The Staff of Sakatha (14 page)

Sorus’s momentum took him past the dragon child and into the side of the dragon itself where he bounced off the hard scales and took a step backwards. He spun around just in time to see his foe lunge with its sword and the young knight managed to parry the blow with a quick down stroke and then whip his own blade up towards its throat, but the creature was too quick and dodged backwards and out of the way.

Screaming with fury, Sorus launched himself towards the creature and was inside a sword blow that would otherwise have cut him in half. He wrestled with the thing for half a step but then it stumbled over something and went over backwards to the floor with Sorus on top. The dragon child tried to wriggle away but the brewer hacked downwards with a chopping motion, the very bottom of his little sword slicing into the thing’s face and cutting through its lower jaw to expose a complete second set of teeth embedded below its main fangs.

“Ahhh,” he screamed as the thing tried to raise its head and bite at him. He struck again with the bottom edge of his sword and pushed down with all his strength until he felt the blade bite heavily into bone. Blood was everywhere but he raised his sword again and jammed it down at the throat of the creature, slicing through its neck as more blood shot out. He raised his sword yet again and felt a heavy hand restrain him. He spun, without thinking and slashed at the hulking figure behind him but a thick stone sword blocked his attempt and there was a sudden strange little tinkling sound. When Sorus brought the blade back it was light, and when he looked at it he realized it had snapped in half. He gazed up through the haze and saw Jon Gray’s intent gray eyes.

“So … sorry,” he said with a shake of his head. He staggered to his feet, his legs unsteady and his hands trembling. “I got carried away,” he went on and looked at the broken sword in his hand but did not really see it. “I think it’s broken,” he said.

Jon nodded his head. “You’ll have to take Sir Germanius’s,” he replied with a motion of his head behind Sorus. The young knight felt the anger and energy suddenly drain from his body, and he wanted to fall down, but he managed to turn and see the old knight still in the jaws of the white dragon with his small blade buried in the thing’s head. On the ground near him lay his long sword where it dropped when the creature snapped his wrist.

“I don’t know,” said Sorus and looked back at Jon, who nodded his head a single time.

“Of course you do, he wanted you to have it, you know that,” said Jon with a motion of his head towards the sword again.

Sorus shook his head and the strange webs that seemed to engulf it slowly evaporated and returned clarity to his thoughts. “What happened to the darkling?”

Jon pointed with his heavy stone sword toward a figure slumped on the ground ten feet away that made little sounds, “I cracked him pretty good in the ribs and he’s not breathing so great. We won’t torture him for information though, right?”

Sorus nodded his head, “Right,” and went over to pick up the sword. He took it in his hand and the hilt of the heavy blade felt like a bolt of lightning. He stood and looked at the crushed body of the old knight still in the jaws of the dragon and smiled, “Should we leave him like that?” he said. “It’s a pose I think he’d be proud to be remembered by.”

“Can you draw at all?” asked Jon as he came over to stand next to the boy.

Sorus shook his head, “No.”

“I’ve had lessons,” said Jon. “You watch the darkling while I make a sketch. We’ll carry Sir Germanius back up to the surface, bury him, and then take the sketch to Odellius and see if he can do justice with a statue. I think the old fellow might like that, what do you say?”

Sorus nodded his head and smiled, “I think he’d like that just fine, and I think Sir Odelluis might be proud to have that chance.” The young knight then walked over to the slumped form of the Darkling and saw that the creature looked like a curled up baby and the wheezes that escaped his lung were his best attempts to breathe. The creature looked up at him with those strange silver eyes and made sort of a gasp but said nothing else. The skin of the creature seemed to turn a lighter shade of blue as its breath became more and more labored while Jon worked away with a piece of parchment and some charcoal pens he pulled out from some deep recess in his pack.

“I think he’s dying,” said Sorus to Jon and the big gray knight looked up from his work for a moment. “My amulet only works with dragon children and you did a good number on that one over there so it doesn’t really matter anyway. I’m sure they knew something about the Staff of Sakatha but now we’ll never know. We can only hope that we find out something from someone else.”

“You’re not mad I killed the dragon child?” asked Sorus as his eyes turned back to the still corpse and the thick pool of blood all around it. The image reminded him that blood covered his hands and armor and he realized how sticky he suddenly felt.

“Killing your opponent is the objective,” said Jon in a monotone sort of voice and Sorus could tell this was another lesson from the young gray knight’s father.

“I suppose, but we needed that information if we’re going to find the staff,” he replied. “By the Black Horse I’m a sticky mess. We need to find some water.”

“I’m not much for a jaunt around in the darkling lands,” said Jon as he still looked at the climactic battle scene of the dragon and Germanius. “But, you are a mess. That darkling isn’t going anywhere and there’s probably water in this place somewhere. Look around but don’t get too far away.”

“Okay, Jon,” said Sorus with a glance at their downed foe as it struggled to breath. The rattling sound in his throat grew more pronounced with each breath. “Do you think you broke his ribs?”

“I probably punctured his lung,” said Jon. “The flat of the Stone Blade is more dangerous than the edge at times and I sometimes forget that. Now go get cleaned up, this figure drawing is damned difficult and my big meat hocks weren’t meant for fine work like this.”

Sorus looked down at the darkling whose skin now looked almost yellow and who gasped out quick, short breaths, and then he turned to walk past the white dragon and Sir Germanius although he tried not to look too closely at the pair. He walked for maybe fifty paces, still well within sight of Jon and the battle, when he heard a slight rush of a sound that reminded him of the noise a small creek might make and soon enough found a pool where a cataract of water cascaded from a crack in the wall nearby. He quickly stripped off his clothes and took a step into the water only to give off a howl and jump back.

“Are you okay?” shouted Jon’s voice echoing throughout the large cave and bouncing back and forth several times before silence once again fell.

“I’m fine,” said Sorus in a lower tone but now concerned that sound might alert any other creature in the vicinity to their presence. “Water’s cold,” he finished and then clenched his jaw and moved quickly into the freezing water. He could stand the intensity for only a few seconds but managed to duck his head and rub out at least some of the blood. He leapt out, his body gave a shudder, and then tried to quickly wash off his jerkin, but the thick blood seemed to have seeped into every nook and cranny and he knew the job was impossible down here under these circumstances. He did his best in the short time, then slipped the wet clothes back on, and made his way back to Jon as his body shivered badly.

“You look like a drowned rat,” said the young knight. “We should get out of here as quick as possible. I didn’t mean to yell that loud earlier and who knows who heard. I finished drawing,” he said and handed over the art for inspection.

Sorus looked at it as his hands shook from the cold and his teeth chattered, “I can’t tell in this light,” he said, “but it looks okay.”

“Help me pry open the jaws of this thing,” said Jon and took ahold of the creature’s upper jaw.

Sorus grabbed the lower and with a, “One, two, three,” they managed to extricate the old knight from the dragon’s mouth. Puncture wounds ran up and down his body in the shape of the dragon’s jaw. The razor sharp teeth apparently cut through his heavy chain armor like the old man’s knife through soft pine.

“By the Black Horse,” said Sorus and stared in wonder at the damage the creature did to Germanius with a single bite. “The power of this thing,” he said as they kicked over the dead dragon.

“Cut the horns off,” said Jon. “We’ll take them back to town to give to his grandson and any other relatives.”

Sorus nodded his head and reached for his sword and only belatedly realized it was the blade of Germanius and he didn’t want to use it for the first time in this way. He looked around for a long knife but the only one readily available was stuck in the head of the dragon. He tried to yank out the deeply embedded hilt, but the skull of the creature did not yield the blade. “Thing’s stuck in deep,” he grunted and put his back into the effort. Blood and other gore stuck to the hilt of the blade and made it difficult to grip and even with his best effort he failed to pull it free.

“Maybe it’s meant to be there,” said Jon and handed over a small dagger. “This is a Tanelornian knife,” he said, “my father made it himself. Why don’t you keep it for a while?”

Sorus looked at the blade which seemed sturdy and plain with only a floral symbol at the end, the same symbol that adorned Jon’s armor.

“What is that flower?” he asked and pointed to the decoration.

“Mistletoe,” said Jon. “It’s the holy flower of the gray druids and the symbol of Tanelorn. They say it stands for neutrality.”

“I’ve never heard of that plant,” said Sorus as he began to work on the horns of the dragon. “This isn’t a really big one is it?”

Jon looked at the dragon, walked around it, and finally shook his head, “Not really, but big enough. It’s no baby.”

“It knew your name,” said Sorus as he finished the first horn and started on the second.

“You noticed that.”

“I did.”

“I noticed it as well.”

“What do make of it?” said Sorus with a final hack through the last of the thick horn, and the young knight pulled it out.

“I’m not sure,” said Jon. “It means someone knows I’m here which surprises me. This dragon must work for that someone but I don’t think it is going to tell us.”

“No,” laughed Sorus and put the horns in his pack. The exercise warmed him considerably although he still shivered in the damp clothes. “It’s a long walk up those stairs and Sir Germanius isn’t exactly a featherweight,” he said dubiously as he eyed the fallen knight.

“You’re right,” said Jon. “Help me take off his armor and that should lighten the load enough. We don’t have anything to make a bier out of so I’ll throw him over my shoulder. He’s an old man and might not be all that heavy.”

A sudden strange sniff or grunt sound came from somewhere on the far side of the cavern and Jon looked at Sorus. “It’s time to go.” He bent down and picked up the body of Sir Germanius, threw it over his shoulder, armor and all, and began to walk quickly towards the entrance door. Sorus followed, although he looked back several times to the rear of the cavern for the source of the strange sound but never spotted anything.

Soon they began the long trip up the stairs as Jon carried Germanius, and to Sorus, suddenly incredibly tired and his legs sore, it felt like every step was a mountain to climb. The journey seemed endless to the lad and his breath came in labored gasps long before they reached the half-way point. “I … gasp … don’t think I can make it …,” he said to Jon and leaned up against the wall, but one look at the gray knight, who carried dead Germanius over his shoulder, his own face red with exertion, told him not to say it again. “I’m sorry, I’ll make it. Can I take him?”

Jon simply shook his head and began to put one foot in front of the other as they moved more slowly with each step. They took several rests on the journey and it seemed to Sorus that the trip back was at least twice as far as the trip down. After who knows how many hours, they suddenly saw a dim light from up ahead and soon enough found themselves back in the cave where they first ambushed the dragon child and his goblin cohorts. Jon let out a huge groan, dropped Germanius to the ground with a thump, fell to his knees, and then to his hands. Sorus leaned up against the wall where the funny little key still stuck out of the notch. Almost without thinking he reached up, twisted it, took it, and put it in his pocket.

“We could sleep here,” said Sorus and put his head back on the wall and closed his eyes as a sudden tremble indicated the passageway was closed again. “It’s probably safe.”

“The horses,” said Jon slowly as he climbed back to his feet. “Well get to them, ride down, and then camp at the base of the mountain where we built the cairn for Mikus.”

The mention of the mayor’s son was like a splash of cold water on Sorus’s face as he remembered the death of the day before. “It was only yesterday,” he said with a shake of his head, and his mouth hung open in wonderment. “I … it’s hard to believe all this happened in a day.”

Jon nodded and bent down to pick up the old knight but failed in his first attempt to hoist him. “Here,” said Sorus, moving over, “you take him under the arms and I’ll get him by the legs, it’s not that far down the hill to the horses and then it’ll be easy.”

Jon nodded and the two picked up their burden and began to walk slowly down to the horses.

A fleet of three flat-bottomed ships made their way along the coastline while Usharra Dushallama stood on the deck of the largest and watched the land slowly slide past. The terrible weather that delayed them as the rounded the tip of the Dorian peninsula no longer forced them into inlets, although the cool breeze from the south caused the blue scaled dragon child to shiver and hug his thin hide cloak close about his body.

“Would you like another cloak?” said the red scaled officer as he moved up next to Usharra. The man wore a Dorian style heavy fur cloak wrapped around his sturdy frame.

Usharra shook his head and shivered, “I do not wish to wear any clothes of the Dorians,” he said with a shrug. “There are those who accuse me of dereliction of loyalty to Darag’dal,” he went on and stamped his feet on the ground. “What is the status of the other ships?”