Legends Yet Grown: Chapter 2

This chapter was edited by Maji and commissioned by Georgio!

Chapter 2: Fangs and Foes

It would be the second time I took a dragon’s eye, which I felt was twice more than most.

The heat of the dragon’s breath licked at my feet, rushing over the snow-covered ground. Those baleful red eyes tracked me through my leap, and I brought the sword in my hands down with all I could.

The dragon flicked its head, and a wicked horn caught the edge of my blade and heaved me through the air. I felt my arms nearly wrench out of their sockets, and then I hit the ground. I curled, roots and stone hitting hard enough to white my vision. When I blinked my eyes clear, I’d already rolled into the undergrowth. My arms ached, I’d lost my sword, and I could feel the bruises forming on my hips and back.

In the clearing, the massive dragon glared over a shoulder, uncaring of the swords striking at its scales.

“Sahlag Joor.” Its voice filled the air, a rumble so deep it sent my head spinning again. For a second I thought it would ignore the Stormcloaks I’d escaped with just to finish me off.

Then the soldiers we’d just escaped from broke through the trees. Two lines, shields raised and swords drawn, they paused for only a heartbeat at the sight of a dragon. With roars on their lips, a wave of steel crashed into the dragon’s flank. The Stormcloaks, who moments ago had escaped from these men and women, now stood shoulder to shoulder alongside them.

“For Skyrim!” I heard. “For the Empire!”

The dragon twisted, roaring at the blades prying at its scales, seeking the thin membranes of its wings. Then those wings flared and threw back every single attacker, armor and all. The dragon rumbled; it sounded almost like laughter as it leapt into the air.

“Into the trees!”

“On your feet, soldier!”

“Quick! It’s going to—”

I threw myself to my feet and farther into the woods just before a wave of fire washed into the clearing, and the shouting turned to screams. The dragon circled once, wings beating hard in the air. Once more it breathed fire over the trees. I thought the whole forest would catch fire, but the trees just steamed and popped.

We ran.

I caught glimpses of my fellow escapees and flashes of steel armor of those imperial soldiers. Some ran with me for a bit, before we split around a tree, another roar overhead sending us running in opposite directions so at least one person might escape. By the time I realized the wingbeats had stopped, I was alone in a dense forest, chest heaving, feet aching, and hair damp with sweat that was already starting to chill.

I came to the edge of the tree line, over a small hill. I scanned the skies: blue and clear, no sign of any giant black dragon. I reached for my glasses, but my fingers touched the side of my face instead. I paused, pressing my palm flat against both of my eyes.

I looked back up at the sky and traced its rim, where the blue met a mountainous horizon. I could see just fine.

Contessa.

She’d given me back my hand and fixed my eyes too, because she was going to dump me here, in some fantasy world where I’d be blind otherwise. Somehow, changing my vision felt like the worst violation of all, and she’d dumped me in some Middle Earth analogue so I wouldn’t have time to dwell on it. I needed to find shelter, water, and food. To choose otherwise would be to lay down and die.

Contessa knew I wouldn’t have time to wallow.

I looked over the forest ahead of me. I saw jagged mountains, taller than most. The trees started to thin as they reached the foothills, thick pines with deep green needles. I couldn’t make out any rivers or roads, and while I could maybe figure out north if I assumed that the sun still worked the same way here, I didn’t know what was north or south of me to begin with. There’s a reason you’re supposed to stay put when you’re lost in the wilderness. There are so many ways to get more lost, and very few that take you back to safety.

I didn’t have the time for that either.

I scanned the horizon one last time, before pausing. A wisp of smoke rose up over the trees, far enough away I could barely make it out. In a moment, the wind scattered it. I stood frozen, eyes glued to that spot, barely willing to blink. A few seconds later, a grey strand wormed out from the trees yet again, thick enough to be seen against the green.

I let out a breath.

There sat my destination, no compass required. All I had to do was not get lost on the way.

I took a few minutes more to catch my breath, retying the burlap shoes on my poor abused feet. I’d only taken a few classes about wilderness survival while I was in Chicago, but hopefully I still remembered enough to get me out of this mess. While I was gathering myself, I picked a spot on the mountain behind the smoke. There was a jagged peak about halfway up the mountain’s skirt. Then I lined up a tall tree, just across the small dip between hills. That would be my first landmark. As long as I stayed on course, I could make it to shelter before nightfall.

I stared walking.

It was slow. To make sure I didn’t wander off course, I kept the sun over my left shoulder. Each time I reached my target landmark, I picked out a new one in line with my ultimate destination. Sometimes I caught more wisps of smoke, growing tantalizingly more visible, but still so far away. My feet started hurting almost immediately. The thin cloth wraps had no support and barely stopped me from shredding my soles. I understood why people used to kill each other over a good pair of shoes.

There was nothing for it but the walking.

Slowly, one tree, one boulder, one outcropping at a time, I wound my way closer to that elusive finger of smoke. The only companions I had were the rustling of branches in the wind, and the sun slowly sinking behind me. Once, I saw a fox, coat bright red against the brown earth. It slipped out from beneath a fallen tree, ears flicking towards me, mouth parted in what almost looked like a smile. Then it vanished into the underbrush.

I swallowed once, and kept walking

Slowly the landscape tilted upwards towards the mountain. It became easier to pick out my next landmark, but harder to reach it. I started to worry that I’d seen a much larger fire than I thought, and I wouldn’t reach the smoke at all.

Then I crested a steep hill and saw a cobblestone road below me. I felt relief so sharp I staggered, nearly fell. Beyond the road, maybe twenty yards up a worn footpath, sat stone cabin with a thatched roof. Smoke leaked from the windows set right under the eaves. Despite myself, I grinned. Civilization located. Now I just had to survive the meeting.

It took me another fifteen minutes to pick my way down the outcropping to the road. The cobblestones had been worn smooth and pushed deep into the ground. Here and there I saw clumps of stiff brown grass peeking through the cracks. For its part, the stones that made up the hut were worn. I saw stumps, and an axe buried in a chopping block next to piles of split logs. At first glance, it looked like a woodsman’s cottage, but a wariness lingered at the edges of my thoughts.

Would a woodcutter make their house out of all of that stone? Maybe if they had dragons here, they also had magic that made houses.

I stole across the road and up the path to the cottages. I wasn’t so tired I couldn’t climb up to the eaves and peak through the square windows. No glass. Nobody inside either, but I saw chairs, barrels, a table with a different kind of axe resting on it. I sucked on my lip. Then my eyes caught a knife pinning a piece of paper to the door frame.

Seemed I was right to be wary.

Safe or not, I’d die without supplies, and right now the room was clear. I jumped down, slipping over to the door. Unlocked. I eased into the smoking interior. It was warm, but the smoke was thick enough to make my eyes water.

First, the note. It took me a minute to decipher the rough hand.

You've all been warned about trying to break into my treasure room, but Roars didn't think I was serious.

Now he's dead.

I frowned, skimming the rest. Bad to worse. There was apparently a group of people here, and they were definitely not friendly. I found it amusing that the ‘Rigel Strong-Arm’ signed his threats, but not enough to waste time laughing.

I cased the room: a sack, barrels stacked in the corner, weapons on the table like I’d seen. The shelves had precious little on them, though I did grab the oversized tunic and pulled it on over the rough cloth I was wearing.

No shoes.

Last, I saw a staircase of rough-hewn timber leading down to a basement. Stone walls, stone floor. I saw a bed. More logs stacked under the stairs, and a firepit set into the wall, smoldering. Who the hell put a fireplace in their basement and didn’t build a chimney?

Still, here at least there was food. Another shelf and a note, folded. It had “To Rhorlak” scrawled on the front.

Another quick read proved without a doubt that this was a group of bandits, and the woodcutting was a front. Also that they’d left wine in a basket behind the shelf? I looked up. The shelf was empty, despite every other surface in the house being covered with clutter. And there, on the wall, was a conspicuous button set right into the stone.

I pressed it, and the shelf swung open like it was on wires.

“There and back again,” I murmured.

A passage cut haphazardly through the stone sat beyond the shelf, wide enough for two people to walk shoulder to shoulder. There were even torches wrapped in pitch and mounted on the wall.

I nodded to myself. It was time to leave.

I found a burlap sack and threw all the food I could find into it. It was mostly potatoes, but I’d found some apples and jerky too. I picked up a cask of something; it was heavy, but at least I wouldn’t die of thirst. Last, on impulse, I grabbed a red book sitting next to the bed.

I was sweeping the room one last time to make sure I didn’t miss anything important when I heard the door open.

Heavy boots stomped on the floor overhead, and the door slammed shut. I bit back a curse. There was no world where I could run past someone and out the door in a room that small, and it was only a matter of time before whoever it was came down here. I reached for the axe lying on the table, but my hand paused over the note.

Then I looked at the wine, a big, long-handled bottle full of dark liquid. I set down my bag and grabbed one of those instead. And the note.

“That you Ro—” My eyes flicked to the note. “Rhorlak?” I called.

Upstairs the steps paused. “Hah? Who’s that!”

“Strong-Arm sent me.” I came up the stairs, waving the note. “Had a bonus for you, and this.”

The man looked at me, eyes narrowed. Rhorlak stood about as tall as me, clad in what looked like boiled leather with a wicked-looking battle axe peaking over his shoulder. How they thought the woodcutting front would ever hold was beyond me.

“What’s that then.” He shifted, taking a step closer. “Who’re you?”

“Here.” I held out the note. “Take a look, yeah? It’s from Rigel, and there’s two more bottles where this came from.”

He grumbled, eyes flicking from the bottle of wine to the note, before he reached out. “What’s that milk-drinking bastard want this time?”

“Read it for yourself, he—” I grabbed Rhorlak’s wrist. He stiffened, and I slammed the bottle of wine right into his head.

He only staggered. With a curse, I stepped into his guard and threw him over my hip. Rhorlak hit the floor hard, air rushing out of him in a wheeze. I dropped my knee onto his back and twisted his arm up and behind him.

This part I had studied in Chicago.

“Don’t move.” With my other hand, I pressed the broken stem of the bottle against his neck. “Don’t talk.”

I looked for something to tie him up with, and I felt more than saw his chest expand to yell. With a plunge and a twist, I jammed the glass into his neck and tore it out. Rhorlak gurgled once, last words stillborn. He gasped, eyes fluttering, staring up at me with shock and fear where just seconds ago there’d been nothing but anger.

Choking on your own blood was a terrible way to go.

I stood. It took me a second to get his axe off of his back, but it would take a few minutes for him to suffocate. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Less than a day here and already a killer.” I shook my head, hefting the axe with a grunt. “I’m sorry.”

He flopped weakly on the floor. I brought the axe down. He jerked only once, and then never again.

I stepped back from the growing pool of blood. “Time to get out of here.” I turned to grab my sack, but then I paused next to the man’s feet. Same height. I twisted my foot. It looked like it might work. “God dammit.”

I crouched and started working off his boots. May as well add graverobber to my list of crimes; they clearly weren’t going to get any shorter in this new world. I grabbed the man’s coinpurse too, already stained with something far heavier than gold. As a farewell, I grabbed a thick-looking iron club from the table and threw all the wood and bedding I could manage into the fireplace. There was plenty enough.

After that, I couldn’t exactly stick around, I took my supplies and left just as the wood floor started to steam. I walked down to the cobbled road, and turned right. I jogged until I couldn’t see the cabin, and by the time I slowed to a walk, I still hadn’t heard a single shout or cry of alarm. Looking behind me, however, I could pick out a much thicker cloud of smoke rising up into the sky.

I quirked my lip. At least Rhorlak’s boots fit.

It would have been nice to end things there, walking away from a bandit shack I’d set on fire, but of course the real world didn’t wrap up in neat little bows. Instead, I had to put more distance between us. The road made easier going than the forest, and it meant they hopefully wouldn’t be able to track me.

The wind cut through my second jerkin like a knife though, and the sun continued to set. When the it touched the peaks of the mountain range, I took a break in the lee of a broken wall and went over my supplies: enough apples and potatoes for a few days, smoked meat to fill in the gaps, a keg of bitter and mostly uncarbonated bear.

“Better than nothing,” I said. I forced myself to eat and drink until the gnawing in my stomach subsided. The keg would last me longer than the potatoes, by the looks of it. I had a book with a reddish-brown leather cover, stamped and untitled. The thing probably wasn’t worth the weight, but I couldn’t bring myself to toss it. Last, I had a wool purse of small golden coins with a face I didn’t recognize stamped crudely on one side. I had about fifty of them, and no other denominations. I’d see if that was a lot or nothing at all at some point.

I also had my new mace. It was a hulking thing, flanged head thicker than a clenched fist and far heavier than my old batons. I could only hope it was more effective as well. Given everything, I’d probably have a chance to test that sooner than I’d like.

I repacked everything and scavenged some coarse rope from the mouth of the sack to make a crude belt for my mace. The metal dug uncomfortably into my side, but best to have the weapon on hand. I wanted to eek out another hour of walking before I started looking for a place to sleep.

I’d just made it back to the road when I heard the howls.

High pitched, and mournful like a dirge, the sound sent a shiver down my spine, but I couldn’t see anything in through the trees. I slipped the mace free and started down the road. Wolves rarely hunted humans; I’d be fine.

Then there was another howl, closer this time, and two more answering it. I kept moving, eyes flickering across the deepening shadows. Then I heard something rustle behind me, and I spun to catch a thickly-furred wolf dart out onto the road. Its fur was black and shaggy, and the massive thing came almost up to my hip.

“Yah!” I shouted, waving my arms. “Get away! Go away!”

It growled, circling. I backed away from it, still shouting.

I heard the sound of paws against the earth, and spun, swinging my sack. It hit another wolf, just clipping its nose and sending it skittering back. I dropped the sack, choking up on the mace with both hands. The wolf nipped, and I caught one of its ears with my mace. A bad blow; the thing was heavier than I expected, but it was enough to send the second wolf skittering back.

I backed up further, keeping both of them on the same side as me. “Yeah!” I brandished the mace. “Not an easy meal! Go!” I shook it again.

The wolves circled in opposite directions, working to flank me. Of course fantasy wolves hunted people, why would I think any different?

I moved forwards, and that wolf pulled back, the other advancing. It was a simple trick, one I’d used before with my swarm. I huffed once, breath misting in the air.

I sprinted. The wolf darted away, much faster than me. I tracked the second out of the corner of my eye as it looped around behind. I darted to the side, over a crumbling stone wall. The first wolf, the massive shadow, darted around it, but the second was slower.

I spun and the first wolf yipped, darting back. My mace hit the stone wall hard enough to send chips spraying across the grass. The wolves pulled back a little farther.

“Like that?” I yelled. “I’ve got more of it for you!” Again, I lifted my hands over my head to appear bigger.

The wolf chuffed, head dipping. I yelled again, advancing away from the wall. They pulled back. For a moment, it looked like they might just give up. Then both of their ears perked up, gaze darting over my shoulder.

I glanced back to see another wolf, on the other side of the wall.

I sighed.

Stuck in a new world, just to get eaten by wolves.

Then a dirty brown blur crashed out of the underbrush. The wolf spun. The dog tackled it.

I moved without thinking. The dog was barking and growling, paws batting at the bigger wolf’s shoulders. They gnashed at each other, jaws wide, teeth flashing. The wolf pinned the smaller animal.

I swung.

The mace hit the wolf’s neck with a sickening crack, one that traveled all the way up the haft and into my arms. The wolf went flying down the cobbled road, head a mess of blood and fur. The dog scrabbled to its feet, barking at the other two. They paused at the edge of the road, on either side of that low stone wall.

Then they turned as one and vanished back into the darkness.

The dog followed, and for a second, I thought it would chase after them, ratty brown coat and all. Instead, it just planted its paws on the wall and barked loud enough for the whole world to hear. When the wolves didn’t come back, it jumped off, turning around to look at me.

I kept my mace up. “Hey there.”

The dog yawned, looking at me with a wide-open mouth, tongue lolling. Its fur was matted, eyes a deep brown with streaks of gunk it hadn’t bothered to wash off.

“How long have you been out here?” I asked.

The dog sat, still staring at me.

Slowly I came closer, holding out a hand. The dog sniffed, and I took the moment to check it over again. “Boy dog. Got it.” I pulled a face. He licked my hand, leaving it warm with slobber. “Lovely,” I said.

Still, he’d saved my life. That deserved some smoked jerky.

I picked my way back over to my sack of supplies, fishing around for a treat. A second later, the dog followed. I held my hand up, pushing him a step away, carefully. He just let me push him a full step back, before trying to butt his head in again.

“Ah,” I said. “You’re one of those dogs.”

He barked. My shoulders tensed for a second before relaxing.

“This is why I was a bug person,” I told him. It took only a little bit of digging to pull out two pieces of jerky. “Hungry?” I tossed the first piece to him, and he sniffed it once before snapping it up. He wagged his tail, sitting and looking up at me with a dopey dog grin on his face.

“You liked that?” I looked him over again for anything like a collar, or maybe a tag. He had none of that, just a brown dog with muddy fur. After a moment’s thought, I held up the other piece of jerky. “Want to come with me? I could use bait for the wolves.”

He barked again, jumping for the food. I pushed him back. Once, twice, on the third time he’d calmed down enough to stay on the ground. It was a good start. I bit off half the jerky and gave him the rest. Once again, he inhaled it.

For my part, it took a little more chewing. “God.” I shouldered my bag and slipped the mace back into my belt. “This stuff sucks. You can have it.”

The dog barked, following after me as we started back down the road.

“You’re gonna need a name,” I told him. “I’m really bad at naming things though.” He padded after me, eyes flicking from my face and then hopefully to the bag and back again. I laughed.

“Thankfully,” I said. “I had a good friend once, and she was good at naming dogs.” I reached out to pat his head. “I’ll call you…Brutus.”

Brutus barked once.

I smiled. “Good boy.”