Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  "We asked locals for assistance and they quickly recognized Delcan as indeed being the son of a farmer, but the father’s name is Roimas. They live in a secluded cabin outside the village, at the edge of the forest."

  "Roimas," Malden whispered. "I do not know the name."

  "I doubt if in fact that is the old man’s given name," Licius added. "The lies of the son are often the lies of the father."

  "Yes." Malden spoke with a far away look upon his face. "Lies. Why would the boy lie to the King?"

  The guards stood by, watching Malden who was clearly no longer speaking to them but rather lost in thought.

  "Perhaps the boy fears he will fail," Farco spoke for the first time. "That his father will be shamed when he returns, bruised by defeat."

  "Yes," Malden responded in an empty voice. "Perhaps. But I do not believe it. For months there have been rumblings here and there in the kingdom of dissenters urging for a rising, for a new attempt to push Orsak off the throne. Lately that chatter has grown louder and in some remote villages it is gaining support.” Malden looked down at the stone floor adrift in contemplation.

  There was an awkward moment of silence as the guards stood with their hands folded behind their backs, wondering whether they will now be dismissed by their superior officer or if he had more in store for them.

  "There may be a way to find who this boy truly is, what he desires." Malden said, his mind suddenly returning to the world. "Go bathe and come dine as my guests tonight. I shall allow the King to thank you both personally for your efforts."

  "Thank you, sir," Licius said, followed by the echoing voice of Farco, as Malden walked away in long strides.

  Chapter Twelve

  A squire’s training was arduous and since ancient times its course had changed little. It began with the traditional Ceremony of Swords and Shadows and it ended with the Test of Worthiness.

  As a knight’s loyal servant and apprentice, a squire was expected to follow the knight’s orders to the smallest of details without question—from holding a shield as a training partner until his arms ached, to shoveling and sweeping the stables. In return, the knight trained his squire on all martial skills. A knight trained his squire on wielding the heavy sword the boy would wear against his hip as a man for the rest of his life; on properly brandishing a jousting lance as it pushed against the breast plate of an armored knight charging toward him at full speed on a galloping horse; on loading an arrow on a longbow and making it fly true on a straight course; on sweeping the end of a staff to pull the legs of enemies from under them. The knight provided guidance while the squire accompanied him like a shadow, prepared to meet his master’s needs.

  The training could last many years. It would be completed only when the knight felt confident that his squire had served him well and was prepared for the final test.

  The Test of Worthiness once consisted of a dragon hunt. Each squire chose the weapons deemed necessary and formed a hunting team comprised of the King’s guards. He would lead the group into the forest and command the search for signs of a dragon— tracks, scorched trees, dragon nests. Once the dragon was found, the squire would command and lead the guards in trapping with ropes the dragon’s neck and tail, in an attempt to control the beast before it disgorged its fire. With the beast under relative control, the squire would unsheathe his sword and run the dragon through until dead. Even when facing a subdued dragon, this was no easy task. With a successful kill, the squire’s test was completed and the knighting ceremony would occur the following day. If the dragon lived and the guards fled, the squire would only spend one hour in the castle, during which he would gather his belongings before returning to his native village a disgrace.

  A tradition that once stood for many generations, the dragon hunt was no longer practiced. In the past one-hundred years, the dragon population had dwindled down to one and even that lone survivor had become a legend to whose existence few could attest. Hunted for their skin and for their eyes to use in magic brews, dragons had disappeared from the world with Paraysia the only kingdom where one was rumored to still dwell in the caves of the Twilight Mountains. The Test of Worthiness changed; it had become instead a test of endurance measured by combat drills and hours of lone survival within the forest’s shadows.

  Few squires completed the training to arrive at the Test of Worthiness. And during Orsak’s forty-year reign, of all the young men selected each year during the festival, only three had been allowed to test their worth; only two had endured and had been knighted. No announcement or fanfare followed the knighting ceremonies and the small number of squires who went on to serve as knights was a little known fact.

  Two days following the Flarian Festival, in the late morning hours, the sun sat behind the castle casting the dominating shadow of the castle keep and tower over the courtyard.

  A mild wind cut through the air, its soft whistle the only sound behind the castle walls. Delcan and Sandrion stood with Stanlo beside the castle’s North-West Tower, commenting how tranquil the morning felt.

  "It’s disturbing," Stanlo said. "All this silence." Tall, slim and muscular— physically made to survive the exigency of the training they would begin later that day—Delcan saw Stanlo as a threat for the first time; an odd thought since they had already passed their time as competitors. They were to be brothers now, he and Stanlo; brothers in arms.

  Delcan glanced about the courtyard, wondering how on the days after such a festive event it seemed so utterly undisturbed and clean.

  "Having lived all my life in Marlain, I am accustomed to continuous noises of all sorts, day and night,” Stanlo went on. “Somehow, I had expected the castle to be livelier than this."

  Marlain was Paraysia’s largest village and the closest group of cottages to the castle. With the largest concentration of merchants in Paraysia and the only village to contain houses of liquor, which were open throughout the night, Marlain provided the most spirited lifestyle in the kingdom.

  "Enjoying silence is habitual in Berest," Sandrion added. "But even I find this stillness odd."

  As Delcan nodded in agreement, a loud, metallic beat burst into the courtyard, stomping the silence. It came from the barracks, behind the Royal Quarters, and soon the source of the clanking was revealed.

  The three young men watched in naked awe as The Knights of King Orsak’s Court marched solemnly toward them. Only few men alive had witnessed this sight outside the castle, for the sight of marching knights represented a sign of war. And Paraysia was no longer a kingdom at war—so had declared the King himself. Those who lived their lives hiding from His Majesty’s ever watchful eyes would refute that sentiment.

  Dressed in full armor—the visors on their helmets pulled down, covering their faces— they formed a line facing the castle keep as they entered the courtyard.

  "Squires!" a large, intimidating voice suddenly bellowed. Malden, dressed in a ceremonial red robe, standing apart from the knights, faced the three boys. He held a large, bronze cup in both hands. "Come."

  The squires glanced at one another, and then walked toward the line of standing knights, each in his own way trying to hide his hesitation.

  As Sandrion, Delcan, and Stanlo approached Malden, the knights began to march once again, turning to form a large circle around them beneath the shadow that covered the courtyard like a cloak. When the circle of armor was completed, the knights withdrew their swords and held them high above them.

  One of the knights gave a loud yell—it was impossible to determine who had spoken from under his metal mask—and they drove the blades of their swords into the earth. The knights stepped to their left in unison and commenced a march inside the circle of swords that now surrounded not only the squires but the knights themselves. The metal boots clanked, their steps resounding like the voice of a chorus. The squires watched them bewildered.

  As the sunlight shifted, the shadow covering the courtyard receded. Sections of grass came to life with full color as the sun slowly str
etched to illuminate the yard. A few minutes later, as they marched, sunlight glimmered off the armor of one of the knights, lighting his helmet with a gold spark. The chosen knight, he first touched by the sun, stepped into the circle, never disrupting the flow of the march. He walked to the center and stood before Delcan. Through the slits in the visor, Delcan saw a pair of light, brown eyes.

  The remaining knights continued to march. Soon thereafter, another stepped within the circle after having been grazed by the light of the sun as it swept away the shadows and walked toward Sandrion. When the luster of a third knight’s armor shone, the marching stopped abruptly and he entered the circle to stand facing Stanlo. As the three chosen knights stood at the center of the circle, the others turned to face them.

  "The knights whom the sun has chosen will carry the new squires into the brotherhood," Malden’s solemn voice spoke.

  The circle of knights reached behind it and pulled the swords out of the ground. They raised the blades and pointed them into the circle, sunlight reflecting off the steel blades. The three chosen knights removed their helmets, revealing themselves, each of the faces a stranger to the squires.

  Facing Sandrion stood Sir Grainer, a tall, broad ogre of a man whose reputation on the battlefield was of a crazed bull willing to ram through anything, or anyone, in his path in order to ensure victory. He had a full face chiseled with scars visible through his beard. His arms and shoulders were massive and his vast torso sat on the solid pillars he had for legs. Only his soft-blue eyes seemed human.

  Sir Wildon, small compared to Grainer, stood rigidly at attention in front of Delcan. Although only slightly taller than the squire, his physical appearance made him seem the strongest of the knights. And in fact this assumption was not far from the truth. As a warrior he possessed unparalleled skill with the sword. He was one of the older knights and the last to have ever hunted a dragon. No other knight serving under the King had ever felt the heat of a dragon’s breath.

  Finally, looking deeply into Stanlo’s eyes stood Sir Liebert, who had once been Malden’s own squire. He had a hard face and a short, dark patch of hair atop his head. A full moustache fell over his upper lip. As the most solemn of the knights, he held the will of his King as the dearest of virtues. His strength, always willing to follow an order without a thought, was also his weakness.

  Malden handed the bronze goblet to Sir Grainer. The knight held it ceremoniously in both hands, drank deeply, and passed it to Sir Wildon, standing to his right.

  After drinking from the cup, his eyes closed, Wildon passed it on to Sir Liebert.

  When all three chosen knights had drunk from the cup, Malden retrieved it and offered it to Delcan.

  "Drink," he said. "Drink from the combined blood of the brotherhood so that you may unite your blood with ours."

  Delcan drank willingly. As part of a symbolic ceremony, he had expected to taste fine, red wine on his lips; instead, his mouth filled with the bitter, steely taste of blood. Whether the blood of men, or of a swine, he would never know. He fought the urge to gag and passed the goblet to Malden’s outstretched hand.

  Malden handed the cup to Sandrion and repeated, "Drink. Drink from the combined blood of the brotherhood so that you may unite your blood with ours."

  Sandrion breathed in deeply and drank. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve before passing the cup back to Malden.

  The ceremonious words that had been uttered for centuries were again spoken before Stanlo drank from the cup.

  With the goblet back in his hands, Malden declared, "It is done," as the chosen knights stepped forward and placed their hands on the squires’ shoulders.

  "Today, your journey begins. May it bring you to the destiny so chosen for you."

  Chapter Thirteen

  Licius and Farco had met the King once, several years earlier, when Aria was born. The two guards had been on duty outside the tower room Princess Kaira, Aria’s mother, had chosen as her chamber. The King had requested the guards be posted to protect the male child, his heir, upon his birth.

  When the sound of a crying infant seeped through the door, Malden had notified Orsak and the King himself had come to the room. The guards had stood at attention, their gaze straight ahead, while the King entered the room, shouted and scolded the princess, damning the child, and exited, slamming the door behind him.

  "Do not let them leave this room," the King had growled at the guards and they had nodded. White rain had fallen from a charcoal-colored sky that night. Snow, Malden called it.

  Tonight, however, was different. They would not only be in the presence of the King, but would speak with him at length, and they were restless.

  As they entered the dining room in the second story of the castle keep, Farco whispered, "That is the largest table I have ever seen."

  Along the side wall of the dining room the royal table stretched, dominating the room. Tall chairs were lined along it on both sides like facing rows of pieces in a strategy game. A noble or a baron occupied nearly every seat at the table with the King himself seated at the center in a large, adorned chair. Servants marched with wooden trays filled with flasks and goblets and metal plates.

  The King’s guests ate barbarously, pulling apart pieces of meat and goose with their hands as they chewed on soft bread and spoke with bits of food falling from their mouths. They laughed and conversed as jesters and fools leaped about the room making faces and playing instruments. The dining room was loud and the unconstrained mood was irresistible. Amidst the vivaciousness of the room the King sat with sober eyes scrutinizing the festivities.

  Malden met the guards at the door and led them toward a pair of seats at one corner of the table. They could see the King raised above all other diners from their seats and for the first time in their lives felt good fortune was with them.

  They ate and drank with the rest of the royal guests, devouring the tastes, smells and sounds of the room. When the feast had concluded and the guests sat about telling one another embellished yarns of their daily lives, Malden approached Licius and Farco and placing a hand on the shoulder of each announced that the King would now like to meet them and thank them for their service.

  He led them out of the dining room and into another chamber where the King sat on a large, golden chair, waiting.

  "Please," King Orsak motioned with his dragon-skin cane to the chairs arranged before him after the two guards knelt respectfully. The Throne Room was mostly empty and his voice echoed powerfully.

  On the stone wall behind the King hung a portrait of Marcius the Great sitting on the very same chair Orsak now occupied. Along the side walls stood various forms of armor from Paraysia’s history in front of a row of tall mirrors. Across from them, long, flowing linens covered two large windows.

  Farco sat where indicated and thought the King to be just as he had imagined—a figure larger than the kingdom itself. He had personally thought at times that the ruthlessness the villagers whispered about the King may well be true; yet, sitting there in front of him, able to see the color of his eyes, he felt proud to be at the service of such grand a leader.

  "Malden commends you for your service, and so do I," the King said.

  Licius and Farco sat with their hands on their laps, their backs rigid with tension.

  "You have supplied us with precious information on a boy whom I understand has lied to me."

  The King’s voice was stern and penetrating. He watched the two men with a grave expression. At the corners of his mouth, Licius could see the sharp lines of a forced smile.

  "The father is not who the boy says he is," Farco said after sensing the King wished for them to speak.

  "So I have heard. Tell me all you discovered."

  Farco explained the way in which the two squires had disappeared in the road, apparently aware of their tracking them. He then told the King of their findings in Berest, the true name of Delcan’s father and that he still lived.

  When told of the cabin near the woods, King Orsa
k furrowed his brow and nodded as he stroked his long beard.

  "Your Majesty," Licius said hesitantly after Farco had finished. "There is one other thing I should mention."

  "Yes," the King said, his eyes focused on the floor as he thought. "Go on."

  "As the squire left his father’s cabin, we heard the father say a curious thing."

  Malden looked at Licius intensely; there was a trace of something dark in his eyes, anger perhaps at the guards not having told him all they had found.

  "As they parted, after their good-byes, the boy’s parents spoke briefly. The woman asked if the boy would suffer—through the training, I suppose—as her husband had."

  King Orsak raised his head slowly, fixing his eyes on Licius.

  "Perhaps she was thinking out loud," Licius continued, eager to share with the King what his deepest instincts told him would be of utmost importance. "The father said that the boy would be King."

  Orsak stood abruptly.

  "What did you say?" the King roared.

  Licius knew that once the words left his lips, he would be the target of the King’s rage. Yet, he felt a satisfaction unlike any he had ever known at telling the kingdom’s revered, and feared, leader something entirely unknown to him. Something only he, Licius, would be able to tell.

  "That the boy," repeated the guard, "he would someday be King."

  Orsak lunged at Licius, grabbing tightly the collar of the guard’s shirt in his hands.

  "I want to know everything," the King growled in a hoarse whisper, pronouncing each word as if speaking to a simpleton. "I want to know who this farmer really is. I want to know what he looks like; where he lives, exactly. What he thinks. What he feels. What he is hiding."

  Orsak’s breath struck Licius’s face as he spoke and for an instant he thought this was what a dragon looked and felt like when breathing fire.