"I will take that as a yes."
Tolian's vine gag loosened and lowered, just enough to allow the bard to tell his tale. "Good lady, you have chosen your storyteller quite well. I do thoroughly regret, however, that our stories have many separate beginnings. Grundar's story is perhaps many times more familiar to you. You see, he is from the glorious lands just north of these wondrous woods of yours and is a mighty, brave warrior, the leader of his clan. I do not, unfortunately, know much more than that about him, specifically. But I should wholeheartedly like to regal you with the altogether heroic and infinitely possible exploits of my frie... er ... your cousin's adventures. Which, coincidentally, may, or may not contain a particular story of a terrifying and grandiose dragon that may or may not have had a body quite similar to that of a toad."
Chlora's chocolate eyes shined brightly with anticipation. She clapped her delicate hands with giddy girlish excitement.
"There is but one small, almost too insignificant to mention, problem. As master story-smiths go, I am nearly without rival in the vast reaches of the world. And while I do greatly appreciate your thoughtfulness in forci... er ... allowing we three to lounge so leisurely here in the gentle embrace of the trees while you, our gracious benefactor, are forced to stand, without rest, there in the coldness of the unforgiving snow, I feel that perhaps I could lend a greater energy to my story. That is, if I were able to move?"
Chlora nodded her agreement enthusiastically. The entwining vegetation lowered him slowly and, almost, kindly, to the not-so-distant ground and slithered away, just into the edge of the darkened forest. Tolian bowed deeply, first to the vines, then to his overeager audience and emphatically cleared his throat.
"Ahem! I, my dear lady, am Tolian Toorselth, master of stories and musician extraordinaire," Tolian began. "Our fantastic journey begins seven long, long years ago in a bloody land far and away to the south of this fabulous forest of yours, called Paradisia."
Chapter Five
"Paradisia is a ravenous beast set upon devouring all of her neighbors. She hunts, with her keen eyes, each and every political and social weakness that she can use to her hungering advantage. Her instincts, her drive to chew at the throat of everyone that stands in her way comes from but a single man, Tullus.
"Lord Tullus, as the insufferable heathen prefers to be called, conquered his numerous enemies, and few unlucky friends, quickly and proceeded to celebrate his conquests slowly and with much showcasing. He was so verily fond of revelation that he would, occasionally, monumentalize his celebrating. Regardless of what he memorialized, wine and song flowed in Paradisia like blood spurting forcefully from the split artery of a sacrificial ram. It was, all in all, an excellent locale in which to be a bard, especially the world's most renowned and loved bard. Unfortunately for Paradisia's neighbors, when the various qualities of wine stopped freely flowing, more warm blood would need to spill to satisfy the insatiable hunger of the Lord Tullus, and another anxious nation would fall to the ravening beast.
"In Paradisia, that gods-forsaken land far to the south of this little paradise, the sweltering heat blisters the skin and cracks the earth. I was there, in my early years, as a simple traveling minstrel, seeking my fortune entertaining the wealthy and the powerful. Little did I know, but the moneyed and influential had but scant taste for any story or song, fabulous or horrific, unless it glorified them personally over each of their bitterest rivals. Now that was a most dangerous game. For the man you insult so wickedly today may well be your next pontificated patron.
"I turned, like far too many of my fellow wordsmiths, to working the meanest taverns and swill-holes of the common areas of the towns. I traveled, never lingering long, from village to town to hamlet to city until I finally ventured to the city of all cities, highest of the high, belly of the beast, Purwynn, capital of Paradisia."
"Are you sure?" Chlora interrupted, eying Tolian suspiciously. "I think what really happened is you grew up in that nasty Purwynn and you're just too ashamed to want to admit it."
"Umm ... well ..." Tolian hesitated. "I suppose that is the way it was. Yes, yes. I quite remember now. I was in the most terrible yet unfailingly beautiful city of my mostly misspent youth, Purwynn. Working the bawdiest of taverns, I heard about this amazing warrior. It was said, over pints of the best ale and worst wine, that his battles rattled the glorious gold and ivory walls of the heavens and split the earth from crust to the very core. That the gods themselves came down from their burnished thrones to watch this one man. This half-elf gladiator who decimated all mere mortal men who dared pit themselves against his prowess. I, of course, had to see this legend for myself. I had taken it upon myself, as the only man of all men able to accomplish so grand a venture, to compose an epic ballad in this man's honor. This, of course, had the not-altogether-unlooked for benefit of allowing me ascend to, shall we say, grander venues for my craft as well."
Tolian, lost in his recounting of this exaggerated tale, continued, his gestures growing more and more excited, "One Sarnday, I visited the arena. You see, I had to experience a contest in order to accurately capture the mood, the spirit, and the passion of it all for my epic. The excitement of the day mounted higher and higher with each passing match. Now, I have never been overly fond of the various sports of blood, but this day, on this day I was simply overcome. The built-up tension, the heartbreak of a trial well and truly fought but, ultimately, lost, and the overwhelming, sometimes crushing, finality of the judgment. That day, I was taken by the quiet honor and evident pride in every fighting man.
"Almost the entirety of the day had passed in these tumultuous contests; then it happened. The blazing sphere of the blinding sun had just slipped to its nightly rest. Torches blazed suddenly along the cooling sandstone walls of the arena and one brazen bugle blast silenced the restless crowd.
"'On this night,' the announcer called, 'Harol of Dantus has requested but one fight. With one man. He understands fully the price that he may ultimately pay. He wants claim to fame, riches, and honor! This night," Tolian's voice rose, echoing the time lost arena herald. "Harol has chosen to face the undefeated Champion of Purwynn!'"
"Wait just a moment there," Chlora interrupted again, foot tapping with impatience. Or maybe irritation. "I thought in your human arenas all the contestants were slaves? Are you sure you really know what you are talking about?"
"Yes. In this fact, if in no other, I am acutely accurate," Tolian explained. "Some men, if they so happen to be desperate enough, or mayhap hungry enough, may choose, as free men, to willingly enter the gladiatorial arena. It must have taken Harol quite a substantial bribe to gain a place in the final match."
Tolian continued, "Then I saw the challenger. Harol of Dantus stepped boldly out from the pit gate carrying a chakram, the sharpened, circular throwing blade favored in the forests of Chanua, and a viciously hooked sword. I had seen enough of the world to realize that, because of his choice of these two complicated weapons, Harol must have trained for quite some time in distant Chanua. Harol's taut, oiled muscles glistened and gleamed in the flickering torchlight. The massive animal skull helm doubled Harol's already impressive size. He flexed several times, showing off his compact frame to the waiting crowd. Finally, he performed three rapid, spinning kicks to round out his splendid entrance.
"The crowd cheered, unenthusiastically, almost absently. I mean, don't get me wrong. He was quite remarkable, and so very fast. But the mob had but one fighter they clamored to see that night. Men, women and children alike tensed in agonizing anticipation, coiled like a serpent about to strike.
"The announcer stood, ready to call the people's champion, and the arena shook to its very foundations. The multitudes completely drowned out the overmatched herald's booming voice. If one didn't know the champion's name by that time, one likely never would. The pedestal gate slowly, ponderously slid open, and out stepped this man," Tolian pointed dramatically to Jaxius. "He wore an arm guard of linked black metal plates, called a manica, on his
left arm. He wielded his tremendous curved blade in the other. His long raven hair flowed in the scant breeze like a flag unfurled. His bared chest showed the myriad scars of far too many battles fought and won in the towering stone walls of this unforgiving arena. He carried himself with a natural noble bearing that made him seem as one of the aristocracy, a king, perhaps, viewing and addressing his loyal subjects. He slowly, proudly, raised his viortassi above his regal head and froze, a statue for all to marvel.
"The crowd exploded with cheers! It was truly amazing. The fight began quickly after the gladiators' entrance, and I stood and watched for the very first time, one of the great mysteries of life: how one solitary man could be so incredibly endowed by the gods that he could captivate the hearts and minds of thousands. This man," Tolian gestured again, "at severe risk of a lightning bolt for blasphemy, is the god of battle incarnate."
"That good, huh?" Chlora asked, grinning her toothy grin. "Looks to me like he would be free right now, if he was that good."
"Oh, he is very much that good," Tolian continued, unabated.
"Harol of Dantus came rushing at our hero with blinding speed. His hooked sword spun decisively and grabbed at the viortassi in the champion's hand, only to find there was nothing but air. Harol had recklessly wasted his one chance to gain the upper hand.
"The champion came overhead with his wicked curved blade. Harol valiantly attempted to parry the blow.
"The sword smashed through Harol's defenses with so much force, it launched Harol backward and down, across the sand-strewn arena. The champion twirled his heavy blade around to the ready and calmly watched Harol stagger to his feet.
"The crowd hushed, knowing, much as our champion did, that the battle was all but finished.
"Harol, again on his feet, brought his sword up to attack. He quickly closed the distance between them and began his ardent assault on the champion's defenses. His hooked sword darted in and out, right and left. Each frantic thrust was met by an impenetrable wall of parries. Harol found no breach. For quite some time Harol maintained his attack. He advanced time and again until his arms hung heavy with the effort.
"Knowing Harol could not fight further, the champion struck. His sword suddenly arced up from a parry. It connected decidedly with Harol's heaving chest and ripped up, into his drooping chin. The champion immediately followed with a powerful roundhouse kick to the challenger's torso.
"Again, Harol of Dantus flew. This time, however, Harol stayed where he landed. He lay there, a crumpled, beaten mess. He had unwisely dared to challenge the god of the arena and failed miserably, as so many before him.
"The crowd exploded in wild, undulating cheers for the champion. He smiled and raised his bloodied viortassi. Turning a grand circle to face all of his adoring, cheering fans, the champion smiled yet again.
"At first, it must have been the gasp or slight murmur from the crowd that alerted him to his danger. Then, I am certain his half-elven heritage tipped him to the piercing whistle of the round blade of the chakram, slicing through the night air toward his exposed back.
"He spun about with barely a sound. His curved sword whipped through the air, lightning fast, to split the speeding projectile in two. Each piece deflected harmlessly to the side as the champion leaped the distance between the two men. He moved impossibly, unimaginably fast. His sword's tip bit hard into Harol's throat, letting loose a bare trickle of ruby.
"The champion looked to the announcer's box.
"The announcer glanced at a rotund man sitting in an ornate high-backed wooden chair, Lord Tullus. The Lord nodded.
'"Betrayal is beneath us. I would gladly have called you brother. Now, I shall be forced to call you memory.' These were the first words that I heard the champion of Purwynn utter. They were the last that foolish Harol of Dantus ever heard."
Chlora's eyes twitched, "He did that? And you heard those words? Hrmph, I don't believe you. He probably cried or something else equally as weak. Anyway, that doesn't explain why you all are here. Nor does it have anything at all to do with any kind of dragon, much less one with a frog's body. You told me a silly story about an almost elf. I think I will eat you now."
"Hold on there," Tolian hastily interrupted Chlora as she moved toward them. "That is only the story of how I first came to meet my companion. Let me tell you now of his virtue and why I have continued to follow him the world over. I promise, this story is well worth the build up. And there is a dragon, a mighty dragon, one with a frog body, just like you said you wanted to hear. But perhaps, you didn't really want to hear a story about a frog bodied dragon anyway. Oh well."
"Now, you hold on," Chlora said. "You didn't say that your story wasn't over. You should definitely finish it. Don't give up on yourself that easily in the future. One day you might not have someone like me to save your life eighty-three times."
Tolian smirked. His ability to play this game had saved his life on more than one occasion in chance encounters in back alleys. He realized, however, that his opportunity to win their freedom was fading fast.
"Very well," he said. "Now where was I? Oh, yes.
"The next day I paid a cordial visit to our friend here. He and I walked through his master's terraced courtyard, discussing trivial matters, such as his life. I wanted to get every detail correct. For my grand masterpiece, of course. His master must have wearied of our utterly fascinating dialog, however, as he soon dismissed himself.
"From seemingly nowhere the most immense dragon landed heavily right in front of Jaxius' master. It sat hunched grotesquely on its bulging belly. Its hind legs curled like a bloated toad's. Oddly, the monstrosity had inordinately small wings. I assumed that it traveled primarily by extremely long jumps. It bellowed its thunderous croak. Our friend's master bolted, looking back over his quaking shoulder.
"The beast croaked again and shot out its hideous long tongue. The slimy rope of an appendage wrapped once, twice, three times about the slave owner's lower body.
"The master was caught. At first he whimpered helplessly; then he screamed as the great froggy dragon dragged him ever so steadily to its gaping maw. The shrieking cries for help reached an ear-shattering pitch before they were abruptly cut off as the enormous dragon gulped down Jaxius' master.
"The monster turned to face us. The behemoth took one long, piercing look at my companion and bowed. At least, I assume that's what it was. It certainly looked like a genuflection. Perhaps merely a nod? Well, either way. Then the gigantic beast turned. Looking back at us, it croaked once again and flattened out its toad-like body.
"'I do believe it wants us to get on,' I said. Not to anger the monstrous creature any further, we obliged.
"It leaped, without much warning. We must have flown miles with that one bound. The wind madly whipped our hair and stung our unshielded faces. Finally, after what seemed hours, we landed in a much more hospitable area than we'd left. Jaxius and I slid off the mighty thing's back and dove hastily into some nearby greenery.
The creature sat quietly for quite some time. We dared not move. My legs started to cramp badly. Still we waited. It must have eventually grown bored with our hiding because it simply leaped away. That put we two just outside of Nordras, where we met the good Grundar and his clansmen."
Tolian then recounted their battle and the ensuing events quite truthfully. Grundar sobbed deeply through the vines at hearing the tale of his son's capture. His soul still lay raw from the awful realization that their journey was almost surely hopeless, but to hear it all again, narrated to their tiny captor, was too painful to bear.
As Tolian finished, his mouth stretched into a bright cheerful smile. He stood, arms stretched wide, blinking, "And that, my dear girl, is how we find ourselves here in your oh-so-lovely forest clearing. And we beg you, have mercy and release us so that we may pursue our attackers and Bergar's captors."
Time froze. Breaths came more slowly. Tolian blinked and gazed questioningly at the fae girl.
Chlora glared at Grundar, Tolia
n, and finally Jaxius. "I believe you."
"Oh thank the heavens, b..." Tolian exclaimed.
"But!" Chlora interjected, "not a word about the frog dragon is true. They do not exist. I made them up to see if you would lie to me. And you did, even after I saved your lives one hundred forty-two times. It makes no sense, I tell you."
Her eyes never left Jaxius. "But you. I see it now. There was a reason I was raised from my slumber when you entered my forest. You are special. We have met before, you and I, I think. We have a special bond. I can feel it calling to me."
As she spoke, her eyes glowed white hot. She floated up from the ground to put herself face to face with Jaxius.
"Now, wait a moment," Tolian pleaded. "Aren't you going to let us go?"
"Silence!" Chlora commanded in a baritone voice. "I will see into this man and tell his past. Something of your story concerns me greatly. That which you said to the doomed man in the arena. How come you to know that phrase?"
The vines slipped from around Jaxius' head. "I do not know. It simply felt natural."
Chlora raised one hand to Jaxius' forehead. Bright blue and white light spread out from her palm, enveloping them both.
For a moment, Tolian could not see either Chlora or Jaxius. The light slowly faded, leaving only bright, dancing sparks in Tolian's eyes. When his eyes finally readjusted to the darkness of the night, the scene he beheld startled him.
Jaxius was standing stunned on the ground unbound. Chlora knelt in the snow in front of him, green head bowed in reverence.
The vines gripping Grundar lowered him to the ground, gently and then slithered silently back to the forest edge.
"I ... I don't understand," Jaxius looked confused.
"You have forgotten yourself, but I know you, Upuchwe. You will remember all in time. Just know that you can call on me whenever and wherever you need. I think you will find the place you seek just over that fallen tree," Chlora pointed at a huge, moss-covered ancient tree at the edge of their camp.
Flames of Awakening: Faemoch Cycle Book 1 Page 3