The Dragon's Heart

by David Powers King

  Scheming? Of course not. The idea was absurd.

  “Over there,” Lyell whispered. “A herd of deer.”

  Dálcort cupped his hands to his mouth and let out a shout, giving away their presence. “Give chase!”

  The animals in the distance raised their ears and darted into the thicket. With the hounds loosed, the horsemen and unwilling princess chased after the defenseless deer. She didn’t want to follow them. She encouraged her horse to stop, but it wouldn’t leave the others. Then, as she was falling behind, a strong wind swooshed over her head. It cast a broad shadow—too fast for her to make out what it was. Then she heard the growling of a thousand hounds at once. Her horse screamed and ran off the trail. Celesia tightened her hold on the reins, trying to regain control of the horse.

  “Slow down!” Celesia cried. “We mustn’t run!”

  She was too late. The horse plowed through a wall of wild foliage, and there was no ground on the other side. Celesia’s breath flew from her lungs as the horse fell away. Far away. Panic seized her. She couldn’t scream. All she could do was wait for the bottom of the cliff.

  Help me! Anyone!

  A strong gust blew. Something grabbed her. She saw a great dark talon wrapped around her waist. Her horse plunged, screaming as it crashed into the trees below. Whatever had taken hold of Celesia pulled back and swooped her from the same fate. Her stomach churned, and dizziness took over. Black spots blurred her vision. The cool touch of grass was the last thing she felt.

  ˙ ˚ ˚ ˚ ˙

  A red sunset greeted Celesia when she opened her eyes again. She sat up and raised a hand to her aching head. She was lying on a patch of grass by the bank of a narrow stream. Beside her was a forest of pine. On the other side of the stream was the towering cliff from where she had fallen from. Reminded of the terror, she clenched the grassy ground with her fingers. Where was she now? And where had her horse gone to?

  “Glad to see you awake, miss!”

  Celesia spun around. Sitting next to the forest was a shadowed figure, rotating a long spit over a cozy fire. It looked like a man, a rather large man with a deep and kindly voice. Her vision was too clouded and woozy to tell. Struggling to her knees, she stared at the stranger. “Where am I?” she struggled to ask.

  “We’re at the headwaters, of course,” the stranger laughed softly. “Upstream from Bëdoustram.”

  Celesia frowned. “How did I get here?”

  “Fell.” He pointed skyward. “From up there.”

  She turned to the tall cliff. “But ... that’s not possible. A fall like that should’ve killed me—” She stopped. The stranger’s arm was huge and slightly blue. Something wasn’t right about him. “How did I survive that?”

  “Easy,” he replied. “My master caught you.”

  “Caught me? What are you talking about?”

  The stranger laughed again, a bit louder.

  “Don’t laugh! How could he catch me?”

  Celesia got on her feet and walked toward the man, but the closer she came, the more she realized that something was wrong about him. He wasn’t a man at all. His skin matched the hue of blue trout. His arms and legs were grossly disproportionate, and a thick vest of animal skins covered his barreled chest and flabby stomach. His hairless head turned, revealing a stout face and a set of yellow teeth. A strange scent lingered in his direction, a mix of flowers and sweat. According to the books she’d read, Celesia knew, without a doubt, that she was in the presence of an ogre. He smiled at her while nervously wiggling his huge, stubby toes.

  “Be not affrighted, miss. My master has forbidden me from eating you.”

  Celesia couldn’t stop herself from shaking. “Who—who said I was afraid?”

  “You smell like it, more than anything,” the ogre answered. “And I was only teasing. There’s no taste for human flesh on my palate. Nasty stuff, but my master was unable to save your horse. I meant to ask, but I was famished. Do you mind if I put it to good use?”

  Her eyes returned to the fire and the slowly rotating spit, and quickly surmised what had happened. Her horse didn’t survive, and this ogre was now roasting it. Celesia placed a hand over her stomach. Shocked tears filled her eyes as she fought the urge to be sick.

  The ogre held up a fork of the steaming horsemeat. “Care for some?”

  “I—no,” Celesia replied, composing herself as best as she could. “I better not, thank you all the same.”

  “Blessed lumber wolves! Where are my manners?” The ogre bounded to his feet and bowed. “My name is Grologroth—a bit of a mouthful, so feel free to call me Groth. And who might you be?”

  “I’m, well … No one important.” It was probably a bad idea to reveal herself as a princess in front of an ogre. If she remembered right, these mythical creatures that she’d read about enjoyed the taste of royalty, and yet he said the flavor of humans was nasty? How would he know? It had to be a trick. There was always a trick when it came to creatures of myth and lore.

  “It was a pleasure meeting you, Groth,” Celesia said, “but I must be going home.” She presented a curtsy to the ogre and started to walk away.

  “Home?” Groth picked at his ear. “You can’t go.”

  A lump welled in Celesia’s throat. “Why not?”

  The ogre reached for a pouch and wiped his finger on a handkerchief. “Master Flint would like a word.”

  “Master Flint?” She’d never heard of such a person. “Alright, then. Where is your master?”

  “Hunting, but he ought to be back soon.”

  Celesia raised her brow, wondering how long this would take. “Hunting, while you’re cooking my horse?”

  Groth grabbed a small bottle and sprinkled an herb on his dinner. “He likes his meals more raw than I do.”

  “As in, still alive?” Celesia shivered. “What kind of a monster is he?”

  “Legendary. You’ll like him, unless he’s hungry ...”

  Their conversation stopped at the sound of a loud thump within the forest, causing the ground to shake.

  A great, black creature parted the tall trees before them, like withered saplings.

  “Welcome back, Master Flint!” Groth bowed. “Your princess is awake and waiting for you.”

  Thin smoke billowed from the creature’s nostrils. Massive ebony wings loomed over them like a hot shadow. Dark scales covered its entire body like a cold and starless night. Celesia couldn’t believe her eyes, and she couldn’t bring herself to run away from the fiery blue eyes of a black dragon, staring back at her.

  Chapter 4

  Acquainting the Dragon

  “Have you found something to eat, Master Flint?”

  The dragon revealed a sly smile. “Enough to get by.”

  Surprised by the warm voice, all Celesia could do was stand still and breathe. The creature wasn’t coarse, as she’d imagined a dragon would be. Even so, his reply was of no comfort. If he had room in his stomach for more, what was stopping him from swallowing her up in one gulp? The dragon looked at her, bobbing its scaly head. His beautiful, terrifying eyes penetrated her soul.

  “This is a warmer reception than I was expecting.”

  “S-sorry,” Celesia stammered. “It’s just—I’ve never made the acquaintance of—”

  “—a dragon?” Flint’s laugh rolled in his throat like a clap of distant thunder. “Few have lived to speak of encounters with creatures like me, so consider yourself lucky, Celesia.”

  Fear seized her heart. “You know who I am?”

  “Of course! You’re the only princess in the whole of LaVóndia,” Groth said. “Everyone knows!”

  Gathering her bravery, Celesia asked, “Are you going to eat me?”

  “Eat you?!” Groth choked. “We would never do such a thing! What in the mud made you think that?”

  Celesia didn’t understand. These creatures were the creations of make-believe, yet here she was, speaking with a dragon and an ogre who had no intention of making her an evening snack. “But, I’v
e read all about you.” She pointed at Groth. “Ogres make their bread from men’s bones.” She then pointed at the dragon, “and dragons favor princesses over other maidens.”

  The ogre flashed a look at Flint. He did the same.

  They both laughed.

  Celesia sat confused. She wasn’t prepared for such a reaction. “What’s so funny?”

  A gurgle escaped Flint’s throat as he swallowed. “Grinding bones and eating princesses. You’ve read one too many fairytales, Celesia. You’ll find us very different from any book you may have read.”

  Considering the roasted horse, she doubted it. “Are there other creatures like you, then?”

  “Oh, plenty of others,” Groth answered. “Fairies, elves, dwarves, and more.”

  “Although the fairies have been downright hellacious as of late,” Flint snarled.

  “Be fair to them, Master Flint. All creatures share in our misfortune.”

  “Misfortune isn’t what I would call The Days of Shadow, Grologroth.”

  They talked to each other as if Celesia wasn’t there. She was about to ask what the dragon meant by The Days of Shadow, but she paused when the dragon’s tail caught her eye. Long and dark, like what she saw in the sky the day before. “Was it your tail I saw yesterday?”

  The dragon smirked. “You have good eyes. You’re the first to spot me in years.”

  “How many years along are you, exactly?”

  Flint raised his claw, and Celesia dodged to the side, afraid he would use it to slice her in two, but the dragon scratched at his long neck instead. “A hundred and five, about your age in human years, or a bit older. Dragons can live for centuries. That part of the story is true.”

  Rescuing a princess contradicted that story, and every story she’d heard of dragons. “Why did you save me?”

  “I couldn’t let you fall to your death, plus we need something that’s hiding inside Castle Bëdoustram.”

  “A relic!” Groth added. “It may be the key to the answers we seek.”

  Celesia nodded. What did this something have to do with her? “What makes you think it’s in my castle?”

  “We know it’s in your castle.” Flint lowered himself to her level, scrooching like a giant cat. “It fell from the sky and landed at Bëdoustram’s gate on the day you were born.”

  The day I was born?

  Celesia paced in front of the creatures, pondering over their story while ignoring their beseeching eyes. The fire beneath the roasting horse burned low as the evening sun heeded to twilight. “This can’t be right,” Celesia said as she shook her head. “I don’t believe any of this. There’s no such thing as fairytale creatures!”

  A dull thump sounded behind one of the great trees in the forest.

  “Oh, bother,” Groth heaved. “Did you have to go and say that?”

  “Say what?” Celesia asked, suddenly worried. “What was that sound—?”

  “A fairy,” Flint said. “A statement like that is fatal.”

  Celesia covered her mouth. “No! I didn’t mean—”

  Laughing, Flint pulled his tail back from behind the trees. Groth bellowed over while slapping his knee.

  Celesia crossed her arms. “Don’t trick me like that!”

  “She believes,” Flint said. “That’s enough for me.”

  “Yes,” Groth added. “I guess she’ll have to do.”

  Celesia didn’t like the sound of that. “For what?”

  Flint stretched his neck, higher than the tallest pine. “You’re more capable of going in and out of that castle unnoticed.” His voice was entreating and sincere now. “Will you go to your castle and retrieve it for us?”

  They want me to steal for them?

  “Didn’t you think to ask my father first?”

  “Ask for it? You mean, like this? ’Excuse me. There is an item in your castle that I need. Can we have it? And please don’t kill us!’” Groth roared with sarcasm. “Ha! I’m sure that would go over well.”

  Celesia found little to appreciate in his tone. “Look, I must go home and let everyone know that I’m alive and safe. They must be worried sick about me.”

  Flint rolled his great blue eyes. “Including that prince of yours, I’m sure.”

  His words made her stop. “Why bring him up?”

  “I saw your disdain for him, three miles from the ground. Not that I blame you—he’s quite the brute.”

  Celesia closed her mouth. He was right, and that was saying a lot, coming from a dragon. She couldn’t stand Dálcort. Going to the castle meant spending time with that arrogant prince. It was better if she never returned.

  “Besides,” Groth added. “You owe Master Flint for saving you.”

  Flint lowered his neck and snorted at the ogre. Thin smoke escaped his snout. “We’re not bartering favors,

  Grologroth. If she doesn’t want to help us, then we will find another way.”

  “I never said I wouldn’t help,” Celesia said. “By all means, if this relic will appease you, I will find it, but you have to tell me why you want it. I won’t help unless I know what you need it for.”

  Groth wrinkled his nose. “It’s a bit of a yarn ...”

  “I have time.” Celesia walked to the fire and added a few branches to the embers. She sat on a stump and faced the warm flames as they started to rise. “Spin it.”

  Groth muttered into Flint’s ear as Celesia pulled her knees close, to keep herself warm.

  The dragon crawled close to her. “Do you know the legend of the Royal Magical Family?”

  The Royal Magical Family? Celesia hadn’t heard of such a family, so she shook her head.

  “Over a hundred years ago, about the time I entered the world, your home was a province of a much greater kingdom. LaVóndia used to be a lush land, filled with Creatures of Magic, ruled by a family who learned to become Castors of Magic by the great wizard Ereman.”

  The story pulled Celesia right in. To her knowledge, no magical family had ever existed. Flint’s voice filled her mind with more questions as he carried on. “What happened to them?”

  “Murdered—killed by the Alchemist.”

  Like everything else they had said, she’d never heard of this person. “Continue.”

  As stars were filling the sky, the orange fire sparkled in Flint’s eyes. “He called himself Alkivar.” A furious tremor slipped from the dragon’s throat. “He created a way to steal magic from all creatures that possessed it. The more magic he gathered, the more powerful he became. Not even the Royal Magical Family could stand against him. Every single one of them perished.”

  Celesia shivered. “Why have I never heard of this?”

  Groth wiped his nose. “Humans have forgotten.”

  The dragon dug at the earth with his claw. “Before the Days of Shadow, Ereman fought Alkivar. We think their spells crossed, leaving the Palace of LaVóndia in ruins.” The fire crackled as the wood shifted. An ember popped from the flames. “No one has seen or heard from Ereman or Alkivar since. LaVóndia became a divided land after that, and we went into hiding.”

  Celesia combined his story with her history lessons. It always did seem odd to her that no one knew why the palace of LaVóndia was deserted, or why no one laid claim to it. “I know of those wars. We fought Prince Owen’s people once, but that was well before my time. How does this relic you want tie into all of this?”

  Groth beamed. “We believe the relic once belonged to Ereman himself.”

  “And with it,” Flint said, “we can restore the magic that Alkivar had stolen.”

  A calm breeze swayed the treetops, breathing life into the fire.

  “What happens when the magic comes back?”

  “Unity. We can make LaVóndia as it was.”

  They had finally caught her interest. Could a relic do such a thing? If it brought unity back to the entire land, would there be a need for the age-old tradition of a royal marriage? If this was the case, then she no longer had to worry about marrying herself to P
rince Dálcort.

  “It may remove your curse as well,” Flint added.

  “My curse?” Celesia stood in a flash. She hadn’t said anything about that. “Why do you think I’m cursed?”

  “We heard the rumors,” Groth said. “You think it natural, causing harm to prospective suitors without a memory of having done harm to them?” He forked himself another bite of horsemeat. “Ey tink knot!”

  That cinched it. Relying on their word wasn’t the surest of decisions, but she was willing to try anything. With her curse removed, she would be normal at last. She approached the dragon and held out her hand. Flint let her touch his dark scales—feeling denser than steel. Lighter than quills. She had never felt anything like it.

  “What does this relic look like?” she asked.

  Groth didn’t hesitate, “A silver blade with a cherry wood handle.”

  “There should be a scabbard with it,” Flint said, “or so we think.”

  Celesia searched her memory. She’d seen a dagger in the library—maybe with a cherry wood handle—locked away under glass. “I think I know where it is.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Flint said. “Will you help us?”

  Celesia nodded. “So long as I get to see you release this magic, right?”

  Flint glanced at Groth. “I see no harm in that.”

  “Then I’ll search for it.” Celesia stood up and patted the dust from her skirt. “Now, just so I remember your names.” She looked up at the ogre. “You’re Grolga ... Grolga what?”

  “Grologroth, Your Highness,” the ogre answered. “Or you could just call me Groth, if you’d like.”

  “Thank you, I think I will.” Celesia turned to the dragon next. “And your name is—”

  Flint drove her to the ground with his claw, knocking the wind out of her. His great blue eyes burned.

  “Call me Flint! Just and only Flint! Never, ever say, your name is at me! Do you understand?”

  “Y-yes!” As the dragon let her go, Celesia backed away, breathing with her hand over her racing heart. He had acted in such a gentlemanly manner before. She had no idea what had come over him. “What was that for?” she asked. “What if I decide to change my mind?”