Dragon Fire

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Dragon Fire Page 21

by Pedro L. Alvarez


  He groaned as the guard turned the second wheel and the wooden planks behind him moved, drawing closer together, pulling his arms back. The wheels stopped and held him in that position. His shoulders burned with pain and he let out a guttural cry that burned his throat. After an eternity of pain and delirium, the King ordered the guards to release the pressure.

  Delcan’s entire body trembled. His head, covered in sweat, hung heavily against his chest. His shoulders ached as they rose and fell with his breathing. Orsak’s shadow fell upon him.

  “Now, Delcan,” the King said. “Your father. What is his name? What is his real name?”

  He does not know, Delcan thought and with a sigh the throbbing hurt in his arms and legs began to fade. He said nothing and watched as Orsak’s face changed. At once, the barely-controlled anger left the King’s eyes and a fiery eruption of fury was suddenly released.

  “Who is he?” the King growled. “What was his place in Castilmont?” His voice rose. “Tell me his name!”

  “His name was Raisan,” Delcan said and smiled a delirious smile. “He died long ago.”

  For some strange reason, perhaps fueled by the extreme pain, Delcan wanted to laugh. He wanted to release a loud, hearty laugh that would make his body shake with hysterical joy. As he closed his eyes and struggled to hold back the laughter, the wheels began to turn again and the pain began to flow.

  “Wrong answer.” The King’s sharp yet serene tone returned.

  As the muscles in Delcan’s legs and arms stretched beyond their natural limit, the world behind his eyelids broke apart into bright fragments of light. As the specks of light faded, a piercing shriek rushed into his ears as if it were being poured from a decanter. A silver mist fell upon him, covering the whole of the world.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Aria watched Sandrion take several steps back and her smile widened.

  Sandrion was not certain whether to believe what he had just heard.

  “I speak the truth,” she said. “I am in fact Branis.”

  Sandrion looked at her awhile, allowing that thought to grow in his mind; the thought that Aria—the beautiful princess standing before him with soft-looking skin and silk-like hair—was the leader of the rebel force whose help he will have to seek to rescue Delcan. He smiled and shook his head.

  “How did you…? How long have you been among them?”

  “Not long. A member of the rebellion approached me sometime over a year ago—a knight in my grandfather’s service. He confided his secret involvement with the Cave Dwellers and their plan to oust Orsak from the kingdom. I suppose he had seen my own form of rebellion often enough.”

  “What did he want you to do?”

  “He hoped I would join them as a source of inspiration. The Dwellers is made up of common folk and my presence among them would stir great confidence in their cause.”

  “But that is a great risk for you,” Sandrion said. “How—why—would you step into such danger?”

  “We have common goals, the rebels and I. We want the same things; we want a free kingdom. Nearly all my life I have wanted to bring about change and as Branis I know I can do that in the most effective way.”

  “That is the reason you competed in the tournament—to become a knight, and accomplish what?”

  “I did it to put forth a statement; perhaps more than one. I wanted to remind our king of what his own father had once accomplished. Aston changed the way in which men were knighted, and it gave Orsak the chance to later change the kingdom itself. I wish to make that type of change again.

  “I also longed to prove to him, and to myself, that although I would become the most unlikely of soldiers, as a princess, as a young woman, I had still within me the skills that would match those of any knight.”

  She smiled again and Sandrion smiled along with her. She had changed to him in the matter of minutes. She had become older; stronger. And through her display of strength she had become far more beautiful than he had ever thought of her to be.

  “Who is the knight? The one who brought you to the rebels?”

  “He is one of two knights who lead the training for the group. Theirs and the identities of several guards who assist them are kept hidden as protection against likely imprisonment, torture; death. It is not for me to reveal the names and faces of those who wish to keep them secret.”

  Aria walked to the stable door and watched the rain fall.

  “I agreed to accompany him to the Valley of the Sun, where the rebels keep their camp,” she continued. “I admit my going was mostly out of curiosity. His talk of rebellion, of hope, sparked again in me the urge to fulfill my mother’s wish for a Paraysia free of Orsak’s torment.”

  She stood with her back to Sandrion, looking out at the rain, as if listening for the thunder.

  “With the knight’s help, I went there while I was meant to stay with Lady Beares.” Softer now, her voice competed with the hissing of the rain. Sandrion took a few steps toward her so he could hear her more clearly. “She has always been a supportive soul with little questions. Perhaps the fact that she knew my mother was reason enough for her.”

  She stepped into the rain. Her hair surrendered quickly to the cool shower falling upon it. Her shoulders shook with a shiver. She turned her head up, closing her eyes, and Sandrion had the feeling she was washing away all the worry, all the fear, her body held on to and struggled to keep hidden inside.

  She turned around and pushed her hair away from her face. She wore a stern, serious expression; she was stunning.

  When she stepped back into the stable, her face now calm and with a hint of another smile, Sandrion asked, “I still do not know how you came to take on Branis’s character.”

  “I went to the Cave Dwellers in disguise,” she said, “hesitant to appear to them for the first time as I really am. I knew not if they would see Orsak’s own blood as a threat, or as a target for their rancor. So I wore upon my head a large hood which fell over my face, obscuring most of it in shadow. As for the name, that was Medcina’s idea.

  “At first,” Aria continued, “I stood in the back of the cave, listening to their plans for further recruitment, their ideas on how to motivate more of the farmers, fishermen, and merchants to set aside fear and agree to stand up against the King. Soon, before even being aware of it, I engaged the discussions and, unexpectedly, they started to listen to what I said. On my next visit I wore an old knight’s helm under the hood with the face mask drawn down. It was quite effective in giving my voice the depth and echo of a seasoned warrior and it commanded attention.

  “I spent a week with them—pondering strategy, assisting with training. I came to trust and respect them, each and everyone of those brave souls. And I suppose they, too, came to trust and respect me, although as far as they knew, I was still just another unidentified stranger; an insider from King Orsak’s castle.

  “While in their company, I discovered courage I did not know I had, and a desire to serve them well; lead them; change the world with them. Once I returned to the castle, the sharp thorns of reality were everywhere—that poison seeps into your mind so quickly.”

  She lowered her head and sighed before continuing.

  “I became fearful of what would happen were my identity discovered. I feared my own death. I feared the sheer destruction of all the effort put into the building of the rebels’ aspirations. I have since been reluctant to reveal to them who I am. First and foremost, because of the danger in which it will place them, but also because they have clung to the man whom I have fabricated and he has become their leader. If they were to discover Branis to be a woman, a girl really, I fear that is all they will see of me, and nothing more. Only that knight, whose repeated urging brought me to the Cave Dwellers, and Medcina know Branis’s true identity.”

  Aria turned to look again at the falling rain and Sandrion wondered if it were not calling to her, tempting her to step into its cleansing hands again, where tears were invisible and where the fears
of an anxious heart were washed away.

  “You are more than just a woman,” Sandrion said. Aria looked at him as if she had forgotten he was standing there. “And you are much more than many men I have ever come across,” he added.

  Aria smiled.

  “Many thanks for your flattering words, Sandrion; you are very kind,” she said. “But despite kindness, the truth is that the kingdom is not ready for such a woman to stand at the head of an army. My mother rebelled continually until looked upon seriously, and then she was robbed of her life. I often wonder what I am doing playing games with the passions and lives of men who are now willing to die at my command.”

  “Games?” Sandrion walked to Aria and placed his hands on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes and saw why Delcan loved her. “You are not playing a game. You have dreamed of freeing the kingdom from Orsak’s crushing hands all your life. You dreamed of taking the steps your mother was unable to and now that you have begun to take them, those steps are strong enough to leave deep footprints to follow—for all of us to follow.

  “You are Branis,” he whispered. Aria flinched as if the soft tone of his voice had struck her with more force than a roaring yell. “You are Branis,” he repeated and bowed, “And I am at your command.”

  There were a few moments of silence between them then Sandrion said, “The Cave Dwellers. They gather in the Valley of the Sun; all right under the shadow of the castle.” He shook his head in admiration. “What does Orsak know of them?”

  “Orsak underestimates the numbers,” Aria said. “He does not suspect his own knights’ connection.”

  “How large is the rebel force?”

  “At this moment in time, slightly over one-hundred men, and a small number of women, have been trained. It is an insignificant number against Orsak’s one-thousand well-trained soldiers. But there are more. In every village there are people who are at heart rebels themselves but have not yet stepped forward.

  “They need more time.”

  Sandrion shook his head in frustration. Suddenly, his heart was anxious, eager to move, to go save Delcan. “We must go for Delcan, soon, for they will kill him,” he said. “We cannot wait for an army to be at the ready.” He wanted to take Aria-Branis and shake her by the shoulders and ask her, beg her, to tell him what to do so that he can go off and do it. His mind, however, knew that in a rush of activity there was nothing he or she could accomplish to help Delcan.

  Aria nodded. “I know. There must be a way for us to free Delcan and take him to the caves,” Aria said. “The rebels will hide you and he until it is time. There will not be an attack on the castle, not until we are certain to win whatever battle we step into.”

  “You and I would never be able to enter the dungeon, much less escape it with Delcan.”

  “No. Perhaps not you and I alone. But a certain knight can enter the dungeon unquestioned and, once inside, get Delcan out.”

  Sandrion cast a look of doubt upon Aria. “Would he be willing to do so?” he asked. “For a renegade squire he does not know?”

  “He would,” Aria said knowingly. “I only hope he is here, in the castle now.”

  Sandrion followed Aria out of the stable and into the rain. They crossed the courtyard at a sprint to the barracks. Aria urged him to remain silent.

  “I shall go in,” she whispered. “It is less likely that I would be questioned.” Sandrion nodded. “Wait for my return.”

  She pushed open the door with a creak and slipped inside. Sandrion stood with his back against the stone wall, keeping his eyes moving from side to side hoping no guards would come his way. He shivered under the cool rain.

  In the quiet of the courtyard only the guards walking atop the castle’s gate were out in the rain.

  Aria poked her head out through the open door a few moments later and beckoned Sandrion with her hand. He glanced around him then slipped inside.

  Sandrion had never been in the barracks and its ornamental entrance surprised him. He had expected to find a plain stone chamber with storage space for weapons. He had suspected it to be like the servants’ quarters, with flat stone walls and simple beds. What he found, instead, was a large foyer decorated with ancient swords on the walls and suits of armor standing in the corners. On one side wall hung an old shield bearing King Marcius’s seal; on the other hung the kingdom’s flag. Dominating the large receiving chamber, high on the far wall, hung an ominous portrait of King Orsak sitting upon a war horse with the banner of Paraysia in his hand.

  Busy looking up at the painted king’s grave expression, Sandrion forgot for a moment that he was with Aria until she whispered his name.

  He turned to her then blinked at Sir Wildon standing beside her.

  “He is the knight of whom you spoke?” he asked Aria.

  “I am,” Wildon responded.

  “You are going to help Delcan?” Sandrion whispered a yell. “Had you been there yesterday, while he was being ambushed by Stanlo and some of your fellow knights, perhaps Delcan would not need rescuing today.”

  “I was sent away,” Wildon responded. His voice and face were solemn. Sandrion suspected that it was not unlike his own face earlier when telling Aria he had let Delcan down. “Malden ordered me to other matters. Nothing that I could have done would have saved Delcan from this fate. He is imprisoned not for his behavior; he is jailed for whom he is; and because of Stanlo.”

  Sandrion glared at the knight, still hot with anger.

  “Sandrion,” Aria said. “He is right. I believe the King knows now who Delcan’s father is and he will not cease until he gets him to return to the castle to gain his revenge. The time you spend here in dispute, the more time Delcan spends in the dungeon, and the less time we have to get him out.”

  Sandrion looked at Aria. “How do you know…?”

  “From me,” Wildon said. “Your friend’s father was once a knight in this court. I knew him well. And I owe him much more than my life.”

  Sandrion turned his eyes to meet Wildon’s and asked, “What does the King know? And how does he know it?”

  Wildon shook his head. “I do not know. Rojimon was once a knight in this court. He has lived in hiding these many years without Orsak knowing whether he lived. Now Orsak may know where to find him and how to lure him here.”

  “Delcan,” Sandrion said, and Wildon nodded.

  Aria and Sandrion followed Wildon down the corridor on their right. They passed several closed doors on both sides of the hall. Wildon stopped in front of the third one on the right.

  “This is my chamber,” he said, leading them inside. “I should have here all we need.”

  In the center of the room, with its back against the wall, was a bed—twice in width as those found in the servants’ quarters. On either side a set of doors covered the wall. Throughout the room ceremonial weapons hung on display.

  “The passageway into the dungeon begins here, under this building.” Wildon opened a set of tall doors at the back of the room, revealing a well-stocked compartment of weapons. In it were two sets of swords, long and short; a longbow and a crossbow; a quiver filled with arrows; chain mail and a suit of armor. “It stretches from here, under the courtyard, and into the Royal Quarters, where it snakes through to the tower.”

  Wildon glanced at Aria. “Delcan is being held in the pit, a hole dug deep within the tower’s foundation.”

  As if with a sudden flash of light, a not-so-distant memory struck Sandrion. He was incredulous at having forgotten the dream that had haunted him on the road as he and Delcan made their way to Castilmont for the first time. Now, the imagery in the dream returned to him all at once and he was suddenly standing in that long chamber—the dungeon—with its wood and steel machines; the round room and the pit shrouded in darkness. And Delcan… Delcan’s face in the shadows, looking up at him, screaming in agony.

  Sandrion snapped back into the now as he heard Wildon call his name for the second time.

  “Sandrion.” Wildon held out a set of sword
s to Sandrion.

  “I shall go ahead and you follow. We should not run into many guards this time of day—most of them are on duty.”

  Aria watched as Wildon slipped the second arming sword into its scabbard and passed a small quiver filled with crossbow arrows to Sandrion.

  “I shall go as well,” she said.

  Sir Wildon stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Your Highness, it would be wiser, safer, for you to wait for our return. You are to marry Stanlo, to keep yourself outside of suspicion. We shall take Delcan to the caves. You can meet us at—”

  “I shall go with you,” Aria interrupted. “Delcan is imprisoned because of me, as well; because of his love for me. I must help free him. How am I to lead a rebellion if I were not willing to fight?”

  Wildon shook his head and glanced at Sandrion who shrugged his shoulders. Wildon sighed. “I am not in agreement with this. We cannot risk losing you. But as you have put it, we cannot spend all day quarrelling.”

  He removed the arming sword at his hip and handed it to Aria. He also took from Sandrion’s hands the quiver and crossbow and handed them to her. He walked around the bed to the compartment on the other side of the wall and removed two sets of uniforms.

  “Put these on,” he said setting them on the bed. “And these.” He tossed Aria and Sandrion a pair of small helms without facemasks.

  “When we reach the dungeon, keep your heads down. I shall ensure your entry by telling the guard you are both in training for dungeon duty. Do not speak. Follow my lead and do not act until I do.”

  Both Sandrion and Aria nodded as they began to dress.

  “How shall we get him out?” Aria asked.

  “Quickly,” Wildon responded. “You should expect we shall have to kill the guards in order to escape the dungeon and free Delcan.” He stopped a moment and looked at them. “There is no returning from this.”

 

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