Chapter 2: The Lord of the Dragons
Now the story turns to a certain temple which lay across the Sea of Dolteruinne, on an island dominated by the high Mount Balmeath. The temple was perched on its slopes, which afforded a captivating view of the surroundings, when they weren’t obscured by fog. A deep tunnel braced by stone arches extended into the mountain, built by ancient dwarfs containing many hewn chambers. In one such chamber lay several chitinous, organic capsules, five of which were lit from within by an amber glow. Silhouettes of people floated in their depths.
A long crack formed along the length of one of them. There was movement within the capsule, as a pair of hands reached for the crack and split the shell with pointed fingertips. A dark blue embryonic fluid poured from the chrysalis as the shell split open, and Aodhan emerged. Clad head to foot in jagged, black dragon scale armor, he wiped the excess fluid from his person, his long black hair, and surveyed the chamber. Everyone else still slept. One person in particular would sleep forever if he did not act in time. Aodhan took a deep breath. A dragon was close.
The others were not fully healed, nor was it time for them to wake. Aodhan would have to fight this battle alone. He found his bastard sword in the storage chamber, along with suits of metal armor, an enormous axe, archery equipment, and an assortment of knives and daggers. His gaze lingered on the cane made of ash wood which lay across a stone-carved circular table. It remained a constant motivator to pursue his task. Belting the sword Céaddwyrn to his side, he proceeded into the next chamber, whose walls were cast with an orange glow. In another chamber, giant beetles skittered behind a metal-wrought fence.
His fingers brushed the studs of his belt - a row of red- and black-hued gemstones. His shadow danced across the rough-hewn cavern walls as he descended stone stairs to a large, round chamber. A ring of lava bubbled around the circumference of the chamber, with the glint of riches flickering on the glossy black scales of Aodhan’s dragon-plate. The golden circlet around his head caught the fiery glimmer of gold, causing the studs of rubies to sparkle all the more.
His fire dragon lay sleeping on its hoard of treasure, its head and tail curled around itself, the wings draped over its body. Even in this inert state, it was impossible to not mistake the creature for a death-machine.
Severe, elongated spines and sharp whiskers extended from the triangular-shaped head of the creature. The motif continued along its back and swept along the tail where it ended in a clutch of barbed spikes. Dragonkind was the pinnacle of creation, the perfect predator, and one Aodhan would use to its fullest extent.
“Céallach! Awaken!” he said. The dragon opened its dual-lidded eye, revealing a golden, glowing slit. It lifted its head from his hoard and gave it a good shake, sending coins flying. It spread its wings, showing a diaphanous veined membrane connecting the long fingers.
“You have need of me, master?” he asked, its voice dark and thick.
“I believe so,” Aodhan replied. “I have sensed another dragon in the area, which woke me from my slumber. We shall find this dragon and destroy it.”
“Mmmmmmm…” Céallach growled. “What manner of dragon is it?”
“I know not, but I am carrying a black-stone to whither its strength. With your claws, breath, and bite, and my blade, we should be more than a match for it.”
Céallach flared his nostrils and snorted a jet of hot steam. “As you wish, master,” he said. The dragon lowered his head, allowing Aodhan to mount him. An exotic, hard leather saddle was already in place, which fit between the dragon’s dorsal spines at the base of his serpentine neck. It could comfortably fit two riders.
Aodhan grabbed the reins and signaled with his legs against the dragon’s flank to fly. The dragon bolted upright and launched into the air through an opening in the ceiling - a volcanic vent. His powerful wings propelled them through the clouds.
Aodhan pointed toward his senses. “There… towards the Penarien Mountains,” he said. Dragon and rider burst toward those icy peaks, parting the clouds. The ground below them drifted by, resembling a quilt of farmland, interrupted by the occasional forest or river. A small settlement on the sea-coast came and passed beneath them.
“Look, master! There must be your dragon!”
Aodhan searched the skies, where visible against the clouds, a frost dragon the size of Céallach flew perpendicular to them, several hundred spans away.
“I don’t think it’s noticed us. Perhaps we can press advantage of surprise!”
Aodhan pulled up on the reins, causing Céallach to gain altitude, while the target came ever closer to the slopes of the Penariens. They positioned themselves behind and above their prey, gaining speed with every beat of Céallach’s wings. His dive would be silent; their quarry would be caught unawares in a cone of dragon-fire.
“The dragon must have a lair somewhere in those mountains. Maybe we should follow it there, and attack it in confined space.”
“Agreed. My fire breath will not be effective against its cold scales!”
“Your breath may not be, but your razor-sharp claws still are! Overtake it in a swoop, and cripple a wing with your talons! Then it will be forced to land!”
“Excellent strategy, master. It is no wonder you have become the greatest of dragon-slayers.”
Aodhan spurred his mount to an even higher altitude, before gliding in for the kill. The target’s head was smaller than its wings, so the larger the target, the easier to hit. Like an owl snatching a field mouse, Céallach struck the Frost’s left wing with his talons, ripping through the webbing and eliciting an agonizing screech. His wing was broken, and he struggled to stay aloft as he started his downward spiral to the side of the mountain.
The frost dragon crashed into a steep slope, kicking up a cloud of snow, which concealed him from view. Aodhan brought Céallach down for closer inspection.
“Careful, master. A wounded wolf still has teeth.”
They touched down on a sharp, graded slope, so that the fire dragon was sideways. A mound of snow lay ahead of them, under which their prey lay disabled. Aodhan didn’t like this. He knew the frost dragon could feel his footprints in the snow, sensing his approach. Then, when Aodhan least expected, he would be engulfed in a blast of ice-breath.
Aodhan reviewed his options as he drew his sword. He flourished the blade in his left hand, approaching the mound. He knew the dragon wasn’t dead. Perhaps he was luring him to his fate. His red-stones could increase his strength and speed, and summon flame, but the latter choice would fare poorly against a creature of cold. His black-stone could drain the creature’s strength, adding to his own, yet that would only aid against the dragon’s physical attacks. Aodhan regretted not having any magic to protect against that damnable breath.
“It’s time to draw the beast out of hiding.”
Aodhan motioned for Céallach to land beside him and buffet the fallen snow mound with his wings. Blasts of air scattered the pile of snow like leaves in an autumn wind, uncovering the wounded dragon. His serpentine head rose, eyes of sapphire glittering like the sun on ice. He hissed like a venomous snake. He spread his one good wing, the sunlight filtering through the pale blue membranes.
“Now, Céallach!” Aodhan shouted, pointing at the Frost.
The Fire reared back its head, while the Frost did the same, and both dragons unleashed the fury of their breath. The elements mixed, the cold overpowering the flame and generating a cloud of tepid steam. It obscured his vision. Aodhan shielded himself with his arm, the blackness of his dragon-plate providing protection. Roars, snapping jaws, and lashing tails sounded all around him after the dragons exhausted their breath. Céallach roared in agony as he seemed to have been bitten by the Frost’s breath.
Aodhan had to defend Céallach. He fought his way through the evaporating steam and stared up at the imposing Frost. His fingers shot for the red-stone on his belt. He shut his eyes and mumbled an incantation. His movements became blurred as he sped up toward the Frost.
Aodhan reached his flank in a few strides and rained hacking blows on his rime-coated scales. Angry red wounds appeared on the Frost’s side as it recoiled in pain.
Would Aodhan be able to kill him? His wounds weren’t deep enough. He needed more strength to penetrate the dragon’s hide. Did he dare venture for his other red-stone, which would grant him such? Or perhaps the better move would be the black-stone, which fed on strength like a vampire? Aodhan couldn’t think, he could only act, and ignited the red-stone on the hilt of his sword, which enshrouded the blade in fire.
Enraged, the Frost backhanded Aodhan, sending him flying into a snow bank which cushioned his fall, yet knocked the wind out of him. Aodhan’s sword flew out of his hand and stuck blade first into the side of the mountain, extinguishing it. As Aodhan struggled to breathe, he sent mental commands to Céallach to retreat. The beleaguered Fire staggered towards his master, and mustering a surge of strength, launched toward him.
Céallach plucked Aodhan from the mountainside, carrying him in his talons as an eagle with her young. They swooped past the hilt of Aodhan’s sword, and he snatched it from the rock. Céallach was right: the wounded wolf had teeth indeed.
* * * *
No sooner was Rhynn assigned her first task in her first year of service, did a troubled man barge into the hall, flinging the doors open.
“My lord! Come quickly!” he shouted. The fear on his face was palpable, and everyone but Rhynn stiffened in alarm.
“What is this?” the elder demanded. “Control yourself!”
“Apologies, my lord!” he replied. “But there’s a big commotion in the center of town!”
“What commotion?”
“A dragon has been sighted flying over the town!”
“A dragon!? That is nothing new! We have dealings with a dragon almost by the day!”
“You don’t understand, my lord,” the man cried. “This was a fire dragon!”
The elder’s face paled. He stepped down from the high-seat and followed the man. Among the people of Caenmyr, Fires were the most terrifying of dragons. Rhynn followed also, with Osgar right behind her.
“I’m not taking my eyes off you.”
Rhynn shot back a rueful glance.
The village square bustled with activity, as people scurried for their homes. The elder’s guard mobilized, with their spears and chain mail hauberks. Rhynn scrunched her nose at the hypocrisy. The guard will assemble for a fire dragon, but not a Frost? The crimson tail-end of the dragon sailed past the village’s north gate, in the shore's direction. It looked injured and was going to crash in the sea, and carried a man in dark armor in its clutches.
Rhynn took off running towards the beach, not caring a wit if this was against the limits of her indentured servitude. To be fair, she hadn’t even begun it, fighting her way through the throngs of humanity, Osgar calling her name behind her.
His ineffectual cries of “Wait, stop!” fell on deaf ears. Rhynn sprinted ahead of the rest of the townsfolk, and only Osgar could keep pace with her. She blocked out the discomfort the helmet placed on her neck and shoulders as she reached Ghiere’s northern gate.
The cold, dark gray Sea of Dolteruinne expanded before her, beneath an equally cold, steel gray sky; the plume of a large splash out at sea dissipating into mist as Rhynn ran onto the beach. Her eyes scanned the horizon for anything out of place. They fell on the dark contrast of a man lying on the shoreline, a bastard sword sticking out of the sand.
Rhynn ignored the clamor of the townsfolk along with a few barking dogs behind her as she ran across shifting sand to the fallen man. Osgar’s voice went unheeded as well.
“Wait, Rhynn! He could be dangerous!”
Rhynn slowed her pace to a jog and finally to a walk as she came within a few spans of the unmoving man. She circled around him as Osgar caught up to her, both of them catching their breath. When they recovered, they looked him over for any obvious injuries.
“Who—who could this be?” Osgar asked, panting. “Is he…?”
“I suppose there’s only one way to find out… we’ll have to take him back with us.”
Rhynn knelt down next to him and studied his countenance. Pale white skin, a noble nose, tendrils of jet black hair splayed out around him, armor of black dragon scales. A perfect jawline. His hands and feet ended in gauntlets and boots resembling dragon’s claws, the helmet fashioned with the spikes and features of a dragon’s head. He wore a belt with several small pouches. Rhynn tapped him on the face, trying to wake him. When that didn’t work, she tried shaking him.
“Hello…? Can you hear me?” A faint groan escaped from his throat. “Help me carry him, Osgar.”
“I’m not sure my father would approve… We know nothing about him.”
“Then you’ll just have to take your own stance on the matter for a change.”
Osgar harrumphed and stooped to lift the man. By this time scores of timid but curious villagers gathered in a semi circle, at a safe distance. Many of them had their pitchforks ready.
Rhynn and Osgar both strained to carry the stranger, sitting him up, his head rolling forward, his chin tucked to his chest. The glint of his golden, ruby-studded circlet caught Rhynn’s eye.
“Uggh… his armor is too heavy... it must be heavier than chain mail…” Osgar said. Rhynn glared at the villagers.
“Don’t just stand there gawking! Help us carry him!”
“Since when do we take orders from you, kith-killer?” someone shouted. Rhynn felt a shot to the gut. They all despised her for leading Davydd to his death.
“We can at least try to save this man! The gods grant us this opportunity of a life for a life!”
The villagers couldn’t argue with her logic, especially where the gods were involved. They were nebulous and mysterious, and anyone could claim the gods were behind whatever boon or bane befell their settlement. The crowd parted, admitting the elder who slammed his staff on the sand, asserting his authority.
“Strangers such as he have almost always brought grave misfortune to our village, but we should preserve him,” he said. “Our hospitality laws demand it.”
Relief crossed Rhynn’s face. The elder motioned for several guards to lift the man from the beach, and with effort, they hauled him onto their shoulders, and everyone went back into the village. Rhynn paused and looked back over her shoulder at the foreboding sea.
The fire dragon bobbed in the waves, and shaking her disconcerting feeling, Rhynn followed Osgar and his father back to their home. They had enough to deal with this stranger. A fire dragon would only complicate things, but no one else seemed to have noticed it.
The guards carried the man into an infirmary and laid him on a bed, where a maid in a white frock stood nearby, assuming control of the situation.
“I’ll take care of him from here,” she said. “I’ll give word on his condition as I learn more.”
“See that you do,” the elder said. “Come.”
The guards nodded and left the room, Rhynn looking on with interest, but Osgar took her by the arm, and led her away as well. The elder sent her a disapproving look as he passed her, but Osgar drew her attention.
“Gratitude for your help in getting him here, but you’re no longer needed. We have other tasks for you in mind.”
Rhynn frowned, but she had no say in this matter. “Very well, Osgar. What would you have of me? Will I be allowed to see my family?”
Osgar told her of maintenance work the shipwright needed doing on one of their longboats, and that he would offer her further instruction. “As for your family,” he said, “I will inform them of your servitude here and not to worry. They may visit you once per week on Sonnedar.”
Rhynn exhaled. It’s like she was a prisoner here, but at least they didn’t know the truth. They could never know the truth.
“Oh, young master?” came the nurse’s voice. He turned to her. “It seems this man has a fever, but I have just run dry of the herbs needed to treat it.”
Osgar frowned and stepped closer. A curtain was drawn around the bed in which the man lay.
“Is it mortal?”
“I’m not sure yet, but ‘tis best we break it sooner rather than later.”
“What do you need of me?”
“The herbs I need grow in the foothills south of the village. Here is how they look.” She handed him a parchment showing drawings of the herbs.
“I’ll return with these soon as I can.”
“I’m coming with you,” Rhynn said.
“No, your task is with the shipwright.”
“I can help you! What if goblins attack?”
Osgar’s face remained hard.
“Young master,” said the maid. “I could use her help in undressing the man.”
Rhynn flushed. “Un—undressing?”
“He needs to get out of his wet armor or he will catch a cold.”
Rhynn looked at Osgar for his approval. He stiffened.
“Fine… aid the mendicant in whatever manner she requires, then report to the docks.”
Like hell I’m going to the docks, Rhynn thought. Osgar strode from the room, leaving her alone with the mendicant. They parted the curtain, viewing the man, who uttered faint groans, his head rolling from side to side.
“I’ll fetch cool water and rags for his fever in the meantime,” the maid said. “But we need to dry and warm the rest of him.”
“O… kay…?”
The rest of him? She had never seen armor forged of dragon scales before and didn’t know where to begin—nor had she seen a man disrobed.
“You’re adorable,” the maid said, noticing her cheeks.
“Shut it. Let’s get this done.”
Perhaps there were straps around his chest. She and the maid felt around his body, and were rewarded when their fingers touched a clasp or two. They unhinged the breastplate and pulled it free, revealing a crimson tunic. Rhynn breathed in relief—at least the man was clothed… for now.
* * * *
Osgar grabbed his spear and headed for the hall where his father sat upon his throne.
“By your leave, father, I am headed into the mountains.”
“For what purpose?”
“These,” Osgar said, producing the parchment. “The mendicant claimed the stranger took with fever and needed these herbs to break it.”
“How long will you be gone?”
Osgar pursed his lips in thought. “I expect to be back before dark - ‘tis almost midday now.”
“You’re going alone?”
“Er, yes, father, unless you have other companions in mind.”
“Bring the girl with you.”
“What girl?”
“You know of whom I speak.”
“Rhyannen?”
The elder nodded.
“Father, you can’t be serious…”
The elder’s face remained grave.
“I assigned her to work at the ships,” Osgar continued.
“And you think she will obey?” the elder asked. “I see so much of your mother in her, Osgar, and the first chance she gets she will slink away and join you in pursuit of those herbs. And if anything happens to her, her family will be hard to deal with, since they are well-versed in the secret arts.”
“The stranger we found had a certain sword with him, that held a red-stone, and he seems to have the talent with the arts as well.”
“I need you to keep watch on the girl. She is the daughter of Lugaid Dragon-killer. Is it any wonder she wants to kill Branderan…”
“Hmmm…..” Osgar folded his arms, stroking his chin. “The dragons started demanding tribute after Lugaid died. Perhaps it was their vengeance upon us…”
“Whatever the cause, that is the way things are now. Although Rhynn is now a servant here, she will prove most difficult to manage if we don’t allow her to follow her heart. That is a lesson I learned from your mother.”
“You’re a shrewd man, father, so I’ll do what you think is best in this matter.”
The elder nodded and motioned with his hand. Osgar bowed and returned to the infirmary, where there was movement behind the curtain concealing the man.
“Rhyannen?” Osgar called.
Rhynn pulled the last gauntlet from the stranger’s body and looked back at him.
“Change of plan, Rhyannen. You are to go with me to the foothills after all.”
Rhynn’s face lit up, excitement coursing through her. She wouldn’t have to uncover any more of the man’s body, which carried both relief and dismay, as he looked handsome and powerful. She could venture beyond the walls which had become her prison.
“Of… of course, Osgar.”
“I can tend to the man from here, dearie,” the maid said, noticing Rhynn’s apprehension at having to denude him. Rhynn’s blushing spread from ear to ear.
Osgar tossed her a bag of coins. “Here.”
“What’s this?”.
“Money to buy equipment in town.”
Her eyes widened. 100 gold!
“G-gratitude…”
“Get your things, and meet me at the village’s south gate,” Osgar said. “Don’t take too long - we only have until sundown.”
“Aye!” Rhynn said.
She bolted out of the room and out of the elder’s house. She almost couldn’t feel the weight of the helmet as she hurried to the smithy, imagination wild about what weapons and armor she could afford.
The smith greeted her upon entry, a roughened man with a bushy black beard, arms like tree limbs, his hammer ringing off the steel as he returned to his work.
Weapons hung from the walls and rafters: swords, axes, bows, maces - he had it all - even shields, metal, and leather armor.
“Is there something I can help ye with, lass?” the smith said, giving her a wary eye. “That’s quite the fine helm ye have there…”
“It belonged to my father,” Rhynn replied.
The smith raised a brow. “Did it now? And who was yer father?”
“Lugaid the Dragon-killer, the greatest dragon-slayer that ever lived.” Rhynn removed the helm, allowing the smith a view of her face. His jaw dropped.
“Ach, my apologies, lass! Yer the spittin’ image of him! I always respected the man, I did. Wish there were more of his like ‘round here, but these tributes crush the very pride of our people, though they won’t admit it.”
Rhynn replaced the helm.
“Oh? There are others who share the anti-tribute sentiment?”
“Ey, ey, but what do I know? Don’t want to be spreadin’ rumors none.”
Rhynn sighed. “Well, there may yet be one who would follow in her father’s wake. Let me see one of your axes.”
“An axe? That was your father’s weapon of choice,” the smith said. “Chop down dragons faster than he could chop down trees.” He gave a hearty laugh and took a hand axe off the wall. “‘Ere you go - this should be right your size.”
Rhynn examined the axe, pretending she knew what she was doing. It felt balanced well enough, though it seemed too small for her.
“I want a battle-axe.”
“Fufufufufu… a battle-axe! Now don’t be gettin’ too big for your bodice, lass!”
Her anger flared. “I have money! Let me see one, please!
“Alright, alright, don’t turn into a dragon yerself,” he mused. He took a battle-axe down from a rafter and handed it to her, taking back the hand axe.
She glanced over it, feeling its heft. The blade was crescent-shaped and razor-sharp. “I’ll take it,” she said.
“15 gold.”
“I want a package deal. I’ll be needing a shield and leather armor, too, all for 100 gold.”
The smith scrunched his face in thought for a moment. “Deal.”
Several minutes later Rhynn stood outfitted in a hard leather jerkin, a round wooden shield with a steel boss, and a battle-axe hanging from a belt-ring. She wrapped her cloak around her, looking very much like a young dragon-slayer.
“Now go get ‘em, lass!” the smith said beaming, 100 gold richer. “Those trolls’ll be frightening their children with the tale of ye!”
Rhynn rolled her eyes and left the smithy. She wasn’t ready to meet Osgar yet, for she hadn’t seen her family since the ordeal at the post and wanted to let them know she was alright. Rhynn strapped the shield onto her back and jogged home. She was winded by the time she arrived, the weight of her equipment sapping her strength. The smith wasn’t kidding when he implied the gear was more suited for strong, grown men.
She stepped inside her dwelling, and found her mother and sister in the center, cooking a meal.
“Rhynn!” they both exclaimed upon seeing her. The three ran to each other, clashing together in a warm embrace, not caring that Rhynn was clad in battle-gear. When they parted, her family’s faces were filled with questions, and Rhynn told them everything that had happened to her, except the part about her tongue becoming like a snake’s. She struggled to control the words, making sure not to sound any S sounds that would arouse suspicion. She told them why she was wearing her father’s helmet, and that she was now indentured to the elder, and the discovery of the man who fell from the sky.
“I… wanted to come by and tell you I am alright…” she said at last. They all embraced again. When would Rhynn be able to tell her mother about her tongue? She didn’t feel ready yet.
“What are you doing now, Rhynn?” her mother asked. “Why are dressed like that? And where did you get the money to buy this?”
“From Osgar. I am going to help him find herbs in the mountains,” she replied, then looked down at Sorcha. “And I want you to come too.”
Sorcha looked surprised yet excited. “Me? Why?”
“We might run into trouble,” Rhynn said. “Your magic can help us.”
Sorcha stepped back and started pacing. “Hmm… white-stones are good for healing, and my green-stones could help against goblins…”
“Bring whatever you can.”
“I don’t know, Rhyannen,” their mother said. “We’ve heard you allowed a boy to die under your care… and now you want to take along your own sister?”
“It couldn’t be helped!” Rhynn replied. “The dragon was too crafty and cunning! It’s different now. We have a larger party, we’ll be fine.”
Her mother frowned. “Rhynn… you sound strange, hissing like a snake. Did something happen?”
“N-no,” Rhynn lied.
Mother sighed. “Very well. I’ll place a ward of protection on you both.”
“And I’ll get my spirit-stones,” Sorcha said.
“Wait, I’ll give you one of my blue-stones,” Mother said. “We live by the sea, so it’s only natural to have water magic.”
When they were finished, Rhynn led Sorcha to the south gate where Osgar was waiting, tapping his foot with arms crossed.
“I almost left without you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Rhynn said. Osgar furrowed a brow at Sorcha.
“Who is this? Your younger sister?”
“Aye, and she’s coming, too.”
Osgar looked incredulous. “What!? No way!”
“Her magic will be a boon to us!”
“It wasn’t part of the agreement. We cannot risk one so young… not after… my…” A dark sadness crossed his face as he clenched his fist.
“I will take full responsibility, so you have nothing to lose.”
“We all know how good your responsibility is, Rhyannen.”
She looked hurt. Osgar sighed. “Very well… just keep her well-guarded.”
Sorcha frowned and exchanged looks with her sister.
“Worry not, he’s just like that,” Rhynn said.
“…What happened to your voice?”
Rhynn looked down as they walked. “I… cannot tell you,” she said. They left through the south gate, down a path into the foothills.
* * * *
“How many herbs do we need?” Rhynn asked, walking uphill, while Osgar marched ahead of her, scanning the ground. The rocky terrain yielded many flowers and grasses, and Osgar was checking his notes to ensure they collected the right ones.
“We’ll collect about five or six of each type. I think the mendicant will steep a tea from them, but it’s hard to tell them apart from all this other flora.”
“You have me, remember?” Sorcha asked from behind Rhynn, her simple linen dress fluttering in the wind. “I already know what they look like. Mother taught me.”
Osgar looked back at her. “Then I guess I’ll just use this paper to wipe my—”
“Look, here’s some bitterblot right here!” Sorcha exclaimed. She bent down to pull them from the ground.
“Arrghh!!” Osgar cried as he took a knee, clutching his shoulder. Blood trickled in wide streams from the arrow wound in his shoulder, soaking his tunic.
“Archers!” Rhynn shouted. “On the high ground!” She went for her shield and brought it round to her front, while running up to Osgar and covered him with it, kneeling beside him. Another arrow stuck into the wood, piercing through, missing Rhynn’s arm.
“G-goblin arrows,” Osgar groaned. Several hooded heads with long pointed ears sticking out of them darted back and forth among the larger boulders further up the hill. A few of them cackled, as arrows stuck to the ground next to them while Rhynn looked for better cover.
Sorcha got behind a boulder as an arrow skipped off of it and reached into the pouch on her waist to draw a greenish gemstone no larger than a pebble. A goblin careened down the hillside, waving a jagged, curved blade, rushing for Rhynn and Osgar.
Sorcha aimed the gemstone at the goblin, and a glowing green fluid burst forth, streaking towards its target, striking the goblin in the chest. The acid dissolved a hole through it, the goblin tumbling to the ground and rolling past.
Rhynn dragged Osgar to his feet and pulled him behind another boulder.
“Gratitude… I think I owe you,” Osgar said.
“Take a year or two off my servitude,” Rhynn said, eyes pinned to the goblins.
“Don’t push it.”
Osgar grabbed the shaft of the arrow and snapped it off. But it didn’t seem poisoned, or he’d be feeling the effects by now.
“If we can get you to my sister, she can heal you.”
“I curse my poor judgment, bringing only this spear. I’m almost defenseless against arrows.”
“Just follow next to me, I’ll cover you while we run to Sorcha.”
Osgar paused. “What is wrong with your voice? Why do you hiss like that?”
“Not important right now!” Rhynn replied. Osgar looked skeptical. No one came back from the post of punishment, hissing and rasping like a serpent. Rhynn was the first, cold or not.
On the count of three, they broke for it across the uneven ground, Rhynn raising her shield to block an arrow. Within moments they made it behind the rock where Sorcha was, pressing their backs to it.
“Rhynn! Osgar! Are you all right?”
“Osgar took an arrow!”
“Urrggh…” Osgar moaned, still clutching his arm.
“I understand. I can heal it,” Sorcha said.
“Pull the barb out first!” Osgar knew little about magic, but he knew it would become problematic if the arrowhead was healed inside of his arm.
Sorcha bit her lip, while Rhynn took hold of the arrowhead. Since the wound would be sealed in the next few moments, she didn’t have to be careful with its removal. Rhynn tore it from his flesh, spurting blood onto the rock. Osgar screamed in agony.
Sorcha’s fingers shot into her pouch, where she drew a snow-white gemstone. She concentrated a moment and held it to Osgar’s wound. Golden-white rays of light emanated from the stone, and then from the wound. It sealed before their eyes, relief appearing on his face.
“It-it doesn’t hurt anymore…”
“Good. Now just stay behind this rock. You can’t fight with just a spear.”
“I’m not out of this fight!”
“You can block arrows with that thing!? I don’t think so.”
Osgar glared at her. Rhynn shot up from behind the rock with shield raised. She charged up the hill, drawing her new battle-axe. It would be a virgin blade no more, anticipating the blood it was about to taste. Arrow after arrow struck her shield or soared past her. Osgar gripped the haft of his weapon and gritted his teeth.
“She’s drawing their fire. I can flank them.” He glanced at Sorcha. “Cover me.”
Osgar burst from the behind his cover and ran up the hill from the side. Only one arrow came his way, which he ducked. A goblin archer drew on him again, when glowing acid sizzled on the side of his face. The goblin shrieked before collapsing.
Rhynn tried closing the archers in a melee, but they turned and ran. Quick, they darted further up the hill to gain the height advantage, leaving Rhynn several paces behind. They would only start firing again until they ran out of arrows, which was soon. An arrow whizzed toward Osgar, which he parried with his spear-point.
“Ha! Did you see that!?”
Rhynn smirked and threw her battle-axe. It buried itself into the back of a fleeing goblin.
“Ha! Did you see that?”
Osgar looked shocked, but shouted, “Fool! Now you have no weapon! A true warrior never throws their weapon away without care!”
Words falling on deaf ears, Rhynn charged up the hill after the goblins, holding her shield with both hands, blocking the incoming arrows. When she got to the fallen goblin, she yanked the axe from its back and continued running. The goblins shrieked and scattered, their supply of arrows spent.
“Cowards! Face me!”
“Try saying that in Undertongue!” came Sorcha’s voice. She followed Rhynn, needing to stay in range of her magic.
“Forget them!” Osgar cried. “It’s almost dark and they will be back in greater numbers when night falls. These were just day-scouts and scavengers - real goblins are nocturnal!”
Rhynn sighed. “Let’s finish finding these herbs then.”
With the hillside cleared of threats, the three of them gathered the herbs, and returned to Ghiere. But when they arrived in the infirmary, they were met with a disheveled mendicant and an empty bed.
“Where’s the stranger?” Osgar asked.
“Apologies, young master, but he’s gone,” she replied.
“Gone? To where? And why?”
“There… was a strange circlet on his head… I tried to remove it to make him more comfortable, but he awoke and grabbed me. He sat up and demanded his sword and armor. I just… let him dress and leave…”
“Well… here are the herbs you requested, just in case,” Osgar said, placing them in her hands. “He couldn’t have gone far, maybe an hour or two ahead of us on foot, so we’ll ride galachars.”
“Wait, no…” Rhynn muttered. “I know where he went…”
And she took off for the shoreline.
“Hold, Rhyannen!” Osgar said from behind her. But there was no stopping her. She first made for the stables where the galachars were kept, Osgar and Sorcha following. They would reach the shore faster, anyway. Rhynn saddled a galachar: a bipedal creature standing 22 hands at the shoulder, with the head, horns, and hide of a ram, pointed ears, and short arms. A long tail tapered to a point, its powerful legs allowing rapid covering of ground.
Osgar saddled another one as Rhynn galloped away.
“You wait here, the stranger could be dangerous,” Osgar told Sorcha. She nodded, but looked dismayed.
Before long they both arrived at the beach, the stranger gazing at the sea, his clawed hand raised to his temple, a large sword slung across his back.
“Oi!” Rhynn called to him. The tide drowned out her voice, for the man didn’t respond. “Oi!” she called again. The stranger looked in her direction as she approached him on the galachar. It bleated as they came to a stop. Rhynn dismounted, Osgar coming up behind her.
Aodhan faced her straight on. “Greetings… I… suppose you were the ones who found me and sheltered me…”
“Aye, ‘twas us,” Rhynn said. “Are… you alright?”
“I am, thank you. Apologies for not staying in your care, but I must return home…”
“Oh… where might that be? And… who are you?”
“Somewhere across the sea. And my name is Aodhan.”
“Aodhan…” she repeated. “I’m Rhyannen, but my friends call me Rhynn. And this is Osgar.”
He came up next to her. “Greetings, sir. I hope we weren’t too much trouble for you.”
“Never. I appreciate your hospitality.”
“Can’t you linger here awhile?” Rhynn asked. “We haven’t treated your wounds… the mendicant said you took with fever…”
“I thank you… but I have… other means of providing respite. Besides, I don’t think your people would accept me, looking like this.”
“How did you get that armor? It’s amazing!” Rhynn said.
Aodhan smiled. “It is black dragon armor, forged from a dragon I killed.” Rhynn’s eyes went wide behind her helmet.
“You’re a dragon-slayer!?” she exclaimed. Aodhan nodded. “I—feel like I’ve seen you before… that armor… long ago… it was the night I saw my mother crying…”
“…”
Osgar’s expression went dark. This was all the town needed: a dragon-slayer. He would cause division in opinion for sure. There’d be no end to Rhynn’s constant demands to slay Branderan, with Aodhan at her side.
“But you must stay! We have a bit of a dragon problem ourselves!”
“I know. I was tracking him before I was shot down.”
Rhynn was almost beside herself with joy. This man fell from the heavens into her arms, being everything she wanted for the village’s predicament. He wasn’t bad looking either.
“Oh, please stay! This dragon demands tribute! He even killed a young boy!”
“Rhyannen, calm yourself,” Osgar said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “The man must away; we should let him. Let him risk his life against the beast.”
Her face turned sour. “Osgar, you’re just being weak. We need him!”
“He is only what you want, Rhynn, not what you, or the village, needs.”
“And how do you know what I need, Osgar!?”
“Ahem… excuse me, lady, but where did you get that helmet?” Aodhan asked. “It looks familiar to me…”
“Oh! It was my father’s…”
“And your father was… Lugaid the Dragon-killer?”
Rhynn stood stunned by the force of the revelation. Her breath caught in her throat. “Aye… how—how did you—?”
“I… once knew your father. He trained me to be what I am today. I owe him my life.”
“Then please.. I beg of you… tell me of him… and take me away from this awful village!!”
“Rhyannen!” Osgar barked. “You will not escape your servitude here!”
Aodhan raised a brow. “Servitude?”
“None of your concern, sir.”
“I serve no one. Not even dragons, as you do. In fact, it is I that control a dragon.”
Rhynn and Osgar showed surprise as a geyser erupted from the water. A large serpentine head armored in reddish scales and curved horns rose, followed by a thick body and wings like a demon. The two recoiled in fear, yet Rhynn more from fascination as she stepped towards it.
“Rhyannen, get back!” Osgar cried as he grabbed her arm. Rhynn could see herself riding that great monster, wrapping her arms around Aodhan for support.
“You… use dragons to hunt other dragons?”
“I do. But now I fear I must away, to rethink my strategy against Branderan… and you must return to your servitude.”
“No, wait! We can kill Branderan! The three of us, plus my sister! If we—”
“Enough, Rhyannen,” Osgar said. “This has gone on long enough.” He then faced Aodhan. “I ask that you leave now, sir.”
Aodhan nodded, and without a sound passed through the shallows towards Céallach. He mounted him, and with a mighty thrust of wings, launched into the air. Rhynn stood mesmerized, gazing up at them as they flew away. Osgar pulled her arm, snapping her from her spell.
“Let’s go, Rhyannen.”
She growled and hit him where the arrow shot him.
“Urrgh.. we need no more trouble, especially from someone like Aodhan. Now come. Your five years of service has only begun.”
