The Dragon Games

Collecting Firewood from the Mountains

At the crack of dawn, I began my trek to the mountains, meeting a Windsor boy at the castle gates. He called himself Tristan and bragged that the small fortune he made up-selling court-owned weapons was worth the punishment.

But his good humor disappeared when we looked into the distance. The mountains rose faintly over the woods, miles and miles away. If the tracker dragon did not have my blood, I could run past those mountains and never turn back.

"So what's to stop us from forgetting the mountains, riding into town, and bartering with a merchant for some wood?" Tristan said.

"We could get caught and end up in more trouble." A second too late, I realised I probably should have said 'moral integrity' or some crap like that.

"Oh, come on, how would they know? It's not like there's some special tree that only grows in the mountains."

"You do as you like, but I've got a parlay riding on this. I can't step out of line any time I feel like."

"But how will it look if I return hours before you do?"

I shrugged. "Like you're a very fast hiker?"

Tristan heaved a great sigh. "A raider hell bent on rule following. What's next, will rivers burn? Will my father say he is proud of me?"

"Come forth," I said, patting Tristan's back. "Make haste and we can return in time for supper."

Just as we crossed the gate, a group of knights came storming in. There were ten or fifteen of them, their boots striking the ground in perfect unison. I jumped back, almost clobbered by an iron-clad shoulder.

"Bloody hell." I stared at the knights' retreating backs. "Are we at war already?"

"They're evacuating the eastern villages," Tristan said. "A dragon has been spotted by the coastline."

Luckily, the coastline was east, in the opposite direction of the mountains. We caught a ride on the back of a wagon through town, then only had a half hour walk

to the mountains. As we hiked up the trail, I began to feel my training catch up to me. The incline did not help. I could tolerate the heights, so long as I kept well inside the path, well away from the ledge, but that did not stop the nausea twisting my stomach.

Tristan's whistling did not help, either. He whistled the same song over and over again, never tiring of the tune. Between the sun, the incline, and my cramping calves, I was one twiddle-dee-dee from ripping out his tongue or my ears, whichever got my quiet quicker.

Tristan's song hiccuped when two Balthasars came into view. They were heading down the mountain, carrying buckets of firewood. Despite the heat, I kept my jacket zipped high to cover my tattoo, but judging by the tightness that passed over the Balthasars' faces, they recognized me anyway.

Tristan waved at them, and the Balthasars looked away, doubling their pace. "Curs," he muttered.

I fiddled with Sammy's locket, flipping it around. The metal had heated under the sun, almost burning my skin. I felt like I was burning alive under the blazing sun. It was a long hike, indeed. Luckily, we didn't have to go the full distance up the mountain.

We found a patch of trees at the mid-way point, a little ways off the main hiking path. We split up and got to work. I had almost finished my pile when my ax lodged in the bark, too deep to come free. As I crouched over, trying to pry it loose, Tristan appeared behind me.

"Do you remember those two Balthasars we passed at the beginning of the hike?" Tristan said.

"Ay," I grunted, planting my foot and throwing my back into the pull. "Why?"