by Bruce Leslie
The Lump watched the man fidget about. “What is it?”
“Oh, just some items for a marriage rite, pretty dull stuff really,” the Solson answered.
“No, not the sack, your question.” The Lump felt the familiar pressure creeping into his jaws.
“Oh, of course, yes, of course, the question.” The Solson turned from his horse to face the Lump. “I was wondering where you might be going… that is… may I ask how far you’re traveling?”
The Lump squinted his eyes as he looked at the man. “A long way.”
“Oh, wonderful, wonderful!” The Solson clasped his hands together in front of him. “Might I be able to ride with you, please?” He looked down at his feet and then back up at the Lump. “Catamounts have been spotted out here, and, well, there is safety in numbers.” He smiled up at the Lump and continued. “I understand they aren’t necessarily dangerous, I mean so long as you don’t get between a mother and her cubs. Not necessarily dangerous, but I would feel better just the same… sir… please.”
The Lump studied the man in in the blue robes. “Perhaps. Where are you going?”
“Oh, just to a little river village, just before the bridge.” The Solson unclasped his hands and let them fall to his sides. “It’s my nephew, he’s to be married. I’m to perform the rite, the marriage rite.”
The Lump nodded his head in the direction of Flynn. “My friend’s arm is hurt. If we let you ride with us, would you be willing to look at it?”
“Oh, yes, yes, of course.” The Solson gave a small bow. “I’m Birch. Solson Birch, of the Steeplecross abbey.”
The Lump nodded at Birch. “That’s Flynn and Meena on the horse, you can call me Lump.”
“I am very pleased to meet you, um, Lump, sir.” Birch looked in Flynn and Meena’s direction. “Would you like me to look at the wound now, or…”
Flynn raised his injured arm. “It hasn’t fallen off yet. It can wait until we make camp.” He lowered his arm, resting it on his thigh. “Now, we need to ride. We are on important business.”
“Oh, yes! I wouldn’t want to be a hindrance.” Birch climbed on his sad looking horse.
The Lump motioned at the path behind him. “You can ride between us, Solson. The middle is the most secure.”
The group resumed moving down the brown path in the woods. The quiet that the Lump had enjoyed during the morning had vanished with the arrival of midday and the Solson.
“Meena, is it? I couldn’t help but notice your lovely, red hair.” Birch wasted no time starting conversation. “Are you, by chance, Gallisian?”
“No.” Meena answered with a quick burst of words. “I am from the Common Lands.”
“Oh, yes. Born among the Needles were you?” Birch asked his question with a smile.
“I wasn’t born there…” Meena paused. “…but it is the only home I’ve ever known.”
“Well, of course you’re not Gallisian.” Birch chuckled as he spoke. “Gallisians have to bear writs to travel in Aardland. All the writs have to go through the abbeys, and Solsons, we do love to share news and gossip.” He shook his head and continued. “No secrets in the abbeys, you know.”
The Lump looked back over his shoulder. “That’s why I was never much for religious rites.”
Birch continued speaking to Meena. “Child, have you met the Solsons that visit the Needles?”
“I am not a child, and yes, I have met the Solsons.” She paused for a moment, then spoke with a grin. “I have met the Lunaris too.”
“Oh, the Lunaris, a nasty lot.” Birch scowled. “What kind of deity wants his priests to be warriors?” He let loose a quick hmmph. “Warrior priests. It’s an abomination.”
“Solsons and Lunaris seem pretty much the same to me.” Meena held her chin up as she spoke.
“Oh, no! You see, the Solsons understand that Sol is the giver of life.” Birch pointed upward. “Before there were any people, there were only monsters in the Darklands.” He brought his hand back down to his horse. “Sol, in his brilliance, laid the Great Egg in the Empty Sea.” He paused briefly. “When the egg hatched, the Needles were formed from its shell and all the people came forth.”
“That’s the same story the Lunaris tell,” Meena answered.
“No it isn’t. They think that Luna laid the Great Egg.” Birch shook his head from side to side. “That’s patently ridiculous.”
The Lump raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yes. That just sounds mad.”
“Do you know why the Needles are common lands?” Birch looked back at Meena from his horse.
Flynn answered, “Certainly, because they are neither in Aardland nor Gallis.” His voice cracked when he spoke.
Birch was unsatisfied with Flynn’s response. “But do you know why? We have to know our histories at the abbey.”
Meena asked, “Why is it so, Solson?”
“Because of the Great War!” Birch held his finger up again. “The Great War was so long ago that nobody bothers to remember it. That’s not the case with the order. We have it all written down, and we all learn it.”
Flynn took a deep, labored breath before he spoke. “Everyone knows of the Great War. Aardland repelled an invasion from Gallis.” He paused to take a few more uneasy breaths. “We won.”
Birch let his hand rest back on his horse. “Is that so? I imagine you’ve read the treaty then.”
Flynn lowered his sweaty face. “No, I haven’t… there’s a treaty?”
Birch said, “Yes, of course. There was no winner, only a peace. Some say it was an uneasy one.”
“Well, I don’t see what could be uneasy about peace.” Meena wrinkled her forehead.
“No one was happy. Everyone was left afraid.” Birch shifted on his horse while he spoke. “You have to understand the nature of the war.”
“The nature? War is people killing each other for no good reason.” Meena leaned back on her arms, holding on to Tracer.
Birch said, “Perhaps. It all started for a reason, though.” He took a deep breath, then began to speak. “Hundreds of years ago the Aards didn’t know about the Gallisians, and I suppose the Gallisians didn’t know about the Aards either.”
“How exactly is that? We all live on the same egg after all.” The Lump twisted around on his mule to look at the Solson.
“Yes, very true, but the Needles kept us separated.” Birch paused. “Or separated for a while.” He looked down for a moment, then looked up and spoke. “About three-hundred or so years ago, the first Gallisian explorers crossed the Needles and found Aardland.”
Flynn wiped sweat from his forehead. “And they attacked us and we repelled them.” Small beads of sweat replaced the ones he had just wiped away.
Birch pulled his eyebrows close together. “Gallis is a much leaner kingdom than Aardland, the lands aren’t as fertile, game is sparse, and silver is hard to find.” He put his hand over his mouth and sneezed. “Excuse me.” He wiped his hand on his robe and continued. “When those first Gallisians saw north Aardland they were stunned by what looked to be great wealth.”
Flynn said weakly, “Bleuderry is hardly a spectacle of wealth.” His eyelids drooped low over his eyes and his face was pale. He swayed side to side with every step of his horse.
Birch smiled at Flynn. “To the old Gallisians it was. They began raids on the land.” Birch held up one finger and wagged it as he spoke. “At first they just came once a year, but as time passed, the raids became more frequent.” He let his finger fall. “The old King, Wendal, sent men-at-arms to the North to stop the raids,” he continued, “more Gallisians came to fight the men-at-arms, and soon it was full war being fought on the Great Egg.”
“That’s the kind of foolishness that follows men with swords.” The Lump chuckled.
Birch said, “That is only the start. The Gallisians retreated to positions in the Needles, and the Aards pursued.” He paused to clear his throat. “In the rocky nooks fighting was treacherous.”
Meena said, “I certainly can�
��t imagine armies trying to move about among the Needles.”
“There wasn’t much movement. Both sides took up strong positions, and neither could be moved - though they fought tooth and claw.” Birch ran his hand in short strokes down the front of his robe. “The Needles became the place where all men, Aard and Gallisian alike, went to die.” He looked down and shook his head side to side. “After a hundred years of blood soaked war, there were only half as many Aards alive as before the fighting started.” He paused for a moment and looked at the sky. “Equal as many Gallisians died. Since we believe they were fewer to start with, the population of Gallis must have fallen to less than half what it once had been.”
The Lump asked, “So, how did they come to their senses and fix the mess?”
Birch answered, “The treaty, my son.” He smiled at the Lump. “The two Kings grew wary of the fighting started by their grandfathers, and met in the Needles.” He looked back at Flynn and Meena. “They signed a peace and vowed never again to make war.”
“And what has this to do with the Common Lands?” asked Meena.
“The Kings dared not have their kingdoms touch one another, so the treaty made clear that the Needles belong to neither kingdom.” Birch scratched the top of his head. “They even went so far as to declare that the Needles could never belong to any kingdom.” He brought his hand back down to his horse. “No lords of any kind could rise in the Needles. Even abbeys are forbidden.” He continued to speak. “The treaty even states that if the land in the Needles formed something as simple as a ruling council, it would be viewed as an act of war against both kingdoms. They would crush it jointly.”
“So that’s why it’s the Common Lands.” Meena paused for a moment and looked up at the sky. “Ruled only by common sense.”
“Yes, I believe that is true,” answered Birch.
Meena dropped her eyes from the sky and looked at the blue-robed Solson. “May I ask another question about the histories?”
Birch said, “Yes, dear lady, you may.”
“Why is this kingdom called Aardland?” asked Meena.
Birch answered, “Simple my dear, because it is the land of the Aards.”
Meena asked another question. “Why are the people called Aards?”
Birch answered, “For the obvious reason, because they live in Aardland.”
Flynn groaned. He swayed about in his saddle then wrapped his healthy arm around Tracer’s neck and fell forward onto it.
Meena shouted, “Help!”
10: Dragon or Wyrm?
The Lump lifted Flynn off his horse. The man felt damp and sticky, sweat soaked through his tunic. The rope on the man’s hip smacked against the Lump’s face as he lowered him. “We’re going to have to make camp here.” He placed Flynn on a clear patch of grass beside the path. “Solson, I think now’s a good time for you to have a look.” He unfastened Flynn’s breastplate and removed it.
“Yes, oh dear, yes.” Birch got down from his nag and approached the man lying on the ground. “Let me have a look. I just need to get that sleeve up.” He raised the sleeve that was crusted with a mixture of dried blood and yellow ooze. The wound was a swollen red mound with a firm, yellow circle pushing up at the center.
“What caused this?” asked the Solson.
Flynn answered, “A catamount, I was caught between two of them.”
“Nasty business.” Birch shook his head side to side. “All sorts of ugly things collect on those claws. I need a fire and a blade, something smaller than this man’s sword.” The Solson retrieved his water-skin, then returned to Flynn.
“I’ll get the fire going.” The Lump set about collecting sticks for kindling. There were plenty of sticks of varying sizes among the trees by the path.
“Will this blade serve?” Meena presented Birch with the golden-handled dagger from under her cloak.
Birch took the dagger in his hand and inspected it before returning it to Meena. “Yes, that will serve quite well.” He brought his water-skin to Flynn’s lips. “Here, drink, it is important that you have plenty of water.”
Flynn drank deeply from the skin then spoke. “I am sorry, everyone, I just felt weak for a moment.”
“What you felt was your wound festering.” Birch still knelt next to Flynn. “Drink more, it’s important.”
The Lump struck his flint rock and the pile of tinder took flame. “Solson, I have your fire.” He added more dry sticks to the flame, one at a time, and the fire grew larger.
“Wonderful.” Birch looked up at Meena. “Dear girl, please put the tip off your knife into the flame.” He held his hands in front of him, about an inch apart. “About this much. Be careful not to put too much of the blade in, we can’t have it get too hot for holding.” He brought his hands down and picked up his water-skin.
Meena went to the small fire and placed the tip of her dagger into it. “Are you going to cut him?”
“I suppose some might see it that way.” Birch poured water over the red and yellow mound on Flynn’s arm. “I will bleed the wound and let the sickness out. The heat will sear the skin and keep sickness from getting back in.” He looked at Flynn. “I am sorry sir, but it will be a bit painful.”
Flynn struggled to laugh. “I had surmised that to be the case, given the red hot dagger.”
After several minutes by the flame, Meena brought the dagger to Birch. The lower quarter of the blade was glowing red with the extreme point of the blade white-hot. She handed it gingerly to the Solson.
The Lump handed a piece of Wendy’s leathery jerky down to Flynn. “You might want to bite down on this.”
Birch held the hot blade above the wound. “This will be over quickly, I assure you.” He stabbed the mound on Flynn’s arm. It exploded, a tiny volcano erupting a yellow and amber mixture into the air. The skin made a sizzling sound and Birch withdrew the blade as quickly as he had stabbed.
“Aaaah!” Flynn screamed and the jerky in his mouth flew to the ground.
“It’s over, friend.” Birch rested his hand on Flynn’s shoulder. “You will rest tonight and should feel much better by morning.”
Flynn looked up at Birch. “I pray so, I would prefer you not have to do that again.” He looked at the crater in his arm. “Do we need to do anything further?”
Birch rose to his feet. “Yes, I will wash it, cover it with honey, and dress it.” He walked over to his horse and began searching through his bags. “I have plenty of carrots, radishes… maybe an onion.” He retrieved honey and cheesecloth from his bag. “I’d be happy to make a stew to share.”
The Lump added larger pieces of wood to the fire. “Ah, Solson, I like you more each minute.” He stoked the burning pile and watched the flames rise. “Do you have any potatoes?”
Birch applied honey to the wounded arm. “No, my son, I am sorry but I do not.”
The Lump felt his face drop into a frown. “Radishes are fine.”
Birch wrapped the arm in cheesecloth and brought the torn sleeve down over it. “Drink more water, and rest. I’ll bring your supper to you.” Birch went back over to his bags and gathered vegetables.
The Lump stood up from the fire and walked to his mule. “I have a nice pot you can use.” He filled the pot with water from his skin and took it to the fire.
Birch carried over the vegetables. “I must confess, I don’t have a knife to chop these for stewing.”
Meena said, “You can use my dagger.”
“No!” The Lump shouted. “I, um, think my sword would work better.” He pulled his small weapon from its loop. “I’ll do the chopping.” He received the food from Birch and placed it on the ground before him. He hacked at it with his sword. “I spent plenty of time in Wendy’s kitchen.”
“And I’m sure nary a radish survived.” Birch smiled at the Lump and gathered up the pulverized food. “This will need to simmer for a while.” He dropped the pieces into the pot of water suspended above the fire. “So, you are traveling to the Needles?”
“We
’re traveling.” The Lump answered gruffly. “You don’t need to worry where we’re headed.”
“Of course,” Birch replied, “but a young lady from the Needles, a hero wounded in some battle…” He looked from the pot to the Lump. “…and a persnickety guide—”
“I’m not a guide! And persnickety better not be an insult.” The Lump growled at the Solson.
“It just seems that you have a long trip on some important business.” Birch stirred the simmering stew with a stick. “The abbey has been abuzz about trouble in the Needles. It seems that may be where you folks are headed.”
“It’s true.” Meena looked over at the Lump. “I’m not sure why he thinks it’s a secret.”
“I just don’t like people in my business.” The Lump clenched his jaws. “I’m none too interested in the business of others, for that matter.”
“The trouble you hear of,” Meena said, now looking at Birch, “is the dragon. He has stirred.”
“So you’re going to slay a dragon.” Birch smiled as he pulled salt from his robe and added it to the stew. “I seem to have heard that story before.”
“It’s not a story! It’s true!” Meena’s mismatched eyes narrowed and her freckled cheeks rose.
“My dear lady, everything is a story… or someday will be.” Birch smiled at her. “What do you know about the dragon?”
“It’s vile, and stealthy, and evil.” Meena sneered. “And it kills good people.”
“I imagine it kills good and bad people alike.” Birch stirred the mixture in the pot. “It’s really more accurate to call it a wyrm than a dragon.”
“For the love of Sol, what does that mean?” The Lump wrinkled his brow and looked at Birch.
“Dragons came from the Darklands.” Birch withdrew the stick from the stew and leaned it across the pot. “Bug bears, titan snakes and trolls are also in the Darklands, but only dragons could fly.”
From his spot on the ground a few feet away, Flynn joined the talk. “No one told me we are facing a flying beast.”
“Dragons could fly.” Birch said, “They would fly across the Wretched Water and bring terror to western Aardland. Thankfully, they never stayed long.” Birch straightened his robe and sat up straight. “They would just pluck up a horse or a sheep and leave.”
