Dragon Riders of Etrea 2—Chapter 12

What Henrik would have given for Anslie’s warm body next to his at that moment.

He had woken early with a thin layer of frost on his blanket. With a grumble, he glanced to the east, where the rising sun was just beginning to brighten the horizon.

“Damn cold,” he said, pushing his blanket back. He tossed a few more pieces of wood on the remains of his fire and blew on the coals until it came back to life.

Henrik’s first experience with cold weather was not a pleasant one. Sure, it was pretty, with the white covering the trees and mountains. It made his limbs feel stiff, though. And it was a tricky enemy; he couldn’t fight the cold with a sword or his fists. All he could do was bundle up in thick clothing that made movement more difficult.

At least his horse didn’t seem to mind. Henrik had placed his second blanket across the animal’s back and it seemed perfectly fine with the cold.

A small cookpot hung from a foldable metal frame over the meager fire. Henrik walked a few feet away from his camp and scooped up a handful of snow, then brought it back and put it in the pot. It was a slow way to get water, but at least it was fresh. 

As the snow melted and the water warmed, he crumbled a piece of hardtack and tossed the pieces in the pot, along with some torn up pieces of dried meat. Rasud had somehow snuck a small bag of dried beans into his saddlebag, so he put some of them in there as well. Anything to keep the stew from being bland.

While the stew cooked, he grabbed his sword and began going through a run of exercises, simple movements that helped limber up his stiff limbs. He parried and spun, chopped and swung, all to get his blood moving and to better himself with the sword.

Boredom was another enemy, just like the cold. Neither one could be defeated with a punch to the face. Once again, he found himself wishing he had brought a book, anything to help pass the monotonous days. Practicing the sword would have to work for now.

“And you’re not the best conversationalist,” he said to his horse, who snorted in reply.

He tried reaching out to the dragons, but they weren’t interested in casual conversation it seemed. In fact, Cazeth and Annasta were rather cold toward him. Probably waiting to see if he was going to survive or not before they became emotionally invested in him. At least Tossyth was nice.

As he often did, Henrik tried to send messages to Calduin. The dragon was simply too young and their bond wasn’t yet strong enough for his thoughts to travel the distance, but that didn’t stop him from trying. At least when he returned, Henrik would have the sword, which would supposedly help him with the dragon.

After about an hour of practicing with his sword, he sat down to a bland breakfast. He was hungry enough that he ate the entire cookpot full, though. At least he didn’t have to carry much food for the horse. There was sufficient foliage for the animal everywhere. Every day was a feast for him.

Henrik kicked snow and dirt over the fire, then began cleaning up. He used snow to scrub out his cookpot, then packed everything in his saddlebags.

“Alright boy, time to get ready,” he said to his horse. Henrik walked over to where his horse was grazing on some nearby plants, being very careful about where he stepped. “You’re more full of shit than Duke Ardun, you know that?” he said to the horse. “Well, at least I know you’re eating well.” The horse just tossed his head.

Henrik led his horse back to the camp, then saddled him up.

“I should name you something,” Henrik said to the horse as he tightened the girth strap. “Damn girth strap barely fits around you. You’re a big boy, you know that?” He patted the horse on the neck and tried to think of names.

Once in the saddle, the two set off, heading further north. Henrik figured they were drawing close. They had to be.

“I should name you Rasud,” Henrik said. “Oh, I can just hear him complaining about it now. ‘I am not a horse, Henrik, and I will not have one named after me.’ Ha!” The horse didn’t seem to get the joke.

The path became rocky, so Henrik kept their pace slow. A sprained ankle would be disastrous. The dragons sent images his way, showing Henrik where he would be going. Yes, he was in fact close. Very close.

“Well, you belonged to a duke, so maybe I should name you that?” Henrik said. “What do you think? Duke? Or maybe The Duke?”

The horse turned his head to glance at Henrik and snorted. 

“Alright, The Duke it is.” He patted the horse on the base of his neck and rubbed him for a moment. “Glad to finally have a name for you.” The Duke just tossed his mane.

The path gradually became rockier and began to alternate sloping up and down. Henrik finally had to dismount and lead The Duke by his reins. The animal balked at the path, but otherwise followed without complaint.

Henrik began to worry about the path, but it suddenly flattened out. Not only that, it widened into a landing at the side of a mountain. He stood there for a moment, looking at it.

“Well, son of a bitch,” Henrik said. 

Next to him, The Duke whinnied.

“Not you,” Henrik said, patting the animal.

They stood at the edge of a wide stone landing. It wasn’t a natural formation; it looked like someone painstakingly flattened and smoothed the stone for a radius of twenty feet. And on the other side stood a heavy stone arch.

It was ancient; that much was clearly visible. Symbols and runes had been carved into the surface of the stone, but had long since faded to illegibility. Deep within the arch was a door, also made from stone. At least, Henrik assumed it was a door. It looked like one.

“So, what now?” Henrik asked The Duke. The horse had no answer.

He led the horse to a stunted tree at the edge of the area and looped the reins over a branch. The Duke simply plodded over to a nearby bush and began eating it.

Henrik tried to send images of this stone arch to the dragons. At first he received nothing, then sheer excitement practically flooded his mind. It was difficult to sift through the messages, but they were telling him to approach the door.

Henrik pulled his sword from his saddle and tied it around his waist, then held his cloak around him. The air was damn cold up here, but he tried not to let it affect him. 

He approached the stone arch, examining every angle of it. Strangely enough, it didn’t look like something that was built onto this area; instead, it almost seemed like it had been pulled from the mountain itself. Well, dragons had powerful magic. That much he knew.

With one hand on the hilt of his sword, Henrik stepped closer to the door. He almost laughed at himself for the old habit; what was he going to do, attack the door with his blade?

Unfortunately, the door lacked anything that even remotely resembled a handle. A circle of brass had been inset into the stone at about chest height. The metal had somehow survived all these years and kept its sheen. Definitely magic. Henrik sent the image to the dragons and tried to ask them how to open the door.

“Huh. That makes sense,” he muttered when they replied.

After a deep breath, Henrik reached out and placed his hand on the circle of brass. It was freezing cold, as expected, but he held his hand there. A few seconds passed and he began to wonder if it was broken, or if something else needed to be done. He began to send another message to the dragons, but at that moment the door began to move.

Stone scraped against stone, a noise that made him wince to hear. The door slowly swung inward, dislodging centuries of dust and dirt. The Duke turned to see what the strange noise was.

“Stay there,” Henrik called out. “I’ll be back soon.” 

He stood there for a moment in the arch. The door finished opening and enough daylight streamed through to illuminate a long tunnel within. The air smelled stale, so Henrik decided to wait a few minutes.

After that, there were no more excuses. He received a final message of encouragement from the dragons, and he stepped inside.