Legends of Luternia (16 page)

With the morning’s arrival, the travelers began setting their packs to rights. They made their way to the kitchen to find it empty except for the breakfast of bread, cheese, and milk laid out for them. Few words passed between them other than talk of where the others might be. Prester John left some of the coins that Abbot Peter had given him on the table, hoping it would be sufficient for the bill. They found the family in the barn.

“I’ve made up my mind, I’m going, and nothing you can do or say will stop me,” said Clarissa, her own pack on her back.

“How dare you leave your father and me!? And with so much work to do?”

“Yes, work; that’s all I am to you, a slave to do the work and to yell at for not doing it right. I’m sick of it.”

“Clarissa, my dear,” said her father, “This is no way for you to go, angry and screaming. We know you want a life of your own, but this is no way to begin it.”

Her mother blocked the doorway, fuming.

“Mother, Father, don’t you see? I need to do this. I need my own life. I see travelers pass through and every time I see them, I ache to join them. They come over the mountains alive with adventure. I know it’s dangerous; I’ve helped bandage their wounds and set their broken bones. It may be dangerous but I want to be part of that. Please, Papa, talk to her, won’t you?”

Gabriel looked to his wife who didn’t move. “We can’t keep her here forever,” he said.

“Where’s she going to go? You’re going to let her run wild through the mountains like some young goat?” she replied.

“I could go with them,” Clarissa said, pointing to Prester John and Ulrik. All eyes turned to the pair of travelers. “I could be their guide,” she quickly added. “Nobody knows the ways of the mountain better than I do.”

“That’s true,” said Gabriel, “and remember, we were told to give them all the help we could.”

The woman responded with a slight twitching of her mouth from side to side. Clarissa slid over to her father’s side.

“I can’t fight the both of you,” she said. “But mind you, no good is going to come of this, mark my words.” She turned and returned to the hostel.

Clarissa turned and embraced her father around the neck, “Thank you, Papa, thank you.”

“God be with you, Clarissa, my girl,” he said. “Go now before I change my mind. Go and don’t worry about us. We can take care of ourselves. Not that many travelers stop by anyway.”

Ulrik took the pony’s halter and led him out the barn as Prester John and Clarissa followed. She quickly strode past them, assuming her place as their guide. Full of freedom and bravura she strode down the path away from the cirque and the hostel. Before leaving sight of the hostel, she turned to look back to see her father watching and her mother crying. She swallowed them down her own tears and motioned for Prester John and Ulrik to follow her.

Where exactly did you get this bizarre map?” Clarissa demanded. She snatched it out of Ulrik’s hand for a second time. “This can’t be right. I’ve been all over this side of the mountain, and we should be here, not here,” she said, pointing to a location that had recently appeared labeled: “There Be Dragons Here.” The lettering of the label looked ancient when compared to the others that had appeared and disappeared during Ulrik’s journey.

“I didn’t think dragons existed, Prester John. What do you think?” asked Ulrik.

“I’ve no idea. By the looks of it, this part of the map is older than the rest; I know it sounds strange, but maybe this is a left-over memory,” he replied.

“Who ever heard of such nonsense,” said Clarissa, shaking her head, “maps with memories, dragons. What next—fairy folk and hob-goblins?”

The valley looked like it may well have been the home of such creatures. Tall cliffs ran along either side, leaving only a narrow ravine for the road. A few scrub oaks grew precariously from the cliff sides, leaning over the road, the dead and dry branches looked like large skeleton hands grasping for travelers.

“There,” cried Clarissa, pointing up at one particular pair of oaks leaning from each side of the valley to meet in the middle. “Dragons. I found our stupid dragons.” Ulrik and Prester John looked up at the tangle of roots and branches. They looked like a pair of fighting dragons. Clarissa laughed, “Dragons of old trees! What a map you’ve got there, Ulrik! What’ll it say next?”

He took the map back, carefully rolled it, and tucked it into his shirt. The abbot said it was a special map by Nagel, full of surprises, but worthy of their trust. Now the map was letting them down, becoming a disappointment.

As they walked under the sinister trees, Clarissa looked up into them, faked a shudder and sniggered something about “fearsome dragons.” Ignoring her laughter, Prester John lagged behind and assumed the same wariness that emanated from him before they encountered Dragomere. Ulrik slowed his pace, keeping the pony near him and allowing Prester John to catch up. He motioned for quiet. Having learned from his teacher’s example, Ulrik’s senses grew more alert; he tried to sense what the ex-mercenary did. Prester John eased himself to the side of the pony where the sword lay hidden.

An ear-splitting howl careened toward them from above; an enormous shadow shrouded the valley, blocking the sun. Giant claws dropped from the darkness and seized the pony. The force knocked them back against the cliff walls. Clarissa shrieked. Ulrik stood and found himself face to face with a dragon whose claws squeezed the life from the pony that gave a last, pitiful whinny.

The dragon looked at Ulrik with his one good eye; the other clouded with a cataract. It roared, revealing lines of broken teeth and deep lesions in its mouth; its foul breath reeked like wet ashes from burnt garbage. In slow agony, it raised its wings to reveal tears and holes in its hide as dry scales molted from its belly.

With the sword out of reach, Prester John grabbed a fallen tree branch and set himself between the dragon and Ulrik. Using it as a quarterstaff, he defended the prince. The dragon regarded Prester John as a mere pest, whipping his tail around and smashing him against the cliff’s wall. Nothing stood between the prince and the dragon when another cry came out of the sky, “Magroth! No!” The dragon looked up, blew a fetid cloud of smoke from its nostril, cast his good eye at Ulrik, and soared off, clutching the limp carcass of the pony in his claws.

The sight of a second dragon flying down the narrow valley sent Clarissa running back to the others. She and Ulrik huddled behind Prester John who kept a tight grip on the branch, the only weapon at hand. The dragon landed fifty feet away from them and paused. Unlike the first dragon, this one was immaculate. Every black scale shined and was in perfect place. The claws were neatly trimmed and the red eyes shined clear and bright. He gingerly approached and spoke, “I do so apologize for Magroth’s rude behavior. He’s gone feral. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing anymore. Rather sad, really—probably thought you were extra-large mountain goats or the like. I try to keep an eye on him, being his last living relative and all, but we can’t be everywhere at once can we?”

By the time he had asked this last question, he had closed the distance between them. Prester John, using the last bit of his strength, raised the branch over his head as a club only to collapse in his attempt to attack the dragon. Ulrik and Clarissa rushed to his side, not noticing that the dragon’s nose followed them and sniffed at Prester John’s wound.

“Oh dear,” said the dragon as he sniffed again, pensively. “Dragon poison. Magroth must have stung him with his tail. We don’t have much time. I’ve the antidote at home and you must get him there. I don’t carry the stuff around with me, after all, haven’t had anyone traipsing down this path for ever such a long time.” He stopped talking, eyed them suspiciously and said, “Exactly, what are you doing here?”

Clarissa, struggling with Ulrik to carry the hurt man, screamed at the dragon, “Shut-up, would you? If you truly wanted to help, you’d see we can’t carry him by ourselves and we need your help.”

“What do you expect me to do?” replied the dragon.

“You’re a dragon, fly him out of here!” exclaimed Clarissa.

“Impossible; it’s much too far! The strain of the flight would certainly kill him,” said the dragon.

“Then carry him on your back. You’re big enough to carry him,” said Clarissa.

“Carry him! On my back! You mean hoist him up between my wings like some pack mule?”

“Exactly,” spit Clarissa.

He sighed, took another sniff at Prester John and said, “If I must, I must.” He crouched down to allow them to put him between his wings. “Ouch; be careful there, what do you think I’m made of, tin?” He struggled to his feet, striving to keep his passenger on his back.

“Be careful,” admonished Clarissa.

“You needn’t be harsh. I’ve never done this sort of thing before. Have a little compassion, if you don’t mind,” said the dragon.

“Compassion! He’s dying and you want compassion?” screamed Clarissa.

“Please,” said Ulrik, “would you two stop bickering.”

Clarissa and the dragon eyed each other with suspicion as they all walked down the valley floor.

Prester John lapsed into unconsciousness by the time they reached the broadening of the valley. “I’ll have to fly him up. I hope it doesn’t cause extra damage,” said the dragon looking up a sheer cliff that marked the boundary between the valley and the plain.

“Up where?” asked Ulrik.

“To my home, of course.” He nodded his head towards the top of the cliff. A pattern of a castle camouflaged within the outcropping of rocks and caves of the cliff face grew visible. “You’ll need to take the stairs while I minister to his wound.” He pointed out a narrow stair, worming its way to the top.

“You expect us to climb all that way?” complained Clarissa.

The dragon looked at her and replied in a self-satisfied way, “Yes.” Then he directed them, “Now help your friend off my back. Don’t worry, I’m a gentle type by nature.” He took hold of Prester John with a grip in his claws that was more like a caress and lifted off, making an effortless rise to the top.

Ulrik and Clarissa looked at the stairs winding higher and higher to the summit. Ulrik took the lead, urging the girl on with his intensity. The centuries of frost upheavals, expanding tree roots, and weathering had converted the stairs into a mountain climb path. Darkness fell before they reached the top, causing them to stumble, fall, and scrape their way up the slope. Clarissa grew too exhausted to complain. Ulrik became thankful for the toughness exercises his teacher had put him through. The top of the stairs led to a large courtyard with an open door opposite the stairs. The light coming through the door invited them in.

“Come on,” urged Ulrik, taking Clarissa by the arm as she limped toward the light. She moaned as they hobbled across the courtyard then stopped abruptly when they crossed the threshold. Light reflected through countless crystals filling the spacious entry, turning the room into a bejeweled marvel where the light glimmered on walls, floor and ceiling. Ulrik looked at Clarissa to see her bathed in sapphire light that changed to emeralds when she moved from one place to another. They both stood in silent awe.

“A bit gaudy for my tastes,” interrupted the dragon, entering from a side hallway. “My grandfather ordered it made this way. He had it all done up to impress the visitor, I suppose.” He noticed their scrapes, bruises, torn clothes, painfully out of place in the beauty of such light. “Oh my, look at you. I’ve completely forgotten my duties as your host in the emergency and all. Let me begin with an introduction.” He pulled back, bowed, extended a claw, and said, “My name is Illyricus Draconitis. May my hospitality be exceeded by your comfort.”

Ulrik took his claw and responded, “I’m Ulrik of Luternia, and this is Clarissa.” Clarissa made the attempt of a curtsey learned only through storybooks. The prince continued, “Now, about our friend, Prester John . . .”

“While my medical skills are a bit rusty, I believe I can give a good prognosis. I just finished with him. I gave him the antidote and stitched the wound. Pray that he will indeed heal fully. He’s resting well now and shouldn’t be disturbed for a while. This would be an excellent time for you to . . .” he paused, looked at them again and continued, “.
 . . 
to tidy up and tend to your own bruises. I’ll lay out the medicine and do my best to find undamaged clothing of some sort.”

They followed him to a pair of rooms, each with its own bath. He stuck his head into one of the rooms and muttered something, then quickly closed the doors off to them. “Wait here a moment,” he said as he hustled down the hallway, wings flapping to increase his speed, murmuring all the way. Before they had time to look around, he had returned carrying a basket in his claws, “Not yet, not yet,” he said, pushing them aside, as he reentered the rooms. Behind the doors a general commotion could be heard. He opened one door and stepped aside saying, “Ladies first, Clarissa. Ulrik, you take this one. I hope they’re all right. They haven’t been used in the longest time. I hope the water isn’t too hot. I put the towels over there. I do apologize for the dust. Perhaps I should go and find some kind of clothes for you now.”

Ulrik found the bath perfect and the soaking eased his scrapes and bruises. A knock came through the door after he had finished and was drying off. “I hope these fit,” said Illyricus from the other side. Ulrik heard him knock and say the same to Clarissa. Ulrik opened the door and found a neatly folded pile of clothes at the threshold. He pulled the clothing inside and closed the door. Both the smell and the style spoke of long storage. The simple robe had large deep sleeves edged in fur, some of which fell off as he examined it. An elegant pattern of intertwining plants and flowers had been woven throughout the fabric. He remembered an old book in which an ancient king wore one like it.

“Ulrik, I look like a princess!” exclaimed Clarissa as she barged in on him, looking indeed like royalty of ancient days. He quickly closed his robes and hurried her out the door. He readjusted his new clothes and went out to join her.