Complete In the Service of Dragons

by William Robert Stanek

  “Hello?” he called out as he wandered through the empty corridor, “Hello?” He came to a door similar to the one he had stood by earlier. As he stared beyond the path of his makeshift light, he caught the reflection of two eyes looking at him. He moved closer and saw the outline of a face in the pale, orange-red light. He saw traces of dark, flowing hair and high, pale cheekbones.

  Again he couldn’t open the cell quickly enough to satisfy himself, and he cursed under his breath until he found the right key. He was half way to the one with eyes with a soft glitter in them, arms spread wide for an embrace, when he realized there was another present.

  “You may proceed. We are old friends, she and I,” spoke a soft, raspy voice. In the odd light of the torch, the speaker appeared to be bathed in luminescent gold. Brodst looked on in bewilderment. “I will not harm you. You needn’t think that—”

  And then Brodst recalled the others who were still awaiting his return. He bade the two to follow him quickly. The keys to the manacles were among the set he had found on the guard. They did not waste words or time now, moving first to retrieve Lord Serant and Calyin. The captain wasn’t the only one taking notice of their two new companions. Geoffrey’s face turned ashen and Midori’s went wide with wonder.

  Serant was still groggy, shifting in and out of consciousness, yet he was still faring better than Calyin. Before they could discuss a plan of action, everyone began talking at once. It was obvious they would not be able to proceed without clearing the air. The loud noise was having a deep effect on the two unconscious ones as well. In their heads, the clamor sounded like the roar of immense beasts. It was all they could do to keep the noises out.

  “I think we should first discuss our escape,” spoke the Keeper, being of more precise mind than his fellows. “We will have plenty of time later, I hope. My good captain, can you lead us out of this wretched place?”

  “I believe I can, Keeper, but I, too, am curious now. The more I dwell on your face and that of, of—”

  “I am, Ayrian, Lord of the Gray Clan.”

  “You need say no more, my friend,” interrupted Midori, “he is a friend and that is all you need to know. He is an old and very dear friend.”

  “Thank you, but as long as we shall proceed with a telling, then it is time that I spoke the thoughts and deeds of my heart. Once there was a powerful clan. We dwelled among the hills and dales, gliding over pleasant valleys, drinking of golden waters in the high places among the mountains. I could soar and circle the skies in that place lazily for the remainder of my years. But alas, it is gone, and I, I alone am the last of my race, once proud and true of heart.” Ayrian spoke so eloquently that they were able to envision the place and the people that he spoke of. In a softer light, his feathers, talons and beak, though still odd, did not appear so out of place. And the more he spoke, the further the listeners were drawn into his plight, a plight that had carried through times ancient and distant, but they now understood. He continued to speak richly in a flowing, exuberant manner. Much later, those present would reflect that perhaps it was a song that Ayrian sang to them, rather than speaking. Time seemed to flow on the edge of his words. In reality, when he finished only a few precious minutes had slipped by. “Alas, I am the last. I am Ayrian, Eagle Lord of the Gray Clan, when once there were tens of such clans. But our reign was supreme and revered. It is all gone now, faded from the most distant memories.”

  “Not entirely so,” replied the Keeper with tears in his eyes. “I am Keeper Martin, head of the council of the Keepers of the Lore. Your tales, though remote, still lie among the histories in the Great Book though in truth they occupy but a few paragraphs of a single page. Perhaps with your help we can build upon it and make the lesson whole.”

  “Alas, dear Keeper, the tale is old and spent. The timing is not right.”

  “I would still like very much to hear your tales at length at a further date,” Keeper Martin said.

  “Yours is the tale we would wish to hear, Keeper Martin. How in the name of the Great-Father did you come to be here? Here, of all the forsaken corners—”

  Geoffrey interrupted before Keeper Martin spoke, and the keeper nodded his approval at Geoffrey’s intent. “He and Father Jacob sensed the changes occurring in the kingdom. Our messages had been conveyed to them, but it had been too late to return. The journey had already begun—”

  “Yes,” began Martin stepping into the conversation, “we were desperate. We saw the images in the dream messages. We knew King Andrew had passed though we did not want to accept it. Strange storms were upon us, the lands were growing cold and icy, our stocks were almost depleted—I had no choice but to attempt what had seemed a fool’s gambit. Father Jacob did not want to let me go, but as days passed, we had little else we could do. And now I have been here so long that I cannot even recount the days—weeks, days, or months, I am not entirely sure, but I am sure that if those that I left behind did not get food and supplies, they have all perished.”

  “Perished? Surely they cannot all have died?” begged Brodst, “What of Prince Valam? You have said nothing of him. With all those ships, could you not return?”

  “I do not know. During the journey some ships were lost. I am afraid that Prince Valam’s was one of them.”

  A shocked silence came over them, but it was Midori who spoke first. “Are you certain?” she asked quizzically “I feel no sense of loss.” If it had been another that spoke those words, those present would have thought them shallow or ill witted, but Midori was different. She was of the Mother, and the Mother knew all.

  Everyone let the conjecture fall away, switching at once to other thoughts. “Keeper, how did you come to be here? You still have not told us,” asked Captain Brodst.

  “I attempted to use the device that rests in the council chambers of the keepers. My resolve was fixed, and in my desperation I saw no other solution. If I could have just managed to teleport back, all would have proven to my benefit, but something went wrong. I do not know what; I can only surmise. But to be truthful, I will need to ponder this more fully. The last thing I know completely is that I prepared my thoughts, cleansing my mind for a dream message. Instead of directing them as I normally would, I focused on the council—more specifically, the device.”

  Keeper Martin paused hesitantly, surveying the faces around him, “Imagine my elation when it worked. Even in my dreams I could feel the sense of intense cold and sudden darkness around me. I awoke hours later only to find myself here, already in chains, and with the End Man’s whip upon me. I can only offer a calculation as to where here is. Perhaps Geoffrey knows better than I?”

  Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders, but he was not alone in not knowing exactly where they had been taken. The memory of their arrival to this place was fogged over. As they all considered it, this seemed strange. Midori turned to check on Calyin and Serant. They still needed more time for their bodies and minds to cleanse themselves.

  “You, friend, still have not told us how you came to be here,” asked Captain Brodst pointedly of Ayrian.

  “Not unlike Keeper Martin or any of you, I do not fully know how I came upon this place. It seems to draw you, though, doesn’t it? Its power is almost beautiful it is so pure.”

  “What do you know? You speak as though this were a great spectacle, while I see nothing of the kind. What do you know? Tell me!”

  “Captain, you needn’t speak harshly. We are all friends here; the enemy is out there,” said Midori, pointing her finger. She glared at him until he lowered his eyes and his temperament calmed.

  “More often than not, those seeking find and those that don’t learn. Perhaps if you had the mind, you would guess, but then again, maybe not.”

  “Why are you being cryptic?” bluntly asked Brodst again.

  “Captain—”

  “No, it is all right, but if I must do the telling, then it will be away from here and under circumstances fairer than these.” Ayrian spoke slowly and plucked a ring of keys from Cap
tain Brodst’s pocket. He held each up for examination and while he did so, he began mumbling. “Seven could not bind him, though they tried, behind door and key. The last had been consorted and fashioned with powers as old as the winds; still they could not stay time. Its slow gentle creep was upon them. Extra restraints kept his confederates. Even near the end, they leashed his most beloved for at least a short span. The course has run full again, yet it is a different tale, is it not? That he would be she, and she with he, would still be free.”

  “Ayrian? Ayrian?” called out Midori at first gently and then harshly, “Ayrian?”

  Ayrian continued on for a short time, “—that that of the end should now try to be that of the beginning. The wonder of it, even if it had been wrong.”

  Brodst was as slow to turn away from Ayrian’s words as Ayrian had been. Lord Serant was somewhat coherent and could walk with some assistance under his own power although Calyin would still have to be carried. Geoffrey shouldered the burden of Calyin, while Martin and Brodst helped Lord Serant, but it was Ayrian who led the way from the detention area with much confidence.

  Chapter Twelve

  The morning air was still and fresh. With it, there was a certain liveliness in the camp, an eagerness to be off, to find what was ahead. Adrina, though she had been the last to awake, was the first to rise to the saddle. She shook off the shadowy images that had been invading her sleep and pondered pleasant thoughts. Among the trees she could hear the scampering of small animals and the gallant trumpet call of a few tiny birds whose name she did not know.

  A light cloud cover at first obscured an otherwise pristine morning, but in the first hours of the new day it burned away, revealing a clear cloudless sky. The hills they galloped through shifted from a gradual rolling grade to a steep vaulted pitch as they neared the mountains, and they leveled off to what was perhaps a plateau or mountain plains. Tall peaks loomed up, screaming their presence into the very air. From the slopes at the bottom, the view was dazzling.

  They rode smoothly, coming to an abrupt halt almost too soon. The winds had just picked up, bringing in the scents of the highlands, a mixture of aromas. Simple stands of trees dotted the mountainsides, mostly of pine or evergreen. Waters of a stream that flowed from an unseen lake down across the plateau now ran swiftly, thanks to the previous night’s precipitation. There was also a hint of grasses that had once been tall and proud hidden now beneath this season’s early snows. Guarded walls stood before them; the journey was at an end.

  Underneath the parapets the gatehouse stood, its outer portcullis raised and unhindering. A line of thirteen horses forming two columns rode into its confines, reaching the inner gate, which sat low. The gatehouse stretched a full sixty feet between the thick avenues of the wall. A set of malignant chains hung lifeless, attached to a wheel on the far side of the house.

  They looked up to the small cavities set into the floor of the roof, which in truth formed the floor of the second level. Then they looked beyond the gate into the heart of a city that most would never see or know. The spires of a great palace, perhaps a castle, dominated the village. Around it in many clusters were domiciles small and large—inns; bars and keeps; shops of various assortments, some with small signs suspended over their doors; and many others, too numerous to be named.

  Access was made possible by a winding of the heavy chains round the wheel. There were no heralds to greet them this day, and for the most part the city appeared to be silent. Still, the day was young, but not altogether so. Amir was the most agitated by the lull. He flexed and huffed, mostly to himself, yet also with Noman’s watchful eye upon him. Nijal and Shchander talked in sullen tones between themselves.

  Xith searched through his bags for something he couldn’t quite find, touching his hands at long last to a silver flask and retrieving it happily. Before they continued, he gave it to Adrina.

  Most noticeably befuddled over the absence of life in the city was Noman. He did not know how he could have been wrong. He had seen the path’s end so vividly. It was time, and this was definitely the place. A gnawing emptiness drew him. Step by step and almost in a daze, he went across the city that was spread out before him like a hearty feast, moving toward a central place where he knew a square lay.

  The market was empty and mostly cleared. A few vacant stalls pockmarked its otherwise clean face. The group stopped here and dismounted. Dust swirled around their feet as they did so. Noman conferred with Xith and Amir before continuing on, leading their horses across the square to a long, winding stair. This new section of the city was perhaps more ancient than that surrounding it, more elegant than the latter.

  As they crossed, a parapet with merlons kept them from the innermost area. They passed easily through gate-like breaches at the ground level. Beyond stood a palisade. Its walks showed its age, but all in all it was preserved well.

  The inner keep, a fortress with numerous lofty spires, had no outer moat, which Amir counted odd since he vividly recalled one. All things change with time, he thought. Its stones were weathered and scarred, but this marring in no way detracted from the sudden impact of its grandeur. Remnants of a path followed towards the immense prominence, which was the outer door, two great timbers of dark wood with iron bands.

  Their horses were left on their own; within the set of walls, they could not wander far. The company proceeded up the path by foot. The walk across broken bridges made them uneasy, and hands edged toward sword hilts, but none took note of it. They tugged on the rope on the entry to the right, but nothing happened. A second attempt on the left, followed by sending a strong rapping with the metal knocker set into the doors also brought no results. It was a small push that caused the doors to open, and they swung easily inward on vast, silent hinges.

  Adrina controlled the smile upon her lips and stepped aside so Noman could go in first, followed by Amir. Noman quickly opened the doors wide to let in some fresh air, for the air inside was thick and stale. A long hall was revealed and though lines of torches adorned its walls, none were lit.

  With several torches in hand, they entered. The corridors they came upon, turning neither left nor right, were quiet and clean but unoccupied. A faint clicking noise began, rumbling low from beneath their feet, growing in volume the deeper they delved. As the noise became more audible, it sounded like the tapping of a long wooden shaft against the hard stone, and it was almost precisely timed with their footsteps.

  As they chanced upon and crossed an open courtyard, they looked upward toward the walks set into the outer walls. The tapping sound was louder here and seemed to emanate from above or around them rather than beneath them. A large fountain sat silently brooding in the middle of the courtyard. A greenish quagmire now rested where crystalline waters had once run and every now and again something within the slime gurgled and churned. The group steered wide of the fountain.

  Amir turned mid-stride on his heels, whirling his eyes upward, glaring. He had almost expected to hear trumpets blaring forth in herald from atop the cornermost tower. As he turned and stopped, he smacked into Adrina, who was suddenly shaken from her thoughts. He rested his hand upon her shoulder as he whispered his apology. Still, though, he had felt a presence from the tower.

  He stood poised for a time regarding the edifice, a leering tower of dark stone. Puzzled, he gawked at it for an extra few seconds before he turned away. Noman followed Amir’s line of sight, moving from blackened window to blackened window until he reached the summit, and then suddenly his eyes came to rest on a window three rows down and one to the right. He wasn’t sure if it were the sunlight playing tricks through the open tower or if he actually saw the shadow of a figure standing there watching them. A sudden shiver came over Noman, bringing a line of goose bumps up his back, rising from the tip of his spine to the back of his neck. He forced himself to look away. Xith smiled.

  The shadow was gone when Noman turned to look back; only the light of the sun’s rays remained to play along the face of the tower. They continu
ed on, stopping and starting, not realizing that a veil of silence had come over them. After a deliberate pause at the top of a stair opposite their entrance, they returned indoors.

  Adrina watched the others pass through the doorway, but she lingered a moment in the sunlight, bathing in its warmth. She sighed deeply and then followed the others. A hand reaching out grabbing hers, startling her. Her heart raced and then slowed, a sudden glow touched her face, falling as her chin dropped down. She met a pair of eyes, liquid blue, and shining like newborn stars. The face that swathed the eyes was equally as warm and inviting.

  Xith watched Adrina go, fading into the realm of dreams and shadows, saddened like a father losing his little girl, though no one else knew. He was now the last one, walking along a hall that stretched out in front of him, seemingly without conclusion. He perceived movement behind him and spun about.

  At first he greeted those behind him with warmth even though he knew of their treachery. The one he fixed on stood with head poised proudly, leaning his weight upon a thick staff. His face was badly beaten on the right side, causing that entire side to hang listlessly. He stared at Xith through eyes that were scarcely open.