Unlike the previous night, there was no glorious view of the valley below. Pine trees, shrubs, and boulders spread out in every direction, as far as the eye could see, which was only about twenty paces. They sat and ate dried beef from their packs as the last of the sunlight faded from the world. After a time, March started rummaging through his pack, with a wicked grin on his face.
Noticing this, Brendly spoke up. “What is it?” he asked.
“I was gonna save it for after we got a kill, but now seems like a better time.” March handed something to Brendly.
It was a silver flask. Brendly could tell by the weight of it that it was full.
“It’s Master Beryll’s strongest plum brandy!” March informed before he snatched it back from Bren. He pulled the stopper, took a long pull, and then nearly spewed it back out of his mouth as the burn of the fiery stuff hit his throat.
Laughing, Brendly took the flask back from his red faced friend, and took a few small sips. “You sip a brandy, March,” he said knowingly, before the burn hit his throat as well. “Whew, you could burn green wood with this stuff. This is raw brandy hooch, not plum brandy.” He passed the flask back to March.
They each took a few more sips and agreed to save the rest for another day, but they’d each had enough to get them warm and light headed. Around them, the night song of the higher altitudes began to sound, reminding them that they were close to the boundary.
“Do you really think I’ll marry Canda Shellings?” Brendly asked after the long silence. He was trying to take his mind off of the eerie sounds of the night.
“Her, or Deanda,” March teased. “They both giggle and blush, and carry on when you pass them.”
“No more than Jeana Hallin does you,” Brendly returned defensively. He noticed an immediate sadness take hold of March at the mention of her name. “What does she think of you leaving?”
“She’s so perfect and understanding sometimes, but lately she’s hard to be around.” March sat up quickly. He was determined not to let his good mood slip away. “All in all I think she’s just another sad sack, like you.” He punched Bren lightly on the shoulder. “She’ll get over it.”
“It’s not that I’m a sad sack, March. I just--” He looked around the camp searching for the right words as if he might find them roosting in the pine trees or hiding in the thicket. “Who’s gonna help me terrorize Quinton? And who is gonna race me to the short dock when the krill begin to spawn?” Bren forced a laugh. “And who’s gonna come out here and traipse through the woods with me and scare the white stag off when I have the perfect shot lined up?”
March smiled broadly at his friend. “He was magnificent, wasn’t he? Did you see his antlers? They looked like flaming ice.”
“Yup, he was amazing.”
“I won’t ever forget that moment as long as I live Bren, the way he snorted when I jumped out of the bushes. I think he was laughing at us.”
“He wouldn’t have been laughing if you hadn’t jumped out when you did.” Bren smiled at the thought.
“I don’t think you’d have done it,” March’s voice turned serious. “When it came time to loose you would have balked, or missed on purpose. Not even you, the great Brendly Tuck, could have killed such a creature.” March stood and yawned as he stretched out his arms.
“Maybe not,” Brendly conceded. He wondered if March was right. He lay awake a long time after his friend was asleep, wondering about just that.
3
Bren woke with a shock as icy cold water splashed across his face. March’s hysterical laughter filled his bewilderment. The sun was already up. The sounds of the birds chirping and whistling filled the cool air between March’s deep belly roars of mirth.
March handed Bren a pan full of scrambled grouse eggs that he had collected and cooked earlier. With a grimace of friendly disapproval, Brendly took them and woofed them down with his fingers. After that, they put their bulky packs under the canvas shelter and checked their gear. They each tested the sharpness of their long skinning knives and made sure that they had plenty of arrows between them. They put enough water and dried beef for the day in their belt pouches and left the things they didn’t think they would need. March pushed his head, and one arm, through a coil of rope and checked to make sure he had his tinder box. They were both accomplished hunters and had learned from experience not to go off unprepared. Bren even went as far as putting a small wood ax in his belt.
It took longer than they thought it would to reach the ridge. When they finally got there they were almost disappointed not to see hoards of kobles and wood trolls gathering on the other side. What they found was a small valley, very small compared to Prominence Valley. The dense forest continued down the steep terrain to the valley’s floor some three hundred yards below them. There, a small stream could be seen through the treetops winding its way down the hill.
Not far below them, the trees gave way to a rocky outcropping that looked interesting. Without a thought, March started down toward it with only a smiling glance back at Bren’s hesitation.
Swallowing his nervousness, Bren hurried to catch up. He nearly tumbled over his feet as the steepness of the slope was revealed. By the time he reached March’s side, he was out of breath, and more than a little worried.
It only took them a few minutes to get to what turned out to be a flat shelf of rock that protruded out over the tree tops. On either side of the shelf, the trees and the undergrowth were as thick as thieves at a festival, but for this one small area, about a hundred paces wide, the rocks prevailed.
March eased out to the edge to look down at what he was sure would be a cliff like plummet into the sea of tree tops below. Bren stayed back and nervously waited for March to tell him what he saw. After a few moments, March stopped his cautious approach. He then pulled the rope he was carrying back over his head and began uncoiling it.
“I’m going all the way out to the edge to look.” March looked excitedly back at Bren then threw him one end of the rope. “Hold this in case I slip. I don’t want to go all the way over.”
“Here I was worried about you leaving,” Bren joked sheepishly. “You’ll not live to set foot out of Prominence Valley.”
March grinned as he tied his end of the rope around his waist. “You’re a bald-eyed giboon, Bren,” March laughed. “We're not even in Prominence Valley anymore.”
“Oh. Yeh.” Bren swallowed hard, remembering that they were also beyond the kingdom’s boundary.
“Now come on, gibber lips,” March chided. “The ropes not long enough for you to stay way up there.”
Bren eased close enough so that March could lean out over the edge. He found a depression in the rock where he could dig in his heels and create leverage if it became necessary. When he saw March get to his belly and began crawling out, he dug in any way.
“Don’t fall, March!” Bren yelled out as his daring friend got to the edge and looked over. “What is it? What do you see?” His curiosity was drowning his concern.
March quickly scooted back and stood up. A giant smile had spread across his face. When he saw how eager Bren was to know what he’d seen he purposely kept from saying anything.
“Come on, March. Spit it out!” Bren yelled. “Just tell me!”
“There’s a cave down there!” March was beaming. “A big ole cave!”
“You wanted to go on an adventure, sad sack. Let’s go on one!” March said moving back up the hill on one side of the rocky shelf. “There’s a way down over here,” he pointed.
Bren quickly pulled all the slack out of the rope and nearly yanked March off of his feet. Between laughs he said, “At least—untie yourself first, you big giboon!”
March blushed realizing that in his rush to get down to the cave he had completely forgotten that he had a rope tied to his waist. He gave his end a good yank, pulling it free from Bren’s hands. He yanked it hard enough to give Bren a burn in his palms. Even though he was the one laughing now, it took him only seconds to u
ntie himself. He coiled the rope back up quickly, and then shouldered it.
The descent proved to be tedious. The ground was loose and rocky, and the trees were in all the wrong places. They ended up going away from the shelf, out into the forest where the grade seemed a little better. They had to backtrack twice and ended up going too far down slope. When they finally realized this, the cave was above them, looming up the slope like a hungry maw. Climbing back up to it, they began to feel the humidity of the forest. The sun was directly overhead now. The trees shaded the ground well, but the canopy was so thick that it held in the ground moisture. It wasn’t long before both of the boys’ woolen shirts and leather pants were soaked with sweat. To make matters worse there was no breeze to be felt at all. The trees kept it from reaching them.
The dark mouth of the cave grew as they approached it. They could see that it was deep. What hid in those depths was the mystery. The only thing about the hole that was inviting was the knowledge that inside the cavern they could cool off and take a short rest.
The natural opening was easily ten paces wide and half again that tall. The rock formation seemed out of place sitting there by itself in the middle of the dense forested greenery. Scattered here and there up along the cliff-like face were clumps of mossy growth and a few patches of vines that bloomed with brilliantly colored little blue and yellow flowers.
March didn’t hesitate. Just inside, out of the sun, he plopped down on a piece of rock and began rummaging through his pack for food and water. Bren joined him, already sipping from the deer skin canteen he carried at his hip. Both were winded from the climb back up to the cavern so neither spoke for a long while. They ate and sipped cool water and let their bodies rejuvenate. All the while the endless possibilities of what could be hiding down in the cavern kept culminating in their imaginations.
After a while Bren whispered, “I wonder how far back it goes?”
“We’ll find out soon enough, won't we?” March laughed confidently. “Why are you whispering?”
“This is a big cave,” Bren answered seriously, his voice still a whisper. “Something big could live back there.”
March hadn’t thought of that. His mind began to race through all the creatures he knew of that were big enough to do them harm. He turned to Bren dropping his tone and volume to match his friends. “We’ll be quiet and go really slow.” He turned back and peered into the darkness of the tunnel-like shaft that the cavern formed. He couldn’t see very far at all. “We’ll have to make a torch.”
March stood and began looking around the lighted part of the cave. He found a length of dried wood as big around as his thigh, and after feeling its weight, he quickly discarded it. Bren was rummaging through his belt pack so March headed back out into the woods to seek out a better prospect. He returned with a piece of green wood nearly four feet long and about as big around as his wrist. It was heavy but it would be handy as a club if the need arose. He noticed that Bren had strung his bow and had moved his quiver of arrows from his back to his hip.
He’d never tell Bren, because it would swell up his friend’s melon head, but he thought that Bren was the best archer he’d ever seen. The thought was comforting. He’d once seen Bren shoot a gobbler out of the air. Bren had fired two arrows in rapid succession and both had hit their mark. It was improbable to have hit a bird in flight even once. Bren had hit it twice back to back, and with lightning speed. March was sure that Bren hadn’t been lying when he had said that the white stag had been lucky.
“How are you gonna make a torch out of that?” Bren asked.
March just shook his head. How could such an accomplished hunter be such a giboon, he wondered? He sat back down near his friend and cut an arm length of rope from his coil. He tied it tightly around one end of the limb. Then he took out the silver flask of Master Beryll’s brandy hooch and poured a few dollops over the rope until it was saturated with the liquid. He offered Bren a sip from it, but Bren refused it. March took a good sized swig though, and then put it away. With a red faced grimace, he held the limb out to Bren for inspection. “Torch,” was all the sting of the liquor would allow him to say.
Bren was uneasy, almost scared, about going deeper into the cavern. He would never let it show though, not to March. He had said he wanted an adventure. Now here he was, across the ridge in the unprotected Teeth, about to venture into a cavern big enough for a bear, or a family of rock trolls, or even a small dragon to call home.
Not that Bren really thought that there was a dragon here. The mighty dragons hadn’t been seen in the area for dozens of years. Even when they had, they were seen from great distances as they flew overhead, doing whatever it is that dragons do in the sky. Still, the possibility of what might reside deep in this cavern was unnerving.
In between his short bouts of fear, Bren found himself terribly excited. He wondered how March could remain so calm. Maybe March was scared too. Maybe March was just able to hide it better. Or maybe March was just that confident.
March didn’t look terrified, but he was. It wasn’t easy always taking the lead. Bren had wanted an adventure, and March wanted to have a hunting trip that they would both always remember forever, so here they were. He wished that Bren hadn’t said anything about something living in here. Up until then he had only been excited. Now, he was truly afraid. But he couldn’t let Bren see it. He told himself that this was just going to be an old empty cavern and did his best to swallow his fear.
“Are you ready?” March asked quietly. He took out his tinder box and prepared to light the makeshift torch.
“Yup, just stay to my left, and keep the torch flame up high, so it stays out of my eyes.” It took great effort to keep his voice from trembling as he added. “I want to have a good clear shot if we run into anything hungry back there.”
March lit the torch and then handed it to his friend while he put the flint and steel back into the tinder box and put it away. He unsheathed his skinning knife and took the torch back from Bren. With the brightly flaming brand in one hand and the long blade in the other, he started moving deeper into the cave.
The flickering light of the brand allowed them to see about twenty paces ahead. The flames caused exaggerated shadows to dance around the tunnel like ghoulish specters. Beyond the shadows, the thick blackness swallowed up the light like a hungry beast.
There were webs deeper in the cave. Some of them spanned the entire width of the shaft like forgotten fishing nets. More than a few fist sized spiders scurried from the noisy brightness of their approach. After only a few hundred feet, March was forced to get in front of Bren because the shaft began to narrow.
“Don’t get too far ahead of me, March!” Bren whispered nervously. Even at a whisper his voice reverberated off the rough rocky walls.
“I won’t,” March joked. “I don’t want an arrow in the back when one of those spiders drops on your fat head.”
“Not funny.” Bren wasn’t laughing. His attention had been drawn up ahead of them. He gripped the semi-drawn arrow with the index finger of his bow hand so that his right hand was free. He reached forward and tapped March on the shoulder with it. When he had his friend’s attention he pointed up ahead at what he saw, then drew back his arrow again and stepped around March.
“What is it?” March asked. He had to squint his eyes to block out the glare from the torch flame. “Is it a rock?”
“Only if the rocks in here grow fur!” Bren said as his arrow loosed at the thing.
The arrow struck with a thump and sunk deeply into the creature. Before March could take a breath, Bren had another arrow ready to fire.
“It’s not rock,” said March moving toward it cautiously. “And it stinks!”
“It’s not alive,” Bren stated the obvious. His arrow was still trained on the thing though.
They were relieved to see that it was just a dead deer. That relief faded quickly when they saw that it was only part of a deer. Half of it had been torn away, leaving a puddle of thick black mu
ck that was littered with pieces of broken bone. A trail of splotchy red and black led from the carcass into the blackness.
“Pretty fresh kill,” March commented after kneeling and examining it. “The stink is from the curdled blood, not the meat.”
“It’s time to get out of here, March,” Bren said sternly. “Something bit off the whole back half of that doe. I don’t want to meet it!”
March wasn’t listening. He was already moving further into the cave. He’d seen something else and was heading toward it. Bren hurried after him, and was just about to yank his friend back by the shoulder and haul him out of there when he saw what March was after. He gasped loudly.
It was the skeleton of a human. It was whole and still encased in rusty ringed mail armor. At the side of the body was a dusty, but wicked looking sword. Several small packs were attached to the dead man’s belt, and a large leather backpack was still strung over his shoulders.
“Hold this,” March said as he thrust the torch to Bren. Reluctantly Bren took the brand even though holding it meant that he wouldn’t be ready to fire an arrow if trouble came. He looked on in horror at what March started to do next.
“You can’t steal from the dead, March!” Bren said rather loudly. The word dead echoed around the cavern and down the tunnel like an ominous warning.
“It’s not stealing,” March justified as he unlocked the sword belt and fastened it over his shoulder. “This isn’t digging up a grave. This guy has been here a long time.” He rolled the skeleton over and almost jumped out of his skin as it broke apart in his hands.
“All right, but hurry! I don’t like this one bit.”
March pulled the leather backpack free, causing the skull to roll over and look up at him as if it were still alive. He took a deep breath and repositioned the body in a more comfortable looking position. “Rest peacefully whoever you were,” He said softly.
The First Dragoneer Page 2
