Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  The competitor spun around slowly to face the King and pushed back the wide-brimmed hat to reveal the fair-skinned face not of a young man but rather of a young woman.

  Her dark hair had been pulled back and concealed under the hat that now hung behind her from a leather strap. Her face was a blend of subtle features marked by soft lines that seemed to have been sculpted by gentle hands. Her eyes were large and brown; her lips thin and unimposing. The look in those eyes was one of pride and honor, and knowledge. Delcan watched her closely, engraving in his mind her face and casual grace.

  "Aria!" King Orsak growled from the throne. He stood, gripping his cane tightly, and beckoned the young woman with a wave of his hand. "What are you doing?"

  "That’s the Princess, Aria," Sandrion whispered to Delcan.

  "Shh," Delcan said quietly, keeping his eyes on the lady fair.

  "I wish to become a knight in your court," she said, "I wish to train as a squire and I have just earned my place to do so.” Her voice was soothing, even when it pulled the weight of her nerves, and a bit of anger, behind it.

  Stanlo snickered and Delcan gave him a sharp glance, urging him to keep quiet.

  "You are making a mockery of this tournament," Orsak spoke, "of our traditions, of what it means to be a warrior.” He leaned forward and whispered, loud enough to be heard by the nobles beside him, as well as by the three new squires, “And you are disgracing me.”

  "I deserve the honor that this competition promises, Grandfather," her voice rose a bit. "Just as well as these men. And I am far more skilled than they."

  “Do not waste your time with inane aspirations. Return to your quarters and remove that peasant clothing; dress yourself in the festival garments befitting your title. Or I shall have the guards carry you away."

  Aria opened her mouth to protest, her eyebrows drawn close together. The King interrupted her. His eyes were closed to mere slits as he said, still in that growling whisper, "My dear, you are very much like your mother. She defied my authority at every opportunity, but she failed to overcome my will. You will do no better."

  She stared at the old face silently for a long while.

  "Do not test me,” he added.

  Aria took a deep breath and walked away, her shoulders back, proud still, toward the Royal Quarters with her bow in her hand and her quiver slung over one shoulder.

  Delcan watched her go and it took Sandrion's elbow in the ribs to awaken him in time to respond to Malden, who asked them and Stanlo to come forth to accept His Majesty’s congratulations.

  They each approached the berfrois and saluted the King in turn. When Delcan stood before him, Malden asked, “What is your name, young squire?”

  “Delcan, Sire, son of Ro... Raisan.”

  The King gazed at Delcan for a moment before speaking. “From what village do you hail?” he said.

  “From Berest, my lord.”

  “And your father?”

  “My father was a farmer; he died long ago.”

  “Very well,” said the King. “Congratulations, young Delcan, son of Raisan. And you," he said looking at Sandrion and Stanlo. He asked of each the same questions then declared with much flourish, "Let the Flarian Festival begin!”

  The horns blew and the musicians played. Jugglers and puppet shows entertained the children; farmers tried their strength against knights in arm-wrestling matches. Food and drink were in abundance and all those within the walls of Paraysia’s castle celebrated the joy of life, voluntarily pushing their daily hunger to the back of their minds for the time being.

  The three archers chosen as squires were given seats upon the platform and a feast, second only to the King's own, was served to them.

  "Your father would be proud at this moment," Sandrion told Delcan quietly as he tore apart a large piece of bread.

  "I suppose if he had heard me declare him dead, or could foresee us sitting here, in this banquet given by the man under whose service he once labored, I doubt pride would be his feeling; a bit of shame instead, perhaps."

  "I'm sure a part of him would be proud as well; to have his son serve as a squire, and mayhap even become a knight."

  Sandrion raised his cup with the intention of proposing a private toast between them to commemorate their achievement. He lowered his cup suddenly and placed his hand on Delcan’s shoulder. "Look, there she is."

  Aria had returned to the courtyard dressed in a traditional maiden's garment. The dress was long and flowing, embracing her body comfortably and elegantly. She wore a ring of multicolored daisies in her hair like a crown.

  The most beautiful of all women born in Paraysia, Delcan thought, not only in her time, but in any time before her or ever after.

  Aria made her way from the castle’s Royal Quarters through the courtyard to the platform where all of the King's men sat for the banquet. Hers was the only seat for a woman at the Royal table.

  To the right of the Royal table facing the squires was set another table for the ladies of the court. Aria walked past the seat reserved for her at the King’s table and sat with the maidens instead, opposite Delcan. She saluted Lady Beares, Malden’s wife, and the other ladies of the kingdom with genuine pleasure.

  Delcan watched her as she sat and spoke with an older woman to her left, her eyes watching the lady attentively, her head nodding in agreement. He watched the way her hair fell on her shoulder; the way the strands danced as she laughed. He could even see her eyes sparkle from where he sat; her smile so refreshing, the shape of her neck and shoulders—

  “Delcan.” Sandrion tapped him on the leg for the second time and whispered his name again, “Delcan.”

  He turned to Sandrion, who grinned.

  “Laugh as if I just shared some hysterical story with you.”

  “What—?”

  “Just do it,” Sandrion said through his teeth.

  Delcan laughed, shaking his shoulders, watching Sandrion for any hidden spark of clarity. “So, what is this all about?”

  “The King. He’s paying very close attention to you. He noticed you watching the princess. You better beware, friend, wouldn’t want you to lose your head so soon.”

  Delcan glanced at the King. Orsak whispered in Malden’s ear and a sudden chill ran down Delcan’s back.

  “I hear he cares little about the princess or what she does,” Delcan said.

  “Perhaps. But you are a farmer’s son and I’m sure the King holds some sense of tradition even yet.”

  Malden saluted the King and walked away to perform yet another ordered deed. The King returned his attention to the jester at the center of the courtyard. As Delcan turned again to his meal, the King stole a glance in his direction, then toward Aria, who smiled as she listened to Lady Beares tell one tale or another.

  Chapter Six

  For as long as Delcan had known him, Sandrion rarely demonstrated shame in his overconfident jubilation. He was the closest thing to being Delcan’s private jester, without the hat and pointed shoes. He brought comedy to virtually everything he did—especially anything he did in the company of ladies. When he did not have an audience, Sandrion often created one with his charm; he had a contagious, cackling laughter that lifted the spirit, even if his humor did not.

  At the same time, he was bold and calculating and was the one person who knew Delcan’s soul, capable of reading it with a glance at his eyes. Sandrion did not need to ask Delcan his thoughts, nor did Delcan have to prod Sandrion for his; they saw them in each other’s grins and grimaces. They would often sit in complete silence for long spells of time then walk away relieved at having found the same comfort that comes from sharing their deepest secrets.

  Shortly after the banquet, Sandrion promptly introduced himself to some of the young ladies who strode through the courtyard and tournament field. With light-hearted conversation he acquainted himself with the daughters of merchants and laborers, the cousins of farm hands and musicians, even the younger sister of a Royal knight. He would talk for a while, li
sten to them for another, share some laughter and part ways as if friends of long ago. It was his gift; Sandrion’s way of experiencing life and coming to know the world through the acquaintance of others. In Berest he was by far the most popular young man and certainly among the most liked. And so, in his usual fashion, it was Sandrion who prompted Delcan to step forward and speak to the princess Aria.

  With the Great Courtyard flooded with nobles and commoners alike, each enjoying the festival in his own way, Sandrion took Delcan by the arm and led him to the puppeteer’s booth where Aria and the stable master’s daughter stood laughing.

  “Melicia, oh, my dearest Melicia,” Sandrion spoke softly, almost sang, over the shoulder of Aria’s companion. Delcan stood by, watching the puppets dance, his hands at first clasped behind his back, then folded in front of him; then stuffed deep in his trousers’ pockets.

  “Sandrion, oh, Sandrion, whose voice punctures my ears like rusty nails,” Melicia said, turning around. She had met Sandrion an hour earlier and already she seemed well equipped to handle his retort.

  “Flattery, how charming you are,” he said and grinned widely. “Why such sweetness?”

  “I don’t know; perhaps it is being in the presence of Royalty that calms me.”

  “I appreciate the sentiment but I am hardly Royalty,” Sandrion said bowing with exaggerated fanfare. Melicia only looked at him with feigned exasperation on her face. He winked at her and turned to the princess.

  “That was a most impressive display of skill and courage, Your Highness,” Sandrion said, suddenly serious, bowing to Aria.

  “Thank you kindly,” she responded. Her voice was quiet and gentle on the surface, yet strong underneath. She stood with her back erect and a warm inviting smile on her face.

  A princess could not be timid in social settings; she was certainly accustomed to formal introductions and rich displays of etiquette. Yet, she did not appear flamboyantly proper. Although she carried in her persona the most elegant and powerful traits of the blue in her blood, the pride and strength of her character were casually displayed. She lacked boisterousness in the tone of her voice or in the manner of her walk, and for this reason she was the most beloved figure in the kingdom as her mother had been when alive. Talk of her frequently carried across the kingdom, even to within earshot of distant Berest.

  “This is my friend, Delcan.”

  Delcan stepped forward and smiled at Aria. He took her hand and slowly brought it to his lips.

  “As the entire King’s court witnessed, I let him win the archery competition,” Sandrion went on, his chest inflated. “I would loath to be a squire all by myself.”

  “Oh, sure, Sandrion,” Melicia said sarcastically. “Other than Aria, I have never seen anyone hit that mark with such precision.”

  “Thank you.” Delcan thanked her smiling, elbowing Sandrion. “It is truly an honor to be in your ranking, Your Highness.”

  “Please, address me by my name. I am no higher than you.”

  Delcan bowed respectfully and Melicia said, “I would very much like to dance. Would you mind me as a partner, Sandrion?”

  “Not at all,” Sandrion responded, taking Melicia by the arm and leading her toward the center of the courtyard. He looked over his shoulder and winked at Delcan.

  "You know," said Delcan. "I have a feeling that all their sarcasm and verbal fencing are just smoke and shadows. Behind it all there’s a certain spark of affection between them; they’re perfect for one another."

  Aria chuckled and said, "I agree. Do you think they are aware of it?"

  "Your friend is, I’m sure. Sandrion, he is, I'm certain, without a clue," Delcan responded and now both of them laughed.

  The sounds of a jubilant festival played loudly around them while Delcan and Aria talked.

  "You are very skilled," Aria nearly yelled, trying to hear herself over the jovial fanfare, "and deserve the honor of serving as a squire."

  "As do you," Delcan said, his voice rising as well.

  A pair of court jesters danced and leaped past them as the crowd urged them on with their clapping hands.

  "This is the first festival I have ever attended. It is quite loud."

  As they spoke, the volume of their voices rose and fell with the music and Delcan smiled and nodded often having no notion of what Aria had said. Their eyes conversed for them.

  When the music paused between songs, Delcan suggested they walk to a quieter place where they could hear each other and Aria agreed. They walked in silence, Delcan hesitant to be the first to speak, until they soon found themselves at the archery range. Delcan leaned against a pile of hay bearing a pierced target; Aria stood whirling an arrow in her hands.

  With the music playing in the distant background and the breeze casually flirting with her hair, Aria said, "You live in Berest?"

  "Yes. At the very edge of the village. In fact, I believe my father’s farm is the closest to the forest of all dwellings in Paraysia. It is quiet there; peaceful."

  "Your father must be very proud of your accomplishment today. Is he here?"

  "No," Delcan said, casting his eyes downward. "My parents have both passed on to the Land of Shadows." The lie felt sour as it left his lips. It felt as if thick, swamp water were flowing out of his mouth. But he could not tell her the truth. For all her beauty and radiance, Delcan could not trust a Royal to keep his father’s secret, not after having so boldly lied to the King himself. Suddenly his heart leaped in a flash of anxiety as he realized he had not only claimed his father dead but his mother as well. He sighed and shook his head,

  "Oh," Aria said quietly. After a moment’s silence, she asked, "Is it as cold and frightening near the forest as they say?"

  Delcan smiled. "'They' I assure you have never been to Berest. The air may be sharper, but it is more refreshing; more soothing. As far as fear, none of us ever goes into the forest, and the forest never comes to greet us. As long as that arrangement remains, all is well."

  "And the dragon?" she asked. Her voice was a whisper.

  "Many villagers claim they hear it at times, far away, high in the mountains. But most often it is thunder that folks mistake for his voice."

  "Have you ever seen it?"

  "No. No one has; ever. Some say they have seen his shadow flying overhead, but I think they are only feeding us fear with their imagination."

  “You don’t believe it exists.”

  Delcan shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Which means you do,” Aria said and smiled knowingly. Delcan returned the smile with his own and his cheeks blushed a bright pink.

  They fell silent for a while. Aria certainly brooding on the thought of the creature haunting the outskirts of the kingdom; Delcan stumbling through his mind, hoping to find the right thing to say next. When he finally spoke he regretted the words immediately after they left his lips.

  “So, what is your tale? Why did the King react so harshly to your performance in the tournament?”

  “It is simple. I am the King’s unwanted granddaughter. The product of a daughter for which he did not wish and the reminder that his desire for a male heir is pointless.”

  “Aria, I’m sorry. I…”

  “It’s quite alright.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Ever since my birth I have been a thorn in his side. I am accustomed to his reactions. In fact, he has become quite predictable.”

  Delcan sat quietly, regretful at having asked such a probing question.

  “He aims to keep me trapped like a prisoner within the stones of this fortress. To him I am a token to use whenever he wishes to reveal some of what little humanity remains in him; when he needs to demonstrate to the kingdom that he is not a monster.”

  She turned to Delcan and he saw in her eyes the edge of something that could very well be anger, but which he felt was more likely determination.

  “What can display his loving heart more effectively than the beautiful granddaughter for whom he cares?” she spat out.
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  Delcan did not respond. He was surprised that she had disarmed so much of her inner thoughts and he could tell there was surprise in her tone as well. He held his gaze on her for a while and she kept hers on him. “I don't believe you are destined to be a prisoner,” he said. “I have a strong sense that you are capable of accomplishing many great feats, Your Highness.”

  Aria stood with her arms folded against her chest and took a few steps away from Delcan. “I am capable of shooting an arrow faster than anyone this kingdom has ever seen,” she said. “I am capable of raising the heaviest of swords and bringing it down with enough force to cut the heads off soldiers.” She turned to face Delcan and lowered her arms. “I am capable of riding a stallion with my legs wrapped around its middle; my arms raised high above my head gripping a sword and shield. And yet, here I am a spectator in a contest I won. A princess locked up in a tower guarded by men in dull armor. That of which I am capable is irrelevant.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Delcan said, standing. “There is more than this in your destiny, I’m sure of it. Only the Spirit knows, but perhaps it is you who will inherit the kingdom after all.” He smiled the most charming smile he could muster and instantly feared he had fallen short. She shook her head and smiled back.

  "So, is there magic in that arrow of yours? There must be to make one fly as precisely as yours did."

  "Yes, the magic is in the feminine touch,” Aria said, matching his jesting tone. “Only a woman can make an arrow fly as true."

  Delcan bowed before her, exaggerating the genuflection, almost coming to his knees. Aria put out her hand, palm down, and raised her chin up to the afternoon sky.

  "I bow before you," said Delcan, "All mighty Arrow Goddess."

  "Take my hand in yours and smother it with kisses," she said mockingly.

  Delcan held her hand and pretended to lick the back of it. The two of them laughed heartily and talked lightly for the remainder of the festival.

  As the dragon in the mountains painted the sky red with its breath and the afternoon turned to early evening they walked back to the center of activity where Sandrion and Melicia were creating a spotlight of attention for themselves.