THE Glasgothian Quests

Wolfgar was rocked where he sat, sinking back into his seat once again in consternation as he listened to Norse oracle matter-of-factly prophesying the destruction of the world, as he knew it. He had nothing more to say at the moment, his thoughts were once more raging in turmoil. One more powerful than the rushing creek they had crossed just days before.

He seemed heedless of what his emotions were doing to the oracle. She had slumped deeply into her own seat, trying desperately to recover her equilibrium from its onslaught.

 “But enough of this for now, there is more Gaia wishes you to see,” she said as she pushed herself forward and shook Wolfgar’s arm to regain his attention once more, pulling his thoughts back to the present. “Look again, into the pool,” she insisted.

With the slow movements of a haggard and worried old man, he sat forward, bushing his hand down his face as if to clear the images of what Daranara had told him from his mind. Could the Goddess have any worse things to tell him than he had already heard?

The black water shimmered in ripples again, smoothing back out as a new vision appeared.

At first, Wolfgar thought he was witnessing a great battle, as he watched men running through the trees with weapons in their hands. After further inspection, he noticed several carts containing huge cages with strange looking, captured animals of some kind sitting to one side of a track.

On the other side there was a great pool of water, fed by a large creek. Men wearing the symbol of the Red Dragon were directing other men in kilts. They were not at war, but appeared to be working together. They were capturing the griffons. At least he thought they were griffons, and killing game with which to feed themselves and their captives.

 “Why are these men doing this?” growled Wolfgar softly, only to gape in awe as he saw the dozens of armored beaters chase a great blue water dragon out of the wooded area to the left. “Great hammer of Thor!” he exclaimed. “Is that what I think it is?”

 “Hold your tongue, Lad,” cautioned Daranara. “Watch closely.”

Wolfgar watched as the female dragon roared her rage and raced toward the pool across the track, her blue scales glistening in the sunlight. He felt, more than knew, that she was female.

Several of the men drew their swords and raced after her. Others grabbed their spears and let them fly piercing her side. She roared again and thrashed about in agony. As her thrashing tail swept around to protect her vulnerable side it crushed two of her tormentors who were knocked to the ground.

Wolfgar could hear her cries of anguish as she struggled valiantly to reach the pond. A second group of spearmen started their charge on the dragon.

Suddenly, out of nowhere a windmill of finely crafted iron and worn leather clipped three of the eight charging men, breaking their stride with the suddenness of death. Two more turned to engage this unexpected attacker only to find a muscular and well-formed woman in armor, ready and waiting for them.

Surprise was on her side as she pivoted to the left, stabbing one man in the eye with her long dagger. Loosing her hand from its hilt, she turned swiftly to parry the thrust of the last one’s spear, grabbing the shaft in her hand and snapping it in half as the spearman buried it in the ground beside her. Swing around swiftly once more, she used the strength of the movement to decapitate the second in a single smooth motion.

Wolfgar watched in fascination, his mouth agape. The other three men, advancing against the dragon, landed devastating blows to the great beast, using her weight to bury their weapons into her hide beneath the scales. There was no cry from her as she fell, a now lifeless heap of sparkling scales.

A high-pitched keening sound drew everyone’s attention to the pond and with a great splash of water, a young male blue dragon took to the sky on his unsteady wings, keening mournfully as he escaped the advancing hoard.

So that is what the female was protecting, thought Wolfgar, watching as the great woman warrior withdrew her long knife from the eye of the dead warrior, wiping it clean on the leather of her ragged skirt before disappearing into the thick of the forest from whence she had come.

The hunters never saw her leave, for they were busy watching the young blue dragon as he flew out of sight.

The vision faded leaving Wolfgar still caught up in the scene he had witnessed Looking over at Daranara he croaked out his question.

“Who was that woman?” It must have been Freya, or Athena, or even the great Minerva incarnate. I have never seen such a violent rage portrayed so gracefully, her fighting style, so unique. Thor’s balls, she was big to be so graceful. What happened to her that she wears a patch over her eye? I caught a glimpse of it as she swung around with her sword. Gods, her sword was bigger than mine, but she swung it like it was nothing!”

His heart was beating so rapidly, he felt as if he had participated in the fight himself. He could feel the incipient rush that came with battle.

“Wolfgar! Enough!” snapped Daranara, calling him back from the excitement he had experienced vicariously.