Chapter 14: Chapter 14: News

Chapter 14: News

Givontair: 

I carry Nathaniel on my back. Now, he is no lightweight. Yet, that weight comes mostly from his muscles. He is by far more muscular than me. I suppose he needs to be, considering that he kills dragons for a living. 

His closeness to me is something I find just right. He is my mate, despite his occupation. Yet, I know that I won't be able to talk him out of seeking revenge. 

There is one thing, though. Ajax the Bold is as big as two mountains. He is the biggest dragon there is. If Nate wants to fight him, he will need the help of other dragons. Just scorpion bolts won't do much.

"For how long won't I be able to walk?" Nathaniel asks me. 

"You will be able to walk after three or four days. Still, you won't be able to fight for a while," I tell him. "You should keep the wound dry for the first day. Afterwards, you should wash it with boiled water twice per day." 

"As you say, healer," he tells me. There is gratitude in his voice. 

"I will be the one to wash your wound, if you'd like," I suggest. More than that, I will probably be the one who removes the stitches from the leg wound. 

"Do I get something for the pain?" Nathaniel asks me, as I place him down. 

"It will muddle your mind. You are already with a local anesthesia," I knock on the door. Tara comes. When she sees Nathaniel's bloody pant leg, her eyes widen. 

"Did you manage it?" The old woman asks. I smile and nod. 

"You might want to bury your people on holy ground, from now on," I tell her. Her expression turns grim. 

"We are Wanderers. The Pope won't let us be buried on holy ground," I look her from head to toe. Her skin is pale, not like the caramel skin of the Wanderers. "My mother was a Wanderer."

I nod at the clarification. This explains a lot. Maybe, Tara could have fit in with the rest of the people of the Dorumian Theocracy, if her father was the Wanderer. For, the race of the child is decided by the race of the mother. 

"Thank you for looking after Erik," Nathaniel says. He stumbles on his feet, and I catch him before he falls. 

"Don't mention it. He helped me cook the dinner," Tara's lips twitch in the barest of smiles. I don't think she is used to people treating her kindly. 

"I don't want to impose on your hospitality, but we will need a place to stay for the night," I say. Tara nods. 

"You can have the guest rooms. Normally, I'd sent you to the barn. But with his wound, I think that the old beds are the better choice," she leads us inside, and I can see Erik reading a book. He is sitting on a chair right under the window. I smile at that. 

"We are back," I say, as Erik looks up from his book. "What is it about?" 

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"The history and rebuilding of Dorumian. So far, the book just speaks about the different Popes," I cringe at his words. The last thing I want for him, is to have his head filled with propaganda. 

"Perhaps Givontair can shine some light on whatever the facts are the truth, or propaganda?" Nathaniel asks. I shake my head. 

"What is the point? The dragons lost. Some, their lives, other their standing," my own bitterness at these words catches me unawares. I didn't fight in the war. Helped both sides. 

"It is still interesting. Come on, Giv. You must have seen at least one battle?" Erik asks me. Yet, my frown slowly turns into a grimace.

"There was nothing fun about the war. Just keep on reading about the Pope," I tell him. He doesn't seem to think our conversation has ended, however. 

"Just one story," he whines, as he places the book on the table before him. "And I won't pester you for another." 

I take in a deep breath. Maybe, if I word it in such a way that shows just how much both sides lost, he won't pester me anymore? 

"This happened at the end of the war. Two days before the peace treaty was signed," and that made the battle meaningless. A butchery that had no innocent people in it. Just some war hounds, who did their best to spill blood.  

"Ajax led the dragons for one final push. He knew that a contract was going to be signed, yet he still attacked," I say, closing my eyes.

 If I ignore the outside world, I can still hear the sound of dragons falling from the sky. Of people, who run around. Desperate to reach the river, as the flames consumed them. Few made it to there. I tell the boy everything I can remember, and then turn to Nathaniel. 

"Were you alive back then?" He is a necromancer. I won't put it pass him. 

"No. I am twenty-five. Besides, I don't have a phylactery," I nod. A part of me appreciates the fact that Nathaniel doesn't have anything to do with that day. With the Rain of Blood and Ash. 

"I was alive back then," Tara chimes in. As I was telling the story, I completely forgot she was in the room. "The dragons were not convinced that we, the Wanderers, were scum, that should live in ghettos. Our mana was used to protect the bulk of the dragon we rode. I still remember my Swansong. A kinder dragon you won't find. She had terrible nightmares after each battle." 

"You were a dragon rider?" I ask, amazed. A stray tear falls down Tara's cheek. 

"Some dragon rider I was. My barriers never held against ice spikes. I tried to tell myself, that Swansong could outmaneuver the ice mages. Yet, the one time that she could not, she died. Protecting me with her last breath," I go to the old woman, and envelop her in a hug. 

"That war shouldn't have happened. The dragons ruled justly," she says, between sniffs. 

Nathaniel bites his lower lip. He never knew the truth of the rule of the dragons, if he is but twenty-five. I am glad that he doesn't try to spew the propaganda he has grown up with.

Yet, I can see that he wants to argue. I nod at him, trying to tell him with my eyes, that we will speak about this later. For now, I just hold a former dragon rider in my arms, and wipe away her tears.  

 

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