King Amard of Deryl, having had said his goodbyes to his wife, stepped aboard the Tennar.
“Ready to cast off, Sire,” Captain Daniel saluted rather than bowed. His weather-beaten face cracked in a smile and his black eyes seemed full of mischief. Sandy coloured hair blew in the slight off-shore breeze as he leaned over the deck. King Amard looked toward the dock where his wife still stood proudly; their parting had not been easy. This would be the first time since they married that they had ever been apart. It took all the determination he had to make her stay behind, with her nearing the birth of their fourth child. Especially at this time of year and things being as they were, he did not know what dangers awaited him. The message from his uncle had been brief and most urgent. He took the note from his breast pocket and read it over again.
Nephew Oswin, I trust this note finds you well. Your father would have been proud of you. I remember when I used to bounce you on my knee and tell you stories about dragons and you would be frightened and run behind your mother’s chair. Well, must not dwell too much on the past. This note is to request your presence as soon as possible at the Grand Council at Castle Talmon. The messenger will fill you in on a few of the details. I look forward to seeing you again.
The dragon comes!
Yours, Uncle Damon H.R H King Faldarin of Ladlian.
“Cast off, Jamie.” King Amard spoke without looking at his friend. He put the note back in his pocket as he waved to his wife.
Tall, handsome and muscular built with slick black hair and deep blue eyes, Oswin Amard, stood like a statue as the Tennar slipped anchor and slowly sailed out of the harbour. He remembered well the stories his uncle told him. The last few words in the note were what made his hair stand on end.
“The dragon comes!” He was glad Galena would be safe at home.
High Commissioner Koan read the missive slowly, his face fixed in what seemed a permanent scowl. He had heard rumours about this lord emissary to the dragons. At first, he thought it a joke, but later when he had it from reliable sources that the Ladlians had a dragon that could shapeshift he took it more seriously.
He doubted that this dragon could shapeshift though, although he had heard such tales before. Now here was a letter signed by the lord emissary himself with the seal of King Faldarin on it. Delivered by this woman he had never seen before, her very presence made him feel uncomfortable. The way she walked into his office as if she were a queen and dressed in gold armour, obviously he was meant to be impressed.
Still, his informants had told him she had delivered much the same message to Estan Sandar. He could not let Sandar put forward his version of events in Tulata unchallenged at the council. The man deserved hanging for instigating rebellion. He glanced over the top of the letter; the woman still stood there with that queenly smile on her face. Koan put the missive on his desk and cleared his throat as he looked at the woman.
“You may inform King Faldarin I will attend the Grand Council.” He stood and tried to look down at her his manner implying dismissal. “That is all.” The woman just stood and smiled at him.
“I’m sure he will be glad to hear that, Commissioner Koan. Now I must take my leave, I have other matters to attend to,” Cara replied. Turning, she left Koan gaping and muttering something about already having dismissed her. As soon as she was well clear of the town she sent the message to Matra.
“They are both coming, good. Thank you, mother, I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble,” Matra sent after Cara told him of her meetings with Sandar and Koan.
“None at all, heart of mine. I hope you are taking good care of the princess, a lot depends on her,” Cara sent, her tone soft though coloured with concern.
“Mother, I—” Matra stopped, reconsidering what he was going to say.
“What is it, child?’ she asked though she knew he probably wouldn’t tell her. She could sense he was hiding something.
“Oh, I’ve forgotten. It was nothing important anyway. Take care, Mother.” Matra’s voice faded as he broke contact.
“And you, heart of mine,” Cara returned. Striding out through the snow, she changed form and lifted into a grey afternoon sky.
Matra tossed restlessly on his bed, the same dreams he had the night before danced back and forth before his eyes. There was sand as far as the eye could see. Nothing stirred in the desert as the sun shone like a furnace, baking everything under it. Then he saw Emeldra, her face cracked and dried with the sun, her clothes in tatters crawling on her hands and knees. Through cracked and bleeding lips she pleaded for a drink to her unseen tormentors.
Her hoarse and tearful voice wrenched at his spirit. Desperately he tried to reach her, but she kept disappearing every time he got close to her. The vision cleared. Then she stood surrounded by Paenalirs laughing and jeering at her. Defiantly she spat at them. One of the Paenalirs who stood to one side watching approached her and slapped her hard several times, leaving red marks on her face. Her eyes blazed with cold fury, and she struggled to get free. A spear seemed to appear in the Paenalir’s hand from nowhere, and he ran it through her heart.
“No!” Matra sat bolt upright, sweat soaked him through. He heard footsteps outside his door followed by knocking.
“Matra are you all right? We heard you call out.” Matra recognised Jason Kith’s voice as he rose to answer the door.
“I’m okay. Just a bad dream, that’s all,” Matra explained to the half-dressed Jason with a look of chagrin. Several guards came running down the corridor, and two maids appeared with startled looks on their faces. Jason lowered his sword and tucked in his shirt, giving Matra a lopsided smile
“You had better go easy on the wine, it affects you that way when you’re not used to it.” Jason smiled, his face reddening a little; he waved the guards away and calmed the maids before leaving himself. No sooner had Matra returned to his bed than Emeldra’s voice came to him.
“Matra, what’s happened? There has been such a ruckus. Somebody said you were attacked?’ Emeldra sent, her tone concerned with a hint of alarm.
“I’m all right, just a bad dream, Emeldra, go back to sleep,” Matra returned reassuringly; he sent an image of himself in bed to strengthen his reassurance.
“Oh, a bad dream.” Emeldra’s sending almost sounded amused. She teased him with an image of herself that made him blush. “Matra.”
“What?”
“Thank you.” Emeldra’s voice faded softly.
“Thank you for what!” Matra mused. The only reply was silence. Lying back on the bed he considered his dreams. For three nights now he had the same visions. Only one held any hope for the future, and even that seemed grim. The man who was a dragon fell into a fitful sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
A heavy mist hung over the island; light rain and sleet fell from a slate grey sky. The man walked up the pebble beach, his movements jerky and awkward. Above him flew eight red dragons and three mixed colours. He stopped looking up a wide rough path leading to an ancient ruined city. A red dragon landed nearby. “Why do you persist in using human form, brother?” the dragon sent, his tone conveying scorn.
“We need to know how accessible it is for humans, Tor, and do not question my motives again.” Var Firedragor abruptly changed form, spraying sand and pebbles on the other dragon. Slowly he flew along the line of the path. Though overgrown with bushes in places and strewn with fallen stone, the path could be cleared without much difficulty. He landed on a clear area between ruined buildings. Shapeshifting again, he disappeared into one the buildings as the other dragons approached. He inspected several more buildings as Tor Firedragor landed.
“Well is this place suitable for humans, Var? If so it will suit our needs well enough,” sent one of the dragons still circling above.
“Yes, it will suffice, and it is most suitable for our needs,” Var Firedragor answered. He walked down the wide open area inspecting more buildings. Var struggled to control his leg movements, wishing he could master the shapeshifti
ng as well as Fangdragor. He surmised Fangdragor and the queen Beldragor had some secret way of changing form. Some missing ingredient they kept to themselves that made their human forms so real.
One day he would find out what it was, one way or another he meant to have that secret. No other dragon that could shapeshift could pass close inspection like those two. To be able to shapeshift convincingly would fit in neatly with his plans and have certain advantages. Soon now, soon he would have that secret.
In the middle of a harsh winter, the Grand Council met at Castle Talmon. The first few days had been taken up with formalities. Now in its third day, the council members entered the throne room as they had the previous two days. A large log fire burned behind the throne, unlike the previous two days. The chairs of the heads of state were set out further back from the throne.
On the left of the throne, a large canvas sheet was spread out, and two guards stood nearby. Natam Raemalis noted the changes coolly. His eyes strayed to the other council members. They too seemed uncertain as to the meaning of the changes. There had been already one unexpected upset to the Grand Council so far and it had caused consternation to the two Tulatan members. That was the representative of the native Tulatans, a tall, thin tribesman called Jemito. The tribesman had watched Koan and Sandar like a man ready to explode into violent and deadly action. The two looked decidedly nervous under that cold stare. Even so, they still managed to carry on their rivalry.
Raemalis was hoping there would be no more surprises as King Faldarin entered with his nephew. There was no sign of the crafty old sorcerer today, though Sir Halwain was there as usual. Raemalis’s eyes narrowed; the princess also followed with a young man in a knight’s uniform. The crest on the front was unfamiliar to him though he had glimpsed the man before and heard the talk. He had seen to the awed looks the man sometimes got.
So this was the Lord Emissary to the Dragons and if rumours were to be believed, a shapeshifting dragon. Raemalis twisted his mouth slightly. This so-called dragon didn’t look much older than a boy. He was obviously a sorcerer, probably taught by the old fox Lanton. If they thought to impress the council with some sorcerer’s trick, he would soon disabuse them of that notion. He glanced around at the other council members again. For once Jemito was not staring at the other two Tulatans; his eyes followed the so-called Emissary to the Dragons with a strange look. It was not awe, Raemalis concluded; rather that of profound respect. Jemito held his ceremonial spear as he had on the previous two days.
Jemito suddenly stepped forward, bowing to the dragon emissary and presented his spear to him. Raemalis scoffed. The native was obviously all part of the theatricals, meant to impress them. The other two Tulatans’ eyes widened in surprise and they looked at each other nervously. King Amard joined the other council members sitting next to Raemalis.
“You aren’t taken in by this show, are you, Your Majesty?” Raemalis bowed his head respectfully as King Amard took his seat.
“How say you, First Advisor Raemalis?” King Amard’s accent had a more than a hint of seafarer’s tongue. Raemalis ground his teeth. What was the world coming to, with the likes of young Oswin Amard ruling in Deryl and King Faldarin and his so-called dragon emissary? King Faldarin must be going senile, pandering to that headstrong daughter of his’s wishes, no doubt.
“You surely don’t believe this entire dragon nonsense, do you, Your Majesty?” Raemalis asked keeping his tone respectful he managed a smile as he spoke.
“It is best to keep an open mind on such matters, First Advisor,” King Amard returned, smiling. Raemalis thought the man looked as nervous as the Tulatans. They spoke no more as the proceedings began. Jemito had returned to his place, still holding his ceremonial spear.
A long and heated argument between the council members began concerning King Faldarin’s grim warning that rebels in Tulata, Ladlian, Cyomatro and Deryl were joining with Paenalirs and what he called rebel dragons, to wage a war that would throw all of Althya into chaos.
“Come now, Your Majesty. I know we have a dragon aiding our cause, and Sandar has managed to enlist the help of one also. This does not seem to me like rebel dragons working together to bring ruin on us all. After all, you have a dragon aiding you, so I hear,” Commissioner Koan put in. He was careful to keep his tone suitably respectful as he regarded King Faldarin.
“Why would a dragon suddenly take an interest in your civil war? What does it have to gain, and why is it another was so easily persuaded to come to your aid, General Sandar?” King Faldarin asked. He looked at the two men questioningly.
General Estan Sandar frowned worriedly. Some of what King Faldarin said fitted together too well for comfort. Ever since he had decided to lead the rebellion against the corrupt administration ruled by Koan and his cronies he had expected with most of the army on his side to end the war quickly. It would have then been a matter of holding the fledgling state of South Tulata by military rule until a proper ruling body could be elected. All had been going to plan until Koan enlisted the help of a dragon, then he had been on the defensive until another dragon had offered its help to his cause. He didn’t know how but somehow the dragons managed to communicate through thoughts.
The last meeting he had with the red dragon before coming here still made his hair stand on end remembering it. The dragon’s voice had boomed in his head, almost overpowering him with its force of will. It had all but demanded that he had nothing to do with King Faldarin and his dragon. It had not understood though that he was a soldier and would not be put off by threats. Sandar frowned. There was still too many pieces that didn’t fit.
“Your Majesty, I must confess some of what you have said makes sense but why would the dragons help opposite sides when they might come in opposition to one another? Why not just side with the strongest?” Sandar thought he had him on this point.
“How long have you been at war with each other?” interjected King Amard, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
“Nine months now,” Koan put in, scowling at Sandar. “For nine months this traitor has had Tulata in turmoil,” Koan restated scornfully.
Sandar ignored Koan’s remarks as he regarded King Amard. “What are you getting at, Your Majesty?” Sandar’s red face seemed even redder as he struggled to keep himself under control.
“Simply this. Without the aid of dragons would not your conflict have ended one way or another long before now? Instead it drags on for months, with no end in sight.” Pausing, he considered a moment. “Also, you mention dragons on opposite sides coming against one another. If my information is correct, you both have red dragons supporting you. Has there been an incident where these two opposing dragons have clashed? I think not, gentlemen. There is plenty of room to doubt the red dragons’ motives, is there not?” King Amard concluded. Falling silent, he licked his lips nervously. He hoped a consensus could be, reached soon.
“What is this nonsense about dragons? What you two probably have is a couple of sorcerers using you to settle old scores and if His Majesty would forgive me for saying, so that is what King Faldarin has here, just another sorcerer.” Raemalis paused, looking at the faces of the council members. They all seemed to be taking this dragon business seriously. “At least His Majesty is using this sorcerer to best advantage,” Raemalis’s tone was dutifully respectful. He had to hand it to King Faldarin; the man was a brilliant politician.
“So you think dragon’s shapeshifting or otherwise is just a myth?” King Faldarin’s expression became blank as he looked at First Advisor Raemalis.
“Just a political ploy, Your Majesty, with all due respect.” Raemalis tone became neutral. Jemito shook his head and stamped his spear on the floor but otherwise remained silent.
“What our friend here is saying, First Advisor Raemalis, is that dragons are real enough but as to this shapeshifting part, that I doubt myself,” Sandar put in, his tone condescending.
“I have had enough of this, Father. It’s time we showed these pompous, self-important fools a
few home truths.” Emeldra stood fuming, her face flushed with anger. Matra gave her a woeful look as he moved towards the canvas sheet.
“I don’t include you, Cousin or you, Jemito, but the rest need pulling down a peg or two,” Emeldra added. Calming herself, she smiled cheekily and threw her head back defiantly as her father glared at her.
“That will be enough theatricals, daughter, but you are right. It is time for a demonstration,” King Faldarin snapped back at Emeldra his temper rising. “My Lord Emissary, Sir Fangdragor, if you please.” King Faldarin nodded at Matra, gesturing for him to continue.
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Matra bowed. Straightening himself up, waiting a moment, he looked closely at the council members’ faces. “Gentlemen, let me introduce myself. I am Matra Fangdragor. The title, Lord Emissary to the Dragons was bestowed on me by His Majesty, King Faldarin. It may sound a bit whimsical or pretentious to some of you, but in a way it is apt.” Matra paused, taking a deep breath and letting his words sink in.
He wanted to shapeshift and be done with it, but both Emeldra and her father insisted the council members needed to be led up to it gently. They needed everything wrapped up in formality and ceremony so they would feel safe. So he had to make a speech something that made him more nervous than going into battle.
“If my name Fangdragor sounds strange or unusual to you, it is because ‘Fangdragor’ stands for ‘blue’. The ‘fang’ part means blue in dragon language, nothing to do with fangs, and ‘dragor’ means ‘dragon’ as some of you may have guessed.” Matra paused again. He could see Raemalis was about to say something, so he waited.
“Oh come now, My Lord Emissary or whatever you call yourself, you don’t expect us to believe you are a dragon. If you have some sorcerer’s trick to show us why don’t you just get on with it and be done with this charade.” Raemalis’s tone was scornful, just enough without being insulting. Matra stiffened slightly before continuing.
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