Dragons Unremembered

by David A Wimsett

  By the time he reached the sandy bottom it was pitch dark. Ryckair felt for the plants. The floor of the lagoon sloped down and became rocky. He searched with his right hand and used the left to hold the piece of breathing bubble secure.

  All he found was gravel. It was getting hard to hold the membrane in place and he was about to abandon this first try when his hand came across the stalk of a water vine. He smiled but stopped when water started seeping around the edge of the membrane.

  After drawing a deep breath, he took the gill fabric away from his mouth and stuffed it into his breeches. From his belt he took an obsidian knife and used its glass sharp edge to saw at the leathery plant. It took only a moment to sever the stalk. He pushed the knife into his breaches behind his back and grasped the vine tightly. After securing the membrane again, he dropping the rocks from his pocket and swam up. The faint light of the glow root was just discernible.

  When he surfaced, he saw Theb standing over a kneeling Batu. The master miner stood ready to strike Batu with a pick axe. Ryckair realized the dragon mark on his chest was clearly visible.

  Theb said, “Come up from the water. Hold your arms out.”

  Ryckair dropped the vine. The knife was still tucked in his breaches out of site. He gauged how close he had to get before striking.

  Theb said, “Stop.”

  Batu shot to his feet. Theb was taken by surprise and swung the pick wildly but still managed to drive the tip into Batu’s leg. Batu grabbed the handle of the pick and yanked it from Theb’s grasp before falling to the stone floor.

  Ryckair grasped the knife and sprang. The two men circled one another. Ryckair searched for a weakness in his opponent’s defense. The prince feigned a jab to the left and thrust quickly back to Theb’s belly. The older man was ready for the move and Ryckair found two massive fists clamped tightly around the wrist holding the knife. The prince’s fingers opened and the knife fell to the ground.

  Both men dove for it, reaching the blade at the same time. A kick to Theb’s stomach brought Ryckair on top with the knife firmly in his hand. In his mind, Theb became his treacherous brother, Yetig and the Barasha.

  He held the knife against Theb’s throat. To Ryckair’s surprise, the chief miner offered no defense. This intensified the prince’s hatred. He wanted Theb to feel the terror, to know the sins he was about to die for, to weep and beg for mercy that would not come. Ryckair shouted, “Say something.”

  Theb dropped his hands to his side. One work came from his lips. “Free.”

  The memory of Lekto came to Ryckair’s mind. He asked himself if death was the only freedom anyone would find in the mines of the Sarte. If the air holes were impassable, he thought, will I become the new chief miner to deal out life and death? The prince stood shakily and stared down a the prone figure. With a cry he threw the knife across the cavern.

  Theb looked up at the young man who should have killed him. For years he had lived in a waking dream of death. Numb was all he knew. Numb was all he sought. He no longer knew joy or sorrow, hope or grief.

  He got to his feet. This man had been just another miner to him. He had taken no notice. Now he studied the other’s stance. This was not just a miner. There was an air of command, and more. He studied the dragon mark that so resembled the symbol of the house of Avar and wondered at its meaning.

  Theb said, “Who are you?”

  Batu rose on one elbow as he clamped his hands over the wound on his leg. “He is Ryckair Avar, son of King Haram and Queen Vara, prince of Carandir.”

  Theb fell to his knees. “Forgive me, Lord. Forgive your humble subject.”

  The change in Theb shocked Ryckair. The swaggering stance and authoritative glare were gone. The dark skin around the chief miner’s eyes now sagged and his hands shook.

  Ryckair said, “What is your lineage, Theb?”

  “My father was Imara Reaka, Highness, ship’s master of the Nemtanka. I was first mate on the royal brigantine Lion, lost now more years than I know.”

  “Will you join us and escape from this place?”

  “There is no escape, Highness. We are dead beyond death.”

  Ryckair raised Theb to his feet. “Take heart Theb, son of Imara. We will all escape from this place today and walk once more as free men beneath the sun.”

  They carried Batu back to the eating cave. Theb gave him a brew to drink. It worked quickly and by the time the others returned from digging in the mines Batu was able to sit up.

  Ryckair stood on the talking stone and surveyed the listless men in front of him.

  “Escape,” said Ryckair. “To feel the cool breeze of the upper world on your face again. We need only scale this wall.” The men stared at him blankly. None moved or spoke.

  A staccato tap sounded from the passage leading to the lagoon. They turned to find six Sarte armed with spears. The humans moved aside as the gill men walked defiantly toward the speaking stone. Their leader pointed to Theb. “You have failed to bring the prisoner to the appointed meeting place. You will die.” He looked at Ryckair and the mark. “You will follow me.”

  Theb stood silent. The other men bowed their heads. The old fear returned to Ryckair. He was no leader. He would be taken, Theb would die and the rest would remain in the hellish confines of the mines. He knew nothing of the world outside his books. Craya would know how to inspire them.

  The thought of his brother filled him with fury. He jumped from the rock podium. “Kill the gill men!” He grabbed a pick axe from one of the men and sunk it into the head of the bewildered Sarte leader. The other men exploded into a frenzied melee fueled by the release of pent up hatred for their captors.

  The Sarte tried to defend themselves but their weapons were too long and unwieldy in the close-quartered combat that ensued. Five of the human miners fell. Each of them were replaced by five more swinging their picks like battle axes. Within moments the fight was won. The Sarte lay dead upon the cavern floor.

  Men who had not cheered since being entombed in the mines cried themselves hoarse with shouts of joy and victory. They laughed and hugged and danced with the elation known only to those who had faced certain death and yet lived. Ryckair was brought to the talking stone on the shoulders of the miners. All eyes turned to him as they cheered uncontrollably.

  The prince raised his hands. “I am Ryckair Avar, prince of Carandir. But, I am a prince with no court, no army, and likely no power left in this world. I know you hail from many nations. Still, an evil has risen that will destroy all. It will soon spread to every land. I ask you to follow me and fight under the banner of Carandir to restore freedom to the world. Our enemies are many and powerful. Yet, against greater terrors heroes have risen and won. Are you with me?”

  A barrage of “Yes” and “Carandir” echoed in the cavern.

  Ryckair saw the men stand taller and walk with greater bearing. Batu was appointed chief of the privy council, consisting of Batu and Theb. Theb was also named narech.

  The vine Ryckair had dropped was augmented by ten others. They were attached to the handles of picks that were thrown like grappling hooks to catch on the edges of the air holes. Six men scaled the wall. They reported air flowing through a lattice work of holes in the rock. While a team worked at carving a passage through the air holes, others helped the cooks gather provisions.

  The work continued past their normal meal time. Just as the cooks returned from the lower caves, the digging party broke through and found a cavern where a gust of fresh air circulated. The crew was recalled and the cooks prepared a great feast. The stew was rich and the mushrooms large. Food was carried to the men who stood watch on the pool lest the Sarte return unbidden.

  At the end of the meal, they gathered their possessions and ascended the vines. The climb was high but not difficult for men used to digging through rock. A net was fashioned for Batu.

  Ryckair looked down to the floor of the cavern. The bodies of the Sarte were sealed in one of the abandoned tunnels and the miners who had died in t
he battle were reverently entombed in another. All the glow roots, picks, clothing and food were hauled up. Ryckair raised the vines and coiled them neatly. The only thing left behind was a perfect mystery for the gill men.

  Ryckair walked through the short tunnel and emerged into an immense space whose bounds were beyond the light of the glow roots. They stood on a six foot wide ledge carved into the face of a cliff that rose to unseen heights on one side and dropped to unknown depths on the other.

  Ryckair said, “We must begin to conserve everything. No one is to eat or drink, except at designated rest times. Theb, see that a schedule is prepared.”

  He turned and led the men up the path. Light from the glow roots sparkled off the surface of the rocks. It reminded Ryckair of dew catching the sunlight of an early summer morning. He quickened his pace, wanting desperately to be above ground again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The old city of Au was surrounded by a wall with two large gates to the north and south. Overflowing the walls was the majority of the city that spread across the land and encroached on farms and orchards.

  Jea attended many balls and parties over the next few months. She spoke pleasantries and made compliments. The culture of Au was far different than that of Carandir. Men owned most of the businesses. The few woman in commerce had inherited them from their dead husbands and were expected to bequest them on to their eldest son or another male relative upon their death. The entire council was male and always had been. There were no female militia members or bureaucrats. Jea used this fact to flatter the men she met. Her charming reputation spread and soon she was the most sought after guest.

  In the background, Amar diced and drank with many men, especially councilors and their staff. The fortune Jea had brought was considerable and Amar could afford to lose often. He received a reputation of a fun loving man who enjoyed sport. In moving through the ranks, Amar has been posted to the palace and watched the subtle but effective techniques of influencing others. Through flattery, and a little bribery, he convinced several councilors to support a cause the Baroness would present without giving any details. They promised to do so and continued to take Amar’s money as they gambled.

  Ryckair and his men continued up the ledge. Theb called for food and rest based on his best reckoning of the cycle from the Sarte mines. Pick axes were distributed among the men along with the spears they had taken from the Sarte. Ryckair kept one of the obsidian knifes.

  They walked at a brisk pace. When they halted, Ryckair posted guards ahead, behind and along the edge of the path to keep sleeping men from rolling into the abyss.

  At one stop Theb said, “Tell us a story, Highness. Let us remember the world above once more.”

  “Yes,” said another.

  “An epic story of love and battle,” said a man who had no teeth.

  Ryckair leaned back against the stone wall. “I’ve read many such tales in the vaults of the Kyar. There’s one I remember from the most ancient of days in the north continent, a time even before Avar crossed south over the great river.”

  The balding man turned from his watch on the ledge. “But, Highness? Everyone knows that the north is a desolate waste, settled by Carandir after Avar defeated the evil dragon.”

  “That is a popular misconception. This story is from a very old song. The tune is lost to time, so I shall only recite the words. It concerns two lovers, Stamered and Catio.

  “Stamered was a prince of a mountain tribe and Catio a princess of a rival coastal people. They met in a forest, not knowing each other’s identity, and fell in love. The lay describes their love and attempt to bring the two tribes together.”

  Beat the wings, beat the wings,

  A dove emerged from branch on high,

  And in the cool spring forest air,

  Prince Stamered his prey did find,

  And cocking shaft, took careful aim,

  But never did that arrow fly,

  For on a hill, in radiant view,

  Sat Catio, the princess fair,

  Upon her pure white riding mare;”

  He paused his stallion silently,

  And came upon the hill with stealth,

  Lest the lovely maiden there,

  Be a spirit kindled free,

  Living as a doe, to bolt,

  When the hunter comes in view,

  Yet Catio saw not of him,

  Lost was she in sorrow grieving,

  For her brother dead in battle;”

  Upon his knee Stamered fell,

  And cried aloud his love for her,

  And Catio in turning quickly,

  Saw the young man, fair and gallant,

  And her heart went out to his,

  Joining there within the forest,

  Buttercups he gathered for her,

  And with them made a chain of petals,

  This to be her wedding garland;

  Yet doom was lain upon these lovers,

  For battle loomed between their tribes,

  And Catio did not suspect,

  That in the combat fought last eve,

  Twas her own love, Stamered, prince,

  Who slew her only brother dear,

  And Stamered knew not the man,

  Whose heart his sword had pierced that day;

  Ryckair paused and rubbed his eyes. “I’m afraid I don’t remember the rest of the words. It rhymed in the original tongue. The lay continues to describe how Catio discovers it is Stamered who slew her brother. She leaves in anger and rides her white mare into the forest. Stamered is so overcome with guilt and loss that he comes before the main hosts of the warring armies and tries to halt a charge, only to be slain by his own father who does not recognize his son.

  “Catio realizes Stamered did not kill her brother for want of murder. It was out of the unreasoning hatred between their families that had infected them all with blood madness. She rode back and reached the plain just as the two hosts charged. In horror, she watched as Stamered fell in his vain attempt to stop the battle. Filled with grief, she turned her horse and rode at full gallop off a cliff and into the ocean.

  “Stamered’s body was taken to the beach and a funeral pyre lit. But no flame touched him, for a great wave came from the ocean, lifted his body and carried it out to sea. Those closest to the fire said that the white foam took the shape of a lovely maiden on horseback.”

  None one spoke for a moment.

  “It is a sad tale,” said Theb.

  “Yes”, said Ryckair, “Yet, a hopeful one, for out of that day the two kings, grieving together at the loss of their children, ended their war. From the union of these people the north monarchy was formed to eventually produce Avar the Great who brought about Carandir.”

  In the palace at Meth, Mirjel sat silently in her room. Lek boiled water in the hearth and made kan for her mistress. A knock came. Lek opened the door to admit a Daro healer who bowed to the princess. “Highness, the spell is complete. I have an answer.”

  Mirjel tightened her grip on the arm of the chair. “What have you found?”

  “It is as you suspect. You carry Prince Craya’s child.”

  Mirjel closed her eyes. “Dear Ilidel.”

  Ryckair and his party continued on the path that hugged the cliff face. Batu’s wound had healed with remarkable speed and he was soon able to walk using one of the Sarte spears as a cane.

  After the tenth sleep time they encountered a waterfall that cut across the ledge and blocked their way. The water dropped from an unknown height, flowed across their path through a trough ten paces wide and fell with a deafening roar over the ledge. A bridge once spanned the water. All that remained were crumbled stone piers on either side.

  “It’s too wide to jump,” Batu shouted over the roar of the torrent.

  Ryckair weighed the axe in his hand. “We’ll use the picks as grappling hooks with vines tied to them the same as we did in the Sarte mine.”

  It took three attempts before a pick blade snagged between two boulders on
the far side. Ryckair secured the other end to the pier on his side and started across hand over hand. Batu followed next.

  One by one, the other men followed until nearly all the company were across. The last three started. When they reached the center, the vine snapped in two and they fell into the torrent.

  One man was dragged over the waterfall. The others clung to the vine as they thrashed about.

  Ryckair cupped his hands and shouted above the crash of the falls. “Stop twisting. Get a firm grip.” The men did so. “Good. Move towards the bank.” They inched forward.

  The blade of the axe holding the vine cracked. The improvised anchor slipped and was dragged along the ground before catching precariously against another rock. The climber nearest the edge lost his hold and slipped into the water. He fought his way toward the bank but the river was too strong and he was pulled over the edge. The last man scurried up the vine to safety. He fell to his knees and made the sign of the covenant, all the while praising the name of Jorondel.

  Ryckair stood at the edge of the water. Batu said, “There was nothing you could have done.”

  The prince continued to stare silently.

  It was frustratingly cumbersome for Gilyon, Refran, Womb and Luja to hold a conversation via terec. Messages crossed and new comments had to be made. Yet they continued knowing that they had to kill Mirjel before she gave birth. In the end, they formed a plan. Refran was a muscular man, He would return to the palace, enter Mirjel’s chambers on some pretense, then push her and Lek from the balcony. Afterwards, he would say he was passing Mirjel’s chambers, saw the open door and witnessed a Sinkaraka throwing Mirjel from the balcony. Later he would identify some Sinkaraka guard as the murderer. “Yetig will certainly believe my word over a swamper.”

  Several weeks later, Mirjel stood on the balcony of her bed chambers. It was a starlight night. She listened to the waves crashing against the base of the rock pinnacle below as she held her hand over her belly, even though she had not yet shown any sign of pregnancy.