Micky Carre
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Dragon Riders of Etrea 2—Chapter 19
🕑 Added 2024-08-21 17:40:20 +0000 UTCThe beginnings of his journey were similar to his last one, at least in that he began by descending the mountain and then traveling further east. Instead of turning north, however, he continued east, skirting the top of the orc wastes.
He briefly wondered if he would have to deal with any orcs on this journey. Considering how far north he was, that seemed very unlikely. Other than the raiding parties, most of the orcs were in Silverkeep, which according to Henrik’s understanding was at the southern coast of the orc wastes and far to the east.
The orc wastes were just a massive patch of land directly to the east of the nation of Etrea. The king probably considered it under his rule; Henrik had seen maps several times that placed the eastern border of Etrea far, far to the east, at the mountain range that marked the end of the orc wastes.
Of course, the orcs certainly didn’t agree. They knew they weren’t part of any nation except their own. It was a small miracle more fighting didn’t happen because of that. But so far, it had only been mostly limited to a relatively small number of raids on border farms. Henrik had a sneaking suspicion things would change in the future.
According to Shel, this new orc chief Torgan imagined himself as a king, and even had dreams of taking over Selfoss and enslaving all the humans within. Well, a large army of rabid orcs would cut through a human army twice their size unless they all wore good armor. Even then, the humans would probably lose.
Of course, Ardun had the money to outfit and train a proper army and supply them with the best weapons and siege engines. Henrik briefly wondered who would win that battle, but then shoved the thought out of his mind. It wasn’t worth his time. Not now.
Calduin concerned him less with every passing day. He was a rambunctious toddler, a bit on the aggressive side, but he was a good dragon. Henrik sometimes felt a bit odd treating him like a dog, but it seemed to be working. The little guy was going to be just fine.
Henrik also felt more in control of himself. He had managed to keep his temper while in Garnell’s tomb, even though the man’s spirit had been prodding at his mind, trying to provoke his anger. After that, he was certain he could hold onto himself in any situation. He had to, for Calduin’s sake. For the entire realm’s sake.
Toward the end of the first evening he steered The Duke through the foothills, searching for something other than the hard savannah of the orc wastes. He found a small cluster of trees and made camp beneath them. His heavy belt knife made short work of some branches, and soon he had enough for a small fire.
After that he decided to try some hunting in the area. These lands were wild to the extent that some animals didn’t know to be scared of humans. Patience was the key to a successful hunt. It took him the better part of an hour, but he skewered a rabbit and brought it back to his camp.
While his rabbit stew simmered, Henrik decided to try Rasud’s book. He thumbed through the pages, noting that it was filled with tales and legends from his home country.
One of those stories involved dragon riders.
It spoke of a great army from the lands east of the orc wastes. They rose up in great numbers, seeking to conquer the nation of Etrea and add its citizens to their ranks of slave soldiers.
Garnell wasn’t mentioned by name, but Henrik knew it was him. The story described a massive dragon with scales of pewter and coal, his wings so large he blotted out the sun and cast shade across the enemy forces. Putting their trust in their numbers, they continued marching toward Selfoss with intent to conquer and destroy.
The great dragon, along with its rider, stopped the army in its tracks. White-hot flames from the dragon’s mouth incinerated the army, leaving only ash on the ground. The rider threw equally devastating fire from his hands, and where it fell, it left only corpses.
The army fought viciously, launching so many arrows it darkened the sky, but the three southern dragons showed up. No army could stand against all four dragons working together. They decimated the foreign attackers, allowing only a small percentage of them to flee home to warn the rest.
Henrik whistled. “So, I’ll be throwing fire, looks like,” he said, then glanced at his hand. “Wonder how that’ll work. Do you have any ideas?” he asked The Duke. The horse just snorted.
On the second day, he learned that reading in the saddle made him dizzy. Unfortunately, that meant he had to simply deal with the boredom of riding all day. In the past, Henrik would have done it without complaint. But, now that he had tasted paradise, he knew that life was more than brooding and fighting, as Rasud would have said.
He hated to admit it, but he was grateful for the extra food Rasud had stuffed into his saddlebag. It helped break up the monotony of eating the same thing every night. And for that matter, every morning and afternoon.
The one positive was that the nights were warm, exactly as Henrik preferred. He didn’t need his blanket for warmth and instead folded it beneath his bedroll for a bit of extra padding. Anslie insisted that cooler weather at night actually helped her sleep better. Henrik didn’t get it.
He briefly wondered what Isobel was going to be like. Anslie had described her as a redhead, and Henrik assumed she was just as beautiful as the others. A bit more feisty, apparently. Well, he liked feisty women, so that was just fine.
The days dragged on and Henrik began to wish he had ignored Rasud’s words and grabbed two books instead of one. Reading the old fables definitely helped pass the time, and he looked forward to the stories each evening. Briefly, he wondered if anyone would write a story about him, one day. Henrik, the dragon rider.
He just hoped he would be the hero, and not the villain.
Henrik had only been this far east once before, a few years earlier when a wealthy merchant hired him and a few others to escort him across the wastes. Any merchants brave enough to make that trek supposedly came back with their purses filled with gold. Most didn’t make it, though.
Even on Henrik’s trip, they had been attacked twice by orc raiding parties. Out of the eight men the merchant had hired, only two still lived at the end of their journey.
On the fourth day, the scenery began to change a bit. He rode on the northern edge of the wastes, right where the foothills began. The short, brown grass and occasional stunted tree eventually gave way to scattered copses of small trees. He tried to take advantage of the shade they offered. He was sure The Duke appreciated it.
Where there were more trees, there were more animals, so he stopped that night while there was still enough light left to hunt. True, many animals would come out once the sun dipped below the horizon, but that made the shots too difficult.
Luck wasn’t with him though, so Rasud’s beans made up the majority of his stew. At least The Duke ate his fill of the local foliage.
Day five brought further fortune, as Henrik noticed the telltale signs of water. He steered The Duke toward the north, through the foothills, and eventually found a tiny mountain stream. This far down the mountain it was narrow enough for him to step over, but it was enough for him to fill his water skins. The Duke drank his fill as well, and seemed grateful for it.
Small things like that were enough to help break up the monotony of travel, which ground on his nerves daily. Henrik was a man of action, so sitting astride a horse for twelve hours a day was more trying than most fights he’d been in.
Every day he made sure to continue building his bond with Calduin. He sent feelings of trust, affection, and safety, while Calduin was mostly excited about hunting and playing.
The scenery around him didn’t change; the scattered trees on his left along with gently rolling hills, and the orc wastes sprawling out to his right.
Some time during the evening, images flashed through his mind. Scenes of another cave, and where its position was in the mountain.
It was Cazeth, Isobel’s dragon. She was communicating with Henrik, guiding him now that he was close. While he was growing more accustomed to the dragons, it still made his head ache when their thoughts and emotions trampled through.
“Almost there, buddy,” he said, patting The Duke on the base of his neck. The horse didn’t seem to mind too much; he had eaten well the past few days, so he was content.
He clicked his tongue and The Duke sped up to a trot. That didn’t last long, as Henrik felt he was going to be bounced out of the saddle, so he let the horse speed up to a canter. At that pace, they covered miles of rolling ground in the foothills. Henrik had done a few mental calculations involving his travel time and decided he wanted to make it there as quickly as possible.
A tall mountain loomed before them, one that Henrik had seen in his mind. Cazeth had shown him that very same one earlier.
“Another couple hours at the most, okay?” he said to The Duke.
The foothills gently took them higher, and The Duke handled them with ease. Eventually, the ground leveled out and Henrik immediately knew they were there.
Spreading out in front of him was flat land, covered with a variety of trees, though none of them overly large. Tall cliffs rose on each side, and a towering mountain made up the rear wall. Without being able to see it, Henrik knew there would be a cave at the base of that mountain.
“Welcome to your home for the next, uhh, I don’t know. Week?” Henrik patted his horse again and they slowly made their way across the lush green land. He tried to take a mental image of the place and send it to Calduin. The little dragon was excited for him.
Flowers in every color of the rainbow were sprinkled across the land, and Henrik got the wise idea to pick a handful. Women tended to like flowers, and he needed to win over Isobel.
And so, with one hand resting on the hilt of his ancient sword and the other hand holding a double dozen flowers, Henrik made his way closer to the second dragon cave.
