Chapter 2
Several days’ journey brought Tristan to the familiar cave in which Nargath was known to lair. As they approached the mouth of the cavern, an unfamiliar and hostile head protruded from the maw of the dragon’s lair. A small, black dragon, obviously enraged, stared at the interlopers; smoke curled from his nostrils. “Be gone,” said the dragon in a defensive voice.
“I have come seeking Nargath,” said Tristan.
“He is not here! Be gone!” snapped the young dragon desperately, “I want no part of you dragon-hunter!”
“Dragon hunter?” Tristan nearly laughed, “who in their right mind goes hunting dragons with nothing but a sword, a dagger, and a bow? I have no lance. Nor do I seek draconian blood. I have come for counsel.”
“Counsel?” asked the confused dragon, “what kind of a request is that to make of a dragon?”
Tristan did laugh, “who better to ask for counsel than one who has lived for years beyond count, to whom a century is but a day and man’s faintest histories are living memory? I have sought Nargath’s wisdom before and I shall seek it again unless life fails me. Is he not here?”
“He has gone hunting and should return presently,” said the young dragon, apparently mollified.
“May I ask what a young black dragon is doing in the cave of an ancient green dragon?” asked Tristan, “I have never heard it was draconian custom to share a lair with another dragon.”
“It is not,” said the youngster, “so where better to hide?”
“Hide?” asked Tristan, “what has a dragon to fear?”
The dragon looked nervously about as if the very trees could hear and said, “I am afraid of humans, most especially Knights and other such dragon killers.”
“But why would Nargath hide you in his cave?” asked Tristan, “and why would you want to be closer to civilized lands as you are here than perhaps you would be farther North?”
“I have agreed to provide Nargath with certain information and in exchange he will shelter me from dragon hunters,” said the dragon.
“What kind of information would he seek from one younger than himself?” asked Tristan.
Again, the dragon glanced around nervously and said, “some of my kindred are planning to take lands long held by men and for some reason Nargath finds this fascinating.”
“Why are you not excited about some sort of draconian revolt or at least indifferent?” asked Tristan.
“Are you joking!” said the terrified young dragon, “if my kin go on the path to war, soon men will be heading into the Wilds to do away with any of my kind they can find. While a dragon of Nargath’s age may not have much to fear from a man, a dragon my age is a prime target. I am not yet big enough and my scales are not strong enough to repel such an attack. My elders would go to war and I would sit at home and wait for the Knights to line up and destroy me!”
Tristan looked hopefully at the young dragon and said, “it is such information that I am seeking. I think it would be much better to speak directly to the source, than to ask Nargath to ask you. Would you be willing to speak with me on such matters? I would happily tell all the dragon hunters of my acquaintance that you are not willingly involved in such plots.”
“You would!” said the young dragon, “I would happily share such information as I have with you if you would do as you say.”
“It is a deal then,” said Tristan, “what do you know of these plots amongst your elders?”
“Well,” said the youngster, “about a year or three ago the largest and oldest amongst us, The Black Dragon, began calling all of my kind to him and discussing his ’plans’ for the future. He says that humans are holding territory that has traditionally belonged to us and we should take it back by force. Most of us are happy with our current holdings and have no interest in looking further for property or treasure, but he seemed obsessed with the idea. So much so that several of the younger dragons are catching his fervor and beginning to speak as he does. I fear they may do something stupid and rekindle the enmity between our species that has thankfully settled into a stagnant stalemate in recent centuries. Thus I am hiding in Nargath’s cave lest I be found by an overzealous hunter.”
“Are you still in contact with these other dragons?” asked Tristan.
“Oh yes,” said the dragon, “if I did not show up at certain meetings I would be suspected of treachery or cowardice, both of which are fatal mistakes among my people.”
“Any idea when they may strike or where?” asked Tristan.
“I have no idea,” said the dragon, “everything is still in its formative stages but perhaps within a year or two, if they are hasty.”
Tristan smiled grimly at the dragon’s definition of haste. “Why the sudden change in the attitude of The Black Dragon after so many eons of relative indifference to men?” asked Tristan.
Again he looked around nervously before answering, “it is whispered among some of my closer friends that…though it cannot be true…but…they say that he has not been himself for the last couple years and it is thought that he did something impossible, or at least unthinkable. They think he may have given himself over completely to evil!”
“But I thought black dragons delighted in evil,” said Tristan.
“They do delight in maliciousness and cruelty,” said the youngster, “but they do not usually give their souls completely over to the Evil One as some men are wont to do.”
“You seem a bit more reasonable than I thought your kin were inclined to be,” said Tristan.
The dragon seemed to preen, as if he had received a compliment. “Thank you,” he said, “I am actually a half breed and am less than fond of my father’s side of things. My mother is green. Though as dragons see things I must be black because my scales are; I have a sister who is green with a black’s mind. It drives her mad to be treated as a scholar when she wants to be vicious. I would rather be a scholar but am assumed to be a monster by temperament. Yet another reason I was happy to meet Nargath. He sees past my scales and has taught me much. Of course he would teach a sheep if it were a willing pupil.”
“Fascinating,” was all Tristan could say to such draconian scandal and intrigue.
A deafening roar and a great rush of wind forced Tristan to dismount and seek shelter behind Taragon. Nargath landed nearby and dropped two dead goats on the ground before facing his visitors. “Drat,” said the dragon, “do I know you?”
Tristan laughed at the dragon’s inability to differentiate between individual humans. “Yes,” said Tristan patiently, “but I think you remember my wife’s music better than you ever remember me.”
“Of course!” said the dragon, reminiscing fondly of Arora’s music.
“What brings you way out here?” said the dragon, “and your wife is not with you is she?”
Tristan smiled, “no she is not, I seem to get that a lot lately. The Lady has sent me to see if you know anything of the evil rumors we are hearing. Your young friend has been most helpful, however.”
“Helpful?” scoffed Nargath, “if you like him that much take him home with you. He is nothing but a nuisance!”
Tristan smiled, though the tone was gruff there was an undercurrent of fondness in the old dragon’s words. “He has informed me of the plot among some of the black dragons,” said Tristan, “what can you tell me of the stirring of evil creatures or strange men in the wilds?”
The old dragon sat on his haunches and scratched at his head thoughtfully, “there are definitely an inordinate number of strangers abroad in the wilds lately. There seems to be a sense of unease or restlessness among the darker members of the local flora and fauna. I think something big is coming.”
“Such is the Lady’s fear,” sighed Tristan, “she is sending agents out into all lands and to all known rulers and peoples asking for information and aid. Any chance you can help on the draconian side of things
should the unthinkable happen?”
“Hmmm,” said the older dragon, “dragon fighting dragon for the sake of men? It is unthinkable, but I can promise to try and influence some of these young hotheads away from their foolishness, but the old Black Dragon you must deal with yourselves.”
Tristan bowed his head in acknowledgement, “the Lady sends her thanks for anything you can do.”
“I will also volunteer this young pest to fly to Astoria with any fresh gossip or hearsay that comes our way,” said Nargath, “at least you can know when the old brute is going to strike.”
“Thank you again for all of your counsel and assistance,” said Tristan. They spent the remainder of the day in conversation on many things, none of which dealt with war or waking evil. Nargath was a music lover, but if he could not have music he relished good conversation. He especially enjoyed Tristan’s tale of the University and its students. Morning came quickly and Tristan felt he must again be about his journey. Nargath and the young dragon wished him well and sent greetings to Arora and the Lady.
As he rode off the younger said to the elder, “if only all men were like him.”
“Ah,” sighed the elder, “and more dragons too.”
Once more heading South and East, Tristan planned to stop in Astoria long enough to relay his information to the Lady and then head on to Syre and the other countries of the Eastern Realms. One night as he camped in the borderlands between Astoria and the Wilds of the North, a strange man sat down beside his small fire. “Can I help you?” asked Tristan cautiously, his hand resting on his sword.
“Perhaps you can,” said the stranger, “I could not help but see your fire and had to come over and see what sort of people were here.”
“There is only myself,” said Tristan.
The other man smiled, “good then you will not be minding if I help myself to anything I take a fancy to. I would take my hand off my weapon if I wear you.” He glanced significantly over his shoulder and Tristan noticed a man with a drawn bow hiding in the darkness.
Slowly he moved his hand away from his sword and crossed his arms, “I have nothing of value.”
“We will see,” said the smiling man. He ransacked the camp and a little too happily searched Tristan’s pockets and belt pouch. He came up with nothing of interest, save a few odd coins.
“How disappointing,” said the stranger, “but perhaps not a complete loss. You do have a horse, and lucky for you since it may just save your life.”
“Why kill me?” asked Tristan.
“Why not?” asked the laughing man, “but I will trade you your life for your horse. That way we can make a trade and you cannot say I have robbed you. If I took nothing, then you would not feel indebted to me and might tell a magistrate or other authority, but if I take your horse you will owe me your life and therefore will not tell anyone.” The curious logic completely escaped Tristan, and the man with the bow was also looking rather confused. The man found Taragon’s harness and tried to put it on but the unicorn resisted. Tristan, fearing this might get them both killed, bid Targon to cooperate. Taragon laid his ears flat, but allowed himself to be tacked up and led away. He glanced over his shoulder questioningly but Tristan only shook his head. As long as the men did not try to put a rider on Taragon’s back, things would be well. A unicorn would rarely carry anyone but his master, and then only if his master bid him do so at the last end of need. Tristan put out his fire and crept off into the darkness, lest the bandits return and change their mind. It was a long, sleepless night but the cold grey of morning finally crept through the trees.
Tristan could feel Taragon to the West, no more than a mile off. From the impressions he received from the creature, it seemed the bandits were stirring and breaking camp. One intrepid thief was about to try his hand on their newly captured horse. Taragon gave ample signs that he was not happy with the situation, but the would-be rider ignored him completely. He flung himself into the saddle and shortly found himself once again earthbound. The man picked himself up and dusted himself off and repeated the spectacle not once but four times before deciding enough was enough. Grabbing a willow switch he meant to teach the dumb beast a lesson, but Taragon struck out with hooves and teeth and would not allow the man anywhere near him. “He has gone mad!” shouted the man to his laughing colleagues.
“Naw,” said one of his fellows, “you just ain’t a horseman.” They all broke into laughter, except the insulted man who quivered with rage.
“I will show you what for,” snarled the man. Violence would have broken out at that point had not half a dozen mounted men ridden into the clearing and surrounded the distracted bandits.
“You are under arrest,” said the leader of the group.
“By whose authority?” snarled the lead bandit.
“By the Lady of Astoria,” said the man.
“She has no jurisdiction here!” snapped the bandit, “neither does anyone else.”
“The Lady has authority wherever men break the Common Law and traipse upon the rights of others,” said the man patiently, “if you had broken such laws in civilized lands, I would turn you over to the governing authority, but here in the wilderness you must face the justice I will mete out.”
“What have you to charge me with?” scoffed the bandit.
The mounted man said, “I have half a dozen complaints from a variety of individuals about your thievery. Thankfully no one has accused you of worse. Though I begin to wonder where you found that horse.” He looked at Taragon curiously; he had watched the little debacle between man and beast from a distance and began to wonder if this was actually a horse at all. His own mount let him know that it was not and told him the identity of the strange unicorn. Fear gnawed at his mind, but he chased it away. No unicorn would allow such treatment had his master been slain. Tristan must have allowed Taragon to be captured for him to remain so calm. As if on cue, Tristan came out of the woods lugging his saddlebags over his shoulder.
Taragon whickered a greeting and nuzzled his delinquent master. Tristan secured his saddlebags behind the saddle and mounted. “I see you have found a few friends of mine Turin,” laughed Tristan.
“Yes,” said the other man, “they had found themselves a rather disagreeable new horse. I am glad for your sake and theirs that no worse happened.”
“Me too,” smiled Tristan. “What brings you out here?” asked Tristan.
“The Lady has us riding patrol in the empty lands between Astoria and the Northern Wilds,” said Turin, “bandits such as these are becoming very bold indeed. Some have ranged even into Astoria itself.” Tristan gasped, nothing like that had happened in his lifetime.
“Things are growing dangerous,” said Tristan, “I was careless with my fire last night. I had no idea things had grown this desperate so close to Astoria. I will be more careful hereafter.”
“I hope so,” said Turin, “as I cannot rescue you from bandits whenever the fancy strikes you to be careless.”
“I must be on my way,” said Tristan, “these men have cost me enough time.” He exchanged farewells with his friend and rode on towards Astoria with all speed. He soon arrived in Astoria and delivered his news immediately to the Lady.
She said, “it is as I feared, but at least our fears are starting to flesh out and take on some semblance of reality rather than remaining wild fancies.”
“Are there truly bandits raiding into Astoria?” asked Tristan.
The Lady smiled grimly, “there have been a few incidents within our farthest borders, but things are not yet that desperate. I still keep chaos and anarchy at bay and travelers go safely within our bounds.” Tristan grinned ruefully at her mild reproach. “But,” said the Lady, “as you are here and are in need of protection from such bandits I will provide it.” Tristan looked at her in confusion as she clapped her hands and a servant summoned someone from behind a closed door.
“Geff?” asked Tristan in astonishment.
“Yes,” said the Lady, “he has recently taken his Oath and is in need of a mentor. You are in need of caution and another pair of eyes.” Tristan bowed in acknowledgment, though an apprentice was not what he had hoped to leave Astoria with. “You shall leave within the hour for Syre,” said the Lady. Tristan bowed again and ushered his awestruck apprentice out of her presence.
Once they were in the hall, Tristan said to Geff, “when did you get here?”
The boy laughed, “shortly after Arora’s trial at the University. After I had spent some months here and then went back to the University, it did not take me long to decide where true wisdom was to be found. I came swiftly back here and have been buried in classes and books while you have been drilling students in the arts of war.”
“Oh,” said Tristan a bit embarrassed that he had missed noticing the young man during their months together in the same castle. “If you are so interested in books and philosophy why does the Lady have you chasing after me?” asked Tristan.
The boy smiled, “I have an interest in knowledge, but also in the wider world. She is sending me with you because I aspire to be a master of not only knowledge but also of the sword.”
“You want to be a Messenger?” asked Tristan in astonishment.
“Of course,” said the boy, “I would grow weary if I only taught or fought, but I want to do both and more.” Tristan nodded knowingly, his was the smallest sect of the Brethren, but also the most versatile in function. He never had a dull assignment, well almost never.
“We had best saddle up,” said Tristan, “are you packed?” The boy nodded. As they entered the courtyard, a strange unicorn stood beside Taragon, fully saddled and ready to go. It seemed everyone but himself knew what was going on. Silently they mounted and headed towards Dara, the capital city of Syre. Geff was by now an excellent horseman, though when Tristan had first known him he hardly knew one end of a horse from the other. They traveled swiftly and when they stopped for the night Tristan sparred with Geff with and without swords, perfecting his defensive techniques. As they rode, they often talked upon a variety of subjects. Overall, Tristan was highly impressed with the youth. It was also nice to have someone to talk to and someone to help keep watch. It made the journey East go much faster. Soon they reached Dara and applied to the King.
During their travels, Tristan’s plans were to keep their identity as members of the Brethren a secret as much as possible. They waited patiently at the gate to the palace until the guard returned with the King’s answer. He said, “his Majesty the King will see you in due course, though it may take some weeks before an opportune time arises.”
Tristan said, “my Mistress bids me haste on my errand which is of the utmost importance to her and also to the King and his people.”
“Who should I say sent you?” asked the bored guard.
“Tell his Highness that a very noble Lady sends him greetings,” said Tristan cryptically.
The guard raised his eyebrows skeptically, not understanding but Tristan hoped the King would. “His majesty shall see you in due course,” said the guard mechanically. This was not getting him anywhere. He could not wait ‘weeks’ to see the King.
Tristan tried another tack, “may I inquire after the presence of Berg among the King’s advisors?”
The guard said, “he is still numbered among the men who claim to advise the King. Shall I send him your greetings as well?”
“If you would be so kind,” said Tristan. The man walked off slowly, leaving Tristan and Geff to stare at the emotionless faces of the guards blocking their way. What seemed like hours later, the guard returned with an anxious Berg in tow. Tristan had not seen him in years, but he remembered the cheerful man well.
He glanced at Tristan and Geff and then turned to the guard saying, “he is an old friend of mine. You may admit him under my authority.”
The guard said to Berg, “if I do that, any trouble he makes will fall on your head.”
“I understand,” said the overly patient Berg, “let them in.”
The guards parted and they led their mounts into the courtyard where they were quickly whisked away by servants. The duo was silent as Berg led them deep into the castle and brought them to an absolutely tiny chamber. “This is my grand sleeping chamber,” said the jubilant Berg. Tristan smiled at the man’s humor.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” said Tristan, “but the Lady has sent us in haste and I cannot wait ‘weeks’ to see the king.”
Berg smiled, “you are never a burden. Any command of the Lady’s is as much an order to me as to you. You were also wise not to wait ‘weeks’ as it may have turned out to be years. The King is not very good at keeping appointments, especially for unimportant strangers. I have a private audience with him tomorrow and you are welcome to accompany me. What does the Lady wish to know?” Tristan told Berg of his errand and he nodded grimly, “the rumors are true then. I feared as much. We hear rumors of bandits on the borders and monsters in the darkest woods, but we are far removed from such evils here. The King is not what one would call proactive in the area of defense. A problem must be right on top of him before he worries about it, and sometimes not even then. He prefers to let things work themselves out. How he maintains order in a country as large as Syre I do not know, though I think it is mainly because it is such a prosperous country that the people have little to be restless about.”
“What of the University?” asked Tristan.
Berg sighed, “ah yes, the University. It has improved dramatically in the last few months, but still teaches much nonsense. They have moved one of the larger departments out to some dreary castle on the coast as I have been told.”
Tristan smiled recalling what a headache the institution had been before its recent changes. “Which department?” asked Tristan.
Berg said, “the only worthwhile one. I think they moved it out into the middle of nowhere to discourage would-be students from learning something useful, though I think it only makes it more exciting. From what I hear they are seeing a record number of students. I have even heard rumors that the Lady has actually sent some of the Brethren to teach there!”
Tristan smiled, “my wife is one of them.”
“I had heard a rumor of such a thing,” laughed Berg. Tristan smiled. The Brethren seldom married and when they did, were only permitted to marry a fellow member of the Brethren. Therefore, a marriage within the Brethren was always exciting news. Tristan introduced Geff and said he had been a former student at the University. Berg raised his eyebrows but congratulated the boy on his decision to join the Brethren. They talked until it was time for the evening meal; then they quickly cleaned up and went in search of dinner. Geff, who had never attended a court function, was amazed by the grandeur that attended something as mundane as supper. People were dressed in very fancy clothes, there were servants everywhere, and the food seemed extravagant for such an ordinary affair. They ate their meal in relative silence, as no one seemed very interested in a minor advisor and his guests. One guest particularly caught Tristan’s eye; a man in a black uniform emblazoned with a fiery serpent.
“Who is that?” asked Tristan surreptitiously of Berg.
Berg said, “he is a nasty piece of work. His is called Merton and he is the representative of the Legion to the King. I much preferred his predecessor when it was still the Order, but he has been dismissed because he spent a few months in Astoria. I hear it is the same in all the lands between the Eastern and Western seas. I miss the days when such men were simply pompous windbags; this one must bathe in anger and drink frustration like wine. He has no patience and little sense, a dangerous combination. He has already informed me that should the Legion declare it, he will happily be my enemy.”
Tristan said, “lovely.” Geff blanched in concern.
As if smel
ling Geff‘s fear, Merton deigned to join them. “Hello Traitor,” said Merton conversationally to Berg, “I see you have finally found yourself some friends, or should I say fellow conspirators? I know your kind and I do not like them. You will do well to shorten your stay and disappear entirely. Do not trifle with me.” Tristan bowed politely. The man seemed to take it as an affront and returned to his place, occasionally glaring suspiciously at the three men. Dinner concluded with no one else taking an interest in the plainly dressed men, though Berg was a little more formal in his uniform. The courtiers gathered to share gossip and intrigues, but the three Brethren retired to Berg’s chambers for some much needed rest. They awoke early the next morning. Apparently the King kept very strange hours and Berg sometimes met with him before dawn. At least today their meeting was set for after sunrise yet before breakfast. They tidied up as best they could in the tiny room and proceeded to the designated meeting room. The King sat before a large table laden with all manner of delicacies. They stood and watched him eat while they made their appeals to him. “Your Majesty,” said Berg, “may I introduce Tristan and Geff. Emissaries from the Lady of Astoria, sent in all haste to seek your counsel.”
“My counsel?” laughed the King, “what can an old dotard like me tell men of your learning?”
Tristan bowed and said, “Sire, the Lady sends her greetings and also asks your counsel. All across the known world evil is stirring and rumors are flying. The Lady is desperate to know what is truth and what is fancy. What do you know of evil happenings within your borders and what help will you send at the uttermost end of need?”
The King yawned expansively and said, “I know little enough of what happens in my own keep. What can I tell you of things that go bump in the night? You would be better served to speak with one of my generals about such matters. As for aid, he could answer that question as well. I seek only peace and amusement; it is he that keeps this kingdom running smoothly.”
“Sire,” said Tristan, “you may leave the day to day functioning of things in the hands of your generals, but if the world seems ready to plunge into irredeemable darkness it is up to you to give the order to send your men to fight in the last desperate battle else peace and amusement will cease for all, both small and great alike. What is your answer, Sire?”
The King looked serious for a moment and then said, “you speak of an inevitable battle. What if such never comes?”
“Your Majesty,” said Tristan, “our people have died trying to keep the darkness from overwhelming all we hold dear. It is my dearest prayer that such a desperate day never comes, but if it does, we must know if you will be there to stand beside us or if we fight alone.”
He spoke with such fervent hope that the King could not help but be moved and said, “should that day come, my armies shall be there to fight the falling night.” Tristan bowed and could not find words to do honor to such a sentiment. Berg had never seen the King in such a noble mood. They bowed themselves out and went in search of a general.
General Kern was presumably busy in his rooms when the three men were ushered in by a servant. He welcomed the distraction from his normal routine. He was surprised at Tristan’s request but happy to be of service. Here was a more attentive audience than ever the King had been. He verified that yes, there had been an increase in the number of bandits about the countryside and that some of the more distant villages were trying to secede from the Kingdom. There had even been rumors of monsters roaming in civilized territory. He was very supportive of the King’s proclamation of supporting the war effort should evil threaten to overtake the world. He said he would send word to all of his colleagues and underlings to stand ready. Overall, it was a very encouraging meeting (except for the news of more evil tidings). As the three walked to the dining hall in search of the midday meal, they encountered Merton once more, “I hope you are behaving yourselves. Though I would dearly love to find a reason to haul you off to Panmycea to face true justice.”
“The Legion had best mind its own business,” said Berg, “and I doubt such a thing as justice exists within Panmycea these days.” The man snarled at them and stormed out of the hall. It was a silent and grim meal. After they ate, Tristan said they must be continuing on. He had to stop by the University and its other campus before heading into Arca. Berg bid them farewell and was not happy to be left alone with Merton, but perhaps with his guests gone Merton would not be so apt to seek him out for unpleasant conversations. Merton watched from an upper window as the strangers rode off, wondering what it portended.
The Sampler Platter: A Little Bit of Everything Page 125
