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Foundlings and Fire

by M.W. Whitaker

By M.W. WhitakerPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 6 min read
1
Foundlings and Fire
Photo by James Owen on Unsplash

Kusog the dragon was hunting above the Forest of Maaya, part of which was on fire. He sighed heavily as he flapped his enormous wings in the moonlight. There would be more accusations or even reprisals from humans accusing him and him fellow dragons of attacking them. In all but one case, it had been human raiding parties who had torched a house or a village and let the fire spread. He saw a couple of sheep wandering round in a field surrounded by a rock wall. They’d do for dinner tonight. He approached silently from behind, gliding, getting ever lower, but suddenly he swerved. There was a human child standing in the field looking right at him solemnly. He crashed into the stone wall, taking out about eighty feet of it. The sheep bleated in terror and took off running to the other end of the field. He got to his feet, and shook the dust off. He went back to the child, looking around angrily for the spawn’s parents. They were nowhere to be seen. There was no frantic mother, a lantern aloft, or a father peering around calling his son’s name.

The child looked at him, his face serious. He appeared to be about two to three years old. Kusog was mad, but he still did his due diligence. It was bad enough he knocked down some shepherd’s wall, but if the child was in any danger and he didn’t offer aid, then the trouble with the wall could soon blow up into another skirmish. The truce was still uneasy at best for the dragon-kin and the humans who had wandered into this world two centuries ago.

“Are you injured in any way?” Kusog asked in his rumbling voice.

The child just looked at him.

“Do you need assistance getting home or anything? Where is your home in point of fact?”

The child just gave a solemn look.

“You’re a chatty thing, aren’t you?” Kusog said, “I hate to have to pick you up this way, but I don’t think you’re old enough to hold onto my back. We’ll have to figure it out in the morning.”

He picked up the child delicately in his clawed forearm and took to flight. The child struggled at first but then stared gape-jawed at the sensation of flying. Kusog flew into the Pogona mountains to the semi –ruined castle that he called home. A couple of the goblins waved at him as he flew past the tower and did a double take when they saw the little boy in Kusog’s grasp. Kusog landed in the courtyard. Princess Valerie came out of the castle, a drink in her hand. She looked at the little boy standing solemnly in the yard, then she looked at Kusog. The ice clinked in her glass as she took a swig.

“I thought you were bringing home dinner.”

Kusog grinned.

“I tried, but I found this. What do we do with him?”

Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Damned if I know.”

Valerie took a deep breath.

“MONA! CHARLIE! A WORD PLEASE!

The courtyard echoed with her shout. Mona the witch came up from the basement, along with her husband Charlie, former prince of Arcadia. Charlie looked sleepy but that was normal. Mona looked grumpy, but that was also not out of ordinary for her.

“WHAT?” Mona bellowed back, “I was in the middle of a potion.”

“You might want to make some dinner and set an extra place. Kusog brought home company.”

The witch saw the little boy.

“So he did,” she said with a sour smile, “Another mouth to feed. Greaaatt. But why on earth did you bring home a kid?”

One of Kusog’s children came across the courtyard. It was Fjura.

“A human? Really? Can we keep him?”

“No, we have to figure out where he belongs.”

The witch peered at the little boy. Her eyes widened a bit. Then she started to curse.

“All the Infernal Gods, Kusog, do you know whose son this is?”

Kusog looked at her blankly.

“Should I?”

“It’s Alderman Dwejjag’s son, Martin. Look, he even looks like him.”

Everyone in the castle groaned. Dwejjag was a firebrand, a rabid humans-only lunatic who called for the expulsion of all magical creatures from the Kingdom of Parati. Kusog groaned. Dwejjag would love nothing more than to rally his idiot followers to attack one of the villages of the magic-folk. Kusog stretched his wings.

“Ok, I’ll take him back. Keep supper on.”

He picked up Martin, and flew towards the township of Pelbagi, where Dwejjag called home. As he flew, he drew near to the fire that had first captured his attention, which was out now, and saw something that made him growl with anger.

Time for that later, he thought.

The town was largely deserted, except for the Great Hall. Kusog could hear the shouts from here. Two men stood at either side of the door, leaning on their crossbows. They hurriedly scrambled to point them at Kusog.

“No need,” he said, rolling his eyes, “I won’t be staying long.”

Kusog shoved the door open with his snout. The hall was filled with the village yokels who all turned around.

“Is this yours?” He asked holding up Martin.

Dwejjag sputtered.

“Ya see? Ya see? He burned our home, and kidnapped my darling son. Doubtless to eat him!”

Kusog looked at Dwejjag.

“Did I? I was just by your place earlier. I found your spawn wandering in what was earlier an empty field except for a couple of strategically placed sheep. I believe that farm was seized for non-payment. Just a couple of months ago.

Dwejjag huffed, angrily. But Kusog pressed on.

“In fact, don’t you own that land, Alderman?”

Dwejjag was speechless. The crowd looked back and forth between Kusog and Dwejjag.

“I do apologize if I ignited your home. I didn’t know I needed a couple of torches to carefully burn one corner of your home. Usually I just do something like this.”

Kusog let forth a fiery blast. The people in the hall scattered and screamed. But Kusog killed the flame easily, even though he did singe Dwejjag’s eyebrows. Kusog raised his voice.

“You are bound by the same treaty as we are. I don’t think you need me to get his Majesty the Elf King involved in this do you?

The hall was silent.

“I didn’t think so. As for the rest of you, you’re being played you know. You might want to consider your loyalty to a man who would put his son unattended and at risk in the middle of the night.”

Kusog turned sinuously and walked towards the door. The guards were still trying to cock the crossbows.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Martin,” Kusog called over his shoulder to the little boy, “Hope you don’t turn out a waste of space like your father. Bye all!”

Kusog took to the air, admittedly feeling a little pleased with himself. It would be interesting if Dwejjag tried to bill him for that damned wall. One of the guards finally got his crossbow loaded and aimed. Kusog flew into a cloud and was gone. He chuckled as he heard the guard cursing.

I hope you enjoyed my story. Tips, pledges, and subscriptions are most welcome.

Fantasy
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About the Creator

M.W. Whitaker

I'm from Mesa, AZ. I have been writing stories since I was a child. Tips and subscriptions are always welcome, both on here and at my Kofi Page:

https://ko-fi.com/mwwhitaker

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  • K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago

    Love your spin on this challenge, great work!!

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