by A. Wrighton
“She’s beaut—”
“She’s a general nuisance,” Vylain smirked. “The whole lot of Earth Beasts are. I’ll let Gage explain of course...”
Gage wrinkled his nose in a shrewd stare. “How kind of you.” He paused to reassure Tiryne with a pat on her left flank that was nearly twice Gage’s height. “Earths might be slow and prefer to ground their battles, but they’re the strongest. Most of the Earth Battle Dragons are females, the males are too moody and dangerous because they’re even bigger than the females – they’re insane to control. Tiryne here can do the normal Earth things – lift massive pieces of earth and throw them, knock down forests and rip up trees for hurling about, or they can just throw their mass around.”
Kalyna nodded with a slighted smile. “Well, that seems easy enough to avoid… Just duck, cover, and run.”
Vylain smiled but shook his head negatively. “If only.”
“What am I missing?”
Gage grinned. “Earths can camouflage themselves – blend into their surroundings so that you’ll never even know they’re there until it is too late. They’ll have a boulder upon you before you even stop to think something might be off.”
“As a pile of dirt?”
“Anything that’s all earth – grass, trees, rocks, mountains, caves – anything. That’s why they’re fun.” Gage smiled giddily.
Kalyna was sure that she was nodding with a vacant stare on her face, but she did not fight it. Camouflage. Heat sensing. Cold blood.
Kalyna stared at Floxen and Tiryne. They were cooing and softly chortling at each other, Floxen still managing to look stately and massively built beside the larger Earth female.
“My word, Gage – she is massive.”
“One of the biggest.”
“Listener preserve us—”
“Ah, don’t be too worried about their size, Kaly. Our Dragons are by far much larger than the others.”
Kalyna looked perplexed.
“Most of the Council Dragons aren’t nearly as big as ours. We got the better end of the breeding pool,” Gage said.
“Wait… what?”
“Rogue Dragons, they’re bigger, for the most part, than the Council Drag—”
Shaking her head, Kalyna twisted a wad of hair around her finger. Her lips quivered and for a moment her rigid posture broke into a gentle slouch. Her voice was weak.
“How am I supposed to fight…” Kalyna pointed to the two Beasts, who meticulously preened each other, Floxen gently licking the golden scales on Tiryne’s throat. “…Them?”
Gage looked at Kalyna and Vylain. Their eyes all grew wide with shock. Gage could only fathom fighting another Dragon on his own Beast’s back, but Kalyna had no Beast to speak of, which meant that she would fight from the ground – unprotected and stationary.
“We can…. We will show you,” Vylain said failing to cover his own doubt.
“And…and if their magic is far greater than my own?”
“Then we’ll figure that out too, Kalyna,” Gage said, his hand comforting her with a soft hug.
Kalyna smiled back, half a frown still painted on her lips. “All right then, have them try something. Let’s see what I’m up against.”
“Which Dragon?” Vylain asked.
“Frostbolts – can Floxen do those?”
“One better – Floxen prefers ice daggers.”
Floxen cocked his head at the mention of his name and stepped closer to them. Kalyna instinctively reached out to pet the great Beast and to Vylain’s surprise, Floxen leaned into it. Vylain shook his head before nodding towards Tiryne.
“Tiryne is a massively satisfying opponent, if you’d like to play hide-and-seek and dodge.”
“Don’t hate, Vylain. It’s unbecoming.”
Kalyna nodded at the Beasts before scratching Floxen beneath his great head. “Let’s try playing with water, first. I know a bit more of that than anything.”
Vylain nodded before mounting. “Step back.”
Gage guided Kalyna back to the opening of the Underbelly Ledge before mounting Tiryne and taking wing. Once in the air, Vylain spoke softly, barely audible to Gage and far too softly for Kalyna to hear.
“Keep Tiryne nearby – in case Kaly can’t defend herself, all right?”
“Understood.”
“Kaly, I’m going to try to get him to be gentle at first—”
Kalyna shook off his words and locked onto the Floxen’s mint eyes. She spoke boldly in Drakanic, “Floxen, I have come to learn how to defend against your Kind. Please teach me well, great Beast.”
As Floxen puffed his chest at Kalyna’s words, Vylain caught the mimicked look of shock on Gage’s face that he felt cross his own.
“Did he understand her?” Gage whispered.
“Impossible, but he seems to get the concept…”
“Odd.”
“I’ll say.” Vylain murmured. “Okay Kaly, I’ll have him shoot slowly at first.”
Eyes locked onto Floxen, Kalyna smiled before ordering a second, quick Drakanic command. “Do your worst, Floxen.”
COMMANDERS’ MEETING ROOM
THE DEN, NORTHERN SOLERAN MOUNTAINS
“Explain it to me again, Old Man.”
“She is the Apex. We are the Quintet… well… what we do or say is the Quintet.”
“I think he meant the whole of the Prophecy, Syn.”
Alaister shot Callon a look of disapproval – a look that Synge had often seen exchanged between the young officers’ fathers. Synge’s thoughts wandered to Kai and Trent. Synge lingered on the cusp of might-haves and the could-have-beens. The possibilities and improbabilities. That if Kai and Trent still lived, what might have been different – won.
Synge scoffed. Thoughts such as those were useless – as useless as empty chairs. Kai and Trent were gone. Their sons stood well in their places, but they were different souls despite how hard they tried to emulate and encapsulate their fathers. They were not their predecessors; they had to realize that.
Synge’s gaze fell on Kai’s deserted seat that stood untouched and unbothered beside the fireplace. Kai’s chair was as simple as its owner, save for the wide swath of the intricate embroidery across the back panel of fabric. It was faded now, but the image of the Paine crest remained engrained in the tightly woven threads. The wood of the chair was scrolled and had soft curves, making Kai’s seat – constantly occupied while he lived – extremely comfortable. The impression on the chair handles from where he thumbed the sidearm constantly, sallowed in the daylight.
Beside it, was Trent’s chair – bafflingly simple – if not for Trent’s lack of patience in shopping than in his inability to sit still long enough to need a chair. It looked more like an abandoned new piece than a used one. The colors of the McKafrey crest – orange and black – swept across the padded back panel. The chipped, built-in holders for Trent’s dueling rapiers were the only evidence that Trent McKafrey sat down at all.
“What? I preferred the fun stories Father told me,” Callon said as his left hand fiddled with the hilt one of his rapiers. His eyes betrayed him.
Synge blinked twice and returned to the chatter surrounding him. “Gentlemen…”
Vylain rested his forehead in his palm. “Lanthar, how do you deal with him on a regular basis? I know Alaister does it out of brotherly love, but you…”
“Call it a stroke of compassion for the less intelligent, I suppose.”
“One to the Alerian,” Vylain said with a smile.
“What is he doing here, anyway?” Callon asked.
Alaister exhaled through clenched teeth, his patience for his men’s antics growing thinner. “I asked him here, Cal.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Can we let Syn explain yet Callon, or shall we wait on you some more?” Lanthar leaned back in his chair as he spoke; his eyes traced the ceiling to avoid the gray-blue stare directed his way.
Synge banged on the great wooden table and silenced their uproar. His cane’s t
hwack reverberated against the chairs and echoed out into the hallway. “Enough!”
Alaister did not flinch or remove his eyes from the map on the far wall.
“You all are worse than your predecessors – and I didn’t think it possible!”
“I can finally mark one down for me over the old man then, eh Al?”
“Enough, Cal. Listen to him,” Alaister said as he spun about, leaning onto the table with his forearms. “We need to figure this out before we proceed with anything – even recruiting.” When Vylain started with an objection, Alaister waved him off. “I know, Vylain. I know the ‘Lets are ready, but we have to prioritize.”
Vylain’s jaw mangled into as disapproving a look as his pleasant features allowed. “Understood.”
“Thank you, Brother.”
Vylain nodded curtly and turned his gaze to Syn, whose hair was ruffled against his face – his unshaven beard bordering on a dangerously unkempt length of white fuzz.
“Now then,” Syn said. “The Prophecy tells of the coming of peace and the return of greatness to our world. Tell me you remember that much, McKafrey?”
Callon flushed at Syn’s jibe. He nodded.
“Well, thank the Listener for that. Now, the Prophecy will occur once the Apex has been aided by the Quintet: Thought, Design, Natures… Natures…”
“Power and Heart.”
“Thank you Vylain,” Synge said. “So far, our Runic Kalyna is our Apex and she has already been aided by Natures, Thought, and – with more research and studying – she’ll arrive at Power.”
“With all due respect Syn, the Library at the Monastery is far from thorough on the matter. If Kaly is to really unlock her gifts and be aided by Power, she is going to need more than pacifistic scrolls and manuscripts—”
“What do you have in mind, Vylain?” Alaister asked searching Vylain’s eyes – baited and ready. It had never been like Vylain to challenge the orders given to him. He had long been the most adamant follower and user of structure and order. Vylain was reliable for his reliability. Yet, now he spoke out. Alaister straightened and crossed his arms, eager for any explanation.
“I think we should consider other avenues for training resources.” Vylain cleared his throat and leaned forward. “She does have to fight Dragons, Alaister – without one of her own.”
Alaister exhaled and turned back to the map on the wall. It was a trivial request that broke all tradition and did nothing but complicate the matter at hand. Kalyna had to start with the basics. It was always best to start with the basics. He had, his recruits had, and now Kalyna would as well. “We cannot risk training her with regards to that now,” Alaister said. “She needs to master the knowledge in the Library first. Until then—”
“Is that what your Father would do or you?” Vylain asked.
Callon fathered a prideful glance at Vylain’s verbal mutiny, while Lanthar leaned in primed to speak but remained too far withdrawn in his thoughts. Syn blinked unsteadily and sat back down.
“Both,” Alaister said, his gaze engrossed by the map.
“Have you seen her use at all?”
“Yes.”
“I mean really use, Alaister.”
Alaister turned around. His eyes were the somber shade of summer storms that even Vylain knew meant not to push further.
“Ignore me,” Vylain said. “Long night.”
“Your point is noted Vylain and always accepted,” Alaister said.
Vylain nodded as he returned to a comfortable position in his seat.
“Syn?” Alaister tapped the Old Man lightly, his mind lost somewhere beyond the room as his eyes scanned Vylain. The young, bright Brydellan had never spoken out of turn and it was against Vylain’s character to act upon anything without justification. Vylain was dependable. Predictable. But, Vylain’s justification eluded.
Syn cleared his throat with a shake of his head. “Which leaves Heart and Design—"
The soft rap of boot against entryway sliced through the ugly tension. “I done beg pardon, sirs. Alaister, you asked me to check in and report to you on the status of the Dredths?”
“Yes, come in.” Alaister patted Syn on the back. “Sorry, Old Man.”
Drystan Hawne, rich red curls pinned to his forehead from his ride, entered smiling with full teeth and high cheeks. Shorter than most of the officers, he walked into their presence with as much command as Syn. The Creipan medic acknowledged each of the officers and then Syn.
Drystan approached Alaister and spoke remarkably fast, taking care to avoid any Creipan he knew the Commander did not understand. Alaister nodded at appropriate pauses but was not afforded room to insert a comment or question and, as was customary with Drystan’s long-winded reports, Alaister found something slightly supportive to rest on for the duration.
Callon leaned back in his chair until his back popped and cracked. He stretched and nodded to Lanthar. “Ya know, how Al understands a bretzing word he says is beyond me.”
“Practice,” Lanthar said with a smile. “Vylain, what did you really have in mind when you said that?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Fine,” Lanthar exhaled.
“I’m still curious…”
“And this means what for me Caledonian?”
“Trouble.”
Vylain laughed.
“Oh, laugh away Vylain, but when you spoke back to Alaister, you opened a bottle that cannot be resealed. You’ve crossed over to my side now.”
“I think he’d prefer to sit where he is…”
“Agreed,” Vylain said. He smiled at Lanthar and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. “I just… I meant she should have a fair and honest preparation of what is going to come at her – by all the Dragons.”
“She should probably learn swords, too.”
Lanthar nodded, “Probably…and I wonder then, who ever could teach her that?”
Callon’s lips smiled and hung across his face.
“I don’t like t’at look on your face, t’ere, Callon. You done something wrong, no?”
Callon looked up at Drystan who made his way to exit the cavern. “Haven’t I always?” Callon asked playfully.
“Back to the Prophecy, Syn?” Alaister offered, breaking the air of mischief.
“Oh, sirs, might I done offer a smidgeon to t’at story you be telling, Old Man?”
Syn looked up surprised and quickly nodded.
“I overheard you down the hall see, and I just… well, in the story my Mama always told us, the Quintet, well t’ey done never could be things. T’ey were always happy or sad or angry. Like me and you, see? Alive. And, I done never seen anyt’ing like what the Prophecy speaks of happen yet, sir. What if we done be wrong?”
The silence grew until even Lanthar fidgeted. Syn compiled his thoughts until he could focus his attention on the eager, sparkle of Drystan’s green eyes.
“It is Creipan tradition to personify, is it not?”
“T’at can be true, sir. I do remember my Mama also telling me a story of how t’em Tides done fight over who get to be high or low and when. I suppose Tides can’t really fight, so perhaps you’re right. Just figured you should know t’ough… My Mama always has been a great collector of stories…”
Synge smiled. “It’s greatly appreciated, Drystan.”
“Always a pleasure, Commander. Syn.” Drystan nodded to the others. “Sirs.” He turned and with long, lanky strides was gone as quickly as he had sprung into the room. The echoes of his boot steps lingered as he meandered towards the Dormitory Halls.
“So Power she will achieve with training and research. But what of Design and Heart?” Alaister asked.
“That is what we must figure out and quickly. We are running out of time to recruit,” Syn said.
“We’re running out of recruits is more like it,” Callon muttered.
“Be that as it may… the Design’s role in all of this is to allow her to break the expectations surrounding her so she can willingly step for
ward.”
“She doesn’t really seem to have any expectations around her or for herself," Lanthar said.
Alaister nodded and turned to speak to Syn, but the Old Man shook his head in anticipation.
Syn laughed softly. “That’s where I am stuck, too. If she has no expectations, she cannot break away from them. We need to find out what inside of her she needs to break free from. What is holding her back…”
Vylain inhaled sharply, catching Alaister’s attention as he did so. They locked eyes and had they been able to speak with looks alone, Vylain would have again spoken freely, without his normal restraint. But, Alaister said no words and Vylain spoke no thoughts. The two stared, respectfully scanning the other.
Tap. Tap, tap.
Syn tapped his cane in Vylain’s direction and broke the stares. “Vylain, you have a bond with her – care to ask?” Syn asked.
“Uh, yes, sir. I can try.”
“You too, Al.”
“Of course, Syn.”
“I’ll do some more digging in the Library on the matter after dinner,” Syn said mostly to himself as he rose, gathering his cane and pile of parchments.
“Wind with you, Syn.”
“And you boys, as well.”
THE CYNDER PLATEAUS
ALIXA CANYON,
NORTHERN SOLERAN MOUNTAINS
It chided.
Even without him there, Alaister lacked the courage to get out of his father’s shadow. To go against his will. That could change, he knew. It would have to. Runics may have never been able to fight alongside the Dragonics of the past, but she was the last and they needed her. They were outnumbered as it was.
The risk churned his insides and lolled about his head until he was dizzy. Alaister centered himself by splaying out on the plateau’s surface, his fingertips resting in the dust. He lay on his back and watched the thin layer of clouds dance across the starry sky.
If he was going to throw Kalyna out there, he was at least going to arm her. His father’s old practice sword was light enough for a woman of her composure and strength to wield. With practice and tutelage from Callon, the best swordsman in Solera with merited ego to spare, Kalyna could have some semblance of safety. Alaister smiled bemused. If he was going to put her in danger, at least she would go out knowing how to defend herself in true style - Caldenian flair and the like.