The Sword And The Dragon (11 page)

Mikahl was nearly to the pack horse now. He figured that if he could cut the lizard’s tongue completely through with one swing of his blade, then maybe the terrified horse could get away on its own. For whatever reason, the lizard beast was tethered to the limb stripped tree trunk, and couldn’t move further out into the clearing to give chase. It was straining mightily and shaking its head violently back and forth, trying to topple the pack horse. The problem, Mikahl realized, with his hastily planned attack, was that the lizard’s tongue was stretched across his path like a clothes-line. If he didn’t get his blade all the way through it on the first try, he would undoubtedly be unhorsed. He was only strides away now. It was too late to balk, and Windfoot was too close and charging too swiftly, to turn away. The many lessons of swordsmanship Mikahl had taken, under Master Aravan and Lord Gregory, flooded into his mind. All those days of hacking, slashing, and building his strength gave him confidence. He was sure he could make the swing he had to make. At least until the pack horse fell over, turning the lizard’s tongue from a clothes-line into a tripwire. Mikahl had made a terrible mistake. The creature had finally won its tug of war with the pack animal. The fallen horse slid right into Windfoot’s path and Mikahl didn’t know what to do. Being a well trained fighting horse, Windfoot leapt high and hard into the air. Mikahl wasn’t expecting the leap from the horse, and went sailing out of the saddle. Only his quick thinking got his feet out of the stirrups. The world spun around him, in a swirl of green, then blue, then green again. He saw the ground rushing up at him, and let his sword go so that he might use his hands to break his fall. The soft, grassy earth and the strength of his arms did little to cushion his impact though. Like a cliff diver going into the sea, he hit the ground coming straight down. The earth didn’t part for him as the water would for a diver though. Mikahl’s last sensation, before blackness engulfed him, was the back of his own hand crunching into his face. After that, there was nothing.

“…yer pack! Get up man!” An insistent voice pierced through the throbbing blackness. “Come on man! Get up…Blast it all to the hells!”

Mikahl tried to swallow and found that his mouth was full of dirt, grass, and blood. He nearly choked on it, and he could barely breathe. His eyes flew open, his body heaved to force the clod out of his airway. The world came back to him like a blow from a war hammer. He rose up onto his hands and knees, and heaved again. This time, the mess in his throat came spewing forth in a spray of stinking, crimson vomit.

“By the God’s, man!” The voice came from very close behind him, over a rasping angry reptilian hiss. “Get your arse up lad! I need ya!”

Mikahl’s head was still spinning. He couldn’t say where, or even who, he was at the moment. He didn’t get up, but did turn to look back behind him to see what the person was yelling about. He saw the wild looking man thrust up his spear, then jump out of the way of a huge, bloody maw. All of this was transpiring only a few paces behind him. He couldn’t help but wonder how long he had been out of it. It took a few seconds for it all to register in his brain. When it did, he stumbled to his feet, and a rush of fear and adrenaline shot through his battered body. 

“Get your fargin sword, man!” The man’s voice was savage. “Ye better hur-” He had to jump out of the way of all those razor sharp teeth, as the beast’s mouth snapped shut just inches from his face. “Come on then, ye slithery bastard!” He yelled at the creature when he recovered.

The King’s sword was the only thing Mikahl cared about at that moment, and he turned a slow circle looking for Windfoot. When he saw the front half of a horse laying a half dozen yards away, panic shot through him. It was the pack horse he realized, and even though the saddle pack that contained most of his supplies looked to be intact, he dismissed the gory site. Only Windfoot and Ironspike were important. On the far side of the clearing, just inside the tree line, he spotted the horse. The animal was limping badly, but the sword was still plainly visible, strapped to his back in its protective sheath. Another shock of panic came rising up through the haze of Mikahl’s brain. He would be forced to put his beloved horse down now. After the harrowing jump over the pack horse, one of Windfoot’s legs was surely broken. Why else would he be limping? Now, he would have to walk all the way to the Giant Mountains.

“It’s here man! Here!” The man beside him yelled hysterically. Mikahl was brought back to the moment by the beast’s hissing roar. He followed the man’s finger. He was pointing down at Mikahl’s sword. It was lying in the grass just a few feet away.

The creature roared out again. The horrible blast sent bloody, foamy spray out over them in a warm, breathy spew. The whole idea of the situation filled Mikahl with rage. He strode purposely over to his old sword, picked it up, and turned toward the blasted creature that had killed his horse. “Think, then act.” He heard King Balton’s voice speak the words in his mind, but he ignored them. 

The giant lizard’s skin looked like rough tree bark, but it appeared to be much harder. The blood drenched man had managed to gouge several deep wounds on the inside of, and around the thing’s mouth, but his attempts to stab it anywhere else had resulted in mere scratches. Only its neck and breast area looked to be vulnerable to Mikahl. He still didn’t understand why the bloody beast was leashed to the fallen tree. He was glad it was though. It couldn’t leave the water to get all the way at them. Then there was the man. He was bald, and huge, almost as big as Lord Gregory. He was covered in blood, but didn’t seem to be hurt too badly. The giant lizard beast was dripping and spraying blood everywhere. Mikahl decided that was where the blood on the man had come from. He saw that the lizard’s tongue wasn’t a problem anymore. Only the snapping mouth, which twisted and shook, then lunged, and withdrew, had to be avoided.

“Where are you at man? Are ye daft?” the frustrated man managed to ask, just before the creature snapped down at him again. As the beast withdrew, he stepped forward, and stabbed his spear into the pale, scaly flesh under the creature’s jaw.

“Drive it deep, and hold it up!” Mikahl suddenly yelled, as he charged up under the beast’s neck. He’d had enough of this. His half conscious brain was clouded in a scarlet mist. He aimed for what might be the throat, and yelled. He used all the strength he had to drive his blade home. The creature brought its head down hard, trying to crush Mikahl under its weight. Mikahl let go of the sword, just in time, and leapt away, leaving his blade buried halfway into the lizard’s neck. The creature’s attempt to smash him, only forced the sword in deeper. A scrabbling claw managed to hook into Mikahl’s chain mail armor, but his momentum somehow won him free.

“Yahhhh!” The blood covered man yelled in acknowledgment of Mikahl’s insane attack. A second later, he was slung away from the grip he had on his spear, when the creature raised up from the ground, and shook its head like a terrier shaking a rat. The spear went flying from the monster lizard’s mouth, and the man followed it with his eyes, as he urged Mikahl away from the beast.

The creature thrashed and hissed, and thrashed some more, throwing bloody spume and pond water everywhere. Its death throes didn’t last long though, and the thing slowly collapsed into a twitching heap. Only its head and front legs were visible at first, then gradually, the rest of its long reptilian body floated to the surface of the pond, jerking occasionally in protest of death.

“Fargin big bastard, eh?” The man was bent over with his hands on his knees, laughing between his gasping breaths.

Mikahl fell to the ground and glared at him. He wanted nothing more than to go to Windfoot, but he was too sore to move. 

“Why didn’t it advance on us?” he asked.

“See that busted up tree over yond?” The man pointed across the pond to the stripped trunk Mikahl had seen sliding across the ground earlier. 

“A little while ago that was a healthy tree, still in the ground,” the man explained. 

He squatted down a little closer to where Mikahl was laying, and then he continued. 

“That fargin Bark Skinner pulled it up, roots and all, and drug it through the forest.” He laughed at the absurdity of it. “I was sure my chain would snap. I guess it’s true; Wildermont steel is the best in the world. That chain proved up to the test today, even when yon tree wedged itself stuck over there.”

“Why in all the hells was that thing chained to a tree?” asked Mikahl..

The man looked at Mikahl closely then. His brows narrowed. He reached up with his hand and used his thumb to wipe away some of the blood under Mikahl’s busted nose.

“Bah!” The man stood with the wince. “It got caught in my trap, boy.” The man belted out a hearty chuckle. “I thought ye had hair on your lip, but it was not but dirt and blood. You’re just a pup.”

Mikahl felt himself flush. The sensation was partly from embarrassment, but also from indignant anger. Either way, the rush of blood to his face reminded him of how swollen and battered it was. 

“I might just be a Squire – a boy, but I just saved your hide.”

The man looked at him again, taking him in from head to toe. After a moment, a white grin split the man’s dirty, bloody face.

“Aye. Exactly so,” The man laughed. “And a fat sack o’ gold that hide will bring us if we can skin her without a tear.”

Mikahl started to his feet, but a spinning sensation stopped him. He wasn’t sure what the man had meant, but he didn’t voice his ignorance. The man offered a hand to Mikahl. He took it and was pulled to his feet with a heave. Mikahl couldn’t help but notice that the man was incredibly strong.

“They call me Loudin.”

“Call me Mik,” Mikahl lied. “It’s short for Mikken.”

“Well met Mikken.” Loudin put one hand on Mikahl’s shoulder and extended the other out towards the dead bark skinned lizard.

“Yer due a share of the take from the skin, lad, but you have to help me skin’r and sell’r. We’ll need yer good horse to help tote it as well.”

Mikahl laughed. He just now caught the unintentional joke he had made when he told the man that he’d saved his hide.

“My horse appears to be lame sir…uh…Loudin. And as much as I thank you for the offer, I must continue north into the mountains. My business there is urgent.”

“Well, firstly, my friend, yer horse is limping. But its leg ain’t broke. It just lost a shoe. Probably a bit of nail left in the hoof gathering mud and grass as he limps around. Secondly, if yer going into the mountains, even this time of the year, you’ll freeze your castle raised giblets off at night dressed in those cloths. Thirdly, Summer’s Day is at the foot of the mountains, and that’s where we will most likely have to sell our prize. That’s only if we can get the big bastard skinned, and get it there before the festival is over, and all the traders go home.”

The wave of relief that washed over Mikahl when he heard that Windfoot was alright, was so overpowering that he didn’t even wince at Loudin’s jab. Mikahl had been having a futilely hard time trying to hide. He wasn’t sure what he had said that had given him away, but the big trapper had apparently seen right through him. “Castle raised,” he had said. Was Mikahl that transparent? He was starting to feel like he was swimming in water that was full of venomous serpents, and far too deep to stand in. He wasn’t even sure he could find his way out of these woods. He’d never thought that he might need warmer clothes. He wasn’t sure he could trust this man. His accent was like those of the sailors from the Kingdom of Seaward that often docked in Portsmouth. They were notoriously questionable folk who tended to spend a lot of time whoring and gambling. Not as bad as the Dakaneese Pirates, but bad enough. A long look at the dead barkskin lizard helped make his mind up. There was no telling what other sort of dangerous creatures roamed this forest. Besides, if he got to the Summer’s Day Festival, he wouldn’t be lost anymore. From the great, black spire, he could go due north and within a day or two he’d be in the Giant Mountains.

“Will my share be enough to outfit me for the mountains?” He asked the trapper.

“Aye! Twice as much, and then some, lad,” Loudin answered. 

It was true. The skin of this huge lizard would bring in a small fortune. Loudin was a fairly honest man, and though he had cheated many a fool at dice, and the fortune wheel, and at the card table too, he saw no need to try to cheat this fool boy. The boy’s ignorance would allow Loudin to keep nearly all of the gold. He could outfit the boy well, and fill his pouch full of silver coins, then send him off to get eaten, or to freeze to death in the mountains. The bulk of the profit he would keep for himself. They had to hurry though, or the traders would be gone. He wasn’t sure, because he had lost count of the days while tracking the great lizard through the forest, but he felt certain that Summer’s Day was upon them. Tomorrow, or the next day, might be the first day of summer. He thought about asking the boy what day it was, but didn’t want the lad thinking he was daft. It didn’t matter. He was sure that if they got to work quickly they could get the lizard skinned, and get the hide to the festival, before all the traders were gone.

Loudin was right about Windfoot’s hoof. Mikahl couldn’t figure how the old hunter had known it, but he had. It only took Mikahl a few moments to clean way the clod that was caked to the nail and work the nail itself free. Windfoot would have to do without the fourth shoe. Out there in the forest, where the ground was relatively soft and free of sharp rocks, the well trained horse could manage. Mikahl would have him re-shod when they got to the festival.

It was near dark by the time that they had the huge lizard dragged out of the pond into the clearing and rolled onto its back. Even Loudin marveled at how big it was. He said it was the biggest Bark Skinned Lizard he had ever seen. He paced its length off, and found that it was six paces longer than the biggest he had ever heard of, thirty two paces, from nose to tail. Its mouth was big enough to swallow a man whole, and was as pink as a maiden’s ribbon inside. Its four legs stuck up from its stiffening body, like grotesque tree stumps, with wickedly sharp stunted limbs.