(Dragonkin) Dragon Rider

by C. E. Swain

  Menimeth knew the empire was still in peril, but for now he would let the men celebrate their victory. They had earned it with their bravery and skill, and they had done all that he had asked, so the war could wait for a few days more Menimeth thought. They would bury their dead with honor, and honor their heroes with pride, and celebrate the victory across the empire, but one day soon they would have to turn their attention back to the east.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The battlefield was littered with the bodies of the dead solders of the mage kings army, but there were those who wore the purple and gold scattered among them. The empire had not lost as many men as the enemy, and they had lost far less than they expected, but they had lost enough to know that a war had been fought. Most of the warriors that the empire lost during the battle were wounded, but for the enemy, most were killed.

  The bodies of the dead warriors of the empire were carried from the battlefield with great care and respect, and each name was recorded as they were. The empire owed them a debt that they could never repay, but Menimeth decided that the families of the fallen would be compensated for their loss. It would not bring their family members back, but they would not be affected by the financial burden of such a loss.

  Many of the men who died were men from countries that the mage king had overrun, and little was known about them other than their names. Some of them had friends who survived the battle, but most were just men who showed up at the garrison at Corlindum to join the Dragon guard. They would never be forgotten, and Menimeth hoped to find their families, or what was left of them, when the war was over. He gathered as much information on each one of the men who had died as he could, so they could be sent back to their homeland, and laid to rest in a place of honor. For those men whose families could not be located, or did not care about them, a place would be found in the empire where they would be honored, and their deeds would never be forgotten. Without their sacrifice, the enemy would not have been defeated so easily, and many more of the empire's warriors would have died.

  Several of the warriors of the empire that were killed in the battle had been heroes to the men they led. The heroic acts that those few had preformed had saved many lives, but none more than Hobie. It was treachery that had ended his life, after he had defeated all of the enemy champions who would face him. The news of his death was one of the biggest blows to the dragon rider, for he had grown fond of the youngest son of the northern regent. Hobie was a true leader, and a natural swordsman, but he always looked out for his men above all else. He was to be taken back to Venteno, and placed in the tomb of his ancestors, with all of the ceremony due a prince of the empire, and the dragon rider would return the sword of his ancestors to the regent. It was the least Menimeth could do for the commander of the solders from the northern realm.

  The dragon rider watched as Mareston's men stripped their own dead, and piled all of their possessions in the center of the battlefield. It was not a task that Menimeth had asked them to do, but it was one in which they would not refuse. All of the armor and weapons taken from the enemy they placed in the biggest pile, but the personal items they placed in a separate, smaller pile, where it could be inspected much easier. As the men were stripped, they were placed beside a great pit that was being dug just for that occasion. They would not be burned as a defeated enemy, but with all of the honors of a fallen solder in a foreign land. Menimeth believed that most of the men that had died while fighting for Chidren had done so against their will. He knew that there were those who did not deserve the honors, but they were a very few, and to separate them would have tarnished the ceremony.

  Mareston was very surprised by the way in which the dragon rider planned to send the solders of the mage kings army into the afterlife. He informed Commander Gaston as soon as Menimeth told him, and the scout leader passed it on to the men. The news gave the men hope, and a belief that they would survive to travel into the west as they had been promised. They began to work faster, and with a lot more enthusiasm, as the news spread from solder to solder across the battlefield.

  The siege weapons the mage king had ordered Commander Mareston to build were dismantled, and the pieces were placed in the pit to build a huge pyre. The men who built the pyre placed the bodies of the dead solders of the mage kings army on top of it when it was completed. The bodies were stacked on the pyre with great care, and when the task was complete, the dead towered above the men who prepared the pyre for the ceremony.

  The warriors of the Lost Cavalry searched the supply wagons that were behind the siege weapons, and several of the items that were found inside drew the dragon rider's attention. The chest was of special interest because Menimeth had one almost identical to it sitting in his room at the Dragon Tower. He had forgotten about it after he moved into his suites because of the threat from Chidren, but he thought about it now. He would need some information about the box, and he knew Commander Mareston would know what it was used for. He decided to wait until the next day to talk to the commander, about some of the items that had been discovered, and when they would attempt to reach the Wilderlands. He planned to monitor their progress across the Dead Lands, and help them if he could, but for the most part, they would be on their own.

  Captain Sangrivol was badly wounded, and for several hours he seemed to improve. He was no longer bleeding, and he had started to regain some of his color, but then he began to grow worse again. The men that were trained to care for the wounded did not know why the captain began to decline, when they had done all that was required to save his life. They began to worry that he would not survive, even though they did all they could to save him, when Menimeth entered the makeshift hospital.

  "How is he?" Menimeth asked the man in charge if the hospital.

  "Not well." The man replied. "But it should not be so. He should be improving, but instead he grows worse."

  "You have done all that you can?" The dragon rider asked.

  "We have done more than we needed from the wounds he received." The man replied. "None of the wounds he received, were bad enough to cause his death, but still he grows worse."

  "It is magic that drains him of his life." Danorathin told his master. "But we can save him."

  "What kind of magic?" The dragon rider asked his friend.

  "Green magic." Danorathin replied. "But with dark magic as a binder."

  "What can we do that will save him?" Menimeth asked. "Will an antidote suffice?"

  "It will stop the magic of the herb, but not the binder." Danorathin replied. "That will require a white sage."

  "Where do we find a white sage?" Menimeth asked his dragon. "I have never heard of them before."

  "Ask the Elves." Danorathin said. "They know of the magic of the sages."

  "How do we keep him alive until we can discover the location of these sages?" Menimeth asked his friend. "One Commander was more than we could afford to lose, but two cannot be allowed."

  "Use the oil from the dragon vine to counter the green magic." His friend replied. "And I will give you the spell that will halt the binder, but he will not wake, until the binder is removed."

  "Thank you, my friend." Menimeth said to his dragon.

  "Use the oil of the dragon vine." Menimeth said to the man who treated, Captain Sangrivol. "It will counter some of the magic that affects him."

  "But the oil of the dragon vine is a poison used to kill." The man said, with a look of horror. "How will it help to save him?"

  "You will see." Menimeth replied. "Just put it on his wounds."

  "Yes Sir." The man replied, and went to find the oil.

  Several minuets later, the man returned with a small bottle with a dark brown liquid inside, and began to place it on the captain's wounds. As he did, Menimeth spoke the spell relayed to him by his dragon, and the captain began to regain his color.

  "I will return to check on him." Menimeth said. "But if he grows worse, I am to be informed at once."

  "I will see to it myself." The man repl
ied. "But you must tell me how you knew to use the dragon oil to save his life when we return to

  Glansford."

  "Agreed." Menimeth said with a smile. "Just see that he is taken care of until I return."

  "We will do as you wish." The man said, but we have several other men that are in need as well."

  "Are there other men with the same condition as the captain?" Menimeth asked, concerned that others needed the spell to survive.

  "No, but some are badly wounded, and need as much care as the captain." The man said. "But all of them will recover in time."

  "As will the captain." Menimeth said. "I will see to that."

  It was much later than he wanted when Menimeth walked from the hospital in search of his friend Litlorn. The battle had gone well for the empire, and it appeared that the remaining solders of the army sent against Argnon would become an asset to the empire. It was a part of the outcome of the battle that he did not expect, and it was more than he could have hoped.

  When he found the elf, he was waiting by the fire in the tavern, and Darik was with him.

  "I need your help." Menimeth said to Litlorn, as he entered the tavern. "What do you know of the white sages?"

  "They are a group of clerics who have become skilled in the art of healing with magic." Litlorn replied. "For what reason do you ask of the white sages?"

  "To reverse the dark binder, which has placed Captain Sangrivol in a magical sleep." Menimeth replied. "The oil of the dragon vine has halted the poison, but a spell is needed to wake him."

  "It is green magic with a dark binder?" Litlorn asked.

  "Yes, how did you know?" Menimeth asked. "You have seen it before?"

  "Yes." Litlorn replied. "Green magic can be used by anyone, but to have a dark binder requires a sorcerer of the dark arts. It is possible that a blade could have made its way from Black Stygren, but it would cost more than a solder could afford."

  "Then it was sent from Kath, but I do not believe that it was intended for Captain Sangrivol." Menimeth said.

  "No, it was most likely sent by the mage king to eliminate you." Litlorn replied. "If the owner is dead, we should find the blade with the items that were removed from the bodies, and placed in the pile on the battlefield."

  "If it is not there, then the owner must still be alive, and danger is still at hand." Menimeth said. "Ask the elves if they would watch for an assassin tonight. We can search for the blade tomorrow until we find it."

  "I will do it right away." Litlorn said, and walked from the tavern.

  "I will send for you when you are needed." Menimeth said to Darik. "But for now, there is no need to leave the tavern."

  The day was almost over, and the men had just carried the last of the empires dead from the battlefield, as Menimeth walked to the garrison. Feran, Kyler, and Javen, laid out the men of their armies, which were to be taken to their home in the realms, wrapped in their cloaks. The men who were not from the empire, but had died to save it, were each placed in ornately carved boxes of oak, which were then sealed with magic.

  The boxes were placed in rows in the open space between the training grounds and the great road. From there they were to be loaded onto the wagons, which would carry them to the capital, and the place where they would rest until they could be taken care of properly. The thin sheets of wood that the boxes were made of made them easier to carry, but the men did not believe they would survive the trip to Glansford. They believed the wood would split apart with all of the movement they were sure to encounter along the way. Menimeth had a solution to the problem, but he needed the help of his dragon, and the dragon mage Darik.

  The men of Chidren's army that had died in the battle, had all been placed on the pyre, and the last of the wood was placed around it. Soon the ceremony would begin, and the fires would be lit to send the dead of the enemy to the afterlife. It was a sight that the remaining solders of the mage kings army did not expect to see, and they were filled with a sense of hope. If the king of the empire would show their dead this kind of respect, he would allow them to travel west.

  Litlorn and Darik waited outside of the Red Falcon for Menimeth to arrive, when Donderan and Alazen appeared on the great road, followed by Kyler and Feran.

  "Where is Javen?" Darik asked when the two men reached the great road. "Was he not with you just moments ago?"

  "Javen is reporting to his boss." Feran replied. "But he will be with us as soon as he can."

  "The boss? He speaks with the king?" Darik asked, puzzled by the response.

  "No, I said his boss, not ours." Feran said. "He is with Chrisanna. She would not return to the castle until he proved to her that he was not badly injured."

  "She insisted on dressing his wounds before she would allow him leave." Kyler added. "And it was obvious who the boss was."

  "He did fight the leader of the enemy forces." Litlorn said. "And held his ground against him."

  "That he did, lad, that he did." Donderan said. "And it was an impressive display of skill the lad showed."

  "I would have to agree." Alazen said. "With the magical items that Chidren possessed, only a skilled swordsman could have survived."

  "It was not so long ago that he feared Argnon." Kyler said. "Because he was not trained for battle."

  "Well, he is trained now lad, or I have never seen a warrior before." Donderan said. "He fights like a dragon warriors of the old empire."

  "Yes he does." Alazen said, agreeing with the dwarf. "He would surly be a commander in that army as well."

  "If he was not, he would have been after a show like that one." Litlorn said. "But Menimeth put on the real show."

  "We have all seen him fight before, but I have never seen anyone who could fight with that level of skill." Feran said. "He made the most feared swordsman Arnoran could send, look foolish beyond belief. And when Menimeth killed him, it was with a speed never before seen in the empire, of that I am sure."

  "I have never been to the empire until I was brought here by Chidren, and forced to do his bidding." Darik said. "But I do know that Menimeth is the best swordsman that I have ever seen, and he is the most powerful mage in the lands of magic. If he were not the man he is, he could become far greater than Arnoran ever was, and rule the lands of magic for many years to come."

  "But he does not want to rule the empire, much less all of the kingdoms in the lands of magic.' Litlorn said. "He is a champion of the people, not a conquer."

  "He is a Dragon Lord." Darik said. "He has the power and magic of the dragon he rides, but he is also a dragon warrior with the speed and agility to weld all of the weapons of war with great skill."

  "Which he does very well." Kyler said. "He could have used a great magic to kill all of the enemy solders before they could have reached the castle, and that would have saved the warriors of the empire that were killed in the battle, but he knew that to use that kind of magic would have killed far more men than if the battle was fought."

  "And a great opportunity would have been lost." Menimeth said, as he walked up to his friends. "The White Kingdoms trade with people you have never heard of, from across a lake even larger than lake Katherim.

  "But we have never heard of the White kingdoms." Feran said. "Until we met you."

  "That may be true, but to reach them will be much easier if a place in which to purchase supplies were available between them." Menimeth said. "If we treat these men as friends, and are honest in our business with them, they may become allies that we could call on when the war is at our doorstep."

  "I agree, and have offered the help of the elves to the north." Litlorn said. "But time does not have the same meaning for my people as it does for theirs."

  "It is getting late, and I see Javen has escaped Chrisanna, so we should make our way to the pyre." Menimeth said. "We can finish our discussion after the ceremony, over a mug of ale."

  Javen waited at the gates of the garrison until Menimeth and the others reached him, and fell in beside his friends as they passed
. Danorathin landed in front of his master, and walked with then to where the ceremony was to be held. Almost all of the warriors of the empire were there, and they parted as the dragon rider and his dragon approached.

  The men watched as the dragon rider cast the spell in a language that only Darik and the magical races could understand.

  Drathin-Fathean-Adrada. The words flowed from the dragon rider, and the torches held by the warriors who stood around the pyre, instantly ignited with a reddish white flame. It was the same spell that he used on the body of Chidren, but in a different way. As the torches were set to the pyre the flame quickly spread until the entire structure was engulfed. The old prayers were spoken for the dead from the old religion of the ancients, which was the basis of the beliefs of the empire. It was a prayer that was used for the men from the lands who believed in many gods, to enlighten them in death. The empire believed in only one deity, and that those who did not, could be enlightened at the time of their deaths, and allowed to ascend to the realm of peace and tranquility.