Jaro returned his gaze to those small, dead eyes, trying to reach deeper and only when Belrug arrived above the tower, did he manage to stand and follow attentively as his king prepared to land.
The tower was wide and strong enough to withstand the weight of multiple dragons, though Belrug’s body made it appear very small. He eclipsed everyone around him, casting a long, dark shadow over the entire area. His thick wings lifted all the dust and small gravel that Jaro had broken upon his many landings, forcing all the others to cover their eyes. Upon his landing the tower shook as if moved by an earthquake and the king had to spread his wings again to rebalance himself. Sereri had already landed and let the old man descend to safety, while the other dragons scattered upon the hills nearby and among the throng of orcs below, definitely not pleased by such company.
Compared to his king, Jaro was but a tiny chick and he could not take his eyes off Belrug’s strong legs. They reminded him of the ancient oaks he had seen in the green forests of Orethill.
“What happened?” The king’s voice resounded powerfully in the valley.
Guzheraak who had never met the king in person, nor the wizard, rushed kneeling in front of them both.
“Your highness, I witnessed this horrific –”
“I didn’t ask you, brute!” The king’s voice exploded and snapped at the orc making him bow lower.
The wizard then approached King Belrug and whispered something.
When the king continued to speak after, his voice was softer, “And who might you be, warrior?”
Surprised by the sudden change, Jaro watched as the orc lingered in his stooped position, seemingly perplexed.
“I am Guzheraak, your mightiness,” the orc said, eyes locked on the pavement.
“Raise and speak up!” commanded Belrug with the same peaceful tone.
Guzheraak did as bid and said, “I call for justice to be served. My brother in arms, Pakto has been killed in cold blood, by Jaro-the-Venomous and we’d all like a fair trial so nothing of the sort ever happens again.”
Belrug-the-Black turned his gaze upon Jaro who, ashamed and lacking words, dared not to look in his king’s eyes.
“Is that true?” demanded the king.
Compelled by the direct question, Jaro lifted his head and, with tearful eyes, nodded at the king. Eager to see a glimpse of hope and comprehension in those big, brown eyes, Jaro lingered a moment. He knew he had to make his king see what really happened. So, he then tried to use the power of his mind to speak with him and him alone; a power all Drakhahouls shared.
My king, I have been deceived and I beg forgiveness. My only fault is that I did not see clearly the trap I was falling into.
Awkwardly, nothing came back, as if the mind of his king had been shut to any external interference. It was deserted of his mighty presence; a deep, dark, empty cavern. He tried again, but nothing still and then he turned desperately to find Sereri’s eyes, his mother’s. Yet the white dragoness turned away with a discouraging gesture, confirming her disappointment. She denied him even a comforting look.
Desperation engulfed the young dragon and he turned his head to the white stones of the floor again. He decided that words would achieve nothing when his thoughts had failed.
“Then so be it!” added the wizard, moving closer to the young dragon. “You shall be trialled as we stand.” His loud voice could be picked up by the orcs gathered around the tower that started yelling in agreement.
“Highest members of the assembly here gathered; Sereri-the-White, King Belrug-the-Black and myself, Felduror, as the sole representative of the wizard community of Arkhanthï, shall judge you and decide upon your fate.”
The horde of Gholaks started growling and pounding with whatever they happened to have in their hands; swords, axes, bottles. The rumble was so loud that one could not hear himself even if he shouted. It was only when the white dragoness lifted herself in the sky and growled with colossal strength, that the myriad of orcs ceased their racket. The scorching flames she spat in the air illuminated her scales as bright as the sunlight, making her body shine with blinding sparks. The powerful roar was as piercing and powerful as ever and every other sound in the valley bellow ceased.
Silence was restored and her threatening stance, perched on the edge of the tower, made sure it would be kept.
“Very well,” added then the wizard, “what is, in your opinion, a just punishment for Jaro-the-Venomous?” He exchanged glances with both the older Drakhahouls. “I would not like death to deprive us of such a mighty being, yet I consider few alternatives satisfactory enough for us, as well for the horde of warriors. And, might I add, we would not want any of them angry.”
“Exile,” suggested the king with a strong voice.
“And, would you agree, wise dragoness?” Felduror asked Sereri.
“Blood of my blood, the punishment must be fair and I would not let my mothering instincts cloud my judgement. I must agree with my king,” she replied.
“Mother where would I go?” Jaro, awoken with worries by the implications his exile would bear, started to argue.
“Silence,” growled Belrug, making the young dragon draw back.
“I must say,” continued Felduror, “although I find it just, I think it’s not enough. We should consider a life has been lost, whereas, if exiled, Jaro could live a normal life and soon leave this behind. Not to forget that this would also risk exposing us all. Behind the walls we are safely protected by our wards and hidden from the rest. Now is not the time to start revealing ourselves to the humans, or the dwarves and the elves. And how is this setting an example that everyone is as important to the empire? How is this fair for the Gholaks?”
The wizard’s words stung and made Jaro feel like there was no hope of escaping certain death. He thought he had seen a proud and brief nod of consent, coming from Guzheraak who had retreated to a corner far from everyone’s gaze.
“The only alternative to death, which as you can see, my friends, I’m so desperately trying to avoid, is to rid him of his powers that have caused already so much harm to his troubled soul,” the wizard continued.
“Take his reasoning away and leave him as plain as an ordinary beast? A goat, or a sheep?” Belrug replied dismayed.
Felduror approached him and looked up at the giant dragon, gently placing his hand on the giant foreleg. “Yet, I think it is better than death. Is it not, my king?”
A silent moment passed.
“If that is the case, then I suppose it is,” the king replied shifting his leg away from the wizard’s hand.
“My king, I beg of you…” Prey to his own fears, Jaro begged as he violently started shaking in the king’s own shadow.
Mother please!
Ignited by fear, a state of chaos ruled his mind and body.
Belrug did not look at the young Drakhahoul.
“If that’s your wish, my king,” added Sereri.
Seemingly concentrated on considering the request, the wizard took his time to reply.
“Then it is settled. And who would you consider should proceed with the spell?” Felduror then asked.
After another odd moment of silence, the dragoness answered, “I shall do it!”
“Very well,” replied the wizard.
The king stood silent.
Sereri moved closer to Jaro, who shivered in fear uncontrollably when she nodded her readiness. The three judges allowed her to start and then followed in, closing their eyes to conclude the spell.
As if summoned, everywhere around the valley clouds started to gather out of nowhere, threatening the tower and its surroundings with an abnormal blanket of darkness. Silence reigned as the three conducted the magical binding. The blind horde of orcs below, stood equally as quiet. They knew better than to interrupt a spell.
Jaro was in a state of pure terror. The agonising shakiness was beyond his control just like the raw fear he had never felt before. His body did not know what orders to follow from his contaminated min
d and he found himself squeezed against the walls of the tower, unable to run. The tears in his eyes blurred his vision to a point of blindness. His gaze was lost in a far-away world, deep inside his own soul, where more and more, an invisible, friendly force dragged him closer.
Mother is that you? He sensed her presence like a warm hug. A hug he craved to receive, yet even the memories of those few moments that actually had happened, were starting to drift away. His last words caused a violent disruption in his already-confused mind, as he exhaustingly lost any sense of what he was doing.
He soon forgot what he wanted to say. He didn’t remember his name anymore, and with the realisation came a desperate need to growl, to let out his muted fury and shout his anger and frustration at everyone around. Alas, he could not. The friendly force was now a face in his imagination, an unrecognisable one that was too close for him to move away from. He was compelled to look at it and had to stare attentively. Maybe he would understand who that friend was.
Friend? with a last abrupt shiver, the word blurred before consciousness left his mind and he fell numbly to the ground.
A piercing growl exploded as both Sereri and King Belrug lifted their heads toward the darkened sky. The other dragons, perched wherever they had found space upon landing, lifted to the air and joined the growl with trembling strength. The valley echoed with the lament of the Drakhahouls and every creature down below stood breathlessly in fear.
When the dragons left for the citadel, no one dared to cheer or chant. A few yells were soon subdued by far away growls of the younger dragons.
Felduror looked down to the horde of orcs only to address them to discharge with a brief ‘Justice has been served.’
The sky was starting to clear and the sun slowly lay tepid rays on the deserted valley. Small wafts of fog lifted from the cold, furrowed terrain – ploughed by the angry orcs and their heavy boots. Coloured birds and furred animals were fighting over seeds and insects, unearthed by throngs of feet. In the middle of the feeding frenzy, the solitary tower was lit by the day’s dying sun. It was like the sky above wanted to soothe the fate of the young dragon, the only consolation he had. There would be no guards for the day and perhaps for many days to come, as on that doomed side of the empire, by the lonely tower, nobody would dare enter anytime soon.
In the same spot where he had met his fate, on that very stone-tile, Jaro was resting. He was not dreaming, he was not thinking, he was sleeping his first sleep as a plain beast.
The Fire
Lorian
The late-summer sun was still standing strong, against a surprisingly clear sky, over the village of Sallncoln. It was a good day for me to join my grandmother and my two brothers gathering berries and collecting firewood in the nearby forest. It took Nana a long time to convince both Henek and Kuno to come help us – they were never happy to join in our petty chores – but she insisted it was necessary if we wanted to have a decent stash of jams and marmalades for the fast-approaching winter.
Firebreath, our horse, was with us, untethered from the cart he had pulled, and bound by a tree with a long rope. He looked happier than us while nibbling at whatever bush pleased his appetite, sheltered by the shadow of a tall maple tree.
The berries’ shrubs were not too abundant, yet they were rich with tasty fruit, which I could not avoid sampling every once in a while.
“More to the bucket, less to the mouth,” my grandmother chided me in a playful manner from where she stood, concealed by a tall bush few feet away.
“But, they’re delicious, Nana,” I tried to justify myself, “and how did know I was eating them?” I asked.
“There’s no need to see, we can all hear you!” replied Kuno, who was furthest away from us.
“It’s true.” Henek let out a chuckle.
They were almost done filling the cart with twigs, branches and logs good for burning, while Nana and I had only filled a couple of small wooden buckets with berries. There were still plenty on the tallest branches, enough to fill at least another bucket. Unfortunately, neither I nor her could easily reach them. Grandmother was not that tall, and even if I was taller, I had some difficulty too, given my condition.
A birth imperfection the elders had said, an imperfection that unquestionably represented much more than that to me and my family. It was a defect that had taken from this world far more than it had brought; my mother had died giving birth to me. Soon after her, my heart-sick father. Sometimes I wished it had been me instead of her, though my grandmother insisted that nobody was to blame. ‘You’re nobody’s main reason for unhappiness’, she often said. While her words always cheered me, I never knew what my brothers really thought of me. We seldom talked about my condition and they never upset or mocked me over it. Nor did they willingly mention anything about our parents. With father gone as well, they respected our grandmother more than anyone else, and I often suspected that she kept them in line for me rather than allowing them to speak their minds.
And so, after sixteen years with the same condition, I thought I had grown accustomed to it, I thought I would learn to live with it. But I wasn’t sure I was. Almost every time my knee ached or sent a spike of pain through my body, I would become upset and incapable to accept it.
“What is wrong, son?” asked Nana, clearly worried to see me massage the bulge on my left knee.
“Nothing, just a bit tired,” I replied.
As a matter of fact, the long climb to reach the good crop of berries had taken its toll on my weak leg.
“Then rest, there is no need to strain yourself,” she continued as she joined me to sit on the soft patch of grass.
Her voice always succeeded in making me feel better. She always knew how to cheer me up.
“You know,” she started again, “I never told you this. You remind me a lot of your mother. She used to be just like you are now. She’d turn away from whatever her chore was just to stop and think on her own little problems for a time. And when asked what was wrong, she’d try to lie that everything was well.” Nana smiled.
Her honest smile was contagious.
“If anything has been passed onto you from her, I think it is her confidence and cheerfulness. Nothing would ever get her down or make her really upset. She’d face the grimmest circumstances and carry on, sharing hope to everyone around. You might not see it, but I do.” Her wrinkled hand stroked my knee gently, right over that bulge.
Her confession delighted me a great deal. I knew there was no point complaining, that I had learned. And I also knew I could not let them down, my grandmother, my brothers and the memory of my unknown parents. Besides, my body was pretty well muscled compared to others of my age, and I could still walk and briefly run, even if not very fast.
We sipped some water from the waterskin and got back to our feet, motivated to fill at least another bucket. But, just as we did, a loud noise lifted itself in the valley making Firebreath neigh nervously.
Henek and Kuno dropped the piles of wood they carried and ran to the edge of the hill, where the village could be seen. We were not that far from it, and from where we stood, quite high on the southern forest, Sallncoln could be seen entirely, big as a fist.
“Fire, fire!” they both shouted.
We reached them as fast as we could and gaped at the sight. Chaos ruled over our quiet, little village. Tall, vicious flames devoured the buildings as if they were made of candle oil and sulphur. Like ants chased away from their anthill, people were running for their lives, chaotically trying to grasp whatever precious things they could save in their escape.
Nana let out a fragile cry.
The flames rose higher than the village’s tallest building, the tower, which had been built in the ancient times of raids and wars. Luckily, the ancient structure was situated at the edge of the walls, safe from any damage. Sadly, everything in the centre was engulfed by flames.
Most of the people were heading towards the lake, as were some of the animals that had managed to escape.
“Let’s go!” said Henek, and leaped ahead downhill on the dangerous side of the mountain.
Kuno followed with the same haste, careless of the bramble ahead.
Although my intention had been just the same, I could not leave Nana behind, scared and alone. So, we quickly gathered our things in one place, made sure Firebreath was properly tethered and retrieved the path that descended to the village.
The enormous bell of the tower started ringing loudly, tallying to the chaos and fear around.
We helped each other by holding hands and she started crying and mumbling something that only she could understand. Her anguish added to the loud clanging of the bell and my inner anguish; Elmira.
Heavens, please keep Elmira safe!
There was no point in ignoring the apprehension that had clutched at my stomach with sharp claws, as soon as I saw the flames. Elmira was an occurring thought in my daily routine.
Being a cripple has never been easy for me, and I was the only one with the condition in our village. I tired more easily than others, and was often cut from games that involved much activity and physical effort. That made bonding with other children my age quite difficult and I was always the one left behind. If things hadn’t been unpleasant enough for me already, in time I also became the ridicule of their boring days, and that took me further away from the desire to have a real friend. I liked to say I was used to it, but most of the time I was sad and did not comprehend why I had to be different. Many times, it bothered me a great deal but, in time, I’d learned to cope with it. I became accustomed to watching them play from a distance.
But my childhood had not been all sorrow and sadness as in my solitude, a similar soul became isolated like myself. Her name was Elmira and she was the youngest daughter of our neighbours, who lived few houses north of ours, near the wall. Perhaps it was her inquisitive nature and the fact that she did not feel the impulse to run every time she wanted to play. Or perhaps, it was that deep inside she felt alone like myself, that allowed us to become very close friends. My childhood days turned brighter and I soon forgot about my bad leg as she never seemed to mind being my friend. She was kind to me.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 3