Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  "You will not leave this castle," the King broke his silence. His baritone voice echoed in the large room.

  Kaira smiled and walked with purpose past the guards, through the open doors.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Quiet by nature, Medcina spoke softly and dressed simply. She was thin and her shapeless figure gave all those she met an impression of being frail, one brittle and quick to bend at the mere sight of harshness. In reality, her gentle demeanor hid a strong character and a short, fiery temper. She used her soft manner as a shield when faced with hardship while she fought with tenacity. To those who knew her, she was not the sort of person they would expect to be haunted by memories. So, it surprised Aria to watch Medcina weep and her shoulders shake with a soft sigh her only sound.

  Medcina had never spoken to Aria about her father. To hear his name, to hear a description of him, was as thrilling as it was daunting. She had often created images in her mind of what his face may have been like. She had wondered whom he had been and had questioned Medcina often, only to find pause in the woman’s response and the promise that someday soon she would know the truth. Now, Aria had heard the truth and its weight was more than her shoulders could bear.

  Aria watched Medcina wipe tears from her eyes and wondered at the suffering this woman may have known in her life. This woman in whom a queen and two princesses had confided and had relied while held prisoner by an obsessive king. The same woman who at the age of twenty, had held Kaira in her arms after Queen Cyndia had died, and who nineteen years later, helped bring yet another imprisoned princess into the world.

  The silence in the room was overwhelmingly long and it frightened Aria more than the truth she had just come to know.

  Medcina raised her head.

  “When you were born, my dear, Kaira knew the world would change,” Medcina said, her voice shaking. “It was the most magical night I had ever seen. Heavy, gray clouds sailed across the sky, covering the moon, darkening everything. People ran about the castle, yelling of the sky’s unusual color and shouts of coming death. And then, as you cried your first cry, the sky wept white tears, peacefully, quietly. Tears of joy, I’ve always believed. They were tears of joy. Your mother held you, whispering your name as I watched the soft, white rain fall.

  Medcina’s tears had subsided. She sat calmly on Aria’s bed, watching the princess’s eyes. Aria thought that through this calmness her dear nurse dealt with the more frightening of memories, the more painful. Her coolness allowed her to recall the past without fear and melancholy getting in the way.

  “Kaira was very proud of you,” said Medcina, smiling. “She was proud of the child born of her love for Alen and his love for her. You carry her beauty with you, but she often said it was Alen who gave you your eyes and your spirit.”

  Aria broke the gaze she and Medcina shared and thought of the emptiness in her life, the vacant caves shaped like her mother and father. She wished with all her might that she had been born at a different place, a different time; somewhere she could watch Alen take Kaira’s hand and ask her to dance in the middle of an afternoon while she sat and watched content to know what love between a man and a woman is.

  “She never left for Norcia. She remained in the castle, knowing that your birth would be of great importance to this kingdom,” Medcina continued. “She did not think that you would become greatness; she knew it. She knew you were touched by the ancient Spirit.”

  Aria looked up and now it was her eyes from which tears trickled forth like fountain water. Her arms were wrapped around herself in a tight embrace.

  Medcina pulled Aria’s arms open and took hold of the princess’s hands before continuing.

  “Orsak had wanted your mother to marry nobility,” she said. “He had planned in his mind the details and would force the marriage upon her. But your birth foiled that idea and he postponed his desire for the male heir. Part of him began to believe the old wizard’s curse was unbreakable. Another part told him to wait, to accept the fact that yet another chance for the fulfillment of his dream had just been born. If Kaira was no longer part of his hope, then perhaps the new child would be."

  "So, he killed her, too," Aria whispered.

  Medcina did not respond. She sighed and continued. “The kingdom had grown to love Kaira and celebrated you. To the people, you were hope as well. Without an heir for Orsak to indoctrinate in his use of power, they came to believe that the King’s regime would finally come undone, sooner than later. They shared a faith that your mother’s strength would also be in you. Talks of such optimism within his subjects became only kindling for Orsak’s anger. He tried to ignore the boiling within by avoiding Kaira’s presence. But after a year of clutching his ears at the sound of your mother’s name or at the sound of her voice as she called out yours, he calmed his fury the way he knew best and the kingdom was once again quieted.”

  Medcina let go of Aria’s hands. She stood and walked to the window, looking out at the wall surrounding the castle. Aria stood beside her. The moon cast subtle shadows that made the wall stretch out in the darkness, giving the impression that it surrounded more than just the castle.

  "Your mother was thrown from her horse as she rode to Gracia." Medcina spoke with a dry and heavy tone. "To place flowers at your father’s grave." She was no longer reliving memories, or even looking at them as if through a window. She was completely in the present and eager to tell the child she swore to protect with her own life the last of the secrets she had held close to her heart.

  "I stood at this tower window," she spoke quickly. "You were merely a year old and I held you in my arms as you slept. I stood here and watched her ride through the gate; I saw her reach the meadow. She grew smaller as she rode farther down the road until completely out of sight."

  Medcina turned around and faced Aria but did not look at her; she had her gaze focused past the bed and fixed on the door. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her.

  "Malden summoned me to see the King, several hours later. When I entered the Throne Room, with your tiny body squirming in my arms as you cried at nothing in particular, the King put his hands on my shoulders and looked at me with a sad-stricken face he had never worn before; a new mask." Medcina chuckled at that last thought and continued. "He told me of the accident himself, taking care to add a tremor to his voice. He told me the stallion had bolted, had kicked its forelegs high in the air, thrown your mother back onto the ground, and had galloped away. He did not know what had startled it but its sudden sprint had caused Kaira’s head to hit the stones that littered the road and...

  "A guard returning from Gracia to the castle, the King said, had found her lifeless body among the trees lining the road, her stallion a few yards away, grazing."

  Aria’s eyes swelled with tears.

  "He even apologized to me," Medcina laughed briefly as she spoke. "For asking me to care for you; for burdening me. He asked that I teach you the formalities of royalty. The insincerity of his words and the rigidness of his manners were obvious."

  Medcina shook her head and sighed again, anxious to fulfill her duty as a friend and tell Aria every detail.

  "We stood in that oversized room, he watching me, hiding in his incompetent way yet another secret scheme. Malden stood closely behind him, the way he usually does, as if he were attached to His Majesty’s rear."

  Tears clouded Aria’s vision for a moment and she blinked, releasing rivers down her face. She watched Medcina closely, taken back by the far-away look on her face and the mixture of pain, anger and melancholy in her voice. She had never seen Medcina express any emotion other than caring love.

  "I swore that I would be forever devoted to your well being."

  Medcina’s eyes returned to meet hers and Aria saw such intensity in them.

  "Be sure," Medcina said, pointing a trembling finger at Aria. "That I swore devotion to you, to your well being. I did not, I never have, and never will, offer allegiance in any form to the King."

  Aria
nodded, wiping her cheeks.

  "I shall be by your side," Medcina continued. "Until the prophecy has been fulfilled, and the kingdom rises above the muddy waters Orsak has sunk it into." She started to walk toward Aria.

  Aria stood and put her arms tightly around Medcina. Neither said anything as they embraced.

  At the foot of the tower, where the castle’s east and west walls met, Delcan stood among the guards, watching the night. A casual gust of wind swirled in his hair. From behind him he heard a crow caw and looked over his shoulder. His eyes caught the candlelight burning in the room atop the tower and he wondered if it were Aria’s room from which the light shone as daylight against the somber night.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Orsak awoke as he did most mornings, with the warmth of the sun’s fingers stroking his face. He insisted his servants draw open the shutters on his windows each night so the sunlight would enter his chamber just as a new day rose over the eastern horizon.

  He opened his eyes and squinted at the brilliance. He was on his side, the silk blanket wrapped around him. He turned on his back, stretching his arms, and stopped. There was someone lying beside him.

  He looked to his left at the woman who slept soundlessly in his bed and threw the covers off her.

  “Wake up,” he yelled as he pulled the silk linen off the nude concubine. “Get up. Now.”

  The woman opened her eyes, startled, and leaped off the bed with a lost expression on her face. She glanced around, searching for familiarity. Her eyes fell upon the King and fear followed the realization of where she was. She reached for the clothes she had tossed on the floor the night before and attempted to dress.

  “Do not bother,” the King growled. “You know you are never to sleep here. You know that. You all know that, and still you have the audacity to disobey.”

  The woman froze, frightened, holding her garments against her breasts, suddenly modest.

  “I only meant to rest a moment, my lord,” she said. “I meant no disrespect.”

  “What are you still doing in my presence?” he asked. “Go. Get out!”

  The woman bowed and rushed out of the Royal Chamber, struggling to wrap a shirt around her shoulders.

  Orsak threw the door shut behind her and ran his fingers through his graying hair. The woman had left her kerchief behind, the first thing he had taken off her when she had entered the room the night before; he picked it up and threw it in the fire.

  “Stupid peasant girls,” he mumbled.

  He dressed in his casual attire and took his breakfast by the window. He sat with a napkin on his lap and a biscuit crumb on his chin, gazing out at the hint of ocean on the horizon. He stayed in that state for most of the morning—frowning at the brightness of the day, yet savoring the relief that another morning had dawned upon his kingdom.

  An expected knock pulled his eyes out of the sunlight and back into the cool gloom of the room.

  “Enter,” Orsak said, his voice scraping against his throat.

  The door opened and Malden stepped in.

  “Good morning, Sire,” Malden said without bowing. They had known each other long and found no need for formalities.

  Orsak groaned and motioned for Malden to sit on the oversized chair beside the fireplace. Malden leaned against the windowsill instead. He had his back to the kingdom that dragged its feet through the world beyond the window as the day fell down upon them. He crossed his arms on his chest. His broad shoulders tightened as a cool breeze swept up the back of his neck.

  “Did you enjoy your evening?” Malden asked.

  Orsak shrugged and said, “The girl thought she should get a first-hand notion of what it is like to sleep on a King’s bed.”

  Malden smirked. “I wish I had come earlier to watch her escape your wrath.”

  Orsak brightened, his amusement brought on by the memory of the concubine running into the hallway with her body exposed to the guards. He regretted having closed the door so soon and not having stayed at the threshold to watch their delighted faces.

  “I have information,” Malden interrupted Orsak’s thought.

  “About?”

  “The squire.”

  Orsak stood. “What type of information?”

  “A report from Stanlo, the boy who—”

  “Yes, yes. I recall.”

  Orsak stood still, trying to appear patient. He sensed Malden knew better—that the Head of the Guards would read the way the King’s eyes darted from side to side and understand that inside, Orsak waited for this hunger for knowledge to be fed.

  “He overheard Delcan talk with the other squire, Sandrion, while on guard duty. They discussed an interesting array of topics.”

  “Such as?”

  “Sir Wildon’s loyalty.” Orsak nodded knowingly at the mentioning of the knight. “Delcan’s father. His fancy for the princess.”

  “Aria?” Orsak frowned. The squire, Delcan, was proving himself a troublesome pest. He had lied of his father’s identity, of the simple fact that the man still lived; and now, the boy had turned his eye on Aria.

  Aria as well had recently become a thorn. Her foolishness during the Flarian Festival had certainly surprised him. It was the first time he had seen Kaira reflected in the girl’s manner. Whatever fire burned within her must be extinguished, he thought. He would not allow Aria to bring into the world another peasant without first giving him an heir.

  “He has big dreams, Your Majesty,” Malden added.

  Orsak’s eyes were downcast. He wrapped his left hand with his right and brought it up to his chin. “What did the squires have to say about Wildon?”

  “Delcan spoke about the training Sir Wildon has submitted him to. It is different from that of the other squires. It appears more formal; more regimented. It is the sort of training Marcius once used for his elite knights.”

  Orsak raised his eyes and glared at Malden, who sat with his legs crossed and his shoulders back.

  “Stanlo added that Delcan’s training goes beyond the standards you set. It appears Wildon does intend for the boy to indeed be trained as a knight.” Malden’s voice was but a whisper. “Stanlo suspects this to be a window to Sir Wildon’s faltering loyalty, and I agree.”

  “Stanlo,” Orsak said. “Is he bright?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” Malden leaned forward on the windowsill. “He is. He is clever and you should make use of him.”

  The King nodded. “Tell me what else he has uncovered.”

  “Delcan’s father,” Malden said. “The farmer; it appears he once served in the King’s Court.”

  “My court?” the King asked. Malden nodded. Orsak scratched under his chin, his fingers lost in the thickness of his beard as he walked about the room. “Is that so?” He turned and watched Malden’s face, studying the way he tried to time his words. “A servant?”

  Malden shook his head. “A knight.”

  “What?” Orsak snapped. He lunged at Malden and pulled him off the windowsill by his shirt. He pressed him against the wall, fury boiling through him. He often tolerated Malden’s taste for drama when presenting him with news, but today Orsak felt as if he were being played for a fool.

  “Why did you wait until this moment to tell me this?” he growled. “A knight?” he bellowed. “Under my service? How long ago? Who?”

  “That I do not know, Sire.” Malden responded.

  Orsak let Malden go and walked to the other side of the room. “Impossible,” he said as he began to pace. His shoulders rose and fell as he walked. He rubbed the back of his neck, seemingly bewildered.

  Malden watched his master pace the room. “The father fled to Berest,” he said after some deliberation. Well hidden from the King’s eye, Malden wore a subtle smirk of enjoyment as he held back information like wild horses on leather reins. “It appears shortly after you gained power.”

  Orsak’s mind spun in a whirl attempting to find who the knight may be. Many knights abandoned him in those days; it would take some time.
/>   “A knight’s son,” Orsak yelled. “A knight.” He pounded his fist on the bedside table. “A knight in my court. One of the exiles. The son of a—” He stopped; paralyzed.

  “Sire?”

  “I wonder,” Orsak said after a moment of silence.

  “What, Sire?”

  He turned to Malden with the look of a deer who has just felt beneath him the rumbling of approaching horses.

  “Nobility,” Orsak said. His voice was nothing more than a low hum. “He is nobility. The boy is nobility and perhaps assumes the knighthood to be his.”

  Malden took a tentative step toward Orsak and said, “Half.” His voice was quiet, pensive. “The boy is half nobility, on his father’s side. His mother, however, is a peasant from Berest. The guards confirmed as much.”

  “Yes.” Orsak began to smile. “You are right.” He headed for the chair near the fireplace and froze. “No.” He was at once furious again. “No.”

  “What is the matter?”

  “The boy has common blood,” Orsak yelled.

  “Yes, Sire. But—”

  “The prophecy, you fool.” Orsak’s brought his face close to Malden’s. His eyes bore into Malden’s as if wanting to burn through them. The King grinded his teeth and anger once again painted his face red. “The wizard said a commoner would dethrone me. A commoner. And the boy’s father said—”

  “That he would be King,” Malden whispered.

  Orsak nodded. “Where is he now?”

  “Delcan is likely in the—”

  “Stanlo. Where is he?”

  “In the yard,” Malden responded. “I saw him practicing his archery in the yard.”

  Stanlo had spent every training day honing his archery skills. The repeated motion of pulling the bow to ready his aim had strengthened the muscles on his shoulders, chest and forearms. He felt stronger. His arrows flew faster, with more force and precision; they now penetrated the targets’ centers every time. Every time he stood at the mark and raised the bow, he savored a sense of pride he had never before felt.