The weeks went by with Emeldra and Matra riding almost every day. Matra went about improving Emeldra’s magic skill with grim urgency. On several occasions, they had managed to slip out alone. Then, when they were out of sight and sure of not being observed, Matra had changed form and had taken her flying on his back. She had expected a scolding from her father about riding without a chaperone. He had said nothing, however, being preoccupied with matters of court and the ongoing trouble with the Paenalir border raids. Gossip was growing at the castle about the princess and the young knight; Emeldra ignored it, while Matra seemed puzzled. Matra had gone on one or two of the border patrols with Sir Halwain when not riding with the princess. On one such occasion, several of the knights returned wounded and one dead. She had pressed Matra about what happened, but he would not say. As summer gave way to autumn, rumours of a red dragon seen close to Castle Talmon had seen an increase in the castle’s defences. Her father voiced concern to Matra about riding too far from the castle. As a result, Emeldra’s rides with Matra lessened, and they stayed closer to the castle.
Emeldra approached the kitchens, heading towards the rear of the keep. The cooks were already hard at work preparing the morning meal: the smell of baking bread reached her, along with other tantalising aromas that made Emeldra feel hungry. A plump matronly cook busily supervised the cooking and preparation, shouting orders to the other cooks and looking over their shoulders making sure everything was to her satisfaction. She looked up to see the princess approach. She brushed the flour off her apron; smiling, she made a deep curtsey.
“Good morning, Highness,” said the cook.
“Good morning, Gerta. As always, the smell of your bread makes my mouth water,” Emeldra replied. “Can you spare me a bite to eat on my way?” she added with an impish smile.
“Of course, Highness.” The cook beamed with pride as she went to where a freshly baked loaf sat on a shelf, cutting a piece off and taking it to the princess to try. Emeldra took a bite of the still-warm bread
The sun had barely risen and dew veiled the small garden between the kitchen and the large outer courtyard. Passing under an archway, Emeldra turned to the south-west towards the stables, where Matra would be waiting for their morning ride. A dark shape passed overhead. Emeldra paid no attention. Lost in thought, she continued onward. The courtyard was usually quiet this time of the morning, with few people. A sudden shout made her stop as she rounded a corner.
A short distance ahead a red dragon crouched; its head turned to face some guardsmen rushing toward it. Suddenly the guards staggered and fell unconscious in mid-stride. Instantly Emeldra brought up her mental shield, it was one of the first things Matra had taught her and she could see why. She had barely managed to get the shield up in time. Even though the mind attack of the dragon had not been aimed at her, the force of it rocked her. Everyone else nearby lay unconscious on the ground.
“Fangdragor! Show thyself,” the red dragon bellowed, its mind reaching out to find whom it sought. “I challenge thee, Fangdragor, show thyself, or I will destroy these pathetic humans you value so highly.” The dragon’s head slowly swivelled around until he saw Emeldra. Then he ushered a bellow of triumph.
“Ah. You are the little princess Fangdragor thinks so much of.” The dragon’s mental contact roared in her mind. Stripping away her defences he stepped closer, his bulk towering over her. More soldiers and knights came running into the courtyard. From the corner of her eye, Emeldra could see her father and Sir Halwain among them. She stood her ground, outwardly defiant. Inwardly an icy fear gripped her; desperately she sought a way out.
“Fangdragor, if you do not show yourself I will tear this little princess of yours to pieces,” the red dragon challenged, ignoring the gathering commotion. Matra took that moment to appear, calmly walking towards them. Though the red dragon saw him, he did not recognise him amidst the surrounding confusion, thinking him only another bothersome human.
“No, Matra, you can’t—” Emeldra began, realising he was about to change form, though too late. She saw the air shimmer around him. Air was pushed out in a sudden swirl of wind. Anyone close was toppled over as the larger bulk of the dragon replaced the smaller form of the man. Emeldra saw her father’s shocked look, and all nearby gaped in stunned disbelief as the blue dragon beat his wings, raising dust around him. Matra lifted skyward as the red dragon rose to meet him
“I cannot ignore the challenge, Princess, no more than I can stand by and let harm come to innocent people,” came Matra’s reply. As he circled above, Emeldra detected a note of regret in his tone, tinged with sadness and a need to protect. Something else came through from his thoughts, but before she could discern what it was his mental shield came fully up as the red dragon swooped to attack him.
The air smelled of brimstone as a ball of fire sizzled towards Matra. He dived under it and countered with a bolt of lightning then swerved sharply to the side as another ball of fire singed his wingtips. Turning, he sent his own fire in answer. The two antagonists clashed then in a flurry of wings and talons. Emeldra perceived that though they fought physically with talons and spells of fire and lightning, a mental battle for control of each other’s mind ensued also.
A shout of alarm went up in the courtyard as the gates suddenly swung open and Paenalirs swarmed through. Having waited till all in the castle were preoccupied with the dragons, they scaled the walls with grappling hooks and opened the gates. Their ruse only partly worked as men already armed for action quickly recovered and rallied to the battle cry of their king. A group of knights quickly formed a protective barrier around the princess. As the king shouted orders, several soldiers tried to make their way towards the open gates.
The sound of clashing swords rang out, men shouted and screamed in pain. All around the castle grounds men fought, the fighting breaking up into small pockets of combatants. No quarter was given or asked. Men stepped over their fallen comrades as they battled desperately to and fro. The dead and wounded lay everywhere and the stench of death filled the air. Several of the knights in front of Emeldra fell as the Paenalirs advanced.
Emeldra looked down at the limp body of a young knight, though she feared for her own life and felt concern for Matra compassion moved her to tears. Anger and determination followed. Stepping out from her human shield, to the dismay of the knights trying to protect her, Emeldra summoned all the skill she had. Fire leapt from her hands, searing the Paenalirs as they advanced; lightning struck them down, and spells of confusion befuddled their wits.
Across the courtyard from the princess on the step of the blacksmith’s forge stood the ageing sorcerer Lanton. It was he who first discovered Emeldra’s talent for magic. A crotchety man at the best of times, Marcus Lanton viewed the battle with his usual ill grace, muttering profanities at the enemy as he calmly added his own magic to Emeldra’s. Swirling clouds of dust rose to blind and hamper the enemy, and noxious gas made them retch and cough. Still the gates remained open, and more Paenalirs poured through, a tenacious and ruthless foe at the best of times. Now whipped into a killing frenzy by their leader and under the sphere of influence of the red dragon, the Paenalirs pressed on relentlessly. In a brief lapse in the fighting close to her, Emeldra looked round at a scene of carnage. Her father and Sir Halwain had made their way towards her and now stood on either side. Looking up, she saw the two dragons still fighting. Dark clouds gathered above lightning and fire streaked between them.
Emeldra thought back to that moment weeks past when she had goaded Matra, accusing him of being in league with the Paenalirs. She now understood how cruel a gibe it had been; she remembered his answer and realised that though he fought the red dragon he was holding back, unwilling to strike a killing blow.
The red dragon bellowed in rage and broke off. For an instant Emeldra felt Matra’s touch as he reached out to make sure she was all right. A sense of relief came from him and pain, and then she heard his voice ring in her head as he called after the fleeing dragon.
Her face pale as bleached stone, shaking uncontrollably, Emeldra bent double and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the blood-soaked ground. The king took his daughter under his arm. Turning, he gave orders to Sir Halwain to start clearing the dead. A pyre to be made and the dead burned quickly, speaking in terse words He gave his instructions regarding securing the castle’s defences and making a tally of the wounded. Then, turning back, he gently guided his daughter away from the horror of the courtyard, pained that his daughter should witness and have to take part in such slaughter. He remembered a promise long ago given to his wife, now broken. Shaking inside with cold fury, he swore a bloody vengeance on the Paenalirs.
Crossing the courtyard and still muttering under his breath, the old sorcerer stopped at Sir Halwain’s side, watching the king’s back as he led the princess into the castle. “There will be hell to pay now,” he said, glancing at Sir Halwain. Then shaking his head, he continued towards his chambers without waiting for a reply.
Sir Halwain knew what the sorcerer meant only too well. He remembered a time thirty-two years ago when the king, then only a prince in exile, had led an army to take the castle and won back the crown rightfully his from a mad half-brother. The Paenalirs had aided the king’s half-brother and had nearly brought ruin to Ladlian. The king’s own sanity had lain in the balance, having had to kill his half-brother. The cost in men and to the country he loved had been an almost unbearable burden for him. Since that time King Damon had ruled Ladlian with a firm but just hand; his political skill had helped bring prosperity. The king had sworn that no one would take Castle Talmon, nor would anyone threaten his country and people again without retribution.
Chapter Four
“By the creator, I would know, is he a man or beast?” King Faldarin banged his fist on the desk. A neatly stacked pile of papers toppled, spreading over one corner of the polished mahogany desk. The king ignored the papers and regarded his two closest advisors. The two men sat across from the king waited calmly, knowing more was to come.
“Is it possible he is a sorcerer like yourself, Marcus?” he asked. Standing, he paced the room impatiently.
“I would doubt it, my liege.” Lanton frowned, considering something. ‘The Magicians’ Guild at Cyomatro would surely have heard of him. As you know, I only recently returned from there. I heard no mention of any new sorcerer. In any case, to my knowledge no sorcerer alive or dead has ever been able to shapeshift.” He paused, strumming a bony finger on the desk. “However, Majesty, there are a few things I recently discovered concerning Her Highness and Sir Fangdragor that may have some bearing, if I may explain.” Lanton’s expression became hesitant as he pondered the wisdom of letting the king know what the princess had inadvertently let slip earlier. He glanced at Sir Halwain, who nodded silently.
“Confound it, man, spit it out,” bellowed the king, his temper rising. He stopped pacing the floor and faced Lanton expectantly.
Lanton calmly cleared his throat before speaking. “Well, Majesty, on my way here I happened to pass the dining room, where as you know, the princess is helping tend the wounded,” combing his fingers through his beard as spoke.
“Yes! Yes! I know, I thought it would help keep her mind off things if she helped with the wounded,” interjected the king, sitting down in his chair again. He gave the old sorcerer an exasperated look.
“To get to the point, then, I happened to mention to the princess how much her arcane skills have improved, and she let slip that she had some help.” He waited for the significance of what he said to sink in.
“Fangdragor,” the king said succinctly. He settled himself, leaning back in his chair. Seeing Lanton waited to tell him more, he gestured for him to continue.
“Undoubtedly, my liege. I took her maid aside and questioned her on the matter. She confirms that the young knight has indeed been teaching the princess magic. Moreover, Senion suspects they may have met before he came here.” He rubbed his hands together, feeling a sudden chill.
“So she met her dragon after all,” began the king, referring to the time his strong-minded daughter had gone against his wishes; her adventure had caused him much worry. “Well then; we must assume he is indeed a shapeshifting dragon but why did he come here?” the king asked, looking at both his advisors.
“Whatever his motives, they do seem to coincide with our interests,” ventured Sir Halwain as a servant entered the room carrying a tray with goblets and a jug of wine. The servant silently poured drinks for the three men. The king muttered thanks as the man bowed and left as silently as he had come.
“Some books tell of the possibility of dragons taking human form, Majesty,” stated Lanton, taking his wine. He took a sip, grimacing at the taste. “However, I would not rule out entirely the possibility that he may be a sorcerer. Just because we know of no such precedent does not mean it is not possible,” he concluded, taking another sip of wine. Secretly he doubted it very much. Looking at the king, he read doubt on his face also.
The room fell silent as King Faldarin sipped his wine lost in thought; he turned the goblet round in his hand elbows resting on the desk. At length, he regarded his two old friends again. “What do the people make off him Tolvarn?” He asked finishing his wine he set the goblet down on the desk.
“They think him a great sorcerer,” began Sir Halwain; he paused looking at the King.
“And?” prompted the King coolly. He could guess what was coming next; he had heard the gossip in the castle concerning his daughter.
“That he is here for love of the princess and will protect her and therefore all her people. Your Majesty, they are now calling Her Highness the dragon princess,” he said, regarding his king. He expected another outburst of temper but none came. Instead, the king looked calm as he spoke again.
“We’ll let them carry on believing that for now. It’s safer, that the people think him a sorcerer, rather than a shapeshifting dragon. I’m not overly comfortable with that idea myself yet,” the king concluded. His thoughts turned to the Paenalirs, though he wished he could hunt them down and take vengeance on them. He knew it would take a large force and would spread resources thinly. After today’s battle, the castle was almost critically undermanned as it was. To take even a small detachment in pursuit would leave it open for another attack should the Paenalirs return.
“What of the Paenalirs? Have the scouts we sent out reported back yet?” The king asked, scowling as he regarded Sir Halwain. The need to know what was happening outside the castle and what the Paenalirs were doing rankled; he felt his patience wearing thin again.
Sir Halwain momentarily glanced out of the window, seeing the sun set over the distant treetops, a fiery orange globe tinting the horizon with red and gold. The sight, though beautiful, seemed somehow out of place after the day’s dark events.
“The scouts have returned, Your Majesty, and report that the blue dragon has harried the enemy back towards their own borders. There have been no sightings of the red dragon though,” he reported, facing the king again. “One of the scouts said that the village of Bakers Tol lay in the Paenalirs’ path.” Picking up his wine, he drank deeply. He saved this bit of news until the end, knowing how the king would react.
“Any survivors? The king asked tersely. Pain showing on his face, one hand tightly gripped the arm of the padded velvet chair until his knuckles turned white. Sir Halwain shook his head silent
ly.
“The scout says they took hostages and the dragon seemed to stay back at first. They just killed them then,” he said grimly. Beside him, Lanton shook his head sadly. Both men looked at the king as he angrily pushed back his chair getting to his feet, and once more banged his fist on the desk. The empty goblet bounced but remained standing. For a moment he said nothing as his whole frame shook uncontrollably with rage.
“I want to know the moment if and when the blue dragon returns. I will get some answers from him, whatever he might be. Even if I have to hunt him down myself,” the king said acidly, “and I will have a few words for that obstinate daughter of mine as well,” he added, his voice softening a little.
Chapter Five
Matra turned wearily back towards Castle Talmon, having witnessed the barbarity of the Paenalirs as they killed the people at the village. Then later, their hostages, when they sensed his reluctance to kill. They had believed his unwillingness to take life a weakness; in the end, he had become enraged as they attacked him with spear and bow. He burned part of their number to cinders with fire before they turned and ran again. He felt despair that any part of humankind could have such disregard for the lives of others. Wounded and in pain, the only thought that drove him on was the warm and compassionate heart of a princess whose spirit shone like a beacon. Uncertain of his reception, Matra came to rest in a glade not far from the castle. He cast his thoughts northward, searching, unable to find the one he sought and lacking the strength to search further. He sent his request to another nearer mind, then on the brink of exhaustion, he cast his fading powers towards the castle.
In the middle of attending a wounded soldier Emeldra suddenly gasped and stumbled, grabbing a nearby chair to keep herself from falling. Her vision blurred as images swam before her eyes. A wash of emotions flooded her senses; she moaned in pain as Senion rushed to her side.
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