Now resolved, I took a deep breath and, just as I ducked to go into the cave, I saw high up on the ridge of rock above the mothering caves a great, golden eye.
“YOU, GIRL. I THOUGHT I DREAMED YOUR SCENT,” Zaxx the Golden’s voice washed through my mind, so loud and dominating that I fell to my knees, and somewhere there was a mournful hooting of a very far away Crimson Red.
“SO. YOU DO HAVE ANOTHER DRAGON OUT THERE, THAT YOU ARE HIDING FROM ME?” Slowly, dreadfully, and awfully, the overhang of rock that I had taken for a ridge line unfolded itself, dislodging smaller pebbles and sand as the mighty head of the Golden Bull peeled away from the true crater walls beyond. In the dark I couldn’t make out all of the dragon’s body, but the star light gleamed like liquid lamp oil on scales. The air was filled with smell of soot and ash, and I heard the crunch of trees and the scrape of mighty talons as large as ponies as the rear legs of the bull stepped down.
“You cannot have her!” I shook my head, my heart hammering in terror even though I knew I would never, ever, allow Paxala to be hurt.
“I CAN SMELL HER THROUGH YOUR MIND, YOU KNOW,” Zaxx said, and the sudden horrible pressure of the Golden’s mind flared against my own, breaking my walls and petty barriers, threatening to push all that was Char Nefrette out of the way.
‘Focus on one image. Maintain the center’ flashed through my thoughts. Any other time it would have seemed somewhat obscene, but it was the teaching of Abbot Ansall that saved my mind. I remembered his lessons in resisting the pain of the cold and of the strange positions we sat in during meditation. The image of the crown or the sword or the dragon tooth was meant to dominate everything, drown out every pain and discomfort until it was all that there was. I used the technique to drown out the noise of Zaxx’s mind rifling through my own – but I used the image of Paxala, flying fierce and proud through the night sky.
“Ah. So you have a little skill with the dragon magic then,” Zaxx purred at me, turning his head first one way and then that as he regarded me in the way that a bird might regard a potential meal. This time the bull’s thoughts were pushed to the edges of my mind and were not as loud as they had been before.
“All magic is dragon magic, you see. There are no Draconis Mages, and there are no dragon friends. Just dragons, and the magic that flows from us to you,” Zaxx said contemptuously. I didn’t understand, but as long as the bull was reveling in the sound of its own voice then he wasn’t eating me or any of the others, so I was happy to let him continue.
“And now, Char Nefrette, it is time. I made an ultimatum to the scarred monk that were any to interfere with my broods once more, the monastery would suffer. You will have to decide, Char Nefrette – do you wish your friends, or the Crimson Red to die tonight?” I watched as Zaxx the mighty licked his scaled lips with a forked tongue.
“Neither!” I bellowed without thinking. “How could you kill your own dragons like this, or the innocent people who are only trying to learn from you?”
“It is the way of the world, child. Dragons eat humans. Humans eat cows. Or are you suggesting that I just eat you instead of the others?”
Zaxx’s head hovered in front of mine, his teeth almost as high as my body and as yellowed as old bone. I would barely even be a morsel to the old creature. I could beg for my life, I thought. I could offer Zaxx the Abbot instead, or Monk Olan, or the entire Middle Kingdom to save mine, Paxala’s, and my friends’ skins.
No. I won’t do it. Instead, I summoned all of my anger in just the way the Abbot had taught us and threw out my hand as I had seen the Abbot do. “Flamos!” I said out loud, watching as light flared in the dark.
There was a deep rumbling sound, and a breath of scorched air, and I realized that Zaxx the Golden was laughing at my defiance. I had magicked little more than a flash of flame, that was instantly snuffed in the night air.
“Oh, you are tough, little human. Few Mages and seers would attempt to take on the mighty Zaxx the Golden in a battle.” The rumbling continued, and Zaxx raised his snout high above me to sniff at the air. I felt crushed already, certain of my defeat.
“I am impressed with your bravery, girl. I will delay your punishment and instead set you a challenge. Bring me the crown of the old queen and you, the Crimson Red, and your friends may continue to live. But fail me, and I will have to kill them all. Agreed?”
“No,” I shouted angrily into the night. “I will do nothing for you!”
“It wasn’t a question. A dragon never asks permission, Char Nefrette. That is something else you will have to learn if you ever want to understand us.” Zaxx chuckled, ignoring me as he climbed back onto the shelf of rock above the mothering caves. I was defeated, and I knew it. I would have to do what Zaxx said if I wanted those eggs to survive, and my friends, and even Paxala.
Where was I going to find the crown of the old queen? I thought miserably, my feet heavy as I trudged back across the dragon crater to the place I had climbed in.
PART II
THE NORTH
CHAPTER 10
FALDIN’S BRIDGE
This was it. This was where the North began, I thought as I looked out from aboard my mount. The stubby mountain pony was barely tall enough so my feet didn’t touch the ground, but the monks had insisted I ride instead of walk, like I was precious goods for them to transport from one place to another.
The irony of being treated like royalty now, outside the monastery, by the very monks who had called me ‘bastard’ behind its walls was not lost on me.
We stood on the rise of land that led down to the river valley settlement that was Faldin’s Bridge. In the center, spanning the river, was a town of sorts – really more of a large wooden town surrounding the old stone bridge that crossed the river. On the far side, the ground was rough, and rose suddenly in tumps and hills, and was scattered with a dusting of snow. This river, and this bridge marked the edge of Prince Vincent’s Middle Kingdom, and the start of my father, Prince Lander’s Northern Kingdom. We had left the Dragon Monastery many days ago, and I felt a pang in the center of my chest where my heart should be every moment. I wondered how the others were doing. Had they even attempted stealing the dragon eggs? Were they alive? Did it go well or badly? I worried. I had to admit I missed them. They were my only friends; moonish Dorf; caustic Sigrid; fierce Lila – even little Maxal.
And Neill. How could I leave him down there to guard Paxala and continue on, all on his own? As if his life wasn’t hard enough. It felt to me like I was running away – even though I knew that I had no choice but to be here. Like I was abandoning everyone who needed me. I didn’t relish returning north right now – even though I preferred the mountain air, the more direct and brusque ways of the people; I couldn’t find any joy in returning to my father’s court at this time. It felt like I was returning to being just a child somehow.
‘Paxala?’ I reached out once more with my thoughts towards my dragon-friend, but, just like all the other times, there was nothing. Maybe my connection only worked at close distances. Or maybe it only worked on the sacred Dragon Mountain.
Of course, there was another option as well – that perhaps Paxala had given up on me. She had been annoyed at me for leaving, and perhaps that was just how dragon friendships worked? Who said that the dragon had to stay friends with you for life? I thought miserably. My teeth chattered.
“I thought you Northlanders liked the cold, Nefrette?” grumbled Monk Olan, frowning through a rat-like face at the cold. He had been sent with us as Abbot Ansall’s emissary, but so far, he had deigned to speak to me about three times on the whole trip.
There were a few agreeing chuckles from the other three monks around us, all wearing their black, red, and purple traveling robes with long staves.
“We do.” I glared at Olan defiantly, shrugging off the coarse woven shawl that I had draped over my shoulders. “It’s only the softer southern kingdoms that don’t appreciate good mountain weather,” I said icily, allowing myself to feel a moment of trium
ph as Olan’s face screwed up tighter in fury. He knew that he couldn’t insult me, not now, not with my father’s pennants and flags clearly visible on the other side of the bridge. My father had brought a warband down from his distant tower-keep, and now I could see them clearly encamped on the far sides of the bridge, their round-framed canvas yurts sprouting my father’s white and purple banner above.
I wonder if you came down to see me yourself, father – or whether you sent Wurgan again, or another captain. Still, it was good to see the banners of my home, even if they brought with them some very mixed feelings.
Father never wanted me to stay at the monastery, I thought dismally, as Olan kicked his own little mountain steed roughly with his heels. Father had sent me there because he thought that he had to, in order to have a ‘seat at the table’ as he put it. But he hated the monks and their strange ways. Still, I was glad that I had gone, all the same. Even with everything that the Abbot had put me through – I was glad of going. Because I had met Paxala. And Neill.
“Come on, ya’ old goat, come on!” the monk snarled suddenly, breaking my musings and hurrying our troupe down to the town below.
On this side of the bridge-town there was an entirely different sort of encampment however; long tented marquees with elaborate displays of banners the color of gold and red and yellow and royal blue. Prince Vincent’s entourage. I thought with a shudder, noticing how, behind the grand, almost festive display there were also tents and tents in small groups around campfires. Soldiers. Lots and lots of Prince Vincent’s soldiers, and even now, there were some of them on tall steeds waving their hands at us, indicating that we were to ride straight through the gates to the scrape of village beyond.
Here we go, I thought. I had never felt more like a pawn in an elaborate chess game as I did at that moment. I didn’t even know what the Abbot and Vincent were expecting me to do here, other than placate my father just by being on this side of the border.
“It’s them! The Dragon Monks…” I heard the whispers from the peasants clearly over the sullen clips of the ponies’ hooves as we passed. Faldin’s Bridge didn’t have so much a set of gates as a wooden fence, and we had been waved through not by the Faldin’s Bridge people, but instead by tall and fierce men and women in full plate armor: knights of my uncle, the Prince Vincent.
So, my uncle has seized the town then, had he? I thought in bitter alarm. I had been right: this was nothing but a powerplay between my uncle and my father, and it looked like Uncle Vincent had all the cards.
“…don’t look at them directly in the eye, they’ll put the dragon curse on you!” a peasant woman scolded her daughter. The pair stood at the verge of the simple street, and I tried to smile at them to show them that not everything that came out of the Dragon Monastery was creepy and strange, but the daughter gasped in terror. Monk Olan chuckled and that was when I realized he was pulling a scary face at them.
Is the Draconis Order so feared throughout the Three Kingdoms, I wondered as hooves clattered up ahead, and mingled with the stamp of marching feet.
A group of soldiers emerged from one of the narrow side streets, dressed in full plate armor like the gate guards, and carrying long pikes. Behind them rode a cadre of fully-armored knights, and, in the center of that was none other than my Uncle Vincent, the thin and pale-skinned ruler of the Middle Kingdom, dressed in midnight finery.
“Niece,” he greeted me after the different cohorts of protection had finally arrayed themselves (the pike men spanning across the bridge entrance, pikes lowered to the north, and the mounted knights in a gaggle around him).
“Uncle.” I nodded. It was odd calling Prince Vincent that, as we had never even met in any family way. Prince Vincent might be the ruler of the Middle Kingdom, and the nominal overseer of our grandmother, the old queen’s legacy, but to me he was nothing more than a name on a seal. He had certainly never expressed any interest in me, the bastard child of his northern brother before.
“It is such a pleasure to see you again.” The prince nodded at me and poured honey over his words. “Please take these gifts, on behalf of the Middle Kingdom, to your father and tell him that I look forward to hearing from him,” he indicated to where servants had laid out wooden crates and chests on the ground, which I guessed must contain the sorts of riches and wealth that princes give to each other: fine bolts of cloth, dyed with rare and expensive dyes, gold bullion or coins, or maybe even some of the rare artefacts that happened occasionally as gifts: heirlooms of the Great Queen – an engraved dagger, a set of books, an ancient banner maybe.
“As you wish, sire.” I bowed my head, wishing this would be over as quickly as possible.
“And niece? I do hope that you inform your father of all of the good that you have been doing down there in my Dragon Monastery, and just how we loved having you be part of it.”
Your Dragon Monastery? I thought in anger. It was luck alone that the sacred Dragon Mountain was on Middle Kingdom land, surely! What about the Abbot’s pledge that the Draconis Order remain neutral in all of this?
“I will tell my father of everything that has befallen me,” I lied, but knowing those words would have the effect of unsettling the Dark Prince. He squirmed in his seat for a moment, and then scowled, before replacing the look of discomfort with a fake smile.
Good. In fact, I had no intention of telling my father hardly anything. How was I to tell him that I could communicate with a dragon just through the power of my mind alone? It wasn’t too long ago when people had been burned for such strange and occult claims out in the wilds. And how was I to tell father of the mistreatment at the hands of the Abbot? Or of the constant danger we have been in? Or of Zaxx’s threats? I gritted my teeth at the thought. Of course, I couldn’t tell my father those things. He would never let me back to the Dragon Monastery afterwards, and that would mean that I would never see Paxala, or my friends again.
My dismay and heartache must have shown in my face, as Prince Vincent interpreted it as his personal success. He grinned at me.
“I must thank you for your most dedicated efforts in the service of the crown, Char Nefrette, and please, I bid you free and safe passage through these lands,” he said loftily, as much for the benefit of the watching peasants, soldiers, and monks as for me.
“Go on, girl, get going,” Monk Olan whispered to me as servants ahead of us picked up the gifts, and the knights formed an avenue for me to trudge through. “And we’ll have the pony back, too,” he hissed, nodding to one of the monks to take the reins. I was past caring about the Monk Olan’s capacity for cruelty. Instead, I nodded, slid from the small horse and followed the servants through the avenue of weapons, into a corridor, and then rattling and thumping on what could only be the wide river bridge. Each board was made, it looked, from a split tree-trunk, with iron braces and supports holding them together. It was a wide and a long bridge, and soon myself and the servants were walking alone across the flat and cold river, towards the far side.
“Sister!” There was a shout, and a figure waved two upraised arms at me.
Wurgan. I caught sight of his bright beard and hair as he started to jog across the bridge, his closest warriors beside him. He wore a tight fitting studded-leather suit of armor, lots of strips of cured hide nailed and sown together to form an almost impenetrable shell. You’re taking no chances with our uncle then, I saw in a weary sort of depression, dismayed at how little love there was between any of our family.
Despite my morose heart, I still managed a wave as he raced up to me, seizing me in his muscle-bound arms and swept me into the air with a fierce hug.
“Brother,” I tried.
“You are safe, sister. You will be safe with us now.” He was laughing, grinning at his fellow warriors who were holding their rounded shields around us warily, looking across the bridge at the Middle Kingdom soldiers.
“But will I be safe with you?” he joked, looking up warily at the heavy overcast skies above us all, clearly wondering where the drago
n was that he had last seen me with not a few short months ago.
“You’re remembering the dragon-- Paxala?” I said. “Yes, you will be safe. You were always safe before, you know. Sort of.” I pointed out as he set me down again, and ordered his men to take the gifts back to their encampment.
My general brother frowned, making the sign to ward off bad luck with two fingers. “I don’t think anyone is ever safe around a dragon, little sister,” he said steadily, before nodding back. “Come on, father will be pleased to see you.”
“Father is here?” I gasped. That was the last thing that I had expected to happen, as I knew my father to be ever the tactician, and risking his life so near to the frontline between the two Kingdoms could be disastrous.
“Of course, Char,” Wurgan said as we walked companionably back to the other side of the river, and into the brightly lit, feasting encampment of the North. There was a line of warriors standing guard with half drawn bows and great axes, but other than that, the camp seemed to be in the midst of a celebration. The smell of roasting meat made me remember just how hungry I was, and just how little the monks ate on a daily basis. ‘Good for our moral character’ apparently, or so the Abbot had said.
“Yes, father has been worried sick about you down there in that accursed priest’s-hill.” Wurgan shuddered as he walked through the collections of yurts wooden palisades.
“It’s a monastery, Wurgan. A monastery on top of a sacred mountain, not a priest’s hill,” I said in exasperation.
“Still,” my brother pointed out. “It’s unnatural, that’s what it is.”
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