Dragons Unremembered

by David A Wimsett

  She no longer saw Craya. He drank heavily and ignored official duties. She now met with the Ministers and handed out orders to the bureaucrats. No one questioned her authority in the daily running of the palace. However, the Barasha made it clear that this authority did not extend beyond.

  Lek brought kan and a small cake. “You must eat, Highness.”

  “I am not hungry, Lek.”

  “At least have some kan. Think of the child.”

  She thought of little else. The Barasha would need her for a while to nurse the infant. They would certainly raise the babe. She would have no purpose to them after that. She closed her eyes, dreaming that it was Ryckair’s child growing inside her as she asked herself if he was still alive.

  A knock came at the door. Lek opened it a slit. Baron Refran stood in the hall. Lek opened the door and curtsied. “How may I help you, My Lord?”

  “I wish to speak with your lade on urgent business.”

  Lek looked to Mirjel who nodded her head. Once inside, Refran ran across the room and pinned Mirjel against the railing. He dragged her up the wrought iron. She clawed at his face to no effect. She twisted around and jammed her thumbs into both his eyes. He screamed and released her. She fell back down as Refran held his hand over his eyes and stumbled. He seemed to hear her labored breathing and ran forward, striking the railing and tumbling over to the bay below.

  The click of a mechanism sounded softly in the room. She stood up and instinctually reached for her bodice knife, only to remember that Yetig’s guards had confiscated all her weapons. “Lek, stand behind me.”

  A part of the wall next to the hearth swung open. Mirjel saw a stairway leading down into darkness. She held tightly to Lek’s hand. Her first thought was that Craya was laying a trap. He was cruel enough to do so. When he wasn’t drunk he wandered the halls of the palace, striking servants who drew too near. More often he simply stood alone against the walls and muttered incoherently.

  Lek said, “What shall we do, Highness?”

  Orane’s voice came from the darkness. “Princess Mirjel?”

  Mirjel watched in disbelief as the chief Kyar stepped through the secret doorway. “Master Orane. How can it be? You escaped across the bridge. The servants saw it.”

  “It is a long tale, your Highness and you shall hear it in full. For now, we have much to do.”

  She ran forward and took his arm. “Oh, Master. Is it really you?”

  He smiled. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  She made the sign of the covenant with tears in her eyes then put her arms around Orane. “Thank Ilidel.”

  Orane said, “Lek. You must do something very brave and very dangerous. Stay here and pretend your mistress is resting. Let no one enter until she returns.”

  “Yes, Master Orane.”

  “Now come, Highness.”

  Orane led her down the stairs and through many passageways until they came to a set of rooms carved out of rock where Kyar scholars sat at desks. Books and scrolls were everywhere. Some Kyar studied and made notes while others brought baskets of writings up from lower levels.

  Mirjel looked around in amazement. Orane led her through several such rooms, explaining as they went about the rouse at the bridge and how the Barasha were convinced they had escaped. “They looked for us and saw what they expected, so they stopped looking further. We have been here in this hidden palace within the palace all this time, searching for ways to combat them.”

  As they descended, the finished rock walls gave way to roughhewn stone. Unknowingly, Mirjel now retraced the very path Ryckair had taken on the day they first met.

  Their journey went past the same stalactite filled caverns, the same bridges and crevices. Like Ryckair, Mirjel caught the sense of lesser spirits that moved formlessly about some of the corridors.

  They reached the cave entrance at the base of the rock pinnacle and walked around a stone outcropping onto the strip of land bordering the Bay of Hasp. A man stood next to a fishing boat resting on the beach. They climbed in. The fisherman pushed the boat into the water and began rowing.

  There was no moon. Mirjel looked up to the palace and realized that it was impossible for anyone looking over the parapets to see them in the dark. The fisherman took them toward the docks of Meth. Mist swirled across the face of the water. Soft, muted points of light became visible as they neared the city.

  The boat slipped under a pier. At its land end was a wall of wooden planks. Several of them slid sideways to reveal a dock beyond at water level. Orane and Mirjel disembarked and the planks slid back in place behind them. The Kyar scholar lit a lamp and Mirjel saw an iron door. Orane knocked with a staccato rhythm and it swung open.

  Inside were four men armed with drawn swords. They bowed and led the way down a corridor to another door.

  Inside, Telasec sat at a table with an oil lamp. Mirjel ran across the floor and threw her arms around the Daro’s neck. They all laughed and cried and touched one another to make the meeting real. Telasec placed her hand on Mirjel’s belly and asked about her health. They drank kan and told small tales, forgetting, for the moment, the horror of the Barasha.

  Mirjel put her mug down. “I wish we were able to talk all night. But, Lek cannot keep the Barasha at bay forever.”

  Telasec nodded her head. “You must make ready to flee the palace before the child is born, whether Ryckair lives or not. Our situation is more dangerous than we thought. Orane has cast many spells and one of them has revealed a dark secret.”

  Orane told Mirjel about her distant relationship to the house of Avar and how the babe she carried would become heir at birth.

  Mirjel brushed the fabric of her dress. “I knew they intended to take the child, though this news fills me with dread.” She stared into the lamp. “I cannot leave yet. I have work to complete.”

  “What can be more important than the child you carry?”

  “The people of Carandir. Each day hundreds starve to death while huge shipments of food are sent to the army. Most is wasted or spoiled. I have been able to issue orders diverting a portion of it to markets and local granaries. Of course, that doesn’t always help. The local magistrates steal a good deal and sometimes no one knows the grain is there.”

  Orane said, “How do you create orders that no one suspects?”

  Mirjel opened a pouch and produced Craya’s signet ring.

  Orane stared. “He will discover this for certain. They won’t touch you until after the birth, but they will certainly kill Lek.”

  Mirjel shook her head. “No one has any idea that I possess the ring, least of all Craya. I took it months ago as he lay in a drunken stupor in his chambers. He has never looked for it. With this ring I am Carandir, at least as long as my decrees go unnoticed by the Barasha.”

  Orane said, “What about Yetig?”

  “He’s too busy scouring the country for the dragon shaped key and trying to stop my father’s raids. The daily running of the palace is kept up by bureaucrats with no idea of what is happening beyond their own desks. As long as I am careful to move only small shipments they will never suspect.”

  Telasec said, “This is important. It is also dangerous. If they take the babe, all is lost.”

  “I realize this, and I know I have placed Lek and myself in danger. I vow to you. The Barasha will not have my child. You must give me a potion that will kill me if I am discovered. Give me enough for Lek as well. I will not have her turned over to the sorcerers.”

  Orane and Telasec looked at each other. Telasec said, “I understand your need to help, child. I see the starvation every day. But the stakes are so high if you fail.”

  “I wish to live.” Mirjel’s words became ragged and tears formed in her eyes. “I wish to see Ryckair again and hold him. But, I am queen in all but name and queens have a higher duty. You will give me the poison and we will save the people for as long as we can and the Barasha will never have my baby. By all the dragons I swear this.”

  Telasec said, “Yes, High
ness.”

  “Our spies can help,” said Orane. “If we know when grain is being diverted we can intercept it and distribute it to those in need.”

  A plan was put in place. Mirjel would send a message to Orane when supplies were being re-routed. Telasec would take care of the rest. When there was enough grain for the winter, Mirjel and Lek would make their escape.

  Mirjel placed the signet ring back in its pouch. She said farewell to Telasec, then she and Orane left for the palace.

  A deep sense of relief flooded her as the fisherman rowed the boat back to the cave entrance. Then, the dread returned as she fingered the two pouches Telasec had given her. She wrapped her cloak around herself and slept for the remainder of the journey.

  Six more sleep periods past and Ryckair and still had no idea as to how far they had to go. Provisions were running low. Fortunately, Batu’s leg had healed and he no longer needed the spear to walk, though he had a limp.

  The trail abruptly plunged into a tunnel that opened up into a narrow trough whose top rose beyond the reach of their lights. After another sleep period, the canyon ended at a rock face with two tunnel entrances. The left passage continued on level while the right slanted down.

  After conferring with Batu and Theb, the prince choose the left tunnel. Within a hundred paces they came to another split in the road with three passages. The center one climbed up while the others continued on the same level.

  Again, they consulted before taking the center road on the theory that it was best to continue up. The company soon came to a small chamber. Only the first dozen of the company were able to fit inside. Four more tunnels led off at the same level.

  Batu said, “We seem to have found a maze.”

  Ryckair studied the room. “This place reminds me of something from a very old book.” A spherical bulge protruded from the rock face directly across from the entrance. Two of the new passages ran off to the right side of it and the other two to the left.

  He looked back to the entrance they had come through. “There were guards here. I am certain of that. The tunnels was a defense. First two, then three, then four. That’s how you knew you were on the right path.” The old song he had heard Mirjel’s cousin sing came to mind.

  Two, three, four, five,

  Keep the marching men alive,

  Seven, nine, twelve, fifty,

  Keep the Oola from the city;

  Left, center, right, down.

  Never let them find the town,

  Over the bridge and under the tower,

  There to find the morning flower.

  The rhyme had another verse that he couldn’t remember. “The Oola,” said Ryckair. “This is the place from the Oola song.”

  Batu said, “That’s an old ghost story.”

  “So were the Barasha. We’ve come up into one of the caverns of the north continent.”

  “I know that song, Highness, “ said the man with missing teeth. “My mother sang it to me.”

  A man in the rear of the company screamed and fell forward. Ryckair saw an arrow protruding from his back.

  He motioned to the right passage. “Quickly.” He looked to the man who knew the rhyme. “Guide them out. We’ll follow.”

  The company streamed through the guard room. Arrows rained in from behind them. Three more of Ryckair’s men fell. Flickering torches were visible down the passage. Batu, Theb and Ryckair stood guard. The prince inspected the large bulge in the chamber wall. “It’s a plug for the tunnel; a last defense. Check around the side for a release mechanism.”

  Arrows bounced off the floor and walls as Theb and Batu searched for a latch. An arrow sailed through the entrance and sunk into Theb’s right ankle. He clenched his teeth and continued probing.

  Two hairy, human like figures entered the chamber. They were not quite as tall as a man, with muscular arms and large protruding jaws. Their snarls showed rows of sharp teeth. Each carried a stout wooden club with finger length metal spikes.

  The prince swung his pick and caught one of the Oola in the side of the head. The creature flailed before falling dead to the floor. The tip of the pick caught in its skull and the prince was dragged down with it.

  The second Oola swung its club. Ryckair managed to roll away from the blow just before it came smashing down. The spikes ripped into the body of the first Oola, spewing blood and gore across the floor. Ryckair kicked his attacker in the stomach. The blow would have winded any human but the Oola merely grinned. It raised its club for another strike.

  Ryckair dove between the Oola’s legs, grabbed it by the ankles and pulled back hard. The assailant fell and struck its head against the rock wall. It staggered back to its feet in a daze. The prince charged, striking hard into the creature’s belly. The Oola bared its teeth and slammed it’s fists into either side of Ryckair’s head. The prince reeled back and fell to his knees.

  The Oola dropped its club and charged with clawed fingers extended. Ryckair heard a click behind him. The boulder hit the floor and rolled toward him. Ryckair jumped to the side just as the huge stone passed him.

  The cracking of bone followed as the Oola was crushed. The boulder lodged securely in the entrance, blocking any further attack from that direction. Ryckair ran to Batu and Theb. “That will stop them for now. I’m afraid they’ll be back soon. Quickly. Through the tunnel.”

  Theb steadied himself against the wall. “The arrow is stuck in a bone. I can’t walk.”

  Ryckair examined the wound and remembered stories of how the Oola poisoned the tips of their arrows. He snapped off the end of the shaft and tore off a scrap of his tunic to staunch the flow of blood. “We’ll carry you.”

  “I will only slow you,” said Theb. “Kill me, Highness.” He fainted.

  Batu picked him up and headed for the archway. “Just what I needed, another madman.”

  They followed the route of the song and hoped the rhyme led true. No sound of pursuit followed. Ryckair offered to carry Theb but Batu said he was no burden, though the prince clearly saw that his friend was still limping.

  The passage twisted and turned. Theb’s wound continued to bleed. Ryckair knew that it needed to be cleaned and dressed properly lest it fester, whether the arrow was poisoned or not.

  They came to another chamber. One of the five passages led down while another led up and the rest remained level. They ran through the archway that led down. Ryckair was relieved to see the steady white light of glow roots ahead as they dashed from the tunnel.

  He found his men standing on a ledge overlooking a vast plain. Above, bright stars shone against an evening sky. His lungs took in cool, fresh air and he knew they had escaped the cavern and reached the surface.

  Only thirty-one of the men from the mines remained after the Oola’s attack. Ryckair was surprised that they did not show the joy of having escaped from the underground prison. Then, he looked down to the plain and saw thousands of torches carried by as many Oola. Even with their picks and spears, the men knew it was impossible to fight their way through.

  The creatures could have easily obliterated the humans. Yet, they waited silently. In the distance a bridge tower stood at the edge of a deep gorge. Across the chasm were the ruined remains of what was once a great city.

  Torches parted at the rear of the plain to make way for a palanquin carried by six Oola. They stopped in front of the ledge.

  A curtain parted and an enormous Oola stepped out. It was taller than a man. Massive arms and legs showed the scars of many battles. On its head was a crown made of human skulls.

  It stood, hands on hips, and looked at the men. Pointing to a spot just behind the palanquin, it spoke in a snarling voice. “Krash. Garack. Harch Narack Kalaketan.”

  Shouts rose from the Oola who took up a chant, “Narack. Narack. Narack. Narack.”

  They piled wood in a ring. A man Ryckair thought killed in the tunnels was dragged forward. His feet and hands were bound. Three arrows protruded from his body.

  The wood was set abla
ze as the rhythmic chanting continued. The wounded man was tossed into the center of the inferno. His screams rose to a piercing crescendo before being cut off by the hoarse cheers of the Oola.

  The Oola king turned and leered at the prince. Ryckair grabbed a pick axe from one of his men, leapt from the ledge and landed on top of the creature. The force knocked the monster down. The prince drove his pick into the creature’s chest and drew his obsidian knife. As the Oola king clawed at the axe, Ryckair sawed at the king’s neck. The blade was sharper than any barber’s razor and as hard as steel. Blood gushed in a fountain as the Oola king flailed. The dragon mark on Ryckair’s chest glowed brilliant blue. With a sharp snap, he twisted the Oola king’s repulsive head from its body.

  The other Oola cowered back. Ryckair held the head up by its matted hair as blood dripped to the ground. He shouted, “Follow me.” The men fell into a column behind the prince. The Oola gave way before him, drawing back from the glowing dragon mark and the head of their fallen leader. Two of the creatures seemed ready to charge. Ryckair shook the head in their direction and repeated the chant, “Narack.” He thought the word had something to do with fire. Whatever the meaning, it struck fear into the Oola.

  The men reached the tower at the edge of the chasm but discovered there was no bridge, just a duplicate tower on the other side. He retraced the words of the nursery rhyme in his head.

  Seven, nine, twelve, fifty.

  Keep the Oola from the city.

  Seven what? Did they throw down the bridge to save the city? If so, he and his men were doomed.

  Batu pointed to nine stones set in the wall. Ryckair pushed on the seventh one. With a crash, a portcullis dropped and closed off the tower from the plain.

  This broke the trance over the Oola. They charged the iron bars and clawed at the gate in a frenzy. In their rage, the Oola did not realize that arrows would easily kill the humans. Yet, even without bows, Ryckair was certain the weathered grate would soon burst under the pressure of a thousand hands.