Isle of Dragons

by J H G Foss

  He then made a pushing sideways motion with his hands and the rock inside the cave flowed backwards, doubling the size of the fissure.

  They had gathered some fire wood on the way down. It was damp, and sent sparks flying as it burnt.

  As they ate and watched the valley, the weather cleared a little, to reveal more mountains in the distance. A battle raged in the sky, moving south towards them.

  Roztov started counting.

  ‘It looks like a retreat,’ said Ghene, standing at the entrance and shielding his eyes. ‘I think the Chasm dragons are being routed.’

  ‘I count a hundred and seventy,’ said Roztov. ‘Hard to tell who is who, but I think the Stovologard dragons are more or less uniformly sized and dark green. The Chasm dragons come in all shapes and sizes.’

  ‘Seems like a pretty decent war going on up there,’ said Broddor as he joined them.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Roztov, ‘but you rarely see them killing each other. There is a lot of fire and smoke, but so far I’ve not seen any roasted dragons fall from the sky.’

  ‘Yes, right enough,’ admitted the dwarf.‘The people on the ground are suffering though, judging by all the burning villages we are seeing.’

  They had seen two more burnt out villages on their way along the valley, but had not passed close to them.

  ‘It’s the same in every war. The strong fight and it’s the weak that die.’

  They thought back to campaigns back on Nillamandor. They had all seen a great deal of violence in the past.

  ‘What those wretched Claw Clan goblins used to do to people...’ Roztov trailed off. ‘Oh, I really want to get away from all this. Like Meggelaine said last night, we are too old for all this carry on.'

  'I'm still young for a dwarf, lad,' said Broddor straightening his back and smoothing down his beard.

  ‘Well anyway, if we turn to the right and head east until evening there is a town, assuming it’s not been burnt to the ground, where there is a decent tavern. We should get going.’

  The town still stood and the guards at the gate seemed happy enough to let them inside, assuming them to be refugees from the villages further south.

  ‘The locals call this place Tunde, it's a wine region in the summer,’ said Roztov as they entered the town square. ‘It tastes like horse piss though, stick to the beer.’

  There were dozens of wagons all over the square and a good deal of activity as the recent arrivals from other areas sorted themselves out. Children played among the wheels of the hand carts and amongst the baggage. Some men were erecting a tent, women cooked on small fires; others haggled with the locals for food.

  They were a short race of people in this region, with olive coloured skin and flat noses. Poor people wore simple brown robes and wooden shoes while the more affluent of them wore embroidered robes of rich red or blue silk. Roztov knew they would not pass for locals on close inspection, but what with all the chaos going on in the region they were of little interest and left alone.

  The houses in the town were built on stilts, with the main (and often only) room being accessed by a steep set of steps or a ladder. Farm animals were kept in enclosures under the house, so that as they walked along the dirt-packed streets they mainly saw cows, goats and sullen looking vegetains. Rock lizards scuttled about, poking through bins and piles of refuse.

  The roofs of the houses had ridiculously tall gables, almost the height of the rest of the house, stilts and all, and served no other purpose than to show the status of the occupants. The centre of the town had the largest buildings.

  ‘This place is an inn, listen Tup, do you want to do the talking or shall I?’

  ‘Ah,’ stuttered Floran, ‘How will you talk?’

  ‘I’ll turn into a rock lizard and just blether away. I’ve done it before. Very well, when we go in, just find an empty table and sit at it. It will be fairly dark so you can all take your cloaks off.’

  He then looked about and seeing that they were not observed he turned into a piebald rock lizard and hoped up the broad wooden steps.

  The main room of the inn had a wooden floor that creaked and groaned as they crossed it. There were six large low tables where the guests were eating their evening meals. There were no chairs, everyone simply sitting on the floor. In the centre of the room was a fire pit where a cook roasted the meat that was served to the inn’s guests.

  It was not unheard of for people to use the smarter rock lizards as servants so Roztov hoped up to the innkeeper and ordered some food. Half an hour later some smiling girls brought it all to their table.

  The atmosphere in the inn was very pleasant, despite the war going on, or maybe because of it, as people tried their best to ignore the fighting over the mountains. The host seemed to be a very pleasant man and his servants were very attentive. The room was only lit by two small oil lamps, so it was dark enough that no one would have known what colour their skin was anyway.

  Floran decided to try out his Draconian on the landlord after all and once he had eaten enough he went to talk to him. The others sat back and washed down their food, rice dishes mainly and a spicy vegetain bulgogi, with cups of the local beer.

  ‘I can’t get used to this sitting on the floor lark,’ said Broddor as he unfolded then refolded his legs.

  ‘Gosh,’ said Meggelaine confidingly, ‘These are such nice people aren’t they? Those girls are so nice. All the other guests seem nice too. This isn’t like a Stykian tavern, where everyone would be blazing drunk and fighting by now. Very civilised.’

  She glanced over to where Arrin and Tankle were talking in whispers.

  ‘I think this is doing us all good,’ she said. ‘We could stay here for a while. Well, as long as the war doesn’t come in this direction.’

  Ghene was stood by an open window looking out onto the square. He turned and sat down with the others. ‘There are more refugees out there. The town guards seem to be dealing with them though. The rain is back on. It’s going to be a hard night for anyone not under cover.’

  ‘We should maybe go out later and see if anyone needs a healer,’ said Meggelaine.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Roztov, who had earlier left as a lizard and returned as a man, ‘but take care. A child with magical powers will draw attention.’

  The inn they were staying at was a collection of a dozen or so buildings in a walled compound. A smiling and bowing maid took them down a lantern-lit path that would have been pleasant in the summer when the trees had leaves. She showed them in to a single-roomed house that contained six beds. There was a warm stove in the centre of the room on which hot water was being brewed for tea.

  Once the maid had left they pulled back their hoods and arranged themselves around the stove. Roztov gave them a nod, turned into a lizard and scampered off out the door and over the wall.

  ‘Bye then,’ said Meggelaine tetchily.

  ‘How was the square, Meg?’ asked Broddor.

  ‘Oh, not too bad. A few ill and injured people. Some dragon-fire burns.’

  ‘You healed them all? No one questioned you?’

  ‘No,’ said the fressle with a sigh. ‘I must say, this place is a lot more civilised than I thought it would be. The people are, well... nice.’

  ‘They are not so nice in the main city,’ put in Floran. ‘Or that’s what the landlord told me anyway.’

  When Floran fell silent, Meggelaine grunted and poked him with her foot. ‘Well, go on then!’

  ‘Oh, well. I learned a few other things. The people call this land Dempasut, as we know from Moletown. They indeed call their main city Stovologard, as we know from Vine Street. The main city has more population than the rest of the surrounding country put together. The people here don’t think much of the people in the city. They call then dragonthralls, a pejorative.’

  ‘That’s where we need to be though lad, how do we get there?’ asked Broddor.

  ‘Normally the road west, but that’s where the war is. The Dempasut army is not letting anyone through.
The road east doesn’t really lead anywhere, just higher into the mountains to small villages that are only used in the spring.’

  ‘And north, lad?’

  ‘No one goes up there, it’s the main range. Infested with goblins, apparently. The dragons let the goblins stay up there to discourage humans from going on the run and hiding in the caves.’

  ‘Seems strange,’ said Ghene. ‘I would have thought goblins were a bigger problem than runaway villagers.’

  ‘That’s what he told me. The way north is dangerous because there are lots of caves and lots of goblins. All the mountains are infested with goblins apparently. Men stay in the valleys.’

  ‘Right.’

  They talked for a while longer, and when they were on their second cups of tea, Roztov returned.

  ‘Well?’ asked Meggelaine.

  ‘Just having a sniff about. Checking the defences. There are more people here than usual and more soldiers than normal. I found a camp of men on the other side of town, about two hundred of them. They were dressed in the same sort of armour as manhunters, but had dog-mask helmets. The manhunters all had beast masks right? Boars and suchlike. These fellows seemed a bit more organised. They looked like ground troops too, not the sort of chaps that habitually ride around on dragons. An odd thing is that they are all mostly tall and fair, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Not like the locals of this town at all. I can only guess that they are descendants of boat loads of Vegan raiders or explorers. There are armed men in this town that look more local, they are watchmen and gate guards. They wear no helmets.’

  ‘I’m sure they have bigger things to worry about, but we should stay out of their way,’ said Ghene who then went on to tell Roztov everything that Floran had learned.

  ‘Oh, goblins shouldn’t be much of a problem,’ said Roztov somewhat dismissively. ‘We could scare them away by turning into bears or something. Goblins we can deal with.’

  ‘Due north then?’ said Ghene. ‘It would be the most direct and quickest way to the city.’

  ‘Yes I think so,’ agreed Roztov. ‘Do you think one of us should scout ahead first?’

  ‘I’m not sure. The skies are somewhat full of dragons,’ mused Ghene. ‘And besides, what other choice do we have? We can’t stay here. Even these friendly locals are going to notice we are foreigners eventually. Going north is the only option and if all we have to contend with is goblins then it should be fine.’

  ‘Fair enough, is there any tea left?’ said Roztov as he reached for a cup.

  Meggelaine poured him out some tea from the kettle, scowling at him as she did so. Roztov knew she was feeling left out, but thought it better not to mention it.

  The spent the whole of the next day outfitting for the journey north. Using Roztov's stolen gold they bought new camping equipment, tools and provisions. Long spears were also purchased, seen as being the best weapons for dealing with goblins. Floran purchased a stout metal-tipped staff to replace the one he had lost in the wreck of the Red Maiden. The only thing they couldn’t find was a decent pair of shoes for Meggelaine to replace her boots, worn out from walking as they were. After another pleasant night in Tunde they left in the morning. The north side of the valley was steep and covered in rocks and heather. After an hour of climbing they reached the snow line. After another hour they were at the top of the ridge and looking back, down into the valley, the town was laid out like a child's model. They could see the town square, filling with more refugees from the south and the soldier's camped out on the common.

  Looking east along the valley, it rose up into the main bulk of the mountains and to the west it led to flatter lands where the smoke from burning villages could be seen rising up into the clouds. As they took a break, sheltering in the lee of a large rock, a flight of dragons came from the east, flying along the valley in pairs. Twenty in all, dark green in colour, barely having to flick the tips of their wings as they rode the currents west, heading to where the war was. Ten flights of two passed them in the space of five minutes, at eye level to them and sometimes as close as fifty yards. They were well hidden, but the dragons would probably not have been interested in a few people hiding in the rocks, they had much more important business elsewhere.

  'Magnificent,' admitted Roztov.

  'The tales we'll tell, if we ever make it home,' agreed Meggelaine.

  They had progressed north about ten miles, along the main ridge of the mountains when they first saw riders in the distance, higher up than them on the hump of the next ridge. They were currently hemmed on both sides by the shallow slopes of rounded mountain tops to either side.

  Ghene pointed them out, ‘I can just see... Oh, they are trolls.’

  ‘Oh Tup!’ sighed Meggelaine in dismay. ‘Don’t you know the difference between trolls and goblins?’

  ‘I do,’ said Floran. ‘But I suppose the people of Tunde don’t.’ He would have been well within his rights to have put ice into what he was saying, but he came from a race that new little of sarcasm or irony.

  Roztov came up to the front of the line and joined Ghene. ‘Etruna, look at the size of them. And there are about thirty of them coming down from there. Mounted on giant goats or yales.’

  He turned and addressed the rest of the group.

  ‘Right, we’ve got about ten minutes. I don’t think we can outrun them on the ground and the skies are too dragon infested to escape by air, so we stand and fight, right?’

  ‘Yes yes,’ said Broddor eagerly as he unstrapped Gronmorder from his back. ‘Let’s just fight them here. If they think we are just a bunch of peasants then they’ll get the shock of their lives when we give them a proper scuffle.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but if they are anything like Stykian trolls then they’ll fight to the death,’ said Roztov glancing back up the slope. ‘And if those are yales and they are like the ones in Ertia then their horns could be magical.’

  ‘Etruna save us,’ groaned Meggelaine. ‘In what way magical?’

  ‘I uh... don’t know.’ Roztov began to move his arms in slow sweeping gestures, making the earth rise up before him. ‘Let’s make a rampart here.’

  Ghene used his magic to pull in boulders from nearby and piled them up onto the earthen wall Roztov had made, as a form of crude crenellations. As the others stepped back Meggelaine joined in, small bushes on the flanks suddenly growing into tall thorny hedges. She then raised a mound in the centre of the defences.

  Within less than two minutes they were all stood inside a druid’s fort.

  Standing on the rampart and keeping an eye on the trolls Roztov said, ‘Right, this is the plan. Broddor meets the attack. Me and Ghene stay at his sides, not engaging, just holding them off. Meg, you keep Etruna’s blessings focused on Broddor. If Gene or I get into trouble we can help each other out, but if Broddor falls, we’ve all had it. Tup, you stay at the back on the mound, it should give you enough clearance to shoot over our heads. Once Broddor has them pinned, give them a few fireballs, if they don't run off after that then just give them the lot. Broddor, remember, no heroics, you are the shield not the spear. It will be Floran’s job to do the killing.’

  Roztov drew his sword and checked the blade with his thumb. He noticed Tankle and Arrin, each with their spear in white knuckle grasps. ‘If anything gets passed us, you two are to defend Floran. Again, don’t try and kill them, just hold them off until Floran can blast them. Everyone understand their position? Broddor out front, me and Ghene on the flanks, Meg in the middle, then Tankle, Arrin, and Tup at the rear. Defence in depth, just like back up on the Moon Marshes.’

  They all nodded, and Broddor muttered, ‘defence in depth, got it.’ He gave his sword a few practice swings and repeated the phrase two more times.

  They all took their positions and waited. For a few minutes the trolls watched from their position up the slope, perhaps curious as to how the ground could have suddenly grown up in such a strange formation. Eventually though they wheeled their mounts around and thundered down the valley tow
ards the fortress.

  Broddor leapt down off the rampart and with his sword held high over his head charged out to meet them. ‘Jegharkylling! Defence in depth!’

  ‘Oh for...!’ groaned Roztov.

  ‘You don't just shout it!’ he bellowed at the dwarf’s back. ‘The plan... oh never mind. Everyone just charge in, why not?’

  Ahead of them thirty trolls, beings between eight and ten feet tall, galloped down the hillside mounted on goat-like creatures that were the size of plough-horses. The trolls wore goat-leather armour and wielded clubs and crude axes. Their skin was dark mottled green and their long snout-like mouths were lined with sharp yellow teeth. They howled and blew on horns as they came. The first of them was met by Broddor's sword as he leapt from a rock and cut into its neck. The dwarf landed on the mossy heather of the hillside then charged at his next target, as the troll behind him slid from the saddle, clutching its throat as it swiftly bled to death.

  Two giant bears ran up behind and then past Broddor, joining the charge and confusing a handful of the trolls enough to make them rein in their mounts. Broddor picked a target a hundred feet ahead of him and watched in amazement as the goat-creatures horns seemed to swivel around and down as it lowered its head. The two four feet long horns were aimed directly at him, but he rolled out of the way just in time, slashing at the mounts legs as it thundered past.

  He was stepped on by a bear as it met a troll and its mount at full speed. The troll flew out of the saddle, catapulted into the air towards the fort. It was then blasted backwards by an ice lance fired by Floran from his mound sending the by now very dead creature flying back in the direction it had just come from. Meanwhile the bear clawed at the goat-creature until it turned tail and fled.

  Roztov, the bear, reared up on his hind legs to try and take in the overall battle. Broddor was ducking and weaving through the legs of several of the mounted trolls as they tried to club him over the head. Ghene had dismounted a troll and was clawing at it as it tried to fend him off with an axe. Three of the trolls made it to the fortress, but Floran unleashed a fireball that hit all of them and blasted them backwards. As one of them tried to get back onto its feet, shaking its head, a small angry bear leapt on its back and sunk its teeth into its neck.