by David Rice
The dragon could not fly any higher and could only reach the ledge by crashing against its edge and grasping it with all four taloned limbs.
The shock of the dragon’s impact sent Kirsten stumbling towards the edge, and her shield flew from her hand. It spun to a stop at the edge of the precipice.
Instantly, Kirsten was filled with weakness and her legs buckled.
The dragon dragged, kicked, and clawed its way onto the ledge until it lay its own exhausted head near Kirsten. Bathed in white and blue light, it wheezed and puffed, and its fire was nearly out. Its massive feet lay askew on either side of Kirsten’s body. Above them both the racing moons hung like hammers ready to fall.
This was the moment, Kirsten told herself, and her mind stormed with possibilities. Could she protect what remained of the One’s creation? Would she save the world she knew by shedding blood again? Was that what the One desired? There was no more time for debate, only action. The dragon could rend her or roast her or consume her with nothing more than a flinch. She needed to stand. She had to raise her sword.
All she managed was a slow roll onto her knees while her chest burned with the effort.
The dragon turned its head slightly towards the shield and puffed a small flame. The ledge filled with a momentary heat that was not unwelcome, and the flame swirled briefly before disappearing into the blue gem. Then the dragon’s black eyes fell upon Kirsten.
Kirsten, wobbling on her knees, sword pressed against the stone, saw the reflection of her own weakness in those eyes. She felt suffering in their depths. And something else she did not expect. Just like her, the dragon was full of trepidation.
Kirsten had seen that look before. In Dria’s eyes.
The dragon kept its stare fully upon Kirsten as it deftly grasped the shield between two claws, popped the gem out with a third, and slid its silver disk across the stone until it rested beside the half-elf. The blue gem sat huddled under the leg of the dragon like a toy where it continuously siphoned energy from her form.
Kirsten didn’t pause to ponder why. She grabbed the shield once more and was able to stand slowly. Only the dragon’s eyes tracked her movement. Every breath burned, and her arms were so heavy she could barely lift them. Each of her wobbly steps forward became less certain because there was no way to know what the dragon would do next. She forced herself to halt a sword’s length from the dragon’s nose, and she knew that any sudden movement would send her crashing to the stone. She also was quite sure that even with the shield warming her, she wouldn’t have the strength to stand again.
Kirsten stared at her image where it shimmered in the deep black pools of the dragon’s eyes. At that moment, her veins filled with ice and she wanted to hurl herself from the platform.
Run away just like her Papa. Just like the One.
Helba’s voice stumbled across her mind once more. Kindness was always the better choice. Life and hope sprang from that source alone.
Kirsten’s heart flooded with a sudden realization, this was not her choice to make. The world began with the dragon, and it would only be fair to allow the dragon a choice that would determine the world’s fate now.
Kirsten grasped at the breath to yell in the thin air. “What do you want? You spared my life twice. I’m tired of killing. I won’t take yours.”
The mother dragon blinked.
“I’ve had so many choices I didn’t want and I’ve hurt so many. But you’re trapped here like me, aren’t you. Don’t you want something better for this world you helped make?”
The dragon’s eyes widened and she puffed once, a foul breeze of burned flesh.
“No. You don’t like what you’ve become, do you? Or what you are carrying now in your stomach.” Kirsten’s heart thrummed with certainty. “What happens next is up to you.” Her knuckles whitened as she squeezed the hilt of the Fahde with both hands. “Mercy!” she cried out and brought the sword down swiftly. The blade missed the dragon’s head and split the rock , sinking deep, to quiver like a spent quarrel. The gem blazed across the mountains like a new sun and Kirsten crumpled to the cold stone.
Kirsten’s head rebounded off the rock, and she heard a bone crack in her skull. Then she was spinning, her auburn hair splayed like a wreath, and slowly dampening in a darker pool. Her vision blurred and her head lolled lazily away from the blinding light of the gem to gaze upon the surreal greens and blues of a vast and distant world below. Then Kirsten tasted blood and drifted away.
From above, as if in a dream where she had floated once before as a child, painless and detached, Kirsten watched herself lay inert upon the stone.
The Fahde’s white gem flashed brilliantly when Kirsten’s blood seeped into the cracks of rock radiating from its blade. Wherever the Fahde’s light fell upon the dragon, her skin began to harden.
Amazed that she was not horrified nor scared, Kirsten drifted above the scene while the dragon began to resist the Fahde’s call to sleep. Her fear and her attachments, her losses and guilt were sudden welcome absences lifting. Helba. Raisha. Her Papa. The last hymns of her heart yearned for forgiveness.
The mother dragon puffed a thin cloud of green powder into the air and it descended softly to cover the girl’s body. Then she stretched her neck to grab one of her wrecked and stiffening wings. She tore swiftly through its leathery skin. Labouring against the inevitable, the dragon rolled Kirsten’s body to the side, pushed the wing underneath both the silver shield and the girl, and with a few thrusts of her nose and tugs of her fangs, she wrapped the girl inside a cocoon of her own skin, leaving only the girl’s face exposed.
What was the dragon doing? It was not panic that inhabited Kirsten now, but an idle curiosity that left her wondering what awaited to the east. The clouds blanketed a landscape that seemed so full of life. Yet it was the unseen crest of the ocean beyond where it touched the sky that beckoned insistently. Kirsten felt herself drift. Was this the way she would return to the Wairua? she idly wondered. Then the pull towards the horizon stopped, her fatigued consciousness spiralled down towards her body and all faded to grey.
***
A frantic kick tore at the mother dragon from within. Her eyes hardened and she cried out against the pain, against the stiffening of her body, against the endless cycle of choice being torn from her once more. The mother dragon’s eyes widened as she regarded the girl’s frail body, and then her eyes narrowed with resolve. In spite of all the pressures of the world, the girl had saved her. A mother dragon should be capable of at least that much strength.
NO, the mother dragon’s mind wailed. There would be no rebirth of chaos from her womb. She was the beginning and now she would make a worthy end.
Lurching into motion, the dragon nudged Kirsten from the eastern edge. Down she twisted and sailed like a leaf, towards the undiscovered green riches of the One’s greatest secret.
The girl tumbled through the air like a seed pod from a great oak and vanished in the mist.
Shaking with the effort to resist inescapable paralysis for a while longer, the mother dragon lifted her head until she was poised over the hilt of the Fahde and with the last of her will she slammed her throat down with such force the mountain quivered. In her last moments before endless dreams, the dragon felt some warmth in her heart as the kicking in its womb froze forever.
Above the sudden stillness, upon the highest peak of the world, the Fahde’s brilliant white light shone like a new star.
XVI
Galen took one look at the crystal waters stretching towards a distant glacier and knew he could entice his people to walk no farther. He knew there was no need. This would be their new home.
Gradually, the survivors of Longwood’s loss joined him, gathering around the edge of the water to marvel at the reflection of tall evergreens and blue sky. The wind was chill but the warmth of their gathering together made some amends. No one spoke as they set down the remnants of Longwood they were able to salvage. The meager rushed harvest of their former lives. Each elf se
emed to be staring at flames that would never go out.
Keeping a respectful distance were the remaining members of the Crystal Marsh Clan. Their leader, Rybaki, instructed her followers to kneel and pray. Then her attention turned towards Galen once more.
Orweh was the first to dare breaking their silence. “What should we do first?” she asked the sage.
Galen turned to Orweh and rubbed his tired eyes as if trying to comprehend the question.
“We have no wardens,” Orweh continued. “Ballok, Cinn, Siandros. They’re all gone. We’ll need to safeguard our lore, build platforms, reestablish a council, and—”
Galen rubbed his neck and held up a hand gently. “Shhh,” he replied.
Orweh took a step back and lowered her eyes. “I am sorry, Elder. What should we do?”
Galen took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice quietly trembled but did not waver. “We will remember,” he said.
Orweh brushed at the intrusion of a sudden tear, and blushed.
Galen squeezed the younger sage’s shoulder and gestured towards Rybaki, Woodmothers Yve and Vendete, and Loremother Ghenna. Then he lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs. “First,” he said, his voice gathering strength, “Let us begin with a circle.”
***
The flags above Graniteside flew the colours of Lornen III at half mast. Below, Chancellor Koppinger disguised his tension behind a smile and welcomed his many guests into the Throne Room.
Of course, the throne remained empty. The sight of it filled the room with trepidation, and galvanized many with determination.
When the final invitees filed in, Koppinger politely signalled for the guards to secure the room. The large doors closed audibly. Sighs and grumbling grew to a storm of whispers before he spoke.
“Thank you for answering my call,” he began. “I hate to have to voice the obvious but the war against the elves is over.”
The whispers changed their tone.
“And the throne is no longer occupied,” Koppinger added.
Somehow Duke Cahill had made the journey from his Keep in the Lowlands.
“What’re you going to do about that?” Cahill shouted. “We hear you’ve got all the purse-strings.”
The grumbling intensified.
Koppinger’s eyes hardened above his patient smile. He had kept the rough and tumble docks from turning on one another during the worst days of Lornen’s rule. He could handle this room now. “That’s a good question, Duke, but not the right question.”
Cahill’s face reddened. “Don’t get clever with me—”
Koppinger raised a finger. “What we are going to do about it is why I’ve asked all of you here.”
Cahill’s bluster ran out of wind.
Koppinger soaked up the stunned silence. “Let’s not lie to ourselves,” he continued. “There’s too much to do and little time to do it.”
The grumbles were replaced by suggestions from many quarters.
“We need crops in and stored.”
“—guards on the roads—”
“—healers—”
“Chain of command,” Cahill added. “Order.”
Koppinger nodded. “You’re not wrong.” Then Koppinger made his play to see who was open to change. “Lornen was a cock. We never would be in this position if it wasn’t for his wasteful foolishness.”
“But tradition—” a representative of the Highlands blurted.
Koppinger cut him off. “Tradition is whatever we choose to make it today.”
The grumbling and whispers died away. The eyes within this room had been made hard by cycles of desperation and sacrifice.
“The Orders are discovering more agreeable leadership within their ranks. And they can swear to the truth that we have a legitimate heir to the throne but he is young.”
The room exploded with questions.
Koppinger held up two fingers. “A bastard boy hidden away so Lornen’s sycophants couldn’t butcher him.” Koppinger pressed on. “And we have a legitimate bride in mind, one
Lornen already selected.”
“The daughter of Wyntress,” Cahill volunteered unenthusiastically.
Koppinger smiled. “A fine family to help unite the realm.”
On cue, a representative of Duke Stronn spoke up. “But what if this boy’s an idiot like
Lornen?”
The room’s mood began to turn.
“He’ll need advisors.”
“—every royal needs good advisors.”
“—and have to listen to ‘em—”
“Listen to who exactly?”
Koppinger grinned. This was the moment to light the spark. “I admit that my leadership of the docks has been a bit different from most others.”
Several smiles and nods.
Cahill laughed and elbowed the Lord next to him. “He’s not kidding. Fishmongers, smugglers, and whores. Drunks and spies. I don’t think you’ll find that on our lands, Chancellor.”
Koppinger’s eyes narrowed but he rolled with the jab. “Yet it’s my experience, Duke Cahill, that I’ve found many from your lands visiting the docks. For many interesting reasons.”
The room erupted into laughter while Cahill’s cheeks burned.
“I think we already agree that any future King or Queen needs advisors that will be listened to to shape the policies of the Kingdom. And it’s my experience that every noble needs advosors, too. So we should start figuring out how to make that work.”
“The docks aren’t the Kingdom,” Cahill grumbled loudly.
Koppinger pointed at Engram who was hiding near the back of the room. “In fact, it was one of the fine members of the dock quarter that saved this city, and he’s brought Lornen’s hidden treasures back home for better use.”
The nobles and officiants clustered in the throne room turned to applaud. Engram shrugged and grinned.
“Not to mention, his crew saved the city from a second drake attack,” Koppinger added.
The applause stretched out until Engram waved his arms for it to stop.
Koppinger watched as Cahill began to echo the approving sentiments of other nobles, and he sighed in relief.
“It was a girl who did it,” Engram revealed. “A young girl with a gleaming white sword.”
“What do we do—”
“—about the drakes?”
“—if they come back?”
“Where is that sword now?”
Engram paused before answering. “She told me she was going to put an end to the drakes.”
A scattering of cynical laughter rose and died away.
Engram’s eyes were filled with certainty. “I believe she will,” he stated.
The grumbling rose once more.
Koppinger was about to speak when Engram raised his voice over the storm. “What good is worry? We’re still here and this Kingdom is a big ship to sail. Time to get to work.” His impatient gaze burned through the room.
Duke Koppinger cleared his throat and held up three fingers. “Well said, Admiral Engram. Now which Dukes would like to frame the rules for our next King?”
Many voices sprang up in unison.
***
Jarl Volson hammered another mark into the Wall of Days. Then he turned to face an assembly of Thanes.
“One hundred and seventy-five since we sealed our doors against drakefire. I think it’s time to take a peek. What say you?”
One hundred and seventy-five days expecting the end of their world and yet no cataclysm had arrived. The Thanes roared their approval.
Volsun turned to his envoy Ricket Alain, and his guest Duke Arundy. “And you? Are you ready to leave the safety of our Holdfast? See what’s waiting for you?”
Alain deferred to the Duke.
Arundy straightened his back and then bowed deeply. “We are forever in your debt, Jarl Volson. We will gladly ‘take a peek’.”
Volsun chuckled. “And not too soon, good Duke. We’re already running out of the bread you like.”
As Arundy returned the smile, a bell rang through the Holdfast.
“Someone’s at the Highgate,” Thane Rockbottom announced.
“Well, let’s not keep them waiting,” Volsun replied. “Ready defenders and open the Highgate to first position.”
