Dragon Riders of Etrea 2—Chapter 10

Henrik was bored. There was simply no other term for it.

For two days now, he had been traveling through the mountains, following rocky paths up and down the slopes. As Anslie had said they would, the dragons had guided him; faint images and feelings of north or east floated across his mind here and there. They were weak, being that far away from the dragons, but it was enough for him to follow.

Henrik tried to send messages to Calduin. He figured their bond wasn’t yet strong enough, but he still tried to send the young dragon feelings of peace and trust. Nothing seemed to make it through, but he tried.

He almost envied Rasud and his ride back to the city. At least he had a traveling companion and probably wasn’t bored half to death.  He tried talking to his horse, but the animal was a poor conversationalist.

The mountains were surprisingly monotonous; he went up, he went down, he went east, he went north, and it was just rocks, bits of grass, and the occasional tree. At one point he saw a small waterfall, where snow melt built up and led to a narrow stream. Turning in his saddle, he tried to imagine the path of the stream and realized it probably was the one that wound up in Anslie’s valley.

A few times he saw birds of prey circling overhead; not something he was used to, being from the city. That also made him realize that if hawks were flying around looking for food, he probably stood a chance at being successful hunting around here. 

He guided his horse with his knees and rode with the bow across his lap and an arrow in hand. His only hope was that the animals in the mountains would be so unused to human contact that they wouldn’t know enough to be afraid.

Mostly he just wanted to avoid having to eat hardtack.

His patience was rewarded toward the end of the second day. The hard path had briefly turned to dirt, making their travel nearly silent. Three small deer chewed on a handful of low bushes in the distance. 

Henrik nocked the arrow and took careful aim. It was a bit of a far shot, so he waited until his horse drew closer. 

The deer closest to them raised its head and Henrik loosed his arrow. It flew true and struck the animal in the side of its chest, startling the other two. It only ran a few feet before collapsing to the ground.

Henrik steered his horse closer and swung down from the saddle. Using his knife, he quickly put the animal out of its misery.

It was a small deer—not a juvenile one, but a small breed. Enough to feed him for a while, that much was certain. Looking around, Henrik saw that he was actually in a good place to stop for the day, so he set the animal on a large rock nearby and cut its throat so it could bleed out.

“Come on, boy,” Henrik said to his horse as he led it closer. He looped its reins around a low branch nearby, by some plants the horse would enjoy, and removed the saddle and saddlebags.

Fortunately a handful of trees were nearby, so he spent a few minutes gathering old branches, then arranged them in the center of a circle of small stones. It had been quite some time since he’d slept near a fire, but the weather was cooler in the mountains so the warmth would be welcomed.

That done, he set to skinning and cleaning the animal with his belt knife. It was a bit large for the task, but with a deft hand he finished in no time. He also made sure to save the animal’s brain, as he had once been told how it could be used to tan the hide. With two weeks in the mountains ahead of him, a tanned deer hide could come in handy.

The moment he tried lighting the fire, he realized just how much Rasud’s spirit ancestors came in handy. With a handful of dried grass, shavings from a small piece of wood, and some twigs he finally got the sparks to catch and smolder. It had been a long time since he’d done that. He sat back and enjoyed the fire for a moment before working on the hide again.

It was painstaking work to scrape the inside of the hide clean, but he set at it methodically, trying to hurry before the sun set. Once it was clean, he used a nearby branch to help stretch the hide, pulling hard in every direction. After that, he skewered thick chunks of meat over his fire and relaxed.

“I should have brought a book or something,” Henrik muttered to himself as he sat back against his saddle. He had always considered himself a bit of a loner, but looking back, Rasud had always been there. And if nothing else, the man was entertaining.

To help pass time, Henrik closed his eyes and tried to connect with Calduin. Again, he focused on sending messages of peace and trust. His bond with the young dragon was still too new for the messages to travel that far, but it was good practice. 

Tossyth and the other dragons, however, continued to send him faint directions. Even at that distance they could send emotions and images. It amazed him, and it also showed the strength of their minds. Henrik tried to send a mental image of the meat cooking and all three dragons seemed to take interest, even from the faint message. That got a laugh out of him.

Filled with fresh venison and covered with Anslie’s blanket, he slept well that night. Although he had spent most of his life in a dense city, he enjoyed being in the mountains. Clean water and fresh air were two things that weren’t hugely common in a place like Selfoss, but the mountains had them in spades.

A thin layer of frost covered him the next morning. That was something he had never before experienced—Selfoss never grew cold enough for water to freeze, not even close.

He checked his hide and took his knife to it again, scraping the last bits of connective tissue from it. After that, he stoically smeared the brains all over the inside of the hide. Not the most pleasant thing to do, but every bit helped. He let that sit while he worked on breakfast.

His horse seemed to enjoy the mountains as well, especially the variety of foliage. The animal practically danced when Henrik went over to check on him that morning. He led his horse over to a patch of clover and tied him there, then went back to the deer hide.

It had stiffened a bit overnight, so once again he worked hard at it, stretching it in every direction. That was important to keep the fibers from drying together. At least a gentle breeze blew through the area, so he didn’t have to smell it.

After eating as much venison as he could, he buried his coals and set off, heading further north. Day three, and he had seen nothing of note. The mountains turned white above him, so if he continued on his path he knew it would grow colder.

“What about you, boy?” Henrik asked, patting his horse on the neck. “Are you excited to see snow? I doubt you’d get a chance to see it, elsewise.”

The horse tossed his head in reply.

“Yeah, I feel the same way,” Henrik said. “Looking forward to seeing it and experiencing it, but not very excited about being cold. My bedroll isn’t big enough for the both of us, so don’t try cuddling up with me at night, okay?”

His horse snorted. Henrik patted his neck again.

“I guess the duke is probably mad about losing you. I would be too. You’re a fine animal.” Henrik looked around. “And here I am, talking to a horse.”

A series of images floated across Henrik’s mind; scenes of the mountain path forking ahead. The dragons were telling him to take the right branch. He tried his best to thank them, but he wasn’t sure if they got his message or not.

Five minutes later, the barely visible path he followed forked. He turned right, then wondered why a path was even out here, where no one had been in ages. Twisting in his saddle, he glanced behind him and stared at the path for a bit. It looked like a deer trail. That made sense.

Henrik’s horse tossed his head and danced to the side for a few steps. Something had spooked the animal. He looked all around them, his hand going for his sword. Nothing moved in any direction he could see.

“It’s okay, boy,” Henrik said, patting his horse. The animal tossed his head again, but started walking back toward the trail.

Henrik kept his head on a swivel, checking for movement. A furry squirrel suddenly raced across their path and Henrik cursed and shook his head. Little bastard startled him.

The faintest rustling caught Henrik’s ear, and he turned to his left. Thirty feet off the path, hiding among bushes, were the unmistakable yellow eyes of a wolf.

Being from the city, Henrik had never actually seen a wolf before. He had read about them in stories as a child, and knew they were essentially wild dogs with yellow eyes and shaggy coats. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate, but it was close enough for him.

“Stay calm, boy, okay?” Henrik said, patting his horse again. He kept his left hand on his horse’s neck, hoping his touch would reassure the animal. Being one of the duke’s horses, he assumed the animal was well-trained and wouldn’t bolt at the first sign of danger. Fortunately, he was right.

Henrik pulled his sword out and held it ready. He kept glancing around, and after a few minutes saw a large wolf cross the path behind them. Its gray and white fur would blend into the mountains perfectly, especially once he got a bit further and snow became more common.

Henrik was a big fan of dogs. He loved the loyal animals, and always went out of his way to pet one or feed it a treat if he was able to. He had always hoped to get one if he ever lived to be old and gray.

The thing that now emerged from the bushes looked nothing like the dogs he was used to seeing, although he could see the similarities. It was large, with the kind of thick fur that would shrug off another animal trying to bite it. Its yellow eyes watched them ride by, and its large feet moved silently along the ground. The wolf watched him the same way a barn cat watched a mouse.

“Shit,” Henrik said, sheathing his sword. When he saw the wolves, all he could think about was one of them lying in front of a fireplace with its tongue hanging lazily out. He couldn’t imagine beheading one of those.

“Come on, boy,” he said, holding the reins firmly. “Time to scare away some wolves.”

His horse tossed his head again, then turned sharply to the left as Henrik guided him. He dug in his heels and the horse leaped forward.

After only two or three steps, the horse seemed to understand the assignment. The horse charged straight for the nearest wolf, startling the shaggy animal. It sprinted away and the horse followed, trying to run the wolf down.

“By the gods, calm down a bit,” Henrik said, pulling the reins to turn the horse around.

His horse looked around and saw another wolf, then leaped into a full gallop. The wolves were caught by surprise—they were used to chasing their prey, not being run down by a thousand pound beast.

One particularly brave wolf tried to run up behind them as Henrik’s horse chased another. The horse kicked a few times—it was running, which made it hard to kick, but the wolf was tagged across the snout by a hoof. It yelped and ran away, disappearing into the bushes.

Only one wolf remained, and Henrik’s horse seemed determined to trample the poor animal. At this point, Henrik just held onto the saddle for dear life as his crazed horse charged the wolf.

“Easy, easy,” Henrik said once the last wolf ran away. “Shhhh, calm down.” He laughed as the horse tossed his head and snorted. “Maybe you’re the real dragon rider here, since you apparently have the temper of a snow dragon.” Henrik tried to picture the horse riding on the back of a dragon, and laughed loud and long.

Well, if nothing else, at least it was a break from the monotony.