Ascension: The Dragons of Kendualdern

by Sam Ferguson

  Gorliad clambered up to the platform and waited, sitting upon his back haunches and watching the skies above and the forest below. High over his head circled several dragons. He longed to be in the air with them, to feel the wind upon his face an under his wings. The ache in his wing returned, almost as if cued by his thoughts. He rolled his left shoulder and shook out his torso, throwing the sensation from his body.

  He looked back to the skies and watched the great dragons soaring through the air.

  His ears caught the sound of feet walking toward him. He turned back to see Algearon approaching, his pipe in hand.

  “I told you to stay with the prince,” the dwarf said through a cloud of billowing smoke.

  Gorliad nodded. “Ceadryl and the prince thought it best I not go with them. I would scare the game away on account of my lame leg.”

  Algearon nodded and took another puff of his pipe. He exhaled slowly and then glanced around him. Gorliad also looked around, trying to see what Algearon was looking for. The dwarf turned his face up and looked at Gorliad. “Siravel came to speak with me,” he said quietly. “Asked me to see what I could do to help you.”

  “Help me?” Gorliad asked. A spark of hope ignited within his breast. Perhaps he was not to be doomed to a life of servitude after all.

  Algearon nodded. “She wants me to help you understand your place as the prince’s servant, so you can assist Beleriad rise to become a king one day.”

  Gorliad frowned and turned his head away. That was not his idea of help.

  Algearon cleared his throat and moved around Gorliad to inspect the burgundy dragon’s right foreleg. “This leg will never heal, of that I am certain,” the dwarf said.

  Gorliad nodded.

  Algearon tapped Gorliad on the chest with his pipe. “Come down and let me have a look at your wing.”

  Gorliad reluctantly did as he was instructed. “It won’t open,” he said as he stretched to the point where the bone hitched. Algearon climbed onto Gorliad’s back and ran his stubby fingers along the dragon’s wing. “Ironic, isn’t it?” Gorliad asked.

  “What’s that?” Algearon said as he began squeezing the wing bone between his fingers.

  “A few months ago, I couldn’t even convince you to ride upon my back when you were injured. Now you walk upon my spine as if I were no more than a living rug.”

  Algearon snorted. “You are lame,” he commented matter-of-factly. “You are no longer a prince. The rules that once applied to you no longer do, and those that never would have concerned you have now become your law.” Algearon then set the pipe between his teeth and placed a hand on the wing bone, just beyond the large bump in the joint. He pulled his left arm back, forming a fist, and then brought it down with full force. The bone gave with a resounding crack!

  Gorliad pitched to his side, throwing Algearon from his back as he roared out in pain.

  A pair of large dragons moved in, but the dwarf waved them off. “I thought if I warned you, it would be more difficult,” he said. “I needed you relaxed in order to rebreak the bone properly.”

  “You broke my wing again!” Gorliad snarled. His anger welled up in him and he turned on the dwarf, fangs flashing in the late afternoon sunlight.

  Algearon held a hand up, stopping the other dragons from attacking. “It has a chance to heal properly,” Algearon said. “It is the only way I can think to enable you to better serve Beleriad.”

  Gorliad froze. “You mean, I will fly again?”

  Algearon nodded. He pulled his tunic aside and showed the scars from the atorat that had nearly taken his arm in the battle by the pool. “This doesn’t make us friends, but now we are even. You will also better be able to serve the prince as a forward scout.”

  Gorliad’s eyes welled with tears. “I will fly,” he said.

  “Maybe not today,” Algearon said. “Maybe not tomorrow, but one day you will…”

  “Rule the skies,” Gorliad finished.

  Chapter 18

  The weeks droned on slowly. Each day Gorliad would begin his duties by fetching the food from the prepping chamber before either Algearon or Beleriad woke. Dalean continued to offer one extra boar to help Gorliad strengthen himself. His hind legs soon grew strong, accustomed to the burden of pushing the heaping cart of meat up the long tunnel to the prince. His wing was still tender, but he could at least extend it fully and let the wind catch in the membrane.

  Despite the small victories, Gorliad’s life was by far and away most empty. Ceadryl detested the sight of him. Leadryn ignored him, and wouldn’t even allow him to spar with the prince, or with anything else. The other tutors all treated him similarly. That was the lot of a servant, an outcast that was tolerated but never appreciated. Even Algearon had returned to his surly demeanor after showing Gorliad the one kindness of fixing the hitch in his wing.

  Still, Gorliad would not let his life remain like this forever. The beaver pond was now deep enough he could actually swim in it somewhat, if he was careful to tuck his legs up under him all the way. He actually found it to be good for his wing. He would swim upon his back, using his wings to pull himself through the water, and in this way he strengthened his wings without the risk of crashing down a mountain slope.

  He wasn’t able to escape to the beaver pond every day. He remained with Beleriad for most days, watching the young prince progress through the lessons with supreme ease. The more the prince accomplished, the less anyone noticed Gorliad, including Geldryn and Siravel. The two of them were inseparable, it seemed. They came to visit Beleriad often, watching him spar under Leadryn’s tutelage, to simply spending the evening supper with him, something they had not done with him.

  Gorliad’s jealousy slowly turned to numbness. It still hurt to watch his parents, only meters away from him, focus all of their energies on Beleriad without so much as a wink or a smile in his direction. There was no remnant of the pride or joy Geldryn had once felt for Gorliad. It was all replaced, taken away by Gorliad’s lame leg, and the memories were overshadowed by Beleriad’s achievements. The young, black prince was better than Gorliad in every respect. He hunted bigger game, he could already glide for twice his body’s length without a slope, he excelled at memorizing law and tradition, and he was quick to master all of the other lessons from his several tutors.

  The only skill in which Gorliad outshone his younger brother was swimming. As of yet, Beleriad had never even tried to swim fully. He waded through a stream on occasion, but even that seemed to cause the young prince such anxiety that he avoided it at all costs if he could. So, each time Gorliad went to the beaver pond, he was not only strengthening his wing, he was defeating the prince. He would imagine the young, black dragon floundering next to him as he swam gracefully through the pond. Sometimes he would imagine saving the prince, regaining the pride and appreciation from Geldryn and Siravel, but just as many times he would imagine the prince sinking into the depths, and disappearing from his life altogether.

  Such a day was this day. The sun broke through the trees in several columns of golden, warm light. The beavers busied themselves with reeds and smaller sticks, weaving them into whatever spaces they could find in the dam. Gorliad lazily pulled his wings toward him, drawing the water around him and floating from one edge of the pond to the other.

  The burgundy dragon spent hours lazing in the water. All of his cares were forgotten while he was here. There was none in all the world who knew of his special place, and there was no prince’s shadow to languish in, or at least that is what he thought until today.

  Gorliad lazily bumped into the edge of the pond near the shallow edge. He maneuvered his neck up and set his head down over the side of a small log, using it to anchor himself as he let his body sink to the bottom. The cool water rushed over his body and he closed his eyes.

  Wham!

  Something grappled around his neck. Teeth and talons poked in on his hardening scales. His eyes shot open to see a black mass atop him. He lurched upward, but the animal atop him
forced his neck down, pinning him effectively.

  Gorliad nearly panicked at first, but his instincts kicked in. He arched his back and angled his hind legs up so he could slam the attacker with his tail. The beast roared and nearly fell off him, but at the last instant it dug in with its claws. The burgundy dragon was prepared for that. He flipped over, using his larger size and weight to wrestle his way to the top. With his hind legs he pushed out into the water, dragging the attacker under him. Then he ripped with his foreleg and pushed with his snout until the attacker released him and floundered in the water, thrashing about and clawing wildly.

  A green flash slammed into Gorliad’s side, knocking him to the opposite edge of the pool. “Release the prince!” Ceadryl snarled.

  Gorliad looked down, horrified with eyes wide and mouth agape. Beleriad barely clawed his way up to the surface. Ceadryl reached down with his snout and fished the black prince from the pond. Beleriad choked out a mouthful of water and slumped onto the opposite bank. He looked back to Gorliad with his red eyes, glaring directly at him.

  The burgundy dragon bowed his head. “Forgive me. I did not see who it was that attacked me.”

  Ceadryl sniggered. “Of course you didn’t. We were stalking you.”

  Gorliad blinked and looked to Ceadryl. “Stalking me?” he repeated.

  “A prince must learn how to hunt dragons too, if he is to become a king.”

  “You sought to kill me?” Gorliad asked of Beleriad.

  “If I had wanted to slay you, I would have,” Beleriad growled. The water dripped from his black skin, glistening in the sunlight. “Your neck was exposed. You were pinned. I had you beaten.”

  Gorliad closed his mouth. What was he to say to that? He stared blankly from the black prince to Ceadryl. “Am I to be hunted often then?”

  “As often as suits the prince,” Ceadryl responded.

  Gorliad stood tall and looked back to Beleriad. “Then the prince had best come prepared.”

  “Is that a threat?” Ceadryl snapped sharply.

  Gorliad shook his head. “Nothing of the sort. Siravel asked me to help prepare the prince in any way I could. If I were to make it easy, then I would not be helping him. Now that I know he is coming, I will make it challenging, but I will not injure him.”

  “How could a cripple injure the prince?” Ceadryl snapped.

  Gorliad snorted and pawed the ground angrily. “He almost drowned today,” he replied evenly. The sentiment was meant for Ceadryl, but Gorliad realized only too late that Beleriad took the words to heart himself. The black prince shot a puff of flame and smoke.

  “We have been watching you for the past three sessions,” Beleriad said. “You come here to this pool every time. You bathe in the water and play with the animals who will accept you.”

  Gorliad balked and narrowed his eyes at the prince.

  Beleriad looked to Ceadryl. “I think I have already shown that I can hunt the servant in the beaver pond. We should make him find another place to hide and take refuge.”

  “I agree,” Ceadryl said. The two of them shared a grin and before Gorliad knew what was happening, Ceadryl bathed the beaver dam in fire, weakening the timbers and cracking the mud that held it together.

  “No, stop!” Gorliad shouted.

  “Be silent, servant,” Beleriad shouted over the roar of the flames. “I will show you that it is unwise to shame your prince!”

  Gorliad’s tail twitched. He wanted to stop Ceadryl, but even now he was far too small to take the larger dragon. He watched helplessly as Ceadryl moved in and wrecked the dam with a single blow of his tail. Wood and mud flew through the forest and the water let out with a whhhooosh! The pond disappeared, leaving only a brook. The beavers stood on the edge of the pond, chattering quietly to each other. The male looked to Gorliad with pleading eyes.

  “Make sure they can’t build it again,” Beleriad said.

  Gorliad barely opened his mouth as fire descended from Ceadryl’s mouth to devour the two beavers. Then, the green-backed dragon and Beleriad turned to leave.

  “They didn’t hurt you,” Gorliad said in a barely audible whisper.

  Ceadryl turned back. “A dragon exercises complete dominion over his territory,” he said. “Anything that is not a dragon is not worthy of breath or respect unless the dragons say so.”

  “They were my friends,” Gorliad said, his eyes fixed on the charred skeletons.

  Ceadryl moved in close. “A dragon has no friends,” he whispered into Gorliad’s tympanum. He paused, chuckling to himself. He reached out with a foreleg and poked Gorliad’s lame leg. Gorliad winced in pain and pulled back. “Then again, I suppose you are no dragon, at least, not anymore.” With that he turned and left the burgundy dragon alone, staring at the smoldering pile of ash and embers.

  Gorliad stared at the skeletons long after Ceadryl had moved on. Was it so wrong to fight back? Sparring partners did not hold back when they battled against Beleriad under Leadryn’s direction. Nor did they hold back from him when he was training, before he was maimed. So what was the difference now? The burgundy dragon looked down to his maim leg. The answer was right there. It wasn’t that he had fought back. It was the fact that a lame dragon, a servant, had bested the prince. Therein was the rub. That is why the pond, and his beaver friends, were destroyed. It was recompense for being humiliated.

  The burgundy dragon moved close to the skeletons. He sniffed the area and then moved back to their den and rested his head over the top of it as he curled the rest of his body around it. Tears fell from his face. He lay there, weeping for the beavers, and for the pond. His cries grew loud enough that they echoed off the trees, as if the forest itself cried with him.

  No. The forest was not crying, but something was. They were not echoes. The cries came after his, but they did not match his voice. He ceased his crying and listened carefully. High-pitched cries and whimpers came from the den. Gorliad carefully thrust a talon into the top of the den and pulled the layers back until he found a pair of small, furry beaver kits huddling together inside.

  Gorliad looked around him. He knew the kits wouldn’t survive on their own, but there was no way he could hide them in the mountain. He thought perhaps he could take them to Dalean, but no. She was in charge of the meat prepping chamber. It would be impossible for her to hide them even if she agreed to help. He had to find a new beaver dam. That was his only viable option.

  He reached in with his mouth, scooping the kits up with his tongue and cradling them in his mouth. He moved through the forest, going along the stream at first, and then continuing farther out to the west. It wasn’t long before he found another brook created by runoff from the mountain. He followed it for a couple hours, hopping and limping along. He saw no sign of beaver.

  Eventually he came to a natural pond set in the middle of tall, yellow grasses dotted with cat-tails and fanning ferns. He lay down in the grass and stared at the fogs leaping from lily pads to hide in the water. The sun was waning now, and he doubted he would make it back by nightfall. He didn’t care. If he could not find a new home for the kits, then he was not going back to the mountain.

  He opened his mouth and let the beaver kits out. They stepped onto the grass and then scurried back to curl up against Gorliad’s left foreleg. The dragon reached down and pulled a lily from the water, dragging its wet, slick shoots out from the pond as well. He set the plant in front of the kits, hoping they would eat. One of the kits nibbled at the soft shoot, the other did not. Even the first stopped within a couple of minutes and began to whimper and cry.

  Simeon, the plant and animal expert that had tutored Gorliad before his maiming, had taught him enough of beavers that he knew the young kits were still in the nursing stage. They needed milk, and that was something Gorliad could not provide. He waited in the field near the pond for about an hour. The last rays of twilight were sweeping through the area, bringing the blanket of night behind them. Gorliad extended his healing wing over the kits and gently blew warm
air inside to keep the chill at bay. His head reflexively went up when he heard the sound of wings on the air.

  He looked up to see a drake and rider descending down before him. The dwarf looked familiar. The dwarf was dressed in leather armor and wielded a spear with his left hand. He unhooked a chain from his chest and leapt off the saddle.

  “Servant, I have been sent to find you and bring you back,” the dwarf said.

  Gorliad sneered. “I remember you,” he said. “You are Forlean, the leader of the hunters.”

  Forlean stopped and placed the butt of his spear on the ground before him. “I am,” he said with a smile.

  “You are the one who helped Teratheal uncover the atorat den, and the traitor to the mountain.”

  Forlean’s smile widened. “That’s right.”

  “Do you not remember me then?” Gorliad asked.

  Forlean’s smile disappeared. “Algearon sent me to find you,” he said. His tone was neither pleasant nor commanding.

  Gorliad looked to the dwarf’s eyes. Forlean turned to look away, but it was too late. The burgundy dragon created the connection. Forlean jerked, struggling with his mind against the connection. Gorliad held him fast, focusing his energies on the dwarf until he had subdued him. Then, only when he was sure the dwarf was under his control, he scoured the dwarf’s memories. He wanted to see for himself what kind of character stood before him. He looked around the depths and caverns of the dwarf’s mind, probing all of his secret thoughts and exposing even the most painful memories. He noticed the tears in the dwarf’s eyes, but he did not release him. Instead, he experienced the pains and joys with him, reliving the dwarf’s life in a matter of minutes. Then, when he had exhausted the dwarf’s mind, he sent his own memories to the dwarf.

  Two minutes later, the dwarf was on his knees, and both of them were shedding tears while silently staring at each other’s eyes. Gorliad broke the connection, and looked to the wary drake which stood off to the left about twenty meters away. Then he pulled back his wing to reveal the two kits.