Dragon! Book Two: "Revenge"

CHAPTER TWO

Sara said to Gareth, “I fear these are the last peaceful days we’ll ever enjoy on our beautiful island.”

“Your premonitions and fears don’t always come true.”

“Enough do, and you know that very well. But plans and lives can change quickly. I guess we should be satisfied with all of the years we’ve had together. But don’t deceive me with the idea that it will all be right Gareth, because it won’t.”

“I would never deceive you.”

“Too many people are still searching for you on the mainland. Only a dozen days ago the sailor who unloaded supplies at our dock said that there are new rewards posted for information about you and Blackie. He said handbills on the same pole were placed there by both the Brotherhood and King Alfred the Great, each attempting to offer more for you than the other.”

“Did he say how much?”

“Yes, but all sailors are liars so what difference does it make?”

A wide smile eased the pain evident on Gareth’s face. The joke about sailors was old, but still funny because of the truth it held. The reputation of sailors and their tall tales had helped keep his island secret because few believed their tales of mermaids, and giant beasts from the depths that dragged down ships whole, or that a black dragon lived on a tropical island.

He settled back into his chair and touched minds with his dragon again. His point of view shifted as he saw the water flashing past far below. He felt the power in each stroke of the wings, the faster beat of the heart with the energy used from flying so fast, and the anger still within the mind.

A ship below sailed roughly in the direction of Bitters Island, alone and flying full sails. It had the shape of a man of war, one of the king’s warships. Gareth calmly made a mental suggestion to the captain and crew that the sky looked like a tropical storm approaching, and if they turned away fast enough, the ship might make safe harbor before it struck.

It was not the first ship nor the last to search these waters for him. He’d worry about the ship later. Of course, Blackie could swoop down and spit globs of dragon spit, a substance similar to that of spitting cobras, but far more caustic. Any globs on the wooden deck of the ship would eat through the wood deck and fall through to the decks below, leaving gaping holes in the hull, sinking the ship in not much more time than it takes to tell about it.

But killing those innocent people on the ship, even if they were sailors in service of the King was not Gareth’s way. On the other hand, if their intent were to destroy his peaceful life he wouldn’t allow that, either. Best to simply misdirect them. If he had time, he’d convince each crewman that they had already patrolled the waters around Bitters Island and found nothing but rock, poor harbors, and disagreeable natives.

He turned his attention and the eyes of the dragon back to the open sky in front of him, and the few puffy clouds in the distance. As usual, no birds were sharing the air with the dragon. They fled at first sight, usually to the nearest landing place they could find. But in truth, Blackie seldom ate birds. They were far too small for an animal his size to bother with, but it seemed the birds didn’t know that.

Due to his still growing body, Blackie demanded, at least, two large animals for a satisfying meal every day or two. Cows, horses, and sheep were easy to catch, but Gareth tried to prevent him from taking too many. Farmers got upset and complained. The complaints often reached the same ears that offered rewards for information about the dragon. Elk, moose, and deer were also easy prey for a dragon with exceptional eyesight, especially a black dragon, the largest and smartest of them all.

Blackie flew on. Gareth checked on him several times, but the dragon was intent on his destination, which was fine because they shared the same one. Gareth and Sara discussed the few options they could find for Tad, but the more Gareth thought and talked, the more the only answer that made sense was to keep Tad close at his side.

The problem was, Gareth planned to leave the island on a dangerous job. How could he take a six-year-old on such a mission? Or as Sara put it, how could he even think of it? They discussed it all day and late into the night. Before they were done, Gareth had emptied a full bottle of Cavendish wine and a few mugs of warm ale.

As dawn broke, Blackie alerted him of the mainland in sight. Gareth expected Blackie to want a roost and food, but the black dragon powered on as if those things were of no consequence. It had more important things to do. It flew directly at the coast and then turned slightly north. It flew inland until reaching the mountains and then turned again to fly directly over them, his eyes searching for the other black dragon and the valley where it lived.

Near mid-morning of the second day, a sharp point of irritation in Gareth’s mind drew his attention to Blackie, and to what it saw that generated the dragon’s interest. Off to the left, and far ahead against the bleak peaks of mountains rising sharply into the sky like the white teeth of a giant creature, was a large patch of lighter colored vegetation. Below the timberline grew the normal pine, cedar, and spruce, all darker shades of green. The area Blackie veered to investigate was a shade of lighter green color than the surrounding area, the color of valleys thousands of feet lower in elevation.

“Sara, Blackie is getting close.” The excitement trembled in his voice, but he didn’t bother to control it. They sat on the porch again, side by side in the chairs. She sipped weak herbal tea and ate slices of cheese and smoked beef that came from the mainland on the supply ships. A mug of fruit juice and one of hard cider sat on the table between them. He reached for the cider.

“What does he see?”

“Right now, he’s still far off, but there’s the color of the valley that matches my father’s valley. It has been thirty years since I’ve visited there, but, I’m sure it’s the right one. I never thought Blackie would arrive so fast.”

“Any sign of Cinder? If he is there, will you bring another dragon to live with us?”

Gareth closed his eyes to better concentrate on what Blackie saw through his eyes. The distance to the valley was closing fast. “Sara, I don’t know any answers.”

“You need me to be quiet and let you do your work. I’ll take the children and start an early lunch.”

“Send Paul to me.”

“Big Paul or little Paul?”

“My son. I need someone here to watch me while my mind is away with Blackie. Fill him in on what you know, please. But tell him not to talk to me unless I speak first.” Gareth’s eyes were squeezed closed, and then he heard nothing else of the sounds near his body.

He heard the soft hiss of wind passing over Blackie’s leather wings, and his eyes were focused on the green valley fast approaching, now taking on detail.

There were plants and trees that normally only grew at lower elevations, apple, and cherry, but also others in an orchard of trees in neat rows. Only the warmth generated by a nearby slumbering volcano allowed them to flourish so high in the mountains. Not all that slumbering, if the ground is so warm.

Blackie twisted his long serpentine neck and examined the sky all around. His eyes saw nothing of the other black dragon that was linked with his father, The Gareth.

His adopted father and Cinder shared the same relationship as Gareth and Blackie, only their union had existed for centuries instead of thirty years. Gareth again watched the ground through Blackie’s eyes and spotted a herd of wild mountain goats grazing on a hillside. Blackie saw them as well, and changed course minutely, flying directly for the goats. Gareth did nothing to interfere or hold him back. The dragon had barely eaten in more than a full day of intense flying and its stomach twisted in hunger.

Blackie flew low over the treetops and was in the midst of the goats before any knew of his existence. A swipe of a hind leg and talons wrapped around one, while Blackie’s slashing teeth found another and he carried it in his mouth. Gareth suggested Blackie watch the sky while grounded and eating, hoping to see Cinder flying nearby.

Blackie naturally kept a watchful eye all around while eating. A dragon on the ground presented a target of sorts if tackling a behemoth can be considered an easy target. A pack of wolves might try, and there had been bears that tried. The cumbersome dragons were slow on the ground, and taking wing quickly was not an easy task. But anything attacking a dragon also faced snapping teeth, raking claws, and dragon spit. Dragons could spit it with remarkable accuracy, much like some snakes.

Gareth pulled his mind away from Blackie. He never enjoyed the crunching of bones or the feel of warm blood running down his chin and neck. Gareth’s hand fumbled for the mug of water Sara left at his side. His eyes focused on the island for an instant and then found his brother calmly sitting nearby, but observing him closely. He lifted the mug and drained it. “Thanks for watching me.”

“Did you find your father?” Sara asked.

“No. We just arrived. Blackie’s eating a couple of goats, so I came back.”

“I’ve seen that monster eat, so I understand why you left, and I only have to watch him do it,” Sara said, climbing the stairs to the porch to check on Gareth, a distasteful expression turning into a gaggle.

“It’s just his way,” Gareth muttered.

“It’s disgusting. You know I adore Blackie. Our family’s safe when he is here to protect us, but I wish he had better manners when eating. He also stinks lately. You should bathe him more often,” Sara said.

Gareth shook his head. “Bathing’s a job for a full day, anymore, and he isn’t yet full grown. He doesn’t mind his own smell. I suspect he’ll range further and further in the days to come. We’ll only see him now and then.”

“Won’t that make it more likely someone will see him and report it to the king?”

“Of course. My father sometimes used Cinder to help keep his mountain valley safe by attacking intruders, but at other times, his dragon was off on his own, far away. I can’t hold Blackie here forever.”

“Besides, in a few months there would be no cows, horses, or sheep on the island with two of them,” Paul quipped. One of Paul’s jobs was looking out for the herds and flocks.

Gareth sensed the dragon was finished eating and touched his mind again. Blackie eyed another nervous goat that tried hiding in a stand of brush, but Blackie had him spotted. Gareth made a mental suggestion he takes wing and eat again later. Once back into the air, Blackie was far easier to control now that the hunger problem was resolved, but he would need to feed again, soon. The long flight had taken a lot out.

Blackie flew higher and higher, then circled wide around the green valley that was his father’s home for hundreds of years. The valley was larger than Gareth remembered, and grazing animals of all sorts wandered the meadows. At the far end stood a cream-colored building, the old homestead. Gareth urged his dragon in that direction.

The building was bigger than it first appeared, or than he remembered. Built into the side of a sloping hill, it stood two full stories tall, made of tan-colored stones cut square, with tall, narrow windows on all sides, and a slate roof. It was as much a fortress as a house. It wouldn’t burn, arrow ports rimmed the edges of the roof, and the massive doors were sheathed in iron. The windows were too narrow for a man to slip through but arrows could be fired out with the archer in perfect safety.

Thirty or more people had lived comfortably in the building at the same time in decades past. In front of the house sloped the hillside to spreading meadows for grazing, and beyond a lake surrounded by orchards and vineyards.

Beyond the lake were more meadows, pastures, for all of his father’s animals when the population of this valley had exceeded a hundred. The impression the valley presented was one of peace and wealth, both of which were accurate. However, the building was little more than a fort, even if it appeared to be a house.

Blackie flew closer while becoming more and more agitated. In one meadow, larger than the others, a great mass of black sprawled in the green grasses. Gareth nudged Blackie to fly closer and look, but the dragon resisted. Then just turn your head and look at it so I can see.

Blackie refused. The resistance to fly closer or look was almost palatable, almost physical. The great dragon shuddered. Look down there. We won’t go closer, but we have to see what it is.

Blackie hesitated, and it seemed he would fly on without looking, but then he slowly turned his head. His eyes focused on the black object in the meadow. It was Cinder, his father’s black dragon, dead, head and neck twisted back as if still in agony. Blackie emitted a scream so loud and so long Gareth wondered if it could be heard all the way back on Bitters Island.

Blackie had seldom refused to obey Gareth unless it concerned food when the dragon was a chick, and then it ate anything that moved and some things that didn’t. He remembered the yellow pollen on his black nose after eating a flower when Blackie was no bigger than a small chicken. The dragon had refused to give up the yellow flower.

The incident had been funny then, but it was a completely different situation now that he wanted the dragon to do something that it instinctually refused. Gareth tried to think of a solution to get it closer to the ground and examine the dead dragon, but none came. He didn’t believe he could force Blackie, and wouldn’t even if he could. Finally, he directed his dragon to fly over the buildings at the upper end of the valley again.

Blackie veered wide to fly will around the black object in the meadow without ever turning an eye to it again. It flew directly over the house across the lake, nestled where the valley narrowed and started to rise up the slope of the volcano. From there the entire valley could be seen. As it neared the house, Gareth spotted the gazebo on the shore, and the finger of a pier extending into the lake. His father had often fished from that pier while they mentally discussed the good and evil of the world.

His father had no servants, workers, or friends living in the valley. Once there had been many people working and living there. There had been hordes of people to build and shape everything into the garden spot the valley was today. He suspected there had once been a large family, perhaps his father had dozens of children playing in the valley much like Gareth had on Bitters Island, but on a much smaller scale. There may have been servants and gardeners. People to care for the stock and repair the fences. But for the last thirty years at least, his father had lived alone with his dragon and performed help for people wherever he could.

Gareth had discussed those things often. A king who ruled ruthlessly had been replaced. During a famine food had arrived in time to help thousands, although it had been purchased far away and shipped before the famine began. There had been a hundred similar stories, many on a very small scale and often only helping a single person. Gareth remembered another about a farmer who helped so many of his neighbors his own crops failed. His father arraigned for a mule to fall into his hands.

He hesitated but knew what his next task must be and steeled himself. He directed Blackie to fly lower and scan the area near the gazebo. Immediately he saw the figure of a man lying beside it, arms twisted above his head in an unnatural manner. The gazebo had become the place of solace for his father in the last few years, the one safe place in the world where he would sit and communicate with Gareth for hours on end. Now it was a place of death and violence.

Gareth had hoped to locate the valley and provide help if the old man lay ill. He intended to rescue Cinder and have him fly to live with Blackie wherever they settled. If his father and his dragon were both dead, Gareth decided to have Blackie destroy their remains by coating them with dragon spit and letting the acid return them to nature so nobody could desecrate their bodies, but he wouldn’t risk the life of Blackie or himself needlessly.

His temperament turned as cold as a frozen lake in winter, and he set his mind, determined to accomplish his duty. He muttered, “Blackie, fly over that gazebo again, low and slow. Let me get a good look at the body.”

While avoiding the remains of the other black dragon again as he circled, Blackie seemed to have no problem in flying near the dead man. Blackie swooped lower as he turned and flew directly at the gazebo, his eyes focused on the prone body. It lay face up, a knife protruding from the chest. It looked like a farmer or merchant, not a soldier.

It was not Gareth’s father.

“Higher Blackie. Get up where you can see more.”

The dragon flew upward with long strokes of his wings as it passed over the jagged ridges at the upper edge of the valley, then turned for another pass at a higher altitude. This time, the dragon flew along the ridges that lined the valley on the sunward side. After seeing nothing of interest, it turned at the far end and returned to the house on the other side until it came to the remnants of a dirt road. The road left the valley between two peaks and entered the dense pine covered forest outside the valley.

Beside the road lay another man, an arrow protruding from his throat being the reason for his death. It had been a strong, young man dressed in clothing of yarn spun at home on a wheel. He lay with a spear near his outstretched arm. But it was not his father, either.

“What the hell happened, here?” Gareth said to himself, but the words slipped past his lips on Bitters Island and alarmed Paul, who sat with him.

“What’s wrong?” Paul asked, stiffening and half-standing beside him, which drew Gareth’s attention from the eyes of the dragon and back to himself, still in the chair.

Gareth silently waved for him to be quiet as he reached out and touched minds with Blackie again. To the dragon, he said, “Fly over the house and fly up and down the valley looking for any sign of other men.”

A third body was soon located, again not his father, and not a soldier. The cause of his death was not clear but that he was dead was not in doubt. Then Blackie found three more mangled and twisted bodies near beside the main house. All were located near the front entrance. Little was left of them. They were coated in black dragon spit, and nobody survived that. It must have been Cinder joining in the battle, for Gareth believed it to be nothing less than a fierce fight.

Gareth began putting clues together. Six men dead, so far. The one beside the gazebo told a tale in itself. The knife in the chest was probably put there by his father as he was attacked in his peaceful and serene place. He carried a knife to clean the fish from the lake. Another nearby died of an arrow, probably from a bow in the hands of his father, and the unknown cause of death in the next in line was also probably due to the old man, too. This idea was supported by the last three who died in an attack from Cinder—protecting his friend and master.

The scenario seemed to account for the deaths in the most logical manner. His father probably lay dead under a tree or in the house, or some other place that couldn’t be seen from the air. It didn’t matter. He was dead, and the bodies of so many attackers only confirmed it.

However, killing his father was one thing. The man was not superior in size, speed, or any other fighting attributes. In those regards, he was simply a man. But a black dragon? The largest and most powerful creature to ever exist? There were not even folktales of men defeating a black. That just left a single question.

Who killed Cinder? And how?