Chapter 21: Dragons, Druids, more Dragons and Another Diamond
Hrolf was in straights. What could he possibly say to the man who saved his life? More to the point, Hrolf knew the trials of Tarion Praetorian—everyone did. The Praetorian’s unrequited loves were frequent gossip in his tavern. After all, what better to talk about than the romantic trials of famous people? Now he, Hrolf, was about to deliver another blow. How would Tarion react? He had a powerful temper.
“Aubrey, beautiful Aubrey,” Tarion said.
Thunder rumbled in the distance. A wind sprang up.
Hrolf’s gut churned, but he managed to raise his hand, “Tarion a moment please.”
Aubrey jumped in front of her father, taking his hands in hers, “Yes Tarion?”
He took a deep breath and smiled. “Aubrey, as the Praetorian of the Imperium I wish to bestow my blessing on you as a druid priestess. By the power invested upon me by Emperor Diocletian III and the Empress Minerva, I assign you to the acolytes of Lady Syf. You are to journey to her house Bilskirnir as soon as may be. Congratulations, you’ve taken a first step toward your future today.”
Aubrey looked shocked. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, what do you mean?” Hrolf added, looking no less surprised.
“You spoke from the heart, as a druid priestess might for the balance of life and for nature over the desire of the individual,” Tarion told her. “I think you’ve found your path!”
You are a cad; a very skillful, heartless cad—I quite approve. You got this Goddess all a-tingle!
Aubrey’s brows contracted. Her mouth sprang open, but she said nothing.
Hrolf heaved a sigh of relief.
“But?” Aubrey started.
“It’s a long road, Aubrey,” Tarion told her, taking her hand and kissing it. “It’s your road nonetheless. If you don’t believe me ask the little dragons.” The pups peered out of Tarion’s cloak and gazed at Aubrey. As one, they chirped at her, almost if singing.
She reached out and stroked each one. They purred.
Hrolf pushed Aubrey into the cart and climbed up cart next to her, chortling to himself. “Furge, are you all loaded up and ready to go?”
“Sure, I owe Tarion too much for the steaks to be sorry for the loss of the babes. Besides, Miss Aubrey makes me feel guilty about it. It wouldn’t do no good to start the day off making a druid priestess mad at me!” The giant waved to Tarion. “Good luck!”
“I doubt you’ll need it, but I won’t be there to distract the next dragon,” Hrolf said with a smile. “Finish up soon, Tarion; we’ll find a bed for you.” He started the oxen down the road with Furge striding easily alongside. When Tarion disappeared behind the trees, Hrolf cast an inquisitive glance at his daughter. She was huddled against him and ready to be home.
“So what do you think, Aubrey?” he asked, grinning. “There’s an exciting life awaiting some lucky maid, running around in the wilds, living hand to mouth and such!”
Aubrey cuffed her father on the back of the head, as she’d seen her mother do countless times and that was that.
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Tarion tried not to think of Aubrey. He tried to ignore the laughter seemingly coming from the woods. His ardor and his doubt made things far too complicated. Still, he was sincere concerning Aubrey’s druidic skills. She was more than a barmaid. Someday, when she was a druid and he was free of his burden, then maybe they had a future.
We’ll see about that!
Tarion ignored the promptings of Freya, spending the next hour working over Gaurnothax. Before long, scavengers would pull the corpse apart. As he told Aubrey, he couldn’t let the opportunity go to waste. Tarion knew how valuable Gaurnothax was even if he was dead. Applying his rude surgical skills Tarion harvested some of the more profitable items of the dragon’s anatomy. He wrapped them carefully in dragon-scale and packed them in a burlap sack. Gaurnothax served another function. The babes were hungry and Tarion didn’t need to tell them what to do. Ironically, through his own designs, Gaurnothax became dinner for his own breakfast.
Tarion hitched up the last of his baggage and turned to the pups. “Are you coming?”
Chirping and squealing, the little dragons abandoned their tormentor. Scurrying inside Tarion’s cloak, they were soon snug and warm, purring in slumbering bliss.
Mounted on the horse and ready to go, Tarion asked, “Which way, Setris?”
The pixie shook his head, “You are a strange one, Tarion; but you’re a special client so I’ll take you there myself. I still have to study you for the gloves. Besides, you’ve already got more than enough of Gaurnothax in that bag for my commission!”
Tarion welcomed the company. In fact, he was in a much better mood. There were no prying eyes in the forest and no one to tell him he was other than a man. He was returning dragon babes to their mother; there was nothing deep or dark in that. It was an improvement.
Setris led him west over a well-worn forest path. As the afternoon waned, they came upon an open birch wood set in a high sheltered valley. The air was clear and crisp with the scent of fallen leaves and wet snow. The babbling of a small brook filled the place with a clean refreshing sound. A pleasant dell overlooked the forest. Beyond the stream, walls of weathered rock served as shelter. At the back of the dell was a small, dilapidated castle. The gate yawned open like a toothless mouth. A steep roofed hall rose behind the walls, but the roof had long since rotted away and all that remained was a shell. It was too bad, for the castle overlooked a gap in the mountains and the glittering sea beyond. The horse snorted and shied, unhappy at being so close to the lair.
“Like as not, she’s still hibernating,” Tarion said.
“For an otherwise talented human, you have ears of wood,” Setris said. “Can’t you hear that moaning? It’s been apparent for the last furlong at least.”
“Well, I’ll find out,” he said. “Come on little fellows it’s time to meet mommy.” Tarion rode down into the moat, which was now little more than a shallow ditch and through the open gate. The courtyard was grass-grown and empty. He tied the horse to the branch of a tree and climbed the steps to the hall with Setris. The late afternoon sun peeked out from underneath the gray skies, sending dusty shafts of light through the silent hall. The place was devoid of valuables, but it wasn’t in disarray. The windows and roof were gone, but there were no debris. Everything was clean and orderly, which was strange for a ruin. At the end of the hall, another set of steps led to a tall niche carved in the stone of the hill. A dark portal stood open, adorned on each side by rich, well-maintained tapestries.
Tarion could now hear the dragon’s groans. There was sadness to it and a grim resignation, but he couldn’t catch the words. He lit his lantern and stepped through the arch of the doorway. The lamp revealed a small antechamber behind the great hall. Skilled hands carved the chamber out of the rock of the hills. There was furniture here and even a carpet over the stone floor. At the end of the chamber was a set of doors. They were heavy, nail studded doors obviously meant to guard a treasury. They were open.
“Excuse me!” Tarion called loudly in elvish. He approached the treasury carefully. “Hera Vora? May I come in?”
“Who disturbs my misery?” a raspy feminine voice said in elvish. Two bronze eyes glowed in the dark. “I thought you to be Gaurnothax, come to finish his conquest. Certainly, I cannot be mistaken of his scent, which is upon you right and clear!”
“No, Hera Vora, I’m Tarion. You need not worry about Gaurnothax. I’ve slain him.”
“What’s this?” she cried and at once, a graceful green head, about the size of a horse’s head, poked out of the treasury portal. “What are you saying? You’ve slain the ruffian?”
“I have at that and I’ve brought you something that never should’ve been taken from your care, Lady Hera!” Tarion smiled, producing the three little dragons. They blinked in the sudden light. “I assume these are your little truants?”
Hera Vora gave a cry and dashed out, sniffing each one o
f her charges. The reunion was touching and she was in obvious wonderment.
“How can this be? How may a mortal return to me my own? I’ve never heard tell of such a deed and none would believe my tale if I told it!”
“I appreciate that,” Tarion said sincerely. “Really, look at these little rascals. How could I have done otherwise?”
“I still don’t understand,” Hera said. “Yet worry not, Tarion. You will journey home with reward. I have little gold, but it’s yours and more besides.”
“No, lady, truly I’m content with your good graces and your consideration.”
She looked at him with eyes wide with wonder and sentiment. “You amaze me! I’ve never heard the like. My gratitude is yours forever, yet that cannot be payment enough. You must wish something of me! Come, I will not be as poor in praise as to send you off without reward!”
“I think perhaps we can be of service to each other.”
“Indeed? I’m heartily glad to listen,” she said, perking her ears in curiosity. “Yet where are my manners; let us not talk in the doorway. Come in, please.”
Hera Vora’s lair was Spartan but tastefully appointed. She lit copper lanterns and they splashed pleasant light on the furnishings, which though few in number were well cared for. She led Tarion to a large leather chair. He gratefully accepted it and Setris perched on the back.
Hera Vora lit a fire, spitting a thin stream of acid onto some tinder in the fireplace. A small blaze sprang forth and she added wood from a pile fastidiously stacked in the niche next to the hearth. Soon a merry blaze warmed the treasury, which was larger than Tarion guessed. The dragoness brought out a bottle of wine and filled two bronze goblets with great care. She handed one to Tarion.
“I apologize, but I have no cup for one of your size, my dear pixie,” Hera told Setris.
“No matter, I always come prepared.” Setris snapped his tiny fingers and a cup appeared in his hand. He flew over to Tarion’s goblet and dipped the cup into the wine. “Excellent!” he said and he flew back to his seat.
Hera raised her goblet to Tarion and they sipped their wine.
“Thank you lady, this is excellent indeed,” he said with a nod, settling back very comfortably. “It may please you to know that as the Praetorian of the mortal Imperium I am no stranger to the courts of the emperor or even to elven royalty.” Tarion knew dragons. His anonymity would do him no good here. It would in fact work against his plans. A man’s standing had much to do with the etiquette and consideration a dragon might afford a mortal—it also offered legitimacy for any favor he showed her and any he could expect in return. Since he didn’t wear his armor, he flashed the Praetorian medallion. The act had two purposes, it validated his claim and it showed her that he considered himself her equal—therefore her services were strictly out of gratitude, not as a sign of weakness, but out of courtesy. “Hera Vora I must express my admiration for your obvious breeding and manners.” Dragons were notoriously fastidious creatures driven to distraction by convention. It was not unheard of for a dragon to spend a week deciding on the placement of a single trinket in their hoard. Hera Vora was no different. She knew the hierarchy of men, elves, dwarves—even gnomes. Tarion’s compliment, coming as it did from the Praetorian of men caused her to positively glow with pride.
“My matron would be pleased with your observation, Tarion Praetorian,” Hera Vora smiled, shuttling her pups to the back of the grotto where they wouldn’t interrupt their conversation. “She was the great Lady Olivia Vora whose realm was in the far off forests of the Tulari.”
Tarion sipped his wine and thought for a moment. Dragon genealogy was an important subject for those who dared to deal with dragons, but Lady Hera was not of royal lineage. He had to think hard before he recalled her family. Fortunately, he had a childhood fascination of dragons and studied them ardently—more important, he had Alfrodel’s memory to draw on. Tarion had a picture in his mind of Hera’s father. The name was coming, but in order for his pause not to seem so long, he said, “She was a lady of great refinement and unimpeachable character. She lived with steadfast honor and tribute within the great serpentine valley of Tularae Fulla Gilla,” his use of the full archaic name of the Misty Valley of the Tulari, a sacred place in elvendom, impressed her and bought him the extra moment he needed. “Your sire was then Pergamum Vora, who demanded and received notable tribute from King Alfrodel?”
“He was,” Hera Vora replied with an expression of delight.
“Alas, we lost him on Vigrid, but he died nobly—his memory is an inspiration to all free peoples.”
“You honor me,” Hera Vora, said, appreciating the complement.
“As do you Lady,” Tarion said, giving the correct response.
“Perhaps you do not understand the service you’ve rendered me in slaying Gaurnothax.” Hera said, curling up opposite Tarion and Setris on a bed of copper and silver coins. There was a smattering of gems but it was by no means a rich hoard. She appeared to be uncomfortably aware of it.
“I admit to some confusion on that end Lady Hera,” Tarion nodded, cradling the wine. This was a sticky subject. Hera was from the east, the old world of wealth, tradition and nobility. How was it that she came here to the hinterlands? Why was she here in the impoverished duchy of Norrland instead of the more civilized and wealthy climes of nearby elven Haldieth? He could tell Hera Vora was appreciative, but somehow he sensed there was something more, something even more tragic to her tale. He debated whether to say anything more, but he decided he didn’t have the luxury of ignorance. “Your matron fled east with the elves, but after that I know nothing.” He sipped his wine. “Certainly, the Norse must be honored to have a lady of such lineage overseeing their realm, but I cannot imagine the elves were pleased to lose such a lady of quality.”
“It is not by choice,” Hera Vora told him, the timbre of her voice making it plain that he struck the proper balance. “Gaurnothax slew my matron when she settled in Haldieth, for she would not mate with him. She still carried a final clutch of eggs from my sire. He allowed me to hatch but devoured my brothers. Then he brought me here and forced himself upon me. It was his revenge for my matron spurning him.”
Tarion looked at the pups with a mixture of surprise and trepidation. “Then these are Gaurnothax’s pups? I thought they were the children of some young blue!”
“That was but a rumor,” she said evenly, a stern expression crossing her graceful features. “I began it myself.”
“Why?”
Hera’s lip curled in a slight smile. Refilling Tarion’s goblet, she explained, “As Gaurnothax assumed my eggs were those of a rival he of course took them with the intention of devouring them. He would have instead devoured his own offspring.”
“Poisoning him and killing him!” Setris finished with a nod of approval. “That’s a brilliantly elegant manner of revenge, lady. Your matron would be proud.”
“Thank you!”
It was an incredibly elegant if brutal plan, Tarion admitted. Dragon-folk could be quite ruthless at need. Still, it begged the question, “What are your plans with them lady?”
Dragon tradition would have her slay the pups and destroy Gaurnothax’s legacy. The dragons had no qualms with this barbaric but logical solution, but his mother’s voice screamed against the injustice of holding the offspring accountable for the actions of the father.
“You take an interest on their behalf Praetorian?”
He nodded, explaining, “I am dutiful to the memory of my mother, Lady Julienna, High Priestess of Norrland. She appreciated your people, as do I, Lady Hera.”
Tarion’s application was correct in form, his sponsor was a druid of great power and prestige and his own rank was without reproach. Lady Hera inclined her head, and said, “Their fate is up to you, Praetorian,” she said. “I am content that Gaurnothax is slain. Yet I will complete the vengeance if you so desire.”
“What do you wish, lady?” Tarion asked, his eyes narrowed and his voice sinking low.
Hera Vora cast her glance on the playing pups and her smile vacillated between that of a mother and that of a feral beast. Her eyes closed and she said, “Though it is considered weakness by some of my brethren I would prefer to raise them as my own. The blood of Pergamum and Olivia runs in their veins—I cannot forget that. If you will sponsor their cause, I shall not dissuade you. I doubt very much that any of my people would deny your application considering its qualifications.”
“I am content, Lady Hera,” Tarion said and he raised his goblet to her. “There is more, however. I think we may be able to help each other.” Her eyes shone with an inquisitive light. “You see, Gaurnothax’s lair is now empty. That’s somewhat of a problem. In my opinion, a district without a dragon lacks credibility. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“That’s a very enlightened view of things, Praetorian. For a mortal, you surprise me.”
“Thank you,” Tarion said and he got to his point. “The Trondheim district is now vacant. While it may not be Haldieth, it is still the Imperium. I think that you or one of your enterprising brood would make a necessary addition to the area, restoring the pride of the Norrland Duchy. I anticipate there will be a new druid priestess there. She championed your children and tasked me to return them. I think both of you would benefit from a close relationship.”
Hera Vora bowed and said, “I will be honored to aid her in her labors. The druids have been absent far too long in this realm.”
“For my part, I’ll be willing to leave a portion of the hoard behind in exchange for peaceful coexistence with the inhabitants of Trondheim and maintenance of its borders against the white dragons, snow giants, trolls and the like. I am certain the duke will be happy to pay the necessary tribute.”
“That can be done, certainly,” Hera smiled and the offer was accepted. Hera drank to him and their bargain. “I will take up my abode forthwith. When the time comes, I will leave my son to the charge. That opportunity will pay for itself, however, with little or no profit for you.”
“Actually, I will profit from it Lady Vora, but there is some danger for yourself as well as a great responsibility.”
The Last Praetorian Page 23