Blood and Royalty (16 page)

When their comrades came out of the cavern, they went scrambling clumsily for their bows. Several of the men emerging from the cave were torn and bleeding. One was smoldering and missing an arm. Red embers flared on the end of his stumped elbow as he stumbled headlong from the cavern and sprawled onto the ground.

“The Captain’s dead!” A terrified voice called out.

“The dragon’s coming behind us!” Another yelled. “Archers, be ready!”

Had it been the Captain’s voice, they would all have continued scrambling for their bows. Instead they stood there, slack-jawed and shocked as Crimzon came loping out of the cavern. A screeching blast of fire finished off the armless man as well as the man trying to help him. From another direction, a crackling strand of yellow erupted from Clover’s finger tip and electrified another man where he stood.

A few of the mercenaries managed to get to their weapons and fire arrows back at Crimzon and Clover. But after Crimzon snatched up a man with his toothy maw and violently shook him in half, the others turned and fled, leaving everything behind save for themselves.

Only a single man of the Captain’s party remained. He was still down in the cavern. He had hidden in the rocks when the dragon showed up. He found the tiny, crystal-blue dragon’s tear Crimzon cried so many months ago. Mistaking it for a jewel, he pocketed it. The rush of power he felt was nowhere near as powerful or intense as Clover’s had been, but the man felt it just the same and knew his destiny lay elsewhere. He stole the coin purses off several of his fallen comrades, then quietly slinked away into the tunnel from where Crimzon emerged to surprise them.

In the valley, after all the surviving men fled, Crimzon lifted his head proudly and let out a trumpeting roar of dominance that curdled even Clover’s blood. When he was done, the dragon bowed before Clover and lowered his wing to allow her to mount his back.

“Comes Clovers, let’s hunts them down!” Crimzon hissed vengefully.

“Do you think it’s necessary?” Clover asked, feeling the throb of pain in her hand starting to lessen.

“They will tellss taless and brings back otherss if we do not!” Crimzon rationalized.

“Yes,” Clover reluctantly agreed, “but this place can’t be your … our home forever. There’s a whole world beyond these mountains.”

“Yessss, Clover,” Crimzon growled. “but climb upon me ands we wills chase them as they go. Theys deserves no easy escapess.”

Clover climbed on and had just gotten situated when Crimzon jumped into the air in a single leaping stride. On powerful surging wing strokes the young red dragon, and a very lucky woman, chased away the bad men. After that was done, they decided to explore beyond the mountains.

Crimzon and Clover would have many more adventures. Some you might hear about in a tavern or in a bard’s tale like this one. After all, the world is but a playground for a girl with a dragon.

The End (for now)

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Crimzon & Clover II

The Tricky Wizard

©2011 by Michael Robb Mathias Jr.

A slight chill passed through the Merry Motley when the man entered. It wasn’t much; a hesitation that affected the whole of the semi-crowded tavern house for half a heartbeat, but it was noticeable. Clover sensed it plainly, but she didn’t look up from the goblet she was sipping. She knew the mage was looking for her. A boy had come to the saddler’s earlier and told her as much.

“Are you the lucky girl?” the man asked from beneath the hood of his dark cloak. He was tall, and when the nearest lantern flame flickered, Clover saw he had only a day’s worth of growth on his middle-aged face. “Are you the one who rides the red dragon?”

“And if I am?” Clover asked, looking up with curious brows. Her strawberry hair was pulled tight against her head, held in place by a plain silver wire band wrapped around her ponytail. Her eyes were dark as well. Dark green, like swamp moss.

She was wearing loose fitting britches and a doe skinned vest over her work shirt. Even sitting down, the modest attire couldn’t quite conceal the curves of her well formed body. She was tired and sweaty from laboring on the dragon saddle she and the leather-man devised. She was in no mood for nonsense, but she was curious enough to offer the mage a seat. He pulled out the offered chair, but continued to stand.

“You are she.” He pushed back his hood, revealing a shiny, but well sunned, bald head. His eyes were those of a man who bore ill news. “I have a message for you. The esteemed wizard Balin Zekker asked me to beg of you a deed of kindness. He took into care a pair of orphans who were bitten by some venomous thing that got into their crib. He says your wyrm’s magic is the only thing that can save them from a terrible death.” The man sat heavily. He sighed as if he was as relieved to be rid of the message as he was to be off his feet. “He says you must fly like the wind if you care to save them.”

“Where are they?” Clover asked as she downed the remaining contents of her tankard. She had been somewhat orphaned when she was a girl. Her mother died birthing what would have been her little brother. Her father, who was at one time an apparently revered man, ended up being good for nothing save for finding the bottom of cups.

Under the table Clover’s hand slid its way into her belt pouch and wrapped around her dragon tear. Before its great power had a chance to overwhelm her, she channeled the rush of the Dour magic into locating Crimzon. Her dragon was in the nearby mountains hunting, but he could be there by the turn of a glass. There would be time to finish the riding rig later. If there was a chance she and Crimzon could help the orphans, she felt they had no choice but to try.

***

Clover never ceased to marvel at the dragon beneath her. He was an excited child, full of curiosity and glee. His warm scales felt like the finest silk against her thighs. He was sinuous and graceful. He was awesome.

Crimzon had wide leathery wings, and claws that could snatch a small cow right out of a field. He was full of odd wisdoms, and as proud as any creature had ever been. He was fierce, strong, and at the moment Clover knew her companion was hungry. They had been flying for two whole days.

“I sssee the ones I swants,” the young dragon hissed into Clover’s mind.

They were soaring high over a wide, brushy plain where an unsuspecting herd of antelope was grazing. Crimzon had passed over them twice now. Clover didn’t like seeing the gory meals being consumed, but she knew she needed to let her dragon feed and rest. “Set me down, then,” she sighed. “Over there, where those trees grow dense along the stream.”

The eager dragon swooped slowly around and glided into a stall over a flower-filled glade along the stream. Clover sensed something strange, but couldn’t finger it. She slid from the dragon’s back and decided she didn’t feel threatened. She was glad, because the hungry young wyrm was already leaping back into the sky. Her only weapon other than the magic of the dragon tear she carried was a small crossbow. It was deadly, but hard to load quickly.

After a moment, she realized what was bothering her. Her surroundings were unnaturally quiet. The gurgle of the stream continued in the distance, but there was no buzz of an insect, or even a single bird’s call.

It was because of Crimzon, she decided. His presence could still nearly every living thing.

She took a slow turn, taking in her surroundings. Piney sentinels, furs maybe, hoarded the spaces that the tall elm trees didn’t fill. She was in a horseshoe shaped open area of shin high grass. The opening of the shoe faced the stream and was lined with flowering shrubbery. There was a small pebble strewn flood wash that opened onto a wider pool. The fresh scent of the flowers reminded her that she hadn’t bathed in half a week. She welcomed the idea of a long soak. She tried not to think about anything at all as she started trudging through the lush toward the water.

The water was icy cold and crystal clear, but she disrobed and slid into the sizable pool anyway. The middle was deep enough that her feet no longer touched the bottom. After a few moments, she grew used to the temperature and laid back for a soak. Her long hair splayed out on the surface like a scarlet fan. After a moment, one bird, then another braved flight on its way back to the clearing. She wished she wasn’t wondering how and why the wizard’s messenger traveled so far to find her.

Only Clover’s face was above the water now, and her thoughts slowly wondered away. Her back was arched and her body floated just under the surface, held buoyant by her well-rounded breasts.

A time of calm pleasance passed, but a breeze picked up and chilled the exposed parts of her so badly that she rolled herself over in the water and started back toward the bank.

The cold on her skin reminded her of the long winter she spent in the bed of a man that she didn’t really love. It was an odd memory that gave way to others. She had loved a different man when she was younger. He was a swordsman. Her girlish hopes for children, and a life with him, ended abruptly when she saw his well hacked body lying limp on a cart with the other men who had died that day. But all of that was before she found the four leaf clover and her incredible run of luck begun. And even that had happened years before she and Crimzon found each other.

Two strokes and her feet found the pebbly bottom of the pool. Her luck held true. When she looked up, the fleeting glint of reflection from something metal at the edge of the tree line came to her eyes.

Someone was spying on her from a perch in the trees.

Clover was naked, but didn’t react as some women would. Instead of rushing to cover herself, she went on casually, taking her time with her garments, letting the sun dry her skin.

The breeze picked up again and a sweet lemony smell came to her nose. Then a gasp sounded, from another section of forest. Clover realized there were more than two people out there. To her bewilderment, she soon learned that she was not the reason for their presence or their wonder.

Another gust of wind came, this one rattling limbs as it rushed through the trees. The sky filled with little bright blue fluffs of pollen. The lemony scent grew stronger, and the motes the wind displaced began to sparkle like sapphires in the sun.

It reminded Clover of snow; fat, billowy blue flakes of it. Only it was like floating jewels, and the stuff was so light that only a very few bits of it ever made it all the way to the ground.

“Go,” an excited voice commanded from across the clearing. “Go now, she won’t bother you.”

A boyish voice responded. “But her firewurm! It might return!”

“Come on, I’ll show you,” the first voice urged, if hesitantly.

A thin boy with long, silvery hair and a stick net eased out of the trees. He was followed by a smaller boy. Across the clearing at another point in the tree line, more young men were emerging, each of them carrying a hoop net mounted on a stick. Cautiously, they began sweeping the nets around, capturing the glittery pollen in them. Clover was amazed.

***

From the rocky place he laid to let his meal digest, Crimzon sensed Clover’s uneasy awe and mistook the feelings for fear. He rushed to the clearing, arriving with a rather large roar of warning. He came flapping down hard. Blue sparkles went whooshing away from his wing strokes as he held in a dominant hovering position over the clearing. The boys with the nets went screaming and falling over themselves trying to get back into the forest.

“No Crimzariathon!” Clover screamed, both aloud, and in her mind. “They are no threat!”

“I see thisss,” the dragon hissed a response, but didn’t change his posture. He was enjoying the moment. He started to say more, but hiccupped and twitched instead. He hiccupped again, then sneezed out a leaping gout of flame. The floating sparkles that were caught in the fiery blast brightened into a stark white sizzle, then popped away for good.

“Mustsss leave this... thisss... this... thaw chew!” Crimzon sneezed again. The pollen was making the built up char in his nostrils tingle. “Musst leaves... Thaw CHEW!”

Clover didn’t hear his warning. She took two steps toward her dragon, clutching the fist sized dragon’s tear that was in her belt pouch as if it were the only thing for her to hold onto. Its magic filled her, but not before she went falling forward into a dreamy, lightheaded tumble.

***

A bed of soft carillon flowers caught her. She rolled in the petals, tossing them like a gleeful maiden. You’re not really on a bed of lemony smelling fauna, a voice in the back of her mind screamed at her, you’re drifting away. A loud roar echoed into a chorus of shrill terrified screams. A blast of heat wafted across her skin and brought tiny droplets of sweat to her brow. Then a wavering shimmer of coolness consumed her and she could hear chaotic reflections from several, young, murmuring voices.

“The wizard is trying to trap you so he can steal your firewurm,” a child warned. “He wants to take it away, like he took my brother.”

“There are no bitten orphans,” added another child. “But you must go and play the fool.”

“He is evil,” said a third voice.

“That he is, and his eyes are set on your wurm,” agreed the first speaker. “You must put an end to him, before he puts an end to you.”

“Please, put an end to him.”

***

“Cloversss?” the inflection of Crimzon’s hissing voice betrayed his concern. The world spun when she opened her eyes. Her heart went thundering through her chest when she saw there was nothing but space below her. She was clutched in her dragon’s claws and high enough from the ground that the trees looked like pinecones. She found she still had her hand wrapped around her belt pouch.

It was a relief.

“Set me down. Let me on your back,” she huffed. “What happened? You didn’t hurt them, did you?”

“I left the fae alone. The aroma had hold of you,” the dragon answered as he curved his flight around and began banking lower so that he could set Clover down easy. “The sun has just left the sky. We’ve not come far.”

“Are you’re in need of rest?”

“Tomorrow, I will rest. This night is perfect for flying.”

On the ground, Clover buckled her belt pouch and situated her studded leather armor-vest before climbing on the dragon’s back. She wished the riding rig had been completed before the messenger came, but it wasn’t. Still, Crimzon was right. The moon was a pale shade of yellow and mostly full, giving the few puffs of clouds in the sky a golden lining. The voices she’d heard echoed faintly in the back of her mind as Crimzon lurched them back into the air.

“Please, put an end to him.”

“Yes, please.”

She didn’t discount the warning. She had already grown suspicious of the messenger’s story. Four days of dragon flight was about three weeks on horseback. The children would have been bitten near a month ago, and that’s only if the messenger found her immediately upon arriving in the Vell.

Now with the cool, fresh air filling her lungs and clearing her mind of the haze, she was beginning to think maybe the strange warning wasn’t just a flower dream.

As dawn breached the sky, they could see the wizard’s tower in the distance. It sat proudly, high on a rock strewn crest. She would let Crimzon rest before getting any closer. She wanted to tell her dragon of the voices that warned her, and of her own concerns. The few real wizards she’d come across in her day were formidable. If he was worth his salt, this one would know of their proximity even now.

“Find yourself a place to curl up,” she said. “Preferably one where I can keep an eye out for trouble while you rest.”

“There,” Crimzon indicated into her mind a flat shelf on a fist of rock ahead of them.

“Yes,” she approved. “I can see any who might approach from below there.”

They landed, and before Crimzon settled he retrieved a large mouthful of a dead tree’s limbs and set the pile to blazing. After he slithered into a tail to snout curl, she told him of her dream.

“It matters not,” Crimzon reassured in a tired, halfhearted, manner. “A mere wizard is no match for us.”

“We don’t know if he is a mere wizard, Crim. He might have help, too. We must be careful.”

“Yesss,” the sound of the hiss faded softly. “Carefullss we willsss be.” Then he was asleep.

***

Late the next evening, Crimzon brought them into a wing-thumping landing at the base of the dark, block-formed structure. It wasn’t as impressive up close as it appeared on their approach. Clover thought the colorful, well tended flower boxes on either side of the banded entry door looked out of place. It was a grim looking tower; three times as tall as Crimzon’s raised head. It wasn’t very big around, but the steep peaked metal work at its top lent it a bit of majesty. It overlooked a valley that was plagued by so much scattered rock it would have been hard to farm. The stream that flowed down its middle was more than a trickle, but not by much.