Chapter 3 - Road to the City

The boys were so excited about the trip to Alganeer that they decided on such a warm night to bed down outside the ox yard. “Why don’t we just take the river ferry south? Why would your father want to take an ox team? It takes twice as long to get to Alganeer.”

“Orlen, how much do you weigh?”

“Almost twelve stone, about 170 pounds. Why?”

“Just hang on…and how much do I weigh?”

“About twice that.”

“Orlen, you’re more than a foot and a half taller than me and you’ve seen me struggle to swim. My father weighs more than me, and I’m a foot taller than him. Dwarves don’t swim. They sink like stones.”

“Oh. I didn’t realize that.” He snickered a little, “I can see how the ferry would not be a popular choice. Good night, then. We may as well get as much sleep as we can.”

As the first rays of the sun lit the yard Agnathor arrived with more than a dozen dwarves, all of whom pointedly ignored both Daegarun and Orlen. Daegarun expected nothing less, having heard mumbled epithets such as “half-breed” and “taint-born”. His position in the clan rated him between that of an inedible cave fungus crushed between your toes and the smelly sulfurous mud in the lower mine levels.

Agnathor went immediately to the ox master and bought four ox teams and dray wagons, as well as two horses. “You two boys will have the horses and be our scouts. I hear tell from the Ironskin boys there are some bandits in Roland’s Wood. Normally we’d head out from the stronghold’s southern gate and leave from Tlan’s Lake, but after the recent cave-in near the gate that way will be closed for a while.”

The boys thoroughly enjoyed being scouts. The land between Arnath and Roland’s Wood was open grassland with sparse woods, so they galloped off exploring in all directions while the ox teams plodded along. Farther to the west were the great wheat, barley and tabak fields. As they approached the Wood, though, they became more cautious. On the road outside of Roland’s Wood sat the remains of an old empire patrol outpost. Only parts of the small tower still stood, but the well behind it worked just fine. It would serve more than adequately as a stop for the evening and was commonly used as such by travelers.

As always, the dwarves guarded the camp in rotating shifts that did not include the boys. Still only Agnathor spoke to them. It was he who woke them just as the moon was reaching its highest mark. “Be quiet boys, and come with me.” Orlen noted that all the other dwarves were awake, peering over the low wall that separated the old tower from the road. In the distance he could see several dozen furry humanoids, each about a foot-tall, moving across the plains to the northwest. The pack continued moving more west than north, each one wary and nervous but moving at a surprising pace.

“Mangors,” Agnathor told the boys.

Orlen started to nock a bolt on his crossbow while kneeling behind the wall. “Stop that!” Agnathor told him. “Mangors only eat nuts and fruits. They have no interest in us and are certainly not dangerous. I just wanted you two to see them.”

When they had gone from sight, Agnathor continued. “I’ve seen Mangors on earlier travels through the various forests. They are shy, harmless creatures that mostly keep to the treetops. What has caused them to brave the open land?”

The night passed without further incident, but the morning brought new events. Daegarun woke Orlen with a simple statement, “Roland’s Wood seems to be on fire….” Both looked towards the forest to see smoke rising in columns from the middle. “I guess a forest fire would chase the Mangors out,” Orlen ventured.

“No, it wouldn’t,” said Agnathor. “They are familiar with forest fires. Lightning causes them with some frequency. The rain just puts the fires out and they move to another part of the forest. Fortunately, the fire doesn’t seem to be near the road, so I think we’ll be safe for the journey through.”

Roland’s Wood was a very dense forest full of old growth. Orlen enjoyed the way the trees created a canopy overhead. Ash, poplar, oak, walnut, and even some evergreens towered above, dimming the sky but not completely blotting it out. The variety seemed endless in the wood. Orlen cocked quizzically as he studied them further. So many kinds of trees yet all of them were nearly the same monstrous size, even the varieties that generally did not grow that tall. They were also conveniently spaced out so as not to crowd each other too much and there was little new growth between them. There was underbrush and shrubs, but few saplings.

The ride through the plains had been hot and dry, but here beneath the trees it was cool and refreshing. The sounds of the forest and the rhythmic clopping of the horse’s hooves were calming. He enjoyed the swaying trees, the small animals foraging underneath the leaf bed and occasional deer darting away at their approach. The cobblestone road they followed was wide enough for four carts to travel side by side. Local villages kept it well maintained and clear of brush and debris. It had been built by the empire hundreds of years ago but even with the passage of time it was solid and flat. As they moved farther in the woods the smoke from the fire thickened, especially in those places where the breeze couldn’t clear it. It made for a slow passage. Due to the low visibility and the rumor of bandits, Agnathor did not allow the boys to scout ahead on their horses. They rode along side the wagons as the oxen plodded along.

It didn’t take long before they ran across their first evidence of banditry. Agnathor held up his fist, commanding a halt.

“Up ahead are the remains of the overturned cart. We should prepare for a possible ambush.” He spoke directly to the boys, “Daegarun, Orlen, follow along behind and chase down any who get away.” He turned to the gathered dwarves and grinned wickedly. “We’ll have a bash at any bandits we find, won’t we, boys?”

The dwarves split up into three groups, two smaller flanking forces and a large main force. The flankers moved off into the trees, moving with surprising silence for being so heavily armed. Agnathor waited a count of twenty then began running down the center of the road with the main force. The boy waited another few seconds then took off after them.

The grumbling was loud and quite colorful when they discovered that the wagon was just the remnants of an old ambush, both attackers and defenders long gone. The wagon lay on its side, littered with arrows. The front half was burned away as was the canopy that once covered the rear section. Some of the nearby trees showed burn marks as well. Searching the area, they found the yoke for the ox team a short distance farther down the road, also partially burned. Lagrum Redbeard, warrior captain in charge of the guard detail, returned from his scouting the surrounding woods.

“Near as I can figure, the attackers launched the ambush from the opposite side of the road with bows. See how the wagon has arrows on only one side? Attackers on this side of the road waited until the wagon team responded then jumped out of hiding.”

He moved over to the opposite roadside. “I found the hiding places where they pulled the brush around for cover. I count four spots on this side and five on the other. That’s just a guess so their numbers may be greater.”

Pointing down the road a bit, Lagrum continued, “We also found wagon tracks up ahead where one had veered off the road before regaining control. I can only assume some of the merchant train managed to escape the ambush. I am amazed, though, at the lack of bodies. Bandits don’t tend to bury the dead bodies; they prefer to leave them to make an “impression” on their next victim so things will go easier. This site is only a couple of days old so we should proceed with caution.”

Less than a mile farther on they found the rest of the wagon train. Three wagons, all burned, showed where the group made their last stand. Fallen weapons littered the area and it looked as though they used every arrow they had. They were stuck in the wagons and in the surrounding trees. Again, no bodies were evident. Something else didn’t seem right, but Daegarun couldn’t put his finger on it.

“This is the result of a chase. The first wagon overturned and the other two crashed into it,” Lagrum began. “There are no signs of ambush here, straight battle.”

Several of the dwarves righted one of the overturned hulks. It was still filled with bolts of cloth, casks of wine and ale and many sacks of grain. “That’s odd. Bandits would have taken that with them. I think we should scout around a little more thoroughly before leaving. We need to understand what happened here.”

Daegarun stood looking at the scene before him, trying to picture how events would have transpired. Finally he spoke up, “This isn’t right. If the attackers were chasing them at a speed great enough to overturn one of the wagons, then the arrows would be up and down the road as they shot at each other. But, most of these arrows are in the trees. There are a few on the backs of the last two wagons, but only just a few. Something else happened here.”

Agnathor surveyed the wreckage, and before he could speak Lagrum interrupted him. “Aye lad, I believe you have the right of it. The arrow patterns are not what you would have expected. There are no bodies, human or oxen. But we’ve found all three ox yokes. Oxen pull things, nobody rides them bareback. Why would the bandits have left the wagon full of goods unless something else chased them off?” He turned to Agnathor, “Your boy has a good head on his shoulders. That’s encouraging.” Then he stomped off into the woods. Agnathor and Daegarun exchanged glances.

Daegarun and Orlen searched deeper into the woods off the east side of the road. They were just about to turn back when Daegarun foot struck something buried under the windblown leaves.

“Over here!” yelled Daegarun. “I found something!” Their two hours of searching turned up two interesting things. One was a small chest, still locked and covered with blood. The second was the fact that there was still an arm attached to the handle.

Agnathor and Lagrum came running. Lagrum grunted, “Now there’s a site you don’t see often.” He picked up the arm and looked at it closely. “This arm isn’t completely stiff yet so it hasn’t been here that long. And, it looks like it was bitten off. What ever took the human wasn’t interested in the chest.”

He took out his axe and smashed the lock. “Cheap lock, he grumbled, “poor craftsmanship.” The chest was filled mostly with copper pieces, with a small sack of silver pieces on the side. “Well lads, you found this chest, so it’s yours by right. Tidy little sum.”

“Look at these trees,” said Orlen. “Look how the bark is scraped off in places. You can just see the path whatever creature was chasing this person took by the scrapes on the tree trunks. I’ll bet if he had dropped the chest, he would have gotten away.”

“We’ll have to be on guard for the rest of the trip through these woods,” said Agnathor. “Whatever chased down this human was fairly large. The sooner we’re out of these woods, the better. We might as well salvage what we can from the wagons and get moving in case it returns.”

A misty rain began to fall, clearing the smoke and adding a quality of moist freshness to the air. “The forest itself is actually quite pleasant,” Orlen mused. “This is far different from the old scary stories my mother used to tell me as a child.”

Speaking aloud, Orlen rode a little closer to Daegarun. “This is an odd forest. I’d say it’s a lovely place were it not for the uneasiness I feel, especially after seeing the wreckage of the trading caravan.” He continued after a moment’s pause. “You know, the animals aren’t scurrying and the birds aren’t singing. I feel something out of place, something dangerous.”

Just then they heard a roar that certainly did not come from the throat of any animal capable of “scurrying”. It was deep and reverberating, and it carried an aura of menace. The oxen immediately began pulling against their harnesses. Daegarun drew one of his swords, holding onto the horse’s reins with the other hand. Orlen pulled his crossbow off his back and facilely cocked and seated a bolt. He kept a small quiver of bolts hanging from the saddle horn for easy reach. Riding forward, they soon heard a second roar and men shouting. They spurred their mounts to greater speed and as they rounded the bend they encountering a group of men at a large crossroad that had the remnants of several empire outpost buildings.

Agnathor and his dwarves had abandoned the wagons and the panicked oxen. They ran full out down the road, trailing the boys on horses. The running dwarves made almost as much racket as the roar that had earlier resounded through the forest.

“Is that a dragon?” exclaimed Orlen.

The beast the men were fighting was a lizard well over fifteen feet long, dull green and brown with a small red crest that ran along the top of its serpentine head. It stood on its hind legs and kept its wings outstretched for balance. It moved forward with astonishing speed and coordination, striking one of the men with a fore claw and opening up a serious gash across his chest. At the same time, the head snaked towards a second man, biting him on the shoulder and tossing him a good ten paces. The remaining men, armed with long spears, continued stabbing at the creature’s neck and chest, forcing it to keep its distance. They seemed to be having little success finding vulnerable spots to injure the creature.

A second beast, even larger, was combating a half-dozen men near the old stable. One wing was bent awkwardly and lay flat behind it. Armed with axes and halberds they appeared to be having the upper-hand against the creature.

Orlen road to the center of the crossroad, aimed and fired. The shaft hit the creature’s neck about a foot below the head and bounced away harmlessly. Frustrated, Orlen let fly with another shaft, this one headed towards the creature’s exposed underbelly. Again, the arrow failed to penetrate, bouncing harmlessly off the tough scales.

“Stop shooting! Your crossbow isn’t going to harm that thing unless you can manage to hit an eye!” Daegarun realized his falchion would be equally useless and sheathed it.

The creature faltered as the clanking dwarves arrived. It withdrew, raised its head and gave an odd barking sound. Axes drawn, six of them charged the lizard without hesitation. It let out a bellow of pain as the first axe tore into its leg just above the knee. Its head darted at the dwarf only to strike the shield instead. The dwarf’s shield partner took the opportunity to strike out at the head that was now within reach. The lizard pulled back quickly, but not before suffering a graze on the snout.

Responding to the barking call, two more nearly the same size and several smaller dragonets emerged from the forest and launched themselves at the grouped men and dwarves. The remainder of the dwarven guard charged forward to engage the new foes.

The larger of the new arrivals stood on its hind legs and extended its wings. It swept them forward and buffeted the dwarves, sending two of them flying. They were quickly replaced by two more dwarves who picked up spears from some of the fallen men. Seeing the wing swinging back around, they planted the butts between the cobbles and held on tight. The wing came towards them with great force and impaled on the spears, one striking the great muscle that ran long the top. The creature let out a second bellow of pain as an axe struck a solid blow on its knee. Unable to extend its wings to maintain balance the injured leg gave way. It fell to the ground, still snapping at the dwarves. A powerful axe blow disemboweled the lizard.

Daegarun and Orlen had no clue how to fight such beasts. Lagrum pulled the two boys along with him. He had spotted two injured men down on the ground with a huge crossbow lying next to them. “You, Crossbow Boy. Can you shoot a ballista?” he shouted to Orlen, trying to be heard of the din of battle. He pointed to the monster contraption lying on the ground. Orlen ran up to it, struggling to get it out from under the bodies. Daegarun came over to help him get it upright. He stood it on end and began furiously cranking back the string using the built-in cocking mechanism.

“How are we going to shoot this monster thing? We can barely hold it between us!”

“Look around for a pole.” Lagrum replied, “There’s usually one to steady it!”

Orlen finally found it underneath one of the injured men, along with several bolts. He brought the pole over and jammed it in the hole on the bottom side of the crossbow. The two of them lifted it up, settling the pole between two cobblestones in the road. Orlen set a bolt into the launch groove and aimed at the beast. Before he could fire Lagrum looked at the downed lizard. “All females. Where’s the male?” he asked. His question turned prophetic instantly when the male charged with a roar from the opposite side of the road, along with a half-dozen smaller lizards. Smaller in a relative sense only as each lizardling was nearly eight feet long. The male was enormous, fully twenty-five feet long at least with teeth and claws like daggers. He breathed out a gout of flame at two of the dwarves, charring and killing one instantly, the other left writhing on the ground in flaming agony.

The remaining dwarves formed a defensive line as the lizardlings attacked. The huge male, unable to move as quickly on the ground as the lizardlings, followed the charging group.

Orlen took aim at one of the lizardlings. Firing the massive crossbow, it jerked to the right as it loosed the bolt, striking the creatures left shoulder instead of the neck as he intended. The lizardling went down hard on the cobbles.

“We only have two shots left, so we better make the best of them!” Orlen fired the huge crossbow. Taking into account the massive crossbow’s tendency to pull to the right he aimed at the male’s right shoulder hoping for a hit at the base of the neck. The bolt exploded from the crossbow striking the creature hard on the left shoulder. It stumbled and fell to the ground but was back up in only moments. It spat another lance of fire at the dwarves, only this time too high to do any harm.

The largest of the lizardlings veered off and leapt at Orlen. Lagrum and Agnathor interceded and met the creature in battle. The lizardling proved surprisingly quick and agile, easily fending off the axe blows from the dwarven pair but unable to get past them to Orlen.

Daegarun and Orlen reloaded the crossbow for their last shot at the large male. “Better make this one count, Orlen!” screamed Daegarun as Orlen loosed their final bolt. Again aiming for the base of the neck luck intervened as the big lizard tried to bite at one of the dwarves and swung its head right into the flight path of the bolt. It struck the top of the beast’s head and punched clean through the skull. The big lizard paused for a moment, its eyes glazed and unfocused. Orlen could see the head of the bolt protruding from just below the jaw line underneath. It collapsed in a boneless heap directly on top of one of the lizardlings, crushing it.

The clever lizardling was giving Agnathor and Lagrum quite a fight. A tail sweep knocked Lagrum to the ground. With its left foot on his chest to hold him down, the lizardling was bringing the battle to Agnathor. Unable to do anything but defend, he was unable to free Lagrum. Daegarun, seeing Lagrum down, drew his twin falchions and leapt onto the creature’s back. As it swung its head around at its new attacker Agnathor landed a solid blow on the left shoulder. Daegarun swung hard and managed to hit the small eye nearest him. The creature bucked, stepping back off Lagrum and rising up on its hind legs throwing Daegarun from its back. Lagrum scrambled to his feet and brought his axe around to strike the lizardling, cutting deeply into the softer underbelly. It let out a barking sound before collapsing to the ground.

Daegarun rolled away from the falling lizard and stood, looking for another lizardling to fight. None remained, the rest having been dispatched by the dwarven force.

Lagrum, bleeding from many injuries, gave Daegarun and Orlen a hard look. “Maybe you two aren’t as useless as I first thought. Lucky shot notwithstanding, you did well, Orlen. And you, Daegarun, need to learn more about fighting dragonets. If you look at the adults, you’ll see small spikes running down the back. Had this lizardling been a little older, you would have impaled yourself. Still, it was a reckless and courageous thing to do. You likely saved my life, though perhaps Agnathor could have dispatched the creature eventually. Hard to say, he hasn’t led a battle group in several decades.” Lagrum looked over at Agnathor, a twinkle in his eye, “He’s gotten a bit rusty.”

Lagrum walked over to the other dwarves, taking stock of the situation. Moving to the dwarves on the ground he began tending to the wounded.

Agnathor put a hand on each of the boy’s shoulders, “You two have acquitted yourselves well on this battlefield. I’m very proud of you both.”

“What was that thing? It looks like a dragon and it breathed fire!” Orlen asked.

“Guess I spent too much time on weapons and such and not enough on the world around us,” Agnathor began. “It’s a dragonet, sort of a smaller cousin to the big dragons you are confusing it with. Usually you find them in the mountains, feeding on the mountain goats and rock lions. I’ve run into many of them up there and it’s always a nasty fight. They travel in what’s called a flight. There are usually one male, one to five females, and many young in a dragonet flight. The first one we fought here was a female. You can tell from the red crest. If you see here, the males have a white crest and are larger. This would explain why we saw all the Mangors heading north, abandoning their tree nests. These dragonet young have probably been hunting the Mangors. And, Orlen, only the males can breathe fire.”

One of the remaining humans from the original battle, a tall bearded man with gray hair, was using his spear as a walking stick. He was bleeding from a superficial wound on his shoulder. He came over to Agnathor. “Thank you kindly for the assistance! I’m Aev. Without your help, I don’t think any of us would have survived. It was all we could do to keep the things at bay after Born and Shev were knocked unconscious by a sweep of its wing. Thank the gods you arrived before the others attacked. We didn’t know about them. We’ve been chasing these for several days. This is the third time we’ve fought them. We killed two earlier this week in the western woods. I’m just glad Born’s grandfather gave him that big ole crossbow he had leftover from some castle siege many years ago. Nice to know it still works. The beasts has been terrorizing our livestock and eating the sheep. We had to do something before we had none left.”

Agnathor extended his hand and clasped forearms with Aev. “I’m Agnathor, head of this trade delegation. I’m glad we could help, though I regret the loss of two of my brethren and so many of your own. I wish we had arrived sooner. I think fortune favored us both, though. Had we been surprised by the dragonets on the road many more of us would be dead.” Agnathor paused for a moment before continuing, “We will be camping here for a few days while we patch up our wounded. You are welcome to remain with us until we resume our journey to Alganeer.”

“That’s right kind of you,” Aev replied. “There should be a wagon load of men coming from Windot soon. They were to be our relief. We’ll ride home with them.”

Aev continued, “If you are ever in Windot, stop by my farm. My wife makes a wildberry pie so tart it’ll make your toes curl!”

Agnathor grinned, “I’ll do that! Who am I to pass up a piece of pie! I’ll bring the ale!”

Camp that night was a new experience. The dwarves, previously dour and quiet around the boys, were boisterous and loud, drinking from their ale stores and boasting about their parts in the battle. As the Salute for the Departed came, a mug of ale was given to Orlen and Daegarun. For the first time, Daegarun felt like he belonged. Lagrum led the toast, “Denit Alebrewer and Bengelf Nargslayer were good dwarves. They drank heavily, fought hard and belched loudly. They died fighting a dragon, such as it was. No dwarf could ask for better. They now sit in the halls of Sharagrim the Maker, no doubt in a place of honor.” He raised his mug, “To Denit and Bengelf!” The group echoed Lagrum’s pronouncement, then drained their mugs.

As always, Orlen could not contain his curious nature. He stepped up behind Agnathor and spoke quietly, “What’s a narg?”

Agnathor gagged and spat out the ale he was drinking and then laughed heartily. “Lagrum! The boy here wants to know what a narg is!” The gathered dwarves all began laughing loudly. Lagrum could barely contain himself for an answer.

“A narg is something like the frogs you see by the river, only these are underground. They are slimy, four-legged things that like to live in the mushroom patches. Generally you want to avoid them as much as possible. When they feel threatened they let off a little puff of smelly gas. Well, one day Bengelf was harvesting the mushrooms when, after more than his fair share of ale, he fell into the mushroom patch and rolled over a bunch of ‘em. There must have been quite a few nargs living under them, because when he stood, he was all green and covered with narg guts. And, I have to tell you boy he stank! I mean really stank! For more than a month, too! No one could get near him until it wore off. After that, everyone just took to calling him nargslayer. Not a proud moment for Bengelf, but certainly one that increased his fame!” They all started laughing again and drank another toast.

Orlen and Daegrun joined in the laughter.

The next morning the jovial mood continued as the dwarves bantered with each other. Agnathor woke the boys. “Son, Orlen, I need you to do something for us. Now that many of the wine and ale casks are empty, I need you to take them down to the stream and wash them out as well as you can.”

“Why?” asked Orlen.

Agnathor squinted at Orlen. “We’re going to drain the blood from the dragonets and collect as much as we can into the casks. Do you want to wash them, or fill them?”

The two boys exchanged a glance, “We’ll wash!”

“I thought as much! Best get moving.”