Path of Dragons

Miguel greeted his impending death with a snarl.

The sword fell, glinting in the faint light of a setting sun, and his stomach twisted into a thousand knots as he considered all the things he’d intended to do with his life. Now, none of that would be possible. Like his mother, he would go too soon. He only hoped that his family would understand, that they would be able to ascertain his fate. Even as he made amends with the end of his life, the blade continued its inexorable fall.

He closed his eyes, finally surrendering to the end he could no longer deny.

It didn’t come.

Even after a few seconds, he remained among the living. So, he opened his eyes to see the elven swordswoman looking down on him. Instead of the disdain she’d worn like a mask, her eyes were wide with surprise.

A thin, red line appeared on her neck, and a moment later, it began to gush blood. As Miguel’s mind reeled, her head toppled free, and her body collapsed into a heap. He blinked, confused at the turn of events. He couldn’t make sense of it. He was alone in the forest – save for the elves – and he certainly didn’t have any allies in the area. Argos was still days away, and there were no settlements nearby.

Finally, as his vision blurred, a hulking shape stepped into view. Miguel couldn’t see precisely what it was, but it seemed too large to be human. He struggled to stave off unconsciousness, but the black spots gathering at the corners of his unfocused vision told him that he only had a few seconds before it overwhelmed him.

“What…”

The word came out as a croak and was quickly cut short by a bloody cough. Just before he lost consciousness, the blurry figure knelt beside him, and he felt an enormous hand clamp down on his shoulder. He couldn’t discern anything else about his savior – if that was an accurate description – before he passed out.

He didn’t dream, and his rest was over in an instant. He only awoke for a few seconds, but he saw that he’d been moved to an unfamiliar location. Judging by the ceiling, it was a house – or some other sort of building – with rough-hewn beams crossing the ceiling.

“Trevor,” he groaned, but that was all he got out before he was forced to once again surrender to unconsciousness. After that, he went in and out a dozen or more times. For some brief bouts of wakefulness, he was barely lucid, but for others, he managed to stay awake long enough to get a decent idea of his location.

As he’d first suspected, it was a house, though it looked more like a log cabin, with various herbs hanging from the rough beams. He also got a glimpse of his savior, who was the biggest man Miguel had ever seen. If the man was less than seven-and-a-half feet tall, Miguel would have been incredibly surprised. His body was also heavy with muscle, with wide shoulders and a thick, trunk-like torso. However, unlike his hulking size might have indicated, the man had a kind, if plain, face that, for whatever reason, put Miguel in mind of a caring father.

Some indeterminate amount of time later, Miguel finally awoke for good. Sunlight filtered through one of the windows, and when he took a deep breath, he smelled mint, garlic, and a host of other less recognizable scents that all mingled together into a weird cacophony of odors that felt oddly comforting.

“Awake at last, eh?” came a rough voice from nearby. Miguel followed the sound, seeing that it had come from a tiny woman with a hunched back and white hair that had been gathered into a neat bun. She stood on a stepstool which allowed her to stir an enormous cauldron that was at least as large as she was. Probably much bigger. “Good. Didn’t think you’d make it, hmm. Going around and getting holes put in you – that’s bad for your health. Didn’t your mother ever tell you to stay away from dark elves?”

“Uh…”

“Or are you one of those boys who won’t listen to his mother, hmm?” she asked, never looking up from her cauldron. “I have a grandson like that. Never listened to me, and he’s worse off for it. Come to think of it, most of my family are the strong-willed type. They need to touch the fire before they believe it’s hot. I wonder where they get that, hmm.”

Only then did she turn to look at Miguel. She tilted her head and cut her eyes in his direction, but even that glance was more than enough for him to establish that she was not human. She had pointed ears like an elf, but it was her eyes that really drew Miguel’s attention. They didn’t look overtly different than any other set of eyes he’d ever seen, but there was something about them that made him feel so tiny that he wanted nothing more than to skitter away like an insect.

“Where am I? Who are you?” he asked, mustering his courage. She hadn’t killed him yet, which meant that she probably didn’t want to.

“So many questions, hmm. What makes you think you’re entitled to answers?” she asked. He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. “Rhetorical question, boy. Just like my grandson. So rigid. I sent Birk to save you because you needed saving. And because I don’t like dark elves. Nasty, warlike creatures that are perfectly happy to live a might-makes-right philosophy. Right up until someone stronger comes along. Then, they’re quick to beg for mercy so their planet doesn’t get blown up, hmm.”

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She turned, pulling a wooden spoon from the cauldron. She shook it at Miguel, saying, “Let that be a lesson to you, boy. If you’re going to believe something, believe it wholeheartedly, even if it’s going to get you killed. Otherwise, you’re just a pretender. And we tolerate those even less than we tolerate dark elves.”

“I…um…okay?”

“Not very talkative are you? I suppose that’s normal, given how many holes you had in you. Did I mention that you should try to avoid that, hmm?”

“You did. But you…you didn’t answer my questions.”

“I suppose I didn’t.”

“Are you going to?”

“Maybe. In the meantime, you need to regain your strength,” she said, grabbing a ladle from a nearby rack. A cabinet also opened completely of its own accord, and a caly bowl floated out. “Nearly dying will take it out of you, hmm.”

She dipped the ladle into the cauldron, pulling it out a second later. She poured the contents into the bowl, then added another ladle-full on top of that. After that, the old woman descended from her perch atop the stepstool and shuffled across the room. Upon offering the bowl to Miguel, she said, “You need to eat.”

With trembling hands, he took the bowl, and to his surprise, he found that it contained only a hearty soup filled with chunks of meat and plenty of vegetables. She’d already provided a spoon, so he dipped it in, taking a bite. And he was more than a little shocked at what he tasted.

“This is amazing…”

The old woman smiled slightly, her wrinkles becoming even more prominent as Miguel dug in. It felt like every spoonful came with a dose of vitality that rivaled his uncle’s healing spells. After a few short minutes, he’d drained the entire bowl, and already, he’d begun to feel better.

“Alright, up and out of bed,” she said. “You need to pay for that.”

“What?” he asked, suddenly suspicious.

“I need firewood. And I need someone to gather some herbs. Birk will show you the ropes. Now go on, hmm. Get out of my house. You can have some more stew in a couple of hours.”

Miguel was feeling better, and he certainly didn’t begrudge the woman payment for her services. In fact, he felt certain that he couldn’t do anything to repay her for saving his life. So, he slipped out of bed, but the moment his feet touched the dirt floor, he remembered two things.

“Where’s Trevor?” he asked.

“The baby guardian beast? He’s fine. He’s helping Birk outside.”

“And my armor?” was his next question.

She hooked her thumb over her shoulder, indicating a pile of lacquered wood he hadn’t seen from the bed. His sword was there, too. The armor had a self-repair function, but it required an influx of ethera to activate. While fleeing the dark elves, he hadn’t had any chance to do that, so it was in truly sorry shape. Hopefully, it wasn’t so far gone that the repair function wouldn’t activate.

After gathering his sword and strapping it to his waist, he decided to do as the woman had asked and go outside where he could repay her and check on Trevor at the same time. He padded across the single-room cottage on bare feet, then stepped outside. He squinted in the bright light, recognizing that it was around noon.

The exterior of the house was as he’d expected. It was just as rough-hewn as the interior, made of untreated logs and featuring a thatch roof. Still, it looked very sturdy and cozy enough, especially with a curl of smoke rising from the chimney.

A grunt drew his attention, and he turned to see the enormous Birk nearby. The man was carrying a bundle of firewood, but Miguel was more interested in the sight of Trevor, who had a huge sack strapped to his back, not unlike a pack mule.

Before he knew what he was doing, Miguel tried to run to his companion. However, he only got one step before his legs wobbled, and he pitched forward onto his face.

“Ow,” he muttered as Trevor’s wet nose found the back of his neck. He flipped over, and promptly received a snort from the young stag. He reached up and patted the side of Trevor’s neck. “I’m fine. Just didn’t realize how weak I still was.”

“Hmm.” Miguel glanced at the door to the house to see the old woman just shaking her head. She said, “Fool children.”

A moment later, Birk was helping him back to his feet. The giant man was surprisingly gentle. Once Miguel was standing, Birk deposited his bag of herbs next to the house, then set off back into the nearby woods. He got to the edge of the forest, then looked back at Miguel and gestured for him to follow.

“Guess he’s not a big talker,” Miguel remarked, following Birk as the giant stepped into the forest.

Over the next couple of hours, Miguel was escorted through the woods, where Birk pointed out various herbs meant to be gathered. He also indicated the ones that should be avoided, though he never spoke. Instead, he communicated via grunts, nods, and hand signals. Miguel didn’t mind, because it gave him an opportunity to take stock of his situation.

He wasn’t far removed from making peace with his own demise, so it was a little surprising to find that he was alive and seemingly well on his way to recovery. As he quickly discovered, it would still take some time before he was well enough to travel, though. After only fifteen minutes, he felt fatigued, and after two hours, he was absolutely exhausted.

Thankfully, Birk understood his condition, and he’d timed the gathering expedition to coincide with Miguel’s exhaustion. When they returned to the cottage, he deposited the herbs and mushrooms where he’d seen Birk leave the previous sack, then collapsed.

Miguel was no stranger to fatigue, but he’d never felt quite as bone tired as he did just then.

To his good fortune, the old woman soon appeared with another bowl of soup, which he scarfed down like a starving wolf. That sent another jolt of vitality coursing through him, though not so much as to completely banish his fatigue.

The next task was to gather firewood, which was even more tiring. After that, he and Birk set about splitting and stacking what they’d collected. Only when night came was he allowed to rest, though not in the cottage. Rather, he and Birk were relegated to a small shack to the rear of the main house.

The big man barely fit, though there was just enough room for the pair. So, after another meal, they both retired for the night.

The next morning, Birk woke him up, and for the first time, he spoke. “You can follow directions. That is good. Now, training.”

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