Age of Valor: Awakening

by D. E. Morris

It was small, as far as keeps went. The foyer was grand in attempt to convey greatness, but further exploration showed many of the other rooms, the throne room included, were smaller and less impressive. As Cavalon suggested, looters had already come this way. What they hadn’t counted on was finding a room full of weapons and treasures. Someone was using this old castle for their own private storage.

  There were footprints in the thick layers of dust ranging from fairly recent, to old and layered with new dust. Someone had left behind a mace in one of the halls that Cavalon grabbed and lashed to his belt. Well aware of the fact that they might not be the only ones inside the ruins, he kept his sword in hand and went before the other two, letting them light the way into any darkened room.

  “We should see if anyone is in the tower,” Jessiah suggested. His voice was just above a whisper; anything else seemed too loud to all of them.

  Cavalon had come to peace with his inability to trust anyone on sight after the previous night. Badru had convinced him that Jessiah’s questions had been innocent, and he had no suspicions of the young man. So, while Cavalon did not warm up to Jessiah completely, he tried to treat him as more of an equal companion than an unwanted sore on his backside.

  He nodded to the younger man, letting him pull the door to the spire open so Cavalon could duck inside quickly to defend against anyone they might find. What greeted them was the stench of death, thick and so heavy that he had to back out. He coughed, trying not to be sick. “I don’t think anyone’s up there,” he managed after a moment.

  “Something had to have died fairly recently.” Jessiah had an arm over his mouth and nose. He closed the door quickly and turned his head to take in a deep breath of clean air. “And in this heat...I don’t want to know what it used to be.”

  “Or who.”

  The two men looked at Badru. He was staring at the door with a grave expression. “It very well may not have been an animal.”

  “Come on.” Cavalon straightened and sheathed his sword. “I’d rather sleep outside again than stay here.”

  Badru handed his torch to Cavalon so he had free hands to untie his cloak. “I will go up,” he said before tying the cloak behind his neck, making sure to cover his nose and mouth.

  “Why?” Cavalon asked, handing the torch back. “Anything of use up there is going to carry the stench, and we don’t want to lug that around wherever we go.”

  “Go outside if you wish,” replied Badru from beneath his cloak. “I need to see what is up there.” He turned to Jessiah and gave a nod. The younger man sucked in a quick breath to hold, then yanked the door open. “Leave it,” said Badru as he passed, seeing Jessiah eager to close the door behind him. “It needs to air out.”

  Cavalon sighed and walked away, going to one of the open spots in the wall to lean out and breathe in the fresh night air. Something about the tower made him uneasy and he wasn’t willing to leave Badru in there alone. If that meant he had to suffer the putrid scent now filling the inner chamber, so be it.

  The tower itself had a wide set staircase that curved and led off into smaller chambers every now and then. For the first few feet there was nothing to see. Badru peeked into the first room he came to and found it completely empty. It was the same for the second and third rooms he found. After these, the stairs began showing signs of clutter from old bones. They were small, obviously belonging to birds or rats. Yet the higher Badru climbed, the larger the bones began to get. It was with a sickening lurch to his stomach that he realized one set of bones belonged to that of a very small dragon.

  He crouched on the stairs to investigate further. The way the joints were formed and the breaks in between where muscle and tissue would have been told it was a Gael, and not just a feral dragon that had passed there. Badru reached to touch the skull and it crumbled like dust at the slightest pressure. He proceeded with trepidation only to discover the first skeleton was not the only one he would find.

  The stench was harder to bear the closer he got to the top and several times he had to stop to cough and spit the bile from his mouth. There were no open windows in this tower, as though it had been built with these rooms to be purposefully blocked off from the outside, neither were there outlines of where windows might have been before, just simple solid walls in every room.

  Anxiety suddenly gripped Badru so fiercely that he had to stand still in the stairwell, close his eyes and get his thoughts in order. There was another door open to him just a few more steps up. He didn’t know why, but Badru had the deep understanding that this was the last place Nealie had been. It was the last place many Gaels had been just by the number of skeletons and discarded bones alone. This tower was built for death and it had taken its fair share.

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...” Badru wiped the sweat from his brow and made his legs move. He entered the next room and stood, stunned, for a long moment. There was a pit in the middle of the floor, one that was deep and led to another room far below that he hadn’t taken a close enough look into. Chains hung down inside of it, reaching into the darkness. Caught in them were the bones of a human, tangled and distorted as though they had been trying to shift but died before the transformation was complete. Dark brown stains spotted the floor, claw marks dug into the walls in deep cuts and random gashes. Broken chains, scattered bones, torn and discarded clothing and weaponry lay everywhere, and at the far end of the small room was a closed wooden door.

  Badru stared at the door and whispered, “I will fear no evil.” He started forward, still whispering to himself, “For thou art with me...I will fear no evil.” He grasped the handle and pulled.

  Far below, Jessiah kept glancing nervously at the open door. Every now and then he would lower his arm, and this time when he did, he took a fairly deep breath. “I think it’s evened out. Not great air, but it doesn’t make me want to vomit anymore.”

  “I’ll take it,” answered Cavalon. He turned around, leaning against the side of the hole to look at the younger man. “Why are you so nervous all of the sudden?”

  Jessiah raised his brows. “You’re not? He’s been up there a long time.”

  “It’s a tall tower.” Cavalon shrugged and unlashed his new mace to give it a closer inspection. “Badru has this thing about death. I can’t really explain it or understand it myself. He just takes every death seriously. Doesn’t matter if it's friend or foe.”

  “He’s a spiritual man, then. No fault in that.”

  “Not unless you take holding us up like this as a fault.” Cavalon stepped away from the wall, well away from Jessiah, and gave the mace a swing to test it out. His smile was rather telling. “This will rip a man’s face clear off his skull.”

  Jessiah smirked. “You approve then?”

  “Very much so.”

  The distinct sound of voices came up to them from the staircase leading to the ground level. Jessiah moved to stand beside Cavalon and drew the bow from his back, quickly nocking an arrow. The language they heard was harsh and old, nearly unrecognizable to either man. Jessiah glanced at Cavalon. “Who do you think they are?”

  “We’re about the find out.”

  A small group of men, at least eight or nine, came up through the stairway and stopped at the sight of the two intruders. Their clothing was far from expensive, but it was not so well worn that they looked like vagabonds. “What are you doing here?” demanded one of the men, his Ibayish accent so thick it was almost impossible to understand. ”This is our castle.”

  Cavalon gripped his mace. “Looks to me like this is no one’s castle.”

  “Get out.” It was a quiet demand, one that had the men pulling out their own weapons. “I will give you the courtesy of letting you go before the rest of my men show up.”

  With a snort, Cavalon relaxed a bit. “Don’t try to bluff me.”

  The man near the front who’d done all the talking so far barked out an order in the unfamiliar language. One of the men took off back down the stairs and Jessiah�
��s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s bluffing.”

  “Trust me, kid. It’s the oldest trick in the...”

  Outside, the night became filled with the sound of beating wings. Every hole that was blown into the old keep was filled as dragons perched on the broken stone. They were varied in size, shape, and color, but all hissed and spat at the two that did not belong there. Cavalon cursed.

  “You see,” said the leader of the group, “it was no bluff.”

  “Listen, we’re not looking for a fight.” Cavalon dropped the mace to the floor beside him in an effort to show he was telling the truth and raised his hands. “I know you guys. You’re the Gaels nobody trusts and nobody wants around. You’ve been alive for generations taking rejection after rejection. I know how it feels.” His lifted hands started to shift as pearly white scales ran down his arm from his fingers like falling water. “I’m just like you.”

  The man smiled and shook his head. “No, my friend. You are not like us. And I did warn you.”

  “Yeah,” Cavalon sighed. “You did.” He bent to pick up the mace. “Well...it’s been awhile since I’ve had a good fight.”

  Jessiah spared Cavalon a glance that suggested the other man was crazy but the leader of the feral Gaels only smiled and gave an elaborate bow. “Well then, we should not keep you waiting any longer.”

  There was no more preamble; the walls came alive as dragons came pouring in to attack. The men on the castle floor charged with avidity, leaving Cavalon and Jessiah to scramble for better position. Being smaller than Cavalon, Jessiah was quicker to get out of the way. He ran toward the wall with the least amount of damage to it and kept his back to the stone, firing arrows as quick as he could nock them. His eyes were mainly above him since there were far more dragons than men. Every now and then he would have to swing his bow like a club if one of his attackers got too close. He used an arrow as a dagger when one of the men approached him, then pulled it out to nock it and send it into the underbelly of a Gael.

  Claws snatched at his weapon, sharp talons and teeth left him with scratches that leaked blood. He was slowly being outnumbered. Soon, unless a miracle happened, he would be overtaken and eaten alive.

  Cavalon was also taking damage, his bare arms slick with his own blood and that of those he was hitting with his mace. His theory about its potential was right, though he was only slightly better off than Jessiah. The younger man had more teeth snapping at him than Cavalon did. He saw the bow snatched away and splintered like a dry twig. “Kid!” he yelled. As soon as Jessiah looked up, Cavalon tossed his sword to him.

  Not being against anything solid left him too open and a sharp spiked tail slammed into Cavalon’s back and sent him flying. He hit the far wall hard enough to shake loose some of the stones that had just been sitting in the cracks since the original attack. They rained down on him without forgiveness. One large rock hit the Badarian in the face as he tried to stand, knocking him out and sending him into a crumpled heap on the ground.

  “Badru!” yelled Jessiah. He held the borrowed sword in both hands, flailing wildly and somehow keeping himself alive. Slowly, very slowly, he was inching himself toward the spot where Cavalon lay half buried under rocks. “Cavalon, wake up!”

  Claws slashed through the air leaving long gashes across Jessiah’s cheek. “No,” he whimpered to himself. “I can’t die now. It’s not fair!”

  Everyone knew something was wrong the moment the floor began to shake beneath them.

  Gaels, their cries filled with anger and hatred just moments before, now called a warning to one another. The men still left standing shifted into their dragon forms seamlessly and joined their kin as they made for any available exit. Jessiah fell to the floor in relief, though it was short lived. His hands shook and his legs were unstable as he tried to stand. The entire castle was now moving as though it was sitting on an active fault line.

  “Cavalon!” The Badarian was not moving and red stained the entire back panel of his tunic from a wound deep enough to bring him close to death. Jessiah cursed and heaved himself to his feet, running unsteadily to the rubble and trying to pull Cavalon free. The weight being lifted from him seemed to bring the older man around. Cavalon opened his eyes and moaned. “Get up!” Jessiah commanded. He wrapped his hands around one of Cavalon’s biceps and tugged. “The castle’s going to fall in on us.”

  With help, Cavalon got to his feet, leaning heavily on Jessiah for support. “My mace.” He grabbed his new favorite weapon and headed down the main staircase at a sluggish jog.

  By the time they reached the outside, entire sections of the ruins had fallen in. The two men were barely far enough away to avoid being crushed when the main entrance fell apart. Cavalon threw himself to the ground, his breathing ragged. Jessiah, however, was looking up into the dark night sky.

  The single surviving turret was alive with fire. At first look it was like a funeral pyre. A second appraisal showed large fiery wings being unfurled, a thick neck and giant maw opening and spewing flames as though trying to burn the stars themselves. It was Badru. He was the one shaking the castle with his quick and violent transformation. It was he who had scared their enemies away just in time.

  “Cavalon,” Jessiah said, his voice quiet with reverence. “Look.” When the other man did not answer, Jessiah tore his gaze away from the angry dragon high above. Cavalon was not moving. “Cavalon!” Jessiah rolled him over so he was face up, but no movement of his own was made. “Cavalon, wake up!” He shook the bigger man, hopeful at seeing his eyes flutter. “You have to shift and heal yourself!” Cavalon’s eyes rolled back in his head.

  Badru took to the sky, trumpeting his rage so loudly that Jessiah cowered and covered his ears. Cavalon’s eyes opened sluggishly. Seizing the opportunity, Jessiah grabbed him by the collar of his tunic and yelled,” Shift before you die!”

  Mustering every ounce of strength he could, Cavalon shoved Jessiah aside. It felt as though his lower half was submerged in ice. Though he could process and understand Jessiah’s words, he didn’t know if he had it in him to make the transformation. He would die, as Jessiah said, if he didn’t shift. For a moment there was blissful peace in that knowledge. No more fighting, no more pain, heartache, sickness. His element would pass on to his only living child, a man who looked older than Cavalon, so there was no worry there. It was the thought of never seeing Nuala or Lucien again that made Cavalon fight. He needed to shift. He needed to live.

  Above them, the great fire dragon was tearing the tower apart with his massive talons. Stones, huge sections of the rounded walls were being thrown down without care. Jessiah watched the fury with which Badru moved like someone unable to look away from a tragic accident.

  Behind him, Cavalon bellowed in agony, making himself concentrate as the shifting process began. Because he was injured and so weak, the transformation was slow and added to his pain. A section of the wall pounded into the ground beside him, but he spared it no attention. neither did he acknowledge Jessiah’s fearful yelp as the younger man jumped to his feet and ran to avoid being hit by a large rock.

  As Cavalon’s limbs covered themselves in pearly scales, his fingers turned into sharp talons. He grew in size as his face warped and extended into a long white maw with jagged teeth. His bellow became a trumpeting cry to match Badru’s.

  “Sweet Brigid,” Jessiah muttered, running for cover from the falling debris as well as the terrible gust of wind Cavalon was raising as he pumped his now fully-formed wings. “What have I gotten myself into?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The castle ruins burned brightly well into the early morning hours. Badru was back in his human form but not speaking. Jessiah sat mutely beside him, sometimes watching the fire burn, occasionally watching Cavalon as he flew across the sky, other times nodding off. He’d asked Badru what happened, but one look from the older man had him silent.

  When Cavalon finally landed, the change back into human from dragon came much easier than his earlier transfor
mation. He looked exhausted, yet whole. “Badru,” he said almost immediately. “What was that all about? You could have killed us!”

  “Almost did,” Jessiah added quietly. When Badru didn't answer or even acknowledge the other two, Jessiah looked up at Cavalon. “He hasn’t said a thing since he landed.”

  “What happened up there?” the Badarian barked. He moved to stand in front of Badru, giving the other man nowhere else to look, except now Badru simply looked right through him. Cavalon grabbed him by this tunic and heaved him to his feet. “What happened?”

  Surprising everyone, Badru shoved Cavalon away so roughly that Cavalon returned with a fist to Badru’s face. The next instant, the men were rolling on the ground fighting with Jessiah trying to break them apart without risking injury to himself. “Oi!” he yelled loudly, picking up a good sized rock and heaving it at the two. “Stop it, you pair of squabbling dogs! We’ve had enough fighting for this night!”

  The rock bounced off of them but it succeeded in pulling Cavalon’s attention away from the tussle. He glared at Jessiah but turned back to Badru to find the other man in tears. It made Cavalon’s stomach drop. “Badru.” He took his friend by the shoulders. “What did you see up there?”

  “So much pain,” he whispered, his eyes squeezed shut. “She died in so much pain.”

  “Who?” Cavalon demanded. “Nealie? Did she die in that tower?” All Badru could do was nod, crying openly. Cavalon embraced him, his jaw set and his golden eyes angry. There was nothing he could say and nothing anyone could do.

  ~*~*~*~

  They slept heavily for the remaining hours before the sun broke over the horizon. Cavalon was the first awake, sleepy eyes taking in the way Badru slept curled into the fetal position. It was like he was protecting himself and it was uncharacteristic of him. Jessiah, on the other hand, was spread-eagle with drool running out the side of his mouth. As Cavalon stretched, he felt the muscles and the tissue in his back protest. That was going to take a good few hours in his draconic form to heal properly and was going to bother him for awhile.