The Sorceress of Aspenwood Trilogy Pack

by Sam Ferguson

  Kyra smiled and nodded. She liked the idea of training with Lepkin. This way, she would have a friend at Valtuu Temple.

  “Until we meet again, Miss Dimwater,” Mindaugas said with a bow of his head. He then turned to Leatherback and offered a full, gracious bow. “Take care of her, my friend.” Then he turned and left, stopping only for a few moments to pick up his sword before disappearing into the forest.

  *****

  “Move along Kathair, there is much to be done today,” Dengar said after a few moments of surveying the carnage upon the grassy valley before them.

  Lepkin hated that Dengar refused to call him by his family name. He had never liked the name, Kathair, and was all too ready to be rid of it. Britner and Foman didn’t seem bothered by Lepkin’s name preference, but Dengar always used Lepkin’s given name, as if it would help remind the apprentice of his station or something.

  Perhaps Dengar’s insistence on calling him Kathair was why Lepkin ignored the command and stood on the top of the hill overlooking the valley for another few seconds. A silent battle of wills playing out without a direct argument. In any case, his eyes took in the full scene. Lepkin had been trained at the hands of elves before being sent to attend Kuldiga Academy, and he was already an accomplished warrior, tracker, and strategist. Even if Kyra hadn’t forewarned him that she and Leatherback would hunt down the winged beasts reported by the shepherd and others, he would have instantly recognized this as the work of a large dragon.

  The carrion birds circled above in the sky, apparently too afraid of the corpses to come down and make a meal of them, except for the few who landed near the ruined and broken bodies of what had once been sheep.

  Similarly, a small band of men was standing on a hill on the opposite side of the valley. Dengar and the others would surely want to question the possible witnesses, but they would stop at the drake corpses first.

  Lepkin hurried to catch up with Foman, a large and menacing warrior with a scar under his left eye. Foman looked down and nodded to Lepkin.

  “Tell me what you see,” he commanded.

  Lepkin squirmed inside. He had hoped they would let him simply observe this time. He didn’t want to give them any clues that might point to Leatherback, but on the other hand, he was not sure if they would catch him lying if he withheld information.

  They approached the bottom half of a drake first, and Lepkin pointed to it just before covering his nose as the intense odor of sulfur and puss assaulted him. “There are four dead drakes,” he started. “This one was ripped in half.”

  “What could do that?” Foman pressed.

  Lepkin replied honestly, “Something much larger.”

  Foman nodded. “What else can you tell me?”

  “This one died first,” Lepkin surmised. “My guess is that it was caught unawares by whatever killed it. Then, the other three moved in afterward to attack.”

  “So we are looking for a fifth monster, very good,” Foman said. The large warrior motioned for Lepkin to walk with him until they reached the mangled body of a tan colored drake. “Tell me about this one.”

  Lepkin bent down and inspected the body. While he noted the many lacerations, depressions in the scales, and blood smears, Dengar and Britner walked up behind him. He sighed, knowing that he was now going to be judged on his findings by all three of them.

  “Well?” Dengar pressed impatiently.

  “This one was killed by the same creature that killed the first,” he said. “These puncture wounds are too large to be caused by a drake of the same size. Whatever killed this one had claws nearly as large as swords.” Lepkin then pointed to the blood streaks and then to the torn turf. “The ground has been disturbed here,” he said. “As if this drake crashed or was thrown.” Lepkin then turned around and pointed to the black drake. “Perhaps the body was thrown at this drake here.”

  “Perhaps,” Britner put in. “Or perhaps this is where the tan drake was tackled.”

  Lepkin shook his head. “No, look again at the holes in the tan drake’s body. There are no corresponding claw marks or tracks along the ground here. I am certain it was thrown to this point.”

  “Good job so far, now move on to the black one, Kathair,” Dengar commanded.

  Lepkin shrugged off the use of his name, and the demeaning tone in which it was said, and went to the black drake. His heart jumped into his throat and his mouth fell open as soon as he saw the strange, gaping hole in the drake’s throat.

  “Something has you surprised?” Dengar asked.

  Lepkin then realized that each of the dragon slayers had noticed him staring at the hole. There was no sense in trying to hide his discovery, but perhaps if he spoke quickly he could direct their perception of the wound.

  “This was done by magic,” Lepkin said as he pointed to the hole. “A magical spear or missile of some sort.”

  “Are you certain?” Britner asked.

  “Some villages have access to wind-lances,” Foman put in.

  Lepkin didn’t take the bait. He knew that none of them thought it could be a wind-lance. The hole was far too large in diameter for that. He shook his head. “No, this was done by a powerful wizard,” Lepkin lied. “A master of magic. A wind-lance would not produce a wound this large, and even if it had, there should be evidence of the missile used.” Lepkin spun around, making a show of investigating the theory he already knew to be false. “I see no evidence of such a weapon. Nor would I think the villagers would be standing without it if they had one.”

  “Good work,” Dengar said. “So, then, what of these marks?”

  Lepkin had already seen the numerous puncture wounds in the black drake’s chest. They matched the claw marks in the other corpse. “Those were done by the same beast that killed the first two drakes.” Lepkin then studied the wounds closer, noting the peculiar lack of blood around the openings. “My guess is that the magical missile killed this drake, but that the beast who killed the other drakes came to finish the black drake and stabbed him after death.”

  “Impressive,” Britner commented.

  “He was trained by the elves,” Dengar spat. “I would expect nothing less.”

  “Now then, what killed them?” Foman asked. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at Lepkin.

  The young apprentice shrugged, trying to buy some amount of time. He knew there was only one thing big enough to rip a drake in half, but he didn’t want to start a dragon hunt. Somehow, he had to stop the dragon slayers here.

  “Whatever it was, it seems as though it was defending the flock,” Lepkin said.

  “Bah!” Dengar roared as he cuffed Lepkin up the backside of his head. “Dragons don’t protect anything. They kill, maim, and lay waste to anything that gets in their way. What we have here is a territorial dispute. These drakes wandered into territory claimed by a dragon. The dragon killed them.”

  Britner nodded and grunted his agreement.

  Foman looked away from Lepkin, but only after a disappointed shake of his head, and addressed Dengar. “What of the magic?” he asked as he pointed to the black drake.

  Dengar shrugged. “Not sure, but I doubt some wizard could control a dragon. Once the blight takes hold, the true dragon’s nature always comes out.”

  “So…” Foman pressed.

  Dengar stuck his chin out at the corpse and said, “Likely the dragon fought with his breath. I’ve seen a full size dragon rip the top half of a drake’s head clean off when the two both spat fire at each other at the same time. The little drakes can’t match the pressure and force of the full size monsters. Simple as that.”

  “Let’s go talk to the witnesses, see if we can figure out which way the dragon flew after the skirmish,” Britner said.

  The dragon slayers all turned and Lepkin let out a small sigh of relief before following. The men knew a dragon was involved, but at least they didn’t suspect Kyra.

  The men standing on the hill seemed almost as afraid of the dragon slayers as they were of the corpses
lying in the grass. They kept staring at the spiky, bladed armor each of the dragon slayers wore and shooting nervous glances to each other.

  Dengar had to ask four times about the dragon before one of the men finally had the courage to speak up. His voice was low and deep, but his speech was marred with the drawl common among some of the farmers and shepherds along the western coast. Lepkin had to focus on the man’s mouth to fully understand what he said.

  “The dragon came outta nowhere, like some sort of demon,” he said. “Killed these baby dragons and then flew into the sky.”

  “Dragons are not demons,” Dengar said forcefully. “They are much easier to kill. Now, which way did it fly?”

  The man shrugged and turned to the others. They all looked down at the ground, and a couple of them pushed the first man out toward the dragon slayers as if he would be forced to answer if he was the closest one.

  They were correct.

  Dengar stepped in and placed a hand on the man’s shoulder. The man winced and from the look on his face he was debating whether to turn and run.

  “Which way did he fly?” Dengar said. “East? West? North? South?”

  The man shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. He got into the clouds and I never saw him after that.”

  “How big was he?” Dengar pressed. Lepkin noted that Dengar’s fingers began to dig into the man’s shoulders a bit.

  “Sixty feet long,” the man mumbled. “Maybe a bit longer. It was dark! He stood taller than a tree, and could bathe the whole valley in fire!”

  Dengar turned to raise an eyebrow at Lepkin. “See, Kathair, the dragon’s fire breath is what made that hole.”

  Lepkin nodded, holding inside the satisfaction of knowing that it was, in fact, Kyra who had made the hole. At his moment, Lepkin felt it was almost a shame not to tell Dengar, if only to see the stupefied look on his otherwise smug face. The young apprentice had to turn away as he could feel a mischievous grin busting out despite his best efforts. Once he had it under control, he coughed, cleared his throat, and then turned to listen to the still-stammering man.

  “South!” the man squeaked after being pressed yet again for a direction. “It flew south!”

  Lepkin’s heart skipped and his stomach lurched at the same time. The fool had just said he hadn’t seen through the clouds. Yet, when pressed for a direction, he had managed to guess the one direction that was correct.

  “You are sure?” Dengar asked.

  The man nodded. The others behind him started agreeing as well.

  Dengar let the man go and dismissed them all with a wave. “Go tend to what is left of your flocks.”

  The men were all too eager to comply, nearly stumbling over each other as they left.

  “Bait and wait?” Britner asked.

  Dengar nodded. “The corpses are here. The sheep are here. Let’s see if the dragon returns tonight.”

  “We can camp under those oak trees over there,” Foman put in. “Should hide our presence while affording us a clear view of the valley and the sky around here.”

  Dengar spat and then offered a single nod. “Let’s set up camp.” He turned to Lepkin. “Kathair, we have several hours before sundown yet, follow the shepherds and see if you can acquire some food. Bread, meat if they have it, and some ale. Go.”

  Lepkin nodded without a word and began jogging to the west. The village was another two miles away, but he didn’t mind the distance. This would give him time to think and create a plan. Somehow he had to warn Kyra. As he crested up a hill and then started down the other side, he wondered what the penalty might be for getting the dragon slayers drunk and sneaking off.

  Chapter 9

  The three dragon slayers sat around the fire, some hundred yards away from the copse of oak trees where they had made their camp for the night, stuffing the last morsels of flatbread into their mouths and washing it down with what Dengar had described as water with a hint of fermented grape. Lepkin had been unable to find any ale to bring back to them. All he had to show for his four mile round trip was a single bottle of wine that had been made by one of the village elders’ daughters.

  Unfortunately, the wine was far too weak to put even one of the dragon slayers into a drunken slumber. So, Lepkin sat on the opposite side of the fire and ate a baked roll that had cubes of fat and spiced meat inside of it. If any of the men noticed that Lepkin had kept the best bread for himself, none of them said anything.

  In fact, they hardly spoke at all, except for Dengar’s incessant complaints about the wine every time he took a drink. They kept their eyes to the sky, and their conversation short. Each of them was dressed in their full set of armor, with helmets and weapons resting nearby at their sides for easy access. The black steel was a marvel to behold. It seemed to dance and shimmer in the firelight, and yet the spikes and blades protruding from the armor spoke of a fierceness that even Lepkin admired.

  Britner caught him staring and smiled. “Telarian steel is the best there is,” he said.

  Lepkin nodded. “Strong enough to withstand a dragon’s flame without melting or warping,” he said. “The armor is light enough to afford the wearer maximum flexibility, almost like a suit made of leather padding, but the steel can withstand a dragon’s claw, or so they say.”

  Britner’s smile widened. “All that and more,” he said. “The spikes and blades even allow us to strike a killing blow in death,” he explained. He put his arms out and mimicked a set of jaws, fingers interlinking like long teeth. “A dragon swallows one of us, and we make sure to wriggle all the way down.”

  “A dragon’s final meal,” Dengar said. “That is the commitment we will need from you, Kathair,” he said, changing the subject slightly. “In order to wear the Telarian steel of our order, you must be willing to sacrifice yourself if necessary.”

  Lepkin nodded. “You told me a story about Alerik once,” he said. “He was able to control a dragon.”

  Dengar shook his head. “Not control it,” he corrected. “Maybe for a time, but not forever. A dragon will always succumb to its true nature. Don’t for one instant think it can be any other way. There can only be one winner of this war we are fighting. Either we exterminate the dragons, or they will overrun the Middle Kingdom.” Dengar pulled a slim, vicious dagger from a sheath on his side and pointed it directly at Lepkin. “You are either one of us, or you are against us.”

  “Someone’s coming,” Foman said quickly.

  Dengar closed his mouth and put the dagger away, but he kept his eyes locked on Lepkin.

  Does he know? Lepkin wondered. He was still trying to decide whether this was the latest of Dengar’s speeches about the honor of dragon slayers, or if it was meant as a threat when the stranger entered their camp.

  Unlike the villagers from earlier in the day, he seemed unafraid as he approached the fire and waved. He was holding a guide rope, pulling a mule along which in turn was carrying loads inside of large leather pouches slung over either side. The animal quickly bent its head low to nibble the grass while the stranger came closer to the camp.

  “Hello,” the stranger said in an easy, smooth voice.

  “Can we help you?” Dengar asked. Lepkin noted that none of the dragon slayers moved for their weapons, but Dengar’s voice had an edge to it that seemed to denote he was deciding whether the stranger was a threat.

  “Oh, I am traveling southward. I saw your fire and thought I might rest with you gentlemen.”

  “There is a town,” Dengar said quickly as he thumbed over his shoulder. “It’s only two miles that way.”

  “Yes, I know. I have stayed there before. I heard of the drakes though, and I wanted to see them for myself.” The stranger sighed and looked around. “Looks like I didn’t manage to beat the sunset, though. Pity. I will have to look at the creatures in the morning.”

  “Not often that I meet a villager who wants to see drakes,” Britner said.

  “Ah,” the stranger said as he held up a finger. “Allow me to introduce myself. I
am Alistair Myn, purveyor of magical items, enchantments, and charms.” The silver-haired man bowed low and then pointed to his mule. “Perhaps I could interest you in a charmed rabbit foot? They bring luck.”

  “If they bring luck, then why is the rabbit so easily hunted down for his foot?” Dengar replied evenly. Foman gave a derisive snort.

  Alistair seemed unruffled by the comment. “I never said the rabbit was a lucky animal. The foot is charmed because it enhances luck enchantments. Different parts are good for different things. For example, a rabbit’s eye is good for stomach pain, did you know that?”

  Dengar waved Alistair off. “Unless you have ale or wine that doesn’t taste like wet socks, I am not buying anything.”

  Alistair smiled. “Oh, but I do have some wine. Can’t hardly travel without it!” Alistair turned back to the mule and produced two very large leather skins with what appeared to be badger fur trim. “Tell you what, if I can share the fire, then you can share my drink. Besides, I’ll be safer with you in case any other drakes come tonight.”

  Dengar stretched his hand out and took one of the skins. “Please, share our camp with us.”

  “Ah, how kind of you to invite me in,” Alistair said as he moved to sit next to Dengar.

  “What do you want with the drakes?” Foman asked.

  “Well, I don’t want to give away any trade secrets, gents, but I will say that if a rabbit has many special uses for its body parts, then a drake’s body is one thousand times more powerful.”

  “Well, I hope you already have a drake’s foot in hand, for we aren’t expecting any more of the small ones tonight,” Foman said.

  Alistair gave the man a blank look.

  “We’re hunting a dragon,” Dengar said.

  Alistair whistled through his teeth and took a deep drink. He then handed the wine skin to Foman and shook his head. “Well, what would it take to buy a dragon’s body from you if you kill it?”