Dragons Unremembered

by David A Wimsett

  He reached a door and knocked. Orane’s voice said, “Enter.”

  The chief Kyar looked up from a set of papers. The flicker of a fire in the hearth shone off his balding pate. He laid the papers on his lap and smiled. “Highness, what a pleasant surprise. Come in. Have some kan.”

  Kan was a spicy, invigorating drink brewed from ground herikan root. Orane grated some into two mugs and added water from a kettle that hung by a hook of the hearth. He handed a mug to the prince.

  Ryckair took a sip, enjoying the refreshing flavor. “Thank you, Master Orane. I thought I might be able to work on that passage from the Kura Kar before supper.”

  “Epic poems before meals? I’m not sure how that will affect your digestion. Besides, why spend time on that old sonnet? It’s been a part of popular folklore since Avar’s time.”

  “I’ve been working with several Kyar to translate a newly discovered version I found in a small book that was hidden inside a cut out cavity of a larger volume. It gives a very different account of a meeting in a north continent forest between King Gotenag and his enemies.”

  Ryckair and Orane sipped their kan and talked of the day’s events. The prince described the duel he had just won and how he hoped it would end Craya’s taunting.

  “He would have won in a real fight,” said Ryckair. “He’s better than I am. I felt guilty, like I had taken something away from him. He wasn’t just angry, he was hurt. I could tell. You probably think that sounds foolish.”

  “Not at all, Highness.”

  Ryckair gazed into the fire. “We used to be close, Master. We always wanted to go everywhere together.”

  “I recall.”

  “Do you remember when Baron Dek brought us little statues of mounted riders?”

  “They were made of silver, weren’t they?”

  “Yes. My horse had a ruby on its forehead and Craya’s had a sapphire. We were just nine. I polished that statue every night and imagined riding off in search of adventures.

  “I had an archery lesson one day and Craya got both statues out. He dropped mine and knocked the rider’s head off. When I came back he said, ‘Ryckair, if I did something terrible, something really awful, would you still love me?’

  “I answered, ‘Of course.’ He said ‘Forever?’ and I said, ‘Yes, forever and ever.’ Then he held up my statue.

  “All I wanted to do in that moment was hit him. I remember clenching my fist. He waited for me to strike and I saw how afraid he was that I hated him. The anger made me shake, but I couldn’t hurt him. I said it didn’t matter and went outside. No one was in the stables. I pounded my fist against a hay bale and shouted.” Ryckair chuckled. “ It scared the horses.”

  “And did the win today ease the anger?”

  “I hate it when he humiliates me in front of the officers and I really wanted to win, but it felt so empty when he looked at me with such loathing in his eyes, like I didn’t have a brother anymore.”

  “Are you certain it’s hate and not avarice for the crown?”

  The fire hissed and popped. Ryckair closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair. “Never a crown can split apart, to sit upon two heads. The victor needs hide a smile, and other the tears not shed.”

  “So, you read Feena after all.”

  “His poems always seemed like nonsense before. Now they’re too clear.”

  “What of you, Highness? Do you not desire the crown?”

  Ryckair stood and starred into the flames. “I’ve been afraid to speak of this, Master; but, it’s eating at me. Craya is better suited to be king. He’s a better soldier and a better commander. I don’t deserve to wear the crown.”

  He expected Orane to lecture him on duty and the foolishness of his fears. Instead, the Kyar poured more kan. “The crown is a terrible weight, yet, the key will choose who is fit to rule. Nothing can change that.”

  “It may sound cruel, but I never missed my parents when I young. Mistress Telasec was like a mother and you a father. Now, it’s as though something’s gone. I think about my parents at night, especially my father. It’s like I have a hole in me, right in my chest. Craya is the only family I have left. Now, I’m losing him.”

  Craya paced across the plush rug in his private audience hall. His anger had cooled enough for him to think seriously of revenge. He called out, "Ackella."

  A tall, blond Carandir lieutenant entered the room and bowed. Craya said, “Sit down, Lieutenant. Take some refreshment."

  Ackella reclined on a divan and filled a golden goblet with wine. "How may I serve your Highness?"

  "Where is my brother?”

  Ackella wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “He is with Orane, Highness.”

  "The Kyar." Craya picked up a lesson book and slapped it rhythmically against his palm. Then, he threw it across the room. “Books are for fools, Ackella. Remember that. What about Yetig?”

  “He examines reports of attacks in the swamplands.”

  Craya clasped his hands behind his back. “How could he humiliate me in front of the officers like that?” The prince thought of the years he had spent studying Yetig’s drills, reading his papers, even emulating his commanding walk. Craya stared out a window to the parade ground where a company of Carandir troops drilled with pole arms. “Ackella, who do you serve, Yetig or me."

  "I serve your Highness. The navarch I placate."

  Craya gave a short chuckle. "As I have known well over the last year. You are my eyes and ears in the palace. Ryckair has stepped too far. I want you to watch his movements constantly. Report everything he does, everywhere he goes, and everyone he talks to.”

  Ackella nodded his head. "I am your servant, Highness. "

  Etera sat in his suite of rooms in the north tower of the palace. The floor was covered with rugs. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes hung from the walls. Shutters were open on a window that overlooked the Bay of Hasp.

  Four others sat with him, Barons Gilyon, Refran, Womb and Baroness Luja. All original houses. Etera looked around the room, “Two more years and we will know who is king.”

  “If Prince Craya becomes king,” said Luja, “It would take just a little flattery to turn him to our cause.”

  Gilyon nodded his head. “Vanity and pride has always been his weaknesses.”

  “What of Baron Dek’s daughter?” said Luja. “She will try to influence her future husband into keeping the new nobility. She will share his bed.”

  Etera raised a wine glass from a table. “I met her as a girl. She was more interested in clothes and horses. It will not be difficult to distract and control her.”

  Refran stroked his beard. “I agree we could influence Prince Craya, but what if the key accepts Prince Ryckair”

  Gilyon chuckled. “Does anyone here still believe that legend?”

  Etera said, “It is not a legend. I have seen it. Only the first born will be able to hold the key.”

  The room was silent for a moment. A hot breeze blew in through the window. Luja said, “Then how do we turn Ryckair to our cause. What does he want?”

  Gilyon poured more wine for himself. “To be a Kyar, it would seem. The boy’s certainly no good with people and he has no confidence. He practically denied his win today. Could we offer him a monastic life if he abdicates in favor of Craya?”

  Refran gave a sigh. “It would be risky. Once he tastes power he might like it. As well, he is dedicated to tradition and could see it as his duty to rule. Also, he spends an excessive amount of time with Dek and is likely sympathetic to the new nobility.”

  A servant knocked on the door. Dek said, “Enter.”

  “My Lord. Navarch Yetig requests your presence at a meeting with Baron Dek over the raids in the east.”

  “I will attend him shortly.”

  The servant bowed and left. Etera said, “Any more thoughts.”

  Womd looked around. “We could kill Ryckair and let the succession move forward.”

  Etera dashed across the chamber floor and shoved Womd aga
inst a wall. “You will never entertain such thoughts again. He is my grandson. No matter what plays out, he will not be harmed. Is that clear?” He looked around the room. “Is that clear to all of you?”

  He turned and left.

  Womb rubbed his shoulder. “I am only thinking of Carandir.”

  Luja said, “As do all of us. The usurpers must be removed before the royal bloodline is tainted. If the Rascallan becomes queen it matters little whether Craya or Ryckair is king. Baron Etera thinks for his family, yet bold actions are required before any wedding can take place.”

  It was a span before dawn when Baron Dek saw the line of torches coming out of the swamplands into Rascalla. They moved past the base of the craggy, brush covered hill where he waited with Etera and twenty Rascallan militia. Dek said, “There. Do you see them, Etera?”

  Etera yawned. “Yes, Dek, I see them. But what proof is this? They might be poachers.”

  “There is nothing to poach in this part of Rascalla.” He turned to the Captain of his guard. “Send two men to follow them at a distance. I want to know where they go and who they contact.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  Dek turned to Etera. “The wealth of Carandir disappears across the swamps and goods come in without paying duty because there are not enough troops to stop it. But, the smuggling is nothing compared to the caravan raids.”

  “Caravans are private ventures. They need to pay for their own protection.”

  “They hire guards. It’s not enough. We need more garrisons and troops here.”

  Etera yawned again. “The treasury is not endless. There are many demands upon it.”

  Dek looked up to the sky. “Father of Dragons. Money is spent on new baths in Nemtanka, repairs for roads to hunting lodges in Shenan and changes to the color of drapes in Lanteler, all western baronies.”

  “These expenditures were approved by the council.”

  “It is time the council approved some expenditures in the east. The garrisons will be built if you make public your intention to support them. How long do you think I can keep this alliance together if you ignore the smuggling and the raids?”

  Etera gave a sigh. “How much?”

  “Thirty thousand crowns.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “That’s what it will take.”

  “I can’t convince the western houses to approve that kind of money. I don’t see how I can get ten.”

  “We need at least three new outposts and two garrisons. If we can provide more bases where caravans can find sanctuary they will have protection clear through to the swamps.”

  “What is wrong with the troops the Crown has already placed here?”

  “There is nothing wrong with the troops other than the fact that they are spread too thin.”

  “Then we’ll send soldiers into the swamp to hunt down the raiders, burn their villages, teach them a lesson.”

  “No army can hope to hunt them all down in that swamp. A battle there would be suicide”

  “I find it hard to understand how near savages with stone axes and crude bows can threaten a modern army. Jorondel’s blood, they’re just swampers.”

  Etera’s use of the derogatory term grated on Dek’s ears. He had been born in Rascalla and lived near the swamp people all his life.

  He said, “Most Sinkarekans are peaceful. They gather those turtle eggs you are so fond of. Only a few from the south take part in the raids and they are obviously being supplied with modern weapons by someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s why I need the troops. To find out.”

  “Perhaps I can convince the western houses to support fifteen.”

  “You might as well not bother. It will take twenty five at the least.”

  “Eighteen.”

  “Twenty three.”

  “Twenty. That’s as much support as I can give you.”

  “Very well. Twenty.” It was the figure Dek had decided on before he approached Etera.

  False dawn showed mists rising from the swamp that stretched eastward to the horizon. Carandir only laid claim to lands bordering the swamps and recognized the authority of the Sinkaraka leaders. Still, some Carandirians has expanded their holdings into the swamps and Sinkarekans, mostly from the south, raided caravans in retaliation.

  Etera said, “We have seen all we can here. Let us find some breakfast and a hot bath.”

  They reached one of the few royal garrisons along the eastern borders just as dawn broke. It stood on a flat plain near the walled city of Desan. The city’s gates were still closed against night raids. Two caravans had arrived late and were camped outside the garrison walls seeking what protection the royal garrison was able to offer.

  The Carandir army was always focused south on the kingdom of Karaken, a nation that conducted constant skirmishes across a border whose boundaries had been in dispute for centuries. The problems in the swamplands were considered an eastern matter.

  The fortress gates opened and a Carandir officer led twelve soldiers out to meet the barons. He saluted. “Captain Amar at you service, My Lord Regents.”

  Etera dismounted. “Why is Colonel Herrik not here to greet us?”

  “The Colonel was called away to a raid, Lord Regent. She assigned me to attend you.”

  Rascalla held a tenuous relationship with the royal garrisons, as did all the eastern houses. The fortresses were manned by Carandir regulars and charged with protecting the interests of the baronies, yet the barons had no direct control over them.

  Dek said, “What raid is this, Captain?”

  “A farmhouse, Lord Regent, a quarter span’s ride to the north. A report came in that Sinkaraka raiders had attacked last night.”

  Dek found the news difficult to believe. The Sinkareka ambushed caravans, but had never attacked a settlement. “Take us to this farm.”

  Etera said, “We have been laying in dirt without food for over a span. Captain, have a full breakfast prepared and a hot bath drawn.”

  “Get back on your horse, Etera. We both need to see this.”

  “I’m not going any farther than this garrison.”

  “Ride, Etera.”

  Etera took a step back, looked at Dek, then mounted his horse again. “This had better be something quite horrendous.”

  “Pray to Jorondel it is not.”

  After a short ride, they stood before eight burned out houses arranged around a central well. Dead livestock lay strewn about the yard. Broken fences marked the edge of the farm. Tall grain waved in the humid breeze.

  Colonel Herrik, a tall woman in her forties with short cropped hair, looked up. “This is an unexpected honor, My Lord Regents.” She pointed to white sticks driven into the ground. “All the bodies were removed for burial. We marked where each one was found. The stakes are numbered. Here is a report with detailed descriptions.”

  Dek took the scroll. “Are there any more copies of this?”

  “I am afraid not, My Lord. We have few scribes here and little time to write the original reports, let alone copy them.”

  Dek referenced each spot as they toured the farm and examined where the victims had been found. The nauseous smell of rotting livestock was nearly overwhelming in the damp heat.

  They made their way across the common yard to a ring of stones. In the center of the circle was a white stake. The stones were blackened as though scorched by a hot blaze.

  Dek pointed to the scroll. “The report says a burned body was found in the pit.”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  He rolled the scroll up. “Everything here is all very odd. This pit is the oddest. The Sinkareka have never mutilated bodies in any attack. Why now?”

  From a broken fence post Captain Amar called, “Sir, there’s something here.”

  Dek walked over to the post. Caught on its splintered surface was a scrap of crimson material. His mind flashed back eighteen years to the demon’s attack in the keep. He felt chill in the summer heat. “Father of
Dragons.”

  Etera said, “Will you make sense?”

  Dek ran his fingers over the red cloth. It was the same weight as the robes Maltey had worn. He said, “Several of Master Orane’s books reference men who wore crimson robes and performed rites of human sacrifice to call demons. Those men were Barasha priests.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I said Barasha, Etera, like Maltey.”

  Etera gave a sigh of exasperation. “In the name of all the dragons and wizards, you drag me out here without breakfast and start spouting nonsense about long vanished sorcerers. Orane told you they were destroyed by the wizards. The sun has addled your brain.”

  “You saw the demon, Etera. If you had stood next to Maltey while it pulled him apart you’d know I’m right. Before he died he said, ‘Baras protects his servants.’ The Barasha.”

  Etera said, “Chase shadows if you wish. I am returning to the garrison.” He stomped off across a field of waist high wheat. Five paces out he jumped back and gave a shriek. Dek ran through the stalks of grain, followed by Colonel Herrik and Captain Amar.

  They stared silently at what had once been a human being. The body lay on its chest and abdomen, but the head was twisted around backwards so that open eyes stared up lifelessly. The arms and legs were bent backwards at the elbows and knees. Flies swarmed over exposed flesh.

  Dek said, “I’ve seen that look before. It was on Maltey’s face as the demon killed him.”

  Etera looked to Herrik and Amar. “No one is to know of this. Burn the corpse personally. Speak of this to no one, both of you.”

  Dek said, “The Barasha have risen.”

  “There is no doubt a demon tore him apart,” said Etera. “I do not know for certain if it was called by the Barasha or by madmen using their spells. Either way, this must be dealt with. You will have your thirty thousand, Dek. Colonel Herrik, fetch a terec. I must send a message to Narech Yetig.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Ryckair often spent entire days working on manuscripts within the Kyar’s vaults. No one disturbed him, not even Orane. The prince would become consumed in the scrolls and tomes that described vanished lands, lost cities and people long dead.