The Prince of Earthen Fire

by B C Penling

  “Looks like Shan came and went already.” Barator’s deep voice sounded oddly small and alone in the large room. “Go ahead and put it on, see how it feels.” He released her arm and in a guiding motion sent her on her way.

  “You just missed him,” Zen said, yawning, handing the sword to Lana who wasted no time donning it.

  "It fits perfect!” Lana exclaimed excitedly. “Thank you, Barator.”

  He smiled at her, “Anything for you, Lana. I mean that. Just ask of it and I’ll do my best to accommodate your wishes.”

  “Thank you,” Lana replied, “for everything.”

  Caeda’s talons tugged at her pant leg and tunic as the little gragon took up her spot on Lana’s shoulder. Lana was grateful to feel her couple pounds of weight rest on left shoulder.

  “Well, supper is not yet ready,” Barator said after a moment’s pause. “We have yet to see the bluffs. What do you say, old friend, want to take Lana to the top of the kingdom?”

  “Old?” Zen said, mockingly affronted. “I’m not that much older than you.”

  Barator smirked, and then added sarcastically. “Almost twice as old, that’s not much older, you’re right. That’s much, much older.”

  Zen raised his brow and glared at him. “If you weren’t my friend I would’ve eaten you for that.”

  Barator chuckled and brought his hand to his mouth, letting loose a shrill whistle. Lana guessed that he was calling for Flaxen just like her brother Lonen called for his dog Sapphire.

  Lana scaled Zen’s hind leg and slid effortlessly into the saddle, strapping herself tightly. Zen waited for Flaxen to come before hurtling himself into the evening air. His wings caught the warm current and they glided effortlessly down to the large archway in the curtain wall that served as entry into Meridsani.

  Dusk was closing in and the mist around the forest edge was thickening. Below them the marketplace was closing up; the piquant smell of spices and roasted meat still lofted up from the busy street. Their proprietors were wrapping up their last sales and turning in for the evening. Ahead of them, beyond the bastions and curtain wall, there were people in the fields tending crops until the call for supper would come from their farmhouse.

  Zen landed on the outside of the city and waited for Barator and Flaxen, which wasn’t long. Lana couldn’t help but notice that Barator was seated on a saddle on Flaxen’s back, unlike before when he rode bareback. It wasn’t very large but it seemed practical enough. It had the appearance more like a harness than a saddle. From a collar around Flaxen’s neck came thick leather straps that crisscrossed between her shoulder blades and attached to a small oval seat with a healthy sized cantle. It rested just behind her shoulders and on the shoulder straps were two thick round leather handles. Around her barrel was a thick girth to anchor the seat in place. Crisscrossing between her front legs and fastening to the collar around her neck were two flat leather straps that prevented the girth from slipping back onto her stomach. From the small seat hung thick flat leather straps that held iron stirrups large enough for Barator’s feet.

  "Shall we be off then?" Barator asked.

  "Always ready," Zen replied.

  "Yes, I should know that by now," Barator chaffed. He grabbed the handles on the shoulder straps and Flaxen took it as the cue to run. She bolted away suddenly; Barator was crouched low on her back. She accelerated to an alarmingly swift pace, dust stirring in a fury behind her, and sped toward the forest. The more Barator crouched, the faster her paws moved. At the forest edge Barator leaned sharply to the right and Flaxen yielded. She ran parallel to the forest along a dirt road. Zen and Lana joined them from the air.

  They passed many farmhouses that were outside the city's protective stone curtain wall and many farmers with their diredogs outside working toward feeding the city. It was a beautiful land; a lush oasis north of the Gour Desert. Unseen birds, and likely mards, sang and twittered in the dense foliage of the rainforest as they coursed its border. The air was fresh, purifying and crisp. The beauty of the tall trees and fullness of the ferns was unsurpassed by anything Lana had ever seen. She could see herself living there, belonging there, thanks to Barator’s kind offer.

  They came to a small path at the base of a large rock face which wound its way up and around the back. That was the beginning of the trail that would take them to the tabletop summit of Creau Plateau. Flaxen began to ascend the steep grade effortlessly, slowing not. The path was carved from the side of the crag and had been wide enough for Zen until about halfway to the top, had he decided to walk it.

  Zen rose above the plateau and glided in a semicircle until he face sunwake and landed. Flaxen and Barator were soon at their sides and they all took in the sight below. Far sunwake was a sea of green, the forest that spanned until blending with the mountains’ foothills and eventually disappearing altogether as they were replaced by rocks and snow in the highest elevations. Drynol, the cactus garden with its sea of golden sand, blushed red in Sunrest’s light. The quagmire glistened benignly in its course to the forest where it stunted trees and created a dip in the forest's canopy. Meridsani’s white stone walls shone a dull, eerie red as if reminiscing of battles in the olden days. Lights were beginning to flicker to life in the farmhouses that dotted the fields in the shadow of the plateau and smoke from cooking fires issued from the chimneys. North of the farm fields was the continuation of the rainforest and beyond that, the ocean. It was glistening brightly in the early evening light; the shape of a small town was barely visible alongside its beach. Beyond that was a long bluff that stretched onward and grew inland to become apart of the towering mountains of the Twin Peaks range.

  “Quite the view, is it not?” Barator asked proudly. “Meridsani is the cleanest, most beautiful human habitation in all of Ancienta, and possibly all of Dagan, if you ask me.”

  Barator talked about the history of how his kingdom had come to be and how the area had rich soil from the volcano that had exploded well before his ancestors had settled there. He spoke with the same compassion and sincerity he had when he spoke of the creatures in the rainforest.

  “Where my castle sits now was the center of the volcano. Goursen, it was called, which is how this land received its name. When it exploded, the mere force of it made part of Ancienta fall to the depths of the ocean, or so legend says. Where land once was, my port sits now, afloat upon the protected waters of the bay. This history, of course, was written by the elves, dragons and wyverns. Through their memoirs, stories and written records, my human ancesters knew what happened before they settled here."

  “And you cannot forget the small fact that the Elves of Fire used to reside in the caldera of Goursen and farmed their cacti in the ashes and arid heat,” Lana chimed in.

  “Yes!” Barator agreed. “Rumor has it they were incinerated by the blast.”

  “But no one knows for sure,” Lana added with a mysterious air.

  The twilight deepened as Sunrest crept below the horizon. Meridsani was cast in the plateau’s shadow. Twin Peaks’ snowcaps were like beacons in the waning light.

  “Well, it’s almost time for supper, “Barator said. I wonder what the chefs have waiting for us this evening.”

  “Meet you down there,” Zen said and leapt from the crag as Barator and Flaxen began their descent to the fields. The updraft around the crag was sturdy from the heat within the earth below and he could easily gain altitude by stretching his wing membranes taut.

  Barator and Flaxen were nearly a third of the way down the narrow path when Zen wheeled south to give Lana a flight over the rainforest. He swooped down to treetop level, speeding up as he dove. His body was streamline as he swerved around stray trees and did figure eights. Lana's loose hair whipped around her as the air rushed over her face. The saddle made it easy to stay seated and being securely fastened in with the leather straps, she didn’t worry about the stunts he was doing.

  He dropped his tail, tightened his wings and shot skyward. When he stalled high above the rainforest
he twisted and manipulated his wings around him. Lana watched Zen's body curve against the purple sky as he turned around to return to Barator and Flaxen. Zen tucked his wings and nosed down, sending them plummeting toward the dark emerald canopy.

  Zen's wings unfurled thirty feet from the treetops as he redirected their downward momentum. The sudden snap of his wings startled a flock of white birds that took flight from a tall tree. Lana was pushed heavily into the saddle as Zen drew himself level once more; inches over the leaves and branches they rushed along. Lana loved every moment. Suddenly, he growled loudly. She felt it reverberate through her and thought, at that moment, he was growling from the thrill. They had never flown together like that before and it was invigorating; every fiber of her body tingled with an excitement that made her want to shout to release it.

  They quickly approached the abrupt ending of the rainforest and rocketed over the farm fields. Zen gained altitude and roared angrily; long and loud and urgent.

  “Zen, what is it?” Lana cried over the force of the wind.

  “Warisai!” Zen yelled.

  Lana’s throat swelled with a panicked worry. How did they find me?

  Zen roared again, louder. “Get to the city!” He commanded the denizens of Meridsani to take refugee within the wall but no one seemed too concerned. “Or just stand there and die,” Zen grumbled impatiently.

  Die… They followed me. If people DIE here, it’ll be my fault. Lana thought, grimly.

  It’s not all your fault, Lana, Caeda’s voice chimed in strongly. They would’ve made it here soon anyways. Nowhere is safe. Remember the meeting Prince Barator was coming back from?

  I remember. It’s not coincidental that they’re here, I don’t think. They had to have followed me here.

  He continued raising the alarm but the people appeared skeptical, watching him circle the fields.

  “Are they stupid?” Zen asked over his shoulder. He huffed with annoyance and wheeled around to swoop low over the wall protecting Meridsani. “To your posts!” he yelled. “Rouse the Guard!” But even they were slow, noncompliant, in disbelief.

  Zen rolled his eyes. Their naivety would be their death.

  “Zen!” Lana cried. “Get Barator! They’ll listen to him!”

  Zen immediately swung his tail around, banking sharply in the direction the Creau Plateau’s path. He flew fervently, each beat of his wings were with desperate meaning. His eyes, once beautiful amber, were aflame and burning like a wildfire. Anger brewed from deep within him. He was ready for a fight. He was ready to avenge Mailaea.

  “Zen!” Flaxen called as they flew past. “Catch us!”

  He circled around and flew parallel with the crag. Before reaching them, Flaxen hurled herself off the ledge and into air, fully trusting him to catch them. Barator clung tightly to the saddle’s leather handles as they dropped.

  Zen tucked his wings and carefully grabbed Flaxen around her midsection.

  “Good catch, my friend!” Barator exclaimed. “How many did you see?”

  “Enough to know they’re not here to say a friendly hello,” Zen replied. He flapped his wings to keep aloft with the added weight. “I smelled a lot more than I saw.”

  “I smell them now, too!” Flaxen growled aloud, hair bristling in agitation.

  A man stumbled from the tree line. He was limping noticeably, barely capable of holding himself up, and was bleeding profusely from many wounds.

  “Zen!” Lana cried. “We have to help him!”

  “Put us down, Zen,” Barator said. “Get him and we’ll meet you by the gates.”

  Zen swooped down to the road and flared his wings. He brought his hind legs down on the ground, his talons digging deep into the earth, and he set Flaxen down. She bolted without hesitating and Zen, too, kicked off and with a powerful flap was airborne again and winging to the wounded man.

  The family in the closest farmhouse was making their way to the man but Zen yelled at them to take arms and make for the castle. They listened, finally, and Zen reached the injured man.

  Zen landed fast. He skidded to a stop with his wings still spread, his bulk towering over the soldier’s weak form, and turned tail on the forest in one graceful move. He was airborne after gingerly picking him up with both hands and flew to Meridsani.

  Bells tolled in the city. Bells that hadn’t sang since the Fae Wars. Meridsani had to fight.

  Diredogs filtered from the city walls in all directions. Their mission was to carry people to safety. Women and children fled their houses that dotted the fields carrying what few belongings they could grab quickly. They were met by their protectors, guardians, loyal friends.

  Soldiers mounted their diredogs, armed to the teeth, and began patrolling in small units until all the men, women and children from the farms were safe within Meridsani’s wall.

  Zen landed outside the gates and men rushed to help transport the injured man to the infirmary. With a closer look, Zen saw lacerations on his torso; just like Mailaea. Within him the fire churned dangerously. He clenched his teeth, lip quivering in loathing, smoke snaking from his nostrils.

  Blood streamed steadily from a wound somewhere beneath his black hair and covered half his face. An arrow, its shaft splintered, protruded from his thigh a few inches.

  “Gregor! How many were there?” a soldier asked.

  “Too many,” the injured man gasped. “Too many to count. They let me go,” he continued agonizingly, “to scare everyone.”

  “Where’s the rest of the patrol?” the soldier asked, hesitantly.

  “Dead. All dead,” Gregor groaned. “They killed my dire.”

  Soldiers came with a cot and placed it on the ground. Zen carefully put Gregor on it, trying his best not to hurt the injured man further. Gregor moaned his appreciation for the dragon and was promptly carried off by four men, one on each corner of the cot.

  Zen took a deep breath and turned to face the forest. He stood rigidly, drawn up to full height, tail straight out behind him and twitching angrily. His wings were open intimidatingly. Smoke streamed from his nostrils and lofted away in the breeze. He was ready for a fight.

  Barator and Flaxen soon arrived at his side, embellished in armor. Barator wore a black chain mail coif with a tunic that stopped just above his knees. His chest and back had a covering of plate armor; over each breast was a gold diredog similar to the one in the Valda Family Crest. A long sword, with rubies inlayed in its alvenite hilt, hung at Barator's side. In his right hand he held his staff. In Lana’s eyes, he finally looked like royalty and it suited him well.

  Flaxen wore armor too. Black chain mail covered her from neck to tail and back to paw. Only a small space was open to accommodate Barator’s saddle. On her head was a helm that covered her skull and ran the length of her nose, leaving her jaw free to bite her enemies. It had two thick spikes out the top to help protect her ears. Layers of plate covered her chest and ribs and on the top of her paws were large, steel talons that were fastened by strips of leather that ran beneath her toes.

  "Where were they?" he asked.

  "About ten hundred yards from the forests edge when I spied them through a gap in the canopy." Zen said quietly.

  "Do you think they followed you?"

  Zen nodded.

  “How? The desert isn’t easy to navigate,” Barator said.

  “I’m not sure,” Zen said loathingly. “But clearly they need to be stopped. At all costs, they need to fail tonight.”

  CHAPTER 9

  SAIA’S STORY

  The first sun was high in the sky and beat down on the particularly arid region of the desert where the sparse grasses had dried very early that year. They yellowed many months ago, shortly after novelyear’s beginning that prompted the desert’s brief but glorious bloom. The grasses that had mostly survived the pummeling wind and sandstorms throughout summer were now swaying stiffly in the breeze. Many of their tops were snapped off, their seeds long since scattered and awaiting their time of glory when novelyear began on
ce more. The dry valley was surrounded by mountains sunwake and sunrest and sandy hills to the north and south. It was an unforgiving environment and was called home by only a few types of creatures that dared brave the once-upon-a-time wetland environment.

  Dwarfed by little water, small shrubs provided slight relief for the small beasts that managed to survive in the inhospitable region. Unseen cicadae droned off-key amongst the famished grasses and shrubs. She watched many lizards, all of them white with tan spots, scurry about; snapping at the insects that housed themselves amongst the meager leaves of the vegetation. They obtained their water by ingesting juicy insects which, in turn, fed upon dead reptiles. It was a vicious cycle that was necessary in such a habitat.

  A particularly large lizard began moving towards her. She was seated beside a lonely boulder, catching what little relief she could from the sliver of shade it provided. It was obvious that the lizard sought relief from the sun, too. She eyed it hungrily. She had not eaten for a couple of days and, although the lizard was not a large meal, it was better than going without. It was a mere three feet from the boulder when it startled suddenly and darted away. It didn’t make it far before the talons of a mighty desert eagle grabbed it in a swift swoosh of silvery feathers. The lizard’s tail whipped around wildly as it tried to escape. Its fight was in vain as the eagle took its prey to its favorite perch. She watched its twelve-foot wingspan slowly shrink until it became nothing more than a speck in a sea of blue. As majestic as it was, she loathed it, for she was still hungry and it had robbed her of an easy meal.

  Her ears twitched with agitation. She disliked where she was; in the middle of the desert, beneath the unforgiving rays of the suns, and at the mercy of the relentless heat of the sand. Although she wasn’t fond of the desert, she didn’t mind the solitude. The city she was born in, she grew to detest over the past years after her odd change. She was born a seemingly normal human; cute, small, and hairless, save for a thin fuzz of black hair on her head. After she reached adolescence, she began to change more drastically than every other child. First, her ears became pointy on the tip, which was easy to hide with her hair. But, as they began to migrate higher on her head, they became noticeable without any covering. Her ears caused her a great deal of distress but it was trumped the following year when her body decided to grow a healthy layer of fur. Her pelt was that of the finest-bred feline, yet more smooth like a mink. It was the color of the sand, a soft orange, and was accented with white around her face, arms, legs, and stomach. Thick black stripes spanned from side to side on her back, arms, and thighs. Townsfolk stared no matter how many times they saw her and were a great source of every day annoyance.