Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  Roimas did not cry out. As soon as the foul creature raised Delcan’s body from the saddle he hunkered down and rode faster, straight toward the dragon. His initial feeling was to follow the creature, to somehow reach his son. He knew not what he would do if he were to catch it. Perhaps leap onto its back and then… what? Shortly after that thought, he realized he could not possibly gain enough ground to catch the flying dragon.

  With a dull pain in the pit of his stomach and stinging tears in his eyes, Roimas stopped his horse.

  He looked behind him and saw at once the matter of most pressing need approaching—nine guards and four knights galloping at full speed toward them. He turned his horse around to face the approaching pursuers. He would deal with them first, and then find Delcan.

  He drew his broadsword and held it at the ready as Sandrion approached and stopped beside him.

  “Delcan,” Sandrion said, pointing at the dragon that flew farther away with every breath. “What of Delcan, and Aria?”

  “We will go after them. Shortly,” Roimas responded. “First, we must face them.” He nodded toward the knights and guards who were now within arrow range.

  “How can you delay going after Delcan—your son?”

  Roimas shot Sandrion a glance the squire hoped he would never see again. “We cannot outrun them any longer. And we cannot catch up with him.” He pointed over his shoulder in the direction where the dragon had flown. “We either fight now or are slain from behind. He is my son, and I will take him back.”

  Sandrion did not respond. Instead, he loaded his crossbow.

  Roimas urged his stallion forward, raising his sword. Sandrion followed him with his eyes and saw Roimas’s sword clash against a knight’s as the two horses passed each other. Behind them, Wildon approached at a full gallop with his sword drawn.

  Sandrion shot at a charging guard. The arrow struck in a gap in the armor and pierced the guard’s shoulder. The rider kept coming.

  Of all the stories of the dragon lore, none prepared her for its reality, much less for her chase after it to save the life of the man she had come to love; if he were still alive at all.

  In flight, the dragon appeared to glide, flapping its wings only once in a while. It continually headed west, widening the distance between it and Aria. She continued to drive the horse harder in her indomitable pursuit and, as it galloped, the stallion’s breathing turned into panting and sweat poured from its side and legs.

  As morning faded into afternoon, an outline of the forest and mountains emerged ahead. A two-day journey had suddenly taken less than half the time and Aria had a fleeting thought that somehow the dragon pulled her as much as she chased it.

  As it reached the forest, the creature seemed the size of a large bird. Aria could no longer see Delcan in its grip; only the occasional movement of the beast’s wings.

  Sandrion stood with his legs apart, holding the bloodied broadsword of a fallen soldier. He had relied on the crossbow at first, aiming at gaps in the guards’ armor. It had not been long before the reloading of the crossbow consumed too much time for it to remain effective.

  He had struck the first guard in the shoulder and the guard had barely reacted. As Sandrion reloaded the crossbow the guard had approached fast and struck him on the side of the head with the hilt of a sword. Sandrion had tumbled off the horse, landing hard on the dirt. He had stood quickly and by the time the guard had turned his horse, had shot the guard in the neck, taking him down. Sandrion had run to the fallen body and taken liberty of the man’s sword. He had then climbed back on his stallion and ridden to stand with Roimas. From that point on, a long, hard-fought battle had ensued.

  Now, all was quiet. Sandrion waited, darting his eyes form side to side, searching for the next attack against which to defend.

  The screeching of metal striking metal had stopped, and so had the cries of rage behind each swing of the swords. Only the snorting of a horse nearby registered in his ears.

  Sandrion had several jagged cuts across his face. One of his eyes was bruised and bloodshot and his jaw throbbed with pain. His arms ached. His back felt like a wooden pillar. At his feet lay the lifeless body of a knight. Blood’s heavy scarlet had dyed patches of the meadow’s grass.

  Sandrion heard a groan and turned. His arms trembled as he tightened his grip on the sword hilt. A wounded knight sat at the base of a tree, hugging himself, as if trying to hold back life from bleeding out of him, moaning. As Sandrion looked around he saw more bodies in armor, on their backs, on their stomachs—dead masses of flesh.

  He closed his eyes and lowered his sword. For a moment he pushed all thought out of his mind, searching for a quiet darkness in which to hide for awhile. He let out a sigh as he reluctantly reopened his eyes and turned away from the man now sitting lifeless against the tree.

  He looked back toward the road and saw Roimas standing with his sword in hand. The farmer still breathed heavily. He too was bruised and his face wore a pained expression that rivaled the ones on the corpses surrounding them but there were no visible injuries.

  Wildon stood to the side of Sandrion, a few yards away. He was looking at his bloodied hands. A breathless knight lay at his feet with Wildon’s sword still stuck in his midsection. At first, Sandrion thought the blood belonged to the soldier on the ground. Looking at Wildon’s chest he realized it was Wildon who bled; the point of an arrow boldly adorned his chest. The other half of the arrow lay at his feet.

  Wildon saw Sandrion looking at him and smiled, then dropped to his knees. Sandrion hurried to him, followed closely by Roimas.

  “No,” Wildon whispered, hardly able to raise his hand in protest. Much blood had spilled out of him. “Leave me. Go get Aria.” He lowered his head and closed his eyes; he seemed to be working hard at controlling his breathing.

  The reality of the scene around him struck Sandrion like a stone and his eyes moistened. Here was the end of yet another life. That of a warrior whose entire being had been molded for moments like this—moments of battle. A man who had once been the highest ranking knight in the King’s service had sacrificed that stature and his place in Castilmont to help a couple of squires. And now, he had sacrificed his life.

  “Find Delcan; find the dragon.” Wildon raised his head and looked up at them.

  “For—” Wildon struggled to speak. “Forgive me,” he said to Roimas.

  Roimas knelt in front of him and shook his head. “No need,” he said.

  Again, Wildon forced a weak smile then fell forward into Roimas’s arms.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  The dragon had circled above the forest’s edge several times before flying toward the mountain. Aria had seen it from afar and had thought it to be teasing her somehow, daring her to penetrate the feared umbra of which children’s nightmares were made.

  As she passed the first few trees stretching high above her, she lost sight of the dragon; but she knew where it headed. She knew not where its lair was; only that she would climb to the very summit of the mountain if necessary in search of it.

  The trees formed a canopy one hundred feet above her head. They were adorned with green leaves and black bark. The contrast between the life in the green of the leaves and the death of the dark trunks intrigued her, and the thought that perhaps there was beauty hidden deep within the frightening timbers crossed her mind. The orange-red light of the approaching sunset peeked down through the canopy. The mountain’s peak was visible between the occasional gaps in the trees and she proceeded toward it.

  As she advanced through the forest, the foliage grew denser and she fell deeper in shadow. Where the tree tops were no longer visible the ground had become soft. Water sat in large puddles and in many places swamps had formed. Large insects the size of Aria’s head flew above the stagnant water. She had never seen such creatures, nor had she heard of them. They buzzed past her, unconcerned with her presence, not paying attention to her nor bothering her.

  Aside from the heavy stench of infested water,
the forest smelled of death and rotting. Aria’s face wrinkled at the reek. She hoped that the horror behind that odor was something she would never encounter.

  After half of an hour, the forest stench overpowered her; Aria fought to maintain her self-control and not abandon her purpose. She thought of Delcan and relied on the image of him being carried away by the dragon as both an anchor and a compass.

  When she reached the point at which the ground sloped upward, where the timberland and the mountain met, the horse stopped and refused to continue forward; it shook its head from side to side and retreated. A growl reverberated from somewhere in the foliage ahead and the stallion raised its forelegs, throwing Aria off. She fell between two trees, fortunate not to hit her head on a stone. For a moment, she saw herself fall and die as her mother had.

  The horse, glad to be rid of her, turned and galloped away, darting between trees and out of the forest.

  Aria sat up, watching it go. Soon, it disappeared from sight and she could only hear its gallop. Then, even that was gone. She was alone.

  She looked up, looking for a hint of sky but saw only an otherworldly blend of green-orange-red above her. The branches and leaves interlocking like the fingers of a monstrous hand. The giant trees seemed to look down upon her, their branches pointing as if to provoke laughter from one another at her expense.

  As the light of day receded behind the Twilight Mountains, thin, gray mists dashed between the trees in front of her. They seemed like small storm clouds, but behaved like gamboling mean-spirited children, taunting her as if she were a girl new to a village. They approached her fast, and then swirled around her. Aria felt them breathing, snickering in her ears. She turned around anxiously, trying to follow them with her eyes; her hand firmly gripped the hilt of the sword against her hip.

  Again, the forest growled; the Shadows swept past her and away into the trees, leaving a trail of cackling laughter behind them. Aria stood for a moment waiting for more of them to approach but none did.

  With a deep breath that beckoned resoluteness, she began her walk up the subtle incline of the foot of the mountain. She pushed her way through dense shrubbery that sat at the base of tree trunks like children at the feet of giants. As the terrain angled upward, the shrubbery lessened. The forest grew darker. Thin fog escaped out of the ground and spread across the forest floor, covering her feet to the point where they were no longer visible. As she continued up the slope, Aria stepped on something soft that released a deafening, high-pitched shriek. She felt it squirm away from under her and covered her ears with the palms of her hands. She was growing tired, and increasingly afraid.

  A growl rumbled behind her and the heat of a breath exhaled stroked her ankles. She whirled, reaching for her sword.

  Before her was an animal that stood on four legs with two others raised, waving them, menacing. It was the size of a small dog and was covered in fine, red hair. A long tail wagged behind it. Its snout stretched away from its face and when it opened its jaws it revealed a mandible full of large canines.

  It snarled again, daring Aria to step closer.

  She fixed her eyes on the creature’s large, brown ones and drew her weapon. The animal turned its head to one side and watched her, as if curious why she had not yet attacked it. It closed its jaw and lowered its forepaws. Resting on all six, the animal was no higher than her knees and Aria lowered the sword. The creature continued to look at her. It waited for her to move forward; she waited for it to attack.

  The two watched each other for another minute. Perhaps sensing no aggression from Aria, the creature sat and proceeded to lick the hair on its shoulders with an impossibly long tongue. Aria sighed with relief. She slipped the sword back into the scabbard and backed away. The creature watched her with interest.

  When she reached a distance of twenty yards, she turned and continued up the slope. Several minutes later, she glanced over her shoulder and found the animal following her, stopping behind trees to conceal itself and watch her. Its inadequate attempt at hiding made Aria smile. She could tell it meant her no harm—perhaps it was only curious at seeing a human for the first time. She found the animal’s presence endearing and strangely comforting. She felt less afraid, and not so alone.

  The dragon ahead roared and the sound drove her onward.

  As she followed the dragon’s call, the small creature followed closely behind. She passed by trees scorched by fire—fire she knew had come from the dragon’s throat, as if it were marking the way for her.

  In time the climb grew steeper. Trees covered less of the landscape and the sky, peppered with awakening stars, replaced branches and leaves as the prominent fixture above. As Aria climbed higher, the ground beneath her feet turned rocky. Little vegetation grew here and the trees were now all behind her. She was drawing near.

  Aria pulled herself atop one of the boulders that now covered most of the ground. When she stood up she saw it—the cave, the lair, carved into the side of the mountain about halfway up.

  She heard a small whine behind her and turned around. The creature that had followed this far apparently had enough. It stood whimpering for a moment then turned away and returned to the forest.

  Aria sighed and faced the mountain. Darkness seeped out from the entrance to the cave. She flinched as a roar emerged from that yawning mouth on the mountain’s stone face. A shiver like a cold breeze ran up the back of her neck. She straightened her shoulders, drew the sword and walked inside.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Aria entered the cave prepared to fight, taking slow, calculated steps.

  The only light in the cavern came from the opening behind her. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she stayed close to the wall, moving the sword from side to side in front of her as she walked. Ahead, she saw the flickering of fire and moved toward it.

  As she drew closer to the fluttering light, a roar echoed all around her. It seemed to come from everywhere. Her legs quivered unexpectedly, as if the roar had travelled through the cavern floor like a tremor and had scurried up her legs.

  For a moment, she stood still.

  As she continued to stare ahead, the fire suddenly grew larger, brighter. She squinted, struggling to determine its origin. As she watched it fill the darkness, Aria realized the fire was not growing; it was moving toward her—a fire ball spat out by the dragon, and it was aimed at her.

  She backed up against the wall, her back and hands pressed tightly against it. She closed her eyes as the fire flew past her and struck the cave wall to the side of the entrance. Its explosion against the stone illuminated the entire area around her for a moment. When she opened her eyes, she saw she stood in a narrow path within the cave. Above her, sharp spears of stone hung from the cavern’s ceiling. The small fire she had first seen still burned. She gazed at it and thought if she did not move quickly, another fireball may head her way, and the next one may not miss her. She took a deep breath and ran toward the light.

  It was nothing more than a pile of wood kindling, burning. Aria looked at it and frowned, wondering who could have built it.

  The fire stood in the center of a wide, circular chamber at the end of the stone corridor. It threw shadows behind and to the side of her. On a raised stone to her right lay Delcan as if in deep, lifeless sleep.

  As she started toward him, something heavy, something that would surely leave an imprint in the dirt and stone for all eternity, stomped the ground behind her. She stopped, turned, and there it was—the dragon. It stood on its four legs, its tail swaying back and forth.

  Aria stumbled, catching herself against the wall. The creature looked at her with its chilling, gray-blue eyes. Shadows from the fire crossed its face and for an instant she thought she saw it smile.

  She raised the sword with both hands and with a stammering heart prepared herself. For what, she was not certain. In her mind, she ran through rapid scenarios where she would attack the dragon—the creature who had killed Delcan and which she must now destroy if she were to
leave its lair alive—or where she would defend against it. It was futile, she knew, but even so, she would stand.

  “You are brave.”

  Aria did not know from where the deep, reverberating voice had come at first. Her ears told her it had been from somewhere in front of her, but her mind rejected it. Only the dragon stood before her. She looked around quickly, finding no other presence, and returned to the monster in front of her.

  “Where are you?” she asked the darkness.

  The dragon moved to one side, closer to Delcan, and Aria tightened her grip on the sword. The light of the fire now fell directly on the beast.

  “Do not be frightened. I do not intend you harm.”

  At once the sword became unbearably heavy in Aria’s hands. Her arms trembled and her shoulders ached. She lowered the weapon. Her breathing was shallow and fast. Tears began to build in her eyes as the intensity of the moment took over her body. She had seen the dragon’s mouth move and now her mind knew not what to believe.

  “And I shall not harm him.” The dragon turned its head to look at Delcan. “In fact, I shall help you both.” His voice was heavy, sure, as well as soft and inviting.

  Aria dropped the sword and fell to her knees.

  “You…” she whispered out of breath. “You… you speak.”

  The dragon smiled again, this time clearly, even showing some of its teeth at the corner of its mouth.

  “Yes. I do. Just as well as you.”

  “And you are not going to kill me?”

  “No. Why would I do such a thing?”

  “The fireball,” Aria responded. “It nearly scorched me.”

  “Ah. That was far from touching you. I made sure of it. It was to light your way here.”

  Her racing heart slowed down as she began to breathe more calmly.

  “Delcan?”

  The dragon looked at the motionless body lying on stone and walked toward it. “He is not dead,” he said. “Delcan is resting. I have healed his wounds.”