by Kym Dillon
When he came to a small town—hidden caves that he knew expanded within the mountains into large homes—he stopped musing and concentrated on self-preservation. The palm of his hand rested on the hilt of his sword. His black eyes widened on alert.
A dark shadow coasted over him, and Arken hid himself against a tree and peered up. Against a starry backdrop, he spotted a dragon. Although he recognized the yellowish-bronze hue of the youngster, he couldn’t put a name to the male. Was he a rebel or an innocent? Arken darted to another tree and crouched lower as the dragon disappeared through a brush-covered hole in the hills. He only breathed again when he heard the unmistakable sound of dragons mating.
Sighing, Arken continued his journey, fragments of Ainley’s visions in mind. He was looking for a wide-open field where cages imprisoned his sister, Gaova, and the other high-ranking generals. It took nearly an hour more of hiking through the unyielding forest, but he found the place near the heart of the island.
“Gaova,” he whispered in dismay. The sight of it was worse than what he had seen in the vision. Vultures flew overhead. There was a stench of sickness. Five large cages erected from a special steel that hindered shifting held the broken dragons. It was unnerving to see the majestic creatures brought so low.
His eyes wildly raked the clearing. There was no one standing guard, and Arken thanked fate. He wove his way from one cage to the next, peering in at its inhabitant. All were injured in some way, but none as gravely as he had seen his sister in the vision. He ran in a crouch to where his sister lay in a cramped heap. She didn’t even move when he slipped through the bars.
Arken’s brow furrowed. “Don’t let me be too late,” he whispered as he laid a hand to her scales. She was hotter than was healthy, even for one of his kind. He dropped the pack from his shoulder and rifled within for the vial of pearly liquid that Ainley had once given him for Vyda. He filled a fresh syringe with the medicine, injecting it near the site of the ghastly bite wound at Gaova’s neck.
Then, he stood back and waited for the serum to take effect. What felt like an interminably long time passed before any response, and he feared the dosage was insufficient. Arken eyed the last drop in the vial. “Wake up for me,” he pleaded. His spirits soared when she opened a giant eye and looked in his direction.
“I must be dreaming,” Gaova said with difficulty.
Laughing softly with joy, Arken pressed a finger to his lips. He looked around, but the coast was still clear. The dragon shifted in the tight cage, another good sign. “No, you’re not dreaming,” he replied. “I came to get you out of here. The medicine I gave you will strengthen you and heal your wounds. I saw you in a vision, my beloved sister. I had to get to you…”
“Arken, Son of Imyr,” she breathed, closing her eyes again. The corners of her mouth lifted in what could only be a smile. Arken pressed his cool forehead to her hot one, and fought back tears.
“I’ve missed you so much, Gaova.”
“But, the stone,” she sighed. “The treaty.”
He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. “The stone is safe. The treaty is broken.” Despite Gaova’s pained disbelief, he knew he had made the right move in coming to the island. “Listen, I don’t have much time to explain,” he said. “I need you to tell me how to find the one they call Cithurel.”
Gaova lifted her head and jerked her chin toward the highest mountain. “He’s there…with his band of upstarts who have somehow…managed to take over the island. They’ve been celebrating the revolution nearly every night since the uprising a week ago...I tried to settle this before it got this…far. I’m sorry, my brother. I failed you.”
“No,” he replied firmly. “I failed all of you. I was blinded by tradition and rules and did not see betrayal. I held to laws that lost meanings years ago. Now, it’s time I make this right.”
With a feral grunt, Arken cast Cithurel’s head at the feet of a ragtag group of dragons. The decapitated body part bounced with macabre buoyance and rolled across the dewy grass into the center of the clearing. Arken strolled into the circle of firelight in man-shape, utterly unafraid to face them. The celebratory music abruptly ceased. All eyes turned to him.
He stepped his booted foot upon the traitor’s head and dared them to do anything about it. “I found him,” he said loudly so all the rebels present could hear him. They crept closer, many of them too young to know his face. He lifted his head to look them in the eyes. “I found him forcing himself on a young dragon, no older than a hatchling.” He glared at the lot of them.
“He was impatient to slake his vile lusts on a babe, merely because she was the offspring of the king’s wife-stock. This mongrel believed himself deserving. Do you? Is this amoral rapist who you would have be your king?” Arken ground out. He removed his booted foot from the head of the dragon and drew his sword. Without preamble, he lifted it for battle. “Any man who feels the hour is ripe for taking the throne, let him come forth. Your rebel leader is dead. Fight now or end the insurgency.”
A dragon shifted nearby and became a man. “Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
The king bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “I am Arken, Brother of Gaova, Son of Imyr, Grandson of the Almighty Sengenis!” he growled. “I am the keeper of the Heart of the Dragon and the rightful king, and I will have your loyalty, or I will have your heads.”
Several stunned dragons took their knee, and he looked around in mild surprise at how quickly they surrendered. No one challenged him. In fact, the scene held a subtle hint of fate. Arken had left his sister and the imprisoned generals in order to seek out the rebel leader, only intending to bring him to trial. However, when he had discovered Cithurel trying to bed a young dragon, he had reacted instinctively.
Defending her honor had led to a fierce struggle. With Cithurel in dragon-shape, he was larger, swifter, deadlier than Arken could ever hope to be in man-shape. Yet, the Heart of the Dragon had protected him. Yes, there was the hint of fate.
Arken turned around in a slow circle, again meeting each of the rebel’s gazes. He counted ten, male and female, mostly young. The naïve and suggestible offspring of a race that had grown weary of waiting for salvation.
“And, why should we follow you?” someone piped up. “You left us here to rot!”
“I left you here to train and build your numbers,” Arken admonished. “I gave up my freedom so that you could have yours, but I readily admit that sacrifice was small. It was my brothers who saw fit to resettle our dwindling population on a ripe, fertile island, brimming with everything you needed to survive. My family paid for it with their lives, and you repay that debt with treachery and malice.”
A fine tremor of fury shook him. There were no words to explain the sharp pain of mutiny. Not only had his family paid with their lives, but so had Daya. Braver men and women had died to give these upstarts the freedom they abused to turn against him. He tightened his fingers around the sword, aching for justice.
At that moment, another dragon stepped forward and shifted into man-shape, bowing deeply. “Your Majesty, we didn’t know you would return,” he said contritely. “Many of us are simply here because we knew not where else to go.” The earnest delivery struck a nerve within Arken.
“I have returned,” he said, nodding to himself. “And, now that I have, tell me. What should be the tax for treason? You each owe our people an explanation. You play here at rebellion while the very real threat of war rattles in the west. The greatest of dragon eaters, even now, rallies her forces against us. She seeks to acquire the stone of power to put you at her beck and call, to order you like lambs to the slaughter.”
His voice boomed louder with every statement, channeling a clear message: Their actions would cost them, one way or another. A pall of despair hung over the group. More took their knee as the seriousness of his words drove home. There were still some stragglers remaining defiant. Arken squared his jaw.
“Now, I am left with just a remnant of my army. My generals are
imprisoned, while the soldiers run amok. I am not your enemy, and I will not be your victim,” Arken stated firmly. “The penalty of insurrection is death. Death to the rebels…and death to the rest of us. We are down to the smallest number of dragons I’ve seen in my lifetime. We face a formidable enemy. If I kill even one of you, I seal the fate of everyone.”
He sheathed his sword. “So, I stand before you, not to pick battles with the foolish and impatient among you, who clamored for blood when it was but a fantasy. I stand here to tell you that you will have your blood. Yes, more of it than any of you can stomach.”
“What would you have us do, Your Majesty?” a soldier asked from the back of the crowd.
“I would have you remember that we were once the rulers of this realm. We once numbered in the thousands. We flew the skies with no limitations.”
“None of us forgot.”
“Yet, you failed to realize no one wants that back more than I do. I waited centuries for the sign, and now it has come. Are you ready to go to war for it?” A loud roar of affirmation shook the clearing. Arken raised a fist and shouted, “Are you ready to follow the one, true king?”
“Aye!”
He continued the morale boosting call to arms, but he made note of the two dragons that slipped away from the campfire. Arken knew the matter of the aborted revolution was far from settled. However, he had accomplished more with a pretty speech than he had in a lifetime of suffering isolation and loneliness. It was ironic. He would deal with the rest when the time came. For the moment, he had a ragtag army of naïve and suggestible younglings. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
And, it would have to do.
“Free the prisoners,” he ordered. “Meet me at the great hall with the generals. We have work to do that begins tonight. We must start retraining and prepare the island for the inevitable attack. Many of you have never encountered the dragon eaters in person, but I know them well and so do the generals. You handicapped yourselves by turning against them.” He shook his head with regret. “So much to learn, in so little time.”
“When will the battleships arrive, Sire?”
“Months,” Arken said grimly. “If we’re lucky.”
In the weeks that followed, the island underwent gradual changes. The pace of life for the dragons quickened. The ten remaining soldiers were up at dawn and driven through war maneuvers throughout the day. At night, they traveled back to their families. They were prodigal sons and daughters accepted into the fold again through necessity, but there were still fault lines. Arken resolved to repair them with time.
He learned, to his regret, much of the order that had once made the dragon race a success had fallen by the wayside. It was up to him to restore it. A watch was kept to be on the lookout for Feis’ arrival. In the meantime, he saw to it that the generals were brought to peak ability with medical care at the infirmary, which he reopened. The neglected younglings restarted school. Industry was reinvigorated as a generation of older dragons realized there was a future to look forward to.
For the rest, weekly town meetings in the great hall allowed him to address problems that needed fixing. The meetings also gave the dragons the floor to voice their grievances, and Arken worked diligently to settle their disputes. It was more leadership muscle than he had exerted during his entire lonely reign, but it was oddly exhilarating. He discovered he enjoyed being hands on.
It was at one of these town meetings that the subject of the wife-stock was brought up. Sitting up straighter in the hand-carved throne, Arken suddenly found himself at a loss for words as he stared at the beautiful maiden who had raised the issue.
“Meaning no disrespect, Sire.” She lowered her head. “We simply wondered when you’d begin your duties and take one of us to mate.”
Gaova leaned closer and whispered, “As you pointed out, there is the matter of the stillborn egg.”
“Yes,” Arken murmured. “But, I don’t think it’s an opportune time to consider procreation, with a war imminent.” He sat back and nodded at the maiden. “We’ll see to it when we can.” His sister touched his arm.
“Why not now?” she asked quietly. “If an egg is fertilized, we can secure the heir in a secret location. Without it, there’s no heir.”
“I know, but…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. He didn’t know how to explain his inability to mate with others. It would require him to discuss Oedaya, and he wasn’t ready. He feared he would never be ready to accept she was never coming back. “I said we’ll see to it when we can.”
Gaova shrugged and waved the dragon maiden away. Arken was grateful she dropped the subject, but it seemed his sister had no intention of letting it rest. She came to him later that night in the great house where he was staying. He was nursing a drink in front of a blazing fire, thinking of the keep, of Daya and Vyda, and the weeks they had spent together.
“I’m not sure you realize,” Gaova said, “but one of the greatest motivations behind the uprising was the fact the younger dragons believed the line of Sengenis was done for. The longer we go without an heir, the greater the likelihood they’ll turn against us again.”
He showed her his back but turned to her in profile. She was in woman-shape, and she looked as majestic as ever. Her black hair was cropped to her ears, and her regal face was unmarked by time. Her cool gray eyes shrewdly assessed him. Arken sighed and dropped his head.
“There’s someone else,” he admitted.
“I suspected as much,” she murmured, walking up behind him. She placed her hands on his shoulders and squeezed lightly. He heard the soft rustle of her quiet breathing and knew she was holding back what she truly wanted to say.
“You don’t have to tell me. I know I’m neglecting my responsibilities, but I need more time. There’s a chance…There’s a chance she survived.” He turned to face his sister. “She was the one who made it possible for me to leave the keep and get here. She sacrificed herself to provide a distraction to Feis.”
“A mortal?” Gaova asked with faint censure.
His brows hooked in a frown. “From another world. Oedaya of the Sky Realm.”
“Arken.” Gaova’s eyes skated away. “It may seem indelicate of me, but the situation is dire. You’ve already been here a month. I’m not sure we can afford to wait. I must ask you—nay, beg of you—to reconsider.” She met his gaze. “I have a suitable mate waiting just outside. You need only consummate. It’ll take moments of your time.”
He chuckled dryly. “It’s not so simple, and you know it.”
“I know that I can count on you to do the right thing.”
“Aye, but not tonight,” he replied.
“Tomorrow, then?” she pressed.
He wanted to say no, but he realized he couldn’t put off the matter forever. With heavy heart, he inclined his head. “We’ll see what tomorrow brings. Now, get some rest, my beloved sister.”
“You shoo me away, after all these years apart?” she teased with a smile.
“I save you the headache of my stubbornness,” he chuckled.
“Headaches, I can handle,” she replied as she breezed to the door. “It’s an empty nest that I can’t abide. Goodnight, Arken. May you sleep well and come to your senses.”
He raised his glass in salute, and she exited the room. He was left alone with his thoughts. The weeks of preparation and waiting were taking their toll. He didn’t think he could satisfy Gaova’s demands, but he resigned himself to attempting the task. He fell asleep with Daya heavy on his mind, as a result of the conversation.
Maybe that was why he dreamed of her.
“Where are you?” he whispered. He heard her crying in the darkness, but he couldn’t see her face. Arken rolled over in sleep, reaching blindly. “Are you there? Oedaya!”
“Arken…” Her voice was so weak that he had to strain to hear. He turned to the other side of the bed. He squeezed his eyes tighter. All he saw was more darkness, and he got the sense the world around him was shifting, moving…rocking.
“I’m coming,” he breathed. “I’ll find you. I’m coming. Just tell me where you are!”
She parroted his words back to him. “I’m coming,” she whispered.
“Daya!” He heard the unmistakable sound of roaring waves, and his eyes flew open. Sleep fled him. Someone was banging on the door to his bedchamber. “Enter,” he ordered. The door flew open, and a youngling burst into the room. He looked to be a boy in his preteens.
The lad was breathless, as if he had run the whole way. “Ships,” he panted. “Ships on the horizon. The watchmen told me to report, Sire.”
“Feis?”
The lad bobbed his head quickly. “She’s coming!”
Arken threw off his covers and lurched to his feet. His eyes widened. The dream was already beginning to fade, but he still heard her voice. I’m coming, she had whispered. Oedaya was alive!
15
The stolid ship was bandied about by waves. Daya was lashed to the mast, and she felt every pitch and roll of the sea. Her stomach churned with sickness, and her body ached from the terrifying voyage that had taken the better part of a month. But, as saltwater sprayed her and the wind howled louder, she clung to awareness.
The storm had lasted three hellish hours. Daya knew because she had been the one to start it. Using her Maker talents to heat the surface of the water, she had prayed the cooler air would interact with the temperature to derive a hurricane, and it had worked! Never mind that her life was now in mortal danger. Anything to keep the ships from reaching the Isle of Warriors.
Daya had already tried whirlpools. She had tried confusing the currents and sending the ship off course. But, when she realized that was only hurting the sea-life, she had changed tacts.
Now, sailors worked anxiously to keep the ship from being dashed apart. Their shouts reached her, but she ignored them. She concentrated on making the lashing rain and raging sea combat their efforts. It was a hundred times worse because of the disorienting darkness of night. She heard men praying for daylight, but the ship would never leave the eye of the hurricane, if she had anything to do with it.