Free The White Dragon by Salvador Mercer

his boot.
    Eric had only his bloody sword, but offered it nonetheless. “Take this.”
    Galen still couldn’t reach the sword tip and looked back at the approaching wolf, which was now salivating all over itself. “A little closer,” he pleaded.
    “Hold my boots,” Eric commanded to Diamedes, and the small man grabbed both boots in a most unceremonious manner. Eric leaned farther out, extending with his entire body and offering his blade to the magistrate.
    Galen still had his gloves on, and with a lunge, he reached up and grabbed Eric’s blade, using his own blade to step on and finally pull himself back onto the narrow trail.
    “That was close,” Galen said, shaking his gloved hand where the edge of the sword had bitten into it.
    Eric waited till the wolf neared the top, and then swung his blade for a killing blow that never hit. The wolf released its claws and leaped back, sliding wildly down the steep slope, spinning willy-nilly around on splayed legs. Eric remembered all too well his own trip down the very same slope. The animal would not come to a rest for quite a ways.
    With a long howl, a single wolf called his pack, and the animals broke off their attack. The sounds of snarling, yelling, screaming, and death subsided, and the soldiers reformed around the civilians. The last of the wolves disappeared from sight over the top of the mountain ridges, their snarls slowly fading away.
    After some time, Galen finally spoke, having caught his breath. “There’s your dragon, Eric Bain. Nothing but wild wolves.”
    Diamedes replied first. “So you’ll drop your charges, then?”
    Eric looked at both men, pulling a rag from his pocket and using it to staunch the bleeding at the base of his neck. Galen shook his head. “Hardly. The accused has a whole litany of them to answer for, and I was merely commenting that there is no dragon here and that should be obvious to even you, Master Historian. The man is still a liar, if nothing else.”
    “I’m surprised you are this rude considering the man saved your life,” Diamedes said.
    Galen nodded. “Aye, I’m thankful for that, but helping a fellow citizen would be the duty of any Ulathan. He did what he should have done anyway, and credit for that is misguided, even if it was somewhat deserved.”
    “Why, the nerve . . .” Eric didn’t finish his sentence.
    “I’m afraid we’ll have to carry some of the justiciar’s troops down the mountainside.” Diamedes changed the subject.
    All three men stood. Eric sheathed his sword and held the rag on his neck while Diamedes put his dagger away. Four of their soldiers lay dead, and another twice that number had injuries of one kind or another. Despite their condition, they stood guard around their charges, protecting them with their lives.
    “Those are good troops the justiciar has,” Galen noted, calling for the lead officer, a man by the name of Owen, and discussing the care of their wounded and the transport of their dead. It took them nearly an hour to tend to their wounded and fallen, and then they marched down the snowy mountainside.
    “They seemed to have been called off,” Eric whispered to Diamedes as they brought up the rear of the column. The bleeding had finally stopped, and Eric tossed the bloody rag away without thought.
    “Or scared off,” Diamedes countered.
    “They seemed anything but scared,” Eric noted.
    “Perhaps,” Diamedes said. “Look at the very top of the cavern, near the first ridgeline, but be discreet when you do.”
    Eric knew enough about combat tactics, spies, and scouts, so at a switchback on the trail, he kept his head down but looked up with his eyes. There, exactly where the historian said to look, was a man in a white cloak holding a thin staff. He was hard to see, as they had traversed a good several hundred yards down the mountainside, but there was no mistaking what his eyes showed him. A Kesh wizard stood watching them.
    “Bloody hell,” Eric muttered under his