LEGENDS: Fifteen Tales of Sword and Sorcery

by Colt, K. J.

  Satisfied when she felt no blood, only a nasty lump, she turned her one useful arm to the task of identifying the cause of the heaviness on her chest. Whatever it was, it was smooth and hard, like a stone or piece of wood. It was also large. As large as her thigh, and roughly the same shape. Had a piece of the roof fallen? No, it was not as heavy as a like-sized piece of stone. The surface of the object was covered with small, overlapping areas. As she ran her fingers over it, giving special attention to a raised, rougher area, she felt the entire object shift. It pressed toward her fingers, then dropped back down heavily. The movement concluded with a soft puff of warm air across her face.

  Myranda held her breath as her heart raced. Now she remembered where she was. She was in a dragon’s cave, and that left very little doubt as to what had laid its head upon her chest. Despite her best efforts, she began to tremble in fear. The creature seemed not to mind, the deep, rhythmic breaths on her face leading her to believe it had drifted back to sleep.

  With her one healthy arm, Myranda set about the task of escaping her predicament. She slid her hand underneath the head, finding it mercifully light enough to lift. Slowly and smoothly as she could manage, she tried to lower the beast’s head to the cave floor beside her. After an interminable sequence of awkward movements, she succeeded in doing so without waking it. She rolled off of the packs, still affixed to her back, and slammed down hard on the injured shoulder. The pain was intense, but she managed to remain silent. Another few tricky movements brought her to her feet, heart still pounding in her chest.

  Myranda cast a glance at the spot next to where she’d been lying, only to find that the weak rays of sun that made it this far into the cave were falling on an empty floor. Her panicked search for the creature was ended when she felt something rub against her right hand. She was startled, pulling her hand away and looking desperately for the culprit. There beside her, sitting on its haunches, was a small dragon, staring back at her. Myranda froze. This creature was barely a fifth the size of the ones she’d seen earlier, perhaps the size of a large dog--but if it chose to, it could certainly reduce her to a bloody meal in seconds.

  A long moment passed before one of the two moved again. The beast took the initiative. It walked to her left side and reared onto its hind legs briefly, brushing its head across her hand. Not knowing what else to do, and eager to prevent the creature from rearing up again, she dropped her hand to her side. The dragon swiftly thrust its head into her palm. The feeling of the ridges above its eyes brushing against her fingers for the third time made her realize what the animal was after. She stroked the dragon’s brow. It sat beside her, pushing back with every stroke.

  So, you like that? Myranda thought.

  With little else to do, Myranda stroked the beast and thought. It had the feminine features of the smaller dragon. All in all it was a near perfect miniature of the beast that must have been its mother. Its head was more or less waist-level for Myranda, and from tail to nose it might be as long as she was tall. It had wings delicately folded on its back, still moist from hatching. The eyes were reptilian slits in a beautiful gold iris. A larger, thick scale swept back from the creature’s forehead, clearly distinguishing where the head began with an almost crown-like flourish.

  The forelegs, now that she could get a fair look at them, were indeed very much like her own arms. The paws in particular were like hands, though each toe was stouter, and tapered into a nasty-looking claw. Despite this, the creature’s flexing and scratching at the ground betrayed a near-human level dexterity. As the creature enjoyed its stroking more and more, it scratched harder and harder at the stone floor, scoring lines into it with ease. The contentment was further evidenced, it would seem, by the curling of the tail. It writhed about with snake-like motion.

  In her fascination, Myranda forgot that the natural masterpiece beside her was still an enormous danger. If she tried to run it would certainly chase her and easily catch her. She carried no weapon with which to fight it, though she doubted she could bring herself to harm the beautiful creature even if she had. Worse yet, either of the two larger dragons could return at any moment. Something had to be done.

  In an act of pure optimism, Myranda tried to simply walk away, hoping to escape without rousing any of the creature’s more predatory instincts. The dragon merely followed, stopping when she stopped and continuing when she did. This would not do. With all other options exhausted, she turned to reason.

  “Listen,” she said, turning to address the dragon directly. It was startled at first by the sound of Myranda’s voice, so she lowered it to a whisper. “I am very glad you like me. I like you, too, but you can’t follow me. You see, I am afraid you might not be so kind when your stomach starts to rumble. At that point, I fear I will be little more than a wounded animal to you, which I am sure you will find quite tasty.”

  The little dragon stared back. She took another step, and the beast followed. Myranda sighed and looked around the cave. The evidence of the clash between the two dragons earlier was in no short supply. Deep gashes in the rock were littered about the walls and floor. Pools and spatters of thick, dark blood painted whole sections of the poorly-lit cave. She could not help but wonder how she had managed to escape injury. The whole of the cave had been their battleground, and she had been helpless in the center. Regardless, her luck could not afford to be pushed any further.

  “I know you just hatched, and you might not know this yet, but you have a mother. She is very large, clearly very protective, and I do not want her to get the wrong idea about me. Just stay here and let me leave. That way you and I can both continue living. Please?” she begged.

  The dragon stared back innocently, but followed again when Myranda tried to leave. She turned back.

  “Please, you need to stay here. If you don’t, someone will come looking for you and find me. You must have brothers and sisters. Don’t you want to stay with them? Why don’t I just take you back to where you hatched? Then you can see your family again and you will forget all about me. If I am lucky they will still be asleep and I won’t be torn to shreds,” she said.

  Myranda took a deep breath and turned her back to the cave’s mouth. Darkness became more and more complete. Before long, she found herself feeling along the wall, muttering about how insane she was for doing this. A few minutes had passed and she had traveled far into the cave when she kicked something. Feeling for it, she found a piece of wood with oily cloth on the end. A torch! Without questioning why such a thing could be found in a dragon’s cave, she blindly retrieved the flint and lit it.

  The light of the torch revealed a grizzly scene. The contents of a pack identical to her own were scattered about the floor. Against one wall, the pulverized remains of a human skeleton lay on the floor, scorched black. Myranda shuddered at the sight of it. A twinkle drew her gaze to a bag against the opposite wall. It had been torn, leaving its contents strewn about the floor. Silver coins.

  “This does not bode well,” she said, her heart beating so hard she could fairly hear it echo. “At least we know what happened to Rankin. He didn’t run after all.”

  A minute or so more walking brought her to what she had been both dreading and searching for, but it was not what she expected. The floor was stained with blood, and a pile of gold objects lay before her. The smashed shells of half a dozen dragon eggs lay nestled among the gold pitchers, scepters, and coins. Their contents were never given a chance at life. Only one egg was empty, the one egg that had been spared. Tears welled in her eyes as she cast light upon the faithful mother. It lay, battered and torn, curled up around the egg that the young dragon beside her had hatched from just hours ago. It moved no more, succumbed to its wounds after driving the attacker away.

  The tears ran down Myranda’s face. Hours ago, it had seemed a monster, but it was now a fallen hero. Her home had been invaded, her family had been destroyed, and her life had been given, all for the precious gift that now looked over the tragedy with the innocent eyes of a newb
orn. The hatchling was too young to understand the sight before it, yet somehow Myranda sensed some sorrow in the creature, as though it knew what had occurred. She turned to the young dragon, tears still in her eyes.

  “You are an orphan, just like me,” Myranda said, kneeling to come eye to eye with the beast. “If you and I are to share the same plight, we may as well share it together. I know how empty the world can be when you are alone.”

  She dropped the torch and hugged the little dragon about the neck. It seemed pleased at the attention, regardless of the cause. Myranda then retrieved the torch, wiped away her tears, and headed back toward the cave’s mouth, dragon in tow. It never occurred to her to take even a coin from the fortune that made up the nest. To her it was now a monument to the sacrifice that had been made, and she would not disturb it. Besides, plundering a resting place had been the cause of this whole mess in the first place.

  When she reached the mouth of the cave it was nearly sundown. From the looks of it, the storm that had chased her into the cave had run its course rather quickly. There was little new snow on the ground, and the wind was no more than the constant breeze that came down off of the mountains. Already the colder temperatures of night were closing in. She hurried to the nearest cluster of trees that would spare them the icy breeze and gathered some wood for the fire.

  This was the first time the dragon had left the cave. It stared with wonder and excitement at the world opening up before it. The creature pranced through the snow, rushing to trees, bushes and plants, drawing in the scent and moving on. It discovered a set of tracks made by a moose and scampered in the direction of the smell, turning back after a few dozen paces to return to Myranda’s side. It watched her with fascination as she readied the fire, having trouble getting the frosty wood to light.

  “You know, you could lend a hand here,” she said with a grin. “You could huff out a little fire and I could have a seat and relax.”

  The creature looked at Myranda, then at the wood, and then in the direction of some noise only she could hear.

  “No? I didn’t think so,” Myranda said.

  When the fire was finally lit, Myranda laid out her bed roll and sat upon it. She pulled her pack in front of her and pulled out some of the salted meat. It had been cooked once, and could be eaten cold if she wished, but if was not the most appetizing of foods warm, let alone cold. She put her piece on the end of a stick and held it over the fire. Instantly she had the undivided attention of the little dragon. Most creatures would have been frightened to go near the fire, but this one stood among the flames to get a better whiff of the tantalizing fare.

  “No, no, no,” Myranda said.

  The dragon turned to her. Myranda pulled the meat away and continued to admonish the animal.

  “I know you must be hungry, but that food is mine. Hot food is mine,” she said. “Here, you can have this. I wish I had something better for your first meal.”

  Myranda pulled out a second piece of meat. The dragon sniffed the meat, then opened its mouth for the first time since Myranda had first seen it. It was a tad unnerving seeing the rows of needle sharp teeth in the front, and smaller gripping teeth in the back. She had nearly forgotten the nature of the beast that was her new companion. It snatched the meat from her fingers greedily, a tooth grazing her skin. The hungry dragon gulped the food down without chewing, flicking its tongue between teeth here and there to catch stray drops. A second and third piece of meat met the same fate for the sake of distracting the ravenous creature from Myranda’s own meal. The dragon sniffed at the pack while Myranda was eating, pawing at it. After being scolded several times for doing so, the little creature stopped. Instead, it sat, impatiently watching Myranda finish her meal. The very instant Myranda’s hands were empty, the dragon stood, rigidly awaiting another piece of meat.

  “I’m sorry, but that is all for today. You’ve already eaten half of my share for today and all of it for tomorrow. I hope that one of us becomes an exceptional hunter exceptionally fast, or there are several hungry days ahead of us,” Myranda said.

  Myranda took out her canteen and took a long swig. The dragon smacked its tongue several times, making it clear that it too needed to wash down the excessively salty meal.

  “I know, it makes you thirsty eating that stuff. Particularly if you eat twice your share. I’ve got water here, but . . . I don’t know how to give it to you. Well . . . here,” she said, pouring a bit of it into her cupped hand.

  With the limited mobility of her injured shoulder, she had a hard time of it, but the effort did not go unappreciated. In a flash, the tongue was out, writhing about as though it had a life of its own. It had a very slight rough feel to its top side, and a smooth bottom. The feeling was bizarre as it curled in her palm and between her fingers. She found the tongue sweeping with special interest over the slight abrasion the tooth had caused. As she refilled her palm once more, she found the dragon’s interest lingering on the drops of blood that seeped from the cut here and there. It was time to put an end to this.

  “We need to find a better way. Partially because my hand is freezing, but mostly because I am afraid you are getting to like the taste of me. Not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that the food will be running thin soon, and it is clear you have a healthy appetite. I do not want to give you any ideas about an alternate menu,” she said, as though the dragon could understand.

  She looked for some vessel to pour the water into. Failing to find one, she decided that the dragon could drink in the same way she did.

  “Open up,” she said.

  The dragon looked back, confused.

  “Look, see? Like this,” Myranda said, pointed to her mouth and opening and closing it a few exaggerated times. “Can you do that?”

  Eventually the dragon imitated long enough for Myranda to spray some water from the canteen into the gaping maw. The dragon quickly learned what to do now, and continued to hold its mouth open until its thirst had been slaked, at the cost of the rest of the contents of the canteen.

  “Now I have to melt snow down to replace it. If this keeps up, you are going to be the world’s most spoiled dragon,” she said.

  Unslighted by the remark, the dragon padded over to the bedroll and lay down.

  “Tired already? You just woke up!” Myranda remarked.

  It paid her no mind, curling its tail around its legs and settling its head comfortably onto its folded over neck. Myranda smiled. It was good to have a companion, though a baby dragon would hardly have been her first choice. As she stared at the creature, it shifted to rest its head on her lap. Myranda began to pet dragon in the way it had come to crave. As she did, both sighed in contentment.

  “You know, you need a name,” Myranda said. “Would you like that?”

  The dragon made itself more comfortable and puffed out a breath.

  “When I was a little girl, I used to lay like this, with my head on my mother’s lap. That was a long time ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. It was back in a place called Kenvard. You know, down there it isn’t always snow that comes down. We actually would get rain for most of the year. Not just rain, but thunder and lightning, too. I was afraid, and when I couldn’t sleep, I would come out and lay like this, and she would tell me that it was all going to be all right.

  “You know what she called me? Myn. I misspelled my name that way the first time I tried to write it, and she called me that ever after. I think it suits you. After all, I was a lot like you back then. Young, naïve . . . I was not covered with scales, though. I suppose we weren’t so alike, but still. I think that is what I will call you. How do you like it?” she asked.

  The beast yawned and stretched.

  “I suppose I ought to take that as a yes,” she said, wedging herself into the bedroll beneath her freshly-named companion, and drifting off into a purposeful sleep.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MORNING CAME WITH A SHARPER than average chill. The dragon had slept the whole night through on top of M
yranda. When she awoke, the creature seemed deathly cold. The night had taken quite a toll. Myranda scolded herself for not realizing the danger Myn would have been in, exposed to the elements all night.

  “Myn? Are you all right?” she asked desperately, nudging at the frighteningly cold neck of the dragon.

  It slowly opened its eyes and yawned sluggishly. The little dragon stood and stretched stiffly. She seemed weak, her tail dragging the ground and her head sagging. Myranda was well and truly fearful for the dragon’s health when, suddenly, it puffed out its chest. A moment later a surge of brilliant orange flame erupted from the creature’s mouth. Instantly she seemed to perk up. Myranda was more than a bit startled, but the improvement in Myn relieved her.

  “So, you can breathe fire,” she said, standing and placing a hand on the neck of the dragon. Myn was a good deal warmer, which reminded Myranda just how cold the air was. “I wish I could.”

  When the bedroll had been packed away they set off. The events of yesterday had set Myranda behind. The food would run out today, leaving them both hungry--with at least another day of travel ahead of them, if they hurried. Myn had no trouble keeping up with the brisk pace that Myranda set, often running ahead to inspect the odd flutter or rustle, disappearing from sight periodically. Sundown brought her much nearer to her goal than she’d expected. Having a friend to talk to, even one that did not understand a word she said, helped the miles pass quickly. They set up camp at a clearing that Tus had described before she had left the headquarters. At the center was a larger tree with an arrow carved into it. The arrow pointed off into the thick of the forest.

  “You see that?” Myranda asked Myn. “Tus said his partner carved it. It points in the wrong direction, so that people will not find their trainer. Clever, in a terrible, cruel way. Imagine if we were lost. That arrow would send us off to our end. Isn’t that nice of them? It must take a heart of stone to do what they do. And I have joined them! What a lovely turn my life has taken! The good news is that this arrow means that, so long as we wake bright and early, we can make it to Wolloff’s by midday tomorrow. It seems a life of restless wandering has made me quite the hiker. That will teach Caya to underestimate me!”