Expiring Covenant (Black Lake Book 1)

Chapter 28
Tir’loch

~

On a rare flight without my bull siblin’s, I soared high over the lesser races’ village. My siblin’ Iza speaks often of her friends, down there. The queen growls most any time she hears Iza mention them. Ash’et is not fond of the two-legged folk. Not at all. The contradiction bothers me. I idolize the gigantic queen, as well as fear her, but often think how Iza’s friendship with the human boy changed her.

Iza had always growled at me and my three bull siblin’s, glared at us. Sayin’ she had no patience with any of us is like suggestin’ the valley’s blizzards are just a change in the weather. Quite the understatement. As terrifyin’ as Ash’et can be, I frequently feared Iza more than my dam, before. But after Iza returned after her injury, doctored by the human boy and that troll, she was different, calm, at peace, somehow.

I banked toward the edge of the settlement, as though not flyin’ directly over the Inn I avoided crossin’ the queen’s wishes, riskin’ her ire. The surface of the Lake had been frozen solid for weeks, the trees ornate in their white blankets. Smoke risin’ in the sky from their flumes was the only thin’ that made the settlement standout from the white.

Pristine patches of snow covered the ground here and there from the previous night’s dustin’. The footprints in one such patch drew my eyes instinctively, and provoked my huntin’ lust, even though Mo’sale had delivered an elk this mornin’ which slaked most of my hunger. Split between the five of us though, it didn’t come close to fillin’. Unfortunately, I’m not such a grand hunter yet. Not just lack of technique.

I circled, followin’ the tracks until they led into the forest. That was a disappointment. I’d remain hungry unless my prey moved into the open. I caught a thermal, a tiny thread of warmer air risin’ off a wide swath of black, sun-baked rocks, in a broad gully between two larger mountain ridges.

There was the beast.

I dipped my wings and dove toward the thin’, which stupidly lingered in the open, sunnin’ on the rocks. I doubted my chances of snaggin’ the beast. Most every kind of game near Black Lake has learned their most dangerous predator now comes from above.

Ah, my angle’s wrong. I’d be forced to glide directly into the narrow, treeless space. I grimace. The chance of bein’ unseen was slight. I studied my prey, and saw its eyes peer up at me, but it didn’t spring away. It loitered, watchin’ me approach.

One of the two-legged bein’s.

I nearly banked away, but asked myself why else had I ventured near their village, if not curiosity, to see one of their kind. The bein’ stood and watched me spiral down. There was no fear on its face. It had surely seen Iza many times.

I worked my wings to slow my descent, to come down gently on the rocks nearby. That aspect of my flyin’ remains my least skilled, and anxiety stabbed my chest as I found myself flutterin’ awkwardly in a cross-breeze.

Instead of mindin’ what I was doin’, I found my eyes locked onto the beast’s, and I more struck than landed, hard. My talons, breast bone, and chin slammed into rounded granite of the ancient falls. I grunted loudly as the landin’ knocked out my wind and pain shot up my spine.

“Ewww. That looked like it hurt.”

I opened my eyes as twenty gnomes blinked in and surrounded me, squealin’ in their language. They started returnin’ to their realm, but one lingered, scurryin’ directly up to me and rubbin’ my chest. I couldn’t help but moan, as some of the pain seemed to be stolen away. The gnome blinked out without warnin’, as though called back by an angry sire.

I blinked, and looked across at the two-legged one. “What did ya say?” I asked in my poorly-practiced Standish.

“I said that looked like it hurt.”

“Plccchhhh. Slower.”

The beast repeated itself, one word at a time.

“It did hurt.” I sat starin’ at the beast. It didn’t look very scary, even intimidatin’. Why does my dam fear them? Not that she claims any fear. Only hate.

“Ya’re one of Iza’s siblin’s.”

“Do ya not think I would be aware of that?” I said.

The beast made a gurglin’ noise that confused me for a moment, until I realized it had to be its kind’s response to humor. I trumpeted softly, understandin’ the unintentional wit. Birds in the nearby trees scattered into the sky. I watched them for a moment. The small beasts stay clear of our lair, of my kind. I enjoy watchin’ the way they move so effortlessly in the air, changin’ direction as though without thought. Even more perfect in design than dragonkind.

“Are ya all right?” the beast asked.

I turned back and blinked my inner eyelids, as though to clear my mind from the image of the birds. “I landed hard.”

“I know. I was here, remember?” it said.

I trumpeted again. It has a bit of wit. “What kind of beast are ya?” I asked.

“No beast. No call to be rude, dragon. I’m an ogre. Ya don’t get around much, do ya.”

“Male, or female?”

The beast, creature, fluffed up, shoulders thrown back, face wrinklin’. It did somethin’ with the object it held, which made a very loud snappin’ noise as it came together, which startled me. I nearly sprang into the air, did extend my wings.

But the ogre didn’t attack. I relaxed, and refolded my wings after a moment of eye-to-eye standoff. I arched my neck to get closer to the creature. Examined the flat object in its hand.

“What is that? A weapon of some sort?”

The thin’ trumpeted in its manner. I fluttered a wing and bared my teeth. “Ya don’t have to make fun.”

“I didn’t mean to,” the ogre said. “Which bull siblin’ are ya?”

“Tir.”

“I’m Asr,” the ogre said, holdin’ out his hand.

I stared at the hand, and after a moment the ogre dropped it to his side, and hunched up a shoulder.

“I apologize for the earlier insult. But ya all look alike to me,” I told it.

The ogre looked down at his form, or attire or somethin’, as though lookin’ to see if somethin’ was missin’. “Perhaps if ya saw me with Ren.”

“I know that name. That’s Iza’s friend.” I tried not to, but knew my eyes whirled.

“Ren’s my hen siblin’,” the ogre said. He squinched together his eyes. Maybe in thought. “Humans use the word sister.” He paused, face mixin’ again. “I think I like that word.”

“She’s friends with that Lucas boy,” I said.

We spoke of Ren and Lucas for a while. When Asr mentioned Lucas’ letters that Ren reads to Iza, I was sure I figgered out my previous question, which the ogre never answered.

“Is that,” I gestured with my snout, “a compilation of letters?”

Wrinkles creased Asr’s forehead, bringin’ his brows together. “Sorta. It’s a book of poems.”

Excitement spread through my body—maybe my flesh shimmied. My most favorite time in the world is when my sire recites the ancient poetry of our ancestors. Again I couldn’t help myself, as my head weaved.

“Did ya wet yarself, or are ya kindly to poetry?” Asr asked.

That sounded rude, but it was becomin’ clear the two-legged folk embrace sarcasm. “Would ya read me a piece of yar poetry?” I couldn’t not ask.

The ogre looked up at me again with that merged brow. I encouraged it again with a nod, and nestled into the rocks to get comfortable, spreadin’ my wings out to catch the sun. Finally, the ogre accommodated, openin’ the book, and readin’ a passage with short, witty little lines. But he stopped after less than a minute.

“Why did ya stop?” I asked.

“That was the end of the poem.”

“How could it have been the end?” I asked. “The sun’s still up, haven’t a clue who the characters were, their foe, what their dilemma was, much less how they resolved it,”

“It was a poem.” The ogre blinked at me as though that reasonin’ would explain everythin’.

“Plccchhhh. Says ya.”

“Then ya tell me a dragonish poem,” Asr challenged me.

I trumpeted softly, ecstatic for the excuse to repeat one of my sire’s poems. I nestled more into the rocks and began. The ogre stood listenin’. I studied him as I recited the words of the ancient epic, figgerin’ ogres must have great stamina, if he intended to stand through a draconian poem. Before too many minutes, the ogre was findin’ his own place to nestle in the rocks.

~

“Why did ya stop?” Asr asked. The shadows in the gully had lengthened tenfold and the temperature had dropped steadily.

“Ya don’t hear that?” I asked.

“No.” Asr cocked his head, and shook it after a moment. Has to be deaf.

“Yar kind must not have good hearin’,” I suggested.

“I’ve heard Master Braes say that a time or two.”

“That’s the elf, the owner of the Inn?” I asked.

“That’s him. So what am I missin’?”

I trumpeted softly, since I forgot what started the exchange. “Several below call yar name.”

“Holy cow!” Asr screeched, leapin’ up. “I’m in trouble. I didn’t bring in the goats, set out fresh hay, bring in water, or top off the firewood. Papa’s gonna flay my behind.”

Asr had already begun to dance across the rocks, headin’ down the steep incline, but returned for his book. He was on his way again with only a wave.

“But I didn’t finish the poem,” I whimpered.

“Tomorrow,” the ogrelin’ shouted, already at the edge of the woods.

Ash’et is goin’ to be mad at me too. I peered up at the darkenin’ sky. I leapt into the air and pushed with cold-tired wings to ascend, flyin’ over the woods where I expected Asr would be. Through the trees I found the ogre and three others convergin’. I easily heard the angry shouts. What would be my own dam and sire’s volume when I returned to the lair? I banked west and saw the forms nearin’.

They came out to search for me. That’s not good. Not good at all.

The array of six dragons spread dramatically above the horizon. As I neared them the angry trumpets of Mo’sale and Ash’et boomed. The queen, I figgered, is merely irritated with the inconvenience. Mo’sale would be earnestly concerned. I felt badly for worryin’ the bull dragon.

Dam, sire, and my sister—it’s a good word—Iza banked away for the lair, but my three bull siblin’s strafed me, wings thrown back, heads extended in dives. I had to endure multiple tauntin’ attacks from each before they tired of their self-appointed chastisement.

They came beside me demandin’ to know what I’d been up to, what I saw, where I went. I was reluctant to tell them. They’d blather on endlessly when we returned to the lair. I needed nothin’ to further enrage Ash’et. She can kill with a long glare. Annihilate with a short tongue lashin’.

It takes little enough to anger her. Especially when it involves us bulls.

Ash’et’s patient enough with her queen babe. Let me or one of my bull siblin’s cross her, and Ash’et threatens to rip us into shreds. The baby-queen is the promise of our race, Ash’et often enough grumbles. Bulls serve little purpose, she hisses at us and our sire.

At that, Mo’sale will trumpet in humor, as though he’s never heard anythin’ so funny. Ash’et will growl deep in her chest with irritation, until Mo’sale reaches out and caresses her, his throat a rivulet against her own, which makes her eyes whirl.

I’ll never understand the queen. Her mind is not quite right.

~

Though eager to visit the ogre again, I held back while Mo’sale and Ash’et sunned through the mornin’ hours. When they took to the air to hunt, I waited until they were out of sight. Siblin’s Kyn and Tae left shortly after our dam and sire.

Anger stirred in my chest—the clutch runt remained. Syl acted as though he merely enjoyed the sun’s rays, but I noticed he remained too attentive. My patience reached, I took to the sky hopin’ Syl wouldn’t follow. But of course he did. I looked over my shoulder as Syl tarried behind me.

So be it.

I retraced my path from the previous day. On the ground, little moved save the off-limit game within the fences. The tiny beasts tugged at the meager grass stumps pokin’ through the snow. Smoke slithered from chimneys. There was otherwise no motion, none of the two-legged kind I searched for.

I headed for Asr’s rocky fall and landed, ignorin’ the inquisitive glances from Syl who landed nearby, higher up where the boulders clumped denser, piled high upon each other. I extended my wings as though my only purpose for bein’ here was to sun.

Syl remained overly patient. He clamored, snufflin’ in the rocks. I watched, humored as Syl moved about in his best imitation of the foxes we watch huntin’ in the heights, a grossly uncoordinated-lookin’ fox. Syl froze for the longest moment, until he struck.

My smallest siblin’ tilted his head and gulped down a marmot, like a loon swallowin’ a shrimp. The innate skill Syl showed kept me from trumpetin’ in humor, at the futility of the effort for the tiny morsel. But in the time it took to complete the thought, Syl tossed another little animal into the back of his throat.

The mornin’ passed, as I watched Syl gettin’ his fill of the ground beasts. He spread out his wings after a loud belch, to sleep and sun. It was utterly quiet for a time, save the whisperin’ of the trees, but the far off words from the two-legged kind eventually floated up the gully through the trees.

I rose and launched into the air, over the snow-covered meadow near the Lake, with Syl right behind me. We passed the two walkin’ close to the edge of the frozen Lake. The ogre lifted a tusk-split grin and waved. I circled and landed near them, a bit more gracefully than the previous day, thankfully.

As Asr ran toward me, I looked for Syl, who landed thirty feet beyond. Syl slunk, wings out, prepared to take to the air, his neck wrenched around to see past me.

“Ya came back!” the young ogre yelled. As though I stood in a far-off canyon. Ogres are indeed deaf.

A much shorter two-legged one, with spindly arms and legs, followed behind the ogre. It held its body not too unlike my little siblin’—untrustin’.

“I thought ya might wish to hear the end of the poem,” I told Asr.

“I do, but since I neglected my chores yesterday, I got roped into extra work today.” Asr jammed a thumb over his shoulder at his companion.

I extended my neck, over Asr’s shoulder, studyin’ the new, two-legged creature. “Are ya a sickly ogre?”

Asr grumbled, the sound I now recognize as his trumpet-laugh.

“He’s no ogre.” Asr turned and waved the slight form forward. “Tir, meet my orc friend, Janding. Relax, Janding. Tir’s a friend.”

The new, tiny beast, orc, evidently, looked unconvinced. I doubted his eyes always bulged like that. I motioned with my head, and the orc jumped backward. “This is my siblin’ Syl. He decided he had to tag along today.”

Asr walked toward Syl with his hand out, and my siblin’ lunged away, showerin’ Asr with gravel as his talons scraped into the earth.

“Calm yarself, Syl,” I bellowed. “Their kind exchange a ritual greetin’. He’s not attackin’ ya.”

The ogre froze. “Sorry.”

I turned awkwardly, unable to use my wings with the fragile-lookin’ two-legged beasts so near. I dipped forward, and the ogre grabbed my claw on the forward edge of my wing and gave it a shake.

Syl didn’t look happy. I turned back to the orc, who looked no happier. But he did step around to glare at my runt-siblin’.

“Awkward,” the orc muttered.

“What?” Syl finally spoke.

“The last dragon I met intended to snack upon me and my friends.”

“I don’t know why,” Syl said. “Ya look to be nothin’ but bones.” That was funny considerin’ the dozens of marmot the idjit had devoured in the last hour. Though in fairness, the marmots were far less spindly.

Asr bellowed in laughter, bendin’ over, slappin’ his knee. These ogres are clearly very demonstrative.

“What’s so funny?” the orc demanded of his friend.

It took a moment for the ogre to control his mirth. He finally stood erect, and with a slightly bowed head he said simply, “Must be an ogre thin’.”

We were silent a few moments, until Asr found his tongue and rattled on about the collectin’ he and Janding were off to do, explainin’ that Janding’s an artist, and is goin’ to use the driftwood in his work. Both Syl and I extended our long necks to get closer to the orc as though inspection would explain what an artist is, and what one would do with old, dried out wood.

Asr hefted a hand, I took as a suggestion to follow along. So he and I strode ahead, fallin’ into the banter we found so easily the previous day, leavin’ Janding and Syl to follow if they chose. Took me a few moments to learn curlin’ my talons under helped with the walkin’. Not somethin’ we do. Still awkward, but doable. I peered over my shoulder often, curious to see how the other two got along. My siblin’ showed distaste in the maneuverin’ on land too, but appeared not to overly dislike the conversation that slowly developed between dragon and orc.

The orc mulled over several stumps, which he disregarded. My runt-siblin’ told Janding that his task would take forever.

“The better material I would think would be higher in the peaks, where the flash floods pull down the trees into the gullies.”

“Do I look like I can carry driftwood out of the mountains?” the orc asked, displayin’ needle-sharp teeth. Miniature dragon teeth.

That brought a trumpet from Syl, the last I paid attention to the pair. I got distracted with my own conversation with Asr. Not a complex individual, but oddly interestin’, all the same. Sometime later I was surprised my siblin’ launched into the air. I looked over my shoulder for the orc, but he wasn’t there.

He ate him? Noooo!

I replayed the image in my mind of Syl tossin’ back the marmots earlier. The orc would have been only a slightly larger bite. My mind spun with the implications the orc’s death would have on my friendship with Asr. I watched my siblin’ flyin’ away, and realized the orc sat across Syl’s back, grippin’ the ridges across his shoulders.

“Am I seein’ what I think I’m seein’?” Asr asked.

I looked down at my friend, tryin’ to think about what he said, but nothin’ made sense. My mind seemed to be stuck—empty. Struck dumb.

“Are ya all right, big fella?” Asr asked.

“Ash’et is not goin’ to like this one bit.” I shook my head.

Oh, she cannot hear about this.

Certainly not from me.

~