Ascension: The Dragons of Kendualdern

by Sam Ferguson

  The dwarf dropped to his knees and put a hand over his mouth. “You know Forlean!” he said through a quivering bottom lip. “I am Hermean, his brother.”

  Gorliad cocked his head to the side. He wasn’t sure what to make of the dwarf for a second, and then his memory pulled up the image. He had seen Hermean before, when he had formed the connection with Forlean.

  Hermean stood and blew a whistle, long and sharp. Gorliad surveyed the hills around him as a score of dwarves, dressed similarly to Hermean, stood up from the various rocks and hiding places. He then looked back to Hermean.

  “I am Hermean. I used to be captain of the hunters for King Geldryn. Now, I lead this band of kingless dwarves. We have lived here in the southlands for about thirty years, ever since a group of atorats attacked the nursery in Geldryn’s mountain.”

  “Kingless dwarves?” Gorliad echoed. The very notion made no sense to him at all.

  “Form the connection again, good dragon, and I will show you everything I know.”

  Gorliad hesitated, looking to the many dwarves in the hills around him. “How many are you?” he asked before connecting their minds.

  “We are about three hundred. They were left without a king when a disease ravaged their mountain. They had hoped that Teratheal, a queen born of their mountain, would be able to convince Geldryn to accept them. However, High Queen Siravel sent me and another to kill them. I couldn’t do it. I abandoned the mountain and made my life with them. I hunt food for them, but the animals have grown scarce here in the south. When we saw this carcass lying here, we didn’t pass up the opportunity.”

  Gorliad nodded. He remembered well the hatred Siravel held for Teratheal. He also remembered Teratheal’s kindness toward him, and the day that she had rescued him from the snow leopards. His normal disposition would have moved him to help them anyway, but now that he knew they were Teratheal’s dwarves, he felt even more compelled to protect them. Just to be sure, he formed the connection with Hermean, blazing through decades of the dwarf’s memories.

  He saw the truth of the dwarf’s words, how he had slain Brinwal, a captain of the expeditionary forces sent along with Hermean to slay the suspected traitors. He saw Hermean struggle over the last thirty years to keep the dwarves fed, sheltered, and hidden from discovery. He also went back into Hermean’s earlier years, but he had seen what he needed, so he did not uncover every memory. In fact, he stopped after watching the battle with the atorats.

  “You are a good, honorable dwarf,” Gorliad said.

  “And you are an honorable dragon,” Hermean replied.

  Gorliad smiled. “I don’t know how many you have here, but I can carry a few upon my back and we can move west.”

  “Why west?” Hermean asked.

  “To escape Geldryn’s sight, and to avoid being discovered by Beleriad as well. The land to the west is not as hospitable as the lands toward the east.”

  “We need food too,” Hermean pointed out.

  Gorliad nodded. “I can help with that. I hunt game for the mountain every day. We can move the dwarves farther west, but still south of Geldryn’s border. I will help bring you food.”

  “We can’t live there forever. We will need to scout out a suitable location to establish a more permanent home.” Hermean paused and then held up a finger. “You neither showed me, nor gave any news of Queen Teratheal. How does she fare?”

  Gorliad frowned. “She is dead,” he said simply.

  Hermean frowned and looked to the other dwarves on the surrounding hills. “So where do I take them?”

  “I will find you a place,” Gorliad promised. “I will find you a place, and there you can build a home like none before.”

  “A kingdom,” Hermean said. “You mean to conquer us then?”

  Gorliad smiled and waggled his crippled leg in front of him. “No, I am not able to claim anything for myself. See, I am only a servant according to tradition and the law of the dragons. That is why I said you can build a home.”

  “A servant indeed,” Hermean commented with a dry chuckle. “I am an exile and a traitor, according to tradition and the law of the dragon,” Hermean said.

  “Well then, a fine pair we shall make,” Gorliad said.

  Hermean nodded. “A home built of thieves, outcasts, and murderers then.”

  Gorliad sneered. “And yet somehow that sounds more inviting than the mountain I hatched in.”

  *****

  “Algearon,” Siravel called out in her smooth, yet dangerous voice.

  The dwarf stepped lightly into her chamber, wringing his hands before him. “Yes, my queen?”

  “Can you explain to me how it is that Gorliad defeated a king, and tried to claim the land?”

  Algearon shook his head. “With respect, I heard that he offered both the kill and the land to King Geldryn. I heard nothing about him claiming it for himself, and no one reported hearing the claiming roar.”

  “Don’t try to trip me up with technicalities,” Siravel said. “I have more experience than even you.”

  Algearon bowed his head. “He was reassigned, my queen. Seven years ago. I informed you and the king about the change at that time.”

  “Convenient, isn’t it, that his new assignment allows him to roam wherever he chooses?”

  Algearon shook his head. “He serves the mountain well. He brings in much game from the forest to help us stock our meat stores. He also still gives the first and best catch of each day to Beleriad. He has shown no disloyalty.”

  Siravel moved her snout in close to the dwarf, exhaling her hot, sulfuric breath over his face. “But he has embarrassed the prince,” she said. “If he should continue on in this manner, he will disrupt the natural order. I heard whispers of his deeds throughout the halls of the mountain. His battle with Demark has cast a shadow over Beleriad, the true prince.” She eyed the dwarf, watching him stand with shifting eyes that avoided her gaze continually. She could not let Gorliad overshadow Beleriad. “If the servant becomes greater than the prince, then what will King Geldryn’s legacy be?” she asked.

  Algearon nodded his head. “Why not call upon the steward?” Algearon asked. “Tradition dictates that it is the steward who should oversee such workers as the food preparers and the cooks. The royal hatcher has no direct line of oversight.”

  Siravel’s anger bubbled up her throat at the dwarf’s reluctance to act. “Where is the Algearon who slew his own friend in the grand hall? Where is the Algearon who would serve his king and high queen without question?” She snorted, and a puff of white smoke assaulted Algearon’s face. The dwarf flinched, but did not protest or shy away. “In fulfilling my next request, you will be serving Beleriad, and that is why I have called upon you.”

  Algearon looked up to the queen, careful to focus on a spot between her eyes rather than directly into her gold-speckled green orbs. “I am ever a valiant and willing servant,” he pledged.

  Siravel gave a short, brief whistle. A pair of skytes flew out from a roosting nest in the wall and landed on the ground at Algearon’s feet. “Take these two down to the kitchen. Explain that from now on, Gorliad is to have them with him at all times.”

  “You want them to follow him? Surely you don’t need me for that,” Algearon replied. “I would only slow them down.”

  “No,” Siravel said definitively. “When the dwarves see you giving the orders, they will understand that Gorliad’s battle was not a valiant, honorable fight. They will understand that one should not step beyond the bounds of their class. Each dwarf and dragon has a place in society, and our mountain is best served when they fulfill their roles. Imagine the chaos if bands of dwarves set out to try and conquer new territory for the king. Imagine if two or three of our dragon warriors looked up to and followed Gorliad’s example. We need order! We need tradition!”

  “I understand,” Algearon said with a solemn nod. “I will take them straightaway, unless there is another task I may fulfill for you, my queen.”

  Siravel brought out a
single, sharp talon and tapped it lightly on Algearon’s left shoulder. The dwarf held his breath nervously. “I know you have a soft place in your heart for him,” she said. “But if you do not put the servant back in his place, I will consider it a failure of the gravest degree. Am I clear?”

  Algearon nodded. “I understand, completely.”

  “The prince is the hope of the mountain. You will remind everyone of that.”

  Algearon pushed his left shoulder forward, so that the tip of the talon poked through his shirt and pierced his skin. Then he went up on his toes, drawing a thin, shallow slice over his healed scars. “By my own blood, I shall see that the dwarves look to the true prince.”

  “Then tradition is preserved,” Siravel said with a smile.

  Algearon smiled back, “Tradition and honor shall ever remain in this mountain.” He turned then and held out his arms. The two skytes flew up to rest upon his wrists as he walked out from the room.

  Siravel watched the dwarf and drew in a sigh of relief. If ever there was one she could count on to uphold tradition, it was Algearon. With the dwarves and dragons corrected, and reminded who the true prince was, her place with Geldryn would be secure. She was so close now. Beleriad would be mature within a couple of short decades, and then he could go out and establish a kingdom that would last. He would not be like the weak heirs she had given Geldryn in the past, Beleriad would be strong. His strength, and his victories, would ensure that Geldryn never forgot Siravel, even after her death.

  As the thought came to her, a pain struck her in her abdomen that made her writhe on the stone floor. She closed her eyes and clenched her jaw. Shooting, burning spurs bolted out from the central stabbing ache, radiating through her body. She coughed. The simple motion felt as though it ripped her insides down the middle. Her eyes went wide and she clenched her jaw again with all her might to keep from crying out in pain.

  Then it passed. She had already had two such episodes in the last three years, and they were becoming closer together. She knew it would get worse, but she had to hold out until Beleriad reached maturity. Just until he claimed a kingdom for himself. Once that was done, then even after she died and a new high queen was named, Geldryn would never forget her. That is all that mattered. That was why she couldn’t let anyone, not even Gorliad, detract from the prince or overshadow his victories. She stood to her feet then and thought for a moment. Perhaps she should banish Gorliad. Expelling him from the territory would ensure no one ever spoke of him again.

  But what if he returned? He had a way of showing a strength and resilience like none other she had ever seen before. Worse still, what if Gorliad were to become jealous and attack Beleriad? The burgundy slave had already killed a king. What was to stop him? A plan formed in her mind then. It was so simple. She laughed aloud and twitched her tail behind her.

  The skytes were already assigned to follow Gorliad. It would be easy enough to set an ambush for the burgundy slave once she knew his patterns. She would remove this obstacle to Beleriad’s success, the last remaining wedge between her and Geldryn, soon. Then she would be free to rest, and to enjoy her final years among the living.

  *****

  Algearon stormed into the kitchen, fuming mad and red in the face. He bellowed for all to cease their work. Every dwarf in the prep chamber froze and turned to him. Dalean set a bloody cleaver down and wiped her hands on her apron.

  “What’s all this then?” she asked as she pushed a strand of hair out of her face.

  “By order of the high queen, these two skytes are assigned to remain with Gorliad at all times. The servant is no longer permitted to roam freely, unobserved. This is because he has broken tradition, and overstepped his rank by challenging a dragon greater than he.”

  Dalean made a fist and pointed her thumb over it, directly at Algearon. “You cannot take away what he has done!”

  “SILENCE!” Algearon boomed. The two skytes startled and flew up off his arms to hover in the air as Algearon stormed toward Dalean. The dwarf stopped on the other side of the cutting table, leaned across it with his knuckles resting on the top, and glared into Dalean’s eyes. “The high queen demands that all be reminded of our traditions. She demands that all, every dragon and every dwarf, know that they are to serve in their place for the good of the mountain.” He leaned in and winked then, disarming Dalean’s menacing glower. “And by the scars of my left shoulder, I promised to deliver that message. You be sure to see that Gorliad understands it. By the scars of my left shoulder, I advocate for the true prince, so that all may know where the hope of the mountain lies.”

  Dalean looked to the drying blood on Algearon’s left shoulder. “By your scars?” she asked in a humbler tone.

  Algearon nodded. “By my scars,” he said.

  “I will tell him exactly.”

  “See that you do,” Algearon pressed. “And these two skytes will wait here until his next return. If he tries to escape from their site, he will be punished. He is a servant, and the queen has ordered his exact obedience.”

  Dalean nodded and offered a short bow. The other dwarves did likewise.

  Algearon stomped out of the room, grumbling and yelling about how abhorrent it was for a servant to dabble in the matter of kings. The two skytes remained in the prep chamber, hovering in the air and waiting for Gorliad’s return.

  Dalean pushed her hair back again and grabbed the cleaver. She went back to chopping and separating the meat, all the while keeping an eye on the two skytes above.

  *****

  Gorliad returned to the mountain, holding a pair of mountain goats with his left hind talons, an elk with his right hind talons, a deer with his left fore talons, and a large bear in his mouth. He descended gently through an opening in the trees and set the carcasses down in different iron-rimmed push carts that had been placed there for him. As he set the bear into a cart, a dwarf approached him and hailed him with a wave of his right hand.

  “Dalean needs to speak with you,” he said. The dwarf’s jaw and mouth were set sternly, portraying confidence and firmness, but the dwarf’s eyes darted out to the side several times, showing confusion and possibly fear.

  Gorliad nodded. He didn’t ask what the trouble was. Better to hear it from Dalean. He entered the mountain and passed by the dwarf guards at their posts. None of them ridiculed him now as they had years ago. Even with the limp, he was an imposing dragon by any standards. By the way the dwarves avoided eye contact, he assumed word of Dermarak’s demise had spread through the whole mountain by now.

  That was likely what Dalean wanted to talk about, he guessed. He made his way up to the prepping chamber and saw her working on a rack of buffalo ribs. The sweet scent of fresh bison meat was almost too tempting for him. The large beasts roamed in the north and east of Geldryn’s kingdom, so he rarely saw them. He stepped in and made a playful bite toward the meat.

  “Watch your manners, servant,” Dalean said quickly.

  Gorliad froze in his tracks. He knew she would only use that word if others were listening in. He didn’t have to wait long before a pair of skytes flew down from overhead to light upon the table near the buffalo carcass.

  “I was informed you wished to speak with me,” Gorliad said with his head bowing down. Despite their diminutive size, he knew the skytes for what they were. Spies. So now he played the part of the humble servant.

  “Quite right,” she said curtly. “It has come to my attention that you reached above your station, tried to meddle in the affairs of kings.”

  Gorliad held his tongue, but inside his stomach churned. He was not sure what to expect next, but he knew it was not going to be good.

  “Algearon was here, sent as an emissary from the high queen. He tasked me with reminding you, and all under my supervision, of our tradition. Every dragon and every dwarf must remember that they are to serve in their place for the good of the mountain. No one is to overreach, and no one is to slack idly. Algearon has been tasked with spreading this warning to all of t
he mountain.”

  “Forgive me,” Gorliad asked. “I only meant to—”

  “Be silent. I did not ask for your excuses!” Dalean shouted. So convincing was the throbbing vein in her reddening forehead that even Gorliad was unsure whether the dwarf was acting for the skytes, or had been persuaded against him finally.

  No, he knew her better than that. It would take more than a stern warning to force Dalean. Gorliad looked to her, searching her face with his eyes of snow. He found her glower unwavering. Perhaps Algearon had made a threat he was unaware of.

  “Algearon also told me, and all here, that he advocates for the true prince, so that all may know where the hope of the mountain lies.”

  “Yes, of course,” Gorliad said in a humbled tone.

  Dalean hacked into the ribs with her cleaver so that the blade stuck deep in the meat. She stomped around the table and got up close to Gorliad’s left eye. “He said that by the scars of his left shoulder, he advocates for the true prince, so that all may know where the hope of the mountain lies.”

  Gorliad’s head twitched, almost imperceptibly. The words sunk in, yet still he almost didn’t believe what he had heard.

  “Do you understand?” Dalean asked. “By the scars of his left shoulder he advocates for the true prince.”

  Gorliad nodded. “I understand. How shall I make amends for my offense?”

  Dalean pointed to the skytes. “These two will follow you and join you wherever you go. They are sent from High Queen Siravel to ensure that you do not overreach your authority again. As for me, you know your responsibilities. See that you do them to the best of your ability. For I also support the true prince, as do all the dwarves under my supervision.”

  Gorliad glanced around. The other dwarves nodded silently, staring back at him expectantly. Then he looked to the skytes and saw an altogether different attitude. They studied him warily, and offered no expression of compassion or understanding. They were less than Dalean’s forearm in size, yet the disdain they so obviously held for Gorliad made the burgundy dragon squirm. What was he to do? Algearon, Dalean, and apparently many dwarves whose names Gorliad didn’t even know expected him to lay claim to his former birthright. Meanwhile, Siravel had sent spies and keepers to him, expressly to ensure that he stayed within his bounds as a servant, and troubled her and the king no more.