Cyril smiled with genuine affection that turned quickly to sadness. “I just hope he doesn’t hate me when he realizes what I’ve been preparing him for his whole life.”
“He won’t hate you,” Chen said. “He has a well-trained mind. I’m sure, at least on some level, he is already aware of his destiny. As the harshness of reality sets in, he will come to understand the necessity of your decisions.”
“I hope you’re right. I’ve wanted to tell him the truth for some time now, but I just can’t bring myself to do it … I don’t want to strip away his innocence. And, if I’m brutally honest with myself, I don’t want to face his judgment. Truth is, he has every right to hate me. I hate myself for what I’ve done.”
“Nonsense. All four of us swore a magical oath to give our all to this cause. You couldn’t have done otherwise, even if you’d wanted to.”
“I had no idea just how costly that oath would be,” Cyril said.
“Far less costly than the alternative,” Chen said. “Only one remains.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier to live with.”
“Perhaps not, but the magnitude of the evil that humanity faces can’t be defeated with half measures. Only a complete and unwavering commitment will see us through to the light.”
“I know,” Cyril whispered. “I guess I was just hoping that someone else would step forward and finish what we started. It’s already cost us so much.”
Chen nodded sadly, motioning for them to continue walking.
Chapter 18
“I think we’re being watched,” John said, pointing out the bird when Cyril and Chen returned.
Both men nodded.
“We should probably leave now,” Cyril said, “if you two are strong enough to travel.”
“I’m good,” Hound said.
“Me too,” said Ben.
Everyone gathered their belongings, then Chen led them to the gate, staff in hand. He opened the secret door and laid his hand on the marker, whispering a few words under his breath.
Several moments later, they filed out of the cave and were met by the screech of a hawk, mingled with something unnatural, filtering through the trees. It was answered in the distance by the scream of a bobcat.
“I don’t like cats,” Homer said. “Especially when they’re as big as me.”
“I know how you feel,” Ben said.
“This way, quickly,” Chen said, leading them down to the bank of the Red Blanket.
“Where are you taking us?” Frank asked.
“Away from the stalkers,” Chen said without looking back or slowing.
They followed the river at a brisk pace, crossing several small streams that added to the river’s flow. At every break in the thick trees, Ben searched the sky for the hawk. It was always there, circling high overhead, marking their position for the enemy.
With each sighting, he felt the urge to move faster. Every time the stalker-hawk shrieked, fear surged into his gut. Early in the afternoon, the bobcat screamed. It was close. Too close to escape.
Hound stopped, dropping his pack and adjusting the rounds in his shotgun, choosing to lead with two of his grenades.
“There’s a clearing up ahead,” Cyril said, pointing to a meadow surrounded on three sides by a bend in the river. “We’ll make our stand there.”
Ben felt his heart hammering in his chest as he dropped his pack and drew his sword. He glanced at everyone else and saw a mixture of resolve and fear. Cyril stood ready, sword in hand. John had positioned himself between the enemy and Imogen, arrow nocked and ready. Frank was sheet-white and trembling. He looked around nervously, his eyes flicking to every sound emanating from the forest.
Hound stood in the middle of the meadow, his jaw set, a tight grin on his face.
Chen came to Ben’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Let your training guide you,” he said. “Free yourself of thoughts and worry. Allow your quiet mind to have free rein.”
Ben frowned at the old man, puzzling over his words. Then the bobcat screamed again.
“Come get some!” Hound shouted.
A moment later, the cat, just two feet tall at the shoulder, bounded into the meadow. It was fast, hitting the ground once and springing toward them. Hound’s grenade hit just behind it, exploding with enough concussive force to send the stalker end over end through the air toward them. It hit close, not ten feet away. Hound ejected his second grenade and fired a slug before the possessed bobcat could recover, tearing a gaping hole in its side. It screamed in fury as it scrambled to its feet.
He fired again, this time peppering its face with shot and blowing it over onto its back. He advanced quickly, racking another round and firing immediately, hitting the cat in the throat. The force of the blast ripped its head nearly off and the beast went still.
The hawk shrieked overhead.
“Come on down here, you bitch,” Hound shouted into the air. “Bertha’s hungry.”
“Nicely done,” Cyril said, handing Rufus the grenade round he’d ejected. “You might need this.”
He slipped the shell into his pocket with a nod of thanks.
“We should go,” Chen said. “The Dragon Guard will be coming with all possible speed.”
“They’re never going to stop, are they?” Imogen asked, a tremor in her voice.
“Not until they think we’re dead,” Cyril said.
“Or we kill them all,” Hound added, reloading his shotgun.
“This is a nightmare,” Frank said. “Chen’s right, let’s get out of here.”
They set out along the river as it widened and the flow increased. They had walked for less than an hour when the sound of horses brought them to a halt.
After taking a moment to listen, Chen turned and started out again. “Come, we haven’t much time.”
“Time for what?” Frank asked.
Chen didn’t answer.
The hoofbeats of too many horses drew closer and then passed them, moving ahead along a parallel path to the river.
“We should double back,” Frank said.
“No, your best chance is the boathouse,” Chen said without breaking stride.
“More water?” Homer said.
“We might not have a choice,” Ben said, glancing at the swiftly moving river.
“You want us to take a boat?” Frank said, hurrying to catch up when no one else stopped.
“I do,” Chen said. “The Red Blanket is your best chance for escape.”
“Won’t the Dragon Guard get there before us?” Hound asked. “They are ahead of us after all.”
“The trail leading to the ford from the road is a narrow switchback,” Chen said. “They’ll have to slow considerably to negotiate it safely.”
“Hope you’re right,” Hound said.
As the terrain leveled out, the river became even wider, its flow easing from a frothy torrent into a gentle ripple. A small house stood along its bank, the mossy roof fallen in and the timbers rotting under the weight of neglect. An old aluminum boat lay upside down on the porch.
A little-used trail wound out of the forest to the edge of the river at a wide, shallow point and continued on into the forest on the far side. Ben couldn’t tell how far the enemy was from the sound of their approach—all he knew for certain was that they were coming.
Chen stopped in the middle of the clearing, smiling calmly to himself, his eyes distant. “It’s just as I have seen,” he said quietly to himself.
A shout through the trees drew their attention.
“You must go,” Chen said. “The river will carry you to safety. Return to shore when you hear the river’s roar.”
John and Rufus shared a look and then went for the boat. It was light but sturdy, easily large enough to carry all of them.
“Grab those oars,” Hound said to Frank, pointing to the porch.
“Come with us,” Cyril said, turning Chen away from the approaching enemy.
He shook his head resolutely.
“You don’t have to do this,” Cyril said. “We can all escape.”
“You’re wrong, my friend.”
“Please come with us,” Imogen said.
He smiled kindly at her with a sense of calmness, even serenity, about him. “With a glimpse of the one true light comes a new understanding of reality, a knowing of things to come. I could flee with you now, but such a choice would lead to your death. I have seen every path open to me and this is the most honorable. This path reveres life and free will—the creator’s two great gifts to us all. I have been awaiting this moment for some time.”
“You want to die?” Ben asked.
“Death is ultimately an illusion … as is life. We are all nothing more than a drop of ocean spray cast into the air for a brief moment. Eventually, we all fall back into the vast ocean of light and become one with God again. Having seen the beauty and bliss that awaits, I yearn to return home.”
“I don’t want you to go,” Cyril said, holding back tears.
Chen hugged him. “And yet, I must,” he said, pointing toward the approaching enemy. “And so must you.”
Cyril clenched his jaw, the sadness in his eyes transforming into anger and resolve. “I will finish what we started … or die trying.”
Dragon Guard on horseback came into view, just a few hundred feet away.
“Try to make it the former, old friend,” Chen said, turning toward the approaching enemy and taking a stand in the middle of the meadow.
“Come on,” Hound called out from the river’s edge.
Cyril put his hand on Chen’s shoulder for a moment before turning away and heading for the boat. Ben followed with a sense of loss already welling up within him. He had only known Chen for a few days, but in that time he’d come to respect him more than any man he knew save his grandfather. He found himself lamenting the loss of a thousand conversations that he would never have with the wise old monk.
The thought hit him like a blow to the head. He stopped in his tracks to look back. Chen stood easily, awaiting his enemy, holding only his staff as a weapon. As certainty settled on him, Ben’s head snapped back to his grandfather and a thousand questions were answered, all in a rush. The puzzle of his past filled in and he understood his purpose—he understood what his grandfather had been grooming him for his entire life. He almost laughed when he realized that it was the very same purpose that he had set for himself this very day.
“Take them alive!” Nash shouted over the din of hoofbeats.
Chen stood serenely, awaiting his doom.
“Ben!” Cyril snapped, drawing his attention away from the coming threat.
All thoughts of purpose and destiny faded as the very real danger coming for him focused his mind on the present moment. He raced for the boat. Everyone else was already aboard, even Homer. Ben shoved the boat out into the water and clambered over the side, John pulling him in as Hound shoved away from the bank with an oar.
With a growing sense of helplessness and anger, Ben turned to watch as the Dragon Guard approached Chen. Nash remained mounted, watching her squad of six advance on him. Chen waited calmly until the first got close enough. Then with a thrust of his staff and a shout that reverberated through the forest, he spooked the man’s horse, causing it to rear and throw him to the ground.
Two of the remaining five drew their dragon-fire rifles, tongues of blue flame sprouting from the barrels as they brought them to bear.
“Hold!” Nash snapped. “I want him alive.”
Three dismounted while the first to fall groaned in pain and the other two extinguished their fire and returned their rifles to their backs. Three big men clad in armor and armed with swords advanced on Chen.
Armed with only a staff, he stood his ground with a stillness and a certainty that Ben knew he couldn’t match.
The first Dragon Guard pointed his sword at Chen. “Lay down your weapon.”
Chen moved with fluid grace and startling speed, slapping the man’s blade aside with one end of his staff, bringing the other end around and striking him on the side of the neck just below his helm and above his armored collar. He fell to the forest floor and went still.
Before the other two could react, Chen brought his staff back and drove the butt of it into the throat of the man to his right, dropping him to the ground, bright red blood frothing and sputtering from his mouth.
The third advanced, charging with a battle cry. Chen became still, waiting for the moment to strike. When the Dragon Guard got close enough, Chen spun, ducking under and aside from the charge, whipping his staff around by one end, catching the man in the back of the legs, and knocking him face first onto the ground. Chen moved quickly, taking two steps toward the man and driving the butt of his staff into the back of his neck. Ben could hear bone breaking.
Nash cursed loudly and ordered the other two Dragon Guard to engage. As they were dismounting, Chen casually strolled over to the man writhing on the ground and hit him across the temple, knocking his helm off and stunning him further. A second blow finished him.
The two remaining men converged on Chen, both with swords drawn. He jabbed the first in the upper arm as he raised his sword. The man screamed, dropping his blade. Chen brought the other end of his staff into the groin of the second man, doubling him over before spinning around and catching the first across the side of the neck, sending him to the ground, still and lifeless.
The last Dragon Guard standing backed away from Chen’s advance, but not nearly fast enough. The staff came around again, catching the man at the knee, sweeping his legs and dropping him to the ground. A final blow to the man’s throat ended his life.
“You’ll burn for this,” Nash said, her rifle coming over her shoulder, flame igniting as she brought it to bear on Chen.
What happened next challenged Ben’s sanity.
Chen sat down cross-legged, eyes closed, cradling his staff across his lap.
Fire sprayed from the barrel of Nash’s weapon, surging across the forest floor like an orange wave, engulfing Chen in a conflagration that would have sent any other man screaming and struggling for one last breath. Chen sat still, calm as a mountain lake on a summer’s day. The fire roared and raged around him, burning him with it, but still he did not move.
A bowstring twanged behind Ben, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Chen, now fully engulfed in flame, a pillar of fire amidst a field of crackling orange.
Nash screamed as John’s arrow drove into her leg. “Bitch,” he muttered, as the scene of horror floated out of view, the flow of the river carrying them away from their hunter.
Cyril sat with his face in his hands and wept. Imogen sat by his side, trying to console him even as tears streamed down her cheeks.
Ben might have cried as well, had it not been for the burning anger in his gut.
“Hang on,” Hound said as the banks narrowed and the river gained speed. Within a few moments, all thoughts of sadness and mourning were set aside in favor of guiding the boat down the rapidly flowing river.
Spray soaked them. Even in the warm sun, they were shivering with cold as air and water conspired to rob them of their body heat. Ben wasn’t sure how long they’d floated, struggling to keep the boat in the middle of the rapidly flowing white water, but he was greatly relieved when the river widened once again and they slowed.
His relief didn’t last long. When they rounded the next bend, the sound of a torrent roared at them.
“Head for the bank!” Cyril shouted.
Hound and Durt rowed with all their strength, but the river pulled them on.
“Head for the rocks,” Cyril yelled, pointing toward a number of boulders near the bank.
Moments later, the boat crashed into the rocks, turning sideways and sliding toward the cataract.
“Jump!” Cyril shouted, shoving Frank overboard toward the river’s edge.
Ben didn’t hesitate, grabbing Homer and flipping overboard into the icy water. He came up, kicking for the bank and quickly found, much to hi
s relief, that he could reach bottom. Imogen came up nearby, sputtering and gasping for breath. He grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her closer until she could get her feet underneath her.
John was the last to jump, only seconds before the boat was dragged away by the current, vanishing into the torrent. Ben sat heavily, water draining out of his pack and clothes. Homer shook his fur dry a few feet away.
“Ahh,” Ben said, holding his hands up to ward against the spray.
“I told you I don’t like the water,” Homer said, sniffing the air.
“At this point, I think I agree with you,” Ben said, wiping his face.
“There’s a clearing over there,” Cyril said. “Let’s get into the sun and get dried out a bit.”
They strung a line and hung up their spare clothes, taking an hour to eat lunch and regain their strength. It was somber and quiet, all of them turning their thoughts inward and mourning the loss of Chen … all except Frank.
“Do you think we got away?” he asked nervously.
“For now,” Cyril said without looking up.
“I don’t see the hawk,” Frank said, scanning the sky.
“Nash will probably fall back and regroup,” Hound said. “But I’m pretty sure she won’t give up.”
“No, she won’t,” Cyril said.
Ben wanted to talk to his grandfather about his new understanding of the world, and about his family’s history, but he thought better of it, his glance turning to Frank. He didn’t trust his brother, not with important things anyway, and this was the most important thing in the world. He could only imagine what Frank would do with the knowledge of their grandfather’s role in the war against the wyrm.
The more he thought about it the more certain he became.
Cyril was the Wizard. Chen had been the Monk.
Two of the four who had led the fight against the dragons. Heroes of humanity.
The magnitude of the danger they faced began to sink in. Up until today, Ben thought they’d just crossed a Dragon Guard Commander and were the targets of a petty vendetta driven by her embarrassment at their escape. Now he understood the full scope of the forces arrayed against them.
If the Dragon Guard knew the truth of who they were hunting, they would bring to bear all of the power at their disposal. Eventually, the dragon himself would come. As was the case with most important answers, this one only served to create a thousand new questions—questions that Ben didn’t dare voice except in the most guarded of whispers.
The Dragon's Egg (Dragonfall Book 1) Page 18
