Dragons Unremembered

by David A Wimsett

  “No. It is a recent addition to the palace.”

  Mirjel looked to Yetig. “We have to save her. We can’t let her die.”

  He said, “You must think like a queen now. We have never been in more danger. Mistress Telasec cannot be allowed to talk. There is very little hope that we can rescue her. If we cannot free her, she must die. There is no other way.”

  Mirjel closed her eyes, sick with the realization that he was right.

  A week later, Yetig pulled on his gloves as he took care not to look at Mirjel. “I cannot see you tonight.”

  It was near dawn. The narech prepared to leave after spending the night. The timing of his arrivals and departures were precise. He needed to catch the cycle between hallway guards. Too many of his captains would gladly carry the news to Reshna.

  In itself, the affair would be of little concern to the sorcerer. It might even amuse him. But, knowledge that Yetig conspired in secret would raise doubts. Soon the Barasha would search deeper into the narech’s dealings. Like a tower of blocks, the stones would fall around him.

  A cold breeze blew through the open doorway of the balcony. Mirjel shivered and wrapped a shawl around herself. “When will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.” He turned and looked at her. There were dark circles under her eyes.

  Lek knocked once, then three times on the door. He turned from Mirjel, faced the door and halted. Without a word he spun around and enveloped her in his arms. They kissed with urgent passion. As quickly, it was over. Yetig left the room while Lek entered.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Mirjel had made several discreet inquiries concerning Craya. She asked about his health and spoke in a subtle but reminiscent voice about how she missed seeing him. Everything was said in passing and the conversation moved quickly on. Still, he had not contacted her.

  She sat alone in the gardens. With the clink of chainmail, five of Craya’s personal guards surrounded her. “You will follow us, Highness.” With no further explanation they escorted her out to the parade ground and into the throne room through the large double doors used by the barons, rather than through the private entrance used by the royal family.

  The last time she had seen Craya was the day she fell down the stairs. She was amazed by the sight that greeted her.

  Gone was the drunken, disheveled figure she remembered. Craya sat tall on his throne. His eyes were clear. His hair and beard were closely cropped with a silver circlet upon it. Reshna stood impassively beside him. Next to the sorcerer was Narech Yetig. She forced herself not to look at him.

  With ease and grace, Craya rose and descended from the dais. He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from the sleeve of his uniform. “It has been so long since I have had the pleasure of your company.”

  She said nothing.

  Craya smiled and stoked his beard. “You seem distinctly quiet today. Does something trouble you? Perhaps it is the weight of my signet ring you have been carrying. Allow me to relieve you of it.”

  She wondered if they had made Telasec talk. If so, there was no escape. She considered spitting in Craya’s face. Instead, she handed him the ring and waited to see what he actually knew.

  He rolled it around in his palm. “So many secrets.” He looked to Yetig. “Isn’t that so, narech?”

  “We live in treacherous times, My Lord.”

  “So we do.”

  Mirjel said, “If you are referring to my use of your signet ring, I had no choice. The daily running of the palace had to continue and you were incapacitated, my husband.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Husband, is it? Are you pining for the old days? I have heard that you are lonely. Do you perhaps realize that when I find the key and take the crown you would be queen. That would be pleasing, wouldn’t it?

  “I serve my husband and Carandir.”

  “Unless there was another who was queen. Narech Yetig. Draw your sword and run her through.”

  Yetig drew his sword without hesitation and placed the tip over Mirjel’s heart. She prayed they had not been found out.

  It would be a swift thrust, she was certain, with as little pain as possible. She felt a strange calm. This was the end. There was nothing more to do. She thought of Ryckair, remembering his smile, his touch. It seemed the right thing to do in her last moments before joining him in the Dragons’ Halls.

  Craya slapped Yetig’s sword aside and laughed. “That is enough amusement for today. You may leave us, for now.”

  Batu shivered in his prison cell. He hadn’t seen anyone since being interrogated by Yetig after his arrival. It was dark. What little light there was filtered around the edge of a closed viewing port that no guard had opened. Once a day, at his best reckoning, food and water were slipped through a narrow slit at the bottom of the door.

  He sat back down on the cot. The daily meal had already arrived and there was nothing to do but sleep and wait.

  A click sounded and the cell door swing open. He looked for guards. No one entered. He cautiously peeked out. Torches lined one wall. There was no one in the corridor. He walked out of his cell. The door slammed shut. He ran back and pulled on the handle. It did not open.

  The thought came to him that the Barasha were having some sport and he considered sitting down in the corridor to ruin their game. Another cell door opened. Batu took one of the torches from its bracket and held it as a weapon.

  He peered inside. A woman lay on a cot. She looked familiar, though he was unable to place her. Then, from small portraits people kept to ward off illness he recognized the woman as Mistress Telasec, eldest of the Daro healers.

  She was unconscious. Batu dropped the torch and picked her up. He carried her out of the cell. Once they were in the hallway, her cell door closed and locked itself as well.

  Batu walked up the corridor, though he was uncertain of exactly where it led. A small ball of mist no larger than a pebble appeared in front of him. It grew into a disk as tall as a person. The aberration blocked his way, then advanced. He started to run but his legs wouldn’t move. As the mist overtook him, he closed his eyes.

  When he opened them again, he stood in a room with two beds, a table and two wooden chairs. There was a door and a hearth. A window overlooked a port town where he saw unfamiliar merchant vessels tied up at dock. The circle of mist vanished.

  A piece of paper and a leather pouch lay on the table. Batu gently placed Telasec on one of the beds and covered her with a blanket. She took a deep breath but remained unconscious.

  He sat at the table and read the note.

  Faithful Batu Kazmere,

  Tend to Mistress Telasec as best you can until my arrival. It may be some time. Buy what provisions you need. Mix the contents of the vial with Kan and give it to her. It will help. Listen for two knocks and a whistle. A cat accompanies me.

  A friend

  He wondered if this was a trick of the Barasha. Yet, it did not feel like something Petstra would do. He opened the pouch and found twenty silver coins of a kind he had not seen. With the coins was a glass vial filled with green liquid.

  A kettle hung from a hook in the hearth. He found mugs on the mantle and some ground herikan root in a jar. He made kan and looked at the glass vial. It could be poison, or worse. Still, it made no sense for the Barasha to have brought them to this place to kill them when they could have done so in the prison. He poured the liquid into a mug and brought it to Telasec’s lips.

  She sipped the kan. Her breathing became stronger and she slowly opened her eyes. “Are these the Dragons’ Halls?”

  “No, mother healer. I cannot rightly say where we are, but we are not dead.” He explained who he was and how they had come to the room.

  “It is the will of Ilidel.” She fell back asleep.

  Batu made certain she was settled, then picked up the pouch with the coins and went out to buy food.

  When he stepped into the street and saw the docks. The mystery of the coins became clear. He stood silently, staring at the sh
ips and the winding road hugging a steep cliff. This was the same port town Petstra had brought him to. He and Telasec had somehow been transported across the Great River back to Dharam.

  The market place was crowded and noisy. Everyone spoke with the same accent that he had heard in Kackar. He bought cheese and bread and roots. One vendor had fresh fish that he purchased along with some spices. Lastly, he bought a good, sharp knife.

  Nearly two weeks passed. Each day, Telasec grew stronger. Batu told her of Ryckair and their escape from the Sarte and the Oola. His voice faltered when he described Ryckair’s fall into the abyss.

  “Yes,” said Telasec. “We heard of Prince Ryckair’s death through Yetig.”

  She then told him of the secret meetings, the plan to defeat the Barasha and the alliance formed with Yetig.

  “Then Mirjel lives?”

  “We all expected her to fly to the Dragons’ Halls. Miraculously, she recovered.”

  Batu stared out the window. “If Mirjel is alive, the dispatches Petstra carried were lies. If Ryckair had known this he might never have marched north to his death.”

  Two knocks came at the door one afternoon, followed by a whistle.

  Batu said, “Who knocks?”

  A woman’s voice said, “A friend and her cat.”

  Batu picked up the knife. “Enter.”

  The door opened. Jarat stood in the hallway. Nissor stood next to her in the shape of a tabby cat. Then, Nissor dropped his guise and took once more the shape of a garat.

  Batu prepared to challenge the stranger when Telasec’s mouth formed a gape and she fell to her knees. “Mistress. Never did I expect to see one as you. Praise the dragons.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Batu backed into a corner.

  Nissor cooed and cocked its head. Batu said, “The Barasha have found us.”

  Jarat smiled. “Rise, faithful Telasec.” She looked at Batu “Your caution is admirable, Batu Kazmere. Well placed is the trust Ryckair has in you.”

  Batu still grasped the knife. “Just who are you?”

  Telasec said, “Can you not see? She is of the eldest of the eldest, a wizard of Ilidel.”

  Jarat said, “You have seen and endured much these last years, good Batu, and you thought your part had come to an end. In truth, you have been but tempered for a great battle to come. It is there that you will prove yourself or fall into everlasting darkness.”

  Batu lowered the knife. “If there’s to be a battle, why are we here? The Barasha are in Meth.”

  “Yet it is here that the battle begins. I can say no more for now lest word reach our enemies. Events move that are unseen by them. You will be needed. Nissor will return to you as a sea bird when the time is right. Then, you must both ride to Kackar.”

  In the far northlands, a young Fadella chieftain sifted through the ice and snow of a recent avalanche. The youth’s name was Ichary and he sought the source of a blue glow that emanated from the fallen ice pack. The elders of his tribe warned him not to approach it. They spoke with fear of the tumbling ice. “More will follow. Stay away from that place. It is filled with evil magic.”

  But Ichary did not heed their words. “Always you think me a child,” he told them. “Yet, I am chief of the clan. I will see what I will see.”

  When his father was killed in an avalanche four years before, Ichary became chief, though he had only just reached his manhood at the age of sixteen. His father died near the place from which the glow now came and he thought that it might be a sign from him.

  At the base of the hill he dug through packed snow with a wooden shovel. He stopped regularly to inspect the ice wall for another avalanche.

  A hard stroke of the shovel smashed into an air filled pocket. Ichary enlarged the hole and peered through.

  Within, still dressed in their Dharam cloaks, were the frozen bodies of Ryckair and Shara. The young chief was puzzled by the sight of this man and woman. The Dharam never sent patrols this far north. The woman’s face was white with frost. On the man’s chest was the source of the glow, a dragon shaped mark. The young chief reached out to touch it. Ryckair’s hand sprang to life and grabbed Ichary’s wrist firmly.

  Ichary screamed and tried to wrench himself free.

  Ryckair’s eyes shot open. “Warmth. We must have warmth to awaken.” The icy grip relaxed. Ichary took two staggering steps back, turned and ran to his village.

  He returned with five men and a woman of great years named Sintalay who was a healer of the Fadella. She looked inside the air pocket. “Frozen corpses, young chieftain, nothing more.”

  “The corpse moved.”

  “A shift in the ice fall.”

  “It spoke.”

  “The howl of the wind.”

  Ichary reached in to reveal the dragon mark which still gave a faint glow. “What is this?”

  Sintalay’s eyes widened. “Mother of Dragons. The Parili.”

  “The prophecy?”

  “These are no mere Dharam scouts, Chief Ichary. Fate brings the returning prince to us. These are troubled tidings.”

  The frozen pair were carried from the ice cliff to the Great Hall of Ichary’s people. This was a long wooden lodge. The one room building was twelve paces wide and thirty long. There were no windows and only a single door located in the center of one wall. Two stone hearths, one at either end, blazed with warming fires.

  Ryckair and Shara were wrapped in animal furs and laid next to one of the fireplaces. Ichary sat watch over them while Sintalay went to the other hearth to mix a potion.

  She returned and poured liquid into each of their frozen mouths. Both began to breath. The frost melted from their skin, though they were still cold to the touch. Sintalay inspected the dragon mark and made the sign of the covenant.

  Ryckair became aware of warm liquid against his lips and woke to find himself drinking a weak meat broth.

  Sintalay said, “Slowly.” She placed her hands over his eyes and spoke the words of a sleeping spell. “Rest now.” Her speech hinted at formal Carandirian for some words yet lacked the heavy accent of the Dharam. His body fell limp and he dropped into a deep slumber.

  The healer moved to her other charge. Shara was not yet awake, though her sleep was normal and relaxed. Both of the strangers were now warm to the touch.

  Sintalay tended Ryckair and Shara over the next few weeks. Several times, she was certain her arts had failed. On each occasion, the dragon mark glowed and death passed the pair.

  Ryckair awoke fully in the third week. Ichary helped him to sit up. The young chief described how his camp sat in a clearing surrounded by dense woods and how his people planted vegetables and wheat during the short growing season after the snow melted.

  The prince told of his brother and the crown. Ichary was amazed by the story of the escape from the Sarte and the Oola. He was especially fascinated with the ruined city. “It’s like an old tale the healers tell.” Finally, Ryckair spoke of Commander Petstra and how he caused the avalanche.

  Shara remained asleep for two more days before leisurely opening her eyes. Ryckair sat next to her. She cautiously looked around. Women prepared the evening meal at the far hearth. Two men in the center of the lodge fletched arrows. Children played a game with pine cones and wooden sticks. A group of men sat in one corner spinning stories of the day’s hunt. She rubbed her eyes. “Where are we?”

  “In a Fadella camp.” Ryckair gave a short account of how Ichary found them.

  They ate more meat broth. Sintalay made them stand and walk around the lodge. She nodded her head. “It is the dragon mark that has protected you from harm.”

  Ichary said, “Truly, he is the Parili.”

  “That is yet to be decided.” She donned a heavy hide parka and walked to the door. “A mark can be made by many, even one that glows. Spring has come and the chiefs of the Fadella will gather here to pass judgment.”

  The next day, Ryckair and Shara donned thick hide parkas and stepped outside. Ryckair was delighted to see the
sky again, though it did not look like spring. The lodge stood in a clearing on top of a low hill. It overlooked a river valley whose waters were still frozen. Tall, snow covered mountains rose to the north. Southeast, the massive cliffs of a glacier slashed across the landscape like a ragged ice fence.

  Ryckair’s breath formed frosty clouds in the air. “It seems we have found the Fadella, or they have found us.”

  “They are a superstitious people. We must discover what these chiefs will look for.”

  “They are also a closed mouth people. I have asked that very question several times. All they say is, ‘You will see’.”

  “And what will you do when these chiefs approve of you?”

  “March on Kackar, as planned. Nothing has changed, except that we have gained a great measure of surprise over your father. He will not expect the dead to attack. And when we have conquered the Dharam, I will march against my brother.”

  “Once again, I ask. Will you not tarry in Kackar for a while to rest and enjoy the spoils you will conquer?”

  “Such as?”

  Shara grabbed him around the neck and kissed him. This time he returned the kiss, hard and full. Ryckair lifted her from the snow and walked back to the lodge. There, in the screened area set aside for them, they hurriedly undressed and made love. When they were spent, Ryckair fell into a deep sleep. Shara remained awake for a long while and stared at him.

  Ryckair and Shara took strength from the food and rest provided by Ichary and his people while they waited for the other clan chiefs to assemble. They joined the rest of the clan in the evenings and listened to stories of the old days. These were often legends involving people or animals of long ago, when the Fadella lived in warmer lands.

  One evening, a traveling storyteller arrived at the lodge. The bard was fed heartily and given a special place near the fire. The next day he would leave for another settlement with his pack full of food and new boots on his feet.

  “And that,” he concluded, “is how the snow became white.” Everyone laughed, especially the children.