The Unlikely Hero (Verses of Vrelenden) by Schemery Beau

Author:Schemery, Beau [Schemery, Beau]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Harmony Ink Press
Published: 2013-04-13T16:00:00+00:00

REN laughed as Trian related stories of life in Mother Dragon’s glade. He wondered again if it was wrong to be so attracted to someone who was obviously insane. Visions when he touched Trian’s horn aside, Ren couldn’t bring himself to believe Trian’s story completely. He looked at the beautiful, silver-haired youth with the pale skin and the easy smile and wondered why he cared. No one is perfect, he thought. So this beautiful creature with the odd horn is crazy; it doesn’t make him less attractive.

Trian’s smile faded and he cocked his head to the side as if he’d heard something odd.

“What’s wrong?” Ren asked.

“I’m not sure,” Trian ventured. “Maybe nothing but—” He paused. “—I feel like we’re being watched.” Trian looked about to find the source of his apprehension. Ren spun but saw nothing.

“What? Where are they?” Ren asked.

“I don’t know,” Trian answered. “Let’s get off the path.” They moved off the trail and hid among the rocks that bordered the winding road. Trian noticed a party on horseback halfway back on the path. He pointed. “Do you see them?”

“Yeah,” Ren answered. “They look serious. What should we do?”

“Well,” Trian began, “these mountains are called the Farrelek.”

“And?” Ren asked.

“Having lived with Mother Dragon, I learned of other Dragons.”

“And?” Ren asked again.

“Farrelek is the name of a Dragon who visited her.”

“Oh!” Realization dawned on Ren. “So there’s a Dragon out here?” But before Trian could answer, another voice broke through the silence.

“Lo there, Hero!” Traster called. Ren remained crouched by Trian with the rocks as cover. Trian searched his pack for something.

“What are you looking for?” Ren whispered. Trian lifted out a small, intricately carved tool shaped like the head of a Dragon. There were four holes along the forehead: two on each side and a fifth under the jaw. The horns formed a small spout with an oblong opening.

“Stall them,” Trian whispered back, climbing to a higher rock.

“What?” Ren whispered loudly. “How?”

“You’re my Hero,” Trian answered. “Think of something.”

Trian sat on the rock cross-legged and placed the instrument, for Ren now realized, as the gentle piping echoed through the mountains and the mountain winds caressed Trian’s silver hair like gentle waves on the sea and carried flower petals from the small trees that grew along the path, that’s exactly what the object was.

“Hero? We mean you no harm,” Traster called, his voice closer now. The ring on Ren’s left hand was itching again, and if he had paid more attention at the vendor’s stall he would realize the itch meant these men were enemies. But even he didn’t need a ring to tell him that. “What means this strange piping?” Ren tried to think of an explanation but couldn’t. He had no idea that Trian was playing “The Dragon’s Call,” alerting any Dragons within earshot of a Dragon-Friend in mortal danger, and luckily, neither did the Assassins. Ren jumped up from behind the rock.

“What ho, stranger?” Ren called, waving so they would see he was unarmed, hopefully reassuring them he had no intention of fighting.

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