Brother of the Dragon tb-2

by Paul Cook

  “Greetings, victorious Arkuden!” cooper Montu hailed him.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Amero demanded. They regarded him blankly. “Why didn’t you finish closing the western baffle?”

  Adjat the potter said, “Arkuden, if we close that last opening, no one can get in.”

  “That’s the purpose of the wall, idiot!” Amero shouted.

  Stunned by his unusual harshness, Adjat said, “But you’re outside, with so many of our friends and kinsmen — ”

  “And fourteen of our friends and kinsmen died last night to keep the enemy at bay! I won’t have you endangering the town out of misguided feelings for me or anyone else. Close the baffle at once! This very morning. Do you hear?”

  “The Protector’s gone, and there aren’t any young men left to do the heavy work,” Montu protested.

  “Then do it yourself!” he shouted. “Turn out every soul left in Yala-tene — the old, the young, the sick, the lame — and let them carry stones. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, Arkuden,” said the cooper meekly. “Yes. We’ll begin right away.”

  They put aside their meat and filed out of the Offertory. Following them, Amero added, “If you need ready stone, pull down these walls.”

  The elders halted in a body, aghast. “Pull down the Protector’s place?” said Adjat.

  “The Sensarku won’t protest,” Amero said coldly. “Leave the cairn if you must, but take all the stone you need from the Offertory walls.”

  “Very well, Arkuden.”

  Sentinel horns blared. Amero cast about wildly, seeking the source of the alarm. The horns were too close to be the lookouts on the cliffs. They must be on the town wall.

  He raced through the streets to the western entrance, irrationally fearing that the raiders had somehow jumped the river and were advancing on the wide-open town. As he ran up the ramp, he spied Lyopi among the crowd and worked his way to her.

  “What is it?” he demanded, out of breath.

  “Look there.” She pointed. Dust was rising from the orchard and gardens across the lake.

  Everyone stared, crestfallen, but Amero said, “This was bound to happen. They failed to overwhelm us last night, so now they’ll try to get around us. They’ll try to land at different points along the lake and river. We don’t have enough people to defend the whole shoreline.”

  “Will Duranix come back in time to stop them?” Lyopi asked.

  Everyone atop the wall looked to Amero, waiting for his answer. He realized he couldn’t lie to them. “Duranix flew away to fight the green dragon,” the Arkuden said. “That means we’re on our own, but so are the raiders.”

  There was complete silence for several heartbeats, then an elderly woman spoke up. “Can we win, Arkuden?”

  “We’ll win.” He managed a smile. “Those savages fight only for lust and loot. We fight for our homes, our lives, and the lives of all who come after us. They are many, and ruthless. We are few, but determined. We’ll win because we must.”

  No one cheered, but several heads nodded in agreement.

  The crowd slowly dispersed. Lyopi turned to go back to her guard post, but Amero caught her by the arm.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what? Shouting at me? I’m not a child. I’m not going to cry because you raised your voice to me.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry for more than that. I’ve been acting like a fool half my age.”

  He saw a teasing light glowing in those familiar brown eyes. “Half what age, Amero? You never stopped being a boy.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” he said ruefully. “I feel like a lost child right now. Duranix is gone, Beramun cares nothing for me, and I need all the friends I have left.”

  He leaned forward to kiss her. Lyopi turned her face slightly and he kissed her cheek.

  “Go,” she said, giving him a none-too-gentle shove. “If we’re both still alive at midsummer, we’ll be friends again.”

  She was right, of course, he thought ruefully. His boy’s heart was still there, inside the breast of the desperate headman.

  As he was leaving, Amero spied Montu leading a long line of villagers toward the last gap in the wall. Each carried a sizable rock in his or her arms. When he saw that, he finally believed his own proud words. They would win. They had to.

  Hoten stood at the water’s edge below the orchard. While his horse drank from the lake, he took in the distant view of Yala-tene. This was the broadest part of the lake, but he could easily make out features of the village in the distance. There was the wall, and a white peak that looked like some sort of altar above the yellow sandstone defenses, and beyond it was the tumbledown heap of stones and timber that served as the village foundry. Between the southern edge of the wall and the great waterfall was an open stretch of rocky beach a quarter-league long. Some obscure wooden structures were clustered at the foot of the falls.

  Looking up, Hoten eyed the high cliffs behind the town. That was the place to be! From there, one could rain fire and death on any part of the village. If the raiders could gain those heights, Yala-tene would be forced to surrender. Unfortunately, because of the intervening mountains, lake, and waterfall, the only route to the eastern cliffs involved leaving the valley and journeying far to the south, through a lower pass, then north again through the eastern foothills. Such a trip would take many days, through territory infested by centaurs, elves, and the warlike human nomads of the east — not a practical strategy.

  Hoten started back to the old bridge site to confer with his chief. On his way through the orchard he found eight of his warriors standing idly around the base of a young apple tree. He demanded to know why they were lazing about.

  “Hoten, look at this!” one man exclaimed. He snapped off a slender green stem from one of the apple tree’s low-hanging branches. He thrust the sprig into the dirt, directly in front of Hoten’s horse, then stood back, arms folded.

  “What are you playing at, Kej?”

  “Wait! Just wait!”

  A minute passed. The men kept looking from the twig to Hoten and back, and grinning broadly.

  “Somebody tell me what’s going on — now!” Hoten demanded.

  “Look here!” Kej pulled the twig out of the ground. It wasn’t a twig any longer; a thin tangle of roots hung from the broken end.

  “Eh?” Hoten dismounted and took the twig from Kej. “That’s impossible!”

  The men pulled up other twigs they’d planted before he arrived. Each had a tuft of fine new roots. Hoten reluctantly accepted the evidence of his eyes.

  “This is some rich soil!” Kej said, laughing.

  “Shut up. There’s something strange at work here.” Taking the rooted stem with him, Hoten mounted his horse. “You men get to work,” he ordered. “Zannian will be here soon, and I don’t want him to see you idling around watching plants grow!”

  He rode away. At the bridge site, the standoff was still going on. Raiders rode to the water’s edge, yelling and shaking their spears. Across the river, a block of villagers, drawn up on the facing slope, stood stolidly behind their cowhide shields.

  Zannian slumped on his horse, chewing a strip of venison.

  “Zan, the gardens are ours,” Hoten reported, “but there’s something you need to see.”

  He held out the twig and explained what he’d observed. Zannian listened but didn’t believe it any more than Hoten had at first.

  The chief held out a hand. Hoten put the tiny apple tree sapling in it. Not bothering even to look at the twig, Zannian threw a leg over his horse’s neck and dropped lightly to the ground. He shoved the tender shoot into the grainy sand by the water’s edge.

  “I’ll make you a wager, Hoten. If this sprig grows noticeably by tomorrow, I’ll give you the pick of any horse in the band.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  Zannian’s grin was feral. “You get the honor of leading the first attack across the river.”

  An honor indeed
. Zannian knew the initial attack would be the bloodiest fight in the valley.

  “Well, what do you say?”

  “I don’t need a new horse, hut there is a wager I’ll make with you.” His chief nodded for him to continue. “If that sprig is larger by tomorrow, I want your mother for my mate.”

  Zannian couldn’t have been more surprised if Hoten had asked to mate with the green dragon.

  After staring at him for several startled moments, the chief burst out laughing and said, “I’ll take that bet, but I won’t call you father if you win!”

  “And I won’t call you son,” Hoten replied.

  There was no disputing the outcome of the bet. By the next morning, the tiny sprig was a sapling a pace tall and as thick as Hoten’s thumb. Zannian was fascinated. He waved aside Hoten’s sincere thanks for Nacris’s hand, then called for more shoots to be cut from the orchard and transplanted to the bridge site.

  “Why plant more?” asked Hoten. “We have the whole crop abandoned by the mud-toes.”

  “I don’t want them for food. I have another use for them.” Zannian explained, and Hoten’s eyes widened in surprise.

  Chapter 21

  The green dragon flew northwest. Land flowed rapidly beneath him and his implacable bronze pursuer. The northern plain, the steep mountain range of Dar, the delta of the great Plains River, and at last, the great sea passed beneath them. As the first stars appeared in the darkening sky, the dragons left dry land behind and continued their flight over the open ocean.

  Once over the water, Sthenn descended until he was skimming above the tossing waves. Duranix dropped to within five leagues, determined to keep his canny foe in sight.

  Sthenn bore left during the night, heading due west. Duranix easily followed his enemy’s progress in the dark, as the wash from Sthenn’s wings left ridges of white foam on the surface of the calm sea. At dawn, Sthenn overtook a pod of whales, black-skinned animals each three paces long. Snaking his head down into the waves, the giant dragon snatched out two whales in quick succession, gulping them down whole. The rest of the panicked pod sounded, but Sthenn tracked them through the murky green water and was directly over them when they surfaced again. He grabbed a third whale in his jaws and tossed it over his shoulder.

  Duranix saw the whale tumbling through the air, and he caught it in his claws. It infuriated him to accept food from his enemy, but he was practical about it in the end. His belly was achingly empty. He devoured the small whale in two tremendous snaps of his jaws.

  The green sea turned blue when the morning sun broke through the haze on the horizon. A low coastline appeared ahead, and Sthenn turned toward it.

  Duranix readied himself to pounce. He hoped to catch Sthenn when the green dragon landed to drink or rest, but his old tormentor flashed over the narrow beach without slowing. Duranix saw a blur of green foliage, the cone of a smoldering volcano, and they were over the trackless sea once more.

  More islands appeared on each side, but Sthenn paid them no heed. Gradually he gained height again, leveling off a thousand paces above the water. His wings worked unflaggingly. He did not seem tired at all.

  Frustrated, Duranix tried to close on his adversary. To his delight, the gap between them shrank from four leagues to barely one. At that range, he loosed a bolt of lightning. With uncanny prescience, Sthenn slipped out of the way, and the bolt sizzled harmlessly past. The green dragon promptly rose into a tall bank of clouds, vanishing in the white mist.

  Duranix slowed. Clouds were a perfect place for an ambush. He peered through the billowing mass, trying to catch a glimpse of his quarry. He saw nothing.

  After circling a bit, he made up his mind and plunged into the cloudbank. Immediately blue static collected on his wingtips, horns, and tail. He welcomed the growing crackle of power. Bolts arced from cloud to cloud and from cloud to sea, growing larger with each sweep of his wings. He steered a serpentine path through the mist, sowing lightning and rain in his wake.

  On his third swing through the white cloud, Duranix detected movement above and let a mighty bolt of fire erupt from his throat. It struck with a thunderous explosion, and Sthenn came hurtling into view, his decrepit hide trailing smoke.

  Got him! Duranix exulted. He dropped free of the cloud and followed the falling green dragon.

  Two hundred paces above the wind-tossed waves, Sthenn righted himself. There was a black singe mark down the center of his back. Duranix folded his wings and plummeted at his ancient enemy, claws extended. Yawing from side to side, Sthenn seemed stunned, barely able to stay in the air. He sank to within forty paces of the water. Thunder rolled overhead, and heavy rain lashed at both dragons. Duranix flexed his claws wide, eager to do as much damage as possible.

  His talons met only air. At the last moment, Sthenn adroitly maneuvered out of the way. Duranix plunged by and, unable to stop, hit the sea, sending up a huge column of water.

  Sthenn climbed leisurely into the clouds, laughing. “Enjoy your bath, little friend!” he called.

  Furious, Duranix fought his way back to the stormy surface, spewing torrents of saltwater from his mouth and nostrils. A wave struck him in the face, and he submerged again.

  Sthenn swung around in a tight curve and came winging back. Just as the bronze dragon’s head broke the surface a second time, the green dragon’s heavy tail struck him smartly on the back of the skull, plunging him once again facedown into the ocean.

  The green dragon flapped for altitude and turned for another pass. “Come, come!” he chided. “We can’t be done yet. Get up, little friend!”

  Kicking his legs, Duranix propelled half his body length out of the water. He intended to throw himself on his enemy and drag him down, even if it meant they both sank beneath the waves. However, Sthenn saw the danger and drew back, fanning his wings hard to reverse course. For once his elderly reflexes were just a bit slow, and he couldn’t evade Duranix’s outstretched claws.

  As the dragons met, a tremendous bolt of lightning flashed from the clouds to their metallic hides. Duranix was thrown backward into the sea, momentarily dazzled by the terrific flare and concussion. Waves broke over him, and he choked on seawater.

  When he finally raised his long neck above the waves, Sthenn was nowhere in sight. Duranix ducked underwater. Even with momentary flickers of lightning brightening the depths, he could see no sign of his quarry.

  Without the metallic dragons aloft to stir up the atmosphere, the storm quickly blew itself out. Shafts of sunlight fell on the heaving sea. Sthenn was still nowhere to be seen.

  Where had the evil beast gone? Duranix refused to believe the green dragon had succumbed to the lightning strike. The only evidence he would accept for Sthenn’s demise was the monster’s lifeless carcass.

  As he bobbed in the calming waves, he felt an odd tickling sensation on his tail. Before he could react, he was jerked under the surface. Saltwater went into his eyes, blinding him. He lashed out with talons and twisted his tail free of the unseen grasp, surfacing in time to see Sthenn burst from the ocean not far away.

  “The game isn’t over yet!” the green called mockingly. “The whole world lies ahead of us, dear Duranix. Rise and follow!”

  His desiccated laughter carried far over the open sea. “Right now, my little Zan is butchering your humans and laying waste to your valley. Will you allow such deeds to go unavenged?”

  In answer, the bronze dragon flung himself into the air. Sthenn put his tail to the morning sun and flew away.

  Water streaming from his wings and back, Duranix followed.

  Ten days had passed since the battle of the bridge. Wary of the raiders’ mobility, each evening Amero sent scouts to the far corners of the valley to keep an eye on what the enemy was doing. Beramun went on one such patrol to the northern end of the valley, returning two days later.

  Jenla, Huru, and the rest hailed her. “Welcome back,” Amero said, rising to his feet. “How is the north?”

  “Still as a winter glade,” she
reported. “I found no sign the raiders are trying to get around that way.”

  He handed her a bowl filled from the bubbling stew pot bedded in the embers at the edge of the fire.

  As she wolfed down the first hot food she’d had in days, Beramun asked, “What’s happening here? What’s Zannian been up to?”

  “He’s been quiet since his men took our gardens, but he’s up to something,” Amero said. He gestured to where the fallen bridge had stood. “They’ve raised a hedge on the river-bank, so we can’t see what they’re doing.”

  “They’re using the trees Tiphan cured with his spirit power,” Jenla explained. “They grow so fast that in a few days the hedge will be a forest!”

  Beramun drained the last morsels of stew and Amero refilled her bowl. “It’s only a question of where and when they’ll attack,” the Arkuden said. “The hedge may be a trick, to make us watch them at one place while the real attack falls somewhere else.”

  “Send someone over to have a look,” Beramun suggested.

  The others fell silent and Amero said, “Paharo tried, last night. The raiders caught him… and killed him before our eyes.”

  Shocked, Beramun swallowed hard. She had liked the brave young hunter. She couldn’t believe Paharo was gone.

  As they stared into the flames, loss evident on every face, she walked around the fire to kneel beside Huru. The foundry master was weeping soundlessly, tears streaming down his dark, lined cheeks.

  She rested her hand on his. “Your son was a good man.”

  Huru closed his eyes, grateful for her words. She looked across the leaping flames to Amero. “You still need to know what’s going on over there. I’m a strong swimmer. I’ll go.”

  Amero shook his head. “You just got back. Rest. Someone else can do it. I may go myself.”

  “Don’t be stupid! You’re needed here.”

  Amero’s voice grew loud. “I won’t let you throw your life away!”

  “You let Paharo.”

  Wood crackled in the fire, sounding unusually loud in the stillness following her words.