SWNOVELS Chapter 23
DRAGON’S BLOOD
CYRUS, EDWARD, AND FIBIAN crept down the large tunnel of the Himmel Garde’s lair. The din of dripping water and squeaking rodents echoed off the granite walls. Was this a trap? Was Cyrus walking to his death? His breath was rapid in his chest.
“What’s that smell?” Edward asked.
The tiny spider clung to Cyrus’ forearm, his face twisted in disgust.
“It smells like rotting chicken guts,” Cyrus whispered, fighting the urge to vomit.
They found the dragon curled up on a dark rock in the middle of his chamber. The blackened ceiling bore scars from his horned crown, and his legs dangled awkwardly off the foot of his stone bed.
“I discovered this cave years ago,” Drache boomed, “It was inhabited by a much smaller dragon. I claimed the dwelling as my own and called out the puny beast. The battle lasted mere moments, and in the end, I stood victorious over the whelp. I swept his carcass from the cliff like crumbs from a table.”
The dragon’s thick, steely face beamed with pride.
Was that some kind of threat? Cyrus thought. His legs quivered as he followed Fibian into the main chamber of the serpent’s abode. The dark grey of the froskman’s flesh and seal skin suit made him invisible, with the exception of his glowing, blue eyes.
“So tell me, child, how was it that a boy, a blodbad spider and a froskman came to face the Warrior Witch and survive?” Drache asked.
Cyrus looked to Edward. The furry spider stared back at him, his two eyes as big as coins. If Cyrus told the entire truth, surely all three of them would end up in the dragon’s belly. But if he lied and made himself sound heroic, would the beast be fooled? The image of Niels lying dead on a cold log infiltrated his thoughts.
“I discovered that my island was a giant, fossilized turtle shell,” he said, stealing his nerves, “I tried to warn the mayor, but he wouldn’t listen. The shell fractured, and my island caved in on itself. Many survived, but we lost the whole village. The mayor blamed me for the cave-in, saying that I brought an evil curse upon our island. He sentenced me to death, but I escaped.”
“Giant turtle you say,” the dragon said, his eyes narrowing.
Growing hot, Cyrus drew the fleece cap from his head. He wiped his brow and gestured to the small spider on his sleeve.
“My best friend Edward here joined me, and we sailed out to find a new home. That’s when we came across a creature that called herself Rorroh. She welcomed me aboard her boat, fed me poisoned tea and tied me up below deck. Fibian found me and cut me loose and -”
“And together,” Fibian interrupted, “we fought our way out of her ship, defeating the Warrior Witch and setting her vessel ablaze.”
“If you were able to cut off her hand, why did you not just kill her?” the dragon asked.
“You especially should know that that is an impossible task,” Fibian replied, “the boy needs time and training if he is to achieve his destiny.”
“So, what do you propose?” Drache said.
“These islands are riddled with the Warrior Witch’s minions,” Fibian said, “We need safe passage, somewhere far from her reach, where I can train the boy.”
He drew from his collar a small glass vial he had slung around his neck.
“And we need your blood.”
Blood? What was Fibian playing at? And where had he gotten that vial? Rorroh’s ship?
“Tell me you do not believe in that hogwash?” Drache snorted.
“The prophecy says that, in a time of great need, the chosen one will drink a vial of dragon’s blood to strengthen him, when all strength is lost,” Fibian said, as a matter of fact.
“It may save the one, yes, but to all others, it will give a slow and agonizing death,” Drache growled, “burning you alive from within as if you’ve swallowed molten rock.”
“Will you give us some?” Fibian continued.
“We will see,” the dragon said, seeming to measure Cyrus, “but what will you do once you’ve had your safe passage, and the boy’s received his training?”
“When his training is complete, he will hunt down the witch and rid the seas of her tyranny.”
“Do you have a place in mind for this training? the dragon asked.
“No, but we need somewhere where the Warrior Witch would never think to look for us,” Fibian said.
“I will ponder your requests,” the dragon purred, “In the meantime, let me rest.”
Cyrus could not believe his luck. The dragon was going to help them escape. Then once they were safe, far from the Sea Zombie and her spies, he and Edward could get away from the mad froskman and live a life of peace.
He thought about Fibian, about the risks the froskman had taken for them. A deep guilt began to simmer in his heart.
“Come on,” Edward said, “I’m tired too.”
The trio found a place to bed down near the mouth of the cave, away from the den’s putrid stink.
“Why didn’t you mention dragon’s blood before?” Cyrus asked.
“Without actually having any, I did not think it necessary,” Fibian replied.
“Drinking it causes a slow and agonizing death?” Cyrus said.
“Only for the unworthy,” Fibian replied, his voice a low hum, “Now try to sleep,” the froskman lay down with his back against the cave wall, “With any luck, we will be airborne by daybreak.”
Cyrus used his cap as a pillow against the cold, granite floor. They were so close to escape. His shoulders began to relax.
“Everything’s going to be all right, isn’t it?” Edward said, curling up on Cyrus’ forearm.
***
IN THE BOWELS OF THE CAVERN, away from the trio, Drache picked through a pile of bone, gold, and steel. There, he found a crystal orb. The tiny sphere was like a pebble in his claws. A dim, green ember glowed within its womb. He gazed into its center.
“So, Mistress, he cleaved off your hand and lit your ship ablaze,” the dragon chuckled.
“Bring him to me, sssnake,” the orb spoke.
Drache’s slick scales gleamed in the emerald light.
“I envy the child’s boldness,” he said, in a low purr, “It is a shame he must die.”