Dragon's Heart

by Martin Gallagher

  Cara felt the warmth of feeling from Estan Sandar; she smiled. “I could heal that scar if you would let me.” Cara ran a finger along the scar. Sandar’s ruddy face turned redder momentarily, then his composure returned.

  “Perhaps some other time, Your Majesty. Right now I think we should make preparations to stop the red dragon’s army.” Sandar produced a map from a side pocket and spread it on the desk. Grimly he pointed out the position of the red dragon’s army and their line of advance, suggesting possible strategies to stop them.

  “We should reach Maren by dark, Your Highness, then at least we will have comfortable lodgings for the night,” Senion spoke wistfully. She did not like travelling, especially this time of year. The spring rains had left most roads through Ladlian like quagmires, the road ahead no exception. More than once the horseman had to stop and get some of the knights to help push the carriage out of the mud. As if to emphasise her point the carriage jolted over rough ground, the rear wheel skidding in the mud. A knight quickly dismounted and leaned his weight into the carriage, pushing it forward before it could become mired in the mud.

  Emeldra did not answer Senion, she was lost in her thoughts since leaving Castle Talmon and had hardly spoken. She still fumed with her father for sending her away. “Remember, he is a dragon, Emeldra. He might look like a man, but he is still a dragon inside,” her father had said. Of course, she knew he was a dragon; he was also a friend and an intelligent, warm caring being and she was not the only one to feel affection for him. So why single out her friendship with Matra? To be any different, to suggest anything else was foolish.

  Emeldra was uncertain of her true feelings towards Matra Fangdragor. She had protested more vehemently than was prudent, arguing that her father was ridiculous to think there might be more than friendship between Matra and herself. Of course, that was not the only reason for sending her to visit her cousins in Deryl. No one could overlook the fact that the whole country was on a war footing; the tension had been almost palpable in the air for weeks now. Her father was expecting another attack on the castle sooner rather than later. Emeldra had been ready for that argument though it seemed frivolous to suggest under such circumstances that she would be safer at the castle. That was not what she had meant to say though: what she meant to say was she would be safer with Matra. Here, too, her feelings were mixed. She knew that Matra had come to protect the Weaver of Destiny and Matra’s abilities made him well capable of doing just that. Matra had dampened that argument himself by saying they could keep in touch with the heartstone, and he could quickly come to their aid if needed. The point was that she did not entirely believe her arguments for staying and looking back they seemed more like childish excuses. The truth was, she missed Matra’s company more than she dared admit.

  The carriage jolted over yet another rock as Emeldra looked up. Something Senion had just said caught her attention. Looking off into the distance on either side, a hazy mist seemed to be forming. A sense of uneasiness crept over Emeldra. She called to Jason Kith.

  “Yes, Your Highness?” Jason reined in beside the carriage as he spoke and saluted smartly, his usual half smile on his face.

  “There is something odd about this mist. I think we should be extra alert and quicken the pace a little if possible, Jason,” Emeldra said a little edgily. Jason, noting the edge in the princess’s voice, looked around carefully at the gathering mist. The worried expression on Emeldra’s face convinced him all was not as it seemed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “You are right, Your Highness, the mist is unusual. I’ll see what I can do to hasten our arrival at Maren and tell the men to be extra alert as well.” Without another word he spurred his horse forward, shouting orders as he moved along the line. The horseman cracked his whip; the carriage jolted along at a faster pace, the knights keeping time. Senion looked at Emeldra worriedly. Seeing Emeldra’s expression she said nothing but fretted all the more.

  Estan Sandar frowned, looking over the scene: the red dragon’s army all but broken now, though the cost had been dear. Only about half his army remained. If it had not been for the help from Cara and the natives under Jemito they might not have stopped them. He had chosen his ground well, a small valley which the enemy had to pass through to reach Naya. With his men and the natives hidden they had completely surprised them.

  There had been no sign of any red dragons; that fact worried him even now. The rebel army had retreated to the far side of the valley and seemed to be waiting for something. As if in answer to his silent question the rebel army gave a loud cheer and surged forward again as two red and two green dragons flew over the valley. Sandar cursed. He expected maybe one or two dragons but not four.

  “Captain,” Sandar yelled at the top of his voice. Moments later the captain came galloping towards him, reining his mount in just in front. He saluted briskly.

  “Yes, sir.” Vince Gan’s face looked haggard and drawn with the lack of sleep, yet he remained alert, his expression unemotional as he saluted.

  “We’re sitting targets in the open for the dragons. Tell the men to disperse and take cover. When the enemy comes forward to mix it with them, the dragons will have to kill their troops to get to us. I doubt that will stop them from what I’ve seen, but at least it gives us a fighting chance.”

  Sandar rubbed a finger along his scar. Looking up, he saw the gold queen circling above. In all his life he had never met such a spirited woman and to think she was a dragon! Coolly he wondered if he would live to see her again. “One more thing, Vince,” Sandar added.

  “Yes, General?” Captain Gan replied.

  “Good luck!” Sandar said simply.

  “I’ll see you later, General,” Gan replied firmly then spurred his mount forward.

  Cara had not been wholly surprised to find more dragons. They had obviously underestimated her response earlier. Not this time, she thought ruefully. This time four dragons faced her, and with having little time to rest since the last battle.

  She had expected to come under attack by the four dragons instantly, but they had hesitated given her just enough time to flash a quick message to Matra. The two green dragons seemed to concentrate their attack on Sandar’s and Jemito’s forces while the two reds attacked her. The gold shield flickered as fire burst around her from two sides. Cara dived, sending her fire in return. A burst of energy barely missed her as she climbed higher, disappearing into cloud. Again the shield flickered as lightning struck it. She swerved left and sent a burst of energy at the pursuing dragon.

  The dragon had been careless in creating its shield. The energy bolt caught a weak spot in the dragon's underbelly, bursting through the shield. The dragon screamed in pain and wheeled about in circles, wounded but not yet out of the fight; the other red dragon closed with Cara. It was not foolish enough to go head to head but kept a safe distance while sending fireballs at her. The wounded dragon regained control and again closed for the attack, putting Cara on the defensive. She hoped Matra would soon arrive as she didn’t know how much longer she could hold out.

  Matra dashed through the courtyard after leaving a quick message for Sir Halwain to pass on to the king. People, seeing him coming and the grim look on his face, quickly stepped aside as he made his way towards the raised platform that had been built especially for him.

  Running up the steps two at a time he quickly changed before reaching the top. Ignoring the awed onlookers, he lifted skyward, wings spread wide. The wind whistled around him as he quickly circled higher before flying northwards. After leaving the castle far behind Matra concentrated his will and pictured a place he knew in Tulata.

  If anybody had been watching the sky at the time, they would have seen a dragon surrounded by light disappear through what looked like a hole in the sky. Matra reappeared in Tulata and headed towards Naya. A small shape appeared on the horizon to his right which steadily grew bigger. Long before he could see the dragon he felt a mental touch he recognised.

  “I would fly with
you, Fangdragor,” the bronze dragon sent in formal tones.

  “You are welcome but the skies are dark and the winds against us where I fly,” returned Matra formally, his words signalled that he was flying into battle.

  “So be it. I would be glad to fly with you.” Eartdragor drew alongside Matra.

  “Have you a given name?” Matra asked as they flew over Naya.

  “You may name me,” replied the bronze dragon.

  “It is my honour; I will call you Soltin,” his tone solemn. The circumstances were unusual, but by naming the bronze, Matra had become a brother to Eartdragor in dragon terms. The two flew on towards a small valley and battle.

  A bolt of pure energy burst through Cara’s shield sending white hot pain along every nerve in her body. She wheeled about and dived low, her wingtips scraping the still snow-covered hilltops of the valley. She turned her powers inward, her shield flashing from gold to blue as the healing energy coursed through her body. The green dragons had abandoned their attack on Sandar’s army after having killed half their men, as Sandar’s troops mixed in with the dragon army. All four dragons now pursued her relentlessly.

  The scene below Cara was a confused mass of bodies; snow remained even on the low ground, making the men below stand out starkly, like dark patches in the snow bodies lay strewn everywhere. Sunlight flashed off swinging swords, and the occasional arrow winged its way to its mark.

  Near to exhaustion, Cara turned her attention to the pursuing dragons, sending a fireball at the nearest dragon. The dragon barely dodged the fireball, its shield glowing as the tail end of the fireball hit. Fire hit her on three sides. As she dived towards the ground her shield flickered out. She had managed to evade the attack, but now she was defenceless as the attacking dragons closed on her.

  Cara landed on a rocky outcropping; she did not try to raise her shield again. Instead, she prepared to put all her remaining power into a last all-out attack just as a roar came from behind her.

  “Mother,” Matra called as he flew over a nearby hilltop. Fire and lightning rolled out from him in waves, in a frightening display of raw power

  “I’m all right, heart of mine,” Cara answered as Soltin circled above, weaving a glowing shield around her.

  “Thank you, Eartdragor,” sent Cara gratefully in a tone coloured with weariness.

  “You are welcome, Beldragor. Now I must help Matra punish those who dare attack a queen,” Soltin returned solemnly. He flew towards a green dragon trying to circle Matra; the sky lit up around him as he sent lightning at the green dragon.

  Taken unaware, buffeted and knocked like a feather in the wind, the green dragon bellowed in frustrated rage, giving up the attack and fleeing, followed by his companion.

  Landing on a snow-covered hilltop the air around him shimmered as Matra changed form. Drawing his sword, he hoisted it skyward with both hands, pointing it towards the red dragons. Fire rained down on him but fell harmlessly aside as his shield glowed brighter. All around, snow melted and boiled, causing clouds of steam to rise, obscuring the hilltop from view. His sword glowed with the power channelled through it as he sent a beam of glowing energy skyward.

  Sandar shielded his eyes, looking toward the hilltop where Matra had stood before the attacking dragons had sent fireball after fireball down on him. The hill looked shrouded in mist now, making it difficult to see anything.

  Then he saw it!

  A shaft of raw energy rising out of the mist, it seemed to rise slowly in a straight line. There was so much mist above the hill that the attacking dragons didn’t see the shaft of energy until it was too late to avoid it. A sound like thunder rattled across the sky, accompanied by a burst of blinding light. One of the dragons spun away from the impact uncontrollably, as if swatted by a giant hand. Of the second there was no sign save for debris that looked like scorched flesh and pieces of bone falling from the sky.

  Sandar knelt over the prone body of his captain. Gan’s face was deathly pale, his features contorted into a mask of pain; blood oozed from a gaping wound in his side.

  “Easy, Vince, we’ll get you patched up soon as the healer gets here.” Sandar inspected the wound grimly. A piece of chain mail had embedded itself in his side.

  “Don’t try to fool me, General, I’m not going to make it, am I?” Gan spoke through gritted teeth, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Sandar swore under his breath. If the wound weren’t treated soon the piece of chain mail would work its way into his vitals, killing him for sure even if the wound and the loss of blood didn’t.

  “I’ll not lie to you, Vince, it’s bad. A piece of mail from your armour has embedded in the wound I’m going to have to try and get it out. We can’t wait for the healer to get here.” He got his dagger out, managing a reassuring smile at his captain. Gan smiled back wryly before he twisted in pain, his face perspiring feverishly.

  He was about to start probing the wound when he heard footsteps in the wet snow behind him. Turning, he looked up into dark blue eyes and a face topped with long red hair; a gentle face that showed concern.

  “Let me have a look at him.” Cara knelt down in the snow beside Gan as Sandar moved aside, nodding wordlessly, audibly sighing with relief. If anyone could save Gan, Cara could.

  Cara smiled at Gan calmly as she put a hand to his fevered brow. “Rest easy, Captain, you will be all right, trust me.” She spoke softly. There was a faint glow from her fingertips, then Gan slumped into unconsciousness.

  Behind her General Sandar watched anxiously. He would never admit it, but in the ten years he had known him, Vince Gan had become more like a younger brother; he was not sure how he would react if the gallant captain were to die now.

  Cara placed her hands on either side of the wound, pressing gently down. Again a soft glow emitted from between her fingers, spreading slowly over the festering wound with painstaking slowness. The piece of chain mail began to move outwards. At that moment the healer arrived, followed by Matra. General Sandar motioned them to wait as Cara concentrated on removing the metal from Gan’s side. When it was three parts protruding out from his side she turned, keeping one hand on Gan, and motioned the healer to remove it. Gingerly the healer stepped forward with a look of amazement at Cara and carefully removed the metal. Cara again concentrated on the wound with both hands. Slowly the redness around the wound started to fade then it began to close. Gan’s face no longer looked strained.

  “I think you had better stitch the wound to make sure it stays closed,” Cara told the healer as she finally stood. She watched carefully as the healer went to work to make sure he wouldn’t undo her handiwork, but as she expected, like all those under General Sandar the man was experienced and confident in his profession. His hands worked deftly as he sewed the wound and finished by rubbing a salve over it.

  “There is something not right about all this,” Matra said, facing Sandar and Cara as the healer left to attend the rest of the wounded.

  “I’ve had that same feeling to, but they did nearly succeed in overrunning most of Tulata. Maybe they were just testing our strength,” Sandar answered. Stroking his scar, he frowned worriedly.

  “Other dragons were watching, but they didn’t attack. I could sense them though I couldn’t see where they were hidden,” Matra explained. Sandar cursed viciously then caught himself turning apologetically to Cara.

  “There is no need for apology, General, I know exactly how you feel,” Cara said.

  Pandemonium suddenly broke out among the soldiers, and a white-faced man came rushing towards where the three stood in conversation.

  “Begging your pardon, Your Ladyship, Sir Fangdragor,” the soldier began, panting. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “General, sir, there is another dragon coming. It looks like it’s going to land.” He pointed skyward as bronze came circling lower and lower. The remains of Sandar’s army were trying to organise itself against another attack, but the dragon merely repulsed any that came near it as it landed.

  “Tell your
men to relax, General, this one is a friend,” Matra said, smiling as Soltin padded his way towards them.

  The queen dragon watched from her place of concealment as the blue dragon flew overhead. As soon as he had disappeared, she sent word to the waiting red dragons. She spread her cramped wings irritably. At last, she would have her due recognition as a queen dragon. No longer would she be in the shade of those like Beldragor, a lowly green queen, an oddity amidst mainly golds to be looked down on. Firedragor had promised he would take her as his mate. He would teach her the secret of shapeshifting and make her a greater queen than Cara Beldragor. She rose from her place of concealment and flew eastward.

  Everything was chaos. Emeldra tried vainly to muster her powers, but something seemed to be restraining her. Beside her Senion screamed in terror as a red dragon swooped low, causing the horses to panic. In front of them, knights fought with a small band of Paenalirs. Jason Kith had tried to keep his men protectively around the carriage; for a short time, they had held. But the attacking dragon quickly pushed them back so that they now stood a good distance away from the fighting. Jason struggled to get back to the princess but the dragon blocked his path, and more Paenalirs rushed toward him.

  “We’ve got to get out of here, Senion.” Frantically Emeldra shook Senion to snap her out of her hysteria while clamping hard on her fear. Senion at last quietened, nodding quickly to Emeldra, her eyes wide with fear. The two made their way to the front of the now motionless carriage. The horseman lay slumped over the seat with a spear through his stomach. Emeldra avoided looking at the dead man as they climbed down. Suddenly a dark shaped passed over them; Emeldra clasped the heartstone tightly in her hand then darkness engulfed her.

  “We are in your debt, Soltin,” sent Cara to the bronze dragon as it crouched nearby.