Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  To his left, Delcan saw an open doorway leading to another large room, this one with ceilings twelve feet in height. It was illuminated with only the dim flicker of a chandelier. Delcan stepped forward and glanced inside a sitting room with the head of a unicorn prominently displayed on one wall. He doubted the head to be real but it was still an imposing piece of the room’s décor. Beneath it was an oversized, cushioned chair beside a small table. Across from the chair stood another identical in size and style. On the far wall Delcan saw another open door leading into a hallway. Beyond the door a staircase led to a second level.

  Delcan walked past the sitting room in the direction where he expected to find the tower and came across another door-less entryway leading into a corridor overflowing with bright candlelight. He stepped through the doorway cringing at the way his shoes echoed.

  The corridor’s width allowed for four people to walk side-by-side, shoulders touching. Its simple stone walls were lined with elaborate sconces that held four candles each. After twenty steps, Delcan saw a closed door to his right; the doorway was set into the wall two feet, shrouding the door itself in shadow. As he approached it, Delcan heard no sound from the other side of the door.

  Guest room, he thought and continued past it. A few steps later he found yet another closed door to his left. As he continued forward he heard a pair of voices echo somewhere ahead in the corridor. He stood still, listening. Steps accompanied the voices heading in his direction.

  Delcan stepped back into the doorway he had just passed hoping the shadows would conceal his presence. He pressed his back and his palms covered in sweat against the wooden door.

  “Do you think he is sincere?” one of the approaching voices said as it drew closer.

  “I have seen no reason to suspect otherwise,” the second voice said. They were closer and to whom the words belonged was now clear.

  Stanlo passed closest to the doorway in which Delcan was hidden; Malden passed on the other side of him. They walked as if they were father and son out for a stroll. Delcan held his breath, knowing he and Sandrion were the subject of conversation.

  “How does he propose to convince Delcan?” Malden asked.

  “With the help of many years of friendship.”

  The steps stopped.

  “Sandrion has already spoken with Delcan,” Stanlo continued. “He has already warned him that his dismissal from squire training is in discussion. Sandrion will suggest that Delcan leave the training at his own request, honorably, other than be shoved off the castle at sword point.”

  “And you believe he will go along with this?”

  “Not at first, sir,” Stanlo’s voice was quiet, soft, yet Delcan could hear him stammer his response. “It may take some time, at least a few days. But he will agree to it. Delcan views Sandrion as one with authority and often looks to him for advice. I doubt that Delcan accomplishes anything without Sandrion providing guidance.”

  “Very well,” Malden said. “You have one week. If Sandrion succeeds, both you and he will have much to celebrate. Should he fail, I shall take more drastic measures.”

  Stanlo did not reply but Delcan could very well picture him nodding in agreement. If Sandrion was right, Stanlo had already been guaranteed his reward.

  Delcan heard one of the voices mumble something he could not make out followed by the creak of a door opening. Seconds later, the door closed with a loud echo and one of the footsteps—Stanlo, he figured--headed in the direction of the foyer.

  When a comforting silence returned to the hall, Delcan stepped out of the doorway. He glanced back at the place where Stanlo and Malden had stood. Seeing nothing move in the gloom, he continued down the hall passing several more closed doors as he went. With the moon set high in the sky and most of the gentles and servants retired for the night, the quarters were quiet.

  The corridor turned to the left then slightly to the right. As he turned the corner, Delcan reached the end of the hall. He faced a large, rounded wall and a door at the top of which the wood formed a half-moon. He had reached the entrance to the tower.

  He pulled on the iron handle and the door opened with a high-pitched moan. He stepped through the opening to find a circular staircase of solid stone rising toward an unseen destination. Combing his hair back with his fingers he began to climb the steps toward Aria’s chamber.

  The door opened behind him and Sandrion turned on his heels surprised that Delcan would emerge this soon. When he saw Stanlo walk out into the night, he held his breath.

  “Sandrion. What are you doing out here?” Stanlo asked.

  “Guard duty.” Sandrion smiled and shrugged.

  “Alone?”

  “The guard went to wet his beak down at the stables. He should return shortly.”

  “I’ll linger with you a while,” Stanlo said squeezing Sandrion’s left shoulder.

  Sandrion could not help shuddering at the thought that he and Stanlo were suddenly friends. “Good.” He glanced back at the double doors and hoped Delcan would not emerge from them anytime soon; not while Stanlo kept him company.

  “I spoke with Malden about your plan to oust Delcan,” Stanlo said. “He hopes you will succeed, as do I. With Delcan gone you and I will have much to celebrate.”

  Stanlo was in his glory; the life that lay ahead for him seemed not only hopeful but a dream being realized. He had found a friend in Sandrion, never suspecting that Sandrion’s betrayal of Delcan would never occur.

  “Who is the guard you are serving with tonight?” Stanlo asked in a conversational tone that Sandrion had never heard from him before. He seemed naturally comfortable, at ease. Sandrion had come to expect Stanlo to be comfortable only when speaking with mockery. Sandrion looked at him and searched for an answer.

  When a squire is assigned to any type of duty it is through prior arrangement with the guard from whom the squire is to receive mentorship. In the time they had spent in training thus far, Sandrion, Stanlo, and Delcan had served on guard duty several times and had come to know many of the guards to whom a squire would be assigned. But none of the squires had ever served at the Royal Quarters detail and the guard who had stood before the double doors for the past two years had not met any of the squires until tonight.

  Sandrion shrugged. “I have never met him until tonight.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The spiral staircase enfolded a massive column that ran down the middle of the short and wide tower. Double sconces set on the wall along the staircase illuminated the fifty-step climb to the princess’s chamber. Once at the top, the staircase ended at the foot of yet another door. Delcan suddenly noticed how this space was entirely silent, as if the presence of any life were an intrusion on the quiet dancing of the candlelight. He took in a deep breath and held it a moment before letting it out trying to calm his beating heart.

  He knocked lightly upon the door. He was about to rap his knuckles on the door again when he heard the lock turn on the other side.

  The door opened. Medcina stood in the threshold with one hand on her hip, the other holding the door ajar.

  “You are either slow of mind or crazy,” she said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wish to see Aria.”

  Medcina looked over her shoulder as Aria approached the door.

  “Delcan,” Aria whispered. “You are asking for death in coming here.”

  “I needed to see you. I must speak with you.”

  Medcina stepped aside and shaking her head said to Delcan, “I think it is both. But mostly, you are crazy.”

  Aria glanced at Medcina and opened the door fully. She took Delcan’s hand and pulled him inside.

  Delcan stepped into the round chamber and was instantly taken back by the size of the round room. A single, circular wall spanned the chamber, its curvature disrupted only by three windows evenly spaced. Between two of the windows, on the far side of the room, was Aria’s bed. A large piece of furniture with drawers stood to the side of it. Several large chairs we
re arranged throughout the room.

  Medcina cleared her throat with a hint of drama that would have seemed comical had either Delcan or Aria paid attention to it and excused herself closing the door behind her.

  “I have much to tell you,” Delcan said at once.

  “Sit,” she offered.

  Delcan nodded but remained standing. “I do not have much time.”

  He gazed at Aria for a moment, at the look of worry in her eyes. Her hair hung loosely around her face, resting on her shoulders in a manner most ladies of the court would call “unkempt.” The sheer beauty of her simple features and casual style suddenly urged him to reach for her—to take both her hands in his and pull her close.

  “Stanlo is plotting against me,” he said at last, forcing his mind back to the purpose of his visit. “And against you as well.”

  “Is that what happened this afternoon?”

  “Yes.” Delcan began talking at a rapid pace. “He arranged the action and he is plotting a much bigger scheme. He aims to marry you and has the assurance of the King himself that it will happen. Soon.”

  Aria’s eyes widened. “Marry him? That’s insane. I cannot. I—”

  Delcan stepped closer to Aria and took hold of her hand. “I’ll not let it happen,” he said.

  “Two years, my grandfather has been eager for me to marry. He has made his wish known not only to me but to every gentle man he considers suitable in his distorted mind. I have refused every attempt he has made. I was certain that in next to no time he would demand that I wed, even if doing so by force. But Stanlo is a squire. He is not nobility.”

  “In Orsak’s plan, one week from today Stanlo will be knighted,” Delcan explained. “I would no longer be a nuisance for I would have—in the best of scenarios—returned home to Berest or at the worst…” Delcan shrugged, choosing to not give voice to the thought that in all likelihood his death was eminent. “Soon after, you and Stanlo would marry.”

  Aria shook her head. “I do not understand why this is happening. Why does Stanlo hate you so?”

  “I am not certain why. Envy, perhaps? Jealousy?”

  “Jealousy over what?” Aria asked.

  Delcan blushed and lowered his eyes. “I suspect he knows how I feel about you. And in his way I suppose he loves you as well.”

  Aria smiled at Delcan’s roundabout confession but said nothing.

  “And he knows about my father,” Delcan continued. “He has told the King who my father was.”

  “Your father?” Aria asked. “Why is a farmer of any concern to Stanlo? Or to my grandfather?”

  Now Delcan looked up at Aria and fixed his eyes on hers. “My father was once a knight; a defender of the crown and possibly Orsak’s closest friend. Stanlo discovered this, or part of it, and that my father still lives.”

  “You said your parents had died.”

  “Yes. I regret not having been truthful with you. I just could not let my father’s secrets be known.

  “I do not know if Orsak has yet realized my father’s real name. When he does, my father will be in grave danger. And I will become a hostage.”

  Delcan’s shoulders rose and fell as he sighed with both a sense of relief and of defeat.

  Aria leaned forward, lifting her heels, and brushed her lips against his; she let them linger there a moment then pulled back.

  The two stared at each other for a long time, neither saying a word, both eager to kiss the other. As if slowly drifting back into reality, Aria finally broke the silence.

  “What… “Her voice shook and she was well aware of it. She cleared her throat timidly then went on. “What truly happened this afternoon in the courtyard?”

  Delcan did not immediately respond. He simply gazed at her. He knew not what to think—should he lunge for Aria or put the fleeting kiss behind him?

  He lowered his eyes and in his own shaking voice said quietly, “Stanlo and Malden happened. They have the knights convinced of their version of the truth. One of the knights wanted to send me a warning by attacking me during the training. I was not sure of Stanlo’s involvement until later at the stables. It was he and Malden who urged Sir Merson to hurt me if necessary during our sparring match.”

  Delcan walked to the window and looked down at the courtyard, at the walls surrounding it and the field beyond it.

  “You must go to the Cave Dwellers,” Aria said. “I shall take you to them.”

  Delcan turned around. “The Cave Dwellers? The rebels?” he asked, surprised by Aria’s knowledge of them and of their location.

  Aria nodded. “They were a small number but they have grown in the past several months. The group gained momentum nearly a year ago at the emergence of a knight whose identity is not known. He hides his face behind a helm and face mask. He calls himself Branis. The rebel force is made up of two other knights and a handful of guards, and a growing number of peasants. They are all secretly preparing for an overthrow of Orsak. The other knights’ and guards’ identities are also kept secret with hooded cloaks. They meet in a cave deep in the Valley of the Sun, facing the ocean. Some have taken residence there.”

  Delcan saw the exhilaration as she spoke. It flowed out of her with every word.

  “And you?” he asked. “How do you have so much knowledge of this? Have you seen them?”

  “I have not. And I know not where their cave is. But they have been in contact with me, through Medcina. I provide them with information when I can—information about the castle; about the guards’ comings and goings. About Malden and my grandfather.”

  Delcan was stunned. He could not accept as true Aria’s involvement—how active she was in this rebellion of which he had only heard recently. “What are they aiming to do?” he asked.

  “To this point, their goal has been training. Training the peasants in arms. They lack the weapons necessary for an effective assault but their improvised army has quickly built the skills they need to use them.”

  “How long? How long before they are an effective force?”

  “Branis says within a year; perhaps sooner.”

  Delcan rubbed the back of his neck, pressing against the dull pain that throbbed there. “We do not have a year,” he said.

  “Hide with them,” Aria said. “Train with them. Perhaps we can make it seem as if you had left the squire hood and returned to your father’s farm just as Orsak wants.”

  “Orsak wants me dead. I am certain of it.”

  The door opened behind him and Medcina entered.

  “It has been enough time,” she said urgently. “You must go, young man.”

  “Tomorrow,” said Aria. “Tomorrow you will go to them.” She turned to Medcina. The two stared at each other for a long moment then Medcina nodded.

  “And you? What about you? You cannot marry Stanlo.”

  Aria sighed. “If I must, for now…”

  “No.” Delcan advanced toward her.

  “We can be together once more when the Cave Dwellers are ready. Then you may come for me.”

  “I cannot let you do that.”

  “I shall come to the caves often to meet you.”

  “Young man,” Medcina interrupted. “There is no time to quarrel. You must go. Now.”

  “At the stables; tomorrow morning,” Aria said. “We shall meet there.”

  Delcan held Aria’s hand. “At first light,” he said. She nodded. They squeezed each other’s hand before letting go.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Delcan closed the door to the tower and headed down the corridor. He walked at a fast pace, no longer concerned with the echoing of his footsteps as he had been an hour before.

  His mind filled with a swirl of thoughts. Part of him felt elated, still relishing the time he had spent with Aria, and the moment when they had kissed. Another part of him trembled with anxiety. He did not like the idea of Aria marrying Stanlo when her heart was falling in love with him and his own heart with her. He had come to the tower to warn her, to protect her. Instead,
it was she who now protected him. He felt helpless.

  As he walked down the corridor Delcan decided he would not hide. He would not seek out the Cave Dwellers and live in shadows while Stanlo stood triumphant with Aria in his arms. He would fight. He would find a way to fight.

  As he passed it on his left with his head down and his mind racing, the last of the doors alongside the corridor creaked. Delcan’s step faltered when he heard the minute sound of the door. He looked over his shoulder and as the door opened he saw a heavy boot step into the hall.

  Delcan turned and ran making sure to keep his eyes from glancing back to see who was behind him. When he reached the foyer he pushed the double doors with both hands and stumbled out into the night. He halted like a man frozen in mid-run when he saw Sandrion and Stanlo standing in front of the door. He glanced at Sandrion then to Stanlo. Behind them he saw the guard whom Sandrion had relieved of duty approaching with a questioning look on his face.

  “Delcan?” Stanlo asked, his eyes narrowing.

  “Now, what is going on?” the guard asked. The effects of the ale were apparent in the volume of his voice and in the way it quivered.

  While Sandrion looked back at the guard, Stanlo kept his gaze fixed on Delcan. “What are you doing within the quarters of the Royal family?” he asked in a belligerent tone.

  Delcan looked at him defiantly. “It is not of your concern.”

  “It is a concern of mine,” the guard said. He took the crossbow out of Sandrion’s hand and stood in front of Stanlo. “I am who asks the questions here. And I shall start with you. Now, who might you be?”

  “I am Stanlo. Squire to Sir Liebert,” Stanlo responded with an air of contempt.

  “Ah. Liebert,” the guard said with a grin. “He is a good drinker. And you?” he asked turning to Delcan.

  “I am Delcan. Squire to Sir Wildon.”

  “The third squire,” the guard said. He looked at all three apprehensively. “Now, what are all three squires doing out at this hour and at the Royal quarters? I was assigned, without prior notice, one squire for guard duty and here I am facing all three.”