by Sam Ferguson
There were a dozen dwarves wearing long, slick aprons and rushing about to different stone and wooden tables. Some used cleavers to separate large hunks of meat. Others were busy salting and spicing food for later use. A pair of small drakes curled up against the far wall, gnawing on a large mammoth bone that had long ago been picked clean of any flesh.
One of the dwarves wiped her hands on her apron and stepped around a stone cutting table. “Are you here for the prince’s food then?” she asked.
Gorliad nodded.
The female dwarf nodded and then reached back to grab a slice of red meat, marbled with rich fat and dressed lightly with herbs and spice. “I was going to salt this, but the truth is it is too large a piece for any one dwarf. It is also too small for any dragon I know, unless you would be kind enough to take it off my hands?”
Gorliad cocked his head slightly to one side and then regarded the dwarf curiously. Those words sounded very familiar.
The dwarf came forward and held the piece out for Gorliad. “Come now, the hatchling I knew would never have been so shy about it,” she said. “Not even after stealing the meat right off the table.”
“I know you,” Gorliad said, though his tone was almost more of a question than a statement.
She laughed. “I am Dalean, and you are the hatchling prince who used to sneak scraps from my cutting table when I wasn’t looking.”
“I am a prince no longer,” Gorliad said in a whisper.
Dalean stepped closer so that the meat nearly touched Gorliad’s snout. “Prince or no prince, I can’t use this meat, and you would be serving me if you took it off my hands,” she said.
Serving her? Gorliad looked to her rough, wrinkled face and saw a warm smile aimed right back at him. Then he remembered her completely. He had stolen from her table many times in his younger years as a fresh hatchling. Even after she caught him, she encouraged him to come back for a strip of meat every day, not unlike this one. He had come back to her every day for the first year or two, before Algearon had altered Gorliad’s training routine to include the early mornings as well, preventing him from returning to the chamber in time to get the meat from her.
“Besides, you’ll need at least some good cuts of meat if you are to mend your wing,” Dalean pressed. She waved the cut in front of Gorliad. The burgundy dragon gently reached out and took it from her. The fresh juices mixed with the herbs wonderfully. He hardly chewed before throwing his head back and sucking the whole strip down his throat.
“Your kindness is more appreciated than you shall ever know,” Gorliad said.
Dalean looked at him with watery eyes and nodded. She reached out and patted him on the head, just above the eyes. “I understand,” she said simply. Then she turned and clapped her hands quickly. All of the others stopped everything they were doing and looked to her. “The prince will wake soon,” she called out. “Let us make haste to finish preparing his meal.” She stopped and looked back to Gorliad. She winked slyly and offered another comforting smile. “The servant tells me that Beleriad’s hunger grows, we need to send two boars every morning, instead of one.” Dalean then skipped back and leaned in to whisper to him. “I assume you can find use for a second boar, yes?”
Gorliad smiled lightly, the first smile to cross his lips since waking to find himself displaced and disinherited. It appeared Algearon was wrong. There were friends to be found, even in the world of dragons. One needed only to know where to look.
The meat was prepared and put into a push cart within minutes. A trio of dwarves pushed the cart over to Gorliad and then set it before him.
“Well, off with you now, servant,” one of the dwarves gruffed.
Gorliad maneuvered around to lean his upper body over the cart. He griped it with his left foreleg and pushed with his rear legs. It was actually more comfortable than the awkward hop-walk he normally had to do. It was a little tricky to get the hang of steering the cart at first, but he managed. Once he was out of sight, he devoured one of the two boars. As they were both skinned and cleaned already, he didn’t have to worry about getting the other one bloody. When he finished, he pushed the cart up to the soup chamber and stopped there. He called out to one of the dwarves.
“I have soup bones for you,” he said.
A pair of dwarves looked up to him and came out with a smaller cart of their own. They took the skeleton and then Gorliad moved along on his way. It was hard going up the incline with the cart. It forced him to keep his balance and maintain force on the cart the whole time. When he got to the main junction, he found that other dragons no longer stopped to let him pass. He had to wait and watch for an opening before sprinting across to the hall that led up to the upper nursery. A pair of dwarves fell to the side when he knocked into their cart of ore, throwing them to their rumps.
“Watch out, servant!” one of the dwarves shouted.
Gorliad turned down and growled at the insolent dwarf, but a greater dragon stepped in quickly, placing his leg between Gorliad and the dwarves.
“Keep it moving, servant. You don’t want trouble here.”
Gorliad looked up at the powerful sentry and glared at him.
The greater dragon reached around with his tail and cracked Gorliad across the lower back. Gorliad jerked under the blow.
“Move!” the dragon bellowed.
Gorliad pushed the cart up the hallway as fast as his back legs would move him.
“And watch your step next time, servant!” the large dragon snarled after him.
No sooner did Gorliad reach the upper nursery than Algearon set in on him again.
“What in the Pits of Morinda took you so long?” he shouted. “The prince has been awake for nearly ten minutes and waiting for his food.”
“I have never pushed a cart before, and my front right leg doesn’t help,” Gorliad explained.
“I don’t actually require an answer,” Algearon clarified. “I just want you to be faster.”
“Tomorrow I will leave much earlier, and have the food here before he wakes,” Gorliad promised.
Algearon nodded. “See that you do,” he said. “Take it in.”
Gorliad pushed the cart into the nursery. Beleriad descended upon the cart, not even waiting for Gorliad to set the food out for him. The young, black dragon snarfed down the meat in just a couple of minutes and belched a spot of blue flame into the air upon finishing.
“Is the prince ready?” a familiar voice asked from the entrance.
Gorliad turned to see the green-backed, Ceadryl standing in the chamber. The burgundy dragon smiled at his old friend. He opened his mouth to announce that he was more than ready for another hunt, but he stopped when he realized that Ceadryl was not looking at him. No, it was more than that. The fidget in Ceadryl’s eye clued Gorliad in to the fact that Ceadryl was avoiding looking at him.
Beleriad quickly jumped up and with a flap of his wings he glided three meters toward. Ceadryl. “I am ready, shall we hunt boar today?”
“How about going for Caribou?” Algearon put in. He shot a disdainful look at Gorliad as the words fell from his lips.
Beleriad licked his lips and nodded enthusiastically. “Why not both?”
“Ha!” Ceadryl chuckled aloud. “Now that is a proper appetite for a prince!” Ceadryl turned and led Beleriad out through the hall.
Algearon clapped his hands to get Gorliad’s attention. “Go with them. Try to keep up, and for your sake do stay out of the prince’s way.”
Gorliad began his hop-walk after the others. The loud bell sounded with each movement. “What is my purpose?” he asked himself aloud.
“What was that?” Algearon hissed from behind.
Gorliad didn’t bother to answer. He may only be a servant, but he still had some measure of pride. Even with three legs, he could outpace the dwarf. If Algearon wanted to lecture him again, he would have to keep pace with him to do so.
He could still hear the dwarf shouting at him when he caught up to Ceadryl. The three made t
heir way down to the exit and stood upon the platform, taking in the breeze. Gorliad felt the wind tug at his wings. He slowly stretched them. His left wing seized painfully and caused him to spasm throughout his whole left side. Clumsily he lurched forward, bumping into Ceadryl
The green-backed dragon turned and scowled at Gorliad. “Watch your footing!” he snarled. Ceadryl flicked Gorliad’s bell with the tip of his tail. The metallic sound echoed off the mountain. “Stay here, servant. You are not needed, and your bell would only frighten the prey”
“Algearon told me to stay with…” he couldn’t bring himself to say the words. The prince. That was a title for him, not for this usurper. He dropped his head and let the argument dissolve. He didn’t really care to be with Beleriad, he just didn’t want to return inside and spend any more time with Algearon than he had to.
Ceadryl turned and brought his face close to Gorliad’s. “The prince has no need of you,” he spoke. “On his hunting challenge he brought down two snow leopards and a caribou. Furthermore, he didn’t need any help to rescue him from the icy tundra. He does not need you around, nor do I.”
It was that last part that stung the most. Sure, Beleriad could speak. He could already glide a few meters at a time on stretched wings. It came as no surprise that Beleriad would hunt better. If nothing else, Ceadryl and Geldryn would have expected it. After Gorliad hunting a she-bear, it would be a step in the wrong direction for the next crowned hatchling to go for a mere mountain sheep or a deer. But still, Gorliad expected some measure of decency from Ceadryl. The two had spent many days together, enjoying each other’s company, or at least that is what he had thought.
Gorliad looked over to his jet black brother. The hatchling looked back to him and smiled. It wasn’t a bragging, boastful smile of spite. It was a simple, warm gesture. Yet, even still Gorliad felt the urge to reach out and break the scrawny hatchling’s neck.
“You will wait for us here,” Ceadryl said.
“If it pleases you, Beleriad, I would walk a little in the forest,” Gorliad called out to the black hatchling.
Ceadryl turned around and knocked Gorliad to his back with a powerful rear kick. The pain ripped through Gorliad’s body. The green-backed dragon brought his face low and let Gorliad feel the hot, sulfuric breath. “A servant may not call upon the prince by his real name. It is forbidden!” His shouts echoed off the mountain and continued through the valley.
Gorliad turned over and rose to his feet. He kept his glare fixed on Ceadryl. He was maim, yes, but he was no coward. He was not about to show weakness here, at the entrance to the mountain where all gathered in their comings and goings. He stood tall and let the fire burn within his chest.
Ceadryl laughed. “You think to challenge me?” he snarled. “You would not last as long as a sparrow’s blink.”
Gorliad stood proud, puffing his chest out. “I was talking to the prince,” he said. He turned his head and looked back to Beleriad. “If it pleases you, I would go for a walk in the forest.”
Beleriad looked from Gorliad to Ceadryl quietly. The black dragon looked unsure what to do or say.
Ceadryl spoke for the prince. “You shall sit here.”
“My prince,” Gorliad called out as Ceadryl began to turn away. “If you allow me to walk, I can rebuild some of my strength. It will allow me to serve you better. It would be unwise to have a fat, weak servant.”
Ceadryl pressed his head against Gorliad’s so that only one of his eyes was visible to Gorliad. “The prince has decided you will stay here!” he roared.
“No, actually you are deciding for the prince,” Gorliad pointed out. “What good is it to be a prince if you must always adhere to the commands of those who have not your interest at heart?” Gorliad shouted as he pulled his head around to catch a glimpse of Beleriad.
“Are you insinuating that I am a traitor?” Ceadryl asked as he stuck his face back against Gorliad’s nose.
Gorliad rose back to stand upon his hind legs, stretching his neck up. “I am only noting for the prince how quickly you turned from friend to foe with me, and that your kind demeanor has nothing to do with friendship, and everything to do with tradition. Am I wrong?”
“Tradition keeps the mountain strong!” Ceadryl spat.
“My prince,” Gorliad said as he turned to address the black hatchling. “Let me walk and build my legs. I will be here before sundown, ready to serve you upon your return. I am of no use to you in the field, and I can make no use of myself lying here upon the stone being idle.”
Ceadryl opened his mouth and began to raise his right foreleg to strike Gorliad down.
Beleriad spoke. “Go, have your walk,” he said. Then, the black prince dropped down form the platform and ran into the forest. Ceadryl halted his foreleg and narrowed his eyes on Gorliad.
“The prince needs you,” Gorliad said softly, so that only Ceadryl could hear.
The green-backed dragon roared angrily in Gorliad’s face, spitting sparks and flame over the burgundy dragon. Gorliad smiled and turned to go off to the west. Going for a walk alone may not appear to most as a solid victory, but for him it was a grand war fought and won on the steps of the mountain, for all to see.
Gorliad did not concern himself with caribou or boars. He trekked out into the forest for the sheer freedom he found within the pine scented woods. The cursed bell jingled and jangled all the way. It scared deer and other creatures away from him. Worse, he knew it also made his presence known to animals of prey. Gorliad moved to a large, thick pine and using a talon on his left foreleg he sliced the bark open and cut a deep gouge into the wood. Within a few seconds, thick, potent sap flowed out from the cut.
The burgundy dragon took a good amount of the goo and slathered it onto his bell. He covered the bauble until it made no sound at all. Then he craned his neck around and blew fire near the bell, letting the heat dry the sap faster. Once he finished, the bell was silent, and he moved quietly through the forest once again.
He took a few hopping steps, and then tried to put weight down upon his gnarled foreleg. The limb simply had no strength in it. He flopped painfully to the ground, as if there had been no leg there at all. He groaned and whimpered, but not loudly. He kept his cries quiet. When he saw it was futile to force himself to walk on all fours, he tried to walk as a dwarf. He leaned his body back, leveraging his tail for balance and support as he used his back legs to step forward.
This was more awkward than the three-legged hopping he had been doing. He found it nearly impossible to hold his balance. He staggered into a tree, and then nearly fell over backward before dropping down and resigning himself to walk with his left foreleg. He pushed on into the forest, putting the mountain as far behind him as he could.
He stopped at a brook to drink, standing only twenty meters from a pair of beavers busily building a dam. He watched them for a few moments, wondering what it might be like to find a place where he could build his own home, with rules that he decided upon.
He watched the animals swim and toil, oblivious to his presence. Then he hopped into the brook, letting the cool waters wash over his feet. The two beavers startled and shot into their den. Gorliad laughed aloud and moved into the deeper part of the brook, near the dam. He saw a large tree that the beavers had been gnawing at. The trunk was chewed thin, yet the birch tree did not break. Gorliad inspected the area around and then he pushed the mighty tree over, snapping the thin part of the trunk. He then went up along the fallen tree, snapping branches off with his mouth or with his left talons, depending on the thickness. As he did so, the beavers timidly came to the edge of their den to watch.
When he had finished limbing the tree, Gorliad picked up the thick end with his mouth and dragged it to the water’s edge. He saw one of the beaver’s looking at him curiously. He locked eyes with the beaver, and formed the connection.
The animal squirmed and squeaked, but it could not run away. Gorliad wasn’t entirely sure it would work, but he thought it worth an attempt. He w
aded through the beaver’s memories and then sent his own thoughts into the beaver’s mind.
“I help with the dam, and then you let me come to wade in the water,” Gorliad said with his mind.
The beaver squeaked and trembled. It was obvious it could not understand.
Gorliad tried something else. He used his imagination to form images in his mind. He showed the beaver that he would help him build the dam, creating a large enough pond that he could also wade in it. He was careful to show images with the beaver swimming near the dragon, unharmed and unabated.
The beaver started to chatter with its teeth. Gorliad wasn’t sure if it had understood. No response came into his mind from the beaver. He broke the connection and decided to continue building the dam regardless. The beaver could just learn to trust him as time went along. For now, he set his mind to the task at hand.
The beaver came out from the den and began grabbing the limbs that Gorliad had pulled from the log. Gorliad smiled when he realized the beaver had in fact understood, and was anxious to help the dragon create the pond he had shown.
The two worked side by side, the female beaver only came out twice, and only to collect small sticks for the den before rushing back inside. By late afternoon, they had quadrupled the depth of the pool and Gorliad was able to wade in water up to his knees. It felt so good to be back in water again. His heart longed to continue, but he knew it was time to be getting back. It would take him some time to traverse through the forest and he had to reach the platform before Beleriad and Ceadryl.
He pushed through the forest, limping along as fast as he could, bounding across the packed dirt and trampling through bushes and fallen sticks. He must have made quite the racket as he approached, for a squadron of ten dwarves stood upon the platform with shield and spear at the ready. Gorliad paused momentarily, looking up at the grim faces. They recognized him almost instantly though and dispersed.