The Captive

by Paul Lauritsen

  “It will be difficult,” Khollo agreed, “I won’t deny that. You’ll be able to come back and visit occasionally though, and in the meantime you will be making a huge difference in this world.”

  L’tel studied him. Khollo wished the other boy would make up his mind. The young Keeper could sense time running short, could hear shouts behind him as the villagers gathered and began making their way in a disorganized mass towards the source of the roar.

  We need to go, Kanin warned.

  “Please, L’tel,” Khollo urged, “People with the qualities of a Keeper are rare. Trust me. Join us.”

  L’tel took an uncertain step towards Kanin, hesitating. “I can’t just leave them,” he said, looking back at the farm house.

  Khollo glanced at the building. “Then tell them where you’re going,” he said, moving to Kanin’s side. “If you decide you want to join us, meet Kanin and I at the edge of your fields tomorrow morning, at dawn. We’ll be waiting. Right now, though, we have to go before the villagers see Kanin.”

  L’tel nodded and stepped back, giving Kanin more room to take off. The dragon vaulted into the air, wheeled abruptly and, staying low to the ground, darted towards the taller grasses. Soon, he was skimming over the plains, the tops of the grasses clipping his scales. Khollo twisted in the saddle and looked back. The edge of the village was lit with dozens of lanterns and torches, but there was no sign of any pursuit.

  He had better show up tomorrow, Kanin grumbled. We risked much trying to convince him to join us.

  Yes, Khollo agreed, groaning. The bigger problem is what to do if he doesn’t show. L’tel is the first person we’ve seen in some time who has the potential to be one of us.

  We keep searching, Kanin said stubbornly. Assuming you still desire a fourth apprentice.

  Four would be nice, but if we can’t have four we’ll just have to work with three, Khollo said, shrugging.

  They flew in silence for a little longer, then Kanin landed amongst the grasses. They were a couple of miles from the village now, certainly far enough that the villagers wouldn’t be able to find them. Kanin lay down on his side and Khollo curled up against the dragon to sleep.

  They only rested for a few hours, and neither Keeper spent much of that time sleeping. They were distracted by the search, wondering if their latest recruit would join them or not. Khollo kept playing his conversation with L’tel over and over in his mind, trying to guess at what the other boy’s answer would be. Eventually, he did manage to find sleep, but only for an hour or two. They had to be on their way again before dawn in order to get into position without being seen.

  When the east was just beginning to brighten from black to gray, Kanin rolled to his feet and Khollo scrambled onto his back hastily. The two Keepers did not exchange a single word or thought, preoccupied as they were with L’tel. Kanin flew low and fast again, following the same course as the previous night. As soon as he was in sight of the farmhouse, the dragon landed and they walked from there to the edge of the fields.

  Kanin hung back in the taller, untamed grasses of the plains, but Khollo slipped forward to the very edge of the first carefully arranged furrow of L’tel’s farm. The wilted stalks of harvested plants touched by winter stood in ordered rows, the remains of a bountiful crop. Khollo did not pay them much attention though. His gaze was set on the farm house, where lights were beginning to come on.

  As the first golden rays of sunlight slanted over the horizon, the back door of the farm house opened. A tall, dark-skinned figure looked around, then passed through the portal. Someone else pushed it shut behind him. The figure carried a long spear in one hand, and had a massive shield strapped to his back. He took a few paces forward, looked back at the house, then squared his shoulders and resumed his journey to the edge of the fields.

  Khollo waited with bated breath, hoping against hope that L’tel had decided to join them, that he wasn’t just coming to give them the bad news. As the other boy approached, the young Keeper tentatively stepped further away from the grasses so he would be easier to see. L’tel noticed him and trudged over, automatically stepping over the neat rows, though the dead plants would hardly notice if they were trampled.

  The massive boy stopped just in front of Khollo. There was a pack on his back as well, largely concealed by the shield. L’tel shifted the burden slightly, then spoke.

  “I have decided to join you, Keeper. You said this is the best way to protect the world, so here I should be. And if I am one of few who can help, then who am I to refuse?”

  Khollo breathed a sigh of relief, then grinned broadly, unable to contain his excitement. “That’s good,” he said finally, clapping L’tel on the shoulder. “Very good. You have everything you need?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s be on our way. First stop is Narne to collect the others. Then, we’ll begin the real adventure.

  Chapter 11:

  Gathering of Clans

  Garnuk stopped just outside the doors of the council hall of Dun Carryl. Tarq was waiting there, with several members of Shadow Squadron standing guard nearby.

  “Everything is prepared?”

  “As you instructed,” Tarq murmured. “Hopefully, you will not need the demonstration to convince them, but – ”

  “It will be needed,” Garnuk replied, cutting him off. “We are a thick-skulled race, Tarq. Mere words do not sway the minds of very many vertaga. Actions, experiences, those are what stir their hearts and provoke their thoughts. That is how we will harness their ambition and their strength of arms.”

  “I hope you are right,” Tarq replied worriedly. “Good luck, general.”

  Garnuk bared his fangs in a smile. “With any luck, I will soon be Ramshuk again, not a general.”

  The Exile shoved through the doors, throwing them back against the walls to either side with a tremendous clatter of wood on stone. The babble of conversation in the hall ceased abruptly, and the hall’s occupants quickly ordered themselves.

  The council hall was large, with a domed ceiling, but whenever the full council of clans was summoned it felt very small indeed. The center of the room was dominated by a circular stone table of impractically large size. It had to be huge, to make room for the twenty-seven chiefs who stood around its perimeter. Behind each chief, sitting in chairs pushed back against the edge of the room, were elders from each clan. Many chiefs had also brought warriors with them in a show of force. The purpose of these warriors varied from chief to chief. Some wanted a mere show of power, others were trying to deter an attack. The clans were jealous rivals in the best of times and, considering the recent events at Dun Carryl, these days were very far indeed from the best of times. But Garnuk intended to change that, starting with this meeting.

  He circled the table, shoving through bodyguards and warriors who blocked his path, until he stood at the end of the table opposite the council hall door. Taking a deep breath, Garnuk stepped up to the edge of the table, relishing the moment. He looked around and saw the twenty-seven clan chiefs were looking back at him solemnly. They all stood, for traditionally the clan chiefs were not provided with chairs. It was one of the many ways they proved their strength. It was also a way to keep these meetings short and focused.

  Garnuk also located the empty twenty-eighth place, where a Banuk representative should have stood. He had somewhat hoped Koah would change his mind and break from the rest of his clan, but he had known it was unlikely. The Sentinel was likely not even halfway back to Dun Carryl yet, since it had only been a week or so since he had introduced the Banuk to Zanove.

  “Welcome, mighty chieftains,” Garnuk intoned, turning his attention to the assembled clan representatives. “And welcome to you elders and warriors amongst us as well. This is a proud day for all vertaga, a day which will – ”

  “Why, because a traitor takes the sacred mantle of Ramshuk?” someone shouted.

  Garnuk scowled. “Whoever said that,” he growled, “Had better be ready to defend their claims
.”

  A warrior stepped forward from behind one of the chieftains, arms folded across his chest, jaw thrust forward belligerently. “Here I am, Exile,” he sneered. “Do you deny you were named a traitor to our race?”

  “I was named a traitor by a Ramshuk who failed our people in his own right,” Garnuk replied. “By saving what is left of our kin, I think I have made up for any perceived mistakes.”

  A rumble of conversation ran through the room. The warrior scowled at Garnuk, unconvinced.

  “I see you are not satisfied,” Garnuk observed, gesturing to the warrior. “Your clan should be proud of your tenacity. Bear with me for a while, and then see if your mind changes.” Mentally, Garnuk made sure to note the vertag as a potential player in his demonstration later.

  “Let’s get on with it,” another clan chief growled. “Garnuk has served our people well these last months, rebuilding what is left of Dun Carryl, helping ensure our people survive. He is more than capable of being Ramshuk.”

  “He had his chance,” another protested. “He failed. Give someone else the opportunity.”

  Garnuk let the argument run its course. He knew based on conversations with Tarq and Shadow Squadron, who now had eyes and ears in every clan, exactly how the council would vote. There was no doubt that Garnuk would be named Ramshuk. The only question was how many of the twenty-seven votes he would receive.

  When the clan leaders had begun repeating arguments and the noise level in the room was becoming intolerable, Garnuk finally spoke up. If he let things go much longer, the warriors would have their weapons out and the whole thing would dissolve into chaotic violence, which was not how Garnuk wanted to start his second reign as Ramshuk.

  “I think we’ve had enough discussion,” he said when the clan leaders had quieted. “You all know me, know my history, what I have done for our people. Those who doubt me, know this: I am not who I was ten years ago. You are not who you were ten years ago. Unlike you, I have grown since then. I have gained wisdom, strength, and cunning.” Several of his opponents stirred angrily at this.

  “And I have also lost,” Garnuk murmured. “I have lost a great deal in these past six months. I lost ten years with my mate and cub, only to lose them again when the dragon brought the mountain down on our heads.” Garnuk looked around the council room, keeping his expression carefully neutral. “Those sacrifices taught me much about life. I have moved past them, and am prepared to be a greater leader than ever before. I understand what must be done. Now, all I need is for you to grant me the opportunity.”

  He let the silence hang for a few moments, then drew himself up proudly, inclining his horned head. “I call upon this council of clans to vote! Decide the fate of our people, and give us a worthy leader who will carry us into the future!” He turned to his left. “As tradition states, the mighty An’Kal tribe has the honor of being first.”

  The An’Kal chief bared his fangs and pounded the stone table with his fists. “The An’kal are decided. We will support Garnuk, and swear loyalty to him.”

  The next clan chief stood tall. “The Unarok tribe pledges its loyalty to Garnuk, savior of the clans!”

  And so it went. Clan after clan pledged themselves to Garnuk. A few chiefs voted for themselves, but no other chief voted for anyone besides Garnuk or themselves. So it was that when the decision had come all the way back to Garnuk, he had acquired twenty-two votes, with five other clan chiefs possessing the single votes they had cast for themselves. Even those five did not appear too disappointed by the results. They had not expected to win.

  Garnuk bowed his head reverently, savoring the moment, relishing the feeling of the fate of his people settling on his shoulders once more. “I accept your oaths,” he intoned. “And I accept the mantle of Ramshuk. Send word across the mountains, a new leader has been chosen!”

  The assembled vertaga threw their heads back and roared, their full-throated yells echoing in the council hall. Garnuk smiled triumphantly, looking towards the council hall doors, where Tarq had slipped in unnoticed. The captain of Shadow Squadron inclined his head slightly, signaling all was ready.

  “Now,” Garnuk said, quieting the others, “It is time for us to discuss our future. There is no denying, great chieftains, that the vertaga are in a perilous position. Men have been alerted to our existence once more, and all too recently they tried to wipe us out again. It is only a matter of time, once they have healed from the wounds of war, before their gaze turns south again, and they wonder what it would be like to be able to roam from the furthest iceberg in the South to the northern edge of the mountains without fear.”

  He paused, meeting the gaze of several of his key opponents. “They will return, and when they do we will not have the strength to face them.”

  Garnuk would never describe a crowd of vertaga warriors as subdued, but the gathering of clans nearly pulled it off. His observations had hardly been inspiring, and there was enough truth in them that each and every ram could picture the bleak future he had laid out all too easily.

  “There is another path,” Garnuk whispered. “But it is dangerous.”

  All eyes instantly swung to him, the other chiefs leaned in, hanging on his words.

  “The Sthan are weakened now, focused on recovery,” Garnuk explained. “They lost much in the war as well. And there is the matter of the dragon. It was seen flying off on its own, and word has reached us through Sthan mercenaries and lowlifes that the dragon is not truly under the king’s control. Supposedly, it operates separate from the Sthan, aiding where it deems necessary.”

  “Even without the dragon, they outnumber us many times over,” one of the chieftains observed.

  “Ah,” Garnuk said, holding up his hands. “But what if they have to fight the dragon as well?”

  The other chiefs fell completely silent.

  “If our informers agree on one thing, it is that the relationship between the dragon and the Sthan is undefined and uncertain,” Garnuk explained. “The Sthan likely expect the green monstrosity which attacked Dun Carryl is the only dragon in the world, that they have nothing to fear from the beast.”

  “Now, imagine if a second dragon were to appear, and begin attacking the Sthan people,” Garnuk continued, grinning maliciously. “Suspicion would immediately fall on the dragon and the human boy they considered allies. They would never dream that all along the dragon belonged to us.”

  “You’ll set them against each other,” one chief said slowly. “Dividing them from within.”

  “Precisely,” Garnuk agreed.

  “So where is this other dragon?” a clan chief asked, looking around. “Or are we still looking for one to fulfill that part of the plan?”

  “Isn’t attempting to use a beast like that risky? What if it joins its brethren and turns against us?”

  “We cannot survive the wrath of two dragons!” another chief cried. “We barely survived one!”

  One of the chiefs who had opposed Garnuk leaned over the table, pointing an accusing, clawed finger at the Ramshuk. “You will set us on a path which will destroy what is left of our race! This sort of witless dreaming and scheming is what brought about out failures in the last two wars. We must withdraw into the mountains, defend our borders jealously, and bide our time. Any other plan, especially one that involves fighting, is sheer foolishness!”

  The gathering dissolved into chaos with all of the chiefs bellowing at each other, the warriors making threats and pushing and shoving neighboring chief’s bodyguards. Even the elders against the wall were talking agitatedly.

  “Silence!” Garnuk roared, so loud that it stunned everyone into silence. “There is no risk of losing this dragon. It has been trained from birth to serve the vertaga, and is our ally against the greater world. It will help us reclaim some of what we lost, and deal the Sthan a terrible blow. The dragon will be the head to our spear, the weapon the Sthan will not be able to counter. It has already grown powerful, and is close to being ready to show itself near the citie
s of men.”

  “Where is it?” a chief shouted. “Let us see for ourselves!”

  Others rose up against him, trying to make him take his words back, but it was too late. Garnuk gestured to the doors of the council hall, and Tarq threw them wide.

  Zanove rocketed through the gap, flying at top speed. The silver dragon twisted in midair, clawed feet pushing off the ceiling, then flipped over and settled to the stone table with a warning hiss. Flame flickered in his nostrils and between his teeth, and his eyes whirled dangerously. Every muscle in the dragon’s body was taut with anticipation, ready for a fight. Beneath the dragon, the stone table groaned. It was not meant to support such a weight.

  “Behold,” Garnuk murmured, “The savior of our race.”

  The chiefs backed away warily, some taking cover behind their warriors. Weapons were out now, all pointed at Zanove. The silver dragon hissed in agitation, sensing the fear and animosity in the room.

  I thought this was a safe place, he growled to Garnuk. Safe places do not have pointy objects.

  Weapons in and of themselves are not dangerous, Garnuk countered, it is the hands that hold them that make them dangerous or not. Relax, you are quite safe. Although, there are one or two who may need to be made an example of.

  A what?

  I may need you to kill one or two, Garnuk replied, wincing at the bluntness of the words. His limited range of communication with Zanove significantly hampered his ability to frame matters in a different light or persuade with half-truths. With Zanove, everything had to be simple, clear, and literal.

  Which ones? Zanove asked, unperturbed.

  I will tell you when the time comes, Garnuk assured him. If I ask you to flame them, be careful. It would not do to hurt any of the other rams in this room.

  I am always careful with my fire, Zanove sniffed.

  “It’s magnificent,” the An’Kal chief murmured, stepping back up to the table. Zanove’s head swung towards the new voice curiously, inspecting the chief.