Offspring (The Sword of the Dragon) (5 page)

“Master, let me deal with them,” Specter said.

“No, I did not give that task to you and, though you are strong, my friend, I cannot risk losing you in that battle. It is up to Ilfedo and my daughters who remain to deal with those creatures.”

“But if you would not send me for fear of
losing
me, why send them?”

“Because, my friend,” the dragon rumbled gently, “though you are strong, Ilfedo is stronger. And though you have the gift of invisibility, Ilfedo has the gift of the sword of living fire, with which yours cannot compare. No, you must remain in these forests and watch over my offspring.”

Lifting his head to gaze at the trees surrounding the hollow, Albino said, “The boy is gone.

“Here, take these and keep them safe until they can be given into the hands of my offspring.” The dragon opened the palm of his other clawed hand. Therein lay the rusted sword of Xavion and the blade boomerang Dantress had retrieved from the fields around Al’un Dai.

Specter took the weapons into his arms with near reverence. “I will do as you ask.”

Both he and the dragon dropped the shrouds of invisibility and regarded each other with sober resolution.

“Ilfedo will soon leave his home to seek out the Sea Serpents.” The dragon snapped out his leathery wings, sending a wave of air across the woodland clearing. “He will soon know the extent of the power of the sword I gave him. At least, that is, the extent of its power when wielded by him.

“I wish you the full blessings of God.” And with that the dragon crouched, digging his claws into the ground, and launched himself into the distant western sky.

Stepping noiselessly between the trees, Specter stood in the hillside clearing. The early morning sunlight settled over a group of about forty people. Their soiled apparel and disheveled hair, and the assorted bags and other items lying about them as they slept, seemed to indicate they had made a sudden and hasty trip through the wilderness.

Children curled under blankets with the men and the women. Their breathing seemed ragged, uneasy.

Ilfedo’s house stood behind them on the hill, silent and lifeless except for two white birds. Specter saw the sunlight glint off the birds’ silver beaks, and he sullenly directed his attention to the northwest corner of the clearing where six figures emerged from the forest, one of them with not one sword but two hanging at his side.

The woodsman and five identically dressed women stopped at the clearing’s border, looking upon the sleeping group. Ilfedo, cradling his child in his arms, took a step toward his sleeping visitors. Another group appeared on the opposite side of the clearing, and Specter recognized a few of them.

Ganning walked with a decided limp as he skirted the sleeping individuals. Fast on his heels strode Honer. He was a taller fellow with sandy-blond hair and very broad shoulders. Behind him marched Ombre, a gray fur coat on his back. The head of the dead wolf hung limp over his back like a hood.

Two women accompanied them, one following Honer. The other lingered at the eastern boundary of the clearing, her eyes darting from one prone individual to the next. At last, she too skirted the group and followed Eva.

Specter closed the distance between himself and Ilfedo so that he could better hear what transpired. As he approached, he got his first peek at the dragon’s offspring asleep in her father’s arms. Peaceful and beautiful she looked. Wrapped in a soft white sheet, Oganna slept with her mouth open.

The air that morning was warm and gentle.

“Ombre, Honer, Ganning.” Ilfedo accepted a hug from each of his friends and then smiled through his tears as Honer’s wife stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “Eva.”

“Is this …?” Honer’s wife looked at the infant with tender blue eyes. Her blond hair fell over her eyes and she brushed it back over her ears with her fingers. “Is she yours, Ilfedo?”

Choking on tears, Ilfedo nodded, kissed the infant’s forehead and then held her out to the woman. Eva accepted the bundle as if it were gold. “She’s beautiful!”

For a little while Ilfedo’s friends and their wives fawned over the child, then Ombre stood aside and raised his eyebrows. “Ahem, Ilfedo?” He swept his arm toward the five sisters standing like living statues half-a-dozen yards away. “You haven’t introduced us.”

“Of course.” Ilfedo wiped his face with his sleeve, smearing dirt through his tears. “Please,” he said to Caritha, “do come closer.”

One by one he introduced the sisters of his deceased bride, giving each a warm smile. At once their faces relaxed. His friends and their wives introduced themselves in kind and welcomed the sisters into their circle.

“You will have to join us for tea sometime,” Eva said, rocking the baby in her arms.

“Thank you for your kind invitation.” Caritha inclined her head for a moment toward Eva. “But we are here for the child, to raise her and protect her.”

“Protect her?” Eva said. “Protect her from what?”

Specter caught Ombre watching Caritha throughout the conversation.

Aroused by the chatter, the people encamped in Ilfedo’s clearing stood and ran toward him. The five sisters moved into position between Ilfedo, Eva, and the people, their purple skirts swishing over the grass as if they floated. Reaching down into their skirts they parted a hidden fold in each of their garments and drew out their rusted short swords.

The people stumbled over each other as they came to a sudden stop in front of the sisters. Ilfedo raised his hand and shouted, “Lower your weapons and let these people speak.”

Laura stabbed her sword into its sheath and folded her skirt to hide it. Evela and Levena relaxed, sheathing their weapons, while Rose’el frowned, then shrugged her shoulders and followed suit. Caritha started to do likewise. She pulled the fold of her skirt aside, revealing the sheath, but a rugged woodsman leaned close to see and she angled her blade toward him.

Ilfedo shifted his gaze to only her. “I command you to do this if you wish to remain with me.”

She retreated a few steps, hiding her rusted blade in the folds of her skirt.

“We are refugees from the coast,” the group’s spokesman said, fiddling with his soiled brown beard. “The Sea Serpents are back. Nowhere in the Hemmed Land is safe now. Nowhere! They’re killing everyone they find, and we can do nothing to stop them.

“Please.” He and the rest of those assembled dropped to their knees. “We have heard that you are a great hunter and that you slew the serpents who came before. Please! Come to our aid. Kill these creatures, and we will give you anything you ask!”

Ilfedo wiped his face with his hand and pulled the man to a standing position. Resting his hands on the bearded man’s shoulders, he turned to Honer’s wife and looked at his child. “Will you watch over her until I return?”

“Of course,” Eva replied.

Caritha spun toward Ilfedo. “What? No, Ilfedo! We will watch over her—”

He shook his head. “I need you to come with me. I can’t do this alone.”

She looked stunned. Nevertheless, with a slight bow, she promised her help.

“Rose’el, Evela, Levena, and Laura … you’re with me as well,” he said.

Evela smiled a bright little smile that made Specter feel warmed from the inside out. Rose’el harrumphed and crossed her arms. Laura said, “Yes, Ilfedo.” And Levena curtsied.

“Good.” Ilfedo took off his extra sword, the one that had been a gift from his parents, and ran his fingers over its pommel. “Then we will head to the coast… Don’t worry,” he said to Evela as she looked at the ground, “I won’t let any of you come to harm.” He opened the door to his home and leaned his extra sword against the inside wall. Closing the door, he glanced over the expectant faces of the coastal people and at his faithful friends who stood by.

“What about us?” Ombre frowned, then nodded at Honer and Ganning. “You are going to just leave us behind on this one? I thought we were your closest friends.”

“And so you are.” Ilfedo looked at the eastern sky, breathed in deeply. “The serpents are intelligent beasts. If they have already invaded the coast, then it is likely they have penetrated the forests as well. It will take some doing to scout the entire region, but if you three work together and organize the locals into search parties, we should be able to make sure none of those belly crawlers is left behind.

“What do you think, Honer, Ganning?”

The men nodded. “If you think that needs doing. We’ll see to it.”

Within an hour everyone had prepped for departure. Ilfedo set out first, leading the five sisters east. Later, Ombre headed northeast, while Honer and Ganning banded together and went southeast. The refugees remained, per Ilfedo’s instruction, encamped in his yard for the time being.

Specter followed Honer’s wife south through the woods until she led him to a large cabin. Three young children greeted her at the door, oohing and ahhing over Oganna. Eva instructed them not to touch the baby and entered the house, closing the door behind her.

Contenting himself with standing by a rectangular window by the door, Specter watched through the glass as the woman sat in front of the fireplace in a rocking chair.

One of the children, a little boy, ran outside. He cut across the lawn in energetic bounds with a pail swinging from his hand. A wooden shelter with three sides, and a sort of stable attached to it, had been built a little distance from the cabin. Specter smiled at the sounds of goats crying, especially when a young lad exclaimed, “Hold still, Bella! Do you want the baby to starve? There … I didn’t think so.” He raced out of the stable and back into the cabin, the bucket partly filled with milk.

Leaning on his scythe’s handle, Specter listened to Oganna’s cries. Honer’s wife, Eva, started to hum, and the child quieted. He smiled again. The child was in good hands.

A
n oak tree’s leaf bowed toward the forest floor, gravity tugging at the pearlescent bead of cold moisture forming on its green tip. Miniscule droplets on the leaf’s surface merged with one another, gathering into a single rivulet that fed the already precarious bead until its weight surrendered to nature’s force.

Rays of Yimshi’s sunlight split as it descended through the calm air, dappling colors over its translucent surface. The sunlight winked through the tree branches, appearing, fading, following the droplet as it fell, until it struck a metal blade, honed sharp. The droplet’s molecules ripped apart, a few flying into the air.

Ombre looked at the long, straight blade of his sword. His gaze lingered for a few moments on the point where the dewdrop landed. But his real focus was elsewhere. His ears were attuned to the silence in the forest. He’d encountered a trapper, and together they had fought and slain a Sea Serpent. Now they were scouring the trees for any more that might have ventured this far inland. No chipmunks, no squirrels, no rabbits, no birds. He scanned the closely spaced trees for anything amiss.

“Garfunk thinks this’s silly!” a voice suddenly said from behind.

Turning to face the trapper, but keeping both hands on his sword’s leather-wrapped handle, Ombre shook his head at the man.

“What, so you think thar may be another Sea Serpent out here?” The trapper turned his black eyes from Ombre’s frustrated gaze and faced the broad base of an oak tree. He made a sucking sound with his mouth and shot a dark wad of spittle at it. “Yeps … this’s silly. I’ve been trappin’ this part of the wilderness nigh five years. Garfunk thinks this’s a waste of his time.” He crossed his thick arms over his broad chest and stood with his legs set wide apart, bringing his height, which was still rather insignificant, below Ombre’s chest. “Thar’s no serpents here,” he said through his grizzly, black beard.

“If there aren’t, then you’ve no need to worry, Garfunk.” Ombre raised his eyebrows. “And if there
are
, then you are going to put us on the short end of the fighting stick by alerting every critter from here to the sea to our presence.”

“Bah! Garfunk thinks not!” The trapper shook his head and seemed amused. “Go on, young one … Garfunk’s takin’ a nap.” With that, Garfunk sat on the ground, where he’d spit, pulled his coonskin cap over his eyes, and rested his hand on his belt, just above the row of hunting knives he had sheathed there.

With a sharp, long whistle the trapper pierced the silence. As Ombre twisted his finger in his ear, trying to get rid of the high-pitched ringing now playing havoc with his sense of direction, an old basset hound trotted through the trees, then howled and lay next to its master.