Atlanita

CHAPTER THE FIRST:

     DARIAN BREATHED in deeply, then pushed the air out slowly. Twisting his sword to his left side, he risked a glance over the boulder he lay hidden behind. The dragon was still eating his horse, the poor animals guts dangling from the lizards giant skull. The dragons wings fluttered up a bit and it expelled flatulence in order to make more room for the mount. “That was a good horse,” Darian McBeth thought to himself as he stood up from behind the boulder and ran at the dragon, his sword held above his head.

     Sweeping the sword down, Darian stabbed the blade into the right back leg of the large beast, screaming at the top of his lungs he twisted and jerked the blade, trying to wrench it free. The dragons huge head flipped back in pain and let loose a sharp scream. Suddenly the dragons tail snapped sideways and Darian felt his feet come off the ground. He had the sickening feeling that he was floating, but this lasted a mere second before he slammed into a tree, the air crushed from his chest and his ribs burned with an unseen fire. Darian crumpled to the ground and reached up to his left arm. Depressing the hook lever, the twofold shield on his arm flipped out like a folding fan, but its iron would protect him from the harsh battle he knew was to come. The dragons roar shook the ground beneath Darian as he stood up, his chest pulsed with pain but he still ran forward. The torso of the beast glowed red hot and Darian saw the forewarning. Dropping to his knee and raising the shield before his head, Darian prayed to the gods that he would be spared. The heat was overwhelming and he began to feel light headed, but as soon as it had started it had passed.

     As Darian stood he felt, with great fear, the shield falling from his left arm in a charred clunk of warped iron. For a moment he faltered, the beast stood before him, its head the size of and oxen’s, its body as big as a cart. But then the words of his mentor rung in his ears, “It’s all or nothing, there is no in-between.” Yelling at the top of his lungs and charging forward, he brought the sword up. The dragons head arched back, its chest began to glow as it prepared for another fiery attack. But the sword of Darian stabbed into the beasts glowing breast. It seemed to slide through the flesh like an arrow through the air. But with a sickening lurch and squelch of spraying blood the sword stopped, throwing Darian off balance as he leaned into the blade. Blood and fire sprayed forth from the dragons wound and Darian shrieked as his armor boiled. Screaming in pain, fear, and hatred Darian felt as if red hot daggers pierced into his heart and scrapped the flesh from his bones. Staggering backwards, his legs unable to hold him, his feet left him and as the ground rushed up to meet him Darian saw the dragons eye close for the last time.

     When Darian awoke several minutes later, his whole body ached as if he had been run down by a stampede of cattle. Pealing the worthless armor off his burned body, Darian examined himself. His left arm was bleeding from every pore, as the very flesh had burst from the heat and the meat had boiled. One of his ribs felt broken and he had wrecked his pinky on his right hand. But that concerned him little, it could be healed. Darian crawled over to what remained of his horse and saddle bags. Fumbling through the supplies, he found the poultice the mage had made for him and rubbed it on his left arm, it burned like grinding salt into an open cut and Darian clenched his teeth and felt the fire smolder in his eyes. Darian spread some on his chest then took a couple minutes to catch his breath. Popping his pinky back into proper alignment to the sound of grinding bones and a quiet whimper of pain, Darian placed more of the poultice on it and wrapped it between two sticks to keep it stable. Taking a swig of the poultice and then a swig of his wine, Darian began to feel the edge of sleep creep up on him. Crawling back over to the dead dragon, Darian admired it for the first time. It was as long as three men laying foot to head and had a body the size of a wagon. The head was longer then Darian’s arm, and as thick as Darian’s mid section either way you measured it. The entire carcass reeked of death and decay but Darian held his stomach as he reacquired his sword from the beasts now charred chest with a slight gush of blood and fleshy guts. Shuddering a convulsion as bits of bile worked its way up his throat, Darian plunged his right hand into the open wound on the dragons chest, searching through the slimy balmy guts for the prize that lay inside. Feeling the warm hard surface of the energist, Darian pulled it from the sturdy gristly bonds of the dragon’s silent heart.

     Glancing at the large crystalline rock, Darian sighed in relief that it was in good condition. It was nearly half again the size of his two fists, and glowed in deep red hews. It seemed to radiate warmth. Tucking it into what remained of his shirt, Darian staggered over to the tree next to his pack and saddlebags. Taking another drink of the wine and tipping the wine sack towards the dragon in a gesture of thanks, Darian drifted off into sleep, his sword at his side, an energist near his heart, and wine in his belly.

     DARIAN’S EYES floated open and he snapped awake as he realized it was night. “Damn it,” he swore to himself. Glancing through the canopy of the forest and razing his right hand, he measured how many hand widths the true moon was from Norbanus, the north star. He had laid there for much of the day, fortunately he had only been asleep for a few hours and no predators had come while he slept. Darian halted any praises he might have for the gods, for even the great Essers, the largest canine carnivore in all of Atlanita dared not eat the flesh of a dragon.

     Trying to stand, Darian winced in pain. It took him a few seconds to recall the extent of his injuries. Taking a closer look at his left arm he was pleased to find that no maggots had taken up roost on it and it had not bled much during his slumber. His rib, once thought broken, appeared to be just bruised and was healing rapidly. Darian made a mental note to thank Mallus when he returned to Fanella. Slowly rising, pushing off the tree and clenching his teeth against the pain that throbbed throughout his body, Darian came to a standing position. He surveyed the ground, no tracks but those of him, the dragon, and his dearly departed horse. As Darian forced himself towards the remains of the horse he remember the stories that Torin had told him of Sir Gilgamesh of Cesario, who had written three entire books of great length that dwelled purely on his morning for his deceased steed Onyx who had died at the hands of a Gehway. It took Sir Gilgamesh another fifteen years to pass away and they wrote on his tomb that he died of a broken heart, to which many joked it had been his horse he had longed for. Darian chuckled a bit as the memory flowed back into him, and his bruised rib quickly reminded him that he was wounded. He stopped at his saddle bags and rummaged through them, taking out everything he didn’t need. It took him long agonizing minutes of work and short hours of rest before he had gotten the saddle bags light enough that he could carry them over his shoulder.

     Staring up at the second blue moon that floated through the sky, he took in a few short breaths, “There’s no time like the present,” Darian thought, and with that he started working his way out of the valley. As he struggled through the darkness up the forested hillside and the dense shrubbery of the crag, Darian marveled that the dragon had even landed in the valley. The only patch of grass was on a small knoll in the center, which was now mostly blocked off by the dragons remains. Cutting south east, Darian found the slide trail his horse had made as it came off the valley edge. He remembered the ride, as his horse screeched in fear while the dragon circled overhead, diving low to the horse to panic it down the edge. They had flown off the brink so fast Darian had had little time to think of anything but surviving the ride.

     As Darian reached the edge he paused a moment at the tree line. The slight rise of the ground toward the valley allotted him a meager view of his surroundings. Even in the pale moonlight he was able to make out the terrain. The sweeping hills were dotted by clumps of trees, small pocketed forests that wild game lived in. But Darian knew well that where there was game, there were predators to hunt it, and in Atlanita, man was not the king of the food chain. Though the trip to the valley had brought him no sign of any flesh eating menaces large enough to trouble a healthy man, in his current state Darian knew he was fair game to a coyote. From the distance Darian could make out a faint glow, perhaps a fire, perhaps a town. “I hope it is the troupe, if it’s them I'm saved, but I think I'm some twenty days from the nearest town so if it’s not them I’m done for.” Darian checked himself for that, “First rule of survival, stay optimistic.”

     Resting for a few hours, then walking at what he thought was an unbearably slow pace, Darian kept moving through the night. He encountered few problems besides his nagging hunger and the desire to sleep, as his body had gone numb to the throbbing pain. Once, about the time of midnight, Darian was startled by a young buck that he had stumbled upon laying behind a clump of shrubbery. The buck gave Darian such a start it took him several minutes to calm himself enough that his breath did not pain him. But Darian kept walking, his belly begged him for food, and in the night Darian noticed the abundance of game that roamed the grassland. If he had a bow and was in good condition he could have feasted on rabbit, deer, boar, and the occasional Orthopia.

     Then it struck him, Darian had rode an Orthopia before, and beyond the nature that they defended their nests with ruthless attacks, most Orthopia were very dossal. The large flightless birds, with their short stubby beaks, pudgy stumpy wings, and their auburn downy feathers, were popular mounts for many wanders. He tried three times, sneaking in close, within grabbing distance of the Orthopia, but the animal either walked away faster then Darian could crawl or on one occasion he was nearly a victim of death by suffocation, as the Orthopia sat down to relieve its bowls. Nearly giving up hope of catching one of the large flightless birds Darian continued towards the light when he spotted a white stag as it dashed off into the brush. Darian rubbed his eyes, not sure if he had really seen the stag of lore or not.

     Darian had heard the stories of Statilius the white stag. Statilius symbolized the luck of the huntsman, and many stories told of him guiding lost hunters, or leading others to prized kills. Staggering towards the place where the stag had entered the wood, Darian readied his sword in his right hand. As silently as he could muster, he pushed his way through the brush. Darian sighed in relief, though as quite as he could. The stag was no where in sight, but before him, in a small clearing in the thicket was a large auburn brown creature. It appeared to be asleep and Darian slipped his sword back in its sheath as he became aware of the opportunity.

     Preparing his sore muscles, Darian crouched forward and set his saddle bags on the ground. He knew that if they became entangled on the Orthopia and Darian was unable to wrestle the beast into submission, that he would lose his supplies. He slowed his breathing, and focused his mind, the images of his previous hunts coming to him. Darian remembered when he had broke his own horse, teaching it who was its friend, who was its master and who would protect it and feed it if it did as commanded. He leveled his eyes, the Orthopia lay still, but not motionless. Darian knew that meant it still slept for it was instinctual to not move if a predator spotted you. Synchronizing his breathing with the Orthopia’s, Darian launched himself through the air, his arms reaching out and locking around the animals neck. With the contact the Orthopia screamed once, its harsh cry a mix of a geese’s honk and a ravens caw. Darian’s full weight slammed the animal back to the ground, and his legs flipped under the feathery lump to pin its long strong legs to itself. Keeping his hands clenched around the birds neck, and his weight centered over its lungs, Darian rode out his own pain until the Orthopia grew fatigued from lack of air.

     It jerked and quivered under him and Darian gritted his teeth to hold back his pain as fresh blood coursed from his left arm and his chest ached as if he had been shot by an arrow. As the animal came to a halt, Darian lessened his grip, only to nearly have his catch rip free with a sudden pull. “The damn things playing possum!” Darian thought. Tightening his grip, he shifted so that his right hand was free to draw off his belt. Wrapping the leather strap about the animal’s neck, Darian pulled his legs out from under the Orthopia, so he sat in riding fashion upon the bird’s back. Releasing his grip and placing both hands firmly on the belt, he waited till the beast’s brain revitalized with the now available air. As the Orthopia gained its breath, it slowly rose off the ground, its stubby wings pinned by Darian’s legs.

     Darian braced himself, waiting for the animal to charge off and attempt to force him to dismount. But the Orthopia just stood there, as if not noticing the weight of the person on its back. Several minutes passed and Darian grew tired as his adrenaline rush wore off. Tapping his boots against the bird’s sides and jostling it by shaking his weight around, Darian tried to convince the animal to move.

     “Stubborn beast! Move!” Darian yelled. Slowly, as if perturbed by the noise, the Orthopia’s head swiveled around on its long neck and stared Darian in the eyes. For several minutes the two faced off. “Please?” Darian asked sarcastically. The Orthopia turned its head back to center and proceeded to walk forward at a slower pace then Darian had stumbled for the majority of the night. “Could you move faster please...” he muttered, the unbearably slow pace gradually grating on his nerves. The Orthopia increased its speed to a nice trot, and Darian leaned to turn the bird around. In passing, Darian reached down and snatched up the saddle bags, then turned the bird towards the light.

     “Okay birdie, pick up the pace. We’ve got several miles to go and I’d like...” Darian stopped speaking as the Orthopia quickly shifted into a sprint, the ground passing beneath them fasted then Darian was used to. It was then that he realized why some people would favor the bird, it possessed great acceleration and even better stamina. They continued at the quick pace for several minutes, and as the light grew brighter, the moons continued on their cycle. Darian quickly got accustomed to the surging nature of the animals stride, and began to enjoy the wind floating through his hair. Pondering for several seconds, Darian leaned forward a bit on the bird and glanced the Orthopia directly in the eye.

     “You are in need of a name. Have you any name you would take a liking to?” the bird stared back, almost with a slight hint of aghast that its rider would dare talking to it. “Hmm, didn’t think so...” muttered Darian, his right hand snaking up, rubbing the stubble on his chin, “How about Kree? That was the name of my very good, though now very dead, steed. It seems fitting for you.” Suddenly the bird stopped, and Darian flew over the animal’s neck, the leather belt held tight in his hands. Smacking the ground and rolling a little ways, Darian worked his way to his feet, fresh pain masking old wounds. “Not,” Darian wheezed, “that I think your going to get eating by a dragon as well...” With those reassuring words, the Orthopia walked forward, a faint humming sound coming from it. As Darian hopped on the bird he smiled. “Kree it is.”


CHAPTER THE SECOND:

     THE MORNING sun cresting in the early twilight hours, Darian’s eyes slowly opened a little as Kree walked over a small hill. Mere meters in front of him, nestled amongst small ebbing campfires and in the center of a laager, Darian’s companions stirred. He smiled at the site. Kree and he had road long into the night, and Darian could only guess when he had drifted off to sleep. But the faithful Orthopia had kept up its pace, and now his trip was over. As mount and rider approached the small convoy, Darian dismounted. Suddenly feeling the ache in his thigh muscles, he could only assume he had slept for many miles. Stumbling towards the wagon train, one of the men tending a fire noticed him. Instantly his hand jumped from his stoking stick to his piercing rapier.

     “Stop! Who goes there?” the man yelled. Darian instantly recognized him from his voice alone, but the use of a sea mariners blade added weight to the theory.

     “It is I, me!” Darian chuckled as he walked between two of the seven wagons. He quickly noticed that his ribs no longer pained him with each deep breath, and the numbing pain in his left arm had substantially subsided. James Shaw, for that was what the has-been sailor’s name was, blinked a few times at Darian’s approach.

     “Ser Darian, it is good to see you! We were dreading that maybe you’d...” he stumbled, realizing that there was no point in stating the obvious, “err, that maybe you had headed back to the castle alone!”
     “Good save James. Is Garth uh-“
     “You’d better believe I'm awake youngling. Only you spry youths can sleep past sun rise, and while riding a bird of all things.” The grizzled old man stepped down from the drivers seat of one of the larger wagons. His long flowing silver beard making his dark emerald eyes seem even more dangerous and sagely.

     


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