In the Shadow of the Dragon King (32 page)

Charlotte looked down and kicked at the ground. “It sounds like you like to fight. That you’ll make any excuse to do so.”

Trog pressed his hand to David’s back and guided him to the center of the glade. “Fighting, for me, is not about whether I like or dislike it. It is about necessity. More times than not, negotiations are futile.”

Trog pressed his hands to David’s shoulders. “Hold your shoulders back. Stand tall.”

David’s belly tingled as he followed the knight’s orders.

“Grasp the sword with both hands, and hold it in front of you.”

David did as instructed, his arm muscles burning under the strain.

“Ready?” Trog asked, walking around him, his hands clasped behind his lower back.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Are you sure?”

Alarms went off in David’s head. Something was coming, but what? His arms went rigid. His hands tightened on the hilt. He nodded.

Trog spun to his right and kicked.

“Ouch!” David dropped the sword and grabbed his throbbing wrists. “Shit!”

“Pay attention. Watch me, not the ground or some speck in space.” Trog picked up the sword and tossed it to David.

He almost missed the catch.

“Again,” Trog said, his brow furrowed, his eyes focused. Steady.

David followed Trog’s movements.

Trog smacked him on the back of the head. “Move, David. Circle me. Forget about my kicking you. It’s the least of your worries at the moment.”

David tightened his grip on the hilt and held the sword in front of him, doing his best to ignore the jolt of pain shooting up his arm. What had he gotten himself into? He wanted to learn to fight, not how to be beaten to death by a guy ten times his size.

“Keep your eyes on mine at all times,” Trog said. “Never lose connection with your opponent.”

Trog lunged forward. David jumped back. Trog smiled. “Why did you retreat? I’m unarmed. You have the weapon.”

“Cause you’re going to hit me again.”

Trog stood still and rested his hands on his hips. “No, I’m not. Lower your weapon and come here. Let me show you something.”

David lowered the weapon and walked up to Trog. The knight pushed David on the shoulders, knocking him to the ground. Behind him, Charlotte laughed.

He got to his feet and shot her a look that could light a wick without a match. She covered her mouth, but the smile lingered in her eyes. No sooner had he risen than an explosion of pain shot through his foot. Trog whacked him in the chest.

David hit the ground again, the sword thunking beside him. He hobbled to his feet. “That wasn’t fair, Trog. I wasn’t ready!”

Trog smiled. “I wasn’t aware as your opponent that I was supposed to announce my attack on you.” His smiled changed into a serious expression. “Do you know why I knocked you on the ground?”

David rubbed his hip. “Not really.”

“Because you did exactly what I told you not to do. You took your eyes off mine. You can’t do that.” Trog picked up his sword like it was a stick of cotton candy and returned it to the scabbard. “We’ll have to come back to sword training later. Let’s see what you can do with your fists.”

“What?” David froze in place. “You want me to fight you? You’re joking, right?”

“I promise to be gentle.” There was mischief in the man’s eyes.

David didn’t believe him for a second. “Gentle? Like you were with my foot?”

“Precisely.” Trog grinned.

“Great.” David drew in a deep breath and pulled his left fist up beside his head. He pictured the great boxers he’d watched on television and tried to mimic their steps.

The knight stood still, watching David dance around him. “Lift your left hand. It is what protects your face and head.”

David raised his fist.

Trog kicked him in the ribs.

David crumpled to the ground, gasping, and sputtering.

Trog bent over him. “Sorry. Did I forget to tell you to keep your elbows tucked?”

The knight was enjoying this lesson way too much.

David got on all fours and stood. “Yeah,” he groaned. “You failed to mention that.”

“Well, now you know, so stop wallowing and stand up straight. Look at me.”

David winced, his hand pressed to his side. “Wallowing? You just nailed me. That hurt!”

“Were you expecting otherwise? That was barely a tap, nothing compared to what a true opponent would unleash upon you. Let’s go again. This time, lift your hands, tuck your elbows.”

“I can’t,” David said. “I think you may have fractured something.”

Trog’s eyes narrowed. “Your opponent will not care if you are in agony. In fact, it is his desire to inflict as much pain upon you as he can. You must not let him, and if he has, you must not let on he has done so.”

“But you’re not my opponent.”

“I am at this moment, and you’d better listen, for you will never find another who will teach you how to retaliate so well. Lift your fists and fight the pain.”

“Come on, David. You can do it,” Charlotte said.

David raised his fists to his face.

“That’s better,” Trog said. “Remember, when an attacker comes for you, your first action is to guard your face, the next, guard your ribs. Draw your elbows into your side, like this.”

David copied Trog’s stance.

“Good. You want to keep your body low and in line. Move around him, but whatever you do, don’t bounce around like a convulsive jackrabbit. That was an embarrassment. The whole idea is to let your opponent wear himself out, not vice versa. Pick your line of sight, never take your eyes off your opponent’s, focus on his movements, and stay tight to your form.”

“I don’t see why it matters, Trog. Odds are, I’m still going to get hit.”

Trog shrugged and lowered his arms. “Perhaps, but if you’re lucky, your opponent will only strike your shoulders, arms, or hips. Your job is to avoid blows to your face and gut.” He put a hand on David’s shoulder. “Remember, you are not trying to impress your enemy, but disable him. Your goal is not to kill, unless dire circumstances require it, but to inflict as much pain as possible, so he feels far worse than you do when the bout is over. You want to leave a sore reminder he doesn’t want to tangle with you again. Understand?”

David nodded.

“Good. We’re done. It’s time to get moving.”

David inhaled a deep breath and returned to his things. Trog may have thought his hits were taps, but the pain in David’s ribs disagreed. Still, he’d learned valuable lessons, and for that he was grateful. He flung his bag and bow on his back. As much as he wanted to learn, he cringed at the idea of another training session.

Charlotte stood in the center of the glade, her face drained of all color, her eyes wide. Her lips trembled as she pointed to something across the glade. “W-what is that?” The terror in her voice was palpable.

David and Trog followed her gaze.

Standing in the sunlight at the edge of the forest was a small, wingless creature with piercing ruby eyes. It stood slightly taller than David; its body compact and muscular. Sunlight glistened off its autumn-iridescent scales. Strange gold and red feathers pressed softly against its neck. Two small, goat-like horns jutted from its square forehead; its sinuous, armored pointed tail swished over the cool grass. It looked like something out of one of his fantasy role-playing games. The dragon scraped at the ground with its sharp claws and snorted like a bull about to engage in battle. It lowered its head.

David froze.

Trog drew his sword.

Charlotte gasped.

The animal’s cold stare fixed on David as the creature broke into a gallop.

Charlotte bolted toward David, who stood planted firmly to the ground, too stunned to move. The creature slid to a stop within feet of him, popping up a trail of divots behind him. The beast cocked its head from side to side, assessing the strangers.

David’s heart pounded, his chest rising and falling.

Charlotte shoved him back. “Trog, what is that thing?”

“A dragon,” Trog said.

The animal and Trog regarded one another.

David gulped. “W-where did he come from? What does he want?”

“I don’t know,” Trog said.

“You think he’s here to help us?” David reached his hand out toward the dragon.

It rumbled.

Trog yanked back David’s arm. “Don’t. Let him come to you, if that is his choice.”

The dragon eyed Trog and moved closer. It exuded a deep, rhythmic purr then snapped open its feathers and scales in a brilliant display.

“Whoa!” David stumbled backward, catching Charlotte before she tripped and fell.

Trog brought his sword to the front.

The dragon arched his tail over his back.

David’s eyes widened as the tip of its tail sparked with electricity. “No!”

ZAP!

A small bolt of lightning shot from the tip of the dragon’s tail, hitting Trog square in the chest. The knight collapsed to the ground, his body still as dirt. Charlotte and David dove to his side.

“Trog!” Charlotte touched her fingers to the hole in the shirt, the wound still smoking from the blast. She put her head to his chest. “Oh no. No. No! David, he’s not breathing!”

The dragon roared and stomped forward. David and Charlotte scurried away.

It nudged Trog with its snout. Several times, the dragon pushed and prodded the knight before. After several times, Trog groaned, his face twisted with all kinds of hurt.

The dragon pawed at the ground and stepped back.

David and Charlotte crawled to Trog’s side.

“Oh my gosh, are you all right?” Charlotte uncorked a flask from her bag and offered it to him.

Trog coughed and hacked and pushed himself up to a hunched over sitting position, his knees drawn to his chest, his head tucked between them. “No, girl, I am not all right! My brain is on fire, and my head is pounding!”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how to help you with that. How to treat a dragon attack doesn’t seem to be in my mental list of remedies.” Charlotte said.

David clambered to his feet and stomped toward the beast that sat on his haunches like a dog, its head tilted to one side.

“Look what you did! You could have killed him! How dare you! Who do you think you are?”

“David, get back!” Trog said, his demand muffled by his knees.

David pointed a finger at the stout animal. “Don’t you ever do that again or I will have to—”

Oh, be quiet, will you? There is no need to shout. If he had not drawn his sword, I would not have attacked. Besides, I did him no harm.

“Did him no harm? Look at him! You barreled toward him like you were going to —” David froze for a moment. “Wait. Did you just talk to me?”

The dragon tilted his head straight and said,
Yes,
except David didn’t hear the low, modulating voice with his ears. He heard it in his mind.

He pressed his hand to his chest hoping his racing heart wouldn’t gallop away. “Whoa! I can hear you in my head.” He glanced at Charlotte, a finger pointed at the beast. “I can hear him!”

The dragon snorted.
Goodness, settle down. You’re hurting my ears with your caterwauling. There is no need to be so loud. I can hear your thoughts as well as you can hear mine. Makes for much better communications, don’t you think? It keeps others from hearing
. His red eyes flitted to the north, toward the castle. A vision of a huge, flying dragon appeared.

David gulped. “Oh, yeah. Right. Him.” David formed the words in his mind.
What is your name? Why are you here?

First things first. Help your friend rise and offer him my apology. Then, bring him and the female to me. There is much to tell you in a short amount of time. Shadows move within the Sankara Mountains and the Northern Forest. Berg no longer sleeps.

David turned to Trog and delivered the message. After a few moments, Trog rose, swayed for a bit, and then approached the dragon. “You tried to kill me. Now you wish for me to accept your apology?”

The animal bowed.

The dragon lifted his head, his eyes on David, and mind-spoke once more.

Please tell Sir Trogsdill I meant him no harm. My name is Mirith, son of Sabara and Maldorth. Slavandria told me of your coming, Paladin of Fallhollow. Groote sent for me, but you left Palindar before I arrived. I’ve been searching for you since this morning. Please tell Sir Trogsdill who I am. I think he will find it of great interest.

David relayed the information.

Trog’s eyes narrowed. “That’s the son of Maldorth?” He walked around the creature, his gaze never leaving it. “That’s not possible. He looks nothing like his father. He has no wings, and he’s too small. He has feathers. No resemblance whatsoever.”

“Who’s Maldorth?” Charlotte asked.

I take after my mother, a Fendox from Braemar,
the dragon continued.
Maldorth murdered her because she failed to produce a proper heir. He’d hoped for a nestling of his stature, one who possessed both his elemental power of fire and my mother’s elemental power of ice. But my appearance angered him. He saw me as an abomination and tried to kill me. That’s when fate intervened and sent this knight to my rescue. Sir Trogsdill Domnall killed my father and spared my life, for which I am forever grateful.

“Whoa! What?” David said, facing Trog. His skin prickled with excitement. He wasn’t sure what tickled him more—the fact he could talk to a dragon, or that the knight standing before him had slain one. “You killed a dragon?”

“One.” Trog’s eyes narrowed and he stared at the dragon as if trying to make sense of a long forgotten memory. “You?” he said, approaching the beast. “You were the one hiding in the brush. You were the one who healed me when I thought Maldorth had succeeded in killing me?”

Mirith swished his tail. A purr escaped his body.

David nodded. “He said yes.”

The dragon turned and displayed an empty patch on his left flank where a scale had once been.

“He said his scales hold medicinal properties strong enough to counter the most toxic dragon bane.”

Trog knelt and touched his fingers to the scar. “I can only imagine the pain you suffered to save my life. Thank you.”

Mirith bowed his head.

“I am confused about something, though.” Trog stood and scratched his throat. “If you knew who I am, why did you attack me?”