Draconis' Bane

by David Temrick

  “HOLD!”

  Still more orcs closed in, the mobile barricades were now within bowshot, as Fred finally shouted.

  “LOOSE!”

  Hundreds of bows along the battlements snapped as their deadly missiles quickly closed the gap taking down scores of attackers.

  “LIGHT!” Fred shouted.

  Tristan looked down to find special long arrows with heavy tips covered in hide jutting out at odd angles from the braziers at their feet.

  Tristan grabbed a hold of the nearest one and drew back, aiming for the center of the closest barricade to him. He aimed carefully, waiting for the order to fire.

  “LOOSE!” His uncle shouted.

  Hundreds of lit arrows crossed the field, some found their mark as ladders and barricades quickly caught fire while others hit orcs and men holding them.

  “FIRE AT WILL!” Fred shouted.

  The remaining attackers fell as even Fred unlimbered his longbow and began picking his targets. For an hour or more the defenders killed Terum soldiers and their allies. The men worked themselves into a rhythm of never ceasing shooting, taking turns in three’s. One defender would fire and then step back to allow another to fire as they pulled another arrow, stepped forward and fired again. The men and women of Sutten chose their targets well, driving back the hordes of Terum soldiers.

  Porters came rushing by after the first ten minutes bringing fresh supplies of arrows to fire death down on the attackers below. Tristan’s arms were becoming numb as a horn sounded from the attackers’ lines, calling their forces back. The Prince leaned his bow against the parapet and rubbed his shoulders trying to get blood flowing back into them as he swore.

  “Too right lad.” Fred laughed, rubbing his right shoulder.

  The longbow required more power to draw and an hour of pulling the great oak timber back must have been hell for the older man.

  Still the force below numbered tens of thousands, but the giants and their large rolling towers were held back. Porters came running up with food and water for the soldiers, a slender girl not much older than Mina came running up the nearest stairs. She pushed her way through the milling defenders and threw her arms around a smiling William. Her knuckles were white with the effort of keeping hold on Tristan’s cousin.

  Finally she released her hold, tears streaming down her lovely face as William turned to his cousin. “Tristan, meet my wife; Gail.”

  “M’lady.” Tristan nodded. She was a slip of a girl, but he was shocked when she hugged him in turn, nearly knocking the wind out of him.

  “I’m sorry we couldn’t come visit you while you were sick,” She began, wiping the tears from her face. “I was pregnant and not up to travel.”

  “Don’t even think twice about it. I was in no shape to entertain anyway.” He replied laughing as Williams face split into another characteristic grin.

  A horn sounded from the enemy camp again and William turned serious, shooing his wife from the battlements. He watched as she ran down the stairs and out of sight. William turned to find Tristan grinning at the display.

  “Oh shut up.” He laughed as he pushed the Prince’s shoulder. The pair drew beads on the nearest target as Fred shouted for them to hold.

  The sun set behind the defenders and Tristan started to fully appreciate the numbers gathered against them. Four times during the day a force of thousands threw themselves against their walls. Their scaling ladders were raised only once. The defenders had easily repulsed the attack using pole arms to push the ladders away as the archers filled the attackers climbing them with arrows, or dumped pots of boiling pitch on them.

  Clouds had been gathering all day and finally the rain began to fall as the enemy soldiers doused their dead in fuel. Once they had completely their grisly task, they made their way back behind the breastwork they’d erected between battles. One of their archers fired a flaming arrow into the middle of the dead, setting them a blaze and raising a God awful stench up the walls of Heatherington Keep. Inhuman howls pierced the thick night air and coupled with the smell it caused more than one soldier to lose their composure and vomit over the side of the wall.

  Fred turned to the boys and motioned for them to retire to the hall. He left a sergeant in charge of the watch and they quit the walls for the night. Porters ran along the parapets, arms laden with oil stained cloaks, which they passed out to the soldiers left to keep watch. Tristan was handed a black cloak which he immediately wrapped around his tired shoulders and pulled the hood up over his head as they walked towards the hall.

  The mood in the keep was guarded, most of the men were tired, their women beside themselves with fear for losing them. The children old enough to understand the risks had been pressed into service as porters, which they gladly accepted, if only to keep watch over their fathers. Those children deemed too young, stared at their surroundings with a mixture of awe and fear. Their eyes shot wide every time they heard the horns and howls from the enemies’ camp. Quite a few of them cried, for the sounds that carried from the field even made the stout of heart fearful.

  Then the singing began.

  War chants, howls, inanimate cries to God’s Tristan didn’t care to learn about echoed all around them. All night, without end, the wailing and screeching continued. The defenders tossed and turned, pulling pillows and blankets over their heads trying in vain to at least muffle the sounds of the dark night. Babies cried and small children sat up, their eyes wide in terror and women huddled together in packs for warmth.

  The only people able to sleep were the warriors, so tired from battle that they passed out for hours on end only to be woken by a high note or a scream cutting through the din. They would re-adjust themselves and quickly be back to their snoring.

  Everyone experienced troubled dreams and by the fourth day tempers were running thin. Small fights broke out among the defenders hourly. Simple misunderstandings brewed into duels in the streets and shouting matches in the courtyards.

  For seven days there were no attacks, only the incessant chanting and howling. The defenders all had similar dark circles under their eyes. Their faces had all noticeably paled and there seemed to be no desire to do much of anything except wallow in their own self pity. Everyone’s nerves were at a breaking point, the guards stationed to watch over the attackers slept more often than not.

  Tristan had taken to wallowing in his own grief, angry with himself for a myriad of things largely out of his control. From the loss of his men during that first mission down the Western Road to his latest failure in Guis he descended into fear and doubt, much as the other Suttenites had.

  The morning of the eighth day the songs stopped abruptly. The Prince shook his head slightly, already beginning to feel better about the state of things. Around him most of the defenders were still on the verge of tears and suicide. Many of the citizens had to be locked away to keep them from throwing themselves off the walls and towers. Tristan’s mood continued to improve, though those around him seemed to be un-phased by the change.

  It didn’t take long for the young Prince to puzzle out the goal of the attackers and it was as brutally obvious as it was subtle. Anguish.

  Dragon blood seemed to block against direct attacks to the walls, however the infinitely more productive magic employed to work the defenders into a state of total despair seemed to be doing more damage than the attackers could ever hope to mount on the fortifications.

  Tristan stood up in the corner he’d occupied in the main chamber of the central building and shook the cobwebs from his mind. Warmth seemed to be returning to his body so he shook the black cloak off of his shoulders. He looked around the large hall to find that all of his allies were stuck in their own private torment.

  Some of the men were simply shaking, while others openly wept. Two of them lay dead, their own bloody daggers in their limp dead palms. He slowly walked over to Knight-Captain Robertson who was shaking and pale, huddled against the wall near him. His eyes were wide and frightened, his pupils complet
ely dilated. Tristan snapped his fingers in front of Robertson’s eyes and was greeted with no response.

  The young Prince put his hand on the Captains shoulder, calling his name; “Lance.” He whispered.

  The Captain’s eyes blinked, he slowly shook his head and looked up at Tristan. “What happened?” He asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Tristan replied. “I assume that irritating chanting was some sort of spell.” He continued, motioning around the room with a sweep of his arm.

  “I feel like all the happiness has been drained out of me.” Captain Robertson replied weakly.

  Then a horn sounded and war cries echoed from the gathered host.

  Tristan’s eyes went wide with fear. He shook the Captain. “Get up man! We’ve got to get these people to the damned wall, now!”

  The pair of them stumbled over to Kincade and the Captain shook the corporals’ shoulder.

  Nothing happened.

  Captain Robertson shook again.

  Still nothing.

  Abandoning all pretenses Tristan grabbed the man and shook him, the moment he touched him Kincade's eye began to blink. A thought occurred to Tristan immediately as he ran around the room shaking the remaining people in the chamber awake. Once everyone groggily got to their feet, Tristan realized that he was the cure for everyone’s melancholy.

  “I can’t wake everyone in the entire city up! They’re attacking now, we don’t have the time!” He shouted, panicking.

  A distant roar echoed throughout the city, eyes shot open all around the hall as soldiers shook the sadness that gripped them. Tristan sighed in relief as everyone inside the chamber ran for the doors and burst through them into the courtyard. A white dragon lazily dipped through the parting rain clouds roaring again. People all around them, who’d been in similar dazes, began to stir. The dragon playfully circled the western gate as the sun began to clear the clouds above. The dragon dipped down coming in low towards the courtyard they were gathered in.

  It beat its large wings, slowing its descent as it pushed over barrels filled with rain water and sent more than one soldier falling backwards in the mud. The dragon chuckled with a warm deep voice.

  “Well my young friend.” It began. “Looks like you’re in over your head again.” He joked.

  The Chieftain came up beside Tristan putting his hand on the young Prince’s shoulder. He gaped in wide wonder at the dragon before them. “Socolis?” He muttered.

  “Hello Frederick.” The dragon boomed.

  “It is you!” He sputtered.

  Socolis tilted his head back and laughed jovially again. “Yes old friend. Although, you’re looking the older now aren’t you?” He replied.

  “Age’ll do that….” He chuckled.

  “It will indeed.” The dragon agreed.

  “Now, it appears as though we have some unwanted visitors young Prince Tristan.” He said turning his head towards Tristan.

  The Prince had become distracted, trying to memorize everything about this dragon. The last one he’d seen had been at dusk, this one was in full daylight and Tristan was keen to commit as much to memory as possible. This dragon was smaller, white, and decidedly un-serpent like. He appeared to be more like a large scaly winged horse and quite good natured.

  Socolis was still large though, being close to twenty feet tall, his wings were short and wide, and his legs were long and dangerously taloned. He had large overlapping scales all along his belly and lower neck, a face rather like a lizards and a long, muscular, deadly looking tail.

  “Well, quit gawking boy.” The dragon laughed. “Get up here.” He lowered one of his massive forelegs for Tristan to climb up.

  While he enjoyed riding his horse, this was something completely alien to Tristan’s experience. He hesitated, not knowing exactly how to sit, or what to hold onto. The dragon must have sensed his doubts.

  “Don’t worry, you won’t slip off.” He explained. “Trust me.”

  Not entirely knowing why, Tristan simply nodded his head and mounted the dragons back. He looked back towards the shocked Chieftain.

  “Uncle! Get the men to the walls!” He shouted as Socolis spread his wings and took flight with a quick leap.

  The feeling was electric, being on the back of the white dragon felt natura. Socolis dipped and spun around in the air, much to Tristan’s enjoyment.

  Let’s see…where to begin? The dragon mused telepathically.

  Can we fly south and then come north fast and low setting fire to those damned ladders? Tristan sent.

  How fast would you like to go? The dragon asked, clearly amused by the idea.

  As fast as you can! Tristan answered excitedly.

  The dragon’s laugh echoed off the walls of the keep as he dipped down, breathing short bursts of fire at the ladders that had been raised to the walls. Below the Suttenites fought with all of their might as attackers swarmed over the walls. Two of the rolling towers rumbled forward as Tristan urged Socolis to come by for another pass. Arrows sped over their heads as the white dragon set fire to the two towers rolling forward. Already most of the enemy forces were in full route, complete disarray causing allies to trample one another as they fled for safety. Socolis and Tristan flew off to the east.

  Where are we going? Tristan sent.

  There are some things you need to know my young friend. Socolis replied.

  But, the battle… Tristan said with concern.

  This is more important. Besides, your friends can turn back the remaining attackers. This won’t take long anyway. The dragon insisted.

  Tristan sighed. He couldn’t force the dragon to turn around even if he wanted to, and the ground was much too far to make a jump for it.

  Thoughtful is it? That’s a pleasant change. The dragon chuckled.

  They flew on for a few more minutes until Tristan sensed their decent. They were landing in a small clearing in the middle of a dense forest, a small patch of thick grass marked their destination. The pair landed and Tristan leapt from the dragons back onto the soft grass below. Socolis lay down, shifting slightly to one side.

  Would you mind my young friend? I think I have one of their arrows caught between a couple plates… The dragon asked, rolling over slightly.

  Tristan approached to find that something was caught in the dragons’ scales, though it was considerably larger than an arrow. Tristan grabbed hold of the spear and pulled with all of his strength. It came free, covered in blood, but otherwise intact. A small pool of dark crimson liquid began to form as the dragon rolled back over.

  Worry not young Prince. I’ll heal. He chuckled.

  “You needn’t be so careless with your life Socolis.” A voice called from the tree line.

  “Bah, you’re too cautious old friend.” Socolis replied dismissively.

  “That’s what Kumanius said.” The voice accused.

  “You know I hate it when you nag.” Socolis laughed. “Besides, you know the boys plan as well as I.”

  The ground shook under Tristan’s feet, roughly in time with four legs lumbering towards them from the tree line not a hundred yards away. A great silver dragon of impossible size slipped through the dense trees as Tristan’s breath caught in his throat.

  “Draconis.” His whispered.

  “That’s right boy. You’re a little larger than I remember you. Still far too skinny though.” His voice carried, scaring away the birds at the edge of the woods.

  The fountains he’d seen and the description of the great silver dragon hardly did the Dragon King justice. He easily towered above Socolis, being closer to fifty feet in height. The backswept horns looked sturdier than the thickest keep wall. His scales were the size of Tristan’s entire torso. He had deep black eyes and massive wings which were folded over what Tristan knew to be a heavily armored and scaled belly. His powerfully muscled legs carried him forward as if he were a playful pony instead of the enormous master of all dragons. He smiled, or that was what Tristan took a dragon smile, and looked at the young Princ
e.

  “I see your mother in you lad.” He said quietly.

  Thoughts came unbidden to the young man’s mind as the events of the last year came crashing down on him. Draconis sighed out loud as he shared those thoughts. The Prince thought back to the day or his attack, his month of suffering in a nightmare spell and finally the last few months of battling. Tristan could feel the old dragon’s pain as he watched the trials and sacrifices the young Prince had endured in his name.

  There is much we need to discuss it seems. He sent.

  I would welcome that. I feel as though I’m fumbling around in the dark. Tristan admitted.

  Draconis chuckled, lowering his considerable size down. He laid his gigantic head next to Socolis’ and Tristan found himself sitting down on a rotting log.

  I’m glad you’re not bitter lad. Draconis sent.

  “Why would I be bitter?” Tristan asked aloud.

  Socolis chuckled. “Why indeed?” He asked.

  Draconis cast him a warning glare out of the corner of his eye, to which Socolis answered with an even wider grin and Draconis was forced to smile as a result. Tristan was enjoying this by-play, and it reminded him of his sister. His thoughts dwelt on Euri, wondering how she was and what she was up to as Draconis began to unweave the puzzle that was Tristan’s heritage.

  Surprises

  Eurydice Vallious sat at her window looking out over the setting sun. She missed her brothers and her parents. She longed for her lessons to be over so she could run away to be with at least one of them. Hanna had explained, in irritating detail, that Euri had at least another year or two before she was ready to begin accepting suitors.

  Suitors. The idea alone left her feeling dirty, like coming home from a long ride. Between that, the annoying hours learning how to use the side-saddles that befitted a lady and the never ending stream of useless etiquette pointers. Euri was quickly becoming frustrated at the whole ordeal.