by K. Dzr
* * * * *
Deep in the woods, the battle continued. Jerith, Nehemiah, Bakuk, along with many others relentlessly fought the dragon. Netiro, no longer trapped in his den, though weakened, beaten, and exhausted, smiled as he easily evaded their futile strikes.
“We’ve lost our advantage Nehemiah!”
“He’s as tired as we. Attack his blind side. We still have a chance!” Nehemiah yelled to the men as the dragon circled overhead once again.
“Bakuk, on my word, run away into the woods. When Netiro comes down, we’ll turn him this way. You sneak up on his blind side and go for his neck. Understand?”
“Great idea, Nehemiah!” Jerith exclaimed as he readied himself for the next attack. The other men positioned themselves and waited for Nehemiah’s signal. It came only a few moments later.
“Go Bakuk!”
Bakuk took off into the woods. It was easy to fit in with the other men retreating in terror. He just hoped he hadn’t drawn attention to the injured as they fled. Some were not so injured that they could not still fight. He understood their fear, but retreat was not an option. If they failed, there would be no place to retreat to.
“Any man who is able, pick up your bow!” he called out to them. “Hide if you must, but fire upon the beast. We have not escaped his fury!”
“Look! You run like cowards back to your homes,” the dragon bellowed. “Don’t you know that it will all be destroyed? There will be no more skirts to hide under. I shall make meals of your women, and desserts of your children!”
Bakuk continued on. He ducked behind a stand of shrubbery and waited for his opportunity. This might be their last effort. He had to get in good position to make the final attack.
As expected, Netiro swooped to the ground to end this battle. All of the men faced Netiro, keeping him occupied with feigned charges as Bakuk crept up behind him. A little closer and he’d be able to attack. If only he would lower his head, Bakuk thought. Please, Netiro, lower your head just a little. He whispered to himself over and over as he sneaked closer and closer. Jerith, as if sensing Bakuk’s plea, threw his sword at Netiro’s head, forcing him to duck low enough for Bakuk to attack. Bakuk didn’t hesitate. He leapt at Netiro with the force of ten men. He flung himself through the air with his great sword held high over his head, the pointed blade targeting Netiro’s thick neck. Unexpectedly, Netiro turned. Even though Bakuk had approached Netiro from his blind side, the giant saw his flying death-blow coming. His gaping mouth snatched Bakuk from mid-air. He violently shook the man. His teeth ripped the flesh and crushed the bones. Bakuk swung his sword towards the dragon’s neck, but lacked the strength to pierce his tough hide. His hand went limp and the sword fell to the ground.
“Bakuk!” Nehemiah charged Netiro. The dragon spit out Bakuk’s lifeless body and turned to ready himself for the next attack. Nehemiah leapt towards Netiro’s massive head, ignoring the salivating mouth dripping with Bakuk’s blood. As he hurtled through the air, a mere three feet from Netiro’s opened mouth, Nehemiah threw his sword right into the dragon’s neck. The sword pierced the tender flesh between the multitude of scales. Bright crimson blood spurted from the wound. As his sword found its target, Nehemiah found himself caught in Netiro’s sharp canines. So overcome by pain, the dragon quickly dropped Nehemiah to the ground. He lay there, motionless, barely able to breathe.
Netiro’s roar came out as a wheezing gag. He coughed blood and made every attempt to remove the sword from his neck. He tried to fly away, but fell sprawling to the ground. He struggled to his feet in a state of panic; knocking over trees and shrubs, he fled into the woods.
“Follow him! And finish him!” The remaining warriors were already chasing Netiro before Jerith could finish his order. He ran to the place where his friends lay on the ground only a few feet apart. He knew immediately that Bakuk was dead. His torso was nearly severed in half, his organs spilled onto the sand. Nehemiah was in the clutches of the dragon’s teeth for no more than a few seconds, but his wounds were severe. There was so much blood coming from so many places that Jerith couldn’t tell which was more critical.
“Jerith…” Nehemiah weakly reached for Jerith’s arm. “Get my sword back…and give it to my son. Tell him…tell them both…that I love them, and that I did my best.”
“You can tell them yourself. I’m going to get you home. You just hold on.”
Nehemiah’s hoarse voice was so faint that Jerith was forced to bend down closer to hear him. “Tell Demetrius he’s in charge…of the farm. And that…I’m…proud of…him.” he spoke as though each breath exhausted him.
“Just hold on. We’re lost without you. You brought our village together; it is because of you this battle is won. You defeated the dragon. What will we do without you?”
“My time is short. Will you do the things I ask?”
“Of course I will.” Tears welled in his eyes.
“Demetrius…he can do magic. No one else knows of his secret. He knows things…there is a lot of unlocked wisdom…in his young head. Guide him, and listen to him. He will…lead the village one…day. Our people…are in good…hands. Jerith?”
“Yes, Nehemiah. I will do as you ask. Now you just rest here a moment. I’ll go get a horse to get you back home.”
“No. Don’t forget…the promise to Yamin. Go now and finish him.”
“You want me to just leave you here? I won’t do it. Besides, others have gone after him. They are probably making jewelry out of his claws right now. Just keep still, I’ll be right back.”
Jerith ran to untie one of the horses, and led it to where his friend lay motionless.
“Alright, now. I’m going to put you on this horse and get you back home so that Ezria can fix you up again.” He scooped Nehemiah up, but it was too late. He lay dead in his arms.
“Farewell, my good friend.” Jerith whispered. He hugged Nehemiah before he carefully laid him back on the ground. There was no time for mourning. Jerith had promises to keep. He jumped on the horse and took off. He galloped through the path of broken trees, upturned plants and bloody leaves until he heard gurgled growls and human screams. Before dismounting, he took a moment to take in the next chapter of the battle.
Netiro’s clawed hand clutched his bleeding throat. He managed to remove the sword and was swinging it madly about with his tail. One man was obviously wounded, but still trying to fight. Another dodged Netiro’s tail and teeth, struggling to successfully land his own counterattack.
“I’ve got to get that sword before he kills someone with it.” Jerith jumped from his horse and unsheathed his sword. Netiro swung at Jerith with his tail, but the big man ducked just in time to avoid a fatal blow.
“Alright Netiro, let’s try this again,” he muttered. He concentrated on the swinging sword. There seemed to be a rhythm to the way he moved his tail. He staggered back a few steps, then made his attack just when the dragon’s tail rushed toward him. The strike caught the end of his tail, just before the sword, sending both flying through the air. One of the giant spikes of his tail caught Jerith’s arm and ripped it open. His arm went limp and he dropped his sword. He clutched the gaping wound; blood spurted out between his fingers. He fell back against a tree gritting his teeth.
“Enough! You will regret this day,” the dragon wheezed. He took a painstaking leap into the sky; blood splattered from his lacerated wings. He crashed into trees as he struggled to gain altitude. The remaining fighters tried to attack before he took off, but he was soon out of range and they were forced to watch him fly haphazardly out of sight.
Jerith looked down at his arm and cursed; it wouldn’t move.
“Now what?” one of the men asked him.
“I doubt he’ll let any of us live after what we’ve done to him,” Jerith said. “He will need time to recover before he attacks. We’ll have to come up with something before then.”
He slowly turned and walked to where Nehemiah’s sword and the fragment of Netiro’s tail lay in the
grass. He kicked the twitching flesh away, and then picked up the sword. He held it in his good hand; the early morning sun reflected off the tinted blade.
“We were so close.”
