Brother of the Dragon

Chapter 19

By the time Beramun returned to the valley, Yala-tene’s defenses were in place. Boulders and logs had been piled across the mouth of the canyon, making it difficult for the mounted enemy to ride directly to the bridge. Villagers armed with spears and stones were in position atop the stone towers that anchored each end of the bridge. Barricades of timber and thorn bushes blocked the north end of the bridge. When Beramun arrived, tired and battered, Amero and the village elders were in the midst of an argument.

“We must prepare the bridge to fall,” Amero was insisting. “If the raiders get the better of us, we’ll have to destroy it. The river’s too deep to be forded, so they’ll have to take the time to build rafts.”

“Destroying the bridge means abandoning the orchard and gardens to the enemy!” Jenla protested. “The greatest part of our food supply lies in those fields. How can we give them up?”

“We have food stored in the town caves,” said Huru.

“How long will that last?” demanded Tepa. The usually mild beekeeper was red-faced and sweating. “Without food, we can’t stay inside our wall for long!”

Then Amero spotted Beramun. A look of vast relief crossed his face. He called out to her, cutting off the elders’ angry debate. Jenla and the rest fell silent as the Arkuden ran to meet the nomad girl.

Beramun slumped tiredly against a felled log.

“Here, take this,” Amero said, handing her a dipper of cool water. “I was beginning to think you were lost. What happened?”

“Duranix,” she said between gulps of water, “saved us.”

“So Paharo said. What was the roaring we heard?”

She winced at the memory. Her skull still ached from the awful noise. “Duranix saw the green dragon in the sky, bellowed a challenge, then flew after him.”

“Flew after…?” Amero cast a quick glance at the village elders and lowered his voice. “He’s gone?”

Beramun drained the gourd dry and wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “I saw the look in his eyes. He won’t return until Sthenn is dead.”

“Say nothing about that!” he whispered to her. “Our people may lose heart if they hear their protector is gone.”

Jenla called for Amero to rejoin the elders, and he did. The argument began anew over whether the bridge should be destroyed. Standing in the midst of his contentious people, Amero looked more tired and strained than Beramun had ever seen him.

The screech of a falcon caused her to look up. The feathered hunter wheeled in lazy circles across the flawless blue vault of the midday sky. Somewhere up there in the boundless ocean of air, the two dragons were winging toward their final destiny.

*

After Duranix cleared the canyon rim, he climbed as rapidly as he could, never losing sight of his foe. Sthenn continued to glide in a vast, lazy circle, five thousand paces above the mountain peaks. Filled with barely contained fury, Duranix retained enough presence of mind to know this wasn’t right. For all his age and cunning, Sthenn was fundamentally craven. It was completely unlike him to wait patiently for Duranix to catch up. The evil beast must be up to something.

As he reached the halfway point in his climb, Duranix saw Sthenn drop his right wing and glide off to the west, away from the Valley of the Falls. So that was his game! He wanted Duranix to follow him away from the valley, leaving Yala-tene alone against Zannian’s host. It was a brutal, unsubtle stratagem, and it showed how well Sthenn understood him.

As he continued the pursuit, Duranix told himself the loss of a few hundred humans was worth the destruction of the vile green dragon. It came down to a cold calculation: It was better for Sthenn to be dead than for Amero to be alive. There would always be more humans. They bred like rats, died often and easily, and kept the world constantly stirred up. Amero was a good fellow for a human — amusing, engaging, and thoughtful, and he conceived a constant stream of schemes and ideas. It was possible he’d find a way to cope with the raiders on his own.

Sound, logical reasoning. So why did it feel so wrong? Why did Duranix have a thoroughly irrational desire to wheel about and descend upon the advancing raider horde?

He couldn’t break off the chase. He couldn’t allow Sthenn to escape. If fortune favored him, he might finish his enemy and return in time to save Yala-tene as well, but if the chase took too long, if Amero died before he could return, then Duranix vowed that Zannian’s band would not long survive the death of their master.

As Duranix’s mind wandered, so did his navigation. Unconsciously, he fell into a slow northward bank, which would eventually bring him full circle, back to the Valley of the Falls. While he wrestled with his conscience, he failed to see the green dragon also changing course, doubling back toward him.

Duranix’s instincts saved him. At the last moment, he sensed danger and turned sharply away, and Sthenn’s outstretched claws found only empty air. Laughing, the green dragon pulled out of his dive.

“Little friend, do I have your attention?” he sang in the ancient dragon tongue.

Duranix’s answer was a bolt of white-hot energy. Sthenn maneuvered out of its path and returned the favor with a stream of poison gas. The green dragon’s breath could kill any warm-blooded creature. To Duranix it was merely a noxious irritant.

“Come, come!” Sthenn said, hovering. “I expect better from you than this!”

“Taunt away,” Duranix replied, laboring hard to maintain his position with wings shorter than Sthenn’s. “Use up all the witticisms you have, Sthenn. The time is coming when your dead, stinking carcass will be the only joke you have left!”

“Excellent! So it’s death you want, little friend?”

“Death for you, wyrm!”

Sthenn drew his dangling limbs up close to his body. Duranix saw one foreclaw missing. A blackened stump was all that remained. A smile curved his brazen lips. The arrogant Tiphan must have hurt the green dragon after all.

“Come,” Sthenn said with unusual gravity. “I give you this one chance. The world is wide. Follow if you can, and we shall see who finds death first.”

Sthenn rolled away, heading due north. Duranix briefly considered throwing another blast at his back but chose instead to conserve his strength. The bronze dragon flapped hard after his speeding quarry. Nothing else mattered now. He would not give Sthenn up, even if it meant chasing him to the end of the world.

Night fell. A profound silence enveloped the Valley of the Falls.

To deny the raiders help in locating them, Amero decreed no fires should be lit in the camp around the bridge. The villagers ate cold food, raw or dried, as their parents had done when wandering the vast plains.

“You know,” Paharo said, chewing a thin strip of dried elk meat, “I really hate raw flesh. I don’t see how you old folks stand it.”

“You children are spoiled,” said Jenla, sitting on a stone between Tepa and Paharo’s father, Huru. “I never even tasted cooked food till I was thirty.”

“Why didn’t you cook before you lived in Yala-tene?” asked a young woman behind Paharo.

“No one thought of it,” Amero said. “On the plain, once you made a kill, you had to butcher it on the spot and carry away what you could before wolves or panthers came to take it away from you. There was no time to do more, so taking up flint, building a fire, and cooking your meat never came up.”

“On a hunt we always roast our catch,” said Paharo.

“Spoiled,” repeated Jenla.

An owl hooted close by. Conversation ceased. Everyone listened intently until the owl hooted again, farther away.

Amero stood, taking up his spear and shield. “I think I’ll have a look at the bridge.”

Nubis shrugged. “It’s still there, Arkuden.”

The villagers chuckled. Amero smiled and walked away. One of the sentinels atop the south tower looked down and waved. He waved back.

For almost twenty years the bridge had connected the halves of the valley. It had been one of Amero’s first successes. With no timber in the valley long enough to span the river, and with no way to join short planks together that would bear much weight, building a bridge seemed impossible. The solution appeared one day when Amero heard an old man complaining to his mate that his belt no longer fit, and he needed a longer one. She responded tartly that there was no sense wasting good cowhide on his growing paunch. Amero watched as the thrifty woman braided short lengths of rawhide around narrow wooden pegs, expanding her man’s belt.

He adapted the same idea to make the bridge. A series of planks formed the walking surface. Vines were woven around the ends of the planks to join them one to another. At each end of the bridge, the vines were tied to stakes on shore, anchoring the long, flexible structure. The bridge sagged under heavy loads, however, and it was Duranix who suggested towers or posts be erected with supporting lengths of rope running from them to the bridge. The first wooden towers were eventually replaced by stone pillars.

The bridge had served without fault for many years, and had borne countless villagers and wanderers to and from Yala-tene. When his sister, Nianki, left the valley with the remnants of her nomad band years ago, they’d ridden their horses across with no difficulty. Amero knew the raiders could do the same. They must not be allowed the chance.

He paused halfway across the span. The river was deep here, its dark water coursing swiftly beneath his feet. The water would make an effective barrier to Zannian’s horde.

He looked both ways to make certain he was not observed. The night hid him well. Drawing his bronze dagger, he sawed at one of the main support ropes that stretched from the stone tower on the north bank down through a series of wooden brackets and up again to the south tower. The braided vine was as thick as his ankle, and it took a good deal of effort to cut.

Casting furtive glances over his shoulders, he kept up until the vine was cut over halfway through. Crossing to the other side, he repeated his work on the other rope. If the bridge were heavily strained — as by a mass of mounted raiders — it should collapse. If needed, a few strokes with a stone ax would part the ropes quickly.

He strolled to the north end of the bridge and called to the guards posted on the north tower. Neither one replied. Amero snorted. The fools had fallen asleep at their posts.

“Ho!” he shouted. “Wake up! Lookouts are meant to look!”

Something darted across the open ground beyond the barrier of timber and thorn bushes at the end of the bridge. Low and gray, its silhouette was definitely not human.

Amero froze. Pairs of red eyes gleamed in the darkness. An old fear, long buried but never forgotten, gripped his heart. He retreated slowly, not daring to turn his back on the yevi.

A quick flick of his eyes upward showed the sentinels hadn’t budged. He knew now they weren’t shirking. The lookouts were dead.

Amero backed another few steps, and a single yevi leaped over the barricade at the north end of the bridge. It landed lightly in front of him. He presented his spear and drew a deep breath.

“Wake up!” he bellowed as loudly as he could. “The raiders are here! The raiders are here!”

Both ends of the bridge erupted. Raiders and yevi who’d been lying in wait threw themselves at the barricade. Yevi sprang over the obstacle while hooded raiders attacked it with axes and poles. On the villagers’ side, Huru quickly mustered the townsfolk into a wall of shields five ranks deep. As previously rehearsed, the townspeople marched in close order to the end of the bridge and halted.

Amero meanwhile lunged with his spear but missed the yevi stalking him. The hump-shouldered creature snapped its heavy jaws time and again, trying to catch Amero’s spear shaft.

A second beast leaped over the hedge of thorns. Not wanting to battle two at once, Amero pushed his attack, slamming his shield into the first animal. It rolled backward into the second yevi, and they went down in a tangle. He quickly drove his spear into one, twisted it sharply, withdrew, and stabbed the second. He felt the flint tip pierce fur and flesh, scraping bone beneath. Giving a yell of triumph, he yanked his spear free. One yevi lay still, the other whined as it crept away, dragging its useless hindquarters.

Amero sprinted for the friendly end of the bridge. Just as he reached the wall of shields, a column of raiders four abreast came galloping up the gorge. Amero could see more than thirty men had infiltrated their defenses. They were dressed in dark leather capes and hoods, their faces smeared with dark green paint. Ten or more yevi moved among them, laughing their peculiar, distinctive cry.

The riders approached the bridge, led by a mounted figure in a macabre hood studded with animal horns and teeth.

Surrounded by torch-bearers, the fellow raised his hood and shouted, “People of Arku-peli, listen to me! I am Zannian, chief of Almurk! Put down your weapons! If you resist, we’ll kill you all!”

The villagers huddled behind their shields. Encouraged by their silence, the hooded man said, “Lay down your spears, and I will spare your lives! This is your only chance for mercy!”

Amero shouted back, “This is our valley, and we’ll defend it!”

“Die then!” The chief yanked his hood back down.

Riders dropped deer-antler grapples into the tangle of thorns laid around the end of the bridge. Then a mob of slaves was driven forward. Whips snapping, the raiders forced the captives to haul on the rawhide ropes attached to the grapples. The thorn barrier quickly came apart.

“Stand ready!” Amero shouted. “Those in the back, brace those in the front!”

Villagers in the rear of the formation pressed their shields into the backs of their comrades. Some laid their spears over the shoulders of their neighbors, creating a bristling hedge of points. Their steadfastness didn’t discourage the raiders. In fact, Zannian’s men seemed outraged at this show of resistance. Screaming threats of bloody death and destruction, they thundered across the bridge, slamming into the wall of shields.

The bridge was too short to allow a full charge, but the impact was still enough to dent the line deeply. It was an awkward fight, with the raiders jabbing at the villagers’ exposed heads and the villagers stabbing at the riders’ legs. Zannian ordered more men across the bridge to press home the attack.

Leading from the front rank, Amero shoved his spear forward and felt it strike home. A raider reeled off his horse, a deep wound in his thigh. He fell among the churning horses’ legs and was impaled by another villager before he could escape.

Horses reared, lashing out with their hooves, and several villagers were knocked down. Gaps opened in the line of shields, and the raiders pushed forward to exploit them.

Beramun found herself trapped on all sides by friends and foes. Hemmed in so tightly she could hardly breathe, she threw down her wooden buckler and climbed on the back of the man in front of her. A dart whisked by her face. Raiders who couldn’t reach the front line were using their throwing sticks to bombard the tightly packed villagers.

Beramun clambered over the heads of battling townsfolk until she reached the entwined supports of the bridge. She hauled herself up the thick cable under a constant barrage of darts. One scored a line across her calf, another tore through her hair, just missing her skull. She kept climbing.

Atop the south tower, she found both sentinels slain, their bodies studded with darts. She pried stones loose from the ledge and dropped them into the mob below. The crowd was so dense, it was impossible to miss, and she brained several raiders.

Realizing there would be no quick victory, Zannian ordered his men back. The raiders retreated, to the jeers of the elated villagers. A few townsfolk broke ranks to chase the raiders and were set upon by the yevi, hiding in the shadows on the bridge. They were dragged, screaming, into the darkness. Amero called the rest back, anxious to prevent unnecessary casualties.

As the raiders withdrew up the canyon out of sight, the villagers set up a cheer, thinking they’d vanquished their enemy. Their joy was short lived. In moments, the raiders came galloping back. They’d retreated only to gain room for a charge. Thundering down the slope three abreast, each raider was bent low, their long spears leveled.

From her high perch on one of the bridge’s support cables, Beramun shouted, “Form up, quick! They’re coming back!”

Amero yelled, “You, on the far right and left, move in behind and support the front!”

The bridge was thirty-two paces long. When the raiders were halfway across, Beramun cast her spear at one of the lead riders. She missed, but a horse in the second rank tripped on the shaft and went down, hurling its rider into the river. Another horse stumbled on the first fallen beast, then another.

The momentum of the raiders was so great that they surged past the fallen men and horses and hit the wall of shields. The villagers directly in their path were ridden under. The second line collapsed, but the third held. Villagers in the broken lines cast aside their shields and hauled raiders off their horses. A close, bloody fight ensued at the south end of the bridge.

“Push on!” Zannian bellowed from the north bank. “Kill them! Ride them down! Go! Go! ”

Raiders emulated Beramun and began climbing up the bridge’s rigging. Six of them closed on the lone girl. Her spear gone, all Beramun had was a flint knife and whatever stones she could pry loose from the tower top. Standing fearlessly exposed to enemy darts, she knocked two raiders off the rigging in quick succession.

More and more horsemen piled onto the bridge. The villagers’ line was slowly bending backward under the sheer weight bearing against it. Amero’s people dug in their heels. Men and horses toppled into the river, and the swift current bore them away.

A creaking groan sounded, and the bridge canted to one side. There followed a louder crack, and one of the cables weakened by Amero broke. The thick cord whipped through the air, knocking several riders into the river, and the west side of the bridge collapsed, pitching everyone in the water.

A roar went up from the embattled villagers. Raiders and their horses were swept away by the frigid current, though a few clung to the planking still attached to the bridge. The attackers who’d gained a toehold on the south shore were soon battered and subdued.

Beramun had noticed the weakened condition of the upper rope on her side of the bridge. She hacked at it with her knife. At last, the cable parted. Men still clinging to the crazily canted bridge were swept away. The water roiled with people and horses, some swimming, some drowning, others already floating lifelessly. A handful of villagers ran along the water’s edge, bombarding the frantically swimming raiders with rocks and spears. Any raider who made it to the hostile shore was swiftly dispatched, their bodies thrown back in the river.

On the north bank, rams’ horns sounded the retreat. Dejected raiders rode down the canyon out of sight of the cheering villagers. The yevi slunk away as well. The green-daubed men melted into the shadows at the foot of the western cliffs. Though Amero could no longer see them, he was sure they were still there, lurking in the dark.

Zannian alone remained, gazing over the battlefield. He removed his fearsome hood and threw it down in disgust. By the light of the blazing barricades and in full view of the people of Yala-tene, he removed his leather breastplate and drew his bronze sword. Slowly, deliberately, Zannian scored a cut along his left breast. Dark blood seeped from the wound. He extended his bright blade to the gawking villagers, so they could see the blood on it.

The formerly cheering townsfolk fell silent. Nubis asked the question for everyone: “Is he mad? Why does he injure himself?”

“He’s sending you a message,” Beramun said grimly. “This defeat is a small hurt, like the cut he gave himself. He’s not giving up, not after one fight.”

His message delivered, Zannian laid the bare blade on his shoulder and rode away.