Princess of Lanfor (Heroes of Ravenford Book 4)

by F. P. Spirit

  Donnie held his breath, uncertain if that last bit had been too much. The dragon glared at him in silence, causing the erstwhile artist to break out into a nervous sweat. Finally, the creature answered him, its deep voice filled with skepticism. “You would paint a portrait? Of me?”

  Despite its apparent disbelief, Donnie detected an underlying hint of doubt in the creature. If he continued to play to its vanity, he might yet live to tell the tale. “Can you think of a grander subject than yourself?” Donnie spread his hands out in front of him. “Just think of it… these lesser creatures, Lords and Ladies of elves and men, constantly having their portraits painted. Shouldn’t a greater being such as yourself have one? Think of how splendid it would look.”

  Donnie flashed a sparkling smile at the huge beast, hoping beyond hope that his ruse would work. The dragon still hesitated, appearing as if it were mulling over his idea. “Hmm,” a loud murmur escaped from the creature’s throat. A few seconds later, it addressed him again. “You make a salient point, for a lesser being… and I suppose in payment for this ‘gift’ of yours, you would ask me to spare your puny life?”

  All sorts of warning bells went off in Donnie’s head. He needed to be careful here—if he asked for too much, the dragon might decide to eat him here and now. Yet, if he asked for too little, the creature would know that he was up to more than just saving his own skin. “Well… I was hoping that if you really like your portrait, you might consider it.”

  Those serpent-like eyes bore into him, making Donnie’s skin crawl. It was as if the dragon were trying to read his mind. Finally, the great beast reached a decision. “Very well, get out your implements. I shall grant you leave to capture my likeness on canvas. If you manage to portray my true splendor, then perhaps I shall not eat you after all.”

  The dragon finished by baring its large row of teeth, another rumbling laugh emanating from its throat. The creature obviously enjoyed terrorizing its victims. Donnie had to admit, it was working—he was terrified. His mouth fell open, the words nervously spilling out of it. “I’ll do my best, your magnificence. Just let me get out my brushes, and my paints, and my easel, and my canvas…”

  Donnie swiftly doffed his pack, knelt, and pulled out everything he had just described. He stood up and unfolded his easel, noticing the dragon still watched him intently. Okay Donnie, you’ve got its attention. Now what?

  Alana Benefilla peered out from behind the large central pillar of the monolith, just as Donnie reached the archway. The lady knight thought it foolish to stay all the way back here, especially since there was a spell over the door that prevented anyone from seeing inside. Yet according to Cyclone, dragons had such incredible eyesight, that the spell might not work on them. Thus, Donnie had insisted that Alana and Aksel stay hidden.

  Alana gritted her teeth together as Donnie stepped through the archway. It should be me out there.

  It was her people that the dragon had killed, so she should be the one acting as bait. She had argued as much, but Donnie insisted, pointing out how much faster he was on his feet. Alana had grudgingly given in, with the caveat that she come with him. Donnie had balked at first, but when Aksel declared that he would also accompany them, the reluctant elf finally agreed.

  Now Alana felt helpless as she watched Donnie step out into the clearing. From this vantage point, she could only see a portion of the large green mound that was actually the dragon. Alana’s hand went to her sword hilt when the deep rumbling voice of the great beast filtered in through the archway, and echoed off the walls of the vast chamber. She could not hear Donnie’s reply, but her heart nearly stopped when the great head suddenly lifted into view, then bore down on the slight elf.

  Alana launched herself forward, all else forgotten except for the sandy-haired elf who did not yet know he had captured her heart. She had not made it halfway across the gap to the door, when a hushed cry reached her ears.

  “Alana, wait! Look!”

  Ahead of her, the dragon had stopped its advance, and instead seemed to be conversing with Donnie. Alana pulled up short, her eyes narrowing as the slim elf answered the dragon, waving his hands around as if putting on some sort of show. She watched in astonishment as Donnie removed his pack, pulled out his easel, and planted it firmly into the ground.

  Alana glanced sideways at Aksel, the little cleric having caught up with her. She whispered to him softly, “Do you have any idea what he’s doing out there?”

  Aksel appeared as puzzled as she, his head tilted slightly, nose scrunched up, and mouth partially agape. “It looks like he’s… painting the dragon?”

  Glo, Elladan, and Ruka watched the exchange between Donnie and the dragon with great concern. When the dragon suddenly advanced on the slight elf, Ruka nearly launched herself off the side of the monolith. Thankfully Elistra stopped her in time.

  “Ruka, wait!”

  The young teen halted at the very edge of the window, flashes of amber in her emerald eyes as she spun her head toward the seeress. Elistra drew up next to Glo, and spoke to Ruka with an air of certainty. “He’ll be fine.”

  Mixed emotions played across the young teen’s face, until she finally regained a measure of control. Ruka folded her arms across her chest, and continued to glare at the seeress, a menacing edge to her voice. “You better be right.”

  The exchange had drawn everyone’s attention, Lloyd, Cyclone, and Martan joining them at the wide-arched window. Lloyd was the first to speak, his voice rife with confusion. “What in the name of Arenor is Donnie doing down there?”

  Glo shifted his attention back to scene below, and was met with a sight so strange that it left him speechless. Luckily, Elladan was never at a loss for words, though his tone one of utter disbelief. “Donnie just took out his easel…”

  Glo swept his gaze around the little group—there were looks of bewilderment and confusion all around—all except for Elistra. Seeing his baffled expression, the seeress gently grabbed him by the arm, and smiled at him reassuringly. Glo managed a wan smile in return, but could not shake the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Donnie, I just hope you know what you’re doing.

  Back down below, Donnie furiously sketched out the dragon’s likeness, his focus on the great head and those terrifying jaws. The young artist struggled to keep his hand steady—not exactly an easy task with those huge reptilian eyes watching his every stroke. Talk about your killer critics.

  Donnie had met his share of detractors before, but never one quite so fatal. Then again, there was that one husband back in Lukescros…

  Donnie mentally chastised himself. Now is not the time. Think Donnie, think! How do I get this beast inside the monolith?

  The elven artist continued to work feverishly, his mind racing all the while. Before he knew it, he had finished the great head along with the upper portion of the neck. Donnie roughly sketched out the rest of the body, then drew some trees in the background. With much of the drawing done, he began to paint in earnest, starting with the dragon’s head, then jumping over to the surrounding trees. He had only added a few strokes, when the answer hit him.

  Donnie dropped his brush to the ground, and slowly backed away from the canvas, covering his head with his arms, and whimpering. “No, no, no. This will never do. Now I will be eaten for sure.”

  “What’s wrong, little artist? Having trouble capturing my splendid likeness?” the dragon rumbled, its assertion ending in a wicked laugh.

  Donnie’s eyes darted up to the dragon—the young artist didn’t have to pretend he was nervous—he truly was. “No… it’s not that… it’s just…”

  The dragon was quickly losing patience, its voice growing louder and angrier. “It’s just what? Spit it out already.”

  The dragon’s shout was so loud, it made Donnie flinch. “It’s just… green on green will never do. The surrounding vegetation totally detracts from your e
merald elegance.”

  “Hmm,” the dragon let out an elongated murmur, “let me see that.”

  Donnie froze in place as the great head snaked forward on that long, sinuous neck. It swiveled around behind him, the dragon’s hot breath beating down on the back of his neck. As the dragon peered over his shoulder, Donnie braced himself for the worst. After a few moments, another deep murmur escaped the creature’s throat. “Hmm… not bad, little elf. Not bad at all—you have managed to capture my likeness.”

  Donnie peeked over his shoulder—the dragon’s head twisted from side to side, its gaze intent upon the canvas. “Yet I do see what you mean. That green background does take away from my beautiful scales.”

  Donnie carefully weighed his next choice of words. He needed to get the dragon inside the monolith, but a straight-out suggestion would definitely raise the creature’s suspicions. Maybe if I propose just the opposite…

  “Perhaps we could go somewhere else—like one of those streams just north of here? The blue waters would be a much more suitable background for those dazzling emerald scales.”

  The dragon slowly snaked its head around in front of him, those large, reptilian eyes boring into him once more. Donnie felt as transparent as glass, as if the great beast could see right through his ploy. The dragon regarded him for a few moments before answering. “Why go so far away, when we have a perfectly suitable background standing right before us?”

  Donnie had to bite his lower lip to keep himself from crying out in triumph. He spun his head around and peered at the monolith. “You can’t mean in there? It’s so dark, and dingy.” He shifted his gaze back to the dragon, and waved a dismissive hand. “Totally the wrong lighting for a subject of your magnificence.”

  “That’s funny, I seem to recall it being rather splendid in there. The stonework is quite refined, and there are some decent tapestries on the walls.” The dragon paused, the great head coming uncomfortably close to Donnie. “Unless, perhaps, there is some reason you don’t want me in there?”

  Got you! Donnie thought with glee, outwardly maintaining his nervous demeanor. It was not exactly difficult, with the dragon’s lethal maw a mere few feet away. Donnie threw up his hands, his voice cracking outrageously. “Oh, no, no, no, your magnificence… Why would I want that?”

  The dragon’s hot breath washed over him, the acrid smell nearly bowling him over. After what seemed like an eternity, the creature responded in a commanding tone. “It’s decided, then. Take your implements and set up inside. I will follow shortly, and you shall finish the portrait which you promised me.”

  Donnie nodded vigorously—“Yes, yes, your magnificence!”—then hurriedly gathered up his easel and paints, and scrambled toward the monolith. As soon as he broached the archway, Donnie saw Alana and Aksel out in the open. He motioned for them to hide, the duo quickly disappearing behind the central column. Still, that wouldn’t be enough. As soon as the dragon entered the monolith, it would catch their scent.

  Donnie scurried across the chamber, almost to the pillar, then dropped everything, and reached into his bag. He swiftly pulled out a jar of clear liquid, and popped off the top, just as the dragon’s head passed through the archway. Donnie took a step forward, and “tripped,” the jar flying from his hands, clattering to the stone floor in front of him. The clear liquid spilled all over, a pungent odor immediately rising from it, making Donnie’s eyes water.

  The dragon snaked its way farther into the monolith, the great head swiveling around, those large eyes carefully sweeping the vast ground floor. Donnie felt his heart skip a beat as the dragon suddenly halted its advance, its large nostrils warily sampling the air. After what seemed like forever, the great head turned toward the artist, the beast’s deep voice reverberating throughout the huge chamber. “Whatever is that horrid odor?”

  Donnie hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath. He let it out now, and swiftly executed a deep bow. “Many pardons, your magnificence. It is merely paint thinner.” He pointed toward the dropped canvas. “I need to remove that horrible background before I can continue with your portrait.”

  The dragon regarded him in silence, those serpentine slits sending shivers up his spine. After a long pause, its deep rumbling voice echoed around the chamber once more. “Very well… let’s get this over with.”

  The dragon lifted its head higher and glared down at the artist, striking a fierce pose for its ‘portrait.’ The corners of Donnie’s mouth upturned slightly as he brought his thumbs and forefingers together, framing out his large subject. A great purple tapestry, with the flowing symbol of Larketh on it, hung just behind the dragon’s head, covering a large portion of the dark stone wall. The huge tapestry was suspended by a single great spike, embedded in the wall far above.

  “Perfect,” Donnie murmured softly, throwing himself into his work to hide the slight smirk on his lips.

  Death From Above

  The dragon hunter rushed toward his target...

  Glolindir watched in astonishment as the green dragon followed Donnie, inserting its great head into the entryway of the monolith, far below. Somehow the slight elf had done it—he had coerced the fearsome creature into placing itself in a most compromising position. The others were lined up at the wide window next to Glo, staring down in equal amazement at the strange sight below.

  Cyclone shook his head. “Yeah… he’s gonna die.”

  Ruka cast a sidelong glance at the hunter. “Nah. He’ll be fine. Donnie’s pretty resilient.”

  A sudden crash of thunder echoed up from down below.

  Elladan spun around to face the others. “Well that doesn’t sound good. I think you need to get down there pronto.”

  The bard immediately stepped back, a golden-hued lute appearing in his hands. He launched into a lively tune, laced with magic to inspire courage amongst his comrades. The rest of the party took the bard’s cue, and spurred into action.

  Cyclone poised himself at the edge of the window, wicked-looking halberd in one hand, cautiously gauging the wind with his other. Martan lined up next to Cyclone, the archer also carefully testing the wind.

  Lloyd grabbed the edge of his flying cloak, and spoke the single word that invoked its magic, “Fugere.”

  The young warrior then drew his black sword, the blade harder than ordinary steel—so sharp that it could cut through other metals with ease.

  Glo swiftly cast the same spell as Lloyd, weaving his arms in a distinct pattern, that same word flowing off the wizard’s tongue. Elistra weaved a spell as well, the air shimmering where the seeress pointed, a short distance back from the window. A moment or so later, a translucent creature appeared in that space, looking vaguely like a horse-sized hummingbird.

  Yet the most dramatic action belonged to Ruka. The young teen rushed back a few paces, then halted, an expression of deep concentration across her brow. Her entire body began to glow, growing brighter and brighter until all that was visible was a brilliant white light. The glow then transformed, expanding into a much larger shape.

  The torso shifted onto all fours, the neck elongating drastically. A pair of large, bat-like wings sprouted from its back, and a long, serpentine tail extending from its hindquarters. The brilliant radiance faded, and in the young teen’s place, there now stood a magnificent, young, bronze-colored dragon.

  Glo gazed in awe at the breathtaking sight. The creature’s scales positively gleamed in the midday sun, with a warm, yellow-brown metallic sheen, light green stripes interlaced across her neck, torso and tail. Still, she was far smaller than the green dragon outside, perhaps half the size of her adult ‘cousin.’

  “Knew it,” Cyclone remarked, the dragon hunter peering at the bronze dragon with a self-satisfied smirk. The dragon’s head swiveled toward the blue-clad hunter.

  “Sure, you did,” Ruka responded, her voice still recognizable, just a bit dee
per in her true form. Her statement was punctuated by a loud roar echoing up from down below.

  Cyclone let out a gruff laugh. “Heh. Think what you want. I’ve got better things to do.”

  With that, the dragon hunter spun around, and leapt out of the wide archway. Glo and Lloyd took off immediately after him, launching themselves away from the tall black structure, out into the open airspace above the clearing. A moment later, a large shadow passed over them—Glo glanced up and saw the graceful form of the bronze dragon sail past them at nearly twice their speed.

  A minute or so earlier, Donnie frantically wiped a cloth soaked with paint thinner against the canvas to wipe the background clean. He reached down for more paint thinner, knocking the jar over once more.

  “Dragon dung!” Donnie swore under his breath.

  The green dragon’s deep voice rumbled around the inside of the great chamber, a dangerous edge to it. “You suddenly seem quite nervous, little elf. Did you really think you could play me for the fool? I shall extricate myself now, and foil whatever plot you puny elves and humans have brewing.”

  Donnie suddenly went cold inside, yet to his credit, he kept his voice smooth and steady. “Whatever could you mean, your magnificence? There’s no trick, only a poor itinerant artist, trying to barter here for his life.”

  The black eyes of the great creature glared down evilly at him. “Do not fret, little elf. I will be back for you soon enough.”

  Donnie knew the jig was up, but he still had one last trump card to play. He dropped the canvas, in one swift motion drawing Inazuma from its sheath and pointing it at the dragon. “We shall just see about that!”

  The dragon let out a deep, wicked laugh. “And just what do you think you are going to do with that puny stick?”

  “This!” Donnie cried. As Inazuma began to glow, Donnie shifted his aim slightly above the dragon’s great head. A moment later, a bolt of lightning shot out from the blade, flashing past the dragon’s head, hitting the wall of the monolith far above.