Castles weren’t designed with dragons in mind. That much was obvious. Even well-kept keeps kept their occupants only one step ahead of discomfort, the hard stones cruel surroundings. Drafty, ruined castles fared worse for the lack of upkeep, though they did have the advantage that if you felt compelled to knock down a wall or rip through the ceiling with your claws, no one would complain, but there was only so much you could do to one and leave it standing. Interior decorating dragon-style had its limits.
Even with her recent modifications to the long-abandoned Castle Darlonon, Perndara the dragon was grumpy. The Grand Hall was big enough for her enormous bulk, and the hole in the floor a good place to dangle her barbed tail, but she wanted to be outside. Dragons weren’t meant to be indoors any more than castles were meant to be their homes, and she desperately wanted to fly again. She’d been spotted last time, however, and though she’d devoured most of those hunters, one had gotten away and Nir’lion hadn’t exactly been amused with the result. Now their plans – well, all the plans were really Nir’lion’s – had been ruined and Nir’lion was off dreaming up some way to turn the situation to her advantage.
In fact, just this morning, news had come that the Ellorian Champions were on their way. Perndara’s spirits had soared for the first time since Nir’lion had practically torn her golden scales from her thick hide. Shortly after the pair first escaped through the Dragon Gate, Nir’lion learned of the champions’ apparent disappearance, threatening the revenge she so badly wanted. But now that goal had returned.
Perndara had been so happy that she’d roasted the poor messenger and then slurped him down in one gulp, savoring the flavor of fresh human. That was a chief complaint about the land of their banishment, there being nothing but wild livestock. Dragons loved to play with their food, and nothing fought back like sentient races. Humans were good, dwarves not so much with all that nasty hair, but the elves were delicious, the marrow sweeter and more succulent than even their blood, which was like wine. She was pleased to know some elves were expected for supper in a few days.
She had to avoid eating too many of these Dragon Cult members in the ruin, however, though the stupid fools seemed to consider it an honor. The cult had never been bright. They knew enough not to flaunt danger, however, and had been avoiding her when in dragon form. It was one reason she changed now, her large body shimmering briefly as she vanished like an illusion. In her place stood an elegant woman of exceptional beauty, golden hair tumbling to her slender waist, full breasts straining against the silken gown, and jewels of shining brilliance about her sinuous neck. The only hints of her true nature were the golden eyes that faded slowly to pale green. As all dragons could, she snuffed the sensation of magical power emanating from her so as to pass for human. But as she had with those hunters, sometimes letting the power exude had its advantages.
Perndara slowly climbed a staircase at one end to look down on the Dragon Gate. A large oval nearly twenty feet high and twice as wide, it lay on its stand almost flat, tilted toward the blue sky. Dragons were pulled down into it through the ragged opening in the castle roof, the crumbled ceiling having made this an ideal spot for the gate. Newer rubble had lain scattered about the floor – most likely Soliander’s doing when setting up this device – until she’d ordered the cult to move it to a corner. They had dutifully cleaned everything but the gate upon her order. The last thing she wanted was the door to their prison kept in good shape. If she could have destroyed it, she would have, but it was impervious to her magic or dragon fire. She had no idea what it was made of and hadn’t seen anything like it. It was unadorned except for a peculiar looking hole above the three steps at its base. She surmised this related to its activation but wasn’t really interested. Once the dragons were free, they’d bury the thing under tons of rock. For now, they waited, the force of Nir’lion’s will strong enough to keep the remaining dragons on the other side despite the door being open.
The sight of the gate renewed her thirst for vengeance. She’d been told not to harm the champions too much, for Nir’lion wanted them alive. After all, these were the four who’d trapped them these long years, and revenge was to be had slowly. Still, accidents were known to happen, especially with such powerful forces being tossed about, and Perndara was in fact known to be somewhat careless. That’s how she’d come to be seen flying over the tall peaks, so it wouldn’t be too surprising if one of the heroes met an untimely end. Yes, that’s how she’d put it to Nir’lion. The knight had simply not been fast enough. He was unable to escape her fiery breath, or a sweeping claw, or the clamp of her long fangs on his tender flesh.
She had healing powers, like all dragons, and was prepared to answer the question as to why she didn’t heal the knight after accidentally wounding him. In the heat of battle, she’d say, she was too distracted and hadn’t noticed the grievous nature of his wounds. Oh, and the priestess Eriana, well, she had been knocked unconscious during the melee and unable to heal the knight. By the time she roused, he had perished.
And it had to be the knight, if for no other reason than that title he proudly wore, that of Dragon Slayer. She would see about that. If this puny human thought he’d be slaying a dragon here, he was in for a surprise. More importantly, it was he who truly led them, regardless of any counsel or help from the others. It was that knight who had guided them into this banishment, she was sure of it, and for that he was to pay with his life. Nir’lion would have to settle for the other three and Perndara’s best rendition of an innocent apology from a timid, careless, twit of a dragon who was nothing of the sort. She knew perfectly well what she was doing and the wrath that would come with it, but let it come. It would be worth it. Lord Korrin of Andor was going to die screaming in her fanged mouth.
Chapter 8 – Affinity
As the horses cantered into a stand of evergreens, Olliana disappeared behind them and with it, a kingdom full of hope. Ryan breathed a sigh of relief, settling in to enjoy a ride through beautiful country. He’d been an avid horseman for years, but his friends looked quite out of place. Anna had some experience, but the elves had taken the reins from Matt and Eric, leading them along for now. Some basic horsemanship lessons were in order.
An embarrassing fanfare had accompanied their departure. Beyond the blaring horns, crowds of people had lined the streets to see them off. Some threw bouquets of flowers to Anna and garter belts to the men, particularly Lord Korrin. Outwardly, Ryan had appeared to enjoy the attention, hiding his consternation. The number of people depending on them daunted him, and he’d settled for waving and concentrating on holding the lance in his stirrup, the deep blue banner snapping in the warm breeze. On it, a golden dragon breathed fire toward a fearless golden knight. He hoped the depiction was pure fiction but began to rethink his decision to stay behind, for all the looks of hope, especially on children’s faces, made him realize all these people were counting on him in particular. The thought of letting them all get killed wasn’t acceptable, his loathing of violence notwithstanding. He suddenly felt selfish.
There’d been no sign of Cirion, Nora, or Raith, which both worried and relieved him. An unseen troublemaker wasn’t good. He doubted they’d simply turned tail and gone home. If headed for the gate as expected, maybe Cirion’s mercenaries would spring any traps the cult had set for them. It would serve them right.
Cirion wasn’t likely to arrive first, however, for his mercenaries couldn’t take Lorian’s shortcut, which shaved two days off the eight-day trip to Castle Darlonon. Lorian’s family controlled that area, his estate in its center, and the elf sent a messenger to warn of wayward humans matching a certain description. Cirion, and anyone associated with him, weren’t welcome in the elven woods, where borders had been tightened in advance of war. He could try anyway, but elves appeared to be far less amused by smart talking rogues than humans were. Since only the queen knew they’d visit Lorian’s estate, they’d spend one day there, still arriving at Darlonon a day before expected. It gave them time to learn
self-defense, at least.
For the first day, they rode in silence through open fields and peaceful autumn foliage, reflecting on the situation and what might be happening back on Earth in their absence. The days on Honyn seemed shorter, the nights longer – and the season happened to be the same – but Ryan’s friends could have sworn this day in the saddle lasted forever. At times only the frequent moaning broke the quiet.
“Oh man,” said Eric during a break, standing beside the horse and holding onto the saddle to keep from crumpling to the ground. “My legs are rubber. I would’ve thought all the martial arts would’ve had me in better shape. How am I supposed to fight anything when I can’t even stand?”
“Nothing prepares you for so much riding except riding. You’ll limber up after a few more days, Eric,” Ryan advised. Despite his experience, his legs hurt, too, but he refused to admit it.
“I seriously doubt that.”
Lorian asked. “Is that your real name? Eric?”
The rogue nodded. “Yes. I guess we had better tell you our names to avoid confusion.”
The elf suggested, “On the contrary, you should use your assumed names, and only those, in case someone overhears you. And if no one else knows your real names, we can’t use them by accident.”
“Good point,” agreed Eric, wincing.
The cobblestone roads near Olliana soon gave way to dirt as they pushed hard across rolling hills and wooded trails. Their band of armor-clad elves and humans attracted no attention until stopping at a roadside inn for the night. Firelight shone through ground floor windows, two chimneys pumping smoke into the starry sky. As Ryan looked for constellations he knew wouldn’t be there, he thought the stars shone brighter, whether from the lack of city lights and haze or just proximity. Among the stars drifted three moons, the best evidence they weren’t on Earth so far, the impossibility of faking that sinking in. He took a deep breath, noticing the fresh air. Everything seemed more natural, from the unprocessed foods to the handmade garments, though the lack of modern accommodations, especially toiletries, almost negated any pleasure derived from that naturalness. The idea of spending twelve days on the quest frustrated him, for that was two weeks of knowing nothing about Daniel.
As they filed into the inn, the elves stabling the horses, Ryan secured four of the bedrooms for the four elves and four champions, as they’d be sleeping two to a room. In doing so, he flashed more gold – courtesy of the court – than the innkeepers probably saw in a year. Eric quietly suggested more discretion. The innkeepers were quick to realize their identities. Korrin’s golden armor and Soliander’s staff didn’t help.
They gathered for a meager dinner in the inn’s cramped common room, pushing two well-worn corner tables together for a meal of day-old bread, slightly stale ale, and tough beef, with apologies from their hosts. Ryan hadn’t eaten such poor fare since he’d tried cooking for himself on a few misguided occasions, but he expected it would get worse once camping. The generous tip he gave was more charity than deserved, but the owners looked like they needed a break. He asked that they not be disturbed and got his wish.
Lorian had introduced his three elven companions along the way, but only one, Morven, chose to speak with them. At one hundred fifty years old, he was still a teenager among elves, making Ryan wonder if it was awful to be a teenager for so many decades. Tall and skinny, he showed none of the awkwardness of human teens, being all grace if not poise, brown hair flowing freely to his waist and sometimes across his delicate features, hiding shy green eyes. He spoke quietly if at all, as if unsure of himself, but his words nonetheless conveyed conviction in his thoughts. The elf’s specialty was archery, yet another skill they lacked, and the knight wondered just how many skills the champions had that they didn’t. If Morven and other elves didn’t come with them, they’d never succeed or see Earth again.
While the others made small talk, Ryan pulled out the vellum scroll the real Soliander had written about their previous time here, unfurling the painted case to see a scribe’s bold and elegant script. After skimming a few lines in the dim lantern light, he whistled and said, “Listen to this.”
At the time of our summoning by the King of Alunia’s arch-wizard, Aurilon, the dragons of Honyn were rampaging. Under the leadership of Nir’lion, the dragon horde had laid waste to hundreds of towns across Alunia and the neighboring lands, with Alunia suffering the worst. No village was too small to escape their fiery breath, no town too sacred, no outpost too remote. Castles, temples, schools, homes, and farms were equal targets under their wrath, and the only reprieve came when they had gorged themselves on humans, dwarves, and elves so fully that they could not continue for a time.
“They eat people?” Anna asked.
Ryan nodded slowly, thinking he’d always avoided swimming in shark-infested waters or going other places where humans were considered food.
Eric asked, “So Sonneri was not the arch-wizard at the time, and there was a King?”
Lorian nodded. “Yes, the king died several years ago, and his wife became queen. Shortly thereafter the wizard retired and has since perished. Sonneri was an apprentice of Aurilon’s and long a confidant of the royal family. His assumption of the role at the queen’s request went unchallenged.”
Ryan turned back to the scroll, trying to keep his voice down so the serving girl wouldn’t overhear.
With the countryside in disarray, people fled to the cities. As if waiting for this very thing, the dragons set upon these fortified population centers en masse. The city of Trisune in Nurinor was razed to the ground in just hours. Across the sea, the Empire of Perthia lost the great port cities of Gharili and Tuunark, and here in Alunia, Vollunia, Hexia, and Ferralon fell in quick succession, inspiring our immediate summoning.
As is usually the case, many great warriors and wizards sought to solve the problem prior to our arrival, to no avail. Upon our briefing, we made our own determination after investigating. Rampaging dragons do not respond to reason and cannot be subdued, and with Nir’lion’s leadership keeping them engaged, this was especially true. We suspected that even with her death, the dragons, now used to their rampage, would continue for an unacceptable time before reverting to their usual “every dragon for itself” attitude. Thus, we determined that something must be done about all of them.
The quest as stated indicated we must not only halt present hostilities, but eliminate the possibility of such actions in the future. This latter item is an aggressive request, so much so that its improbability renders it potentially invalid. Such invalid quest requirements may be safely ignored, meaning the questors can still depart at the conclusion of the quest’s other requirements. However, it is difficult to know this will be the case and it behooves us to make some attempt at resolution, even if the solution does not satisfy the exact parameter as stated.
We therefore decided upon banishment.
Ryan looked up, several questions on his mind.
As if reading his thoughts, Lorian offered, “Some quests are impossible to perform, and the summoning spell knows this, in a sense, and will make the summoning fail. However, some quests have multiple requirements where only part of the quest is impossible. Such requirements can be ignored by the champions. Other times, a requirement cannot be met as stated, but some approximation of it can be accomplished and the questors are obliged to achieve what they can. Sometimes this impossibility results from a poorly phrased requirement where the intention was not stated accurately, and it is up to the Ellorians to determine the true intent.”
Anna remarked, “It reminds me of those genie-in-the-bottle stories where the genie grants the wish but it’s never what you meant.”
Ryan nodded and returned to reading Soliander’s scroll aloud once more.
In my own travels, I had previously come across an uninhabited world suitable for the cause. It is lush with vegetation and wild stock, mountainous enough for dragon lairs, and yet no sentient races exist there, or even non-sentient humanoids. The dragons
could live and thrive.
However, this world was not without concern. On it I had discovered a unique ore I named soclarin, an ancient magic word meaning “vessel of power.” In addition to being impervious to the elements, such as fire and ice, it also resists magical energy, and yet magic items created with it are of significantly greater power. It was this ore that allowed me to create the Dragon Gate, a device powerful enough to not only banish the dragons but serve as a lock on the planet Soclarin. Only the most powerful of wizards can fashion items from it, but I am its discoverer and only I know how to do so.
For the banishment to be effective, neither dragons nor anything else should be able to leave Soclarin, since dragons can change shapes and impersonate other beings. However, locking a planet in this way takes tremendous energy. Without the soclarin ore, it would be extremely arduous if not impossible. However, choosing Soclarin as the place to banish them presented a problem for me, as I have used the ore to fashion other items and would no longer be able to access it once the gate was active. For this reason, I traveled there one last time to retrieve a suitable quantity of ore for the foreseeable future.
Two gates were created, one upon Soclarin and another here on Honyn in the ruined castle of Darlonon in the Tarron Mountains of Alunia. The Soclarin gate does not contain a lock for the obvious reason that the dragons have no need of operating it, and the Honyn gate locks both. I formed the Honyn gate in such a way that only my staff – or a similar item made of soclarin ore, of which I believe there to be none not in our possession – could unlock it. Items made from soclarin appear bluish grey or silver if fashioned into a blade, being lighter than expected and virtually indestructible.
The description reminded Ryan of Korrin’s sword, which was bluish silver, unusually light, and had been completely unmarked after the sword fight in their suite. His opponent’s sword had been badly nicked.
The Dragon Gate (The Dragon Gate Series Book 1) Page 8
