by Dante King
Chapter Fifteen
Just as Captain Cade had said, the flight from the Drako Academy’s flying armada hangar to Swanside took about an hour. The flying longboat, with Gabby acting as helmsman, was nowhere near as fast as a dragon in flight. If, maneuverability-wise, Noctis was a F-22 Raptor, then the longboat would have been a C-5 Galaxy. The longboat swept smoothly along, its sails billowing in the stiff breeze.
“There’s the lake!” I called over the dull rush of the wind, pointing down at a glittering expanse of water that looked like a pool of mercury from a thousand feet up. Just as Cade had described and shown me on the beautiful carved map in his office, there was an island right in the middle of it.
The lake was surrounded by a fairly thick, unbroken belt of woodland that stretched toward some low hills to the north like a great green stain. With my heightened dragonmancer senses, I could make out the faint, warm, and inviting smell of woodsmoke on the air. I couldn’t see any smoke though, which made me think that the people who lived down there were careful to only burn dry, seasoned wood. Leprechauns, it appeared, were a body of people that enjoyed their privacy.
I saw Bjorn lean almost imperceptibly over the edge of the longboat, wince, and then stare fixedly ahead. One of his gigantic hands was clamped immovably to the mainmast. I grinned and looked back down at the lake. It seemed that a big, bad half-Jotunn tank wasn’t a fan of heights.
We descended in slow, wide spirals. There wasn’t too much in the way of available parking around the lake, as the forest grew almost to the water’s edge. However, I gave Gabby instructions to land the longboat on the lake.
I withheld a slight misapprehension that, knowing my luck, the longboat would end up being incapable of floating on water. I tried not to imagine the conversation with Captain Cade that would eventuate if I managed to sink one of the Academy’s ships on my very first mission.
The longboat touched down onto the glassy surface of Swan Lake like a leaf, with barely a sound. A slight spray hissed up from the prow and caught the sun like a shower of liquid silver. A couple of enormous swans, which plainly gave the lake its name, took flight from the reeds as our longboat slowed and Rupert began to guide Gabby into a good spot at the bank. Gabby clearly had a bit more of a knack for piloting the vessel than he had let on—although, when I considered it, modesty in a mute was probably not that rare a thing.
Once I had ascertained that the longboat could actually float and that I wasn’t going to have to rescue Bjorn from a watery grave—the scarred-up warrior looked about as buoyant as a dumbbell—I landed myself.
I slipped off Noctis’ back and stood looking about. There was no immediately discernible noise that you wouldn’t expect to hear at the edge of a lake. There was the constant rustle of leaves, the busy and unconcerned chirping and whirring of insects going about their daily business, the whisper of the wind in the reed beds, and the occasional sound of one unseen bird yelling at another unseen bird.
I strained my ears as the lads climbed out of the longboat. Bjorn muttered what sounded like a prayer of thanks in the Jotunn tongue as his feet came in contact with terra firma once again. Far off, reaching my heightened hearing like a distant echo, I could just make out the thudding, rhythmic chuk-chuk-chuk of woodsmen’s axes.
I took a long, slow breath through my nose. If I concentrated, if I allowed myself to see with my nose as I sifted the scents being picked up by my enhanced smell receptors, the different smells and textures in the air lit up in my brain like different colored lights. I closed my eyes and took another breath.
There was the smell of beeswax, of wood shavings, of freshly sharpened metal, and that of good, clean sweat.
I turned my head and investigated a clump of bushes that looked like all the other clumps of bushes in an immediate landscape constructed almost entirely of clumps of bushes.
“We mean you no harm,” I said to the bushes. “My name’s Dragonmancer Noctis, although if you could call me Mike, that would make me feel way less self-important. This here,” and I jerked my thumb at the Onyx Dragon at my side who was staring fixedly at the bushes with his big yellow eyes, “is Noctis.”
“Uh, Mike,” Bjorn said, striding slowly over to me, his massive, booted feet sinking into the soft mud at the edge of the lake, “who the hell are you talkin’ to?”
“Them,” I said.
A quartet of short, stumpy figures seemed to take shape from out of the bushes. They didn’t move aside branches and leaves and emerge, they didn’t spring out of holes in the ground. They just… stepped out of the vegetation, like they were one with it. Like they had been wearing it as a cloak or something.
If they were Leprechauns—and logic dictated that they were—they were nothing like the cheeky little creatures that I had grown up on Earth hearing about. For one thing, they weren’t wearing bright green bowler hats with black ribbons wrapped around them and a golden shamrock on the front. For another, I couldn’t see a hint of gold anywhere on their persons.
They’re also a lot bigger than I imagined, I caught myself thinking.
That, of course, was sizeist thinking, and I gave myself a mental rap on the knuckles. I had to remind myself that everything I had thought I knew about “mythical” creatures, from growing up on Earth, was probably about as much use to me as a soluble tampon.
The four men were small, about three feet tall, but they were not pocket-sized. They were dressed in a motley of greens and browns, which disguised them beautifully with their forest surroundings. They were bare-armed, smeared with mud, and had leaves tangled through their long, dark, curling hair. On their feet were great, square-toed boots, which looked to me like they tipped with the mother of all steel caps. All four of them had thick beards, that were a rust red in color, and matching eyebrows. Their eyes sparkled with a keen wariness that you might expect to see in a fox or a deer or a bear.
“Greetings,” one of the Leprechauns said. His voice was like the crackle of autumn leaves underfoot. His tone was gruff, but his words were clear and polite. He also, despite convention, wasn’t Irish. “Well met, Dragonmancer.”
I waved a hand and said, “Mike. Just call me Mike.”
The Leprechaun betrayed only the faintest flicker of surprise at my request. “Very good. My name is Davo. This,” he said, indicating his trio of pals, “is Gall, Billi, and Lu.”
“How’s it going, guys,” I said. I nodded my head back toward where Gabby, Rupert, and Bjorn stood gazing about into the forest, fingering their weapons. I made the introductions.
Now that I had a moment to study them, I noticed that the Leprechauns were looking pretty grim. Their mouths were unsmiling, and their eyes and fingers twitched impatiently.
“I hear that you might have a bit of a bandit problem?” I said. “Word is that some of your people might have seen some other people creeping about your woods, is that right?”
One of the Leprechauns—Lu I think it was, though the little dudes looked very much alike—snorted and shook his head.
“Might?” he said. “There’s no might about it, Dragonmancer.”
I looked from one hard, rugged face to the next. “One of you saw them?” I asked. “What are you afraid they’ll do?”
“It’s immaterial what we were afraid they’ll do,” Davo said. “Because the blasted, foul fuckers have already done it.”
I looked over at Gabby, Bjorn, and Rupert. My three squad members had their weapons in their hands. Gabby had an arrow set to his bowstring and was running his clever, dexterous fingers along the fletching.
“What are you talking about?” I asked Davo.
“Follow me,” the small fellow said shortly.
With a thought, I summoned Noctis back into the onyx crystal that hung about my neck on the bespoke chain that Elenari had made for me.
The four of us Draco Academy soldiers followed the quartet of Leprechauns into the thick brush that lay under the forest trees. It was a difficult task keeping up with the little guys in tha
t terrain. With them being so short and squat, not to mention heavily camouflaged, I might have lost them in the twinkling of an eye had it not been for my magnified senses.
We made our way through the forest, the Leprechauns leading, myself following them with Rupert and Bjorn, Gabby bringing up the rear.
There was that pungent, rich smell of good, dark soil, moldering leaves, and new shoots. Unseen creatures moved occasionally in the underbrush. Twigs cracked and trees groaned and birds piped away, chatting amongst themselves about who had the most recently renovated nests, the most handsome feathers and, basically, who had the greatest sex appeal.
I probably would have enjoyed that half hour stroll a lot more if it hadn’t been for the somber mood that gripped the Leprechauns. The four of them only spoke to each other every now and again in their native tongue, never to us. They exchanged grunted words, never more than a couple at time, and scowled around at the boles of the trees. Every now and again they would halt, Davo would hold up a hand for quiet, and we would all stand stock-still for a minute while he listened.
It was not long before I smelled the blood. It was only a faint tang on the air at first, like a drop of ink in a glass of water, but it strengthened quickly. My face darkened, and I felt the slow, cold surge of the familiar fight or flight chemicals pulsing through my body.
Whatever it was that had put the Leprechauns in such a foul mood, whatever it was that they were about to show us, I doubted it would be a pot of gold. Or a rainbow, for that matter.
As it turned out, I wasn’t entirely right about that. When we emerged from out of the woods and into a clearing, we were greeted by a rainbow of color, only it wasn’t your conventional rainbow—more the Halloween special kind. It was a butcher’s rainbow. A rainbow of red and pink and brown and purple.
“Ah,” I said, stopping on the edge of the glade and looking about me.
“F-f-f-fuck me,” Rupert whispered, his usually wide eyes popping even further.
Our four Leprechaun guides looked at us and gestured expansively around the glade.
“As you can see, Dragonmancer Mike,” Davo said, “this village has been the victim of a raid.”
He wasn’t wrong there.
It had been a small village—and I don’t just mean in the way you would expect a village inhabited by Leprechauns to be small. It consisted of no more than a dozen or so quaint little two-story houses, built with wooden beams, walled with wooden planks, and roofed with wooden shingles. There was a well in the middle of the cluster of homes, a blacksmith on the outskirts, and the remains of market stalls ranged along the treeline off to my right.
And there were bodies. Dead bodies scattered all over the place. Some of them were small bodies—small even for Leprechauns.
Women.
Kids.
I took a deep breath. Took two more.
I felt the acidic trickle of undistilled rage in the back of my throat. I could feel myself flushing with it. Could feel the unadulterated anger and revulsion spreading through me like good whiskey. Warming me. Setting me on fire.
The need to find whoever did this, to find them and pick them apart in the most savage and brutal fashion possible, flashed like a neon sign in my brain.
Blood was spattered over the walls of the houses and pooled in the dirt paths that crisscrossed the little square. There was a severed bearded head in the bucket that hung over the well. A few limbs lay scattered around the place like casually discarded garbage. One woman looked like she had crawled away from her attacker after they had shot her in the back with a blue-feathered arrow.
A deep rumbling sound next to me, like a volcano that was gathering itself to wreak havoc on some unsuspecting island nation, made me turn.
Bjorn was towering above me, his face set in a thunderous expression. His massive pale hand gripped the handle of his double-headed axe, the leather of the grip squeaking in protest as his fingers squeezed it.
“Who the… Why…” he growled.
Rupert had his bag of medicines and bandages off his shoulder and open. He stepped forward, his saucer-sized eyes raking the still forms that were cast around the place. His hat sat on the back of his head, the feather drooping sadly.
“No,” said one of our Leprechaun guides, Billi, holding out his hand to stop Rupert. “No point in that. No point in fancy Academy medicines. All dead. Every last one.”
I swallowed the venomous, frustrated bile that threatened to choke me. “Why did this happen? What did they take?”
Gall chuckled mirthlessly, pulled at his beard, and opened his arms to indicate the little village.
“Take?” he said. “What did these folk ‘ave that was worth takin’, eh? Nothin’, is the answer to that question.”
Billi spat into the dirt at his feet and wiped a hand across his eyes. “Bloody, stinking bandit scum!” he cursed.
“Then what the hell did they attack for?” I asked through gritted teeth. My eyes had fallen upon a Leprechaun man whose guts had been strewn about the ground like Silly String. Just because some ideas are too deeply ingrained in the psyche, I added, “Was there any, you know, treasure or pots of gold or anything hidden around here?”
“Gold?” Gall replied. “These were simple woodcutters and their families, not miners. Who ever ‘eard of a Leprechaun mintin’ money or minin’ gold? We, as a people, make our livin’ in forestry—lumber, carpentry, and the like.”
“That’s right,” Davo said, speaking quietly. “The most expensive and treasured possession that any Leprechaun has is their axe—and you can see the shites left those.”
“What are your thoughts on why this happened, then?” I asked Davo.
“Because bandits are bandits,” he said, with a weary shrug of his small shoulders. “Because there’s good and bad in this world, and when the bad rears its head, then the good know about it and suffer.”
I scanned the remains of the smashed and destroyed market stalls.
“But they took the food?” I asked.
“Aye,” Billi said. “Took the food. Took the drink. Took every last animal and crumb.”
“They took the farm animals—the cows and pigs and… that sort of thing?” I asked.
“Aye,” Billi said.
“Yes, they took the lot,” Davo seconded.
“Which points to a camp nearby, does it not?” I said.
“Aye,” Billi said again.
“Do you know where?” I asked.
“Aye,” Billi said.
I grinned with an effort and reined back the sudden urge to shake the little Leprechaun.
“Well, where the fuck is it, then?” I said. “
“We know where the camp is,” Davo said. “We are woodsmen, but even a blind man could follow the trail these bastards left behind them.”
“They didn’t try to cover their tracks?” I asked.
Gall gave a short laugh and shook his head.
“These are the sort of gutless, scavenging swine that would steal the flowers off their grandmother’s graves,” Davo said. “The sort of violent, vicious animals that are as mean as they are cocky. They don’t think that any of our folk would band together and stand against them.”
“They’d be bloody right, too,” Gall grunted. “We’d be slaughtered.”
“You’re going to get slaughtered if you let them hang about here much longer,” Bjorn growled.
“Why d’you think we contacted the Academy, giant?” Gall replied.
“How far is this camp of theirs?” I asked.
“A two-hour march north,” Davo said. “The four of us tracked them as far as we dared, but they had scouts strung through the woods so we couldn’t get within sight of their actual camp.”
“D-d-does it look to be fairly large?” Rupert asked.
Davo shrugged but nodded at the same time. “I’d say so. I’d guess so. They had more than a couple of men on watch. From what we could gather by their location, I believe that they are on the edge of the Windy Belt—
this province of the Empire—and have set up their camp just within its eaves.”
“So the cowards can make a dash into the hills if they smell trouble,” Gall said.
“Sounds like a smart place to make a camp,” I said. “Access to an escape route, with the trees providing cover from aerial spies and attack, as well as providing shelter from the elements. What do you boys, reckon?” I addressed this last comment to my coterie.
“Yeah. Not the stupidest fucking place for a bunch of gutless murderers to hide, I s’pose,” Bjorn conceded. His eyes were burning in his pale face. If ever there was a time when the bandits that had done this should think about taking out a life insurance policy, then this was it.
“Tricky t-t-to approach by the sounds of it, ”Rupert said thoughtfully. “The easy access to the hills means that they’ll be able to see an attack coming from that way too.”
Gabby pulled a face and shrugged, then he pointed at his eyes.
“Yeah, I reckon you’re right, Gabby,” I said. “We don’t really know until we’ve had a look at it.”
I clapped a hand on Davo’s shoulder.
“We’ll leave you to mourn and bury your dead,” I said. “If you could just show us to where the trail starts, Gabby will be able to lead us the rest of the way to the bandit camp.”
“Good luck, Dragonmancer Mike,” Davo said, offering me his small, strong, and calloused hand. “May the gods of the Great Forest go with you.”
“Don’t you worry about us,” I said, clasping the Leprechaun’s hand in mine and trying to radiate sincerity through my palm. “Keep your luck for yourselves.”
I nodded to my squad, and they hefted their weapons. Then, I looked back at the four grim-faced Leprechauns. I released Davo’s hand, clapped Lu on the shoulder, and nodded at Gall and Billi.
“And I’d be very much surprised if the gods wanted anything to do with what is about to happen next,” I said.
Chapter Sixteen
“Hm,” Bjorn said quietly, wiping the blade of his double-headed axe off on a clump of grass to rid it of the blood and brain-matter he had smeared on it, and peering through the leaves of a thick bush with blue flowers burgeoning all over it. “That would seem to be quite the encampment down there, boss.”
