Dragon Bones And Tombstones (Book 2) (3 page)

CHAPTER 4

My first shot zinged over the ape’s head. Not because my aim was off, but because it wasn’t. That thing was fast. Really fast, almost as fast as me, I hated to admit. My second shot hit it in the pack of muscles in its shoulder and bounced off like a toothpick hitting a wall of stone. You see, there’s a difference between the three types of arrows I use: non-magic arrows for hunting,
mithril
ones that can shoot through almost anything, and enchanted ones with special abilities. I didn’t need a magic one ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but I needed one right now.

Drat!

And the third shot, a magic arrow from my quiver, well that wasn’t going to happen. The ape was too close, too quick, and just a few yards from rushing into me. I hooked my bow Akron over my shoulders. The dwarven armor Brenwar made me had a design for that. I braced myself for impact, reaching down to wrap my hand around the hilt of my sword, Fang.

Too late, Dragon!
 

Brenwar jumped from the reeds and slammed his war-hammer into the ape’s chest, drawing forth a howl of anger. Brenwar was a couple hundred pounds of solid brawn facing eight hundred pounds of raw muscle.

The ape snatched Brenwar from the waters of the stream,  hoisted him over its head, and hurled him like a log that disappeared into the woods.

Brenwar would never live that down if we lived to tell about it, and I wasn’t ready to die without recounting it one last time.

I ripped Fang from his scabbard and thrust at the ape’s belly.

It jumped over top of me, landed in the stream, and kicked me in the back with its feet.

I slammed into a boulder, and Fang almost slipped from my grip. I held on as I fought to regain the wind that was knocked out of me. Whatever that thing was, it was strong, fast―a real monster. Not as big as many I’ve faced but still bigger than me.

It came at me again, face full of fury, its black eyes intelligent and cunning. A real killer.

I chopped.

It twisted.

I stabbed.

It jumped.

I cut.

It ducked.

I pressed the attack.

It howled as I clipped its arm. It shuffled backward, spread its wings, and flew away, disappearing into the night. 

Eyes skyward, I stood, alone, basking in the light of my sword's glow, looking skyward. Where did that thing go? I whirled around as Brenwar burst forth from the brush, brandishing his hammer.

“Where is that thing! Nobody! Not nothing, not anything throws a dwarf without permission! Especially when yer not a dwarf!” 

“I think I scared it away,” I said, sheathing my sword. My leg was aching more now than ever and started to bleed again. “What was that, Brenwar? Any idea at all?”

The once quiet forest was alive and well now. The night owls hooted, and the pixies were singing. Of course, the pixies often disguised themselves as crickets and such. It was really hard to tell the difference.

“I don’t know what that was,” Brenwar said. “It’s not any part of the lore that I know, and the dwarves are well-schooled on all the creatures and monsters of this world.” He stormed up the stream. “But whatever it is, I’m going to see that it doesn’t throw a dwarf anymore. Not ever! I’ll have its head, I will!”

I unhooked Akron and loaded a magic arrow. I wasn’t going to take any chances. Whatever that thing was, well, I’m certain it would have torn me apart without Fang’s help. And don’t get me wrong: I’ve been in plenty of fights without my sword. This thing was different. And its eyes left an uncomfortable impression on me. And that was dangerous. That worried me.

Ahead, Brenwar had started a new path out of the water and along the tree line. It seemed he didn’t want to take any more chances being out in the open. As for me, I remained in the middle of the water, bow with arrow, scanning the skyline, behind and below. If that thing was up there, I still wanted it to see me. The fight in me wasn’t finished just yet, as my senses and instincts were challenged. It was one of those things that my father had instructed me to work on. He said I needed self control, and I’m sure he was right, but I needed to test myself, too. I wanted to be ready for anything, and I always felt like I was.

The moon had risen over the tree tops now and shined over the water. The heavy spots of clouds spotted the sky like dull grey orbs that absorbed the moonlight. My magic arrow tip twinkled like a sliver of mercy, so bright and shiny it was. The arrows could penetrate just about anything as the tips were of a dwarven made metal called
mithril
. Brenwar had made the arrows for me himself, and his people had blessed them with accuracy and strength. No winged ape was going to dodge one of these. No, it better not come back, but I hoped it would. I wanted to know what that thing was.

“Brenwar,” I said, “do you want to camp? It’s getting late.”

I suppose,” he replied, “But I’m not making a fire. I’ll not have that black fiend sneak up on me at night.”

I couldn’t agree more. There was no need for a fire on such a warm night, and for the most part we made fire to roast the critters that we hunted. We had other things packed up to eat, of the dwarven assortment. Stripes of dried beef and a round disk of blessed bread that would fill your belly for hours. It didn’t make for the tastiest of meals, and you had to wash it down with a lot of water, but it would get you through the day. I wasn’t hungry at the moment anyway. Besides, there was nothing like fishing in the morning and the smell of fish meet roasting over an open fire. And this stream was full of trout bigger than my feet. I could feel them swimming by as I waded in the waters.

“You should rest that wounded leg,” Brenwar suggested.

I nodded and gave in.

The next morning, I woke up after a restless sleep that left me feeling empty and edgy. As a dragon, I have to admit that we like our sleep, even though dragons don’t require it. I did, however, because I was still more man than dragon. But that night my dreams were filled with darkness. The winged-ape was there, a shadow in the background. There was a graveyard as well and dragons, many dragons, some living and many dead.

“Ye were restless,” Brenwar said, as he roasted a large trout I’d caught earlier.

Brenwar didn’t sleep much. He slept and guarded somehow, a dwarven art I never had much interest in. It was one of the advantages to having him around like this. And it probably was another good explanation as to why dwarves could be so cranky. They didn’t sleep much. But they did sleep, just not for very long, or unless it was after one of their harvest festivals when they’d eat, drink and be merry for weeks on end and sleep for days, even weeks after that.

“No, I didn’t sleep well at all,” I said, tightening the bandage on my leg, “but the rest isn’t bothering me, that black creature is. I want to know what that thing was, Brenwar. It was dangerous.”

He tossed me a hunk of cooked fish meat and said, “We’re rescuing dragons, not hunting monsters. I don’t think that creature is a threat to us. I just think we surprised it, is all. It’s someone else’s problem now. Eat. I’m ready to go.”

“Ah, you just don’t want it to toss you around again.”

“That’s enough, Dragon! I’m in no mood for your humor, and you better not be telling anyone about that,” Brenwar warned. “I’ve got plenty of tales I could tell about you, but I don’t.”

I smiled. “Fair enough, Friend. Consider the incident stricken from my lips forever, but not forgotten.”

We filled our bellies with fish and broke camp. My irritation subsided, and my stiff leg began to loosen as the bright sun of the new day warmed my face. It seemed to lift that cloud of darkness within.

“So, where do you think these dragons are that we're going after? What have you heard?”

“There’s always poachers in the hills, hiding something or another. I just figured we’d go and poke our noses around. It’s well known that these hills hide many things, both good and evil.”

Brenwar’s answer was pretty vague, but the dwarves didn’t often get into the details, unless you were talking about building, mining or blacksmithing. Then they became a waterfall of information, and I must admit, I didn’t really want a lengthy explanation, either, but I needed some kind of guidance. 

After an hour more of hiking, we’d abandoned the stream and resumed our climb up the loose foot hills. Tiny bits of shale had found their way into my boots and were digging into my toes, but I trudged along behind Brenwar. He was surefooted and steady, not likely to be slowed by anything. Still, it bothered me that he hadn’t said much about where we were going.

In the dragon business, I came across information in the cities and villages. People talked. People talked a lot, and even the best kept secrets were never a secret, just something spoken of less than more. But at the mere mention of dragons, if someone knew something, in most cases their eyes lit up. Sometimes it took patience, other times charm, bribes, or a stern convincing, but it often gave me another direction to go on. Once I found the right path, I could figure out the rest of the clues from there.

We crested another hilltop, miles now above the stream, the hundred-feet high evergreen trees swaying in the wind. I tied my mane of red-brown hair behind my head and took a drink from my canteen. So far as I could tell, we were in the middle of nowhere. Just some forest leagues away from civilization, and I had a feeling Brenwar wanted it that way. I was certain he was keeping me out of trouble by keeping me from the cities. It hurt to think about it, actually.

I missed the cities, but my dragon arm caused me to stick out like a sore thumb. I had a way to cover it up if I had to, but what would all of those fawning women think? A man with a dragon arm. As much as I loved it, I was insecure about it. I didn’t want people to think it was a cursed thing.

Brenwar headed down the hilltop and started towards another. The forest, unlike most, didn’t have all the signs of life of the others. Other than the trees, the rocky ground didn’t leave roots for the small plants that fed the critters and buck. That made the hunting more scarce and made the hills seem more dangerous. It was a natural place, but grim and foreboding with the black ground against the green. 

I woke up from the dullness of the journey when I heard the sound of an axe chopping into wood. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would be cutting down trees this deep in the forest. But stranger things happened in Nalzambor I figured, as Brenwar and I treaded down the hill to investigate.

I couldn’t see a person, but the chopping sounds remained steady. On silent feet, I closed in, only to discover the echoes had drifted farther down the hill. I motioned for Brenwar. I was going to lead this time.

The chopping stopped. I didn’t hear, smell or see anything out of the ordinary. But as the wind drifted into my nose, I smelled something out of the ordinary in the forest. Brenwar had a look of concern on his face as I began to back out of the clearing.

Snap! Snap!

Too late! A net rose beneath our feet, jerking us from the ground and binding us like fish more than a dozen feet over the ground. We were trapped.

CHAPTER 5

“You should have let me lead!” Brenwar fussed and struggled in the net as we hung there like a giant's lunch.

I fully expected a small army of orcs or lizard men to surround as I fought to get my knife. I couldn’t reach it.

“Grab my knife, Dragon,” ordered Brenwar.

“I can’t reach it. You try and grab mine,” I ordered back.

“I can’t even see it. Cripes, I think you’re on top of me. Get off me! I’m not a stool.”

We thrashed at our bonds, but all the wiggling did was ensnare us deeper in the heavy cords. The net was made for bigger prey than us, perhaps an animal, but it could be cut.

“Of all the Halls in Morgdon, I’ll not be trapped like some kind of morsel!” Brenwar exclaimed. “Get me out of here, Dragon! I’m not going to die in such a helpless predicament as this.”

“You get us out of here.”

“You sprung the trap, not me!”

Our packs were full of plenty of gear that would help
―if I could get to them. I could feel Brenwar’s pack beneath my seat. That wasn’t going to work. My left arm was pinned at my side, but my dragon arm was free enough to reach behind my back. The long claws on my dragon fingers caught my attention. I had an idea. I began sawing at the net's cords with my claws.

“What are you doing up there?” Brenwar asked.

“I’m trying to free us. That's what you want, isn’t it?”

“With what are you freeing us?”

I didn’t reply. Brenwar admonished me about using my black dragon arm for anything, no matter what it was. But I didn’t see the harm in it. It was a part of me. It wasn’t like it was evil or had a mind of its own. Not like Fang, anyway.

“Ah, Brenwar, what choice do I have? It’s the only way to get us free right now.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Then what is?”

I continued to saw in silence. That’s when they showed up. Two figures in dark cloaks approached, bows aimed at our bellies. At least, I thought it was two. As the net continued a slow rotation over the ground, I’d see one, then the other. Hoods were pulled over the tops of their heads, and their cloaks dangled over their toes. I wasn’t certain what to say, trying to figure out if silence was the best answer, uncertain if they’d speak first or not. But my nose told me this: it wasn’t orcs, or lizard men, either, so that was a plus.

“Um … could I trouble you, Stranger, to let us down? It seems we’ve accidentally triggered a wildebeast trap.”

I heard the tension on the bow strings stretching and bit my tongue. The pair weren’t playing around, and perhaps we were trespassing, and I wasn’t so certain my clever tongue could get us out of here. I cleared my throat when I noticed the pudgy fingers wrapped around the bow.

“That’s a very nice elven-made bow you have, Sir. Some of the finest craftsmanship I’ve ever seen.” I was trying to be complimentary. The bow was elven but hardly worth commentary. “And those shoes, are they elven made as well?” That’s when I noticed one nod at the other. Both of them were beefy and similar in dress: elven clothes, ornate, blending and fanciful. It seemed these two brigands had either robbed or bartered for them and were hiding from something up here.

“Cut him down,” one said to the other in Elvish.

“Dragon,” Brenwar said in a whisper. “They speak Elvish. But they can’t be elves. You ever seen a fat elf before?”

“No—Eeeee-Yah!” I cried out, falling to the ground. I landed on Brenwar. I think it would have been softer if I landed on a bench of stone. “A little warning first would be nice!”

The two characters stood over us, bows ready, as I picked my way out of the net and assisted Brenwar. The two of them were speaking in Elvish, and quite naturally I could understand every word they said. I knew all of the languages, mostly. So in Elvish I spoke back.

“Thank you for letting us down,” I said with a small bow. It always helps to be polite and sincere when arrows are pointing at you. “And I apologize for springing your trap. What were you trying to catch? If indeed this is your trap.”

They backed away and spread out a little farther from us and one another. The pair were almost as tall as men, each heavy set. They moved their girth with grace and ease, and I could see the clothes underneath their cloaks were woodsman-like but splendid in design. I just couldn’t
figure what men were doing in elven clothes and speaking Elvish, at that. My, if an elf saw this, they would frown upon it. The elves―wonderful, sophisticated, proper, beautiful and in most cases arrogant―would possibly kill a man for this.

They didn’t s
ay a word, so I continued in Elvish.

“If it’s all the same to you, we’ll be getting out of your way.”

“Hold your position,” a voice said, a mixture of polish and salt in his tone. He sounded elven. “I’d be curious to know what you’re doing in these hills.”

“These hills don’t belong to you,” Brenwar fired back. Dwarves and elves don’t get along so well. “I’d be just as curious to know what you are doing here.”

Both of the men flipped back their hoods.

I blinked my eyes.

“Brenwar, are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

He nodded.

Both men had long brown hair, almost as gorgeous as mine, but not quite. Their features were without a blemish or mark, their eye brows perched in neat lines, and not a single crease in their foreheads. High cheek bones and strong chins, all distinctions of the elves―except one thing.

“You’re the fattest elves I’ve ever seen!” I said. The words just came out. I couldn’t help it.

Brenwar’s belly rumbled with laughter. 

“I knew they weren’t perfect! I knew it!”

Both of the elves folded their arms across their chests and gave us disappointed looks. I felt like a child for a moment, realizing how rude I was. There were all kinds of big people in the world, but fat elves? No. They were all so lean and graceful. I’d never seen an ounce of girth on one of them, and I’d seen plenty of elves in my day.

Fat Elf One walked over and looked down on Brenwar.

“Be silent, Dwarf. Else I’ll seal that big mouth hole shut.”

Brenwar’s laughter stopped. 

“I’d like to see you try,” he warned. “No elf can best me, not fat or skinny. Ye better mind your choice of words if you want to see your next meal, you puffy face!”

“You bearded hog!”

“Ye’ve got a fanny like an orcen woman!” Brenwar stuck his fingers out. “Two of them!”

As much as I hated to, I stepped in the middle. It was pretty clear these elves, as odd as they seemed, weren’t our enemies. And they didn’t seem like the type we wanted to make enemies of, either. They were formidable underneath their girth. Seasoned and deadly.

“Let’s start over again, shall we?” I said. “I’m Nath Dragon, and this is Brenwar Bolderguild.”

Fat Elf One stepped away, while Fat Elf Two came by his side and said in the common tongue of man, “I am Shum.” He bowed. “This is my brother Hoven.” His brother nodded.

The big hipped and rangy pair just looked at us, and I wasn’t certain whether I should speak or wait for them. But I did have a one predominant question on my mind.

“Oh,” Shum broke the silence, “I’m guessing you want to know why we're so … eh … large for elves.”

I scratched my head. I didn’t want to admit to things. After all, it would be rude, but seeing an elf in such shape was unique. “Well, forgive me, but I’ve seen many elves and—”

He held out his hand.

“Not all elves are so vain as you know them. In our case, we are thicker thewed and bigger boned, a gift to some, a curse to others.”

“Are there more of you?” I asked.

“Oh certainly. We have families: young, old, big and small like the rest. But we move much and befriend little. A tiny conclave that comes and goes. We prefer the vast lands and all their riches. We are the Wilder Elves. And we are also part of the Roaming Rangers of Nalzambor.”

I couldn’t believe my ears.