The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3) (7 page)

“I’m not sure. They may simply be satisfied with your caravan.”

“That was the king’s caravan and the king’s goods. He’ll be upset once he learns of this,” the elderly man said.

“I would think he would be more upset at the loss of his personal historian. That is what you do, isn’t it?” the female warrior asked.

“It is, though he cares about all of his subjects. I am but one of many.”

“Well, he’s about to have one less subject soon. There they are. We have little time left to us.” The female warrior pointed to the bottom of the draw where at least a half dozen of the wild barbarians were running at a quick pace up the gulley, soon to be parallel with them on the ridgeline. “How do you want to die?”

“Preferably in my bed, after I’ve finished writing my chronicles and enjoyed a good supper, but this isn’t looking good.”

“I can take out two of them, maybe a third if I am lucky. You will die right after I do. Do you want my dagger?” The female warrior pulled her knife from her belt and offered it to the elderly man.

“I have one of my own, thank you. Do you think we can reach those boulders up there before they do?” The old man pointed up the ridgeline toward a pair of large boulders sitting no more than a few feet apart. Each was the size of a small house and would be impossible to climb.

“I think so, but whatever for? They will simply flank us and attack from either end.”

The old man picked up his pack and shouldered it again, running past the female warrior, not looking back to see if she followed or not, but he did answer. “I’ve come face to face with a dragon and survived. For some reason, time is everything. We can buy ourselves more time if we hold a more defensive position.”

The labored breathing of his armored companion gave him comfort as they ran faster toward the boulders, several stone throws away. “All right, you are an educated man, but how will a few minutes help us? It won’t take them long to flank us from there.”

“I don’t know,” the man said, running and not looking back, “but a few minutes seem very precious to me right now, and I’d like to live a tad bit longer, if you have no objection.”

“I will agree as long as we can catch our breaths. I don’t mind dying as long as I’m not out of breath.”

“Now that is probably one of the oddest things I have ever heard in my entire life. I really must get it written down before I die. See if you can hold them off when we get there.”

It took only a couple of minutes before the unlikely pair reached the boulders. The ridgeline had broadened out, and they were dismayed to see that, despite their sprint, the barbarians had made up considerable ground below them.

“I hope you write quickly,” the female warrior said, kneeling and breathing deep breaths, intent on keeping a promise to herself to not die while being winded.

“I hope you catch your breath soon too,” the old man said, dropping his pack and pulling out a small pencil from his robe pocket and opening a small leather notebook that he withdrew from a small side pocket on his bulging pack.

The warrior woman took a long moment to breathe, closing her eyes and focusing on it. When she felt ready, she stood and pulled out her blade, setting it tip first into the ground in front of her and using it to rest on. She would conserve every bit of energy she could for her pursuers. She at least wanted the historian to see that her count was correct, though she truly felt that one would be all that she could kill before succumbing to their massive weapons. She didn’t have the heart to tell him any different.

“Are you really writing what I said in that little book of yours?”

“I am,” the old man said, scribbling furiously.

“You know they will just take or burn your precious books, don’t you?” she asked, not understanding the motive from her companion.

“Probably, though I hope to dissuade them, even in death.” The old man finished and placed the small notebook back in the side pocket and then opened the top, rummaging around till he found an object and pulled it out, closing the pack and pushing it under the edge of one of the boulders. It wasn’t hidden, but the object he pulled out he placed against the pack. It looked like a fang from an animal, but not just any animal. A huge immense beast, as the tooth-like object was over a foot long.

“Is that what I think it is?” the woman asked, looking back and hearing the war cries of the barbarians as they climbed the ridgeline below them.

“If you think it’s a dragon’s tooth, then yes, you are correct,” the old man said, reaching deep into his robe and pulling out a small dagger.

“They respect that tooth?” she asked.

“No, they fear it,” the old man said.

The first barbarian was about to crest the ridgeline, and the female warrior pulled her blade and held it in front of her. “I wish you had time to explain, but we finished using those precious moments of yours; I hope you accomplished what you wanted to.”

“I did, thank you, and I hope you have caught your breath. You seem to be breathing rather calmly, considering the circumstances,” the old man said, taking a few steps to stand to her side, just behind her. He reached out with his free hand and placed it on her shoulder so she would know where he was.

“I did catch my breath, and it was good knowing you, however brief our time was. Sorry I can’t make it longer.” The first barbarian had arrived and reared a huge axe over his head for a killing blow at the defiant warrior woman.

The blow missed by inches as the woman stepped to her left, leaving the old man exposed as he had been behind her and to her right. She felt a tinge of guilt at that, but knew that the barbarian was expecting her to move to her right to defend her companion. The opposite move confused the large warrior, and she brought her sword across in a sweeping move, catching him unprepared and slicing into him at his torso where his ribs ended and his abdomen began.

The old man lunged forward past the large axe and stabbed the barbarian in the other side, just beneath his rib cage, and stepped back just as quickly. The combination counterattack took the warrior by surprise and allowed the female fighter to slash at him across his neck, lifting a foot to kick him back into his companion who was charging forward.

“We fight now for extra time, only seconds, though, I’m afraid,” the old man said.

The female warrior nodded, content that they had one kill down. Perhaps she could meet her promise to the old man and kill two, perhaps taking a third with her in a suicide attack. “For once I am in full agreement with you, Master Historian. A few seconds sound good to me right now.”

The remark was short-lived as the rest of the barbarians crested the ridgeline and charged the pair full on. Their attack was nothing short of what they witnessed to their wagon train as nearly a hundred of them attacked in a fury that was unmatched with anything that they had ever seen before. The blood lust was so strong that they didn’t use missile weapons, nor did they bother with defensive shields. Some had one weapon, others had two, one for each hand, and the northerners were some of the largest humans in all of Agon. Large and strong, they were built for combat.

A warrior in black furs with brown leathers swung an axe in one hand and a short sword in the other. The sword looked to be shiny, as if stolen from one of Agon’s civilized realms, while the axe was rusted and shoddy looking, though nonetheless deadly. The female fighter swung and hit one of the barbarian’s arms, causing the man to drop his blade, but the axe hit her, a glancing blow along her torso. Her chainmail held, but it knocked the wind from her and would leave a huge bruise if her body had time to form one before death took it.

Damn it
, she thought to herself as she backpedaled, noticing that the old man was doing the same, though slower, next to her. She was going to die out of breath anyway. Within seconds, they had reached the boulders, and the female fighter practically pulled the old man behind her, standing her ground, while three barbarians tried to stick her with their blades and a fourth had a spear thrust forward, searching for a soft spot.

The northerners yelled in unison and charged. The female warrior stepped forward and slashed down at the first weapon she could reach, a spear point thrust forward, and its tip was sent flying as she broke the crude weapon in half. Quickly she moved to her right as a blade swung down, missing her by inches. Her blade countered, hitting one barbarian in his shoulder and, to her horror, sticking in his body. Blood gushed from the blow, and the man yelled at her in defiance as spit flew from his mouth, splattering her face.

With a final great effort, she raised a foot and planted it in the man, pulling with all her might to free her blade. As it came free, she was hit by two blows, the first knocking her square in her chest and breaking two ribs as the chainmail held, but the force crushed the bones beneath her. The second blow was aimed at her abdomen, but her armor deflected it, causing the blade to slide along it till it reached her shin and cut into her leg, stopping only when it reached bone.

The crippling blows caused her to drop to her knees, though she took some satisfaction in watching the barbarian that she had hit drop backward, obviously dying, as she had managed to strike a killing blow.
That makes two
, she thought to herself as the world blurred and her sight dimmed, her body going into shock before the onset of death.

One barbarian seemed to try to flank to her right, probably to kill the elderly historian. With one last dying lunge, she aimed for the barbarian and stuck the tip of her blade in the other man’s chest. It didn’t go far, but it got his attention as he turned to face her, ignoring his original target.
What a shame it wasn’t a killing blow
, she thought to herself again. Her assessment would appear to have been right on.

A blur of brown passed in front of her, and she saw the old man attack, stabbing the barbarian that she had pierced with her sword as he stuck his dagger into the man’s neck. The blood flow there was enough to tell her that in death, they would have taken three of the proud clan members with them. That seemed more than a fair trade for a tired mercenary warrior, a female at that, and an old historian.

She let go of her sword and lay back as the sounds of death, pain, and combat dimmed around her. She knew she was dying, and it seemed surreal as she watched a large northern warrior hold his blade high overhead for the killing blow as he took his stance, one foot on either side of her prone body. As the sword started forward, she realized that she wasn’t out of breath anymore. She was simply not breathing, and that seemed like a good compromise to her, at least until death arrived.

The last thing she saw before the blade reached her was a magnificent arrow that suddenly sprouted from the barbarian’s forehead. All she could think of was that she wished the historian could write it down for someone to read about one day.

“Will she live, then?” said a familiar voice.

“I think so, though I’ve never done this before; well, not on a human, that is.”

“I think she hears us,” came the familiar voice again, and the female warrior started to become aware of her situation, though she didn’t understand why everything was black and felt wet.

“Yes, she is breathing normally now. That is a good sign,” came the second voice, interesting and not familiar to her, both old and young it sounded, a dichotomy of sorts.

“Well, if she lives, she will want to breathe normally. I’m not sure why, but that seemed to be very important to her when she was facing death. Perhaps she could see better if we took the medicinal cloth off?”

“Oh yes, a very good observation,” came the strange voice.

Suddenly pain stabbed into her mind as a bright light pierced her eyes, and she fluttered them, trying to remember which way her lids needed to move in order to close them. The light was painful and welcome at the same time. Somehow she understood that she had not died, though she was sure that the experience of death was something she was going through. With great effort, she spoke, trying to bring an arm to her forehead to shield her eyes.

“What happened?”

“She does live. By all the gods in Agon, you did it,” came that familiar voice.

“Stand there and shield her from the setting sun,” said the other voice. “I think the light is in her eyes.”

“Yes, quite right,” said the old man’s voice, and instantly the stabbing pain diminished as the light was blocked, allowing her lids to flutter for a moment as she attempted to see.

She saw a strange face right above hers, staring at her. The man had a childlike face, but it had the first beginnings of winkles, and his hair was starting to turn grey from its deep brown. He wore a brown robe that looked much like her companion had worn, and he had a staff in one hand and a damp-looking rag in the other along with an empty, glass vial.

Above her, silhouetted against the bright orange rays of a setting sun, was that odd royal historian. It made her feel good to see him alive. She thought for sure his death would come soon after hers. “So you managed to survive,” she said, her voice faltering.

“Yes, thanks to your bravery,” the older man said. “I understand it’s a strange time for introductions, but for my memoirs, could I have your name?”

The woman started to laugh, which quickly turned into a racking, painful cough. The strange man held one of her hands, dropping the rag and vial and setting his staff down. After a few moments, she cleared her throat and managed a smile at her fighting companion. “I am Gloria of Giegenstien.”

“Well met,” the old man said, returning her smile. “I am Diamedes, royal historian to the Tynirian king, Ulathan by birth, and this man is . . .”

“Oh, yes, sorry, I forgot we haven’t had time for proper introductions. I am Elister of the Greenfeld, once from Vulcrest, and my companion can introduce himself when he returns. I don’t want to speak for the man. Ah, where exactly is Giegenstien?”

“You’ve not heard of it?” Diamedes asked.

“No,” Elister said sheepishly. “Is it near Ulatha or Tyniria?”

“To the contrary, it is about as far south as you can get, well past Safron,” Diamedes explained.

“Hmm, I think I remember seeing Safron on a map, and I’m pretty sure my teacher enjoyed a good pipe weed from there, though I haven’t seen any in recent memory.”

“Excuse me,” Gloria said, trying to sit up and failing miserably.

“I don’t think we need to further our geography knowledge anymore at this point,” Diamedes said. “Best if we concentrate on our brave warrior here.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you gentlemen, but I asked what happened. Why are we still alive?” Gloria managed to finish her sentence, and then closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

Elister answered, “You probably mean
how
are you still alive. You’re alive because you didn’t die. I thought that would be clear enough, though I did have to heal you first.”

“No, I think she is inquiring why you and your companion helped us, and perhaps how you managed to be out here in the far wilderness. We weren’t expecting aid of any kind,” Diamedes clarified.

“I can answer that,” came a much deeper voice. Commanding and ageless it sounded.

“Back already? Are they still searching for us, Edric?” Elister asked.

Gloria struggled to open her eyes, and she saw a tall man wearing leather armor with a large bow over his back and an axe sheathed at his side. He had a brown cloak that blew gently in the wind, and he walked silently, reminding Gloria of a cat, to her side and looked down at her.

“They are and they will find us soon, though I led them on a merry chase and bought us more time. How is she?” Edric asked.

“I think I healed her enough to save her life,” Elister said, smiling at the tall Ranger and gracing Gloria with the same gesture as he held her hand. “Thanks to your healing water.”

“Good, though the healing comes from Agon herself. She is not out of danger yet, though,” Edric said, looking to Elister and then the old man before returning his gaze to Gloria. “I am Edric, Ranger of the Arnen, and we were on a task to the north of here when fate decreed that our paths cross. Fate, it would seem, is the only reason we are here right now.”

“Greyson doesn’t always believe in just fate. It was most likely meant to be for some reason, though only the Mother would know for certain,” Elister said, patting Gloria’s hand and smiling at her again.

“A Ranger, then?” Gloria said, looking at Edric. “I’ve heard of your kind before . . . and you must be . . .” She looked at Elister.

Elister frowned in confusion for a moment. “I think you must have hit your head when you fell. I am Elister. Do you remember our introductions?”

“Of course she remembers. She is simply wanting to know who travels with a Ranger,” Diamedes clarified.

“Oh yes, well, I am one of the Arnen. An Initiate for now, but that is the order that I belong to,” Elister said, his smile returning.

“Fate smiles upon us,” Diamedes said, looking straight at Gloria.

Gloria nodded, blinking her eyes and allowing her arm to flop back down to her side as she had attempted to hold it up for the last few minutes. “It would appear that your wisdom with time is more than satisfactory, Royal Historian. I am most glad that I heeded your counsel.”

“It was nothing really, just something someone once told me years ago and it seemed most urgent at the moment, though I don’t know why. Speaking of which, if you excuse my long-windedness, what are we to do now?” Diamedes asked.

“That depends on the woman,” Edric said.

“Right, you haven’t been properly introduced. Ranger Edric, this is Lady Gloria of Giegenstien.” Diamedes made the proper introduction.

“Gloria will do,” she said.

“As you wish,” Diamedes said.

Edric nodded. “Well met, Gloria. You fought bravely. I wasn’t sure my intervention would be in time, but you can thank your companion for your life. He threw himself into the barbarian that tried to kill you, knocking the man off balance, and the sword blow went wide, missing your head.”

“You did that for me?” Gloria asked.

Diamedes shrugged and then smiled. “The Ranger exaggerates a bit. Your would-be-killer was already dead, and I simply pushed him to the side. If truth be told, his blade missed your skull by the width of no more than a few hairs from your head.”

“I’m afraid his blade did clip the tip of your ear,” Elister said. “A shame that your helmet was knocked off when it was. It could have protected you better.”

Gloria frowned and then reached over to her left ear to feel a bandage on top of it. That, at least, explained why everything seemed somewhat muffled when the men spoke. “How much of my ear did I lose?”

“Just the very tip,” Elister said. “We are not exaggerating when we say the blade just missed your head.”

Elister looked to Diamedes, who nodded in agreement. “Close call,” Diamedes said. “So, as I asked before, what now?”

Edric nodded. “As I was saying, that depends on Gloria. If she can walk, then we must flee here immediately. Even that won’t ensure our safety, though. The Northmen are some of the best trackers in all of Agon. Despite my interventions, they will eventually find our trail.”

“And if she can’t walk?” Diamedes asked, looking at Gloria with concern, though for her and not himself.

“Then we stay here and fight, and I don’t think that even my bow or Elister’s staff can keep the main bulk of their force from killing us,” Edric said.

“How many are left from the caravan attack?” Diamedes asked.

“At least four score, maybe more,” Edric said.

“I’m beginning to appreciate the precariousness of our situation,” Diamedes began. “Twenty-to-one odds are not inspiring, to say the least. So there is only one more important question to be asked now.”

“What would that be?” Elister asked, turning to face the historian.

Edric answered for him. “Can she run?”

Tyranna had led the woodland nymph to the edge of the human town, not far from the Greenfeld. Of course, the dryad balked at helping her, and the dragon felt the usual murderous rage welling inside of her, urging her to kill. She restrained herself and forced her mind to think logically.

She was alone, again. This had started to be a habit for her, and she wondered if it had more to do with her kind, the green dragons, or was it just her personally? She knew that she had violated their laws, and without permission from the queen, she had laid an egg. Rearing their young on Agon was forbidden. This they could only do on their home world, where their young were protected, nurtured, and reared properly in the ways of dragon kind. Also, motherhood was mostly a foreign concept for them. They bred, laid eggs, and left them for their caretakers, never to have a mother-daughter relationship as individuals. No, for total loyalty to their queen, there could only ever be one mother, one ruler, one leader, and that would be her.

This did not sit well with Tyranna. Who did she think she was to rule over all their kind? The reds always felt that they were superior, though Tyranna had to admit they were the largest of all their kind, and the strongest. Even the few alpha males that were allowed to live could not match up against the reds, and when the humans were at their most dangerous, the red dragons awoke from their long slumbers and entered Agon to wipe out any resistance and ensure the following millennia was orderly and productive.

They burned Agon with their fire.

“You sure you still want us to take the human babies?” The dryad spoke to her, teleporting from a large oak tree nearby.

“Do it,” was all Tyranna said.

The dryad nodded and then entered the oak tree again, disappearing and moving to a lone tree within the center of the small town. Blackwell, they had called it. It didn’t take long before the dryad and two of her sisters returned to the oak tree, each carrying a bundled human baby swaddled in a small cloth blanket. So light was their touch that all three babies were still sound asleep.