The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3) (4 page)

Lucina was probably one of the better Fists in the entire Astor Order. She was dedicated, loyal, brave, and an exceptional fighter and rider. At first, Helvie felt oppressed by the constant attention at the hands of the large warrior woman, until she matured and understood her role in society better. The fact that her father’s small barony warranted a Fist instead of a Hand was noteworthy. The duke of Ulatha, Uthor, considered the baron a close friend.

“Fine,” Helvie said. “I’ll tell you what. We investigate this mauling of the local family’s bull, and then we will return home without the hunt.”

“Really, my lady?” Godfrey asked, pleased to have something go his way with the wayward noblewoman.

“Of course, Godfrey. We can dine on beef or pork this evening. It doesn’t need to be venison,” Helvie said.

“Well, that sounds more appropriate now that the local magistrate is involved, and time is short,” Lucina said, her spirits lifting.

“Speaking of which, here they come,” Godfrey said, nodding toward the village.

The three men rode hard, surprising the group, as they weren’t accustomed to seeing the commoners with mounts. Usually, most horses were used for domestic duties, and they were expensive to keep and maintain. When a commoner did ride a horse, that was usually all they did—ride and walk with it.

The men arrived, and Fergus shouted orders for the group to disperse and go home. He indicated that Clive had notified the local butcher and the trading post owner to come and dispose of the carcass. Helvie didn’t want to know if they would simply bury it or carve it up and use it, or a little of both.

With little more to say, the group rode along the edge of the Greenfeld, away from the direction of the village and the capital. If they returned by following the forest, they would find themselves only a few leagues away from Vulkor proper. In this western direction, they were riding deeper into the frontier, with their destination being the Hamills’ homestead.

True to his prediction, the group arrived in about a half hour, at a fairly fast pace. Their horses were somewhat lathered, and the first thing they thought of was water for them. Most homesteads had at least one wooden trough, and this cabin was no exception. Of course, with twenty-five mounts, they would have to take turns, and Helvie was already worried that they’d have to help the owner bring water up from a nearby stream.

“Looks quiet enough,” Godfrey said, not at all sounding convinced.

“Too quiet, if you ask me,” Lucina responded. “Where are these Hamills?”

Fergus shook his head. “I don’t know. Usually with a group this large, someone would have come from the cabin to see what is what. Fauke, go and see if John and Ann are inside.”

The mayor’s son dismounted, giving his reins to the magistrate, who sat waiting for the soldiers to water their horses. Having ridden hard all morning, the locals were allowing the nobles to drink first, so to speak.

“I’ll go with him,” Godfrey said, dismounting and handing his reins to his chief aide. It did not go unnoticed that the commander drew his blade as they reached the door.

Fauke knocked politely first, and then banged louder on the door. With a nod at Godfrey, who returned it, the mayor’s son opened the door. The light streaming in from the rear of the building wasn’t natural, and they all knew that something was wrong.

Helvie spurred her horse toward the rear of the cabin, which had been directly behind the riders as they approached. As she came around the building, she saw that the entire back side was pulled down and dried blood was everywhere. Through the gaping hole in the back, she could see both Godfrey and Fauke standing inside the building amidst overturned furniture and linen strewn everywhere. The roof had partially collapsed, and parts of the wooden shingles and straw, used for insulating, were scattered amongst the cabin’s interior.

“What in Agon happened here?” Clive said, coming around with Lucina and Fergus while most of the troops remained in the front, lined up to water the horses.

Lucina dismounted and walked over to the hole in the back. “Godfrey, what do you make of this?”

Godfrey walked over a chair and some boards, picking his steps carefully, exiting out the hole in the wall to stand next to the Fist looking at the ground. There, in the damper ground that had been in shadow all day, was an impression that looked like a cat, only it was immense, much larger, and it spanned at least three feet, if not four. “That’s not possible,” he said.

“What do you see?” Fergus asked, not bothering to dismount, moving his horse closer to the cabin.

“It appears to be an animal track, Father,” Fauke said.

“That’s no animal,” Lucina said, moving around and scanning the ground. Despite her service in the cities to the Astor Order, she had once led more than one justice party, bringing back escaping criminals to face a court or ruler.

Lucina drew her blade now, worrying not only Helvie but the locals as well. “What are you doing, Fist of Astor? Do you expect trouble?” Fergus asked, looking around.

“She always expects trouble,” Helvie answered for her bodyguard, “but this time, I’m thinking it’s more serious than usual.”

“I’ll set a watch immediately,” Godfrey said, receiving a nod of approval from Lucina, who remounted and whirled her horse toward the broken fencing of the small pasture between the cabin and the forest. Godfrey went around the front, while Helvie and Fergus rode after the holy warrior.

The pasture fencing was intact, except for a break on the far side. The ground inside looked trampled and worn; little grass grew there, and what did was cropped close to the ground. Dirt ruled supreme within the confined space.

“What do you make of this?” Lucina asked, looking at Fergus.

Fergus looked around, scanning the area before responding. “I know the Hamills had more than one cow, though I don’t see a sign of any of them.”

“Yes,” Clive said, coming over on foot, leading both his and Fauke’s horses. “They had five cows, one of them for milking.”

“How can you be sure?” Helvie asked, not understanding how the trampled mess could indicate how many cattle were once there.

Clive responded while tying the horses to a section of fencing. “Because they were taxed on them not more than two months ago.”

Helvie nodded and smiled, not knowing if the remark was meant as factual, or if there was a hint of displeasure, as she was sure a portion of any tax would go to her father’s coffers. “I see,” she said. “But do you think they just ran away?”

“Like the bull?” Lucina asked, looking at each companion in turn.

“You think something broke through that cabin wall back there and then broke the fence?” Fergus asked, raising his brows at the holy warrior.

“Yes, except for the fence,” Lucina answered. “I think the cattle, or even the bull, did that themselves.”

“So they panicked and ran?” Helvie asked, understanding where her bodyguard was going with her line of thought.

“That is what it looks like . . . to me.” Lucina scanned their surroundings.

“What could cause such a thing?” Helvie asked.

“That is the real question,” Fergus said. “Will you help us?”

Lucina gave the mayor a look that was not pleasant and then a glance to Helvie to see what she would decide. As the baron’s daughter, despite the wisdom and brawn of her entourage, she had ultimate authority on what they did, or didn’t, do.

“Yes,” Helvie said. “We need to see if there is still a danger to your village, and we should look for this family here. They could be nearby, lost in the woods, for all we know.”

The men exchanged glances and then all looked to Lucina as Godfrey returned, mounted with six soldiers in tow. “My lady,” Lucina said.

“What is it, Lucina?” Helvie asked.

Lucina sighed, and Helvie didn’t like her expression. She liked her words even less. “We can search for the family, but they are most likely dead.”

The proclamation was short and to the point, and not subtle in the manner that Helvie was accustomed to hearing. “You know this for certain?”

“No,” Lucina said, “but it is obvious from the cabin that whatever happened, it involved a massive loss of blood. I’ve fought many battles, and I can tell you that more than one person died there not long ago.”

Helvie was shocked. She turned to Fergus. “How many were in the Hamill family?”

Fergus turned to Clive, who shook his head. His voice was tinged with grief. “Five.”

Anger started to well within the baron’s daughter, and her face turned red. She gritted her teeth, thinking of something to say. Godfrey spoke before she could muster the words. “Now, my lady, you have that look about you that warns me of danger.”

“I’ve seen that look too,” Lucina said. “She’s entitled to it.”

“We have to do something,” Helvie said, half commanding, half stating the obvious.

Lucina nodded, looking to the locals. “You will search the nearby forest with us?”

“Aye,” Clive said, going to the horse that he had just tied up and releasing it, preparing to mount.

“I don’t feel good about this, but I’m glad you and your troops came riding in today,” Fergus said, nodding at the noblewoman.

“We should prepare a defense, just in case,” Lucina said, and Godfrey barked orders for his men to remount.

They decided that half would stay at the homestead with the mayor’s son, Fauke, just in case any of the Hamills returned, and the rest would ride into the forest a ways and search for survivors.

They didn’t have far to go before they found the remains of one of the cows. It was only a leg, but it was a sign indicating they shouldn’t expect to find anything living. Spirits were low, and finally one of the soldiers cried out, pointing his lance at the ground in front of him.

“What is it?” Godfrey asked, and the rest of the party rallied to his location.

“I think we found one of the Hamills,” Clive said, dismounting and inspecting the head that the soldier found.

“Don’t, my lady,” Lucina said, trying to restrain her ward from seeing the gruesome clue. “It is time to go; I sense evil nearby.”

Helvie didn’t inspect the skull, instead turning to address everyone. “This is no longer a hunt. From now on, we investigate murder.”

“You spend a lot of time up here,” Greyson said, walking up to his Initiate and taking in the dramatic view of the Greenfeld from the edge of the small cliff outcropping alongside the mountain, high above.

Elister turned to watch his mentor approach, joining him in the cool, brisk air of an early dawn. The sun had just risen and cast its warming, golden rays upon the land. The forest mists were evaporating into the warming air in wisps of milky white vapor trails that danced upon the treetop canopy.

“Good morning,” Elister said, giving the older man a nod in respect. “You’ve woken early as usual.”

Greyson returned the nod, stopping to lean on his staff and take in the morning air. “Not as early as you, Elly. You seem to have a knack for catching beautiful sunrises when most of our Initiates are still sleeping in warm beds.”

“Well, there’s not really many Initiates left anymore,” Elister said, thinking back to when he had started his training and there were at least a dozen young pupils, eager and impressionable. Now, they were down to just three. “I suppose I miss my family still.”

The old druid nodded. “You miss what might have been, Elly. You miss the love and warmth that you felt so long ago.”

“Has it been that long?” Elister asked, wondering why the old man continued to call him by his diminutive when he was a fully grown man. Indeed, Elister looked much like his mentor, perhaps not quite so old, but he had lived for many decades, and his childhood was oftentimes no more than a bad memory at best, a forgettable nightmare at worst.

“Longer than you know,” Greyson said, gracing his pupil with a knowing eye.

“The endless lesson . . . that is all I know,” Elister said, returning his gaze to the forest below, referencing his studies in his master’s domain.

Greyson chuckled, but Elister did not look at him. “You protest too much. Besides, your time of studies is over.”

That did get a look from Elister, who knew nothing but the repetitious studies of the Druidic Order, the ceaseless ceremonies, and the long times of slumber. “You jest?”

“No,” Greyson said, taking a moment to sigh and choose his words carefully. “The time has come to end your initiation. Agon stirs, as does the Father and their many creatures and children. You feel you are ready?”

Elister thought he would never hear those words. He had given up hope decades ago when they first began. “I am ready, Arnen Greyson,” Elister said, using the formal title for his teacher.

“No need for that after all these decades,” Greyson said, turning to smile at his student. “You lost your manners after your adulting, though you hardly remember.”

“Well, that was long ago.”

“Long for some, not so long for others.” Greyson nodded.

“There you go again, speaking in riddles,” Elister said, returning the smile and exchanging his own staff from his right hand to his left so as to better speak with his teacher.

“They are not riddles, Elly. You will find that the answers you sought were always in front of you. You simply could not, or would not, see them,” Greyson said.

“I say they are riddles,” Elister said, his voice exuding confidence and exasperation all at once.

“Time to correct your assumptions. Are you ready to wake the Zashitors?” Greyson said, a twinkle in his eye, knowing what to expect.

“What Zashitors?” Elister was confused now.

“Don’t play games with me, Elly. It’s too early in the morning.” Greyson turned and started walking back to the stone door in the side of the mountain cliff. When he reached it, he turned to face his pupil, knowing instinctively that the man would still be standing there dumbfounded. “Well, come on. Don’t just stand there all day, time to wake the Rangers.”

Greyson turned, leaving Elister to ponder his words and then in sudden realization, run after him, chasing him with more than a few questions. The Zashitors, or Rangers as they were known in the common tongue, hadn’t been seen at their Abbey in quite some time. Decades, at least. Surely they would have grown old and been dead by now, wouldn’t they?

“Wait, Greyson,” Elister called out to the old druid as he navigated the rock corridor with surprising speed for someone his age. “Where are we going?”

The old man never looked back, speaking and walking quickly at the same time. “To retrieve your companions first, and then to the Chamber of Slumber.”

The pair found themselves at a junction in the deep rock mountainside and almost bumped into Elister’s companions, Tristan and Elizabeth.

“Good morning,” they both said in unison, pleased to have found their companion and teacher so easily this day. Most days, they had to wait for them to return to begin their studies.

Greyson nodded before addressing and surprising them, as well with his words. “Good morning, Trist and Beth. Your time of studies is over. Let’s go.”

Off again walked the old druid, with Elister in tow and two stunned former students trying to make sense of their teacher’s words.

“Elister, what did you say to him?” Beth asked, tugging at Elister’s robe.

“I didn’t say anything,” Elister began, hurrying to keep up as they twisted and turned down the well-worn corridors of their mountain home. “He said the same thing to me not more than five minutes ago.”

“Impossible,” Tristan said, bringing up the rear. “I can’t believe our studies would just end like that after all these years.”

The three former students bumped into each other as Elister found himself running into Greyson when the old man stopped suddenly, turning to face the trio. “Who said your studies are over?”

The three looked at the old man and then at each other. “Why, you did, just now,” Beth said first.

“Hmm.” Greyson looked down for a minute, rubbing his bearded chin with his free hand and then just as quickly returning their look. “Yes, I did say that, but I meant that your time of studies
here
is over. Now you must get your hands dirty, so to speak. No more clean books and warm linen for you.”

The man started off again at a quick pace, followed by his students, who tried a few more questions but got nowhere with their teacher, who was evidently focused on reaching the Chamber of Slumber. After several minutes of walking, the group came upon a high domed ceiling that they recognized immediately. To their left was a door that opened upon their mountain meadow sanctuary filled with trees, shrubs, and plants growing in a large basin-shaped hollow of the mountain range itself.

The right had a door with an ornate archway, marked with ruins and elaborately decorated drawings and other ancient hieroglyphs depicting various figures of history and legend all in the prose of sleep. Greyson stopped in front of the door and turned to face the trio.

“The Chamber of Slumber,” Tristan said, reverence in his voice.

“Pretty simple name, if you ask me,” Beth said, gazing at the carved details above the doorway. “I thought it should have a more . . . regal name.”

“It did, but you don’t remember,” Greyson said, giving the woman a look that said she ought to have known better.

If so, Beth wasn’t remembering. “What are you saying?”

“You studied it not long after your time of adulting,” Greyson lectured her, indeed all three of them who had forgotten their history.

“When was that? I don’t remember anything other than the Chamber of Slumber,” Beth countered.

“That’s because you three irreverent scoundrels decided to call it by its common name, forgetting your history.” Greyson’s words sounded harsh, but he was now smiling and bobbing his head up and down good-naturedly.

“Scoundrels,” Tristan said, half-heartedly protesting.

“Come now, Greyson, when did we study this?” Elister asked, understanding that this was serious.

“Oh, around eighty years or so ago, though you have all evidently forgotten. This makes me wonder if we need another decade or two of classes,” Greyson said.

The three groaned in despair at the thought of more classes. That was all they had done and known their entire lives. Elister spoke for the group when he responded, “I think we can do without the additional time, Arnen Greyson. Perhaps a simple reminder will suffice this morning?”

Greyson smiled, enjoying the charm and banter between them. He would miss it too soon. He always did. “Very well, you should have remembered the Heart of Enchanted Rest. Does that ring a bell?”

The three nodded, not willing to admit that even if it didn’t, they would act as if it did. Anything to avoid their teacher changing his mind after such a simple yet important declaration.

“Please, do continue,” Elister said.

Greyson nodded, pulling a key from his pocket and then frowning and putting it back, looking somewhat sheepishly at them. “Sorry, forgot my own procedure after so many years.” Stepping back, he brought his staff up and touched the center of the double doors, which brought an immediate mechanical sound as the doors opened on some sort of rock gear driven by the power of his staff.

“Wow,” Tristan said, sounding like a child despite his middle-aged appearance.

“Time to wake the Zashitors. They have work to do.” Greyson entered and walked down a long flight of steps broad enough to accompany all four of them.

The walls were lined with naturally occurring veins of white rock ore that glowed in the presence of the druid’s staff, illuminating the staircase and subsequent chamber beyond. Once down the flight of stairs, the group fanned out around nine large granite slabs of rock. The far three at the rear of the chamber were occupied. Three bodies lay under brown blankets, their heads covered with masks that hid the features of their faces and the color of their hair.

Greyson walked to the edges of the room, touching stanchions that erupted in flames to illuminate the area better, despite the faint glow from the white rock that streaked the interior of the chamber’s walls. Nodding in approval, Greyson turned to address his students.

“Three protectors for the three servants of the Mother.”

“So we are to be promoted, then?” Tristan asked, pride mixed with disbelief in his voice.

Greyson raised a brow and focused his attention on the man. “I wouldn’t use that exact word, but rather, you are now to be pressed into service, for the Mother has need of you.”

“Why now?” Beth asked, being the most curious of the group.

“Always to the point with you, Beth,” Greyson said, allowing his gaze to leave Tristan and focus on her. “War has come early. The signs portend something great with the coming of the great transit and the awakening of the great evil that occurs every time Father Death arrives.”

“What war?” Beth beat Elister to the question, forcing her companion to shut his lower jaw and look from her back to their teacher.

“The wizards of Kesh have done something to interrupt the natural flow of nature,” Greyson began, using the common term of nature instead of the attribute of the Mother. “We have less time, and so the Chief Druid has ordered us to mobilize and prepare to defend Agon.”

“You mean the First Arnen has declared war as well on the Kesh?” Elister asked.

“Something like that, Elly,” Greyson said, gracing him with a smile. “First, however, we need to find out what is happening here and whether or not the forces of evil have emerged from their long slumbers.”

“Dragons,” the trio said in unison, bringing a dark memory to Elister.

“Yes, and perhaps more,” Greyson said. “So, time is short. We must awake the protectors, and you must all be prepared to leave first thing tomorrow.”

The trio nodded, and Greyson turned, raising his staff and uttering the Prayer of the Mother, followed by the Chant of the Defender. There was no bright light, no flash or display of brilliance. Smoke did not billow from the druid’s staff, nor did any mystical presence appear. What did happen was that the three covered figures stirred beneath their brown coverings, causing the former students to take a step back.

“Agon help us,” Beth said, taking in a deep breath of air, as did her companions.

“She is,” Greyson said, turning to smile at her. “That is why she gave us protectors.”