As soon as he got a fire started, March was going to range out in the darkness and find the pool of clean water where they had seen the stag.
He had to be sure that the fire wouldn’t burn out while he was gone. If it did, every hungry creature in the forest would be a er Bren like ants on a piece of sweet candy. All they would have to do to find him was follow the blood trail they had le throughout the day. The fire would also help March find his way back from the pool. The fire roared to life, and while stoking it to the size he needed it to be, March felt its warmth sink into his aching bones. He fought, but to no avail. Before he could leave, he too fell into a deep, much needed sleep.
March woke to the sound of Bren’s agonizing moans. Somewhere beyond the mountains, the sun was breaking the night, giving him just enough rosy light to see by. The morning sky was glorious and filled with color, where it could be seen peeking above the mountain tops. March couldn’t enjoy it though, because he knew they desperately needed water.
The air was thick with a sense of urgency. Bren was fever stricken. His red body was now figh ng infec on. What Bren really needed was the care of an herb master. March was tempted to make a li er and drag his friend down the mountainside. He wondered if the me he spent going and ge ng some water would allow the infec on to get into Bren’s blood. He’d seen that happen once when a copper miner who had been cut on the arm had stayed in the mine too long. The Herb Master had had to cut the arm off, but the miner eventually died anyway. All of Prominence Village had been forced to endure his screaming torment un l he finally died.
The gravity of their situa on weighed heavy on March. If he made the wrong decision it could cost Bren his leg, or worse. He was so concerned with Bren that he completely ignored the pain of his own wounds. He made the decision to make the li er and drag Bren to the stag’s pool with
him. There he could wash the wounds, and boil water to clean the bandages.
Methodically he went about making a li er out of the oil cloth they had used for their shelter and some limbs he cut from nearby trees. He had made several li ers in his life. It was the easiest way to get a big buck down the mountain. He and Bren had used them a few mes when they were younger, before they were strong enough to spit a carcass and shoulder it down.
The sun was above the peaks by the me he was done making the travois-like device. He was weak and dehydrated, but he packed all their gear onto it with Bren and then gripped the two poles. His split hands were s ll bleeding and raw, but he started off anyway. Inside March there was nothing le except sheer determina on and love for his friend.
It was midday and the sun was high and hot when they finally arrived at the pool. March spent a few moments picking the splinters and dried bark out of the gashes in his palms while cleansing them in the cool water. Then he focused all of his a en on on Bren.
By nigh all, he was a li le more confident in Bren’s chances. He had thoroughly cleansed away the dirt and grime from his friend’s wound. He had forced it to bleed and then opened the cut wide enough to cut away all the yellowing pussy sec ons that had formed there. He even s tched it in several places but he wasn’t sure if he had done it right. They s ll had a long hard journey ahead of them. March could only hope that he had done enough.
The wound was staying closed, but Bren s ll had fever. March hoped that his condi on would change if they rested through the night. He had made
a broth by placing the last of their dried beef in the pot and boiling in some gable roots he found. Bren woke just long enough to drink a good por on of it. He was pale and weak from loss of blood and couldn’t manage the strength to speak. He did manage to drink most of the aroma c liquid down. Then he was off again, back into a fi ul slumber.
March figured that if he rested for a while he could get them down into the valley by the following a ernoon. There he would break apart the li er and burn it before the sun went down. If a farmer or shepherd didn’t respond, he would run like the wind and return with a cart or a wagon. He was determined to have Bren in Prominence proper by dawn. It was a sound plan and it relieved him to have at least that much.
While Bren tossed and turned, March fingered the medallion he had found. He wasn’t certain, but at one point he thought that it might have been causing his palms to ngle. It wasn’t long before he too fell into slumber. He slept heavily and had vivid dreams that eluded him when the sound of a curious scavenger woke him in the predawn light. When he reached over to shake Bren awake his heart slid up into his throat. Bren had died in the night. His body was cool and s ff.
5
“By the Gods, NOOOOO!” he shouted at the s ll darkened sky. A cluster of startled birds exploded from a nearby tree and sent his heavy heart to hammering.
“There’s a way to save him,” a small steady voice said from behind him. “All you have to do is pledge your soul to the Conflic on.”
March whirled around and saw the impossible. The white stag was standing there looking at him, its dark eyes plainly visible against its luminescent white fur. It wasn’t the stag who had spoken though. Si ng on the stag’s back was one of the fabled elvish. The fair skinned, silvery haired, creature seemed to be slightly unse led by the fact that March was twice his size, but he met March’s gaze with his wild amber eyes.
March’s emo on surged. “You’ll save my friend if you can, or I will-- I’ll--”
“You’ll do naught other than pledge your soul to the figh ng of the Conflic on,” the li le man said flatly. He was wearing a sort of cloth that looked to be made out of ny rings of the same strange metal as the medallion. And, what March had first mistaken as fear had suddenly turned into snarling defiance. “You’ll swear to fight against the Conflic on, or I’ll take that medallion. Then you can drag your friend’s corpse home to his mother.”
March was so stunned and confused, and welling with grief, that he couldn’t form a cohesive thought. For a long me, he was silent. Finally, he asked the elf the only ques on that would come. “You can save him?”
“You can save him,” the elf replied, “but only if you hurry.”
“How?”
“Use the medallion to call your dragon. When it comes, it will know your heart and use its magic to restore the life of your companion.”
“There are no dragons around here,” March looked around. “If there was, why would a dragon do such a thing?”
“There are no elvish in this valley either I’d guess,” the elf shrugged. “Either way, you should get to calling your wyrm before it’s too late for him.” The
elf nodded at Bren’s corpse.
“What’s this Conflic on you speak?” March asked as he crawled to his feet and pulled the medallion out of his shirt.
He was feverish, and the world was swimming in and out of focus, but somehow he knew that this was no fever dream. He was about to pledge his life to something he didn’t understand so that his friend would be saved.
“It cannot be explained,” the elf sighed. “There will be more of you. There will be five dragoneers in all. Some are already trying to bond with their wyrms. But they are far from here, in another land that lies across the sea.
It is a place that your people do not know of. You must call your dragon, and then go to them. Together the five of you will stand against the storm.”
The elf glanced up at the sky as if he were searching for something. The light of dawn was only a few breaths from breaking the horizon.
“Don’t let the sun rise and burn his soul away,” the elf nodded at Bren again. “Do this thing. Call your dragon. Go find the dragoneers and face the des ny you’ve chanced upon. It will be a great one, I think.”
The stag pawed the ground and snorted his agreement. It lted it’s antlered head slightly and gave Bren a look that conveyed volumes.
Inexplicably, March suddenly knew that he had to do this. There was no other choice. “How?”
“Take the Medallion in your hands. Yes, like that.” March cupped the silvery disc as if it were a precious egg.
“Kiss the tear stone,” the elf instructed. “Now pledge within your soul to fight the coming Conflic on. Only then will your dragon come.”
“I don’t care about the dragon,” March mumbled. I’m doing this for Bren.
As soon as he kissed the tear shaped jewel, and told his heart that he would see this thing through, he felt a chilling ngle flu er through him.
His skin prickled and his mind began to clear. He had made the right decision, and he knew it. His blood was turning into liquid fire and his breathing grew erra c.
