Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  ‘Did you see vegetain dung?’

  ‘No, just tracks.’

  ‘Strange...’ muttered Roztov.

  ‘I agree,’ said Ghene.

  ‘No signs of vegetains in the trees then?’

  ‘No, just sign of their passing.’

  ‘Rotrok dung?’

  ‘Some, nothing remarkable about it. They eat the pine nuts.’

  Over at the other side of the fire Floran whispered to Broddor, ‘what are they talking about? Don’t we have bigger concerns that the type of dung on display around here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ shrugged the dwarf. ‘I suppose it is a druid thing. I have long since stopped giving it any thought to the strange things that interest them.’

  ‘And what’s a vegetain?’

  ‘A sort of tree dwelling cow, I’m led to believe.’

  Meanwhile the druids talked between themselves. Druids had their own secret language, but it was only used when they were alone or wanted to keep something to themselves. They were currently speaking Enttish, the one language that everyone around the fire could understand and speak.

  ‘Just because I didn’t see any wolf tracks doesn’t mean that there are none,’ continued Ghene.

  ‘True,’ conceded Rostov. ‘Wolves would be the natural apex predator this far north and I would expect them, but for the presence of rotroks. We must be on an island right? This is the Diamond Sea, you could hide an island in it, but not a continent.’

  ‘I’ll bow to your expert knowledge on the region,’ replied Ghene.

  ‘But a surfeit of deer, vegetains, all the rest, it speaks of there being no predators around to control their numbers.’

  Meggelaine, anxious to be part of the conversation said, ‘but then we would be tripping over them wouldn’t we? I remember when the Council tried to re-introduce red hares. The over-bread and it got really out of hand.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Roztov was fidgeting with excitement. ‘The trees around here, around us right now, are in good condition. No signs of deforestation. No signs of unusual animal population trends. If they were left to breed unhindered by predation the vegetains would have eaten this forest down to the roots by now.’

  ‘I don’t get it,’ put in Floran from across the camp fire, who had finally given up being silent and strongly desired to know what they were all talking about.

  Meggelaine didn’t get it either but didn’t want to say so in front the other druids.

  ‘It’s like a...’ Ghene muttered as he tugged on his bottom lip.

  As his sentence trailed off Roztov said, ‘this forest is managed.’

  Ghene stood up and putting his hands on his hips said, ‘it’s like a nature reserve.’

  ‘Other druids?’ said Meggelaine hopefully, looking around as if they might appear from the trees at that very moment.

  Ghene too looked around them, ‘I saw no signs of humanity. And there would be signs. Perhaps another druid may have been shipwrecked here, but why would they stay? Besides it would take a lone druid decades to manage a forest like this. If this be the work of man or elf, it is the work of generations.’

  ‘Yes, it’s like a king’s park or hunting range... Oh bugger!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think I know where we are.’

  ‘Where are we?’

  Roztov paused, unable to resist a dramatic delivery, then said, ’Tanud, Lair of Serpents, Island of Dragons!’

  ‘No!’ gasped Ghene, ‘How can you know?’

  ‘The attack, the fog. No predators, just lots of big tasty animals. This forest is a dragon hunting reservation.’

  ‘How do you know that?’ whispered Meg, looking around again, as if this time it was dragons in the trees listening.

  ‘This far north and west. Like the maps say “Here be dragons”.’

  ‘But that’s just the maps! The map makers put that on to fill in empty spaces.’

  Roztov rubbed his tired eyes. ‘You’ve said that before. I heard stories about it though, the last time we sailed west of Grenos. It’s talked about like a legend. The sailors all say it was told to them by someone who knew someone who knew someone, but still.’

  ‘Where are the dragons then?’

  ‘That was what attacked us.’

  ‘Dragons’, gasped Meggelaine. ‘Surely we would have known if we’d been attacked by dragons?’

  ‘Well, Broddor said he saw a serpent.’

  Over at his side of the fire Broddor nodded and said, ‘that I did.’

  Arrin, the youngest of the sailors to survive was now awake and quietly spoke from where he sat up against a tree. ‘I saw something too. From the topsails I saw something big and black moving about in the fog before the flames arrived.’

  ‘It makes sense,’ said Roztov. ‘I just wish I’d been on deck when it happened. When I came up the sails were already ablaze. I couldn’t see anything much for smoke. Well, except for a crazy dwarf hurling himself into the sea waving his sword over his head.’

  Broddor merely grunted.

  ‘Did you see anything Salveri?’ asked Ghene.

  ‘Nothing, my lord. Just the flames when they struck. I saw burning men falling from the masts. The captain had ordered us to reef the sails so we were all up there. I fell in the water with my arse on fire. I saw Dreggen though, on the deck, calling it down on us. I thought it was him, casting a spell.’

  Roztov turned and looked at Dreggen where he lay in the roots of a tree, seemingly asleep.

  ‘I saw that too, when I got on deck. Let him sleep, we’ll deal with that in the morning.’

  ‘Dragons though, my lord?’ said Arrin in hushed tones. ‘What do we do?’

  ‘First we rest,’ said the druid. ‘It is dark now. We’ll keep the fire low and set a watch. If the dragon returns then we’ll just have to deal with it as best we can.’

  Roztov lay back, and finally allowed himself the pleasure of loosening his top layer of clothes so that his undergarments could dry by the warmth of the fire.

  Chapter 2

  The Thirsty Dolphin

  They next morning they went down to the beach from the camp and discovered two more dead bodies that they took over to where the corpse of Crab-pie was being kept. It was then decided that some of them should go inland while the others checked the beach again for survivors, bodies and anything useful that might wash up.

  Ghene and Meggelaine went inland a little, to scout out the terrain, while Roztov, Floran and the sailors scoured the beach and rocks. Roztov waded into the water and disappeared into the mist. He planned to swim around the remains of the ship to gather up what he could find of everyone's possessions. Meanwhile Floran, Salveri and the others set to searching the shore.

  Salveri was a man of over forty years and had been at sea for twenty of them. The last five of those had been on the ship that now lay in pieces somewhere out there in the mist shrouded rocks. Up until now the captain had kept a fairly steady run between the mainland ports of Tullis, Gijon and Port Angel. He had also been out to the islands of Elbonia and Borland, with the occasional runs out as far as Grenos and Pendoria. When the druids had turned up though, with their strange eastern gold coins, the captain's avarice had won over his common sense and in the end killed him.

  The Red Maiden had been a fine ocean going vessel and if it were not for his own suffering he would have mourned her loss more. He cursed the captain, for his stupidity and harboured ill-will towards the druids and their companions. People like that always came out on top, with their magic and their gold, while the regular man suffered, or so Salveri thought.

  He was here looking for the body of his nephew now, though he would see it as a miracle if the lad still lived. He had promised his sister that he would look after him and he had, but what chance did he stand when the captain had decided to sail off the charts? There were only three survivors from the crew, four if you counted that wretch Dreggen. Not one of the passengers had even been injured, it was a disgrace.

  Th
e druid had walked straight into the sea and had not been seen for the rest of the day. Tankle had told him the night before that she had been pulled out of the water by a dolphin and Salveri supposed that that had been Roztov. He knew that druids of the old forests could shape-shift and had even seen them change into birds once or twice on this journey, much to the astonishment of the crew.

  Meanwhile he and the Fiarkian they called Tuppence, but whose name was Floran, marched up and down the fog shrouded beach looking for bodies. Arrin and Dreggen had gone in the opposite direction. Salveri didn’t have much time for Fiarkians. He hadn’t met many, but the dark man’s outlandish appearance was off putting. Floran’s skin was a deep dark brown in colour and he was bedecked in more gold and jewellery than a Lunarian tart.

  ‘I see another one,’ said Floran as they negotiated their way around some rocks.

  It was another dead body, the third they had found today. Salveri turned it over, both hoping and dreading to find his nephew, but it was not. The body was badly burnt, but it was obviously a much bigger and older man.

  ‘It’s Gredeger, one of the midshipmen,’ he said.

  ‘He appears to be dead. We should drag him back to the others.’

  As the day wore on Salveri’s stomach began to rumble. He had not eaten since the night before. This early in the year and this far north it was not long before it would be getting dark again. They had gone about a mile further along the beach, cautiously, staying under the cover of the trees, but in the end Salveri didn’t see much point in going any further.

  ‘We should head back, my lord.’

  ‘Yes. I expect so.’

  When they returned to the area of the wreck, Salveri saw that there were several more bodies that had been retrieved from the sea and hidden in the trees. He went over to identify them. Almost straight away he recognised Caran, his nephew, from his boots and as he began to sob he fell to his knees.

  He stroked the lad’s curly black hair saying, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  His heart broke for his sister as she had lost her only son. Salveri had never married and had fathered no children, to his knowledge, so looking after Caran had taken on a special meaning to him. He had been a sullen sort of lad, like Salveri's sister, who was a tough woman. Caran was not wicked in any way, but Salveri had found him hard to talk to and they had never found something to connect over. The lad had somewhat resented being sent to sea, but his father could think of nothing better to do with him and Caran had been too unimaginative to think of anything to do for himself. When he had first joined the ship they had not had much time for each other. If Salveri had a son, he would have wanted him more quick witted and ambitious and initially his impression of Caran had been of a sour, oafish ingrate. His opinion had mellowed over time though. Over the last few months they had warmed to each other and as Caran learned how to be a sailor he had found something that he was good at and enjoyed. The last time they had conversed was the first time that Caran had come to speak to Salveri about something other than work. The conversation had started about their current journey and had led Caran to ask about older voyages and the lad had sat patiently while Salveri had trotted out some of his old stories. Salveri had gone to bed with a smile on his face that night, thinking that he was finally befriending his nephew. Now the poor boy was dead and Salveri would have to find words to say to his sister, if he ever saw her again.

  There were twelve bodies recovered from the wreck of the Red Maiden.

  ‘Burning them could draw the dragon back, so we’d better bury them,' said Roztov.

  As the others carried the corpses to the designated spot Roztov stood with his hands clasped and his eyes closed. Once the bodies were all laid down together the druid began to chant under his breath, his eyes still shut, but his eyelids flickering.

  Salveri watched in utter amazement as the druid held out his hands with the palms up, and then moved them out and to the side like a man swimming. As he did this the ground opened up with a heave and emitted a groaning sound like the opening of a stone crypt door. Roots and rocks all rolled to the side and in a matter of moments there was a pit fully ten foot deep and ten wide before them.

  The earth shifted beneath the bodies and they gently rolled into the hole, all the time Roztov muttering, with his hands raised and his eyes shut. Roztov brought his hands together once more, the earth shivered and the ground seemed to swallow up the bodies as if it were a living thing. Salveri shuddered and stepped back.

  Roztov opened his eyes and rubbed his hands on his sides then walked off.

  Salveri had expected some sort of ceremony and looked around to see what the others were doing.

  Floran turned to him and said, 'the druids of mankind are not religious people, my friend. Do not mistake them for priests of Etruna that come and bless the crops in the summer.'

  'I've heard him invoke her name before now.'

  'Truly, they will invoke her name. Put it this way, you will invoke the name of Blimaron before a sea voyage, but this does not make you one of the blue priests does it?'

  'I see,' said Salveri. 'Then forgive my ignorance, but what precisely are druids?'

  Floran smiled, 'I am perhaps not the best person to ask. I have known them all years, so I at least know if you were to ask each of them you would get three different answers. Ghene would say that they are the descendants of the enchanters and wise-men of the Dynar, an ancient race of elves from a time before the Marawan Empire. Meg is a fressle, it is said that they were created by Etruna and the druids of her region know next to nothing of the Dynar. Those of the fressles that become druids, well, they see themselves as those that Etruna chooses to bless with magical powers for her own purpose. To them druids are custodians of the wilds and guardians of nature as well as protectors of all their people. Meanwhile, Roztov follows the human tradition of druidism which is diplomacy, peacemaking and if need be, war-making. Like all men he is perhaps less keen to acknowledge that his powers are a gift from the gods.'

  'You are not a man, my lord?' asked Salveri eyeing Floran warily.

  'My people are what men once were, before they wandered out of Fiarka. I am ugari. My people think of themselves as more than mere men. If you were to say that we have an overinflated opinion of ourselves I would agree.'

  'I see,’ replied Salveri. ‘And are you a druid also?'

  Floran smiled and bowed his head, 'I am not. I am of the Vizards of Heshmatiye.’

  Salveri was beginning to sense that Floran was a shy sort of fellow. He spoke quietly, as if trying not to offend, in a near accent-less Enttish, so carefully and precisely that it clearly marked him as a non-native speaker. Salveri had noticed that Roztov and Meggelaine spoke in Stykian when they were alone together, and the three druids sometimes spoke a mysterious musical language between themselves that he assumed was elfish, but otherwise everyone stuck to Enttish, the common tongue of Nillamandor.

  ‘I’m sorry, my lord. I do not mean to pry.’

  ‘Not at all, my friend,’ replied Floran with genuine concern. ‘We of Heshmatiye are scholars of magic. Magic in its purest form, you could say. I greatly admire the druids, they have immense power. If I was to compare them to the Vizards I would say we attempt to be unfettered by outside influences, be they gods or devils. I’m sorry, I am putting this too simply perhaps?’

  ‘No, no, my lord. Simple is good.’

  As they had been talking they had walked back to the camp. Most of the survivors were also there and enough supplies and equipment had been salvaged from the wreck to cook up a decent dinner. Salveri and Floran joined the others and ate.

  The rest of the day was spent gathering up things that had washed up from the wreck. Just as it was getting dark, by some miracle, another woman was pulled from the sea. She had only one breath of life left in her when she was found. The druids ran down to the beach where Salveri was dragging her out. He thought her dead.

  ‘It’s the captain’s daughter, poor thing,’ Salveri said.
There was distaste in his voice. She was horrifically burned and half naked. Most of her face was a mass of red and black burns, there was barely anything left of her that looked human.

  She made a choking noise as she was dragged up the sand, enough to make Salveri drop her in surprise. He then thought it was a death rattle and made to pick up her arm again.

  ‘Wait,’ said Roztov, kneeling down beside her.

  He put his hands on her bare chest and a murmured something Salveri didn’t understand.

  ‘She lives.’

  Salveri bit the knuckles of his right hand and said, ‘it would be kindness to put her out of her misery would it not my lord? She must be suffering terribly and she is so disfigured.’

  ‘You don’t know much of druids then,’ said Meggelaine as she pushed him aside.

  The three druids knelt down and gently placed their hands on her body. Salveri watched in amazement as faint blue light grew under their fingers and her skin began to heal. Gradually the burns faded away completely and her eyes flickered open. She coughed up sea water then tried to scream.

  ‘Be at peace,’ said Meggelaine, stroking the girl’s bald head, the magic having not recovered her hair.

  She sat up and tried to cover her breasts with the burnt rags of the remains of her dress. Salveri, who had been standing there with his mouth hanging open, recovered his senses and took off his coat. He then handed it down to Meggelaine who helped the young lady cover herself with it.

  ‘Hello Ophess, do you remember me?’ said Meggelaine, trying gently to get the girls attention.

  Ophess sat up and looked around. She put her hands to her face and neck. ‘It hurts. What have you done to me?’

  ‘You were hurt from the fire, dear.’

  ‘Where is my father?’

  Meggelaine looked at the others, then back at Ophess. ‘We’ve not found him yet.’

  Ophess struggled to her feet, looked around in the mist. She took in the sand, the rocks and the things from the ship that had been dragged up and hidden under the trees.