Micky Carre
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Dragon Riders of Etrea—Chapter 20
🕑 Added 2024-07-19 12:44:38 +0000 UTCThe moment the sun went below the horizon, Henrik readied himself. His sword and scabbard were back with his horse—it was too large and heavy for sneaking, and would only get in the way. He wore fresh clothes to lessen the chances of the dragon smelling him. His shirt was black, to blend in with the night. He was as ready as could be for something as crazy as this.
Rasud had called upon his ancestors to cast a spell upon Henrik’s boots. The spirits worked their magic, and now Henrik’s boots made nary a sound as he stepped on the rock and rubble of the mountain path before him. While he was quite skilled in moving silently, his steps were unnaturally quiet now. He couldn’t even hear himself.
That silence granted him confidence as he stole across the rocks in the darkness. The draw wasn’t particularly steep, so it was an easy journey up the mountain. He even jogged for a bit, just to get there faster.
Twenty minutes later, he saw the cave. It was difficult at night, but the sky still glowed dark blue from the last bits of sunlight staining the horizon. It wasn’t fully black yet, but would be soon. He had left early on purpose, so he could find the cave before it went full dark.
Eyes on the cave, he moved in a crouch, slowly even with the silence spell on his boots. He was careful not to send any rocks tumbling away from his boots. Someone five feet away wouldn’t even hear him, and with his black clothes he was like a shadow in the night. He just hoped the dragon egg wasn’t too big to carry. He had no clue what size it would be.
The cave drew near and he paused to take a few deep breaths. Henrik was not a man that knew fear; he feared nothing, not even death. But when dealing with a dragon, it always paid to be calm and careful.
Henrik crouched behind a nearby rock and decided to wait until full dark. He didn’t think anyone could see him, but he wasn’t going to take any chances. When he was this determined, he could outwait a stone.
Time passed slowly as he watched the sky fade from dark blue to black. The dense blackness of night spread to cover everything, plunging the draw into a darkness so deep he could barely see the path in front of him.
A hundred feet in front of him the draw leveled out into a wide, flat plateau. Beyond that, the mountain rose sharply into the sky, and cut into the base of the mountain was the cave itself. Faint lights dancing against the stone of the mountain suggested a small fire. Henrik waited until those lights went out, then silently counted out a full thirty minutes.
He slowly rose from behind the rock and began creeping forward. As silent as the shadows around him, he moved toward the cave. He was in no rush now; if it took him all night to move these hundred feet, that was acceptable. Everything had to be perfect.
The ascending angle of the draw flattened out and he found himself upon the small plateau. A faint glowing of coals next to the cave entrance proved his earlier observation correct; there had been a small fire, but it had gone out some time ago. He could barely even smell the coals.
He pressed himself against the stone wall and moved closer to the mouth of the cave. It was large; huge, even. Although he supposed if a dragon lived in there, it had to be. The entrance to the cave was at least thirty feet tall and twice as wide. He swallowed heavily when he thought about how big the dragon must be.
But fear had no hold on him, not even now. He never slowed; just kept slowly pressing on, inching closer and closer to the cave. It was only twenty feet in front of him. He thought he heard something for a moment, so he stopped and cocked his head to the side to listen. Yes, very faint. The sound of breathing. Of something huge breathing. His heart pounded, but he pushed those thoughts away.
Instead, he reminded himself that his fate was in his hands. Once he returned this to that bastard of a Duke, he’d be free to live his life again. Hell, if the pay was good enough he might even take a job here and there from the Duke, although he couldn’t see himself working for him too often. He preferred to be in charge of himself, and working for someone regularly was too—
“If you want your head to remain on your shoulders, I’d recommend you stop right there,” said a woman’s voice.
Before Henrik could turn, he felt cold steel and a razor sharp edge pressed against the side of his neck, right where the arteries were. He stopped dead in his tracks.
How had she done it? Even as large as he was, Henrik had never met a thief with his ability. His hearing was as sharp as a wild animal’s; the fact that a woman had sneaked up on him was all wrong. The fact that someone had a blade to his neck set his blood to boiling, though, and dangerously close to the edge.
“I hope you know how to use that,” Henrik said. “I can name on one hand all of the men that have put a blade to my neck, and not a single one still lives.”
“Good thing I’m not a man,” she replied, but she pulled the blade away. Within the cave something rustled. Something huge. “Turn around.”
Henrik slowly turned to face her.
She was tall for a woman, with pale blonde hair gathered at the nape of her neck. Her face was beautiful beyond words but was currently as hard as the stone around her; her lips were pressed in a hard line and her blue eyes glowered at him. She wore a metal breastplate covered with intricate engravings and held a sword with a black blade. Henrik blinked at that. It wasn’t dirty; the steel itself was black, with golden scrollwork.
That brought a memory to the surface. The black blades of the dragon riders. That was something mentioned in a story he had heard as a child. Her arms were slender but muscular, and the way she held the blade suggested she knew how to use it. He didn’t have his sword on him, so he didn’t want to push her too hard. With only his dagger, it would be a hard fight to win.
“You’re one of them,” he said, unashamed at the wonder in his voice. “You’re one of the dragon riders.” If there was ever a character from a mythical tale, it was this stunningly beautiful woman and her silver armor.
“So, you’re not a complete idiot. Just mostly an idiot for trying to sneak up here.” There wasn’t a hint of fear in her voice, which was rare when a person faced someone like Henrik.
Henrik kept his mouth shut. He had to choose his words wisely.
“Why are you here?” she demanded, but at least she lowered her sword. She didn’t seem to be concerned at all that she was facing a man a full head taller than her and a hundred pounds heavier.
Henrik didn’t answer. He didn’t plan on saying anything until he was certain he could keep his head.
“You had better not be with those fucking orcs,” she growled. Her blade began to rise.
“No,” Henrik said. “In fact, we were attacked by an orc raiding party only a few days gone.”
“And you survived?” she asked. “You said ‘we.’ How many do you travel with?”
The sound of something massive scraping against stone echoed from the cave, and Henrik glanced over his shoulder. A head the size of a horse emerged. It was covered with pointed scales and had teeth that hung down even with its mouth closed. Two large eyes focused on him from beneath thick, ridged brows. To Henrik’s surprise, the eyes were bright blue. They almost seemed to glow with their own light.
He refused to allow fear to set in, and calmly turned back to the woman as if the dragon wasn’t right behind him. She hadn’t given any indication that she was going to kill him yet, after all.
“Three,” he said. “Myself, a witchman, and a soldier.”
“A witchman and a soldier,” she repeated. “So, what are you?”
“A thief,” Henrik said without thinking. He immediately cursed his loose tongue.
“A thief,” the woman said. Her voice hardened. “A thief has come to my home, after so much pain has already been caused by thieves.” She surprised Henrik by sheathing her sword. “I suppose you think that your size matters here? That your muscles mean you can survive?”
Henrik had no answer to that.
“We live in peace here,” she said, her voice growing angry. “We only ask to be left alone until we are needed.”
“You mentioned orcs earlier. Have you had problems with them recently?” Henrik ignored the sounds of the dragon emerging from the cave. He could feel its breath, like a breeze against his back, and it wasn’t even close.
Her face grew dark, visible even in the blackness of night. “Those thieving bastards. I would pray to the gods to grant us strength to hunt them down, but the gods abandoned dragons long ago.”
Henrik blinked at her words. Thieving bastards? He thought back to what Duke Ardun had said. When the dragon egg had been laid, every magic user in the land felt it. The day before, Henrik had spotted a party of orcs rushing away, and amidst their numbers was a witch-woman.
“The orcs stole from you,” Henrik said. Her subtle reaction proved him right. “They stole the egg.”
She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword and gripped it as if she wanted to use it. “They had their witch with them. She used magic to keep them hidden and stole the egg from us.” Her voice hardened further. “What do you care about that?”
Henrik couldn’t help it. He barked a laugh. “I was sent here to do the same thing. If I return without it, I’ll be sent to the gallows.”
His head suddenly rang and stars swam in his vision. It took him a second to realize she had slapped him, and hard. Few men could hit with that sort of power. He took a deep breath to keep his temper from rising, but being hit always made it flare up. A powerful breeze blew against his back as the dragon exhaled. He refused to turn and look at it. If it really wanted to eat him he couldn’t stop it, so there was no use worrying about it.
“I have yet to ever hit a woman, and I’d rather not start now,” Henrik said in a threatening tone. “So I’ll tell you one time. Don’t ever do that again.”
She stared at him for a moment, her sapphire eyes meeting his black ones. The scowl on her face slowly faded into a haughty smile. Henrik never even saw her hand. One moment it was by her side, and the next his head rang again.
His temper flared. Not fully, but the edges of his anger seared his mind, granting him speed and strength that no one could match, not even this dragon woman. He grabbed her by her breastplate with one hand and lifted her into the air, slamming her back against the stone face of the mountain. Her feet dangled a head’s height off the ground. She blinked in confusion; it took her a few seconds to realize what had happened.
“I said, don’t do that,” he growled. He still refused to hit a woman, but hopefully that would at least show her he wasn’t a person to trifle with. This close he saw her eyes were bright blue, just like the dragon’s. And just like the dragon’s, they almost seemed to glow with their own inner light.
The only warning he had was a faint reflection in those blue eyes.
Henrik dropped her and spun right as the dragon lunged at him. Its mouth was closed, which was fortunate. Probably just trying to ram him to the side to protect the woman.
Well, Henrik’s temper had the better of him, so as the dragon came near he slammed his massive fist right on the tip of the dragon’s nose, right where most animals were most tender. It felt like punching a brick wall, and he felt several knuckles break from the blow. He snatched his dagger out with his left hand and held it ready. If the dragon was going to try to eat him, he planned on taking it with him to the grave. He was no easy meat.
The dragon reeled, both from being punched in such a sensitive spot and at the notion that a mere human had been fast and strong enough to actually hit it. It opened its mouth and moved closer. Henrik locked eyes with the giant beast and held his dagger ready.
“Stop!” the woman called out.
The dragon glared at Henrik and blew steaming hot air from its nostrils, but eventually settled back on its haunches. Sitting there, it towered over him like a four-story building. It was somehow slender yet impossibly massive. Its great wings were folded against its back. It was hard to tell in the darkness of night, but its scales looked to be roughly the color of sand.
Henrik turned to look at the woman. She watched him as if seeing him for the first time. He took a deep breath to cool his nerves. His temper had almost gotten the better of him, but he had managed to keep it in check, just barely. That could have been a disaster. His hand ached, but he refused to acknowledge it.
“What sort of man are you that punches a dragon?” she asked, taking a step closer to him.
“One that doesn’t like being slapped,” Henrik said, his tone still filled with anger.
“That much is certainly clear,” she said. Her gaze went over his shoulder to the dragon. “No,” she said, her tone changing from anger to disbelief.
The dragon huffed, sending a blast of air at Henrik’s back nearly strong enough to make him stagger. He refused to turn and look. He wouldn’t give her the pleasure of showing even the tiniest amount of fear.
The woman shook her head. “No,” she said again. “That is impossible! You must be wrong.” Her lips compressed into an angry line. “Although yes, I felt him as well.”
The dragon made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a grunt.
“Are you talking to that thing?” Henrik asked.
She gave him a sharp glare. “She is not that thing, thief. She is Tossyth, and she is nearly as old as time itself. She has lived a thousand generations and has saved mankind more than once. You would do well to remember that.”
Henrik stayed silent. He still held his dagger in his left hand. The situation was too dangerous for him to assume otherwise.
“So, thief, Tossyth has taken an interest in you, but I don’t think you should be allowed to leave here with your life.” She raised her chin and placed a hand on her sword hilt. “Would you like to try to convince me?” Her eyes went to his dagger. “Or do you want to see if you’re faster than me with that little blade?”
Henrik chose his words carefully. The dragon exhaled against his back again. Very carefully, indeed.
“Something is wrong,” he said. “You need help. The orcs stole the egg from you, but you haven’t chased after them. They left a day ago, and you’ve stayed here. Something is wrong.”
Behind him the dragon let out a hissing roar; it was loud enough to echo off the mountain walls and chill his blood. Henrik wasn’t sure why, but he felt immense sorrow in the dragon’s voice. He focused on the woman’s face as a dragon’s paw slammed into the ground behind him. Its massive head was suddenly right next to him. It sniffed him, hard enough that he nearly fell over. He never broke eye contact with the woman.
“Tossyth says you aren’t afraid. She says other things about you, but I’m not ready to believe them yet.” The woman’s eyes went to Henrik’s hand. “Your hand is broken, isn’t it?”
“That’s why my dagger is in my other one,” Henrik said.
The woman looked over his shoulder at the dragon again. “Yes, yes, I know. Okay, fine.” She turned back to Henrik and fixed him with a hard stare. “Give me your hand, but put the dagger away first. Then we’ll talk.”
