Storm's Clouds, page 13
part #2 of Stormfall Chronicles Series
“No, not in this fashion,” Eirlon replied, as he gathered supplies into his knapsack. “But this, as you know, is no ordinary assignment.”
“So what did you tell the princess?”
“Same as you heard. About the dragon sighting, and ogres, and some wizard named Sharik.”
Lynette narrowed her eyes. “No more secrets, Eirlon. Not this time. You held back on Baxter and I once before. The two of us never knew how much danger you were leading us into. What is it you’re holding back?”
Eirlon paused and sighed. “You saw the site where the fae sentries encountered the dragon outside of the Feygate. And you heard what Marius had to say. What do you think?”
“I’m not the lore-master,” Lynette replied. “What does it mean?”
“Did the two descriptions of the dragon seem at all alike?”
“No. They didn’t.”
“They didn’t seem alike to me either. Something doesn’t fit. Either there’s more than one dragon, or . . .”
“Or what?”
“Or one of them isn’t a dragon.” Eirlon cinched his knapsack closed and hefted it on his shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing . . . it’s just speculation on my part. Come on. Let’s get ourselves some breakfast. We’ll need an early start. Have to check out the site of the ogre raid before we leave.”
* * *
The ground had been trampled over many times, but the burned remains of the ogres, where the townsfolk had disposed of the dead bodies, still marked the site of the raid. Lynette and Baxter remained at the edge of the road, watching as Eirlon crisscrossed back and forth across the meadow. “Most of the signs of the struggle have been trod over,” Eirlon remarked. “Not much left to see.”
Lynette watched Eirlon methodically survey the field. Occasionally he would bend down to inspect something. There were ruts where wagons had been driven into the soft earth – no doubt by horses in panic. Finally, Eirlon climbed back up to the road, walking stick in hand.
“Anything?” Lynette asked.
“It’s pretty hard to make out what happened,” Eirlon responded. “But one thing I can confirm from Marius’s account: there’s no sign of scorch marks anywhere in the field. If there was a dragon here, it never breathed fire.”
“Where to now?” Lynette asked.
“There was a farmer on the northeast side of the village who lost a cow to a dragon a few days earlier,” Eirlon replied. “Baxter can lead us there.”
* * *
Baxter was harnessing the pony to the wagon, after having thoroughly brushed out his coat. The two riding horses had already been saddled, and their coats shone with a luster confirming how well they had been fed and groomed. Eirlon and Lynette finished packing their belongings in the back of the wagon.
“The pony looks good, Baxter. Ready to go?”
“Ready,” Baxter replied.
He glanced up to see Lynette approaching. Even in her tunic and riding breaches, she was a stunning beauty. Her long blonde hair braided neatly back. Her eyes a brilliant blue. He was certain she saw him as little more than the farm hand he had been born as. Someone to tend to the animals, not someone she would waste time hanging around.
“Which way are we going?” Lynette asked.
“What direction did the farmer say he saw the dragon head? The one who lost the cow?”
“South.”
“Then that’s where we’re headed.”
“But the merchant, Marius, said the dragon flew off towards the northeast,” Baxter pointed out.
Was Lynette rolling her eyes again? Now why, Baxter wondered, did he always put his foot into his mouth when he was around her?
“There were scorch marks at the farmer’s pen,” Eirlon replied. “None at the site of the ogre raid. We’re heading south.”
Eirlon pulled the wagon out, heading slowly across the center of the village. Baxter and Lynette followed, leading their horses through the busy street. Life had returned to normal after the previous day’s celebration. The scent of fresh bread wafted through the air, and the sound of the blacksmith’s hammer rang out from across the square. In front of the inn, the alderman and a selection of townsfolk were thanking the wizard Sharik yet again for saving the trade caravan, and perhaps the whole town, from certain destruction. The elderly magician, still smiling profusely, politely declined their offer to stay another day. He had places he must be off to, after all. His packed satchel was already at his side.
Lynette watched as Eirlon shook his head and prodded the pony forward.
From the road to the south came the sound of hoof-beats at a lively trot – which abruptly slowed to a walk. A message runner was approaching on horseback. He was a young man, probably too young to shave. He was attired in a brown, leather jacket, with a broad-rimmed, feathered hat. Barely more than a boy, to Lynette’s eyes. A stylized emblem on his chest bespoke the royal patronage under whose protection he was assigned. Thieves seldom bothered messengers. They generally rode with few belongings of value, and the ire of a royal patron was seldom worth the risk.
The messenger’s horse was snorting, sweat rolling down from beneath its saddle. Perhaps the boy had urged the horse on a little too hard, Lynette thought. Typical boy.
The messenger dropped down to give his horse some water. The animal noisily sloshed its snout in the trough.
“Any news from Trevio, young messenger?” one of the townsfolk asked.
“Plenty of news,” the boy said. “But I’m on my way to deliver message tubes to Alencia – so I can’t tarry long.”
“Any trade caravans heading north?” the alderman asked.
“None for at least another day,” the messenger said. “The big news everyone is talking about is the dragon.”
“The dragon?” the alderman replied. “He’s been spotted in the south now?”
“Aye, that he has. About a day’s journey south of here. He attacked a lone farmhouse. Burned the entire farm to the ground.”
The mayor clapped Sharik on the shoulder. “Fortunately for us, we have our own dragon slayer right here.”
Eirlon had stopped the wagon to listen to the conversation. Lynette noticed a gleam in his eye as he watched the discussion unfold. She followed his line of sight, and realized he was watching the wizard Sharik, whose smile had long since vanished, the color gradually draining from his cheeks.
“I imagine the wizard Sharik will be wanting to pursue the dragon to finish him off!” added another townsman.
“I couldn’t, I mean, I was heading east,” Sharik replied. “I wouldn’t happen to know anyone in Trevio. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“We’re going south,” Eirlon spoke up. “We’d be happy to have such an acclaimed wizard travel with us.”
Lynette stared at Eirlon like she had never seen this gnome in her life. Eirlon was grinning broadly.
“Well I, I don’t have anywhere to stay. I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”
“Nonsense. We know plenty of inns along the way where you could stay. After all,” Eirlon grinned, “We wouldn’t want you to miss a chance to finish off a real, live dragon.”
There was another moment’s hesitation. Sharik was clearly not enthusiastic about the idea, but couldn’t find a reason to decline. “It’s settled then,” Eirlon continued. “Baxter! Toss his travel bags into the wagon. We would be delighted to have such an honored guest join us.”
Baxter handed Lynette the reins for his horse, shrugged, and loaded Sharik’s bag into the back of the wagon. The elderly magician, who had been all smiles only a few moments before, climbed reluctantly into the wagon beside Eirlon. Sharik was able to summon a bedraggled smile and wave for the townsfolk as he left. He reminded Lynette of a cat who had fallen into a bucket of water – and was struggling futilely to extricate itself, while retaining whatever dignity it had left.
As Baxter returned to take the reins of his horse from Lynette, she leaned over to where Eirlon was seated in the wagon, whispering to him in the fae tongue: “You have a mean streak, little gnome.” Eirlon just continued to smile.
* * *
As they traveled, Lynette could hear Eirlon striking up a good-natured conversation with Sharik. “You must have been quite the attraction back in Terone. I mean, there can’t have been too many wizards of your stature.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I led a quiet enough life.”
“Come now, don’t be so modest. Not after defeating a dragon like you did. I bet you were a frequent at the royal court.”
“I did travel to the royal palace, once upon a time.”
“I was sure of it! Those are the markings of a royal court mage, no doubt. You must have been a regular in the halls of King Alfonse.”
Lynette urged her horse a little faster, preferring to catch up with Baxter rather than sit through any more of the magician’s discomfort. “Has he ever done anything like this before?” she asked Baxter in a low voice. “Eirlon, I mean.”
Baxter shook his head. “Maybe in a tavern once or twice. He’d encourage some local braggart into making a fool of himself, but never on the road when we were traveling.”
“We’re going to have to dump him eventually,” Lynette said. “I can’t imagine taking a court magician with us to find a real dragon.”
Baxter nodded. “Eirlon will probably have had enough fun with him by the time we reach Piombo.”
The four travelers stopped late that evening at the side of the road, setting up camp near a small brook. Baxter collected wood for the fire, while Lynette discretely made her way to the edge of camp, to chatter with the nearby forest animals. Her animal speech was still not as smooth as that of the fae, but she had learned a lot since she had first entered the academy.
She whistled sweetly, coaxing a little bird to her hand. It was a sparrow, with a bright white streak across the darker feathers of its wings. It twittered back and hopped cheerily onto her outstretched fingers.
Lynette willed her thoughts and words into the little chirps and whistles that her lips produced. “Any humans near us?” She needed to keep her thoughts simple, she knew. Something the bird could understand.
“A boy, a girl, a gnome, an old man. No others,” the bird chirped back.
“Any other humans? Today?” Lynette persisted.
“No others,” the bird replied. “No others since the sun was high.”
Lynette breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was to have to deal with bandits on this journey. Although her conversation with the bird made her breathe easier, she knew Eirlon would insist on rotating a night watch between the three of them. A prudent precaution.
She twittered a thanks to the little sparrow and it flew off. Little bird, she thought fondly. The memory of the phrase still lingered in her mind like a sweet candy. She wondered where Garth was at that moment.
As she arose from her crouched position, Lynette glanced over to see the mage Sharik watching her intently. Lynette smiled in response. “Eirlon should have the tea ready soon. Best to lay out your bedroll before the cold sets in.”
Sharik continued to observe her as if she had just sprouted a second head or some such thing. She smiled sweetly as she made her way towards the campfire. And to think she wasn’t even a proper fae or druid. Just a confused farm girl who whistled to the birds and coaxed them onto her hand. Bet he wouldn’t know how to react if he ever saw her perform real magic.
The morning of the second day the travelers came across the burned remains of the farmhouse the messenger had told them about. They could see the smoke rising from the remains long before they could see the farm itself at the edge of the road. The house, the barn – both reduced to smoldering ruins. Eirlon stopped the wagon and climbed down to investigate. “This way, my good mage Sharik. I’m sure you will want to have a good look at what you’re up against.”
The elderly magician followed numbly, as if in a trance as Eirlon led the way. If there were any survivors from the homestead, they had apparently already moved on. Lynette and Baxter trailed behind.
The homestead had once been an ambitious undertaking, far removed from any town or city. It had boasted considerable pasturelands and fenced-in runs. The house and barn had been clustered together with concentric rings of fields and fences to corral livestock and to protect them from wildlife or bandits. There was a vineyard to one side – and the view of the mountains beyond was exquisite. It must have been a beautiful setting to start a life and a farm, Lynette thought.
But the house and barn had been burned to their foundations. Here and there, the fences were burnt or broken, and any surviving livestock was long gone.
“See how they arranged the house and barn, master Sharik?” Eirlon began. “Well thought out. A solid defense, in case any thieves came for their livestock. The farmer must have had a lot of able-bodied sons, if he was willing to establish a farm way out here. Probably more acreage than he could have hoped for near a town or city.” Eirlon led them beyond the rubble which had once been a house, climbing over a fence, to where the livestock would have been corralled. He scanned the enclosure. “There!” he said at last, striding towards a blackened mark near the edge of the fence.
There was a blackened streak more than a dozen feet long. Eirlon ran his hand across the scorched earth and grass. “This was where the dragon must have brought its prey down. Probably a horse or cow, judging by the size of the indentation. See that?” Eirlon added, pointing to a particularly deep trench. “Probably a claw mark where the dragon would have landed on its prey. A good imprint in the soft earth.”
“How big?” Baxter asked, knowing full well what Eirlon had been looking for.
Eirlon ran his fingers across the imprint, going through the measurements in his mind. “From the size of the foreclaw, I’d estimate the beast was, oh . . . about forty feet or so in length, and would have weighed about three tons, maybe a little more.”
Sharik’s discomfort was self-evident. The awkward way he stood, the distance he kept from the scorch marks on the ground – as if he were afraid even touching them might burn his fingers.
Eirlon stood, staring back at the burned-out remains of the farmhouse and barn. “The family who lived here were probably used to chasing off common thieves, or the occasional bear. Close enough to Piombo that ogres and goblins would be kept at bay. Far enough out to establish a sizeable pastureland for themselves. They must have been industrious, hardy souls.” He shook his head sadly. “Probably had no idea what it was, when they first heard the noise in their pen. And now . . .” Eirlon’s voice was low, his tone grim. “Now they’ve lost everything.”
Eirlon approached the wizard Sharik and paused. “Sorry to tell you. This dragon is much smaller than what you’ve encountered before. I’m sure it won’t prove too much trouble for an arche-mage such as yourself.” The gnome continued back to the road, and his wagon. “Come on, Sharik,” the gnome called back. “Have to catch up with the dragon!”
* * *
Baxter had gone to collect another armful of firewood from the surrounding forest. It was still light out, but they had selected a broad place to set up camp – and Eirlon wanted enough time to make out another letter to Elise. As he drew quill and ink from his travel pack, he gave a little nod to Lynette. At first, she wasn’t sure what he wanted. It took a moment for her to realize she needed to keep Sharik occupied while Eirlon wrote-out his notes for the day.
Lynette approached the campfire where Sharik had just placed the tea kettle over the hot coals. “What’s it like?” Lynette asked sweetly. “Being a wizard?”
“Oh, like any profession, I’m sure,” Sharik replied. “It has its good days and bad.”
“I understand you’re from Tendia?”
“Yes, I was enrolled at the magic school there,” Sharik smiled in reply, as if remembering something fondly. “I was a favorite at the royal court – at least at one time.” Sharik put forth his hand, and a bluebird appeared on his outstretched fingers, condensing out of the thin air. It chirped cheerily, spread its wings – and then vanished into a spray of colorful flowers that floated up into the sky.
Lynette smiled. “That is amazing. I’ve never been to Tendia. What’s it like there?”
“Much like the cities in Trevio, I would imagine. Street markets full of vendors selling wares. Crowds to be entertained at festival time. Walls and buildings that resemble the pale-red earth surrounding the city. Manors for the wealthy set into the overlooking hills. And the port-side of town, constantly bringing new people, new wares, and new stories from far-away lands.”
“Sounds lovely,” Lynette replied. “Why ever would you leave?”
“Oh, to see the world, I guess. Only so much there is to see or do in Tendia.”
Lynette glanced over at Eirlon, who had completed drafting his note, and was attaching it to the leg of the bird that he had transformed from another metal statue. She watched him launch it into the air. “You’ll have to show me more, sometime,” Lynette remarked to Sharik.
She arose and walked closer to Eirlon. “How many of those birds do you have?” she whispered.
“A half dozen,” Eirlon replied as he repacked his supplies and unfolded another piece of paper. He glanced up in Sharik’s direction, but the elderly magician was busy adjusting the tea kettle alongside the fire. “But Elise has been writing messages in return.”
“What does she say?” Lynette asked, hating how she was being kept in the dark.
“She agrees with my assessment of this dragon we’re following. She wants us to track its movements until we can locate where it chooses to make its den.”
“Its den?”
“Yes,” Eirlon continued, eying Sharik warily. “It’s only active at night. It must be spending the days somewhere else. Probably in a cave or other site shielded from the sun.”
“I didn’t know dragons avoided sunlight.”
“They don’t,” Eirlon replied with a knowing grin. “That’s why both the princess and I suspect this isn’t really a dragon.”
“Not really . . .”
“Shhh,” Eirlon gestured towards the road. “Someone’s coming.”
