The Fathers, page 16
part #1 of Doragon Series
That’s when he saw the telltale signs of another Seabra. Special shoes designed to protect soft hoofs, especially when traveling on the Speedways. This one was smaller than Sienna, not heavy with load.
“A Seabra went down this roadway to the East. After a wagon. Then barbarians on warhorses. Why? A Seabra out here. Why barbarians?”
Rogan stood still, his left hand resting on the short sword hanging loosely on the hip. He rubbed his itchy eyes, trying to peer down the road through the forbidding mist and overhanging forest.
Deep inside his gut, a familiar feeling peeked out. The feeling of anxiety that preceded trouble. Four warhorses, a wagon with a least one commoner, and a Seabra all headed down the same road. More than enough reasons to expect something to happen, at least to the owners of the wagon. The feeling nagged at him. A breeze scented with rich mossy forest greens teased his senses. His nose opened to take in the aroma. For a moment he thought the scent of a rose garden filled the air, then it was gone before he could take another breath.
Rogan spoke over his shoulder to Sienna, still waiting for orders, standing with muscles tense a few feet behind. “What do you think, shall we have a look?”
Before Sienna could respond with one of her snorts, another brief rush of wind whispered in his ear. Not a recognizable voice as if someone stood behind, but more of a spattering of echoing words, muffled by the wind and chatter of the forest. It seemed like a beacon, a call of voices, and an invite he could not turn away. He wondered if sounds echoed down the road from somewhere far ahead. His body wanted to move forward, to explore and see what lurked around the next dark secluded bend. A shudder zipped up and down his back. He shook his head to clear the troubling thoughts.
An old cherished memory of his mother calling him in from play touched his heart. As momentarily intense as the feeling was, it too, just as the rose scent did, disappeared before he could enjoy the warmth it carried.
Sienna felt in her own simple way a pull, an invitation, the desire to see what awaited them. It was a tug on her feet as if to say, walk this way. She snorted and wagged her head. Her delicate ears folded back. Her massive, powerful body slowly moved towards the beckoning destination.
Rogan glanced at the map once more. The night of no moonlight awaited the end of this day. The Dark Night. Traveling the road to the bridge, then to the next town across the border into the Coastal Kingdoms would take good day’s ride in a wagon. Less than a full day for a Seabra on this kind of roadway. An unwise night for anyone to be out traveling alone without protection. Perhaps a dragon awaited. Maybe the barbarians needed directions to the North. Whoever rode the wagon may find themselves in grave danger. Rogan had no issues with dealing justice for the barbarians. Now if a dragon showed up, then one more to behead. One more notch on the sword.
Somewhere in his carry-on bags on the sides of Sienna, a well-folded parchment was sealed with blue and red of the Royal Print of the Kingdom of Solan. Duly notarized by King Henry’s own personal seal. The document stated that Rogan of Family of Moor was authorized to act on behalf of any Knight, any of the Three Great Kingdoms, any governing authority to seek out and prosecute injustices in all the lands, rendering summary judgment and deliver justice under the discretion of the Armsman. As for barbarians and dragons, a death judgment without questions was expected. He had to catch up to the barbarians before they entered Solan, as the treaty prevented even him to engage unless they did first.
“Let’s go, Sienna. I think we have some business on this road,” said Rogan the Armsman.
She snorted her approval as he jumped up on her back and settled in. In a matter of moments, they were nearly floating down the roadway towards the fishing coasts of Solan, his home country. The ancient thick trees filled the sides, narrowing the road, causing a swooshing sound in his ears as he and Sienna passed by them. He loved that music, reminding him of the sounds of ocean waves splashing over the rugged shore below his father’s home.
The venerable trees lining the road cheered them on. Forest creatures of all sorts peeked from the safety of the forest tree walls to see more people and horses than any could recall. Some wanted to eat, some wanted to run and hide, many wanted to find the strange sound that buzzed in their little ears. A sound that beckoned them, just as the master calls the faithful pet to come and enjoy love.
Chapter Twenty-One
The four leather-clad barbarians pressed the warhorses hard. In half the Daystar light, they covered over half the distance to the bridge. They could have made the town if it were not for the wagon. Barbarians are known for predictability. Violence always came first in barbarian thinking.
Veronica sat on top of the rickety wooden wagon, the wheel no longer causing a sickening slosh. She did not feel that well overall but tolerable enough. Eating raw vegetables that they had brought from the farm kept her insides from howling. The birthing sickness haunted some women long after the baby arrived. Birthing time being only a few weeks away at best, her back and legs hurt, stomach floating somewhere between chest and mouth. She dozed off thinking of fishing, soft sand beaches, warm blue coastal waters, her family surrounding her and baby. Her mate nearby, his rough, strong fisherman hands holding hers.
Leonard heard the thump-thump of heavy horses. By the way the sound rose and fell, he knew it echoed from behind, down the road from where they came. Much unlike the sudden appearance of the Seabra and rider some time ago while he and Veronica were fixing the wagon wheel. Whoever it was barreling down the roadway advertised their arrival in advance. The reverberation gave him a sinking feeling in his thin fisherman frame. It was later in the day, the unhappy rain clouds long gone, the Daystar far over hiding behind the tall, thick forest, casting long shadows and putting the roadway under pale yellow light. He knew the bridge, then town remained an arduous ride for Veronica in the wagon, taking them well into the next day. Too distant to avoid the Dark Night. The poor wagon beast complained bitterly as he tried to coax it quickly along the roadway.
Veronica awoke with a start. “Why are you pushing the wagon so hard, my love? Our baby horse is going to fall over.” She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and tried to see the sky above. “The clouds are gone. It will be another beautiful night for us to see the stars. Remember when we used to do that back on our little farm? On top of the barn, until we fell through.” She finished with a short laugh.
Before Leonard could say a word, the thump-thump no longer echoed down the roadway. It was on top of them.
“Leonard,” Veronica said as she twisted her plump body to see.
Leonard tried to move the wagon to one side of the roadway in hopes to be out of the way of the oncoming herd. Over his shoulder, he saw three horses skidding to a halt, almost on top of them. Huge men with surprised looks. All dressed in dark fur-trimmed clothing with weapons hanging everywhere there was a hook.
“Barbarians?” Leonard said as he looked up at his mate, hoping he was wrong. Her face went from glowing hope to desperate fear. Leonard had never seen barbarians before. He knew Veronica had firsthand because of a raid she witnessed as a child living near a border town in the North. An attack that left her family broke, many dead, and her forever scarred.
“No, no, no,” she said, her voice giving away to a guttural growl. With as much haste as a full-term woman with long clothing could, she slid from the wagon, landing on her feet, her fists clenched, her eyes squeezed with hate.
“Well, what do we have here,” said, Vinny, pulling his warhorse to a sliding stop.
“Playtime,” said Memo with a belly laugh. Cousin Thary chimed in, rubbing his thick dirty fingers in an “I want the girl” fashion.
As usual, Visi landed a little later than the rest, as his warhorse struggled to keep up. He looked over the two commoners, the wagon, then gave a double take at the woman. “Vinny, let’s just leave them. So what if we are seen? No one can touch us in Solan. Let’s get to the next town before dark.”
Memo laughed hard. “Are you afraid of the Dark Night, fat man?” Drool dripped from his sneering, scared lips.
Vinny looked at his brother Visi and shrugged his shoulders with a smirk partly hidden by the greasy black beard. “It won’t take long.”
Nothing of what the barbarians said was understood by Leonard, but he knew tone and hand gestures. Leonard stepped around the wagon to fetch his only weapon: a shovel. As humongous as the two cousins were, Memo and Thary were off their warhorses before Leonard could turn around and face the men down. Leonard landed on his backside a meter away, the shovel in the hand of Thary. Memo laughed from his belly and tossed the would-be weapon into the forest, making a clang on the side of an innocent sapling, bouncing back to land on the roadway.
Veronica dove for the big man, her fists raised, teeth bared. She did not make it. Memo had her in his arms, laughing like a giddy child with a frightened kitten.
“Look, the woman is with child. Leave her be, Memo,” said Visi. Memo poked her pale white belly with a blackened nailed finger. “Shut up, Visi. My catch.”
Leonard tried to stand, but Thary’s treaded boot, the size of warhorse hoof, landed on the fisherman’s chest, pushing all the air out of the little man’s lungs. Leonard turned his burning red face to see the other barbarian force his mate on the muddy ground. He knew what was to happen next. His heart hammered with hate, but his body was too thin on muscle to push the giant tree of a man away.
A Seabra was a large creature, much larger than a warhorse, and far more intelligent. Standing near the size of two tall men from head to hoof, long enough for much supplies and a full grown man to sleep, and as full as two sitting side by side. It was said one could tell the difference between a warhorse and a barbarian because the horse walked forward when defecating. A battle line of warhorses carrying bloodthirsty crazed barbarians was a fearsome thing in any part of the world. The lack of common sense was their most formidable offense.
When using the Speedway, a well-trained Seabra could cross the known lands from the foothills of Hugell to the shores of Solan in a third of the time for a warhorse. On an old little-used roadway, a Seabra could still move smoothly and notably faster than most creatures in the known world. The brown-coated Lunger cats in the south and Yack dogs from the north could outrun anything with legs, but when it came to endurance, the Seabra, when trained correctly, would outdistance anything.
None of the barbarians heard Sienna arrive. She did not waste any time. Her blue eyes devoured the scene. Her frame, no match for the warhorse she deliberately collided with, barely ripped at the impact. The warhorse’s head squirted blood, it staggered, then fell over on the opposite side of the roadway. The fat barbarian’s leg was broken and trapped under the warhorse. Sienna snorted in triumph. She turned to set her attention on the beast on top of the screaming woman, her middle and lower parts exposed to the massive man, full belly like a ripe ground melon ready for picking.
Vinny finally gathered his wits and reacted. Off his warhorse, short sword in hand and looking for the owner of the Seabra, he wanted blood revenge.
“Where are you, brave Knight?” said Vinny in a sing-song tone, tossing his sword from massive hand to hand. “Send the pretty girl horse to do your battles?” He signaled to Thary to get into the fight. Snarling and smacking his gums, Thary picked Leonard up by the neck, then threw the skinny man to the ground with a heavy thump. Leonard struggled to stay conscious, black and red spots dancing everywhere he looked. With all his remaining strength, he slowly started a belly crawl to Veronica. Her face froze in terror, bloodshot eyes wide, voice raw from screams. Memo the barbarian danced like a fool, still trying to get his pants up while holding a sword all tangled in an uncooperative leather belt.
Rogan appeared from the forest edge opposite of the wagon; his long sword displayed above his head. “I’m an Armsman. That is my Seabra. Her name is Sienna.”
The undisciplined Thary charged Rogan, stepping on crawling Leonard, making the man grunt out any leftover air.
“No. Wait,” snarled Vinny. Too late.
Rogan charged towards the lumbering barbarian, sliding to his knees in the still slippery ground and swinging his customized long sword at the same time. The blade passed through the chest and out the back, ending the barbarian’s violent life. Rogan guessed the towering barbarian did not have reinforced leather armor by the way he moved so quickly. The extra weight and loss of maneuverability usually slowed a man of his size. Rogan regained his footing, pulling his short sword in one fluid motion from the side belt, then stepped into a defensive crouch, waiting for the next barbarian to come to him.
Vinny saw it happen in slow motion. His brother now pinned under the warhorse, grunting and kicking with his good leg to get free. Useless in the fight. Thary was dead or close to it. Out of action. He snuck a glance over his shoulder to see Thary catapulted into the tall brush of the forest edge, pants still around hairy legs and a smiling Seabra standing over the woman. Vinny, the most ruthless of his clan, lived for the fight. Today was a good day for a battle to the death.
“Your death is near, Armsman,” snarled the barbarian in broken common tongue, the language spoken above all the other regional and tribal dialects, his short sword drawn in his left hand, long dagger in the other. Vinny never hesitated. The long knife flew like an arrow at the Armsman. Rogan saw the glint off the silver blade, slipping sideways just in time. It grazed his arm just below the shoulder where his chest leather ended.
“Just me and you, barbarian,” Rogan said through gritted teeth. He knew the blade cut but not bone-deep, just enough to bring warm blood trickling down the arm.
Vinny had patience and some smarts. A sound sense of battle. He fought many Knights on the gritty frozen fields in the North. Most died or retreated in shame. Only one other barbarian matched his skills and that one sold his band to the hated man from Hugell. A few minutes later his patience paid off. Both men were weaponless. Now the battle became one of wits, fists, and feet. Vinny knew how to use both.
Rogan fought many men in hand-to-hand. Some big, some small. Lots of bruises, black eyes, and broken fingers ended many of the night brawls over drink and women. This time was for life. It took several stiff cracks to Rogan’s jaw before gaining the upper hand, putting the barbarian on his backside with a shovel oddly laying nearby. That gave Rogan time to retrieve his short sword, walk over to where the barbarian lay moaning, blood gushing from a gash that ran from ear to mouth.
The short blade sword pierced the reinforced leather just under the breastbone. Vinny looked down at the dark red blood squirting around the blade. His fingers touched the thick tanned brown reinforced leather chest armor, for a brief moment wondering if the armor-smith had cheated him and used inferior steel. Vinny the Barbarian knew the fight was over. He looked up at Rogan, the question written over his ashen face.
“Sharp sword,” said Rogan, pointing at the blade still in the man’s chest. Rogan had the sword made special in the blacksmith’s fire pits of the South by craftsmen known to Kings and Knights. King Henry of Solan made the gift of Rogan’s weapons, along with Sienna, after Rogan saved the King’s life many seasons past. Gifts Rogan knew had saved his life many times.
“Flatlander,” Vinny choked. Pink froth oozed from his mouth. Hate blazed from dying eyes.
“I’m from the coast. Look at the sky. It’s the last time you will see it.”
The barbarian died looking at the darkening blue sky. For a moment, Vinny thought he saw a giant winged creature far above the roadway. He smiled what was left of his mossy green teeth as his life took hold of dragon wings, just as the old men of the clans would say.
Rogan retrieved his long sword from the chest of the first barbarian, the body making a long sigh as air escaped from the wound. It took a few minutes to find the other cursing barbarian staggering around the forest edge, trying to get his wits and pants on. His body was badly damaged from impact with Sienna. Rogan killed him through the heart. As for the fat barbarian trapped under the dead warhorse, Rogan decided to let the filth suffer for a time. The man did not speak a word of the common tongue, but Rogan knew enough North dialect to understand the cursing.
“Sienna, do you think it is time to stop standing over those people? They will think the Daystar has gone to sleep early.” Leonard had made his way by crawling to Veronica during the fight. His arms wrapped around her as best he could. Her plain farm girl face was snow white from shock.
Sienna snorted and gingerly stepped aside, her head high in protest.
“Good work, Sienna.” Rogan blew her a kiss. She whinnied a thank you.
Rogan said to the man, “You are safe. I am Rogan of Family Moor. Warranted Armsman. I act by the authority directly given me by King Henry of Solan.”
Leonard did his best to straighten Veronica’s clothes. She was quiet now, sniffling on and off. She held her belly, rubbing the sides.
“We are happy. Very happy you came here in time. Otherwise...” His voice trailed off as he looked at his mate trying to regain her dignity.
“Four fewer barbarians in our world.” Rogan set about gathering weapons, tying the warhorses to the wagon, and dealing with dead stinking barbarians. Little flying bugs wasted no time finding the drying blood, a wonderful unexpected surprise in a forest delicately balanced on who-gets-what leftovers. Leonard explained his travels, the failure at farming, the wagon breakdown, and how they ended up here. Rogan and Sienna, reluctantly because she hated to get blood on her feet, dragged the dead bodies to the edge of the forest. By the time Rogan finished, Veronica had composed herself enough to speak and asked, “Please, sir, please stay with us. The Dark Night is beginning. We have food and water. Leonard can light a fire to keep the creatures away.”
