by David
Andokandazur was his name. His title meant Hated-Father.
Once Andokandazur secured his place as the lord of his fell breed, he turned his gaze upon his personal goal of revenge. How else could he further demonstrate his superior strength to his fellow dragons than by besting the human that even mighty Faethlenkandur had been unable to defeat in single combat? Andokandazur was a powerful young dragon. He loved to show off his great strength, so the thought of meeting his sire’s nemesis was far too tempting for him to ignore.
As such, Andokandazur allowed word to reach King Donigan that priests were making
human sacrifices to his kindred in the Dragon Temple of Woodhall, to the east. This wyrm worship enraged the monarch. He had forbidden ritual murder in his realm since he had begun the War of Dragons. Donigan considered it an act of treason for anyone to practice Dragon’s Law within his bounds, so he girded himself with the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye and rode off to investigate reports he had heard.
Donigan arrived at Woodhall Castle to find it a smoking ruin, without a sole survivor to be found. He left his many knights behind to clear rubble and honor those fallen. Still he rode on, on to the temple. When he reached the unholy center of worship, he found a similar scene.
However, much to his disgust, Andokandazur lay there picking his huge teeth with a bone. The dragon laughed, “Is this the great king that killed my father? Ha! My sire must have been weak indeed to die at the hands of such a tired old man.”
King Donigan had indeed grown old, but his fiery spirit had not grown cold. Drawing the powerful sword that had united his fledgling nation behind him, he said, “Come. Taste the fire of my blade, dragon, and see which of us is nearer the grave.” He lifted his sword point high and aimed it at the vulgar creature before him. The weapon flared into flame and belched fire at Andokandazur.
The dragon narrowly moved its ugly head in time to avoid magical flames. Then it raised itself to its full height and scoffed, “You will have to do better than that, for I am the greatest of my kind.” The beast lashed out at Donigan, who tumbled to safety.
“Then better I shall do,” answered the fearless king. He set his sword into motion with a hum, directing it toward the beast’s exposed flank. The foul creature was quick enough to its defense, lightly brushing the blow to the side with its spiny tail.
Andokandazur snorted a hideous laugh as he flapped his wings to stagger the aged ruler and then snatched him up in his fist. “Now I shall bear you back to my den. Your skeleton will make an excellent trophy to add to my collection.” Then he sprang into flight, toting the captured monarch with him as he beat his way northward.
Andokandazur made a terrible error, though. The haughty dragon failed to pinch King
Donigan’s sword arm to his side, perhaps under the assumption that the aged ruler would turn loose his weapon once squeezed. The captured king was in horrendous pain, for the dragon was clutching him so tightly in its fist that claw tips were piercing his flesh like knife points. Yet the valiant old warrior clung to his sword, in which he knew lay all hope of survival. When Donigan felt he could bear no more pain without losing consciousness, and his blade with it, he called upon the failing reserves of his strength and the seemingly infinite power of his weapon, saying,
“Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, I call upon thee to aid me now!” He thrust his awesome blade up through Andokandazur’s soft underbelly, where it ripped into vital organs and burst into flames.
The creature screeched horribly. Its body wrenched in its anguish. Andokandazur crushed King Donigan in his torment and loosed the king’s broken human body, while he careened wildly out of control in his flight. The dragon swung low over the Wyrm Mountains, descending dangerously close to their jagged tops. Nevertheless, Andokandazur’s will was strong, and he denied combined forces of gravity and his dying body their rights to pull him down before he reached the safety of his lair. He nearly crashed into the peak of one enormous spire, but he flapped his wings with all of his remaining strength, stubbornly refusing to land so far from his refuge. He listed sideways, and the sword in his guts struck the face of the rocky spire. That blow jarred the Dragon’s Eye from the pommel of the sword, thereby quenching the weapon’s fire.
His pain thus lessened, Andokandazur was able to return to his den, where it is believed that he died from his wound. The sword has not been seen since. Neither has dreadful Andokandazur been espied in the skies above Beledon.
King Donigan was crushed to death before his fall, but it mattered not. He plummeted like a star from the sky, a long distance to his death. Shepherds on the hillsides, perilously close to the action, witnessed the grim scene. News quickly made its way back to Skytower Castle.
There was trouble festering in Beledon, because the fallen monarch had left a ten-year-old son as heir to his throne. Sir Sturgeon immediately appointed himself to serve as regent to Lornigan, the boy king. The old knight and lord’s hunger for power appalled other nobles in Beledon. Sir Bornan even spoke openly of Sir Sturgeon’s ruthless pursuit of the throne, saying,
“The old dotard is hardly fit to rule Landolstadt. How then will he rule--for he will indeed rule--
Beledon? My nephew shall be no more than a puppet until he comes of age, if he lives long enough. It would surprise me not if Sturgeon were to help him have an accident.”
Tensions grew to open battle after Beldigeon, Sir Sturgeon’s eldest son, sent King Lornigan to a hidden place for his own safety. Sir Bornan incorrectly judged that Sir Sturgeon had murdered the boy. That was not so, for Sir Sturgeon was incensed by the treachery of his own son. Soon every powerful lord who was kin to the late king or queen, along with others who were not, was embroiled in savage succession conflicts in which there is no victor, only losers.
Beldigeon, who had sought to do the right thing, had started war by acting unwisely.
Perhaps it was possible that his father would have killed King Lornigan had he not hidden the lad, but now no man shall ever know the truth. Beldigeon faithfully served King Lornigan for the rest of his battle-shortened life. Nevertheless, by the time the young heir came of age to rule his father’s kingdom, war plagued the whole of Beledon. Lornigan tried to restore order to his domain peaceably, but he was unsuccessful in that venture. Therefore, he, like the other lords, resorted to might of arms.
His was a war without winners, in times of old. The land bleeds and the people suffer, for they are torn apart by the opposed wills of powerful men. Terrible conflict has roared and snored, and roared again, for ten bloody, long generations. Meanwhile, the people wait for one king and one rule....
Chapter One
The Call of Battle
The plow sat idly in the field behind the cottage, its master ignoring the inviting beckon of the warm, cloudless day. Although the farmers of Taeglin had ideal weather for spring planting, Loric son of Palen was carrying out his work within the confines of his room. It was in that small corner of the household that the young man was gathering up his things and making ready to leave his family for the banner of Lord Garrick and the roils of war.
Loric’s mind wandered as he dug through the chest at the end of his bed. Within his troubled head lingered cruel images of Barag the Bully, who had tormented him for most of his life.
Barag had driven Loric to the decision to leave Taeglin forever, for Barag had continuously sought out ways to make his life miserable. Barag had labeled him Strange-ling.
Loric had stoically born that cruel tag for the majority of his sixteen years, often wondering if he had not justly earned it. His life had been marked by unusual dreams and visions, which eventually came to be, for good or ill. As a child, he had spoken some of what he had seen in the terror of his nights, and afterwards, the mill had burned, bandits had waylaid good citizens en route to Moonriver and blight had stricken local herds. Each of those events had been linked to a separate dream. Loric had spoken his visions aloud in the ignorance of his childhood, and they had happened as he had dream
t them. Now he refused to speak of ill omens that woke him in the night, and he seldom spoke of the good, which he distrusted more than the dark ones. Although Loric wished his foresights would show him free of his cruel tormentor, there had been no indication that he would escape the bully. Therefore, he was intent upon leaving Taeglin to make a new life in Moonriver.
During the past week, the brawny bully’s persecutions had intensified to greater levels of meanness than ever before. It was time to prove that Barag’s taunts stood unjustified. After all, Loric was different, but he was not so different that he deserved others treating him the way they did. It had been eight years since he had last spoken an event to life, but that made no difference to Barag, whose memory was as long as his tongue was cruel. Loric was certain of his decision.
He would go ahead of other village lads to join Lord Garrick’s army in the struggle for control of Beledon, knowing that he would return a respected veteran in the service of the new king. Who would laugh at him then? No one, he decided.
Loric got along with his peers well, when Barag was not around. Half of those fellows who jeered him alongside Barag only did so for fear that they would lose standing with the bully. It was simpler for them to taunt Loric, so they could continue cowering beneath the protective umbrage of the magistrate’s massive boy, than to oppose his nemesis. They likely thanked the Great King they were not in Loric’s position, for no three of them could match the bully strength for strength. Even sweet Belinda turned on Loric when Barag was about, as she had done the previous evening. It was just too much for Loric to bear.
Loric began moving with renewed purpose and strengthened resolve as he folded a thick woolen blanket in half lengthwise and spread two pair of trousers and spare tunics out on that cover. He had just begun to roll the bundle when his father, Palen, burst in on him, saying, “Son, your mother told me what you’re doing. Do you mean to tell me that you are still planning to go through with this foolishness, bloody well knowing that your mother and I are opposed to it?”
As Palen spoke, Loric observed that his old Da was studying him hard, as if measuring his strength, wit, courage, and most of all, his resolve in this matter. Apparently, Palen saw in him something that made him smile and laugh gently. Whether the father saw in him sheer
determination or foolish pride, the son could not rightly guess. The smile vanished amidst the hard set of his sire’s disapproving countenance.
Loric looked at his senior as he stood against the doorframe. He had once believed his father to be a tall man, almost belonging amongst the gods, but his statuesque quality had diminished without his son noticing the change. Is he shrinking with age, Loric asked himself, or have I grown that much? The time of Palen’s youth was long past. Smooth skin had worn into a lined and aged countenance over the course of the last year. It was as though his father’s face had been the canvas upon which wind, rain and his life experiences had painted those features. His once gray-streaked hair was being completely overrun with gray, save for a small lonely patch of brown on the crown of his head. It was as if that thinning swatch was making its last stand in defiance of old age. Loric’s focus fell upon his father’s green irises, and although there was weariness in them, he still caught a glimpse of the vigor and youthfulness that Palen’s other features had begun to conceal. His expression was stern and unyielding, as from stubbornness and age.
Palen cracked a smile as he considered the countenance of the lad before him, with its contrasting soft and angular features somehow combining to form one awkward young man.
Loric was no different in appearance than any other male his age, but like all teenage lads, he was changing into the man he had not yet fully become. His sharp jaw was firming up, and that part of his visage was almost adult. That was also true of his chin. Yet, Loric’s slightly rounded nose, boyish cheeks and lanky body were qualities that revealed his age. His green eyes were like Palen’s, and those of his father before him. There was maturity in those orbs that far overmatched any other feature about him, but they had not yet begun to harden into emeralds handcrafted by the artisan known as experience. One day a bushy set of brows would likely crown those gems. In the meantime, thick, tame brows colored to match his long, light brown hair marked the boundary between his eyes and forehead.
Palen finally spoke, posing a difficult question for Loric. “Have you chosen to go of your own will or do you have something to prove to Barag?” Loric quickly opened his mouth to counter the charge, but Palen put up his index finger, firmly telling him, “Don’t let a bully like Barag shame you simply because you have not volunteered to join Lord Garrick’s host. Many are the sixteen-year-old lads who have declined such service, and the greater part of those fellows lived to be seventeen and beyond.”
Loric watched his father’s hand descend as he finished speaking, indicating that Palen was now willing to hear what he had to say. “My decision has nothing to do with Barag-” he began, trying his best to sound like a man.
“Phaw!” Palen interjected. His countenance softened and he said more kindly, “I truly have my doubts about that, son.”
“I understand your doubts,” Loric calmly explained, sensing they were justified, but
unwilling to admit that truth to his Da, “but this journey is something I have to undertake for myself.”
Palen gently patted Loric’s bed and said, “Sit beside me, lad.”
Loric let out a frustrated sigh and obeyed.
His father clapped a hand to his back and explained, “From my perspective, your sudden urgency to leave has been brought on by Barag.” Palen put up an open palm to Loric’s outcry and continued, “He rides you hard to keep you down, but he only does it to disguise his own uncertainty.”
“He does it because he delights in it, father-” Loric challenged, but a horizontal sweep of Palen’s hand silenced him.
“When Lord Garrick’s men passed through last week, you did not show the least sign that you were interested in joining the host,” Palen went on. “For that, your mother and I were relieved. However, you have changed your mind since Barag and the other lads have taken to tormenting you over your decision to stay here in Taeglin. Now you suddenly wish to run off to Moonriver Castle, knowing that Lord Garrick’s men will soon be back to pick up the fellows who stayed behind long enough to get the spring crop in the ground.”
Loric chose that moment to make a request of his sire, “Father, if that is your only remaining doubt, I will wait until their return to depart.” Before Palen could reject the idea, Loric explained,
“I have always wanted to join Lord Garrick’s host, but I did not think it prudent for every young man in Taeglin to go off to war at the same time. I had planned to wait another year, but now I must go or forever be treated as a craven dog by my peers.”
Palen looked distressed. Loric had seldom seen that expression on his father’s face. There was significance to it, but he could not guess at its source. It made him uneasy.
When the older man spoke again, his tone was much softer and more understanding, “Son, I can see there will be no changing your mind. If I were still young like you, and free of heart, I too would probably run to the service of a great lord with wild ambitions about raising him to kingship. Alas, I am just a husband, a father and a farmer. I am happy with that. I only wish a simple life could satisfy you. If only you could understand what war is like, you would not leave what you have here.”
“Father, I have to go, and nothing you can say to me will change my mind,” said Loric, unable to control himself any longer. He had been sitting at the end of his bed, patiently trying to endure his father’s will in this matter, but the comment about not leaving what he had proved that his Da could never understand his situation. It was just too much to bear. “What I have is a pair of hands that could pitch in and do their share in rebuilding a kingdom, instead of withering behind a plow,” he said firmly. “And-”
Palen put up his hand to stop him short, saying, “Loric, la
d, I have a crop to sow, and other chores besides. I have no more time for this argument.” He rose and moved to the door, only looking back to say, “I understand how you feel, but I forbid you to go to Moonriver Castle.”
Loric opened his mouth for another protest, but Palen’s gaze took on a deadly edge, and his words were sword sharp, “That is my final word! Let this be the end of it.” He softened into a friendly father to say, “Come, son. We have work to do.”
Palen beckoned Loric to follow him out of the cottage and into the warm sun. The younger man was dispirited. He had no will to move, but then he remembered the authority in his father’s expression, his tone. Loric respected his sire’s decision, even if he disagreed with it. He would abide by his will, and that included going with him to work the fields in spite of his disappointment.
As Loric rose from his bed to step in behind Palen, he asked, “When will you let me go?”
Loric saw his mother’s rock-hard jaw out of the corner of his eye, and he knew that he had asked at the wrong time. That did not stop Adie from speaking her mind. “Get it outta yer head, son,” she warned him. “Yer every thought, yer every word leads ya’ into trouble, as it pertains ta this nonsense.”
Palen opened the back door and held it wide.
Loric was caught in his mother’s angry glare, unable to avoid her and too foolish to flee her.
His mother was stern-faced now, but she was in fact kind, loving and warm. It just so happened that her wrath had consumed her love and warmth. She was not tall or particularly short, but neither that nor her seeming frailty of build made her less intimidating to Loric in that moment.