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  'Isle of Dragons'

  Copyright 2019 Jonathan Hugh Graham Foss

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Also available on Amazon Kindle:

  The Middle Kingdom

  An epic fantasy tale set in the same world as Isle of Dragons.

  Confessions of a Space Librarian and Other Stories

  A collection of Science Fiction Short Stories.

  Drummond the Intergalactic Manservant

  A further collection of Science Fiction Short Stories.

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  Chapter 1

  Shipwrecked

  A broken ship floundered on the rocks, outlined in the mist. Its presence was more marked by the creaks and groans of its tortured hull as it was pulled apart than by anything that was visible from the shore. The fires were all out, but the clouds of smoke billowing from the ragged sails mixed with the fog, a black sooty stain on a white shroud.

  On the beach, soaked in ice-cold sea water, a man helped another man out of the surf. Further down, a child-like figure came towards them, appearing drenched and exhausted. The two men headed towards the child and met beside a fallen and sea-sodden tree.

  The child-like figure, in fact, was no child, but a tiny woman, not much more than three feet tall, young, but nonetheless an adult. Her dark red hair, usually tied up behind her head in a braided bun, was half loose and stuck to her cheeks and chin with sea water. She brushed it aside, revealing a round face with green eyes and a small wide nose. Her skin was covered in freckles, which was a common feature of her race.

  The man who could stand was middle aged, no taller than most men. He too wore his hair long, but it was still tied back in a tail. His hair was light brown, but his beard was blonde, streaked with grey. He may have been handsome in his younger days, but his face was lined from a life out of doors and his cheeks were covered in thin red spider veins. His teeth, when they were revealed, where stained from pipe smoking and tea drinking. The other man was younger, and taller than the first, but he was only half conscious and barely standing. He was pale skinned with long blonde hair, cut short at the back and sides with the remainder tied back in a braided tail. The middle aged man was breathing heavily as he held the younger man, his breath forming into clouds around him in the frigid air.

  Two more men emerged from the fog, further down the beach. The first was a tall dark skinned fellow in blue robes that hung from him heavily, soaked as they were in water and caked in sand. He had gold and bejewelled rings on his fingers and amulets and talismans around his neck. He seemed lost and confused and as the other man came up on him, he put his arm around his shoulder and guided him towards where the others were. This other man was slight and dressed in brown leather. He was as wet and dishevelled as everyone else, but appeared alert and awake.

  No one had spoken yet, they just eyed each other, panting, perhaps surprised to be alive. The bearded man was about to say something to the slight man when yet another ran past, towards one more that was staggering out of the sea. The running man, a middle aged sailor, ran into the surf and launched himself at the bedraggled, robed man, tipping them both back into the water in a confusion of limbs.

  The sailor began to punch at the robed man as he struggled to get his head above the waves. The sailor landed a blow that split the man’s lip, but elicited no cry of pain. On the edge of complete exhaustion and his lungs full of water, he did not have enough breath.

  The bearded man and the slight man ran into the waves and each took an arm of the sailor then dragged him off his victim. The sailor was not tall, and as thin as a broom handle, so it was no great effort for the other two men to haul him away.

  ‘It was him!’ yelled the sailor, the first to speak so far on the beach. ‘He brought it on us!’

  ‘Maybe, maybe, but save your strength,’ said the bearded man. ‘Whatever attacked us may still be out there. It is best to get to the trees and hide.’

  ‘All me mates are dead! Because of this wretch! Burned alive or drowned, all of them...’

  The sailor choked on a sob, then opened his mouth and fiercely stroked the sides of his beard with his right hand. He then took a few steps into the sea, his body shaking from anxiety and fear. That way was only death and horror though so he turned and took several steps up the beach before stopping again. Anger and confusion almost visibly coursed through him.

  ‘What’s your name again?’ asked the bearded man, after a breath, as calmly as he could muster.

  ‘Salveri, my lord. Don’t worry I know who you are.’

  ‘Call me Roztov. Listen, can you take this young fellow to safety? Ghene and Tup can deal with Dreggen. Me and Meg need to look for more survivors.’

  Roztov lifted up the unconscious young man and passed him over to Salveri, who was not strong enough to hold him upright and let him gently slide to the sand. Roztov then nodded to the child-like young woman.

  ‘Come on, Meg.’

  The man in the blue robes and the man dressed in leather picked up the one known as Dreggen and took him up to the trees beyond the sand.

  An hour later, they had lit a fire about a hundred yards back from the beach, deep in the trees, just large enough to dry their clothes.

  ‘You have a wound on your back, Tup,’ said Ghene, the smaller man, using his friend’s nickname.

  The dark skinned man was stripped down to his underwear, his robe hung over a bent stick. He looked over his shoulder and reached around to pat his back. He hissed when he found blood.

  ‘I didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘It will be the cold,’ said Ghene as he came over to take a look at the wound.

  Floran sat by the fire so that his friend could get a better look at it. Dreggen, sullen, had not taken off his robe and sat shivering some distance off. Salveri was nursing the younger sailor, whose name was Arrin, as he slowly came back to consciousness.

  Salveri still seemed agitated, ready to lash out.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ghene. ‘He’s fine. I took a look at him. The water is out of his lungs. All he needs now is rest.’

  ‘If you say so, my lord.’

  Floran hissed again as Ghene laid his hands on the wound.

  ‘Druid magic,’ he sighed. ‘Why does it hurt so much?’

  ‘I’m bringing back feeling to your numb skin that’s why. Don’t be such a baby.’

  ‘Meg has warmer hands.’

  Once Ghene had finished with Floran he stood and walked over to Dreggen.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, holding up his hand as if to ward off the other.

  ‘Your lip is bleeding.’

  ‘Save your magic.’

  Ghene shrugged and went back over to Floran and joined him by the fire.

  The trees were tall, dark pines, thick and crowded. The fog barely penetrated into such a gloomy area and the light of the fire seemed to be swallowed up in the darkness. Spider’s webs could be glimpsed, wet and shining, in every branch. Drizzling rain was falling, but the ground was dry enough under the trees. The smell of the smoke mingled with the smell of pine needles, sa
p and the musty odour of wet men.

  This place wasn’t much like his home, the Great Forest, thought Ghene as he huddled up by the fire. The Great Forest was home to huge nirrins, oak and beach trees. It was an inland forest and much more open to the light. There was some snow in the winter and the Great Forest was cold when the trees lost their leaves, but it never felt claustrophobic, not even in the summer when the trees were in full leaf. This place felt like the inside of a closet. The trees here were more like the ones that grew in Roztov’s homeland, a mountainous region of steep sided valleys and harsh winters.

  Floran, the dark skinned man the others called Tup, sniffed and wiped his running nose with the back of his hand. He then put more wood on the fire. He was feeling the cold the most, hailing from Hyadna, he was accustomed to a desert and jungle heat.

  Ghene broke up some of the large branches and threw a few more on the fire. As he did so Roztov and Meggelaine returned. Roztov had another of the sailors across his shoulders. Salveri and Ghene helped lower him gently by the fire.

  ‘It’s Crab-pie,’ said Salveri. ‘The cook’s assistant.’

  Crab-pie was thin in limb, but fat of belly and had a nose like an over-ripe strawberry. Roztov, Meggelaine and Ghene, all of them druids and healers, gathered over him.

  Another person entered the camp, a large woman, dressed like a man. Her long black hair, usually tied back in a bun and under a cap, was loose and lay across her shoulders in long wet coils. She cradled her right arm in her left.

  ‘You are alive, Salveri,’ she said, looking over the people in the camp.

  ‘As are you Tankle.’

  She seemed lost and distant. ‘I don’t know. I was so sure I was dead. Then two dolphins found me, and took me up to the surface. Magic. Druid magic. They were dolphins. Skin shifting...’, she trailed off, then as if she was remembering something trivial she looked down at her left arm and said, ‘it’s broken.’

  Roztov stood up from where he had been kneeling with Meggelaine and Ghene.

  ‘Sit here,’ he said, drawing her to a fallen tree and propping her against it. He then began to gather up sticks and dried vines. Tankle watched has he expertly wove them around her broken arm into a splint and then bound it to her body.

  He then lay his hands on the arm and a faint blue glow gathered under them.

  ‘It hurts,’ she said quietly.

  ‘That’s because I’m bringing life back to it. Soon the pain will fade.’

  She let out a long sigh and seemed to relax so much she was nearly asleep.

  ‘Just rest for now, young lady,’ said Roztov returning to where Crab-pie lay.

  ‘He’s dead,’ stated Meggelaine as he arrived.

  ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘It was too much for him,’ said Ghene. ‘I don’t think he was a very healthy sort to begin with. He was alive, but then his heart gave out. Now he has breathed his last.’

  ‘Well, let’s put him out of the way for now. I’ll go down to the sea again. Take one more look.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Ghene. ‘It will be dark soon though. We don’t know where we are or what attacked us. I’ve a feeling it would be safer inland.’

  ‘You are probably right,’ said Roztov sniffing the air. ‘I want to take one more look for Broddor though. There is no way that old bugger can be drowned dead.’

  ‘He would have sunk like a stone in all that armour.’

  As he left them Roztov said over his shoulder, ‘they can swim in it apparently, or so I have heard.’

  ***

  Broddor was lost, walking along a wide spit of sand, shrouded in fog. He could see nothing apart from the sand beneath his feet, out to about three yards. Although he couldn’t see much he could hear the sound of the sea all around him, loud and booming.

  ‘Bastard,’ he grumbled to himself.

  He paused and looked around, but there was nothing to see. The sand was creased, and water lay in the troughs. A crosswind blew rain into his face. His long white beard was being plastered into his mouth and eyes as he’d taken his helmet off to see better in the fog. Even with his face revealed there was not much of it on display. Except for his ice blue eyes and big ruddy nose, the rest of it was covered in hair. He was young for a dwarf, but he appeared older due to its silvery colour.

  ‘Rend migroven!’ he cursed again.

  He still had his sword Gronmorder though, and he still had his armour. Whatever lay ahead he would face it like a holy knight of Aerekrig. He quickened his step and walked on a further ten minutes until he was prevented going any further by a fast flowing river that was eating its way through the sand. He could see nothing else beyond it because of the fog.

  ‘Bones blood!’ called a voice behind him, over the sound of the sea and wind. ‘Why are you going so fast when you don’t know where you are going?’

  ‘Ah! Roztov,’ he said, turning. ‘Good to see you lad.’

  ‘Come on, we are back this way.’

  Broddor was a vale dwarf from the same country as Roztov and they were old friends, the dwarven fortress of Kardane being situated on Roztov’s father’s land, although there was much more to their friendship than that.

  ‘Who else survived?’

  ‘We all did, but most of the crew are dead. Three survived, and Dreggen.’

  Broddor had begun to mutter, 'blessed be,’ when he heard all his companions lived, but it had died on his lips when he heard of the crew. As he strode alongside Roztov he squinted up at him.

  ‘Dreggen. Did you see him? It was like he was calling the fire down on us. It ripped through the sails in seconds.’

  ‘I saw him.’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Roztov shuddered and folded his arms close into his body and hunched his shoulders against the rain. ‘I’m not sure. I don’t think he has any magic. Not the kind I’m familiar with anyway. It looked like he was welcoming it, but maybe not causing it.’

  ‘This is why we came out this far though, eh lad? To see things that have not been seen before.’

  Roztov smiled, in a pained sort of way. ‘I came because Ghene and Meg would be dead already without our help. They are a pair of idiots.’

  ‘True enough. And Tuppence is little better. Who would have thought they would get so soft.’

  ‘They were never that tough, just young. Well Ghene is still young I suppose.’

  They walked on for a while longer, the sound of the sea faded and the sand became drier and sloped upwards. Broddor was glad that the druid knew where he was going, as he certainly didn't.

  ‘Who of the sailors survived? The big wench?’

  ‘Yes, her. Salveri and Arrin also.’

  ‘I can’t place them.’

  ‘Both topmen I think, from up in the skyscrapers. That would be why we never saw much of them.’

  Broddor fished his beard out of his mouth then said, ‘may account for them surviving. Salveri, is that the short thin man? Has a black beard and long hair tied back in a braid?’

  ‘You’ve just described about half the sailors on the ship there, but yes. He’s the one with the broken nose that plays the squeeze-box when they start drinking. Arrin is much younger. He’s one of the young ones that shave the back of their heads. He’s blonde, skinny like all the fellows up in the tops.’

  ‘Right-o. Still can’t place him, if they were up in the sails then I suppose they would have jumped for it when the ship sunk.’

  ‘She didn’t sink though, Broddor. After you took your death leap off the prow we hit rocks. The fires went out, but she broke into pieces.’

  ‘Death leap? I saw something in the smoke and fog. A sea serpent.’

  ‘I don’t know how you have lived as long as you have. All I saw was you pound right past me at full tilt. You got halfway up the bowsprit before you fell in.’

  ‘Right. Well it’s done now. Where are we?’

  ‘Good question.’

  It was dark by the time they got to the camp and joined the others. B
roddor was welcomed with hugs and slaps on the back by Ghene and Meggelaine. The sailors, grieving for the loss of their friends, kept to themselves.

  ‘This forest is full of game,’ explained Ghene as he handed out roasted rabbit meat from the fire.

  ‘Aye, Roztov,’ put in Meg. ‘We’ve seen deer tracks, boars, tapir, rotroks. Oh, and vegetains.’

  ‘Rotroks? Huh. Seen any predator tracks?’

  ‘Nothing bigger than a cat.’

  ‘If rotroks live on this island then I doubt there is anything bigger than a fox here. Good news I suppose. We don’t need to worry about wolves or tigers.’

  ‘How do you know?’ asked Floran, the only person in the camp that knew nothing about the Diamond Sea.

  ‘They are just meals on legs. Giant shell-less turtles. If there was anything big enough here to eat them then they would all be eaten by now,’ explained Meggelaine. She had never been to the Diamond Sea before either, but had read about it in books. Indeed she had only seen a rotrok for the first time a few weeks ago back on Grenos.

  The real authority on the region was Roztov, having travelled it before, but Meggelaine was always quicker with an opinion and besides she was right. Broddor had been out this way too, but he’d paid much less attention to the wildlife.

  Roztov chewed on a bone in silence, the others could now see that something was bothering him.

  ‘You ponder something, Roz?’ asked Ghene.

  ‘Just thinking. While I was retrieving the dwarf, how far did you hunt?’

  ‘Not far, no more than a hundred yards from the camp. We bagged three snow-rabbits and came back.’

  Roz threw the bone on the fire and rubbed at his beard.

  ‘Huh. Deer and vegetains? That’s strange. Where the deer hoofs long and tapered or rounded?’

  ‘Rounded.’

  ‘At both ends?’

  ‘They were not goat tracks if that is what you are thinking.’

  Roztov poked at the fire with his stick. ‘Perhaps I’ll take a look when it gets light.’

  ‘The tracks were like those of Great Forest red deer, if that’s any help, but shorter,’ put in Meggelaine.