Page 7 of The Ballad of the Last Dragon

Chapter Seven

“ A ll right, company, listen up!” Aeron saunters into camp, holding a dark leather-bound book high above his head. He’s forgone the armor, thank the goddess, but his approach is just as conspicuous as he stomps over twigs and leaves. Everything about him is loud and draws one’s attention, even if they don’t wish it.

I break off another small piece of bread and shove it in my mouth. The crumb has taken on a chewy texture. We’re almost out anyway, but we’ve finally hit the more populated roads where traders frequent. If someone is willing to barter food, it would be a blessing. But if not, the town of Astervale isn’t far off—our first major stop along the way where we can resupply—and I can begin my work spreading news of Aeron’s quest.

I glance around the camp. Everyone is dutifully ignoring him. Perhaps his presence slowly fades to the background the way the audience fades when I’m lost in a song.

Jaromir sharpens his sword, and for once, his face is smoothed of his perpetual scowl. He runs the whetstone over steel, the sharp ring almost musical.

Neith’s complexion has a greenish hue as she sips from her mug. We agreed the last of our water should go to her. She shivers beneath a blanket despite the heat. Cadoc studies her with his ever-vigilant gaze, always assessing, and never far from her side. But she’s clear eyed and far better this morning than she was last night.

Whatever she saw during her venom-induced hallucination judging by the screams and soft murmuring that drifted from her tent, it wasn’t pleasant.

I hope if I’m ever struck by visions, they’re at least enjoyable. Like swimming in a sea of coins while an adoring audience cries out for an encore. Or a bakery all to myself, stuffed with the finest cakes and breads. Maybe with a handsome, muscular man feeding me. An unwelcome image of Jaromir, wind blowing through his dark hair as he leans over suggestively, caressing a perfectly baked loaf of honey bread fills my mind. I snort and shove it away.

I’d much prefer a man who smiles and doesn’t treat conversation like a poisonous snake to be avoided.

As if he can sense my thoughts, Jaromir looks up from his blade. His face is relaxed, almost curious, and a flutter of warmth fills my chest. I smooth a hand down my emerald-green tabard, the one with the embroidered sunflowers Brigitta added for me.

“This guidebook here,” Aeron calls out, and good goddess, is the man still speaking, “will prevent us from ever getting caught unawares again!” Though he’s addressing all of us, his stare remains fixed on Neith, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

Jaromir sets his blade down. “We don’t need a book. We need to move quickly to the next town. And next time, we factor in the elements.”

“Never mind that. This survival guide has taught me more than I could ever learn in one lifespan.”

“That sounds more like a personal failing than the strength of one book.” I bite my lip, but the words have already flown from my mouth. When did I turn on Aeron, my ally and likely the only one truly excited to have me along for the trip? I glance over at Neith, a fine sheen of sweat dots her brow. Oh, yes. Now I remember.

Jaromir laughs. Laughs! Well, it’s more of a short exhale, but it bears amusement rather than exasperation. I will make the man laugh one day so I might hear what it sounds like.

Aeron rolls his eyes. “Yes, very funny. But listen to this. ‘Humans are interlopers in the wilds. To traverse unnoticed, one must blend in with their surroundings.’ Don’t you see? We must conceal our human nature so as not to disturb the delicate balance of the forest.”

“How exactly are we to achieve this?” Cadoc’s question rings detached with feigned curiosity as he rummages through his pack.

“Ah, there is a clever method of utilizing nature’s abundance and merging with the masquerade it offers.”

It takes a full minute for me to register that my mouth is hanging open. “You mean,” I begin, trying my best not to laugh, “you want us to cover ourselves with leaves and branches to walk through the woods?” I glance over at Jaromir to assess his reaction.

His mouth twitches, and he resumes sharpening his sword.

“You make it sound silly. This is scientifically proven to work.”

“I’m not playing nymphy dress-up with you,” Cadoc says. His tone is softer than the day before, but a hint of an edge remains. Especially when he says, “No matter how much you’re paying me.”

Aeron’s face flushes, red creeping all the way up to his hairline. “Yes, well. Things were said in anger… I’m not proud of how I behaved. Nor how Neith bore the brunt of my mistake.”

His words just hang there. And for a moment, it seems Cadoc will reject his apology. But he sighs and nods.

“Neith”—Aeron runs a hand over his mouth, two lines forming between his brows—“you know I’d rather die than let anything happen to you.”

That’s a rather bold proclamation if I’ve ever heard one.

Neith tugs the blanket tighter, shrugging. Never so much as lifting her gaze from the ground. “Nae harm done.”

Aeron’s throat bobs, his eyes boring holes into the top of her head. He blinks and flips to the middle of his book, peering down at it with concentration creasing his brow. “I need to find a good mud hole.”

“A what?”

But he’s already off in search of ‘a good mud hole.’ Whatever that means…

The sickly pallor and greenish hue has finally fled Neith’s face. A healthy flush creeps in, and when her laugh rings through our packed up camp, I know she’s feeling better.

Now is as good a time as any to thank her for protecting me. I leave Jaromir to finish loading the saddlebags and approach her. She meets my eye before she busies herself with checking the straps of her bags.

“You look well,” I say, and she nods without a word. It strikes me, she probably doesn’t show weakness very often, and for me, practically a stranger, to bear witness must discomfit her. “Thank you,” I add quickly. “I was useless yesterday and were it not for you…” I let my words trail off without their destination. She knows full well without me saying it.

Neith nods. “I’d do it for any o’ us.”

Us. Boy, do I like the sound of that.

She turns back to her horse, done with the conversation. But I’m not quite finished.

“Can you teach me to fight?”

My stars, did those words spring forth from my lips? Judging by the way she lifts her brows in surprise, they must have. Do I even want to fight? Not really, but I don’t wish to die any more than I wish to fight, so I suppose one must win out over the other. Plus, it’s too late to snatch the question from the air.

“Only if you want to, and it isn’t a terrible inconvenience. I don’t think I could manage a sword. Or a bow. I knew a boy who used to hunt squirrels; horrible pastime if you ask me, but he used a slingshot. Surprisingly, a deadly weapon, against squirrels at least. I did stun one of those beetles with a rock so maybe there’s something to it—”

Neith holds up a hand, effectively stalling my rant. “I’ll teach ye. Everyone should have th’basic knowledge t’defend themselves.”

“Thank you! I promise to be a good pupil!”

She laughs. “I dinnae doubt it. Let’s wait until we stop in Astervale. I’ll pick up a few things for yer lessons.”

Lessons. How fun!

“What are you doing?” Cadoc’s laugh erupts through the camp, and my hackles raise. If he wishes to ridicule me for wanting to learn—

—but he isn’t looking at me. He’s looking at some strange man, covered from head to toe with mud.

“I’m concealing my human nature!” Aeron’s jovial voice rings out, and I groan. The man has literally rubbed mud over every inch of his body, even slicking it through his hair.

“The book said to do this? Where did you get it from again?” I can’t tell what Aeron’s expression is since it’s hidden beneath five layers of mud.

“I purchased it from a trader back in Vizia. He swore his stock came from scholarly articles; all peer reviewed.”

Jaromir shakes his head. “Sounds like a charlatan.”

Aeron lets out a frustrated whine. “He was not. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’m going to prove to you just how effective my concealment is.” He stomps off, muddy boots squelching with every step. “Don’t come crying to me the next time we disturb a nest. I’ll be invisible.”

I can’t halt the laugh that rips from my throat. Well, ‘can’t’ is the wrong word. I don’t even bother trying. “Should I include this part in your ballad?”

Aeron ignores me but pauses, bending to examine a gnarled branch with smaller branches jutting off it in curls. “This is perfect!” He’s off again, striding for the road.

I’m still smiling when we climb onto our mounts. Without asking, I’m already waiting by Jaromir’s horse, allowing him to lift me into the saddle. He offers no objections, only settles in behind me, like we’ve done this a thousand times. I’m sure the way my body vibrates with excitement has everything to do with my amusement over Aeron’s survival tactics, and nothing to do with the way Jaromir’s muscled thighs feel against my backside.

Maybe it’s a little of both. The man might be an utter bore most of the time, but I can appreciate a well-honed physique as much as the next person.

I’m half-convinced I’ll end the day with a sore jaw if I can’t wipe this silly grin off my face, but I don’t even care.

“Can you help me? These keep slipping.” Aeron holds the branches to his head like a pair of antlers.

“Absolutely not.” Cadoc is the most affronted by Aeron’s creative interpretation of the survival text. I can’t imagine it actually states to tie branches upon one’s head in the shape of antlers, but, here we are.

Aeron tugs a leather wrap from his pack and winds it around his skull, flattening his previously red hair to his face. Now he’s just a wall of mud with sticks.

Our hero immerses himself in the wild freedom of the forest, casting off human trappings of civilization in favor of blending in with his surroundings.

I suppose I could write that. But really, the man who rolls around in shit and mud and ties branches to his head is far more compelling, if for the wrong reasons. My laughter echoes in the quiet forest.

Jaromir has been silent this entire trek which is strange even for him. I’ve come to expect his gusty sighs and low growls.

“You’re awfully quiet. Quieter than usual, that is.” Why can’t I let anything go? If the man wanted to talk, he’d talk.

“If you wanted stimulating conversation, you chose the wrong person to ride with.”

Do not make a joke about the word stimulating.

“I never asked for philosophical debate, but we might chat here and there to pass the time.”

Jaromir hums, and the sound vibrates against my back. “You’ll say what you will regardless of what I think, so what’s stopping you?”

Nothing, really, but I can recognize an evasion when I hear one. “Tell me about Astervale.”

When he shrugs, his arms graze my elbows. “Nothing to tell. Decent enough city. A few establishments offer rooms, so we’ll likely find a place to sleep. There are shops, a smithy for repairs.” He adjusts in the saddle, and I’m hyper aware of the way his thighs burn against mine. “They’ve laid stones for the roads, so it’s a smooth ride.”

“Roads! See, and you thought you couldn’t hold your own with idle chit-chat. Telling me about the roads, well done. You almost sound like a normal person!”

Jaromir makes a noise halfway between a groan and a laugh. My stomach flutters at the sound. Perhaps earning more than a scowl and a grunt from Jaromir is a learned task, and I’m a quick study. It’s utterly ridiculous how light that makes me feel, so I turn my attention to Aeron.

He has left his horse with our group and is scouting ahead, moving with exaggerated care as if his footfalls will alert every predator in the forest. He looks utterly ridiculous, yet somehow still adorable. One of his branches, excuse me, his antlers, is drooping.

“Aeron,” Cadoc calls out, “if a doe is feelin’ frisky, don’t break character. Do what you gotta do!”

Aeron ignores him and continues creeping up ahead, carving around the bend of the path until he’s out of sight.

“Should we worry about him?” Neith asks, turning to Cadoc.

“Nah, he won’t go far so long as he stays on the road.”

But will he stay on the road? Aeron seems to have an abundance to prove and a meager supply of wits to achieve that end. If they aren’t worried, I won’t worry either. Although should anything happen to him… what does that mean for me? I can’t imagine the others would want to keep me along. Would they even escort me home, or just leave me at the nearest town? I’d no longer be their problem, and they would have no obligation to me.

“It’s eerie for you to be silent,” Jaromir rumbles behind me.

I force a lightness to my voice I don’t actually feel. “I was just calculating the odds of Aeron surviving this journey.”

“We’ll keep him alive. If for no other reason than to collect the second half of our payment.”

When all else fails, I can place trust in coin.

Despite Aeron’s foolishness, he has admirably bright determination. Optimism and careless abandon. Too often, the world hardens what once was soft. A river erodes stone until it is smoother than glass, but people are not carved into smoothness. They push back against the river, and their once soft surface becomes rough as if they could cut the water’s edge as it washes over them.

I, too, am determined to go down in history as a great storyteller, but I’m realistic enough to know it’s the story that lives on, not the teller. If the story I tell can last the ages, that’s enough. I don’t need my name to withstand history. Names and faces fade. They shift and reform to match whomever the hero needs to be. But a story passed down? This is the legacy I can leave behind and it’s more than someone like me can hope for.

A cry rings out from up ahead, and Jaromir freezes behind me. It’s the sound of agony, and it’s unmistakably human.

Jaromir urges our horse to gallop, riding past Cadoc and Neith with ease. The wind whips through my hair, and my eyes water. His heart bludgeons against my back, and I count each pulse.

There’s a mound of dirt and leaves in the middle of the road. A low groan seeps from the pile. Not a mound. A person.

Aeron.

Jaromir skids his horse to a halt, and I slide down without thought, tripping over my own feet. Aeron is lying far too still. I land beside him, and Jaromir turns him over. An arrow juts from his chest. Blood and dirt mingle to create a thick, dark pool across his filthy tunic.

A man dressed in calf-leather breeches and a dark green cloak stumbles out to the road. He hovers over Aeron’s body, and a hand flies to his mouth in horror. His blond hair hangs against his jaw, and his eyes are wide with fear. “I—I didn’t know,” he stammers. “I was tracking a deer and lost its trail. When I saw the antlers…” He gestures feebly at our unconscious leader.

Jaromir inspects the entry point, ignoring the hunter.

“Is he…” I don’t dare finish the thought. It’s a silly thing, believing that voicing my fear will make it real. Up close, he looks so young, even beneath all the mud, his skin is smooth. I gently push the leather wrap from his forehead, freeing his hair and loosening the branches to fall against the earth.

Aeron groans again. He’s alive! I reach for him but hesitate. Jaromir’s mouth is pulled in a frown as he studies the wound. The arrowhead hasn’t made it through. Only the shaft is visible from Aeron’s chest. Can we get it out? Do we need a surgeon? If we pull it free, will he bleed out?

“It missed his anything vital, but I don’t dare cut this out. Not here.” Jaromir murmurs, almost as if he can hear my thoughts. Or maybe I did think aloud.

“What do we do?” What do I do? Apart from panic and try not to vomit.

“Cadoc knows enough about medicinal herbs for basic use, but we need a specialist. We’re near Astervale. We’ll take him to Henry.” Jaromir lifts Aeron into his arms and carries him smoothly, gentler than I thought him capable of.

“I’ll follow. It’s the least I can do,” the hunter says, stashing his bow and giving an ear-piercing whistle.

Jaromir grunts at him. He has yet to say a single word to the man.

I haven’t spoken to him either. What do you say to someone who accidentally shot your friend? “ No worries, no harm done. We’ve all wanted to shoot Aeron at one point or another.”

I wipe my wet cheeks, smearing something thick against my skin. Must be mud. Or Aeron’s blood. My stomach hollows, and I force my feet to move.