by Duncan Lay
‘A year?’ Merren gasped. ‘You don’t understand, we are about to be invaded by Berellians and Tenochs! In a year’s time, there won’t be a country for Martil to return to—and while he might have saved the world, it will only be so Zorva can rule it!’
‘That is not my concern. Surely you have other warriors who can help you?’ Havell pointed at Jaret and Wilsen.
‘Can we go? Can we go please?’ Karia begged.
‘Help us!’ Merren cried. ‘Bring the rest of the dragons to fight for us, then you can have the Dragon Sword for as long as you need!’
‘Impossible! The dragons protect the magic, not the people! If we interfered in this petty little fight, then we would have an endless stream of people at our door, wanting us to save them, or fight for them! Besides, the cost in magic alone would be catastrophic! Nothing—not child nor calf nor chick—would be born around the world for a year. Would you sacrifice a generation to save yourselves?’
Merren, the guilt of almost ordering the death of Derthal women and children still thick in her throat, wordlessly shook her head. Besides, there was another life, one inside her, that would pay the price…
Martil had been trying to make some sense of all this. The situation was spinning out of control. One moment he had been prepared to fight and die against the Derthals, then he had been saved by a dragon, and now that dragon’s rider was demanding he leave Merren, leave Norstalos to the Berellians, while he sat around with a bunch of elves and dragons, waiting to shove the Sword into an egg and restore the world’s magic? It was too much. It was madness!
‘It’s madness!’ he said aloud.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Havell stared at him.
‘You want my help, then you have to do what I say,’ Martil growled. ‘I have had enough of being pushed around by queens, gods, dragons, destiny or whatever! I’m not at the world’s beck and call, ready to pick up a sword and save everyone! I wanted some peace, and this is what I’ve got—I have to save Norstalos from the bastards I thought I’d beaten in the Ralloran Wars, then I have to save the world’s magic because your stupid lizards can’t go and f—breed like everything else! Well, I’m not a bloody hero for hire! This is not a bloody saga, and if you don’t like it, then you can take your pointy ears and your flying lizard and piss off back to wherever you came from!’
‘Daaa-ad!’ Karia was outraged. ‘This isn’t funny!’
Havell whitened with anger at Martil’s tirade but, seeing as Martil was spattered with Rath’s blood, and carrying what the Elfaran knew to be an invincible sword, he did not make a move.
‘I could indeed piss off, as you crudely suggest, but I could also have this dragon seize you, and take you to Dragonara Isle as its prisoner. Perhaps that would teach you some manners!’
‘And when I got there, I’d cut through anything that tried to stop me, including dragons, with this same Dragon Sword—the only thing that would be safe from me would be your stupid egg!’
Havell looked as though he was about to explode but, instead, he offered a stiff bow.
‘Obviously I have given you a great deal of information, too quickly. Let us start again. What is it you need from us, in order that you may fulfil your duties as the Dragon Sword wielder?’
Martil glanced at Merren. ‘I need to make sure Norstalos is safe.’
Havell’s face tightened. ‘I already told you, the dragons will not join your fight—’
‘Your stupid lizards don’t have to get their paws dirty,’ Martil snapped. ‘But at least get the Derthals to help us instead. Nothing impresses more than a dragon; with you we should be able to get the help Norstalos needs. Once Norstalos is safe, I will come with you to Dragonara Isle. If, as you say, it could be a year, we have plenty of time. The Berellians will invade within weeks—either way, it will be over in a month.’
‘Firstly, dragons are not lizards. And they are not stupid! They are the most wonderful, intelligent creatures that could ever exist…’
‘Whatever. If you want to kiss its scaly arse, then go ahead. Don’t bother me with your talk of how pretty it is. Do we have a deal?’
‘What if you are killed in battle? What then?’
‘I haven’t met the Berellian who could kill me. Besides, your magic Sword should be able to keep me safe. If you’re really worried, some of your pointy-eared friends could come and fight with us.’
‘My people do not fight. It is not in our nature. And our ears are not pointy, as you describe it, they are just narrower at the top than the bottom,’ Havell said stiffly.
Martil grinned humourlessly. He was enjoying taking his frustration out on this elf. ‘Why don’t you just take the Sword, and you, or one of your pointy-eared mates, can stick it into the egg?’
Havell looked, if possible, even more stricken. ‘Because my people, the Elfarans, have been part of the dragons’ magic for centuries. Once, we were men like you. But serving the dragons has changed our appearance, as well as expanded our life far beyond the span of a man’s dreams. When the last dragon dies, we will follow in the next breath.’
‘Really? Not much of a reward for centuries of cleaning up dragon dung,’ Martil said callously.
‘Is he always like this?’ Havell appealed to Barrett.
‘I am afraid so. I’d like to say he grows on you, but it does not get any better,’ Barrett sniffed.
Martil ignored this byplay. ‘Do we have a deal?’
‘You do not make deals with dragons, sir! Have you forgotten your oaths, the sacred duties you took on when you picked up the Sword! The legends taught to every Norstaline child! You must put those ahead of tawdry duties to kings and queens!’
‘I took no oaths,’ Martil declared.
Havell spun to face Queen Merren. ‘Is this true?’
Merren sighed. ‘He is a Ralloran. And he drew the Sword after it was stolen. Not in the traditional ceremony in the palace.’
‘Well, where were you?’
‘In a flea-bitten inn in Tetril, accompanied by a stinking one-armed bandit, who was covered in his own piss,’ Martil said with great relish.
Karia rolled her eyes at him, so he winked at her.
Havell shuddered. ‘I can only hope you are making sport of me. Queen Merren, I really must protest! This is utterly without precedent! The Dragon Sword wielder swears those oaths for precisely this situation! Nothing is more important than the survival of the magic…’
‘To you, maybe,’ Martil grunted.
Havell continued, ignoring him, ‘Nevertheless, I must insist that you return with me now. If necessary, I can call on Argurium to bring you. Once on Dragonara Isle, you will learn the wisdom of this decision.’
Merren stared imploringly at Martil. But he was already speaking.
‘You forget one thing,’ Martil said harshly; the time for jesting was over. ‘The restriction that calls on the wielder to be a good man. If I came with you, abandoned my oaths to Queen Merren and Norstalos, abandoned men who trusted in me, left them to die at the hands of Berellians, I would not be a good man. I would have left friends to die, when I could have saved them. If your dragons do not die quickly, the Sword might drain the life from me and you would be left without a Sword wielder to perform your precious duty.’
Martil could see that argument hit home by the way Havell stood there opening and closing his mouth like a fish.
‘This wasn’t supposed to happen! Norstalos was blessed with the Sword because it was so big, so potentially powerful! United, it would never be under threat, so its greatest warrior would always be at our service!’ he wailed.
‘I thought Norstalos got the Sword because some old king saved the life of a dragon?’ Martil said suspiciously. ‘A captured dragon that was about to be killed by the goblins? Thus making Norstalines think they had been blessed, and that goblins were foul creatures who deserved to have their land stolen and be driven into the mountains?’
‘What do they teach you in Rallora? A dragon, killed by Derthals? Tha
t’s ridiculous! Not even a starving Derthal would attack a dragon—and there is no way a dragon would be captured.’
‘Well, that’s the story the Norstalines brag about in their sagas,’ Martil replied defiantly.
‘He is right. That is the legend we are taught,’ Merren agreed.
‘Well, I have never heard such nonsense! King Riel was approached by the dragons and presented with the Sword, with the express warning that the dragons would, one day, need this favour in return!’
Everyone stopped at that. Martil was the first to break the silence, throwing back his head and laughing bitterly.
‘So he did what most kings do: he changed the story to make himself look good, give him an excuse to seize land from the Derthals and unite the country, all in one! And the whole foundation of Norstalos thinking it is better than everyone else is based on a lie?’
Havell glanced at an ashen Merren. ‘It would seem so,’ the rider agreed.
‘Can we stop talking and go for a flight on a dragon?’ Karia demanded.
Martil sighed. ‘Here is my deal, elf.’
‘Elfaran!’
‘Whatever. You and your dragon, Argot or whatever its name is, help us convince the Derthals to join our fight against the Berellians and Tenochs. Then you follow me down to Norstalos. If, at any time, it looks like I am about to be killed, you can swoop down and save me. Once we have saved Norstalos, I will fly with you to Dragonara Isle and save the world. And after that, every bloody royal, dragon, God or country who wants a hand can leave me alone!’
‘Ahem!’ Karia said loudly.
‘Oh, and Karia gets a ride on the dragon,’ he added hastily.
Havell stared at him carefully. ‘I am not authorised to make deals. I will put your terms to Argurium, and then relay her answer to you.’
Martil’s eyebrows rose. ‘So the dragon’s in charge, and you’re just the messenger boy?’
Havell’s lips tightened. ‘I serve the dragons. Now, if you will excuse me.’
They watched as he walked back to the dragon.
‘Could this day get any stranger?’ Martil asked.
‘You could have been more polite to him! He’s an elf, and that’s a dragon!’ Barrett snarled.
‘He’s an Elfaran. You’re a wizard and you annoy me. So what?’ Martil was in no mood to be polite or think of others. Everyone wanted something from him, and he was just about sick of it. All he had wanted was peace, but coming to Norstalos had brought him nothing but trouble. Well, almost nothing.
Karia leaped from her horse and raced over to him, grabbing him around the middle in a huge hug.
‘I think it’s great! I can’t wait to have a ride on a dragon and see Dragonara Isle! This is the best present ever!’
‘It’s not quite a present for Martil,’ Merren said, more softly.
He looked up from Karia to see Merren was looking at him with sympathy and more than that, he could swear, in her eyes.
For her part, Merren was feeling a wave of affection for him. He had defied her, and she had feared he had doomed them all by his actions—but, with the arrival of the dragon, it seemed he had in fact helped them. Events were moving fast, almost too quickly to keep up with. But she recognised her confusion was as nothing compared to what Martil was facing.
‘What you are being asked to do is almost too much for one man,’ she told him. ‘But you are not alone.’
‘Really? I thought wielding the Dragon Sword left me that way—and I thought you made it clear that was the way it would stay?’ Martil couldn’t resist saying.
‘Perhaps not,’ was all she said.
Martil wanted to grab her, demand she tell him what she meant, but she would not look at him.
‘Here comes the dragon!’ Karia squealed, jumping up and down.
Even Martil had to be impressed by Argurium’s approach. In the air she was poetry, on the ground she was sheer grace. Her walk seemed more regal than the most noble king or queen. She lowered her huge head with her wide, beautiful eyes and gentle snout, and he felt ashamed of calling her a ‘bloody lizard’ to Havell. By his side, Karia was jiggling around in a mixture of excitement and fear, peering around his leg to see her better.
‘Captain Martil, I understand the dilemma you are in,’ the dragon said, her voice high and musical—within its rich tones was wisdom, kindness and compassion. Martil had to restrain himself from falling to his knees.
‘You are a man of honour. You have been asked to fight for a land that is not your own, for a people who do not love you, and you refuse to leave them, even if it means risking all life in this world. I apologise for putting you through this, and for asking more of you than is right, or fair. But we had to test you; the Dragon Sword had only just accepted you. Your actions now, and at the Derthal village, show us the Dragon Sword chose correctly. We will accompany you to see the Derthal High Chief. We shall not involve ourselves but no doubt our presence will have some effect. If successful, we shall watch over you in any ensuing battles. When your duties here are over, you may accompany us to Dragonara Isle. There, I assure you, the task will not be difficult, only ceremonial. It sounds as if it is a mission of life or death—the survival of the world—but it is not like that. It will be the work of but a moment, a beautiful moment of rebirth and wonder.’
Martil gripped Karia’s hand. The dragon’s tone was so warm, so friendly, that it seemed the most natural thing in the world to instantly agree. This was why he was determined not to.
‘So the business with your elf or whatever he is was all just a test? And if I had agreed with his idea to run off with you right now?’
‘You were correct—the Dragon Sword would not have approved. And we would have had to conduct a more extensive search for a new wielder.’
‘You would have killed me,’ Martil said flatly.
‘No, your own actions would have doomed you. We had to be sure, you understand. The task you have is simple, but it is vital. Without it, the magic cannot be reborn, and the circle of life will end. We have to be sure the person entrusted with that task is going to be worthy.’
‘Is this all connected with what Father Nott was telling me about, that I was chosen for this task?’ Martil asked suspiciously.
He could have sworn Argurium smiled at that. ‘We do not serve either of the Gods. We are independent, servant only to the world’s magic. If you are fulfilling destiny, it is not by our design.’
Martil nodded, feeling not the slightest bit happier about the whole situation. But what choice did he have? They had to get the Derthals on their side, and after the disaster with Rath, the dragons were the perfect way to persuade the Derthals to help. And sticking the Dragon Sword into some magical egg so a horde of baby dragons could fly out did not sound too hard.
‘So we have a deal?’ he said finally.
Argurium bowed her head. ‘We have a deal,’ she said gravely.
‘So when can I have my ride?’ Karia demanded instantly.
With a dragon to guide them, finding the cave of the Derthal High Chief was easy. Argurium led them straight there, along a path that, to Martil, looked suspiciously like the one they had been following with their initial three guides, the ones killed by Rath’s warriors.
‘When are we going to be there?’ Karia complained.
‘Just over the next ridge,’ Havell offered, glancing up to where Argurium flew high above them.
The Elfaran had chatted happily to Barrett and Quiller, had even talked with Karia, but tried to stay away from Martil.
‘It’s funny, you would think the Derthals would have had some guard on the road, or something,’ Martil muttered as they rode along.
‘Perhaps they have and you haven’t seen them,’ Barrett suggested.
‘Impossible!’ Martil snorted.
But, as they rode over the ridge, a horde of Derthals appeared out of nowhere, from behind rocks, out of trees and tall bushes. Roaring with anger, brandishing their wicked spears, they rushed forwards.
Martil drew the Dragon Sword but it was obviously not going to be enough—he barely had time to open his mouth to shout for Barrett to do something when Argurium landed in front of the little party of humans.
With an enormous roar that echoed off the surrounding cliffs, she stopped the Derthals in their tracks. Throwing aside their spears, the warriors turned tail and ran.
Beyond them, Martil could see the valley housed scores of small huts, as well as a dozen cave entrances in the side of a mountain. Below them, hundreds of Derthals, females, warriors and young, were running in all directions, looking like an ant’s nest disturbed by a child’s stick. All were hurrying for the safety of the caves. Derthals tripped over each other, pushed and shoved as Argurium gave them another warning roar. Martil had to admit he couldn’t blame them for running. Karia was hunched over, hands covering her ears, and if he had not known the dragon was on their side, he would have been terrified as well. All the warmth and compassion was gone—the roar was nothing more than the hungry call of a monstrous creature.
By the time its echoes had died away, every last Derthal was inside the caves. A few penned goats bleated nervously, while a litter of discarded spears, skins, bowls and other items marked the villagers’ desperate flight for safety.
‘What now?’ Merren asked.
‘Now we wait,’ Havell said simply. ‘They will send someone out to talk to us.’
It took a while, but finally a small group of Derthals appeared out of the largest entrance and, spears pointed nervously at the dragon, inched towards them, followed by what was unmistakably a priest. He had short dark hair and a close-cropped beard and appeared to be in his mid-forties. He did not even look at the dragon, just at Merren.
‘Queen Merren, it is you!’ he said warmly, walking towards her.
‘Yes. And you are?’ Merren asked coolly.
‘I am Father Alban. Thank Aroaril you have arrived safely. There have been strange developments, which explains the reception waiting for you. But luckily you were more than equal to the task. High Chief Sacrax has sent me out to find out who you are and what you want.’