The Dragon's Heart

by David Powers King

Not even a vapor.

  “Ereman ...” Alkivar spoke with a sinister hiss, as if he were addressing the wizard in person. “Even in death you endeavor to sequester my will to dominate.”

  “No!” Celesia cried. “You can’t be him!”

  Smiling, he pressed his fingers together as Mavarco had done, and laughed. “Why would I give myself away when you were willing to find the Heart in my place?”

  “You used me? Your words, your kiss—”

  Alkivar cupped her face with his hand. The shock of realizing the truth had frozen her. “I wouldn’t say I used you, for I was growing fond of you. I am the first-born prince of LaVóndia. My hand is available if you desire it. You would make an excellent queen for my empire.”

  She pushed his hand away and stepped back. “No! You manipulated me, used my curse to find the stone. I never imagined the Alchemist was such a coward.”

  “You will not think me a coward once the world is in my hand,” Alkivar said with a taxing tone. “Everyone will cower before me. This time, no one can resist.”

  “Resistance will always find you. Flint will stop you.”

  “Appropriate that you should mention him,” Alkivar jeered. “If your dragon does arrive with help, as you say he will, they will not last the sands of an hourglass. My magic is the harvest of all LaVóndia. Nothing can refute my influence. Not him. Not you.”

  Celesia looked for something to defend herself with as Alkivar turned his back. He then caressed the dense brown cloth that covered the strange mound. There was a cabinet by the wall on her right. She stepped across the floor and peeked inside. Standing tall and ready to use were four thunder-rods. As her fingers touched the open cabinet, Alkivar flung his hand to the side.

  The door slammed shut—and locked from within. “Do not wrestle with me, Celesia. No weapon can kill me now. Since the Dragon’s Heart is mine again, the effort of my departed family to save my life is absolute, not knowing that they defied the will of nature to do so. They should have followed the counsel of Ereman.”

  Celesia retraced her steps from the cabinet. She had to look elsewhere for an object to escape with. “Do you mean the Enchantment of Resurrection? That was the work of the Royal Magical Family. They tried to bring their eldest son back from the dead—and succeeded.”

  “They did. I was the subject of their trial and error. They accepted all of the dogmas of magic from that frail wizard when they should have used it with Alchemy. To be in league with magic is the key, and the path to true power. My father feared such power, so I took it from him. My mother stood in his way, so I withdrew her life. Every one of my siblings fought in vain to keep me from the youngest, so I crushed them into nothing. LaVóndia was soon in my grasp, but Ereman stilled my hand over the infant in his crib. I was then cursed to wander the land, forever invisible to waking eyes.”

  “Why not go as Thoth? That’s your real name.”

  Alkivar laughed. “Was my name. Before his death, I stole the Dragon’s Heart from Ereman’s study. I used it to create artificial creatures—machines. All in good fun, but I realized my gift and attempted to make machines that think and act for themselves, or as I command. My father discovered my secrets and waited to catch me, but there was an accident. And fire. And darkness. The days of Thoth were numbered. When I opened my eyes again, I had become another creature entirely.”

  “A monster,” Celesia said without empathy.

  “It saddens me that you have no pity for my fate, but see, I am no accident. I am fate.” He patted the clothed mound a third time and stepped away. The walls of the keep shook as if by thunder with the snap of his fingers. “The human machine you knew as Mavarco was my first successful prototype, running on compressed fire. Behind me is my greatest creation. Pray your dragon keeps his distance. With the slightest touch of fire on this cloth, it will rise and lay waste to all in its wake.”

  “Like the machine in Trisontia?” Celesia asked.

  “Another prototype,” Alkivar answered. “A trial for this creation, which is a greater machine. With Trisontia fallen, I have eliminated all resistance. Your kingdom fell so easy, Your Highness. Do not resist me. Not even that dragon will be able to stop it once I awaken it.”

  “Flint is more human than you ever were.”

  Alkivar smiled. “Charming, but for naught. I wished for you to discover and share immortality with me, but your fancies are as unconventional as your dragon. Now then, to keep you from warning your freakish friends, you will have to stay with your father in the dungeons. This will be better if you stand still. I can’t have you roaming free through the castle, collecting insurgents.”

  A flow of magic sheared from Alkivar’s palm.

  Celesia made to avoid his magic, but she wasn’t fast enough. The spell struck her in the abdomen, but the swirling yellow light weaved around her, and bounced off the stone walls instead. Alkivar paused as he glared at Celesia. He studied her eyes before he tried to use his magic a second time. A different spell receded from her with a shade of burgundy. Alkivar lowered his arm and snickered, until his laughter grew louder, and louder.

  His mirth resounded throughout the castle.

  Alkivar folded his arms as heavy footsteps clomped up the tower stairs from the landing below. “I see now. Our conversation in the forest, you said you had an enchantment placed upon you, and this magic is strong enough to repel my own? How very curious, not that it matters now. There is nothing magical about you. Even if you had a weapon, you can be easily dealt with.”

  The footsteps grew louder. Six armed men raced to the top of the landing. They took hold of Celesia by the arms without orders. She recognized them—soldiers from the ships that had docked at Caperholm. They bound her wrists behind her back without instruction.

  “I want this dissident escorted to the dungeons.” Alkivar revealed another sinister smile, and he bowed to Celesia, until his face was level with hers. She couldn’t believe how tall Alkivar was up close. “Let her spend her last moments with the former King. Assemble our troops when you are done with that. Have them readied for battle. Opposition is coming. Take her away!”

  The Dragon’s Heart, at rest on his chest, seemed to scoff at Celesia. Tuke had deceived her. The dagger was no more. The stone was at rest with the Alchemist. A thousand warriors had overrun her kingdom. Defeated tears filled her brown eyes. All she had was the final portion of the quaternary, but that wasn’t enough.

  According to the final verse, the only way to release the magic and stop Alkivar was for Flint to touch the Dragon’s Heart with human hand. He had to be human to do that, and Celesia still didn’t know his true name.

  There was nothing she could do but surrender.

  Chapter 25

  Pacing the Dungeons

  The dank corridors reflected Celesia’s downtrodden spirit. All hope had vanished from her heart as shadow drowned the sun’s light. The soldiers led her all the way to the castle’s foundation. Every cell was overflowing with prisoners. A tumultuous uproar sounded when the main gate opened, but the noise ceased when they saw Celesia entering through the grimy corridor. Many of the prisoners wept at the sight of her, both out of joy and despair. Each one of them was a loyal subject to her father, ranging in status from counselor to jester.

  Celesia was never acquainted with the dungeons. A shaggy sentry unlocked a heavy wooden door, and held it open as the guards removed her cords and pushed her into a stony chamber. She let out a quiet sob as she landed on her side. There was no telling how much she could endure before sorrow consumed her. Her tears wet the ground as a warm hand touched her shoulder.

  It was Vivian, her handmaiden. “Celesia’s home!”

  “Daughter?” called the frail voice of Bëdoustram’s king. Celesia took a deep breath as she stood. Lýnivad was lying in a bed of straw without the comfort of a blanket or pillow. He coughed as he stretched his arms. Celesia knelt beside his improvised bed to embrace him.

  “I’m here, Father,” she cried. “Forgive me.”


  “Now’s not the time for pity, dearie.” Celesia looked up and saw the old mage through a barred window. “Now’s the time to stand and fight the Alchemist!”

  “Sarandretta?! Is that really you?”

  Dancing torchlight revealed enough of the mage’s face to see the shackles on her wrists and ankles. “I’ve been through worse, believe it or not,” she said. “What are you blaming yourself for? There is planning to be done. Master Flint has united the creatures of magic.”

  “It’s too late,” Celesia uttered. “I thought Mavarco was the Alchemist, but it was Tuke. He betrayed me. He has the Dragon’s Heart. I practically gave it to him.”

  “Don’t let his deception claim you,” called another voice to her right, high and shrill like a child. If memory served her right, the voice belonged to her captors from the forest of Erdwyn. “We were deceived long before you arrived here, and we’re still finding splinters ...”

  “Brookwind?” Celesia remembered the elf that once prodded her with the point of a spear. A horde of elves sat behind another barred window. It was too dark to see them all. “They’ve captured you, too?”

  “Wasn’t easy for them,” Brookwind said. “They had to dig us out.”

  “I see you have made friends.” Lýnivad smiled as he stroked Celesia’s arm. “I never thought you would have adventures of your own, as I had with your mother.”

  “You? Having adventures?”

  Sarandretta sighed as she bowed her head. “It’s time you finally told her the truth, Lýnie.”

  “Lýnie?” Celesia traded glances with her father and the mage. “You know my father, Sarandretta?”

  “I will,” he said. “But first, tell us yours.”

  Celesia didn’t know where to start. There were so many in the dungeon who didn’t know the full story, so she began with the arrival of Prince Dálcort, at which her father grimaced at the sound of his name. She then explained how she ditched the hunt. She told the days and months of the past in just a few minutes, detailing her experiences with Flint, Grologroth, and Hilander.

  The mage and elves confirmed her story when she spoke of their involvement, infamous or not. Nothing was a secret: the clues, the quaternary, everything. She continued with the merpeople, the beast that attacked Tamsyn, the troll and their challenge, and the dragons of the badlands. At last, she spoke of her capture and the demise of Dálcort—that Mavarco was a machine.

  The king lay in his bed, looking overwhelmed. “What a remarkable journey. To think your mother and I had an adventure once. I feared you would have your own adventure, but your journey was nothing like ours.”

  “I had help, Father.” Celesia reached for his hand. “Is this what you protected me from? What do you know about Mother that you haven’t told me?”

  “No more than I told you,” said the mage. “Now is not the time for this. It is time to collect our heads.”

  “I will explain a few things first,” Lýnivad dismissed the mage. “Your mother Clariön was a special woman. Not of royal blood, but a maiden of Cloverville. I knew something magical had touched her. I knew, when the time came for me to be king, I couldn’t have any other as my queen. Her insight impressed me, and I refused to believe what she told me concerning your fate.”

  Celesia breathed. “What did she tell you?”

  “That LaVóndia will rise or fall by a word from your lips.” Lýnivad coughed again. “I wanted to shield you from the dangers that she foresaw, fearing I would lose you as I lost her, but now I see the reason behind her sacrifice. You have her influence. You must find the name of this dragon and fulfill the task appointed to you. My daughter, you may think me a hypocrite, now that I confessed this truth. I have failed to remember that love is not bound by blood, but by heart.”

  Brookwind frowned as a few elves gagged. “And I thought the gruel was sickening ...”

  “I never thought evil of you, Father,” Celesia replied, ignoring the elf as her eyes swelled with new tears. “I wanted to know who my mother was. That’s all.”

  Vivian sniffed. “This dungeon can’t snuff the truth.”

  Brookwind grabbed the iron bars of his window with a desperate grip. “Can we start this ... whatever it is that you have to discover? We wanna get outta here!”

  “While tactlessly spoken, the elf is right,” the mage said. “We have a task to perform. See if you can write in the earth at your feet. We may need to take notes.”

  Celesia pulled away from her father’s bed, searching for a patch of ground that had no stone. “Since we left your cave, we’ve found many things that may help us find Flint’s name, but they don’t seem to match up. I looked at the clues we’ve gathered. Nothing works.”

  “I blame myself,” Sarandretta sighed. “I should’ve protected my closet to Ereman’s study better. During my journey to reestablish the doorport with the ruins, an army captured me. I gave them a good wallop before they shackled me. Now, let me think. The quaternary began like this: The Dragon’s heart hath suffered my blow. Its potential for evil should never be known. Scattered it be through forest and plain, to prevent the rise of evil, terrible and bane.”

  Celesia didn’t remember much of that part, having retained more recent passages: “How to amend our magic I will declare, a princess is the key from our despair. To return peace to our mountains and desert sand, the untainted heir must hold the Heart with human hand. After I read that last part, Alkivar took the dagger. As soon as he touched it, the dagger crumbled and vanished into nothing. Was that supposed to happen, if he were to touch it?”

  “Did he read it?” Sarandretta asked, her voice filled with urgency. “Tell me he didn’t read it?”

  “No.” Celesia was sure of that. The brightness of the fire had caused Alkivar to avert his eyes. Now that she thought about it, no human had. Not Raulfe, Dálcort, or Mavarco. Only the chandler and Sarandretta could. “What did that parchment say again, Sarandretta? The one you shared with me?” Celesia asked before anyone could speak. “Something about liberation, I think?”

  “The parchment?” The mage tried to scratch her ear. The shackles on her wrists prevented her from doing so. “You have a wonderful memory yourself, dearie. A name from the Princess may liberate us, but that’s been said to death. We know Flint must be human to release the magic of the Dragon’s Heart, but he can’t without his true name. What else did you find in your quest?”

  “Not much.” Celesia lowered herself and wrote in the dirt with her finger. “That troll spoke of diaigmas, and the dragons spoke of acrostics. How can that help us now? What else are we missing?”

  “You forget an important factor, dearie,” Sarandretta said. “That book you stumbled on in Ereman’s study. What was written about the Royal Magical Family, and the birth of a sixth child?”

  “Mavarco burned Groth’s notes.” Celesia paused to look at her father and Vivian. They stared at her, their eyes wider than ever. The conversation had to be hard for them to follow. “For six to come and death be won, the Seven shall name the one. That’s what it said.”

  “Listen,” Brookwind shushed. “You hear that?”

  They stopped and waited, hearing nothing at first. The distant sound of loud cries and shouts commenced above the ground. Then they heard thunder crack and muddled thuds, along with chanting men mixed with metal. A battle had commenced on the surface. There was a crashing sound and the tumble of stone. The king sat up and remained upright, listening in earnest.

  Celesia knew their time for speculation was running out. She had to uncover the answer and escape. Now. There was no telling what would happen if Flint tried to fight Alkivar alone. There was something missing to the puzzle. A double meaning? Letters from words to make a new word that would spell Flint’s true name? From what words would she find the answer? She pressed her mind and paced the dungeon until an image flashed in her head. Not a word, but a picture. The stained glass window. Seven members of the Royal Magical Family, standing side by side, starting with the kin
g and ending with the youngest ... his hand extended over a cradle.

  The Seven shall name the one—

  —for six to come and death be won.

  It all made sense now. Flint’s true name would have seven letters in it, given by each of the Royal Magical Family. His true name was in the names of the family itself. “What are the names of the Magical Family?”

  “King Axel, Queen Rhea,” said Brookwind.

  Celesia wrote their names in the dry dirt. “I believe Thoth and Zaram come next, right?”

  “Don’t forget Icerus,” Sarandretta interrupted. “Do we need their names in order?”

  “I think so.” Celesia brushed her hair aside as she wrote the first five. The middle three were sons, the remaining two daughters. “What about the Princesses?”

  Sarandretta closed her eyes. “Althea and Noita.”

  “There. Are you certain these are their right names, in the right order? They’re worthless to us otherwise.”

  “I’m certain,” the mage said. “What do you see?”

  Celesia scribbled all seven names and scrutinized over them. Only one letter from each name was all she needed, but the combinations were as endless as before. The letters created nothing but nonsense in her mind ... until she remembered a moment in her journey.

  The gargoyle’s riddle? It can’t be so obvious!

  She wrote the names in order from top to bottom. Before her was a vertical string of letters that could work for a name. It was suitable. It had a royal flare.

  Brookwind rolled his eyes. “Have you found it?”

  Celesia nearly cried for joy. “I know his name!”

  “What is it, dearie?” Sarandretta asked.

  Celesia opened her mouth to answer, but then the dungeon wall suddenly erupted. Dust and rock blew into the cell, like that time when she had escaped the fairies. Brawny little figures dashed into the dungeon.

  “Bravo Beta Delta!” declared the rumbling charge of General Buff Key. “Colby Jack, manage the door. Move it, Crusty Mustard! Move, move, move!”