by Sam Ferguson
“And as beautiful as his mother,” Geldryn replied.
Siravel moved her snout down to nuzzle the hatchling’s side. The new dragon cooed and snorted at the sudden touch, nearly toppling over on its side as it tried to jump away. “He has such strong legs,” Siravel said. “He will be a mighty king someday.”
“He will carry my blood well,” Geldryn said.
Algearon watched quietly as the king and queen moved in close together and rubbed their necks against each other affectionately. He smiled, seeing the two of them finally openly showing their love for each other. Even he had noticed the difficulties between the two of late, and it did his heart good to see that their union was strengthened by the new hatchling. Not only was it good for the king and queen, but it was good for the whole mountain. A stable pairing meant a stable kingdom. All was right, and ordered as it should be. A puff of smoke whirled around Algearon then and a strange, squeaky growl made his ears twitch.
He ducked just as the burgundy dragon lunged at him, narrowly missing the dwarf by only a hand’s breadth. The dragon landed on shaky legs and wobbled as it turned itself around, eyeing Algearon all the while.
“He is hungry,” Geldryn noted.
“Meaning no disrespect sire,” Algearon said. “But why is it that dragons can’t feed their young milk?”
Geldryn laughed a deep, throaty laugh.
Siravel moved in and used her tongue to scoop the hatchling into her mouth. She picked up the young dragon and placed it several meters away from Algearon. She nuzzled it once more and then looked back to Algearon. “Give us a moment,” she told the dwarf. Algearon held his hands up and backed away several paces.
Siravel turned and looked down to the hatchling. Its eyes, white as snow yet filled with a fiery energy that spoke of its strong spirit looked back at hers and the two formed the connection. Siravel grasped onto the hatchling’s mind and held it fast. The burgundy body went rigid, as they always did the first time. She sent the first teachings into her son’s mind. Within moments the young hatchling absorbed the inherent relationship between the dragon kind and their dwarf servants. She also imparted to him the hierarchical structure of the mountain, so he could understand his place as the new prince. Finally, she searched the hatchling’s mind. Delving deep into the folds of its thoughts and searching its spirit. While of course there were no memories to find, she was able to get a feel for his character, and his most basic traits. She then broke the connection and smiled.
The young hatchling slumped to the floor and snorted.
Siravel turned to Geldryn. “His name is Gorliad,” she said proudly.
Geldryn nodded approvingly and then nuzzled Siravel once more before turning to exit the chamber. Algearon and Siravel watched the hatchling. Gorliad closed his eyes and began to breathe heavily as sleep overtook his exhausted body.
Algearon approached the queen. “Gorliad means conqueror, in the ancient tongue, does it not?”
Siravel nodded. “It does,” she replied. “It also means a binding chord.” Algearon looked up to his queen and furrowed his brow. She laughed in a silvery tone and curled around her young son. “You may leave for the proscribed period. Upon your return we will discuss your duties with Gorliad.”
“As you wish,” Algearon replied.
The dwarf exited the room and disappeared from view within seconds, leaving the mother and her young hatchling alone together. She slowly lowered herself to lie next to the sleeping hatchling, curling around him protectively and gazing down upon his burgundy skin.
“Would have been better to have black skin,” she said softly. “Then Geldryn would see himself when he looks at you, but no matter. Your coloring is unique. Perhaps that is just as effective. She then thought about his white eyes, a rarity to be sure. Among other races it would signify blindness, but in dragons it was not so. If there had been any concern over the hatchling’s vision, it was put to rest as soon as it saw Algearon and moved to hunt him. A smile stretched her lips over her sharp fangs. It was good that Gorliad had white eyes. White eyes for a dragon had ever been a sign of an indomitable spirit.
Gorliad would be the lynch pin, the binding chord that would seal her union with Geldryn. No other queen would be able to usurp her position now. As long as Gorliad lived, there would be none who could replace her, perhaps even if she herself were to pass on and her spirit flew to the north.
The newfound hope welled within her breast and filled her with warm joy. She watched Gorliad as the hatchling sighed and leaned into her. Then she opened her mouth and began to sing. There were no words in the song, for a dragon’s music is not like that of the lesser races. It does not need words to embellish the tunes. The meaning and message of her song were found in the very honeyed melodies which she emitted. A song of love, of triumph, and of hope. She sang softly at first, not wanting to disturb the sleeping hatchling, but soon she gave herself to the music fully. She closed her eyes and her head swayed back and forth as she propelled the melody out with great force, but at no expense of beauty. The invigorating, captivating tune filled the entire nursery and the halls beyond stopping all who heard it, making them take note of the queen’s delight. It occurred to her that the song might not make all who heard it happy. For instance the other queens were more likely to fall into melancholy at hearing the tune, knowing that their places were forever solidified as lesser queens.
This thought compelled Siravel to sing all the louder. Not out of need to gloat her victory, but more out of the satisfaction that her triumph brought to her soul. Louder and louder she sang until the very mountain itself shook and trembled.
A movement at her side cued her in to the fact that Gorliad had woken. Still singing, she opened her eyes and regarded the hatchling as it stood on shaky legs and stretched its neck high to watch her as she sang. The small dragon flared its nostrils and blew out a blue flame. Then, in a young, high-pitched tone it added its own melody to that of Siravel. In this moment, as the two entwined their voices in song, a bond was formed between them. It was not like the connection, for that was simply a linking of two minds. Nor was it the pride she felt in knowing that Gorliad had secured her union with Geldryn and banished all threats to her place in the king’s heart. It was a deep, vibrant, and abiding love between a mother and her hatchling. The inexplicable, fast-setting bond that forms between parent and offspring. A link stronger than chains of iron.
The two sang for hours, until Gorliad finally grew tired again and nuzzled into his mother as he slowly slid back down to the floor. Siravel ended her song only a moment after. She laid her head down on her forelegs, which lay crossed before her on the stone floor. She watched and waited for Geldryn to enter the upper nursery again.
She waited for nearly an hour before the large form darkened the hall and entered the chamber. She raised her head and smiled at Geldryn. She could see by the way his lower jaw jutted out and his upper cheeks puffed slightly round that something was in his mouth. He moved in and opened his maw to release his catch.
A pair of she bears, a moose, and a moose calf.
Siravel looked up to Geldryn and smiled. They formed the connection. “You have been busy, I see.”
Geldryn stood tall, setting his legs firmly on the ground and puffing his chest ever so slightly. “I hunted the beasts myself. No servant or other dragon touched this prize.”
Siravel’s chest filled with warmth at the thought. “It is as it was in our first years together,” she said. “When I watched over and raised the hatchlings and you tamed the lands. In those days you brought us food, and fought off all challengers.”
“Till the day I raised the dwarves from the rock of the mountain, and we had enough dragons to take over the lesser duties,” Geldryn replied.
“Others can hunt for me and Gorliad now,” Siravel reminded him. “You need not concern yourself for our sake.” Of course, she didn’t mean for him to stop. She wanted him there with her every second of every day. It overjoyed her that Gorliad had
sparked a new fountain of pride within Geldryn’s heart. Enough pride that he would personally go out and hunt for them while she remained in the nursery, the thought nearly caused her to burst with happiness. Still, she didn’t want him to think her needy, so she offered him a respectable way out of the responsibility.
“Nonsense. This is my son, our son, and he is the first crowned hatchling to come along in centuries. I want to do this myself. For him, and for you.” Geldryn reached forward with one of his talons and pushed the moose calf closer to Gorliad. He then lowered his head and gave a quick, low snort that startled the hatchling awake.
The white eyed, burgundy dragon looked up and sniffed at Geldryn. He cocked his head to the side and then noticed the animal before it. Gorliad clamored up to his feet and moved to the animal. It sniffed the neck and then probed with a gentle bite. He stopped and looked up to Geldryn.
Geldryn made a throaty sound, almost like a growl, and then smacked his mouth, snapping his teeth together in a mock bite.
Gorliad emitted a tiny roar and then took his first bite of meat. The sinews and hide ripped and popped against his pull. The hatchling jerked with his head and neck, tearing the flesh apart. After his first mouthful his eyes widened and he chomped in again voraciously. Within a few minutes he had eaten more than half of the carcass. Then he curled up against Siravel and again fell asleep.
Geldryn grunted approvingly and then nudged the prize toward Siravel. The queen began to eat all but the remainder of the moose calf. That she saved for when Gorliad woke. She then looked into Geldryn’s eyes, seeing pride and affection there that she had not seen for some time. She reached out and nuzzled her face into his neck before settling back down to watch Gorliad as he slept.
Chapter 9
Algearon returned promptly at the end of the seventh day. He stood in the entrance to the chamber in fine silken attire, with metal bands and clips holding his neatly kept beard over his chest. His hair was oiled and slicked back, tied in a single plait that hung between his scapulae. He gently cleared his throat, announcing his presence to the high queen.
Siravel looked up, and retracted her wing to reveal Gorliad lying next to her, deep in sleep. The burgundy dragon snored somewhat, and shivered as Siravel removed her wing. “You will have your hands full with this one, Algearon,” Siravel said. “He has a spirit as untamed as the wind, and as unstoppable.”
Algearon smiled confidently, “Nothing I cannot handle, my queen, I assure you.”
Siravel laughed lightly. “We shall see, Algearon, we shall see.” She rose from her place and offered a single nuzzle to Gorliad before making her way to the exit. “Are the others ready?” she asked.
“I have assembled all of the tutors, and they are ready to begin on the morrow.”
Siravel glanced back to Gorliad. “Then it is well. Train him up right, so he may make Geldryn proud.”
“You have my word,” Algearon said with a respectful bow. Siravel left. Algearon moved to the wooden rocker in his corner of the chamber and set his eyes upon the young hatchling. The burgundy dragon was only slightly more than a week old, and yet he was already three meters long by the looks of him. Algearon whistled through is teeth and pulled out a pipe. He lit the pipe and pulled a drag of the rich, apricot flavored tobacco inside. He let the smoke fill his lungs, burning and warming his throat and chest as he did so. The scent of apricot filled his senses and then he exhaled, pushing the rich smoke out before his face.
The night passed slow and peaceful as the young dragon slumbered deeply near the hearth. The orange and yellow flames cast their dancing light upon Gorliad’s tender, burgundy skin as the dragon snored.
By the time morning came, Algearon had fallen asleep. His head leaned back against the headrest of the rocker and his mouth was slack. His pipe smoldered in his left hand, with barely a perceptible wisp of smoke rising up from the bowl. His breathing was slow and noisy. His eyes twitched from behind their wrinkled lids.
Gorliad, on the other hand, woke as soon as the last flame in the hearth faded away. He looked around, eager to see his mother again, but she was nowhere to be found. Instead, he saw only the sleeping dwarf. This time, he did not think to eat the dwarf. He knew better than that now. His mother had formed the connection with him many times, and he knew that the dwarves here were his servants, and his friends.
However, that did nothing to assuage the rumbling growl in his stomach. He waited for a time, expecting his father to bring in the day’s prey as he had every day before this one. As the time passed, his hungry eyes glanced to the pile of bones in the corner from previous meals. His stomach began to ache and he could wait no more. If his father was not coming in, then Gorliad would go out and find food for himself. He glanced to the dwarf and then quietly made his way toward the exit.
He stopped just outside the chamber, looking down the hall. The cavern of orange and red stone went on for several hundred meters and then curved around to the left. Gorliad scampered out into the hall and ran down the length of it, slowing only when he came to the bend. His nose caught the faint, yet distinct, scent of blood and meat. His nostrils flared and his stomach growled. He skittered down through the hall, stopping at a junction in the caves and sticking his nostrils into the air to sniff out the food.
He ran to the left, zipping by a trio of dwarves that were pushing a large handcart up into the tunnel. Gorliad didn’t bother to investigate the cart or the dwarves. There would be time for that after he had sated his hunger. He peeled off into a smaller tunnel on the right, descending down a sharp slope. He ran deeper into the bowels of the mountain for several hundred meters, following the growing scent of blood. When he came to a large opening to his right he stopped and peeked inside. A handful of dwarves dressed in black, slick aprons pushed carts and dumped piles of bones into a corner. Blood and small bits of flesh covered the bones.
He scanned the room, looking for more substantial prizes. He saw cauldrons and pots atop great stoves of stone. The heat could be felt even from where he stood, and the steam rising from the various pots carried with it the scent of savory herbs and succulent meat.
He crept inside, keeping low to the ground and avoiding detection. The dwarves moved about with focus, wholly absorbed in their duties. One of them removed a large black pot from a stove and, using a pair of thick green mitts, carried it to a table.
“One done,” the dwarf called out. Then he removed the mitts and turned back to go and stir another pot.
Gorliad wasted no time. He rushed in. His tail and neck zig-zagging in perfect rhythm, opposite to each other to maintain his balance as he stalked in. He reached the large, stone table and rose up over it, placing his forelegs on the table and craning his neck up over the pot. He peered inside, ready to gorge himself on the savory goodness his nose promised him.
His desire was dashed away when he saw not but a yellow broth inside the pot with two large bones inside the steaming soup. His stomach growled horribly, mocking his empty prize. His sharp claws scraped against the table as he turned away. His forelegs clapped against the stone floor and he slowly slinked toward the hall.
“Oi, get on out of here!” one of the dwarves shouted.
Gorliad turned and stuck his neck up, scanning to see who had shouted at him. One dwarf slapped another on the arm, whispering harshly.
“Sorry, my prince, I didn’t recognize you,” one of the dwarves said.
Gorliad moved out quickly, continuing on down the hall and sniffing the air. About fifty meters beyond the soup room he found another chamber. This one was larger and smelled more of the rich, metallic scent of blood. He looked inside and his eyes nearly burst from his head they went so wide. Slabs of rich meat hung from the ceiling on hooks. Fresh cow and boar lay upon slabs to his right. In the far corner stood a set of clay ovens with smoke issuing forth from the top. Near to them were racks of dried meats. In the center of the room were a series of tables. Some of wood, some of stone. All of them had various types of meat on the
m.
The burgundy dragon looked back and forth through the room. He wasn’t sure which prize to go after. Then, he saw several long strips of meat hanging slightly over the edge of the closest table. He lowered himself down to the floor. His eyes watched the half dozen dwarves move between tables. Some carried cleavers, others wielded long, sharp knives. He waited until it appeared that all of them had their backs turned. He wasn’t about to get caught again.
He darted in aiming for the meat. He snatched two strips in his teeth, turned, and bolted for the exit. He paid no attention to the couple hunks of meat that fell to the floor in his haste. He cared only for the prize in his mouth. A pair of freshly cut strips nearly the length of his foreleg. They dangled and bounced wildly as he dashed out to the hall, slinging blood and juice everywhere. No sooner did he reach the hallway than he stopped and wolfed the meat down.
“Thief!” a female voice shouted from inside the prep chamber.
Gorliad licked his lips and then darted back up the hallway. He didn’t stop until he reached the upper nursery. He tore into the chamber, running headlong into Algearon and bowling the dwarf over.
“Umph!” Algearon grumbled and tried to disentangle himself from Gorliad. He picked himself up and brushed off his silk tunic and trousers. “That is no way for a prince to behave,” Algearon chided. The dwarf looked over to Gorliad and arched his right brow ad folded his arms across his chest. “And where might you have been?”
Gorliad glanced to the exit and then back to Algearon.
Algearon smirked. “Can’t talk yet huh?” He moved in close and looked up to examine Gorliad’s ear, gently rubbing a finger next to the thin covering over the ear hole. “Your tympanum appears fine. Most hatchlings are able to talk by now,” he said.
Gorliad blinked and offered a soft growl as a response.
“Do you at least understand when I speak?” Algearon asked.
Gorliad nodded.