Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 2

  With that Ymitoth slammed his heals into his horse’s sides and started off at a mad gallop straight at the trees. Maelich did as he had been instructed. He followed about twenty feet behind. None of the creatures tried to flee, however. Instead, roughly twenty nasty beasts, just like the ones they had faced in the hut, poured out of the trees like bees from a hive. They climbed over each other, racing to reach Ymitoth whose sword was out and ready to spill their blood. Maelich quickened his pace to help his master dispatch the wicked, mindless demons descending upon him. The three leading the charge attacked Ymitoth in unison. All of them leapt high, at least fifteen feet in the air, and dove straight down on him. Ymitoth pulled out a dagger with his left hand and fired it at one of them, lancing its eye. It screeched like a horny witch. Almost simultaneously he swung his sword with his right arm and slashed his other two immediate attackers in half. Maelich started for his sword then opted for his bow. Another of the beasts was airborne and soaring toward Ymitoth. Maelich fired an arrow. It sliced the air before piercing the thing’s heart. He quickly killed two more in the same fashion. By that time, he was too close for his bow to be effective. He tossed it to the side and pulled out his sword. A few of the beasts took notice of his speedy approach and turned their attention to him. They sped toward him almost as fast as he sped toward them. Once they were within striking distance, the first two leapt high in the air while three more circled around behind. His horse reared back kicking one of them out of the air and losing his rider in the process. As Maelich hit the ground, he saw the second airborne amatilazo slash Gildrah’s throat with razor-sharp claws. He cried out as he scrambled to his feet and slashed the beast’s belly open with his sword, spilling its insides out on the ground in a steamy lump. He growled at its falling corpse as he relieved it of its head before it hit the ground. A moment of mourning was all he had time to offer his fallen friend. A gift from Ymitoth, Gildrah was the horse he had learned to ride on and cared for since he was a young lad.

  Before a tear could trickle down his cheek, rage filled him. Fire burned in his soul and with an agonizing howl he spun to face the three monsters that had managed to get behind him. Four menacing claws sailed past within inches of his face. He kicked the beast that slashed at him hard in the mid-section. Then he brought his sword down on the back of its skull, cracking it open and exposing the wee scrap of a brain that lay inside. The other two went just as easy. Then he turned his attention to the rest of the pack attacking Ymitoth.

  Ymitoth was off his horse as well, but he had removed himself jumping off to kick one of the beasts out of the air. Now he was battling with six of them amidst the bodies of those already fallen. Maelich sprung into the center of the melee and the two warriors quickly dispatched the rest of the foul horde. The battle ended as the last of the amatilazo fell. Impaled through the throat on Ymitoth’s sword, it whimpered like a beaten scrod.

  Both warriors looked around at all the corpses and then at each other. Then Maelich looked back at Gildrah. He felt Ymitoth’s heavy hand on his shoulder, “Go ahead. This be the last time ye can cry, lad.”

  Maelich wept for about half of an hour while Ymitoth consoled him. He was in a big hurry to get the mess they made cleaned up and make camp, but he knew this was the end of Maelich’s childhood. A childhood which was anything but ordinary. The lad needed a chance to let all this emotion out. He let him cry until all the tears were gone, and then the two men got started.

  In silence they hauled the bodies into a pile and then set them ablaze. The stench of the burning carcasses was thick and foul. It saturated the air, almost dripped from it, the kind of odor that could choke a grong. It would, however, scare off any would-be attackers and allow the men to catch some rest. They had a long journey ahead of them. At least two weeks on horseback, it would be a bit longer being they were down one horse.

  Chapter 2

  The Journey Begins

  When Maelich finally woke the sun was at its highest point. His skin was good and warm from being cooked under it until midday. He took a deep stretch and looked out across the horizon. Long, rolling fields reached for miles before him dotted here and there with small groups of trees and settlements. He slowly rose to his feet turning to look back toward the hut where he had spent his life up to that point. Perhaps he would never see it again. From his vantage point, however, all he could make out was the tall oak crowning Keller’s Hill. In his mind he said a brief good-bye and watched a stream of memories dance through his head. He would miss his hill, his tree, and yes, even bathing in Yester’s Pond, which at this point was on the other side of the hill.

  All at once he realized he was alone. Ymitoth had gone. The packs were gone. Rumallah, Ymitoth’s horse, was gone and all of the food was gone. The hair on the back of his neck stood as a chill shot quickly through his body. He’d never been alone before. Worse than that for him right at that moment was the fact Ymitoth had abandoned him. After everything he’d been through the night before and everything that had happened between he and Ymitoth…

  His thoughts trailed off and he fell to his knees lamenting his situation. ‘Why would Ymitoth leave me?’ he thought. ‘He seemed so proud and I fought so strong. Why would he be leaving me?’

  He continued torturing himself for just a short time before gathering himself back up. He took one last look at his only friend the oak, and one last scowl at the pile of carcasses still smoldering, before heading north. The night before, Ymitoth was leading them in that direction toward the river. The great kingdom of the north had always been a favorite topic of Ymitoth’s. He spoke of it incessantly. Perhaps he had left to return there. It lay far beyond the river. According to Ymitoth’s stories, if Maelich kept the rising sun over his right shoulder and the setting sun over his left, he should eventually find himself within that great city. There was no way to be certain Ymitoth indeed travelled to the great city which was such an object of his fancy, but it was all Maelich had to go on. It was as good a chance as any. With the sun just passing overhead, he did his best to quiet his mind and focused on the trail.

  As he trod along, his mind proved unable to remain quiet for very long. He tried to reason why Ymitoth would leave him. After a while, he decided it wasn’t anything he had done wrong. Ymitoth had been acting quite strange the night before and spoke of someone else having the task of telling Maelich the remaining mysteries of his past. Perhaps this was another test. Perhaps their little party the night before was the end of a chapter in his life and saying good-bye was too much for his mentor’s heart to bear. Maelich held on to the last one as it was his hope. Whatever the future might hold for him he wished to stand tall in Ymitoth’s eyes and linger long in his heart. Ymitoth was the only father he had ever known. The only father he’d ever had, according to him.

  He pulled out his sword and slowly went through some of the techniques he had learned through his lifetime of training as he walked along. It occurred to him this was the first day he could remember not training, aside from Kallum’s day. The last day of the week was set aside to pay respects to Kallum for his generosity and all we have. There was no training, no work and no food on Kallum’s day, only worship, praise and teachings of Kallum’s word. He thought of asking for Kallum’s help but didn’t have the energy to come up with the words just then. Anyway, he didn’t want to think about Kallum or the book. He really wanted to be training, going through his sword exercises with Ymitoth. He wondered if he’d ever get to do that again.

  As he walked along he came upon a small wooded area off to his right. It wasn’t quite a forest, but it would provide a bit of shelter for him to rest for a while. It was a good time to take a break and maybe snack on some berries. A few yards into the woods, he found a nice tree to sit under right next to a blackberry bush. Though not much of a meal, it was perhaps the best he would do that day. The spot he had chosen would also provide a bit of shelter from the wind which had picked up while he was walking. It would have to do.

  The berries wer
e quite tasty, but definitely not enough to fill him. Due to his late start, the sun was already low in the sky and he was getting hungry. On top of that, he felt as if he might be experiencing what Ymitoth referred to as a hangover from all of the ale he had drunk the night before. He would need some meat and another good night’s rest. If he were to successfully complete the journey he had no choice but to take, he would need to be both physically and mentally prepared. The state he was in just then was a far cry from that. Ymitoth had left Maelich’s bow and quiver behind and, under his tutelage, Maelich had become quite the hunter. Dinner, unlike the rest of his life at that point, would not be a problem.

  He found a good spot under a tall pine sitting atop a small ridge. A narrow brook curved back and forth through the valley below. Judging from the abundance of trail, it was quite a popular watering hole. He readied an arrow and sat completely still. The only sound was that of leaves dancing on the wind high up in the trees. Barely half an hour past before a good-sized fallon strode up to the brook to drink. Fallon were swift, graceful and strong, but not difficult to take down if your mark was true. He slowly raised his bow, drew back, took a deep breath and fired an arrow. His mark was true. His arrow whistled through the air and slipped in between two of the fallon’s ribs piercing the animal’s heart. With a grunt it fell where it stood.

  It wasn’t long before the beast had been quartered, cooked and Maelich had fed. After the meal and his emotionally taxing day, he decided this would be a grand place to make camp. He gathered more branches, worked the fire enough to earn a healthier flame, and then built a small shelter under the protection of a fallen tree. His belly full, he was ready to sleep and attack tomorrow with a clear head. Sleep came easy and there were no dreams to disturb his slumber. He slept like the dead.

  After a good night’s rest, Maelich woke with the sun. Big, fat glistening droplets of dew still dangled from every blade of grass, and the fog had yet to burn off from down in the valley. He felt physically refreshed, ready to attack the road before him. With a clear head, he was ready to start the rest of his life. He packed up his bow, as much fallon as he could eat before it would spoil, water, and some berries. He started off north again toward the river and the great kingdom promised in Ymitoth’s stories. He was sure this great kingdom had a proper name, but for him it was only the great kingdom of the north. That was the only way Ymitoth had ever spoken of it. The river, he hadn’t a name for it either, would be about two day’s journey on foot. However, as good as he felt physically, the morning run seemed a grand idea. Perhaps that’s why Ymitoth had him run every morning. Preparation, that’s what Ymitoth had said his life had been up to this point. He started off at a fast jog and didn’t stop until midday.

  He ate what was left of the fallon and moved along. He slowed a bit after his meal but he still made pretty good time considering he was on foot. By midday the following day he was approaching the edge of a small village resting along the bank of a mighty river. He had hoped to re-stock his supplies there. Unfortunately, the place seemed quite deserted. He slowed his pace and drew his sword. At the same time the day before he could faintly see the smoke from the villager’s cooking fires drifting up into the sky. Now it was empty. At midday the streets should be bustling with people hurrying home to their feast, but there was nary a sound.

  Uneasiness swept over him as he neared the main gate of the small village. It was too quiet. There should have been something, a child playing or a man coming home late for the feast. Something. Anything. There was nothing. The entire town appeared asleep. Warily, he continued.

  As he approached the first hut within the main gate, he noticed the door had been smashed in. He slowly strode inside. The stench of rotting flesh hung in the air. It seized him immediately when he entered and tugged at his attention while he quickly surveyed the room. One body, the body of a man of relatively large stature, lay sprawled out across a table occupying the center of the room. A large chunk was missing out of the poor bloke’s neck. The wound was rather dry and the corpse’s skin quite pale as if the body had been drained of all its blood. ‘Amatilazo’, he thought. A woman’s body lay curled around that of a small child in the corner. Her head lay a few feet from the rest of her. Her face grabbed his attention. It was frozen in a look of terror like none he’d ever seen in his short life. He looked back to her body still clinging to her baby’s lifeless carcass. He considered their embrace for a moment, frozen in death. She died trying to protect her own. Perhaps she could have escaped as her husband was being drained of his life’s blood but she didn’t. Instead, she gave of herself in a desperate attempt to save her child. It was a completely selfless action. How strong must be the love of a mother.

  His thoughts drifted to his conversation with Ymitoth about his own mother. He learned early on she died shortly after he was born. He didn’t have any details about her demise, but he knew he spent no time with her. He wondered if she had ever held him the way the courageous woman lying in front of him clung to her child. Did she ever cradle him in her arms, brush his hair back and sing to him? Ymitoth said she had a song sweeter than a chorus of songbirds. Had he ever heard that song? If he had he would never be able to recollect, as he would have been but a babe. A strange emptiness began in his belly as if there were a hole right through his mid-section. His head swam as dizziness swept through it and he thought he might lose his feet. He stumbled out of the hut and fell to the ground in a heap. If only there were someone to embrace him, someone to tell him everything was all right. His eyes burned as they filled up, but he fought back the tears. He struggled back to his feet. ‘Feeling sorry for yourself won’t do any good,’ he thought. He pushed back against the hopeless, empty feeling threatening to consume him and forced himself to move on.

  He went back into the hut, ignored the carcasses, and gathered all of the supplies he could carry. He ate what was to be the meal of the slaughtered family he was sharing the hut with and then moved on to the other huts in the village. Apparently, amatilazo do not have a taste for horses or other livestock, as there were a good number of them scattered about the town. He took the sturdiest horse as his new steed. He named him Validus. Validus was packed and ready to ride when Maelich heard noises coming from a hut down by the river’s edge. It was a hut he had yet to check. It almost sounded like a cry for help, but muffled and without the voice.

  He approached the hut slowly, cautiously. Over the past few days, he’d seen some things he’d never seen before and had no idea what to expect. What kind of beast or monster could be lurking behind that door? He slowly pushed it open and was immediately met by the vicious bark of a very unhappy scrod. His sword instinctively slipped out of its scabbard, but the scrod did not advance. It stood its ground, brazen and unafraid. Maelich had no desire to unnecessarily spill any blood, even if it was just a scrod. He pulled his sword back and offered his other hand.

  “It’s okay, laddy,” he said in a soothing voice. “Relax. Just relax.”

  Then he heard a whisper, barely audible. It came from under a pile of rubble in the corner behind the scrod. The pile began to shift and a small shape crawled out. It was a little girl of about five or six summers. Bright, blue eyes peered out of a grubby face behind dirty, golden hair. She spoke again.

  “Please don’t hurt Jom,” she could barely squeak the words out. Apparently, she’d done some screaming during the attack that had fallen upon this village.

  “Jom? Who’s Jom?” Maelich asked. “I be meaning ye no harm.”

  The little girl moved in front of the scrod as if to protect him. She stood as tall as she could make herself.

  “Is this Jom?” He asked, trying hard to sweeten up his voice.

  She nodded her reply, as Jom’s bark became a low growl. Maelich lowered himself to one knee and held out his hand. The scrod warily crept from behind the little girl who was still trying to stand tall and protect him. He continued his low growl as he gingerly approached Maelich’s outstretched hand. Then he scrutin
ized it with his nose. Apparently, Maelich’s hand had a pleasing odor as Jom’s tail quickly began to wag. Before long his head was nuzzled into Maelich’s chest. Maelich pet Jom and received some sloppy, wet, affectionate kisses for his trouble. The little girl seemed to relax a little as well when she saw Maelich had yet to slay her scrod. After a time, she spoke again, at least as much as she could without a voice.

  She told Maelich her name was Perrin and her village was attacked during the evening feeding by these monsters with long claws and sharp teeth. She said her papa went outside when they heard the screams and never came back. She told him the monsters came in her hut and her mama had run at them with her cooking blade. She said one of the monsters popped her mama’s head off like a dandelion. When Jom came running in from the yard barking, the monsters started howling and squealing like they were hurt or scared. She hid under the table screaming and Jom never left the spot he was in when Maelich had arrived.

  They talked for quite a while before Perrin started dozing as she spoke. Maelich laid her down on a cot in the corner and let her sleep. Then he and Jom went outside to start a fire. He burned up all of the carcasses in the village. The stench of rotting flesh was already strong in the air, and it wasn’t a healthy odor. Jom didn’t leave his side as he went through hut by hut, “cleaning up”. By the time he was finished, he was quite weary and the afternoon had fled away.

  He prepared a meal for Perrin and him, and planned to spend an evening there in the village before getting back to his journey. He also gave some thought to his new dilemma, Perrin. She was a lass of, by his best estimation, about five summers. She would slow him down. On top of that, he was relatively certain she wouldn’t want to leave Jom behind. That would slow him down even more. Perrin he could prop up on a horse and tow along with a rope. Jom would be traveling under his own power. The scrod would be setting the pace.