Lots of people have done lots of things to end one of these brutes. They might be part Exile, but they’re part naked chicken too. If you could wring its scaley neck, that would do the trick, but that probably ain’t practical for most, except maybe a real strong Aetherial. Other Blesseds besides Flamewrights can do all sorts of nasty things to the beastly half of the dragon. If you’ve got a sparky Windwright, you’d be set, but those fellas are usually occupied bein heavy artillery for somebody, or spending the money somebody just gave them for bein heavy artillery, or bein scraped up off the spot where they was last bein heavy artillery.
So most times, dragons’ll eye you up real good from on the wing before they land on you for a stompin. They’ll be lookin for the Blesseds, so just this once, take off your fancy robes and outfits and try to look like everybody else you think you’re better than. Unless you want to be the appetizer, then be my guest, keep that idiotic get up on. And, make sure to treat everybody else like servants like usual.”
Gilm wondered for a moment. As a Sojourner, Gilm knew he was given his Blessing by God to help others, not to lord it over them. The only other Blesseds he knew were Sojourners, but he’d heard and read stories about other Blesseds. He’d always dismissed them as exaggerations before. But, maybe it was true. Maybe a Blessed could be rich just by charging for the use of their Blessing? Images of Nari in a regal wedding gown on the steps of a mansion flashed through his mind for a moment. No, God gave me a great gift and expects great service from me. His Son died on a tree to take my punishment for me. He owns all of me, especially my Blessing.
“As if their breathing fire and havin long nasty teeth ain’t bad enough, dragonhide is generally about the toughest thing walking around, except maybe a few of Anak’s children. Don’t know how to settle that argument, but if you found a way you could sell tickets to watch for a pretty penny. Dragons get their hides while they’re sleeping their long sleeps on their treasure hoards. The bigger a dragon gets, the longer it sleeps, the more treasure gets sucked right into its scaly carcass, the tougher its hide. It ain’t like the treasure’s stuck there like a layer of coins. The metal and jewels go right into the thing’s scales. They become part of it, or it becomes part of them, one way or the other.
Their daddy, Molech, is the cause of most of this for certain. It’s his personal curse for sneaking back a pair of wings that gives them the long sleeps, that ain’t doubted. That old devil loves fear and hate and feeds right off of it. Fear and hate are all twined up with greed. Fear of losing what you’ve got, hate of those that might take it, the desire for more to feel safe. Tough to say for sure, but it all seems bound up tight. That means you’ve gotta do your level best not to scream like a little girl when that foul smelling freak lands in front of you. Not bein afraid would be great if you happen to be actually made of stone and can manage it. The rest of us just gotta try our best to keep it together. And, if you’re looking for a dragon just to raid its hoard, think again. Your greed is just gonna make it stronger, and probably let it smell you a mile away even if it’s in the middle of a long sleep.”
Gilm paused here and flipped back to the section of the book that described the basic life cycles. Was the writer of the appendix implying that dragons hibernated? Was that what he had meant by long sleep? Gilm wondered if it was yearly, like bears.
“Due to the curse spoken upon Molech by the Last King of the Numa, for regaining a physical form with wings, dragons sleep most of their lives away.” Gilm sighed in relief as he read the first sentence. It was clear that a sane person had written this chapter, unlike the appendix. Although, the appendix writer certainly knew dragons and did not just know about dragons. He continued reading.
“Early in their lives, just after hatching, they are the size of a small boar. They will roam about for a month and then sleep for a month at this stage. As they grow, age, (and some would argue, consume humans), and become more powerful, they stay awake longer but also sleep longer, growing during these long sleeps. After they have reached the size of a small pony, around five years of age, they will begin to create lairs in lonely, remote places. They store treasures here and prepare for their coming long sleeps. They will be paranoid in the extreme about the security of their lairs as they are sluggish and at a distinct disadvantage during their long sleep. Once they have reached the size of a small horse, usually around age ten, they will be active for a year and sleeping for two.
This sort of pattern continues as the beast ages. It is said that Molech himself is awake for ten years at a time and asleep for a hundred. There is no set...”
Poring over the text as he was, Gilm did not hear the soft footsteps in the hallway above. He was concentrating too much to hear the little giggle and the shush that came right after it. Not until he caught the rustling of a plain green skirt on the stairs did he realize he was no longer alone.
“The man from Swiftwater said that you went to search for dragon lore, so my escort and I deduced where you must be.” A beautiful young woman grinned at Gilm when he looked up.
“I am certain that your escort helped immensely with the deducing,” chuckled Gilm, pointing to the little boy, who was sitting on the landing by the door, kicking his feet and swinging a stick like a sword.
“Well, he might not have contributed to the logic much, but he did contribute mightily to my parents allowing their as-yet-unbetrothed daughter to seek out an as-yet-unbetrothed man of the village.” The blonde woman’s blue eyes took on a glint like wet, sharp rocks on a dangerous shore.
“Yeah, I’m protecting Nari’s honor. So don’t do nothin’ in-a-pro-pree-it, Master Timmermanson.” The young boy held up his stick fiercely, and looked down its length at the young man.
“It is ‘Master Waterwright’, and you know it, Jarli Halvirson,” said the boy’s sister, rounding on him.
“Now, now, Nari,” Gilm chided the woman three years his junior, “I can defend my own honor if it needs defending. My father’s a wood carver, so I’m a Timmermanson, or a Markuson because his name is Marku. Just because I’ve got a Blessing, that doesn’t mean that’s all I am. I would be wrong to call you Nari Fairdatter, for why should I put your fair looks before your father’s honor?”
“Master Waterwright, I am currently unbetrothed and quite disappointed about it. Flattery won’t change that.” The glint was back as Nari glared at Gilm.
“I still intend to be betrothed to you. It just seems I have a little of Our Lord’s business to attend to. So, I’ve got to read as much of this as I can as quickly as I can. If you’ve got something else to say, speak your mind and be on your way, Halvidatter. Your pretty neck and that smell of honeysuckle that clings to you is distracting me.”
Nari blushed and reached up self-consciously to touch her neck. Then, she spoke in a high-pitched rush, “I came to make sure you were not planning on going off on this ridiculous errand. Why should you help a town that doesn’t even trade with us most of the time because there are too many Sojourners here?” Nari’s eyes had a fierce fire dancing behind them as she met Gilm’s cool gaze.
Gilm leaned back in his chair, regarding the petite woman for a moment, with his lips pursed behind his young beard. “So, you think that I should not go and try to stop Molech’s Corrupted, before it kills more innocents?”
“Hah! What innocents are you going to find there? Don’t you remember just five years ago, when the wheat crop had the rust blight? They wouldn’t sell us a single basket of grain, not even for gold. If it weren’t for that one Wildman tribe, their buffalo meat, and your Sojourner relatives there, half the village would have starved.” The fire was leaping and roaring in Nari’s eyes now.
“And do you think the little ones in that village, the ones as old as your brother, were responsible for that decision? They were still babes in blankets then. And besides, don’t think that the dragon will stop with Swiftwater. In fact, I’d lay odds that it picked Swiftwater to attack first, so it could cut Arhaus off from civilization. It proba
bly has no idea that we’re more friendly with the Wildmen than we are with Swiftwater. In fact, I’m going to send a messenger off to my family friends with the Wildmen. They’re not actually my relations, and so they won’t actually be your relations when we’re married. If we fail at Swiftwater, I’m sure that they’ll be able to deal with a dragon, after all they’ve been through.”
“Hmmppf. If we’re married, you mean. Giving me a contingency plan that happens after you’re burnt like forgotten bread is not exactly reassuring, especially not to the woman who came here to make sure you didn’t get yourself killed for a bunch of ungrateful heathen.” Nari crossed her arms and shrank in on herself. Her voice was suddenly quiet and small, “Please don’t die, you wretched fool.”
The change was so great, that even her little brother looked up from his ‘sword’ practice.
“Not that you’ve got any official standing to be worried about my health and well-being, young Mistress Halvidatter. But, as a maiden, you’d be at risk as well after the thing is finished with Swiftwater, and I can’t allow that.” Gilm’s voice was cool and solid.
“There is more than one way to rectify that risk to my person, Master Waterwright. And the obvious one is a mite bit easier than slaying a dragon,” suggested Nari, her posture straightening again. Her voice had a hint of mischief about it.
“I’d put dragon slaying and marriage on equal footing when it comes to difficulty, my dear Nari Halvidatter,” replied Gilm, raising one of his eyebrows slightly. Gesturing with his hand at the shelves on the walls, “There is one book on dragon slaying here, and it isn’t really just about that task alone. There are three books and four scrolls on the Sojourner doctrine of sacred matrimony. I’d say folks have more trouble and need more help with the latter than the former.”
This earned Gilm a dark, smoldering glare of frustration from Nari. Her hands found their way to her hips, as she thrust her elbows out and tried another tactic. “What about your healing? You’d be putting all the good that you could do, if you lived happily to a ripe old age with a loving and happy wife, at risk? Is that really worth running off to help the same people who left us to starve five years ago?”
“I can’t heal corpses, only our Lord and Savior could do that. And that’s what everyone in this village will be, if we don’t manage to kill this Corrupted flying lizard.” Gilm was trying to keep his cool, but Nari always poked his weak spots, even when she didn’t mean to.
“What about the irrigation and flood control you started two years ago? We’ve had no problems with the rust blight since, and our crops by the river thrive, without any risk of getting washed out. How are we supposed to feed and keep healthy the three hundred people at Arhaus without you?”
“More like two hundred and fifty,” corrected Gilm.
“You know there are fewer old folks and more young, growing families, like the one we ought to be starting right now. If it isn’t three hundred, it will be soon. But with you dead and gone, this place is going to fall apart.” The morose note was not hidden in Nari’s voice.
“Wait a minute. I’m planning on killing that thing and coming back, not just jumping into its mouth.” Gilm raised his voice slightly, which was a sure sign that his cool and calm were quickly departing. “Why don’t you try to help me succeed, instead of trying to convince me not to do what’s right?”
The young woman’s face fell as she recoiled a step back. Her rage and frustration drove the blood to her cheeks, and she could feel the heat under her eyes. But then, in the awkward silence that followed, she felt her pride break inside her. The bar that had been holding closed the door in her soul was knocked out of place. The door swung open, and she felt the acceptance of the way things had to be come tumbling out.
It was as if someone suddenly grabbed Nari’s unseen load and lifted it from her back. She felt like she was floating to the top of a deep pool of cool water, and she knew that God was working in her soul. I will help this man, even if he keeps making me want to strangle him. Maybe it’s because he keeps making me want to strangle him. I don’t know, but I am going to help any way I can. But Lord, please, bring him back to me so we can be wed. I am yours, Lord, but I want to be his too.
“How?” she whispered softly. Then a little more clearly, “How can I help you?”
Gilm’s face broke into a broad grin. “Thank you. You can get down that big, yellow book on the third shelf over there, and find the recipe for a concoction called ‘Fjordanian’s Swamp Mud.’ It should be toward the back of the book, if I remember correctly. Then, I’ll need you to collect the ingredients together in my supply room. You remember where that’s at?”
Nari replied with a sudden radiant joy, “Oh yes, I still remember when we helped you reorganize it in the middle of last winter.”
It would be too obvious if their camp fire was too close to the river. But, it couldn’t be too far away either. They had been picking these spots for a few nights now, so spotting the right place was getting easier. Tonight, their horses were nervous at their pickets. That could be a good sign, or a bad sign, depending on how you look at things, mused Gilm to himself.
His long, blonde hair was braided like the rest of the men, and he was wearing thick, leather armor, just like theirs. Yet, his Blessing put him in an entirely different position. They were here to gain vengeance, to protect their families or clans, and perhaps to collect some treasure. Gilm was hunting an enemy of God. Not doing God a favor, so much as living up to his responsibilities as one of God’s Blessed. To whom much is given, much is expected. The Lord told a parable or two to make that idea crystal clear while He was on earth, didn’t He?
“Elred, did everyone put on the salve I mixed this morning? I know it’s slimy, but if the beast finally shows his wretched face tonight, I don’t want anyone to be unprepared. I’m not making these huge batches for my health, you know.” Gilm was anxious, like the horses. He was like this every evening at dusk, because his book had told him that dragons liked to hunt then.
A hulking, older man, with white shot through his golden hair, turned toward his younger inquisitor, “You’re speaking like your beard was a sight thicker than your few summers have made it. But, yes we all put that marsh mud, or whatever it was you called it, all over us. We’re all just thankful it doesn’t smell like it looks and feels.”
That pulled a strong round of chuckles and barks of agreement from the ten other men. They were all aged somewhere between Gilm’s youth and Elred’s wisdom. Some had axes with them, some spears, and some bows. Gilm and Elred were the only ones with swords, and the only ones not from the walled village of Swiftwater. Gilm had come down the Silverling from Arhaus, returning with Bjorni Greyfox, and two pack horses’ worth of supplies. Elred had come up the Silverling from a little village outside the big city of Ravensburg. He had come bearing weapons and shields.
Elred was one of the more prominent and successful members of the most populous clan in Swiftwater, the Greyfoxes. He was the most accomplished warrior among them. His kin had called on him to defend the clan’s honor, despite the fact that he’d never set foot in Swiftwater before.
Gilm had no such family connection to Swiftwater, but he was a native of the Backwaters, as the residents of Svenhus like Elred called the whole area. In fact, Gilm had more reason to despise Swiftwater than to love it. But there were three things that had driven Gilm to help those who had refused to help his own village so often before. First, the dragon was an abomination, a corruption of the natural way of things God had created. Second, there was Nari and all the other innocents who would suffer and die at the claws of the inhuman monster. The third reason was something that Gilm had shared with almost no one else, not even Nari.
Beginning on the night after Gilm’s Blessing had first manifested itself, he had been plagued by a recurring dream. The dream was about a white sword, but there was a dragon in it that he had to kill. In the dream, the dragon opened its gaping maw, and Gilm reached down its throat and ripped ou
t its heart, though the heart didn’t look right when it came out. It was perfectly round and blue.
The only person he had ever told about this dream was his “uncle,” a missionary Blessed, who lived with the only tribe of Wildmen in the whole north country who had become friendly to men. His uncle had given him a necklace of pale blue ouranic crystals for his next birthday, after they had discussed the dream. If his uncle hadn’t made it himself through his stonecraft, it would have cost a fortune.
“If that dream is even partly true, you’ll need this,” his uncle had explained, as he put the necklace around Gilm’s neck. “I only wish there were more raw materials for crystal weaving around here. I would have prefered to fit two more on either side, but this will have to do.”
That necklace had been fully charged by Gilm over the previous few days, and it was now around his neck, waiting to be used. The crystals concentrated and held a total of more than four days’ worth of Gilm’s ouranic energies from his Blessing. He could release all that energy at once. Not that he would be able to usefully control that much energy, but it was possible. In theory.
“Roast rabbit again,” cried Olgar, the camp cook for the evening. “And potatoes as soon as I get them in the coals,” he added as he headed for the packs that were set down near the horse pickets. The potatoes were part of the supplies that the Greyfox clan members in Arhaus had sent, and they were stored in the saddle bags. But Olgar was only about halfway there when a sudden blast of bright red light overpowered the golden glow of the setting sun. A rushing roar of superheated wind ripped outward from the blast, as the cook and all the others instinctively threw themselves to the ground. The blast continued for a few seconds, and Gilm immediately recalled a technique he had read that dragons were said to use, to create landing spaces in the midst of massed troops. If this thing is experienced in combat, this might be more difficult than I can... Gilm let the thought die as the air filled with the smell of roast horse and brimstone.
Blessings and Trials (Exiles and Sojourners Book 1) Page 16
