The Green Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 3) (9 page)

“I don’t think I can run any further,” Beth said, pulling up and leaning over, breathing heavily enough that she couldn’t speak more.

Wulfric stopped and trotted back to her, allowing her to catch her breath. He looked over to the south at the road that was just visible in the faint starlight. Soon, Tira and Sara would rise, and it would be easy enough to see their way forward. “Can you not use the breathing techniques that Greyson taught you?”

Beth took several deep gulps of air and tried to slow her breathing enough to talk again. After a moment, she spoke, her voice sounding fainter, though calmer. “We really didn’t discuss the subject, especially . . . concerning breathing . . . after running so quickly for such a . . . long distance.”

Wulfric knelt on one knee to bring his head closer to hers, as he towered over her by a good height. Reaching for her shoulders with both hands, he gripped them tightly and forced her to look at him. “Listen to me, Beth. You are an Initiate of the Arnen. You must do this, or the people living between here and Vulkor will die tonight. Do you understand me?”

He literally shook her with every one of his last words for emphasis. Beth wanted to cry but stifled the urge. “Can’t you run ahead and warn them? I will come as quickly as I can, I promise.”

Wulfric held her firmly, though he shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, obviously trying to calm himself more than anything. “My oath is unbreakable. I am honor bound to protect you here and now, and that means even at the expense of hundreds of innocent lives along the war path of the Ekins and Kesh. I cannot warn them without you, and I cannot break my vow. Do you understand now?”

Beth nodded, still breathing heavily, and she closed her eyes, gripping her staff tightly, thinking of her teachings from decades ago. Unlike the Kesh, she felt the energy flow into her from her staff, and her breathing slowed, getting deeper as she willed herself to calm. Wulfric had released her, resuming his stance after standing and taking two steps back. He was impatient but knew she had to do this in order to save the nearby people.

Beth didn’t rush, taking her time until she felt sure that the energy that she had summoned had indeed reached her through her staff, and she willed it into her tired limbs and oxygen-starved lungs. With a determination that surprised both her and Wulfric, she opened her eyes and spoke only two words. “Let’s go.”

Wulfric bounded after her, and now she ran like the wind. The tall Ranger couldn’t help but smile as he struggled to keep her pace. He hadn’t told her, but during one of her earlier rests, he had taken the time to run nearer to the road and check on the progress of the Kesh. They were trotting in unison despite their heavy armor and arms, and that caused the man more than a little concern.

He wasn’t lying when he said that he’d let the entire western half of Vulcrest perish before the Kesh army if that was necessary to protect her life. Beth, and indeed her companions, Tristan and Elister, didn’t understand the nature of their order. They had to survive. Agon mandated it, and it was up to the Zashitors of old to protect them as they had done for countless millennia. Fate had bigger plans for them, and it wasn’t up to a lone protector to question it. Wulfric was only glad that he didn’t have to test his honor and his oath.

“Well, come on, Wulfric, don’t lag now,” Beth said, looking over her shoulder while running at close to a full sprint, at least for her diminutive frame. She laughed lightly, hardly breathing even deeply at all, increasing her pace a tad more. Yes, Agon taught her Arnen well, and it took centuries, but at times, the learning curve was accelerated, and Wulfric marveled at the change in his ward. The Arnen Initiate was now outrunning him, pulling away slightly with little to no discernable effort.

Wulfric ran as fast as he could with the ground racing by beneath them. The Ranger was one of the strongest, fastest, and indeed, bravest in all of Agon’s history, yet this young woman was testing his limits. The twinkling light of torches near the road faded in time as the pair outran the Kesh column. When they had reached the first small settlement, Beth slowed to allow him to catch up with her.

“So what do we do first?” She sounded pleased with herself.

Wulfric breathed heavily this time, placing his hands on his hips and resisting the urge to lean over or fall to the ground. The thought of vomiting occurred to him as well, and he had to dig deep within his training to suppress that urge. “Warn the townsfolk and tell them to get well away from the road.”

Beth didn’t hesitate, running to the first building where a simple cabin stood, a tiny bit of smoke coming from a crooked stone chimney. “Awake, awake,” she cried, pounding on the door and then running toward another building. There were only five buildings huddled together, one of them a makeshift inn and small tavern.

“Who goes there?” came a stern man’s voice as the cabin door opened slightly, and the sound of a hound could be heard barking within.

Wulfric answered from the road, several dozen feet away. “There is an armed force coming from Ekins. You must rouse yourselves and flee from the road.”

“Stop spewing such tales, stranger. There ain’t be no Ekians near here. They ain’t that stupid enough,” the man said, and a woman’s voice could be heard inside, asking what was going on at such a late hour.

“No, they’re not,” Wulfric said, raising his voice so that others who were also opening their doors or windows could hear him, though he was lowering his tone, making it sound more menacing. “They are, however, bent on revenge and emboldened by the Kesh and, believe me when I tell you, that half the army approaching is comprised of Kesh and Balarians.”

That seemed to do the trick. There was more than enough murmuring and then a great amount of activity. One of the other townsmen yelled from a nearby cabin. “How much time do we have?”

“I’d say no more than half an hour, though to be safe, you must leave here sooner than that. They could always send a scouting unit to ride ahead and kill any resistance or citizens in their path,” Wulfric answered.

Another man yelled from the first cabin. “Forget anything but food and a simple change of clothing. We leave together for the Hillshire meadow in five minutes.”

Beth and Wulfric didn’t know what or where the Hillshire meadow was, but the intent was more than adequate. “We move on,” Wulfric yelled, and motioned for Beth to follow.

“Don’t forget to warn the Joneses,” a lady said from a window, holding a small child who appeared to still be asleep despite the commotion.

“Where are they?” Beth asked from the roadway.

“They are a couple of leagues down the road but hidden behind a row of trees and brushes to the north of the road. They are set back a ways, but they rise early and will be easy prey if you don’t warn them,” the first man said from his doorway.

“We’ll take care of it,” Wulfric said, nodding and then running after Beth, who had a head start.

The twin sisters rose that night, illuminating the area well enough. The pair found the Jones family, and it was a good thing that they were warned. It was not easy to see, as the trees seemed to be naturally planted along a small creek bed.

Everywhere they went, the initial reaction and subsequent reaction was the same—disbelief followed by mobilization. In time, the twin sisters set and plunged the countryside back into starlight, the darkest before the dragon fire would arise in the east. The citizens of Vulcrest were warned, and for decades afterward, the tale of the Ranger’s Run was told countless times, as it was burned into local lore by the folks of the far western lands.

“There it is.” Beth motioned with her hand and arm, pointing toward the lit torches of the walled city. It was immense beyond belief for Beth, though in reality, it was quite small compared to the central realms, especially those of Tyniria and Ulatha. For the reclusive Druid’s Initiate, it seemed an immense structure, with countless towers, a massive gate structure, and a central city that was alive with activity even late into the wee hours of dawn.

“Time to warn them that death approaches,” Wulfric said.

“Why do you do that?” Tristan asked, annoyed that yet another lengthy pause in their search was happening yet again.

“You mean, why am I listening?” Dunric asked, looking back at his ward.

“Not the listening, the listening for so long,” Tristan complained from behind his tree a few feet from Dunric. “I swear to Agon that I want to shake you sometimes just to see if you’re still awake. You turn to stone for such long periods of time.”

Dunric smiled. “Yes, better if Elister would have come with me.”

Tristan seemed hurt by the remark. “That’s not fair.”

“Perhaps,” Dunric said, “but it’s true enough.”

“Well, Elly doesn’t do well when you mention a green dragon . . . Actually, he doesn’t do well if you mention any dragon, for that matter.” Tristan looked around, the mere mention of a dragon caused him to shudder in expectation, as if the creature would be looking right at them from nearby.

“You wouldn’t do too well either if you had been through what Elly had,” Dunric said, his smile fading as the Ranger became all too serious.

“We heard the tales,” Tristan explained. “When we were boys, some of us picked on Elly, and Master Greyson explained what had happened and told us that the mere mentioning of dragons was forbidden upon pain of expulsion.”

“You believed him?” Dunric asked, both brows rising.

“Shouldn’t we have?” Tristan asked, not believing that the Ranger would imply deceit by his old teacher.

Dunric nodded at his ward, giving him a look that indicated he understood more than what was being said. “Don’t let the old man fool you. This happened right before your time of adulting, did it not?”

“Yes, so what?”

Dunric chuckled. “Greyson would use all advantages in order to maintain a semblance of control over you, including a bluff like that.”

“You dare to imply our teacher would lie about expelling us?” Tristan said, his voice indicating both disbelief and offense by his Ranger protector.

“I don’t imply, I know,” Dunric said, still smiling. “In some cultures, they call this time, when you are in your teens by special names, and it is a time to avoid at all costs, if one can do so.”

“I hate it when you speak in riddles,” Tristan said, giving Dunric a frown for good measure.

“Most kind of you, considering it’s been decades since we last spoke,” Dunric replied.

Tristan took the time to absorb their banter and its meaning, remaining silent and allowing Dunric to stand still, listening to the forest’s sounds without further distraction from him. The druids, and Rangers for that matter, marked the passage of time differently than most of Agon’s inhabitants. They slept for long periods, and their metabolism had slowed their aging process so that they could serve over longer periods of a human’s normal age, time that Agon herself reckoned in millions, if not billions, of years. It was mind-boggling even to the Arnen, who thought they understood it best.

Only one other species understood the flow of time better than the Arnen. That was the draconus species, dragons in the common tongue.

After what seemed like several long minutes, Dunric met Tristan’s gaze, holding it for a ten count before speaking. “There is something less than a league distant in that direction.” He held a finger out, pointing toward the heart of the forest. “It is not human nor wild animal.”

“Then what is it?” Tristan asked.

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Dunric responded.

“Me?” Tristan’s facial expression turned to surprise.

“Yes,” Dunric said, his voice low. “You are Arnen now. You should know how to do this.”

Tristan frowned again, allowing Dunric to shrug and let go of his gaze, turning his head to look forward into the forest.

Since Dunric seemed content to stand and listen, Tristan focused on hearing as well and noticed that it sharpened considerably. He could make out the flapping wings of a nearby butterfly. He heard the soft squishing of a caterpillar as it moved along a slender young tree branch to the Ranger’s right. The chirping of birds seemed almost deafening in his heightened state of listening that he almost didn’t hear what the Ranger said to him. “What?” Tristan asked, realizing that Dunric had returned his gaze to him.

“I said, use your staff,” Dunric said louder, motioning with his head toward the polished wooden staff in Tristan’s right hand.

“Okay, no need to get testy,” Tristan retorted, and stared back at the tall Ranger. After a few seconds, Dunric again, for the third time, resumed his peering into the heart of the forest.

At least it’s not Wulfric
, Tristan thought to himself, waves of memories rolling over him. Decades ago, the Rangers had overseen the gathering of Initiates, and Wulfric had a reputation for being the least pleasant and most strict of their protectors. Still, all three of the Rangers were more than a little peculiar in their dealings with the new students.

Tristan knew that the forest was more dangerous than most of the inhabitants of Vulcrest knew. Even within the relative safety of the high mountain abbey, Tristan and his fellow Initiates had learned about the forest, its creatures, and the legends and myths within that were more real than the imaginary whispers of folktale lore.

Straining to calm himself and focus, Tristan closed his eyes again and channeled his thoughts and energies through his staff. The sounds became louder, but this time he could tune out the ones that were mundane, the falling leaves, wind rustling through others, small creatures rustling the high grasses as they moved about the forest floor in search of food.

Slowly, he heard the faint breathing of someone far away. The air escaping through clenched teeth gave the Initiate the distinct impression that the being was under stress, if not duress. There was no signs of movement other than the soft humming vibration of silk rubbing off of silk, and when he opened his eyes, his staff was pointing toward the same direction that Dunric had indicated earlier.

“You’re correct. The entity is in that direction, about a league distant.” Tristan bobbed his staff for emphasis.

The pair headed off with Dunric in the lead, heading toward the point that Tristan had indicated. They traveled for nearly an hour, taking care to walk as silently as possible. When the sound of breathing became heavier, Tristan stopped, and Dunric noticed it immediately, stopping as well. The Ranger didn't speak, instead crouching and resting a hand on the hilt of his sword while looking forward into the heart of the Greenfeld.

Tristan knew that Dunric had him in his peripheral vision, so he closed his eyes and concentrated again on the sounds around them. The breathing was much closer this time, yet in the same direction. Opening his eyes, Tristan moved forward cautiously. When Dunric moved, there was a distinct sound, as if fabric was pulled quickly against itself.

The Initiate stopped immediately, and Dunric was quick to do the same, both men frozen in place, hardly breathing themselves. There was a pause of a few heartbeats when a soft female voice spoke from not so far away.

“It isn’t polite to frighten a lady.”

Both men looked at each other and then returned their gaze forward, searching for the speaker. The leaves on the tree limbs swayed in the gentle breeze, making a slight rustling sound as they rubbed together. Birds continued to chirp and call to one another from deep within the forest. The morning sun left a golden, yellow glow over the forest canopy, hinting at the warmth it would give that day, yet neither man spoke.

“It also isn’t polite to ignore someone addressing you,” said the soft female voice, compelling and alluring him to come forward and show himself.

Slowly, Tristan found himself walking toward the sound, one step after another, and he glanced over at Dunric, who shook his head violently, motioning him to stay back. Tristan knew he should be heeding the counsel of his protector, but the voice compelled him to come forth.

The next few steps, around a tree and between a pair of tall bushes, revealed a small, petite figure standing perhaps only twenty feet away, leaning on a tree. The young-looking female was dressed in a sheer blue silk gown that swayed in the wind. Her eyes were a brighter blue than the sky, and her hair was an ivory white, colored with strands of golden hair intertwined, and it blew gently in the breeze around her shoulders. She wore no shoes and had no jewelry or other accoutrements on her.

“My name is Tristan,” he said, his voice faltering and sounding weak to him. He blushed, feeling the warmth of his blood as it rushed to his cheeks, and he swore he felt young again, like a young man in adulting, if he didn’t know better. “I’m sorry if we frightened you.”

Tristan understood his mistake immediately. The young lady seemed to tilt her head slightly in confusion before it dawned on her that there was more than one visitor to her forest. Then Tristan realized she may have not heard him and instead his Ranger protector. He was confused, and then she spoke. “I am called Willow, and at least you have the decency to follow the rules.”

“Rules?” Tristan asked, wondering what rule he was following or what rule he could be breaking without even knowing.

“To treat a poor child of the woods with respect, of course,” she said, standing upright from the tree and tentatively taking a few steps toward him.

“You don’t look like a child,” Tristan said, his eyes locked on hers. He had never seen such beauty before. Beth was one of the few women he had ever met, and she paled in comparison to what he was seeing. She was simply . . . divine, for lack of a better word.

She laughed, throwing her head back slightly and shaking her head. Her hair flowed around her shoulders and back, finally coming to rest on her bosom as the gentle breeze died down. “You are so sweet,” she said. “I was speaking metaphorically.”

Tristan returned the smile and then heard the faint sound of Dunric’s footsteps as he approached, though a good few steps behind the druid Initiate. Returning his attention to the woodland lady, Tristan spoke. “Is this your home? Are you lost?”

He sounded sophomoric, but he didn’t care, or was it that he couldn’t care? What was his fascination with her? He felt his grasp on his staff loosening, and the sharp, clear sounds of the forest gently died away until he could only hear her soft voice. “I am close to my home, and I’m never lost, though I could ask the same of you . . . both of you.”

“No, Tristan,” Dunric said from behind him, his voice sounding harsh and commanding. Its very sound was now grating and irritating to Tristan, and he felt that the Ranger shouldn’t be interrupting them.

“It’s all right, Dunric,” Tristan said, turning his head slightly to his left so as to be heard better, “we simply found someone who lives nearby and could be in danger herself.”

Dunric’s response was both immediate and harsh. “That is not someone; that’s a dark dryad, Tristan. Do not approach her.”

A shadow seemed to fall around them, and Tristan was more than annoyed now with Dunric. First, he accused his teacher of lying to him, and now he all but was rude toward a perfect stranger, and not just any stranger. A poor woodland lady alone in a dangerous forest near a deadly dragon, and what did he just call her . . . a dead dryad? What was a dead . . . ?

Tristan’s foggy mind started to recall a lesson from his master many decades ago, something about the inhabitants of the forest, and especially the Greenfeld. He looked at the woman, and she seemed to be scowling at Dunric, and then just as quickly, her face reversed itself and she looked directly at Tristan, smiling. “Pay no heed to your friend. He is rude and jealous of you.”

Her voice sounded much more pleasant than his companion’s. Why couldn’t Dunric see . . . No, wait, what was he remembering? Something about the creatures of the Greenfeld. If only he could concentrate. His mind seemed clouded, and it wanted to focus only on the woman’s voice. That in and of itself was odd to Tristan, but he couldn’t understand what was happening. “Don’t let her touch you,” he heard Dunric say, his voice harsh.

Touch? Tristan noticed the young lady had started to take a few more steps toward him now, her hand outreached in a warm, welcoming gesture. Her face was kind and inviting, beautiful and friendly. Tristan found himself smiling back at her, and his free hand started to reach out toward her.