magnus, smiling weakly. They both chuckled and Lucas coughed.

  “Keep still and rest. You must stay awake as best you can, boy. Understand?” Kriser instructed. Lucas nodded. “Do you understand?” he questioned again.

  “Yes!” grunted Lucas—clearly annoyed at being asked twice. “I’m not a boy. Neither is Magnus.”

  Magnus smiled at the compliment.

  “Good. That’s the spirit,” Kriser said. “Keep fighting… you must always keep fighting. It may just save you.”

  Kriser shuffled around getting comfortable, and sat up on his knees. He closed his eyes and rubbed the palms of his hands together vigorously. He blew upon them then rubbed again, blew on them again and rubbed some more. After his fourth bout of blowing and rubbing Kriser brought his hands down over Lucas’s abdomen and held them there, hovering an inch above his body. He started to mumble a long, wordy chant. A moment later, a faint red glow emanated from beneath his hands and spread over Lucas’s bare flesh. Lucas grunted. Walt placed a tightly wrapped leather strap between Lucas’s teeth then pushed down on his shoulders. The other healer held fast to his ankles. Magnus figured Lucas was about to endure a lot more pain.

  The red glow beneath the healer’s hands grew brighter and Lucas bit down hard on the strap in his mouth, cursing incoherently. Lucas held Magnus’s hand in a vice-like grip. The red light twisted and twirled between Lucas’s skin and Kriser’s hands as though resisting whatever it was Kriser was trying to will it to do.

  “What are you doing?” Magnus asked.

  “Drawing out the poison,” Walt said. The light soon started to lift away and through the two large wounds in Lucas’s stomach, two thick trails of syrupy black matter spiralled out and mixed with the red glowing light. For a good long minute the black poison came. The smell of it was revolting, making Magnus gag. After a few moments, when the poison no longer had any contact with Lucas, but was entangled with the red light from the healer’s hands, Kriser drew his hands away quickly, leaving the combined matter to spiral frantically through the air, making a hissing sound as it whipped across Magnus’s face and around the tent. “Be off!” Kriser shouted and spoke a realmish chant that seemed to stop it in its tracks. The fragments of red light clung to the syrupy black poison and together, they floated silently out of the tent and dissipated into the night sky.

  Kriser shifted back from Lucas, making room for Walt to give attention to Lucas’s wounded arm. With long skinny fingers, Walt felt the length of the broken bone with a gentle touch, examining it carefully. He then took a hold of the arm directly over the break and held it firmly with both hands. Lucas grunted again. Walt then began mumbling chants of his own. Kriser placed the leather strap back into Lucas’s mouth, who bit down on it once more. Magnus heard a nauseating crackling sound as the broken fragments of bone shifted and contorted beneath Walt’s hands. Lucas writhed, trying to break free of the healers, but they had him well pinned to the bed. A minute passed and Walt stopped the chant. He examined Lucas’s arm again, feeling the length of the bone. He smiled as though proud of his work.

  “Good, Walt, good,” Kriser commended him.

  Lucas breathed easier. He spat the strap from his mouth. Magnus looked him in the eyes and felt his forehead. He was beginning to radiate a lot of heat.

  “Are you okay?”

  Lucas nodded. “Tired,” he mumbled. “I feel cold.”

  Kriser stood and stepped past Magnus to leave the tent, tapping Magnus on the shoulder as he went and signalling him to follow.

  “Rest,” Magnus told his friend. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Magnus stood and peered out of the tent. Kriser was washing his hands in a pail positioned on a small table a short distance away. Magnus left the tent, leaving Walt and the other healer to attend to Lucas.

  Approaching Kriser, he pondered his next course of action. Ganister had told him to try to get to Froughton Forest by sunrise. Much had happened since then and he felt torn—he did not want to leave Lucas. He recalled that Ganister wanted Lucas to return to his mother’s side. Their home is surely burned to the ground and I doubt Sarah is there anyway. He worried then for Ganister—Surely he didn’t know he was returning to my home to face a legion of Quag so large? As things stood now, Magnus knew nothing of the fate of all those he cared for. The only thing that seemed certain was that he was still capable of travelling to Guame—albeit alone. Magnus recalled Ganister’s instructions—“Speak before the Authoritarium. They will afford counsel to the son of Bonstaph.” He hoped Ganister was right.

  The night was a blur of events and emotions. Magnus had lost track of time. Was it past midnight yet? He felt light headed and unsteady on his feet. As he approached Kriser, he saw that Csilla was now standing with him. They were engaged in quiet conversation. Kriser was nodding in response to her words. Magnus shook his head and pulled himself together. He was desperate to know what Csilla knew about Catanya.

  Csilla saw Magnus approaching and walked toward him. “Magnus—”

  “Csilla, please,” Magnus interrupted. “What do you know of Catanya joining the Priesthood?”

  Csilla put her hands on her hips. Magnus gathered she was not used to been interrupted. But he was determined. She considered him for a moment then lowered her arms. “I apologise Magnus, I should not have broached the subject. It was neither the time nor the place.”

  “Well, you did,” Magnus asserted. “Was it her parents’ choice, or her uncle’s?”

  Csilla’s eyebrows lifted. “I knew nothing of this before today, when I spoke with my sister. Prior to that it was my understanding she was always to marry you.”

  “She left for the Romghold this afternoon,” Magnus countered. “With her uncle… On the back of a dragon!” Magnus was growing more and more frustrated. He took a breath and calmed himself. “Sorry,” he said, somewhat ashamed of his tone.

  Csilla stepped forward. Her face was almost touching his. Magnus looked at her closely. She did look like Alessandra, but even more so like Catanya. She was lean, but strong—the kind of strength that comes from hard work. Her demeanour was h
arder than Alessandra’s. She had a thin scar beneath her left eye that trailed back to her ear. As she said… “Not a ‘Ma’am’ at all”.

  Csilla stared hard at Magnus. “Catanya loves you, you know that,” she said. “She always has. And I can see you love her too. But… it seems her fate was chosen for her, a fate bigger than her. Like her uncle before her.” Magnus was hardly appeased by her words. Nor had he learned any more of the truth behind Catanya joining the priesthood. “Tell me this—did you see the dragon?”

  “Yes,” Magnus said.

  “When you’ve not seen one in a while you forget.” Csilla paused as her thoughts trailed off.

  “Forget what?”

  “The power of their presence, the brilliance of their bronze scales... It makes these wyverns look like rats. No wonder they fled to the Corville Mountains all those years ago. I only wish they’d stayed there.”

  “Why are the dragons not coming to fight with us?” Magnus asked, accepting the conversation’s change of direction.

  Csilla looked away and shook her head. “Things have changed among the dragon realm. I do not know what it is, but something in the Romghold has changed. Perhaps with three breeds of dragons extinct at the hands of men, one can appreciate why they keep their distance.”

  “Was it not the Authoritarium that told them to leave?”

  “No one tells the dragons what to do. But to dishonour them—dragons don’t take that lightly. It will be a hard thing to undo.” Csilla looked around, surveying the camp area. “We can only pray they are here before the end, when we need them most.”

  Magnus lowered his gaze to the ground. Somewhere in his heart he thought that maybe with all this turmoil, he could find Catanya and flee with her.

  “Magnus.” Csilla looked into his eyes again. “It may pain you hear this, but it is for your own good. Do not follow her. Not on your white horse, not in your heart.” Magnus choked back his feelings. “Your destiny lies in another direction now.” Csilla stepped back from Magnus and waved to a group of her men across the camp. “Where is it you plan to travel to?”

  “Guame. Ganister asked me to appeal to the Authoritarium for aid.”

  “Someone ought to. You’re more equipped for the task than any of us.” She nodded to Breona. “Besides, I need all my men here. With Bonstaph as your father the reception may be prickly. But they’ll no doubt be keen to hear what you have to say.”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “Go now to Kriser. He wishes to speak with you about your friend. Come see me before you leave.”

  Magnus agreed, and with that, Csilla left with her comrades.

  Magnus joined Kriser, who had waited for him.

  “She respects you,” Kriser said.

  “Who? Csilla?”

  “Aye. She does not give time to people without good reason.” Magnus was not sure what to think of Kriser’s observation. “Consider it a compliment. At times like this it is not easy to make friends.”

  Magnus smiled, then his thoughts shifted to Lucas. “Well, if you tell me Lucas is going to be okay, I’ll consider you a friend of mine.”

  Kriser smiled for the first time since Magnus had met him. “Very well then.” His expression turned serious again. “Wherever your journey takes you from here, you’d best continue alone. I have extracted much of the wyvern’s venom from his body, but not all. His body will try to fever out what is left.”

  “But he will survive,” Magnus insisted.

  “I should think so. He has a strong disposition and there is much fight in him. But once on the other side of the fever, he will be too weak to journey for some time.”

  “Will you please look after him while I’m gone?”

  “Csilla tells me your father is Bonstaph. And your friend is Ganister’s son?”

  Magnus nodded.

  “Then you are brethren of the Fire Realm. We take care of our own,” Kriser answered.

  “Thank you. Wherever my fate takes me, I am indebted to you,” Magnus said, shaking Kriser’s hand. Kriser had not given a guarantee of Lucas’s recovery but as close to one as he would get. He hoped the healer was a man of his word.

  Magnus fretted as to whether he should leave and what he should tell Lucas. If I tell Lucas I am leaving he may take it as a lack of faith that he will heal. But if I wait, I lose time… precious time… The sooner I get to Guame the sooner the Authoritarium can send help.

  Magnus realised what he had to do. It did not please him at all, but it would serve both him and Lucas. He looked to Kriser again. “How long will Lucas take to fight the fever?”

  Kriser looked at him questioningly. “He should be through the worst of it by midday tomorrow. But like I told you—he will be weak.”

  “That’s fine. May I speak with him now?”

  Kriser hesitated. “You may.”

  Magnus marched back toward the healer’s tent with Kriser close behind. Walt and the other healer moved to make room for him to sit beside Lucas again. Damp cloths were draped across his forehead to counter his rising temperature. Lucas began to shake. Magnus took a hold of his hand, feeling the hot sweat in his palm. His face had taken on a grey, clammy appearance that startled Magnus—his change in appearance had occurred so rapidly. Seeing Magnus, Lucas gripped his hand.

  “Can you hear me Lucas?” Magnus spoke gently. Lucas forced a smile at his friend. Magnus did the same. “The healers say you must fight this fever tonight and if you do, you will be rid of it by tomorrow.” Lucas had closed his eyes again. “Do you hear me Lucas?” Magnus spoke louder now. “Fight this tonight and tomorrow we will ride out of here together.”

  Lucas smiled again. “Aye,” he stammered through chattering teeth.

  “W-wait for me Magnus!” A look of determination came to him.

  Kriser moved in to speak but Magnus got his words in first. “The healers want me out of their way so they can help you. So I’ll leave you now to fight this, Lucas. Fight through the night. Promise me that.”

  “Aye… I promise. Se-see you tomorrow.”

  Magnus bent down and hugged his friend. Lucas wrapped his good arm around Magnus. The vice of his grip told Magnus this was not a fight he was giving in to. Lucas closed his eyes again. Reluctantly, Magnus released himself of Lucas’s embrace and looked to the two healers who sat beside him, thanking them in turn.

  “We will look after him,” Walt said with a smile.

  Standing, Magnus left the tent and stood beside Kriser. “What time is it now?” Magnus asked.

  “It’s past midnight.” Kriser stared at him.

  “I’ll be leaving immediately.” Magnus lifted both swords from his back. He held them together, one in each hand, running a thumb over the pommel of each. He recalled Sarah’s words. “Remember you are as brothers...” He took Lucas’s sword with the bronze-coloured pommel and cross guard and handed it to Kriser. “Please see that this stays with him. Lucas is a brother to me and this is our bond.”

  Kriser nodded, smiling for the second time. He took the sword from Magnus. “You have imbued Lucas with the determination he needs in the dark hours ahead. I will see this does not leave his side.”

  “When his fever breaks and he is out of danger, he will ask after me. Tell him I shall return for him as soon as I can.”

  “That I will,” Kriser said.

  The two men shook hands. Magnus leapt upon Breona and Kriser directed him toward the quarry where Csilla was moving her men. After a ten-minute journey away from the Nuyan River, Magnus came upon the quarry road on which he had travelled many times as a child. Soon the road came to the deeply cut caverns of sandstone that disappeared into darkness below. Navigating the narrow, gravel roads, Breona travelled to the quarry’s northern border, where they found Csilla. Seeing Magnus approach, she excused herself from her men and came over to him.

  “You are leaving directly?”

  “Aye,” Magnus said. “The sooner I get to Guame, the sooner I return with help.”

  “It
will be needed. I am sure the Quag will come in greater numbers soon enough. We have two thousand fighting men and women. Most of our numbers have moved to Realms End under Xavier’s command at the frontline of attack.”

  Magnus thought of the abandoned posts along the Southern border known as Realms End. “Did Xavier order the posts to be abandoned yesterday?”

  Csilla shook her head. “We do not know where the order originated. But as soon as Xavier found out, he knew it was pre-emptive of a Quag attack.” Magnus nodded. Perhaps this is why he wanted Catanya sent away.

  “Here at the northern borders, I have an archer placed every quarter of a mile.” Csilla pointed to the east. “Beyond the quarry, scouts are positioned every mile for ten. I have passed word that a warrior riding an Astermeer will pass swiftly through the night and they must afford you safe passage.”

  “A warrior? On an Astermeer?” Magnus said, surprised. “Only the Rhydermere or Irucantî are so worthy.”

  “Aye. That got them talking. I don’t think they take me seriously, so it will be entertaining when they see I speak truth. Furthermore, it lifts their spirits. If the Authoritarium respond, we could have ten thousand trained men here in a week. Most likely several hundred knights among them.”

  “I will travel as fast as I can for both our sakes,” Magnus agreed. “I have left Lucas with Kriser. He has done much for him already.”

  “You leave your friend in good hands, I assure you.”

  “Thank you again for all you have done to help us. And for speaking candidly about Catanya.”

  Csilla smiled and gave Breona a pat on her side. “I’d wager you will reach Froughton Forest by sunrise. Follow this road to the east,” she instructed.

  “It will lead directly to Froughton Forest?”

  “It will. I trust you know how to traverse through it?”

  Magnus nodded, recounting Ganister’s instructions about sticking to the Outer Rim and avoiding the Valley of Shadows. Magnus ventured to ask her a question, “How will I know when I am near the Valley of Shadows?”