“Neither do I, Ghaeloden!” Nuuk whispered with faint intensity before resuming to their inner conversation. Many were locked with me in the cells below the towers. I could not see them in the darkness, I could only hear them. We often told tales of our beautiful home in Grora. Some of them were from far distant lands I hadn’t heard of. They spoke a different tongue than mine and only occasionally did we manage to comprehend each other.
Nuuk allowed himself a weak smile, given the circumstances. He did miss conversation with a fellow imp, and one behind bars would still count.
Though, too soon I was the only one left while others were being freed one by one. Many days of solitude passed before I was taken to meet the wizard. And when I did, I was forced to swear my allegiance to him and bend to his powers for as long as he deemed necessary to use my service in the empire’s cause.
The wind against which they were flying now whistled harder and colder. It made them pause their flow of thoughts for a moment and Ghaeloden had to glide lower where the air was warmer and its currents less intense, so they could hear each other’s words.
The imp noticed his intention as he started talking rather than using his mind. “Once sworn into his service, life became a little easier for me and days started to pass faster. I became so enthralled by my ordinary tasks that I subdued the hatred towards the man that enslaved me. At one time I thought I could forgive him for his deeds, if only I managed to use my wings and not lose them for good. And many a time he had promised to do good by me if I did good by him, so I obeyed to my best of my ability.”
No immediate reply came from Ghaeloden, but clearly he was keen on knowing more.
The opportunity was his to take, the imp considered as with closed eyes, and gently embraced by the warm air, he continued, “He taught me how to write and read and I was just as surprised as him to know I was capable of such things. And not the common tongues only. No, kind sir. To his gratification I was able to learn all the dialects of the past centuries with little effort and that gave me the function I hold now, as his assistant and interpreter of foreign manuscripts with all this wretched stones’ research. Mostly, I only scribble his notes and mutterings.”
“Nuuk, what I know of these stones is what accidently reached my ears, and I trust almost none of it! But, if he is so keen for your skills, why do you have all those marks and bruises?” asked Ghaeloden.
“His behaviour is unrecognisable at times,” Nuuk explained. “One moment he is serene and peacefully reading through his books and the next he is very angry and upset. I often blame that brew he likes to drink.” The imp’s hand was softly moving around his neck caressing the fresh bruises. “I’m sure he never means to hit me willingly, at least I hope so. Maybe blinded by rage he cannot see who’s standing in front of him as the throws whatever he chances upon with his hands. Had I been allowed to use magic I could’ve protected myself most of the times. Without it, I’m just as defenceless as a goat surrounded by a pack of hungry wolves.”
The dragon scoffed, clearly disturbed by the imp’s revelations.
Nuuk recollected with dread Felduror’s expression from the day before, when he had been instructed to fetch the dragon. Whenever his wraths started, they had always been preceded by an ominous moment just like that one, his unreadable face would shift into a raging fever.
It was Ghaeloden’s voice that returned him to the present. “I never knew that the wizard had these moments of lunacy. Has he ever apologised or said anything at all after these flashes of anger?”
“Never, though once he stopped in the middle of his furious bout and acknowledged I was there, while carefully lifting the heavy tome he was about to toss at me. He looked straight into my eyes that day. I could see the dumbfounded expression on his contorted and reddened face and I’m almost convinced he was crying. I’d like to think that he saw me that day, me Nuuk, his humble servant, and that’s why he stopped. Yet we may never know. He never had the desire to speak of this with me,” concluded the imp.
“The wizard must be a curious and interesting being, behind those guarded doors, Nuuk. I must confess I do not envy you but I do think I see why the wizard has chosen you,” the dragon said, surprising and intriguing the imp.
“And why would you think so, Ghaeloden?”
“I think he never expected you to become accustomed and learned in human ways. And most likely amongst all others of your own kind, you were the only one capable of such. That’s why you are still…” the dragon paused as if he was trying to rephrase his words, “the most respected imp in all the citadel.”
Nuuk was sure there was something else the dragon had wanted to say, yet his words cheered him up nonetheless. “Thank you, master Ghaeloden! It means munch to have someone to talk with and be understood.”
“Again, Nuuk, Ghaeloden is more than enough, no need for master or mightiness or anything else.” His voice was gentler as he continued, “Besides we are friends now!”
“You and me, friends? I never had a friend outside of Grora.” The delight in the imp’s heart found its way in his frivolous voice. “I promise you, Ghaeloden, you’ll be just as glad to be my friend as I am to be yours!” Nuuk added candidly.
A suffused growl vibrated inside Ghaeloden’s long neck.
Dear me! An imp that thinks to have a dragon as a friend? A creature that likes eating beeswax? How low am I willing to go with this farce? The dragon was bothered by his own words, and kept silent for a long time.
Though, he had to carefully measure if he was to trust the imp with his own ideas or not. He had even told the insignificant creature not to call him appropriate names, when he hankered to be called in ways worthy of such a mighty presence and appearance. But again, it would be a shame to imperil his own devices by not carefully planning his every move. The imp let it known there was desire in his heart to be free, similar to him. That had been a fortuitous revelation and, since the imp knew more about the wizard than any other being in Arkhanthï, far more than he hoped to find out on his own, his dream of being the one to free his king suddenly rejuvenated his soul. If he wanted to rid the empire from the wizard’s influence, he would have to learn as much as he could about him by any means available, and that meant including the insignificant, imp creature.
He had decided to scrutinise and befriend him, if he wanted to get to the truth.
They had covered many miles from the citadel and reached outside the second row of walls, thanks to the cold currents that pushed towards the south. The Drakhahoul felt almost no strain on his wings’ muscles, curiously so after the sleepless night, and was confident he could continue for much longer. Yet, he was concerned of what might lie ahead; he had never ventured outside the walls and could not hide a feeble sense of dread.
Like any of the mighty winged-creatures, he enjoyed flying almost as much as eating, and cherished every moment up in the air like it was the last one, even if he had to carry the imp on his neck. Besides Sereri-the-White, his mother, who had become Felduror’s ride, there weren’t others who allowed to be ridden. And for good reason; dragons were supposed to be free creatures and if such an occasion ever arose to allow someone to ride them, it would definitely be because of the dragon’s desire and not the opposite. Alas, times were different and Drakhahouls were not the free creatures that they liked to believe. Perhaps those that had forsaken the empire many years ago were, perhaps they had found their true freedom.
To push such thinking away, he half closed his wings against his body and dove for a short couple of heartbeats, and when he opened them again he undulated his body upwards to regain altitude. The motion lifted his spirit. It appeared to have done the same to the imp, as he let out a loud chuckle which came to a sudden stop when a rancid stench saturated the air they found themselves in. A reaction of equal revulsion was shared between them.
“What is this stench?” asked Nuuk, leaning on the dragon’s neck to inspect on each side the lands below.
“It must be the cattle la
nds!” said the dragon, understanding now why they had been placed that far from the citadel.
The reek saturated the current patch of land and air. It made the dragon shake and snort, his head darting about. He glimpsed the imp covering his mouth and nose.
“I never thought it would be that ghastly up close!” Ghaeloden continued. “I often hunt the beasts on the meadows between the walls, and rarely sensed it. And certainly not as strong. These are the farms from which we get the meat to support our dragons, the Gholaks as well as the humans and probably the imps too!”
“No, no! We don’t eat meat, Ghaeloden!” The curt reply of the imp made it clear there was some displeasure towards meat-eaters. “Though, what use is there for an army when there is no war or conflict?”
The silence Nuuk’s question raised, showed that neither of them had an answer.
With a tail swipe, Ghaeloden turned to the left and descended to a level where they could see more clearly.
Vast patches of land were compactly occupied by little black, white and brown marks far beneath them. Like a bleeding bruise on a living body, the land showed its scars only to those able to see it from high above. The dragon gasped in awe and abhorrence. He had never seen such a thing. A thread of fear lifted from within; could this compromise the way he thought of his prey?
Vast squared patches of forests had been eradicated to build the shelters and the milking parlours for the myriad of cows, goats and sheep. Now that he saw it closer, Ghaeloden was not pleased to acknowledge how the common beasts had to live; amassed in tight places and exploited throughout their lives. He briefly considered how displeased the imp might be, though he understood its purpose and, awkwardly, one of the smells stimulated his appetite. No, perhaps nothing would change for him.
What he felt utterly angered about, was the radical transformation of the landscape; the endless covers of green in this side of the realm were gone, replaced by black, foul-smelling pools of sludge and mud that wafted their nauseating fumes for many miles around. Thick rivulets of the same dark-brown matter of dirt trailed like sharp cuts from underneath each big building. They joined into a vast pond which glistened in the sun’s light, while the fetor released into the air. Those were the places where the beasts were being kept for shelter overnight. The clusters of wide buildings made the shepherds’ village the main source for meat, milk, cheese and skins to the citadel and perhaps the entire empire. Ghaeloden marvelled and wondered if such amount of meat was solely being raised for the few dragons that lived at the castle. Definitely most of it would find the orcs’ tables. A shiver ran across his neck, back and tail; it hadn’t been long since they passed the throng of Gholak’s armies, idling within the walls. Luckily, their fetor wasn’t as strong, definitely the imp hadn’t perceived it and he had no desire to talk of such brutes.
Following the single road that directed southwards, they left behind the reeking air and reached another circular-shaped village. Perpetual wafting smokes puffed their way out from too many houses. The road cut the entire village in half and led to a market, much bigger than the one inside the walls. There was a myriad of humans, the size of ants from where the dragon and the imp looked. They darted from side to side, among the dozens of carts, shacks and stalls.
Busy about their tasks, the humans did not realise that above them a dragon was darting with great speed. As high as they were, most likely the dragon appeared like a hawk.
Miles down, Ghaeloden broke the silence. “I don’t know about you, Nuuk, but I am starving. We’ve made good progress and, if you were right, we should be on the right path. The currents are already pleasantly warmer now and I think we could rest for a couple of moments while we eat. What do you say?”
“As you wish, Ghaeloden. I’m not that hungry, though I’d appreciate a moment’s rest while you eat.”
They crossed a thick forest and landed deep inside, on a clear patch surrounded by tall trees, quite high on a mountain top. The dragon stopped only for a brief moment, so Nuuk could get off, then he went hunting.
Once in the air, Ghaeloden perceived the pleasure the little creature took on laying himself on the warm ground. He could even feel the solace offered by the tall, soft blades of sun-warmed grass, lulling his body to a sweet drowsiness. Clearly Nuuk did not know how to unbind himself from the connection, and every thought was almost entirely felt, as long as the dragon remained in proximity.
Alas, hunger had the priority and so he dedicated proper time on chasing a few wild goats.
The little beasts gave little, if no trouble at all.
Satiated, the Drakhahoul contemplated how to make the imp do his bidding. If he wanted to gain access to the wizard’s secrets and use them to stop him and his greed for power, he’d have to get closer to him. The tiny creature seemed foolish enough to be beguiled into small talk, but he could not let overconfidence jeopardise his plans. He had to be certain of the imp’s loyalty. It was a sign of the stars that they had met; it was the Drakhahoul’s spirit himself that had brought the atoning creature to him, of that the dragon was convinced. The imp was the perfect candidate; he had already gained Felduror’s trust and, with the sceptre, he could also be invisible to the cunning wizard, unless of course, his powerful spells protected him.
It would be a risk worth taking, thought the dragon, if the imp managed to provide enough secrets from the wizard’s chambers and libraries in the main tower. Tainting the imp’s mind with his own thoughts would be rather simple, though it could also reveal his true plans to the creature and this was not the way he wanted to proceed. He’d have to keep delving with his words and let the imp reveal whatever information he was keeping safe.
Just as he was thinking of Nuuk, an unexpected shiver of compassion tainted his mind.
No creature should be bent to any malicious minds, be it for greater goods or not! His own thought was strong and took his mind to his king.
Belrug-the-Black, the only one that needed rescuing, the only meaningful victim of the realm. Nuuk and perhaps all his kin had been doomed already and beyond salvation. Alas, having a dragon completely in the wizard’s hands, and a powerful king nonetheless, was unacceptable.
Rage reached Ghaeloden’s mouth and he let out an instinctive, furious roar which issued and mingled with a wave of bright-orange flames that echoed through the valley. He did not care that he could be seen or heard. The anger filling his core rejuvenated his desire of ridding the whole empire of Felduror’s influence, even if he had to burn the old man himself.
He dove back towards land and saw Nuuk jump onto his feet from the comfort of the soft grass, as if burnt by fire. It would have been too late if Ghaeloden was a foe, as before the imp recovered and reacted, the dragon was already upon him.
“It is time, Nuuk! We should be on our way,” the dragon said as he landed.
“Was that you, the sound?” The imp tried to compose himself.
“Yes, I had to clear my throat.”
“That was scarier than our king’s roar!”
His honest compliment beguiled the dragon, and he preferred not to reply.
“One thing I forgot to mention,” said the imp, “as you might well know, Ghaeloden, the wizard specifically asked us not to be seen by anyone outside the valley and to avoid travel during the day far south!”
“I imagined he might ask that. I think he’d like everyone to believe we’ve been long extinct. Either way, it will be hard not to be seen if we travel by day. I’ll try and keep as high as we can comfortably fly,” replied Ghaeloden.
“From what he said,” the imp started, “people have always been afraid to venture beyond the valley of the Whispering Peaks. As a matter of fact, southerners often tell tales and fables to scare their younglings into travelling this far. They believe that Arkhanthï is a doomed place from where no one returns!”
“Well, that isn’t far from the truth. The wizard has his way of treating his guests, as you might well know. Do you recall the dwarf that came to the wizard, n
ot so long ago, asking for shelter and work in the citadel? I think you might agree that nobody has seen him since that day, and I doubt he was sent away!” Ghaeloden could almost remember his strong, musky scent.
The dwarf had stood motionless after the gates opened before him. His eyes met the young dragon’s, by coincidence around the entrance at the time. He remembered well that amusing expression of disbelief ornamented by the long wispy hair and beard. A minute creature, shorter even than the imp, yet stronger and bulkier, almost as wide as a wine barrel.
“I do remember that day,” replied the imp with sorrow. “I was with the wizard and he was not particularly cheerful about their conversation. I wonder what happened to the poor soul?”
The dragon almost perceived the unguarded thoughts of the imp making him hopeful about his undertaking. If the annihilation of the wizard scared the imp away, maybe his salvation might sound more acceptable. Not wanting to give away the fact that he understood the imp’s thoughts, the dragon decided to guide him into voicing them out.
“There must be a reason why he is behaving like this! Greed alone can’t account for everything as a greedy person would not spend time surrounded by books in those ragged robes he’s always wearing. I wonder if his mind has been poisoned by those stones he’s meddling with?” The dragon’s words surprised himself; he had never seriously considered the possibility.
“That is most interesting, Ghaeloden, and could very well be the case! Yet, who in their right mind would try and find out how many he has, or if he has any? To me he has always failed in his endeavours.” The imp appeared intrigued.
“It would take a very brave creature indeed!” lured the dragon.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 14