Dragon's Fury

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

A chill ran through Marl as he stepped out of his tavern. He was only a couple of steps behind Elora and Jenson as they moved to the small stable to get the horses ready. Each of them carried a bundle of provisions to pack into their saddlebags.

No one knew for sure when they’d be back.

Before heading to the stable, Marl used a nail to fasten a small piece of parchment to the door. His inn would be closed until further notice. He could only hope nothing happened to the building while he was gone.

He wanted to stay and protect the building and all the memories it held, but he knew if they didn’t leave and face their enemy now, he might lose the inn anyway.

“Are you sure you want to chase Aldrei?” Elora asked, her face turning to him as he stared at his little sign.

“Yes. If I don’t, not one of us will sleep safely at night. You remember what it was like last time.”

When a dragon settled in the area, it was only livestock that were threatened at first: cattle, mostly sheep in their case. But after dragons came worshippers and cultists. And dragons grew. Some even decided to lord their presence over nearby humans.

His little inn might not be in danger right away, but as soon as Aldrei had established himself, and his worshippers had followed, they’d slowly devour or enslave more and more of the country. Marl couldn’t allow it. Not again.

Elora was the first to pack and ready her horse, a light brown mare that whickered as she mounted.

“I’ll head back to the homesteads and warn the farmers, then gather my equipment. If I don’t find you later today, I’ll meet you on the road between Antwick and Trentfri.”

“You don’t want us to come with you?” Jenson asked, his voice shrill for the first word, unmasking his fear. It took all Marl’s self-control not to roll his eyes behind the kid’s back as Elora shook her head.

Without another word she rode off, a trail of dust kicked up on the dirt track with every pounding beat of the horse’s hooves.

“Right, we’d best be off ourselves. We don’t want to waste the light.” Marl tested the strap before swinging up into the saddle.

“No, I guess not,” Jenson replied, but he didn’t move from beside him.

“You don’t have to come too.”

“No. I do. You’re going to need my help.”

“You’re not wrong there. We barely beat Aldrei off last time. And he was only a wyrmling then. I hate to think how big he is now,” Marl replied, not thinking until he saw Jenson’s eyes widen further. He had made it worse.

Somewhere inside, Jenson found enough courage to mount the gelding in front of him. Giving him an encouraging nod, Marl dug his heels into his horse and steered it in the opposite direction from Elora’s fading dust cloud.

“Let’s go find Kal. We’ll need his bow if we’re to present a threat to Aldrei.” The words were unnecessary. They’d already discussed this part of the plan, but Marl didn’t want to stop talking, now he’d found someone to talk with, as he enjoyed it. Too many of his nights and mornings were lived in silence, alone. Jenson might have barely been old enough to be an adult, but he’d already shown himself to have some guts about him, and Marl knew Jenson’s father wouldn’t have trusted him with the flock without good reason.

“So, how’s Nikarus? He still hopes to win the fair at Antwick with his Bratarian sheep?”

Jenson let out a chuckle. “I didn’t think you’d recognized me.”

“You’ve grown, but I know one of Nikarus’ kids when I see one. How is everyone?”

“The family is well, but worried.”

Marl nodded, glad they’d already been informed. The sooner everyone knew Aldrei was back the better. He gritted his teeth, feeling an old anger rise inside of him. Some dragons didn’t know when to die.

“I was expecting to see your little Arla scampering about the inn. She’s twelve now, right?”

The question caught Marl off-guard, making him frown. Trying not to think about it, he shook his head. “Would have been twelve in the spring,” he eventually replied.

Jenson’s mouth dropped open as the meaning dawned on him. “That must have hit Kenna hard.”

“She followed Arla to the grave. Bandits...” Marl couldn’t continue. His throat tightened. Another word would have betrayed the depths of his grief. If only he’d been there to protect his wife and child and not to fight Aldrei the first time.

“I’m sorry.” Jenson looked away, the mood somehow more somber and oppressive than it had been when he’d only had a dragon to face.

Marl tried to think of something else to say, but his thoughts didn’t want to leave the memories. Painful ones of coming home to an empty house, knowing that what had happened could have been prevented, had he just been back in time.

“Come on,” Marl said, giving his horse a nudge to make him go faster. “We won’t have found Ilran by nightfall if we don’t pick up the pace.”

Jenson followed in silence, leaving Marl to emotions he’d pushed away for years.

When Marl had returned home from defeating Aldrei and protecting their lands, he’d found his small family dead and his angry sister-in-law waiting for him to explain why he hadn’t been there to protect them. All the celebrations he’d planned had fallen into nothing, Elora not making sense beyond the only words that mattered: “they’re dead.” From then on little had mattered.

After doing all he could to hunt down the killers and turning up empty, Ilran had found him drowning his sorrows in some back alley tavern. He didn’t remember much of that night or of the weeks between losing hope of finding the bandits and waking up in Ilran’s hut, but he’d not touched a drop since.

It was ironic to have become an innkeeper, but it had kept him busy. Each day he got up, served travelers food and drink, gave them a roof over their heads, and cleaned up after they were all gone. And each day he was too busy to think about his life before.

As they rode on, Marl stole a glance back to the inn as it faded into the distance. It was the refuge he’d built in more ways than one. Aldrei would regret coming back; Marl would make sure of it. If it weren’t for the dragon, he’d still have a family. He’d have always been happy.

Marl clenched his fists and fixed his eyes on the road ahead. This time Aldrei wouldn’t survive.

***

Both Marl’s legs ached, and his stomach had been rumbling for an hour before the sun was at its peak.

I’ve gone soft. Not enough training or hunting, he thought, surprised at how unfit he’d become. The inn had kept him busy, but nothing compared to the time on the road, food rationed to what could be preserved for weeks or killed along the way. It was an entirely different way of life.

Marl hadn’t thought he’d missed it. At least, not while he worked, but now he was back in the saddle, contemplating going back into battle with old companions, he found he had. It all seemed familiar, almost right.

Beside him, Jenson fidgeted on his horse, shifting his weight and adjusting the reins every few minutes. It was clear he didn’t have much experience on horseback.

Fighting back a sigh, Marl considered pausing early for lunch. They’d not packed much, but it would give them a moment to stretch their legs and allow the horses to rest. But that would make the afternoon ride longer. This time he couldn’t prevent the sigh that wanted to escape.

“Nearly lunchtime,” Jenson said. “Should we start looking for a good spot to stop?”

A grin crossed Marl’s face as he nodded. He wasn’t the only one thinking of getting some relief, but the cold rations in his pack didn’t provide much of a comforting thought. Still, they weren’t stale, and there had been many a day he’d had to eat hard bread and scrape the mold off the cheese before he could eat it.

The memories of old journeys, many of them in good company, made his smile broaden. Yes, he’d missed this far more than he’d realized.

Jenson tugging on his reins and slowing his horse brought Marl back to reality.

“There’s a good place,” the kid said.

He pointed towards a small grassy area to one side of the path. It wasn’t anything particularly special, but there was a ring of stones and a darkened patch of dirt that made it clear someone else had used it as a place to rest.

They walked the horses over and tied them to a low tree branch. Marl tried to ignore the ache in his legs and back as he pulled out the rations stashed in the nearest saddle bag and sat down beside Jenson.

It wasn’t long before they were both filling their stomachs, the horses grazing as well. It may have been only a light meal, bread with the last of the strawberry jam, but it tasted terrific after riding most of the morning.

“What is it, kid?” he asked, noticing Jenson was staring at something.

“Thought I saw movement,” Jenson replied, his voice hushed, and his knuckles whitened with his tightened grip.

Marl raised his eyebrows, surprised the shepherd was spooked so quickly, but when his horse snorted and swished his head back and forth, Marl knew something wasn’t right.

Standing up, Marl scanned the horizon, but other than the breeze blowing gently through the trees, they seemed alone.

Damn it, Marl. Too Alone. No bird song.

He drew his sword, glancing at Jenson just long enough to see him pick up on the possible threat and do the same. Whatever was out there, it didn’t show itself right away, making Marl wonder if he imagined things.

Stupid fool, he thought. You’re too jumpy and too rusty. Only two years ago you’d have known if there was a threat or not by now. Lowering the tip of his sword, Marl shook his head. Whatever had scared the birds off, it wasn’t coming at them or hiding nearby.

Marl had just turned back to Jenson to encourage him back on his horse when he heard the piercing sound of a crossbow bolt and the thud as it hit the tree to one side of him. It took his brain a moment to catch up as he watched the shaft quiver, embedded in the bark. They weren’t alone.

“You’re surrounded and outnumbered,” a deep growling voice said from over Marl’s left shoulder. “I’d advise you to…”

The two men locked eyes, both recognizing one another in an instant. Aldrei’s most prized fighter stood just off the road, coming closer, his large sword raised. He snarled, distorting the tanned ruddy face. It was just like Marl remembered.

“You,” he said. “Thought you’d be dead by now.”

“I could say the same,” Marl replied, pulling his small shield off his back and slipping it onto his arm. The dragon worshipper had aged, but he could see the grip on the sword was no less fierce, and it held steady, pointed out at Jenson.

“New recruit to your heathen ways?”

Marl considered not answering, as four more fighters, these younger, a strange light in their eyes, fanned out behind their leader. This wasn’t fair to the kid. He’d only brought Marl a warning, but Jenson moved into his field of view.

“There’s nothing heathen about our ways,” Jenson said. “We just don’t believe dragons are gods.”

“That’s what they all say. Let us teach you both a lesson.”

The armor-clad fighter advanced as the four men behind drew various weaponry from beneath their travel cloaks. Marl clamped his mouth shut over the curse words he wanted to utter and charged to the left of the chief cultist.

I hope you know how to fight, Jenson, he thought, as only two of the lackeys and their leader focused on him despite his aggressive move.

As they passed each other Marl parried an attack, flicking his opponents’ blade back and turning underneath. The motion ended with the tip of his sword inside the next man.

There was a gurgle as Marl pulled it out, but he could do little more than glance at the unfortunate cultist. He’d picked the wrong dragon to worship.

The clang of more steel coming together sounded to Marl’s right as his shield took the next crossbow bolt. At this close a range it was powerful enough to drive the bolt head right through, the tip barely missing his arm behind.

Dodging another thrust from the leader forced him away from Jenson and put the cultists between them.

Marl frowned as he saw the other crossbow-wielding fanatic shoot towards the young shepherd. It took the lad by surprise, embedding itself in his shoulder. He grunted but kept his feet.

Unable to help, Marl countered another attack and feinted to the right as if he was rushing to Jenson’s aid. As their leader moved that way to block him, Marl pushed to his left, feeling a muscle in his leg tense at the strain of battle.

Despite the pain, he kept up his momentum, knocked aside the crossbow pointed at him and ran the man through. He didn’t have time to pull his sword out of the dying cultist before he was charged from the side and knocked off his feet.

His armor and shield both took the brunt of the blow and dug into his skin, cutting him in several places. He rolled to the side as a sword flashed past his head, and he pushed himself up onto his feet.

“You’re getting slower as the years pass,” the leader taunted as he swiped towards him again.

Marl said nothing.

Behind him, swords clashed, once, twice, and then a pain filled howl as Jenson fell another cultist.

The leader and remaining cultist struck. Marl parried the heavy blow from the leader and dodged the other thrust. From his right, he saw Jenson lunge at the cultist and run him through.

It was now two on one. Marl and Jenson stood ready, though Jenson was a bit wobbly. Marl’s lungs burned, his legs ached, and it had been a relatively short fight. His mind raced, trying to remember the name that went with the face. It came to him, Cauldor.

“Your friend looks like he’s seen better days.”

“He’s fine, Cauldor. And he’ll look better than you when we’re finished.”

Cauldor sneered. “You remember my name. I’m not sure I ever knew yours or cared. And when your body is rotting here in the forest, it won’t…” and he struck.

The speed threw Marl back. Jenson swung, but there was little strength in the attack and Cauldor merely put up a gloved hand and caught the blade, tearing the sword from Jenson’s hands. Jenson collapsed.

Marl stuck a blow that was heavier than Cauldor expected, and the leader staggered back.

With a roar, Cauldor brought an overhead attack, spun after blocking, and swung from the hip.

The counter from Marl and a massive kick to Cauldor’s midsection threw him back.

Jenson let out a terrible groan.

“Your man is in bad shape,” Cauldor said. It must have been the poison on the bolt.

Marl looked down.

Cauldor struck again.

The exchange lasted many blows, but neither could land. For a moment, it seemed Marl might have worn down the cultist leader, but another sorrowful moan from Jenson was just the distraction Cauldor needed, and he said, as he bolted into the forest, “Your future will be in the chain.”

Kneeling beside Jenson, Marl asked, “Can you get on your horse?”

“I think so.”

“I know someone who can help, but we’ve got to ride hard to get there. I’m going to pull out the bolt.”

To his credit, the boy didn’t even flinch when Marl pulled the bolt from his shoulder. The crimson started to flow.

“We need to get you out of that armor. Here, have some water.”

Marl helped Jenson free himself of the chain mail. From his saddlebag, he pulled bandages and a flask of whiskey. He took a pull from the flask and said, “Okay, take a bit of this, while I bandage up that shoulder.”

Once the bleeding stopped, Jenson managed to mount his horse. Sweat poured from his forehead, and he gave a weak nod.

Off they went, pushing their horses to their limits. For an hour they rode until they reached a stream, where something startled Jenson’s horse. The violent bucking threw him into the water. The shock of the cold brought a moment of life back to the fading Jenson.

“We don’t have time to chase your horse,” Marl said, holding out a hand and pulling Jenson up behind him.

The sun approached the end of the world, and the forest light was dimming, when Marl saw the cottage.