The Dragon' Son (6 page)

Braidden stood in between the enemy and Eloria protectively with a frightened but firm face, ready to die for the girl. Keegan's heart jumped into his throat. Something seemed to snap inside of him, and he charged the man and horse, yelling at the top of his lungs like a dragon, causing them all to look his way.

“No, Keegan!” Braidden yelled, but it was too late to stop now. Keegan slammed into the horse’s chest with all of his might, pulling its mane, clawing for the reins, and trying to grab the top of the animal’s neck. The horse, terrified by this assault, reared and charged forward, hoping to plow his attacker down.

Keegan held on for dear life and managed to scream, “Flee, Braidden!” as the horse charged forward. He let go when the horse ducked its head, and he fell underneath its hooves. The horse stepped on his right arm then jumped over him, kicking him in the back as it did so. Keegan rolled to a stop on the ground with the wind knocked out of him. He lay there for a moment while his back throbbed and his lungs screamed for air. He twisted his head around enough to see that Braidden and Eloria were gone. Gone out of the village he hoped. Braidden was bull headed, however, and he would probably come back to find Keegan. He had to get out of the village before Braidden came back.

Keegan sat up, and everything began to spin, making him feel like he was floating in the air. He shook his head, knowing that now was not the time to be dazed. He slowly, shakily stood up, feeling like his muscles had turned to pudding, and his vision slowly began to stop spinning. As his vision cleared, he spotted his father valiantly cutting down enemies from the back of his bay horse. Unexpectedly, a massive, bear-dog creature, leapt from the other side of his father's horse and careened into him, bringing him down. The creature did not bother with Keegan’s father but went on to the next villager and killed him with one snap of its powerful jaws. From there, it leapt onto an ox and shredded it.

However, Keegan was not worried about the creature. He was worried about his father. His father staggered onto his feet just as a man on foot, a black hood concealing his face, came up to him and swung a sword for Barden's neck. Barden ducked under the swing then charged his attacker. The man sidestepped Barden's charge and brought his sword down to the ground near Barden’s back. Barden spun around to face his attacker again with a firm face and bloody sword raised.

The man charged Barden, and their swords met with a clang. The evil man pushed down on Barden, trying to bring him low and make him lose his ground. Barden pushed the man off and charged him, catching the man in the shoulder. The man yelled and jumped aside. His hood fell from his face, revealing a terrible jagged scar.

Keegan gasped, and his heart’s pace quickened as dread gripped him. It was the man who had been at the forest's edge the day before, spying on the village. Barden adjusted his grip on his sword and charged the man again, swinging his sword for the man's scarred face. With supernatural quickness, the man parried Barden’s blow, whisked a dagger out from inside of his cloak, and ran it through Barden’s abdomen.

Keegan’s mouth dropped open as he watched his father slump over the man's knife, drop his sword, and sink to the ground, blood soaking his shirt. A scream waited in the back of Keegan's throat, but it never emerged. He stood between reality and denial as his father's body broke before him. He didn't want to believe that his father was dying before his very eyes, yet it was happening, and he was helplessly watching it.

The man withdrew his dagger from Barden’s crumbling body then spat on him. He sheathed his knife, picked up Barden's sword, and walked away, holding his bleeding shoulder. He paused a moment and looked at Keegan with a cold stare. He glanced back at Barden's body then back at Keegan, and a smug expression slowly came over his face. He walked away, unperturbed and victorious.

Keegan was petrified. He felt numbness overtake his whole body, and a tear fell down his face as he stared at his father's form. Something snapped inside of him, waking him up. He screamed and began to run for his father’s crumpled body as the tears began to flow freely down his face. Suddenly, a man jumped out in front of Keegan and slammed him to the ground before he could react.

Keegan blinked. Through the tears, sunlight, and the daze from the sudden assault, he saw the man who had stopped him, coming toward him with sword ready to plunge into his smaller frame. However, to Keegan's surprise, the man stopped. Keegan wished that he would just get it over with, but he noticed that the man seemed to waiver. He wiped the tears out of his eyes to see the man more clearly.

The man stood there, sword at the ready but not moving. His face was soft and compassionate and full of pity looking at Keegan. He let his sword down slowly, never taking his eyes off Keegan. He had ashen hair and a small scar on his left temple. His face looked very similar to Keegan's uncle. His eyes were the same color blue as Keegan's father's, and he did not appear much older than Keegan's mother.

The man finally made a quick glance from side to side then looked back at Keegan. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but nothing came out. “Run, boy,” is all he finally said, then he turned his head as if he had never noticed Keegan and walked off. Keegan realized that he had been given another chance to live, and, even though he just wanted to go hold his father’s broken body, he knew that his father would want him to take this chance more than anything.

Keegan jumped to his feet. He looked longingly at his father for a moment, his arms aching to hold him, then he turned toward the mountains and began to run for them with every ounce of energy he had left. However, his run was cut short. Men with hounds on leashes came around a corner and blocked his way to the mountains. The hounds caught sight of him and began to bark, bay, and jump for him. The men sneered at Keegan and pulled the dogs closer to turn them loose.

Keegan turned on his heel and began to run as fast as he could, teeth clenched and warm tears streaming across his cheeks, toward the only way of escape: the Dragon’s Forest. He passed by his father and other dead members of the village, and, for a split second, he wondered if he were the only Wovlen alive and moving in the village.

He soon heard the dogs’ barking growing closer, and he risked a glance over his shoulder. To his horror, there were more than just the dogs following him. The bear-dog creature and men on horses were also following him, like they were on a hunt. The creature was gaining ground faster than any of them and was nearly on his heals with teeth bared, grinning, pleased that he would be able to crush Keegan's body in his huge jaws.

Keegan heard a snap behind him, and his heart stopped. He grasped his dagger and drew it from its sheath, and then he made a quick spin with his arm stretched out. He felt his dagger slice through flesh, saw enormous teeth, and heard a deafening howl. He felt hot blood splatter on his face, then he was running for the forest again with all of his might and with a bloody knife in hand. The dogs stopped baying and began to circle the wounded creature, but the horsemen were still pursuing Keegan.

Keegan finally reached the forest. He didn’t think about where he was going. His legs just kept pumping. He jumped over a log then disappeared into the dark forest. The horses all came to a sudden stop at the forest’s edge and began to squeal in fright. The men turned their horses around toward the village, but they halted quickly when the man with the scar on his face, sitting atop his horse, was in their path.

“What are you cowards doing?” he asked calmly. None of the men answered but sat silently atop their dancing, nervous horses.

“Speak,” he said sharply, his eyebrows knit, the scar across his face turning white.

“Forgive us, sire, but t-there are ancient d-demons of old in that forest. Dragons, in short, sire,” one man stuttered with a worried expression wrinkling his forehead.

“Yes, sire, the place is full of them. That little brat surely won’t live long in there,” another said boldly.

“The Wovlens are an adaptable and hardy people,” the scarred man said quietly. Several of the men exchanged expressions.

“Y-yes, sir, but a boy…in a deep forest…against dragons?” one of the men questioned slowly. “Even our horses refuse to enter into that forest. The only thing that would dare to go after the boy would be the wolf, and he's wounded.” The man gestured at the howling creature lying in the field that Keegan had sliced with his knife.

While the horses pawed the ground nervously, the scarred man looked at the twisted oak trees that made the border of the forest. All was silent as the men sat in suspense, waiting for their leader’s command. The scarred man squinted his eyes in thought for a moment. The cataract in his right eye blended in with the pale skin tone on his face, making it seem as if he had no eye in that socket. “So be it,” he finally said with a wave of his hand. He turned his horse around to the burning village while the men let their horses draw closer to his. “Gather all of the Wovlens' swords. Leave the bodies. Burn the rest.” He smirked as he raised Keegan's father's sword from his lap and looked at the runes on its spotless blade. “But the Dragon Slayer’s sword shall be mine.”

Chapter 3: In the Forest

All was silent in the dark forest. The air was thick and moist. No breeze offered to stir the leaves and not even the insects bothered to sing their nightly song. Tall, mighty trees loomed quietly in the darkness, appearing to be guardians of the silent forest, barely allowing the faces of the two moons to peer through their high branches.

A sudden crash echoed throughout the forest, breaking and disturbing the silence that had enveloped it. A small shadow picked itself up off of the forest floor and began to run aimlessly, just like it had been doing for hours, filling the forest with clumsy, loud footfalls and heavy breathing, leaving behind a trail of tears and blood.

Keegan had no idea where he was, what he was doing, or where he was going.
He could not stop the horrible images from running through his head over and over again: the evil man with the scar, the village burning, blood, people screaming and dying, his father slumping over the dagger in his belly, the evil, scarred man spitting on his father’s body. They all came to his eyes and ears as intensely as they had when it had really happened. The one image that lingered the most, though, was the scarred man spitting on his father. The more it lingered, the more pain Keegan was in. He felt like he was burning up on the inside with rage, hate, and grief.

His father was more valiant and brave than all of the men put together that had attacked the village. His deeds were more wonderful than anything the scarred man had done in his lifetime. His father was braver and more valiant in the grave than the scarred man would ever be, even if he lived a hundred years on the earth.

Keegan stumbled and fell into a pile of leaves. A stick cut the surface of his left arm, but he paid little heed to it. He stood quickly and continued to run through the trees. Why did his father have to die? Why was the cowardly, scarred man able to kill someone as great as Barden? Why couldn’t Father have saved himself from death? Why couldn’t he have saved the village? Why did so many people have to die? Why did the scarred man attack their village? WHY?

Tears and blood streamed down Keegan’s scratched cheeks. All the questions, the thoughts, the feelings, and the memories--it was just too much. Keegan stumbled again, his legs too tired to go on. He collapsed, and the upper portion of his body fell with a splash into a cool, bubbling stream. His lungs inhaled a bunch of water, forcing his heavy arms to push his fatigued body up to a stone that protruded out of the stream. He laid his head on the stone, spluttering and coughing, and allowed the rest of his body to fall back into the stream.

The cool, refreshing water washed over his hot, sweaty body, calming him so that he finally noticed that he was thirsty, sore, and thoroughly exhausted. He sat up slowly and painfully, cupped his hands in the bubbling water, then drank of the life-giving substance with much relief. The water was sweet and seemed to calm his troubled mind and spirit.

When he had his fill, he began washing his aching arms. In the filtered moonlight, he could see that his shirtsleeves were torn to ribbons. His arms were cut and bruised from running through brush, tree branches, and whatever else was in his path. After washing his arms, he stood and walked into the middle of the stream to wash his legs. His leather pants were torn in many places, his legs were cut and terribly bruised, and his muscles screamed for rest.

His legs began to shake and become weak as he rubbed them, so he sat down in the running stream and let the cool water wash over his legs. Soon, the blood was washed from them. They began to feel stronger, and the aching lessened. After sitting in the stream for a while longer, he noticed the sound of falling water nearby. He slowly stood and forced his heavy legs to wade upstream.

Presently, he came upon a moonlit waterfall twenty stones high and eight stones across. He noticed a large darkness behind the cascade of water, and it took him a moment of intense staring to realize that a dark cave was behind it. He wondered what lay behind the waterfall, and the more he wondered, the more he felt that he should see for himself.

He approached the waterfall, cautious of what strange and dangerous creatures might be lurking within the dark, open chasm behind it. He shivered as he remembered the bear-dog creature that had brought his father down from his horse. He secretly swore in his heart that, if he could survive in this strange forest, he would hunt down the creature and kill it. He would never forget it, and he hoped it would never go unpunished.