Chapter 5
As Dilandau had promised, the clearing wasn't far from where they had killed the infant Land Dragon. Chesta managed somehow, stumbling over rocks and roots as they went, his teeth clenched tightly to keep his moaning silent. It was getting harder to breathe. When at last they reached the others he collapsed onto the soft earth. Gatti was quickly beside him, helping him to lay out and keep pressure off his ribs. Once this was accomplished the older boy turned his gaze on Dilandau, glaring as if not sure what to make of him. "I'm glad you made it," he said to his friend.
Chesta smiled weakly, though he couldn't reply. He turned this expression on Dilandau, hoping to convey his gratitude, but the albino was already circling the clearing to check on the others. What is he going to do? Can we possibly hide from a dragon out here? His gaze fell on the glowing jewel in the boy's hand. Could it be...an energist? But why did he bring it with us?
"Well, we're here," Dallet said, who was helping the now conscious Guimel to sit up. "So now what? We're gonna attract something." He glanced at Miguel; the eldest of the boy was leaning against a nearby tree, groaning softly as Viole tied more shirt-bandages around his leg.
"We're not hiding," Dilandau told them, surveying their surroundings. The clearing was much smaller than the one they'd occupied previously--no more than twenty feet across--but he seemed pleased with it. "We're going to kill the dragon."
All six boys turned sharp eyes on him--even Miguel fell silent, his jaw working anxiously. What is he talking about? Chesta thought desperately as his fingertips went cold. Three of us were injured just fighting a baby. How can we kill a full-grown female dragon? It's....it's impossible.
"Is....is that why you brought us out here?" Gatti demanded, stricken. "What the hell are you thinking? What can we do against a dragon?"
Dilandau didn't face him, instead emptying out the weapons he'd stuffed in his belt. "I have a plan."
"A plan?" Dallet laughed incredulously though he was shaking. "How are the four of us gonna fight a dragon?"
"There are seven of us, last time I counted."
Chesta gulped. Does he really expect all of us to fight? he thought desperately, searching the boys' face for some hint of humor or sarcasm. But he was deadly serious. He helped me get here--I can't walk let alone fight. And Miguel is no better off.
Gatti looked ready to climb to his feet, but Chesta held him back. Viole was already speaking, calm and collected as always despite their situation. "Miguel and Chesta can't fight," he argued. "And Guimel still isn't steady. But the rest of us will do what we can."
This time Chesta wasn't successful in keeping his friend still. "What are you talking about?" Gatti stood and advanced on the pair. "None of us are fighting. We didn't follow you out here to die, Dilandau! You're insane--I'm not risking my life so that you can brag about killing a dragon! It's not worth it."
"Do you really think it'll just pass us by?" Dilandau snarled back, startling his peer with the viciousness of his retort. "If it is the mother, it knows its baby is dead and that we killed it. It's going to come for us. Better to fight and kill it out here, and not endanger the rest of the group."
Dallet smiled hopefully. "Maybe...it'll pass us by? Yeah--we can hide in the bushes. Dragons can't see that well, can they? If we hide, maybe it won't see us."
"No." This timid interjection came from Guimel, sitting with his head down against a tree. "It will find." He pointed to the jewel in Dilandau's hand. "We have its heart."
Again, all eyes turned to Dilandau, and the sphere he carried. His confidence was unfaltering. "That's right," he confirmed. "As long as we have the energist, the mother will know exactly where to find us. So we have to prepare."
"Are you mad? You're going to get us all killed!" Gatti grabbed the albino by the collar and hauled him forward. "Who the hell do you think you are, anyway? I don't kill how many Dorrises you kill--that doesn't give you the right to bring us out here to die!"
"Let go of me," Dilandau growled dangerously, though he made no attempt to free himself.
"I'm older than you, after all--I'm pulling rank." He shoved the boy back. "We need to get Miguel and Guimel cleaned up as best we can, and hide somewhere."
"That isn't going to work--you're the one that's going to get us killed!"
"Shut up! Why should I listen to you, anyway?"
"Because I'm the one who brought you here!" Dilandau shouted, stomping his foot on the earth. His eyes were blazing. "You're all here because of me--because I chose you." He glared at each of the boys in turn. "Why do you think the Sorcerers chose you, huh? You, a common street rat."
Gatti scowled and looked as if he were about to counter this accusation, but Dilandau went on. "The Sorcerers brought you--all of you--here because of me. This is my destiny. You have to do what I say, because you don't have a choice!"
Viole interposed himself between the two before they could continue further. His effort was unnecessary--just then everyone jumped once more at the sound of an enraged bellow, echoing out towards them from the clearing they'd left minutes before. Even Dilandau stopped, staring in the direction from which the animal would come. His fingers tightened around the energist, and his gaze fell upon Chesta.
Chesta was gripping his chest, and returned the gaze, mystified. He had felt his entire body grow cold with Dilandau's words; he knew they were truth. They had been gathered because of him. He suddenly remembered the Sorcerers that had first come to him, and the feeling he'd gotten when they touched him. They had seen something in him, and whatever it might be, Dilandau knew. Dilandau knew his purpose.
He knows why I was born into this world.
"Sir Dilandau." The boys stopped to stare at these words. Chesta himself didn't know why he'd called him that, only that it felt right, somehow. Dilandau had brought them here, brought them together. He didn't understand yet how, or for what purpose, but he had to learn. He'd never cared about such lofty, insignificant pieces of knowledge before in his life, but he wanted them now. He wanted to know what the Sorcerers had seen in him, and this was the only way.
Chesta climbed to his feet; slowly, as every movement caused pain that left him breathless. He lifted his head. "Sir Dilandau, what do you want me to do?"
"Chesta...." Gatti stared at him in shock, at a loss for words.
Dilandau wore a similar expression. He was watching Chesta as if not having understood the declaration, and focused his gaze to make sure. When he was sure that Chesta had meant what he said, he smiled wryly. "Do you think you can fight?"
Chesta nodded. "Not well," he conceded, "but I'll do whatever you ask."
Everyone was still staring at him, shocked and baffled, bound by silence. At last, Miguel raised his trembling voice. "That goes for me, too," he said, forcing strength in the words. "If we can beat this thing, it'll be because of you, Sir Dilandau."
Gatti stumbled, staring at his comrades in disbelief. One by one, the others were nodding their acceptance. He turned at last to Chesta, hoping to find some understanding, but the look there was nothing but infinite trust in their leader. Gatti sighed, giving in, and nodded to Dilandau. "All right. If this is the only way, let's get it over with."
They expected Dilandau to grin, or somehow celebrate in his sudden newfound respect--he only nodded once, accepting, and quickly began to map out his plans. "Everyone take a weapon--two, if you can manage. Gatti, you'll only need one." He undid the ties holding his arm-shield as the other boys retrieved swords and daggers. The heavy metal disc he handed to Gatti. "I've seen you fight," he told him. "You're the fastest of us here--you'll take the head."
Gatti stared at him, sputtering in protest, but Chesta laid a hand on his arm to silence him. "And me?" he asked quietly.
"In a minute," he answered crisply. "Dallet, you'll be on the right flank, Viole the left. It'll be your job to keep her from trying to run. Jump on her legs, if you have to, but don't let her use her feet or Chesta will be in trouble." He turned to Chesta and handed him a long dagger. "You'll be up in that tree there," he said, indicating the oak against which Miguel sat. "As soon as I give you the signal, you need to jump on her neck and hold on--don't worry about hurting her. Just hold on as best you can. As long as Dallet and Viole keep her feet still, you'll be fine."
Chesta tried not to look uneasy as he cast a glance at his peers. It's up to them, he thought, gathering his courage and his trust. Your life is in their hands.
"Guimel, you'll have the tail," Dilandau continued. A dragon's bellow caused the boys to jump, but he went on, ignoring it. The creature was getting close. "As soon as she tries to lift it, she'll expose some of her underbelly--that's your cue. If that tail gets up, say goodbye to Gatti." The boy in question gulped and shifted his feet. "And Gatti--you'll be at the head, getting her attention. Use the shield to protect Miguel if she tries to use fire. It'll be up to you to keep the teeth away from the rest of us. Don't let us down."
Dilandau paused, looking over the boys with a serious expression. Chesta licked his lips and wondered what he could have possibly been thinking. The moment was brief, however, and then the albino was pointing out places for them to hide. Gatti and Chesta he dragged to the tree where Miguel waited patiently for his orders. "I told you, I'll do what I can to help you beat this, Sir Dilandau," the older boy said firmly.
"I know. You're the most important job of all. Bait." He was utterly serious. "Just stay there and smell like blood. And take this." He handed him the energist, and without waiting for a reply turned back to Chesta. "I'll help you up. Are you sure you can do this?"
"Yes." Truthfully, he didn't know, but he wasn't about to let his leader down. Not now--when he knows why I'm here.
Dilandau and Gatti together managed to boost Chesta into the
lower branches of the tree; he bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut as pain
flooded through his chest. But he was
determined, and made no sound of complaint as he clutched his dagger and
settled at an appropriate height to face the dragon. Below, the pair who'd helped him disappeared into a cluster of
bushes. By then everyone else had taken
positions, and the clearing fell silent.
Chesta licked his lips again; his mouth and throat were dry, his hands trembling as he gripped the branches for balance. The dragon was close enough now that he could hear its footsteps pounding through the underbrush, its voice raised in vengeful bellows. The sound was so much louder and more terrifying than that of the infant that Chesta nearly yelped from fright--he kept himself still, remembering what Dilandau had told him: the others were depending on him. He was depending on them. If any of them backed down or failed, another would suffer and die for it.
I can't lose. I can't let anyone die for me. Especially not Sir Dilandau.
The dragon slowed as she entered the clearing as if cautious, Her long tongue snaking out before Her, clawed feet pawing the earth. Chesta held his breath at the sight of Her: the female dragon was larger than he'd imagined, over twenty feet long and built massively of a thick muscles and scales. Her hide gleamed like obsidian in the half forest light, and Her eyes shown bright sunfire. She stalked into the clearing like a wary king--though clearly She had spotted Miguel where he sat, clutching her child's heart, She was careful not to approach too quickly. She lumbered forward on Her short legs, scanning the trees all along.
Dallet was right, Chesta thought with a bit of relief, noting the movement of Her eyes. Dragon's can't see that well. She doesn't know we're here. He gulped and pressed his dagger against his chest, preparing.
The dragon continued Her advance, head bobbing slightly. She was so large that only a few steps took Her directly in front of the hidden boys below. Miguel was stiff beneath the pressure of Her eyes--either carefully trained or paralyzed from fear, Chesta couldn't tell. He waited, praying to every god and deity he could think of for mercy. Surely, they would win this....
The dragon bent down Her majestic head; it was then that Dilandau leapt out of hiding, dashing forward faster than the dragon had time to react to, disappearing under her belly. Oh Gods, this is it-- Chesta leapt from tree, and--praise his luck--landed awkwardly on the dragon's twisting neck. This time he couldn't help a strangled cry of pain from escaping his throat as his ribs jarred. He was able to wrap his arms firmly about the dragon's neck, however, to keep from falling off. She cried and bucked beneath him, tossing Her head in a crazed attempt to dislodge the sudden hindrance. Chesta clutched the hide desperately and would not be deterred.
Somewhere nearby, he could hear the voices of his comrades--mostly curses, amid the clash of steel and scales. He saw only flashes of the battle: Gatti bearing the arm shield, weaving out of the dragon's reach; the top of Viole's violet hair to his right; Miguel, pressed tightly to his tree, watching it all with gaping, wide eyes. He paid them only the slightest attention, too caught up in the thrashing of the beast beneath him, the stabbing agony in his chest. Blood was welling in his throat, but its coppery taste only heightened his tenacity.
The dragon bellowed in fury, stomping and writhing, unable to chose a target among Her many aggressors. Her movements were becoming labored. By then Chesta had closed his eyes tightly, made faint by pain and injury, barely able to breathe. Still he held on, ignoring the thundering in his ears and throat, until he thought his every limb would shatter from the stress.
At last it proved too much for him. The dragon's head whipped about sharply--Chesta lost his grip, and could not even cry out as he was tossed violently to the forest floor. His body seemed to splinter against the earth for all the pain he felt. Somehow, he managed to hold onto his consciousness, gazing about in fear for his comrades.
The dragon was dying. Her throat, belly, and tail had all been sliced through, and waves of dark teal blood rippled across the matted grass. One by one the young boys retreated, each of them stained. Only Dilandau was unaccounted for, and as the beast tottered, Chesta was struck by a sudden fear; he would be crushed by the weight of the animal. A moment later his apprehension was relieved, as Her body was already beginning to burn and evaporate. The scales, the smooth flesh, the thick bones--all of it melted away into dust. Even the blood was lifted from the young slayers, leaving them spotless, though perhaps not unscarred. All that remained in Her place was the breathless, heaving form of a young albino, clasping the glowing energist in a strong palm.
Chesta flopped back against the earth, heaving a sigh of relief that was almost a laugh. His body was aching, burning, but it didn't matter anymore. He hadn't let them down--they had won. They had killed a dragon. All around him he could hear the celebrations of his comrades, wordless laughter that echoed through the trees. That enough was enough to calm Chesta's pain, and his voice lifted with them, harsh and halting but just as joyous. The last thing he remembered before slipping into a peaceful sleep was Dilandau's soft chuckle, mixing with their young voices, raising the Dragon's Heart over them all in triumph.
Folken drew his cloaks more tightly around him. It was cold in this region this time of year, and he had not had the oversight to dress accordingly. But he had been in the area and heard of the incident recently transpired, and he'd been asked to lend his assistance, if he could. Reluctantly he allowed himself to be lead to the small training camp out of town. He was surprised to see how well kept the camp and its interior was kept, given that adolescents were in charge of its maintenance. He had no idea what the purpose of this base was--he had been out of contact with his peers for sometime, disgusted by their brutal techniques and imprecise science. His own experiments had been steadily progressing, without their input or assistance, and there were rumors that he had caught the eye of the Emperor. If this were so, he had no reason to linger within their ranks.
The boys in the barracks were all chatting excitedly when Folken entered, and snapped to attention at the sight of him. They directed him toward the medical area, where their advisors were attending to the injured boys. He followed their pointing, ignoring the many curious stares he attracted in the process. He was careful to keep his claw hidden.
The medical area was crowded and thick with the stench of dried blood. Folken soon discovered, however, that the odor was only from one of the seven seated boys--a dark haired teen surrounded by three of the caretakers, heavily sedated by the look of it. He was in the process of having a sizable injury on his leg cleaned and sowed. The other boys, scattered about the room, were being treated by two young women. Their injuries didn't look serious--bruises and cuts, nothing more.
"Hey."
Folken lifted his head, thinking that one of the girls was trying to get his attention. He was a bit surprised, then, to see the young albino staring at him with a calm, red-eyed stare. It gave him a chill. There is something about that boy that frightens me whenever I see him...as if he were not meant to be in this world.... "Yes?"
The boy pointed to a door at the end of the hall-like chamber. "The other Sorcerer beat you here. He's in the next room."
Other Sorcerer? Folken frowned, but he nodded and followed the boy's gesture. Wondering at which of his former comrades he would be greeting, he twisted the door open and stepped inside. He wasn't expecting what he found, however; he wished silently that he hadn't come here.
The room was small--an operating room, with smooth white walls and cabinets lining the wall. One bed stood in the center, occupied by the pale, heavily bandaged form of a young blond boy. At his bedside, a tall, white-bearded man in black sorcerer cloaks watched over with approval. Folken cringed slightly--he hadn't expected to meet his master here. "Sir Nolld."
Nolld lifted his head slightly, though he did not turn. "Ahh, Folken. I haven't seen you at the Sorcerer's Sanctum in some time." His voice was not reprimanding, but there was little of the warmth that had once been reserved for his pupil.
"I've been kept busy at the palace," Folken replied quietly. Though he had told himself time and time again that he was going to leave these people and their cruel, inefficient ways, Nolld had always taken good care of him. He felt a bit as if he were abandoning a caring grandfather. Hesitantly, he stepped forward. "Sir Nolld, why are you here?"
"I was drawn but a vein of destiny," the aging sorcerer replied enigmatically. He motioned for Folken to come closer. "Touch the boy again, Folken. Tell me now if you still cannot read his fate."
Folken licked his lips, wanting to reply that he did not attempt to read destiny's anymore--he'd never been capable of it. But the command in his former master's voice indicated that there would be no arguing, and so he approached the other side of young Chesta's bed. Perhaps if he failed again, Nolld would expel him, saving him the trouble of quitting himself. With a quiet sigh of resignation he placed his palm on the injured boy's forehead.
The feeling Folken received from the boy was like nothing he'd ever felt before. A feeling of pain shot up his arm, like fire, and his gaze was veiled in a sheet of crimson. He jerked his hand back reflexively and turned to Nolld. "What was that?" he demanded.
A grim smile had worked into Nolld's features. "This boy's fate, Folken. The reason he was chosen. His reason for living." His voice was cold, like stone, and his eyes impassive.
Folken stared at him in disbelief. "The reason...you mean, it's his fate to die?" He stared down at the boy, feeling a grip of
fire around his heart. This boy was no
older than his own brother, so far away....
"Why chose him, if he's to die before he even reaches the
battlefield?"
"His death isn't so near, but not so far, either," Nolld explained quietly. "He has the mark of the Knight on him--the soldier that will die for his master. That is why he was chosen." He met Folken's eyes severely. "That's why they were all chosen."
Folken took a stumbling step backward. His gaze jumped from Nolld, to the boy, and back again. Chosen...to die? All these boys, picked only to die? He shook his head fiercely. "That's...that's monstrous. Does Emperor Dornkirk know--"
"Of course not. This is our project."
"You...." He rallied his courage, and gathered to his full height--now considerably taller than his old master. "Sir Nolld, I cannot condone this. In fact, I...I'm leaving the Sorcerer's Guild."
Nolld didn't react, didn't even seem surprised. He was still staring thoughtfully at Chesta. "Your resignation is accepted, Folken."
Folken stared at him a moment longer, feeling the sudden impulse to apologize to his long time teacher. But his disgust won through. He nodded curtly, cast one last look at the slumbering boy, and departed.
When Chesta awoke, his entire body ached. His head was pounding, his arms were heavy, and it was difficult to breathe without grimacing from the pain. He tried to open his eyes, and quickly abandoned the effort, as the fluorescent lighting was too much for his only-now-recovering senses. All around he could hear people muttering and shifting. "Who's there?" he called blindly, rubbing his eyes wearily.
"Chesta?" Several voice piped up, speaking his name and asking garbled questions, but one cut above the rest of them, silencing them. "Hey, quiet--he needs rest."
Chesta recognized the firm tone immediately. "Gatti?" he croaked, attempting again to give himself sight. Amidst the light flooding his sight he was able to make up several blurred figures. "Guys?"
"Hey, Chesta!" a voice that sounded like Dallet greeted enthusiastically. "You look like hell."
The other boys laughed, and Chesta smiled, as anything more would aggravate his injuries further. Gradually he was able to make out the different faces peering over him. Gatti was just beside him, the others from his groups crowded around the bed edges, some others peeking over their shoulders. Chesta's attention was drawn swiftly, however, to the youth seated on his left, silent but approving. Sir Dilandau....
"How do you feel?" Gatti asked, drawing his attention back.
"Hopefully better than you look," added Dallet.
"I'm...okay," Chesta said, grinning. "Really, it's not bad--just sore." He paused when he didn't see Miguel among the others. "Is Miguel all right?"
"He's fine," Gatti assured quickly. "But he can't walk at all, so they've got him in bed. He was asking about you," he added.
"Really?" He stared at the boy, somewhat mystified. He was...worried about me? All of them were worried about me? He glanced at Dilandau. I wonder...if he was worried, too.... "Did...the dragon...?"
"You did good, Chesta," Dilandau told him. His red eyes were gleaming, his pale lips turned in a slight smile. "We got her."
Chesta sighed, allowing his body to sink back among the soft pillows. It had been a long time since he'd been granted such luxuries, and he was grateful for them. "We did it," he whispered, closing his eyes. For a moment the pain seemed to slip away. "We did it."
"You guys were amazing!"
"Even the commander was impressed."
"They're calling us dragon slayers now--pretty cool, huh?"
Chesta couldn't help but chuckle a little at that. "Dragon slayers, huh? I think we have a ways to go before we get there." He opened his eyes once more, returning his gaze to Dilandau. I guess...he did know, after all. He knew my purpose all along. Smiling, he asked, "Right, Sir Dilandau?"
Dilandau snorted, though he, too, was smiling. "That's right, Chesta," he said quietly. His eyes fell over the rest of them as well, drinking them in, approving. There was pride etched into his angular features, and strength. And Chesta felt, as they sat crowded there together, that he was making them his own.
"I'll take you there."
*End