Island of Dragons - DRAFT - Chapter 3 –Manhunters (8874)

Chapter 3 –Manhunters (8874)

As soon as Roztov had cleared the trees and was in the air he had to dodge frantically as a narrow jet of flame lanced towards him. By the moonlight he saw dozens of dark winged shadows above him, swooping down.

He spiralled and soared upwards as two more jets of flame were aimed at him. By the light of the flames he got a split second look at one of them. A young dragon, he judged, and possibly with a mount.

As he considered this, one he had not seen previously shot right past him and as he weaved up above it he saw the dragon was mounted by a man, or a man-shaped being, in black plate armour and a helmet in the shape of some sort of snarling beast with bulging eyes.

The other dragons, seemingly unconcerned, flew past him to then breathe fire down into the trees. They were clearly attacking the camp and had probably only aimed at him for sport, he realised, mistaking him for a real owl. He dove back down into the forest, landed on the pine needle coated ground and met Broddor as he came to the entrance of the cave. The trees all around it were already on fire, but in the canopy above.

‘Owl Roztov?’ asked the dwarf.

Roztov shook his feathers and changed back into a man. As he was about to speak the trees directly above them lit up as fire rained down from abovethem. Both of them ducked instinctually.

‘There are about twenty young dragons with riders up there. I’m going back up to fight them. Send out Meg and Ghene. You and Tup defend the cave.’

Broddor didn’t question the order and ran back to the cave entrance. Roztov changed back into an owl and swooped back up into the trees, finding a path through the fire. Once aloft he soared up on the hot air from the flames, above the dragons. He then stooped, swooping down onto the back of one of them, and at the last moment he changed again, into a hippogriff and crashed into the rider. The rider was tossed from the saddle and plunged screaming into the trees. The dragon tried to twist its neck around to bite or breathe fire onto him, but Roztov sunk his huge beak into its neck and raked its body with his talons.

The other dragons reacted with confusion. Two breathed fire at the entangled combatants and one of the narrow jets hit both friend and foe. The dragon crashed into the trees as the hippogriff screeched and released its prey. With smoke streaming from his tail, Roztov bet his wing furiously to gain height on the dragons. Again they acted with confusion, some trying to catch him, others heading down into the burning trees.

As he swooped down, he saw another hippogriff appear from nowhere and crash headlong into a dragon. Together they spiralled down into the trees. A puzzled looking owl glided past him, did a somersault then turned into a rather kittenish griffin before pouncing on the nearest dragon.

He lost sight of Meggelaine as he crashed into another dragon. The rider managed to stay in his saddle, but Roztov gripped him around the waist with his claws and ripped him off, both of his boots flying off into the night. Roztov then tossed the rider after his footwear.

Down on the ground, Broddor had spotted that some of the dragons had landed, or rather climbed down through the trees and their riders had dismounted. He turned to Floran, who stood nearby and said, ‘Guard the cave. I’m going to cause some injuries.’

The wizard nodded and began to chant, cupping his hands together as if holding a moth.

Broddor held his sword, Gronmorder, a heavy two-handed weapon, above his head as he charged the armoured men. Broddor had been sleeping in his plate mail, as he always did when camping in dangerous areas and he also wore a full face helmet of dull steel. The men seemed confused to be meeting such a short, but ferocious foe and one of them was as dead as a doornail, cut near in half, before the others reacted and started stabbing at Broddor with their spears. The dwarf swung his claymore, fending off their weapons artfully. As more of the hunters joined the battle against him he swung faster, with apparent boundless energy. He had no opening to slay another of them, but neither could they land a spear on him heavily enough to do any damage.

Salveri, Arrin and Tankle watched from the dog leg at the back of the cave. They couldn’t see the druids but they could see the light of the flames and the screeches and snarls of the winged creatures above. Neither could they see Broddor, but they could hear the clanging of metal on metal from beyond the cave mouth. The only person they could see was Floran, standing with the hood of his blue robe up, silhouetted against the light.

Floran was chanting now, and clinking his rings and amulets, rubbing them and making them glow with a pale red light.

Arrin tugged at Salveri’s shirt.

‘What is he doing?’

‘Southern magic.’

Salveri stepped out of the narrow dogleg and into the main cave.

‘What are you doing?’ hissed Arrin.

Salveri went over to one of the seal skin bags that were piled at the side of the cave and pulled out a short sword.

‘I’m not going to stand idly by, cowering in the cave like a child while everyone else fights.’

‘It’s all fire and dragons out there though, Sal. What use would we be?’

‘More use than being in here.’

Salveri gripped the sword and advanced to the mouth of the cave. Arrin gulped and took a sword.

He then picked up another and offered it to Dreggen who was hovering at the mouth of the dogleg.

‘Not that I have to give you an explanation,’ he said. ‘But someone should look after the womenfolk.’

Arrin said nothing and went to join Salveri.

Tankle wanted to go with them, but her right arm was in a sling. She picked up a sword and tried it in her left hand, but it so wrong and awkward that despite her desire to do so she saw no sense in joining the battle.

At the mouth of the cave, Salveri had stopped, unsure what to do and fearful. Arrin joined him in time to see a young dragon crash through the burning trees and land on the ground near the cave entrance. Seeing the three men the dragon shook the burning branches from their wings and advanced.

‘We’ve no chance...’ was all Arrin managed to say before Floran suddenly acted.

His hands shot out straight from his body and a bolt of ice one foot wide and ten feet long appeared from nowhere, flew through the air towards the dragon then exploded with a deafening crack. Shards of ice and lumps of dragon flew in all directions. Floran swept his arms up and a barrier of magical energy formed flickering up before him. At the same time Salveri and Arrin instinctually held their arms up to shield their heads. The ice and flesh bounced off the barrier harmlessly.

Floran let his hands drop to his side, turned to them and smiled.

‘Blimaron’s balls,’ muttered Salveri, looking at the mess of ice and dragon all around them.

‘If you want to join Broddor, then now would be a good time,’ said Floran gesturing to where the dwarf, outnumbered, battled the armoured men.

The sailors jogged over to where the fighting was happening. Arrin and Salveri screamed at the top of their lungs as they charged in, amongst the burning branches and shattered trunks.

Dragon breath hit the ground near them, narrow beams of flame that splashed onto the ground in fiery puddles. Salveri’s sword clattered against a spear, sending the man falling back. Arrin hit at their enemy but his sword merely clanged off the metal armour.

Broddor, from nowhere, leapt in, kicking the man in the head with a steel boot, before fending off two more that had emerged from the smoke. It was a confused skirmish, and for several minutes the dwarf and the sailors put up a stiff resistance, but the ferocity of the defenders was not enough to win against the greater numbers of the attackers. In a lull, the sailors and the dwarf regrouped but then found themselves surrounded. The armoured men did not attack, but simply edged closer with their spears. Broddor was bracing himself to charge the one closest to him when a hippogriff landed nearby with a thud and walked towards them. It clawed at an armoured man and sent him crashing into a tree, then clawed another, slamming him into the ground. The others dropped their spears and fled. Without breaking is stride through the smoke, the hippogriff then changed into Roztov.

‘Whoever they thought they were hunting, I doubt they expected such stiff resistance,’ said the druid.

‘Are we done?’ asked the dwarf.

A bolt of ice arched through the sky and struck a dragon as it flew over their heads. As dragon parts landed all around them, Roztov replied, ‘We are done.’

Back at the cave entrance, Broddor stood guard, a silent sentinel dressed in full plate armour, both hands resting on the pommel of his sword, the tip of the blade resting on the top of a smouldering dragon haunch.

Inside the druids tended to the wounded. Floran was unharmed, but Salveri had a deep stab wound in his right arm and Arrin had a big bruise on his head where he had run into a branch.

‘Bones blood, that’s painful!’ Salveri hissed as Ghene applied his hands to the injury.

‘Our magic speeds up the healing process,’ explained Ghene. ‘But it can also intensify the pain of the wound. It should pass soon.’

Meggelaine was at the rear of the cave, comforting Ophess, so Roztov was tending to Arrin.

‘You ran into a tree?’

‘During the fight,’ said Arrin. ‘When we were all running around like crazy men. I charged right into it. Lucky though. There was none of them near enough to get me while I picked myself up.’

‘Lucky,’ said Roztov. Then addressing everyone,‘I don’t think they were expecting us to fight back. I’ve a feeling more powerful dragons will come soon. We should leave this area.’

He glanced outside, there was a forest fire starting in earnest now.

‘Well it is on fire after all,’ stated Floran with no hint of sarcasm.

Tankle joined the group in the cave and asked for details on the battle, she addressed Floran first.

‘I did not see all. I killed three dragons,’ said Floran

He then looked at Roztov, ‘How went it in the sky?’

‘Oh I’m not sure,’ muttered the druid. ‘Maybe four or five between us.’

‘We on the ground killed three men and wounded four others,’ called Broddor from the entrance. ‘No prisoners,’ said Ghene. ‘A strange battle. Why did they come for us?’

‘I’ve no idea. And men mounted on dragons. I’ve heard of it, but never seen it. In history wasn’t there... ahh...I forget.’

‘The Dynar were said to ride wyverns, and griffins,’ said Ghene.

Arrin looked like he was about to say something, but held his tongue. Roztov still had his hand on his forehead, healing the wide bruise that lay across it.

‘Speak,’ said Roztov.

‘My father told me that the Knights of Ertia rode dragons. Hundreds of years ago, before the nogs.’

‘Yes, that’s right I remember now. They were said to be the first men, by those in the south anyway. It’s not commonly known of in the north. I think, yes that’s right, I saw a statue in a nog town down there, of a man on a dragon. I asked a nog and he told me he didn’t know where it had come from but it was assumed to have been built by the “first men”. How did your father know about it?’

‘Sailor’s tales I suppose.’

Ghene had finished with Salveri and stood up to look at the other druid, ‘Is there no land you have not travelled? No kingdom you have not visited? And how did you enter Ertia? The nogs have built a wall around it.’

‘You, a druid, ask how I got in?’

‘Oh,’ said Ghene with a smile. ‘I suppose that was a stupid question. And why did a nog talk to you?’

‘This was just after the war.’

Ghene gave Roztov a long look then said, ‘Sometimes I wonder. Anyway, the “first men” are legends. They never existed. You humans and your history, half of it is made up you know.’

Roztov was used to sparing with his friend, enjoyed it even.

‘I didn’t say it was true, just that that was what the nog told me. There, Arrin, you are done. Go lie down for a few minutes before we leave.’

Roztov also stood, then walked out of the cave past Broddor.

‘Where do you go lad?’ asked the dwarf.

‘To take a look at one of the men.’

Together they walked over to one of the fallen enemies. There was enough light from the burning trees to see the corpse clearly.

‘What do you make of his armour?’ asked Roztov.

‘Steel. Well made, right enough. Ornate. The helmet is the work of a master craftsman.’

‘Yes. These are no forest savages. They were all wearing the same armour. Manufactured.’

Broddor nodded in agreement as he looked down at the body, tugging on his beard.

‘The ones I fought all wore the same armour. Like a uniform.’

Roztov knelt down and ran his hand over the breastplate.

‘This level of work, it would need civilisation to make. There must be a town or even a city around here.’

‘Could be hundreds of miles away though if they flew on the back of dragons.’

‘True.’

Roztov unbuckled the helmet and removed it. The head of a man with blonde hair was revealed. He was young and handsome.

‘Huh, I don’t what I was expecting, but it wasn’t him,’ said the druid.

‘He’s a man anyway,’ grunted the dwarf, ‘Not a goblin or a nog.’

The druid stood up.

‘Well, whoever he was, we don’t have time to bury him. We’d better leave.’

They gathered everything together then left the camp and the burning forest. After no more than an hour of travel they encountered more men. Ghene had spotted them at much the same time they had seen him, as he led the others through the dark forest. When he stopped, they stopped also. Ghene was fairly sure there was only two of them. They looked young, but at home in the forest, even at night. When no one made any aggressive moves they stepped forward.

At first one of the men spoke, but Ghene and the others at the front of the line could not understand what they said, so with hand gestures themen indicated they wanted to be followed.

Ghene was at the front and passed the message down the line.

‘Two men. Seem friendly. They want us to follow them.’

Roztov, out of curiosity came up the line to take a look. He looked over the two young men. They looked like scouts, dressed in dark leather clothing and carrying bows. They appeared peaceful.

Ghene shrugged at him.

‘Fair enough, but keep your eyes open,’ said Roztov.

‘You say to me, a druid - keep your eyes open. Here, in the forest, at night, after a dragon attack. You think I won’t keep...’

‘Yes, yes, all right. Just get moving.’

Roztov shooed the elf away and let everyone else file past before taking his place again at the end of the line.

The men led them through the forest for about five miles or so. Ghene could tell that they knew the forest well and were following an animal track. Eventually, as dawn was breaking and the near total darkness of the forest floor became a dim twilight, they arrived at their destination.

Ghene followed the men into a narrow gorge choked with undergrowth. They approached what at first seemed to be a wall of thorns, but the men swept them aside with their bows to reveal the entrance to a narrow covered street.

They street was just wide enough for two people to pass. On the right hand side was the rugged wall of the gorge and on the left were a series of huts that were covered in turf and bushes. The street too, was overhung with trestles that were thick with vines and thorns. Ghene could see that even during the day there would be little light down here. There was no light on the street, but very dim lanterns shone in the small windows of some of the huts.

The men led them to what may have been the equivalent of a town square or meeting hall for these people, depending on what you thought was enough cover to constitute a roof. Then with hand gestures they were told to sit on the wooden benches that were positioned around the area and they did so. It had been a long night and they were each carrying a heavy bag of supplies.

Everyone was silent, even Ophess. One of the men went away and brought a few older men back with them. They then discoursed in a language that Ghene did not understand. He noticed that Floran was cocking his head to the side, as if he might be recognising the tongue.

One of the old men approached the group and eyed them up. He then addressed himself to Salveri.

The sailor did not understand what was said to him.

‘Not me, chief. Try one of that lot,’ he replied with a hand gesture towards Ghene and his companions.

The chief tried again.

‘Anyone understand that?’ asked Ghene looking around to the others.

‘It sounded like he said “grumpy sluts” to me,’ said Roztov.

‘Not helpful. Anyone else?’

The chief spoke again, slower this time.

‘It did sound like “grumpy sluts” to me too,’ put in Meggelaine, as if genuinely trying to help.

‘Wait,’ said Floran and stepped forward.

He then spoke a few words in a language no one else understood. The chief shook his head and spoke again. Floran cleared his throat then said a few more sentences. Eventually they seemed to get a dialog going. 

Meggelaine tugged at Roztov’s sleeve and he bent down so she could whisper in his ear.

‘What language is that?’

‘I don’t know but if I had to guess, I’d say it is draconic.’

‘Huh. ’

After a while Floran bowed to the chief and turned to the others.

‘Yes well, these grumpy sluts as you call them, are runaways from the north apparently. The ones that attacker us, they call manhunters. Also from the north. From a city called Stu-vlug-urd.’

‘Stovologard?’ asked Roztov trying to wrap his tongue around the strange language.

‘Close enough. Anyway, the chiefs name is Ber, the scouts that found us are Nac and Wen. They saw the flames from an observation post they have at the top of the gorge and came to take a look. They are very surprised and curious about who we are and how we look. This place is called - well I’ll translate it as Vine Street or Vine Road.’

‘What language?’ asked Ghene.

‘A sort of draconic pidgin. It’s hard to understand. Not as hard as Stykian though.’

This was a dig at Roztov and Meggelaine’s native tongue, which was rendered impenetrable to most non-native speakers by the number of modes of address.

Ber spoke some more, nodding and smiling at Floran and Roztov.

‘He says we may rest here for now. He can offer us a place to sleep. Oh, and a place for the women and children. He thinks Meg is a child.’

The chief gestured at Ghene in the gloom.

‘Oh, you are also a child apparently,’ Floran said to Ghene with a smile.

They were all shown to their accommodation, low-beamed single room huts made fromhewntree limbs and packed dirt. It was two to a hut and Ophess shared with Meggelaine, who she was getting more and more dependent on. She simply collapsed onto the bed in exhaustion. It was cold and of little comfort but still better than the floor of a cave. There was a blanket too and she pulled it over herself gratefully.

With her eyes half open she watched as Meggelaine removed her coat, then her woollen jumper and blouse. Down to her slip she then took off her boots and britches. All her clothes, she neatly folded on a chair by the bed. She then reached into her bag and pulled out a night gown. Ophess marvelled at how small Meggelaine was. She was so small, the height of a five year old human child and so much smaller than Ophess. The fressle commanded respect from the men though, even the other two druids. She was powerful in whatever this ‘council’ was that they talked about and seemed to know a lot of things.

Meggelaine got into bed and pulled up the blanket. She then said good night and blew out the candle. Ophess wanted to ask Meggelaine how small fressle babies were, but she was too sleepy.

In the early morning she was woken by Meggelaine getting dressed again.

‘Where are you going?’ Ophess asked.

‘Oh, I’m going with Roz and Ghene to do a bit of scouting. You can go back to sleep.’

Ophess grunted and rolled over. She was asleep again in a few breaths.

Meggelaine finished dressing then opened the small door of the hut and walked out onto the covered lane. It was a cold and crisp morning. Meggelaine could see her breath and the waterlogged air hung around in the close confines of the covered settlement. There was a path that led up to a hidden look out and she joined the other two druids there. Roztov was dressed in his old campaign gear, a chain shirt, a dented helmet and his ancient old scimitar in a scabbard by his side. Ghene was dressed in his usual leathers and carried only a knife.

‘What’s the plan?’ asked Meggelaine.

‘Just a wee flap about really,’ said Roztov pulling on his beard. ‘Something small so as not to draw attention. Hen-harriers maybe.’

‘Goshawk?’

‘Kestrel?’

‘Yes yes. Stick together.’

The three druids changed into various small birds and took off into the sky, flying north. For a while they enjoyed the feeling of freedom after the confined camp, but remembering the dangers of this land they then returned to treetop level and skimmed along as low as they dared.

After an hour or so they found a burnt out clearing and landed on some charred stumps. It was an area of forest, maybe an acre or so, that had been scorched unevenly and was still mostly black and covered in ash. The birds squawked at each other and hopped about, then finally turned back into the three druids. Ghene looked up at the sky, turning as he did so.

‘Dragon breath did this,’ he said.

Roztov walked over to a pile of wet ash and kicked it. There were bones underneath.

‘Vegetain remains,’ he said.

Ghene was the expert on Garumuda, but Roztov knew more about dragons in general.

‘This is the way they hunt. Scorch an area of the forest then eat the barbequed vegetain meat. There must have been a herd of them here.’

‘I don’t like this place,’ said Meggelaine, trying to not get soot on her boots.

‘Agreed. I think we’ve seen enough here. Those mountains in the distance,’ Ghene gestured north. ‘See how the clouds are forming? There is a chasm there I think. You can’t see it for the low clouds but it would account for the formation.’

Roztov was from a mountainous region and concurred. ‘Must be a pretty big chasm as well. Might be worth a look. There might be civilisation there. It would be defensible from dragons maybe.’

‘We need to get higher and take a look, but I think that gorge extends south and west. I think...’

‘Err, guys,’ said Meggelaine, the only one currently looking east.

They all looked and saw dozens of dots high in the sky. They had not been there before.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ said Ghene.

They turned into falcons and flew back south as fast as they could.

The people of Vine Street were glad to have the newcomers as guests. Broddor arranged some of their gear to go to them in payment for their lodgings. The runaways had no means of making metal so the knives and woodwork tools that were given to them were very gratefully received. They were also astounded to hear stories from the rest of the world as told to them by Floran.

That night the whole camp turned out to hear his stories, told in a low voice around a hooded lantern in the gloomy and dank main hall.

The others separated into two groups that evening, after the main meal, with Broddor, Roztov, Ghene and Meggelaine at one side of the hall and the sailors on the other. Ophess floated between the two groups and the runaways who listened to Floran.

At the druids’ camp they lay back on the ground, keeping warm at a small covered fire. Roztov was lying with his head propped up on a hand. Meggelaine was using his stomach as a pillow. Ghene and Broddor sat cross-legged. The conversation was about Dreggen.

‘The captain brought him on as a navigator then?’ said Broddor.

‘Roztov knows more about that,’ said Meggelaine unnecessarily, then prodded him in the ribs. She knew Roztov had not trusted Dreggen from the start.

‘Ah yes,’ Roztov admitted. ‘The captain brought him onboard at Grenos. You weren’t there Broddor, but we had a bit of an argument about it later on.’

Dreggen could have hardly have been described as a navigator, but he had convinced the captain of the Red Maiden that he knew the waters west of Grenos. It would have been his right to have dined at the captain’s table but he kept to himself, so much so that Broddor had barely noticed his arrival. Roztov had though.

The voyage northwest of Grenos had started well enough.

‘Grenos was as far west as I’d ever been,’ said Roztov.

‘I thought you and Broddor had been out further,’ said Meggelaine.

‘Incorrect,’ put in Broddor, who was sat with his eyes shut. ‘The patron of the trip wanted to return before winter so back we went. It was an ill-judged expedition, although we did not “sail around in circles” as Roztov often says.’

‘It felt like it,’ put in Roztov. ‘Besides it makes the story better for the telling and it was ten years ago.’

‘Eleven and a half,’ corrected the dwarf, who could not stand inaccuracy.

‘Huh? Really? Well it was before Woad became king anyway.’

‘Oh yes, yes. I remember now,’ said Meggelaine, who would have said that whether she did or not.

The next island they had passed after Grenos had been Pehque. Roztov and Broddor had stood on the deck and watched it roll past. A two headed giant ran up to the shoreline and waved a stone club at them.

‘Chalk Pehque up to being real and not mythical then’, Roztov had said.

‘Mark it on the chart. I want to come back here.’

Roztov and the other two druids had their argument on that day as well. It was late in the evening, on deck, just the three of them in the bow, watching the ship’s wake in the moonlight.

‘I never thought I’d clap eyes on a mythical island,’ said Roztov.

‘That Dreggen seems to know these waters then. I wonder how?’ mused Meggelaine.

‘I don’t trust him.’

Meggelaine seemed surprised. ‘Well, I suppose a human would know a human, but no one else knows these waters. What else do we have to go on?’

‘I know, but how can he know the way to Hanna?’

‘He doesn’t, but he knows what is up here. The dangers,’ said Ghene calmly.

‘I know I’ve said this before, but this is a wild goose chase. If Hanna is the size of Grenos we could easily sail right past it. No one knows how far west the Diamond Sea goes.’

‘So we spend more time flying. Scout out, get as high as possible,’ put in Meggelaine.

‘I don’t trust him. There is something not right about him and I think letting him guide the ship any further is a mistake,’ said Roztov. He wasn’t angry, but was becoming exasperated with the fressle and the elf.

‘Well...’ said Meggelaine, trying to think of something that would pacify Roztov.

‘What would we be doing otherwise? Think of that,’ said Ghene. ‘We would be sailing blindly north west. At least this way we have something. He knew where Pehque was.’

‘So? That kid isn’t right. He had a crazed look in his eyes.’

‘Well maybe, but what does that matter in the end? And remember, this is a voyage funded by the GFC. Myself and Meggelaine represent the GFC. I say we stick with Dreggen. Meggelaine?’

‘Well...’

‘We can just fly away if things get messy. We have ways of saving ourselves, but think of the lives of the crew.’

Roztov was right in that they could fly, but they all knew they could only hold an avian form for a few hours. If they did not find land in that time they would drown like everyone else if the ship sunk.

Ghene smiled humourlessly, ‘Someone who didn’t know you as well as I did might think that you wanted this mission to fail due to your view on the argument of resettlement.’

‘Someone who didn’t know you as well as I did might think you are an arsehole,’ retorted Roztov.

‘Enough of that!’ Meggelaine interjected angrily. ‘Enough of that now. Time for bed anyway. Come on.’

Roztov stalked off, he was not particularly angry, but he knew it was pointless to continue when Meggelaine got in the mood for acting like she was their mother. He turned into a bear and went to sleep in the hold. When he was in a sullen mood or brooding he would often turn into a bear, he found the fur comforting, even if he did wake up as a man that wished he’d slept under a blanket the next morning.

After he’d stretched the kinks out of his back and visited the head he sought out Dreggen and found him on the deck, stood at the rail watching the sea go by.

‘Dreggen. Listen, where are you from?’ said Roztov.

‘Elbonia.’

‘Whereabouts in Elbonia?’

Dreggen paused then said, ‘Oban.’

Roztov had been to Elbonia several times before this voyage and had been to Oban once or twice. Dreggen would not have known that though.

‘Whereabouts in Oban?’

 ‘I don’t have to answer your questions.’

Roztov gave him a long look then said, ‘No. You don’t.’

If Dreggen thought the druid was going to leave at that point, he was wrong, as Roztov gazed out to sea for a good half minute then finally said, ‘You know. Well, you know, I started this life when I was a young man. Some days I feel really old. I mean, I am pretty old now. I’ve two daughters back at home. I’ve got a son somewhere too. Me and my friends, we’ve come up against a lot of bad people. Giants, trolls, lunarians, gosh – all sorts. Undead, dragons even, once or twice. We are not light weights.’

‘What are you trying to tell me? Are you threatening me?’

‘I have no need to threaten you. Meggelaine and Ghene are blinded by their desire to find Hanna. It’s going to get us into trouble no matter what happens, I can see that. I don’t know what your story is. I suppose it doesn’t matter. If I threw you over the side, they would keep on going anyway. Huh, there are whales over there. They look like blackfins. Way out to the left there, do you see them?’

Roztov wandered off at that point, to tell the other druids of his sighting, leaving Dreggen alone at the ship’s rail.  He looked, but could see nothing.

At Vine Street, Meggelaine stood up and left the druid camp. She told the others she wanted an early night. As she entered the two person hut she shared with Ophess, the girl said to her, ‘What’s going on?’

‘Shush, I’m just coming to bed.’

‘Were you with the others? Were you talking about finding my father? What are your plans?’

‘Well...’ said Meggelaine.

The little fressle had not told the others, but she had been keeping Ophess calm by telling her that her father was not dead and that they were doing everything they could to find him.

‘Well... This is a big island. He’s sure to be hiding somewhere safe and sound. We just need to track him down.’

‘We have to go find him!’

‘Hush, we will. But we are safe here. Roztov and Ghene are out looking for him now. They can fly and see for miles.’

As Meggelaine undressed, Ophess continued to prattle on, nervous and edgy, her voice getting higher and higher in pitch until it was virtually a scream.

‘Hush, hush,’ said Meggelaine, doing her best to comfort the child. ‘We will find him soon enough. You should rest. It’s much better if you are rested and calm. Don’t make too much noise, you don’t want the manhunters to find us again.’

It took a while, but eventually Ophess was silent again. Once she was changed into her night gown Meggelaine got into bed. She realised that by telling Ophess that her father still lived she was storing up trouble for later, but it seemed the best way to keep her quiet. The fear of bringing the manhunters down on the runaway camp was very real. Meggelaine didn’t have any children of her own and probably never would. She thought that Roztov, with his experience of fatherhood, would undoubtedly be better at this sort of thing than her, but the child had latched onto her and Roztov wasn’t much interested. He had enough on his plate anyway.

Meggelaine lay awake for a long time before she slept.

In muted conversation, at the sailor’s camp in the darkest area of the meeting area, they discussed the druids and their companions. They spoke Enttish, the common tongue of Nillamandor. Tankle was the only native speaker of the language. Arrin was from Tomsk and Salveri was from Bellavia.

Salveri had been doing most of the talking, ‘The druids can change and heal. They can fly if they change into the right animals. I think they can do other things, they can find their way easily. They leave no trail.’

They were all huddled up around a covered fire, wrapped up in cloaks.

Arrin was next to talk, ‘The wizard can summon up those huge ice lances. When he killed that dragon, it was... I mean, it was incredible. It just exploded into bits. My family, my friends in the tavern, they will never believe me when I tell them.’

‘If we ever make it home that is,’ said Salveri with a grunt. ‘I’ve heard those Hyandans can do fireballs, turn invisible, levitate, things like that.’

‘What about the dwarf? They seem to treat him with great reverence although he has no magic that I can see. He really lay in to those manhunters though.’

‘He seems all right,’ admitted Salveri.

‘I like him. I’ve known dwarves,’putinTankle. ‘They came to our valley and set up a fortress. A few dozen of them, to begin with anyway. The village didn’t like them at first, but their metal goods were so well made and cheap. Their stone carvings were lovely and they gave them away for free. I went inside one time, I made friends with a dwarf girl, and they carve every wall, floor and ceiling with marvellous scenes from their history and mythology. It’s amazing what they can do. Broddor must be one of those holy knights that they have. I don’t understand their gods, but I think they dedicate themselves to a temple and swear to defend it. I don’t know what he’s doing out here then.’

‘No dwarves in Bellavia,’ said Salveri, ‘They’ve not come that far west I suppose. What about Tomsk?’

‘None,’ said Arrin. ‘Plenty of fraskans though.’

‘What the hell is a fraskan?’

‘Err, like Meggelaine. They call themselves torms, but in Tomsk we call them fraskans. In Styke they call them fressles. They are all the same people.’

‘Bones’s Blood,’ swore Salveri, the old racist. ‘There are too many squatters in the lands of man by half.’

Unseen by the sailors a bird settled in the thorn vines above them. There was a little moonlight, but little of it penetrated the gloom of the vine shrouded meeting hall.

Salveri turned the subject back to the druids and their friends, ‘Powerful they may be, but they are freebooters, mercenaries and adventurers. You see them all the time passing through Tullis. They are not like us. Life is cheap to them. A friend of my brother joined a company, he told me about it. The leaders have all these magic powers and magic items, so they always survive the battles. The kids with rusty swords and wooden spears that form the bulk of the companies, they die like flies.’

‘I dunno. Meg seems nice. The druids all seem nice. And you said so yourself that you like Broddor,’ said Arrin.

‘I like Floran,’ remarked Tankle with a blush.

‘Yes,yes. Individually they are nice,’ acknowledged Salveri. ‘But in general I mean, and all together. When the bacon falls into the fire they will save themselves first. We’ll be forgotten. Or just hit by a stray fireball or ice lance in the next battle. Oh, sorry, they’ll say, what a shame old Sal died or young Arrin. What a shame he didn’t have all the magic juju to protect him.’

‘We’d all be dead now anyway if it wasn’t for them.’ This from Tankle.

‘We wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for them!’ snarled Salveri.

‘It was the captain took the commission. We could have got on another ship.’ From Arrin.

‘Well whatever. We stick together right? When it all kicks off, remember we are the last of the Red Maiden right? Because you can be dam sure if they have to sacrifice us to get to this Hanna place, they’d do it.’

‘I don’t know,’ muttered Arrin.

‘We stick together right?’

‘Right.’

When he turned to her in the darkness and she could see the glint of moonlight in his eyes Tankle said, ‘Right, right. Yes, right.’

The bird that had been listening up in the vines fluttered out into the night. It was Roztov, on his way out to do his business in the forest before going to bed.

When you had the ability to turn into a little bird, eavesdropping came easily. He had to admit to himself that there was something in what they said. People in their company had died, not many and mostly in the first few years, but enough that he was sure he had forgotten a lot of them. There had been a time, a few years after the company had been set up, when the fighting with the goblins had been brutal and bloody. After the death of Queen Beril the kingdom had been near anarchy, with the Barons all vying for power and occasionally killing each other. It would be twenty years before Styke chose another monarch. Roztov’s father’s barony came under constant attack from goblins. Many young men that had lost their families in theraids and wanted revenge joined the Company. Some of them were near suicidal and when they joined and well... often they died.

After the goblin wars came to a conclusion, many of those young men returned to their farms and villages. Broddor, still young and adventurous, wanted to seek gold and glory in Lunaria, which had just entered into what turned out to be a long and pointless war with Enttland. Roztov, well, he was a forth son, it was expected that he would seek his fortune elsewhere now that their vale was peaceful, and off he went.

They recruited again in Luxor, bolstered their numbers and headed into the Moon Marshes and the other desolate wastes hidden behind the Joppian Mountains. Some of them died. Young mercenaries and sell-swords from the backstreets of Wardernton and Shellbe.

After Lunaria the core of the Company was Roztov, Broddor, Meg, Ghene, Floran and a dozen or so others. The rest were twenty to thirty younger men and women, eager to prove themselves, eagerly seeking glory. These were the ones that died, on the spears of Lunarian berserkers or blown to bits by Lunarian cannons.

After that, other places, other people, other battles. The Company got smaller and smaller as its members died or retired. Roztov knew that hundreds of people had passed through the Company over its entire lifespan. It shamed him to know that he had long since forgotten most of those that had died. He did not keep a journal in those days.

Leaving those reminisces for now, he landed on a branch, fluttered his feathersand attended to his business.

Broddor and Floran had long speculated exactly what happened when a druid went to the toilet in animal form, specifically what happened to the dung once it left their bodies, but the druids had so far never revealed this secret to anyone.

The next morning, the survivors of the Red Maiden met for breakfast in the main hall and set to planning their next move. As had happened the previous evening, the former members of the Kardane Company talked together while the sailors kept to themselves. Dreggen was nowhere to be seen and no one missed him.

After a while the conversation of the druids moved, as it so often did, onto the subject of Garumuda, the dragon that blighted the continent east of the Norob Forest.

‘Even so,’ Meggelaine was saying, ‘Etruna help Nillamandor if the Tanud serpents decided to expend their territory.’

‘It is possible that they are bound by a treaty not to venture east.’

'Really?'

'Old Bones considers all of Nillamandorto be his personal game reserve. I know he has treaties with other dragons. It could be there exists one with Tanud.’

‘You think that could be the case Roztov? You knew about Tanud.’

‘Ahem, yes,’ he confirmed. ‘But only from what I had heard on our last voyage in the Diamond Sea. I don’t know what the Tanud serpents are like, but I do know the ones in western Nillamandor. They have their own politics, they play their own games. Like us they fear Garumuda. Some of them are in contact with him. Many of them have magical abilities and can communicate with each other over great distances. It’s possible, likely even then, that Tanud and Garumuda are in contact with each other.’

Ghene nodded, ‘Old Bones is a devious old bugger. It may well be because of him that the Tanud Serpents have never left this island.’

‘Garumuda,’ hissed Meggelaine. ‘Blighter of the world.’

Salveri had been drawn to the conversation and had come over.

‘Old Bones is a myth,’ he said. ‘My old mum used to scare us into doing as we were told by telling us his stories.’

Ghene smiled, educating people on Garumuda was his favourite topic of conversation.

‘He, above all others, has forged the shape of Nillamandor. His destruction of the Dynar let the kingdoms of man rise. We may not like it, but he’s shaped everything about us. That curse that you sailors use “Bones’s Blood”, where do you think it comes from?’

‘So it’s all true?’

‘Please sit, my friend. Tell me what you know and I will tell you if it is true.’

With a nod, Roztov stood up and then stretched his legs. He whispered a farewell to Meggelaine and left the camp. He had no huge desire to sit through one of Ghene’s lectures on the history of Garumuda.

Initially he thought about going back to his hut and having a nap, but then realising he had not seen Dreggen this morning, so he went in search of him.

He found him raking through their supplies and filling his bag with food.

‘Where are you going, Dreggen?’

‘None of your business.’

Roztov moved to the entrance to the hut and blocked it with his body. He leaned against the doorframe and looking at his nails quietly said, 'What are you Dreggen?'

'A man.'

'I mean, what did you do for a living?'

'I was the ship's navigator.'

'And before that?'

‘A ship’s purser.’

‘I see. And before that?’

'A clerk in a bank in Tullis.'

'Which one?'

'The Iron Bank.'

'On which street?'

'Bank Street.'

'What is the sign it has above the door?'

'A silver coin.'

There was a long pause. Salveri had followed the sound of the conversation, perhaps bored of the lecture, and had come over.

Roztov gave him a nod then said, 'Huh. Perhaps. His answers come quickly enough.'

‘There is no bank with a silver coin for a sign anywhere in Tullis,’ said Salveri.

Dreggen had filled his bag and was looking anxious at the doorway, but made no move towards it.

‘Dreggen,’ said Roztov. ‘You have manacle marks on your wrists. Years old. How do you account for that?

‘I once got into trouble in Borland. The follies of youth.’

‘What were you doing there?’

‘Studying. My parents sent me.’

‘From where?’

‘I've had enough of your questions. What do my parents have to do with it?’

Roztov continued to ask his questions calmly, as if just passing the time with a friend.

‘Where is your family from?’

 ‘I told you, Elbonia.’

‘No, I don’t think so. I’ve been there, you don’t have the accent.’

Dreggentook a step backwards, ‘I’ve moved about a lot.’

‘You speak Enttish with a strange lilt. I just thought of it now. You roll your rhotic consonants just like the runaways do. You’re from this island aren’t you?’

‘No!’

‘Why come back? What is going on? Did you bring the attack on the ship?’

Dreggen, by now, was pressed up against the back wall of the hut. All the others had arrived and were packed onto the narrow street outside, listening to the conversation.

‘Are you a spy? From Stovologard?’

Dreggen said nothing. Roztov realised he would not get another word out of him. A few moments of silence passed, then the druid stepped aside from the doorway.

‘Then go.’

At first Dreggen could not believe what Roztov had just said, thinking it was a trick. Roztov took a further step back, and the others behind him followed his lead. Making up his mind in a rush, Dreggen bolted for the door, ran into the street and then down the track, stopping only once to check over his shoulder that he wasn’t being followed.

Roztov nodded to Ghene though, who turned into a goshawk and fluttered up into the vines and then off into the sky.

Salveri seemed to wake up from a dream, said ‘Why did you let him go!’

‘I can’t hold him.’

‘You could kill him.’

‘I’m not a killer, you understand that?’

Salveri took his knife from his belt, ‘I’ll bloody do it then.’

Roztov gently put out his arm, ‘Stay your hand. No good would come of it.’

‘He could lead the manhunters to this place. They could slaughter them all.’

‘Ghene will keep an eye on him.’

‘So what? We don’t know anything about this place. There could be manhunters anywhere.’

‘There are none within fifty miles. Wherever he is going, he won’t be able to find his way back here.’

Salveri wasn’t so sure. He didn’t know how druid magic worked. Perhaps the druids had put a spell on the place to hide it, he had no idea. He looked at the other druids, then Floran and Broddor. None of them had any problem with Dreggen leaving either it seemed.

With the excitement over, people began to drift off.

‘Why did they let him go?’ he asked Broddor, the one he found the most approachable.

‘Druid logic I suppose. They don’t like seeing creatures caged. People either. They’d probably kill him rather than imprison him.’

‘What about you and Floran? You don’t think it’s madness to let him go?’

‘Oh, Floran will go along with whatever everyone else thinks. As for me, well, I’m not sure. In the forest I trust the druids. My people do love throwing folks they don’t like in jail, but I’m more for frontier justice myself.’

The rest of the day Floran spent deep in conversation with the runaways. They had a small council, of sorts, and told the wizard everything they knew about the island. In return Floran gratefully gave them information about the outside world.

The druids scouted out more of the surroundings and returned as night fell.

That evening they did not make conversation with the others, but sat together in circle, their eyes closed, their lips moving only slightly as they quietly chanted and hummed.

Broddor sat with the sailors and Tankle asked him, ‘What are they doing?’

‘They are attuning. To each other, the land, the trees. I’m not an expert, but I know a druid can adjust himself... or herself. How to explain it? They can attune and adjust their powers to suit the environment and who they are in the company of. If you have only the pleasure of one druid, then he acts as a jack-of-all-trades if you catch my meaning. With three of them, well, they divide the roles.’

‘Druid magic,’ said Tankle. ‘I knew nothing about it before I met them. I had only ever heard tales of the Great Forest. It is far inland is it not? They speak of a council. Is it very powerful?’

‘Oh well,’ replied the dwarf. 'The druids of the Great Forest are powerful beings. Roztov is not part of the council, but he is probably the most powerful of the three. In situations like this, as I said, they divide up the roles and attune their magic to their selected purpose. I should imagine that Meg is attuning her magic to healing while Ghene is attuning his magic to sensitivity to the land, the earth, speaking to the squirrels, you know that sort of thing.'

'What about Roztov?'

'Arse-kicking I expect. Fireballs, bolts of lighting, blasts of wind strong enough to blow a dragon to the ground, all that good stuff.’

‘I would scarce believe it,’ joined in Arrin. ‘If I had not seen it with my own eyes, when we fought the manhunters.’

‘Aye lad,’ nodded Broddor. ‘We’ve seen some fair few battles. There were other druids in the Company back in the old days. They’ve mostly all retired or in the Great Forest Council.’

‘You were their leader once?’ asked Tankle.

‘Aye, that is so. Back when I was young, Styke and other countries that had goblin problems leased out some of their valleys to my people. In return for fighting the goblins we had the rights to all the minerals in the mountains we occupied. My father’s fortress was founded in the vale of the Barony of Roztov’s father. The day the Company was founded we were seven dwarves only. The others joined soon after though.’

Tankle seemed anxious to connect with the dwarf and said, ‘Oh, we had dwarves in my valley too! I made friends with a girl from the fortress. She showed me her room.’

Salveri stirred where he was sitting, but did not speak. Broddor glanced over at him and while he struggled to think what to say next, wondering if he was bothered if he offended the sailor or not, Floran approached them.

‘Ah, friend Floran,’ said Broddor with some relief. ‘What news?’

‘Lots, hmm,’ said the wizard as he sat down with the others. ‘The people of Vine Street, most of them are from Stovologard, on the northern shore of the island. I have learned a lot about this place. If we want a boat we should go there.’

‘We go there then?’ asked Broddor.

‘Yes. Stovologard. If we want a boat.’

Broddor rolled his eyes, ‘Why would we not want a boat?’

Floran shrugged.

‘Very well. We should get some rest then. The chances are the druids will want to leave in the morning.’