Simple deeds were all it took to receive payment, it seemed. What else would the knight have him do, Nerr wondered, as he was ready to obey anything the knight had to command if it meant sweet succulent treats such as these.
“Now,” Trent began as he watched from afar, reclined against a bench with Varrult perched atop his shoulder. “Get Nerr to climb that post over here. If you think he understands the command to be given a direction, he’ll go there just fine.”
Venneith only nodded his head as Nerr was laid on the grass, watching patiently for the word perch before mounting his arm. The word was said, however this time when he mounted his arm he didn’t receive anything. What was this, Nerr wondered as he feverishly began sniffing about.
“No, Nerr,” Venneith kindly pleaded. “Perch there, atop that.”
Nerr wanted a treat, yet Venneith’s giving hand was held up, pointing somewhere else. Looking, Nerr found it to be a wooden structure with lots of knobs and wooden protrusions sticking out all throughout the height of it.
Pointing, like he did when he was to first perch on his arm. Perhaps the knight was signaling to a location. Yes, a location atop that thing! Nerr was quite sure of it, and he was timid at first. The dragon was almost sure a treat would be on the knight’s person and he let out a confused little dragonly whimper.
With a sigh, Venneith decided to help the dragon along. Picking Nerr up, much to his worried chirping, Venneith carried him over to the base of the climbing post. Standing tall, Venneith pointed his finger before bringing it down upon the very summit of the post.
“Perch, up here,” Venneith insisted. “Perch here, Nerr.”
Still the dragon was unsure of himself and what to do. Perhaps he was to climb the thing, which seemed easy enough. If Venneith insisted there was a treat at the top, then what was stopping him? Probably the fact that the first two perches took place on his arm and performing a slightly augmented task for the same reward under the same command was what uneased the dragon.
However, Nerr quickly tossed aside the unease and began to climb the wooden thing, carefully at first as it wasn’t quite like a tree with wooden bark that was easy to grip, but more so short sticks, consistent in length and thickness, spaced equally apart.
Forearm first, hind leg to follow, one after another, occasionally stopping to sniff around as if a treat could be hiding on that particular level. However, Nerr eventually finished and summited the climbing post, where he was rewarded with the meaty treat.
“Good, good, Nerr,” Venneith congratulated as he quickly found himself growing increasingly fond of the beast. Perhaps it was that he had to take charge and raise it, or perhaps it was that it acted like any other animal such as a dog or falcon, or perhaps it was that Venneith was taking a fatherly liking to it. Either way, Venneith wouldn’t deny it for long, but he knew that if a dragon, or any beast, were to follow after him, harsh and utter hardship would rear its head.
However, Venneith put that off. The little black dragon was a beast of destruction so no doubt it would fancy a bit of violence and perhaps even grow to be his very companion to take up arms. Such a fantasy seemed childish, yet here Venneith was, already daydreaming, nearly forgetting the lesson and the teaching he was to be giving little Nerr.
“Perch!” Venneith then said suddenly, before he could become enveloped and lost in thought, nearly startling the dragon as Venneith pointed elsewhere for the dragon to follow. “Sorry, Nerr,” he said much more softly, before pointing to his shoulder. “Perch, boy.”
As instructed, Nerr first clung to Venneith’s boot before using the plaits and various bits of chainmail to scale the knight before mounting his shoulder. There he sat anxiously awaiting his reward, one which Venneith gave kindly.
It seemed Nerr was a very intelligent, fast learning beast indeed. No doubt later he’d be taught to fly, but that was a lesson for another time. For now, however, it was a nice day, clear skies, with no incident in sight within the town’s domain. However, Venneith doubted such a thing would last long, and such a mentality was the very reason Amyth had been sent to deliver a message before they’d met the falconer.
Another errand to take care of, it seemed. A thing that Amyth wasn’t much of a stranger to as he had been a servant for many years, and a battle companion for much less, yet he wasn’t unpracticed. Most people in the land of Carthol learn to swing a sword during some early instances of their lives to become well adept when they become adults, it’s just Amyth had many more opportunities later on during his early years. Most details of his past he’d prefer to be left unsaid and best forgotten, for he hardly favored dwelling upon the past unless it be very recently, which often it was. But again, another errand, another parcel of service to perform. A service not too complicated or abstract either.
As of now, Amyth was to inform the local infantry outpost of Venneith’s presence so that if they find themselves in need of an extra blade the Ashen Armored Knight wasn’t far away. Surely some would have seen him earlier and spread the word. Amyth’s intentions were simply to confirm the gossip and make clear the knight’s presence and willingness to cooperate.
And so he marched up to the hold as casually as any other man would. The construction was a thing to be admired but not marveled over. The fort was surrounded by a simple wooden wall made up of the trunks of trees, no doubt pine from the surrounding forest, for the height at which they towered was the best and most common indication. Mounted upon the wall were common patrolmen, laid back in nature, most resting, others talking while some drank, lingering around pots of oil in case a hasty defence was needed at a moment’s notice.
Surrounding the wall was a shallow ditch filled with spiked logs and a drawbridge to cover the gap. No doubt a bell lay inside to alert the villagers in case an attack took place, giving the civilians ample opportunity to take refuge inside the fort or retreat to the forest. In any case this fort was hardly for defence against armies, but against beasts and lurkers that may in any case rear their hideous hides. If such a thing were to happen, perhaps the defence itself would ward them off, but if bad fell to worse then perhaps overwhelming infantry numbers would ward one off, and if worse fell to tragic then perhaps a survivor or two could be found amongst the wreckage and ruins of the common village.
Such was the consequence of stationing men distinguished in fighting men to defend against monsters. However, what profession produced such a fighter keen in combating against monsters en masse?
Regardless, this wasn’t any of Amyth’s concern. Simply deliver a message, that’s all that was required as he now walked across the drawbridge guarded by men on both sides that would no doubt stop him for questioning by virtue of him simply having the complexion of a Narrovinnian.
As Amyth approached, two men atop the wall muttered to one another out of mild curiosity…
“Who wears jack chains over chainmail armor?”
“Perhaps one who doesn’t favor broken bones to bloody bruises.”
“I don’t see a shield, does he expect to catch a blade with his arms?”
“I’d believe it if he had a blade breaker, but as a matter of fact doesn’t that armor seem familiar?”
“Mhmm, yes, now that you say it, I do recognise the theme. That leather on his shoulder and left knee. Hadn’t the militiaman named Utch worn the same thing in much the same way?”
“In fact, hasn’t there been a dragon the militia had sworn to slay? Those old veterans of the Carthinian army. It seems they may have actually done it.”
“Yes, but how many casualties do you think they suffered?”
“Quite, let’s see what he has to say.”
“Hello, men,” Amyth greeted the two men guarding the bridge. “My name is Amyth and I’ve been tasked with a deed to speak with your captain or commanding men.”
“Over what exactly?” one question.
“No doubt you’ve perhaps seen or at least heard of a knight in black armor, yes?”
“Word travels fast,
” the first responded, it seemed he’d be doing the talking. “I’ve heard and many speculate him to be Venneith himself, of the Black Blazen Armor. Why is it important, Narrovinnian?”
“Carthinian,” Amyth corrected. “And the name’s Amyth. And yes, the knight, as you speculate, is indeed Venneith, and he sent me to make aware his willingness to lend help if any emergencies emerge.” Strongly resting a hand on the hilt of his sword as an indication of strength and confidence, Amyth assured, saying, “If anything’s the matter, we’ll be ready at a moment’s notice.”
“I’ll pass the word along, then,” the guard assured. “However, before you go, I see that crimson-dyed leather adorning you and know it to be the make of the militia back east. How did that dragon fair?”
“We had a party of nine with the addition of Venneith. Seven died. Me, another man and the Dark Armored Knight were all that survived.”
The guard let out a sigh, as if to give his condolences to those who have fallen. “Those stubborn veterans. We were ready and armed yet they turned us away. I hope they find peace and those they left behind take good care. As for that message, I’ll be sure to make our commander aware of this offer. Good day.”
With that, Amyth turned his back and marched off to take care of other matters.
While the guard assigned another to give the message, the two sitting atop the wall gossiped more over what had transpired.
“So it’s true. The knight was indeed Venneith Cornease. Master of fire and thus fury.”
“With good reason. Anger never originates from nothing, and we all know the lore of that knight.”
“It’s only speculation, but when so many believe it’s true, then who’s to say it’s wrong?”
“Aye, the only truth that is assured is his power. Regardless, it best be known to stay out of his way. Heh, if we’re lucky then perhaps we’d see him set his armor alight.”
“Wouldn’t that be a sight? I can hardly set a candlestick alight myself.”
With a message now needing to be delivered, the guard cast his gaze upward.
“Aye, sir,” the first assured, standing up. “I’ll tell Captain Jord myself. Don’t touch my drink, Maven,” he more quietly whispered to his friend as he gathered his scabbard, latched it to his waist and made himself look presentable for when he meets the captain.
“I wouldn’t think of it, Joshein,” Maven jested as the man sauntered down the steps, disappearing behind the buildings within the fort. With that, he took a sporting sip from Joshein’s cup before spitting it back onto the ground as he watched the stranger, the Narrovinnian, march off towards the town’s shops, no doubt intending to buy some food for his knight, Venneith. “Knight Venneith,” he quietly marveled as he fondly remembered the many stories and tales that have been told over long nights of danger and unrest. How fortunate that he’d have the opportunity to see his glory in combat but such an opportunity seemed far-fetched. Especially when this stronghold sought to keep such dangers and conflicts away.
Chapter seven
It was like a dance, if a dragon could put such a thing into words. Nerr would describe it as such for he fell in line to all the steps which Venneith gave. Here on the post, then there in the field, then there atop that branch, and finally back to him, where Nerr was generously treated. Then he’d do it again, running to different places and around the sanctuary only to always venture back to his protector at the command of ‘return!’
Nerr did this consistently and without fail or confusion, save for perching on the platform or branch above or below the one Venneith pointed to, but the commands were never exact but more relative in truth, so such a thing could be overlooked. Despite that, Nerr was learning quickly and at a great pace too.
Venneith once remembered talking to a hunting dog breeder. This breeder had said training them to be loyal and a great companion took weeks if not months when working in groups. Yet if he focused on one he could have him become a companion faithful to every command in about a week and a half, perhaps even six days, but definitely no less than four.
Nerr seemed to exceed that, as not only had he ventured away only to return faithful to Venneith but he returned with bounty. Yes, Trent’s sister had mentioned it was because Nerr thought of him as his protector, paying him like a trader in need of protection does for a sellsword. She had also mentioned that it might be quite detrimental to Nerr’s understanding and relationship with the knight. However, to the Vennneith’s knowledge and for as early as the dragon was, it seemed like the best thing, as now Nerr knew who to return to for the dragon had imprinted on the knight since the moment he laid eyes on the fire-kissed, armored figure. He took to him and stayed fast, remembering his look, his stingy smell and deep, soothing voice.
He didn’t think to run for he was fed freely with each fulfilment of Venneith’s commands. Up the tree, to the post, the middle of the field and back to Venneith, and the little dragon gleefully galloped through the grass, panting with his tail waving, wings spread but idly flapping as his tongue hung out.
“Aye, little Nerr,” Venneith greeted his scaly friend as he treated him once more. “That was good wasn’t it?” he asked, the dragon heavily panting only to yawn every so often. “Are you getting tired?” A rhetorical question he couldn’t help but ask as Nerr’s excitement now began to stifle as he calmed more with every chirp before laying himself down in the knight’s shadow, away from the rays of the sun.
“You think your lad there needs water?” Trent asked as he lay atop the patio of his self-built home, with Varrult having just returned with a sizable fish in tow from a lake or river one could easily guess was near. “You may have to forgive me, but I forgot to stock up with more water.” He seemed rather relaxed and carefree, hardly interested in anything in particular as he oversaw Venneith and Nerr’s training.
Scooping the reluctantly tired dragon into his arms, Venneith said, “I’ll see myself and him to the well back in the village. I’ll be returning shortly.”
“Aye, my time is your’s and there’s no one else to train, so do so at your leisure.” Watching the knight disappear, Trent kindly treated Varrult with scratches and appreciation before the gyrfalcon took to the skies to find more game. With the fish in hand, the falconer quickly gutted it before hanging it beside a skinned squirrel, rabbit and small bird stripped of its feathers. He’d make use of the meat in time, no doubt turning it to dried treats while also selling what little pelts and feathers there were, but in time he’d rest for there was no conflict to attend to.
The venture back to the town’s well wasn’t long. It was simply down the dirt path hidden behind a bit of brush. Coming into view Venneith first saw the children gathered around, most playing, some fetching water for their parents. They ranged in age from at least six to fourteen and there were eight of them. Venneith wasn’t much for basking in the attention of the little ones, or older ones for that matter, but it seemed as if such a thing was unavoidable in this instance.
Firstly, as Venneith cleared the path, the kids heard and noticed the clacking of the knight’s plate armor. At first they froze in fright, some scampering away to hide behind the older girls and boys, yet even they backed away save for one who seemed defiant or simply unafraid.
Attempting to appease them the knight simply greeted them, saying, “Good morning, children. Playing by the well now, are we?” They stayed silent but grew more curious as they began looking the knight’s armor up and down, some spying the little dragon scooped in his arms. “I’m sorry, but may I use this well please? My little friend here is in need of a drink, it seems.” He held the dragon forward, Nerr slightly awake but more so tired. Regardless, he was excited to see new faces as to him they were simply new things to explore.
Nerr shifted in the knight’s grasp, tilting his head at the children only to let out a little chirp of curiosity. They were all smaller kindreds of the knight and man, much smaller in fact, with smaller voices and different smells too.
“A pai
l of water for my little friend and I’ll be off in no time,” the knight insisted, yet the kids didn’t speak. They seemed nervous, if anything, and slow to trust, but who wouldn’t when facing a knight with black armor? Instead the older ones ushered the younger ones away, taking them back to the village from whence they came.
Such an act wasn’t unusual, especially for children, yet Venneith knew the fear and uneasiness towards knights ran deeper than just intimidating looks, impenetrable armor and lethal blades. It was a stigma that stuck to all knights, good and bad, and Venneith couldn’t blame them for their wariness.
Nerr, for one, was a bit saddened. Why would they flee from the grace and power of a being such as Venneith? They should’ve been grateful and astounded to be in the presence of such a being. Regardless of this, Nerr’s attention soon shifted from the retreating children to the water pail Venneith had hoisted from the well in the meantime.
Nerr could smell the refreshing water and he clawed at the knight’s knees to get a drink. He was awfully parched and nearly overheating. The shade of the knight’s shadow seemed favorable to the dragon, as well as the cool refreshment which he drank greedily, stopping every so often to pant and gain some breath.
Venneith had to hold the pail firmly against the dirt so Nerr didn’t accidentally topple it as he precariously balanced on the rim of the bucket. Nerr had no problem quenching his thirst but as Venneith watched the dragon drink away, he heard a familiar voice call from the west. It was Amyth, and he approached with a bit of urgency while also lacking the look of one with an emergency.
When he came close enough to speak, Venneith greeted him before Amyth stated, “The commander wishes to have an audience with you.”
Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers Page 11
