The Dragon's Test (Book 3)

by Sam Ferguson

  The battle raged furiously for hours. Arrows flew into both armies, cutting them down considerably, but neither force gave any ground. Blades rang out until the dawn light broke in the east and sent the first golden rays down to the field.

  Bodies and limbs covered the ground like thick leaves dropped in an autumn forest. The blood painted the ground scarlet and the last wisps of smoke from the previous day’s fires gasped their dying breaths up into the early morning breeze.

  Erik’s muscles ached and begged for respite. His eyes stung, pierced by the bright rays of the early sun mixed with the salty sweat from his brow. His right shoulder was almost numb now, and he had to fight gripping the sword with two hands for his waning strength. The others around him were equally as tired. The shouts and grunts were no less savage, but the pace with which the soldiers swung at each other had lessened considerably. Even the mages who still stood now went several minutes between spells. Many of them had even resorted to using daggers and short swords as they grew too weary to cast their spells. Arrows overhead were scarce now. The archers had joined the main fighting sometime in the night. Erik had seen Lady Arkyn fighting her way toward Gorin, but that had been a long time ago.

  Erik forced himself to concentrate on the pocket of warriors in front of him. He staggered forward, picking each swing and strike of his sword carefully to ensure each expenditure of energy either took a foe, or prevented a strike from killing him. The men at his side pounded forward with him, beating the remainder of the group before them back until they broke ranks and ran for the forest.

  His men gave a shout and waved their swords triumphantly. Erik gave a weak half-hearted smile and watched the seven swordsmen tucking tail and sprinting for the forest. Then he turned back to survey the rest of the battle. The men to the west were still engaged in combat. He watched for a few moments until he spied Gorin, still at the front of the line and still powering through the enemy ranks. Lady Arkyn was nearby, flashing bright crimson scimitars and dropping enemies as effortlessly as if she had started fighting only a minute before. Eventually the enemy broke on the west as well and ran back for their camp.

  The men near Erik let out another chorus of triumphant shouts. This time the men on the field echoed the shouts and banged their swords against their shields. A hand fell on Erik’s shoulder and he turned to see Demetrius standing near him. The man had blood oozing from under the sleeve on his right arm, but he didn’t appear to be bothered by it.

  “We did our best, but the catapults have been destroyed,” he said.

  Erik looked back and saw that all of the machines were broken and torn down. Heaps of bodies piled around each one. “I’m sure you did your best,” Erik said. “What of the wind-lance?”

  Demetrius shook his head. “They got to it too.”

  Erik nodded and looked back to the west. “Then let us hope there are no dragons in our future,” he said under his breath.

  “From what I can tell,” Demetrius continued. “We have no more knights. I believe we are down to footmen only, so we cannot give chase to the enemy without risking our men.”

  Erik nodded and looked back to the manor. “We need to find Braun,” he said. He stood, watching the flames eat through the last portions of the once great manor. “I have failed,” Erik said.

  Demetrius slapped Erik’s back. “A house is but stone and wood,” he said. “We can rebuild that easily enough. We fight to protect lives.” The big man turned and walked away after that, leaving Erik staring at the wasted house.

  “Go, get some rest,” Erik told the others.

  “Shouldn’t we set a perimeter?” one of the men asked.

  Erik nodded. “We are going to fall back to the stables, we can set lookouts in the trees to the north of the stables, and some more to the south.”

  “We will do it,” another said.

  “You all fought well,” Erik said. “You have earned your rest.”

  They all protested. “No, we’ll rest when the fight is over.”

  Erik nodded and made his way out to find Gorin and Lady Arkyn. Men hailed him and clapped him on the back as he passed. Some shouted adulations, others simply smiled, but Erik could not share in their revelry. His hand went up to touch the ring hanging around his neck. I did my best, father. He recalled his father’s smile as he had shared an orange with him in the solarium. Erik looked to the spot where that room had been. Now only a few beams and smoldering piles of ash remained. He could hardly imagine his father smiling now.

  Lady Arkyn appeared before him and pulled him from his thoughts. “I asked if you were alright?” she said with a hint of impatience in her voice.

  “What?” Erik asked. He hadn’t noticed her approach. Erik looked to her with a long face. “I am fine,” he said flatly. “Could you and Gorin make the casualty report? I need to find Braun and make sure they made it out of the manor.”

  “They are alright,” Lady Arkyn assured him. She gently grabbed his shoulder and turned him toward the stable. “There is Braun, and Lady Lokton is a few steps behind him.”

  Erik turned and a wave a relief washed over him when he saw them. He fell to his knees and tears filled his eyes. He clutched the ring through his shirt and let out a long sigh as he tried to choke back his emotion.

  Lady Arkyn glanced to Gorin who only shrugged.

  “Not exactly what I expected from the great living legend,” Gorin jabbed.

  Erik paid him no heed. He wiped his eyes and put his left hand to the ground next to him. He thought to explain himself, but chose not to. He wasn’t sure he would know what words to say anyway. How could he explain what he had been through over the last few weeks?

  “Gorin, go and make the casualty report,” Lady Arkyn said firmly. Gorin marched away dutifully without another word. Then Lady Arkyn bent down and placed her scimitar on the ground before her. “You are different,” she said tenderly. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were not Master Lepkin.”

  Erik looked up and smiled in spite of everything. “Who else should I be?” A tear slid down his left cheek.

  Lady Arkyn looked to the burnt manor, then back to Erik. “I wonder what Master Lepkin’s pupil would feel like now, at this moment?”

  Erik remained silent, trying to understand whether she had guessed who he was.

  She offered him a smile and patted his shoulder. “I would imagine it would be a bit overwhelming.”

  Erik nodded. “It is,” he admitted.

  “Still,” she said as she rose to her feet, grabbing her scimitar and swirling it back into its scabbard. “I think if he were here, he would have fought like a lion.” She reached down and offered him a hand.

  Erik took it and she helped him to his feet. “Like a lion?” he echoed with a hint of a grin on his face.

  Lady Arkyn shrugged. “Maybe like a dragon.” She poked his chest. “You have a strong heart,” she said.

  Erik opened his mouth to speak, but Braun came up and interrupted.

  “You alright?” he asked hastily.

  Erik nodded. “I will be,” he said. Erik looked back to his adoptive mother. “Is she alright?”

  Braun shrugged. “Honestly, I am not sure. She hasn’t said much of anything since we went into the tunnel.”

  “Come with me, Braun, there is something I want to tell her.”

  “I’ll go and find Maser Wendal,” Lady Arkyn said.

  Erik was already walking toward the stable. He saw his adoptive mother standing, leaning on the entrance in a long black dress. The bottom of the skirt was smudged with dirt and a couple shafts of straw clung to the cloth. Her face was stoic, but Erik could almost feel her heavy heart as if it beat in his own chest.

  “Are you sure this is wise?” Braun asked. “You haven’t told anyone else, what if…”

  “It may not be wise, but it feels right,” Erik said with a quick shrug. “I only hope she won’t hate me.”

  Braun gripped Erik’s shoulder tight and spun him around. “None of this
is your fault. Not your father’s death, not this battle, none of it.”

  “All of it is my fault,” Erik replied bitterly. “Unless you know of another son born to my father, I am the curse. The warlock was right.” Braun stepped back and Erik walked away, leaving the man standing baffled. As he approached the stable a pair of footmen came out to greet him. One held a water skin and the other held a loaf of bread. He waved them off and went straight to his adoptive mother.

  “It was a great house,” she told him as he came close.

  Erik turned and looked once more at the charred remains of his home. “Yes it was,” he agreed. He turned back to her and stammered through an apology.

  “What have you to be sorry for?” she asked.

  “I have failed to protect us,” Erik said. His hand went for his necklace and pulled his father’s ring from under his shirt. He brought it up over his head and held the ornament in his right palm. “I took a vow to serve the family, but I have repaid you only with blood.”

  Lady Lokton stepped forward and took the ring from him. She slipped it onto her thumb. “This ring was given to him by his father, who received it from his father before him,” she said. “My husband was a strong believer in family.” She looked up with the first smile on her face that Erik had seen since arriving. “That’s why we chose to adopt,” she said. “He felt like a failure for not being able to produce his own heir, but eventually he warmed to the idea of adopting another as our own.”

  Erik stared at the ring while he tried to formulate his next sentence. How could he ask for her forgiveness? How could he face her now?

  She stepped forward and placed the ring back into his hand. “You make sure this gets back to my son,” she instructed him. “He should know how proud we are of him.”

  “Even now?” Erik ask, bewildered.

  She nodded. “Even now,” she said. “He was the only one we felt connected to. My husband loved him as much if not more than he could have ever loved another child. I do too.”

  “But, everything is destroyed,” Erik protested.

  “No,” Lady Lokton reassured him. “Everything is not lost. You make sure my son fulfills his destiny. I will see my husband again in the halls of his fathers in Volganor, of that I am sure. Just as the sun brought victory to us this morning, there will be a new dawn to chase away the night from my heart, in time.”

  Erik stood speechless. He slowly put the ring back around his neck and tucked it under his shirt.

  “I’m sure Master Lepkin will pass your message along,” Braun said as he came up from behind.

  “Yes,” Erik said with a nod. “I will see he gets it.”

  Lady Lokton’s smile faded and she looked past them to the house. “Braun, I am sorry I didn’t listen to you before. I should have gone with the caravan from here.”

  “It’s not too late,” Braun said.

  Erik placed a hand on Braun’s shoulder. “Braun, go and lead the caravan out. Go as quickly as you can to Drakei Glazei. I am sure the king will provide shelter.”

  “I should stay with you,” Braun protested.

  “No,” Erik replied. “Your place is with Lady Lokton and the others of the house. Go, and take enough men to make sure you reach Drakei Glazei.”

  “What about you?” Lady Lokton asked.

  Erik looked out behind him. “I have a feeling the enemy will make another run at us. I and the other masters will stand here and finish the fight.” A vein in Braun’s forehead popped out and throbbed as he stared hard at Erik, but Erik shrugged and offered a smile. “We’ll be alright,” he assured him.

  “Come, Braun, let’s not waste time. There are many other women here who should go with us.”

  “Very well, milady,” Braun said. He stayed a moment longer, making sure his disagreement registered with Erik, and then he followed after Lady Lokton, bellowing out orders for preparations to be made.

  Erik crouched down and leaned back against the stable wall, watching the field to the west. A footman came and plopped some food and drink before him without a word, and then continued on with whatever he had been doing. Erik slowly ate the bread as he scanned the skies. “If only I could turn back into a dragon,” he said between bites. “Then I could end this fight.”

  He closed his eyes and went inside his mind, accessing his power and trying to call forth the power of the dragon form. Nothing happened. He continued to meditate for several minutes, but instead of assuming the form of a dragon, sleep overtook him as exhaustion finally was allowed to surface and his muscles submitted to the battle fatigue.

  *****

  “This is a disaster!” Eldrik shouted. “The men are routing!”

  “Not to worry,” Silvi assured him. “We still have our last hundred in reserve. Have them form up behind the crest of the hill. When our men see them, I will cast a spell to give them courage. We will let them rest for a time, allowing the enemy to think they won. Then, we shall strike at midday when our men are fresh.”

  Eldrik threw his hands up. “Or perhaps I should take my true form and show them the sharpness of my fangs!” he growled.

  Silvi rubbed his arm with her left hand and looked into his eyes. “You are strong,” she said. “But you are still green. You are not ready for such a task.”

  Eldrik pulled away from her. “Fine. Cast your courage spell and bring the men back to the camp.” He stormed off through the camp passing by groups of mindless soldiers that hardly acknowledged him. “What good are these men to me?” he grumbled.

  “My lord!” someone shouted from afar off. Eldrik turned to see one of his warriors running for him. “We have suffered heavy losses,” the man shouted.

  Eldrik stopped and waited for the man to approach. He recognized his face, but he couldn’t quite remember the man’s name. Eldrik thought perhaps it was Mendael, or Maebel, but he couldn’t be certain. “What is the report?” Eldrik asked.

  “The mages that joined us, only seven of them remain. Of our numbers, we lost seventy.”

  “So we are down to fifty-seven?” Eldrik calculated.

  The man shook his head. “No, there were twenty who abandoned the fight when they saw the mages. We have only thirty-seven left."

  “There is another hundred in reserve,” Eldrik said.

  The man’s head snapped back in shock. “Why didn’t you send them in to the fight?”

  Eldrik didn’t want to admit that the men would not listen to him. So he ignored his warrior’s question. “We also have the remainder of the men from the front. Go and count our total numbers and come and report back to me.”

  The man nodded crookedly and turned on his heels.

  Eldrik returned to his tent and threw himself face-down on his cot. The thin boards creaked and groaned under his weight, but the bed held. A moment later he heard the tent flap open and someone walked in. He turned to see Silvi smiling at him.

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I thought you might need the company,” she said as she coyly stalked up to the side of his bed and knelt beside him. She stroked his hair to the side and bit her lower lip. “Many great men face setbacks in the time before their rise.” She took in a deep breath. “Have you heard of Gokal the Blooded? He suffered thirty military defeats before he was able to found his mighty empire in the south.”

  “And then one hundred years later his empire was overrun with orcs,” Eldrik countered.

  Silvi laughed. “Well, Lucien the First suffered from the shaking disease. That’s why he held court behind closed doors, and commanded battles from inside a great tent. His was a mighty empire. It lasted centuries, and many of its traditions permeated even the farthest corners of our world.”

  “Bracken is dead,” Eldrik said suddenly, cutting off the conversation. “I do not have the experience to command a battle.”

  “But the enemy is weak now,” Silvi said. “We still outnumber them, but now they are worn down and we can crush them with our fresh reserves. As soon as our other warr
iors have rested, we can run them down. I have finished my spell on the reserve as well. They will listen to you now.”

  Eldrik shook his head. “We shall see,” he said. “I thought this would be much easier, especially with our warlocks, but they lack the strength to fight and their spells are not as wonderful as I had believed.”

  “We live in an imperfect world,” Silvi noted. “As such, magic is as prone to faults as is any endeavor of the flesh, but I assure you that we still have great strength. We have crippled the enemy.”

  The tent flap opened and in walked a stone-faced lieutenant. Eldrik raised his head from the bed and noted that it was not one of his men, but one of Bracken’s.

  “You are the commander now?” the man asked.

  Eldrik pushed himself up and turned to face the lieutenant. “I am,” he said.

  “We have eighty-nine men who survived the skirmish,” he said. “Add this to the thirty-seven men remaining from your army and the hundred in reserve and we have a total of two hundred twenty six men.”

  “I don’t suppose you know how many warriors the enemy has?” Eldrik chided.

  “Seventy three, except they are preparing a caravan and several soldiers are departing with them. Our scouts will have the exact count soon.”

  “Who is in the caravan?” Eldrik demanded.

  “The womenfolk, and a few guards as escorts. Masters Lepkin, Gorin, and Wendal remain with Lady Arkyn and the main body of the army.”

  “Are those the only masters left?” Silvi asked.

  The man nodded grimly. “Shall I have the reserves prepare?” he asked Eldrik.

  Eldrik nodded. “That would be helpful.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Erik woke to the frantic shouts above him. People ran to and fro before him, scrambling to man the crude picket line they had apparently erected during his nap. Clanking armor and bandaged bodies filed out of the stable. For all of the shuffling about, Erik’s view was completely blocked, but judging from everyone’s grim faces, something was very wrong.