The Dragon Horn

by Vaughn Heppner

“He might be a sorcerer,” she said. “Yet I also think he can be won over. I felt it when our eyes met, when we touched.”

  Ivan pushed off the boulder.

  “Ivan?” she asked.

  He waited.

  “Maybe the rest of you should return home. It might not be safe for you, Yury and Feodor.”

  Ivan shook his head. “I can’t do that.”

  “Neither can I change what I must attempt.”

  “Luck,” he managed to say. Then he turned and stumbled to his tent.

  -30-

  The morning began with an alarm as Yury shouted. The others came running, Nadia with her wand. To Ivan’s horror, he saw the dark man advance upon Yury. Feodor moaned at the sight as his axe fell from his fingers.

  “Stand back!” Nadia cried to Petor.

  The Belgorod knight rushed the faint, with his longsword gripped two-handedly. Heeding Nadia, however, Petor halted his mad attack.

  Seen here, it was obvious the dark man had wings instead of a cloak. They were poised for flight. His green eyes glowed within his helmet as menace radiated from him.

  Nadia took a wide-legged stance and held her wand aloft. Her throat-gem shone brilliantly. “Away, creature of the Night! Retreat to your shadows!”

  Hissing, the dark man turned from Yury and stepped toward Nadia. Heat or some equally invisible substance passed from the wand to the dark man. He screeched and curled his leathery wings to protect his face.

  “Back, you damned creature!” Nadia cried. “Leave us in peace.”

  The dark man leapt backward as his wings spread wide. Three leathery flaps like a gigantic bat took him into the shadows of the trees. Then he vanished, either fading from sight or retreating into deeper shadows.

  Nothing was the same after that. In a towering rage, Feodor demanded they return home. At last, Petor slapped him across the face and ordered the woodcutter to keep silent. Feodor blinked in shock, touching his cheek. Soon thereafter, he began watching the forest with fearful eyes as he muttered to himself and clutched his axe.

  Nadia began to issue curt orders. Yury must stay beside her at all times. Petor should wear his helmet and keep his gauntlets on. Feodor and Ivan should scout ahead.

  Feodor balked at this.

  Nadia explained. “The faint watches Yury so I must protect him. With the faint moving so openly, I am afraid that Sir Karlo definitely means us harm. For the farmers’ sake, we must find the others before they find us.”

  “In what direction should we scout?” Ivan asked.

  “You ask as if I should know,” Nadia said.

  “Can your art not help us in this?”

  Nadia’s nostrils flared, but Ivan kept staring at her. Finally, she nodded, closed her eyes, and after a time pointed east.

  An hour of tracking brought them to a dense thicket. Feodor, Stribog and Ivan crawled through the thicket until they spied a valley. In the valley were newly-hewn tree stumps and sagging tents. There was no sign of a cave, a mine or treasure. Instead, Perun prowled through the camp, with his curved short sword in hand. He seemed to be hunting for someone.

  “Kill him,” Feodor whispered.

  Ivan held the horn bow, with an arrow notched against the string. He debated with himself. More than ever Perun reminded him of a bear, a brute with only the semblance of a man. His manner of walking seemed feral, like the pacing of a caged beast. Ivan marveled that Master Volok had ever allowed Perun into the great house.

  “Do it,” Feodor urged.

  Ivan drew the string to his cheek. He waited for Perun to pause. At last, the brute lifted his nose as if to test the wind. Slowly, Ivan eased tension from the bowstring.

  Feodor glanced at him.

  “I can’t kill him in cold blood,” Ivan whispered.

  “The camp is deserted. Now is the time to kill Perun while you can.”

  “What if Sir Karlo kills farmers in retaliation?” Ivan asked.

  Feodor rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

  “Who says I’ll hit him?” Ivan whispered. “If I miss, Perun will climb up here and kill us.”

  “We’re all going to die,” Feodor whispered. “Since that’s so, let’s hurt them while we can.”

  “You’ve got to pull yourself together.”

  Feodor bowed his head. His shaggy hair hid his face as his fingers tightened around the haft of his axe. “Actually seeing the faint…I want to go home.”

  So did Ivan, but first they had to help the farmers. He laid a hand on Stribog’s head. Why didn’t the faint terrify him as it did Feodor? Maybe witnessing the Moon Lady’s ritual with the calf had hardened him to things like faints.

  “Your father fought clawmen,” Ivan whispered. “Dimitri must have feared for his life then.”

  Feodor regarded him. “My stomach churns at the thought of seeing the faint again. I want to vomit. I’m afraid I’ll run away when the moment of truth arrives.”

  “You won’t run.”

  “How can you know?”

  “Listen,” Ivan said. “You’ve hunted bears before. I saw your face turn white as a bear charged us. But you held your spear as steady as any grown man. You won’t run now either.”

  Feodor shook his head.

  “Magic is simply another weapon. If we remain brave and keep our heads, maybe we can come out of this alive.”

  “I’d love to believe that,” Feodor whispered.

  “Shhh,” Ivan said.

  In the valley, Perun cocked his head. The brute shaded his brow and looked west. Ivan heard a horse neigh and a branch crack. Another horse nickered. That sounded like Thunder. He wondered if Perun heard those sounds.

  Perun sheathed his sword and picked up a small branch. He crept backward out of camp while brushing away his tracks.

  “This is your last chance to shoot him,” Feodor said.

  They watched Perun back into the leafless oaks and beeches as he disappeared from view.

  Ivan and Feodor backtracked in the opposite direction, soon meeting the others. Ivan reported to Petor. Nadia told them that the faint had left the area, no doubt heeding a magical call.

  A half-hour later, they entered the deserted camp, the three Belgorod riders astride their mounts.

  “I’m going to follow Perun,” Petor said, drawing his lance. “You four stay here and keep guard. See if you can find any sign of the farmers. Is that understood?”

  “We should all stay together,” Nadia said, “including you with us.”

  “From Ivan’s report, Perun didn’t know he was being watched,” Petor said. “I wish for more information before I meet Sir Karlo Aufling again.” Thereupon, Petor clucked his tongue to the charger and trotted east out of camp.

  “That’s foolish,” Nadia said, as she watched Petor leave.

  “What should we do?” Ivan asked.

  “I’m going to start a fire before we all freeze to death,” Feodor said. He went in search of firewood.

  Ivan tethered his hounds so they wouldn’t wander off. Then he stuck his head in the nearest tent. It contained leather sleeping bags, articles of clothing and a spider-web near the entrance. Strange, anyone coming in and out should have destroyed such a web. What had become of the farmers? When Ivan stepped out, he saw that Nadia had tethered her horse and was inside a tent.

  “What did you find?” he shouted.

  “Nothing,” she said, as she stepped out. “It’s as if the farmers walked away several days ago. I don’t like it.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “Look for them,” she said. “They may be in trouble. We should split up in order to cover more ground.”

  “I don’t agree,” Ivan said. “We should stick together as you said earlier.”

  “I’ll take Feodor and head west,” Nadia said. “We’ll circle the camp northward. You and Yury head east and circle around to the south. We’ll meet back here in a half hour. If either of us spots anything we’ll let the others know.”

  “What about storm wolves, cl
awmen, faints and Sir Karlo?” Ivan asked.

  Nadia shook her head. “I used my arts. None of them but for Perun is near. If you’re worried about the faint, I’ve already put a protective spell over Yury. He’ll be safe long enough for you two to find me.”

  “Why did you say it was a bad idea for Petor to follow Perun?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” Nadia asked. “Perun is a killer.”

  Ivan didn’t like any of this. If Perun killed Petor, the game was over. Maybe he should have shot the brute when he had the chance. “I want you to take Vesna and Flay. I’ll take Stribog.”

  “Wise thinking,” Nadia said.

  Ivan unleashed Stribog and went to Yury, who brushed his horse. Yury had already taken off the saddle and blanket and stuffed his belongings in a tent. After Ivan outlined Nadia’s plan, Yury, Stribog and he tromped toward the east. Yury had his sword. Ivan hefted the warspear. In the distance, Nadia and Feodor shouted for the farmers by name.

  “I wonder what happened to them,” Ivan said.

  Yury shrugged. He seemed preoccupied, although he took the lead and Ivan had to hurry to keep up.

  “Do you know where you’re going?” Ivan asked. “You walk as if you do.”

  Yury didn’t answer as they ducked under snow-laden branches and crawled over rocks. Nadia and Feodor’s voices soon dwindled to nothing. The wind picked up as it moaned through naked branches.

  It’s getting colder,” Ivan said.

  Yury merely grunted as he stared ahead.

  “Are you feeling well?”

  “I’m fine,” Yury said.

  “Do you sense the dark man?”

  Yury grinned. Then he held back a branch as he ducked under it and let go. The branch whipped back and clawed Ivan in the face.

  “Hey!” Ivan said. “Be careful.”

  Yury’s stride lengthened.

  Ivan ran and grabbed Yury by the shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” Yury shrugged off the hand and continued to march. Ivan stared at his friend open-mouthed.

  Yury glanced sharply left, and he stared as if he spied something important. He glanced back at Ivan, grinning.

  Ivan hurried and looked where Yury had. He spied a dark opening into the side of a hill. The opening was man-sized and appeared to have been hacked out of rock. Rubble lay around the opening. The way the rubble lay—it seemed like a fresh opening, newly hacked with picks and chisels. There was something…the place felt like a tomb. Just as bad, Yury was striding toward the opening.

  “Yury, no!” Ivan shouted. Yury ignored him.

  Ivan hesitated. Should he find Nadia and Feodor? If he did, Yury would go in the cave alone. I can’t let him do that.

  Yury ran and darted inside.

  Clutching his spear, Ivan raced after him with Stribog in tow. A bad feeling rose in his gut. He saw the rubble, the stone pieces littered around the entrance. Strange designs had been painted on them.

  Ivan recalled Feodor telling them that the Golghiz Region had sinister legends about bats. He paused in front of the opening. Did rabid bats live in here? A draft whistled out of the opening. The draft was warm, which seemed strange. Ivan swallowed, unwilling to enter as a feeling of dread crept over him. Why had Yury gone inside? He cupped his hands and shouted, “Yury! Come back!” There wasn’t any answer, not even an echo.

  Fear wormed in Ivan. By force of will, he peered in the opening. It was gloomy inside. There was a low ceiling, while rocks and dirt littered on the floor.

  “Yury! Come back!” The cave echoed his call.

  A whisper of ill wind brushed Ivan then so he jerked aside. A feeling of evil made him shiver. He saw a flicker like a cape as something flew into the darkness. He scowled—the faint! It was after Yury again.

  Ivan stepped inside. The low tunnel branched two ways. How could he proceed without light? Then he had an idea. He tapped his spear against the wall and walked around the right-hand bend. It was pitch-black. He kept going and soon tapped against timber.

  Stribog stayed beside him, brushing his leg. The low ceiling grew higher until Ivan could straighten. A moment later, he came to steps that led down. There wasn’t any timber here, but stone ribbing instead. It was warmer, but the air was stale and tasted wrong.

  “Yury.” Ivan tried to shout, but could only whisper. He listened for Yury’s footsteps. He could hear Stribog’s claws click on stone, but nothing more. His heart beat faster as fear of this place began to overwhelm him.

  “Yury,” he whispered.

  There was no reply, not even an echo. It felt as if darkness had swallowed the world. Then Ivan cocked his head. He heard rusty hinges squeal.

  What are they doing to Yury?

  Fear for his friend’s safety moved Ivan’s feet. He went down the stairs. The corridor twisted several times, and it was hotter than before. Ahead he saw flickering light.

  Stribog whined beside him.

  “Give me guidance,” Ivan prayed to Hosar. “Help me in my hour of need.” He and Stribog ran toward the red light.

  A terrible moan sounded from ahead.

  “Yury!” Ivan shouted. The heat made his face shiny with sweat. The rock walls oozed with a sticky substance and a foul odor.

  “Pick up the battle-blade,” Ivan heard a sibilant voice hiss from ahead.

  Ivan turned the corner and gasped. Yury knelt on a black dais. Upon the dais lay the largest blade Ivan had ever seen. The battle-blade rested on two bronze prongs. The black blade was over five feet long and the pommel was a huge red ruby. Strange runes were etched along the blade as an evil light pulsated from its razor edges. The twin quillons that jutted from the hilt were shaped into snarling lynx heads. It was just like Sir Karlo’s pommel.

  In front of Ivan was a stone pit or trench. Red flames licked from it. Yury had used a narrow stone archway over the fiery trench to get to the dais.

  Yury stared raptly at the sword. Then he looked upward. “Is it truly for me?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  Ivan squinted. Then he saw two green eyes floating in the air. “The dark man,” Ivan whispered.

  A black helmet appeared. The dark man lifted his evil eyes and glared at Ivan. “Leave while you can, mortal.”

  Ivan stepped toward his friend. “Yury!” he shouted. “Get up and run.”

  Yury looked over his shoulder. “Ivan?” he asked.

  “Run!”

  “No,” the dark man said. “You have been chosen and readied. The sword awaits you. Now pick it up.”

  Yury faced the dark man. “Do you mean that? I can truly take it?”

  “You will become the greatest swordsman of the age if you do,” the dark man said.

  “What is the sword’s name?” Yury asked.

  “Night,” the dark man hissed, and his voice was filled with yearning and desire.

  “Yury!” Ivan shouted. “Turn back!”

  The dark man raised his wings as he pointed at Ivan. “Be gone, mortal most foul.” An icy wind blew Ivan backward as he saw Yury reach for the battle-blade.

  “By Hosar, no!” shouted Ivan.

  Yury hesitated as his fingers flexed.

  “Pick it up,” the dark man said. “You must.”

  Ivan noticed another item near the huge blade. By a silken cord, it hung from a peg. At the end of the cord dangled a bone-white horn. It looked like a hunting horn, an oliphant. The horn looked bigger than most, and the whiteness glistened as if oiled. Ivan stepped closer.

  “Pick it up,” whispered the dark man.

  Yury reached for the sword.

  Ivan recalled what had made Yury pause before. “By Hosar, no!”

  Yury hesitated again.

  “Do not name that one again,” a new person said.

  Startled, Ivan turned and peered deeper into a side passage. A man in silver armor stepped into view. He had silver hair and a drawn sword. It was Sir Karlo Aufling.

  Stribog barked, interposing himself between the Bavarian and his master.

  “R
un from here, Ivan,” Karlo said, “and I will grant you your life.”

  The dark man waited. Yury didn’t move.

  “Nadia comes,” Ivan lied.

  Something crossed Karlo’s face. It could have been pain, but he was too deep in shadow to tell.

  “Do you wish her to see you like this?” Ivan asked.

  “You are a fool,” Karlo said.

  “You love her and she loves you. But will she love you after this?”

  Karlo scowled.

  Ivan cocked his head and pretended to hear her. “She comes,” he said.

  “You lie,” Karlo said hoarsely.

  Ivan would never recall what prompted him then. The desire had been growing and now he moved. He crossed the bridge as oily flames licked up. Heat billowed all around. Then he was over and touched Yury’s cold shoulder. With a tug, Ivan moved past Yury and reached for the horn.

  “No!” Karlo roared. “Don’t touch the horn!” He started forward. Stribog braced himself and growled at the knight.

  Ivan touched the horn. A shock shot up his arm.

  “No,” hissed the dark man. He reached for Ivan. His hand was immaterial and passed through the dog-trainer.

  Ivan felt icy-cold numb him, except for the hand that touched the horn. It remained normal. He clutched the horn, picked it up and staggered backward, holding the horn against his chest. The numbness faded from his body as feelings returned.

  “No,” whispered the dark man. “You must not.”

  Ivan drew a breath and put the horn to his lips. He blew, but the horn sucked his strength as heat washed over him. Only a tiny sound issued from it.

  That was enough to make the dark man wail in despair.

  “Drop the horn!” Karlo shouted. “It isn’t meant for you.”

  Ivan felt heady from the winding. He took another breath and blew again. A louder, surer sound issued.

  Stribog barked, and it seemed to Ivan he understood what Stribog meant by the noise. The dog planned to kill Karlo once he got past the long-fang in the knight’s hand.

  Frowning, his head swimming, Ivan blew yet again.

  The dark man flattened backward as if in pain. He still managed to hiss, “Quickly, Yury, pick it up. We must be one together.”

  Seeing that the horn had an effect upon the dark man, Ivan blew it again as hard as he could. Heat radiated from him as a loud peal issued, the sound reverberating off the cave walls.