The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3) (16 page)

Sun seemed to understand. “What do you wish done with the human babies?”

Tyranna growled for a moment, murder on her mind, and Sun closed her eyes, dreading the words that she was sure to hear that would command her and her sisters to execute the hapless children. Instead, the dragon’s response was most unexpected. “Care for them and see to it that nothing harms them.”

Sun stood upright from her leaning stance, and her eyes shot open as she turned to face the dragon. Tyranna was watching her through slitted eyelids, and she smiled, if that was what the unnerving facial gesture indeed was. “You jest?” Sun asked.

“You take me for a fool, dryad,” Tyranna said, refusing to use the dryad’s real name. That was an insult, and she enjoyed using it.

“Why?” Sun said simply, not wanting to risk any chance that the dragon would change its mind, though her orders were confusing at best.

“It is not for any altruistic gesture on my part,” Tyranna began. “No, I want to have this leverage and the ability to call forth the humans at the time and place of my choosing. That you do understand, do you not?”

Sun nodded. That would make more sense than a dragon, especially this dragon, showing any kind of caring emotion, toward a human, a defenseless, human child especially, and three of them no less. “Your wish is our command.”

“What of the border?” Tyranna asked, changing the subject.

“All is secure. The pair of human men left the day before last, returning to their mountain abode where we dare not follow.”

“You fear the mystic man?”

“If you refer to the Arnen, yes. They are most dangerous and dedicated to a fault. I would expect this one to be no different from the many others we have encountered over the eons.” Sun looked back down, breaking eye contact again. It was never wise to lock eyes with dragon kind.

“See to it that I am notified when they enter our abode again.”

“When?” Sun asked.

“I have crossed paths with this particular mystic man before. He will finally force an end to our little game.” Tyranna lowered her head, resting it between her massive claws, and kept her gaze firmly locked on the leader of the dryads.

“How long have you been playing?” Sun asked, curiosity ever present in her kind.

“Only a few centuries, but long enough for him to learn of our secrets. It is time for the game to come to a conclusion, and he must not learn more before the arrival.”

“He did not seem very powerful,” Sun commented.

“The one you saw was a student of the mystic man and the other a warrior, a defender of their kind,” Tyranna said.

“You refer to the old Arnen in the mountains,” Sun said.

“Yes, he has been building his strength and training his successors. We must be prepared to end his line before they end ours. What news, then, of my sister’s servants?”

“The northerners?” Sun asked.

“Yes,” Tyranna confirmed.

“The wind whispers of their arrival. They will enter our realm soon. Do you intend to use them?”

“I do,” the dragon said.

“Why use humans against other humans?”

“These humans are favored by the queen. They make themselves subservient to our kind, and therefore are used to allow an orderly arrival each transit.”

“So you need help?” Sun asked rhetorically.

“Hardly,” Tyranna responded, sounding insulted. “We simply lessen our exertions each passing and ensure the orderly and successful harvesting each cycle. Father Death demands no less. There must be servants to serve, no?”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“Very well,” Sun said.

“We are done,” Tyranna commanded. “Leave me be. See to our preparations and the arrival of my sister’s servants. We also have work to do.”

Sun nodded her head in deference and left Tyranna alone by walking away, not using her latent talent to move through the portal of the trees. Not every tree could be used as a portal, only the oldest oaks that had stood for a century or more, each one grown by a sister dryad. They were strategically placed throughout the Greenfeld and served her kind well. For now, she would take her time and not allow Tyranna to observe her abilities. It was wise to use precaution around Tyranna and her kind. Not that she didn’t know, but she didn’t need details to further her understanding any more than what she already knew.

After a time, Tyranna moved past the knoll and around the heavy growth of trees and grasses to a domed structure made entirely out of dead and living trees. They formed a permeable cap over her nesting site, where almost completely buried in the center around thousands of dead grass and leaves was a single green egg.

Tyranna curled up around it and found a strange comfort in the rhythmic pulse of her daughter’s heartbeat. Soon she would be ready to break her shell, and Tyranna would teach her the ways of her kind. She would teach her that rules were made to be broken and that Agon served her and her kind better. Let the queen have her precious Akun, land of darkness and slumber. Tyranna had become most fond of Agon and its inhabitants, and they made for a comfortable life. Humans, after all, tasted very good.

Greyson finished healing Gloria’s wounds, commending Elister for the progress he had made earlier. They held a council and decided that they would march to Vulcrest’s aid. The normally neutral Arnen could no longer remain so in light of the evil acts that the Ekins and Kesh had committed in launching their attack.

A message had been sent via carrier bird to the Arnen council, far to the south. There would not be an immediate reply, but true to Arnen custom, Greyson could act independently and as necessary in the region that he was tasked with protecting. Usually, the Arnen spent their time protecting nature from humans. This time, they needed to protect humans from nature, nature in the form of magic and dragons.

“So what can nine of us do against thousands?” Tristan asked as the large group walked along the western edge of the Greenfeld, en route toward Vulkor.

The Rangers had one far out in front, leading and scouting, another farther to their rear, and the third with the group itself. Diamedes and Gloria were invited to stay behind in the relative comfort of the abbey, but the historian refused, citing his duty to observe and record, and for some reason, the warrior woman felt some sort of dedication to the old man and vowed to go where he would until she could see him home, back to Tyrnia.

“That would depend on the thousands,” Dunric said.

“Or the nine,” Greyson added.

“I forgot how cryptic they like to be,” Beth said, now rested and feeling more herself. Enough at least to journey with her companions.

“You should have studied more and talked less,” Greyson scolded her, but it was good-natured as his smile indicated.

“Ouch, that hurt,” Elly said.

“So do you intend to deal with the dragon or the attackers?” Gloria asked, marching close to and right behind Diamedes.

“As we discussed,” Greyson explained, “we may need the assistance of the local baron, so it would be best to liberate his realm first before seeking a confrontation with the beast.”

“You seem confident in challenging a dragon. I don’t think that is wise,” Gloria pressed.

“It’s an old rivalry,” Greyson explained. “This particular dragon seems to make its own rules.”

“What do you mean by that?” Diamedes asked, not taking notes while walking, but for sure taking mental ones.

“This dragon wakes often and feeds when it should be sleeping,” Greyson explained.

“Sounds like you’ve had personal experience with this one,” Diamedes said.

Greyson nodded while using his staff to assist in his walking. “Yes, indeed, been trying to pin it down for a very long time.”

“How long?” Gloria asked.

“Since I was tasked with region,” Greyson answered.

“You don’t want to know,” Dunric added.

“A few days ago, I would have never thought I would be having this conversation,” Gloria stated, and then let out a long sigh, keeping pace with the historian.

“It can be difficult for those with limited memory spans to understand, and there are forces at work that seek to undermine our best weapon for combating the creatures,” Greyson said.

“Forces?” Elly asked.

“Best weapon?” Tristan also asked.

“Yes, knowledge is the powerful tool in our arsenal, and the powers that be put a great effort into reducing, or at least minimizing, our collective knowledge of our own history,” Greyson tried to clarify.

“So why this sense of urgency now?” Gloria asked.

Greyson stopped, bringing the entire group to a halt, and they gathered around him. “This passing will be the Pentium Passing. Every fifth transit, the twin sisters align between the Mother and Father Death, bringing the cataclysmic destruction of the dragons to our home world.”

“Mother of Agon—” Gloria began, and Greyson held up a hand to prevent her blasphemy.

“Why did you not tell us of this before?” Elly asked. Tristan and Beth nodded.

“Because there are unholy alliances that sometimes occur between these powers that be, and they seek to kill and silence those who know this information. It is how they maintain control over history and over us.” Greyson looked at each in turn. Wulfric remained well behind the group, and Edric in front had knelt, taking a defensive position a hundred yards in front. The Rangers knew and would keep their vigilant watch while Greyson educated once more.

“I think I know the parties that you refer to,” Diamedes said, shaking his head and looking down.

“You do,” Greyson said. “Though they themselves do not always know. They keep this information only within the ranks of their ruling or elite class.”

The historian looked up, rubbing the stubble around his ears and pondering the druid’s words. “I know for a fact that the draconians have fought in Balaria and Balaria is allied to the Kesh. It would seem contradictory for one to fight the other, if what you’re saying is true.”

“I think you lost all of us.” Gloria spoke to the historian.

“Exactly right,” Greyson said, snapping his fingers and smiling as if a student understood his lesson. Since he was greeted with several confused faces, he hurried to explain. “Think of the cunning involved in order to dupe so many of the wisest souls in all of Agon.”

Diamedes’ eyes widened considerably, and he snapped his fingers in return. “They sometimes work together in concerted effort, and then at other times, they work at odds, each trying to best or impede the other.”

“Correct again,” Greyson said, allowing a smile to cross his face.

“You mean to say that the Kesh and dragons work together . . . but only at certain times?” Tristan asked.

“Yes.” Greyson turned his attention to his former student and then motioned for the group to continue their march. Once walking again, the old druid continued. “It is sheer genius and the most artful cunning ever to be seen in all the land.”

“I think I am understanding,” Elister said, walking up and pacing his mentor. “The lower dragons and wizards fight, while the most powerful and ruling of their respective groups work together at times to achieve the same, or similar, results.”

“I’m most proud of you, Elly. You have come far in your studies.” Greyson took a moment to rest his hand on Elister’s shoulder in support of his statement.

“You should have studied more and talked less,” Tristan said to Beth.

“At least I studied,” Beth countered, and Tristan laughed.

“They remind me of children,” Gloria whispered to Diamedes.

“I heard that,” Greyson said from further in front of the warrior woman. “It’s quite all right. They have been sheltered socially for all their lives and thus have the naivety and innocence of a child, but in this world, they will mature very quickly.”

Indeed, the three druid Initiates took turns looking at Gloria and smiled at her in turn. There was no offense taken, and they seemed good-natured and kind in both personality and character.

“That is why you assign a protector to each of them,” Diamedes stated.

“Very observant of you,” Greyson said.

“So where is your protector?” the historian asked.

Several of the group looked at the old druid as they walked, and he remained silent, pensive even, as he walked and pondered his words carefully. When finally he answered, it was with a slow and sad voice, as if remembering someone from long ago. “My protector is dead, and has been for many years.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Gloria said.

“Quite all right, it’s good to remember. The Zashitors are blessed by the Mother with long life, but not nearly as long as the Arnen. Mine passed peacefully in his sleep, old age calling him back to the bosom of our Mother.”

“Aye, Theos was a good man,” Dunric said, his voice solemn.

“Has a Ranger ever outlived one of your order?” Diamedes asked.

“Hmm.” Greyson pondered aloud. “You know, it has happened, usually during the battles of the passing, but it is rare to occur.”

“But when it does?” the historian asked.

“When it does, the Zashitor is free to follow his own conscience,” Greyson said with enough finality to indicate the conversation was over.

The group walked along in silence for some time, before Edric gave a hand signal and motioned in front and slightly toward the tree line. The group had skirted the edge of the forest for the last day and a half and walked near it, but in the fields that lay alongside the Greenfeld.

The group halted, waiting for another signal from their scout. They didn’t have long to wait when Edric motioned them all to join him. They walked the hundred yards and peered along the forest tree line to a point that the Ranger indicated with his hand. There, walking and stumbling through the trees, was a man leading a horse. He looked old and tired and was slightly bloodied from what looked like many scratches.

“He looks like one of the farmers from these lands,” Edric said.

“Yes, though there shouldn’t be any for another few leagues at least,” Dunric said.

“Let’s find out,” Greyson added. “I think I recognize the man, even from this distance.”

The man was a good half mile away, and the group walked briskly toward him. It didn’t take long before he noticed them and was about to mount his steed when he stopped and shaded his eyes for a better look. Noticing their group, the man pulled his leg from the stirrup and walked to meet them.

“My, oh my,” the man said, approaching with a forced smile. “Long time no see, Master Greyson.”

The horse looked lathered, seriously dehydrated, and in need of rest. Greyson didn’t hesitate, walking right up to the man and embracing him heartily. “Good to see you too, Mayor Fergus. How have you been?”

Fergus frowned and refrained from shedding a tear that took more than a little effort by the old man. “Not well, I’m afraid. The ancient legend has arisen, taking three of our young and ambushing our search party to find them.”

This brought gasps from the group, and Greyson held up his hands, commanding quiet. “Go on, what happened?”

Fergus relayed the events that happened, including the fact that most of the patrol from Vulkor was lost in the process and that the baron’s daughter herself was in danger.

Wulfric had brought up the rear, and as was their tactic, they often took turns at the different positions within the group. Hearing this, the ornery Ranger spoke. “Enough of this, Master Greyson. The time has come to end this once and for all. The beast has crossed the line with this abduction.”

Fergus nodded. “Will you not help us? We lost many good men and soldiers this day, and the baron’s daughter could be in danger.”

All eyes turned to the old druid as he pondered his old friend’s words. Stroking his beard, Greyson looked at the mayor intently. “Because the baron would want this of us and we value the lives of your little ones, we will go with you first, then. Are you aware that your lord’s castle and city are under siege?”

“No,” Fergus said, both grateful for the decision and aghast at the revelation of the plight of his realm. “By whom?”

“Ekins,” Greyson said.

“They would never be so foolish,” Fergus said.

“Kesh too,” Wulfric added.

“Impossible.” Fergus looked at the tall Ranger.

Wulfric returned the intense gaze. “I saw them myself. They have allied with the Ekians and are even now laying siege to Vulkor.”

“What are we to do?” Fergus said, resigned to defeat.

“Now, old friend, don’t despair quite yet. The Vulkor defenses have held for ages. I’m sure they can manage a little longer.”

“They have never been tested against a realm of the Kesh’s ability,” Fergus said.

“Don’t forget to tell him about the barbarians,” Elly added from behind his master.

Greyson held up a hand too late. “What barbarians?” Fergus asked, panic in his voice.

“There is a large force of northeners moving into Vulcrest to raid and pillage,” Wulfric said.

“Please, Wulfric, let me handle this,” Greyson asked politely.

“Sorry, Master Greyson,” Wulfric said, not at all his character, but he must have understood the grief that the man was going through.