Guardian Dragons (3 page)

The next moonwake he stirred with a
heavy head listening to his mother rattling around.

‘Where you off to?’ he asked her
grumpily.

‘What business is it of yours? I
only seek to do the Master’s work not to see to my own
needs.’

‘What manner of remark is that?’
he grunted horsely. ‘I was checking out the locals and this village
is full of pregnant bitches, and I don’t mean the sows. Our Master
would have a feast and I was the one to seek this out.’

She ignored the information. If her
Master wanted to feed here then he would have told her so. For now,
she would go shopping for herbs and leave the idle to rot,
hopefully.

The open market stalls were in
abundance with brightly coloured fruits, ripened vegetables,
crushed dried and fresh herbs and perishables aplenty. She was more
than pleased with the many choices.

That moonsleep they ate well again,
buying meat from the roasting pigs pitted on the roaring fires of
the celebrations. Rikka retired early, but Fedros stayed to witness
the slaughter of the pigs. He watched with a distasteful joy as the
pigs sensed the fear of the kill, clinging to the last moments of
their short lives. Their loud high shrilling squeals sounded
surprisingly human. The slaughter pens stank of fresh blood and
fear. Fedros drank in all the terror, imagining that it was people
who were being butchered and not just the simple pigs. Eventually
the slaughters ended and he left the celebrations of dancing and
drinking to the farmers. He had no desire for that sort of joy. All
the fun had ended with the last killing of the last pig. He craved
more. A yearning for the kill quivered through his murderous
fingers. With the whole moonwake before him, he set out to satiate
his desires.

The following moonwake Fedros
insisted that they move on, sending his mother to collect the
stubborn mule.

‘I suppose your son has joined in
the search?’ the stable boy asked the old woman.

Rikka was slow in body but not in
mind.

‘Yes, yes. He has,’ she lied.
‘Will they return soon?’

‘The men search up in the mid-mountains, so I reckon he’ll
be
with them, but the women
have already found her bloodied body, it’s horrible,’ his face
contorted, reflecting the horror he felt.

Rikka feigned concern.

‘Aah, poor lass. How many
suncircles was she?’

‘She was with child in her belly,’
he expressed agitated.

‘Aah, I see now.’ Rikka really did not need to hear more
but the
lad clearly had more
to tell.

‘They say the biggest of hogs got lose and sought its
revenge on
our kind. She was
beaten to a pulp and her child taken out and
eaten.’

Rikka gave the lad a small
coin.

‘Here lad,’ she spoke softly. ‘Go
and get yersen a rest and some refreshment. I can manage on me own
now. Go on, off you go lad.’

The boy panted heavily with the
terror of the tale imprinted in his mind and a welling of tears in
the corners of his wide eyes.

‘Do you think we have a beast on
the lose?’ he asked her, as if she could assure him that the tale
was not true.

‘Beasts are nearer than ye think
lad. Go and rest while you can.’

He ran out of the stable and she
shook her head knowingly that the beast on the lose was
human.

They left the village unnoticed,
heading for Beldroth with their packs bursting of salted pork and
crisp crackling. The mule complained at the heavy load but the two
humans spoke not a word.

The landscape quickly changed as
they passed through pine-clad hills sheltering fertile valleys.
Rich red soils cultivated Olive and Fig trees that stood to
attention in long straight rows. They purchased olive oil and fresh
Chamois meat that they had traded from a hunter who passed them by
on the road. Finally, entering into rolling hills where thick
velvet green grasses spread before them like soft carpets, the
going was much easier on Rikka’s old bones. Small woodlands
scattered around the lands, providing shade from the hot sun. It
was in such woodland that they came across a small village, not far
from Beldroth. They camped for the last time together, in a thicket
of bushes well away from the village. Neither would be saddened at
their separation on the next moonwake.

Chapter 3 The Enchanting
Healer

P
adray possessed four
sheep, two pigs, three cows, one bull and five chickens, all of
which he was very proud. The local village of Lumberly relied on
his livestock farming for their dairy products and the occasional
rations of meat, when they could afford such luxuries. The locals
did not make too many demands on him and he just about managed to
make his living from the woodcutters and the occasional traveller
passing by.

Now his needs were dire, and he
struggled alone, to try and keep his prize ewe alive. The lamb,
trapped inside her belly, had two sticky grey back legs jutting out
into the world and was making no effort to move. He feared losing
both babe and mother and all he could do was look on helplessly and
watch his livestock die. He had already sent his young son away who
had been overjoyed to witness the first delivery of the Breeding
Quarter. Sadly, this was not to be a happy event, the mother ewe no
longer had the strength to make any further cries of pain. The
grass, stained with dark patches of sticky blood from the ewe’s
earlier attempts to give birth, cushioned her as she lay still,
awaiting her fate. Her breathing laboured, the farmer’s eyes
swelled with tears, watching them both slip away from him. He
gently tried to pull on the tiny hoofed legs but something jammed
solid. He had not lost any livestock this way in many
suncircles.

‘Ye look like ye could use some
‘elp with that ewe,’ a female voice called out to him.

He turned his tired eyes to look
upon an old woman approaching from the woodlands. It did not occur
to him to ask who she was.

‘Are you able to help my sheep old
woman?’ was all he could muster.

‘Come on man, out of me way,’ the
old woman mumbled as she pulled him up from the floor by his
sleeve. ‘I need hot water and a warm blanket for her young un. She
needs her muscles rubbing to get ‘em working again.’

The farmer stood frozen to the spot
looking puzzled at her, as if he could not understand the language
that she spoke.

‘Well!’ The old woman’s shout
jostled him awake. ‘Are we going to save this ewe and lamb or are
we going to stand around looking gormless?’ her screeching voice
drilled into the farmer’s numbed brain.

‘Yes, yes,’ he stammered feeling
hopeful again. Perhaps this strange old woman could save his
livestock. Perhaps she was an illusion that had come to answer his
cries for help. Whatever she was, he had to trust her, she was his
only hope. Running to the house for blankets, he called for his
wife to fill buckets with hot water and instructed his son to carry
the buckets to aid the old woman. The whole household was in a
pandemonium of activity.

Dashing down the field with hot
water splashing over the sides of the buckets, he could see the old
woman bent over his prize ewe. The sheep was now standing and the
old woman rubbed under her belly, chanting strange
words.

‘About time,’ she expressed,
seeing him return. ‘Put the blanket aside. I want that fer the
young un’.

‘What are those words you sing old
woman?’ Padray dared to ask her.

‘Words that’ll save yer livestock,
ye stupid oaf,’ she retorted as if insulted. ‘I work in strange
ways. I’ve brought many a young un into this wretched world, so let
me get on without all ye interruptions.’

Without any further words, the
farmer left her to her chanting and her rubbing and watched in awe
as the back end of the fresh new lamb slowly slithered out of its
mother’s bleeding womb. The ewe managed to stand up firmly, yet
seemingly in a quiet sleepy daze. This old woman had kept her word
and within a short while, she had a scrawny sticky wet lamb wrapped
in the thick blanket. She shouted instructions for him to clean the
exhausted mother ewe. Both were alive. His young son leaped up and
down excitedly celebrating.

Padray began to bathe the ewe, as
she had requested him to do, while his son huddled the miracle
lamb. The grateful farmer watched his wife take the old woman into
their home to welcome her.

Rikka had found her
village.

Chapter 4 A Soldiers
Death

‘Captain Yanomi!’ The captain put down his wedge of bread
to
turn and see why the palace
cook was calling his name.

‘I want you to meet someone,’ the cook explained
rather
urgently.

The captain looked up at the unshaven portly man who
stood,
grinning down at him.
‘He is the son of an old friend of mine,’ cook rambled on to
a

puzzled captain.

‘
I’m always pleased to meet your friends Clara,’ Captain
Yanomi
replied
courteously.

‘
I wonder if you
can offer him a job in your guard house?’

Cook never minced her words, except when she was hitting
the
bottles of stronger
liquids. ‘His mother is a herb nurse who helps the poor,’ she
quickly followed on. ‘Now I thought we could reward such service to
our King, by offering to help out her son.’

‘Indeed cook. Kindly service to
the poor is always welcome.’ Captain Yanomi smiled up at the new
stranger who, he noted, was now looking down at him with a rather
strange sneer to his lips. The captain assumed he was perhaps a
little nervous. ‘Yes, we can always do with a strong set of arms.
Have you soldiered before?’

‘I can use a dagger on a man if I
have to.’ This was an honest reply and showed his lack of fear in a
confrontation.

‘Good. There’s no use entering the
armed guards if you fear a fight,’ the captain said. ‘Here, take
this green necktie and give it to Sergeant Blackeley at the Company
Barracks.’ The captain gave him the Colours of the sergeant’s
regiment. ‘Tell him I sent you and he’ll find you a bunk, a uniform
and a duty. Work hard and we pay well and treat you
fairly.’

‘Thank you captain,’ the cook took
his hand shakily. ‘This is a kindly deed sir.’

Captain Yanomi watched a little
suspiciously as cook and the portly man left the dining hall and
headed towards the kitchen. His thoughts were that the stranger had
little in the way of manners but then manners did not make a good
soldier, so he thought no more of the large man and returned to his
meal.

‘I wish you would not use me as
your contact in the palace,’ the cook complained once they were
alone.

‘Our Master ordered you to assist
me. Will you disappoint him when he seeks your help?’ He asked of
the cook threateningly, hoping it would remind her of the dire
consequences should she refuse.

‘Leave me be you lout.’ She
clearly did not like this man. ‘I always do as I’m asked. I haven’t
any choice.’ Cook looked down at the floor as if in shame. ‘He gets
into my head and I can’t get him out.’ Her face flushed as her
agitation increased and tears welled in puffy bloodshot
eyes.

‘If you didn’t drink so much
liquor, stupid woman, you wouldn’t be so weak minded.’ He disliked
this feeble woman. ‘I’ve no idea why my Master finds you helpful,
you blubbering windbag.’ He left the broken woman sobbing her
regrets into her apron.

Entering the open courtyard through a stone archway from
the kitchens, he casually approached a pretty young maid carrying a
basket full of laundry. He asked her directions to the Soldiers’
Mess. Noticing his wide eyes staring greedily at her small perky
breasts, she wanted quickly rid of him. Pointing out the sergeant
standing
outside the barracks,
she briskly escaped as he turned to look in that direction. When he
turned back to get one last glance at her curvy young body, he
realised the scrawny fledgling had fled. Annoyed at her ignorance
he calmed himself, deciding he did not care for female company
anyway.

He soon established his place and
settled in to a new routine. Only two moonwakes later, he had
identified the guard that stood on moonsleep duty for Prince Leon.
That very moonsleep, in the sleepy barracks, he approached a table
where two soldiers occupied themselves with a quiet game of
cards.

‘I have a little money to wager,’
he offered. ‘Can I pour us all a drink and bet my well earned cash
in a friendly card game, with two kindly fellows?’

The younger guard, not long in the
army himself, was eager to play for money. The older one was a
little wiser to newcomers.

‘I have guard duty to Prince Leon
so it will need to be a quick game,’ the older soldier replied
sternly.

‘And, the drink?’ He reminded
them. ‘I have the finest bottle of Guindas a man could wish for.
Just a wee nip and it will warm you for your night duty, I assure
you.’