arin's beginning

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

"Let go boy! There are soldiers who need us!" Randerick called.

"Yes, Master Randerick!" I scrambled about the small infirmary gathering supplies. I stuff as many vials of willow bark, and poppy seed extract in my bag as I can fit. The soldiers will want pain relievers more than they will want actual medicine. Master Randerick says that a couple of drops of poppy seed extract mixed in with some broth makes the soldiers so much more willing to down the bitter Echinacea tincture. This was nothing new, just another skirmish by the Wildmen against the wall. I run out the door, my pack swinging behind me as I rush to catch up to Master Randerick. "How bad is it this time, Master?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter how bad it is, it only matters that we can help." Master Randerick's pace is brisk despite his age. Master Randerick is the most sought-after healer in all of Stormos since he has been practicing his trade for more than 50 years now. The city watch and the Army are some of his most frequent visitors, and they call on him after every event with the Wildmen. As we pass under the west gate we are joined by a small company of infantrymen. 4 soldiers are walking with us. The mood is palpably somber, these men must have friends who are out in the field right now. They guide us to the command tent, where Master Randerick has me wait outside. The guards take up posts around the command tent, and I look out over the field. I don't see many uniforms, which is a good thing, but I don't think I'll ever get used to the sights or smells or sounds of a battlefield. Master Randerick lays a hand on my shoulder.

"It never gets any easier. Even after 50 years." He turns and strides into the field, where the worst of the casualties must be. Time begins to blur as we move slowly across the field, binding and bandaging, Master Randerick issuing orders to those men who can move to get themselves to the infirmary tent, and those who can't he directs a few men at a time from our company to carry the wounded. Master Randerick and I get separated as I move ahead to dose the men with poppyseed and willowbark-infused broth. I stop and wipe the sweat from my brow and notice that there are more Wildmen than Stormos soldiers around. The city wall is a good 750 meters away now. I have no idea how these men got this far out, or how I did for that matter.

Behind me, I hear a loud huffing sound, and I turn expecting to see a lone horse looking for its rider. My heart leaps into high gear as my eyes fall on a Dragon. Its scales were a deep red, like the port wine that the merchants sell, but its horns and talons were the brightest ivory I've ever seen. It hasn't noticed me, and my breath catches in my throat as I carefully try not to breathe too loudly. Its wings are drooping to the point of dragging in the dirt, and its legs remind me of winter-bare saplings. The poor thing must not have eaten much recently to be so wasted. It sniffs at one of the pikemen I recently gave a dose of poppyseed to. Suddenly I find my voice right as it opens its mouth, surprising both me and the dragon, "I wouldn't eat that one if I were you."

It jumps and turns to me, clearing a good meter in the air. It lands in a couch and growls deeply at me. I raise my hands slowly and take a single step back, praying to Malatos that I am projecting enough of air of 'I don't want to hurt you' as I can. I gesture to the Wildman a few feet away, I would pick that one. He's just recently died, I watched it happen. Besides, he's probably got a lot less shit in him than any of the uniformed men have. You wouldn't believe what passes for food in the army." I take a few more steps away from the Wildman, giving the Dragon a healthy and respectful distance with which to eat. The dragon crawls forward, its belly scraping along the ground. It nears the Wildman and hums softly in its chest before nudging the dead man's thigh. In less time than it takes me to blink, the dragon crunches through the man's femur and throws its head back, and swallows the leg whole.

"Promise me you're not going to choke on him. I haven't trained on Dragon Resuscitation yet." I say more to myself than the dragon. My stomach twists at the sounds of it eating the man, but at least he's dead, and not screaming alive, I tell myself. Before long the only sign that the Wildman was ever there is a bloody impression in the mud in a vague humanoid shape. The Dragon looks up at me, and for the first time, I get a good look at its eyes. The eyes draw me in, they could almost be an artist's painting of a fire. They're a deep orange, but there are flakes of red and gold and yellow that rise through its iris like sparks would from a campfire. I pull my gaze from its eyes and notice that its scales aren't just a flat red, there are whorls and weaves and splotches of color in varying shades of red from crimson to dried blood and everything in between. I've never seen anything so incredible before when suddenly, the dragon bounds away for the foothills of the Spinevarn. I blink for a moment as i register that there is an arrow sticking out of its haunch, how did I miss that?

"Wait!" I cry grabbing my bag and running after it, "Let me help you!" The dragon stops at the edge of the field and twists its head back around to look at me. I slow to a walk as I approach. Its tail twitches side to side, but it doesn't move any further. "I can get that out for you." I take a single step forward. "May I?" The dragon dips its head slightly and settles into the grass. I set my bag down and pull out a few herbs. I only have a little bit of willow bark left, so I grab some ginger and grind the two together, and make a poultice. I hold the mixture out for the dragon to sniff, "this will help prevent an infection after I remove the arrow." The dragon cautiously sniffs at the poultice, then it snaps its head away and sneezes violently. I suppress my laughter by clapping my hand over my mouth, but I can't stop the shaking of my shoulders. The dragon turns and gives me a look that can only be described as a glare, but it doesn't do anything.

I step back to its haunches and inspect the arrow, the scales have started to regrow around the shaft of the arrow. It's a wonder that an infection hasn't set in yet, I don't smell anything that indicates infection or worse, gangrene. I grasp the shaft and look back at the Dragon, " this is probably going to hurt a lot, and for that I apologize." i place my hand against the scales and adjust my grip on the shaft, "on the count of three. One, two..." I yank as hard as I can, and the arrowhead slides free from the scale. The dragon roars and snaps for my head. I duck down to grab the poultice at the same time its jaws snap over my head. "Im sorry! Im told it hurts less when its a surprise!"

It hurts all the same, whether it is a surprise or not.

I freeze at the sound of the voice in my head. My hands are on the dragon's scales smearing a sealant around the edge of the eucalyptus leaves I laid over the poultice. " Was that you?" I look at the dragon again, and it dips its head. It isn't unheard of for a dragon to communicate mind-to-mind with someone who isn't its rider, but I never dreamt that I would talk to a dragon. I look down at the arrow in my hand, and I can feel my brows knit together as I take in the heavy shaft, and the bodkin point. This design is used by only one sort of people. "Poachers." I say raising the arrow and looking at the dragon. "I don't envy the end those men must have met for sticking you and not finishing the job." I grasp the arrow in both hands and snap it over my knee. I am no stranger to hunting, but hunting dragons or wyverns or even drakes is prohibited by law, and hunting such intelligent creatures is abhorrent to all but most evil of men.

Thank you. You have shown me kindness that others have not. My head starts pounding, and i can feel my pulse quicken to the point I can hear it. My vision turns black around the edges and i can feel my consciousness falling away. Im vaguely aware of the sensation of actually falling and the last thing I see is the dragon rushing at me. My last thought is that i'll be dragon food in a minute.

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"Arin! Arin! Can you hear me!"

I groan. My head feels like there is an axe lodged between my eyes. There isnt.

"Who said that" I mumble. My hand finds my face, and no there is no axe to be dislodged. Surprisingly.

"Arin, its me, Randerick. What the hell are you doing all the way out here? And why is there a dragon hatchling curled around you?" Master Randerick stands a few meters away with the company of soldiers that escorted us outside the gate. I look around trying to remember what happened. Suddenly it all comes rushing back when the dragon's head curls around into my view.

My name is Brann, and you, Arin, are my Rider.