Dragon's Heart

by Martin Gallagher

  “My lord First Advisor should be aware that no sorcerer can shapeshift. You see me standing before you, a man you may approach and check to see if I am in fact a solid living breathing man and not an illusion.” He paused, smiling. “Or to make sure I have no mirrors or whatever you might think I would use to deceive you.” Matra looked at Raemalis. He could read from his mind what he would say next.

  “But you are a sorcerer. I’ve no doubt you could just dupe us with your magic into seeing what you want us to see.” Raemalis thought he had won his point, but Matra had not finished yet.

  “Indeed that would be possible, First Advisor, as you say but what if I could not perform any magic? Would you concede that what you saw would be real?’ Matra asked.

  “I’m not sure how you would assure us no magic would be used. Even so, there is still the Princess, if you would forgive me, Your Highness,” Raemalis said, nodding slowly towards Emeldra.

  “You have my word of honour I will not use any magic, First Advisor Raemalis, but if you wish I will leave the room,” Emeldra held herself in check. The man would not believe the world was coming to an end until it started to fall apart around him.

  Raemalis hesitated only seconds. It would be highly insulting to doubt the word of the princess. Besides, it would not be worth the embarrassment to the Ladlian royalty to be caught in such a lie in front of the Grand Council. She would not risk it.

  “There is no need for that, Your Highness. You have given your word, I and the rest of the council would not dare doubt it.” Raemalis’s voice was profoundly respectful as he stood and bowed to Emeldra.

  “How do you propose to assure us no magic is in use?” Commissioner Koan asked thoughtfully, his narrow eyes squinting at Matra.

  “I have said I would not perform any magic yet shapeshifting is magic in itself. We have two points to prove, I think.” He paused. “One, to assure First Advisor Raemalis dragons do exist; second to prove shapeshifting is possible. I believe I can prove both.” Again he paused, looking around at the council members. “To assure all present no other magical means is used to deceive the council of the authenticity of what you will see, I will be blindfolded and bound hand and foot, then laid on this canvas sheet. The guards here will watch me closely.” Once more he paused to let what he said sink in. “I’m sure you realise to be able to cast magic successfully, especially magic involving illusion, you need to be able to see where and what you are casting.” He looked again at the council members’ faces. Even Raemalis had to concede what Matra said grudgingly. Finally, he looked at King Faldarin, who nodded silently. He then ordered the guards to blindfold and bind him, asking all to check he was bound securely enough.

  Emeldra watched Matra being bound, holding her head up, her expression showing nothing. Quietly she fumed that he should be treated so just to prove to a few self-important members of the council that dragons and indeed, shapeshifting dragons did exist. She hoped what he said about not being able to perform magic blindfolded and bound was not entirely true. This final part had been Matra’s idea, so she had to trust that he knew what he was doing. Finally bound and led round in circles at the suggestion of First Advisor Raemalis as an added insurance, Matra was then laid on the sheet. Emeldra held her breath.

  Only seconds after being laid on the sheet Matra began to change the air around him, began to glow with thousands of sparkles of light and his shape changed with painstaking slowness. His blindfold and bonds fell away. A larger form began to take shape: at first only a vague outline could be seen then more detail appeared. So slow and controlled did the transformation take place, it caused only the slightest draught from the displacement of air. Matra hadn’t finished yet, even when his dragon form could be seen, and Raemalis gaped, almost panic-stricken. He formed a sphere around himself. Blue and gold light flashed within in a dazzling display.

  “It’s a mating display, used to attract queens. I thought it might be suitably impressive,” Matra sent to Emeldra, seeing her pleasantly surprised by the display.

  “I hope we don’t get a flight of queen dragons swarming around the castle. Certain council members have enough to cope with as it is.” Emeldra’s sending was slightly amused as she walked towards Matra in what was an unexpected move and proceeded to mount his back. Matra turned his head see what she was up to, his muzzle coming into contact with her upper body.

  Raemalis’s face was ashen and he looked ready to run, as did Koan. Sandar and King Amard seemed appalled, though they looked prepared to draw swords and leap to Emeldra’s defence.

  “You naughty dragon, what are you doing?” Emeldra sent, her tone still amused though her cheeks flushed a little. She stroked his muzzle affectionately.

  “Trying to see what you are up to, Emeldra. If you are trying to protect me from a horde of amorous queens there is no need, it’s the wrong time of year.” Matra’s tone was equally amused as he turned to face the council. He lifted himself up to his full height so that Emeldra could easily reach up and touch the ceiling if she wished. “Hold still, Emeldra, I’m going to lift you down.” Emeldra remained still as he cast a web around her, enveloping her in glowing energy.

  Chapter Fourteen

  She felt herself being gradually lifted up. With supreme confidence in Matra’s ability she folded her arms as he gently brought her down in front of him.

  “Thank you, Sir Fangdragor.” Emeldra spoke aloud as she turned to face Matra. The dragon bowed his head in acknowledgement as Emeldra turned again to face the council. She noticed even her father looked a little pale.

  “Hold the shield, Emeldra, while I turn back.” Instinctively she grasped the shield that still enveloped her with her powers as Matra changed. The inrush of air in the enclosed room blew out several lanterns and left most of the council members reeling in their seats. Emeldra remained untouched, standing serenely in the midst of the confusion.

  After the display Matra put on, it did not take the council members long to reach a rough consensus. A lot of argument continued, but when the council finally broke up two days later, all the members left in no doubt as to the gravity of the situation.

  The winter snows finally melted, bringing rain. The mountain streams swelled, flooding the lower valleys next to the Dragor Mountains. Unlike previous springs where people in most parts of Ladlian and elsewhere celebrated the spring solstice, the spring celebrations this time were muted, an uneasiness felt, as armies began to mobilise. Garrisons throughout Ladlian were put on full alert and patrols increased.

  In Cyomatro the elite halberdiers were brought back from the far eastern provinces as an uneasy truce established. In Tulata too a temporary treaty was in force. The warring factions fretted over what the other was doing while looking nervously over their shoulders as if expecting some unseen foe to strike from behind. Frantically they began to call up reinforcements to strengthen their armies.

  There were no red dragons to be seen anywhere in Tulata!

  Commissioner Koan slumped numbly in his chair. The soldier who had just left had brought him the worst news he could receive. A sizeable force of rebels consisting of Tulatans, some of which were natives, and Paenalirs backed by at least three red dragons had destroyed several native villages and the small town of Keije to the north of Naya.

  Panic had already started to spread in the streets of Naya as rumours that the marauding army was heading this way with at least three dragons. How they could cope with three or more dragons, he didn’t know. Some of his so-called friends in the merchants’ guild had already fled, leaving him to try and save the town. “Negotiate with them,” one had said before leaving; he laughed bitterly. There would be no negotiating with this marauding army. He would fare better negotiating with Sandar, he thought ironically.

  All that had been said at the Grand Council was true. He had doubted most of it but had used the truce as an excuse to try and rebuild his depleted forces. He had not tried to keep communications open with Sandar as had been suggested; now it was too lat
e. He stared at the jug of wine on his desk for a long time.

  “What is the latest position and heading of the Dragon Army, Captain?” Sandar’s ruddy face looked blotchy as he studied his captain. The man had ridden hard, his horse nearly collapsed under him as he had arrived at the camp only seconds ago. His eyes looked wide and haunted yet when he spoke his voice was steady.

  “They are twelve leagues north-west of Naya, General. At their present speed, unless they stop they will reach Naya by tomorrow morning,” the captain replied soberly.

  Sandar knew all too well what the man had been through, he had seen himself earlier in the day. A whole village destroyed, the survivors wounded. Women and children alike were put under the control of the dragons, not only to swell the ranks of the growing army but those too badly wounded to fight marched in front like zombies. Broken and disjointed limbs flailed grotesquely and their tattered, bloody clothing adding to the horror. They marched until they either bled to death or were butchered at the next village they attacked.

  Estan Sandar calmed the heaving of his stomach and looked skyward; already the light was fading. The captain stood to wait for his next orders. “They’re not all mindless zombies, they’ll stop.” Sandar spoke as if talking to himself.

  “Yes, sir,” the captain answered him anyway, his face pale as he continued to wait for the general’s orders patiently. Vince Gan had been captain under General Sandar for ten years and would follow him to Hades itself if the general ordered it. He knew what must be going through the general’s mind. In the years he had known the general, Gan had come to trust the man’s judgement and integrity. He knew General Sandar would act only in the best interests of his men and all Tulata.

  “Tell the men we ride through the night. Anyone who falls behind gets left.” Sandar’s expression was grim as he fixed his gaze on the captain.

  “Where to, General?” Captain Gan asked though he already knew the answer.

  “To Naya, Vince, to Naya and the creator help us all,” Sandar almost shouted his reply his voice cracking like a whip in the stillness.

  Cara flew over the burning village. Below, villagers fought with Paenalirs. Two red dragons swooped, setting fire to several native huts. Cara let out a piercing, anguished cry as Jemito held on tight to her back spines. One of the attacking dragons turned to face her. Cara, dived sending a fireball at the dragon. Too late the red dragon tried to evade Cara’s attack; fire engulfed the dragon, snuffing out its shield and turning the dragon to hot ash almost instantly.

  Cara turned her attention to the second dragon as it sent lightning towards her. A pale blue glowing shield surrounded her and Jemito which flashed brighter as the lightning struck. Keeping her shield up, she flew headlong at the red dragon. As they collided shields flashed and flared with sparks. The reddish pink glow surrounding the red dragon fizzled out, and Cara’s talons streaked across its body, tearing its right wing to shreds.

  The dragon bellowed in pain and flailed about, trying to keep itself aloft, the torn wing shredding more with the effort. It began to plummet towards the burning village. Cara sent a bolt of pure energy at the falling dragon. As the air around it crackled with energy the dragon exploded into dust.

  Fighting continued in the village as Cara descended, landing in a nearby clearing. Jemito quickly dismounted as several Paenalirs charged toward them. Changing form swiftly Cara leapt into the attack beside Jemito, sword in hand.

  Matra watched the entourage leave the castle with a sense of uneasiness; he knew the king had more than one reason for sending Emeldra to visit her cousin King Amard. He was quite sure Emeldra also knew as she had flatly refused to go until he had mentioned they could keep in contact with the heartstone. The king had also ordered an escort of his best knights led by Jason Kith to accompany Emeldra. He knew the escort should be more than adequate for dealing with any trouble; still, his uneasiness persisted. Part of it was that he had sensed a queen dragon nearby. Her spirit presence was unfamiliar to him, and she seemed to be hiding. Sometimes he could sense her, sometimes she just wasn’t there. It was most unusual for a queen to behave in this way. Still, a queen dragon alone could not be any great threat to the castle or Emeldra.

  Commissioner Koan looked up at the red-haired woman, noticing her red-rimmed eyes; she had been crying recently. Her gold armour was dirty and bloodstained. The jewelled sword in her hand dripped fresh blood from the blade onto the Cyomatron carpet he had specially bought at great expense.

  Though she looked less regal than the last time, he saw her. Koan realised she was unbroken; there was a fierceness in her look as she stared at him that held him rooted to the spot. Beside her stood the tall native he had met at the Grand Council. He did not know what they expected him to do against a marauding army and red dragons. He would defend the town as best he could with those men who had not deserted and fled. There was nothing more he could do. It was hopeless anyway, and he had told her so.

  “What more can I do, lady? I have barely enough men left to defend the town. There is nothing I can do, nothing.” Koan’s voice was shrill and pleading, his breath reeking of wine. He bowed his head in sorrow.

  “I have just lost a village under my protection and barely saved another. A whole town has been destroyed while you sit here wringing your hands and drowning your sorrows.” Cara’s voice was scathing as she looked down at Commissioner Koan.

  “It is no use talking to him, my queen, he is a broken man. We must seek help elsewhere.” Jemito spoke with contempt as he regarded the little man.

  Koan wondered why the native kept calling her his queen and what did she mean by a village under her protection? He was about to repeat yet again he could do nothing when he realised someone else had entered the room.

  “Perhaps I can help, Your Majesty.” General Sandar stood in the doorway, his eyes taking all in. He bowed towards Cara. He scrutinised her carefully, noting her appearance, taking in Jemito with the same scrutiny.

  “Sandar, thank the creator you are here. Perhaps there is hope yet.” He looked up at Sandar, a flicker of hope in his eyes.

  “Perhaps, Commissioner, but I will not be led or take orders from you.” Sandar’s tone was ice as he looked at Koan; he turned to face Cara again. “The native calls you his queen and if I’m to continue to call you the same, might I know what queen I’m addressing?” General Sandar walked into the lamplight as he spoke; with a blank expression as he stared at Cara.

  “Allow me to introduce myself, gentlemen. My name is Cara Beldragor.” For emphasis, she cast a shield of gold around her. Koan’s eyes widened in surprise Sandar merely raised an eyebrow.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after what happened at the council. I presume you know Fangdragor being a shapeshifting dragon also.” Sandar’s expression remained neutral as he spoke.

  “My son, General Sandar,” Cara said. There was a note of pride in her tone, letting the shield drop as she spoke.

  “Then there is hope yet. A queen dragon; maybe you can get other dragons to help us also,” Koan put in eagerly.

  “It is not that simple. Most of the dragons that might aid us still sit on the fence. They will not interfere in what they think does not concern them; I can get no other help. Not that I should need any in that respect. There were, as far as I know, three dragons with this army. I have taken care of two myself. What we need are men on the ground to stop their army’s advance.” Cara spoke softly, her voice tinged with regret at having had to kill two of her kind.

  This time Estan Sandar did look surprised. He knew queen dragons were larger than the males, therefore more powerful, yet he also knew from his experience that red dragons were not to be taken likely. That Cara had killed two seemed hardly credible. He did not entirely trust dragons after his recent experiences, yet this queen dragon was a powerful and commanding figure; the natives looked to her as their queen. She would be perfect to rally the people, especially in that gold armour.

  “Can you perhaps call Fangdr
agor to our aid, Your Majesty?” he asked with a bow of his head. Her mouth turned up in a smile that Sandar found most engaging.

  Cara studied Estan Sandar. She knew exactly what he thought, his mind was an open book to her. There was steel in the man that bespoke a harsh upbringing. Discipline showed in every fibre of him, even the clothes he wore, from the grey fur coat to his brown military boots. Everything was neat and orderly even after travelling all night to reach Naya. His thick thatch of greying hair was neatly groomed, his red face clean-shaven. What made him look so fearsome though was the thin scar slanting from the top left side of his chin to his Adam’s apple. Cara could remove that scar with her healing abilities if he would let her, but she suspected he would not allow it under any circumstances.

  “That should not be necessary, his duty lies with the Weaver of Destiny,” Cara frowned worriedly. “I will only ask his help as a last resort.” Cara’s expression became distant lost in thought.

  “As you wish, Your Majesty. I will place my men and myself under your command.” Sandar searched his mind; somewhere he had heard the phrase, Weaver of Destiny, before. Try as he may, he could not place it.

  “I too place myself and whatever men and resources I have left at your disposal er—ah—That is, Your Majesty. Surely two dragons would ensure our success if Fangdragor could be persuaded, er—to erm—” Koan came to a stuttering stop as Cara eyed him coldly. He involuntarily leaned back in his chair, half expecting she would strike him dead any second.

  “It is not a matter of ensuring success, Commissioner Koan. I do not wish to stoop to the same level as our enemies. They are putting innocents in the front line against us; they must be stopped with as little bloodshed as possible.” Cara spoke bitterly, compassion showing in her expression. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  Estan Sandar took a closer look at the woman standing before him. A dragon in disguise she might be, but she had more compassion than any woman he had ever met. He reassessed his opinion of her. This dragon he could trust, this woman could command his respect and loyalty.