Dragon In The Needles

by Bruce Leslie

  “Well, I just thought…” The Lump raised a hand in the air, with the palm faced up. “…I thought I’d make sure you made it safe.” He brought his hand down and turned his eyes back to the trail. “I’d even help you along the way.” He paused for a moment, then turned his head and spoke again. “For the love of honey-dipped bread! I even got to like you two along the way.” He pointed his thumb at the center of his chest. “As a rule, I don’t like nobody!” He looked down at the mule he was riding. “Well, nobody but Tilley here.” He patted the mule between the shoulders.

  “But you’re not going to stay until the job is done.” Meena’s eyes were still narrow.

  “I’ve got work piling up back home.” The Lump dropped his head and shook it. “I’m afraid to even think about what a mess Marty has made of things while I’ve been away.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

  “But you’re going to leave us when we need you most.” Meena turned her face away from him.

  “You don’t need me.” The Lump shifted nervously on his mule. “Flynn has shown nothing but bravery.”

  “I don’t even have a sword!” Flynn put his hand on his empty scabbard.

  “You don’t need a sword.” The Lump pointed at Meena, who still refused to look at him. “You just have to feed those flowers to the wretched thing and the problem is solved.”

  “It may not be that simple.” Meena turned her face back to the Lump, her eyes still narrow slits. “We don’t even know if the book’s knowledge is true.”

  The Lump waved his hand at the trees along the trail. “You can always set your pack of wolves on the dragon.”

  Meena bared her teeth. “I don’t have a pack of wolves.” She turned her head away again. “What could wolves do to a dragon, anyway?”

  “The flowers will work.” The Lump forced himself to smile. “Just have a little faith.”

  Meena shook her head. “I thought I could have faith in your promise.”

  The Lump exhaled loudly. “I promised to get you here and I—”

  Tilley’s head jerked and she let out a deafening bray. The Lump felt a sharp pain in his chest, he looked down and saw a crossbow bolt hanging from him.

  The Lump shouted, “Take cover!” He leaped down from Tilley and dived behind a hedge alongside the trail. Flynn and Meena soon joined him. He could hear whinnies tearing through the air as Tracer ran off into the woods.

  Two bolts from a crossbow flew at them as they hunkered down in the hedge, one of the bolts lodged in the trunk of a tree just inches from the Lump’s head. The shots came from high in a tree on the other side of the trail.

  “Your chest! You’ve been hit!” Flynn pointed at the short arrow protruding from the Lump’s torso.

  The Lump clutched the bolt and pulled it off of him. It had barely pierced his vest, and only made a tiny cut on his chest. I guess there’s something to that boiled leather. He tossed the bolt aside. “My vest caught it, I’m fine.”

  “It’s a cuirie, and it saved you.” Flynn ducked as two more bolts flew at their heads.

  Tilley’s braying stopped and she lowered her body down onto the trail. She lay on her side, breathing heavily. A puddle of red formed in the soil beneath her.

  “That mule won’t be biting anybody now!” A familiar voice came forth from the tree. It was the voice of the brigand leader that ambushed them in the Western Woods.

  The Lump grabbed a stone from beneath the hedge. He stood up and hurled it into the tree, then ducked back down behind the hedge.

  A curse rang out from the tree, and two more bolts flew at them.

  “We have to do something to stop this.” The Lump looked at Flynn, then quickly to Meena. “Throw more rocks.” He pulled his small sword from its loop and stormed out of the hedge.

  Flynn and Meena grabbed whatever stones were at hand and began tossing them into the tree.

  The Lump ran underneath the crossfire of stones and bolts across the trail. A bolt skidded across the leather on his back as he made it to the base of the tree and slammed his shoulder into its trunk. The tree shook, but the brigands remained perched on their branches. The Lump glanced up and saw that there were two of them.

  The Brigands pointed their crossbows down and launched bolts at the Lump’s head.

  The Lump circled the trunk of the tree, changing his direction with every few steps. He managed to avoid the crossbows, but Flynn and Meena’s thrown stones came down on him. The brigands launched bolts down at him again. This time one of the bolts slid across the back of his hand and made a shallow cut in the flesh.

  The Lump ignored his bleeding hand and shouted to the hedge, “Keep hurling stones!” He leaned his weight against the trunk in an attempt to shake the tree. It swayed slightly, but not enough to dislodge the brigands.

  The Lump continued to circle the tree with his sword in his injured hand. He shook the tree as best he could when he wasn’t dodging the bolts sent down at him. He glanced to the hedge to see if the stones were still being hurled at his adversaries.

  Meena stood up from the hedge, her hood pulled over her red hair. She gripped her staff tight in her hands and squeezed her eyes shut. Flynn pulled her back behind the hedge and a bolt zoomed over her head.

  Three black shadows flew across the sky and circled the brigands’ tree. The shadows came lower and the Lump could see that they were crows, great, ugly crows. They had coarse black feathers, black eyes, black beaks and black talons. The birds’ wings looked to be four feet across as they dived into the tree.

  Loud caws mixed with the shouts of men above the Lump’s head. The bolts stopped coming down at him, and he focused all his efforts on shaking the tree. He heard the sound of a bolt being loosed from its crossbow, and ducked aside. He saw one of the large, black birds fall from the tree with a bolt stabbed through the middle of its body. More caws and shouts came from the tree, and the brigand leader tumbled down from the branches and hit the ground hard.

  The Lump pulled the brigand up by his brown cloak and slammed the man into the tree before dropping him back to the ground. Overhead he saw the two remaining crows take flight, leaving the second brigand in the tree alone.

  The Lump shouted up into the tree. “You’re out of those stubby arrows, aren’t you?” He moved aside as another bolt flew down at him. It glanced his thigh, causing another shallow cut.

  Meena stood up again and hurled her staff into the tree. It flew like a spear into the collection of leaves and branches.

  The second brigand tumbled from his perch and fell to the front of the tree, onto the trail. Flynn leapt from the hedge and landed on him. He twisted the bandit’s arms behind his back and forced him over to the tree, next to the taller brigand. Meena followed Flynn and his prisoner across the trail.

  The Lump lifted the brigand leader from the ground and pressed him hard against the trunk of the tree. Flynn held the smaller brigand beside him.

  Meena picked her staff up from where it had fallen out of the tree. “You hide your faces behind those rags!” She reached out and yanked the cloth down from the taller brigand’s face. Her eyes grew wide. “What?” She turned and pulled the mask from the other. “I know you!” She looked back and forth at the captured men’s faces. “Yes, I know you - you’re the quarrymen!”

  The Lump held his undersized sword under the tall man’s chin. “Names! Give us your names!”

  “I’m Ivan.” The taller man trembled as he spoke. “He’s Darak.” He closed his eyes. “Please, don’t kill us.”

  Meena pressed her staff against the smaller man’s chest. “Why are you doing this? You’re quarrymen, not brigands!”

  The smaller man closed his eyes and dropped his head. “It’s the dragon… we can’t gather stones no more.” He whimpered in fear. “The monster took away our livelihood, we didn’t have no other way to get coin.”

  “So you became outlaws?” Meena pressed her staff harder against the man. “There are more important things than coin.” She withdrew her staff and
walked away from him. “Tie their hands, Flynn.”

  Flynn used the rope from his hip to bind the brigands’ hands together. “What do we do with these vermin? Take them to Bleuderry?” He put his hands on their shoulders and forced them to sit.

  “No.” Meena shook her head. “We take them with us. The Common Folk will find a way to make them atone for their crimes.”

  The Lump stepped back from the men sitting on the ground and handed his sword to Flynn. Without saying a word, he walked slowly across the trail and knelt down by Tilley. A bolt was buried in her neck, her gray coat stained red around it. He gently pulled one of the flowers from her mane, one of the few that remained where Meena had braided them into the stiff, black hair. That now seemed forever ago. He ran his hand over her coarse, grey coat. She already felt cold. He closed his eyes and put one of his large hands over them. He felt the tears slide down his face. His body felt numb while he knelt there and cried.

  The Lump dropped the wilted flower from his hand and stood. He clenched his jaws and stiffened his shoulders, then turned around. He stomped across the trail with rage rising up in his chest and coursing down his arms. He thrust his hands down and grabbed the brigands by their dirty, brown tunics and shouted. “You killed my mule!” He lifted them to their feet and shook them violently. “You killed Tilley!” He shoved them back and pressed them against the tree. “What do you think I’m going to do to you?”

  Meena dropped her staff and grabbed one of the Lump’s arms with both her hands. “Stop!” She struggled to pull his hand loose from the smaller brigand. “This isn’t you!”

  Flynn put his hand on the Lump’s shoulder and gripped it. “It was the dragon that drove them here.” He squeezed his grip tighter. “The dragon killed Tilley.”

  The Lump dropped the brigands and looked across the trail with a blank stare. He said, “That cursed Red Line,” and dropped to his knees. “That dragon killed my pop.” He smashed his bleeding fist into the dirt. “Killed my mum.” He pounded the ground again. “Now it’s killed Tilley!” He slammed his knuckles down harder. “I’m going to find that despicable lizard and pound it until nothing is left, nothing but a green paste!” He became silent and took several deep breaths, then rose slowly to his feet. “But first I’m going to dig a big hole.” He looked over at Tilley’s lifeless body. “I’m going to bury my mule.”

  22: The Needles

  The Needles looked like something from another world, the Lump couldn’t believe that these fantastic stones sat next to Aardland. The giant limestone slabs thrust up from the ground like the swords of some long-forgotten race of titans, magical beings larger than even his imagination was capable of picturing. Why do they call them needles? They look more like blades. He would have been more awestruck if not for the fire in his chest that longed for the destruction of the dragon.

  The Lump sat on the ground beside Meena. “Don’t you think you should go see your folks first?” He watched her fingers work at the short arrows she had collected after the brigands had been captured.

  “No.” Meena used thick, green threads that she pulled from her cloak to affix blue flowers to the projectiles in front of her. “We must complete the task at hand first.” She looked up and stopped her work for a moment. “To see my family, then have to leave… that might weaken my conviction.” She put her head back down and resumed her work.

  The Lump asked, “How many of those stubby arrows did you gather?”

  “A dozen or so,” Meena answered, “and they’re called bolts.” She finished tying a length of thread. “There’s only enough dragon’s bane for three.” She held up three bolts, their tips wrapped in blue flowers that were held in place by tightly wound green thread.

  Flynn stood a few feet away and pointed a crossbow at the circle he had carved into the bark of a slender tree. He closed one eye and looked down the length of the weapon. He inhaled deeply, then loosed the bolt as he exhaled. The bolt missed the tree entirely. “How do you guide these things?” he asked.

  The quarrymen sat at the base of the tree with their hands bound. A length of rope ran around the men’s hands, then stretched for a few feet before it was knotted around the tree being used as a target.

  The taller brigand, named Ivan, said, “You just point it and pull back the lever, it’s not hard.”

  Flynn pointed the unloaded crossbow at Ivan. “Perhaps I should practice by taking aim at you.” He lowered the weapon and placed another bolt in it, then lifted it and aimed at the circle again. “I was trained at sword, not crossbow.” He lowered the crossbow and turned to his captives. “I will ask you again, what happened to my sword?”

  “I don’t know,” answered Ivan. “We didn’t know those other two fellows very well.”

  The rat-faced man named Darak added, “It’s true! we haven’t seen them since that day in the Western Woods.”

  Flynn raised the crossbow and aimed at the tree again. “I still hold you two responsible, I will not release you until you’ve made restitution.” He released the bolt. This time it struck the tree, though well outside the circle.

  Ivan asked, “How do we make restitution if you keep us tied up?”

  “I have something in mind.” Flynn looked at the man and grinned. “You will find out soon enough.” He walked to the tree and retrieved the bolt from its trunk.

  Darak said, “Those bolts won’t do you no good against the dragon.”

  “That’s not your concern.” Flynn pointed the bolt in his hand down at the man. “Don’t forget the debt you owe my friend for his mule.”

  Darak’s nose twitched like a weasel. “How can we? He looms over us like a spider with flies caught in its web.”

  The Lump stood up and balled his right hand into a raised fist. “I prefer to think of it as a hammer getting ready to pound a nail.” He slammed his fist down into his open palm.

  Meena stood up with her three dragon’s bane bolts in one hand and her staff in the other. “When you begged us to spare your lives, you claimed to have stirred the dragon. Is this true?”

  Ivan nodded his head. “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Where?” Meena leaned against her staff and looked at the man through narrow eyes.

  “Back there a ways.” Ivan motioned over his shoulder with his bound hands. “It was at a cleft near our slag heap.”

  The Lump wrinkled his forehead and asked, “What in the name of Sol is a slag heap?”

  “Not all the stones are worth selling,” Darak answered, “we have to dig out a lot of rubbish to get to the fine flat ones. We toss the rubbish into our heap.”

  “Tell us how to find it,” the Lump demanded.

  “Sure, sure.” Ivan’s head bobbed up and down as he nodded. “We always kept it a secret, didn’t want others to get in on our business, but no secrets from you folks.” His head stopped bobbing and shook side to side. “No secrets, we’ll tell you right away.”

  “No, you won’t.” Meena pointed her staff at the man. “You will take us there.” She stepped over to Flynn and gave him the three flower-laced bolts.

  “Please, no!” Darak held his bound hands up as he begged. “I don’t ever want to see that monster again.”

  “You have no choice.” Meena tilted her head and smiled. “Atonement.”

  Flynn put the three bolts into a quiver hitched at his belt. “Restitution.”

  The Lump made a fist and held it up. “I still might pound you!” He looked at Flynn and asked, “So, what do you plan to do with those stubby arrows Meena made?”

  “They’re called bolts,” Flynn answered. “I plan to shoot them into the beast’s mouth, or perhaps a nostril.”

  “Well, I hope your aim is true.” The Lump looked at the tree that had served as a target. “At least the dragon’s mouth should be bigger than your circle.”

  Meena said, “We should go now.”

  Flynn hung the crossbow’s strap around his shoulder, and untied his captives from the tree. “Now take us.” He kept the length of
rope gripped firmly in his hand, using it as a leash for the quarrymen.

  It was difficult to tell how far they traveled. The quarrymen led them along a serpentine path that wound through the stony labyrinth of needles. They crossed over a small stream, then followed a path that alternated between climbing up and sloping down several times. Along the way the Lump would occasionally feel the sharp edge of one of the rock formations scrape against an arm or a leg. At times the path would wrap between the slabs of stone so sharply that the quarrymen were briefly out of sight, with only the rope tied to them directing which way to go. The group curved around a sharp bend in the path and came upon a large pile of jagged, brown stones. The rocks were heaped up behind some old, wooden planks that were braced by two round posts wedged into the ground.

  Ivan nodded at the pile of stones. “That’s the place, right up there.”

  “We ain’t going up there,” Darak whined.

  “I will scout up ahead.” Flynn handed the quarrymen’s leash to the Lump and crept along the big pile of stones.

  Ivan shouted, “On up there! Inside that cleft.”

  Flynn inched along the boards that held back the stones and approached a crevice between two high needles of stone.

  Ivan made a swift kick at one of the wooden posts. The boards behind it fell, and the stones roared as the heap tumbled down onto Flynn.

  The Lump felt the rope in his hands go limp, and saw the quarrymen dart away. He chased after them into the maze of limestone slabs that rose up from the ground, but the men were already out of sight.

  “Forget those brigands.” Meena’s voice rang through the air. “We have a more pressing matter.”

  The Lump turned around and trotted back to the slag heap. He saw Flynn’s legs trapped under the stones.

  “They’re too heavy,” Meena said. “We need your help to get them off.”

  “I’m no stranger to stacking stones.” The Lump started lifting up the stones and heaving them to the side.