The Emerald Dragon (The Lost Ancients Book 3)

by Marie Andreas

  I took it with a nod. I wasn’t great. Like my magic, the sword lessons had been slow going. Alric insisted that practice would get me there and at some point, there would be a snap, and I’d get it. I had my doubts about that; swords never seemed to feel balanced right to me. However, I knew enough for the weapon in my hand to be an asset not a hindrance. Probably.

  The wagon started moving again, but this time slowly and in a circle. We must have found a meadow to take a stand in.

  The faeries hadn’t come back yet, but if they were following whoever was behind us, they should be here soon. Covey swung open the door and the bright light of early morning hit us all in the face. After being in a dark forest and even darker ruins the last day, it was a bit of a shock. Not to mention dangerous. I almost broke my neck falling down the steps after Covey.

  I caught myself and held my borrowed sword out from my body just in case the damn thing went rogue on me.

  The four wagons formed in almost a square, with the horses hidden off in the woods. I took up a position behind one of the driver’s seats and looked out into the forest behind us.

  The forest was silent at first. Then a growing rustling sound came from the direction we’d come from. I wasn’t sure how Locksead feared they were already upon us, based on the length of time it was taking for them to get to us.

  “This is taking forever,” I said under my breath to Covey. Not that I wanted to try to defend myself against some army of strange creatures that had freaked out a bunch of hardened criminals, but I hated waiting.

  She gave me an odd look. “It’s only been a few minutes. Probably less than three.” She looked down at my left hand. “And you might want to relax your hand a bit. Your knuckles look like they’re frozen in place.”

  I glanced down. Yup, five little white rocks had replaced my knuckles. I switched hands and shook out my left fist. One of the things Alric had been diligent about was teaching me to fight with either hand. As he pointed out you had to figure that in any fight you could be injured. And injured but still able to fight was better than dead.

  The rustling noises got stronger, and larger branches started moving. Had those damn crazy brownies tried to make another golem? And this time made it work? I still was having a problem seeing those little lawn ornaments as anything beyond an annoyance. Of course, that would have been different if that first golem had stayed together long enough to hurt anything besides my sense of smell.

  The noise got much louder and everyone hunkered down behind their cover. Even Harlan had a weapon, more of a heavy-looking long pole really, but he had claimed to be wicked good with a quarterstaff in his young and wild days. I hoped he was right and his furry bulk wouldn’t take more hits than the enemy.

  A low crooning filled the air, almost dirge-like, and the branches of the trees at that end of the meadow moved as if an invisible wind rustled them.

  Then the creatures came into the clearing.

  I took a breath and tried to keep from laughing. It was another golem, but this one had been made in haste, and the parts kept slipping about. One moment it was bipedal and walking on both legs, the next moment it had slipped a leg around and hobbled on a leg and an arm, then started shuffling on all fours. They must have had access to a large supply of cabbages because this time not only was its head one, but it seemed they were the dominant plant. They were however, far fresher than the parts used on the previous golem. Which made the creature less smelly, but also seemed to be contributing to its lack of cohesion.

  The others tensed up, but I waved at them and stood up—the golem didn’t have projectiles unless it started flinging body parts, and the brownies at its feet only had their tiny swords. “It’s okay. I got this—”

  My heroic offer was cut off by Carlon bursting from his hiding hole outside of our wagon circle, and laying waste to the golem. The creature fought back but it was hard when parts kept switching position and Carlon’s long sword hacked them off.

  The brownies started defending it, only to find themselves dive bombed by a pack of faeries. My pack of faeries, who, judging by their excessive antics of annoyance to the brownies, had become quite bored while waiting. A reassuring buzz came through the trees, which was followed by Bunky. He dived for a few brownies, but didn’t seem to really see the need so he came over to me.

  Orenda let loose an arrow at Bunky, but Covey smacked her bow a second before the release and the arrow missed Bunky but came very close to Carlon. Maybe if we tried harder we could hit him next time.

  “He’s with us.” I grabbed her bow when it looked like she would go for another arrow. Bunky might be a construct but his kind could still be damaged or destroyed.

  “What is that flying thing?” Locksead yelled as he ran out to join Carlon in hacking the golem and the brownies equally. Had to give the brownies’ credit, their creature stayed together better this time. And even though there were at least two dozen of the tiny beings, they were grossly out matched but they kept charging the two men. It was amazing how far they could fly when kicked, especially considering how thick the trees were.

  “He’s my friend.” I wasn’t going to go shouting about Bunky in the middle of the forest. However, if Locksead wanted me on this caper he got the faeries and Bunky as well.

  Bunky hunkered down behind me, landing on part of the wagon. He seemed to spend most of his time in the air, but who knew how long he had been flying around the last day or so.

  The rest of the gang had come out from behind their wagons, but Carlon and Locksead didn’t look like they’d need help so everyone just watched.

  The golem eventually collapsed, as the half-assed magic driving it was no longer able to keep it intact. Carlon took one final heavy swing and was rewarded with a shower of plant life as it finally fell apart. He was lucky this one hadn’t been decaying like the one I faced.

  The brownies looked ready to stand and fight even without their plant monster, but when both Carlon and Locksead charged them, they all ran back into the woods.

  Locksead grinned at Carlon, and the two ran after them.

  “Even if we’re no longer being chased, don’t we need to get moving?” I looked around as the faeries came back to the wagons. No one else seemed concerned that their leader was off chasing mostly defenseless brownies. I wasn’t worried about the brownies, they were tougher than their size indicated. However, it seemed like a waste of time.

  Cook shrugged and he and Jackal went to start moving the wagons out of formation so they could hook them back to the horses. Then an earth-shattering scream ripped through the air, followed by Locksead being thrown into the clearing. He didn’t get up. He bent awkwardly on his sword arm, so even if he had survived he wouldn’t be fighting any time soon.

  Cook and Jackal jumped back into the ring of wagons, pulling the two they’d moved back into place. Orenda and the two other archers had their weapons aimed at the trail behind us, and those of us with swords were trying to appear at the ready. I ignored Tag’s shaking and he said nothing about mine.

  Covey looked at the forest and growled.

  I motioned for Bunky to stay down but waved the faeries to me. “I need you to fly through there fast and high. Don’t attack anything. Just see what is in there.”

  Garbage fingered her war stick. I knew she had no intention of obeying me.

  “I’m serious. No sticks. Recon only.”

  She finally nodded and led her faeries into the branches. In that time, Carlon had started to come running out of the woods. A slithering rope grabbed his feet and dropped him. He twisted to get free, but the rope pulled him back into the woods too fast.

  Covey again growled, this time at the people around her. “Your leaders are out there and you do nothing?”

  The looks that met her glare were clear. This group had little solidarity, if any.

  “So be it.” Covey bounded over the wagon at its highest point and charged into the woods.

  “Damn it.” Covey’s sense of honor, even th
ough I was pretty sure she disliked Carlon as much as I did, was going to get us killed. However, I couldn’t let her go out there alone. I looked to Harlan and we climbed out from the wagon grouping and followed.

  “What are you idiots doing?” Jackal yelled, echoing the looks on the faces around him.

  “Our friend went in there, to rescue your companion.” Harlan’s snarl was impressive but I could see the paw holding his staff was shaking. “We stand with her.”

  Orenda looked at the others, then she and Tag followed us. More screams and yells filled the air around us, but none of them sounded like Carlon, or Covey, for that matter.

  I couldn’t see what the four of us could do against something or somethings that had taken down Locksead, who still hadn’t moved, and Carlon. But Covey was in there and we had to do something.

  We were entering the forest when a dark shape flung itself at us. At me actually. I screamed and shoved it off, not even thinking for a moment about the short sword in my hand.

  It was Carlon. He was dazed and leaking blood from a few places, but he shoved himself off of me and ran back the way he’d been thrown.

  He might be a jackass, but he clearly didn’t know when to stop fighting.

  Orenda and I took point, her because of her bow, although it would be of limited use if we got much further into the trees, and me because that was how my life seemed to go. Besides, someone had to protect Tag and Harlan.

  We cautiously walked a few more feet and saw that at least two of the brownies hadn’t made their escape. Their bodies had been shattered, and then tossed aside. Almost more disturbing were the emblems of a green dragon they’d all sewn onto their red caps. Our suspicion of the brownies following the rakasa appeared to be supported. Then who killed these? What else was out here?

  Another couple of steps and I saw what I assumed was one of our enemy who hadn’t made it either. Locksead’s sword was pinned to a gapen tree. It went through a creature I hoped was one of a kind.

  It didn’t wear clothing that I could tell, but there was a chance the dirty gray covering was clothing of some kind and not skin. It was pinned by the sword so its head was eye level with mine, but its skinny, clawed feet hung a good two feet from the ground. The huge eyes were white, but I didn’t think they started that way. One hand, ending in two-inch-long claw fingernails, clutched the sword running it through. But the worst was the mouth. If the sceanra anam had bred with a dwarf and been spelled for nothing but killing, you might have this mouth. Large enough to fit the head of a full-grown human inside, it seemed to be nothing but rows of sharp, triangle-shaped, and serrated teeth. I looked away when it was clear where some of the brownies had ended up.

  “What is it?” Tag had come up closer than the others, but seemed more curious than terrified. I would have to work on him about the benefits of being terrified.

  A sound behind us cut my answer of not having a clue off before I could say it. Orenda was leaning over a bush and throwing up.

  When she stopped, she wiped her mouth off and turned back to the wagons. Her movements were robotic and all I heard was the word “no” repeatedly.

  “Orenda? What is it?” Harlan tried to stop her but she pushed past him.

  “Gklinn.”

  “What? Look, you guys, either come with us or not. But we’re getting Covey back.” The woods were quiet right now, but I didn’t think that was a good thing.

  “Demon, she said Gklinn, which means demon. That’s a rakasa.”

  At Harlan’s identification, Orenda threw up again, although little remained in her stomach. Then she continued stumbling back to camp. She didn’t even look back at us once, and moved like a sleepwalker.

  I admitted I wanted to join her in both situations. However, my best friend was out there.

  I did wonder why, if the brownies were followers of the rakasa, the rakasa were killing them. Maybe the rakasa really didn’t like fans.

  Another high-pitched scream filled the air. “Anyone who is with me, come on.”

  I was pleased to hear both Harlan and Tag follow behind me.

  The silence of the forest vanished into a wall of sound as the faeries started yelling war cries—so much for not fighting—and I heard Covey yelling a few choice swear words from her ancestors.

  Then we found them. Carlon and Covey faced the creatures across from us and the faeries held a position in the air a few feet above them. There were only four of the little monsters, what I now assumed were the feared rakasa, but they held back. Fighting when anyone got too close, but mostly just to keep everyone away from the thing behind them.

  I couldn’t see it as it was covered in leaves. For a moment, I thought maybe they had taken control of another one of the brownies’ golems. Then I saw one of the rakasa throw a brownie at the pile of leaves. Something within the pile gave a high and tortured scream, and then a clawed hand, far larger than the hands of the rakasa, darted out and grabbed the brownie. The chewing and crunching sounds made me think about joining Orenda in the throwing up thing.

  Covey waited until the rakasa looked at whatever creature they had with them, then darted forward with her sword and in a single swing decapitated the closest rakasa.

  The remaining three charged forward, and worse, the thing in the leaves came out.

  It was broken and naked, its skin covered in welts and bruises. Pointed ears stuck out through the matted hair and I was glad Orenda had fled. Whatever it was now, this creature had once been an elf.

  Its legs were twisted so it crawled on all fours. Then it looked at me. I knew the eyes that stared out at me. Now filled with pain and total madness.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Glorinal’s silver eyes faced me. Rather, one did. The other eye was huge and completely black. His ravaged face was uneven now, as if a spell or disease had made one side of it larger than the other. A pox of some kind stole away his cruel beauty into deep pockmarks and welts. His head was mostly bald, and his frame skeletal. Along with terror, I also felt a stabbing of sorrow. Then the images of the sixty-three people he and Jovan had murdered filled my mind.

  If anyone deserved to suffer, it was he.

  There was no recognition in those mismatched eyes, nor anything even seemingly sane.

  We were at a stalemate; one that I didn’t think would last for long. I had no idea what Glorinal had become but clearly the rakasa hadn’t rescued him just to kill another elf. Although if they hated elven kind as much as was rumored, this would be a fitting use for one in their book. And if this was what they did to them before killing them, I could see why Alric was so terrified of them and why Orenda fled.

  I hoped that wherever Alric was it was nowhere near here.

  One of the rakasa stepped forward. This one was taller than the others and had a crude crown of branches and animal skins on its head. “You give us, we keep him here. Not attack you. You go.”

  The voice was dry and rusty, as if it hadn’t been used in a few hundred years and the owner had been exposed to the elements. But I understood him.

  “Give you what?” As annoying as she was, there was no way in hell I was giving up Orenda or anyone else.

  Carlon charged forward at that moment, trying to get in the same swing Covey had. He might be a good fighter, but he looked completely unnerved as he ran forward.

  Two of the rakasa blocked his attack, and Glorinal leapt up to grab him and pull him down.

  Glorinal didn’t do anything else. Just sat there with his hands, or what was left of them, on Carlon’s chest to keep him down. Carlon’s face contorted in fear, but every time he tried to move, Glorinal pushed down harder and clenched his hand. Glorinal turned and whined to the rakasa leader like a dog asking for permission to devour a treat.

  “Dragon. We get our dragon back, you live.” The voice was getting a bit less rusty, and I started wondering if I had been right. Maybe it hadn’t spoken in a few hundred years.

  I looked to Covey and the others. Tag and Harlan hadn’t run yet
but both looked terrified out of their minds. Covey looked like she was waiting for the word to attack. She was muttering something, but while I could see her lips moving, I couldn’t hear her. Her gaze was fixed on Glorinal and Carlon.

  “We don’t have any dragons. Why are you chasing us?”

  The rakasa looked at me, and then sniffed in the direction of the wagons. He turned back to Glorinal.

  “You sent us this way? Why?” The rakasa asked the thing that used to be Glorinal.

  Glorinal kept looking at Carlon.

  The rakasa motioned to the other two of his kind. “Get the slave.”

  Glorinal was pulled off of Carlon and dragged to the leader. Carlon scrambled away but didn’t leave the area, he just found his sword and waited.

  “Why this way? Why did we follow them? It is too soon for exposure.” The rakasa slapped Glorinal with enough force to have taken off his head had Glorinal been his former self. As it was his head snapped back and he cowered.

  “Drag-on. Have.” His voice was painful to hear, and again I had to keep shoving the memory of the innocent people he murdered into my mind.

  “You lie. Not time for this.” The lead rakasa looked at the five of us. Then motioned for the other two to drag Glorinal with them and vanished into the woods.

  All of us stood there for a few moments. I didn’t know about the others, but I couldn’t get my limbs to move. Literally. At first, I thought it was fear, and then I realized that creature had put a spell on us.

  Or someone had. Someone who didn’t want us following them.

  The moment passed and we could move. And were surrounded by a flood of faeries, both wild and those from town. I’d wondered where the girls had gone after their initial fly over, but was counting on them staying out of trouble for once.

  And they had.

  “We here. Where they go?” Garbage had not only gone for reinforcements; she’d gone to get her war feathers on. Or plucked a new batch off some poor bird.

  “They went that way.” I held up a hand. “But don’t follow them.”