Land of Salvania

  There once was a knight on a quest. He galloped like mad to the west. It was quite a disgrace When the bug hit his face. He found it tough to digest. (I like this silly limerick because it leaves the door open to interpret what was so hard to digest: the bug or the disgrace of being hit by a bug.  Or both?) /// Copyright

Suddenly, the fighting died away. From the castle wall, archers and healers were scrambling down ladders and ropes. Both groups found more arrows and bodies than expected. Echoes of horns and drums sounded from various distances, sending commands and queries to those that understood. The field beyond the Duke's castle walls was once a lovely garden. Now it was a ruined expanse of dead and dying horses and fighters. Hooves from enormous cavalry steeds had ravaged the lawn, leaving it as pocked as the Duke's jousting ground. Burning wagons and siege towers left black, smoking scars. Some of the Elvenari Sisterhood were already walking among the twisted shapes of armored combatants, motioning for stretchers when they found someone alive from either side. Torben found himself squishing through mud that oozed with horse blood as he gathered a handful of decent arrows that could fly again. His little Rock Dragon rode on his shoulder and squeaked in dismay at the unpleasant smel...

  "I found my first rock dragon on a sunny day in May just like today," Flint said as a little red dragon, no bigger than a squirrel, scrambled over his hand, arm, and shoulder before hiding in his hair. Other rock dragons were sunning themselves on the warm rock wall or peeking out of crevices. "They say half the Yunni keep them as pets and the other half keep them for breakfast." With a twinkle in his eye, he looked at a Yunni, one of the small forest folk, standing among the children making up Flint's "forest classroom." The children all looked at the Yunni who, even though full grown, was barely as tall as child. "Mister Flint," the Yunni said with great solemnity. "I would never have one of these delightful creatures for breakfast. I might invite one to enjoy my breakfast, though." She tossed a morsel of bread onto a flat rock. Flint's little red peeked out of his curtain of hair, but a bigger blue dragon flashed out ...

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Ritter stepped outside wearing a fresh tabard, and most of the grime from his days of confinement was scraped off his face and hands. His kidnapper walked beside him. Both were smiling. Wellorg, the massive dragon queen sniffed the air and stiffened. The bandits' twenty dragons surrounded her, bowing and cooing their greetings to the green and black queen. A few of the larger blue dragons were starting to posture and nip each other to showoff their worth as possible mates. If she stayed around any longer, they would start fighting in earnest. "Like I said, she is huge, powerful, and more dangerous than you'll ever know," Ritter said, still smiling. "She will happily slaughter everyone - man and dragon - you see here if this goes sideways." "You're just trying to save your own skin," Morgan, his captor-turned-reluctant-ally, said. "You bet I am," Ritter said. "Just do what I said, ...

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Ritter almost jumped out of his skin as the long dagger clattered to the floor. "We're here," Farsinger croaked, landing on Ritter's chest and gripping his nose with her beak to rouse him. "I brought help, too." Ritter, heart pounding, sat up from the tower's cold stone floor. His muscles ached, and his head was fuzzy from days of fitful sleep and gnawing uncertainty. He blinked crusty eyes; a recessed window sent a single shaft of vivid light across the empty room. His raven friend hopped to his shoulder then his hand, nipping at his dirty clothes, her excitement palpable. "His name is Pavia." She nodded toward the large vulture standing nervously in the shadows. "He was strong enough to lift the dagger all by himself." Ritter smiled at the vulture. "Impressive, Pavia. Thank you." Pavia nodded and said nothing. Ritter heard the echo of boots on the spiral stairs leading up to his ...

  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Wellorg felt Droth's spirit before she ever smelled him. He felt like a lonely wolf call in the night, full of sadness and purpose. He felt like the consort she never had, so unlike the dozens of other man-kin she had been knighted to over the swirl of centuries. She stirred in her rocky nest, opening one red eye to watch the steep pathway up her mountain. Maybe she would fly down to meet him, snatch him up in gentle talons and feel his tiny spirit flame up with bright fear and excitement. No, that would not do. She would not come running to him after this long apart. Still, her black heart beat just a little faster when she saw Droth walking up the path. He waved and she snorted, sending a fine mist of acid to sizzle the nearby moss. "My lady," Droth said with a short bow. "You are lovely, as usual." "I greet you, Sir Droth." There. That would set the tone. Cold and distant until he had groveled sufficiently. He ...

  "I told you the map was worth it," Farsinger had declared as the hilltop castle had come into view. "It will only be worth it if we find the chest." Ritter and Farsinger explored outside the ruins for most of two days. Strangely, there was no village or ruins of a village in the area. Most castles had a town nearby for farmers and craftsmen to raise a family. Most disturbing of all, there seemed to be no way into the fortress. Farsinger had flown all around and through the ancient castle. "There are no gates for those on two legs or four. But I think you can work your way up an old stairway on the other side." "How did they resupply the fortress without gates for the wagons?" he wondered out loud. Ritter had spent most of another day huddled in a partly-roofed guard shack as cold spring rain lashed the hilltop, sending rivulets down from a hundred drainages. He ate pemmican and drank captured rainwater. He mended his armor and took a nap. ...

  Captain Droth walked silently among the ancient ruins. Weeds reached for the spring sunshine slanting through rotten roof timbers. A shutter creaked back and forth in the warm breeze. The sound reminded him of ship's rigging, and the sadness of losing his beloved Misty Maiden washed over him again. He imagined that fish roamed her sunken decks trying to make sense of the alien cargo. Signs of battle were everywhere among the ruins. Bones were scattered and cleaned by the feasting birds and dragons. Large troll skulls were also mingled with smaller human and elf remains. "I doubt dragons did any of this," Pall said from outside the gate. He was too big to walk through, even if he folded his wings. "Why? You dragons are known to enjoy a tasty human from time to time." "There would be no bones left," was the simple reply. Pall was always straightforward even in the face of sarcasm. His nostrils opened wide. "Nothing but ghosts here. Or, m...

  (From the series "Gerantus and Pall") Pall glided overhead in silence, just another shard of midnight breeze. Gerantus, accustomed to his friend's terrifying hunting skills, stood at the edge of the Dreamwood with his lamp, thorns tugging at his woolen trousers. They had been on alert all night, Pall circling among the stars and Gerantus cursing the thorns, as the battle raged in the distance. "We are old and pitiful," Pall had said the day before. "Let the children play at death. They'll never learn to hate it unless they feel it." "Speak for yourself," Gerantus had grunted even as he felt the familiar twinge in his lower back. "We have some role to play yet. I know it." So here they were at midnight, seeking some way to help without feeling as useless as a first-time father watching his mate give birth. "Maybe we can spot retreating enemy and finish them," Gerantus had offered as the sun had set and the sound o...

  He really didn't want to slay the dragon. It was just an animal doing what animals do to survive. When the villagers complained about it killing a few cows every now and then, the duke waved them off. When it wrecked a couple of chicken coops, the castle had no response. But when it emptied its bowels while flying over the duke's archery match - that was too much. The duke's guard was turned out with orders to find and slay the evil beast. And you already know the rest of the story. /// Copyright

  King Largen of the frozen north Took his sword and went he forth To seek the dragon Dalenboke That sorely plagued his peaceful folk. Five days had passed upon his way And then he met a princess fey Who asked him why he bore his sword Across her stream and tranquil fjord. He told his tale of dragon hate And bid her help him seek his fate. So boon he asked, and boon he got She led him to a sacred spot. "Rest you now, here by this stream When you awake perhaps you'll seem To find a new way to your goal Just listen to your dreaming soul." The fey, they think in slipp'ry ways. Unlike men: too straight their gaze. Largen slept just like a child And in the dreamland he was exiled. When last he woke at break of day The world had turned, gone was the fey. His sword had rusted red as blood The stream had risen like a flood. The season changed, whole years had passed; New trees had grown in tall green grass. Fear and wonder filled his mind He rose and left this place behind. N...

  The desert sun baked him inside the heavy armor. As his burning thoughts began to wonder, he was sure that a dragon was bearing down on him, trying to cook him slowly. When he finally fell off, his horse happily trotted back to the dusty outpost on the edge of the wasteland. The knight was a fool, and he deserved a fool's reward. /// Copyright

  The old knight made it to the beach, and he had managed to lure the majority of the gargs after him. The queen's caravan should have enough soldiers to defeat those that stayed back. It helped that he had learned enough of their language to goad them with taunts like "come along, ya cream-faced loons" and "I'm over here ya crusty fopdoodles." They spread out in an arc, and he noted their caution with a smile. He would be nervous too if a single adversary appeared ready to take on ten others. They would be wondering if he had special powers. Gargs were superstitious about that stuff. When they seemed to regain their composure and began advancing, he whistled long and loud, piercing the sea breeze and echoing off the cliffs a mile away. It was a warbling call that made good use of his youthful skills as a shepherd directing his dogs. The gargs stopped again and began muttering to each other. He caught their words for "uncanny" and "not r...

  Mothers clutched their children and hustled away when Morden walked down the street. Soldiers hands unconsciously drifted toward their weapons when Morden appeared in town. The wise watched carefully when Morden stood still, eyes closed. Some days, Morden was amused at this ridiculous behavior, some days he was annoyed. Even getting a beer at the pub was a huge disruption, crowds falling silent, eyes wary. Forget about attending any town festivals or market days. Accidentally summon a red dragon just one time, and you pay for it forever. /// Copyright

  "Danger! Danger!" the magic staff screamed in his mind. It jumped out of his hand and clattered on the cobbled bridge, flopping like a fish out of water. Ever since he had found the staff in that abandoned lair under the mountains, he had regretted bringing it with him. Far above the castle, he heard a dragon's piercing cry from somewhere in the storm clouds. The staff screeched again in his skull and started inch-worming away from the castle. It was going to be that kind of week. /// Copyright

  He was called Draig, Dragon in the common speech. None in the village knew his real name. He had arrived half-dead a month earlier clinging to his horse, a bloody mess, his sword broken, his mind delirious. A red dragon was stitched on his leather surcoat. The village healer, a woman known for poultices and herbs, had nurtured him like a sick calf, and brought him back to the living. "What do the people say about me?" Draig asked her one day. "They pity you," she said bluntly. He thought about that, his brow knotted, as he scratched around a long scab on his arm. "They're probably right." Draig continued packing a few bundles of bannock bread for his journey. "Have you remembered anything yet?" The healer dropped some chopped leeks into the stewpot. "Same as always," he said. "I have dreams, but they fade every morning." She knew about his dreams. The small cottage had no privacy, and she could hear him cry out sev...

  He claimed to be a man Sent from our lovely Queen. His sword was sharp and bright, Though he was quite unclean. The man, his name was Loo, He painted half his face. He said it helped him hide In trees without a trace. He traveled with a troll As tall as any tree. Loo found him as a babe While fishing in the sea. A dragon too he knew With breath as hot as fire. She flew on wings of red, And never did she tire. And so they roamed the land To right the evil deeds Caused by the filthy Gargs That sprouted up like weeds. Loo waited for the Gargs To come out in the night And he would growl and groan To give them all a fright. The Gargs would run away Straight toward the waiting troll If any got past him The dragon took her toll. So now the land is safe For you and mom and dad. And we can sleep at night While Loo defeats the bad. Translated from the Dwarven scroll "Songs for Wee Babes" at the White River scriptorium. Set here by my hand, Bard Galen in the fifth year of King Nordram...

  (From the series "Gerantus and Pall") Gerantus was labeled "peculiar" by those who didn't know him and "amazing" by those who did. He and the dragon Pall occupied a run-down fortress abandoned a generation earlier by all but owls. The townsfolk in the valley below loved to spread the rumor, possibly started by Gerantus, that he subdued the dragon, making it his pet. The truth was even better. As a babe, Gerantus was left in the care of a kindly aunt in the south of Salvania. She was a friend to the area creatures, so taking in a small human was no more worrisome than tending a baby squirrel. Gerantus grew up roaming the ancient forests with as much stealth and skill as his animal friends. He also exceeded his aunt by befriending Pall, a red dragon. They stumbled on each other in a forest opening. Pall was scraping his long snout across some rocks, and Gerantus was intrigued. Pall had a tick "the size of a grapefruit" buried under his chi...

  "Milady queen wishes you good health, Great Healer. She cautions you and all newcomers to take care in the hills. Trolls are on the move, none knows why. I heard some speculation from the fishmonger's daughter that every 27 years, the trolls pick a new leader. The wresting and fighting is savage, I hear. I hear a lot in my travels. I suspect that is why Milady queen asks me to greet all visitors. Why, just last week, I greeted a giant brute of a Northman with tattoos from his fingernails to his earlobes. Nice enough fellow, but he used butter to slick back his hair, and it had gotten rancid..." The healer let the queen's emissary continue for a full five minutes. The little bird may have gone on forever, but a shadow obliterated the sun. "Oh, dear," the bird squeaked. "I must go now. The dragon Hom is visiting today, and he may have news. Goodbye." The healer smiled as the little gossip sped away, chasing the enormous creature while castle horns ...

The Yunni shaman looked up at the towering wizard. Even for one of the small folk, the shaman was tiny, his stature further reduced by an aged stoop. "Greetings, my friend. My name is Deep Lake." The wizard did not reply, but Deep could see he was agitated. Deep glanced at Leaf on the Water, the young Yunni hunter who had guided this unhappy giant to the village. "Leaf tells me you have need of us." The wizard's jaw muscle twitched as he ground his teeth. By the spirits of tree and river, what was causing his fury? "I have need of no Yunni-kind," he spat. "I would have provisions as mine were stolen since entering this evil land. And a guide to see me out of this cursed place." Deep nodded. Perhaps it was his pride that was singed. Indeed, how would a great and mighty wizard lose his provisions and his direction? Maybe he was not so mighty after all. "I see, my friend. I will be glad to help you." Deep whistled, and a ...