Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  Aria looked at him questioningly.

  “Fire,” he said as if responding to her unspoken question. “It has renewed his body, and his spirit.” The dragon gazed upon Delcan’s sleeping face. “Although, he always had a bit of dragon fire within him—from long ago.”

  “I thought you aimed to kill him, to devour him.” Aria stood.

  “Foolish,” the dragon said. “I suppose you believe that is what dragons do; that they are creatures bred in hell to prey on humans.”

  Aria’s eyes fell. She did feel foolish—at finding herself here, speaking with a dragon, a creature that according to most of Paraysia did not exist.

  “Magical creatures, Aria. That is what they are.”

  The princess looked up, surprised at the dragon’s use of her name.

  “Just as unicorns were once innocence and hope, dragons are courage and passion,” the dragon continued. “Men slaughtered the unicorns, many generations ago. And, they have just about slain all dragons as well, turned them into trophies of bravery and power; and into a creature found only in nightmarish fears.

  “A dragon’s fire is the catalyst for change, for renewal.” As he spoke, his eyes came alive. “Without it, the world moves in only one direction. I am the last one remaining in Paraysia. There are few others left in the world but they, too, live in seclusion.”

  Aria walked closer to the dragon, her fear had melted away. She opened her mouth to ask a question but a moan coming from the stone bed interrupted her. Delcan was awakening.

  Delcan sat up with his eyes still closed. His head throbbed with pain and he rubbed the back of his neck as he opened his eyes.

  The first thing Delcan saw was the dragon. It stood directly in front of him, its eyes on him. He scurried back on the stone upon which he was lying and took hold of a rock. He prepared to throw it between the dragon’s eyes when he saw movement to the side of him.

  “Delcan.”

  When he turned, he saw Aria beside him, reaching for him.

  “Aria,” he cried. “Move away from it.”

  He jumped off the stone bed and suddenly his legs gave way; he fell into the princess’s arms.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked as he forced himself upright. His legs responded to his command but still they trembled as he stood.

  The dragon watched him. Delcan turned the rock in his hand and felt silly holding it as a possible weapon against it.

  “It is fine,” Aria whispered. “He will not hurt you. He saved your life.”

  Delcan’s thoughts were a dizzying swirl of questions and confusion. “What?” The cave spinning around him; or was he the one spinning?

  “Sit. It is best if you sit.”

  Aria helped him rest back against the cavern wall.

  “The dragon brought you here to save you. He—” She stopped and looked at the creature. “Do you have a name?”

  The dragon smiled and shook his head.

  Delcan rubbed his eyes and shook his own heard in disbelief. Apparently, he had been hit severely on the head.

  Did she just refer to it as ‘he?’

  When the dragon responded in a calm, powerful voice, “No, I do not have a name,” Delcan stood again; his headache was gone and the fog in his mind had suddenly disappeared. He reached for the sword at his hip.

  “What is this?” he cried. “What is happening?”

  “Delcan,” the dragon said. “I am the last of my kind in Paraysia. I have brought you here because you and Aria are the last of your kind.”

  Delcan stared at the beast and said nothing. For a long while he only gazed into those eyes, daring the apparition before him to be real, to remain and not vanish. Aria reached out for Delcan, placing her hands on his shoulders.

  “What mean you by the last of our kind?” Delcan finally asked.

  “You—both of you—are the only ones, of all humans in this kingdom, who still have real hope.” He looked at Delcan, and then he looked at Aria. “And have courage. There are some courageous men left—in fact they are waiting for you to lead them. But there are none left who have faith.”

  “The rebels,” Aria said. “They have hope; they have faith in their fight.”

  The dragon shook his head. “They have faith in you. They have only hope because you give it to them. The kingdom will be lost unless you both step forth and guide it.”

  “And the King?” Aria asked. “He has grown powerful over the people. Can he truly be defeated?”

  “Rely on one another,” the dragon responded, “and you shall be amazed at what you can do.”

  “The key in the diamond is Paraysia’s future,” he continued.

  “The cane?” asked Delcan.

  “Destroy the diamond and release the key. With its freedom you shall gain that of the kingdom as well. You shall not be alone; your friends will help you. And I shall not be far behind.”

  The dragon turned to Delcan with such tenderness in his face—in his eyes—that it made Delcan want to weep.

  “Now, rest awhile before you go,” he said.

  The day that followed passed quickly as Delcan and Aria slept. When they awoke, a new sunset was painting the sky over the mountains.

  Delcan’s body felt as if it had slept for days. His mind remained in a drowsy daze for awhile after wakening but his arms and his legs were as strong as they had been before being thrown into the pit.

  He and Aria found the dragon standing at the cave entrance, looking down upon the forest.

  “It is time for you to go,” he said. “Rojimon and your friend are waiting.”

  “What do we tell them of you?” Aria asked.

  “That the dragon saved us,” Delcan said. “That he will help us free the kingdom.”

  “No,” the dragon said. “Tell them the dragon has been slain,” he smiled, “by the lady fair.”

  Aria smiled at him in return and asked, “Where will you go?”

  “Beyond the mountains—to whatever world there may be—to find others.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  As Delcan and Aria headed down the slope and into the forest, the dragon stood upon the entrance to his lair, watching them. When the squire and princess disappeared into the shadows of the trees, the dragon stood on his hind legs, looking up at the brightening stars.

  He closed his eyes as a brilliant light enveloped him from within and his body changed.

  The wings melted away; the tail vanished. The scales dissolved and transformed into skin—skin as dark as the shadows that roamed the cave behind him. His forelegs shrunk into human arms; his hind legs into human legs. As the body transformed, hair fell from his head onto his shoulders in a waterfall of intertwined silk strands the color of an overcast day. He felt no pain—only warmth.

  When he opened his eyes, Galyan the wizard no longer resembled anything other than an old man. The beast which at times he had become in the past twenty years, and which he would never breathe life into again, was gone. All that remained was one who had lived a lifetime in solitude within an unseen cave, hidden from the world.

  He would live among the forest creatures for another fifty years—a half century during which he would watch from afar the kingdom, as time glided, passively under the reds of its daily sunsets.

  Chapter Forty

  The ride west had been solemn for Roimas and Sandrion; they had spent a full day in virtual silence.

  As the sun descended behind the mountains, the exhausted stallions forced them to stop at the edge of the Twilight Crossings for a short rest. As Roimas prepared to resume the ride, Sandrion stood with his back to the forest, looking east.

  “Should we have left him there?” the squire asked. “He deserved more.”

  They had covered Wildon’s body with stones and had taken a moment to reflect on him, on whom he had been, what he had done for them. They had mounted their horses then and had galloped west without another glance back.

  Roimas stood beside Sandrion and put a hand on his shoulder. “
It was all we could do at the moment,” he responded.

  Sandrion was no longer the boy who would daily run into Roimas’s cabin searching for Delcan. He had grown in stature and character. But at that moment of reflection on Wildon’s death, Sandrion’s vulnerability reminded Roimas of that boy of not so long ago. The memory tugged at his own emotions and, despite the exhaustion, thoughts of Delcan beckoned him to keep going.

  “Come. Let us mount and go find your friend.”

  Sandrion nodded and followed Roimas’s lead.

  They rode until they reached the edge of the forest, several miles north from Roimas’s farm.

  “There,” Sandrion shouted. “That horse, grazing in the field. That is Aria’s, is it not?”

  They rode closer to the animal, glancing around, looking for the princess.

  Roimas looked ahead at the forest. The sun had still not fully set and an orange light cast by the falling sun framed the blue-black twilight rising above the tree tops. Roimas searched for movement among the trees but saw none.

  “She must have gone into the forest on foot,” Sandrion suggested. Roimas agreed with a nod.

  “No. Wait,” Sandrion cried. “The stallion,” he said pointing. “There is mud on its legs.”

  Roimas dismounted and took a closer look at the horse’s hoofs.

  “You are right. It seems this horse tread through some soft ground.” He raised his head and looked at the trees again. “The dragon must have flown over the forest and she must have followed.” Roimas looked at Sandrion. “She rode into the forest on the stallion, but only the stallion retreated.”

  “She is still in there, then,” said Sandrion. “She could be lost, or perhaps she was thrown by the horse. She could be injured.”

  “Or worse,” Roimas completed the thought.

  Roimas and Sandrion rode into the forest like Aria had done before them—with their shoulders hunched forward and their heads down above their stallions. They rode in defiance and contempt for the forest and its legends, for the fear it had prompted for generations.

  The princess was the first in the reign of Orsak to confront that fear and enter the dark forest. She did it with Delcan’s life, and his love, in mind. Now, a once-upon-a-time knight and a squire followed her into the timberland with both Delcan and her in theirs.

  Roimas had entered without pause. Sandrion had followed without stopping although his heart skipped several beats as the forest trees seemed to close behind him like a curtain. The foliage drew dense as they rode on the cautious steps of their horses past the trees that towered far above them. It was a dramatic change in pace from the near gallop at which they had first entered the woods.

  Sandrion looked up, unable to see the tops of the trees. Night had settled upon them, and as they ventured further, high-pitched cackling echoed all around them. The sound traveled from one side to the other, then in front, then behind. As the forest drew darker, the taunting laughter grew in volume.

  “Shadows,” Roimas said. “Try to pay no attention to them. Focus your mind on the mountain and block out the sounds with your own thoughts. Think of sounds that please you.”

  Sandrion had started to take shallow breaths and now forced himself to slow down his breathing. As he inhaled deeper breaths the foul smells of the forest overwhelmed him. They overpowered all other senses, which helped with the drowning of the Shadows. While the Shadows quieted in his mind, the stench grew ever more repugnant.

  “Hum a song,” Roimas told him. “Let it fill your mind and your other senses will be pushed aside.”

  Sandrion hummed a nonsensical rhythm to accompany his breathing, becoming louder every time the Shadows laughed, or when he sensed the smells of rotting and death.

  The forest’s smells and wild cacophony grew boisterous as they ventured deeper. Sandrion’s horse started to resist his constant urging to continue forward. Its senses were overloaded, just as Sandrion’s and Roimas’s. Sandrion swatted the stallion’s side as he had done before. The horse did not move on; it stopped, instead, and raised its forelegs.

  Sandrion pulled on the reins, attempting to regain control, and the animal kicked back with both hind legs. Sandrion was sure he would be thrown.

  “Dismount,” Roimas shouted over the screeches of the horses as they bucked. “This is as far as they will go.”

  Following Roimas’s lead, the squire calmed his horse down by rubbing its neck and whispering into its ear. When the stallion had stopped moving, he dismounted. As he swung his left leg over, the stallion bolted—perhaps relieved at no longer having such weight upon its back. Sandrion’s right foot was still in the stirrup and as the horse ran, it dragged him on his shoulders for a couple yards before his foot became free.

  Roimas ran to his side. “Are you hurt?”

  Sandrion rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “I am fine.”

  “He certainly was glad to be rid of you,” Roimas said, looking at what was left of the stallion as it dashed out of the forest. “Come.” Roimas helped Sandrion stand. “I say we are destined to walk from here on.”

  As Sandrion loosened his shoulders, pushing away the pain that throbbed through them, he heard movement in the trees that surrounded them like spectators doing a bad job of hiding. “Be still,” he whispered.

  Roimas was at the moment picking up his sword from the ground where it had fallen as he had jumped from the horse. He stopped with his back bent, his eyes forward, and his hand on the sword hilt. He looked about the trees before him; seeing nothing, he straightened up and turned to Sandrion.

  “Did you hear it?”

  “What?” Roimas whispered while facing Sandrion though his eyes glanced all around him.

  “Movement,” Sandrion said. “Branches breaking; steps approaching.”

  Roimas began to shake his head then stopped. Sandrion could read the expression on the man’s face—Roimas heard it as well.

  It came from deep inside the forest. By the absence of movement in the foliage, Sandrion figured whatever it may be that approached was not great in size.

  Roimas brought a finger to his lips, asking Sandrion to not make a sound and the squire nodded. He then motioned with his hand for Sandrion to join him.

  Sandrion walked quietly to Roimas’s side and drew his sword. The knight already had his in hand. They stood back to back. Their ears had by now been tuned to the sounds of the forest; their eyes moved rapidly from side to side.

  Two minutes passed. Then, three.

  The squire and the veteran warrior stood in silence, listening as an unknown force approached.

  From among the brush that grew at the bases of the trees emerged a man in a hooded cloak. His ancient face was marked with deep lines and surrounded by thick, gray hair.

  Where the slope at the foot of the mountain ended, and the ground beneath their feet leveled, Delcan saw his father and Sandrion standing among the trees, with their backs to them.

  As they approached, Roimas turned and raised his sword in a defensive stance. He prepared for an attack—likely from something he had never before encountered. He saw Aria first and lowered his weapon. Then, he saw Delcan.

  “You are alive,” Roimas said as he rushed to his son and wrapped his arms around him. He rested his hands upon Delcan’s shoulders and held him at arm’s length. “You are not harmed.”

  “No.” Delcan smiled.

  “But the dragon—how did you escape?”

  “The dragon has been slain,” Delcan said and looked at Aria. “By the lady fair. Aria saved my life.”

  He looked past his father’s shoulder and saw Sandrion looking at them with a wide grin on his face. Only Sandrion; Wildon was nowhere to be seen. “Wildon…” Delcan began, knowing in his heart that his mentor was no longer in this world.

  “Wildon was lost in battle,” Sandrion said.

  Delcan lowered his head and swallowed hard. He looked at Roimas.

  “He was a good man,” Roimas whispered. “And I owe him your life, as
well as mine.”

  There was a collective silence as if they had all agreed to pay their respects to the fallen warrior.

  “We shall free the castle,” Aria broke the silence in a quiet and sure voice. “And his body will rest there, in a new kingdom he would have helped create.” She glanced at each of the men around her in turn.

  Roimas and Sandrion exchanged their own glances. They dropped to one knee before Aria and lowered their heads in a bow.

  “No.” Aria urged them to stand. “Do not bow to me. I am no one. I have done nothing.”

  They remained kneeling.

  Roimas shook his head. “Command us, Your Highness. He told us you would lead us, you would lead the kingdom, and so you shall.”

  “He…” Delcan asked, puzzled. “Who?”

  “A vision,” Sandrion said.

  “Galyan,” Roimas whispered.

  “The wizard?”

  “He said the kingdom would be born anew; it would have a new leader, one who would fulfill the old prophecy—a king born of common blood. Only, the future of Paraysia lies not in the hands of a king at all, but in those of a princess—a queen.”

  Roimas glanced at Delcan then at Aria. He gazed deep into her eyes.

  “It is the daughter of a peasant who will free Paraysia.”

  “I—,” Aria began, and then closed her eyes with a sigh.

  Soon after she and Delcan had left the dragon’s lair, nearly an hour before, her head had begun to ache. Her shoulders had grown heavy and a fever had started to burn within her. She had felt it growing stronger—from warmth that originated deep in her bosom to a powerful, sweat-inducing scorching that spread to the bottoms of her feet. She had stumbled on her footing several times on the way down the mountain and had wanted to cry out to Delcan, but then the sensation had disappeared.

  Moments later, the feeling had returned. Her face had felt blushed and her eyes had stung. Her heart beat had raced and her mind had been filled with images of fire, of Castilmont, of Orsak and of Delcan. With each thought, the burning had grown stronger once more and with that ardor had come an understanding, as if a seed had been planted and were taking root within her mind—an understanding that all that was to come henceforth would shape her future, and that of the kingdom. And that the future was in her hands.