Roger Parkinson - Summon Your Dragons

They were safe for the moment, from Gashans at least. He collapsed between the bodies of his friends, not knowing if he would live to regain his senses or not and, for the moment, not greatly caring.

It was Azkun who woke him, and it was pitch dark.

“I am worried about Althak. He is unconscious and his body jerks.”

“Convulsions,” said Menish. “I saw them start when we were in the mud. I think he pulled you out with one.”

“But… what does it mean?”

Menish sighed.

“It means he's dying,” he said wearily. “Why aren't you dying? You were bitten.”

Azkun’s hand touched his cheek.

“The dragons protect me.”

Menish slammed his fist into Azkun’s jaw.

“The dragons protect you? Hrangil died defending you from the marsh creature. Althak pulled you from under the mud. Your friends die saving you while you do nothing for them and thank your dragons!”

Azkun rubbed his jaw and said nothing. They waited until dawn, listening to Althak’s moaning.

When it was light enough Menish cut two straight branches and tied their cloaks between them to form a litter for Althak, for there was no way he could walk and Menish could not abandon him here. Althak’s pack, and the little food it still contained, had been lost when they fled the city so Menish set off with an empty belly and a heavy heart. He had little idea where they were, he only knew that this place was still too near the city and the marsh. Anywhere else was better.

The following days were a nightmare. Azkun did not know how many weary days and fearful nights they spent in the forests of Gashan. The very ground under their feet seemed alive with snakes and other venomous things. Many times they found stretches of marshy slime across their path and had to wade through them, each time they expected the sudden tug of a marsh creature and the end of their journey.

All the time Althak’s pain ate into his mind. Azkun’s arm, not his face, was full of fire. But he had to use it to grasp the litter that carried his friend.

Althak was sometimes quiet for hours and Menish wondered if he had died, but then he would cry out with pain and fling his body about in convulsions. Menish eventually lashed him to the litter poles so that he would not harm himself or them.

But Menish himself was almost spent. The weariness of the journey, coupled with the total lack of food and, especially, water was telling on him. In desperation he drank once from a noisome pool and it cost him dearly. He was ill and feverish the next day and his stomach retched violently. He stumbled along in a half daze and only an innate toughness in his nature prevented him from lying down and dying.

Azkun, driven by the terror of the Gashans, led Menish on and together they carried Althak. Neither of them had any idea where they were or which direction they should take, but Azkun had to keep fleeing from the city. Lack of food and water did not trouble him directly, but he shared Menish’s pain and his sickness from the foul water.

It was a test. He knew that. For even now the dragons had not deserted him. Even if they would not save his friends, and Menish’s accusation had stung him, they would save Azkun himself. And if they led him from the forest then he would lead his friends. It was all he could do. He fought down the Gashan that still howled in a corner of his mind. It was a test. He would not let the dragons down. He would not let his friends down.

One night, when he felt his throat parched with Menish’s thirst and his arm throbbed with Althak’s poison, he dreamed of Tenari, or he thought he dreamed. She stood in the forest and beckoned him silently. At first he refused. She had led him to the Monnar when he had followed her last. But she stood there bathed in some ethereal light that looked like moonlight, though the moon was well past full. She looked as she had done in Relanor, her long, black hair combed and hanging down to her waist and wearing the court robe they had dressed her in. On her head she wore a silver circlet and below it her dark eyes sparkled with laughter. Her mouth formed words but made no sound. In spite of himself he rose to follow.

She glided noiselessly through the trees and he followed, feeling himself almost float over the ground like a wraith. They came to a river of slime, but in the strange light it looked like a real river of fresh water. Tenari laughed noiselessly, caught him by the hand and they wafted over it without touching its surface. On the far side, beyond a thicket, they found a standing stone. Azkun drew back from it in fear, but its eye was not looking at him. It was preoccupied with the now distant city of the Gashans. Beside it ran a causeway like the one they had travelled on.

The next morning Azkun wanted to cross the river of slime. Menish protested, though feebly. His breath seemed to rattle in his lungs now, and he was unsteady on his feet. Every now and then he would double over in a fit of dry retching. The river was not in the general direction they had been heading, though that was hardly a forceful argument. There was plenty of dry ground to choose from, did Azkun have to deliberately find more slime for them to cross?

But Azkun somehow got both Menish and Althak across. On the other side he found no standing stone, but he did find the causeway.

The causeway heartened Menish. He had all but given up hope. It put length into his stride for a time as they followed it, though he could not expect to last much longer without fresh water. Following the causeway was better than aimless wandering. It must lead somewhere. Almost certainly it led out of the forest.

That afternoon they heard something they had not heard for days: the trickling of water. A stream of clear water flowed alongside the causeway. Menish bent towards it, dubiously at first, for he was wary. But he was desperately thirsty. His tongue felt like a dry stick and he could not swallow. He dipped a finger into the water and tasted it, ready to spit out foulness. It tasted clean. Gingerly he scooped up some in his cupped hand and poured it into his mouth. He coughed when he tried to swallow but the water began to melt the dryness. He drank some more, and more. It was fresh water, there was no doubt of it.

Althak had been unconscious for some time now, even the convulsions had subsided. His face was grey and his skin felt like wax. Menish checked him when he could find the energy to see if he was still alive. Now, with the fresh water, they washed his face and managed to pour some water between his lips. He seemed to rest more peacefully after that.

When they rose from tending Althak they heard a giggling laughter behind them. Menish reached for his sword as they turned to confront it. On the other side of the causeway sat an old man.

He was clothed in a tattered old robe that covered him down to his knees. His legs were thin and his feet were bare. The top of his head was bald but what hair he had hung down, grey and lank, to his chest and was matted into his dirty beard.

And he sat there, in the depths of the Gashan forest, leering at them. But he was not a Gashan. There was no look of murder in his eyes and, of course, he wore clothes. They relaxed a little, but they were still wary. Menish was disconcerted that they had not heard him approach.

He hawked and spat then climbed to his feet with the aid of a twisted stick and hobbled over to them.

“Greetings,” said Menish, his voice was still cracked with thirst. The old man did not answer.

As he drew closer Azkun noticed the faint outline of a painted eye on his forehead. It looked like the eye on the Eye of Duzral, or like the eyes on the Monnar stones. He seemed to see Althak lying on his litter for the first time and he looked suddenly concerned, or a comical mockery of concerned. It was difficult to read his expression because he was so shrivelled and ugly. He turned to Azkun and said something that was obviously a question, but Azkun did not understand his speech and nor could he see his mind. The old man was as blank as Tenari, and little more eloquent.