A Birthright of Blood (The Dragon War, Book 2)

by Daniel Arenson

  How far back was the town? Scraggles didn't know. How many days had he been wandering this forest? Far too many. He was so thin now. So hungry. So weak and afraid.

  But I must keep going, Scraggles thought, panting as he walked over the fallen leaves. I must find Master. I must find Rune.

  He tossed back his head and yowled. Back at the Old Wheel tavern, whenever he'd yowl, his master would come with food, with pats, with warmth and companionship. Scraggles howled again and again in the forest, as he did every day, and every time, he held his breath and expected Rune to come racing between the trees.

  But he never did.

  And Scraggles just had to keep walking.

  Head hung low, he forced himself to move on, ignoring the pain in his paws. The sun was falling fast. If Scraggles could not find food before the darkness, the hunger would gnaw on him all night, keeping him awake. He looked around, seeking more birds, but they all stood high upon the branches. He saw a squirrel and made a halfhearted attempt to grab it, but it fled into the canopy.

  Maybe I should turn back, Scraggles thought. I could return to the town. I might find food there. I could eat dead fish on the beach or beg for scraps from passersby.

  But no. He couldn't go back. He'd come too far already. There was nothing left for him in the town. His master was no longer there. Scraggles had seen it. The pale woman had become a dragon, lifted his master, and flown off into the forest.

  I will find you, Master, Scraggles thought. I'll keep going forever, even if I die here.

  He kept walking.

  The sun fell behind the trees. Long shadows stretched out, then faded into darkness. Only the stars lit the night. The wind moaned, the trees creaked, and a distant wolf howled.

  Fear filled Scraggles and he mewled. Two days ago, a jackal had pounced and bitten his flank. The wound still blazed. And wolves were even larger; Scraggles had seen one howling upon a hilltop last night.

  If they catch me, they will kill me, he thought and whimpered again.

  He kept walking. He had to keep going. He dared not sleep, not with wolves nearby. The trees creaked in the darkness and branches snagged him. More howls rose. Scraggles walked on.

  I have to rest, he thought. He was so tired. So very tired. He had to lie down. He could curl up here. He could place his head against his paws, close his eyes, and wait for death to find him. It wouldn't be long. Another day or two, and the thirst would claim him, or maybe the wolves. And his pain would end.

  He blinked. He took another step. He was so weary.

  I'll lie down for only a bit, he thought. I'll close my eyes. Maybe I'll dream of Master.

  He sat upon the forest floor, the wolves howled, and Scraggles whimpered.

  I miss you, Master. Do you too wander this forest? Do you too seek me?

  Scraggles lay down. He placed his head on his paws and shivered in the cold. He was about to close his eyes when he glimpsed the flicker of light.

  He raised his head.

  He stared.

  There, he saw it! Light ahead! Firelight!

  Scraggles leaped to his feet. Memories of the fireplace back home filled him. He could almost feel that warmth again. A fire crackled ahead! The scent of smoke wafted, rich and intoxicating in his nostrils, overpowering. Another scent wafted beneath it; the scent of a traveler.

  Master?

  Scraggles ran.

  He ran through the darkness. His paws banged against a root, he fell hard onto the ground, then leaped up and kept running. He followed the scent, and the light grew ahead.

  He raced around an oak and saw it there.

  A campfire.

  A human sat there, shivering in the cold.

  Master?

  Scraggles froze. He stood in the shadows. He sniffed.

  The human was grumbling and rubbing shivering hands before the fire. Scraggles stared, frozen in place, his tail straight like a branch. His nose twitched.

  "Damn the stars and damn the Legions and damn this stupid cold!" the human said and spat.

  Scraggles didn't understand those words, but the voice sounded angry.

  It's not Master's voice.

  Disappointment curdled in his belly like that time he'd eaten moldy cheese. Scraggles took a step forward, keeping himself hidden in the shadows, and stared more closely.

  He'd have to be careful. Humans could be dangerous. Scraggles had learned that in this forest. He had come across humans here before. One had kicked him, and another had drawn his sword and scared him off. Even back home, some humans on the street would treat him cruelly, mocking him.

  Some humans were friends, others were foes. Scraggles did not understand humans well, but he knew that much. He'd have to tread carefully here. If this one was a friend, there might be food and warmth here. Or there might be stones and kicks and swords.

  He inched closer, crept around a tree, and stared at the traveler by the campfire.

  It was a young woman. She was much smaller than his master. She was the size of a child—maybe even smaller than Scraggles—but her face seemed older, the same age as Master's face. She had short, brown hair that fell across her brow. Her face was orange in the firelight, her nose upturned, and her eyes dark.

  A memory stirred in Scraggles.

  He knew this one! He remembered her scent.

  The memories blazed so powerfully he almost fell. In his mind, he was running along the beach again. The sand flew from beneath his paws. The salty wind filled his nostrils, rich with the scent of fish, crabs, and seawater. He ran through the waves, lapping the salty water and spitting it out, and rolling through the sand. And she was there too. This young woman with short hair would pet him, feed him scraps, and wrestle him in the sand.

  She was from home!

  "Good pup!" she had said on the beach, hugging him. "Good pup. You love your Aunt Erry, don't you?"

  Scraggles burst into a run.

  He leaped from the shadows, raced around the campfire, and stood panting before the woman.

  She gasped. Her eyes widened. Scraggles froze, hesitating, not sure she would remember him. He wanted to leap onto her, but waited, a hint of fear still inside him.

  Erry rubbed her eyes and blinked.

  "Merciful stars!" she blurted out, squinted, and tilted her head. "I'm dreaming! Scraggles?"

  It was her.

  Scraggles grinned, leaped onto her, and began licking her face.

  "Burn me!" she said, laughed, and fell onto the forest floor. "Scraggles, what the Abyss are you doing here? Is Rune here?"

  He leaped onto her, licking her face and wrestling her and not letting her rise. She laughed, ruffled his fur, and finally pushed him off.

  "Bloody stars, Scraggles, I was sure you were a wolf or outlaw or something." She looked around at the dark forest. "Cadport must be leagues from here. Are you lost? Where's Rune?"

  Scraggles panted, tail wagging furiously. He didn't understand all of that. But he knew that Cadport was the name of his home. And he knew that Rune was the name of his master. She was asking about them. She wanted to find Master too, he realized.

  Thinking of Master, his joy left him. Ice filled his belly, and he gave a plaintive yowl.

  Erry's eyes softened. She sighed.

  "You're lost too, aren't you, Scrags?" she said. She scrunched her lips, tapped her chin, and looked up at the trees. "Bollocks, old boy, but I've only been walking for three days. We must be leagues and leagues away from Cadport, days away." She frowned at him. "How the Abyss did you make it this far?"

  He panted, leaped onto her again, and nuzzled her cheek. He wanted to tell her so much. He wanted to speak like humans, to tell her of the long days in the forest, the Old Wheel burning, and the pretty woman stealing Rune. Never before had Scraggles wished for the gift of speech so badly. He tried to talk now, giving a rumbling whine. Whenever he attempted speech back at home, Master would laugh and pat him, but Erry only sighed.

  "Oh Scrags, what are you trying to tell me?" She r
aised her voice and cried out. "Rune! Rune, are you out here? Stars, Rune!"

  The wolves answered. Their howls surrounded the camp. Erry closed her mouth, hissed, and grabbed the hilt of her sword. Scraggles tensed, his tail shot out like an arrow, and he growled.

  "I think," Erry whispered, "we better be a little more quiet." She took a step closer to the campfire, keeping her hand on her sword. "Stay close to the fire, Scraggles. Wolves fear fire. But you're brave, aren't you?"

  The wolf howls continued for long moments before dying off. Erry remained standing for a while longer, staring around, then finally sat down. She rummaged through her pack and pulled out bread rolls, smoked sausages, and cheese.

  "It's not much," Erry said, "and it's all the food I have left." She sighed. "I was going to save half for breakfast tomorrow, but damn it, Scraggles, you look thinner than fish bones."

  Scraggles salivated and his belly rumbled. The scent of the food filled his nostrils and his head swam with hunger.

  "Here, you old mutt," Erry said, sighed, and gave him a bread roll. "Eat it."

  Drooling more than he ever had, Scraggles scarfed it down.

  They shared the rest of the food in silence. Erry had a canteen of water too, and she let Scraggles drink half. When their meal was done, they lay down by the fire. The trees creaked, the wind moaned, and they huddled close for warmth. Scraggles sneaked under her cloak, tossed a leg across her, and licked her cheek.

  "God, Scrags, your breath stinks," Erry said. "Breathe the other way!" She pushed his head away, then sighed. "Oh, Scrags, what are we even doing here? We're both lost. We both have no idea where to go."

  Scraggles didn't understand that, but he knew she was sad. He could hear it in her voice. He nuzzled her with his nose, trying to comfort her, and she rubbed his neck.

  "We'll figure something out," she said. Her voice cracked and her eyes dampened. "I promise you. We can't go back to Cadport. There are too many soldiers there. I bet that's why you escaped." She sniffed. "And we can't go back to the Legions anymore, not after what I did; they'd bloody hang me for that. Looks like it's just you and me in the forest from now on, pup."

  Scraggles whimpered and shut his eyes. Erry sighed and held him close. The fire died to embers. They slept.

  LERESY

  He was drinking around the campfire with his men, singing old war songs, when his guards dragged in the kicking, muddy girl.

  They had been living in the woods for many days now, never staying in one place for more than a night. A thousand gruff, loud men who loved to sing and burn bright campfires, they hid about as well as a naked prostitute among priestesses. And so Leresy had been driving them southward day by day. When the clouds offered cover, they flew. When the skies were clear, they walked under the forest canopy. When darkness fell, they drank and sang the nights away. League by league, they moved south, away from the capital, away from the emperor.

  He'll come after me soon, Leresy knew. My father will not tolerate me stealing a thousand of his soldiers. He'll send an army after me. Maybe he already has. The thought tickled him. Let him come! I'll slay him and his men.

  And so they sang in the dark forest, raised smoke from a hundred fires, and kept their armor on and their swords polished.

  "Let Frey Cadigus fly here!" Leresy cried in the night. He drank deeply from his mug of ale. "Let him come and die in our fire."

  He stumbled toward his campfire where a suckling boar was roasting. Leresy laughed to see it. The poor beast had a spit stuck up its bottom, and an apple filled its mouth. Fat and juices dripped into the embers below. Leresy imagined his father and sister roasting in his camp. They too were pigs. He would shove spits up their bottoms too and cook them alive. He gave the boar a turn, allowing the fire to roast its back.

  "Tonight we drink and dine!" he shouted and waved his mug. "By the moon's turn, we will reach the sea, men. We fly south to unknown lands! We fly to Terra Incognita where no dragon has ever flown. We will claim the wild lands and live like kings!"

  They cheered and waved mugs.

  "My father claims he slew all other races, purifying the world," Leresy continued. "But I say he lies! I say many foreign women still live—lush, nubile women of the southern wilderness." His men cheered, and Leresy raised his voice. "We will be explorers, and we will find them! They are waiting for true men of the north to bed them. We will make them ours!"

  The men howled.

  One of them stood up, a gaunt and tall man named Yorne. His hair was brown and shaggy, his face weathered, and his forearms tattooed with dragons.

  "To Leresy!" he announced, raised his mug, and drank.

  Leresy raised his own mug in salute. "We are Leresy's Lechers!" he said. "We are an army. We will rule the wild lands overseas, and if my father flies against us, we will roast his head upon our fires."

  They were carving the boar, opening another cask of ale, and singing hoarsely when the guards dragged the girl into the camp.

  "Let me go, you reeking, toad-warted sons of whores!" the girl was screaming, floundering in the grip of the guards. "Let me go now, maggots, or I'll gut you like fish and piss on your graves!"

  Leresy blinked, rubbed his eyes, and couldn't help but laugh. The young woman was barely larger than a child, her face still fresh with youth. Her cheeks were red, and mud caked her short hair. Her wrists were tied behind her back, and Leresy's guards manhandled her forward. The girl kicked and screamed and tried to bite, but could not free herself.

  "You yeasty, sheep-bedding halfwits!" she shouted, tossing her head from side to side. "Face me like men, you puny boy-loving eunuchs! I'll crush you like the worms that you are."

  The guards kept dragging her forward, moving between the campfires until they stood before Leresy. The girl kept screaming. A bruise spread beneath one of her eyes, and her lip swelled.

  "Lord Leresy!" one of the guards said. "We caught this one slinking outside our camp. A common thief. Probably wanted to steal food. She had a dog too, but the mutt ran off."

  "You are dogs!" the girl screamed. "Your mothers were bitches and your fathers pissed on walls!" She kicked wildly, held in midair. "Give me back my sword, and I'll slice you into rat food!"

  The men of his camp gathered around and laughter roared. The young woman couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds in armor, and even held above the ground, her head barely reached the guards' shoulders. And yet she squirmed, shouted, and kicked like an enraged bull.

  "I know this one," Leresy said. He tapped his cheek, stepped closer to the girl, and scrutinized her. "I've seen her before somewhere."

  She spat at him.

  The glob hit Leresy's forehead and dripped down his face.

  "And I know you, Leresy Cadigus," the girl said. "You tell your thugs to untie me, or by the stars, next thing that hits your face is my boot."

  Leresy cleared his throat. Stiffly, he lifted the hem of his cloak and cleaned her spit off his face.

  "You know, I do love a wild woman," he said, reached out to caress her cheek, and pulled his hand back when she snapped her teeth. "I bet you're a wild one in bed."

  "I thought you only bed sheep," she said and raised her chin, still held in the guards' grips.

  He sighed. "Your name is Erry. I remember. Periva Erry Docker, the daughter of a whore from Cadport. You served me in Castra Luna. By the Abyss, I'm pretty sure I paid good copper for your mother a few years back." He tilted his head. "How much do you charge now? I bet you bed men for bread crusts."

  "I bet you bed them for gold, Leresy," she said. "Oh yes, you're a pricey one."

  He stared at her top to bottom, considering. The girl was too scrawny. She stood barely taller than a child, she had no teats to speak of—at least, none that he could see under her tunic—and her hips were narrow like a boy's. Leresy liked his women rounded enough to grab on to. This one was filthy besides, all caked in mud and sweat. And yet… she was still the only woman he'd seen in days. If he closed his eyes when bedding her
and thought of Nairi instead, she would serve.

  He turned his attention to the guards holding her. "Let her go. This runt used to be my soldier. She will serve me here too."

  The guards hesitated. "My lord?" one said. "She bit my arm back in the forest. She kicked Joran in the shin. She might be a runt, but she's wild."

  "I like them wild," Leresy said. "I will tame her. Leave her arms bound, but let her stand. She's cranky because she's hungry and thirsty. We'll let her eat and drink." He looked at her. "Share our meat and ale, Erry Docker. You were my soldier. I'll look after you." He touched her cheek. "Be a good girl now."

  The guards released her. Erry landed on her feet, hissed, and whipped her head from side to side. She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists but could not free herself. Panting, she stared around the camp, letting her gaze fall upon the men, the campfires, the roasting boars, and the copious amounts of ale. Her eyes narrowed.

  "Bloody shite, Leresy," she said. "You look like a pack of outlaws. Burn me!"

  Leresy cleared his throat. "Well, we are outlaws now, in a sense." He shrugged. "I got weary of life in the court. All fancy dress and pomp and fake flattery. I told my father to go shag a dog, took my men south, and here we are. Behold!" He waved his mug around. "My new domain and my new band of merry men. Meet Leresy's Lechers!"

  Erry snorted. "Leresy's Lechers? Did you invent that name?" She tossed back her head and laughed. "Merciful stars, it's not very intimidating, is it? Why not… Leresy's Lepers, or… Leresy's Bastards or something? If you're outlaws, you need to sound tough and scary, not just lustful."

  "Well, the first one's disgusting," Leresy said, "and the second one don't rhyme."

  "Leresy's Lechers don't rhyme either," Erry retorted, chin raised. "You're thinking of alliteration, not rhyming."

  He snorted. "Big words for a dock rat." He grabbed her shoulder. "Watch your tongue, little one, lest I cut it from your mou—"