Outcast (The Blue Dragon's Geas) (2 page)

“It is time. We have not sought a dragonsworn in centuries”. The blue dragon rose up its head in determination as it faced the other seven flight leaders. “I know you have doubts. I know you have concerns, but our fledglings number less and less each turn. So this is what I propose. I will find us one I think is worthy of our gifts. Each flight will test him and if they find him worthy, the flight will give its knowledge and gifts. With each flight that he passes, more and more of our fledglings will become safe once more.”

The red dragon rose up on its haunches, eyeing the group with arrogant disgust. “I say we kill the mortals, every one of them and then our fledglings will be safe."
 He snarled. Four of the other flight lieges answered with an approving roar. “Your love of mortals is senseless, Renamaum!”

“Your philosophy for some time now Keensight, and yet you have only brought the mortals to anger and have insured the hunting with even more vigor. The mortals see us now as a resource in these lands. They seek our blood bonded to the earth in our deaths. They seek our meat and our bones. Our fledglings are raised in captivity only to be killed for what will fall from the ground beneath them. In
someplaces, they are bled almost to death...healed and bled once more. It is your hunting that has brought this to pass. No, we need a mortal who can speak for us."  Renamaum’s gaze held challenge as he looked to each flight liege.

The indecision between the flights was clear, and the blue dragon rose up and roared for silence as the large cavern rumbled beneath their roars and stamping. “I will find one
and give my test, if he passes the Blue Fight's test, it will be for each flight in turn to decide if they will accept him. MY FLEDGLINGS will survive."  He came down on all fours in anger. The cavern grew silent other than the hissing breaths of the great beasts. The blue dragon heaved his body around and left the gathering. He took to the air, angered by the lack of foresight in his cousins.

He soared in the wind, letting the cold air wash over him. Slowly his angered ebbed as he made a turn to
ensure the path to his mate’s cavern was safe. He did not see the war machine carefully covered in vines. He did not sense the mortals, hidden by magic from his sight. His first warning was the large lance that landed deep between two ribs. He roared in pain and warning and banked hard to the left, he fluttered and floundered purposely, letting the mortals give chase. His initial thought was of his mate, but gradually he realized his situation was dangerous. If he hoped to save his fledglings, he would need to land and remove the vile wood within him. If he hoped to find the dragonsworn, he must survive this wound. He cast about for a safe place...

“Alador, come on lad, time for us to be gettin’ back. You gonna make it?"  Potre’s voice almost sounded hopeful that he would not. The miner’s greedy eyes were fixed upon the stone in Alador’s lap.

“Yeah, sorry, must have dozed off."
 He opened his eyes to see the light was fading. He must have dozed off for some time. He fumbled the stone slightly as he worked to get into his bag. His head was still hurting something horrible. As he was finally packed and ready to join the others, Mesiande hurried over to him and gave him a big hug.

“I found four others of good weight and several small jewelry pieces. I will have earned my keep this trip."
 She hugged him once more. “Thank you, you did not have to share your claim.”

“I honestly did not feel well enough to have dug it further."
 He muttered. His mind was still caught in the strange dream. It must have been sleeping against the dragon bones that was bringing such strangeness. Regardless of that or the lump, he was glad to leave this place. A dragon grave had never bothered him before but now he felt like they should not be here. He felt as if something was watching.

Mesiande took his hand to guide him down the path to where the korpen waited. She and Alador had shared a beast on the way here, and for once he was glad that he would not be riding alone on the way back. Usually he bemoaned the fact that neither of them could afford their own beast. The korpen’s large back made two possible although not comfortable. Usually their back spikes were only placed well enough for one rider’s comfort. He had found the ride up slightly nerve racking as one spike had been in the small of his back most of the trip. Mesiande had padded it, but he had worried more than once that the korpen would rear up and impale him.

Korpen had originally been slow moving pests that moved in herds and a nuisance to outlying farms. They were single-minded when hungry despite their slow moving methodical pace. In untamed areas, korpen were wild and yet still would let you walk right up to them as they ate. Taming them was easy if they knew that a source of food awaited them. Their massive heads had double horns that were oriented vertically. The upper horn curves forward from behind the head, whereas the lower emerges from the head itself. As a protection from predators such as dragons, their back’s spikes were almost impenetrable. It was useful to the miners as korpen were strong and a great amount of weight could be attached to each spike. Even as tall as he was, Alador could barely see over the back of one.

The slope was steep. They slid their way back down to the beasts’ tie line. Once there, Mesiande readied the animal and then climbed up first and scooted back. He looked at her puzzled. “I...I thought you said a lady should always ride in front.”

Mesiande grinned. “I felt you squirming all the way here. Besides, with that egg on your head, I don’t want you falling off and taking me with you.”

Alador started to argue but then realized she was probably right. He was still terribly sleepy, and his head hurt enough that he planned to seek out the healer when they returned. He let her help him up onto the beast’s back, and when the rest were loaded, they fell into step. It would take a few hours to return to the small village nestled down by the water. While korpen were resilient and could cover any terrain, they were not a mount for speed. In addition to this, they did not go straight down a hill. So a slow switch back system was used to keep them moving forward. If you tried to point a korpen straight down, it would stop and not move at all. They had not made the second switch back before Alador faded back into unconsciousness.

It was two days before Alador was well enough to leave the healer’s hut. Fortunately, his smaller stone had paid for his care, and he had not been forced to once again beg for funds from his brother and the smithy. Many villagers had come to see Alador’s find, but the healer had not let them bother him. So it was no surprise as he stepped into the bright sunlight, blinking quickly to allow his eyes to adjust, that his vision caught half the village waiting outside to see this
rumored bloodstone. He shifted uncomfortably as Potre came up and put a large fleshy arm around him. Always, he had been the one left on the outside of the circle, and now to have so many expectant gazes fall on him, Alador could not help but wish he had kept the stone a secret somehow. He was uncomfortable in front of so many people staring at him and the silence that settled as Potre grabbed ahold of him.

Potre’s voice rang out loudly. “Come on lad, let them see it."
 Potre acted as if they had ever been fast friends. Up till now, he had barely tolerated Alador’s presence.

Alador nodded and knelt down, he carefully untied his
mining sack and pulled the large stone out. He held it high up over his head for all those waiting to see. The gasps of pleasure and surprise were somehow gratifying. He brought it back down, and walked out into the midst of those gathered. Many of those who had so previously shunned him now patted him on the back, and more than one caressed the stone. Alador was overwhelmed by the attention, the comments, and the constant touching of those about him. It was as if he was the luck pole, and each one needed to touch him or the stone. Finally his oldest brother, Dorien, came to his rescue.

“All right, I am taking him home. You all have seen enough. Alador just left the healer’s hut, give the poor boy some space."
 Dorien put an arm around him. His brother had grabbed his mining sack, and began to move him out of the circle.

Dorien had rarely touched him kindly in the past. Alador had always felt the child not wanted even in their home. So to have his brother take him in the shelter of those large blacksmithing arms and guide him home was more of a shock then the village react
ions. He realized that, despite the unfamilarity, he was grateful for the protection from the many eyes that followed them.

“Dorien, why all this fuss over a bloodstone?"
 He asked as they approached the stoop of their home. The house had always amused him. It was as if each room had been added as an afterthought. The stairs to the upper portions had been placed on the outside due to the small rooms within being unable to accommodate them. It was a maze that the small ones loved for games of hiding. The best thing about it though was the rich hues of brown and cream, the smell of his maman’s cooking, and the warmth that filled its walls. Even with his status as a half breed, his home was still one filled with love; well between sibling fights and his maman’s scolding.

“Alador, have you no idea what your stone might fetch?"
 Dorien looked at him with a calculating gaze.

“Well, knowing what I get for the small ones, I thought it might be enough for this year’s upkeep for myself, maybe a little extra to take care of a female’s small ones
, someday."  He admitted not quite sure. “I have never seen one so large, so…not even sure if it might not be just too big."  He stared at the stone. It was heavy, and when you held it up, you could see through it like red window pane glass, although its thickness distorted that view somewhat. He held it up and gazed through it as they paused outside.

“Alador, you will never have to
mine again if you don’t want to. It will fetch enough for a lifetime. It will put you in the same graces as Ketchen."  Ketchen had made his slips by an invention to a plow he had created. Every blacksmith including Dorien had paid him a great deal to get the specifications for the plow head. Even Lerdenian smiths had come to learn the design. It could deepen the furrow and was less inclined to bind with the spring grass. This had given him enough slips to choose his craft, and he had the nicest house in the village. Alador looked up in surprise at his brother. He had many times envied Ketchen, who always seemed to be in the alehouse or out on his stoop.

Dorien looked at Alador. “You will likely have every female competing for your attention now, despite your...father’s race.”

Alador stopped walking and turned to face his brother. “I...I do...what will I do?”

Dorien’s deep laugh echoed, alerting their mother of their arrival. “You must be the only middlin in town who does not dream of a day where he does not have to toil for his keep.”

Their conversation was interrupted by their mother, Alanis, rushing out to take Alador in her arms. “I was so afraid we lost you."  She checked him over quickly, causing laughter from his brothers and sister. They pulled him into the main room of the house where he found a meal laid out for him. His mother pushed him into a chair. Her philosophy ever since he could remember was that food would cure all ailments. Dorien took the stone from his hands, and he placed it in the center of the table.

Tentret, who was also older than Alador, stared at it. “I have never seen one so clear.”

Alador paused from shoving the cream soup into his mouth. “That is what I thought, the stone is so clear that I fear it will lower its value.”

“Or raise it."
 Offered his little sister, Sofie, hopefully.

“Even if it lowers the value somewhat, Alador, I doubt you will feel the loss over much."
 Dorien offered, turning a chair so he could rest his chin on the back as he straddled it.

“We must have a drawing of it before it is sold."
 Tentret ran to fetch his drawing things and then worked a quick sketch of Alador eating with the stone in front of him. It would allow the family to keep a record of how large the bloodstone really was.

“I bet it has all the power of the entire dragon in it."
 Sofie offered. “An enchanter will pay dearly for such a gift. I would if I could wield the magic...”

Sofie’s words were cut off as her mother backhanded her off the chair with a firm scolding.
“Daezun don’t soil their souls with the twisting of magics. We leave such risks to Lerdenians. I had best never hear such foolishness from your mouth again."  Maman was usually a kind of hovering sort of mother until the talk of magic was brought up. It was odd given that she had taken Henrick, Alador’s father, to her ritual furs. The mage seemed to have a way of making her forget her hatred of such things, this only intensified it when he departed. Despite knowing her reactions to such topics, Alador still winced when his mother backhanded his sister.

“Yes
Maman."  Sofie wiped her mouth clear of the specks of blood caused by her teeth biting into her lips. “I didn’t mean no harm.”

“Look how hard your brother has had it, looking like his father. No man will care for your small ones if you be talking such nonsense.”
His maman continued her scolding, her small hands now on her hips.

Alador rolled his eyes causing a chuckle from his brother as his mother’s favorite threat began once more. He wiped the last of the soup out of the bowl with a piece of bread loaf as he did so. Ever since Alador could remember, his heritage had been used in comparison for why and why not a particular action should or should not be considered. The only time he ever saw any difference in this derision of his Lerdenian blood was when his father came to visit. The enchanter softened something within his mother and not a word of ill will about his heritage was whispered. He had often wondered if the enchanter had cast some spell upon his mother for her to have chosen him in the circle in the first place. She would become giddy and almost like a middlin again whenever the mage was in the village.

Sofie’s eyes glistened with tears she dare not shed in her mother’s presence. Daezun women did not cry; only small ones cried. Alador flashed her a sympathetic glance. Sofie had recently had her woman’s time and as such, would go into the circle this year. She did not speak of that much. There was a side of her that longed to leave the village. Something her siblings teased her about a great deal for only traders ever left the village, and everyone knew that traders were the worst kind of folk. In many ways, Sofie was still a young middlin. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to act as one any longer. Alador felt a bit of sympathy for though she was fully Daezun, her dreams did not fit the Daezun way.

“Maman, do you think I can have some more?"
 He asked, holding up his empty bowl. He was so hungry, a strange gnawing within him as if he had not eaten for days. Besides, it would help take the attention off of Sofie. His sister whispered a wordless thank you as her mother turned to look at Alador.

His mother, true to form, grabbed up the dish to hurry off to the stove. Now focused once more on Alador, she let Sofie be. “Of course, my dear, of course, you surely have not been fed a measure of decent food in that blastin healer’s hut. When you are full, I have arranged a bath in the hothouse for you."
 His mother bustled about like a mother hen.

Alador wrinkled his nose. “A bath?"
 The hothouse had been built around a natural spring. The fires in the house kept it warm, and the water came from the ground at a fair temperature as well. However, Alador had never liked bathing in it. He was different from the other men, and one rarely used the house alone. He did not care to think about the comments that were made about his body, none of them were complimentary. He definitely did not feel like being singled out any more today.

Tentret chuckled as he kept deftly sketching. He knew full well why Alador did not like the baths. But, as usual, his brother said nothing. Alador flashed him a pleading look, but Tentret ignored him. Alador was on his own for this one.

“Yes! A bath!"  His mother took a tone, one that he knew would be useless to argue. “First, you have a healer’s stench about you. Second, I seen how you are walking. The soaking will do your body good. I even have some meraweed for the fire."  Her eyes met his in a firm scolding way, and he obediently looked down as she set the bowl of soup in front of him.

“Yes Maman."
 If she were parting with meraweed, he dared not dig in. Meraweed had a strange property that relaxed the body and made one lose track of time. It seemed to help in healing wounds and aid in other illnesses. He wondered if it would help with the odd pain in his ribs or the sensation that his very blood burned. It had eased slightly over the last two days, but he still felt it when he stopped to think about it.

“Good, it is settled then. Sofie, run and fetch your brother a drying cloth and a fresh set of clothes."
 Alador did not look up as he ate. He already knew by Sofie’s intake of breath that it was an insult to be sent to wait on him. He usually did the running for all the others. He did not look up again till Dorien spoke. He sat and wondered about this change even in his mother. He had never seen slips as all that significant to the way things were.

“After you’re done with that bath and your head clears Alador, stop by the forge. I think we need to talk about a couple things."
 Dorien’s tone also brooked no argument and by the look that passed between his mother and his brother, Alador knew something was up.

“Yes Dorien."
 Alador responded quietly, he watched as his brother stood up and swung the chair back around the right way. It was one of the things he admired in his brother. There was a commanding air about him and an easy confidence. His eyes often sparkled when he was up to something. He was also in high demand in the circle.

“I will be off then. Josen wants that plow head by the morrow, and it isn’t quite right yet."
 Dorien picked up the stone off the table. “Folks will be expecting you to hide this here. I will take it over in the forge in the wheelbarrow and hide it well.”

Alador nodded and glanced at Tentret who was still sketching. Apparently he had enough done because he didn’t argue when his brother scooped up the bloodstone and strode out. Tentret made his keep doing sketches and paintings. It was a rare skill in a village, and many had come to his brother for house pictures and such. He also helped with sketches of new tools and buildings. Tentret had a way of knowing what something should look like in the way another described it. However, he also knew Tentret would not show it to him until it met with his own satisfaction.

Alador was just finishing the second bowl of soup when Sofie came hurrying back into the room. She laid the neat bundle tied with twine upon the table. His mother slipped a pouch containing the meraweed onto the top of the bundle. She was pulling the bowl out of under him even as he put his last spoonful into his mouth.

“Best you get over there."
 She nodded towards the door.

“I am a little tired Maman."
 He offered in hopes of getting out of a bath. He really had no desire to sit in the hothouse and be the spectacle for others to whisper about or to be drawn into conversation about the stone.

“All the more reason to go soak in the spring and rest there. Besides, Sofie and I have work and you will just be in the way."
 She practically pulled him from the chair and shoved him out the door, thrusting the bundle into his arms as he stepped out. His mother was not a small woman by any measure.