Damiynn
Fantasy Author
Chapter 5
Following Noraxxis’ advice and ignoring his attempt at innocence, Micah entered the other room. A large dusty pile of equipment lay on the floor looking as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Examining it, he realized he couldn’t move the large saddle by himself.
The brace saddle, as Noraxxis had called it, was huge. It had several wicked looking hooks that he has sure he was going to have to place under the dragon’s scales. Where he assumed his legs would be there were lashes woven into the leather. Instead of stirrups there were holders that could be raised or lowered for his feet. He noticed also that there was no halter or reigns amongst the gear.
Eyeing the large saddle he remembered something he had seen in the other room. Stepping back into it and gathering up a bit of rope lying in a corner he stopped. Staring down at his left hand, he realized it didn’t hurt. Unconsciously he had used it to pick up the rope. It should have throbbed, lord knows it had hurt all day yesterday after he had sliced it open with the kitchen knife. Turning his palm upwards, he examined it carefully. The wound was completely healed and the scar looked as if it were a month old, at least. He would have to ask Noraxxis about it later but at hearing the restless shifting of the Dragon, he asked, “How do I control your flight or determine the course or direction if there is no bridle?”
Noraxxis gave him a flat-eyed stare. “You don’t.” Shaking his head and rolling his eyes the dragon continued. irritation evident in his voice, “Control my flight, bah! What do I look like, a horse? You ride and I fly, that’s the way it shall be.”
Micah sensed a change in the dragon’s manner but ignored it, again there was something here that he wasn’t being told but like his hand he would find out more later. Instead, thinking about how much time they had, he threw Noraxxis one end of the rope. “When you feel me tug, give that a good pull.”
“Why?” asked the dragon cautiously.
“Because you’re not getting out of here without my help and I’m not dragging that big assed saddle in here by myself, so shut up and pull when I tug.”
“So, how do I put this thing on you?” Micah asked once they had the brace saddle back into the large chamber. “It looks complicated.”
He had ridden a few horses in his day, mostly for parades and ceremonies, but never had he imagined putting hooks into one in order to do so.
“First,” the dragon said as if scolding an awkward child, “You need to stop waving that medallion around as if it were a club and put it over your head like you were supposed to have done nine years ago.”
“Will that help?” Micah asked, knowing the question would irritate the exasperated dragon, he couldn’t resist the temptation.
“Just put it on and concentrate on the stone. I will explain as we go, retorted Noraxxis with a tired sigh.
Micah slowly, for the first time in twelve years slipped the golden medallion with its dark red stone over his head.
He heard Noraxxis’ growling next to him, but oddly it sounded as if it were miles away. “Have no fear Man of the Blood, the eye will guide you. Use it and it will show you the way and the paths of the past that will guide your future.”
Micah stared down at the medallion and felt nothing. Looking back at the brace saddle he thought, This is silly, I don’t know what the hell I am doing.
Like the words ‘In service to all’ that had brought him here, suddenly his mind was filled again, this time with memories. They swirled through his consciousness, making it seem like he was suddenly surrounded by hundreds of other men. Each started issuing him directions in a chorus of voices. Hoarse, coarse, grainy, deep, faint, reedy or shrill, they all started telling him what to do.
Almost as if the voices or something inside the medallion were controlling his movements, Micah felt his hands move almost of their own accord. They took up the brace saddle and suddenly he knew where and how to place it.
Looking at Noraxxis, he asked, “could you lift and drop the saddle over the spot on your neck near where your shoulders begin and the spikes were the smallest.”
Noraxxis smiled and eyed at him for a moment, his scaled lips still writhing as if he were fighting to keep his mouth shut, but then he did as he was asked. Using a leg as a lift Micah crawled up onto Noraxxis’ back and using the dragon’s aid he shifted the saddle until it sat perfectly in place. Climbing back down, he grabbed up a long bar with a slightly scooped end and looked for the place he wanted. Immediately he saw the scarring on the blood red scales where hooks had been placed before. Following the chorus of voices issuing instructions, he shoved the long bar in under the large red scale and set two hooks. Turning he did the exact same thing behind him and on the other side of the dragon’s neck.
“That wasn’t so hard,” he said admiring his handiwork.
“It never is,” Noraxxis said snidely, “when you have the help of the other eye bearers that came before you giving you guidance.”
Looking down from Noraxxis’ back Micah studied the remaining pile of equipment that he had dragged out of the small storeroom. The armor was made up of overlapping plates, polished to a dark molten red almost the color of cooled lava. Steel backed gauntlets and metal boots lay on the floor next to a light leather undercoat. A helm of shaped steel, molded and resembling a dragon’s head was tilted over on its side. Its crest was horns, they were the same color as the one on Noraxxis’ head. Although the armor was intricately designed, it was not overly ornately decorated. Like the saddle, again he wasn’t exactly sure how to put it on. Immediately the murmuring voices began in the back of his head. Removing his hand from the eye, they faded. A claw suddenly poked him in the back between the shoulder blades almost knocking him from his feet.
“Forget about that armor for now if you want to live long enough to escape from here. You need to pick up that sword and get over there,” stated Noraxxis, indicating another door on the far side of the room with a hastily thrown glance.
Micah following the dragon’s gaze across the large chamber asked, “Why?”
“Because if you don’t,” the dragon snarled in irritation, “the guard getting ready to come through that door will kill you the moment he sees you and that will ruin both of our chances of escape.
Eyes wide, voice shaking, Micah looked between the door and the dragon, asking, “What do you mean guard? What am I supposed to do?”
Noraxxis fixed him with a deliberate look that spoke volumes.
“You want me to kill him?” demanded Micah, aghast, “without warning? Don’t you realize I am supposed to uphold the law, not break it.”
Noraxxis’ deliberate look turned sharp and his yellow eyed gaze felt like nails stabbing into him. “You sound like your father. You are not on earth any longer Micah Williams. On Allyrss if you don’t surprise and kill him first, he will certainly try and kill you. Since he has more skill than you do at the moment, he will probably succeed. Every hour of every day a Griegan guard enters here for the sole purpose of checking on me in case on the off chance you finally decide to answer the summons. And I hear footsteps coming.”
Tearing his eyes away from the dragon’s stare, Micah turned back to the door. He had never killed a man. Hell, he had only ever drawn his service revolver once and that one time had cost him his job. Although now looking back on it Micah wished he had pulled the trigger. If I had, I might still have my job, my wife, and hell, my!
The dragon’s voice snapped him out of that unhappy memory and dragged him back to the reality at hand.
The scraping of wood sliding across stone was all the warning that Micah had and he found himself grabbing up the large shield, rather than the sword. Charging forward like a bull attacking a matador, with all his might he brought the shield’s flat side down on the unsuspecting guard’s head, hoping that he would be knocked unconscious. Momentarily the guard’s eyes flashed wide, surprise filling them, then as he was struck he crumpled like puppet with its strings cut, falling into a heap on the floor.
Shaking his head, Micah looked down at the body. Going over to the equipment, he gathered up the rope and left the sword lying on the stone floor. He couldn’t bring himself to kill a man who was helpless, but he could make it so that once the guard awoke, he would not cause them anymore trouble until after he had managed to find a way to free the dragon.
Micah was sure, without looking behind him, that the dragon’s expression was scornful, but he didn’t care.
Rounding on Noraxxis once the other man was tied like a pig for roasting, he asked, “So, now, how do we go about freeing you. Even though your chains are, what, magic? There has to something I can do to get you out of here since we have gone this far isn’t there?”
Noraxxis regarded him with a grim look. “Only you can work draw on the dragon magic needed to free me, you or the man who put me in these.” He raised a foot and shook one of the manacles.
“They are related and only a Man of the Blood can release me.” The last part almost of Noraxxis’ statement almost sounded as if it were something he didn’t really want to say.
“Me?” asked Micah, putting a hand on his chest. “I don’t know the first thing about working magic, and I’m sure you don’t mean the kind that involves rabbits and hats.”
Noraxxis gave him a quizzical look and Micah mumbled, “Forget it.”
Following Noraxxis’ advice and ignoring his attempt at innocence, Micah entered the other room. A large dusty pile of equipment lay on the floor looking as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Examining it, he realized he couldn’t move the large saddle by himself.
The brace saddle, as Noraxxis had called it, was huge. It had several wicked looking hooks that he has sure he was going to have to place under the dragon’s scales. Where he assumed his legs would be there were lashes woven into the leather. Instead of stirrups there were holders that could be raised or lowered for his feet. He noticed also that there was no halter or reigns amongst the gear.
Eyeing the large saddle he remembered something he had seen in the other room. Stepping back into it and gathering up a bit of rope lying in a corner he stopped. Staring down at his left hand, he realized it didn’t hurt. Unconsciously he had used it to pick up the rope. It should have throbbed, lord knows it had hurt all day yesterday after he had sliced it open with the kitchen knife. Turning his palm upwards, he examined it carefully. The wound was completely healed and the scar looked as if it were a month old, at least. He would have to ask Noraxxis about it later but at hearing the restless shifting of the Dragon, he asked, “How do I control your flight or determine the course or direction if there is no bridle?”
Noraxxis gave him a flat-eyed stare. “You don’t.” Shaking his head and rolling his eyes the dragon continued. irritation evident in his voice, “Control my flight, bah! What do I look like, a horse? You ride and I fly, that’s the way it shall be.”
Micah sensed a change in the dragon’s manner but ignored it, again there was something here that he wasn’t being told but like his hand he would find out more later. Instead, thinking about how much time they had, he threw Noraxxis one end of the rope. “When you feel me tug, give that a good pull.”
“Why?” asked the dragon cautiously.
“Because you’re not getting out of here without my help and I’m not dragging that big assed saddle in here by myself, so shut up and pull when I tug.”
“So, how do I put this thing on you?” Micah asked once they had the brace saddle back into the large chamber. “It looks complicated.”
He had ridden a few horses in his day, mostly for parades and ceremonies, but never had he imagined putting hooks into one in order to do so.
“First,” the dragon said as if scolding an awkward child, “You need to stop waving that medallion around as if it were a club and put it over your head like you were supposed to have done nine years ago.”
“Will that help?” Micah asked, knowing the question would irritate the exasperated dragon, he couldn’t resist the temptation.
“Just put it on and concentrate on the stone. I will explain as we go, retorted Noraxxis with a tired sigh.
Micah slowly, for the first time in twelve years slipped the golden medallion with its dark red stone over his head.
He heard Noraxxis’ growling next to him, but oddly it sounded as if it were miles away. “Have no fear Man of the Blood, the eye will guide you. Use it and it will show you the way and the paths of the past that will guide your future.”
Micah stared down at the medallion and felt nothing. Looking back at the brace saddle he thought, This is silly, I don’t know what the hell I am doing.
Like the words ‘In service to all’ that had brought him here, suddenly his mind was filled again, this time with memories. They swirled through his consciousness, making it seem like he was suddenly surrounded by hundreds of other men. Each started issuing him directions in a chorus of voices. Hoarse, coarse, grainy, deep, faint, reedy or shrill, they all started telling him what to do.
Almost as if the voices or something inside the medallion were controlling his movements, Micah felt his hands move almost of their own accord. They took up the brace saddle and suddenly he knew where and how to place it.
Looking at Noraxxis, he asked, “could you lift and drop the saddle over the spot on your neck near where your shoulders begin and the spikes were the smallest.”
Noraxxis smiled and eyed at him for a moment, his scaled lips still writhing as if he were fighting to keep his mouth shut, but then he did as he was asked. Using a leg as a lift Micah crawled up onto Noraxxis’ back and using the dragon’s aid he shifted the saddle until it sat perfectly in place. Climbing back down, he grabbed up a long bar with a slightly scooped end and looked for the place he wanted. Immediately he saw the scarring on the blood red scales where hooks had been placed before. Following the chorus of voices issuing instructions, he shoved the long bar in under the large red scale and set two hooks. Turning he did the exact same thing behind him and on the other side of the dragon’s neck.
“That wasn’t so hard,” he said admiring his handiwork.
“It never is,” Noraxxis said snidely, “when you have the help of the other eye bearers that came before you giving you guidance.”
Looking down from Noraxxis’ back Micah studied the remaining pile of equipment that he had dragged out of the small storeroom. The armor was made up of overlapping plates, polished to a dark molten red almost the color of cooled lava. Steel backed gauntlets and metal boots lay on the floor next to a light leather undercoat. A helm of shaped steel, molded and resembling a dragon’s head was tilted over on its side. Its crest was horns, they were the same color as the one on Noraxxis’ head. Although the armor was intricately designed, it was not overly ornately decorated. Like the saddle, again he wasn’t exactly sure how to put it on. Immediately the murmuring voices began in the back of his head. Removing his hand from the eye, they faded. A claw suddenly poked him in the back between the shoulder blades almost knocking him from his feet.
“Forget about that armor for now if you want to live long enough to escape from here. You need to pick up that sword and get over there,” stated Noraxxis, indicating another door on the far side of the room with a hastily thrown glance.
Micah following the dragon’s gaze across the large chamber asked, “Why?”
“Because if you don’t,” the dragon snarled in irritation, “the guard getting ready to come through that door will kill you the moment he sees you and that will ruin both of our chances of escape.
Eyes wide, voice shaking, Micah looked between the door and the dragon, asking, “What do you mean guard? What am I supposed to do?”
Noraxxis fixed him with a deliberate look that spoke volumes.
“You want me to kill him?” demanded Micah, aghast, “without warning? Don’t you realize I am supposed to uphold the law, not break it.”
Noraxxis’ deliberate look turned sharp and his yellow eyed gaze felt like nails stabbing into him. “You sound like your father. You are not on earth any longer Micah Williams. On Allyrss if you don’t surprise and kill him first, he will certainly try and kill you. Since he has more skill than you do at the moment, he will probably succeed. Every hour of every day a Griegan guard enters here for the sole purpose of checking on me in case on the off chance you finally decide to answer the summons. And I hear footsteps coming.”
Tearing his eyes away from the dragon’s stare, Micah turned back to the door. He had never killed a man. Hell, he had only ever drawn his service revolver once and that one time had cost him his job. Although now looking back on it Micah wished he had pulled the trigger. If I had, I might still have my job, my wife, and hell, my!
The dragon’s voice snapped him out of that unhappy memory and dragged him back to the reality at hand.
The scraping of wood sliding across stone was all the warning that Micah had and he found himself grabbing up the large shield, rather than the sword. Charging forward like a bull attacking a matador, with all his might he brought the shield’s flat side down on the unsuspecting guard’s head, hoping that he would be knocked unconscious. Momentarily the guard’s eyes flashed wide, surprise filling them, then as he was struck he crumpled like puppet with its strings cut, falling into a heap on the floor.
Shaking his head, Micah looked down at the body. Going over to the equipment, he gathered up the rope and left the sword lying on the stone floor. He couldn’t bring himself to kill a man who was helpless, but he could make it so that once the guard awoke, he would not cause them anymore trouble until after he had managed to find a way to free the dragon.
Micah was sure, without looking behind him, that the dragon’s expression was scornful, but he didn’t care.
Rounding on Noraxxis once the other man was tied like a pig for roasting, he asked, “So, now, how do we go about freeing you. Even though your chains are, what, magic? There has to something I can do to get you out of here since we have gone this far isn’t there?”
Noraxxis regarded him with a grim look. “Only you can work draw on the dragon magic needed to free me, you or the man who put me in these.” He raised a foot and shook one of the manacles.
“They are related and only a Man of the Blood can release me.” The last part almost of Noraxxis’ statement almost sounded as if it were something he didn’t really want to say.
“Me?” asked Micah, putting a hand on his chest. “I don’t know the first thing about working magic, and I’m sure you don’t mean the kind that involves rabbits and hats.”
Noraxxis gave him a quizzical look and Micah mumbled, “Forget it.”
