The warrior marched across the Desert, the blazing sun bearing down on broad shoulders. Beside the warrior, its head bowed beneath the dry heat, a gray wolf trotted through the thick sand. The warrior did not stumble, never breaking stride. Over head, an eagle circling the duo cried into the wind. The bird's broad wingspan cast a shadow on the shifting sand, but the warrior still did not falter.
The warrior was dressed in soft, hand molded black leather. The clothing moved easily with the confident stride. Black boots came to the warrior's knees. A sword was encased in a sling on the warrior's back, along with the black shield with the multi-colored dragon. The warrior wore dark glasses to protect eyes from the bright star in the sky. A braid hung down the middle of the warrior's back, a braid so black it absorbed all the light from the sun.
The warrior had lost track of how long the wolf had been the only companion. They had spent hours and days and weeks and months in silent conversation. The wolf had fought at the warrior's side and during one long, painful night nursed the warrior's wounds. They had been trekking across the Desert for three days. They had sipped carefully from the warrior's canteen and ate sparingly from the warrior's supply of jerky stored in the gunny sack hanging across the warrior's chest and resting against the warrior's thigh.
Ahead of them, the warrior could see the welcome shade of the Forest. The Forest meant a supply of water and something to kill for dinner other than snakes and scorpions, plus a supply of wood to start a fire. Judging from the position of the sun, they would need to take shelter soon and continue toward the Forest after the star began its slow descent to the western sky. They should reach the edge of the Forest by night fall and could camp just inside the trees. Tomorrow they could walk without stopping since they would be protected by the gloom of the foliage. They would soon reach the cliffs that loomed on the other side of the Forest. The warrior was not certain of the final destination but knew without doubt the direction to travel.
Dragon's Bane to those who lived in fear of the dark warrior, The Dragon to those who fell under the warrior's protection, and Bane to the few who called the warrior a friend, the lone solider had been shunned from the royal service. Unable to deny the calling, the warrior had started an individual war against oppression. The wolf had joined the warrior's battle soon afterward. Bane had not questioned the wolf's presence, as the spiritual world knew much more than the warrior. The wolf led their journey now. The wolf would know when to stop.
They found an outcropping of rocks that would be in the shade as the sun reached its zenith. A snake was curled on the top of a rock and the warrior quickly shredded the animal's skin, laying out the strips of meat to dry as the temperature increased. Together, the wolf and Bane slid beneath the rock. Bane sipped from the canteen, then poured some water into cupped hands for the animal. They both ate some jerky before Bane made a pillow out of the gunny sack and lay back in the sand to rest. The wolf would protect Bane.
A cool hand touched Bane's brow, transporting the warrior to childhood and youth. Nyte lay beside Bane, mopping the fevered brow as Nyte had done so many years ago when death had crept into Bane's room. Even now, Bane could hear Nyte's soothing voice. It did not take Bane much effort to conjure up Nyte's presence. Nyte was Bane's only comfort other than the wolf. Nyte was always there to care for Bane when the sun burned too hot or the wind whipped too cold or the knives of the enemy were too sharp. Nyte soothed Bane as the warrior rested and woke the Dragon when the evening air began to cool.
With the smell of the Forest tickling their nostrils, they made good time to the edge of the trees. Nyte's ministrations had given them energy. When they reached the creek that fed the Forest, they both bent and drank heavily of the fresh water. Bane set a trap and quickly caught a rabbit. The meat smelled good, reminding Bane how long it had been since a good meal. Perhaps they had been in the Desert more than three days, but they both devoured the fresh kill. Bane prepared what little was left for the tucker bag and they both slept peacefully by the creek.
Bane dreamed of Nyte again. Nyte's recurring presence must mean that they were nearing their destination. Nyte always appeared more frequently when it was time for Bane to prepare for battle. Bane knew the time had come to be more alert, though the warrior's reflexes never sank too deep. Bane could wake from a deep sleep and be instantly ready to fight. It was part of the warrior's training, the warrior's instinct.
The soft moss of the Forest slept much softer than the rock and sand of the Desert. Bane woke well-rested and the wolf was already eager to be on their way. Bane carefully covered all signs of their camp and followed the wolf through the trees. While the Forest offered protection from the hot sun, the trees provided more shadows for dangers to lurk. No one could plan a sneak attack in the Desert, unless they counted on their victim being delusional from the heat. Armies could hide inches away in the Forest with the unwitting traveler totally unaware. Bane's deep green dragon eyes constantly peered into the dimness, searching for potential trouble. The wolf seemed to sense the unease created by the Forest and constantly turned its head this way and that, hoping to catch any threat that Bane might miss.
Just after the midday meal, they came upon the edge of a farmer's field. Bane did not hesitate to pluck a few cobs of corn from the stalks as they walked through the rows. Corn would taste good roasted over the fire with whatever wildlife they captured that evening. Bane peeled back the silk husks of one of the cobs, brushing the strings away before sampling the raw seed. Bane was enjoying the fresh snack so much that the wolf was the one that sensed the peril first. Bane knelt next to the agitated canine, rubbing the animal's sides as vigilant eyes searched the surrounding area.
Voices floated across the unharvested field as Bane focused on the atmosphere. "You have not offered your sacrifice, Roane."
"Sacrifice?" a trembling voice that Bane assumed belonged to Roane replied with false bravado. "A sacrifice is given willingly. This is blood money that you demand."
"Call it what you will," a new voice said. "The law says that you must give a portion of your income to the royal family. You have broken the law because you have not brought your gift to the palace. How do you answer?"
"I have but one son," Roane continued, "and no sons-in-law, yet. I have many acres to harvest."
