by D K Drake
Micah could easily reach the top of the fifteen foot fence from his stance atop the back of ten foot tall dragon, but he would still have to work hard to pull his own tall frame up and over the sharp wooden pickets. Mertzer’s neck gained him an additional five feet, making his neck even with the top of the fence. The top of the dragon’s head would provide a nice platform and minimize the work Micah would need to do to get over the fence.
He left his supplies with Mertzer, secured his sword to his back and his whip to his waist, then made his way up Mertzer’s neck. He peered over the fence. Even though the darkness prevented him from seeing the ground, he knew it was a long way down. A wave of queasiness rolled through him at the thought of plummeting into the darkness below.
He could make out the top of a building about five feet away from the fence, though. He would just need to jump out rather than down. That thought settled his stomach and kept him from wanting to throw up.
“Here goes.” Micah stepped from Mertzer’s head to the top of the fence and pushed himself forward. He landed on his feet on the flat tin roof, took a few running steps and dropped to his stomach once he finally gained control of his momentum.
He waited for the residents of the building to investigate the crashing sound they were sure to have heard. When no one came, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He had made it into the city. Undetected.
If he wanted to stay that way, he needed to steal some clothes. He shuddered at the thought of having to wear the ugly brown garments of the commoners, but he wouldn’t be able to walk through the city without being noticed if he kept his uniform on.
Just one more reason to hunt Javan and make quick work of killing him. The sooner he got rid of Javan and captured his Noon Stalker, the sooner he could return to the castle and make his father happy again.
◊◊◊
Every time Javan closed his eyes, he relived the crash landing from the night before.
Wobbling from side to side at an angle perpendicular to the ground. Watching the ground get closer and closer as the dots on Varjiek’s wings glowed brighter and brighter. Falling faster and faster. Yelling at Varjiek to slow down. Varjiek yelling that he had no control.
Clinging to Varjiek’s neck. Praying the dragon would land on his feet and not his head. Flying off Varjiek’s back when the dragon’s front legs collided with the sandy ground. Rolling in the dirt. Seeing Varjiek’s wings spread over the dirt while his body remained motionless.
Running to Varjiek. Thanking God when the dragon looked up at him and said he survived. Listening to Varjiek moan while he brushed off the light dots and gently folded the round wings into Varjiek’s body.
Javan opened his eyes and wiped a layer of sweat off his forehead. Even under the makeshift blanket he had made after the crash last night by tying uxe leaves together, the heat from the desert sun made life miserable.
He had tossed the uxe blanket over him and Varjiek just as the sun began to rise, curled up in the crook of Varjiek’s back left leg, and attempted to sleep. Sleep had eluded Javan but visited Varjiek. The dragon continued to snore, even though his scales were beginning to change from grey to gold.
“Better feed him,” Javan said. He unrolled his long sleeves to protect his arms from the sun, tied a spare shirt around his head to help prevent sweat from dripping into his eyes, and plopped his wide-brimmed, floppy hat on over the shirt. After donning his shades, he crawled out from beneath his shelter.
Sand, sand, and more sand covered the flat land behind them and to their left. Way out in the distance, the flat land turned into rolling hills of dunes. Ten feet to their right, the land disappeared.
Javan jumped over Varjiek’s tail and walked over to investigate. The land hadn’t disappeared; it dropped off and formed a deep canyon several miles wide and as long as Javan could see. Ragged red rocks formed the walls and floor of the canyon, rocks that surely would have killed them had they landed on those sharp edges rather than the soft sand of the desert floor.
“Wow. That sure was close.”
Javan? Javan, where are you?
Javan turned around to see Varjiek stirring under the uxe leaves. “Coming.”
I still can’t feel my wings. He stood and shook the blanket off of him. You should go on without me. I am a useless dragon who will never be able to fly again!
“Calm down.” Who knew dragons could be such drama kings? “I’m not going anywhere without you, and it may just take a little while to get the use of your wings back. Even if you don’t, you are still quite useful.”
You want me even if I can’t fly?
“Of course.” Javan stroked Varjiek’s snout from his eyes to his nose. “We’re in this journey together.”
Thank you, young Collector. Varjiek stretched each of his legs. At least my legs have suffered no injuries. But they are still sore from the rough landing. Will you feed me so I don’t have to walk anywhere to find food?
“Sure.” Javan tore several leaves off the edge of the uxe blanket. His dragon knew how to milk an injury. “You get to fill up on uxe leaves today.”
◊◊◊
Micah didn’t know how much more of this sitting and waiting and watching and observing he could handle. He had no problem being patient while hunting prey in the woods, but trying to blend into the background around people proved challenging. He usually demanded the center of attention and preferred being the one giving orders.
Instead, he had spent all morning dressed in uncomfortable clothes hiding in the shadows of a fish shop located in the middle of the Madai harbor hoping to spot a brother he hadn’t seen in over fifty years.
A wooden boardwalk connected one end of the city to the other along the bank of the River that Runs Through Zandador. The bank curved inland, creating a huge U in the middle part of the boardwalk. Dozens of piers branched off the boardwalk and stretched into the water. Fishing boats of varying sizes docked sporadically at the piers.
Young boys and girls serving their required tenure learning the fishing trade unloaded cargo and cleaned the ships under the supervision of the older career fishermen. Soldiers patrolled the boardwalks and piers ensuring no one left or arrived without proper documentation.
Micah had missed out on all of this. He had spent his childhood learning how to fight and hunt dragons, not learning how to fish or farm or learn any trade. He wasn’t even technically old enough to be in the army yet. At his age, he should be serving a decade-long stint learning a trade. He looked older than he was, though, and passed himself off as 177 rather than his actual age of 77.
Only a few people knew his true age. His brother Karl was one of those people. He was Omri’s fifth son and Micah’s only other sibling from the same mother. Because of that bond, Karl had taken Micah on his first official hunting trip.
That trip had not ended well for Karl and was the reason Omri had kicked Karl out of Japheth and sentenced him to a lifetime of fishing here in Madai. It was also the reason Karl would be easy to pick out of a crowd. Not many people walked around with a piece of wood for a left leg.
“What are you doing here?” The man who whispered the words in Micah’s ear also gripped his shoulder and shoved the tip of a knife into Micah’s back.
Micah forced himself to remain relaxed and casually kept his eyes on the water. “Looking for you.”
“Why? Shouldn’t you be out hunting dragons instead of your outcast brother?”
“I am hunting dragons, but I’ve run into a little trouble. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”
“The last time I helped you, I lost a leg, my position in the army, and my father. I ought to repay the favor by cutting one of your limbs off and sending you back to the castle. I doubt you’ll still be the king’s favorite son when he sees you’re no longer perfect.”
“That’s an option.” Micah resisted the urge to disarm Karl, and decided to let his brother continue to feel like he controlled the situation. “Or you can help me and get yourself bac
k in our father’s good graces. I may not be able to do anything about your leg, but I can restore your place in the castle.”
“Impossible. You know Omri never reverses any punishment.”
“He will if I ask. As you said, I am his favorite son. Besides, if you help me accomplish what he wants more than anything—which is to stay in power—he’ll be happy to welcome you back home.”
Micah felt the breath of his brother on his neck as the man considered his words. Finally, the iron grip on his shoulder loosened, and the sharp point of the knife went away. “He’ll never welcome me back home, but I do want something he may be willing to grant me if you ask on my behalf. What do you need?”
“What do you want?”
“Answer my question first.”
“Information.” Micah turned around and looked into a pair of eyes that matched his own. “I need to know where to find Javan and his dragon.”
Chapter 11
On the Hunt
It took Micah all afternoon to walk from the harbor to Karl’s house at the other end of the large city. He could have taken one of the horse-drawn carriages that shuttled people from the docks to their homes, but he wanted the exercise. He needed it to keep his edge and maintain his physical superiority over Javan. Unfortunately, this past week had left him with not enough sleep and no chance to run. The loss of sleep and lack of exercise left him feeling cranky and weak.
The walk through the city revived him. He kept to the western path under the trees that separated the homes from the community buildings in the middle of the city. Unlike the eastern side of the city dominated by rows of barracks for the interns and soldiers stationed in Madai, rows of houses dominated the western side. Families lived in the three bedroom houses in the southern end while all the single residents, such as Karl, lived in the one bedroom houses in the northern end.
Despite his trek in the shade, Micah smelled like fish, sweat, and dirt by the time he walked into Karl’s small home on a dirt street cluttered with similar small homes. As the door creaked closed behind him, Micah took in his surroundings.
A few cabinets, a sink, a woodstove, and a cooler comprised the kitchen on his right while a single rocking chair in front of a fireplace completed the living space on his left. Nothing hung on the shabby wooden walls. What a bleak and boring place to live.
It did at least have power. He noticed a string of scales lined the top of the walls along the ceiling all around the house. What he didn’t see was the activation scale he needed to turn the lights on.
“Maybe it’s in the bedroom, which I sure hope is cozier than this.” Micah crossed the room in five steps and opened the door to the room behind the kitchen. “Nope. Just as blah.”
A cot topped with a green blanket and white pillow filled the middle of the room. The only other furniture was a short brown dresser with two drawers in the far corner beside the bathroom door. After checking out the bathroom that was barely big enough to turn around in, Micah returned to the bedroom, sat on the cot and stared at the blank walls.
This is how his brother lived?
While Micah lived in the castle with a bed as big as this room and a room twice as large as this house, Karl lived…here. Micah felt a twinge of guilt sear through his conscience, but he shook it off. “It’s not your fault, Micah. Karl chose to fight that bear.”
To convince him of his innocence, Micah’s memory took him back to that night. He was just a kid in his twenties, and Karl was escorting him on his first official training mission. All was going well. Until night fell. And the bear appeared at the water’s edge not far from their campsite.
Micah wanted to kill it. The meat would last for weeks, and the black fur would look great as a rug on his floor. Plus his father would be so proud.
Karl warned him to leave it alone. He said Micah wasn’t old enough, experienced enough, and strong enough to defeat the six-legged beast yet.
Micah disagreed. He grabbed his sword and slithered toward the bear in the tall grass. When he was inches away from stabbing the bear in the back, it roared, turned and swiped Micah to the ground with one of his claws.
The blow left Micah bloody, shaken, and swordless. Before he could get up or recover his sword, the bear attacked. Micah saw the bear’s teeth and smelled his rancid breath as his gigantic mouth closed in on Micah’s head.
Then it screeched. Roared. Left to chase Karl.
Karl wasn’t fast enough. It caught him.
They fought.
The bear took Karl’s leg, but Karl took the bear’s life. Micah stood by and watched it all happen, too paralyzed by fear to help his brother.
That’s not the story Karl had told their father, though. He later told Omri Micah had saved him from the clutches of the bear, fought valiantly and killed the beast all on his own.
Micah didn’t correct the lie and had been Omri’s favorite ever since.
Karl had ended up here.
“Not my fault.” Micah stood and shook his head. “He didn’t have to save me or lie for me.” He hadn’t backed down from a fight since, but he knew his reputation as a warrior had been built on that lie.
Micah staggered into the bathroom. He needed a shower to wash away the memory.
◊◊◊
Once the sun set, Javan had put on every last stitch of clothing he had with him. That consisted of brown pants, a t-shirt, a long-sleeved brown shirt, and the blue jacket he brought with him from Montana. None of it seemed to help. He felt like he needed about forty more layers to insulate him against Varjiek’s ice-cold scales and the frigid night air of the desert.
The good thing about the cold was that it motivated Varjiek to get up and move. The dragon had been strangely quiet and still all day, but as soon as the first chill washed over him, he stood and said he was ready to walk.
His pace had been slow at first but had picked up significantly once he got used to walking with his lifeless wings. They had been walking for hours and were finally approaching the sand dunes Javan had spotted earlier that day. Judging by the light from the moon and stars, mini mountains of sand now blocked their path.
Varjiek paused in front of the changing landscape and sighed.
“What’s the problem?” Javan asked.
The problem is that my wings still don’t work, and I have to walk over all these hills. How do dragons with no wings handle all this walking? It’s exhausting!
Javan chuckled. “Experiencing the walking woes of us wingless creatures is good for you. It builds character and gets you in better shape.”
I don’t want to be in better shape. I want to fly.
“Do you need to stop and rest for a bit before continuing?”
No. It’s too cold. Besides, we have company. It will be easier for them to attack if we stay put.
“Company?” Javan looked around but didn’t see anything. “What company?”
A pack of wolves has been trailing us for a while. I think they are waiting to pounce after we get over the first hill so they can jump on me from above.
“Say what? A pack of wolves is hunting us?” Javan drew his swords and restlessly scanned the area around them again. He still didn’t see or hear anything. “How many? Where are they? What should we do? And how can you be so calm about this?”
I am often hunted and know how to win these battles. Varjiek started up the hill. I can usually fly away to escape my predators, but tonight I shall have to rely on my defense mechanisms. It will be a fun test of my skills.
“Being hunted by wolves is not my idea of fun, but okay.” Javan gripped his swords tighter as they climbed. “Why don’t you make yourself invisible?”
I am. The wolves are tracking my scent.
“Oh.”
They can also hear you talk and are getting closer.
“Oh. Shutting up now.”
Javan stretched his cold, tight muscles and watched his clouds of breath fade into the darkness as they trudged upward. Looking down, he could see a semi-circle of fou
r legged beasts at least nine wide climbing the hill behind them. How were they going to defeat an entire pack of wolves?
Varjiek walked slower and slower the closer they got to the top of the hill. The wolves, however, picked up their pace. Javan could hear the growls and snarls of the pack as they closed in.
“Why are you slowing down?” Javan whispered. “These guys are about to attack.”
I know, Varjiek said, sounding giddy. The threat of a wolf attack seemed to be the cure for the dragon’s depression. That’s why we’re going to attack first. Keep your swords ready but hold on.
Javan barely had time to hug Varjiek’s neck before the dragon spun around and lit up the night with a stream of fire. Several wolves caught fire, shrieked, and ran away. Others howled and charged forward.
Varjiek fended them off with his fire breathing. All but one. Javan tracked it as it ran to the top of the hill and leaped on Varjiek from behind.
Javan stood on Varjiek’s back and faced the animal. “Got a problem here, Varjiek.”
Got lots of problems out here, Javan. Just be loud and look intimidating.
The huge white wolf that stood waist-high to Javan crouched and inched toward him, growling and showing his razor sharp teeth.
“You may have sharp teeth, buddy, but I have sharp swords. Bring it on.”
Javan hoped the wolf wouldn’t accept his challenge. He wasn’t all that confident in his ability to best a strong, mean, hungry wolf. What he really wanted to do was jump and run. But he’d lose a foot race in a heartbeat. He’d be better off dropping his swords and curling into a little ball to protect his face and neck if the wolf attacked.
Hoping to prevent an attack and scare the wolf away, he heeded Varjiek’s advice by standing his ground, swishing his swords through the air and yelling as loud as he could. He tried not to let the bursts of light from the fire and loud screeches from the other wolves distract him from acting like a mad man. One wayward glance and he could end up as this wolf’s next meal.
