Landow

Mikkin took his wife Mardra into his arms, burying his face in her red hair. With his eyes closed, he could outline her features in his mind. He saw every freckle upon her skin. He saw the way her cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and the way her gaze danced with mischief. She smelled of lavender and charred wood, evidence of many hours spent before their hearth. That simple thought—knowing how hard she worked—drove him to tighten his grip. He couldn't let her go.

"But you must," she whispered, gently stroking his hair. "My time has come."

No! Curse the gods, he would deny their wishes. She was not theirs. "Take me instead," he begged. "Let her live." The void beyond their entangled bodies gave no answer.

"Mikkin, my love, you must let me go."

"I can't. Please, Mardra. I cannot lose you. I cannot lose Devden and Thomas." Hearing their names, their sons materialized, running to him, clinging to his legs.

"Don't go, Da-da," Thomas said before Devden burst into tears. Two sets of brown eyes gazed up at him in earnest, glistening.

"Please don't cry, children." Mardra patted their heads. "We go to a better place now. We go to the gods."

"But...I want to stay with Paaaa." Devden tightened his grip. Mikkin's heart constricted, strangled by ropes of despair. How could the gods be so cruel?

Mist crept towards them, tendrils outstretched like eager arms, lapping about his ankles like lake water. His heart quickened. "Don't leave me..." His words—his prayer—died on his lips. The world around him was nothing more than blackness. His arms flailed, grasping at the emptiness where Mardra disappeared, where the boys ceased to exist. There was nothing but the void, and tears left behind upon his cheeks. He fell to his knees. The emptiness engulfed his mind until he remembered—he remembered everything.

The sting of physical pain returned to Mikkin's body. He felt it like an afterthought, dwarfed by his torment. He refused to open his eyes. If he did, his torture would be real. Tears leaked from beneath closed lids. A sob escaped his chest as reality manifested. "Mardra..." he whispered her name like a prayer, clenching his fists. "Mardra..." It was all gone, everything he ever knew, everything he ever loved. It was taken from him.

Taken by beasts.

In a sudden jolt, his eyelids flew open. Taken...everything was taken. The fragments of his memory reoriented, until consciousness returned in full. His mind roved over the killers stalking his memory, billowing flames of death. He gasped. His body felt like a hollow shell.

His gaze darted about, unseeing, until settling upon the ceiling above, wooden and aged. His raw fingers twitched, grasping, clawing at the bedding beneath him. The linen was soft against his burns. Where was he?

He thought he'd died, but this was not the wilderness he tried to die in. This was not his grave.

"Mary!" A woman's voice cried out. "Mary, he's waken' up. Go and get Tynen. Hurry, quick-like!" He struggled to turn his head, his movements slow and stiff, his eyes still wide. He found a dark-haired lass sitting at his bedside.

She smiled kindly. "All will be well, mister. You're in Tynen's house—good hands to be sure." Her words swept through him faster than a river, in and then out, with no meaning. "Gods above though," she cried, "If I might be sayin', sur, you gave us a fright, you did! We wasn't sure you'd wake."

I never intended to. Curse these people for trying to save him, from trying to take him from his family.

"Here, drink this." The woman held a cup to his lips, reaching her hand under his head. He turned away just as the water rushed out, spilling all around him. The woman swore, "Gods above!" Once more she tried to set the cup at his lips. Again he turned. "Come now, sur. Cooperate."

"Let me die," he hissed. The croak was hardly audible.

"No one be lettin' you die today. Drink." This time, she held fast to the back of his head and forced his lips to the cup. Cold water rushed into his mouth, gushing down his parched throat.

Several people burst into the room all at once. He coughed and cleared his throat as his sights settled upon two men, one old and grizzled, the other a strapping young lad, and a woman, similar in appearance to the lass beside him. The older man stepped forward and crouched beside his bed.

Their eyes met for several moments before he spoke. "Ho there, mister. I'm Tynen, and this is my home. We aren't accustom' to findin' unconscious strangers on the outskirts of our little village. There's been terrible rumors circulating..." The man shook his head. "We seen the smoke on the horizon."

Mikkin flinched. Blazing orange flames leapt into his mind, followed by the strong scent of smoke. His stomach lurched. He threw himself over the side of the bed and began retching. Only water came up, and then nothing. Tynen let him finish before hoisting him back into bed.

"You look as though you seen death." Tynen spoke again. "What happened?"

His throat was raw, his tongue more so. He tried to speak, but only one word pierced the silence, rolling from his tongue like a curse. "Dragons..."

"Dragons, you say?"

He gave a jerk of his head. Tynen's eyebrows pulled together before he glanced back at the others. The lass beside him covered her mouth, stifling a surprised hiss.

His gaze returned to the ceiling. He cared little for their shock. Swallowing, he tried to regain his voice. Countless screams and days without water left talking nearly impossible. "More water," he croaked at last. The dark-haired lass lifted the cup to his lips. This time he drank deeply. Again, he tried to speak. "They came from the mountains." His voice cracked from disuse. "They burned everything. Belnesse is gone. It's all gone." Those last words came as a sob, cutting him like a knife. More tears leaked from the corners of his eyes. His gaze remained fixed upon the ceiling.

Panicked whispers met his ears. Then Tynen spoke, "We saw the smoke on the horizon and wondered..." A slight pause followed. "Jamie, how quickly can you get to Belnesse?"

"If I take Lizzy—a day. I might make it by nightfall if I leave now."

"Off you go then, lad. Make haste." The door closed with a thud. Still, Mikkin gazed up at the ceiling. "Jamie is a right lad. He will return to us on the 'morrow with confirmation of your claim."

"Little good it'll do you," Mikkin muttered. "He won't be findin' anything but ash."

The room fell silent. In the wake of that silence, new sounds arose. An argument took place somewhere without. It was a man's voice, and a woman's. "Please, sur!" she said. "If you wait here, I shall be gettin' him for ya."

"No waiting, miss. I must speak with him now." The man's voice was rich and proper, each word spoken with perfect enunciation. "My time here is limited."

A door slammed and moments later, two more people filed into the little room. He turned his gaze upon them. The female was shabby. The man however, was of a princely appearance, with a large frame wrought of thick muscle, fine traveling clothes, and a mane of golden hair.

Mikkin looked the man up and down before his gaze settled on the long sword strapped to his waist. The likes of this weapon were something he had never seen before. It was finely crafted, and covered with gems and jewels.

"Beggin' your apologies, Tynen," said the new woman with wide eyes. "This man refused to wait when I be askin' him to."

"No matter, Kera, you may leave us." Tynen rose from his crouched position and presented himself before the stranger. "I ain't seen your kind in Landow, Drengr, since I was a boy. How can I help you?"

"I was informed that a man was rescued—a man who knows something of the smoke rising from Belnesse. Is this that man?" The golden-haired stranger peered around Tynen until his eyes fell directly upon Mikkin.

"Aye. This be him. What is your name, Drengr. I am Tynen, the elected village leader here."

"Pleased to meet you, Tynen. I am Reyr the Gold, King's Shield to King Talon the Black." Tynen sputtered at the title—they all did. The Drengr held forth his hand to clasp Tynen's forearm in greeting. "My time here is short. I must speak with this man immediately."

Tynen nodded. "Very well. He sings a strange tune, this one. Mayhap you be makin' more sense of it than me."

The others retreated as Reyr moved forward, leaving them alone. Mikkin watched Reyr, eyes narrowed. For a moment, his mind was rebellious and his body in need of revenge. What was the difference, truly, between a Drengr and a dragon? Both breathed fire. King's man or not, he could inflict the same destruction those wild beasts did.

The Drengr pulled up the vacated bed-side chair and took a seat. He straddled it, resting his arms atop the high back. Then he leaned forward, his strong body towering over Mikkin's weakened form. "Tell me of Belnesse," he said. "The city was burned to the ground. I have seen it with my own eyes."

"Then you know of the devastation wrought. So what need have you of me, Drengr?"

"More need than you can imagine. Tell me what happened."

It was no small request. This Drengr required him to relive every harrowing moment as the words of explanation tumbled from his lips. He told the king's man of the dragons, of the way they swept in with their fiery breath, igniting everything in their path. As he spoke, he saw his sons in the flames, screaming, writhing in agony while their skin melted from their bodies. He tried to save them, but he was too late. He was forced to watch as a red dragon, scales darker than the flames themselves, snatched his beloved Mardra into its maw. The sound of Mardra's wails echoed in his ears. "I cannot go on," he cried at last, a fresh wave of tears pouring from his eyes. "Forgive me, Lord Reyr, but I cannot."

Reyr placed a hand upon his shoulder giving a nod of understanding. Then the Drengr's eyes closed tightly. "I too lost someone I loved to evil. Long ago. The pain has never departed. My condolences for all that you have endured."

Mikkin said nothing and his gaze returned to the ceiling. The Drengr spoke once more, "You have confirmed my worst fears. I must get this information to the king immediately." With that, Lord Reyr gave his shoulder a gentle pat.

When Mikkin next looked over, it was to see Lord Reyr exit the room. Tynen returned shortly thereafter with a pitcher of water to refill his cup. "Mary," he gently called, "make our guest some food." Then he turned back to him. "What's your name?"

"Mikkin. My name's Mikkin." Already he felt his consciousness slipping away. He hadn't the energy to tell Tynen of his conversation with Reyr, or that Reyr had already seen Belnesse with his own eyes. By this time, Jamie was well on his way to Belnesse—now a wasted effort—but he could not say the words that would call the lad back. He hadn't the energy for anything but the slumber that forced him to drift away until there was nothing left but blackness.

***

When he next woke to the fragrant smell of food, even the conversations he'd had with Reyr seemed dream-like. The light seeping into his small room from the tiny window was dim. Nightfall was upon the little cottage. He was alone, but he could hear sounds of movement outside his door. Pulling back his covers he sat up. Even such simple movements took a great deal of effort. Evidence of his weakness and the hardships he had been subjected to. Several days had passed since his last meal. Despite his desire to die, food was the only thing he could think about. It was the smell of sustenance that had woken him.

He swung his legs over the cot, and his bare feet touched the dirt floor. Using what little strength he had, he managed to stand and steady his shaking limbs. He made his way to the door. It opened into a large main room. Mary was hovering near the hearth stirring the contents of a large pot. In the center of the room, there was a wooden table with benches, and off to the side were several dingy looking armchairs. It was a homey place, both warm and inviting.

Mary turned to see him. She wore a weak smile. "Just in time for supper," she said. In her voice he heard her failed attempt to sound cheery. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," he answered. He shuffled to the table and sat down on the bench, letting out an exhausted sigh. Mary dished up contents from the pot and brought them to him in a bowl. He thanked her with an emotionless voice.

Hungry as he was, he observed proper manners and used the spoon to eat, though he was tempted to lift the bowl to his lips and drink the soup down quickly.

"Tynen will be back shortly," Mary said as she studied him. "He has called a village meeting to explain who you are. Everyone's been wanting to know..." She trailed off, returning to the hearth muttering.

Tynen returned just as he finished his soup. The man's face was grim. He nodded at Mikkin as he entered, then went straight to Mary, wrapping her in his arms. Mikkin could not hear what was whispered. He did not care to. Their show of affection made him uneasy. It reminded him of what he lost. A fresh wave of grief resurfaced.

Standing quickly, he fled the cottage. The sky's stars were beginning to show. The small cottage was set much farther back than the others. He walked to its rear, locating a grassy place to sit. There, he doubled over and wept.

He remained there a long while—just a shell of a man. By the time he went back inside, it was long into the wee hours of the morning. A still and silent cottage greeted him. All that was left of the evening's fire was now embers. He made his way back to his room and went to sleep, praying that it would be dreamless. His prayers were in vain. Flames consumed his nightmares until he could no longer subject himself to them, at which point he rose.

Dawn light was only just spilling in through the windows. He sat at the wooden table in quiet reverie, watching the sky grow brighter. Mary and Tynen emerged not long after, greeting him. Mary quickly cooked and served breakfast—porridge and bacon—and they sat around the table eating.

Now that he had the energy for it, he told Tynen and Mary of the conversation he had with Lord Reyr. When he finished he added, "It is a shame the lad wasted his journey. Reyr saw all that I spoke of and more."

"And you are sure of it?"

"Aye, he said he saw it with his own eyes. Did he not tell you?"

"Reyr spoke no more than a few words once he finished with you. Nothing was said of Belnesse. He appeared in a great hurry to be away."

"Then I hope you will take my word for it—Belnesse is gone."

"Aye. If the Drengr saw it with his own eyes, then I suppose we must believe it. Do not fret about Jamie. The trip will do him good, wasted effort or no."

Mikkin nodded before saying, "I thank you both for showing a stranger like myself kindness." Despite thanking them, he silently hated them for helping him stay alive.

"It is the least we can do. If you have your strength about you," Tynen added, "the south fields need work. I wouldn't mind a helpin' hand."

For a moment he said nothing, then he nodded, glad to be given something to do.

They passed the day in the fields, uprooting large weeds, plowing the dirt, and preparing it for mid-summer crop. It all seemed so dream-like. He felt out of place, like a ghost in the world, all...wrong. For all he had hoped, there was no hiding from faces that refused to leave his mind, no matter how much he busied himself. Red hair, smiling lips, brown eyes—these were the images that followed him everywhere.

Jamie returned late that afternoon. From the fields, they heard Mary calling to them, so they rushed to the cottage. They arrived just as Jamie dismounted from his horse. The look on the lad's face said more than words could. Mikkin did not want to hear it. Whatever the lad might have to say. It was unnecessary.

"It is gone." Jamie's voice was choked. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of what he had witnessed in Belnesse. "We rode as fast as we could, Lizzy and I."

Mary reached for Lizzy, escorting her to their barn. Tynen clapped Jamie on the shoulder in an effort to comfort the boy. "Let's get you some food, son." They escorted Jamie inside.

"What did you see? Were there any survivors?" Tynen asked once they were indoors.

Jamie shook his head. "It was all ash. There is nothing left. Belnesse is gone."

***

News of Jamie's trip spread through Landow, leaving in its wake a slew of frightened villagers. They all speculated that Landow would be next, should the dragons return from the mountains. It was unsettling for everyone, so the next several days were spent preparing for such an outcome. Watchers were set to keep the village on full alert. Weapons were collected and inventoried, even though the villagers knew such protections would do little good against fire.

Three days after his arrival, after his initial shock and loss began morphing into furious anger, Mikkin felt that his stay was at an end. He was of no use to anyone here, merely a burden for Mary and Tynen. They did not see it that way. They assured him that his help was appreciated. Still, he had no desire to work the fields when vengeance was to be had. A restlessness settled over him. He held fast to the hope that he might seek retribution for the ones he loved.

When his morning duties in the fields were complete, he left Tynen and went to the house to make preparations for his departure. Mary worked outside in her garden, so she did not notice his actions in the cabin. He collected the things he needed, hoping he could be ready to depart before the mid-day meal.

Tynen returned much faster than he anticipated. "What do you hope to accomplish by this, Mikkin?" Tynen questioned him. Instead of answering, he continued to place provisions into the rucksack he commandeered. "It's a fool's errand, Mikkin. A fool's errand! Surely you can see it. You'll be getting yourself killed, you will."

"I know the range better than most, Tynen. There is nothing for me here. Nothing for me anywhere, matter fact, because I have nothing left. Who better to go than me?" There was no changing his mind. He knew what he needed to do. With proper provisions and a weapon, he could make it to the range. But he did not plan to stop there.

The wild dragons had come from the range and returned to the range. That meant there was a lair of them somewhere. He intended to find it. He would kill every last beast he could get his hands on. How? He did not know yet. But sitting in Landow day after day accomplished nothing. He couldn't ask anyone to accompany him. Others might have something to lose, but he didn't. He was the perfect candidate.

"And what do you expect to do once you find them?" Tynen asked, pointing out the flaw in his plan. It was a shortcoming, yes. Mikkin shrugged his shoulders. At least if he found the lair, Dragonwall would be one step closer to destroying them.

Someone banged on the locked door and got their attention. Tynen moved to open it and Jamie entered. He looked from Tynen to Mikkin. "You are leaving?" Jamie asked.

He nodded.

"Mikkin thinks he can single-handedly track down the wild dragon lair and seek retribution for his losses. If I raised you right, boy, then you will tell him it's a fool's errand, as I have. Though I can't say he'll listen to reason, yours or mine," said Tynen.

Jamie was silent a moment, thinking. "I'm going with you."

"In gods' hell you are, boy! Absolutely not."

"Yes, Father, I am. Don't forget that I am of age now. This is important. I agree with Mikkin. No one in Landow will be safe until these dragons are killed. It'll be ages before our messengers reach Fort Squall. Even then, what can they do for us?" Jamie asked. Tynen shook his head. "Father, he should not be doing this alone. At least with me, he has a better chance of survival."

Mikkin stayed silent, letting the two of them argue. He had no intention of allowing Jamie to accompany him. This was his task—his alone.

He finished packing everything and turned to them. "I will travel through the range faster alone." He moved towards the door to leave.

Jamie snorted. "Alone? Faster? Begging your pardon, sur, it will take you days to reach the mountains on foot. My horses are the fastest." Jamie squared his shoulders proudly. "Without them, you will surely be exhausted before getting into the range."

He could not argue with that.

"Let me accompany you. We can be at the range in a day. My father is right, if you do this alone, it'll be a fool's errand."

He stayed silent as he considered the idea. "And what do you suppose we do with the horses once it is time to climb through the range?" he asked Jamie, who did not answer immediately. The Northern Barrier Range was no place for horses.

"Father, escort us to the range. I beg it of you. Then you can see us off."

Mikkin shook his head. This was not part of his plan. There were dangers ahead. It was not fair to risk the lives of others for his own personal vendetta.

Tynen was silent for a moment. "Your mother won't like the idea, you know. Not one bit. But if it is your wish, then I will escort you."

It was settled. They were going to the range. And as soon as he found the dragons, even the gods would not stifle his wrath. He'd kill as many as possible, or die trying. 

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