The Dragon's Custodian

by Paul C Rogers

  “Blood of the deities!” he cried out, brandishing his sword, but the Baronet was already in motion, disarming him with a motion he had never seen, nor could even comprehend.

  Staring at his now vacant hands, Lornus stepped past him. “Alert the Thane that King Lornus is here, tell him that I shall join him shortly, for the journey has been trying and so a visit to the kitchens is in order, I think. This way my Veruth.”

  Stepping over the decapitated head, the Baronet handed the Captain his sword back, her mud-crusted boots’ muffled clumps led her in the King's wake.

  The Thane of Brownwaters had been enjoying a most lethargic and slothful morning and thus was rather displeased to hear of a raucous occurring in his very domicile.

  Scrabbling together a robe to cover his modesty, he made sure that the guard was aware of his displeasure through a series of prolonged grumbles and sighs.

  One of the servants was weeping as she passed. A curious sight, the Thane remarked, stepping upon the now clean foyer floor.

  “What is the meaning of all this!” he bellowed, as he dramatically barged into his inner-sanctum where two strangers had made themselves thoroughly at home. His face aghast at the sight of picked-clean bones strewn across his pristine table. “Who are you? I shall make sure you are thrown into the penal dungeons and never-”

  Lornus removed the dagger that adorned his belt and thrust it into the table. The hilt, encrusted with the finest of jewels and precious stones, served as a rather impractical handle.

  “The Regal Bodkin?” the Thane uttered, confused at its presence, yet in awe of its extravagance.

  “Yes, a sign of my position and also a dainty armament. Though fortunately I have had little cause to use it on my travels since departing Hybrawn, that job falls to my Veruth.”

  The Thane did not yet know the fate that had befallen his door-guard, but seeing the sword wielded by her side, he believed Lornus' words.

  Rising from the chair, Lornus observed the Thane with a long scrutinous glance. “Is it usual that you have to be roused from your slumber to greet visitors, let alone your King?”

  The Thane pulled at the robe, most embarrassed. “My most sincere apologies my liege, but I assure you this a most unusual circumstance, for we have had a bit of good fortune in Brownwaters, and there was something of a celebratory mood encapsulating the house, that I may have over-indulged upon.

  Lornus waved away the rather pathetic display. “Not at all, you remember the feast of penultimate?”

  The Thane glanced up from his deep bow. “The final gathering of the hero before the descent into the world's core.”

  Lornus looked pleased and gestured knowingly. “It is good to have things to celebrate. I myself am on a most celebratory cause. I am enacting my own Creed. Seeking the foul beast that has apparently trodden upon your grounds.”

  “The dragon? Oh yes, well to some it is the cause of these celebrations.”

  Ever since the incident at Hybrawn, the Baronet had yet to see Lornus anger, it was if the loss and devastation had blanketed him in an impenetrable sombre. But the Thane's words darkened the King's face, his teeth bared as he echoed the sentiments. To celebrate a beast would be treasonous. The heart of evil, the scourge of Tallagate.

  Sensing he had trodden upon dangerous grounds, the Thane sought clarification. “You see, a group of bandits and ruffians were making trouble, distributing a most detracting substance known as the Bogmoss...” He could see Lornus' attention and, by proxy, patience, slipping rapidly. “Well, long story short, some see them as a hero.”

  Her temper already tested by the jesting guard, the Baronet was able to stay her hand under instruction from Lornus, who signalled that all was well.

  “Them? The one-armed man, he was with it still?”

  The Thane nodded, though Lornus scarcely registered it for he was so deeply entrenched in his own vengeful visions.

  The dragon-wrangler. Summoner of evil, no doubt the instigator of the Insurgents. He represented a manifestation of evil that was just as realised as the dragon itself.

  There was no other recourse. Naturally they would seek refuge in a land that tolerated beasts. They must not be allowed to reached the Arconan border. He had justified his Kingdom's loss in the war as a necessary trial. A vindication that his purpose was righteous. But the thought of the dragon by Raim's side, rose a gall within him.

  A plan was set in motion. The Thane's messenger would carry a letter to Hybrawn and then the message would spread to the Kingdom of Tallagate as a whole. A summons of every available Kingsman, the Beastslaying Elite. The reserve soldiers. No criteria to be enforced, it would be a grand enlisting. The final battle against evil.

  The merchant finished setting up his stall. He had always made it a point of getting to the town square early to scout the best spot. But this morning, no such competition existed. The spaces barren. He leaned on the makeshift table-top and peered down the streets. All stood empty. The quiet solitude was broken by the child finding amusement in kicking a scrap of wood down the street. When the broken plank eventually landed in front of the trader, he was able to ask where everyone was.

  “Crusade,” the child said plainly, and continued on, unabashed.

  All throughout Tallagate the picture was the same. Towns stood sombre. Gutted by Lornus' call to arms for the 'Final Battle against Evil.' Some that took up the pledge, did so out of loyalty. Some out of a sense of purpose. Some with the fleeting promise of coin. But regardless, in spite of the confusion and haphazardness of the assembly. Several thousand strong, the re-assembled army of Tallagate marched once more to the Arconan border.

  18

  An unspoken code existed in the Arconan Union of Commerce. Trades were to be conducted in the designated merchant squares of the towns and cities, whereupon quality of good and fairness of price would win out, both for the benefit of the consumer and the integrity of the trade as a whole. This unspoken code eventually became written law, adding a patrol of the transport routes to the Queen’s Guard’s duties, breaking down unofficial trade posts that preyed upon convenience for the traveller and unrivalled competition to ensure sales.

  When the complaint was made that the road leading out of Casteel now was home to some sort of makeshift tenement, a caravan that sat entrenched by the side of the road, with a strange figure seated brazenly, watching with intent each traveller that came from the town, the Queen's Guard were quick to intercede.

  Yet each time they returned over the following days, he remained.

  With no wares, nor any business to conduct, eventually one of the Queen's Guard demanded to know his intentions.

  “I am waiting for a very special person,” he replied rather plainly.

  Unimpressed, they took this as aloof coyness, but in truth the man carried no facetiousness. At their patience's end, the legislator was summoned to comb through the book of law for some violation to which this strange fellow could be reprimanded. And in turn, both he and the grotesque caravan could be finally removed from the intruded aesthetics of Casteel's horizon. Their efforts were not in vain, for public loitering was indeed enforceable after a period of seven days.

  “My home is carried by wheels, my fate does not lay here at your door,” the man responded, accepting the letter graciously.

  Irked by this reserved indifference to their charge, the guards departed once more, counting the days till they could return. But the man did not mind all this process, for he knew his purpose was eventually inbound.

  With day seven now at hand, the man knew that he would have to up-end his home soon. The view provided a clear sight-line of the comings and goings of Casteel. (A deliberate choice.) And so he knew that a clean escape from the wrathful guard was both possible and the likely course of action for this morning.

  He would miss this spot, the nearby stream provided both sustenance and amenities but thoughts would have to turn to the next town. He was certain his estimates were correct and this was to be the locatio
n, but the fickle nature of the fates meant that any number of factors could have interceded. However, no sooner had he cast doubt upon his plan than he witnessed it begin to unfold. Just as he predicted.

  In the distance, moving with a disenchanted grace walked not the Queen's Guard, nor any passing travellers of Arconan, but a single destitute figure.

  He stood waiting, as the distant figure drew near, casting a curious glance at both the man that stood in his path and the peculiar vehicular domicile that lay beside him.

  “Geron of Rivermouth... At long, long, last,” he sighed with content, closing his eyes.

  “You know me?” Geron responded, with suitable wariness, his fingers inching towards the hilt of his blade.

  “Know you? No. But I know of you. My name is Abarath. Here we both are, foreigners outcast from our homeland. But our paths to this point have been rather different indeed.”

  Geron relaxed his demeanour, but given his most recent encounter was in no mood for further sentimental recollections. “Another Tallagatian huh? Seems I cannot travel a mile without coming across another one who fled the Sonkiller, or does that term offend you?”

  “I swear fealty to no man. And that makes me a traitor? No, I love my Kingdom. Loved those lands, the people. It may surprise you to learn that I used to be a Preacher. Had something of a troubling incident with beasts as a youth, and I carried that anger with me. Lornus' decree gave me an outlet for that anger. And of course, I loved the adulation. The pomp. That feeling of moral superiority. During the war, whilst other folks were off giving their lives for a cause that I believed in, I was on a different front line. Freshly ordained acolyte. Maybe that was when I knew, but chose to ignore it, for Lornus takes care of his own. I had property, coin, even staff waiting under me.” He paused in recollection of the supposed 'better days,' looking almost nostalgic.

  “Until one morning, a child approached me seeking coin. Their father had been taken in the war, whilst the mother had succumbed to illness. The child had been left alone, at the grace of neighbours who also were struggling. I had no coin upon me. For even as revered a person as I, there were those who would chastise me. But I had jewellery aplenty. My fingers adorned with gold. My wrists. Even beneath my humble attire my ankles too were lined in indulgence. I could have handed him any of it. But I did not. There was a void between the two of us that I alone had erected. One in which I reigned above all. I went home content in my convenience.” He paused again, looking to Geron for smatterings of judgement. But there were none.

  “The child had only a beast as company. The Kingsmen tracked it, and when the child would not relent, fell alongside it. What was even my purpose? I tore off my rings, my amulets, every item of value upon my person, and took up a different vocation. In the year’s past, I have lived side by side with beasts, fed upon the same prey. Slept in the same valleys. Some are hostile yes, but tell me brother, can you not say the same of us?”

  Irresolute, Geron agreed, but still was uncertain as to this fellow's intentions.

  “I have been tracking the dragon ever since word reached us of the incident at Hybrawn. I needed to see it with my own eyes. The so-called 'incarnation of evil' really among us, no longer confined to the pages of Tommamare's Creed? But I was always one step behind, even though that dragon leaves large prints to follow. Until that is, I was able to deduce your direction. It was no longer haphazard, a singular purpose. You are seeking Wyrmgard.”

  There was no point in feigning any ignorance, both men knew that word had piqued Geron's attention. “You know of this place?” he asked.

  The former Preacher nodded, proud of this disbelief, for such awe was earned. The knowledge of Wyrmgard was an academic and hypothetical challenge. Unlocked by few, and accepted by fewer still.

  Yet for Geron, it inspired a hope that his singular objective lay not on the word of a questionably-minded hermit Savant.

  It was a dual wonder. Abarath stood before the dragon, enraptured by the sight of his elusive pursuit, whilst Geron watched as the man approached the beast with no apparent trepidation.

  Advice nor warning was required, the former Preacher reached out and gently touched the dragon upon the snout, tracing his palm over the firm scales.

  The dragon however, regarded this interaction with little in the way of affection. Hunger and an over-familiarity with the Arconan skies had rendered it reserved and a tad irritable.

  Nonetheless, Abarath seemed thrilled at these circumstances. “Despite my unorthodox appearance, I am not some rambling delinquent. No, there are others who feel the same as I. Other Tallagatians who fled Lornus' rule and Arconans who seek a way of life removed from the toil of serving the Crown. You both would be welcome there.”

  The interior of the caravan was rather spacious, and the offer to rest within on their journey to the encampment was a tempting one. However, his dealings with Karvel made Geron wary of letting his guard down again. Thus he was most disappointed in his will-power when he awoke at the sensation of the caravan coming to a halt.

  Reprimanding himself, he scrambled for the door, awaiting deceit. But instead of any trickery, Abarath was descending from the driver's perch, the dragon observing their rural, mountainous horizon, appeased that it was able to trek on foot for a welcome change.

  “Ah, you're awake at last,” Abarath said, greeting him with a warm embrace, “I had hoped for some conversation along the journey, but I must confess my attention was solely focused upon that magnificent creature this whole time.” He stared at the dragon with the same wide-eyed wonder as the first time it had landed before them.

  Apologising, Geron made a point of being a better travelling companion for the remainder of the trip.

  Abarath seemed to find this amusing. “There is no more remainder of the journey, my brother. We are already here.”

  “We are?” Geron asked confused, glancing up at the mountain that rose before them. He recognised it immediately, despite having never seen it before. For few sights could compare with the tallest mountain in the known world. The Insurmountable.

  With a good-natured laugh, Abarath patted Geron on the back. “Relax my brother, our destiny does not lay beyond such a climb. There is a whole network of tunnels around here. Some seem to pass through the mountain itself, but like its name it is both Insurmountable and impenetrable.”

  Mischievously he bounded over to where a copious assemblage of thickets lay. Clasping a seemingly innocuous branch, the curious former preacher heaved the entire collection aside. But rather than a feat of strength, Geron was instead treated to a feat of engineering, a doorway disguised as innocent brush, moved easily to the side, revealing a deep cavernous opening.

  The passageway, though thoroughly deep, was wide enough for the caravan to easily pass through, the wheels loudly clattering across the reinforced roadway planks. The dragon however, was having less of an easy time. Every few seconds, it required further coaxing as they moved through the claustrophobic enclosure.

  “It usually likes caves,” Geron explained with assurance, as he gently sounded the medallion again allowing the dragon to move forward another excruciatingly few feet. His eyes gazed up at their surroundings, the tunnels seemed naturally formed, hollowed into the very ground itself, enforced by the stone, droplets of gathered moisture the only threat upon their heads.

  Eventually the lit torch of Abarath was supplemented by the outpouring of light from the other side of the tunnel.

  Shielding his eyes to this adjustment, Geron followed in the caravan's wake. When he had regained his unimpeded vision, he was certain that what he looked upon was some sort of deviation of the senses.

  But before he could articulate his surprise, he was already intercepted by a flurry of arms, embracing him. Whispers and exclamations of welcome and well-wishing. Utterances of perplexity only seemed to delight them further, as he caught further glimpses of the elaborate, sweeping community.

  Laughing, Abarath joined the fray before dismissing the gro
up. “Come now people, give him some room, he has had a long journey to reach us.”

  Relinquishing their embrace, they stood back, awaiting not a command nor instruction but in anticipation for what was yet to emerge.

  They did not have to wait very long. One of the group spied it first, the overwhelming elation dropping them to their knees, but efforts at assistance were immediately abandoned as the rest of those gathered also succumbed to similar fates, as the dragon slowly and tentatively poked its snout through the tunnel exit. Seeing that sufficient room to stretch was available, it emerged utilising the wide, open air to expand its wings.

  It could not have been a more awe-inspiring sight had Geron choreographed it himself from the old shows.

  The community had assembled in full now, deserting tasks and conversations to see the great beast that walked among them.

  Used to the attention, the dragon snorted and relaxed onto its belly, awaiting the inevitable instructions. But they never came, the medallion remained unused. And so the community gathered and watched in silent wonder of the dragon taking a deserved nap.

  Leaving the sleeping dragon to its audience, Abarath escorted Geron deeper into the heart of the community. “This was not what you were expecting?” he asked Geron, who was still eyeing the society with astonishment. Each building was a marvel. An enclave buried deep within a crater of the mountain. It was difficult to consider the prospect of constructing such a phenomenon, let alone seeing it fully realised. However, it was also a reassurance that the presence of others like him diminished the aura of crazed eccentricity that Abarath carried about him.

  “I encountered many of these occupants on the roads, just like you. Across Tallagate I travelled, seeking the apathy and the aggravation of the common public. But, once the raucous died down they sought me out, curious about my message, about the life we have built here.”