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  Aiden’s Quest

  Dane Bagley

  Copyright © 2016 by Dane Bagley

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission from the author. For information send request to [email protected]

  Website https://www.danebagley.com/author/

  Email [email protected]

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance or similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN 978-0-9979576-2-4 (eBook)

  For Thomas, Kaylyn, Tyler, and Katie,

  with whom I have shared my love and my life’s adventure.

  Chapter 1

  The people who called themselves, of Dargaer, had enjoyed the past five years of peace and prosperity. Never in their lifetime, nor throughout their known history, had this people lived so long without an episode. Their ruler, Drashmaer, was deservedly credited. He had established the sentinels and perfected the weaponry. He had organized the people and had empowered them. Their confidence in him, and in his ways, were no longer bounded.

  Drashmaer too began to be swollen with confidence and pride. His people were happy, contented, and safe, and most importantly, completely loyal to him.

  It was planned by no one, but rather it came about through the circumstances. Never had their harvest been so abundant. Never had they enjoyed the resources of time, of grain, or of leisure. So, they brewed by the barrelful and had more kegs than any had ever seen before. The work of the harvest was completed and the food was stored—more food than they ever had for the long winter that lie ahead. It may have been carried on the wind through a chain of whispers. Perhaps it was sensed more than heard; but that night many barrels would be cracked, and the contents would be drunk, and temperance would not be known.

  Friendliness and good feelings abounded. A wink or a smile, or a cheerful expression emanated from all corners. The people of Dargaer had no concept of a holiday or celebration. It was a luxury to which they had never been permitted, for they had faced nothing but fear over their many years. Finally, they had hope, and they had drink, and they had time, and nothing would be needed for them to do on the morrow. They had no word for it, no clear way to express it verbally to one another, but tonight they would party like no other time in their known history. Everyone felt it and knew it, and twilight was approaching.

  “Aye, she’s a lovely lass, but she pays ye no never-mind,” said Jashion, a handsome young man of seventeen with fair skin and light brown hair.

  “Aye, ‘tis true, that ‘tis. But her pa’s got him fourteen kegs and I’d make my way, that-a-way, even though she weren’t there, I would” said his freckled red-headed companion, Jarem.

  “’That so, eh. Ye ain’t even got a mug to drink with,” said Jashion.

  “I’ll cup me hands and drink it like that if I had to. Your comin’ with me, ye are ye know.”

  “Suppose so.”

  “What we waitin’ for, come on.”

  As they made their way they passed the home of old man Frairmore. He was in his early fifties; he was the oldest man of Dargaer. He was outside his small shack; he smiled brightly as he saw the boys. Frairmore had thinning, straight, grayish-brown hair, and was rather short. If anyone was looking for the wisdom of age, there was no point in stopping here. Frairmore was kind and sociable, but as dim as a mud puddle. How he’d survived the years was anyone’s guess.

  “Where ye off, me lads?” asked old man Frairmore.

  Jashion sunk from the question, but not Jarem. “To Turney’s, old man.”

  “Aye, to Turney’s. Aye, good that ‘tis. Aye, to Turney’s ‘tis, good luck to ye lads,” he said with a wink and a smile. Frairmore turned in to his shack and the boys continued on.

  As they meandered the sun set and outdoor fires began to speckle the ground, while the stars began to speckle the sky. The smell of roasted goose and roasted pig permeated the air as the spits dripped with their juices. Several companions had joined the boys as they made their way to Turney’s. The echoes of talk and of laughter grew as the night grew dimmer. First mugs, then bellies were filled with brew.

  The boys, six in all, felt starving and thirsty, though they were neither. But the scents, and the sounds, and the mirth were contagious. Their anticipation waxed as they approached.

  “I hear it’s a whole side o’ beef, he’s roastin’,” said Bagen.

  “Lamb, too,” said Darron.

  “Fourteen kegs!” said Jarem.

  “Aye,” muttered the throng.

  As they approached Turney’s their hearts didn’t sink and they weren’t disappointed. Meat and brew aplenty was there for the taking. Siccly Turney approached them, a long blond and fair skin beauty of seventeen. Even the food and drink were momentarily forgotten as they gazed upon her.

  “Where’s ye mugs, ye sillies?” she said to no one of the group in particular.

  Jarem, the bravest, spoke up, “I’m just cuppin’ it with me hands, me will.”

  “Nay, but ye’ll keep ye filthy paws out of the brew, ye will,” she said with pleasant sternness. “I’ll fetch ye a couple of mugs, I will, but ye’ll share, I say,” she said turning and moving toward her home. These boy’s expectations were already far surpassed.

  Singing and dancing began as the hunger and thirst abated. From some distance the guards could hear the echoes of the gaiety. Stalwart had been the guards, never loosing focus of the task at hand. They kept their eyes trained on the sky with their weapons close and ready. Each of the guards, surrounding and protecting the people, had witnessed the death of family, friends, and loved ones. They knew the danger and they kept their eyes focused; but this night they were distracted. The sounds and the aromas led to an acute awareness of the festivities. Though they were well fed before they took their post, they too felt a hunger and a thirst gnaw at them. To a man they felt it, but to a man they kept their guard.

  It may have been wives or daughters, girlfriends or chums, but slowly people made their way out to the boundaries—to their favored sentinel, and brought with them the excesses of food and drink. Perhaps they felt their absence, or perhaps they knew that the guard’s presence allowed for the celebration, but the sentinels were on their minds.

  So the man, eyes steady on the sky, would hear footsteps approaching, and the smell of pork would make his mouth water. Then a loved one, with breath stinking of the brew and eyes wild with delight and drunkenness, would stand next to him.

  “Here, ye must have some. It’s so very good, and there is so much. Just take a minute, I’ll watch the sky with ye. Ye see, all’s well, and the sky is quiet. Take some, I’ll help ye.”

  The temptation was too much; so each man slowly lowered his weapon and took his plate. He kept his eye on the sky, but his weapon was down, and his mouth was full, and his stomach began to be satisfied; but then he was thirstier than ever. With time, barrels were rolled out and mugs were brought.

  “Nay, I shan’t have a drink,” they would each say.

  “Nay, but ye must have one—just one, now. Ye must wash down the meat. It’ll do ye good—keep ye alert. There now, just a mug full, that’s it. It’s very good, isn’t it?”

  So, in the wee hours of the night the festivities roared in Dargaer, the guards having lost sight of the sky and forgotten where their weapons lay. Never before had the people of Dargaer celebrated as such.

  Off in the distance a creature lay sleeping. With senses of smell and hearing far in excess of the most impressive blood hound, this creature snapped open its fiery red eyes and breathed in deeply and knowingly the odor of Dargaer.

  “Ye
hadn’t e’en a pint, had ye,” said Siccly to Jashion.

  She had been dancing and frolicking around all night. Yes, she’d been drinking the brew some, but more so she had been drinking in all of the admiration from the many young men milling around her home that night. With most of them sleeping or senseless, she made her way over to Jashion. He’d had his eye on her from afar, but was shy by nature.

  “Nay, but Jarem’s been hoggin’ the mug all night,” Jashion replied.

  “Aye, ‘tis true, that is,” she said as she looked over at him to the left.

  Jarem was sitting down with a mug full and singing at the top of his lungs. Earlier some music had been playing, but at this point the only sound was a drunken a cappella, for which Jarem had the lead part. They both laughed as they watched him for a few moments. Jashion knew that Jarem would be pleased that Siccly knew of his existence, and that she was paying him some attention. She turned back, smiled brightly, and then began to sway into dancing. Jashion felt a spark of delight as he saw that he had Siccly Turney to himself, and that she seemed to be enjoying herself. He had watched her flit around all night, from one boy to the next, and could see the look in each boy’s eye when it was his turn. With most of the boys past the point of conversation, or even standing, it was his turn.

  Yes, he may have been the last one standing, but the look in her eyes told him that it was more than just that.

  “I’s watchin’ ye all night, I was,” said Siccly sweetly. “I knew that ye’d outlast all these other sillies, I did. I figured once they was out, then I’d have ye to me-self, I did. S’now look, we’s dancin’ alone, we is.”

  Jashion’s heart began to melt. Jashion was tall and handsome, with just enough bashfulness to be attractive. Siccly had her pick, and she was indicating that she was picking Jashion. What she said to him at this moment was completely true; she felt the conviction of it as she spoke to him. That is how he sensed the sincerity and why his heart began to flutter. But, it was equally true when she had said similar things to the other boys throughout the night. Siccly’s emotions and infatuations were a bottomless pit; she had fallen in love over and over again throughout that night—madly, but not deeply in love.

  Here she was feeling it for Jashion and, in reality, these feelings had been building for some time. He was not stinking and stumbling with the brew, as the other boys, and this piqued her interest. He was quiet and bashful, but not awkward. He was tall and handsome, and though shy, still, he was self-assured. She had noticed that he was paying attention to her from a distance that night. She had also noticed that he had paid attention to other girls as well. This played well in his favor, for she liked to have all of the attention, and at this moment she had it all.

  Was Jashion in love with Siccly? Sure, who wasn’t? Siccly knew how to stir the pot such that all of the boys had feelings for her that were simmering, but none were boiling or burnt. He, like the other boys, admired her beauty and was enthralled by her attention, but was not so overcome that he hoped that it would turn into anything real. She was in her own league compared to all of the other girls, but also compared to all of the boys; so, no one considered themselves a match for her. Instead, all of the boys took pleasure in watching any one of them receiving of her flirtations. She was a prize to be sure, but a prize far beyond any of their reach.

  So Jashion indulged in allowing his heart to beat faster as he gazed at her beauty at close range, and over a prolonged duration. He could stare because she was watching him stare, and her eyes told him that it was okay—it was what she wanted. The instrumental music had started back up and her swaying began to take up the rhythm of the song. She reached for Jashion’s hand and took it encouragingly. She helped him lead her into a twirl. When their eyes met again she smiled excitedly. Jashion became aware that he was smiling widely. He was experiencing exuberant pleasure in her company, and was expressing it without latent caution.

  “Ye’d really hadn’t e’en a brew, had ye? Not e’en one?” she said pleasantly trying to start some conversation.

  “Nay, not e’en one,” he said matter-of-factly.

  At this point he would have been happy to take a brew, if that was what she desired. He was not likely to do anything that could have jeopardized his companionship that evening.

  Instead she replied, “Aye, well it’s for the better, it is. Ye smell better, and ye’re not so silly as the rest of ‘em. I’m havin’ a good time with ye, I am. And your fun e’en without the brew, ye is.”

  “Aye,” he said.

  He felt relieved. He had planned on drinking with the boys that night, but every time he had come to that point, he shrank away. He hadn’t sworn it off, but he also didn’t really want to partake. It may have been because of his father. His father had taken to drinking when his mother was killed in the last attack, five years earlier. On a stormy night, two winters past, his father had been out late. Word was that he had drunk a mighty bit. He had decided to brave the storm, and mounted his horse. Jashion had become accustomed to being left alone at night with his father coming in late and drunk. But the storm was fierce and he was not able to sleep. When the lightning struck and the thunder sounded simultaneously he shot up and looked out the door. He saw his father’s horse rise up, but his father was not mounted. The horse was spooked and kept prancing up and down. Jashion ran and saw his father on the ground trampled. The horse took off; he knelt by his father’s side. His father tried to speak but was unable to utter any words. The smell of the brew on his breath was his last memory of his living father.

  His father died that night and was buried the next day. Jashion was alone, but he worked in the fields and earned his keep. It was not so unusual for a person to be an orphan in the land of Dargaer. It was lucky if the child were old enough to earn their keep. Times were good and Jashion was fine. He was well fed, happy, and no worse off than most anyone he knew.

  “I like ye, ye know,” said Siccly. They’d been dancing for a little while without speaking. She’d stopped and had leaned in close as she said it. He could smell the brew on her breath, but it was milder than he expected.

  “I like ye, too,” said Jashion bravely.

  “Course ye does, ye silly. All the boys like me, they do. It’s only who me likes that counts,” she said mirthfully.

  She smiled flirtatiously and Jashion blushed. She may have said it in jest, but truer words could not have been spoken. That silly boy may have noticed the other girls, but I’ll have any boy I like, she thought. Now, he only has eyes for me, and I’ll keep it that way for as long as it pleases me. Perhaps she would have liked that for some time. The more time she spent with Jashion, the more she liked him. There was something different about him, and he was handsomer than the rest. He required a little effort on her part, and that stood for something too. Plus, what could a girl do with a silly boy passed out on the ground.

  Speaking of passed out on the ground, that was the state of the sentinels surrounding Dargaer. A large dark silhouette could have been seen crossing the starlit night sky if anyone had been looking—but they were not. The large dark creature with scorching red eyes flew over the barrier of the guards and looked down on the scene it had expected. There would be no warning and the creature would not be in danger. Dromreign would consume, devour, and destroy the fools of Dargaer. Most were so wasted that they wouldn’t know what was happening to them. Dromreign, the fierce black dragon turned its eyes from the guards and then turned its attention to the heart of Dargaer.

  Human flesh was a delicacy and the dragon had not feasted like it would that night in quite some time. As Dromreign looked over Dargaer it noticed that each little residence had the after effects of a fire— perhaps some embers, or a little flame. The real fire had not yet begun.

  A woman screamed, and it knew that it had been spotted. No matter, the screams were a delight to its ear. Human flesh tasted better when laced with adrenaline. Dromreign roared and belched out a ferocious flame. Already shacks were a
light and more screams rung through the air. A larger bon fire caught its eyes; the dragon turned towards it. Dromreign lit up the meager homes that were in its path and headed towards a larger home, with more humans, and a larger fire.

  “What’s that sound ‘n’ smell?” ask Siccly scrunching up her nose.

  Something was going on but Jashion was in such a trance that it took him a moment to awaken from it. They separated mechanically from each other and began to look around, listening attentively. Another roar shot through the air and Jashion caught the look on Siccly’s face. She was stone white and petrified. He looked in the direction that Siccly was looking and caught his first sight of Dromreign. A little fire was still in the dragon’s nostrils, and those red eyes penetrated into his soul. With no time to react Siccly was in Dromreign’s talons. Dromreign roared in delight and fury as it ignited the Turney’s home. Siccly had no ability to scream as her lungs were crushed in its grasp. Siccly would become Dromreign’s first meal, with Jashion powerless to oppose the gigantic creature.

  The first pass of Dromreign over the Turney’s would not be its last. In the next pass, only moments later, it provided an ignominious death to a large group of drunken and passed out partiers, Jarem among that group. Jashion watched in horror and then began to run.

  Dromreign saw him running, but elected to ignore him, choosing mass destruction over the chase.

  Jashion was filled with horror, disgust, and fright. He ran and hid behind a boulder. He could see and hear some others screaming and running, but it seemed that most were too wasted to move. They, the people of Dargaer, were like sitting ducks. Where had been the guard? Were they drunk, too? Jashion was as powerless as Dromreign was powerful. There was nothing he could do to stop the bloodshed and destruction. Dargaer was going up in flames, his people were dying and being devoured. The sounds and smells of horror and violence were all about him, but he could not shake the memory of the worst smell of all. It was smell of Dromreign as the dragon flew right past him and captured Siccly. It was rank, and putrefying, and vulgar. He, unlike anyone else it seemed, had his wits about him, but he regretted it then. He wished that he had the brew to dampen this experience. He had no desire to take in what his eyes, ears, and nose beheld.

  Dromreign had devoured his fill of human flesh. But, its appetite for cataclysmic destruction was unquenchable. Jashion collected his thoughts, and saw that the dragon was systematically destroying the homes and the people in its way. It was heading away from Jashion, but at some point, it would be back his way. Jashion had never set foot out of Dargaer, but soon there would be no Dargaer left. He began to run southeasterly out of Dargaer. As he ran past burning homes, and burning flesh, and heard the shrieks and cries, a particular sound caught his ear.

  It was someone crying. Though he heard this sound all around, this one was different. It was a little child, and she didn’t sound hurt, but rather scared. He couldn’t tell where it came from at first, and he was afraid to stop his course. Still, this child was alive and perhaps he could save her. He dared not yell out, but stopped and listened. A small and burning shack behind him and to his right seemed to be the origin of the sound. The roof looked to be on the verge of collapsing. He ran to the shack and ripped opened the door. A little girl, about six years of age, was crouched and huddled on the ground. He could not see any others inside. The child was wearing nothing but a white night gown, and held a little doll. She looked his way as he opened the door. Tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  “Is ye alone?” he shouted.

  She nodded, and continued to cry.

  “Shush and get ye here,” said Jashion.

  The child did not move, but continued to sniffle and gaze up at him. Jashion ran towards her, and she shrieked in fear. He picked her up; she did not resist. The roof would collapse at any moment. He took her and ran towards the door. As they exited the door, the roof did collapse, and he felt the heat on his backside. The child cuddled up to him then, as stiff as could be. In the distance, he could hear Dromreign shriek. The dragon was heading his way. He looked to his right and his left, but did not see anything that could hide him and provide him shelter. He ran on, hoping to find his way out of the city before Dromreign was upon them.

  Again, a boulder emerged, and again Jashion hid behind it. The backside of the boulder provided a small caved-in area and Jashion place the girl on the ground in the cavity. She looked up at him with fright, but he shushed her again, and looked up to catch a view. Dromreign could not be far from them.

  Indeed, it was not. The beast’s red eyes could be seen in the dark, and the dragon was heading his way. He ducked behind the boulder and pushed into the cavity as best he could, pinning the child between him and the rock. His head was down, so that he could not see the dragon fly directly overhead, mere feet from the top of the boulder. But what he did not see he could smell. It was even fowler this time as the scent wafted down upon them. The little girl couldn’t take anymore. Between the fear, and the terror she was experiencing, that scent sent her over the edge and she vomited on the spot. Jashion backed away, in part from the vomiting, but also because he wanted to see if Dromreign was returning to where they hid. They would not be protected from its gaze if it came at them from the other direction.

  The dragon was nowhere to be seen, but that was even less comforting. The smell of the vomit could not penetrate the foulness of Dromreign. The little girl was finished heaving, and looked at him as though he would punish her.

  “Come ye here, is ye done?” he said gently.

  She looked at him carefully, and nodded slightly. As she approached he wiped her mouth with the bottom of his shirt. He picked her up and after scanning the area again, took off running. The dragon’s screech could be heard some ways off in the distance. He felt a hint of hope that they may make it to the edge of Dargaer.

  They reached the edge of the dwellings and began to make the climb up the rocks to where the guards should have been. Sure enough, the guards were there sleeping in a drunken slumber.

  “Wake ye, ye fools!” he said as he kicked a guard in the back. His arm muscles were burning with the weight of the girl, and his anger knew no bounds. He continued to scream and kick the bodies that he saw, but there was no hope of arousal.

  “Can ye walk, me arms tired?” he asked the girl.

  She nodded and he began to lighten her to the ground when he noticed her feet—they were bare.

  “Aye, ye got no shoes, do ye. Ye can’t walk bare-shodden, can ye?”

  The brave little girl nodded and he let her go. They walked away in the darkness towards the east. Jashion had no understanding of the land, nor did he have any plan except that he was heading away from Dargaer.

  They walked as fast as the little girl’s legs could carry her. As they walked she began to sniffle again.

  “Ye feet hurtin’, isn’t they?” he asked kindly.

  She shook her head and kept walking ahead. It was true, there was plenty to cry about that night, even without one’s feet hurting. Jashion reached his hand down and grabbed hers. She held her doll in her left hand and Jashion’s hand in her right.

  “Ye a name, don’t ye?”

  She nodded, but did not offer any words. Jashion had not realized that he hadn’t told her his name either. The pair walked for some time in silence. The ground was soft, but occasionally she would step on a stone and he could see her wince. Dawn was slowly approaching; they could see quite a way in front of them. Jashion did not know what he was looking for, but he knew that whatever it was he could not see it. As far as he could see there was nothing ahead.

  “I’ll carry ye s’more now.”

  The pretty little girl with long, dark-blond hair looked up at him. Her tear stained cheeks and her bloodshot eyes only began to tell the tale of her night. Her little legs were tired and her feet did hurt. She had never stayed awake through the night and she was exhausted. Jashion lifted her up and cradled her in his arms. His arms and legs were tired
too, but seeing that the child fell to slumbering quickly in his arms, he was pleased that he was carrying her.

  Off in the distance a wooded area was spotted to his right. In every other direction all he could see were rocks and dirt interspersed with weeds. He hadn’t remembered passing a tree. The wooded area broke up the scenery, and provided a destination of sorts. Perhaps it was the burning of his arm muscles or the hope of a spring of water, but somehow he lengthened his stride as he walked towards the trees.

  It was dawn, and though still very early, it appeared to him that he walked in daylight. His mind was on what lay ahead, temporarily suppressing what lie behind. If he had considered it, he would have known that Dromreign did not stay out in the daylight, but rather only appeared with the cloak of darkness. But perhaps he would not have realized that the path he had chosen was precisely the path that Dromreign would take back to its lair. It wasn’t until he heard the fierce shriek of the dragon in the distance, far behind him, that he realized their predicament. He and the child were in the open and unprotected. They would be spotted easily from the air. The only hope of a place to hide were the woods ahead.

  With the sound of the shriek he began to run towards the woods. The second shriek, heard only moments later, indicated the speed of Dromreign—it was gaining on them quickly. Had they been seen? If so, even the woods could provide no protection. Dromreign would turn them into a heap of ashes in no time. Jashion’s only hope would be to reach the woods before they were noticed. But they were alone, and Dromreign could track them by their scent. Was he following that scent now? Would he follow it to the woods, and then scorch it anyway? Jashion’s heart pounded with his exertion, fatigue, adrenaline, and fear.

  Further screeches from the dragon were louder than ever. It was fast approaching. The woods were closer too, but perhaps not close enough. The child’s eyes opened with a penetrating scream from Dromreign. Jashion felt that they had been seen, but with nothing else to hope for he raced for the woods. The girl began to tremble in his arms and her body tightened. She did not make a sound; she was petrified. The next shriek brought chills to his spine and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He was so close to the woods; was it any use? He passed the first outlying tree, and headed towards the more densely wooded area further in. He did not stop nor look around, but kept going towards the darkness ahead. Fallen tree limbs began to crack under his footsteps, and his running slowed. He dared a look over his shoulder, but saw nothing. The screech told him that Dromreign was nearly to the woods.

  As Jashion turned his head to look ahead, a sharp burning began on his right leg. He had scraped it on the sharp edge of a rock. It forced him to slow to a stop. The pain was intense and his already exhausted body wanted to just collapse in a heap. But the child was in his arms, so he forced himself to drop to his knees slowly. He laid the girl in front of him and then going to a sitting position, reached for his right leg. Already his pant leg was soaked in blood, and the warm and sticky sensation of blood on his hands unnerved him. The girl had not noticed his leg as she was looking up and to the northwest, the direction where she heard the shrieks.

  A shadow approached the ground near them. Jashion looked away from his leg and over at the girl. Her widened eyes told him what she beheld. Dromreign was nearly above them and she had a clear image. He had seen this same expression, just hours earlier, on the face of Siccly. The reminder sickened him and his heart sank. Not wanting to look, but not able to keep himself from doing so, he gazed up at the sky. Though hidden somewhat through the foliage, Dromreign was passing overhead. Jashion looked down at the child and put his blood-stained finger to his lips.

  She would have screamed, and if she had they would have been finished. Dromreign’s eyes were burning in the sunlight, and its dark-adapted eyes saw poorly in the day, anyway. If it had been tracking them, it could have followed their scent. But its nostrils were so full of the scent of human from its recent conquest that the trickle of scent from these two had not triggered an arousal. Dromreign’s belly was full, and its only desire was to return to its cave and sleep contently. Still, its keen ears would have heard her scream, and it would not have let them be. The dragon would have burned down this section of the forest, rather than let them live.

  As the dragon passed by, its vulgar scent permeated the air. The two companions had been holding their breath. When the immediacy of their vulnerability was past they both let out their breath and panted heavily. Fear, fatigue, and for Jashion, pain, mingled with the rotten scent of Dromreign made it impossible for them to feel safe, secure, and pleased for having escaped. The little child, sleep deprived, hungry, cold, aching feet, began to sniffle again. She did not have the strength to turn it into a full cry. Jashion winced in pain. He worried that his escape from Dromreign may only lead to his bleeding to death.

  The little child looked over at Jashion’s leg.

  “Ye’s bleedin’,” she said.

  “Aye,” he said, feeling faint and lying down.

  She stood and walked over to his other side to have a better look. She crouched down and looked for a few moments.

  “Ye need a bandage, ye does.”

  The cut was about mid-cafe on the right side of his right leg. The pants kept them from having a good look at it.

  Jashion began to think. He did need to do something about his leg. He tried to roll up his pant leg, but it was so blood soaked that he could not. A sharp edge rock was in sight.

  “Fetch me the rock, will ye,” he said to the girl.

  She hopped over quickly and brought it to him. It took some time as he worked at cutting the pant leg off just below the knee. The girl watched him for a bit, and then stood up and walked around the area some. She then came back and crouched near him again, and watched.

  “Me’s Jemma,” she said.

  Jashion stopped for a moment and looked at her with a smile.

  “Glad to know ye, Jemma,” he said kindly and then went back to work.

  “Who’s ye?” she asked.

  “Oh, Me’s Jashion.”

  She nodded, and then sat down beside him. He stole another look at her face, and saw the sheer exhaustion. She needed sleep, food, better clothing or a blanket, and shoes. He had none, and needed to take care of himself. But she sat patiently and did not complain.

  Finally, he was able to get through the material, and after removing his right shoe, he gently pulled down the lower pant leg and removed it, exposing the wound. Jemma pulled up to her knees and leaned over for a good look. It was a deep gash, but bled less than would have been typical owing to his extreme sympathetic response to all of the trauma. Warriors often survive deep cuts because of their blood being brought deeper into their tissues because of their bodies autonomic response to excitement or danger.

  Jemma grabbed the pant leg and began to wander off.

  “Where ye goin’ wi’ that?” he asked.

  “Me’s goin’ to wash it.”

  Jashion had been so preoccupied that he had not noticed the stream nearby. Jemma was gone for some time. He began to be concerned, but he was in no position to get up. He thought of calling to her, but worried about making too much noise. He lay back, filled with fatigue, and closed his eyes.

  The next thing he knew, he felt moist coolness on his aching leg. He opened his eyes and realized that he had drifted into sleep. Jemma was by his side and was attempting to clean his wound with the washed pant leg. He watched her for a few minutes. It was painful, and she was so little, but he let her to her work. Again, he closed his eyes, and again he was awoken by the same sensation. This time he did not open his eyes, but rather drifted off again.

  In reality, Jemma cleaned and washed the pant leg over ten times in the stream. The bleeding had not stopped, but it had slowed. Finally, she sat next to him and just held the makeshift bandage on his leg. He snored peacefully. She saw that the bandage was not being filled with blood, and so she let it stay there. Jemma was glad to help this young man, wh
o she knew had saved her life. She was, however, famished. She was also cold. Her feet had spent a lot of time in the cool stream. It felt good on her feet at first, but then she was having a hard time staying warm. Food, a fire, and a place to lay her head were all that she wanted. She saw her doll, and tried to turn the dolls belly into a pillow. It was uncomfortable, and she was so cold. So, she walked back over to Jashion. Jemma could feel his body heat on her feet as she stood next to him. She lay down close and rested her head on his shoulder. Jashion did not move, but rather snored deeply. It was only a matter of moments and Jemma was snoring softly as well.

  This wooded area was indeed the only place on the path from Dargaer to the lair of Dromreign that was safe from the attack of the dragon. If they had not made it to the woods they would not have survived. This wooded area, however, was not a place of safety—far from it.

  Chapter 2