The Dragon's Heart

by David Powers King

  Flint never spoke of what he caught for supper.

  Probably to stay Hilander’s nerves, I assume ...

  After the first week had passed, Celesia turned to see the castle whenever they entered an occasional clearing. Bëdoustram was a small pebble in the distance now. She wondered if Prince Dálcort continued to search for her, and hoped that he hadn’t locked Tuke away. Only then did Celesia contemplate the anguish of her kingdom, of her father mourning the disappearance of his daughter.

  This won’t last forever. I’ll be home soon ...

  They stopped to find water and a fitting place to camp when the sun lowered behind the mountains. The days seemed to grow longer as they moved away from the mountain’s shadow. Flint spent most of his time flying ahead, looking for dangers and scouting their path. No hazards were present—or expected—even into the second week of their journey. Celesia’s stores ran low, but Groth managed to catch a few salmon in a river. His flattering comments about himself weren’t as farfetched as Celesia had thought, proven by the roasted salmon she was eating, seasoned with wild mushrooms. It was the most succulent fish she’d ever tasted.

  Long stretches of conversation helped Celesia learn more about her new friends each night, but it was the dragon that continued to elude her. Granted, she didn’t say nice things to him in the clearing that night, but his comments to her were no better. Was his flying ahead really an effort to avoid her during the day? If so, why did Flint watch over her while everyone slept soundly?

  Flint never closed his eyes. Even now, he stared at her.

  Does that dragon ever sleep?

  “Is something wrong, Celesia?” Flint asked quietly. Groth and Hilander were slumbering by the bank of a stream. The embers of their fire had burned low. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  Celesia sat up from her bed of leaves. “Why are you staring at me again? Don’t you ever sleep?”

  “I’ve never slept, nor have I dreamed in my life. It’s better for you three to rest while I keep watch.”

  “How is that possible? All living things sleep.”

  “Dragons are known to sleep for months, but not me. I’ve never tired. Never have I stretched my jaws to yawn. Imagine how frustrated my mother was when I was a hatchling.”

  “At least you knew your mother ...”

  Flint stretched his neck, smiling warmly. “There is one thing we can relate to. I have no brothers or sisters, and all I know is that I was different from the other hatchlings. Perhaps your dagger will tell us why.”

  A cool wind blew, a prelude to rumbling thunder in the distance. Celesia sat up, about to make amends for her standoffish behavior when a wet droplet suddenly pricked her on the nose. It was beginning to rain. The autumn drizzle was a welcomed event that restored waterfalls and reservoirs, but she was used to watching the rain within the comforts of her bedchamber.

  “I better put my cloak on,” Celesia uttered.

  The fire sputtered as the storm escalated.

  Flint heaved an apprehensive growl as he crawled next to her. She didn’t understand why until the rain no longer fell on her face. The dragon unfurled his wing and draped it over her body like a warm, black awning.

  Celesia wiped her face. “You don’t have to do this.”

  He snorted. “You’ll likely catch a cold. I won’t have you sniffling to Sarandretta’s.”

  He had a point, and she wasn’t about to refuse his kindness. I thought dragons weren’t capable of such kindness.

  “I’m glad you care. Thank you, Flint.”

  As she listened to the falling rain, she wondered if the dragon was too proud to accept her gratitude. That may have been a constituent of dragon nature, but part of him seemed nervous, like he was embarrassed to lend his wing to shelter someone else—especially a human.

  Celesia wrapped her cloak over her legs and leaned back, pressing herself against the warm dragon.

  His scales were surprisingly smooth.

  “As much as I wish that you were home safe, I’m glad you’re here,” he said.

  Celesia looked up. “You were opposed at first.”

  “Certainly, but after circling Bëdoustram for all these years, I’m finally able to see you up close.” His words sent a fluttering swarm of butterflies into her stomach. “I’ve always wanted to meet you in person. My eyesight is stronger than an eagle’s, but having you with us is incomparable. Whether you know it or not, perhaps you are to play a role in restoring the land’s magic. Maybe Ereman himself selected you specifically. How? I have no idea, but I promise to keep you safe from danger as long as you’re with us. I’ve said too much. We should reach the shores of Olgena by nightfall tomorrow.”

  “You’re an unusual dragon.”

  He turned his head. “How so?”

  “You’re more considerate than you let on.” Celesia smiled, and yawned. “See you in the morning?”

  “Most likely,” he said with a smile of his own.

  Celesia nestled deeper into the dragon’s soft side. The rhythmic beating of his heart lulled her to sleep.

  ˙ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˙

  When Celesia opened her eyes the next morning, the sun was already shining high in the horizon. The sweet smell of fresh rain filled the air. It surprised her how cold she felt, soon realizing that Flint was no longer by her side. Groth and Hilander moved about the camp, making preparations to resume their journey. The river was a perfect place to refill her flask and wash her face.

  Groth had managed to gather a breakfast of black raspberries and quail eggs.

  By noon, the three found themselves walking down a colorful lane. Fallen leaves littered their path, the scent of maple trees encompassing them. Celesia was riding on Hilander again, although she had long since removed the rein and bridle from his head. She offered to take off the saddle as well, but the horse refused. He wasn’t keen on letting her ride on his bare back. There was no sign of Flint. He had left their camp before dawn.

  He said I would see him in the morning ...

  “What a day,” Groth said, inhaling through his wide nose. “Makes me want to draft a lyric.”

  A poetic ogre? “You write songs?”

  “Aye! Sonnets and scripts, too. I left my collection at home. Maybe we should stop by my house, so I can jot down the verses I have composed in my head.”

  “What have you composed in your head?” Celesia asked, trying to persuade the ogre to share his talent. “I would love to hear it, if Hilander doesn’t mind?”

  The stallion nickered. “It will help pass the time.”

  Groth cleared his throat and placed a thick hand over his chest:

  “Who is the Dragon that wanders and wakes?

  With fire and magic he crafts and creates,

  Whose image is hidden and sly, dark as a moonless sky?

  He wants to be more than he may seem,

  A quest he takes to reach and redeem.

  The master does as we can, hoping to become—”

  Hilander stomped his hoof on the ogre’s toes. “That is enough, Groth!”

  The ogre hopped on one foot for a moment. “Was I saying too much?”

  “That was very impolite of you, Hilander!” Celesia reproved the stallion.

  The horse shook his head. “He knows better than to write songs about Master Flint.”

  “You’re quite right,” Groth replied. He was so quick to agree. “I really shouldn’t ha-aaah!”

  The ground beneath them gave way.

  Celesia screamed as a shower of dirt and branches showered over them, at the bottom of a deep pit. Aside from a sneezing fit from Grologroth, no one was hurt.

  Hilander was the first to stand. He tried climbing out of the hole with his hooves, but they were in too deep. They needed a second ogre to stand on top of, if any of them hoped to make it out. Celesia brushed leaves out of her hair, wondering who had dug the trap.

  “This dampers our day,” Groth said as he examined the hole. “This is elf work.”

  �
�Elves?” Celesia couldn’t hold back from coughing.

  Hilander whinnied. “Since when do they dig holes?”

  Groth stretched for the opening. “We failed to share something with you, Princess. When the magic of the land was lost, those closest to magic had their worlds turned upside down. With the magic gone, the elves no longer made their homes in the trees. They burrow into the ground like moles and other small rodents. Doing so forced their dwarfish kin into the wide plains.”

  “Dwarves?” Celesia laughed. “Are there mermaids and trolls, too?”

  “We’ll worry about them when the time comes to see them,” Groth said. He smiled, like he had come up with a plan. “Master Flint is out there. His tail can pull us out. He won’t know we’re down here unless we wave to him. I know! I’ll throw you to the top, Princess.”

  “Throw me? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “Do not get him started,” Hilander neighed. “Just say yes.”

  “Alright. Please catch me if I don’t make it.”

  The ogre cradled Celesia before he threw her into the air. A momentary sensation of weightlessness seized her for a second before her feet landed again on the path of autumn leaves. Before she had a chance to straighten her hair or shirt, a sharp prod struck her shoulder.

  “Ouch!” She looked about, but she saw nothing. “What was that?”

  “Look down, girlie,” answered a shrill voice.

  Celesia glanced at her feet. A dozen children with pointed ears had surrounded her, each of them holding a spear. They weren’t children. Their faces were mature and wrinkly. Some had goatees and mustaches, their clothing green and brown, and hats with pointed tips.

  Without a doubt, they had to be the elves.

  “This pretty girlie fell into our hole,” called another elf with a higher pitch than the first. “Can’t say we’ve ever caught the likes of them trespassing into our realm before, ey Brookwind?”

  “To say the least,” said a younger, confident elf, the tip of his spear in the ground. Without facial hair, he looked like a bright-eyed child. “I say we skin her alive.”

  Chapter 8

  Stumping the Elves

  The elves pulled Groth and Hilander from the hole with surprisingly little trouble, only to have each of the travelers bound with strong cords. Celesia protested the thought of being skinned alive, causing the diminutive Brookwind to burst into laughter. He said they had no such intention of skinning her, but trespassing into their forest was a very serious crime, and they would hold a hearing to decide their fate.

  “Swift execution, like the last ones,” said an elf.

  “Better to torture first.” The others laughed at that.

  They escorted the prisoners deep into the western end of the forest, using sharp spears to keep them on course. Before the elves arrested them, Celesia hid her mother’s gem under her cloak. She couldn’t allow these greedy elves to steal it from her. More than anything, their brazen manners were beginning to irritate her.

  Where’s that dragon gone to?

  The elves led them under a shady canopy of trees, thickening in number and size as they pressed on. If Flint didn’t return to look for them soon, he would lose sight of them for good.

  A towering hedgerow eventually stood before them, like the wall of a giant’s garden. A tall section moved as they neared. Beyond the gate of foliage was a clearing that was absent of trees. Large maple branches grew high over the area like a natural ceiling. Small persons popped out of the ground like moles, including women and children, each casting mischievous grins. According to her fairytales, this was unusual behavior for elves.

  “Well, Brookwind,” said a new elf, taller than those around him. He had an apron tied around his waist, making him look like a baker. “An unusual catch you’ve caught! The last intruders would’ve given us more to laugh at, but this lot will do. Were you followed?”

  “No one followed us,” Brookwind answered. “And I told you already, the last intruders outnumbered my hands five to one. It was wise to avoid those intruders. Springpebble agrees with me.”

  “Nonsense,” muttered the chubby, baker elf. “Where is the fun in letting humans walk through our forest without so much as a dart at one of their rumps?”

  “Listen, Grasswood,” Brookwind hissed through his teeth. “I intend to live longer than the other captains. I stand by my decision, so you can lick a toad if you don’t like it!”

  “Excuse me,” Celesia interrupted. “May I ask—?”

  “Hold your tongue, wench,” Brookwind sneered.

  “You don’t understand,” she pled. “I happen to—”

  The elves raised their spears, nearly poking her torso. “Unless you want to die an imminent death, you will keep your pretty little mouth shut until the Tribunal,” Brookwind said. “Move along. Alert the elders!”

  Celesia decided to stop provoking the creatures. The elves took them to a gathering place. A little exedra faced a withered tree trunk. An empty glass case rested in the center. The elves then forced Celesia to sit in the front row, followed by Groth. Hilander kneeled to the ground. A congregation soon entered the court, along with a row of old elves. Each had a beautiful robe that perfectly matched the surrounding autumn leaves.

  “What are they doing?” Celesia asked the ogre.

  “An Elvin Tribunal,” he whispered back. “The elves are no longer carefree creatures, as you can see. They’re sadistic plotters and exploiters now, with laws here and laws there. They will stop at nothing to find a reason to punish us. I’ve never met a courteous elf in all my life.”

  “You’re almost ten feet tall, Grologroth!” Celesia nearly shouted. “We didn’t have to surrender to them. Their spears are toothpicks compared to you. You could even step on them if you wanted to. ”

  “That goes without saying,” Groth agreed, “but that’s not a very pleasant solution. Think of the mess I would make, not to mention the toe jam! Fighting is not the way to deal with elves. Let us do the talking.”

  Hundreds of tiny folk sat before a patch of ground where the old elves waited for silence.

  “We have a collection of wayward travelers,” said the middle elf, sounding much like an old woman with a chipmunk lodged in her throat. “It’s ominous to wander our forest these days, intruders. I am Leafwater, the eldest of this realm. My counterparts beside me are Lumberroot and Dewleaf. Although some of you may share in the magic of the old world, your presence is unwelcome. There is no credence in our bylaws to allow you to walk away from this community alive.”

  Some of the elves snickered behind Celesia.

  “Unless,” Leafwater continued, “you can find a way to prove yourselves innocent. We have an ogre, yes. A horse, very noble. And a very different animal, like the trespassers who tramped through our forest in huge numbers recently. If you’re part of that caravan, you will not see the sun rise.”

  Hilander raised his head—his eyes narrowed. “I will have you know that this maiden has saved my life from human captivity, and traveled with us for a number of weeks.” The horse dug at the ground. “I have come to call her my friend. I ask that no harm come to her.”

  “Did a caravan come through your forest recently?” Celesia asked. The elf woman nodded at her with a long scowl. “I may know of the caravan you speak of. They came to visit me, and I traveled through your forest to escape. My name is Celesia, Princess of Bëdoustram.”

  A chorus of laughter erupted, like children at a puppet show. “A princess,” they mocked. “A princess!”

  Leafwater raised her hand, calling for silence.

  “Princess of Bëdoustram?” said Lumberroot. “You come shrouded in cloth that makes it impossible for us to see what you are, and a stallion of the wild claims you as a friend?” He harrumphed. “I have never heard of such rubbish. Talking animals have always regarded humans as lesser creatures. Let us have a closer look at this princess. Remove her possessions at once!”

  Celesia hesitated as they took her c
loak and dagger. The elves then laid her possessions before the Tribunal.

  “You come into our forest armed, girlie?” Leafwater asked. “You may be a friend to the horse, but you are human, no less. For entering our Elfdom armed, your sentence is clear.”

  “Begging your pardon, your courtship,” the ogre implored as he stood. “We traveled along the river that leads to the boundary of Olgena. That is my home. The path we used today is the same I’ve used to travel north. By what means have we to be trespassing?”

  “If you didn’t receive our decree about our border expansion, we can’t pardon your ignorance,” Dewleaf said. “We asked a magician to send our decree to every creature that is still in hiding.”

  Hilander snorted. “The dragon master never heard of this decree.”

  “Dragon master?” Dewleaf shrieked, then giggled after pausing. “Ha! Of course—a dragon master. Do you think us gullible? There are no dragon masters alive.”

  “She is alive, and she is with us, actually.”

  Hilander turned to Celesia.

  The elders didn’t seem to know what to make of this, and Celesia didn’t understand what the stallion was talking about either, but this ruse had proven effective in shushing the crowd.

  “First a princess, now a dragon master,” Lumberroot sneered. “You are a most creative stallion. I watched the last of King Axel’s loyal dragon masters die when they attacked Alkivar. There were none who survived. If she is a dragon master, where is her dragon? Such a creature would never leave her pretty side. She would be the prettiest dragon master I’ve ever seen, if she truly is one.” He chuckled maliciously. “We know you are lying. You have created a deeper hole for yourselves.”