The First Dragoneer Read Online Free PDF Page B

he had heard about. If not, it was
surely worth its weight in gold. Enough to buy a small farm he
figured. Silently he swore to never sell it, or give it away. He
also vowed to try to find the meaning of the markings on its
surface.
    The scream of a distant predator bird pulled
him from his musings. He still had to get his badly injured friend
home. It wouldn’t take the wolves long to pick up the scent of all
that blood, and Prominence was a long way away.
    After gathering some wood he started back
into the darkness of the cave. He could see the dim torch flame
flickering ahead and he carefully continued in that direction. His
arms were full, so it was hard to step over the lifeless lump of
the dead creature, but he managed. He marveled at the size of it.
It was easily three times as long as Bren. Maybe he would cut off
the head and some claws. He could make himself a trophy, and make
Bren a necklace with the teeth.
    “ Marcherion?” Bren called out weakly.
“Is that you?”
    “ Who else would it be, you big giboon!”
March laughed. “How are you feeling?”
    “ Like a tumbler at the fair.” Bren
smiled broadly, but he gasped and turned a sickly pale color when
he tried to sit up. Through clenched teeth he said, “My leg is
pretty bad off, March!”
    “ We will get you home,” March
reassured. “If I can get you back over the ridge to our camp before
dark, I’ll have you back in your bed by tomorrow night.”
    March talked on as he built a fire. “Getting
back over the ridge is gonna be hard on you.” He looked at Bren
seriously. “But if you can grit it out that far, we’ll be home
free.”
    “ I don’t think I can stand,” Bren said
with more than a little worry in his voice. He knew the way the
wolves had tracked and attacked other groups of hunters when they
hadn’t gotten their fresh kills into the lower valley fast enough.
He also knew that he smelled like a fresh kill, and that the wolves
would surely come for him. March was a great hunter, and a superb
woodsman, but no match for even a small pack of hungry
wolves.
    “ I wish I had something to make a
splint with,” March muttered. Then he cursed himself for letting
the medallion dazzle him from his wits while he was outside. He was
about to start back through the cave when he noticed the sword’s
scabbard lying on the cavern floor. An idea struck him then, and
even though the cuts on his hands hurt badly, he went over to the
white scaled wyvern’s side and struggled to pull the sword free. He
screamed loudly as his hands slid roughly off of the hilt. The
sword hadn’t budged and the cuts on his palms were reopened. He
stood there grimacing, with his palms held to his chest, as fresh
blood trickled down his arms and dripped from his
elbows.
    Bren positioned himself to where he could see
March. He saw the blood soaked band around his friend’s head and
watched him wince as he wiped his bloody hands on his pants. Bren
started to worry. They wouldn’t stand a chance if they got stuck in
the woods in the dark. With both of them lame and smelling like a
feast, all sorts of hungry things would come sniffing. He felt
little relief when March tried again and grinned proudly after
finally pulling the sword free of the wyvern.
    March searched the cavern for something to
wipe the sword’s blade clean. His gaze finally landed on Bren, who
was staring straight back at him with true fear in his eyes. March
disregarded the look and walked over and pulled the dead man’s pack
out from under Bren’s head. He opened it, and luckily, right there
on top was a rolled up woolen cloak. It was exactly what he needed
to save his friend. As he pulled it free, a fat leather pouch fell
out of the roll. It chinked to the floor just beside Bren’s ear.
Bren struggled to grab it while March went about rummaging through
the rest of the backpack.
    “ March look!” Bren said excitedly. He
rolled to his side and poured a pile of shiny gold coins onto the
floor.