Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers

by Marshall Drews

  What was he to do with this little dragon, Venneith thought, as his gaze shifted from the guiltless little Nerr to Amyth, who struggled to control his bucking, prancing, leaping, spooked horse. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen, but Benphal gave no reprieve from his highly advanced defensive maneuvers.

  “Venneith?” Venneith looked to Trent, standing there arms folded. “Your dragon,” he said with a nod of his head.

  Casting a glance from the firmly standing Trent to the irritable Astregra, to the mischievous Nerr and back to Astregra, who cast Venneith a glare warningly, Venneith objected at first, reasoning, “Astregra won’t have anything of Nerr. She hardly trusts anyone else to handle her.”

  “Venneith,” Trent slowly began as if to give Venneith time to consider his next argument beforehand. “Are you the master of Astregra, or is she the master of you?”

  With a subtle sigh so as to not offend his teacher, Venneith dismounted Astregra, knelt down to Nerr and gave a single command. “Nerr, perch.” Perch… Nerr could’ve sworn he knew that phrase from somewhere, but he couldn’t quite recall what it meant or decipher the warm feeling associated with it. “Nerr, perch,” Venneith said again, this time pulling out a parcel of meat and holding it before the dragon, at which he quickly obliged.

  Oh yes, the Perch command Nerr remembered. To where Nerr was to address him as a being, the dragon also began to understand what came after was often a request to be performed. As such, the little dragon climbed atop Venneith, mounting the knight quickly before finding his familiar perch and settling in. He still was a bit wary, for he didn’t particularly like the insidious gazes that beast of a mount kept casting his way. So close, Nerr felt as though he could smell every last strand of hair that covered her being.

  Looking past this, Venneith watched as Amyth continued to struggle with Benphal, only now, his bucking had subsided, leaving that ludicrous horse to circle around himself and check his rear every so often as Amyth clutched the reins, bidding him to calm himself. So far the initial fright seemed to be wearing thin, but he’d be cautious. Right now Venneith was more concerned with Astregra as she sauntered sideways away from the little dragon.

  “Astregra, calm yourself,” he insisted by patting her snout. Yet again she was stubborn, pulling away even as he tried to assure her. “Astregra!” But she was having none of it.

  Before Venneith could react, the mare lashed out, clamping down on the reins with precision before yanking them away from Venneith and trotting down the path she knew they’d be taking. She wouldn’t let some strange creature have the luxury of riding her, no! She was trained to obey only one soul, but that one soul again betrayed her trust.

  “I swear I’ll mince that horse,” Venneith proclaimed frustratedly as he cast his gaze over the two soldiers left rather entertained by the attitudes and actions of both Astregra and Benphal.

  Regardless, Astregra was a confident mare. She didn’t need a rider to direct her in any direction. Clearly they spoke of…this path, yes! This path that led north, as she’d come to interpret, straight into the woods. The dank, cluttered woods with a pathway hardly wide enough to fit three souls shoulder to shoulder. It shouldn’t have been that hard to brave it alone, but what was that?

  A horse with poor vision, she swore she saw something dart across the road. It could’ve been a squirrel, but as she’d come to remember squirrels weren’t black. Then her ears flickered as the ambiance of the woods became realized. There were many insects and buzzings and hummings and ringings, but there were sounds out of the ordinary too, some faintly heard, others blunt, while some knocked.

  No, no, this was Astregra again. She didn’t fear, she was a noble steed and one held in high regard too, but that mentality could only hold for so long, for when shadow cast itself over her eyes she glanced up to see a hazy figure perched atop a tree, peering down with umbrage. No, she was brave, nothing would spook her, the mare assured. Yet her bravery was shattered when the creature screeched, compelling her back to her master crying out to the knight.

  With a grin of accomplishment, Trent looked back to Venneith and said, “You can thank me later.” He then whistled, calling out to Varrult who obeyed his commands prior to rallying the horse back to Venneith. With a job well accomplished, Varrult could only revel in the treats he’d be given, but now a new order signaled.

  Treats would have to wait as for now he was to stay sky-borne and look ahead for his master, men and beasts. Perhaps he’d catch a few varmints while on duty; however, considering the time and how many hours were left in the day, rest would have to come soon. Regardless, Varrult couldn’t be more pleased as it now seemed they traveled to places new.

  Chapter nine

  Across the forested land, birds put to rest their songs, leaving the ambiance of the day to fall to the ambiance of the night with insects and their ringing, droning songs of dusk. The sun gave way to the stars, entrusting them to watch over the land and any that found themselves lost along the way.

  Within these lands was the band led by none other than Black Knight Venneith. However, adventure would have to come to rest as men were only men and grew tiresome often. Upon taking up camp aside the roadway in a small clearing, Benphol and Astregra had been tethered to fallen tree. As much as the mare may have disliked these “unfavorable,” and “disgusting” conditions, it was the will of her master and so she objected little.

  In the center of the clearing was a small gathering of wood where both Maven and Joshien sat, huddled near the rock-lined pit dug to house the fire currently being prepped. One was stacking the wood in a log cabin-like formation while the other utilized kindling along with flint and steel in an attempt to gain warmth and have a fire prepared for the return of Venneith and Amyth, who’d evidently gone to hunt nearly half an hour ago.

  “Finally a bit of rest,” Joshien huffed with anticipation as he could finally rest his legs from walking and find heat in the fire that was soon to come.

  “I’d be pleased just to eat something,” Maven mumbled as he watched his friend fumble with the fire equipment. “Anything other than watered down rations and wheat is a blessing from the gods themselves.”

  He sparked the flint, sending glints and gleams towards the kindling only for them to die out, succumbing quickly to the cold. “Eh…meats, flour and shoddy cake…I couldn’t care so long as I get enough.” Another strike, another flurry of life that too became swiftly snuffed out by the gentle, uncaring wind of the forest. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself before looking past the fire pit and to the falconer, standing in the road looking as far as the nightly darkness would allow. “Hey,” Joshien called. “You try helping, yes?”

  “You mean lend a hand?” Trent asked, with his gaze still fixed on the darkened path before him.

  “Yes,” he answered. “Commear and strike a bit of metal.”

  “Or get some wood,” Maven added. “Make yourself useful if you will.”

  “Sorry, I can’t quite…do that…” his voice trailed off as he keened his hearing, listening for the telltale call of his companion. “Quiet for a moment please.”

  As the men observed the falconer they idly watched as Trent idly listened and as such they listened too. They listened to the rings and buzzes of the crawlers of the night, the small and insignificant things of this world. They listened past these, heard the wind as it softly coursed by, but as soothing as these sounds may have been they both grew impatient.

  “Taff,” Maven muttered as he shivered in his armor.

  “Strike it again,” Joshien insisted.

  “Taff!” Maven again grunted in frustration after not one, but all four consecutive strikes yielded no flame. By now the sun was well gone, any light left was given to the stars to show the way and if their knight and his follower hadn’t found anything by now then the hunt would surely be a failure. “We’re gonna freeze tonight and probably starve too if our knight has not succeeded in a catch yet.”

  For a moment Joshien’s eyes seemed t
o light up as if his creativity fancied a rather clever idea. Easing up to his friend, he looked down to the flint in Maven’s left hand and and the steel dagger in his right, acting rather interested. “Yes, it seems rather unfortunate, frustrating even?” Maven only tossed a rather cross look to Joshien, having been caught off-guard with the rather unusual rise in hospitality. “With starvation and cold looming nearby dare I infer upon you and say…furious?”

  “Furious? No, more like…” he caught another glance and at once he seemed to realize what exactly Joshien was intending to provoke. Anger, that’s the simplest explanation, but not just any anger. No, he wanted fury as fury sparks a flame though Deuth. “Oh…wait, no, I’m not even…”

  He wasn’t given any time to prepare, nor given any prior warning before Joshien took advantage of the darkness and slapped his companion across the face. It was a crack, an explosion of skin on rough skin, that for a moment seemed to even silence the forest itself as it paused briefly as if it were intrigued with the act.

  “Damn, Joshien!” Maven reeled, nearly falling flat on his back before catching himself. Raising a fist he roared, “I’m gonna—!”

  “Direct your fury at the stock of wood, yes!” Joshien interjected as he suddenly straddled Maven, locking his arms around his head and shoulder before pointing his fist to the flame. “Focus your anger, breathe fire through your soul!”

  For as much as Maven surged with anger and a deep desire to show Joshien what for, his deep consciousness was enough to separate act from intention and thus take his fury out on the wooden stock. He focused, eyes crazed like a man with an unquenchable thirst for blood and his arm tensed as if strangled by pythons as within he felt something surge.

  Warmth, that all they required, and as Joshien looked on past the shoulder of Maven he swore he saw a spark, a glimmer of ash, before suddenly being blinded. They both fell back on one another as at once the stock erupted in a plume of flame greater than either of them had expected.

  It seemed their efforts had paid off as newborn flame licked and lapped at the surrounding air, giving out an abundance of heat and light. Yet before either could feel accomplished they both noticed a figure, shadowed and darkened, illuminated only by the crimzon light of the flame making known his presence. Here he stood, arm outstretched, palm glowing. It seemed Venneith and the follower had returned.

  Looking down on the two men, seeming awfully childish he spoke low, first asking, “Was that your best attempt at producing an alchemy flame?” He looked to the two, who only returned a mostly dumbfounded vacuous stare.

  “My knight,” Amyth began. “Should I prepare the meat?”

  Refusing to take his gaze away from the two soldiers, Venneith obliged in the form of dropping the fully grown stag from his shoulders to the ground in a heap. Kneeling to the carcass, Amyth inferred the knight would rather prefer a cape skin than anything else, so using the dim crimzon light of the fire he began working as best he could on the body.

  Meanwhile, Venneith continued to focus his attention on the two soldiers. “Fire is rage and unbound destruction. It’s volatile, ravenous, with an unquenchable thirst to raze anything in its path. Fire is the rage of man, an enemy to nature, but if tales of old hold true, then you could argue it’s the very soul…of dragons!”

  The fire then, without warning, erupted once again as sparks, embers and ashes were flung about. It compelled the men, each one, to look in sudden shock before realizing the disturbance was nothing more than Nerr himself, who leapt at the flames as if on cue simply to play. He rolled in the embers and dug his claws into the ashes as he seemed to groom himself with the very essence of the fire. The fire did no damage, at least according to the dragon’s excited attitude as he came to rest, back laid against the embers, as he relished in the heat.

  For a brief moment Nerr gazed up at the visor of his protector looking back down on him. The little dragon couldn’t tell if it was the gaze of disappointment or something else there was no command that had been given so he shouldn’t, at least to Nerr’s understanding, be disappointed in his actions. This left the dragon understandably confused as he sat in the flames, shifting nervously before suddenly sneezing, flinging embers all round, distracting himself rather easily as he snapped and lashed at the glowing flakes childishly.

  “Gaze, will you,” Venneith then began as he directed a hand and pointed to Nerr. “It was said that dragons granted men the rite of fire long, long ago, before Gyr and the withdrawal of Xanthian’s dragon blessing thereafter.” He raised a fist, clenched so tightly that the metal of his gauntlet seemed to sneer in his grasp. “Since then fire was left to the nature of man so long as hatred and fury lies within their heart, yet not all can wield it. You think a meager temper tantrum will drawn the gaze of Deuth of Euth? Will spark an ember even? I find it amusing if anything. Now quiet yourselves and partake of the stag, if you feel so inclined.”

  “Could you also feel so inclined to be quiet, please?” Trent asked, still looking to the sky, hands clasped together as if the cold was beginning to ease into him. “Varrult has still flogged ’bout thirty miles down this road. He should be back any moment now.”

  “Won’t the fire guide him?” Venneith asked as he stood next to his falconer master to gaze down the darkened roadway with him.

  “It should, but Varrult was trained to follow a certain…protocol, we’ll say. He calls when he intends to return. I call back when it’s safe to land. It’s a…sorta thing that falls back on trust which in turn forms a stronger bond, hehe. I see your dragon hasn’t abandoned you yet, however you still refuse to put a blind on him.”

  Looking to the campfire he saw Nerr resting comfortably within the flames. Yet he made it rather difficult for Joshien and Maven to sear their cut meats as Nerr often snapped at them thinking they were treats or food gifted to him. It turned into a game for the dragon, stay within the fire and nab the meat they constantly fished out of his grasp. He barked and snapped, often leaving his maw wide open hoping the meat would fall in. Yet as much as Nerr had become a pest, the soldiers couldn’t help but laugh along as they taunted little Nerr.

  “I tried setting him on a small vermin,” Venneith explained. “But Nerr hadn’t recognised the command, however even if he did that little ol’ bat can’t fly quite yet. Regardless, he’s a nimble little thing, quite surprisingly.”

  “For as small as he is, I’d believe it.” Trent couldn’t help but smile, thinking back on Nerr throughout this small venture. It was always so rambunctious even when blindfolded. It would attempt singing, but oh how bad it often was as it’d chirp blindly into the air, poking his head out from the pack on the knight’s back. “Venneith,” Trent began by saying. “What exactly are you planning for your dragon? I trained Varrult to be a small game hunter and assist with scouting, yet you aren’t a common man, Venneith, and Nerr isn’t just a falcon.”

  “I am aware of his capabilities and the things he may become in the near future, but a senseless murdering beast he will not be.”

  Trent had to tilt his head in consideration for a moment. Surely any man with a dragon would utilize it for war, laying waste to all in its path. Surely Venneith had something like that in mind. “If that is what you choose then in your eyes what shall it become?”

  Venneith had only stood there for a moment in the roadway, visor looking beyond the trees and horizon that lay in view. With Nerr relishing in fire, the soldiers eating half-cooked meat and Amyth intricately skinning, Venneith found his first series of words. “You ever studied in the histories of the gods, Trent? The many numerous deities that govern our world, nature and the beasts within, yes?”

  “As an uneducated man I’d say very little,” Trent answered.

  “At least you’re literate with an average diction.”

  Trent allowed himself to chuckle before saying, “You have my sister to thank for that.”

  “She’s a fine woman,” Venneith assured. “Anyways,” he began. “I’ll start in the era where
men were few and beasts were numerous. Lythre was the goddess who ruled over beastly kindreds and contended over the world with one god after another, yet the gods never saw it as war, more as entertainment and sport. Men were nothing but another piece on the board, a spectacle to watch and observe as it naturally developed like other kindreds before. Ioxo was the god of man and ensured men would always have a place of sanctuary, islands, mountains and valleys, while abiding to Lythre so that his kindred, the kindred of men, may not be completely destroyed.

  “However, as Ioxo and Lythre ruled the world in relative chaos and disorder, Ioxo began to notice a change in man. A change that could be described as desire. Unlike beasts — ravenous, mindless with a base instinct to kill and forage— man desired three things. The first was power and the ability to spread one’s influence. The second was tranquility and to be in a place of calmness and safety. And the third was clarity, so that the world and its secrets might be known unto them.

  “These three traits appealed to none but three of the five gods of Euth. The first was Keuth, who recognized power and fancied those below with influence. Therefore he gifted man’s spirit to command the earth and stone so that they might build up the foundations of everlasting and glorious dynasties, so long as they had power. The second was Reuth, who recognized tranquility in all those who wished to wash away the disturbances of the world. There he gifted man’s spirit to command water and spring up stability in lands of turmoil and hardship so that they might prosper, so long as they had peace of mind and tranquility. The third was Heuth, who recognized clarity and those who desired truth over the world that many gods and goddesses entertained themselves over. There he gifted men’s spirit to command wind so that they might discover lands high and low and across the sea, so long as they knew truth and clarity. With these three gifts men prospered and spread throughout the world, but growth and prosperity can only continue for so long until others become envious.