Dragon Lord

by Dragon Lord (lit)

  She wasn’t lying on a bed. The surface was hard and completely unyielding. In fact, she wasn’t actually laying at all, not like she would’ve in sleep. She was curled on her side into a tight little ball and she couldn’t move more than a few inches without hitting something that kept her from moving more. The lights against her eyelids weren’t like the bright fluorescents in a hospital, or the soft yellow/white glow of her bedroom light. The smells weren’t like a hospital--or home.

  She couldn’t lift her eyelids at first. Her eyes felt as if they’d been glued shut. Finally, after several tries, she managed to get both open a tiny slit. Her eyes watered immediately, filling with burning tears that prevented any attempt to focus. She closed them again, squeezing her lids tightly to dispel the water and then tried again.

  A wavering image filled her vision when she tried again. His lips moved. A voice emerged, but she didn’t understand a word he said. The tone, she understood. It was commanding, a demand of some kind.

  The face swam away and another entered her vision. Hands clamped around her arms, pulling and it felt like her joints were separating from the sockets as she felt herself lifted. She groaned involuntarily at the pain that enveloped her. The effort tore at her throat and sent her into a fit of coughing.

  She was still coughing when she felt the soles of her bare feet touch what felt like a sheet of ice as she was lowered. She tensed, partly from the cold and partly from the instinctive urge to catch herself as she descended. Pain shot through her muscles but they responded sluggishly and weakly. She slowed her descent, but she wilted into a heap anyway on the freezing surface.

  She heard the voices again and thought they were discussing her. She wasn’t sure why or how she arrived at that except that they surrounded her and she felt hands plucking and poking at her. When she managed to get her eyes open again, she saw a man crouched beside her and there was something about his expression and the gleam in his eyes that told her he was the one poking and prodding her--like a malicious, sadistic little boy examining an injured animal and poking at it to see what it would do.

  She let out a hiss of pain as he grabbed her wrist and pulled it, straightening her arm, and he chuckled.

  She couldn’t see much besides the man, but she saw enough of the room she was in to realize her senses hadn’t betrayed her. Neither the man nor the place was familiar to her and that discovery added a taste of fear to the confusion.

  He rose after a few more minutes of tormenting her--when she refused to make another sound to amuse him, barking an order. Another man bent over her, pulling at her and jostling her and finally lifting her off of the floor.

  She was naked. She’d dimly registered that, but it had fallen so far down the list of discomforts that she hadn’t done more than register awareness of it. Her discomfort over that fact climbed higher on her list as she was carried across the room and discovered there were people everywhere--men, all of them staring at her with taut faces and yellow/gold eyes.

  A kaleidoscope of images and impressions pelted her, adding to the chaos of misery from her cold and pain, confusion, and her embarrassment to be naked and completely exposed to the people they passed. They looked her over with the avid interest of people viewing a side-show freak. She didn’t know the man carrying her any more than the others. She’d refused to acknowledge him after one glance at his stony expression, but she curled a little more closely to him, trying to pull into herself to shield herself from those eyes that followed her, trying to hold onto some warmth.

  The man descended stairs into a darker area. No natural light filtered here. Only dim artificial light that hurt her eyes. After striding down one long corridor after another lined with doors, he finally shouldered his way through one, dropped her unceremoniously on a hard, narrow cot and left her, bolting the door behind him.

  It was darker inside the tiny room than the corridor had been. Feeble light spilled through a tiny widow high up on the door, but there was no light inside the cubicle. It wasn’t much more than a cubicle, maybe the size of a large elevator--just long enough for a cot, which went wall to wall in one direction. There was a hole in one corner, from which eye watering smells emerged that identified it as a crude latrine. A small pipe emerged a few inches from the wall above the hole, dripping fat drops of water that hit the edge of the hole and dripped into it.

  She was in a prison cell and it was way worse than any jail cell she’d been a guest in on Earth.

  Shivering, she looked down at the thin, stinking cover on the bed and finally drew it up and wrapped it around herself.

  The shaking from cold never actually went away, but it eased after a long while, leaving a shuddery, shimmying feeling in the pit of her belly that was more fear than cold. She didn’t make a conscious effort to analyze any of the thoughts drifting around her mind. She had no desire to assess her situation. She wanted to blank her mind and try to ‘hide’ from the fear, but eventually her brain sorted the puzzle pieces and began to fit them together regardless of her wishes.

  The moment real awareness finally penetrated her mind, she jerked the cover from around her and stared at her belly. The confusion of chaos instantly descended over her again as she stared at the basketball sized mound with total incomprehension and fear induced panic. Slowly, it penetrated her mind that her baby had to be alright and that a great deal of time had passed since she’d been aware of anything at all or the baby wouldn’t have had time to grow so much.

  Months. She’d been unconscious in a drug induced coma for months.

  Instantly, fear assailed her again that whatever she’d been given had hurt her baby, but she tamped it. The baby was growing. Surely it wouldn’t have been if they’d damaged it?

  She didn’t completely believe that, but she couldn’t bear to allow herself to think otherwise and she shoved it from her mind determinedly. A flutter of movement inside her stomach gave the fear an additional shove in the right direction. She stared at her stomach, her breath suspended in her chest. The movement came again, a shifting sort of sensation. A small knot appeared on the rounded mound of her belly and moved across it. A choked laugh escaped her as it dawned on her what that small knot was.

  A hand … or maybe a foot.

  She burst into tears of relief then, looping her arms around her swollen belly and rocking herself. He was alive. He was moving. That had to mean he was alright, didn’t it?

  She calmed herself with an effort when she realized the baby was moving agitatedly, as if her distress had communicated itself to him. Rubbing a hand soothingly over her belly, she crooned the few words she could remember from the only lullaby she could recall and dried her eyes with her other hand, sniffing until a sense of peace stole over her and with it a flicker of happiness and hopefulness.

  For a while, she basked in it, allowing herself to fantasize about the baby, trying to imagine what a baby sized replica of Simon would look like.

  The thoughts of Simon led her mind away from the pleasurable fantasies about the baby and her mind took off like a runaway train, snatching at puzzle pieces and slamming them together.

  She was on Simon’s world, surrounded by his enemies. There was no doubt at all in her mind of that--and that could mean only one thing. She’d been brought to his home world for one reason--to be used against him.

  “Welcome to Schalome,” she muttered to herself.

  * * * *

  Excitement threaded Simon’s veins as he drew back on the reins of his mount and brought the naybst he was riding from a canter to a sliding halt on the brow of the hill. The sun was just rising above the distant mountain range, bathing the landscape with its orange-red glow, and the morning dew that had collected on the foliage twinkled like gems as the prisms of water captured the light. The village below them, cloaked in a wispy morning mist, was as still as a painting.

  He sucked in a deep, sustaining breath, drew in the smells of home and felt it flow through his veins like wine.

  “I can see Schalome fr
om here,” Jorell murmured low, but despite the quietness of his voice, or mayhap because of the near reverence of the pronouncement, his excitement was evident.

  Simon glanced at him, and then at the faces of the others that he could see from where he sat on his own mount, Audric and Elden. Rama and Haig had stayed behind to take the ship to a secure location after they’d landed and disembarked. To a man, and despite their efforts to contain it, they wore expressions of absolute joy, as if they were staring at the gates of Hadan, the home of the gods, instead of their homeland.

  He didn’t stop to analyze his own feelings. He knew what had sent a rush of excitement through him and it was not the same thing that had affected them. He saw Raina as he stared out over the countryside at the peaks that formed Schalome’s southern border. He saw the task at hand finished and felt the narrowing of time and space that separated him from her. Soon now, he realized, he would face his enemy for the last time. Soon he would feel the thrill of battle that was like nothing else--fear, excitement, challenge, victory, all rolled into one--and more, because at the end of it he would be that much closer to her. And then he would be done and he would have nothing more to do but clean up the mess and he could go back to her.

  He could not entirely dismiss the fear that she would forget him, or that she would be too angry with him for leaving her without any explanation to take him back, but he had hope. He had determination. Somehow, he would win her back.

  Audric grinned at him. “I do not believe I have ever seen a more beautiful sight!”

  Simon smiled faintly, his gaze distant as he summoned the image of Raina’s face to his mind’s eye. “I have,” he murmured.

  Audric’s smile flattened. Pain filled his eyes and he looked away.

  Discomfort moved over Simon, but he shook it off. “I do not know about the rest of you, but I am looking forward to getting down off this beast,” he said easily. “My ass begins to feel sorely abused.”

  The other men chuckled, shifting in their saddles uncomfortably as if they’d only just then recalled the stiff muscles and numbed regions from three days of hard riding.

  “You are waiting for an invitation?” Simon asked, grinning at them as he kicked his naybst into motion. “Alright then. Welcome home!”

  The village awakened and began to stir to life before they reached the first cottage. By the time they’d cantered into the market square, adults and children and beasts seemed to throng the narrow, cobbled streets.

  They slowed their mounts, holding them to a walk as they threaded their way through the emerging foot traffic. A hum of excitement began to build around them, almost imperceptible at first, like the electric charge that filled the air as a storm gathered.

  “It is him! The Emperor! Pater-Draken--Father Dragon. Our dragon lord! He is the image of his father! I saw him once. I know it is him. It is him!”

  Audric glanced at Simon as the whispers of awe drifted around them, became more pronounced--louder and louder as excitement as contagious as a virulent virus moved from person to person.

  He seemed oblivious at first, distant, caught up in his own thoughts. Abruptly, though, his naybst took exception to a child that darted through the growing crowd of gawkers and let out a series of angry clicks and then a roar as it balked and tried to rear. Simon’s hand tightened automatically on the reins, drawing the beast’s head down to its chest, his knees digging into its shoulders. The naybst sidled, but quieted almost instantly. When Simon’s attention moved from the beast to the people around him again, he smiled, no more than a faint curling of his lips, and nodded--that regal nod he seemed completely unconscious of, probably was unconscious of.

  “Emperor Pater-Draken!” someone exclaimed.

  Almost as one, every man, woman, and child within sight of them dropped to their knees in reverence, some sobbing or wailing loudly, others laughing with nervous excitement, still others calling out welcomes. “Emperor! Emperor! The gods bless us! He has returned! He has returned! The gods are smiling upon us!”

  Simon sent Audric a disconcerted look, color darkening his cheeks.

  Audric shrugged. Almost reluctantly, he grinned.

  A group of men emerged from a hostel near the center of the town. They stood rigid for some moments and finally dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, bringing one arm across their chests in salute.

  Simon’s party came to a halt and dismounted.

  As he approached the men, they rose. “Emperor Pater-Draken!” the eldest man exclaimed, grinning broadly as Simon caught his shoulders and embraced him briefly.

  “Dill my old friend!” Simon said. “You are looking well!”

  Dilligen Valedraken studied Simon’s face searchingly. “Very well, Sire. Better than ever to see your ugly face among us again!”

  Simon chuckled. “We came with all haste--and great secrecy,” he murmured wryly.

  There were chuckles from the men surrounding them. Dill Valedraken laughed uproariously. “They know their true emperor, Dragon Lord. You could have worn a mask and hood and they would still have known you. In any case, it matters not--not now,” he added, sobering.

  Simon nodded and they all turned and entered the building the men who’d greeted them had emerged from. Striding through the common room, the party gathered in a large, private chamber beyond.

  Gathering around the large, round table that sat in the center of the room, they exchanged pleasantries and reminisced as the barmaids scurried back and forth bringing spirits and platters of food. When they’d withdrawn at last, everyone present fell silent.

  Smiles vanished and faces grew taut.

  “We have spies everywhere,” Dill announced grimly.

  Simon studied him in silence for several moments. “The gathering of such an army was bound to attract notice,” he said coolly.

  “Aye!” Dill agreed, “But it should not have done so as quickly as it did. We used the greatest discretion, I assure you. We have staggered the recruiting and gathering with great care--no parties larger than a dozen in any one place at any time. And even if that had begun to attract notice, it still would not explain how Jaelen knew that we would gather here to attack. The southern border is the least accessible. If he had had no knowledge of our plans, he would have amassed his army along the other borders.

  “Beyond that, Draken Fortress has stood empty since your exile. Jaelen prefers the pretty little confection that he had designed and built for himself at Reamestone.

  “I tell you he was expecting us even before we’d begun gathering our forces.”

  Pushing his plate away with disinterest, Simon settled an elbow on the table and supported his chin in his hand, staring thoughtfully at the men around the table. “And you have ferreted none out?”

  “A round dozen in my own camp alone,” Dill said with disgust. “We got nothing out of them before they died. Either they knew nothing or they were more terrified of Jaelen than my best torturers, and I am thinking they knew nothing.”

  Simon transferred his gaze to Ravenwing, listened to his report, and then Montdragon’s, moving around the table clockwise until he reached Nimets, the young Duke of Sardovf.

  When he’d heard them out, he rose. “I have a yearning for a bath and a bed. We will meet here again this eve and go over the final details of the attack and determine what, if any, alterations should be made.”

  Dill rose, as well. “By your leave, Sire, I will show you the chambers we had prepared for you.”

  Simon nodded, sent his own men a significant glance, which they correctly interpreted to mean that they were to stay put, and he and Dill left the room together.

  “You are off your food,” Dill commented as they ascended the stairs, sending Simon a speculative glance. “I can assure you it did not reach the table without a taster.”

  Simon shrugged. “I never doubted it. I have grown unaccustomed to the food here, however.”

  Dill looked taken aback. “You did not leave with many, but you had servants, su
rely? Could they not be trained to prepare a decent draconian dish?”

  Simon averted his gaze, ignoring the tightening in his belly at the inadvertent reminder of Raina. “They are not magicians and as impossible as it may seem to grasp, we did not think to load stores of ‘decent’ draconian herbs, spices, vegetation, or meat. I had Tedra, and there is no better cook on all of Drack, but she can not work miracles. There were a thousand subtle and not so subtle differences in taste, but I grew accustomed and now, I think, it will take time to reacquaint myself with my native foods.”

  Dill studied him curiously. “I had not thought of that. They are much like us, though?”

  Simon grimaced. “Aye, but like the food--subtle and not so subtle differences. Naturally, we chose a world as close to our own Drack as possible, peopled with beings much like us, but, by and large, they are smaller folk--less robust. The physical differences should not have been too notable, and yet we discovered quickly enough that we could not walk among them without drawing far more attention than we were comfortable with. They are … very curious of strangers. Beyond the size, our eyes are not at all the same and seemed to distress them far more than their strange eyes disturbed us.

  He frowned as Dill paused before a door situated about halfway down the corridor and opened it, stepping back with a slight bow for him to enter. Simon scanned the room as he did so, relaxing slightly when he saw the room was empty and moving further inside to settle in a comfortable chair.

  “It has been many years,” he murmured as Dill took the chair across from him at the wave of his hand, “and either my memory is faulty or I had miscalculated how … enthusiastic my homecoming would be. I will say nothing about their prematurely hailing me as Emperor--perhaps their memories are faulty and they do not recall that I was never crowned. But the folk did not used to grovel on the ground. What was all that nonsense upon our arrival?”