by Rex Jameson
“They must be mad,” Jandhar said, smiling to his brother. “They must be absolutely mad.”
“Have you not heard anything I’ve said?” his mother Sabarna asked. “There are demons and undead in Surdel. They are not mad; they are desperate.”
Jandhar nodded. His face was blank, but inside, he was screaming so triumphantly that he could practically hear the celebration trumpets blasting across the walls and towers of Scythica. He imagined the blue waters of the Small Sea and his father Jofka on the prow of his flagship, pointing toward Surdel.
“The way is clear to Surdel, then?” Jandhar asked.
“Brother,” Roshan said, “if you do this, you put the future of the Empire in jeopardy. The council is a sham, and you know it. You are the rightful king. Send someone else with your dragons if you must do this, but please do not risk yourself.”
Jandhar stood from his divan. He walked over to his brother, who rose to meet him.
“I do not speak to anger you,” Roshan said. “What you have done… breaking Sven’s curse… bringing dragons into this world as the true weapons they were always meant to be… I see what you see now. We can make more. We could use these creatures everywhere—not just in Surdel. What you have done… Can you wait five more years? We could burn the whole world with twenty of these.”
“I don’t need twenty,” Jandhar said, “and we don’t have another brood mother like Ameazima yet. You know I’ve tried.”
“I worry that—”
“I am not worried about Visanth,” Jandhar interrupted him, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I leave Visanth in the best, most capable hands in the world.”
Roshan embraced him, and when he finally released Jandhar, there were tears in his eyes.
“You come back to us,” Roshan said.
His mother broke down, sobbing on her divan. Jandhar left his brother to squat beside her.
“You dumb, foolish men,” she said, wiping at her face with a thin, purple sleeve. “You follow your father to the grave.”
“Mother, I—” Jandhar said.
“Surdel fights demons and undead,” she said, “and all you can see is a man who held a knife to your throat. He warned you, and you defy him.”
“I defy them all!” Jandhar declared.
“You will lose everything,” she said, her lips quivering with anger and outrage. “All of your dragons will die there!”
“Mother, stop,” Jandhar begged her. “I’ll be fine.”
“No,” she said. “I’ve seen it. For years now, I’ve seen your death in my dreams.”
“Mother, that’s enough,” Roshan said.
“You die the same way he did,” she said. “He comes from behind you…”
Jandhar shook his head in defiance. “No! When I die, I’ll be raining fire down on our enemies.”
She laughed through her tears. She shook her head and put her hands on Jandhar’s shoulders.
“When you die,” she said, “we lose everything. Roshan loses his brother. I lose my son. Visanth loses its rightful king. You are the Lion of Visanth. You are the one your father promised to our people.”
Jandhar embraced his mother, and she cried on his shoulder. As he pulled away from her, he smiled at her. He pointed toward his brother.
“I’m not the Lion who was promised,” he said. “He’s the Lion. I’m the Dragon.”
Tears continued to flow down her cheeks.
“Wish me luck,” he said earnestly.
“I’ll wish you whatever I can,” she said, “but luck doesn’t stop the undead or demons.”
Roshan smiled as he embraced his brother once more.
“We’ll send you off with a hundred homed pigeons,” Roshan said, “You must send us news of everything you do. Every victory. Every defeat. We’ll have historians record your every move.”
Jandhar laughed. “I’ll make sure to give them something worth writing about.”
His mother held him for a long time. He eventually had to push her away.
“I love you both,” he said.
She sighed deeply. “I love you more than all the grains of sand in the desert and the drops of water in the ocean… Gods, you remind me of him. I see so much of Jofka in you. If you must go…” she groaned and caught her breath. “If you must follow in his footsteps… If you have to burn so brightly…” she cupped his chin, “then burn well… be the bright sun that casts a shadow of Visanth across all of Nirendia. If you truly believe your whole purpose in this life is vengeance… if that’s what you think you’re really here for, then burn it all to the ground. Leave nothing but Visanth standing. That whole damned kingdom is not worth one of you. Not even close. The scales can never be rebalanced.”
He smiled to her.
“I will,” he said, as he walked backwards away from them toward the door to the family room, “I’ll burn the Eldenwalds and their assassins into the dustbin of history, and then I’ll return home to take the crown. I promise. You’ll see.”
6
Landfall of the Dragon
Jandhar waved to an admiral of the Surdel navy as they passed by a massive flagship in the Small Sea. The emissaries had secured passage from King Aethis himself. Jandhar knew that the free pass would last about as long as it took him to hit shore and unleash nightmares on Surdel. But while he was at sea, surrounded by ships with ballistae and flame throwers, there was no reason to not be cordial. He had 10,000 men and five dragons aboard his small, fast flotilla to think of.
“Godspeed!” the opposing admiral yelled. “I have word from my wife via pigeon… that the undead have swarmed down through Alefast! Before long, they’ll be at Fomsea. Godspeed to you, sir! May you find success!”
“Thank you, Admiral!” Jandhar said, smiling as he waved. “I’m sure we will! We’ll kill our enemies and drive them from this land!”
He grinned cordially, or at least, he hoped it came off that way. There was certainly no real warmth behind it. The admiral waved back, and Jandhar and his men lining the deck of the birlinn mimicked the commander’s actions. The Surdel men stared back at him and his sailors coldly.
“Smile, men,” Jandhar commanded to his sailors as he waved.
Jahgo nuzzled Jandhar’s right shoulder. The dragon’s massive black snout was wet, but his scales were rough and dry. Jandhar rubbed the alpha’s yellow-speckled chin and the smoother scales along his neck. Nintil, Zosa, and Venzin squawked and nipped at each other while Jasmine stooped along the far deck, watching the waves and looking back toward the men when someone was being especially rowdy and loud. She was the loner of the brood, acting more like an aloof cat than the three greens who constantly vied for Jandhar’s attention.
He left the portside of the boat and walked slowly toward the starboard, where Jasmine sat. She patted the ground with her claws in anticipation, turning toward him and lifting her head for a rub. He kissed the side of her face and rubbed her neck, just as he had done to Jahgo. She chirped excitedly.
“Calm down,” he said as her tail flicked against the wooden railing. He smiled at her and lifted her head as he rubbed. “Let me see.”
She opened her mouth for the routine inspection of her stitching along the canals where the fluids met. She was the last to receive her surgery, so hers was the most practiced of the five children of Ameazima. Jahgo required three surgeries to get his right. Poor Zosa had to have over a dozen. He and his green brothers constantly ripped their stitches during their playfulness—an unfortunate inheritance from their mother. Nintil had six corrective operations. Venzin had at least nine. Jasmine was a one-of-a-kind, calm white dragon with perfect stitching. She rarely needed maintenance.
She could hold a jet of flame for over three minutes, circling a target the entire time. The greens could last but a minute. Their stitching and constant need for corrective surgeries was too dangerous to push further. He had taught them to only release their caustic jets in bursts, but Jahgo and Jasmine were free to coat targets in sticky fir
e for days if they needed to—as long as they were well-fed and reexamined at night before bed.
He kissed Jasmine again between her eyes, and she closed them in a sign of affection. He patted her on the side of the jaw, and then let her return to her silent brooding of the ocean. The three greens fought each other to be the next to be inspected.
“Calm down,” he repeated. “I’ll get to each of you.”
Zosa nudged closest just as Nintil was about to get a rub. Prince Jandhar relented and pulled at the aggressive dragon’s gums first. Zosa bounced happily, his tail whipping against a few of the sailors on the portside. The men grumbled but moved out of the way. They knew better than to complain about the royal dragons. Jandhar would be far more likely to toss the sailors overboard than scold his dragons for having high spirits.
Zosa’s stitch work was bleeding slightly along his left channels. Jandhar ran his hand along the slick scar tissue until he had coated his fingers with crimson liquid to show the others.
“Look,” he chastised the three greens as he raised his bloody hand. “You have to calm down. You’re going to rip your stitches. Save your energy for the enemy.”
Nintil and Venzin protested and Zosa averted his eyes. By now, they understood their chastisement. They were just too excited to care.
“Sit tight,” Jandhar said, cleaning his hand against the red sash along his waist and wiping the rest against his blue, open vest. “We’ll get the surgeon to take a look at you.”
He rubbed Zosa’s head again, and the youngling cooed and chirped happily. “I just don’t want you to rip your stitching. If you push too hard, you’re going to die. Like Ameazima. Like your fathers. Do you understand? Do you understand how important the five of you are to me?”
Jahgo, Nintil, Venzin and Zosa all vied for his affection. They didn’t follow his language, but they felt his worry. Jasmine rubbed against his back and left side. He smiled.
“My great loves,” he said. “I know you will not let me down.”
He looked toward the bow of the ship and caught the shimmer of the great spires of the Surdel port city of Sevania. Even at a nautical mile, the light tower lorded over the blue ocean like a challenge. Jandhar felt certain he was up to it.
“I need to get changed,” Jandhar said, running his hand through his long, dark hair.
He walked past a tan-skinned captain named Talso, his personal assistant. “Make sure the surgeon sees to Zosa,” he commanded the middle-aged man.
Talso bowed before descending into the bow to fetch one of five of the finest surgeons in all of Visanth. They didn’t attend to sailors. They only looked after the children of Ameazima. His dragons were in the best of hands.
Jandhar nodded as he looked once more toward the Surdel coast. Then he turned and walked toward his large suite at the back of the flagship. Time to get ready.
Jandhar’s wardrobe was minimal. His traveling closet carried only two types of outfits: a single, black formal thawb and a collection of loose-fitting fighter leathers and tunics. He could only imagine one scenario for the thawb—standing atop the walls of a submissive Kingarth. There was still work to do before he could relish that. For now, a dark shawl and leathers would have to do. He looked at himself in a tall glass mirror as he tucked his hair into the folds of his turban.
“For you, Father,” he promised, before turning towards the door.
He couldn’t contain his excitement as he burst through, slamming the door against the seaworn timbers. The three greens nipped and yelped with anticipation. Their master’s anxiety and bloodlust clearly sending them into a frenzy. Jahgo openly growled as he paced the deck looking for whoever had agitated the prince. Jasmine prowled around the greens, as if protecting the smaller dragons. She pushed them into a tight clump with her tail, like a lion wrangling in careless cubs.
The oars had been retrieved into the birlinn, and the ship rammed into the sands of the foreign beach. The slaves and pikemen on his ship had all ascended from the lower levels through the hull to the deck. They peeked through the bay doors, awaiting his commands.
He breathed the salty air in, moistening his lips with his tongue as the sea breeze invigorated him. Past the bow, the great city of Sevania rose above the palm trees. He could hear the shouts of cautious guards and the buzz of the metropolis. A battalion of at least 300 local knights gathered at the base of the city walls. The party was likely an official welcoming, but there was a primal part of him that hoped word from the King hadn’t arrived yet, and that these men came at him, ready for battle. The rest of the boats hadn’t unloaded, but he had five dragons. For all he knew, Theodore Crowe was hiding in the great city. Just a single act of hostility—or even the appearance of one, and he’d burn every beam and topple every stone to the ground.
“My people,” Jandhar said goadingly to his men, who returned his greeting with hoots and hollers. He smiled jovially and with great, mischievous mirth. “We have arrived at the promised land… Not the promised land of opportunity and commerce… Not the promised land of eternal rewards for a life well-lived and with the best of intentions…”
His men, many of whom were ‘reformed’ criminals and life-long murderers, jeered and punched each other in the arms as they exited the hull and joined the dragons and prince on the deck. These mercenaries lived to plunder.
“No, we have arrived at the promised land of vengeance!” Jandhar cried.
The men raised their pikes and short swords into the air and roared battle cries.
“Years ago,” Jandhar continued, “their assassins came into our country, into my father’s harem, and they murdered him there amongst his wives and concubines and soldiers…”
The sailors sneered and glared at the city’s pristine walls and the knights that formed there.
“This is not a time for good behavior,” Jandhar said, pacing before them. “Now is not an age of manners and civility. Any chance of that bled out of our country as my father died on his bed. These cretins around and before you…”
He pointed toward the city and paused, thinking of the unsuspecting people inside with murky, feature-less faces. People without importance who offended him simply by existing and siding with the enemy.
“These men and women who would call on us in their darkest hour,” he said, “are the same people who would stab us in the back when all of their undead and demons are banished. Who thinks they would forgive us and provide us safe passage back to our homes?”
“Not I!” a sailor said. Others joined in disbelief.
“More importantly,” Jandhar said, “who cares?”
The men laughed.
“We have fought the beasts of sands and oceans,” Jandhar said. “We have tamed dragons!”
He pointed to his scaled sons and daughters. They chirped and cooed at his attention, but as the men shouted, the dragons raised their heads and joined in fierce squawks and cries to the heavens.
“If these undead exist,” Jandhar said, “and if they get in the way of our march to Kingarth, then we’ll tame them or kill them too!”
The men cheered and the green dragons snapped as they stumbled against Jasmine’s tail.
“The time for talk is over,” Jandhar said.
The men cheered.
“The time for negotiations is done.”
Men began descending ladders onto the beach as he riled them up. Some jumped into the shallow ocean nearby. Landing boards fell to the earth.
“The time for fire is here!” Jandhar yelled. “You march north for Kingarth.” He pointed toward Sevania. “If that city over there so much as unleashes an arrow in your direction, you burn it to the ground!”
The green dragons Nintil, Venzin and Zosa could be contained no longer. They flapped their mighty wings and launched themselves over Jasmine, flying low over the heads of soldiers toward the city. She called out to them, but they were done with her surrogate mothering.
Jandhar laughed as his eager children bathed a nearby palm tree grove in f
lames, but then he remembered the danger of their neck stitches. He called to them in vain as they left earshot. He watched with a mixture of anxiety and wonder as they barreled over the battalion of armored knights on horseback. Oil and flames coated the men as they screamed in horror. His children had jumped the gun, overcome with excitement from his speech.
Jasmine and Jahgo followed Prince Jandhar briefly as he descended a plank before flapping their wings a few times to coast along the winds to the beach ahead of him. They paced along the ends of the planks, pushing soldiers around and forcing them to walk toward Sevania, which was now on fire. Nintil and Venzin grappled with archers along the battlements. Zosa let loose a stream of liquid that drained down the tallest towers, igniting cloth, men, and even stone. Figures fell from the towers, screeching until the thuds of their impacts on the ground below.
“I guess you did tell them to burn it to the ground,” a familiar voice said from the edge of a palm grove to the northwest.
The man sat cross-legged within the shade of the large palm leaves. In front of him was a bundle of cloth. As Jandhar came closer, the wind lifted the tattered cloth, revealing bones and loose skin underneath. This was the second time the prince had come across the man perturbing the dead—though the first time had been with dragons not men.
“It can’t be!” Jandhar exclaimed. “Etcher Woodroe?”
The old man nodded and raised a hammer from the sand as Jandhar approached.