One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  “You’ve forgotten how to light the way. Follow me, I’ll show you.” She broke into a run again, forcing herself on, summoning the power of Balgur to work with her to push her on and on and on. Soon she felt her pain begin to wane and in its place was a sense of ecstasy. Catanya kept running around the training field throughout the morning. She felt invincible. “Together, Balgur, we will find Delvion and destroy him.”

  As the sun reached its zenith, Catanya’s deliriousness cleared and she thought once again of Magnus. She stopped suddenly in her tracks and dropped Balgur’s talon once again.

  “Magnus,” Catanya whispered to herself. She turned and saw the blurred silhouette of Joffren walking briskly toward her, across the field. She looked then to the sky and gazed at the sun. Her vision faded to white and she fell deep into thoughtless oblivion.

  SIX THIEVES

  Magnus woke at sunrise, stretching his limbs out as far as they could go until he felt his spine pop. It felt good to rise from a good night’s sleep, but even so, morning came with a familiar sense of urgency.

  Magnus looked around. There was no sign of Eamon. The fire had been smothered, making it hard to tell there had been one at all. The cooking pot, books and scrolls, and clothing hanging from lines were all gone. There was nothing at all giving evidence that Eamon was not a figment of Magnus’s imagination except for one thing—the mirrors in the trees. But a passer by would likely not notice them. It dawned on Magnus how clever Eamon was. He considered that the old man perhaps had several locations in the forest just like this one, each set up for his next return.

  Magnus and Breona got back on the road through the Outer Rim immediately. It concerned Magnus that Eamon could have packed camp and moved on without him waking. What if he had tried to harm me? I may have been killed in my sleep. He scratched the back of his head, picking out several prickles from his hair.

  The road was different to the day before. It curved and wound its way tightly through undulating terrain, giving little chance for Breona to get up a good pace. Magnus grew frustrated at the lack of progress they were making. By mid morning he began to speculate how far ahead Eamon could be. Does he know a faster way through the forest? Surely we should have caught up to him by now? As he considered such things, the forest finally opened up and Magnus could see a mile-long stretch of road lined with late autumn leaves from the tall oak trees that grew along its length. Its bare branches allowed thick sheets of sunlight through to light the way. Magnus thought it a glorious sight after the gloom of recent days. Sensing Breona’s eagerness, Magnus encouraged her to gallop. “Go, Breona!” Breona charged ahead, sending the orange, red and yellow leaves spiralling into a trailing eddy behind her.

  Halfway down the straight stretch of road, Eamon suddenly appeared from behind a tree. He leapt into the middle of the road and raised a hand, signalling Magnus to stop. Breona pulled herself up and slid forward sending the trail of leaves that had been following her wafting onward down the road past Eamon. Magnus looked at him for an explanation.

  Eamon removed his hat with one hand and held an index finger to his lips. “Shhh,” he whispered, “Follow me now.” There was urgency in his voice. Magnus was quick to follow. Eamon led the way, trekking southward into the darkness of the woods.

  “Should we not avoid the Valley?”

  “Shhh…” Eamon interrupted. “That’s the least of your worries. Get off your horse and have her lie low. Now! ”

  Magnus did as he was told, encouraging Breona to crouch low amongst a collection of large ferns. Mr Overstreet was there next to them, also hiding in the scrub. Eamon tapped Magnus’s shoulder firmly and pointed further up the road. At first Magnus saw nothing, but soon the sound of horse hooves striking the road, accompanied by murmuring voices, echoed through the forest.

  Eamon stroked his beard feverishly and mumbled incoherently under his breath. He turned to Breona, muttering, “Damn, damn, damn…” He crawled on all fours back to Mr Overstreet and pulled a large blanket from his luggage. He continued his crawl over to Breona and threw it over her. Her body was camouflaged, but more than that, her thoughts fell to silence in Magnus’s mind. An enchanted blanket—Magnus realised—like the one Sarah gave me. Breona sat in silence and so Magnus assumed she did not mind.

  “You can’t hide a white horse in a green forest, not unless it be covered in winter’s snow,” whispered Eamon.

  Magnus looked back to the road. A group of men were heading along the road toward them. “Who are they?”

  “Dangerous men—thieves, scoundrels, villains.” Eamon crouched low in the ferns. Copying his stance, Magnus did the same. “We must let them pass, then I will show you a safer route out of Froughton.”

  “Thank you.” Magnus was grateful to Eamon, shuddering at the thought of how close he was to riding directly into their path.

  As if hearing him Eamon said, “If you’d run into them, you’d be a dead man by now. Unless of course you’re well skilled with that sword.”

  Magnus looked at Eamon and saw he was closely examining the fleu-steel sword at his back. He then looked at Magnus again with a frown across his face. Magnus knew Eamon had questions, but now was not the time.

  The men approached. Peering through the trees, Magnus counted six of them. Their horses moved at a trot and were soon close enough for Magnus to hear their conversation.

  “How many days travel?” asked a stout man with a bald head.

  “Three through Froughton. The word is he’d be two into the journey by now.” The answer came from a pale-faced man with a scruffy looking red beard.

  “We should run into him any time today then,” the stout man concluded.

  “A knight from the west you say… on a fast horse… are you sure he’s travelling alone? I don’t wanna take on more than one knight at a time!”

  A third man spoke as they travelled past a clump of trees. “There are six of us, Maldor. And yes, he was seen alone, so stop your fretting.”

  “Aye, I’m just sayin’ it’d best be worth the trouble, Wilfred.”

  “Shut it, Maldor,” a deeper voice boomed, making Magnus jump. “He’s as good as a corpse when we find him. His horse will be worth fifty gold coins and whatever else he carries, we split even.”

  Just then Eamon nudged Magnus. “They’re talking about you,” he said. Magnus looked to Eamon who nodded, affirming his words.

  The man named Wilfred continued. “Remember men—he’s on a white horse and it’s fast. So no hesitating when the time comes. We’ll go a mile further where the road gets all bendy and hide in the Valley—wait him out. He won’t be able to run fast through there.”

  “Aye,” the other men replied, and they charged their horses onward and out of sight.

  Magnus was confused. A knight on a white horse—how could they know I was coming?

  “Who knew you were making this trip?” Eamon asked.

  Magnus thought back. What was it Csilla had told her men? “A warrior on an Astermeer.” The description had changed but the message was the same. He thought of the archers he passed when he rode through the Uydferlands. None of them would betray me. In truth, he had no idea who might betray him.

  Magnus decided to explain things to Eamon. After all, he had shared his supper, refrained from killing him in the night and saved his life just now. I at least owe him the truth. He spared some of the details, telling Eamon only of the Quag attack on the Fire Realm and his mission to ask the Authoritarium for help. Magnus kept what had happened to his parents and to Ganister, and the attack on his home, to himself.

  Eamon listened carefully. “That is grave news,” he concluded.

  “But how could these villains know of my journey so soon? I have travelled the fastest route through Froughton, have I not?”

  “There are faster, but not necessarily safer. And certainly no route that these halfwits would dare take.” Eamon pondered for a moment. “News and gossip on the other hand… yes... that travels as the crow flies. It has a sp
eed all of its own.”

  “As the crow flies?” Magnus was confused.

  “Yes… well… swallows mostly. Messenger swallows. They have better homing instincts. Ahrona swallows from the Clouded Mountains would be my guess… exceptional little creatures. Do you know them?”

  Magnus stared blankly at Eamon.

  “White bellies, yellow flash, blue wings?”

  Magnus shook his head, wondering what the old man’s point was.

  “If a message be given to an Ahrona swallow nothing will arrive at its destination faster.”

  Magnus was trying to keep up with Eamon’s ramblings. “It is safe to say then that someone would prefer I did not reach Guame?”

  Eamon scratched his nose while he thought. He walked to Mr Overstreet and pulled his pipe out from his belongings, tapping its bowl against the palm of his hand before burying his little finger into the chamber to clean it out. “Considering the nature of these men,” Eamon reasoned, “I’d say they weren’t here to stop you, but to profit from your assets. These men are thieves, not bounty hunters.” Eamon leaned toward Magnus. “You ride alone in the company of an Astermeer, carry an Icerealmish sword… why, that alone would net these thieves quite a profit without a bounty on your head. I believe the agenda goes no deeper than that.”

  “Yet they would still kill me to get what they want.”

  “No doubt,” Eamon agreed.

  Magnus let all the possibilities flow through his mind, taking stock once again at how his life had turned upside down so quickly. He was feeling overwhelmed. “Flo Ena…” he said to himself, trying to move on from his thoughts. “How much further is it to the northern border?”

  “On this route? You will never get there.” Eamon was stuffing his pipe with tobacco. “The northern reach is notorious for mischief such as this. I’m betting others may well know of your coming too.”

  “Then what is the alternative?”

  “There is a lesser known path south of the Outer Rim. It exits a safe distance east of the main road.”

  “Through the Valley?” Magnus interrupted, “I’ve had a taste of that and wish for no more.”

  Eamon frowned at Magnus. “Then you’ve another plan, young traveller?” He placed the pipe in his mouth and mumbled a familiar spell—“Fara gin parshin-ar.” The tobacco sparked into flame. Magnus was surprised to see him using the Fireisgh spell.

  “Are you of the Fire Realm?”

  Eamon took a long draw on his pipe and blew the smoke from his nostrils. He seemed to Magnus to be considering his answer. Eamon shrugged. “I guess I’m a gypsy of sorts. I have my own brand of mischief,” he winked. “And a good gypsy knows which way to go. If I were you, Magnus, I’d follow me.” Eamon walked off leading Mr Overstreet deeper into the forest.

  Magnus looked back at the road that led to Guame. It was barely half a day’s travel to the Northern Road, yet if he believed what Eamon said, he would never get there. He knew he had no alternative but to follow the old man and be hopeful it was not to a dark and gruesome end deep in the Valley of Shadows. With reluctance, he led Breona and followed Eamon and Mr Overstreet deeper into the forest.

  The more they moved through the forest, the more enclosed and suffocated Magnus felt. There was no path to follow and the dense undergrowth made progress slow and disorientating. He knew he couldn’t possibly find his way back to the Outer Rim if he were alone. Hour after hour they pushed along. The thick canopy blocked the sun, leaving only a sombre haze of grey that gave Magnus just enough light to know he was still behind Mr Overstreet.

  If Breona was feeling the same, Magnus did not know. She seemed to have completely cut her mind off from him. Whether out of fear or because she did not trust him, he could only speculate. Whatever the reason, he wished he had the courage to let her know she would be okay. She would know I was lying anyway. Just as Magnus thought he could take it no more, they stumbled onto an overgrown path. It appeared to be made of river stones.

  “Yes, here it is.” Eamon knelt to the ground slowly, grunting as his knees cracked on the way down. “Juniper stones!” With gnarled fingers, he tried to pull a stone from the path without success. He removed a small dagger from within his robes and dug in under it, prising it out. He dusted the stone off and handed it to Magnus.

  Magnus studied the deep purple, pebble-like stone that filled the palm of his hand.

  “Warm. Is it not?” Eamon smiled with enthusiasm. Magnus wrapped his fingers around the stone.

  “Yes, it is warm.” Magnus was curious. “As though it’s basked in the sun all day.”

  “Dragon-fired stones. Fired from the flame of dragons. As hard as diamond they are. They once paved paths throughout Froughton Forest during the Second Age. In those days, the paths shone brilliant with Juniper stones and weaved throughout the Valley.” Eamon pressed on the stone in Magnus’s hand, “They say when the dragons forged them in fire the stones glowed hot for a hundred years before they cooled enough to walk upon. That last bit I’d wager is not true. Nevertheless, they still have their heat—you see?”

  It was true—the heat did not fade as Magnus gripped the stone. He handed it back to Eamon, who shook his head. “It is yours to keep. Hold it at sunrise to bring you hope and at sunset to bring you peace. If what you say of the Quag is true, then you will be challenged at both soon enough.”

  Magnus tucked the stone away in the small pocket of his jacket and cast his eyes down the worn, overgrown road of Juniper stones.

  “When did the Valley become so… inhospitable?” Magnus asked.

  “At the dawn of the third age. A thousand years of peace in the realms changed in a moment.” Eamon clicked his fingers. “The Quag invaded the realms. The first attacked was Froughton Forest—home to Earth Realm and unfortunately, the worst prepared. They were all but destroyed. Some say they cursed the Valley to protect it from invaders. I say codswallop to that. If you abandon a place as malevolent as this it becomes nasty of its own accord.”

  “Did they abandon the forest altogether?”

  “Altogether?” Eamon seemed lost in thought. “No, Magnus,” he said in a slow, drawn out way. “They will never abandon her. The OhUid clansfolk are a part of this earth, as are their dragons—the Spindlefax. Far deeper into the forest you must travel to find them. Deeper still than the Valley of Shadows. To The Core you must go.”

  “The Core?”

  “The very heart of Froughton Forest. Seclusion is their key to survival. And the respectful fear outsiders have of the Forest.”

  “Yes,” Magnus looked about. “Us outsiders certainly have that.”

  “Fear not, Magnus. We will be free of Froughton Forest by sundown,” Eamon said. Magnus was pleased to hear it.

  With a set path to follow, Magnus was glad to be back in the saddle. They were making good distance now and the pace set by Mr Overstreet impressed him. The donkey’s small legs zigzagged beneath his well-loaded back, never faltering. Breona even appeared intrigued by the spectacle. No wonder it took a while to catch up with them this morning.

  Little was spoken between Magnus and Eamon over the few hours that followed. Magnus was grateful. It gave him time to clear his mind and think about everything that had transpired and what was to come. The urgency in his manner had faded and he felt guilty because of it. He needed to get to Guame as quickly as he could and he still feared the worst for his parents as well as Ganister and Sarah. Still, it was pointless charging forth without rest or thought. He was only increasing the likelihood of placing himself in danger. Magnus began to think more about Catanya and the dragon priests and wondered if Eamon knew much about them.

  “What do you know of the Irucantî, Eamon?” he asked the old man, who was riding a short way ahead of him. At first there was no reply and from behind, Magnus watched puffs of smoke bloom out from the side of Eamon’s short-brimmed hat. He decided to leave his travelling companion be, for he was perhaps deep in thought himself. But just when Magnus had all but forgotten the ques
tion, Eamon answered him.

  “An interesting subject you raise, Magnus. But if I may, I have one myself. It is pressing on my mind and is perhaps more relevant to our present environment. May I delay in answering yours for a spell?”

  “Of course,” Magnus said, curious as to what Eamon’s question might be.

  “Earlier, you mentioned that you’d had a taste of the Valley before and wished for no more.”

  “Yes,” Magnus agreed, thinking of the seductive creature in the trees.

  “Care to elaborate?”

  Magnus described how he woke after sleeping by the ash tree and the altercation he had with the creature. Magnus blushed as he spoke of her seductive approach and how she entered the depths of his mind. He told Eamon how he wounded and scarred her with his sword. As he spoke, Eamon began to chuckle. The more he told of his tale, the more Eamon found it humorous. By the time Magnus concluded his story, with the creature throwing his travel pack at him before morphing back into the ash tree, Eamon was arching back, laughing so loud Magnus was sure every creature in the forest could hear him. When he finally regained his composure, Eamon apologised for his behaviour and looked at Magnus, whose face burned red. It was all too much. Eamon began to heave with laughter once again, nearly falling from Mr Overstreet and catching his hat as it fell from his head. After wiping his eyes with a handkerchief and blowing his nose noisily, he recovered.

  “Well then… a wounded nymph of the woodlands! That would be a meliae. They reside in the ash trees. You’d best not go near her again,” he giggled. “A woman scorned would have nothing on an insulted nymph. They are beautiful creatures no matter what form they take and are more vain than the prettiest of women. The more she dwells on her injury—not to mention your rejection—the more she’ll curse your name. She’ll make you suffer more than you could ever imagine should you cross paths again.”