Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  “Galyan had lived only one hundred years when King Marcius the Great, newly crowned, asked him to serve in his court. Saimon, who had advised two kings in his lifetime, had died early that year and Galyan became the youngest wizard to have served under a king. Unlike widely-held belief, the life of a wizard is not eternal; they live centuries, yes, but as humans, dragons, and even unicorns of long ago, their knees too crumble when in the grip of death.”

  Roimas’s eyes sparkled.

  “A wizard was an important part of a kingdom then. My father once told me that just as a king without an heir makes a kingdom nervous, a king without magic by his side would become dangerous. Magic was integral in keeping a king’s mind and spirit focused on the goals and betterment of the kingdom. Without such influence, a man in such a lonesome, dominating position would be easily devoured by a hunger for power and a fear of losing all that he held within his hands.

  "’Whisper wisdom in my ear,’ King Marcius had told Galyan on the first night he had needed his services. ‘Lead this kingdom and I shall follow.’

  “Galyan had shaken his head and had assured the new king, ‘I shall only reflect what is already in your heart, and you shall act as you know is right.’ Since then, Galyan took his place not only as an advisor but as Marcius’s closest friend. He was a permanent fixture at the King’s side—his loyalty and wisdom recognized by all in the kingdom. The peace he and Marcius brought to our world lasted decades. Life flourished like never before in Paraysia. The kingdom grew prosperous and strong. A sort of euphoria lay over the land so completely that much of its people believed there were no other kingdoms left in the world—only deserts occasionally traveled by vagrants and gypsies. During this period of elation, in this paradise, Marcius created the Flarian tournament. And with it came Aston.”

  Roimas looked down at his hands and rubbed the palms together in slow circular motions. Delcan doubted he even realized he was doing it. He was somewhere else now, as if he were no longer speaking to Delcan. He sat in silent contemplation, gazing at the ground before him as if images from the past had been painted before him and he were busy arranging them in the proper order.

  “Decades, that man-made heaven had lasted. It took only half of one for it all to crumble. There are many now who glance back and lay the blame for the kingdom’s downfall on Aston’s bold challenge. I often wonder if it were inevitable.”

  The night had unfurled its dark cloak while Roimas spoke. Now, while father and son sat in silence, the moon broke through a thin layer of clouds and the Shadows frolicked under its light. They wailed their agonizing song and Delcan shuddered.

  “Father,” Delcan tapped at the silence in a hoarse whisper. “Father, are you…?

  "Orsak and I were brothers," Roimas said. He lifted his head and searched for the moon. "Not in blood, but in friendship; and in the way all knights are brothers, in our fervent sense of servitude to the King. When he and I entered the squire hood, Roen, my father, trained us both. We formed a lasting friendship during our many hours of training and it continued for years, long after we were knighted.”

  Roimas stood and grimaced as he rubbed his lower back.

  “A bench would do nicely in this spot, instead of that cursed stone.”

  “You were friends,” Delcan said. “You and Orsak...”

  Roimas nodded and began to pace, looking to loosen the tight knots that had formed in his back and shoulders.

  “Orsak is Aston’s son and, as was his father, he is of unsurpassed martial skill and relentless courage. But, unlike Aston, Orsak’s heart carried inside a dormant anger that once it erupted ran over the kingdom, changing everything.”

  “How did he become King?” Delcan asked. “He was not an heir from Marcius's line.”

  Roimas stopped Delcan with a raised hand. “We will get there.” He swept his palm over his forehead then continued.

  “At the time of our knighting, Marcius was an old man. He had lived a long life and had given much of himself to this world. When he departed to the Land of Shadows in 445, his only son, Prince Albetais, eighteen years of age and full of arrogant confidence, assumed the crown.

  “He did not accomplish much at first, but in time, after having molded the throne to fit his large, round body, he began to make changes. The first, and most crucial, was a reduction, or perhaps I should say the removal, of Galyan’s role as Advisor to the King. In many ways, he diminished him to nothing more than part of the tapestry that hung in the Throne Room. Galyan’s presence was no longer required, nor wanted, at the King’s court and decisions in all matters were made by Albetais himself. The new King distrusted magic, but mostly he did not trust Galyan’s combination of sorcery and human perspective. I suppose he thought that if he were to have the words of a wizard at his ear, then they would be the words of a true sorcerer, not one whose human heart sometimes overshadowed magic. Albetais did not seek advice; he wanted assuring support for all his actions, good or bad.

  “Albetais had a golden tongue and was a master at soft manipulation, the only gifts with which he was born, and the only traits of Marcius I ever saw in him. It did not take long for most of the knights to fall in line with him. He dictated his power over Paraysia and the peace that we thought would have lasted for all eternity began slipping away.

  “During his second year in power, he imposed new laws and taxes of his own making; he demanded farmers to sell their produce only to him; and he filtered the wealth of the merchants through the castle’s vaults. He enforced his will with marching guards and public hangings. With little success, some of us tried persuading the King to reverse these ways. Within four years the kingdom had fallen into a downward spiral that pulled any semblance of Marcius’s reign down with it.”

  “Could he have been stopped?” Delcan asked.

  “The means were there—the means by which to bring change are always there—but without the conviction to fight, they are worth nothing.”

  “And Galyan?” wondered Delcan. “Could not Galyan take the lead, inspire that conviction?”

  “Indeed, Galyan saw where the kingdom was being led and advised Albetais toward a different path. But the King was bloated and addicted with the power that had fallen on his lap. Galyan went to the nobles but none of them were willing to risk the comforts they supposed would forever be guaranteed by the new King. Galyan’s unfaltering existence in the background of his reign grew tiresome and the wizard’s presence in the castle soon became restricted to his own quarters and the courtyard.

  “Now, knights and guards alike respected Galyan, but regardless how relentlessly he tried to persuade them to turn from Albetais, their families’ well-being kept them loyal. Despite a lack for support, Galyan warned Albetais that the kingdom would surely push him off his throne if he maintained the course. ‘Even if they must destroy the throne to do so,’ he had told him. All the King did was laugh at Galyan’s counsel and on a quiet summer evening, in a sudden burst of rage, he banished Galyan from Paraysia, promising to have his head if the wizard ever returned.

  “Before departing Castilmont, Galyan turned to him one last time and solemnly declared, ‘You shall fail, Albetais. Your reign shall crumble and after the dust cloud settles, a commoner’s son shall be King.'”

  Roimas stood for a moment with his finger extended before him, unaware that he had spoken the words as if he were Galyan himself. He lowered his hand and along with it his head.

  “In time, these words were the muse that brought about a change; a change which we thought would fulfill that prophecy. But we were wrong.”

  “The more I think of them the more Galyan’s prophecies disturb me,” Telias said, her voice snapping both Roimas and Delcan awake from their talk. Neither had noticed her standing at the cabin’s door.

  “Hello, Mother.” Delcan went to her and she embraced him warmly.

  “Well done, sweet love,” she said. “I see you accomplished what you set out to do.” Her smile was bright and genuine and Delcan felt re
lieved. In a way he expected disappointment from her at having left home without a word.

  Telias looked at Roimas and her smile faltered slightly. “Are you telling a good tale?” she asked him.

  “I’m trying.”

  “The truth? Everything?”

  Roimas did not respond; he only gave her a hard look that warned not to say much more. As her smile faded, his look softened to one that was more a plea for support than a demand for agreement. Telias nodded and sighed, holding Delcan closer to her breast.

  Delcan did not see the silent exchange between his parents but he felt his mother’s sigh as he rested his head against her. He turned to look at her and this time caught the concern in her eyes.

  “There’s nothing to fear,” he said to her. “I will be fine.”

  Telias nodded and softly kissed his forehead. Turning to Roimas she said, “So, after the wizard’s banishment...Tell what comes next.”

  Roimas rested his shoulder against the cabin wall and crossed his arms as Telias sat beside Delcan.

  “When Albetais banished him, Galyan retreated to the forest, far from the castle, dispirited.” As he spoke, Roimas felt a chill rush up his spine; it suddenly struck him that upon fleeing Castilmont those forty years ago, he too had retreated to the forest—or at least as close to it as he dared without being consumed by its darkness.

  “Most of the kingdom,” he went on, “mourned as if Galyan had passed to the Land of Shadows, for the forest, as it is today, was thought to be a dark place where only death and dragons roamed; the gentle wizard was expected never to be seen again.

  “My father, who had taken his leave in Alicia, near the sea, was outraged at Galyan’s expulsion, as well as disappointed in Aston who was then Captain of the Guards.”

  Delcan had not expected to hear such passivity from Aston toward Albetais and Roimas noticed.

  “Oh, yes, Delcan. Even those who we think of as pillars of what is right with the world are weak somewhere inside. I know not what kept Aston a willing participant in all of this—perhaps that is something Galyan may be able to answer—but in his eyes one could see that he suffered, quietly, for his kingdom. There was no desire in him to fight, but that fire did burn in others.

  “Old and tired, Roen led a fervent protest against the King. He and a few others urged yet again the nobles and barons, and those closest to Albetais’s ear, to join together and persuade him to peacefully change his course. Many of us in the royal Guard thought that we would defeat Albetais from within—that in time all his knights would turn and demand a change in him. But our course was too slow for Roen. He felt our measured but steady effort would not succeed at bringing about the radical change for which he called.

  “He became more ardent in his call for the raising of arms. He stood in front of any crowd who would look his way and call for action. He had an impassioned following but not large enough, nor emboldened enough. In time, Roen found his voice no longer carried the weight it once did and it destroyed him. He died, alone, and disappointed as I remained in the service of Albetais.

  “A day after his death,” said Roimas in a whisper, “Aston denounced his oath to the King and left Castilmont. He urged Orsak to follow but his son refused.

  “Soon, the pain became worse and visible on the faces of the villagers across the kingdom. Farmers worked twice as hard so that they may hide some of the harvest from the King’s collectors; they kept some of that bounty to feed their families—most of it they used to barter with other villagers behind closed doors. Merchants became nothing more than a funnel to the castle’s storerooms. The common outlook changed to each person for himself, even as they depended on one another in their struggle to survive.

  “Then, came Aston’s murder and the kingdom finally reacted as if slapped in the face. There was no attempt at masking who was responsible— when Orsak found his father dead in his own home, the sword with the royal markings on the blade was still deep in Aston’s chest. With Aston gone, Orsak was resolved to act, and I embraced the opportunity to stop the kingdom from collapsing around us.

  “I had hoped with all my might that Galyan would return. I believed that if the wizard could be found, he would lead us in uniting the nobles as your grandfather had tried to do and we could reach a peaceful end. But Galyan did not emerge. Meanwhile, Orsak wore his despair and his anger openly. He quickly worked on inflaming some of the knights’ spirits and persuading them to form a militant rebellion to be rid of Albetais’s tyranny. By then, with Aston murdered, the hopes of Paraysia had decayed so that a combative solution seemed the only one that would provide a clearer future. The commoners rallied with him, as did some of the barons, and a small number of nobles. Even to those of us who had preferred a different route, this promised change; it would return the kingdom to greatness, a rebirth, and so we welcomed the war that was to come.”

  Chapter Nine

  The first half of the Fifth Century had seen the death of King Marcius the Great and the rise of King Albetais’s tyrannical rule. During the last half of the century, Paraysia would experience the breakthrough of a new hope and the disenchantment of having that hope crushed.

  As Roimas told the tale, Paraysia changed in Delcan’s mind—from a land he had only two days before discovered, to a living kingdom that had once grown strong and had been beaten. It was no longer merely a place, but a spirit that had been broken. And along with that understanding, most of all, he discovered his father to be a man of whom he had known very little.

  “By this time, Galyan had gone deeper into the forest,” Roimas went on, “to the foot of the mountains. He was nowhere to be found. I searched incessantly for a long time and still did not find a trace of him.

  “At a surprisingly fast pace Orsak built a rebel force composed of commoners and defecting knights whom he trained personally. He assembled a diverse group of supporters from all walks of the kingdom. He travelled every village, he visited every farm, with his message and plea for help and with every word he spoke his support grew stronger. It was an inspiring vision that pledged a beaming future, where noble and common blood united to bring forth change.”

  “Such promise,” Roimas moaned. “It was to be a new kingdom. A new Paraysia built on the footprints of Marcius himself. But, that vision soon blurred with the growth of Orsak’s army and with his first taste of true power.

  “Orsak’s was an open uprising. One that Albetais was powerless to thwart, even as it gained momentum right before his eyes. Even as our numbers increased, King Albetais’s grip on the kingdom tightened. And with each clench of his fist, the kingdom spilled through his fingers and into the hands of the oppressed rebellion. The tension built to the impasse where an inevitable battle between the King’s soldiers and the Orsak-led rebels exploded in Paraysia. The fighting lasted only days but the memory of the blood shed and the destruction that remained lasted far longer.

  “When the royal guards’ army surrendered against the King’s own wishes, Orsak’s vision changed. It transformed into a new revelation, one grander than the mere restoration of Paraysia. The hopes he had shared with the common people were obscured by the anticipation of a grand victory, one where he would emerge as its one and only leader, its visionary; Paraysia’s future King.

  “After the surrender, Orsak, furiously focused on indefinitely destroying Albetais’s rule, led a search through the castle for the King.”

  Roimas ceased to speak and his gaze froze on the earth upon which he stood. He stood with his shoulder against the cabin wall, his arms crossed, his eyes lost in the dirt, his mind somewhere else entirely, for a long time. Delcan looked at Telias and saw tears in her eyes. She regarded Roimas with a tenderness Delcan thought would have been reserved for a mother to give her child. He wanted to break the silence but knew it was not he who should speak next.

  “Dear,” Telias whispered; her voice shook.

  Roimas’s shoulders rose then fell with a deep, heavy sigh.

  “We stormed the royal ch
amber and found Albetais hiding inside that large fireplace among ashes and burnt wood. He seemed such like a child; not one who feared for his life, but rather one who had been caught after having done some shameful deed.”

  Roimas’s words were slow and deliberate. His voice was of a single tone that grounded the words with harsh sobriety.

  “Orsak’s teeth were clenched; his eyes were open wide with madness. He took hold of the King’s shoulders and pulled him out of the fireplace. Albetais’s head hit harshly against the stone hearth. The King grimaced but did not cry out in pain.

  “I will never forget the image of Orsak standing over Albetais’s trembling body. This man who had destroyed the kingdom, and had killed his father.”

  Roimas’s shoulders rose. Fell.

  “With every deep, angry breath he took, Orsak’s eyes widened—blood stained and glassed-over with moisture. He gazed into Albetais’s frightened face for a moment then ran his sword through the King’s body six times.”

  Leaves rustled in the forest behind him; the Shadows wailed. Roimas’s shoulders trembled.

  “He drove the blade in to the handle each of the six times. With every plunge of the blade, he struggled to pull the bloody sword free before driving it forward again. Blood flowed and spilled over the stone floor of that chamber. Royal blood—the blood of Marcius himself—ran through the gaps in the stone for the first time.”

  Roimas blinked and raised his head. He looked at Delcan.

  “It was the first time I had ever been confronted with the true nature of madness. It sizzled in Orsak’s veins. You could almost hear it when standing beside him. Madness of that kind does not fade, Delcan. Madness of that kind grows, and feeds.”

  Delcan shivered at the words and the look in Roimas’s eyes. It was a warning, he knew; a warning to never doubt King Orsak’s intentions, and to never forget the madness that drives them.