Were of the Drakon

by B Cameron Lee

  The next day was clear with a blue sky and virtually no clouds. Cringle came to Yletta after lunch with a smile on his face and rolled out the carpet they had arrived on.

  “Put some warm clothes on and fetch your cloak,” was all he said as he tied a rope around himself over his own Darkwood cloak.

  “Do we need supplies Cringle?”

  “Not today. This is just a quick trip to do some exploring for the benefit of the Kin.”

  When Yletta returned and settled onto the carpet, it rose into the air and sped skywards at an alarming rate. She could see people below pointing and waving their arms as they rapidly diminished in size. Cringle turned the carpet toward Farseer, the huge mountain dominating the sky above the plateau. Higher and higher they went and it started to become much colder. Yletta tucked her hands inside her cloak and drew it across her face leaving just her eyes exposed. Cringle had done likewise and she could see they were now level with the snow still covering the top of Farseer. They continued to rise and shot up past the top of the mountain and she gaped in surprise as she saw the lake in its hollow top. It wasn’t frozen over. Cringle was equally surprised, he’d never had the means to come this high before, even a gryffon had its limits.

  “Look Yletta, a lake. Farseer must be a volcano and still have some activity to keep the lake liquid. I must report this to the Kin but that’s not why I brought you here.”

  Cringle flew forward, past the edge of the rim of the cone and Yletta looked down the side of the mountain and out. Half way to the horizon the land stopped and water began, disappearing off into the far distance.

  “That’s the Inland Sea. We’re looking toward the west and the far shore isn’t quite visible from here. If I flew to the edge of the sea, then from this height we’d probably be able to see the far side. I just wanted to show you I haven’t forgotten about searching for your brother and I promise to take you soon. Alright?”

  Yletta felt that warm feeling inside. Her son truly loved her and wanted to assist her in her search, she was not alone. She had family now.

  “Thank you for showing me this son. I’ll happily wait until you’ve finished your work in Lynbrook before we go look for my brother. I sometimes wonder if I’ll like what I find.”

  “We never know these things Yletta. I wondered the same about you and look at us now.”

  Cringle swept down from the heavens, descending rapidly as he swung the carpet around the side of Farseer until the buildings of Lynbrook came into view.

  “The historians and old Mages will be excited to learn Farseer is a volcano,” he shouted back to Yletta, his words whipped away on the wind of their passage.

  It was a warm afternoon in Lynbrook when they finally came in to land, icicles still clinging to their cloaks.

  17. The Isle of Dreams

  There wasn’t much time to spare. Wiley Balfour was cleverly delaying his King at the locked gates to the keep but he couldn’t keep up the subterfuge for much longer. At a signal from Septican, Traginal lifted swiftly into the air, his now large wings pumping hard, glad of all the recent practice he’d had at flying. Vistala was only a slight young thing and Kristen wasn’t a large girl but he was still aware of their combined weight as he climbed into the sky. He turned his sinuous neck and looked down at the rapidly diminishing keep below, his home for the last two years. He could see the horses and riders, drawn up in ranks to the west of the gate, obviously come down the road he and Septicon had travelled a couple of years back when he was a broken little boy. That must be the Duke’s cavalry. To the east of the gate were a few mounted men and a company of infantry. The large ship tied up to a deep part of the shore in the little bay left no doubt that it was King Georgio and his men.

  Interesting.

  Traginal tore his gaze away and worked at keeping up with Zirca. She flew east over the Inland Sea, seeming not to notice the added burden of Septican and the Prince. None of the passengers had any time before they left to burden themselves with much in the way of spare clothes or food but what they had managed to grab would last at least a few days.

  The morning wore on and became afternoon. They’d been flying for about four hours now and Zirca was drawing further ahead. Traginal swivelled his neck and looked about. As far as he could see there was only blue water below, no land in sight. He felt somewhat tired now but he couldn’t rest, there was nowhere to do so. He started to gain height then glide for a while before flying up and gliding again. It helped. The short spells with his wings held out allowed a certain amount of recuperation in his weary flight muscles. Vistala was in his mind, trying to communicate with him and he felt her query. Yes he was tiring but no, he wasn’t ready to land in the water yet, that would be silly as he wouldn’t be able to fly out of it and they would all drown eventually. He had no choice but to keep going.

  The sun was going down behind them in the west and the sky ahead was dimming, dark at the horizon with lighter bands of blue above it and the pinks of a clear sunset. Traginal was bone weary now, his flight muscles felt like they were on fire and he didn’t know how much longer he could stay airborne and still all he could see was water. He began to worry. They couldn’t fly at night unless the moons were bright enough for them to see by, as drakon’s didn’t have night vision. It could result in them flying into the water and that could be fatal. As the last of the light was leaving the evening sky he saw lights ahead. Zirca lazily spiralled down and Traginal followed, gliding to once more give his weary muscles a rest. They descended lower and lower until Traginal spied an island in the gloom with a large building on a crag at one end. Cultivated fields spread in terraces down from its walls, dimly seen in the dying of the day. Traginal observed Septican urging Zirca to fly to the opposite end of the island from the buildings and it was with great relief that Traginal followed her in for a somewhat rough landing. The girls jumped down and immediately ran to find some bushes. It had been a long trip.

  Septicon left Zirca and strolled back to talk with Traginal, leaving the Prince standing beside the golden Queen. Kristen returned to join him while Vistala chose to quietly join the white bearded wizard who stood leaning on his staff. It went everywhere with him.

  “Well done Traginal. That was a long flight for a youngling and I hope you haven’t done yourself any damage. This is the Isle of Dreams, not marked on any maps. Some say it shifts about but then again, not many get away from it once they land.”

  Traginal was intrigued, his Grandfather knew so much about the world. Maybe because he read so much. The Isle of Dreams. It sounded a little ominous.

  “Is there a problem Grandfather?” he asked, reaching into Septicon’s mind.

  “I don’t know Traginal. There’s supposed to be a Brotherhood here on the island dedicated to Batheda. Legends say she was one of the Guardians.”

  “What’s a Guardian, Septicon?”

  Vistala, who was looking on, dearly wanted to follow the conversation but she knew Traginal would tell her about it later. She interrupted for a moment to let Septicon know she was going to prepare some food for them and left them to it. Septicon answered.

  “When the world was made and still very young, rumour has it there were ten Guardians created and left to care for it until the Elders and Man were ready to take it over. They had vast magical powers, believed quite varied. The Guardians were supposed to have died out but the followers of Batheda believe she is still here as the adherents of Dramad in Melintana believe he is still around.”

  Traginal took that on board and thought for a moment before his next question, something Septican had trained him to do.

  “What is her magic then?”

  “She was said to have the ability to induce dreams and visions. Permanently when she wished. Ships which have skirted the island talk of sailors having visions and diving overboard to swim to shore, never to be seen again. One way to attract followers I suppose.”

  Traginal smiled, exposing his needle sharp teeth. A fearsome sight in a drakon. He did
enjoy some of Septican’s sarcasm.

  “I’ll have to see how I feel in the morning but if I’m strong enough, we should leave as soon as possible. I sure Zirca will want to.”

  Septicon nodded his shaggy head in agreement.

  “I’ll go tell the others.”

  They made a sort of camp among a thicket of low growing trees. No fire, they didn’t want to attract attention. It was no real hardship as the only food they had available were those few items they’d managed to quickly grab from the kitchens at Balfour’s Keep, bread, cheese, cold meat and some apples, so they ate from whatever cold food was available. It wasn’t all bad. Luckily there was a spring nearby and although the water tasted of iron, it was drinkable. Traginal’s stomach rumbled when he smelled the food but it was no use, he would have to do without until he and Zirca could hunt. It was no ordeal for them, a drakon could go for weeks without eating if it had to. After the weary band had eaten they all turned in, curling up in their blankets. Vistala came and snuggled up between his front legs, which Traginal found endearing.

  Then it was morning. The drakons woke at first light but remained still, resting, until the others woke, one by one. A cold breakfast started the little group off and there was some discussion on what to do next and how long they would have to stay here on the island. All eyes turned to Traginal.

  “I don’t know how fit I am until I take a flight to see how my wings feel,” he communicated to Septicon and Vistala, who could hear him in their minds, “but the flight muscles are still very sore at the moment.”

  Prince Lermond and Kristen looked on. All they could see was Septican and Vistala standing in front of Traginal and nodding their heads to something but not a sound was heard.

  It was time to go. They left the cover of the trees and walked straight out into a half circle of men dressed in brown robes. One, whose robe was tied with a red sash, stepped forward to address them then stepped as quickly back again as Traginal appeared from under the trees, closely followed by the golden queen, Zirca. The robed men retreated to give themselves plenty of room before the leader stepped forward again from their midst.

  “I am Callan, chief among the followers of Batheda. Who are you and what are you doing on the Isle of Dreams?”

  Septicon, their spokesperson, went to the front of the little group and leaned on his staff as he spoke.

  “This is Prince Lermond of Melintana. His Uncle, the Regent, tried to kill him and failed. The girl there rescued him and they fled north. She met up with us and we healed the Prince but his Uncle came to find him and we had to flee.”

  “It is forbidden to set foot on the Isle of Dreams,” Callan intoned, completely ignoring Septicon’s explanation of their presence there. “Now that you have, you will become slaves of Batheda.”

  Callan raised his arm and there was a bright flash. Instantly, Septicon, Vistala, Prince Lermond and Kristen froze where they were. Traginal was about to react when he saw Septicon’s staff collapse to the ground and turn into a huge snake which speedily closed the distance to the leader of the monks and twined about the man’s body, pulling his arms inward. Callan gave a fearful cry and tried to rip the snake from himself but to no avail. The more he pulled, the tighter the coils wound themselves about him.

  Septicon shook his head and slowly came to his senses. Seeing what was occurring, he signalled Traginal to follow him. Advancing toward the half circle of monks with a drakon at his back caused them to fall back rapidly. An angry drakon is a terrifying spectacle and Traginal stood high, unfurled his wings for dramatic effect and trumpeted. Septican went to stand over Callan, who was now writhing on the ground.

  “Look closely Traginal and tell me what you see.”

  Traginal stared downward. He knew it was important, Septican’s tone of voice alerted him to a learning situation. It was well known that magic doesn’t work on drakons, nor gryffons and as Traginal stared, the snake wavered and disappeared. Callan was still trying to tear something off himself but there was nothing there. Traginal looked back to where they’d been and saw Septican’s staff lying on the ground where it had fallen. Septican chuckled.

  “I wove that little illusion spell into my staff years ago. It’s triggered if I ever succumb to magic. This man quieted our minds, all of us. Took away our will. It’s why I dropped the staff.” Septican looked up and raised his voice so it carried. “Keep an eye on these men. If anything happens to us or they try to run away, you have my permission to eat as many of them as you want.”

  The monks looked at each other fearfully. If their magic didn’t work on the drakon, they might end up being a meal for it. The risk was too great. They stood where they were. Meanwhile, Septican made a small motion with his hand and the large snake ceased to be. Callan stared down at his body then around him to try and locate the snake but it was nowhere to be seen. Septican addressed him.

  “Let’s start again. I’m Septican and this drakon is my grandson Traginal. The young girl over there is Vistala and that is Prince Lermond of Melintana standing with Kristen, the girl who rescued him. That wonderful golden drakon behind them is the queen, Zirca. Now, are you going to invite us for lunch or do these drakons have to start feeding on you all?”

  Callan looked from Septican to the drakons then to the other three humans which made up the group. Eventually he came to a decision.

  “Very well. Batheda will not be happy about this but you can follow us to the other end of the island where you can dine at our table with us.”

  Septican agreed, so the group retrieved their blankets and the bags containing their remaining food and set off after the monks. Traginal leapt into the air and swept his wings to gain height but his flight muscles were still quite sore so he landed quickly and followed Septican on foot.

  “It’ll be some days before I can carry Vistala and Kristen onward,” he informed his grandfather.

  “Don’t worry Traginal, I think we’ll be able to stay here for a few days without a problem.”

  It was almost lunchtime when they arrived at the building they’d seen from the air. It was a cross between a temple and a castle, with attributes of both. Traginal had seen pictures of castles and temples in some of Septicon’s books. He entered the courtyard and with Zirca and they found a place to lie and bask in the warm sunshine while the others went inside. As he lay half dozing, Traginal thought about Callan’s words. Batheda. A Guardian. Of what, he wondered?

  Inside, the large main hall was dim and cool, furnished with tables running lengthways. High overhead the rafters were visible holding up the timbers which supported the shingles of the roof. Septican’s gaze was drawn to the far end of the hall, opposite the door, where there was built something which resembled an altar of sorts. Lunch was served by an odd assortment of individuals, dressed in ragged robes which were definitely not of the quality the monks wore. This must be the slaves, those individuals unlucky enough to have stepped ashore or been lured to the island as they passed and not deemed worthy enough to join the ranks of the followers of Batheda. Some were quite young while others appeared gnarled and ancient. They all had one thing in common, they kept their heads lowered and got on with their work without conversing.

  The meal was quickly distributed but no one picked up their spoons to start eating. Septican and his group noticed this and they too left their food untouched. Callan rose to his feet and strode over to stand in front of the altar where he placed a bowl of victuals as an offering and stepped back. The whole room broke into a chant as the monks, heads bowed, gave thanks for the food before them and called on Batheda.

  A misty form began to materialise in the air above the altar and as they looked on it became more and more recognisable as a woman dressed in a diaphanous flowing gown. She towered over everyone, floating, her head almost reaching the rafters. Septicon was impressed. He’d never given much credence to temples and worship before and had little to do with them during his life but here was a real manifestation, not a magic conjuring. Batheda
herself.

  The apparition looked over the hall before pointing down at them.

  “What are those strangers doing at my table?” she demanded of Callan. “I feel they still have their own minds and they’re not worshipping me. I gave you the ability to control minds so all who come here will adore me, yet you allow them in here unaltered!”

  Callan bowed his head in contrition.

  “I’m sorry Batheda. We found them on the island this morning but that one with the long beard used magic on me before I could take his mind and then threatened us all with drakons.”

  “Drakons!” the apparition screeched. “Curse the day the Maker made drakons and gryffons immune to magic.” She pointed toward Septicon. “What do you want?”

  Septicon stood and bowed to Batheda before looking up.

  “Nothing Batheda. We want nothing from you or any on the island. We came here on drakon back from Boronia because our lives were threatened. Our drakons tired and we only landed so they could rest before we flew onward. I beg your forgiveness if I have offended you but it was land on your island or drown.”

  “Did you threaten my followers?”

  “No Batheda. I merely instructed the drakons to feed on them if anything untoward happened to us.”

  Batheda glared at Septican for a moment.

  “You must leave tomorrow. Fly due east until you come to a large mountain, on its far side there is a small town. Now heed this warning. On pain of death, you and your drakons shall never return to my island.”

  That was it. The apparition suddenly thinned to mist and dissipated rapidly. Callan turned to Septican as Batheda vanished.

  “You should be honoured, Batheda has never let anyone leave the island before now.”

  The relieved travellers gave a collective sigh of relief and tucked into their food in imitation of the monks at table. It was excellent fare. The bread that was placed within reach was fresh, not long out of the oven and they all ate heartily. Afterwards they went outside so Septican and Vistala could communicate with Traginal. The young, black drakon was very happy he wouldn’t have to eat anyone. Hungry as he was, he didn’t think he could consume a person. He felt Zirca in his mind. She laughed at his squeamishness and sent over her memory of the taste of man, most recently, Helmar. Traginal’s empty stomach rumbled.