Chapter 2 - Reflections
By Daniel Olarnick
{See Chapter 1}
(Previously, as reported in Chapter
1:)
It took a long while to gain their acceptance. The slayers
were accustomed to camp followers, knowing that sooner or
later these would-be admirers would tire of the endless
duties, and eventually return to their homes. Not I! I would
never quit. I was made of stronger and sturdier qualities.
I reveled in the duties the slayers placed upon me, cleaning
and sharpening their weapons, cooking their meals, tending
to their wounds. Life was good and exciting, filled with
the promise of never-ending adventures.
*
(The Scribal Crystal spun on, elongating itself as it drew
forth long-forgotten memories of my life before my ultimate
disgrace.)
*
My first year as a camp follower passed quickly, but still
I had not found my calling as a member of the dragon-slayer's
group.
I found myself to be a poor archer, far worse with the
axe and sword than with the bow. I did have some proficiency
with knives, but an assassin's weapon held no honor or legend
among the hierarchy, even though all slayers carried a knife,
but it was considered as a weapon of last resort.
No dragon-slayer came to the apprentice tent looking for
a squire to attend to their needs - at least none came forward
looking for me, but still, I knew my destiny was to become
a Dragon-Slayer of the Last Blood, a leader, the one to
make the final thrust and slay the dragon.
Knowing that Flaxus looked upon me fondly, I awaited his
arrival. The Night of the Oath would be upon me within the
fortnight. Surely he would come on that night and ask me
to be his squire. I rolled the title over in my mind for
several months, Ebon Grupe Squire to Flaxus the Protector.
Yes, this was surely to be the culmination of my year as
a camp apprentice.
But it was not Flaxus who came to my tent that night but
the chief dragon-skinner, Braxton the Knife, who entered
my dwelling, the lowly apprentice's tent.
It was the night before our intrepid group was to seek
out, and meet, in honorable battle, hopefully to destroy
a small, green twelve-foot dragon. The beast was unnamed,
yet there would be honor and glory bestowed upon us from
the villagers, as soon as we were to rid their small hamlet
from the beast that had ravaged the crops of their agricultural
community, despite the ritual seasonal sacrifice being offered
to it. Alas, Green Dragons have no honor.
I stood engrossed, as I listened to the battle strategies
unfolding before my very ears, witnessing the intricate
preparations involved in battle formations.
Zar Qu, the legendary sorcerer of our group, had his acolytes
bring out the skin of a long-dead dragon. I watched, in
astonishment, at Zar Qu's mastery of his skills as his assistants
stuffed the beast with magical amulets and crystals. Before
my very eyes, the long-dead dragon-beast began to animate
at Zar Qu's commands.
It was a grand and mystical ceremony. There, before the
entire camp, Zar Qu performed his incantations and invocations,
while his chanting apprentice wizards, 13 in number, chanted
a death song, further enraging the long-dead beast into
an attack upon our warriors.
The strikers and spearmen hurling their weapons at the
animated dragon that served us as a near-living practice
target, albeit a dangerous one, for the claws and talons
of a dragon continue living long after its death.
Zar Qu's second-in-command, the wizard, Flaimlit, a specialist
in flame crystals, produced the flame blast from the dragon's
mouth. A second of spearmen moved in, launching their lances
in precision-like movements.
I watched in awe as the elven archers, practicing their
notorious run-and-shoot, began their phase of the attack.
"Make sure the bastard doesn't fly. If it flies, we're
toast," yelled the captains of each squad.
Next the dwarves rushed in, under cover of flaming arrows,
they tossed their silken wires of reinforced golden dwarven
metals, at the beast, their lassos whistling through the
air as they secured various parts of its body, then driving
their spikes into the ground with their war hammers, in
order to prevent the creature from leaping into the air.
The more daring of the dwarves, led by the dwarven chieftain,
Calmak of Wasa, ran in and spiked the dragon's tail, hammering
the dwarven metal spike deeply through the beast's scale-like
armor skin, into the ground, in an attempt to secure the
dragon in place.
It was a grand display of skill and daring, sure to win
the day for our faction. I retired to the apprentice encampment,
awaiting the arrival of Flaxus. Surely, this would be the
night I would have the title of squire bestowed upon me.
*
It was just before dinner when Braxton approached. "I
need an apprentice, lad, one to sharpen my skinning knives
and help me cure the skins of the beasties slain, to pulverize
the horns of the beasts, gut them and remove whatever gemstones
we find within their dual-stomachs; purify their meat, gather
and brew their vital juices. What say, you, lad? Are you
interested in the position of a lifetime?"
"A lifetime," I thought but for a moment before
I turned him down, explaining my firm belief that I was
destined to become a dragon slayer, not that I did not find
his work honorable, but the skinning of dead beasts was
not the profession I desired, it was the slaying of the
dragons that would bring me the fame I so greatly desired.
His huge right-hand lashed out, striking me across the
face, "Too good for honest labors," he bellowed.
I was shocked by the blow and felt a welt of blood developing
beneath my eye. He backhanded me a second blow, lifting
me off my feet, sending me crashing to the ground outside
of my tent. I didn't even have the opportunity to bring
my hands up to defend myself his attack was so swift. Then
I felt my anger rise and fill my body with rage and drive
out the pain, as I lowered my head, charged forward and
speared his massive body, as he heard him bellow with rage.
I attacked him with a fury I did not know I possessed.
Our brawl spilled out into the main campsite. A group of
dragon slayers and their handpicked squires, now numbered
thirty or more, formed a circle around us, cheering loudly,
betting frantically.
"Beat him bloody, Braxton," they shouted.
"Send him home to his wailing mother," they laughed.
"Teach him to love gravel and granite."
I was outweighed by, at least, fifty pounds, but my strength
was far greater than my body revealed. It was a violent
fight. Unfortunately, I was on the receiving end of a fighting
lesson being taught to me by one of the strongest men in
camp. It was Flaxus the Dragon-Slayer, who jumped into the
circle of men, placed his arms about me, and called for
a halt to the bout.
"Well?" he smiled at Braxton, with an inquiring
grin on his face.
"He'll do," said Braxton, a smile forming across
his split and bleeding lip.
"Welcome, lad," said Flaxus. "A skinner
you'll be, just as I was, just as my father's father was,
when taught by Braxton's father. It is where we all start
to learn our craft."
Braxton embraced me, placing his massive arm around my
shoulders, and I felt, for the first time in my life, the
brotherhood of belonging.
*
I remember my first dragon slaying, as if it were yesterday,
although decades have passed since that faithful, infamous
day.
I focus my mind's energies on the virgin gemstone, as Odan
had instructed me to do so many times in the past.
The crystal begins to elongate and spin in different directions,
and then suspends itself in the air, directly above my forehead,
drawing in the images of my past, of the facets of success
and failure. The seductive power of the gemstone drew out
those images, shadows imbedded deep within the recesses
of my mind, images that had long since been forgotten.
*
Ebon perceived flashes of his youthful image. He watched
himself as he removed his dragon skinner's knife from his
boot sheath, and held it at his side, as if to conceal it.
He counted aloud the remaining seconds in his mind, waiting
for the wizard's thunderbolts of energy to strike the blood
red and golden dragon, Accundus the Deadly, and temporarily
paralyze him.
"Ten, nine, eight," Ebon counted aloud, hoping
that the sound of his own voice would calm him for the onslaught
he was about to engage in.
Ebon envisioned how he would strike the dragon a deathblow,
piercing it at the base of its brainstem, one of its few
vulnerable points, while the wizard, Zar-Qu, held the dragon
paralyzed by his spell.
It was a great battle plan it was to have been a classical,
wonderful kill, but it had been a costly conquest. It was
a victory that would enhance his reputation and position
within the confines of the Dragon Slayers Guild, earning
him enough silver and gold to indulge in the pleasures of
life, until the next exploit called his name out, demanding
that he test himself once again.
"We fight together, we die together," the Code
of the Slayers ran through his mind.
Ebon Grupe saw his youthful image standing before his very
eyes. He had matured into a rather handsome but young half-elf
as far as half-elves were concerned, standing five-feet
seven inches tall, weighing 155 pounds of solid muscle.
This was the first time I had been selected to deliver
a deathblow, an honor bestowed upon me as a first-class
dragon-skinner. Today I would take the first step on my
journey to becoming a dragon-slayer, a warrior-knight one
respected by all the world of purebred elves, dwarves and
men alike, no longer the half-breed, the foundling.
"Seven, six, five…"
The skin of the dragon-beast would surely fetch fifteen
double golden gryphons from the citizens of the Vale of
D'Orr that had engaged our dragon slayers' fellowship to
destroy a maddened beast, and rid their valley of this terror.
He remembered his thoughts, as if fresh in his mind.
The cost of lives, however, had been enormous. Only he
and the wizard remained alive out of the comradeship of
18 they had begun the battle with.
Poor Flaxus, he never saw it coming. Nor had the others.
We were all trapped within the Walls of Containment that
we had built so well.
Ebon carried his comrades' death-stones within his bound
inner leather pouch. He would, if he survived, honor his
pledge to his fallen comrades and guarantee that their families
would receive a fair share of the bounty placed on the skull
of the double-horned dragon, Accundus the Deadly. How I
still loathe him, and his name, and all the bastard beasts
that sprang from his loins.
"He's a bit more than 25 feet in length," said
the village elder, Hanaby, as he hired on the team of dragon-slayers.
"Surely no problem for an experienced team. His sire,
Uvonder the Lethal," paused Hanaby, pointing to the
mounted dragon's head over the inn's fireplace, "had
protected this village for 350 years before the 'madness'
struck. We thought, surely, his son, Accundus, wouldn't
go mad so soon, but…" Hanaby's voice faded away,
as Ebon inked his thumb mark on the dragon seeker's ledger.
*
"Four, three, two…"
Ebon gripped the stones of one of the four retaining walls
that the wizard, Zar Qu had ordered erected to stage their
final battle upon. The Walls of Containment had been built
with magic and allure, and had served its purpose: To bring
the dragon-beast, Accundus, to do battle on land. The craftsmen
had built the wall to keep the dragon contained, and away
from the village. It was part of the Code of the Slayers,
to keep the battle away from the village they were sworn
to protect. It was a foolish imperative, but one that was
always followed.
*
The slayers gathered around the camp's main fire. The warriors
passed a huge, steaming silver stein of Slayer's Larger,
heated with purified dragon's blood, the Liquid of Eternal
Life, a sacred and rare beverage, to each member of the
team who would do battle with the enraged, maddened dragon
in the morning. As the steaming brew was passed to each
of the chosen slayers, they would slash their palms, taking
a blood oath to avenge a fallen comrade with their own death
if necessary, as they let their blood drip into the brew
then tossing back their heads before taking a deep drink
from the golden gem encrusted stein.
Those dragon-slayers that had not been selected, toasted
the group of 18 who were. Each selected slayer was positive
that they would see their names inscribed on the Slayers
Wall of Fame as soon as they killed this beast, the one
that the "madness" has struck.
*
Ebon readied himself for the final upward jump and thrust,
as he felt the outlines of the runes that had been carved
into his knife's blade begin to pulsate with mystical energy
directly through his dragon-skin gloves, into his palms,
through his fingers, up into his striking arm.
Sixteen times he had sworn revenge for his fallen brothers,
and now it was time to deliver on his oath.
The image of Calmak, the great dwarven axe thrower, flashed
before his eyes.
Ebon saw his long-dead friend, presenting him with his
slayer's knife, engraved on the blade unknown dwarven inscriptions,
beneath the inscriptions a black shard had joined and melded
within the metal blade.
"Here," said Calmak "may it bring you luck
in your first slaying," his dwarven friend exclaimed
with glee, as he opened his shirt and displayed ancient
dwarven markings upon his chest, identical, it seemed, to
those on the blade.
Ebon Grupe, the half-breed, fingered the mystical writings,
felt the shard pulsating as his hand passed over the blade,
and smiled, knowing that Calmak had given Ebon a great honor.
He knew that the inscription engraved upon the blade combined
with the pulsating shard contained within the metal made
it a weapon of great power.
*
{Ebon pondered that, the sharing of writings, had it weakened
the power of the blade?
{Had Ebon been able to decipher the inscriptions then,
would it have mattered? Would its true meaning be understood?
(Would it have had any meaning to one so young?}
*
Calmak had been crushed by the tail thrust of Accundus
before his axe had left his hand. Ebon found the maimed
and twisted body of Calmak, and winced at the thought of
Calmak's dying effort, to hand Ebon his death stone, securing
Ebon's pledge to bring the gemstone to Calmak's village
for proper rejuvenation.
*
Ebon glanced up at the sky, which had now turned into a
golden-gray. Storm clouds filled the valley; sounds of mystical
thunderbolts filled the air.
"One," Ebon shouted, as he propelled himself
up onto the top of the mountain, and froze in terror at
what he observed. The wizard, Zar Qu, stood transfixed,
as bolts of energy that had left his hands now radiated
back him, surrounding his body, rendering him immobile.
Accundus had countered Zar Qu's spell.
Accundus claw-like hand reached out and grasped Ebon about
his body, imprisoning him in a death-like grip, Ebon's magical
knife immobilized against his body, a useless weapon against
an invincible adversary.
A burst of flame shot forth from the dragon's gaping maw,
engulfing Zar-Qu and reducing him to ashes. Only Zar-Qu's
blazing death stone remained where the once mighty wizard
stood. Accundus reached down onto the smoldering remains
of the finest wizard Ebon had ever known, and plucked Zar
Qu's gleaming green death gem up, then flew off towards
the Mountains of Fire.
As Ebon lost consciousness he heard the dragon telepathically
cry out, "Victory!"
***
{See
Chapter 1}
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