Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  Orsak approached Malden and knelt before him. He placed his hand on the bloody chest. The blood felt dry, cold. He looked ahead in the corridor, listening again for the sounds of approaching steps, or conversations. Again, there were none.

  “They have already gone,” he whispered to Malden, whose eyes stared beyond the stones on the ceiling. “But how far?”

  The dead man did not respond.

  The King stood with the sword in one hand and a broken arrow in the other.

  They rushed through the corridor to the point where it split into two paths.

  “This way,” Wildon cried pointing to the same passage that opened behind the Royal Quarters.

  As he headed toward the incline that would take them to the awaiting door, Roimas stopped him. “No. We cannot go that way,” he said.

  “There is no other.” Wildon said.

  “That leaves us in the courtyard, where we will be easy prey,” Roimas responded. “There is a door here, somewhere, that opens to another passage—one that leads to an opening on the curtain wall.”

  “Outside the castle wall?”

  Roimas nodded.

  “Impossible,” said Wildon. “There are only two paths in and out of the dungeon.”

  “There are three. The third was meant for bringing prisoners into the castle so that they would not be walked in through the courtyard. Now, if I could only recall where it is…”

  Roimas ran his hands over the walls on both sides, searching as he moved deeper into the passageway. The dancing of flames from the torches on the walls spread shadows in broad strokes.

  “We do not have much time,” Wildon whispered. “Let us take our chances in the courtyard.”

  “It must be here,” Roimas said to himself.

  Wildon heard steps approaching, far, but moving fast. He looked back; there was no one visible there, yet. He looked at Roimas. “They are—”

  “Here,” Roimas nearly shouted.

  His fingers stroked a stone that was covered in what in the torch light appeared to be moss. In the shadows a passing guard would not note a difference between this stone and the others. But the mossy substance that hid the stone behind a layer of green had been placed there for the purpose of identifying that stone by touch. This secret had by now almost died along with those who knew its origin. Roimas doubted if any other knight currently serving the King knew of this stone and the exit to which it provided access.

  He pushed on the stone and the wall stirred, then nothing. It had been at least four decades since any Paraysian had opened this door. Roimas’s pushing of the stone only caused it to become slightly ajar, only a sword blade’s width.

  “Help me,” Roimas yelled as he leaned his shoulder against the door.

  The steps in the corridor drew closer.

  Roimas pushed his fingers between the door and its jamb and pushed. The others stood beside him and pushed on the door with all the weight of their bodies against it. Begrudgingly, the stone door gave way and cracked open wider.

  “Almost there.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  King Orsak stood alone in the courtyard. He held in his hand the cane with the old diamond sitting atop it. That diamond had once appeared to glow as if on fire; now its luster was dull and lifeless. The cane itself sat heavily in the King’s hand weighing more than it ever had in the past.

  Around him, hundreds of men in uniform ran carrying swords and crossbows. He had called upon all guards to search the castle, every building, every room. Within minutes the courtyard was overrun by busy soldiers. He stood surrounded by activity and clamor, and yet felt disconnected from it all, alone.

  With Malden dead, Orsak had no one in whom he could trust—not inside the castle, not in the entire kingdom. For so long he had relied on Malden to carry his words and make them reality. Through remote involvement, he had commanded an army without ever leading them himself.

  For forty years he sat in is throne while his will was done without question, even if he knew not how it was accomplished.

  “Sire.” A knight dressed in full armor, his helmet cradled under one arm, interrupted Orsak’s thoughts. “The knights are ready.”

  The King nodded, not turning his eyes away from the running of soldiers before him.

  After a moment of silence, Orsak took in a breath of resignation against the doubts that were determined to overrun him and turned to face the knight. At the site of the man standing before him in preparation for battle, his mind snapped back into the familiar gears of control.

  The young knight did not seem of enough age to be a high-ranking officer in his army. The smoothness of his face and unquestioning eyes suggested he had no more battle experience than the average guard duty. With most of the officers with whom he began his reign gone—some in exile, the majority of them now dead, some at his hands, others not—Orsak’s army was made up of young men. Boys, they seemed to him; boys who he hoped would now listen to the old man he had become. He wondered for the first time if he had any power and influence left.

  “Be prepared to fight,” he said.

  “Yes, Sire.” The young knight’s apparent enthusiasm eased Orsak’s heart. The King smiled despite his lingering doubt.

  “When the guards complete their search of the castle, I want you to lead a search through the kingdom and find the escaped squire; scour every inch of every village.” As he spoke, Orsak’s spirit burned; the fever that often boiled within him when addressing an audience returned. “He is accompanied by another squire, Sandrion.” The knight nodded to show he knew who the objects for this hunt would be. “Sir Wildon will be with them,” Orsak continued. “They are to be killed, at the site, without pause.”

  “Your orders will be followed thoroughly, Your Majesty.”

  Orsak placed his hand on the knight’s shoulder. “Do not head for the villages until I give you the order. Prepare a group of men, no less than twenty, and report back to me.”

  “You do not think the guards will find them in the castle,” the knight said. It was not a question.

  Orsak shook his head and made a mental note to ask the young knight his name. He may serve as a good Head of the Guards someday.

  “The men will be at your service when you call upon us,” the knight said and bowed before turning to carry out his order.

  The opening led out of the little-known tunnel to the foot of the castle’s southwestern wall. Roimas led them out of the darkness, signaling them to stay close to the wall to avoid being detected by the guards above.

  “We need horses,” Sandrion whispered.

  “I shall take care of that,” Wildon responded. “Stay here and watch for my signal.”

  They watched as Wildon walked along the wall and disappeared around the corner.

  “How will he manage to obtain five horses?” Delcan asked.

  “Simple,” Roimas answered and started after Wildon. “From the stable. Come, follow me.”

  Ivy clung to the stones and spread up the side of the castle’s curtain wall. Wildon followed it, glancing up occasionally at the guards who stood with their crossbows and longbows pointed at the horizon. He stopped where the ivy became thicker and a more vibrant green than on the rest of the wall. Wildon pulled at the ivy with his hands, pushing it aside as some of it tore off.

  Underneath the broad leaves, he revealed an old gate made of large, wooden planks. On the wood, a yellowish moss had spread to cover nearly all of it.

  Wildon glanced up at the guards again, making certain he had not been seen, and reached into the pouch attached to his belt.

  The master key he held in his hand was not intended for this door; yet, he hoped it would unlock it. The old key served the barracks’ armory, the stables, and the dungeon.

  After digging through the moss with his finger, Wildon pushed the key into the lock. As he put pressure behind the turn he thought it would snap the key in two. Instead, the lock surrendered.

  “I did not think it would open,” Roimas
whispered.

  Wildon glanced at him and grinned. “Nor did I,” he said.

  The gate opened to the rear of the stables, in a well-hidden corner—a little known exit the castle no longer used. In times of war, knights mounted their horses in the stable and rode out to battle through this gate at the calling of their King. At one time it was heavily guarded from the outside. Now, when not even all guards were aware of its existence, only the ivy and moss kept a close vigil on it.

  The door resisted his push at first; it only opened slightly, just enough for Wildon to poke his head through. Several bails of hay were stacked against it on the other side and Wildon leaned his shoulder on the door, pushing them aside. The hay made a soft, scraping sound as he pushed them out of the way. Wildon stopped—fearful the sound would draw attention from anyone near by. He froze for awhile and listened.

  The courtyard bustled with activity and Wildon could hear the running of horses and the mumbling, far away voices of occupied soldiers. They were looking for him, for the others. Closer, inside the stable, he heard a pair of voices in conversation.

  He stepped inside, searching for the owners of the voices. He moved cautiously. As he advanced, the voices were carried away from him.

  “All is clear,” one voice said, a guard. “Servants’ quarters next.”

  The castle was being searched methodically. Soon, the guards would set out to find them throughout the entire kingdom. Their time was drawing short.

  When the guards’ footsteps were no longer audible, Wildon headed to the nearest stall. He threw a saddle upon a stallion’s back and led the horse out by the reins. Holding the animal close to him, he entered another stall and did the same with its inhabitant.

  He peered out of the open gate and, as he expected, Roimas took hold of one of the horses’ reins. By the time Roimas pulled the second horse forward, Wildon had disappeared back into the stable.

  Sandrion pulled on the reins and held the stallion as close to the castle wall as possible. The horse made a sudden sound, stomping the ground, and he froze, glancing at Delcan.

  Aria pointed her crossbow upward, at the top of the wall.

  They waited. After a moment of silence, Aria lowered the crossbow and motioned Roimas to bring more horses out.

  Sandrion passed the horse to Aria and took hold of the next set of reins. As Roimas passed the fourth horse, a frantic yell from above their heads startled them and the animals. The stallions bucked and Sandrion struggled to keep a grip on the reins. He looked up and saw a guard pointing at them, waving other guards over. They had been spotted.

  Aria mounted one of the horses and held on to the reins of another as Delcan swung his leg up and mounted it.

  “Hurry; they have seen us,” she heard Roimas shout to Wildon as he climbed upon a horse inside the stable.

  “Go,” Wildon said. “Do not wait for me. Go.”

  Sandrion, sitting on the tallest of the stallions’ back, cried out and galloped toward the valley. Aria dug her heels into her horse’s side and followed, as did Delcan and Roimas close behind.

  As they started away from the castle, arrows flew past them on both sides. When Aria glanced back she saw Wildon hunched over his horse’s neck, a blur galloping toward them among the swarm of arrows.

  Delcan rode beside Aria. He held the reins loosely in one hand while holding on to the saddle horn with the other. His legs hugged the underbelly of the horse. The stallion’s long legs worked feverishly against the ground.

  He glanced toward Aria. The princess hugged her horse tightly with both hands; her face forward, her hair drawn back by the wind. Delcan kept his gaze on her awhile longer, watching the beauty he had seen on the day of the Flarian Festival magnify as she escaped incoming arrows on a stallion galloping against the wind.

  An arrow—one made of solid oak, decorated with fine, red feathers, and tipped with a sharp head of steel—pierced Delcan’s shoulder and broke through his chest. It had been fired from one of the many longbows pointed at the squire from one of the castle bastions.

  Delcan bit down on his lower lip. A scream fought to erupt out of him; he groaned instead. He closed his eyes as blood poured out of the wound and slumped forward against the stallion’s black mane.

  The vibration on his legs, caused by the horse’s hoofs crushing stones and dirt, began to fade; his legs themselves, wrapped around the stallion’s side, seemed to disappear. The sensation of flames biting at burnt flesh spread upward from his knees to his stomach, then to his shoulders and beyond. He felt as if his whole being were separating itself from the world, slamming shut a steel door between him and it.

  Just as the paralyzing, spiraling, white sensation of leaving consciousness behind reached his head, Delcan heard Aria’s voice.

  “Delcan,” Aria screamed.

  She reached for the reins that were now slipping from Delcan’s hands, keeping her horse dangerously close to his.

  Roimas yelled from the other side of Delcan. “Do not pull on the reins; let the horse run. We must lead him away from the castle as quickly as possible.”

  Aria looked over her shoulder. Behind them a group of knights and guards on horses galloped toward them. Although still at a far distance behind, the small army was drawing near. She gripped the reins of her own horse tighter, keeping her eyes on Delcan’s lifeless body precariously close to falling. His wound bled continuously.

  They rode through the brush, the kingdom’s only road far to the right of them. Ahead, the mountains waited. While the moon descended behind the peaks in the far horizon, the sun awoke behind Castilmont with a brilliant light.

  Roimas saw, and also felt, a shadow fall upon them. It crept from behind and crawled forward past their horse’s busy legs. It darkened the ground beneath as if a storm cloud had been formed above the castle by the King himself and had been sent to pursue them.

  Roimas looked back and up and saw gliding above him the dragon that had visited his dreams. As it looked down upon him it let out a familiar, vociferous roar.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  With the dawning sun behind it, the dragon’s shadow spilled over the riders.

  The creature was unlike any Aria had ever seen or imagined. She gazed upon it with sparkling eyes, drawn to it, as if most everything else around her disappeared; her vision focused solely on the beast above.

  She had heard the dragon’s legend and myth. She had heard of its seclusion in the mountains; of the shivering fear that its roar caused in the distant farmers’ hearts; of its scorching of forest trees’ bark as a warning sign for those who may dare venture into the timberland. She had heard the tales parents told their children, embellished with dark chalk images drawn with imposing shadows meant to frighten them into discipline.

  The sort of yarns Medcina wove for Aria by candlelight at the brink of sleep, however, were of adventure and mystical fantasy, where a dragon appeared as an omen of change—in Medcina’s stories, good change—and not a creature of fright. Those stories fascinated her as a young girl.

  Aria believed she was destined to never see one of those feared monsters other than in the black universe behind closed eyelids. Looking now at the creature whose wingspan seemed to cover the whole of the sky, it captivated her even more than the image she had conjured up in her own mind years ago. She studied it in flight, taking in all its complex details, preserving the reality of it in her mind so as to never forget.

  It had the body of a serpent—long, cylindrical, and covered in scales. At one end was a head with a snout filled with jagged teeth that struggled to push their way out even with the jaws closed. At the other, a long tail adorned with bony spikes all around slashed at the sky. In between, it had four muscle-defined legs that it tucked close to the thick mass that was its body during flight. Each appendage ended in a paw made up of what looked like five fingers, each with a large claw at the end.

  Aria could see the gray-blue eyes that dominated the creature’s head. At either side of those slanted eyes
she saw a pointed ear.

  The dragon looked down at her. Aria made contact with its reptile eyes. It let out a high-pitched, bellowing growl and Aria shuddered.

  “It is real,” a whisper came from behind her and Aria realized she had forgotten about Sandrion; she had forgotten about everyone. Closely chasing that thought came the frightening realization that she had forgotten about Delcan as well.

  For a moment, the chase slowed as escaping riders and pursuers alike gazed up in wonder at the last of all dragons that had emerged from its lair for the first time.

  The knights stopped their horses and watched the overwhelming shadow pass. The guards followed suit and sat with mouth agape in wonder. Most of them pulled on their reins and turned back to Castilmont in fright.

  Roimas maintained his gallop, remaining alongside Delcan’s stallion.

  His night vision had just materialized in the existent, physical world, yet he maintained his focus on Delcan and the pursuers. He turned to Aria and Sandrion and yelled to them to keep pace.

  Far behind them, Wildon had not slowed. Instead, he had spurred his stallion forward at a faster gallop in an attempt to catch up.

  Above them, the dragon turned as if preparing for another pass. As the shadow receded like a blanket being pulled off them, the knights awoke from the trance in which the dragon’s cover had held them and took chase once more.

  Aria saw the large shadow grow once more on the ground before her as the dragon approached yet again. It glided above her then swept past her toward Delcan. She watched it, waiting for it to turn, perhaps to fall into a circling pattern. Instead, the creature descended.

  As it approached Delcan, it folded its wings and lowered its legs. With an effortless swoop it took hold of Delcan’s underarms with its claws. Even from her vintage point, Aria saw the claws dig into Delcan’s flesh and draw blood. The dragon lifted Delcan’s body off the galloping horse and rose.

  “Delcan,” Aria cried out for the second time that night.

  She tightened her grip on the reins and hit the stallion’s side hard with both heels. The horse raised its front legs then bolted forward.