Draconis' Bane

by David Temrick

  “Aye. Likely the bastards would.” Agreed the Captain.

  “But then it occurred to me that I probably won’t get any information out of them I don’t already know.” Tristan concluded with a dark expression.

  “Also likely.” The Captain replied, turning his eyes on each prisoner and slowly drew his dagger. “Why not just slit their throats and leave them for the vultures?”

  Two of the men spat, the color from two others faces drained and one man fainted. Captain Robertson quickly slit the first two men’s throats, letting them bleed down their chests while the two conscious men began to panic and squirm. Tristan gripped a hold of the first mans hair and ripped his head back.

  Placing his dagger at the man’s throat, he pulled just enough to break skin. As a drip of blood trickled down his chest, Tristan asked; “Who are you and what do you know?”

  “Nothing!” The man screamed.

  Tristan ripped his dagger along his throat and left his head to sag as blood ran freely down his chest. His scream had awoken the prisoner who had passed out and panic clearly registered in his face as he regarded his comrades’ dead body. The Prince walked over, placed his knife at the next mans throat and asked again; “Who are you and what do you know?”

  The prisoner whimpered and began trembling, his head shaking almost imperceptibly. Tristan sighed theatrically as he methodically slit his throat. The last remaining prisoner began to sob. Tristan walked over, grabbed a handful of his hair and ripped his head back. Placing his dagger menacingly at his throat, again he asked; “Who are you and what do you know?”

  He hesitated, sniffling, after a few moments Tristan lost his patience. He grabbed the chain with the dragon pendant attached and pulled up, almost choking the man.

  “Let’s make this simple. I know what this means. I know what you’re doing here. All I want to know is how many more of your bastard friends are out there!” He shouted.

  The man whimpered again which made Tristan pull up on the chain painfully, and then the prisoner blurted out everything he knew. For an hour or more he gave everyone up, his commander, the location of another force of mercenaries. Everything that he knew, he rattled out.

  Twenty kilometers away there was another force of Draconis’ Bane mercenaries waiting for Tristan and his companions. They were a back-up force of more than fifty men including lancers, archers and engineers. Their leader was the Mercenary Commander for The Bane known as Domiscus Kent.

  They built a fort just off the road from which to control the region. Once word had reached them of Julpinu’s death, the Bane consul, Tristan assumed this was some sort of title for their leader, had immediately sent Kent into the area to hunt the Prince down.

  The prisoner also spoke of a war between Terum and Sutten going on at the moment. Kent and his men would launch small offensives out of their fort near the border between Guis and Sutten. They were ordered to harry the rear lines, disrupt supply trains and generally wreak havoc among the defenders.

  By the time he was done the men had seen to the preparation of supper and Tristan was handed a bowl of thick stew. The Prince pondered the news; the possibility of taking out a major player for The Bane was too good to pass up. Finally, Tristan looked up and nodded to Knight-Captain Robertson. As Tristan walked away from the camp fire he heard a whimper followed by a grunt of pain as the Captain slit the last mercenaries’ throat.

  After the prisoners bodies had been disposed of in a large funeral pyre, Tristan and the rest of the men sat around the cooking fire trying to figure out the best avenue of attack on the fort. With fifty men inside and only twelve to their number, taking the fort by force just wasn’t a viable option. Kincade came into the light of the fire, he’d gotten a bad slash along the left side of his face and they had to remove his eye. The Corporal must have been in a great deal of pain, but he groaned theatrically as he sat down in front of the fire causing everyone to chuckle.

  “Any stew left lads?” He called.

  A bowl was passed over and conversation continued about the fort. “I say we burn it down around the bastards, Your Grace.” Said one of the soldiers.

  “How long do you think they’ve been here?” Tristan asked.

  “Couldn’t be more than a few weeks my Lord.” He replied.

  “Would they have brought the wood with them, or used trees nearby to build the walls?” The Prince probed.

  “They would have felled fresh trees sir.” He answered uncertainly.

  “Which means those walls are still nice and green inside, they won’t burn down unless we can get one hell of a fire going.” Tristan concluded.

  No one could agree on a sound tactic for breaching the fort and eventually everyone turned in for the night, hoping that a sleep would clear their minds to the task at hand. Tristan stood and went to check on his horse, Pava. Walking around their rude camp he tried to force his mind to think of some clever ploy to take the fort. The truth was that he was completely exhausted and wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for a week.

  He walked over to where the horses were picketed and grazing, pulled a brush out of the pack on his saddle and began absent-mindedly brushing Pava. Tristan’s mind wandered freely as he worked. Trying to forget the task ahead and then forcing his mind to find some way that hadn’t been considered.

  “Good evening young man.” Spoke a quiet female voice.

  Tristan spun around his sword clearing its scabbard as the brush fell from his hand. The Prince’s eyes darted around the landscape, trees, and rocks, a large bolder, nothing seemed out of the ordinary and there definitely wasn’t someone standing next to him. The voice sounded so close. Confused, he re-sheathed his sword and bent to pick up the brush.

  “It’s very rude not to return a greeting you know.” Spoke the voice again.

  The brush dropped from his fingers as he slowly looked over his shoulder. All he could make out were the trees, rocks, a large….bolder….with eyes?

  “What magic is this?” He stammered.

  “The oldest kind young Prince Tristan. The oldest.” Spoke the large dragon.

  Tristan reached for his sword. “You won’t need that my friend.” Soothed the dragon.

  The Prince stopped his movement and stared deeply into the enormous eyes, almost like a cat’s eye, except red. The clouds above cleared revealing a full moon, with the added light Tristan could make out the outline and the color of the dragon. It was enormous, bronze and what appeared to be a boulder in the gloom was in fact its head, which was as tall as he was.

  “As I understand it, my young friend, you need to invade that small fort down the road?” The dragon asked.

  “I…I do.” Tristan stammered.

  “Relax young man. I’ll not harm you or your men.” The dragon soothed again.

  “I’m sorry; I’ve never seen something quite as large as you, at least not unless it was made of stone.” He admitted.

  The dragon chuckled. “It has been some time since I’ve enjoyed Vallious humor.”

  “Wait…you said my name earlier, do I know you?” Tristan asked.

  “What are you on about boy? Of course you know me.” The dragon shot.

  “I think I would remember meeting a huge dragon.” Tristan replied dryly.

  The dragon closed its eyes and Tristan immediately felt pressure in his mind. He did his best to block the pressure, not really sure what to expect. Her presence whipped aside his pitiful defenses as she plunged into his recent memories. Upon reaching the point when he woke from the spell that had imprisoned him for so long, she withdrew carefully.

  “Interesting, well my young friend. That explains a great deal.” Commented the dragon somberly.

  “What explains a great deal?” Tristan asked, relaxing slightly due to her gentle prodding around in his mind. He couldn’t quite understand why her presence in his mind wasn’t cause for alarm, but somehow he felt confident that she meant him no harm.

  “The attack on you did a fine job of mucking
up your memories.” She said.

  “How do you know about that?” Tristan demanded.

  “I know quite a bit young Duke Tristan.” The dragon replied as its eyes narrowed. “Perhaps it’s better this way.” The dragon took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose introductions should be made then. My name is Lesariu.”

  “You look a lot like Draconis.” Tristan blurted.

  “You flatter me young Prince.” The dragon purred. “Draconis is probably three times my size, silver and would rather eat a man than offer aid.”

  “You offer aid?” Tristan asked.

  “Indeed I do young Prince. Just before the sun rises I intend to fly over that fort and set it on fire.” The dragon explained. “What you and your men do from there is your own bloody business.”

  “That’s a mighty gift, what’s in it for you?” Tristan asked.

  “The continuation of our kind my young friend.” Intoned Lesariu. The large bronze dragon turned with surprising speed, spread its enormous wings and took flight. It’s serpent like body uncoiling from the ground as its wings spread to their full length, attached all along its long body.

  Tristan stood transfixed for what felt like an hour. Once again, when it seemed that all hope was lost an opportunity had presented itself. At once a plan formed in his mind, he would assemble his men on the opposite side of the fort from the rising sun. While all of the soldiers in the fort were watching them, the dragon would set them on fire. The Shroud needed only to clean up the remaining soldiers and find this Mercenary Commander. There was still a lot that could go wrong and while Tristan wrestled with his conscience a roar echoed off to the east. He made his way back to the camp to get some rest.

  ~

  Just before sunrise twelve men stood in a line to the west of The Bane fort. Domiscus Kent looked over the parapet and chuckled. His Captain rushed forward to report. “My Lord, the scouts have not returned, they may have….”

  “Never mind Captain, I believe I know where they’ve gone.” Kent replied as he pointed out to the twelve men assembled there.

  “Surely they don’t think they can take us with that force?” The Captain laughed.

  “They seem to imply it. Look, they make ready to attack.” Kent chuckled.

  Below Domiscus Kent could make out the silhouette of a tall slightly build man, a short stocky warrior at his side and ten allies of varying heights and builds. Then they began to cheer wildly as they beat their swords on their shields. The cheering reached a crescendo as some of the lookouts yelled from the opposite wall.

  An ear piercing roar cut through the dawn mist as a column of fire erupted along the battlements. Lookouts screamed as they fell from their towers, the entire eastern wall was a flame as an immense golden dragon soared overhead. It flipped over lazily as Domiscus called for his archers to fire. His archers stood along the wall, taking aim for the giant beast. Kent shouted in irritation as none of them fired and looked over his shoulder to find them all filled with arrows.

  Kent cursed, looking over the wall as the twelve drew back for their second volley. He ducked down behind the parapet just as a score of arrows took more of his men, sending them over the battlements and crashing to the ground below. In the course of two minutes his force was cut in half.

  The dragon circled back over the fort and breathed yet more fire, setting the southern wall and the gate on fire. The ropes holding the gate closed burned and snapped, sending the gate crashing to the ground. The force of twelve attackers swarmed into the fort as the dragon lit the northern wall on fire. Kent’s army of fifty-five men was now barely a squad of eight.

  Domiscus grabbed a hold of the nearest man and yelled at him; “Report to The Bane, let them know what happened here and that damned dragon-spawn has a pet!” He shoved the man away who quickly pulled one of the rope ladders out of a storage box, tossed it over the side and quickly made his way down and ran for it.

  The dragon lazily dipped and bit the man in half as it flew over him. Once again, Domiscus Kent cursed in anger. Suddenly there was a dagger at his throat and a hissing voice in his ear as his fort burned down around them. “Move and you die bastard.”

  ~

  Armor gives me indigestion. Lesariu spoke inside Tristan’s mind.

  Thank you for your help my friend. He replied with a laugh.

  Think nothing of it. I’ll be looking in on you from time to time young Prince. Farewell. Came her reply.

  By now the sun had completely risen in the sky and the fort was completely engulfed in flames. The gate wall came crashing down and the last strength Kent possessed seemed to fail him. The Commander fell to his knees as another took the young Prince’s place his a dagger to Kent’s throat.

  “What’s your purpose here?” Tristan demanded, walking around to stand in front of his prisoner.

  “You are of course.” Kent answered in even tones.

  “Your masters?” The Prince pushed.

  “You know very well who they are.” He shot.

  “What are their plans?” Tristan persisted.

  “To kill you and your kind.” The Commander answered evenly.

  “Where are they?” Tristan probed.

  Commander Domiscus Kent looked up at the young Prince defiantly as he answered; “Everywhere.” He replied with a sadistic grin before grabbing the guards hand and pulling Tristan’s dagger across his throat. Robertson made a disgusted sound and the Commander pitched forward and died in a pool of blood below them.

  Tristan motioned absentmindedly, signaling to his soldiers to mount up. He began to wonder to himself if he could ever truly understand an enemy who would readily slit his own throat than give up information. Shaking himself from yet more dark thoughts, he mounted up and made way for Sutten. Ten minutes down the road the fort exploded as the fire reached the weapons cache buried under the makeshift keep.

  Tactics

  Tristan was most satisfied at their progress. Firstly, since he’d woken from the spell that had trapped him in his nightmares he’d never felt this sure of his purpose. Secondly, he’d defeated an integral member of Draconis’ Bane and that was surely a cause for celebration. Knight-Captain Robertson was quick to point out that there were still others out there. While killing one of their more important members was impressive, he warned against arrogance and self-satisfaction.

  Still, Tristan was happy, happier than he’d been in weeks at any rate. His mind still drifted back to Mina and he wondered about his child. Bittersweet would be the word he favored, however sweet his current victory, it was tainted by subterfuge. Still, progress was progress and Tristan was most satisfied as they crossed the border into Sutten unchallenged.

  The countryside was awe inspiring. The sand and plains of Guis gave way to the dark rich earth of Sutten, which reminded him more of Vallius than he cared to admit. A pang of homesickness Tristan hadn’t realized was possible, gripped his stomach. The mountains to the north and west, the ocean to the east and vast grassland, forested region lay before him. The Great River ran right through this country and into Malus.

  They’d been on the road for three days without running into any Suttenites. He pondered the oddity that no local militia at the least was running patrol along their borders. Tristan had been sorely tempted to turn north when they passed the Teris Pass path. The call of heart and home was nearly overwhelming. He longed for the simpler times when he’d been training and talking with his brother or his sister prattled on to no end about the palace gossip. Tristan sighed wistfully as he gathered Pava’s reins and brought her up to a trot, wanting to leave the feeling behind in the dust.

  The young Prince held his hand up. In the distance on the packed dirt road he could see a group of riders coming their way. His men tensed slightly in the saddle, an unfortunate side-effect of all the action they’d been through in the last six months under his command. Strangers brought with them the possibility of attack, and since it seemed like there was a grand scheme in place to take Tristans’ life, any strang
er was potentially an enemy.

  The riders slowed down to a trot as they approached, the leader motioning for a halt as he spoke; “State your name and your business.” He commanded.

  Thankfully Tristan wasn’t adverse to rudeness, having tolerated it as long as he could remember. “Prince Tristan Vallious and company, we come as envoys for the Tiger Clan.” He announced as the leader’s mood noticeably lightened and he released his hold on the hilt of his sword.

  “It is good to see you again my friend.” He replied.

  “Do I know you?” Tristan asked. Inwardly, he was still embarrassed every time someone he’d known before the spell’s damaging side effect had robbed him of his memories. The leader looked taken aback; fortunately Knight-Captain Robertson moved his horse forward slightly.

  “William me lad, it’s a long story best told behind the high walls of Heatherington Keep.” He explained.

  “Very well old friend.” replied William, obviously confused. “The keep is only a half-day ride south-west.”

  Shooting Tristan another confused look, he turned his horse and the Sutten soldiers led them into their lands. Tristan couldn’t shake his guilt and finally asked the Knight-Captain about William quietly.

  “You lads were inseparable as children my Prince. While you never met Alison until just recently, you and William there used to visit one another for months at a time.” Robertson explained softly. “Most of the serving staff was hard pressed to admit you weren’t brothers.” He chuckled.

  Tristan lapsed into a brooding silence as they rode towards the towering keep in the distance. His thoughts turned dark as he considered the friends that he didn’t know. The dragon, Lesariu, had known him, this soldier, William, had known him. Fight as he may, Tristan couldn’t recall ever meeting either of them. A dragon would stick out in the mind, he mused, and a close friend should be something one retains.