Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers

by Marshall Drews

  Nerr again cowered away hiding under his wing as he flashed his teeth holding his maw wide open in a continuous snarl as Nerr half hoped the magpie would somehow fall right into his toothy grip. However just as the magpie attempted to dodge around his shielding wing, Nerr reached out with his forearm and latched onto its little legs, pulling the bird in.

  The magpie then leapt back and away with a flurry of wing beats in a desperate attempt to take flight. However, Nerr stayed fast, clinging to the tree with his three free legs, yet even while he had a firm grasp on the magpie Nerr couldn’t pull it back in with just his one arm alone. Reaching with his second, he wrapped his claws around the tail feathers but with his two forearms clutching the traitor, the dragon’s balance faltered and he couldn’t cling to the branch any longer before he slipped and fell to the ground.

  With frantic trills and loud, obnoxious snarls, the two fell from the tree as all three spectators watched dully from a distance, witnessing an epic battle of scales and feathers, fighting to the death for reasons only the gods knew why.

  Together they crashed to the grassy dirt, Nerr falling on his back while the magpie landed on its belly as the dragon’s unreprieving grip held fast throughout the grounding. Quickly Nerr righted himself using his wings and tail to right himself. Yet, as he turned, Nerr felt that within his grasp that there was a sudden snap and the bird let out a cry as Nerr pulled it in closer once more.

  He opened his mouth, ready to latch on to the mess of frantically beating feathers and wings, only to hesitate as he tried to calculate his aim with his maw held wide open, nodding with every wingbeat and epic struggle of the bird. Finally a wing struck his tongue through no effort on the dragon’s part, and he clamped down fastly as his right forearm shifted to the bird’s belly, pinning it down.

  With one flick of its head, there was another snap and a crunch as he bit down harder. By now the bird’s struggling sharpened as its pecking persisted on his lower hand in an attempt to break Nerr’s pinning grip. Adjusting himself, he spat out the feathers before bearing down on the pesky head and beak of the magpie. With a sudden lash, the dragon bit down hard upon its very dome, leaving its beak jutting from the side of Nerr’s lips as the dragon violently whipped his body back. Yet as he did, the dragon inadvertently flung the bird into the air, causing Nerr to lose his balance and fall back on himself as the bird landed heavily afar.

  Chirping and growling with frustration, Nerr righted himself again before spying where his prey had landed so that he might finish the battle. Looking ahead he saw the mess of black and white feathers struggling to crawl away using its only good wing to drag itself. Yet, its desperate effort could only be manifested through severe weakness as it seemed it lacked the health and physical fortitude to exert much energy without great pain or harm to itself. Something Nerr recognised and immediately took advantage of. It was like a switch within as the dragon turned feral, becoming merciless in his attack.

  The dragon advanced fast, leaping left and right through the grass as it bore down on its struggling prey. Yet, Nerr nearly tripped over his target, having underestimated his own speed, but quickly regained himself and bore into the magpie. He again latching onto its head, harshening the crush, thrashing about until he felt the feathery traitor fall dead and unmoving. Only then did he release his grip and look round about to see the two men and his protector Venneith standing near.

  They seemed pleased with his slaying of the traitor, some even making pleasant noises such as laughing like Amyth and Phith. Nerr only chirped with happiness and accomplishment at them before taking the body of the dead magpie in his mouth only to carry it a short distance before dispensing it at his protector’s feet. Maybe if he gave tribute he’d grant more fire to play with, but before Nerr could keep himself there long enough to receive such a wish, he remembered the one final egg still lying in its nest.

  So, as quickly as they had witnessed Nerr crash to the ground in an epic battle fray, the dragon had run off to scurry up a tree leaving the bird carcass to Venneith.

  Looking down, the knight glared at the body before gathering it up. “Seems this dragon is a good game hunter already.” Holding it up he offered, “would any of you like a taste of the bounty?”

  “Ha, who’d call that a decent bounty?” Phith questioned, throwing his head back in brief laughter despite the pain he suffered in the act.

  “Do you expect yourself to rein in something greater with that leg of yours?” Venneith asked.

  “Of course not, but listen here,” he said, leaning forward, hand open. “Toss that birdy over and I’ll pluck its feathers and slice it to bits. There was a lake I remember…yes! South of here. I’ll fish and I’ll rein in a few fishies so we can then feast before we return.”

  Meanwhile, Nerr had for a moment forgotten which tree the nest lay in, for falling down and wrestling in any arbitrary direction tends to disorientate one’s mind and memory. However he remembered it lay directly north of the camp, and after scurrying up a particular trunk he quickly found the branch the nest lay upon wherein the egg would be.

  However, when he looked inside he no longer saw the final egg, only a pink little ball of skin that chirped every so often. Nerr offered up chirps too to console the strange creature, but he was more curious with where his egg had gone as he circled the nest trying to spy it out. However, as he looked more closely, he saw only fragments of the final egg laying scattered around the chirping pink ball.

  Then Nerr realized…the pink thing ate it. That wasn’t fair, Nerr found it first so it was rightfully his, but now this fat little hideous thing lay there with its beak open as if expecting more of what was objectively Nerr’s. The dragon couldn’t allow such transgression, instead after a brief growl he snapped down upon the little pink thing, feeling it squish and crack in his maw like the eggs before did. This confirmed to the little dragon that it had indeed eaten the egg and held it within.

  Now being fully fed, Nerr was faced with a new problem. Where did his protector and his entourage go?

  Roughly gliding to the ground before clumsily landing and tumbling forward, Nerr began to sniff about the place wondering how long he must’ve been gone. It was only five minutes, fifty-two seconds and counting. Then again he did get distracted by a fuzzy little mongrel that was much faster at climbing trees than Nerr was. However, before he could worry too much he picked up on their scent; the strongest being the burnt blood of Phith. Nerr then turned his attention opposite of north, the south, and quickly began bounding away through grass and flowers of all kinds. Some of which he stopped to bite, only to spit out soon after finding each and every one to not hold such a savory flavor.

  He then began to hear something rippling and see something chilly emanating near the shore of some lake. But then Nerr heard a devious little chuckle and he looked up again only for him to get knocked in the face by a rock. He growled in frustration, looking to the squirrel that had previously evaded him only to continue picking these brown rocks things from the tree to throw his way.

  He snarled again and ducked away to retreat to the spacious lake. Surely his protector would provide security and beat off this pestering furry beast for good, and perhaps he’d even provide fire too.

  Chapter three

  It was early afternoon when Nerr first broke through the treeline, escaping the domain of the woodland creatures, before discovering something quite new and abundant. It was vast, it was flat, leaving the land to form up around it as trees to tarry away leaving nothing but stone to guard its edge. In ran, it rushed and flowed, and it glistened with a clarity that was unmatched and remarkably intriguing to the little beast.

  Water.

  It was so wondrous, so new and interesting, exciting Nerr so much that he didn’t even acknowledge Venneith or his entourage. Instead he bounded across the rocky shore to the water’s edge where it swelled with small waves only to once again retreat from the shoreline a moment later as if to flee the dragon. The sound of the lake was soothi
ng as the waters ran across the rocks, beating upon the smooth surface.

  It felt serene and natural but lapping at his lips Nerr soon wondered, like any beast naturally would, what sort of taste this strange new entity could possibly have in store. Surely it’d taste something like the eggs but not quite as raw as the bird. All he had to do was find out for himself and so he did, or at least attempted. Lowering his head to the ground he intended to catch the next swell within his mouth, clamping down on it just as hard as if he was biting into living prey.

  However, when the water came crashing in, it fought back against Nerr’s attack by invading his breath. In an instant it ran up his nose and down his mouth just as the little dragon inhaled. The pain and sensation resonated from his nostrils to his very lungs, aching like nothing he had quite felt before, not that he had much experience to draw from. Jumping back, the little dragon angrily screeched and snarled at the water as three humans looked on.

  How dare a thing hurt Nerr? That was plain injustice! To cause harm and expect no repercussions…Nerr wouldn’t have it. Surely the dragon would show the water’s edge just who ruled over all, he thought before pouncing at the swelling waves and slapping at the water’s edge with his claws. Where Nerr thought he fought an epic battle with an enemy that attempted to envelop him whole, the men only looked on while Venneith mildly shook his head for they knew the dragon fought a naive and hopeless battle with nature.

  “That’s uh…mighty lil’ dragon there, Venneith, my Knight,” Phith comment as he looked on with amusement.

  Venneith only offered up a small, ever so subtle chuckle of amusement. He then looked from Nerr, the mighty water-battling dragon, to Phith who clutched the dead magpie in one hand while Amyth assisted him along.

  “I assume, then, you were born a burly man, no?”

  Amyth let out a slight condescending chuckle before Phith refuted, “Can’t say I was a feeble little thing either.”

  “Neither is the dragon. Although it may have naturally killed moments ago it’s still a bit naive and…” Venneith briefly trailed off as his attention became drawn to Nerr, who now began to obnoxiously curse the lake with every bark and little dragonly roar it consecutively produced in great vain to induce fear upon the lake. “Stupid,” he hesitantly continued. “Quite stupid. I’ll let it learn, no doubt, and suffer if it needs to, but I can’t cater to it for then it’d only grow to be weak and incapable.”

  Meanwhile, during that short declaration, Nerr soon came to figure that the water wasn’t to be made an enemy, or attacked, but to be drunk and consumed. So Nerr chirped apologetically at the water but kept his sensitive little snout well away from the water’s edge, aside from when he drank. For then he knew to hold his breath, which would in turn keep the peace between the one elegant force and the little black fiend who thought its size and strength to be far greater than it actually was, but such is the nature of ignorance and boldness.

  “Right then,” Phith began, pushing away Amyth in a grand effort to stand on his own as he sorely limped to the water’s edge, grunting with every few steps. “I’ll be catching us some fishies then.”

  “And how do you intend to do that without a line?” questioned Venneith as he lay the sword of another upon his lap to rest.

  “Well, there’s a method to my madness,” he murmured, before he firstly began to untie his belt and lay it upon a rock. He then began to unbuckle each subsequent buckle to his gambeson before stripping it off to stand rather bare before the lake in his underclothing. Then with the bird in hand, Phith began to ease himself into the frigid water until he squared in his stance waist-deep in the shallow end as he made sure to lean on his good leg.

  Then, taking his knife he had previously stored in his mouth, he cut open the belly of the bird and tore out the entrails, scattering them to the water, letting the blood fall and pool round him. He then properly positioned himself before dropping the dead bird into the water to let it float close by as he poised himself with knife in hand, ready to strike. With growing interest, both Amyth and Venneith patiently observed Phith, the bare-handed fisher, as he lingered there, unmoving, biding his time until his prey arrived.

  However, what was that? That thing, the little dragon wondered as the humans became preoccupied. It was something Nerr sensed as he waddled in the water, hardly deep enough for his body to be submerged. It felt like a discharge, like energy of some kind. It came from the water and it resonated through his bones, softly tingling his senses. Nerr felt what he needed to do; it was almost natural as his body nearly drove itself into the water.

  But Nerr’s greater thinking got the better of him and he backed away, choosing instead to bound back to the feet of Venneith, chirping sheepishly having been startled by the sudden sensation of a newer, greater sense he mistakenly feared. Perhaps the dragon was becoming accustomed to thinking rather than brash action, but while he was in the presence of the knight he could chirp and bid for his attention and fire. Fire which Venneith eventually gave from the palm of his hand as the minutes passed one by one and time sauntered on stilly.

  While nothing happened, Nerr toyed with flames, attempting to replicate the nature of a flame before often ending up choking on his own smoke. Perhaps the dragon wouldn’t need his fire. At least not while Venneith catered to his playful side, for if fire be given they why not in turn spread the flames rather than breathe one anew? A simple justification for abandoning the production of his own fire in favor of Venneith’s, thought the simple-minded dragon.

  While this dragon played, Venneith began taking a liking to the silence, for he was man who favored silence. That wasn’t to say he despised joyous occasions, for if the hunt had gone exceedingly great he would’ve favored to join in their chants of victory and songs of bravery as they drunkenly partied after a hunt well done, offering thanks to one another and honoring those who may have fallen. However, given the much more grim events that transpired and much higher rates of mortality not more than an hour ago, a cheerful song would’ve been exceedingly inappropriate.

  Silence and quiet thoughtfulness was the most appropriate course of inaction, but a man couldn’t hang himself on events of the past as all too soon the world would demand they put it aside and feverishly labor once more. Venneith knew to detach himself from meger men but not despise them. Those that died no doubt were brave and what they fought for was noble, but that was all the credit Venneith gave for, in truth, personally, there was nothing left to be given. Neither sympathy nor empathy could the Ashen Knight spare.

  Instead Venneith focused his attention on the living. Particularly a man named Amyth and the lore associated with his race, servitude and fallen master. The very same man whose sword he slung across his back alongside two others which belonged to the other fallen comrades. Names Venneith should’ve admired already began to dwindle in his mind. Later they’d be totally forgotten and the men of that battle would only be recalled as those who fought against a black dragon for safety and security.

  “It’s hard to know a man who often keeps to himself,” Venneith spoke suddenly, shattering the serene silence woven by nature.

  Looking up from his sullen stupor, Amyth shook his head before asking, “and what’s there to know about me? I was a servant to a widower who’d given up on life after his loss.”

  Venneith quickly recalled a single prominent man, uttering the name, “Elder Utch?”

  It was odd to Venneith because being in the presence of that man was a pleasure to say the least. Word was that Elder Utch was the leader of the region’s militia as he was highly regarded among his peers. Venneith may have confused him for another common rank yet that may have been because he dwelt among his peers as opposed to ruling above them like many prominent armchair generals Venneith knew from history and despised. Elder Utch was uplifting if anything, and very thoughtful when it came to rallying and commanding his men if the raid on the dragon’s den hadn’t made it evident enough.

  Also, having apparently been called
a widower, one would think a man with nothing to live for would be much more rash yet he attacked only when the raid commenced and the signal was given. He charged with his men, trusting in their ability. He never took any major initiative in saving another’s life or going out of his way to assist another. His death was simply circumstantial… a near uncalled for yet unavoidable casualty of battle the moment he became burned and crushed beneath the great black dragon’s claws.

  “If by your word there’s nothing to know about you, then tell me a little about your master,” Venneith requested.

  “Elder Utch? Yes… Yes, well you see,” Amyth at first slowly began as if to gather his thoughts and memories. “Many years ago, but many years after the loss of his dearly beloved, Utch was a man who did nothing. Never talked and hardly ate. He was a feeble man then and it was his friends that strung him through life whether he wanted it or not. However, after so long they soon began to lose hope in the man as he had been a burden for some time. Not wanting to take care of him they found me and appointed me his servant, and so I was.”

  Meanwhile, Nerr fascinated himself with raking the pebbles along the lakeside with his claws. There was a certain feeling to it, the way it shifted between his claws and made that graveling sound too. He then looked back over his shoulder to see if Venneith was at all impressed, but the knight’s attention lay elsewhere. Jealousy took hold of the dragon and Nerr swiped at the ground, flinging pebbles in all direction before running off to chase after nothing in particular, having excited himself exceedingly in the thought of having only minorly annoyed his protector.

  After having been pelted by many different grains of rock, Venneith only paid Nerr little attention as the baby dragon began running circles not too far down the shore, seeming to flee from nothing in particular. Turning his attention from the dragon and back to Amyth, the knight asked, “What made Utch turn himself into the man he was this morning and the days before?”