by Sarah Hite
It was soon decided that her friends, who had just returned, should be told. Moon asked if they could wait a few days before telling the rest of the kids; she wanted to see if she could help Ania find herself before she was thrown in a group. She was already skittish and Moon was sure that the others would just frighten the girl more. After a several minutes they agreed to keep Ania’s identity secret until they could clear her mind of the foreign memories.
***
A few days later, Moon took Ania out into the country surrounding Aretell. She thought that being alone in the peace of the forest would help quell the storm that waged within her. She was still uneasy around people, even those who had showed her kindness. She remained fearful of everyone except Moon, Kwan, and Shaelynn.
As they walked, they talked about the memory of the green female. This memory was one in common between them. Ania knew it was not her memory and she could not figure out why she remembered it. Moon looked down at her and shook her head sadly. “I don’t know why,” she said. “I do know that this particular memory is one from my family history. That would mean the dragon who gave them to you is a close relative.”
Ania looked up at her. “Why? I don’t understand. How could they have been a relative?”
“This memory is one of my grandmothers. She passed it down to my mother, who passed it down to me and my brothers. Only the three of us, or my parents, knew what she went through; and, out of the five of us, only my brothers and I remained at the time you and this dragon came in contact.” After a moment, she added, “My parents used this story to teach us that no matter the circumstances, no matter what may be going wrong in our lives, there is always hope. That we should never give up, because things will always work out.”
Ania looked up at her. She smiled, understanding the point of the story. She now understood, in her heart, that she was going to be okay. Even though it may take some time, she would overcome, and live on.
Dregno Gunner
Silvrin stood and walked over to a window set high in the stone wall. He looked through the bars at the city streets beyond. He sighed and turned back to his cot. As he walked back across the small room, he looked over at Nealson. He was still asleep; he was cold and slept uneasily. Silvrin took the blanket off of his cot and covered the older man with it. After a few minutes he stopped shivering. They had been living in the prison for several months, and it had been many weeks since he and Nealson had been brought here. They were not exactly sure where here was; the guards had placed thick canvas bags over their heads when they had moved them, but Silvrin was sure that they were still in Kintone.
After a while, a guard came and opened the door, which woke Nealson up. The old man sat up as the guard placed a platter on the floor just inside the door. He left and locked the door behind him. After he had gone Silvrin fetched the platter. It held two bowls of watered-down gruel and two chunks of hard, stale bread. This meal was the same they had received every morning since their arrival. Silvrin dipped the bread in the gruel to soften it. After a moment, he took a bite. Even softened, the bread was still hard to chew. He took a sip of the gruel and grimaced. It was cold and tasteless. Even so, the two men ate without further complaint.
They talked among themselves until midmorning. They spoke of the other men and where they were being held. They spoke of their families and where they thought the kids might be, if they had succeeded, and what they would do when they heard about what had happened. They silenced when they heard the stomp of heavy boots in the hall. They stopped just outside the door. The jingle of keys could be heard as the guard unlocked the door.
A burly guard entered the room, followed by a thinner man who was just as muscular. They pushed Nealson out of their way. He toppled over, and his head struck the wall as he fell. Silvrin tried to help his friend but the guards grabbed him by the arms roughly and forced him out the door. They dragged him up several flights of stairs and down multiple corridors. His heart sank as he realized that he was no longer in the prison but in the palace.
They dragged him to a small, plain room with a fire roaring in the stone fireplace. To his horror, they forced him into a chair and they tied his arms and legs. When the guards were sure that he would not be able to break free of his bonds they turned and left. A few minutes later, two men entered the room. Silvrin now understood, for standing in front of him were two men—Commander Larsen, tall and strong, with his long, pitch-black hair pulled back and tied at the back of his neck, his thick chest covered by a thick chest plate—and Lord Dregno Gunner, who was short and mighty. His short white blonde hair barely covered his head. He looked at Silvrin spitefully.
“So this is the brave Guard captain,” Gunner sneered. “You think you’re a clever one? We’ll see about that.” Larsen chuckled harshly behind him. “His Lordship has some questions, and you will answer them,” he said cruelly. “First of all, where did you send the egg?”
Silvrin feigned innocence. “What egg? The only eggs in Pycan come from chickens.”
Commander Larsen struck him across the mouth. “His Lordship won’t stand for such insolence. You will answer the question!”
Silvrin looked the man in the eye. He spoke without fear. “My name is Silvrin. I am the captain of the Pycan Dragon Guard. I have taken an oath to defend dragons, no matter the consequences. This is my duty, and I will gladly pay the price.”
Commander Larsen struck him again and asked about the egg. Again he said with defiance, “I am Dragon Guard. It is my duty to defend dragons from hunters, from prejudice, and from tyranny. I will uphold my oath… until death.” In truth, Silvrin could not answer the question, because he had no knowledge of its location or the kids for that matter. He could only pray that they had succeeded.
Again the commander struck him. Again they asked him the question, and again the “Dragon Guard code” was his answer. Even when they increased the harshness of the beatings, he still gave them the same answer. After several hours of interrogating him, Gunner ordered him to be taken back to his cell. They would try again the next day.
They returned him to his cell and threw him in. He fell to the floor, scraping his palms. As he slowly stood he felt a hand on his shoulder. Nealson helped him to his feet and over to his cot. He had blood in his hair; it was dried and crusted. “Are you all right?” Silvrin asked his friend.
Nealson nodded, “I’m all right, but you don’t look too good.”
Silvrin grimaced. He told Nealson what had happened. The old man shook his head. “They mean to break us.”
Silvrin looked at the floor. “If they do, all Guards- men, not just the kids, will be in trouble. We cannot break, no matter what they do to us.” Nealson agreed. He knew just as well as Silvrin the consequence for breaking their oath. It would not only harm the dragons, but every member of the Dragon Guard would pay the price.
The next day revealed much of the same. The prisoners were served their breakfast, and a few hours later Silvrin was hauled off for questioning. After several hours he was brought back. The days took on a consistent pattern, except when they would take Nealson instead. After several weeks, the guards came for Silvrin.
They tied him in the chair and left the room as always. This time Gunner came alone. He walked over to the fireplace and pulled a metal rod from the fire. His pale blue eyes shone from under his brow maliciously. The firelight reflected off his pale hair and skin, giving him a ghastly appearance. He twisted the rod around, as if looking it over, and turned to Silvrin. “You have strength. I admire that, but everyone breaks… given enough time.” He looked down at Silvrin, as if he were a roach needing to be squashed. “I am a reasonable man. Tell me what I want to know, and I will see that you are set free.”
Silvrin knew he had no intention of freeing him, same as Lord Mobren had no such desire to free Tia when Thorin gave himself up. “It doesn’t matter what I tell you. You won’t set me free… or any of my men. It doesn’t matter to you what happens to us. You can torture us all you lik
e; we still won’t talk.” Gunner looked surprised by his answer. He quickly hid his surprise behind a hardened expression. “So be it,” he said coldly. He pressed the end of the rod against Silvrin’s back. He bit back a pained howl and spat, “Do your worst. You won’t get anything out of me. I am Dragon Guard. It is my duty to defend dragons from hunters, from prejudice, and from tyranny. I will uphold my oath until death.” Gunner again pressed the heated metal against his skin. “Where are they? Where are the people you sent to hide the egg?”
“I am Dragon Guard. It is my duty to defend dragons from hunters, from prejudice, and from tyranny. I will uphold my oath until death.” Silvrin cringed as the hot metal touched his skin.
“Where is the dragon?” Gunner asked fiercely.
“I am Dragon Guard. It is my duty to defend dragons from hunters, from prejudice, and from tyranny. I will uphold my oath until death.”
Silvrin soon lost track of the time. He no longer knew how many times the hot metal burned his flesh. He only knew his answer. “I am Dragon Guard. It is my duty to defend dragons from hunters, from prejudice, and from tyranny. I will uphold my oath until death.”
He began to lose his senses. He no longer felt cold or tired. He only felt the pain of his burning flesh; he was only vaguely aware that he was answering Gunner’s questions at all. He struggled to remain conscious against the pain. Gunner looked down at Silvrin in contempt. He hung limply in the chair; were it not for the ropes that held him there he would have fallen to the floor. “Where are they? I know you know their location! Even if you don’t, you have some idea of where they are. Now tell me!”
Slowly Silvrin looked up at Gunner. His voice was weak, filled with a mix of pain and determination. “I am Dragon Guard. It is my duty to defend dragons from hunters, from prejudice, and from tyranny. I will uphold my oath until death.”
The Guest of Honor
Several week had passed since Ania’s arrival. She had seen her friends a number of times, but always from a distance and never without wearing her cloak. She was different, and seemed to prefer dragons to humans; her mannerisms were not the same as those of humans. It was for this reason that the people of Aretell seemed to either fear her or hate her. She was never alone and she always avoided looking at someone directly. Her friends had seen her on several occasions, usually with Moon or two of Ryell’s men, but they had not been told who she was, and she often seemed to be deliberately avoiding them. She would walk off with Moon and they would be gone for hours.
After having no one answer his questions about the strange ‘dragon girl,’ Flame finally decided to speak to Lord Ryell, hoping he would give a straight answer. Ryell was in his study, reviewing maps of the Arza province. He looked up as Flame entered. “Cainen, what can I do for you?”
Flame sat down in one of the multiple chairs by the desk. “Do you know who the girl is, this mysterious dragon child? I have asked others—even the dragons—and no one will give me a straight answer.”
Ryell looked at Flame evenly from across the desk. The corner of his mouth curled in a hint of a smile. “I do know who she is, but she has asked for anonymity, at least for now. When she decides to let everyone know who she is, I think you will be surprised. However, you can call her Kaeta. I think it means ‘heart’ in the dragons’ tongue.’”
Flame stared at the floor a little irritated; he had expected a straight answer. He got one, but it just was not the answer he had wanted. “Why doesn’t she want anyone to know who she is?” he asked as he looked up.
“I will put it simply: she is your ally and she is a desired target of the Duke. Staying hidden is the only way she has been able to stay alive. When it is time to reveal herself, you won’t be disappointed.”
Flame sighed, “I suppose so. It’s just—”
Ryell smiled at the young man, “I know. Come, let us see how the festivities are going.” He rose from his chair and preceded the young man as they left the room. They went down to the kitchen where Kiera was handing out tasks to the servants and cooks. She turned to the head cook, “We will need another dozen loaves of bread.” He nodded and instructed two women to begin making the dough. As the cook turned away, he saw the two enter the room and bowed to them before returning to work, causing Kiera to turn around. Seeing them, she asked, “Can I help you, My Lord?”
“We were just coming to see how the preparations were going.” Ryell answered.
“So far so good, but I would feel better if I knew when the feast was going to take place,” she said somewhat pointedly.
Ryell laughed, “Soon. I promise. First Mychal must return. Lord Kayton will no longer be attending; his missive said that Vidar paid him a surprise visit. And then there’s the guest of honor. ” Kiera shook her head, “We’ll be waiting for your guests’ arrival for weeks then. Oh, well, there’s nothing we can do about that.” She shrugged and turned to answer a question from one of the servants.
Flame sighed. He had heard about this “guest of honor,” but he could not get anyone to tell him who they were or when they were coming. He excused himself and went to find Lukair. He had promised to spar with him today.
Ryell watched the young prince leave. He understood his frustration: to not know where your friends are, to be stonewalled every time you ask a question. It was not fair to the boy, but he also knew that if the boy knew about Ania, it would only complicate the situation. He would have to wait until she was well enough to explain things herself. He then excused himself after congratulating the kitchen staff on their good works. Then he went to find Moon. He wanted to see if there had been any improvement with Ania’s problem.
He went to the guesthouse and found Kwan in his corner. “Have you seen Moon?”
The thin dragon lifted his head to look at him. “She took Ania out this morning; they have not yet returned. Would you like me to call her?”
“No, thank you. When she returns will you let her know I’m looking for her?”
“Of course.”
He thanked the dragon and exited the building. Then he saw Captain Harden open the gates; Lord Mychal’s carriage rolled through the opening, and Ryell went to meet his friend. They spoke for a while until Ryell saw Moon land just outside the gates, and then excused himself to meet her.
She followed Ania through the gates, until the girl’s guards met her and led her back to her room, where she stayed most of the time. As Moon watched her go, there was a glint in her eyes that had not been there before. She seemed more at ease. Ryell looked back at the girl for a moment and then up at the princess. “How is she?”
Moon looked at him and winked. “She has regained her strength… and her sense of humor. She is learning how to use the memories to her advantage. I believe she is now ready to face her friends.” She was almost laughing.
Ryell looked at her humorously, “She has improved that much?”
Moon chuckled, “She played a prank on me today. That’s a good sign. Pai told me that she would often joke around this way while in Pycan. She would play an occasional prank on us as we traveled.” She paused for a moment and watched Ania enter the palace. “She has also regained her determination. While we spoke today, she practiced forms with a sword.” After a moment she continued. “I am glad the Keeper’s sword has fallen to her. They are a good match.”
“The Keeper’s sword?” Ryell asked. He had not known the dragon swords had names.
“Yes. The sword was made for the one who saved a nest. The mother had left to hunt—”
Ryell raised his hand, cutting her off. “This sounds like a good story, and I’m sorry to interrupt you, but I’ve a sudden idea. I haven’t given her the sword back yet; I had planned on it during the festival. After I introduce her, I would like to give her back the sword and the ring. Would you mind telling this story before I do?”
“Not at all. In fact, it may be better if it is done this way. When the sword was presented to the Keeper there was a ceremony. The sword was given to her by the King, my gr
andsire. We can present them to her properly if you bring them out and I give their history and meaning, and then we can present them to her together.”
“I like your plan. Do you think she’s ready?”
“I do.”
Ryell returned to Kiera. He told her they would plan the celebration for the evening in three days. “That will give you another two and a half days to prepare. Will that be enough?”
“I believe it should be.”
Three days later, the kids watched as the courtyard was decorated with streamers, colorful lanterns, and tiny bells that would ring in the breeze. In no more than two hours, the whole courtyard had completely changed and the air was filled with the aromas of pies, bread, and the roast pigs that were driving them crazy, making their mouths water at every hint of a breeze. As the day wore on, they entertained themselves by listening to the minstrels and storytellers. On occasion they even told stories themselves; these stories were usually about life in Pycan or tricks Ania had played on them. They did this while enjoying roasted hazelnuts dribbled with honey.
The afternoon soon faded into evening. Despite themselves, the kids were having a good time. It was good to forget their troubles, even if it was just for a short while. Kiera came to meet them an hour before the feast was to begin. “It’s time to get dressed,” she told them. Ryell had told them that he had ordered clothes for all of them. “This is to be a special occasion,” he had said.
The kids returned to their rooms and found a box for each of them on their beds. As they opened them, they each stared in amazement at the clothes inside the boxes. Lukair had been given a pair of soft, black leather pants, a white silk shirt, and over that was a deep red vest with gold trim. He was also given a pair of polished black boots made of suede, and a thick black leather belt with a gold buckle. His sword and sheath had been highly polished and were now attached to the belt.