One Cannot Deny a Blood Oath with a Dragon

by T P Sheehan

  Setting off for the morning, Breona shared her desire to keep looking for Alavia. Magnus knew she would have it no other way, which suited him. He thought, too, of his promise to return to Lucas. He desperately wanted to know if his friend had recovered. Returning to the Uydferlands would also allow him to warn Csilla of the Authoritarium’s support for the Quag attack. The journey westward would however be treacherous. Crugion and his men would be expecting Magnus to make a run for home, or would they think him bold enough to search for his parents in Ba’rrat? Then there’s the issue of the scouting wyverns…

  No, Magnus decided. They would continue to the southern border of Froughton Forest and find a way over the Corville Mountains to Ba’rrat. “It is there we will find my parents, Breona.” The thought came to him reluctantly. He dared not try to comprehend the journey ahead. Instead, he would take one step at a time.

  By mid morning they descended into a deep gulley that was filled with chattering birds. The air became cool and still. A creek trickled its way through the forest at the lowest point of the gully. On the far side of the ravine, the forest rose steeply once again.

  Magnus decided to follow the creek upstream, hoping it would guide him westward enough to get closer to the Outer Rim where he could assess how safe it was to travel that way. They followed the creek that gradually widened as several other creek divisions converged upon it. After several hours, a broader river began to take shape and Magnus began to notice purple irises growing along the riverbank, reminding him of the Nuyan River. He picked an iris, imagining he was waiting for Catanya to meet him by the river. Was it six, seven or more days since I last saw Catanya? He drew in the flower’s delicate, earthy scent and made a wish on it, hoping Catanya was well and safe.

  He held the long stem of the flower between his fingertips then threw it, watching it glide down over the flowing river, where it landed upon a thin stream of red blood coursing its way down the river. Magnus followed the blood trail up stream. It led him to an outcrop of rock on the southern bank atop which a discarded arrow rested. He walked to the rock where the flowing river was washing blood from the rock’s surface into the river. Magnus looked intently at the arrow. It was black with crudely crafted black-feathered vanes and a broadly angled steel tip. Breona walked over and sniffed at the bloody rock.

  “Dragon blood,” she concluded. “The youngling is wounded.”

  It was then that Magnus became aware of the deathly silence of the gulley—that the chattering of the birds had fallen silent. The silence was soon disturbed with a guttural roar that echoed through the gully. They heard it again. To Magnus it sounded like a roar of pain.

  “It is the dragon youngling,” Breona said.

  Magnus reached over his shoulder, grabbing for his sword that was not there. “Curses!” he muttered under his breath. “Can you hear his thoughts?” he asked Breona.

  “He has fallen silent,” Breona answered.

  Magnus sensed her anxiety and was surprised at her concern for the dragon. With trepidation, they started on and up the southern hill face. Minutes later they reached the top of the next rise and peered down to another gully and a clearing beyond it. It seemed at first there was little to see, but soon there was movement.

  “Over there, beyond the trees.” Magnus pointed to the bottom of the gully where he could make out the dark figures of several men partially hidden by the trees. They were moving around excitedly. The dragon’s roar came again and was followed by the eruption of laughter.

  “Again, again, go for the leg!” shouted one of them. There was a pause followed by another roar and more laughter. Magnus lay flat on his belly, trying to catch sight of the dragon youngling.

  “They are torturing him!” Breona’s thoughts were sharp with anger. Magnus looked at her, standing tall on the top of the rise making no effort to conceal her whereabouts.

  “Breona, they will see you there. Get back.”

  Breona dug at the ground with a hoof and snorted angrily. “They are hurting the youngling as they did me. He may be annoying but he is of sacred blood.”

  “Breona!” Magnus tried to settle her, but it was too late. She charged down the embankment toward the gully below. Not knowing what else to do, Magnus ran after her. Her emotions were overloaded with anger, even more so than when she freed herself from the Quagmen’s shackles. Magnus knew there was no reasoning with her now.

  Down and down they went, slipping their way down the steep descent that soon tapered out to level ground where Breona broke into a gallop, weaving around the trees and thrashing through the undergrowth with little regard for her own safety.

  “Breona!”

  Magnus watched as she crashed through the last of the scrub and out into the clearing. Magnus followed her, running hard, until he came to a halt at the edge of the clearing. Sure enough, a Quagman was poised with an arrow aimed at the dragon while several other Quagmen looked on. None seemed to have spotted Breona yet.

  “Take it down!” one of them shouted, gesturing towards the dragon youngling.

  Breona ran over to the archer and knocked him flat to the ground. Relentlessly, she stomped on him—again and again and again. Magnus recognised the three remaining Quagmen. It was Briet and his accomplices. They stood back in alarm.

  Arrows were embedded in the youngling’s shoulders, legs and neck, where his scales gave less protection. He favoured his right front leg and was guarding his injured left foreleg where an arrow cut deep. His bronze scales glistened in the sun that shone through the clearing.

  Breona trampled the fallen Quagman to a bloody pulp. His helmet and armour did little to protect him from Breona’s rage. Looking back to the men, Magnus saw Briet move in with his sword, ready to attack Breona. Thinking fast, Magnus spotted the fallen man’s bow and a single arrow lying just a few feet from him. He ran to it as fast as he could, making Briet hesitate in his advance. Gripping the bow and loading the arrow with fumbling fingers, Magnus pointed it at Briet, drawing back the arrow with as much tension as he could muster.

  “Stop!” Magnus shouted. Breona settled herself down but still shifted about angrily.

  Briet raised his eyebrows in surprise. It was soon replaced with a grimace that swept across his face as he advanced once again. Magnus dropped to one knee, tilted his head and peered down the shaft of the arrow, aiming straight at Briet’s head. Briet grunted and stood his ground.

  “Not one step further,” Magnus shouted. The two other men drew their swords and moved around the edges of the clearing. Soon, one was positioned to his right and one to his left, with Briet in front of him. He could feel the dragon behind him breathing heavily and Breona jumping around in a state of anger.

  “You kill me boy, what next, hey?” said Briet.

  The man to Magnus’s right stumbled as he walked. Standing again, he removed his helmet and stood swaying as he drank sloppily from a large jug, spilling red wine across his face. Magnus could smell the alcohol and, now that he looked for it, noticed Briet seemed unsteady on his feet, too.

  “So long as I kill you Briet, I’m happy.” Magnus replied.

  ‘You kill him, ya dead!” the Quagmen to his left grunted, advancing slowly toward him. The dragon roared, making Magnus’s heart leap in his chest. The man to his left backed up a little. Breona moved to Magnus’s immediate left and reared up, screaming in support of the dragon. The man to Magnus’s right shouted and charged at him. Magnus turned to him and released his arrow. It sank deep into his forehead. As he watched the man fall, Magnus was overcome with searing pain as an arrow tore into his left thigh. It was Crugion, who walked into the clearing from the trees behind Briet, holding a crossbow that he was reloading. Magnus looked at his leg. The black arrow had sunk deep and protruded from both sides.

  The sound of another arrow whistling through the air drew Magnus’s attention. It embedded itself into Breona’s chest. She released a high pitch scream and sank to the ground. Struggling for breath, she was full of fear and pain that
permeated through Magnus’s mind.

  “No!” Magnus cried. Seeing her fallen, Magnus was overcome with anger and dove for the sword that belonged to the dead man to his right. He had lost track of who was where and so wielded the sword around like a mad man.

  Briet came to him with his black swords drawn, swinging them about with all his strength and fury. Magnus caught the blow of both with his own blade but could not match his strength. Briet pushed hard against him, grunting and spitting between gritted teeth. He smashed against Magnus’s Quag blade again, grated down to the hilt and across Magnus’s left forearm, cutting deep to the bone. Magnus dropped his sword. Another blow from Briet came fast, but the dragon leapt at him faster, releasing another bellowing roar even louder than before. Its anger pierced through Magnus’s mind like the blade through his arm as it shared its emotions with him once again. The claws of its foreleg tore the sword from Briet’s arm and sliced through his flesh.

  The remaining Quagman leapt to Briet’s defence, stabbing at the dragon’s underbelly repeatedly. A further thrust of Briet’s second sword tore through the dragon’s already injured foreleg, bringing the dragon crashing to the ground. It clawed desperately to right itself but its strength was waning and it could no longer stand.

  Breona came to the dragon’s defence again, pushing her full weight against the other Quagman. They fell together, Breona crushing him as she fell. The Quagman wailed then coughed as he struggled for breath through his broken body.

  Crugion was still standing a good distance from the altercation. He launched another arrow at Breona that sank deep into her neck. Magnus howled at the sight of her.

  Briet backed away from the dragon, examining his injured arm. He spat at the ground, threw his robes aside and drew his notorious black dagger from his belt. He advanced toward Magnus again.

  “Briet! Back down!” Crugion shouted. Briet ignored him, flipping the blade about its tang until his thumb pressed firmly on its butt.

  “Briet. I said back down,” Crugion warned again. Briet cursed in frustration, holding the blade hard against Magnus’s neck. Crugion came over and placed a gloved hand on his kinsman’s shoulder. “He is mine.”

  Briet stood and stepped aside, spitting at the ground and cursing. Magnus watched as Crugion discarded his crossbow and held aloft a sword, still in its scabbard. It was Magnus’s sword. He threw it to him.

  “I told you I would return your blade to you in the arena. You’ve wasted enough of my time. This will be your arena.” Crugion gripped the pommels of his own two swords, then released them again. “I’ll give you a moment to catch your breath, Rhyderman.” He turned his back on Magnus and walked away toward Briet who had stormed off in anger to the far side of the clearing.

  ELECTUS

  Magnus glanced over to Breona. Life was draining from her, but she was looking at the dragon youngling, who looked back to her. They seemed to be sharing thoughts, both breaking occasionally to look at Magnus.

  “You have your mother’s heart, Magnus.” Breona’s thoughts were weak. “There is none more deserving.”

  Magnus pulled himself to his feet and limped over to Breona’s side, dragging his injured leg behind him. He fell upon her and embraced her head in a hug, sobbing.

  “Tell Alavia we will meet again… beyond the Ice Seas…”

  “I will tell her,” Magnus lied, sure he would be joining her very soon.

  “Go now, chosen one.” Breona said. Her struggling breath ceased and her mind distanced itself from Magnus’s. Magnus willed himself to go with her but his body was not ready to die.

  Magnus turned away from Breona, tears coursing down his face. He pushed himself up to face his fate but stumbled and fell. He lay on his back with outstretched arms. The dragon youngling was fast to pin his right arm to the ground with its wounded left paw. Magnus felt the talon at the heel of its paw pressing firmly into his wrist. He tried to pull free but the dragon persisted, pressing harder and harder until Magnus felt the talon break through his skin and wedge its way between the two bones of his forearm.

  “You’re hurting me!” his mind yelled at the dragon, worried it didn’t know friend from foe. The pain seared through him, stealing his breath away. It was unlike any pain he had ever experienced—even more so than the arrow embedded in his thigh. He looked over at Crugion, whose attention was on fastening his gauntlets, readying himself for their fight.

  Then the dragon youngling spoke to him—“I am spent and so I grant you my strength.” The dragon clenched his paw, drawing his front claws into a fist and thrusting the heel talon deeper still into Magnus’s wrist. “I give you my blood, I give you my life.”

  Magnus felt heat build in his wrist. It grew and grew until the heat felt like acid burning so mercilessly he was sure it would cause his arm to burst into flames. Then the pain began to spread up his arm toward his shoulder. Magnus looked to the dragon. “Why are you torturing me?” It did not stop there. The pain spread through his whole body. His heart began to pound hard and within moments he was consumed with unyielding heat and unbearable pain.

  Magnus grabbed the dragon’s foreleg with his wounded arm and felt its hard scales beneath his hand. The dragon had ironclad strength and would not yield. But the attack was not over. The youngling started to invade Magnus’s mind, filling it with thoughts and memories that were not his own. He saw all of the dragon’s memories. The dragon’s name was Thioci. He had lived a life of fifty years—too short for a fire dragon. But there was more to come. Magnus saw memories the youngling had inherited from its forefathers and theirs before them. Memories of the bond shared between father and son, of love for the people of the Fire Realm and of the bond that people and dragons shared. He saw memories of the disintegration of a thousand years of peace among the four realms of Allumbreve. Finally he saw the will of the God of Fire. He saw the fierceness of his nature and the truth of his plan. Above all—he wanted peace among people.

  Magnus stopped resisting and allowed the pain to have its way with him—there was nothing more he could do. Soon enough, the pain subsided but the heat remained. Magnus looked the dragon in the eyes. They were blue. Slowly, they changed back to amber.

  “You are worthy of my blood, Magnus. Breona of the Ice Seas has shown me. You are the chosen one. You are the Electus.”

  Thioci withdrew his talon from Magnus’s wrist. He felt the warmth drain from the dragon’s paw. Before his eyes, the dragon’s radiant scales began to fade and its eyes lost their fire. Thioci rested his head upon the ground and slowly closed his eyes, heaving slow, weak breaths.

  Magnus stood up, feeling the heat in his body surge through him with each beat of his heart. He saw that Crugion was now layered with thick black Quag armour and wore a spiked black helm on his head. He drew his two black blades and broke into a run toward Magnus. Magnus knelt down with his injured leg forward. The heat in his body shifted. It throbbed about his injured forearm and the arrow embedded in his leg. Magnus gritted his teeth and watched as the ends of the arrow ignited into flame then burned to ash that floated to the ground. The pain was gone. Likewise—his forarm were healed. Crugion stopped in his tracks, ripping the helm from his head.

  “What’s this?” he asked, his face contorting as he looked at Magnus’s leg.

  Magnus picked his sword off the ground and pulled it from its scabbard, the white flash of the blade shimmering down its length. He twisted his head from one side to the other making his neck crack and pop. He drew his shoulders back, lifting his chest, and his bruised ribs seared with heat for just a moment before fading away, leaving them healed. Magnus felt almost invigorated. Then he advanced toward Crugion and took first charge, slicing his sword at him at a rate that alarmed even himself.

  Crugion moved fast, blocking Magnus’s move with both blades crossed in front of him. He spun about and brought the left blade down across Magnus’s face. Magnus arched back, averting the blow by a hair’s breadth before thrusting forward with a stabbing blow, just missin
g Crugion’s chest. Crugion danced around Magnus with a grin on his face, apparently enjoying the sport of the event.

  “Finish him off!” Briet shouted. Magnus glanced over at Breona lying dead beside the fallen dragon. Anger and grief wrestled within his heart for supremacy and anger won out. He leaped at Crugion and attacked him with all the skill of his swordsmanship. Crugion was on the defensive with no chance for a counter attack. Finally Magnus landed a blow across Crugion’s face, the fleu-steel of his blade slicing deeply through his right cheek and upper lip.

  Crugion reeled back and Magnus stopped, watching the Quagman’s shocked reaction. Crugion retaliated with fury. He forced Magnus back as he worked both blades with precision, delivering more blows than Magnus could counter. A blow struck Magnus across his chest, another his abdomen, and finally Crugion thrust a blade deep beneath Magnus’s ribs, just below his heart.

  Magnus fell to his knees. He was spent. Blood flowed from his wounds and his vision was failing him, replaced instead with hallucinations of the mind. He became a spectator watching reruns of the blows dealt to Breona and the dragon that brought them to their ends.

  Thioci… Magnus thought of the dragon youngling. His name is Thioci. The sun hitting Magnus’s face felt warm and inviting until Crugion’s shadow blocked it. He crouched down to Magnus’s level and grabbed a lock of his hair, bringing their faces together much as he had when first they met. He licked his wounded lip and glared into Magnus’s unfocussed eyes.

  “You are done, son of Bonstaph. Go to the halls of your ancestors and wait just a little while, for your father shall join you soon enough.”

  Magnus heard the words but barely comprehended them. He was hanging onto life’s final thread, his breath spent and his body bleeding profusely. Crugion spoke again but it came to Magnus as a distant drone, fading in volume and void of meaning. Magnus felt himself fall to oblivion but he was seized by the presence of another. It was Thioci.