The Confliction (Book Three of the Dragoneers Saga) (Dragoneer Saga) (28 page)

The dragon returned shortly, carrying something gingerly in his foreclaw. It appeared to be a large, fist-sized jewel. Crimzon explained that it was a dragon’s tear -- his mother’s tear -- and he presented it to Clover with much emotion.

For a moment, when it was first in her hands, Clover didn’t understand. But then it hit her like a bolt of lightning. The powerful magic held inside the tear exploded inside of her, filling her with rush after surging rush of energy and heat. It took her breath and filled her head with colorful collages of incomprehensible visions, each having a distinct meaning, one blurring into another. Due to the intensity of the tear’s magic, Clover nearly let it fall from her hands, but somehow she managed to hold on. When the electric sizzling in her blood finally settled, she was something and someone else altogether. Not physically -- no, she was still Clover on the outside -- but inside her head, spell after spell swirled and danced, as did eons of knowledge and understanding, not only of the race of Dracus, but of all the races of the world. She was just about to say the ancient words of acceptance, words that she had never read or heard anywhere before in her life, when a thick flight of arrows came raining down on them from above.

The shouts and excited calls of human warriors filled the air, and more arrows came raining down. Whether it was her luck or the protective magic of the tear, Clover was miraculously missed. It might have been that she wasn’t the target that the men were aiming for.

Crimzon howled in pain. He was hit nearly a dozen times, but only one or two of the steel-tipped wooden shafts managed to penetrate his thick, scaly hide. He wasted no time taking back to the air where he could quickly fly beyond the archers’ range. Still he was pelted and pierced several more times before he got very far.

Clover charged relentlessly toward the cover of the cavern. The air inside the shaft hit her like a blanket of rot. She felt she should do something, but wasn’t sure what or how. It was a chore just to draw a breath. By the time an idea came to her, she was pinned in the cavern by a pair of archers, who were loosing arrow after arrow into the entrance. At a glance she counted at least half a dozen chainmail-clad swordsmen coming swiftly behind them.

“We don’t want you, fool”, an angry voice called out. “All we want is the old dragon’s hoard.”

Hoard
, Clover thought. There was no hoard here. This was Crimzon’s mother’s nest, not her lair. Her hoard could be anywhere. She shook her head in confusion. Until she had held the tear she had known nothing of such things. “There’s no hoard here, man!” She yelled back at them. “This was a nest!” She was answered with a pair of arrows that came so close to her head that she heard them whoosh by her ears.

“Come on, wench,” growled a raspy voice as hard as granite. “Come out of there so we can handle our business.”

“Yeah,” another voice added, “Or you’ll become our business! Ain’t that right, Captain?”

*** *** ***

Outside, Crimzon was circling above the attackers, taking in the scene below him. Twenty men he counted, plus some who had already gone inside his mother’s resting place. They were trying to do harm to his human friend, and he didn’t know what he should do. He knew he was wounded, but he didn’t care about that. He wanted to help Clover, but was too afraid. He rose even higher, then cleared the ridge and swooped down into the valley adjacent to the one where the men were. There he found a small cavern opening. He landed near its mouth and squeezed and wiggled his way inside, snapping off several of the arrows sticking out of him as he went.

*** *** ***

Clover was feeling as unlucky as could be. In the dark cavern where Crimzon’s mother lay rotting, she hid on an elevated shelf that she found. From there she was trying to assess the situation. Her eyes adjusted to the blackness quickly, and she could make out at least ten heavily armored swordsmen. Every one of them was coughing and gagging. A couple of archers and what Clover figured to be a mage were moving into the cavern as well. Any sound or motion she made would give her position away. The mage chanted something that Clover inexplicably knew to be a light spell, then suddenly a glowing sphere of pastel color appeared, hovering above the man’s upturned palm. The inside of the cavern was thrust into its eerie, blue glow.

Clover shrank back into the shadows as two of the swordsmen began to vomit from the sight of the huge, decomposing dragon. The mage began to chant another spell that somehow cleared the putrid stench form the place and replaced it with clean, fresh air.

Clover felt the dragon’s tear pulsing in her hand, but she wasn’t sure how to unleash its power. The spells were in her head, but not the knowledge of how to cast them, or the ill effects of their castings. She wondered what happened to Crimzon. Did the young dragon get scared and run away, or was he wounded and dying? The thought that he was outside, fighting for his life irked her. Clover decided if he had flown away scared, she couldn’t blame him. After all, Crimzon wasn’t even a yearling, and after watching humans such as these kill his mother, it was understandable for him to be afraid. Still, Clover hoped that Crimzon was alright, and she wished her scaly friend was there to help her fight off these greedy treasure seekers.

“Come on now, wench,” the hard-voiced leader of the group yelled out into the open air of the place. His voice reverberated heavily off the stone. “We won’t harm you if you just come out.”

Captain Harner was the self-proclaimed leader of this fairly well-organized band of glory seekers. He was an efficient predator in his own right. Whether it was other men, mountain creatures, or seemingly evil dragons that he faced, he showed no fear and maintained order among his men. Most importantly, he always got them paid for their work. He had no qualms poaching exotic game or selling little girls to the bathhouses. He picked his conquests clean, squeezing every last copper from them. He just wanted Clover to show herself so one of his archers could pierce her heart. He had high hopes of finding coins and jewels in the dragon’s horde, but he could already tell this wasn’t a lair.

He accepted the fact that this wasn’t where the dragon kept its treasure, but he still had to pay his men. Picking a single wench clean didn’t seem like much, but it beat a total loss. He had seen some dragon piles in a valley a few ridges back. He was hoping it meant the lair was close by. The foolish woman hiding in here might know where it is. If not, her supplies might provide enough loot to fund a few more days up here in the mountains to search it out.

“Come on out, woman!” The Captain ordered again. “Stop wasting my time!”

It was the mage who found Clover first. He cast a spell that sensed the presence of magic other than his own. When he sensed the dragon’s tear in Clover’s hand, he began to panic, for it radiated more power than he could imagine. This caused him to hold his tongue and stare openly at Clover instead of calling out an alarm.

Clover knew she’d been seen. It was just a matter of time now before the mage blasted her with lightning, put her to sleep, or cast some other type of spell to incapacitate her. Either way, she was spotted, so she decided to gamble.

“Don’t kill me, and I’ll show you to the lair,” Clover yelled as she stood up and showed herself. “I know where it is,” she added convincingly, “I swear it!”

“Don’t shoot!” Captain Harner yelled instantly. “Hold your arrows!”

The Captain ordered his archers to keep their shafts trained on Clover while his swordsmen made a half circle around the elevated shelf his victim was on. “You lie, you die, fool!” The Captain said through gritted teeth as he approached. He didn’t notice the look of apprehension on his mage’s face. If he had sensed the amount of awe and fear the mage was feeling, he might have kept a little distance. As it was, he approached the chin-high scallop in the cavern wall swiftly and authoritatively.

“Tell me,” said the Captain, whose voice was now hard but reasonable, almost reassuring. “Where is this lair?”

“I’ll not say,” Clover returned sharply, “but I’ll show you for an equal share.”

“An equal share she wants!” The Captain mocked, bringing a few grunts of laughter from his men. Suddenly he threw a dagger so quickly that Clover only felt it as its keen edge nicked open her ear lobe. “You’ll show me, or you’ll die a slow, miserable death, wench! These men won’t be kind to your body, I assure you,” the Captain growled. “Get the chains!” He ordered, then pointed at Clover. “Come down from there now, or my archers will take out your legs.”

Clover tried to relax. She hoped Crimzon had gotten far away from here. She was sure the young dragon would be hunted down and killed for his hide as soon as this crazy mercenary learned she had no idea where the lair was. Clover tucked the dragon’s tear discreetly into her belt pouch while turning to climb down from the shelf. Luckily no one noticed this. The warriors wasted no time crowding her in and grabbing her wrists as she stepped down. She was overcome by a wave of defeat. A sharp punch in her gut sent her air, and most of what little hope of survival she had been holding back, whooshing out of her. She fell, crumpled between the two huge men who effortlessly held her from completely collapsing. Out of a breathless mouth she silently called for Crimzon to come save her. It seemed to her that the incredible run of good fortune she was on had finally petered out.

*** *** ***

Crimzon was only moments away from his friend when her weak voice spoke magically into his mind. Little did Clover know, but all spring Crimzon had been going out another tunnel that led from the cavern out into the adjacent valley. He had been hunting and killing his own prey and exercising his wings for flight. He even scared a herd of fleet deer over the ridge when game ran scarce for Clover. Clover often wondered how the dragon had grown so large so quickly on such a meager diet. If she had known about the other tunnel, she would have had her answer. Crimzon made it into a game. He watched Clover hunt and place her kills for him many times. He often wondered why a human would do such a thing for his kind. Crimzon eventually concluded that not all humans could be like the ones who killed his mother. After months of Clover’s persistent, though unnecessary aid, Crimzon came to like his human benefactor. He wanted nothing more now than to help her. After he squirmed his long, scaly body through the last tight corner of the other cavern way, he drew in a long, deep breath. It wasn’t only air he was pulling into his vast lungs, but courage as well. He would be there for Clover; he only hoped he could get there in time.

*** *** ***

“Lift her up,” Captain Harner barked. “Raise up her head!”

A heavy fist grabbed a handful of her strawberry hair and pointed Clover’s face directly at the rugged Captain. Their eyes locked, and Clover’s hope for bluffing dissipated like a puff of pipe smoke in a gale. The Captain’s eyes were nearly empty. Only a glint of hatred and a sparkle of greed shone in those icy orbs. Clover was about to die, and she knew it. The feeling was confirmed when the Captain’s sword point deftly found her throat.

“I’ll ask you only once,” the Captain hissed with narrow, angry brows. “Tell me the location of the dragon’s lair, or swallow my steel!”

Clover gulped. She felt a trickle of blood drip down her neck. It was a warm sensation that chilled her with terror. Her eyes darted from angry face to leering, angry face. In those gazes she found nothing but an eagerness to see her blood. She was about to blurt out a lie when two things stopped her. One was the Captain’s blade point pushing firmly into her neck; the other was a shift in the shadows beyond the Captain.

“She doesn’t know, Captain,” a voice spat excitedly. “Kill her! Or better yet, let me have her!”

“Aye, Captain, those boots we found in her camp would look good on my wife,” said another.

Like a snake sliding through tall grass a thin, raspy voice cut through the grunts of approval for Clover’s execution. “There’s a way to find out for sure,” said the mage.

“I see you still have your wits about you, magic man,” the Captain said coolly. “Tell us if she knows or if she’ll die here by my blade.”

The mage began chanting rhythmically, waving his arms around. This went on for a few minutes. Then he paused as still as stone, made a choking grunt, and fell over. Everyone present, even the Captain and Clover, stared at the mage’s lifeless body as if they expected him to jump back up any minute. The mage’s sphere of glowing blue light began to slowly fizzle out, causing a sense of panic to sweep over the hardened men. Clover felt the grips on her wrists tighten considerably.

“What is it, Captain?” A shaky voice called out.

“Yeah, what killed the spell caster?” Asked another.

“Shhh!” The captain hissed. “Find a torch before we run completely out of light.”

The Captain turned and pointed toward something with his sword, allowing Clover to breathe again. Clover squeezed her eyes shut and fearfully began a silent prayer to the Green Mother. It was a typical stroke of luck that her eyes closed when they did, for a brilliant, white-hot shower of blazing dragon’s breath came down over the unsuspecting Captain, cooking his vitals to char in less than a heartbeat. The intense heat and brightness of it told Clover to keep her eyes closed. She could smell her own hair burning and wasn’t sure if she would be burned as well, but a reassuring voice in her head told her not to worry, to stay still and be ready to escape the cavern.

Crimzon came back to help her, after all. When the bright heat finally disappeared, Clover felt one hand let go of her. She spun, twisted, and brought her knee up into her other captor’s groin. Then she swung an overhand right into the warrior’s helmet. She felt her hand bones shatter from the impact, but she also felt the man’s gripping hand fall away.

The eyes of most of the mercenaries were flash blinded by the dragon’s breath. To them the cavern was nothing but bright, splotchy blackness. Since Clover kept her eyes closed, her sight was not as bad. With a little concentration, she was able to make out her surroundings in the dark.

As Crimzon’s bone-chilling battle roar echoed through the cavern, Clover looked around and saw the way she had to go to get out. She bolted up the shaft she had come down. An instant later, shouts, screams, and more blinding blasts of fire filled the chamber behind her.