Chapter 4
The group fell into confusion. Everyone scampered away from the Dorris as quickly as possible--except for Miguel, who planted his feet and declared, "I'm not giving up this kill! We earned this meat, and any damn dragon is going to have to take it from me!"
Gatti immediately ran up beside Chesta. "You're sure?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "A land dragon?"
"Of course," Dilandau snapped at them before Chesta could reply. He unstrapped the shield from his back—he alone had one—and readied it on his arm. "Can't you smell it? Everyone, calm down and shut up." The others immediately silenced per his orders, casting uncertain glances at each other and the forest. "Befis, Viole, Miguel, give the others your knives. You'll have to use your swords."
They complied, handing over the weapons. Chesta could almost feel his skin growing pale: A knife against a dragon? Is he mad? Still mounted on the oxen corpse, Miguel threaded an arrow in his bow and aimed it at the direction of Dilandau's unfaltering gaze. Guimel calmed long enough to draw his sword, even as it quaked in his grip.
"Befis, you're the fastest one here," Dilandau said quietly, standing very still. "Run back to the compound as quickly as you can. Tell them we're going to need a cart to pull the meat back."
"You can't be serious," Gatti sputtered incredulously. "You're going to fight it?"
A low growl filled the clearing, and Gatti clamped his mouth shut, gripping his dagger. "I am going to fight it," Dilandau said, sounding far too calm for the situation they were in. "Spread out and stay away from its head, all right? Land dragons breathe fire. Befis, get going."
The older boy glanced about the clearing, looking torn. At last he handed his sword to Miguel, who stabbed it into the Dorris' hide for safekeeping. "Good luck," he murmured, and sprinted into the forest, in the opposite direction of the dragon smell.
"This--this is insane," Gatti muttered. "If we run, we might be able to get out of here." He looked to his friend for confirmation, but Chesta was already moving to a flanking position beside Dilandau. "Chesta…?"
"I don't think we could outrun it now," he replied, gulping. "Don't worry, Gatti. It'll be all right."
The growl came again, but louder this time, sweeping over the seven boys like a choking fog. They could hear its footsteps coming closer. Chesta adjusted his grip on his knife, knowing it was a pathetic defense but clinging to it as his only weapon. He glanced at Dilandau out of the corner of his eye. The albino was watching the forest, looking as calm and impressive as ever. If he can do it--if he can thinks he can do it--
The dragon stepped out into the clearing, and all around a brief sigh was shared. It was a land dragon--a baby, no more than six and a half feet tall, waddling uncertainly on its stubby legs. It's wide bulk and broad, flat head made it appear almost comical. Dilandau gave a derisive snort of disappointment. "Just a kid."
Above them, Miguel laughed shakily. "That's it? We were worried about that little thing?" He shouldered his bow, instead opting for the sword Befis had left him. He leapt down from the Dorris and advanced on the creature alone. "This isn't even an appetizer."
"Miguel," Dilandau barked, though he didn't make any move to stop the boy. "Don't make any mistakes."
"Don't worry about that. I won't." He held his weapon out before him, staring down the beast. The dragon regarded him with childlike curiosity. "Everyone, spread out," he ordered the others. "Just to make sure he doesn't get away."
Slowly the others complied, taking up positions around the creature. Only then did it start to look anxious, its wide, orange-tinted eyes rotating in their sockets as it took notice of each boy. It pawed the ground and snorted.
Chesta gulped, dimly aware that the knife was fluttering in his grip. He tried to tighten his fingers but they wouldn’t listen. On his right, Miguel had begun to jeer at the dragon, making half-hearted lunges at its face. The beast hissed a warning. It doesn't sound angry, the blond boy thought absently, watching the dragon's movements and shifting feet. Now it's scared. The other soldiers were closing in, waiting for an opening to use. Chesta glanced at Dilandau, who had remained in his original position despite Miguel's orders. And he looks uneasy. I didn't think anything could—
The dragon roared suddenly, causing everyone in the clearing to jump. It spun on its short legs—only then did Chesta realize what those small movements of the feet had been preparing for—and the tail whipped about after it. No one had expected the action. The tail with its thick bone tip smashed into Miguel's leg with a sickening crunch, knocking him into the air. Chesta had only a fleeting image of the boy, his body tossed like so much wheat, until the pain left him blinded and breathless. He couldn’t tell what part of him had been hit. All he knew was that he was flying, weightless, and there was blood in his throat. His mind numbed---he couldn’t think or feel enough to know if he was still in the air or not.
"Chesta!" Someone was calling his name; someone was touching his face. He tried to open his eyes, but the light he allowed in was painful and he closed them tightly once more. "Chesta, can you hear me?" the voice was saying. "Chesta? Chesta!"
Chesta coughed weakly, expelling blood from his mouth. Slowly he regained his senses, though he wished he hadn't; his head was throbbing, and the pain of a knife was thrust through his chest. It was hard to breathe. He tried to speak, and only managed a low, agonized moan.
Somewhere nearby, the dragon roared in fury. It was accompanied by human voices, rising and falling, like the cackling of so many enraged monkeys. Chesta forced his eyes open, wincing at the sun that attacked his disoriented senses. The outline of a face appeared over his head. "Gatti…?"
"Don’t try to move," the elder boy instructed. His head was turned away, apparently watching the fight going on not far away. "It's almost dead."
"What?" He tried to sit up, and nearly fainted at the pain flaring along his side. He dropped back to the earth, gasping. It's…it's my rib. I've broken a rib. Or…maybe more. With trembling fingers he felt along his right side, where the tail had struck. He didn't feel any blood on his garments, but he tasted it.
The dragon continued to bellow, but its breath was failing. The staggered pounding of its footfalls slowed, until the ground shook at its collapse. Chesta pressed his eyes shut and listened. He could hear the beast heaving its final breaths, made thick and damp through blood, hissing at its killers. The tail was flopping about, unnaturally mobile for a dying creature. As Chesta waited, his breath shallow and thin, a potent stench filled the silent clearing. It spread like a despairing sigh, rustling the tips of each blade of grass as it passed. He shuddered as it spread over him, and dissipated into the forest.
"Damnit," someone swore. "Holy f—king shit. Shit."
"Hey, cut it out. You're all right, aren't you?"
"Yeah….guess so."
"Then don't just stand there—go check on Guimel."
This command came from Dilandau, Chesta was able to distinguish. He opened his eyes and found Gatti's arm. "Help me up," he croaked.
"Are you sure?" Gatti asked with concern. "Looks like you've broken something."
"I'll…be fine. Just help me up." With Gatti's assistance Chesta was able to sit up, though even that simple movement made him light-headed and nauseous. He felt as if a section of the dragon's tail had been left imbedded in him, and was pressing against his insides, tainting them with poison. He was grateful for Gatti's hand on his back, supporting him.
The dragon's carcass was stretched out across the forest floor, steaming and emitting a foul-smelling odor. Dozens of lacerations covered the tender underbelly and throat--it was impossible to tell which wound had killed the beast. Even in death, however, its fire-orange eyes still gleamed, like lit marbles. Chesta stared at them, somewhat haunted.
"Ow, damnit! Get the hell off me!" Chesta turned toward the voice, if slowly. It was Miguel, several dozen yards away, surrounded by Dilandau and Viole. They were looking critically over his right leg--the sight of it made Chesta cringe. Miguel's leg was turned at an odd angle, and blood had all but completely soaked through his trouser leg. Despite the boy's stern face he was pale and shaking, and tears of pain were squeezing through his tightly closed lids. Dilandau was shredding his shirt to make bandages for the wound, while Viole did his best to hold Miguel still. As Chesta watched Dilandau work, he caught sight of a sliver of ivory bone piercing the skin, and quickly withdrew his attention.
"He's okay!" Dallet called suddenly. He moved out from around the dragon carcass, carrying Guimel on his back. There were streaks of crimson in the blonde's pale hair. "He got skimmed, but hit his head pretty hard. Out cold. But he's okay." He glanced at Miguel's leg, turned slightly green, and devoted himself from then on to cleaning Guimel's shallow wound with his sleeve. "How's Chesta?" he asked, a bit wary of the answer.
"Looks like a broken rib," Gatti answered for the boy, saving him the trouble of speaking. He wasn't sure he had the strength for it. "But you saw him get hit--we have to get him and Miguel to a doctor."
Dilandau didn't look up as he worked. "Befis will be back with the cart. We can put them on that, and haul back the meat ourselves." He tightened the fabric strips around Miguel's leg, causing the teen to cry out sharply in pain. Everyone cringed at the sound.
Then, as if in response, the deep bellow of a dragon swept over the clearing. The boys froze, voices trapped in dry throats. Even Dilandau had halted his movements, and turned straining eyes to the line of trees. Beside him, Miguel had broken out in a cold sweat, from fear or his injuries remained unclear. Chesta didn't dare breathe, watching the expressions playing across the faces of his companions. None of them would follow the direction of the beast's call, too fixated to risk what they might find there.
Dilandau's eyes widened slowly. "It's the mother," he whispered.
Everyone turned their attention to him, to keep from glancing at the forest. Only Viole among them found the voice to speak. "How do you know?"
"That was different than the call before. She's not hunting." His crimson eyes flashed briefly to the infant they'd killed. "It sounds like she's calling for her baby."
Chesta shuddered, drawing his arms tightly around himself, which in turn caused him to wince. His insides were twisting so terribly that he thought he might vomit. Somehow, he managed to keep his thoughts clear. Oh God, once it finds us....
Dilandau was still staring at the forest, his gaze sharp and attentive, as if he could see the creature. Or maybe even stalking it....
"Dilandau." Viole captured his attention away from the line of trees. "We have to get out of here. If it is a female, none of us will be able to defend against something like that." He cast significant glances at Miguel, Chesta, and Guimel. "We have to leave."
He regarded the violet-haired boy silently for several tense moments before nodding. "You're right. But we'll go that way." He pointed west, further into the forest.
"Are you crazy?" Gatti demanded. The volume made Chesta's head spin. Then, as if fearful of being detected, Gatti dropped his voice. "Into the forest? There may be more in there, and we've got three injured people here!"
"Remember the clearing we passed a while ago?" Dilandau asked Viole, ignoring the blonde's complaints. "We'll meet there. You and Gatti can help get Miguel there, and Dallet will take Guimel."
"All right. And you?"
"I'll be right behind you."
"Hey!" Gatti interrupted in a fierce whisper. "What the hell is going on? Look at his leg." He pointed emphatically at Miguel, who looked ready to faint. "You think a dragon won't smell that much blood? We can't hide from the damn thing.
Chesta gulped, wishing he could come to Gatti's aid, but he couldn't draw the breath to speak. What is.... He looked to Dilandau, trying to gauge the boy's intentions, and there found the answers perfectly clear. Befis will come back, and he'll have brought help. If we go back to the base, and the dragon follows us...and if it finds the base where everyone is practicing....
"Gatti," he just managed to squeak. "It's okay. Listen...to him."
Gatti stared at his friend as if he had gone utterly mad. "But Chesta--"
"We don't have time to argue," Dilandau snapped at them. He and Viole pulled Miguel's arms over their shoulders and, being careful of his injured leg, lifted him onto his good foot. He hissed curses at the movement. "Now come here, Gatti, and take my place."
"Why? You can take him yourself."
Nearby, Dallet had already hefted Guimel onto his back once more. "Damnit man, just listen to him," he hissed. "Let's just get out of here. That thing is--"
As if to prove his unspoken point, another roar filtered through the trees--closer this time, and far more agitated. Though he was still reluctant Gatti moved to take Dilandau's place. "Go on," the albino told them. "I'll be right after you."
Dallet didn't hesitate a moment longer. He started off into the woods, shifting Guimel's silent form against his back. Miguel followed with Gatti and Viole to hold him up. Dilandau watched them, his face seemingly calm, though his eyes were still intense. Chesta gulped. He didn't think he could stand on his own, but Dilandau wasn't making any move to help him.
He's going to leave you behind.
Chesta bit his lip and remained silent, watching as Dilandau collected the weapons the others had dropped and fit as many as he could into his belt. He closed his arm-shield--each movement was deliberate, and he didn't glance in Chesta's direction even once. With a dagger in hand he approached the dragon carcass, studying the wounds driven into its chest cavity.
You're not worth saving, anyway.
No, that isn't true. Chesta shook his head in an attempt to force his own thoughts away, but he couldn't help it. Dilandau was bent over the body now, carving into its pale green flesh, uncaring of the thick blood that spilled over his forearms in the process. But...I'm not strong like the others. They all know that. Maybe.... He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. That's right. I've never been anything more than a nuisance anyway. So why should Dilandau care about me? I'll just get in the way.
I'm always in the way.
A warm breeze spread through the clearing, like the breath of a slumbering giant, followed by an almost chilling silence. Chesta opened his eyes curiously, and was shocked to see that the dragon corpse had vanished--not a trace of it was left, as even the blood had disappeared as well. The only proof of its existence at all was the impression of its claws in the soil, and the red stain of Miguel's injury nearby. His jaw fell slack in surprise as he glanced about, searching for it.
"Hey."
He flinched and looked up. Dilandau was standing over him, his hand outstretched. In his other hand was a circular, faintly pink jewel--like the crystals that powered the Guymelefs. It was gleaming in the dull forest light, casting strange shadows across Dilandau's face.
"Come on."
"Wha...?" Chesta tried to speak, and the attempt lost his voice to a fit of coughing. He curled his knees in tightly to his chest--the pain shot all through him, wracking his body and sending his mind into a blaze of angry flashes of light. He could taste blood on his lips and coating his throat, sickening him. Dear God, am I going to die?
"I'm not leaving you behind." Dilandau was crouched beside him now, and Chesta managed to open his eyes just enough to see his stern and serious face. "I'm not going to let anyone die out here. As long as you follow me and do what I say, you're going to be all right. Understand? You have to trust me."
Chesta stared at him, at a loss for words even if he'd had the power to speak them. For a moment he didn't notice the pain in his chest, so startled and relieved he was by the simple words spoken to him. He was, instead, filled with a mysterious swelling of what might have been hope. He's not going to leave me. He won't leave me. He uncurled his body and took Dilandau's hand, allowing the boy to pull him to his feet.
Once there, however, Chesta faltered and almost collapsed. Dilandau was quick enough to save him from that; he hooked his arm around the blonde's waist, holding him steady. He then pulled Chesta arm over his shoulders. "I know you probably can't run, but you're going to anyway," he said. "It's not far."
Chesta nodded faintly as he attempted to find his balance. Relying heavily on Dilandau's support, he took a shaky step forward. The movement nearly felled him but he held on--he wouldn't let Dilandau down now. When they had gone several halting steps Dilandau increased their pace. I have to do this. Chesta stifled a pained whimper and continued on, step for step, into the forest.
