Paul Cook - Brother of the Dragon

Filling his mighty lungs, Duranix bellowed, “Sthenn! I’ll never give you up! The sun may grow cold and the seas dry to dust, but I will catch you and kill you!”

Birds rose in huge flocks from the forest, whirling around him in a cloud of feathers. He slashed through them, gaining speed. The pursuit was on again.

The plain shimmered under the merciless glare of the sun. Having left the cool uplands, Beramun shed her heavy clothing. Her single gourd of Yala-tene water was already gone. Despite this, she was happy. For the first time in many, many days she was roaming the savanna again, unencumbered by raiders, villagers, yevi, or dragons.

To conserve her provisions, she foraged as she walked, eating berries and green shoots. High summer on the plain was a time of abundance. She could last a long time on the bounty at her fingertips.

The country teemed with game of every description. Amero had said the Silvanesti had driven the centaurs out of this region, and most of the humans, too. With no hunters to chase them, the animals were flourishing. The lack of humans also meant Beramun would have to go far to find help.

At midday she rested in the slender shade of a pine tree, dozing in the stifling heat. Now and then she started awake at any sound of movement, but it was always rabbits or deer, not raiders or elves.

As she drowsed, she dreamed of fighting. The shouting in her nightmares woke her, and she realized the noises hadn’t all been dreams.

Far-off calls and whistles traveled easily in the hot, still air, making Beramun’s heart hammer. To the west, six leather-clad horsemen were approaching at a walk, poking and prodding the tall grass with their spears.

Raiders.

With night a long way off, she’d have to run for it. She moved in a crouch, keeping the slender pine between her and the hunters. The plain ahead was as flat and featureless as a lake, offering no place to hide. Fortunately the raiders hadn’t seen her. They came on at a casual pace, laughing and talking, and she soon left them behind.

The afternoon wore on, and clouds piled up on the southern horizon, offering the tantalizing promise of rain. The storm was a long way off though and probably wouldn’t arrive until sunset.

Running in the heat had given her a raging thirst, but Beramun found no water until late in the day. The first creek she came across was almost dried up, but the muddy rivulet looked as fine to her as the clearest mountain brook. Stretching out on a warm boulder, Beramun lapped the brown water greedily.

Sighing in relief, she looked up from the water, and her eye fell upon a pair of human feet sticking out of the grass a few paces away. Beramun froze. The feet were bare and blistered, hardly those of a mounted raider. She approached carefully on all fours.

The feet belonged to a man lying facedown in the weeds. She rolled him over.

“Udi!”

It was her fellow scout, the beekeeper’s son. He had dart wounds in his right arm and thigh, and though he was weak from thirst and exhaustion, he was alive. She wet his lips with a trickle of muddy water from her gourd.

Udi’s eyes opened and immediately widened in silent fear.

“It’s all right,” she told him. “It’s Beramun. What happened?”

“Raiders,” he murmured hoarsely. “Chasing me for days… for sport.”

She looked back in the direction of the men she’d seen earlier. They must be the ones tracking Udi. She knew now why they hadn’t noticed her. The injured man was leaving a clear trail, and they were having a good time following it. They weren’t bothering to look for other tracks.

“I’ll help you,” she said.

“No.” He shook his head weakly. “Leave me.”

“I won’t!”

“I can’t go any farther. You go, Beramun. I’ll draw them away.”

“Don’t be stupid! I’ll not leave you!”

“You must. For Yala-tene. You and I are the last scouts left!”

Beramun sat back on her haunches, stunned. “How do you know?” she asked.

“I saw Anua taken. Later, I heard these raiders talking. They said they’d captured six villagers and knew there were two left.”

Beramun was horrified. The fate of the entire village hung on Udi and herself. There was little time to absorb the shock. The voices of Udi’s tormentors drifted across the sultry landscape. They were drawing closer, laughing as they called to each other.

Udi was right. She had no time to waste. “I’ll go on,” she said, “but you must try to evade them, Udi! Promise me that!”

“I’ll try.”

She helped him stand. “I’ll lead them downstream,” he gasped, pointing southeast. “You go that way.”

Northeast. She nodded and released him. He swayed for a moment but didn’t fall.

“Farewell, Udi.”

“Peace to you, Beramun. Tell my father — ” He stopped abruptly, then shook his head. Turning away, he hobbled painfully downstream.

Tears stung Beramun’s eyes. Silently cursing Zannian, his raiders, and his filthy master, she dashed off into the high grass.

Before sunset that day, Beramun heard the distant sound of rams’ horns. The raiders were celebrating the end of a successful hunt.

The hot breath of summer settled over the valley. From atop the Offertory, Amero could see most of the open ground between Yala-tene and the river. What had once been his favorite view in the valley was now a scene of heartache, pain, and frustration.

The bodies of the scouts had finally been removed, but only after Udi had been added to the horrible display. Seven scouts. Seven, not eight. Amero and all of Yala-tene prayed to all their ancestors the last valiant messenger had made it through.

Zannian had replaced the slain scouts with three huge piles of food, each as high as a man on horseback. Fruit and vegetables, part of the bounty looted from the villagers’ gardens, were left to rot. The sour-sweet smell of decay carried on the summer breeze to the hungry people of Yala-tene. No one could escape it. The odor brought with it more melancholy, which spread like a plague.

The storage caves were nearly empty. The last bales of pressed fruit had been eaten, and the villagers were down to dried vegetables and slabs of salted or smoked meat. Adding to Amero’s grief, there had been thefts from the storage caves. Armed watchmen had to be posted to safeguard the food supply for all.

An unnatural quiet settled over Yala-tene. Normally garrulous folk became sullen and withdrawn. Amero, who usually got along well with the village children, realized they were avoiding him in the streets. He puzzled over the reason at Lyopi’s house.

“How can a man often so wise be so foolish?” Lyopi said, interrupting his musing. She was haggard and hollow-eyed, and only Amero’s insistence had halted her practice of giving most of her food ration to her elderly neighbors. She set aside the clothes she was mending and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

“What do you mean?” he insisted.

“The children think it’s your fault they’re hungry.”

Amero was genuinely surprised. “Why do they think that?”

“Because you’re the Arkuden. Everything that happens, good and bad, is because of you.”

“Is that what you think, too?”

She picked up her mending again. “You didn’t bring Zannian down on us. He came here at the bidding of the green dragon.” She gave him a sidelong look and added, “But I don’t understand all the decisions you’ve made. Why did you let the Protector leave?”

“I don’t control Duranix.” Amero’s voice was sharp. “I never have.”

She nodded and bent herself to her task.

He felt the burden of their troubles resting on his shoulders, heavy and solid as a mountain. All he wanted was peace, to have his old life back and work in the foundry, continuing his experiments with bronze. Instead, he spent his days on the abandoned Offertory, impotently watching the movements of the raiders.