The Horsk Dragon (Swords of the Bloodline Book 1)

by A. R. Wilson

  Then again, would they risk attacking at all? In a fight that lasted less than five minutes the group of bandits lost six members to death. At least another three were injured in the fire. That had to be most of them. The survivors may have realized they were no longer a force to be reckoned with. Going from men cringing in fear to having half your group killed in a single night could be the demoralizing event needed to bring this to an end.

  By nightfall, they were more than halfway back to Hess Bren. Ellam pointed to the fatigue of the horses as proof that they needed to stop for the night rather than press on. Hard to disagree with his point. If the youths came back to get revenge on them, they would need the full speed of the horses to avoid another fight.

  The men decided Ellam would take the first watch of the night, followed by Jurren, then Arkose. Each took a turn staying awake for what they felt was three hours then woke the next man to take his turn. By dawn, they still had no sign of the youths.

  They started out within minutes of waking. Arkose took the reins again with Jurren at his side and Zemarick back on the post next to them. Ellam sat in the rear of the wagon. The horses were kept at a trot, as before. With any luck, they would reach the outskirts of Hess Bren by dinner time.

  At noon, Jurren’s gut instinct clenched in his stomach. Several small branches sat broken and clustered in the underbrush of the shrubs and ferns up ahead. Taking a slow breath, he craned his neck out to the side to widen his view. The tightness in his stomach lessened as the alertness in his eyes increased, hand instinctively wrapping around the grip of his sword. He knew this feeling all too well. With a pointed flick of the wrist, he signaled Zemarick to take flight.

  A figure dropped from above, landing on the wooden T-bar connecting the straps from the horses to the wagon. The two horses reared up. Arkose yanked on the reins to get them under control. The voices of at least four young men called out from the trees.

  “Homage!”

  “We must have homage!”

  “Homage! Homage!”

  Shapes of human forms jumped this way and that as six youths scurried down the ghostwood trees. They bounded from limb to limb, moving as nimble as a cat. Sometimes crawling down headfirst, sometimes springing great distances to leap to another branch or tree.

  What’s going on? People can’t move like that.

  Yet somehow these boys did, and all the while they made their demands for homage.

  The figure between the horses rose to a stand. “You never paid for passage when last we met. Your homage has gone sinfully unfulfilled.”

  By the choice of words, Jurren knew it had to be Kase. But the person he saw did not resemble the boy he encountered the other night. With the aid of daylight to pull the youth’s features out from behind the shadows, Jurren gasped. Kase’s skin was a sickly gray, similar to the color of a person bleeding internally. Puffiness in the youth’s checks pulled much of the expression out of his face. Bright yellow eyes glared. Taking a sweeping glance, Jurren saw bare feet clung to the wooden bar with amazing agility. Tufts of dark hair poked out from the bottom of tattered pants, much thicker than normal body hair.

  “What happened to you?” Jurren relaxed the grip on his blade, moved to compassion by the grave illness.

  Kase grinned. With a gesture, he signaled the other boys to come out of the trees. Six youths dropped to the ground. Another figure seemed to drop out of the sky. Then another dropped behind them. Within seconds, eleven young men surrounded the wagon with varying degrees of the same condition plaguing Kase. Was it contagious? If so, then they posed a much greater threat than a sword fight.

  Reflexes surged through Jurren. He tore the reins from Arkose’s clenched fists and cracked them against the flanks of the horses. Their nervously prancing hooves bolted. Kase stumbled forward, face down on the bar, grabbing a strap for support to keep from falling off.

  One youth did not leap out of the way fast enough, and the horses trampled him. The others on the ground shouted their disapproval while trying to run alongside. Jurren flicked a glance at Kase to ensure he was still trying to steady himself, then looked over his shoulder to see if the wagon had acquired any new riders. Ellam clung to a wine barrel, his legs bouncing off to the side as he tried to keep upright.

  A short distance behind, several youths ran along the road, losing ground at a much slower rate than should be possible. What manner of disease is this? No man was a match for a horse running at full speed, even a horse carrying a heavy load, yet these boys stayed in sight as though the steeds were moving at a trot.

  Snapping his head to the front, Jurren found Kase pulling himself up to stand.

  “Take these!” He threw the reins at Arkose who cracked them on the horses again.

  Pulling out his sword, Jurren stood ready. Kase sneered a broad smile. Then those yellow eyes revealed another detail. The pupils were squished into an oval shape as though his eyes had rotated at a forty-five degree angle in their sockets. Then, Kase jumped. Jurren’s surprise over the boy’s condition turned to shock as he gained enough height to jump more than four feet upward.

  What the...?

  Jurren swiped his blade as the boy passed overhead, and Kase tucked into a somersault in midair to land past him where Ellam clung to the barrel.

  How is he doing this?

  The boy crouched over Ellam and punched him in the shoulder hard enough to send the man tumbling backward onto the road. Ellam disappeared briefly over the edge of the wagon then reappeared as he rolled to a stop in the hard-packed dirt. Kase turned to smile at Jurren then jumped again, ducking out the back.

  Stumbling to the rear of the wagon, intending to rescue Ellam from the boy, Jurren wondered why Kase was not on the road.

  “We need to go back for Ellam,” Arkose called over his shoulder.

  A scream came as Kase lunged into the wagon with his feet extended forward. Jurren caught sight of what looked like claws sticking out of the young man’s toes. Swiping his sword up and to the right, Jurren felt his blade find its mark. Kase’s left foot skipped over a wine barrel then hit Arkose in the arm. Shrieking, Kase kicked his intact foot at his attacker. Jurren thrust his heel hard into the boy’s chest.

  The wagon lurched from hitting something in the road, and Jurren slammed into a wine barrel. Grabbing a rope for support, he kept his eyes fixed on the bleeding youth.

  “You... must pay... homage... to us!” Spit frothed around Kase’s mouth as he spoke.

  Dark, red liquid pooled from the severed limb. Frenzied fingers worked their way to find a handhold for Kase to pull himself up. How was this boy so oblivious to losing a foot? Then Jurren noticed tension building in Kase’s shoulders right before the boy nimbly pulled a dagger from his shirt to thrust forward. With another slash of precision, Jurren swiped up and out to cut off the boy’s hand at mid forearm.

  Screams drowned out the sound of horse hooves and the rattle of wooden wheels along a dirt road. Then Kase’s eyes snapped open, mouth still jarred in a scream. He used the elbow of his severed arm to roll onto all fours.

  A sound like Arkose screaming came from somewhere behind Jurren, but he did not look back. Something unnatural had come into their world, and it had to be stopped.

  The shaky movements of the crawling youth had to be anticipated precisely. Jurren would only get one shot to do this right. Any mistake could cost them everything. Breathing slow, easing his sword to the right height, keeping his knees relaxed into the bouncing motions of the wagon, he waited for that split-second to take his chance.

  Wait for it... Don’t risk getting any of that blood on you. There’s no telling how these boys were infected. Wait for it —

  “Homage!” The word flopped out of Kase’s mouth with spewing foam.

  Jurren sliced forward, in the chest, right of center. Pushing forward until the blade struck wood, Jurren twisted the sword as it drove in.

  Kase’s limbs all jolted at once. His eyes spun wildly. Through the grip of the sword, Jurren felt
the boy quiver. The last thread of life finally severed, and Kase fell limp.

  “What is happening?” Arkose’s voice was a mixture of fear and demanding an answer.

  Looking forward, Jurren met Arkose’s eyes then pushed to a sight farther down the road. They were at the edge of the forest. That meant home was only a short sprint ahead.

  He climbed past Arkose, hopped onto one of the horses, slashed through the tack straps, and jabbed his heels into the animal’s sides. Free of the wagon, the horse raced ahead.

  As soon as they neared the fence in front of his home, Jurren pulled the reins hard and hopped off to tie the horse to a post.

  “Heluska!”

  The only reason he bothered to call her name was to keep from running her over when he opened the door. She did not answer before he grabbed the handle. He called again, pushing the door out of his way. Rushing as fast he dared, he grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows from the back side of his bedroom door. Where was she? With the bow and quiver slung over his back, he untied the horse and pushed him back into a gallop.

  Once in Gaulden Forest, he passed Arkose trying to turn the wagon around.

  “No! Sever the horse and ditch the wagon. Notify the village guards. Tell them I need help. Now, go!” Jurren slowed the horse only long enough to ensure Arkose understood.

  Riding toward Ellam, Jurren pulled out his bow and readied an arrow. Before he saw anyone, he heard the shrieks of agony mixed with cries of victory. He released an arrow the moment the first youth came into sight. It flew true to its mark, landing square in the boy’s back to pierce through the heart. After the insanity with Kase, Jurren wasn’t going to risk offering even an ounce of mercy.

  The young man dropped.

  Two more arrows struck their intended victims before any of the group noticed their comrades falling.

  Almost on top of them now, Jurren skirted clear of the mauling, turning around for another pass. Two of the remaining seven boys chased after him. The closer of the two fell to another arrow.

  Jurren shot again. The advancing boy leaped to the side, gripped the bark on the nearest ghostwood, then leapt toward the horse. Jurren jerked at the mane, forcing his mount to rear up. The boy fell past the steed’s head as Jurren wrapped his arms around the thick neck to stay atop, losing his grip on the bow in the process. Snapping noises mixed with gurgled cries as the horse thudded hooves back to the ground.

  Another one down, five more to go.

  Reaching for his bow, Jurren felt air and realized it had fallen when the horse reared. Without pausing, he scooped his arm around full circle to withdraw his sword.

  The horse suddenly reared again. Tumbling backward, Jurren managed to roll off his shoulder to spring back onto his feet.

  An inhuman roar came from behind. He slashed to the rear. The blade caught a young man through the middle. To guard against the splattering, Jurren pulled his new hunting cloak over his face. As soon as he heard the thump of the body against the ground, he ripped the cloak back to scan the road.

  Five feet away, he saw it. His bow! Two swift steps forward and his right hand reached for the bow as his left pulled two arrows from the quiver on his back. In rapid succession, he released them both. He lingered in the aim long enough to watch two of the remaining five youths slump over.

  The three boys crouching over Ellam, whose screams had now stopped, paused their revelry to look at Jurren. Their bared teeth dripped with scarlet along every facet of their lips.

  A flurry of shouts, fists, and crimson-smeared faces came toward Jurren. He reached back to find he was out of arrows. How could that be? Tossing the bow aside, he grabbed the hilt of his sword. The closest of the three jumped nearly five feet in the air. It was the perfect height to cut off one leg at the knee then swoop around to drive the blade into his heart.

  The other two boys spread out until they were a step beyond the reach of his sword. Pacing in a circle around him, they grinned their bloody smiles. Jurren held his stance, trying to keep them in sight without tripping over the fallen as they moved in a clockwise motion.

  Fwoot! Fwoot! Fwoot!

  Arrows flew in. They caught the first boy in the throat, shoulder, and side. The second boy received a volley in the upper arm and chest. Projectiles continued to come as Jurren looked up to see two men from Hess Bren riding alongside Arkose. An arrow clipped Jurren’s left shoulder, though he dared not flinch until the arrows stopped their assault.

  When the last youth finally dropped motionless to the ground, he allowed himself a sigh of relief. “It’s about time.”

  The three men dismounted, and someone asked Jurren a question. He barely heard what they said. With his vision shaking from the sting in his eyes, he ignored the mumbled repeat of their demands. One of the lifeless forms on the ground was not an attacker. It was his neighbor and friend of twenty years.

  He willed himself to move forward. Past three fallen youths, he kept his eyes focused on Ellam. Why did he have to die such a horrible death? Beaten and bitten by ghastly, diseased thieves until the blood loss was too great. The desperate screams of Ellam’s terrified voice still hung in Jurren’s ears. Like the grip of a nightmare that did not cease upon waking.

  Had he not known the clothes of the man lying before him, Jurren would not be able to distinguish the remains. Inner flesh scattered about the body in a sickening array.

  Weakness seeped into Jurren’s legs, forcing him to kneel. Not since leaving his home to the far east had he witnessed the death of someone he held so close to his soul. Rippled, loose flesh distorted every one of Ellam’s facial features. The sting of tears finally blurred out the carnage, and Jurren bent his head into his grief. Such a tragic way to die. A man who only ever worked to share what he had with others now lay shredded on the road.

  This can never happen again.

  The initial surge passed, and Jurren pulled back into a sitting position. A pale hand, striped with crimson, hung over Ellam’s knee. Jurren blinked hard, knowing the water in his eyes was making him see things.

  No change.

  The young man who lay dead beside his friend had pale skin, not graying. Jurren leaned forward, getting as close as he dared. Minus the streaks of scarlet around his mouth, the boy looked as normal as any born of Bondurant. The skin appeared little more than sun deprived. Finely shaped cheekbones gave the face an apple shape. Normal fingernails and normal toes. Unusual hair no longer poked out from the tatters in his pants. It was as if the oddities seen earlier were all an illusion. Except for that smell.

  Jurren rose to his feet, moving from one young man to the next. They all looked normal. What was this? He knew he did not imagine the physical changes he saw. Yet each boy appeared perfectly normal. Only an unseen element persisted. What was that odor? Where did he know it from? Again, the sensation of smelling a memory scuttled from his gut instinct.

  “Why were those young men attacking you?” The guard stood a few feet away from the farthest body.

  Ignoring the question, Jurren looked into Arkose’s bewildered eyes. The bald man shrugged, shaking his head as though to say ‘they didn’t believe me.’

  Jurren’s mind swam. Why had those boys changed? What type of disease lost all hold on the body the moment its host expired? Looking around at the amount of death and mayhem at his feet, Jurren felt as though he had walked into a legend. A horrible legend invented to retell around a campfire on a starless night.

  “Did these boys really attack you first?” A pause in the guard’s voice suggested he was fighting the urge to vomit.

  “We thwarted their robbery attempt on us three days ago.” Jurren walked to hover over another youth. “As far as I can tell, they were trying to get even with us for their loss.”

  “Why is there blood on all their faces?” The second guard dared a step forward.

  Without looking in the direction that he pointed, Jurren gestured to the pile of shredded clothes and flesh. “That is Ellam.”

  All the color dr
ained out of the man’s face as his jaw fell slack. The first guard took several hurried steps back and bent into a cluster of ferns.

  A few moments later, the sound of horse hooves thudded down the road. Several men arrived with two large wagons and extra horses.

  “Has a war begun?” Mical, the general of the Hess Bren militia, dismounted from his horse. “Who are these invaders?”

  Jurren stared at Mical for a moment. Shoulder-length black hair hung over hunting gear typical of any man in Bondurant. A silver pin clasping his hunting cloak was the only mark standing him out from the rest. The militia was little more than a band of men who stood ready to face a pack of wolves or wandering bear threatening the safety of their village. If they had been sent then it meant word had reached their leader, Saimohl.

  “There is no war, Mical. It is a band of thieves willing to fight to the death.”

  “How is that even possible?” Mical took in the spread of carnage then rubbed a hand across his eyes.

  “Runners should have come from Kovarilos to warn of this very possibility. This is not the first encounter we’ve had since leaving Hess Bren five days ago.” Jurren walked to retrieve his bow. The arrows could stay in their targets for all he cared.

  “There have been no runners from Kovarilos.”

  Jurren balked at Mical then looked at Arkose to find the same look of confusion from minutes earlier. Had these boys intercepted the runners? If so, then it would make the next several hours before the Council of Hess Bren much more difficult.

  “Are you absolutely certain no runners have come?” Jurren sidestepped a young man sprawled on the ground to come closer to the general.

  “Not from Kovarilos. It is my job to stay at the ready in the Chamber of the Council, to know when danger comes. We have had no word of anything like this.” He gestured to the fallen youth a few feet away from him. “You say this isn’t the first time you’ve seen... this?”