“It is the container with the orange top,” he calls down, watching as the burly Shaman begins to rummage through the pack. He looks back at the wound. Puss seeps to trickle across the dragon’s neck and he must admit the odor is strong and unpleasant. He seldom finds it bothers him though. He will cleanse the wounds, then move on to the wing. Depending on how much damage he finds there, he can decide where to use the Healing trance. Maru will need several more Healings on his head contusion. If he can, the other wounds will be treated conventionally, saving his resources for that, more dangerous, wound.
He continues to peal scabs off the punctures. Maru should heal well; it will take a while, but the dragon should make a full recovery.
“Dampen those cloths, Jadrun. It will be easier to clean this if they are wet.”
Jadrun pops back beside him, arms laden with damp cleansing cloths and the large pot of emollient. The Shaman drops the cloth beside him and reaches for the orb, holding the pot in his other hand.
“Thank you.” Picking up a damp cloth, Geramn scrubs on a puncture. “Have you always been queasy around wounds?”
“Wounds are not a problem. Puss is. I cannot abide the smell or sight of the stuff.”
“That is not uncommon.” He finishes cleaning the first wound and moves on to the second. “Perhaps you can apply a thin coat of that salve when I have them clean?”
Jadrun averts his eyes and gags. “Once you have enough of them clean where I do not have to get down there near puss, I should be able to help.”
“Once we get him stabilized, can you transport us to the caverns at Kitloch?”
“Yes, although not all of us at once. You think it necessary we do so in haste?”
Geramn pauses in his scrubbing, drawing his sleeve across his brow to wipe away the sweat. “You saw the other cavern. How can we know if those creatures will not return?”
Jadrun tenses, his gaze jerking toward the arch leading to the other chamber. “Perhaps we should leave immediately.”
Geramn resumes scrubbing. “No, until I stabilize his head wound, it will be too dangerous.”
Jadrun opens the pot of salve and with a small portion of a cleansing cloth scoops some out. “I cannot remain here that long; I must transport to search for my mate when ever you do not need me here.” The Shaman turns his eyes, dark with sorrow, upon the wounds. “We will have to transport Maru and Falcop within four sunrises. That is when I am due back at Kitloch; there are few enough transportation Shaman to meet the need to transfer dragons to battles and it would not do to have them search for us.”
“With any luck, that will be enough time.” Geramn moves over to begin working on the matching oval on the other side of the neck. “How goes the search for your mate?”
“I transported a young woman we found two sunrises ago to the Healing caverns at Kitloch. She saw Blanche in a group that made to escape in the hills.”
Geramn lays a comforting hand on the Shaman’s shoulder. “There is hope then, that she is safe and hiding in those hills with others. I shall pray for her to be found safe.”
“I, too, have prayed.” Jadrun stares at the walls of the cavern for a moment, his gaze unfocused. “I lose faith that the Lady listens. I transport there to search, every free moment I have.”
Geramn glances up as Kilita enters the smaller chamber; her eyes flicker and twirl in the dim light at the entrance arch. “I leave to hunt again.”
He nods to the emerald dragon. “Good idea, we can cut a roast off that deer, but Maru will need a whole deer to himself when he awakens.”
“Thou shall have to await my return. There is none of the deer I brought earlier left.”
“He ate all of that?” Jadrun’s eyes widen in surprise.
“Every scrap.” Kilita wears a look of satisfaction. “He could barely drag himself to the nest, his belly was so full.”
Geramn gestures down at the neck wound. “Give us a few moments. I would rather not leave the hatchling unprotected while we work in here.”
Kilita’s head tilts to the side as she regards the human. “How would thou defend Falcop against a Volastoque?”
Geramn resumes scrubbing. “Jadrun would have to transport him out of here.”
Jadrun jerks back, almost dropping the pot. “I cannot even touch him yet. I would have to touch the hatchling to transport him.”
“I will wait. Jadrun, there is nothing for thee to worry about, Falcop will sleep soundly through most of this day. We shall see that thou is introduced and become friends upon my return.” He eyes soften as she runs her gaze across Maru. “How does my friend fare?”
“Better. I should be done here soon; once you return we can have you shift him so that I may work on the wounds below. He will heal; all that is needed is time.”
“I shall guard the entrance until thou is ready.” The emerald dragon turns and, with a flick of her tail, exits the cavern.
Chapter 10
Shaman Hern nods at the Shaman who transported him. He glances around the steep-sided valley. The goats placed here for the younglings’ feeding are clumped against the wall closest to the cavern’s back ledge. Turning his gaze the other direction, he sees the reason for their discomfort. His allies have arrived before him.
“My thanks, please return in an hour to transport me back.” He watches the young woman disappear, then turns and walks to the three dragons who await him. Even from a distance, the trio appears formidable.
Sunlight seems to absorb into Yalkin’s immense black form. His three dragon beard strands that fall at least four strides from his chin and his thick scales announce his age as over six hundred winters. Niwah is a bit younger, perhaps only four hundred fifty winters; his deep green body displays a spider web of scars and a gash over his right eye causes it to appear in mid-wink. Estrola is the sole female; her midnight-blue scales ripple as she paces a short distance from the other two. As he nears, Hern can see a human seated on a boulder near where Estrola paces; he carries the staff of a powerful transporting Shaman.
“My friends, thank you for coming,” Hern calls as he nears them.
“It is good to see thee, my friend.” The words rumble in the deep tones of Yalkin’s Mindspeak.
Estrola ceases her pacing and settles on her hindquarters. “I would introduce Shaman Belnarth to thee, Shaman Hern.’
Hern nods a greeting to the man. He guesses Belnarth to be in his thirtieth winter, or there about, young to have the power designated by the large green crystal mounted in the head of his staff. “I am pleased to meet you. However, I am afraid what I need to discuss with my dragon friends is confidential—”
“He is in my full confidence as my Bonding Mate; I ask that he be allowed to remain.”
His brows furrow in confusion as he peers up at the blue female. “Bonding Mate? This is not a term with which I am familiar.”
“A human with whom I have exchanged the vows making us family.”
“A new custom, arisen since we began these battles, some six winters past.” Niwah peers down his nose at Shaman Belnarth, the green dragon’s expression conveying his contempt at the practice. “One I have yet to find of merit.”
“I do not seek thy approval, Niwah, only thy acceptance of our circumstances.”
“I have no objection to his presence here.” Niwah turns his back on the blue and her Bonding Mate, focusing his gaze on Hern. “If thou has no objection, I think we can begin.”
“Of course, he is welcome.” Hern glances around and moves toward a second boulder near the other Shaman. He settles upon its warm surface, ignoring Niwah’s disgruntled sigh as the dragon is forced to turn again to face them. Even on a good day the green dragon’s attitude is prickly at best. “I came to speak with you of a prophecy. One that, our Mystics agree, suggests the only course of action that does not guarantee the annihilation of both the Palmir People and dragonkind.”
He relays the Mystic’s message, observing reactions of his audience. A look of deep sorrow shadow
s Yalkin’s face as he absorbs Hern’s words. Niwah stiffens and twitches, several times seeming about to interrupt, but holds his comments. Estrola’s eyes whirl with specks of gold and brown within their blue depths. Her brow pulls together as she takes on the mien of deep thought. It is the human, Belnarth, who glares at him with belligerence and finally leaps to his feet.
“You cannot seriously be suggesting they accept this sacrifice?” Belnarth rages. “You ask they lay down the future of their species, to secure our own.”
“Not precisely. The other paths of the future show no future for any of us. Dragons and humans alike will fall beneath the tide of Volastoque, vanquished as a whole.” His voice trembles a bit and he clears his throat before he continues. “The offense and defense power Shaman shall all go into battle with our dragon allies, should this be the path chosen. The prophecies say we too shall pass into history. The Shaman Council already decided to make this sacrifice, if the dragons so choose this path.”
Belnarth shakes his head violently. “That is not the sa—”
“Enough, Belnarth.” Estrola glances at him, then turns her gaze away. “Perhaps it would be best if thou awaits me in the pastures below.”
“What?” Belnarth shakes his head. “I will not be—”
“This decision is not thine to make.” Yalkin’s Mindspeak rumbles across them all. “Await thy Bonding Mate below, and hold thy tongue about what we discuss here.”
Belnarth gives Estrola a pleading stare and when she ignores him, he casts a glare at Hern, then disappears.
“His heart speaks before his mind. Excuse his reaction.” Estrola sighs and settles to the grass, curling her long tail neatly around her body. “Thou is sure? The Mystics see all dragons and Shaman perishing in this battle?”
“What does it matter?” Niwah jerks his chin toward Hern. “Do they see any path to the future where dragons survive?”
Hern hangs his head for a moment, then raises it to gaze straight into the golden eyes of the green dragon. “Only one, I hesitate to bring it up lest it be a false hope.”
“Shaman Hern, any hope is better than none.” Yalkin shakes his head dolefully, his dragon beard swinging like a pendulum. “What is this sole hope?”
“One of the less experienced Mystics, and only she, has experienced a repeated vision where eggs survive.” He shakes his head. “There is more she does not understand, where dragons experience rebirth.” He gives them an apologetic grin. “As I said, she is not very experienced at her craft.”
“A moment. Thou stated the dragons die in battle?” Estrola tilts her head, leaning toward him with her mouth hanging slightly open as she anxiously awaits his reply.
Hern tries to ignore the multitude of teeth exposed directly above him. “Yes, all dragons and all Shaman of battle powers.”
“The hatchlings and younglings would not participate in a battle.” Estrola’s mouth snaps shut and she turns her gaze toward Yalkin. “Herein lies the means for our species to survive.”
“Yes, I see. We could secret away clutches of eggs. The young dragons will be able to raise them once they reach adulthood.” Yalkin tucks his chin against his neck and furrows his brow; the rainbows undulate across his black scales rippling in the sun. “A means will have to be found to protect the eggs and place them in a type of hibernation, until the younglings mature.”
“And how does thou suppose we do that?” Niwah demands. “Cold is the only means under which dragons succumb to hibernation and cold will kill eggs.”
Hern stands and begins to pace around his boulder. “Perhaps we can devise a means. We are still exploring the many powers of the different crystals, but… I think just perhaps we can find a way to put the eggs in a state of equilibrium or inactivity by use of opposing equal crystal forces.”
“Without harm to the eggs?” Estrola interrupts.
“Of course that is the goal.” Hern slaps his hand down on the boulder. “I shall have our best Shaman get to work on this immediately.”
“Let us speak again in a drama.” Yalkin rises to his feet, his joints creaking loudly in the quiet afternoon.
Estrola rises and glances at Hern. “I shall have Belnarth come back to retrieve thee, as thy transporter will not be back for some time.”
Hern settles on the boulder. “My thanks, Estrola, but I think sitting here in the peace and quiet will do more good for my thinking process. I would like to give this problem some thought.”
The blue dragon nods, and with a strong surge of her wings, she is airborne. The green and black lift right behind her. Hern begins to worry at the problem, happy he has a potential means to safeguard the dragon species.
~!~
Jadrun fidgets as he watches the Healer complete another session with Maru. He realizes that Maru is not stable enough to transport a long distance; however, it is hard to quell the impatience to get the dragons to Kitloch, so he can return to search uninterrupted for Blanche. Or, as far as he knows, she could have been found since his last contact with the searchers. He goes to search every moment the Healer does not require his help here. It has been three sunrises since he has had more than an hour or two of sleep, snatched between his duties and searching.
The black and silver dragon looks much better. His scales have taken on sheen. The wound on his neck no longer seeps and begins to close, as have the burned furrows in his belly.
He glances over his shoulder as Falcop and Kilita enter the smaller cavern. Geramn kept Maru asleep for the past three days; when he finishes this Healing they shall wake him. He shakes his head, glad it is not he who shall have to break the news to Maru that his mate is missing and the green hatchling is all that remains of his clutch. That scenario is too close to his own. Even to the fact that Maru missed the funeral of his hatchlings that the Healer and he attended their first sunrise here. Herlan was buried before Jadrun could claim his body. As he had watched the funeral pyre consume Maru’s offspring, he mourned their loss, and that of his own son.
Falcop moves to stand beside him; he absently reaches over to scratch the hatchling behind the plate at the top of his head. Falcop scooches closer, pressing his head firmly against Jadrun’s hand.
The amber glow surrounding Geramn’s hands begins to fade and the Healer settles back on his haunches between Maru’s horns. “There, that should do it. The swelling in the tissue around his contusion is completely reduced.” He slides down Maru’s forearm, landing in the waist-high water with a splash. He turns to Jadrun. “Perhaps you should wait in the other chamber. I know if it were me, I would want some privacy when told of such a terrible loss.”
“The youngling will come as soon as his sire begins to grieve. There will be no way to contain him.”
Jadrun gives Falcop a last scratch and strides toward the arch to the main chamber. “He can stay here. We need to safeguard the entrance. Come along, Kilita, if Maru’s reaction draws attention it would be best if we are prepared.”
He looks back to see if the emerald dragon follows. Kilita brushes Falcop’s face with the side of her own, then with an anguished look at Maru, turns to sweep through the arch in front of him. He follows her as she strides to the main tunnel.
~!~
The racket of boys fills the chamber and rouses Elish. He scrubs his fist across his eyes and scowls at the boisterous foursome that arrive at their sleeping platforms a few strides away from his. He tries to burrow back into his covers and reclaim his rest. But the lads shuck their soiled clothing and pull on fresh garments, then plop atop their own beds and begin a long, loud conversation about arul, a ballgame that requires a steady hand.
Elish sighs in exasperation, sits up, and pulls on his clothes and footwear. The rumbling of his stomach drives his feet to the dining chamber. The chamber is brightly lit and cheery with potted plants suspended from hooks sticking out from walls. The particular women and young men staffing the serving area tell him it is early evening. He recognizes at least three of them as the evening shift.
> He picks up a plate and utensils, then forces a smile onto his face as he thanks Tamille, the eldest woman there, as she offers him two Nyth eggs fresh from the fryer and still sizzling. He grabs a couple of steaming rolls to add to his plate. The spicy scent of sausage causes his mouth to water as he fills a mug with apple cider and finds a quiet place to sit amongst the rows of nearly empty tables.
He chooses a place in a dim corner, sitting in a chair with his back to the wall and the chamber before him. He allows his gaze to wander the room as he settles. He is the youngest dining; all the families have already been and left; it must be late in the last meal service. That is one of the things that irks him about living in these caverns: without the sky to judge the time, he is always a bit disoriented.
He resolves to go outside for a while as soon as he completes his meal.
Using his fingers, he holds the crispy exterior of the first Nyth egg and, with a rapid slice, splits it in half. The rich, slightly runny yolk of the egg enclosed in sausage oozes out and he quickly sops it up in one of the rolls. Chewing, he cuts the egg into bite-size pieces and proceeds to eat with relish.
Nyth eggs are one of his favorites. He often helped his dama shape the paddies of sausage to encase the soft-cooked eggs; then his sisters would roll them in the yarin flour, egg wash, and then the bread crumbs. But dama always fried them. She said it took a certain touch to keep them from overcooking and ending up with a hard-cooked egg, instead of the yolk perfectly runny.
He smiles across the room at Tamille, kissing his fingers to show her how wonderfully the Nyth egg was prepared. The grey-headed woman grins and her wrinkled face shines as she nods at his compliment.
Elish drops his gaze to his plate, a bit of his enjoyment gone as Tamille’s expression brings forth the memory of his granddama. She, too, was lost in the attack. He finishes his meal quickly and leaves his plate and utensils in a wash-tub as he exits.