Dragons Unremembered

by David A Wimsett

  The dragon mark burned on his chest. The warrior stared unmoving across the gap. He looked around at the ice cave and then to the warrior. He had traveled over harsh country, been caught in a storm that nearly killed him and he didn’t know what he was doing there. It was so absurd that he began to laugh. The warrior laughed as well.

  The knife shook in his hand. He couldn’t go back and face the village now. They all believed in him. He cursed the word. How could he believe anything?

  In that instant, he knew how to win. It was foolish. There was no proof. No one would believe it. He didn’t believe it. He knew it. Deep within his soul he knew what had to be done.

  He dropped his knife and the warrior dropped his. Ryckair said, “I claim victory over you, warrior of the mountain. You must match me weapon for weapon and I carry with me the most powerful of all, peace. I will not fight you this day or any day. The battle is over.”

  With his hand extended, he walked around the pit to greet the warrior and ran hard into a sheet of ice. He stepped back and looked into the eyes of the warrior of the mountain. They were his eyes, his body, mirrored off the smooth ice on the chamber walls. He opened his parka and the warrior did likewise, revealing a duplicate dragon mark. Ryckair realized he had been fighting not another man, but his own reflection.

  Maganda and the dog step into the chamber. He said. “So, you have discovered the secret of the mountain warrior and the only weapon that will defeat him.”

  The ice walls began to glow, softly at first, then more intensely until the light was nearly blinding. The prince shielded his eyes.

  Maganda said, “Come. Ryckair Avar. Why do you cringe? You have come to know that which is dark and that which is light. Do not fear to look upon the truth.”

  Ryckair uncovered his eyes. Before him stood Jarat as a young, dark skinned woman. Nissor stood beside her with his spindly legs, body and tail covered in green scales.

  Ryckair recognized Nissor as a garat. His earliest training had been to memorize the names and descriptions of all twelve wizards. He knelt “Mistress Jarat. I was taught that your order had vanished.”

  Jarat said, “I am the last wizard. This is Nissor. For millennia I have known the Barasha would return and I have waited. Now, I come to assist Carandir’s heir.”

  “Mistress Jarat, I am no heir. My brother sits as king in Meth.”

  Jarat smiled. “Come, let us discuss things.”

  The fire in the cave where Ryckair had slept burned brightly in the hearth. He sipped kan and huddled under one of the matula blankets. “Mistress Jarat, Craya has taken the crown.”

  “Has he?”

  “I saw dispatches.”

  Jarat sipped from her own mug. “Half-truths are more potent than lies.”

  “But there was a letter in Petstra’s diplomatic pouch signed by the chief Kyar. I saw it.”

  “So you believed it.”

  “Well, of course.” Then he paused and stared into the flames. ”I did believe it and assumed it was true. Petstra must have wanted Masalta to think he treated with an emissary of a king to capture me.” He did not entertain the idea that Shara had ordered the documents altered.

  “You carry the mark of the prince who will unite north and south. What will you do about the lies, Parili?”

  The prince rose and turned his back on the fire. “I will gather the tribes of the Fadella and march on Carandir. All these years I have thought the mark to be meaningless. I now know in my heart that I am the heir.” With those words, a great sense of purpose filled him.

  Jarat said, “An army alone cannot defeat the Barasha. You must use the true power of Carandir, the crown.” Jarat told Ryckair of the vanished key and the Barasha’s hunt for it. “You must find it and unlock the crystal sphere. Only the crown can free your people.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “Finding the key is part of your quest. None but you can hope to discover it.”

  “Then, you don’t know where it is?”

  “I know that you must find it or it cannot be found. I have told you all I can.”

  When Ryckair awoke the next morning, Jarat and Nissor were gone. The fire had burned to embers. There was hot kan and porridge set out, along with a note.

  Defeat the Dharam first, for you cannot have Masalta at your back. Once you have done this, you must find the dragon key. March in force to the ruined city you found when you escaped from the Oola. Nissor and I will meet you there.

  Jarat

  Ryckair packed his supplies and set off. The storm had broken. He started down the mountain, then turned to fix the cave’s location in case he should need it again. There was no trace of it, only an unbroken cliff face.

  At Ichary’s village, the people stood silently in front of the lodge. Ryckair said, “I have defeated the warrior of the mountain. I am Ryckair Avar, heir to the Western Realm, both north and south. How do you declare me?”

  For an instant he expected them to demand some token as proof. Instead, they fell to their knees, touched their heads to the snow and shouted in unison, “As Parili and Lord.”

  Shara said, “Heir to the south?”

  “Petra’s dispatches were lies. My brother cannot be king, for the key calls to me. We will march on Kackar first and free the north of your father’s cruelty. Then, we will regain what is mine and drive the Barasha from Carandir where you will sit as queen.”

  “Can you be certain of this?”

  “I know nothing but certainty.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A chill wind blew from the west as Ryckair raised his head cautiously above a snow bank to survey the walls of Kackar where ghost-like figures of Dharam guards walked. Though the wooden gate stood open, the iron portcullis barred their entry.

  Ryckair whispered in Shara’s ear. “How much further?”

  “Just down this ravine.”

  Ryckair and Shara set off with an advance party of five Fadella. They reached a masonry culvert where foul smelling ooze dripped into a stream. A metal grate covered the entrance.

  Ryckair said, “Will we be able to breathe inside?”

  “At first, you’ll wish you couldn’t. Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the smell quickly.” She produced a set of keys. “Let us hope my father has not thought to change this lock.” Masalta had not and the grating opened. Shara opened the shutter of a lantern. “I will go first. Keep up. If you get lost in there you may never find your way out.”

  The sewer was not quite as high as a person and they were forced to stoop as they walked through ankle deep filth. The stench was nearly overwhelming. Contrary to what Shara had said, it did not diminish with time.

  They came to a pit. Light filtered down through an oval hole. Ryckair looked up. “A latrine?”

  “It sits in the gate house.”

  He managed to squeeze through. The others followed. Ryckair cautiously opened the door and peeked out into a hallway. Shara touched his shoulder. “The stairs to the left lead to the gate mechanism.”

  “Let’s hurry. If they don’t see us they’ll surely smell us.”

  They charged up the stairs. One man stood at the large wheel that opened and closed the portcullis. He reached for a horn on the wall. Shara threw her knife into the man’s chest. He clawed at the hilt, then fell dead to the floor.

  Three of Ichary’s people grasped the wheel and turned. The portcullis rose smoothly. As it did, wave upon wave of Fadella ran through the open gateway. They surged down the narrow streets like a river overflowing its banks. Townspeople slammed their shutters. City militia were caught and dragged down. Soldiers and horses died either from slashing swords and pole arms or the trampling feet of men and animals fleeing the onslaught.

  Ryckair ran down the stairs and led the Fadella up the winding streets toward the palace. Snow gave way to near freezing rain. The pelting water washed off much of the muck and left stinging cold pin pricks wherever it touched. The snow on the ground became an icy slurry soaked in blood.
Men and horses slipped on the frozen streets. The screams of the dying mixed with the frantic battle cry of two armies as the prince’s troops forced the Kackar forces back. The Fadella moved steadily forward. No Dharam was able to stand before their onslaught.

  The carnage was terrible. Ryckair was left sickened by the ferocity of his own soldiers as they hacked their victims mercilessly. The Fadella were filled with a killing lust that left their hate unsated.

  They rounded a corner and ran into a volley of arrows. Fadella fell to the snowy street with feathered shafts buried in their flesh. Ryckair and his men faced five hundred Dharam archers.

  The prince pulled his men back. The Dharam fired again. The Fadella stood just out of range. Ichary and his men ran up just short of where the Dharam arrows had fallen. As they had against the matula, the hunters leaned into their bows and let fly their own arrows. Dharam archers fell. Before their commander called new orders, another flight of darts descended in their midst as they fled.

  Ryckair and his troops reached the palace. A dozen men scaled the walls and threw down the gates from within. Dharam soldiers fell back as the Fadella slashed their way down corridors and through chambers.

  Ryckair and Shara broke from the main host and charged into the audience hall where they found Masalta in his throne. “I have to admit, boy, I underestimated you.”

  Shara grasped the hilt of her sword. “I shall cut off your head myself.”

  “I do not think your young prince will allow that, daughter.”

  “No daughter of yours. I am Fadella.”

  He studied her for a moment. “How provincial. Do you like her that way, boy?”

  Ryckair brought the point of his sword to Masalta’s throat. “I am Ryckair Avar, heir to the Western Realm to include the lands now held by Dharam. I lawfully claim your throne. Do you yield?”

  Masalta looked up. “Dharam has held these lands for millennia. Will you have me surrender the birthright of my forefathers?”

  “In the name of the dragons, yield before my troops bring their blood lust into these chambers.”

  Masalta stood, then dropped to his knees.

  Ryckair sheathed his sword. “Declare now your loyalty and fealty to the Crown of Carandir.”

  Masalta bowed his head. “I declare…” From under his cloak, he pulled a dagger and made a thrust for Ryckair’s belly. The prince grabbed Masalta’s wrist and twisted it.

  Shara raised her sword. “Your treachery knows no end.”

  Ryckair said, “Hold. We are not butchers. Your father will answer for his acts.”

  Masalta cradled his arm. “It is broken. I cannot feel my fingers.”

  Ichary and his bowmen ran into the throne room. Ryckair held up his hand. “The battle is over. Bring Sintalay to tend to Masalta’s wrist.” He looked back down to the deposed king. “Enough death has filled Kackar. We begin our reign with compassion.”

  Shara seized the crown from her father’s head and held it aloft to Ryckair. “You have bested the king in battle. By our law, you are now king of the Dharam. Claim your crown, my love.” She placed it on Ryckair’s head. Ichary and his men cheered. Masalta grimaced and turned away.

  More Fadella flowed into the audience hall. Ryckair ascended the dais and took his seat in the great throne. “Ichary, send detachments to hunt down all court officials and officers. Confine them, but treat them humanely. Then, organize parties for a grim task. The dead must be collected and funeral pyres lit. Treat all fallen soldiers with respect, Fadella and Dharam.”

  A council was formed to advise and aid the new king. Chief among these was Shara. They met before each setting sun to report the day’s events and plan for the next. Seven sunsets had come since the raid. The dead were cremated. Masalta and his ministers awaited judgment. Life within the city walls was returning to normal with stalls open and goods sold.

  Ryckair stood as he addressed the assemblage. “We must take rest here and heal our wounds. Then, we will look beyond the concerns of each day. A greater purpose awaits. The Barasha must be defeated. I must return to Carandir. For that, I will need an army.”

  “And you have it, Majesty” said Ichary. “Who amongst us would not follow where you lead?” The other Fadella chiefs nodded on agreement.

  Shara said, “Let us wait at least until late spring when the high passes are all clear.”

  “The woman of Dharam speaks rightly,” said one of the chiefs. “Storms still come and a long march through snow would sap our energy for battle. As well, we need ships to cross the Great River. The Fadella are not mariners.”

  As the debate continued a messenger entered the audience hall and whispered to Ichary. The young Fadella chief rose. “Highness, two strangers approached the gate at brightnail and asked for Prince Ryckair of Carandir. They are being held outside this hall.”

  Ryckair was certain that none beyond the Fadella and those inside Kackar knew he had survived the fall into the ice chasm. He immediately thought of Petstra and feared the Barasha had found him. Then, he wondered if the strangers were Jarat and Nissor. The garat could certainly take on human form if it desired. “Just these two?”

  “Yes, Highness. The captain of the guard sent out a patrol. They found no one else.”

  Ryckair reached out to Shara who took his hand and stood by his side. He said, “Bring them before us.”

  The tall door opened. Fadella guards escorted Batu and Telasec into the hall. A broad smile spread across Ryckair’s face. He dropped Shara’s hand and ran forward to embrace Batu in a great hug.

  Batu held his prince tightly with tears in his eyes. “Never did I think to see you alive again.”

  Ryckair stepped back, still holding Batu by the shoulders. “My dearest friend, I thought you dead at Petstra’s hands.”

  “He had other plans for me, but he soon found that I knew nothing of use to him and I was left to rot in prison.”

  Ryckair turned to Telasec and bowed. “I cannot imagine what great force has brought you here at this time.”

  Telasec said, “This has been foretold, my prince.”

  Ryckair said, “But, how did you travel from Carandir?”

  “That is a tale best told in private,” said Telasec, “For there are things only your ears can hear.”

  Ryckair led Batu and Telasec to a side chamber. Batu checked the door then turned back to Ryckair. “You will not believe me, but we were sent by a wizard. She and her impish companion rescued us from prison and transported us magically to the North Continent.”

  “Jarat and Nissor?”

  Batu’s raised his eyebrows. “You know?”

  Ryckair laughed. “Not of your coming. That is a joy unlooked for. But, I have indeed met the wizard.” He then told them the story of the warrior of the mountain. “Once I realized it was my own image I fought I knew in my heat that Petstra’s letters were lies and that I am the heir, not Craya. So many things have changed since we last met.”

  Batu said, “Things like Shara?”

  “If you knew what she has done for me you would not despise her. I would not sit as king of the Dharam if not for her, or command an army that can challenge my brother.”

  “And what about Mirjel?”

  Ryckair paused. “Do you think I have ever stopped loving her? How could I? But, Shara is alive and Mirjel is dead.”

  Batu shook his head. “Did you think any of Petstra’s letters were true? Mirjel lives.”

  Ryckair looked from Batu to Telasec. The Daro healer said, “It is true, Highness.”

  “But the fall on the stairs?”

  “She recovered and lives. More, she commands a secret network that feeds a starving nation beneath the noses of the Barasha. There is much that has changed in Carandir as well.” She went on to tell of the conspiracy to divert grain and the alliance with Yetig.

  Ryckair jaw opened. “Alive? Everything Petstra did was a lie.” He tapped his fingers on a table. “Did she marry Craya?”

  “Yes, Highness. That part w
as true.”

  “But, she does not love him,” said Telasec. “She loves you, and always will. You can hear it in everything she says, see it in everything she does.”

  Ryckair covered his face with his hands. “Oh Jorondel, what am I to do? I’ve held her memory for so long, but I’ve lived with Shara through so much. I know how you feel about her, Batu, but you can’t imagine how much she means to me. I must think alone.” He threw the door open and strode from the room.

  In a secret alcove next to the chamber, Shara closed the listening slat hidden behind a tapestry. For several moments she stood silently. Then, for the first time since childhood, she cried.

  Shara moved swiftly along the back streets of the city with a tattered cloak pulled around her. She came once more to the stout wooden door of Zamalatha, healer and witch. Shara waited impatiently. She thought she heard the crunch of footsteps in the snow and turned.

  Zamalatha stood behind her. “Do you intend to stand there all day?” She opened the door. Shara followed her into the house.

  “What brings you this time, daughter of Masalta?”

  “I need a poison.”

  The witch gave a grunt. “The powerful always come to the most humble in their greatest need. So it has been and ever shall be. Who is to die, then?”

  “A noble woman of Carandir.”

  The old woman walked to a jar and placed a handful of powder in a bowl. To this she added a piece of root, some black bark and two drops of liquid. She stirred it with a twig and held the container before Shara. “Say now the name of your victim. The order of death must come from your lips.”

  Shara concentrated on the mixture. “Mirjel Avar, princess of Carandir.” Smoke rose from the bowl, wispy and black. The image of a face formed in the vapor. Shara had never seen it before, yet she knew it was her rival.

  The smoke cleared. Only a film of gray powder remained in the bowl. The old woman emptied this into a scrap of cloth, tied it with a piece of twine and handed it to Shara. “It is harmless to all, save its intended victim. You must deliver it near her before the next full moon rises. After that, the powder becomes impotent. But, from this time till then, the poison will call to Mirjel, princess of Carandir, and she will find herself seeking it, though she will not know why. The closer the poison is to her, the more desperate will be her search. When it is in her presence, she will have no thought but to consume it. Before the full moon. That is all you have.”