Dragon Fire

by Pedro L. Alvarez

  Certain truths had been revealed to her in the past few months—her father’s love for her mother; the questioning circumstances surrounding both their deaths; Orsak’s obsession with the wish for a male heir to the throne. As light shone down upon each of these veracities, they were laid down like stones, one atop the other. Her transformation into Branis and her passion in leading the rebels was the mortar that held them together. In the dragon’s den, the last layer had been set. Upon these stones was built what was to be, and by the time she and Delcan had reached Roimas and Sandrion, her mind was clear; clearer than it had ever been.

  She turned to look at Delcan and found him on his knee as well.

  Their time had come.

  Chapter Forty-one

  Delcan looked out at the crowd that had gathered at midday in the largest of the Eastern Caves. Among them were young men with eager hearts, and tired old men with eager eyes. There were women with weapons and shields in their hands; some stood with small children holding on to their legs, watching Branis. The sight of the children present tugged at Delcan—he saw for the first time what Paraysians were truly willing to risk.

  News of the impending gathering had spread quickly. Delcan and Sandrion had uttered the first whispers in Berest.

  Those rebels who resided in villages near the caves rushed to the valley without delay. Those in the farther regions were sent word in the form of a simple message: It is time. They arrived throughout the day, into the night, and through the early hours of the following morning. And more were expected.

  Behind Delcan stood Roimas, his arms crossed, watching the populace who filled the cave. Facing the large assembly stood Aria. She wore a worn cloak over a peasant’s garb and, upon her head, the old soldier’s helmet with the face mask lowered over her subtle features. Only her eyes showed through a steel grill that made up half of the mask.

  Delcan found it both remarkable and disconcerting how the people were so drawn to Branis that they cared not what he looked like—they were in such desperate need for leadership that they were not concerned from where it came. Even if it came in the form of a stranger who gave no actual basis for them to trust him.

  The secrecy behind his identity fueled much controversy. Most villagers speculated him to be a man of noble blood whose stance on the current king mirrored their own, and so concealed his face to avoid discovery by the Royal guards. Respect for him grew among the rebels, and with Branis’s persona gaining recognition and esteem victory appeared attainable. With increasing confidence, the rumor that Branis would become Paraysia’s new king travelled like a gypsy through the villages.

  The crowd had come this morning to see Branis, to hear his moving words and his plans for what lay ahead. It was a congregation greater in number than any audience to whom the rebel leader had spoken in the past. In the two weeks since Branis last attended a rebel training session, the makeshift army of farmers and merchants had grown. Many of the peasants whose future was but a glimmer in Branis’s eyes had shared their passion with fellow villagers and so had brought them to meet the dubious, yet empowering, leader. Others who had perhaps heard murmurs of change finally tuned their ears to them. They were incredulous at first—so many hopes for a better life had been sparked in the past forty years, each extinguished with the swing of a sword or the twang of a longbow.

  For the long-distance observant, this revolt too appeared to be a disjointed movement without form or leadership. But unlike other short-lived aspirations, Branis’s uprising was built upon a universally understood strategy, formed by its members over time and fueled by their leader’s infectious passion.

  Scattered throughout the crowd in the cave were men in cloaks who also hid their faces under hoods. They stood with their hands deep inside spacious sleeves and their faces shrouded in shadows.

  Delcan knew a few of the King’s soldiers would be present—men who had helped train the rebels, weary members of Orsak’s court who concealed themselves with such garments—but the number of hidden faces in the crowd seemed far too many. He had expected two, three knights—perhaps even five, at most. But the actual amount of cloaked figures present was unsettling. Among well-meaning men of war there could well be scouts sent by the King himself.

  He watched them closely. They appeared like crows among a group of sparrows and doves.

  As he looked from one black cloak to the next, Delcan realized the men were situated at almost an equal distance from each other. A second, more careful look revealed the formation of a half-circle that began at the wall on Delcan’s left and continued to the wall on his right. In the middle of this half-moon, two rows of cloaked bodies formed an X with one large, imposing figure in the center.

  Delcan reached for Aria—to warn her. As his hand was about to fall upon her shoulder, she began to speak and Delcan froze.

  “Sisters; brothers,” she said in a voice that echoed throughout the cave. From within the helm the voice was deep and resounding, devoid of the pitch that would otherwise reveal it to be a woman’s. She raised her arm in the air as people settled in the places where they stood and silence blanketed the gathering. “I am Branis.”

  The crowd watched her and listened in anticipation.

  Aria’s shoulders rose slowly and then fell with a deep sigh. With slow motions, she lifted the helmet off her head. Her soft, dark hair fell on her shoulders and the herd of hopeful people gathered before her gasped.

  Whispers, murmurs, inaudible sounds of surprise spread through the gathering. Aria watched them and, for a moment, Delcan sensed her hesitation and fear of having made a mistake.

  “I know this is difficult to grasp,” she continued. “But I am he. Until now I have kept my self hidden, but the time has come for us to take action, to put forth our lives and rebuild our home. So if I am to lead you, I am to do it as I am; not as a forged character whose face you see only in your imaginations.”

  A full-bodied man near the rock upon which Aria stood said, “But you are a...”

  Aria waited. She waited for the objection that a woman could not lead them. Instead, the man said, “…a princess.” “You are royalty; Orsak’s own blood. How could you lead us into battle against him?”

  More mutterings followed the sentiment.

  “Yes,” another man chimed in. “How are we to be certain you will not betray us?”

  “I shall not abandon you,” Aria shouted to be heard over the growing grumbles. “Like you, I am a victim of the King’s pressing fear. My grandfather has dominated my life in very much the same way he has kept you under the soles of his boots.

  “He robbed both my mother and father of their lives the same way he squeezed the life out of our kingdom—he had his henchmen do it so that his hands would not be soiled.”

  The crowd’s murmuring settled down and silence spread in the cave. “I shall fight this battle for myself as much as I shall fight it for you. It is my life—it is my destiny—to lead us to victory. And lead us, I shall.”

  The audience watched her in silence. Among those present, some whispered to one another; most stood motionless, waiting for what more the princess would say.

  “You trusted me when I hid behind a mask.” She raised the helmet above her head. “Trust me now that the mask is off and I have revealed my true self to you.”

  Many heads nodded and shouts of affirmation swept the cave in waves.

  The tall, cloaked figure who stood in the center of the cave stepped forward. Peasants moved aside as they watched the man approach the princess.

  Delcan stepped in front of Aria and drew his sword. She placed her hand on his shoulder and held him back just as Roimas stepped forward as well with his weapon drawn.

  The man in black made his way through the crowd and stopped directly in front of Aria. He pulled back the cloak hood and revealed a marked and callused face. The hair on his thick beard and long mane was of a dawning grey. Delcan recognized him instantly—Sir Grainer, Sandrion’s trainer.

  Grainer glance
d at Roimas and nodded in recognition. Roimas only looked at him sternly.

  “I trust you,” the knight said to Aria. “And I shall follow you into battle.” He brought a fist to his chest and bowed his head.

  Behind him, another cloaked figure broke through the gathered crowd and also revealed his face. And then, another; and another. Seven knights in all approached Aria and pledged their lives. The other cloaked figures remaining stood against the cave walls—the half circle Delcan had noticed earlier. They each pulled their hoods back where they stood, revealing the open helmet of Royal guards on their heads, and bowed.

  “There are seven of us,” Grainer said, “and seven guards.” Aria looked around at them. “We are prepared to fight at Branis’s command—at your command. And if we are to achieve victory together, we shall do it with our faces, our lives and our sacred honor exposed as yours.”

  The buzz in the crowd grew louder in volume and soon they turned to cheers. Smiles spread throughout the audience and hands broke out in applause.

  She had done it, Delcan thought. Aria had earned the rebels’ respect and loyalty. She had disguised herself behind a steel mask to gain an audience, and, in spite of the disguise, the truth of her convictions had reached them, even when she stood before them as a woman, a princess, exposed.

  “She is unfit to lead,” shouted a new voice over the many cries of excitement. It belonged to a man who stood at the side of the cave to Delcan’s right. A thick moustache and beard covered most of his rugged face. A large battle axe rested against his shoulder. “We’ll be slaughtered like animals if we move against the Royal soldiers now.” He glanced at one of the guards near by. “We are not ready for this. We need more training, more weapons. And we need a true leader.” He glared at Aria.

  “We are prepared enough to defeat the King’s army,” one of the knights responded. “We are well trained, and our numbers will grow now that the princess is leading us. She will be a catalyst for others to take up arms. She is loved throughout the land. She is a symbol of this kingdom’s future and all villagers will rally behind her.”

  The man scoffed. “She can barely raise a sword; much less lead an aimless group of farmers to attack the King’s fortress. We need strength and resolution to march this rebellion forward. We need more than cheers to arouse a war. Effective weapons, effective leadership. These are the things victory is made of. We need a man who can go into battle with his sword in hand, not a girl with naive enthusiasm urging us to go forth and fight, while she watches from atop a white horse.”

  As the man finished his last word an arrow flew straight toward him and lodged into the wooden handle of his axe. Aria held the longbow in firing position for a moment before lowering it.

  The crowd quieted to whispers and turned to Aria.

  “These are not empty words, this promise of victory,” she said. “What I have said, I believe in every corner of my soul. With every ounce of blood that courses through my body, I shall run on my feet, not on the back of a stallion.”

  The man no longer leaned against the wall; he was standing with his axe hanging from his hand; a smirk that had previously been there no longer spread across his face.

  “I shall charge the castle ahead of you all, my sword raised high above my head, and a cry for freedom flying from my lips.”

  She glanced at Delcan, and then looked back at the congregation before her. Her eyes were afire.

  “You all know of my abilities,” she continued. “I have the same skills as these knights. I shall lead you into battle and I shall fight with my teeth and fists, just as each of you. Our number of weapons is limited, but swords and arrows alone do not win battles. Our numbers will grow, and it is there that we shall find our strength—in the passion of every common soul in this kingdom who is willing to fight with whatever can be used as a weapon.”

  “It will be a massacre,” the bearded man shouted. He turned to address the crowd. “The mysterious Branis was a deception. We were looking for a warrior and we got a girl. And this tossing about of rousing words is nothing but a deception, as well. She will lead you to your deaths.”

  “She’ll lead us to victory,” an unknown voice in the crowd shouted in return.

  “I believe in her,” yelled another.

  “We believe in Branis.” This last one was followed by cheers of agreement.

  “Then, follower her,” the man said. “Follow her like blind sheep, if you will. I, for one, will not. And those of you who share my good sense should leave this madness behind; come with me.” He headed for the mouth of the cave and a group of ten or so followed him out.

  When the few deserters had made their way out of the cave, Aria said, “We shall claim our homeland. We shall claim victory.” She was looking at the faces of all those gathered around her. “We have much to do. We must be prepared to die. But we shall stand victorious.”

  Her voice rose above their growing excitement.

  “Those who are unable to ride will walk into battle,” she declared in a resounding voice. “Those who are unable to walk will be carried to the fight. And those who are unable to fight at all will help us with their voices. We must show them all, we must show the whole of Paraysia, that we are united; that we are prepared to march forward, now. We all have much to lose. And we all have a kingdom to gain.”

  The peasants and knights raised their hands and cheered ever louder. Delcan watched them—their joy, their hope, evident on the face of every man and woman. He watched Aria and saw her watching them, calm and secure. A leader.

  Chapter Forty-two

  Orsak stormed into the barracks in search of the young knight to whom he had given the task of organizing the troops. He found him in the rear of the barracks’ main room, leaning over a table as he spoke to a group of knights.

  “What has happened?” the King growled. The knights sitting around the small table stood at once. “Tell me the latest news.”

  “Your Majesty,” the knight said as he saluted. “They have escaped capture. The squires, Sir Wildon and—and the princess.”

  Orsak nodded.

  Hearing Aria mentioned was no surprise to him; he knew she was with Delcan; the guards had identified her as she fled the castle. At first, he had been furious at the news. He had expected Aria to be more easily subdued and be made to marry Stanlo. Ultimately, he had been disappointed by the squire.

  Most of her life, Aria had exhibited an attitude of rebellion in mostly everything she did—it was the bit of her mother manifested in her. Orsak had trusted that her contempt and disregard for his rule would fade with time. While he planned to be rid of her in a more subtle manner than he had disposed of her mother, she had instead grown ever more stubborn and defiant. Now, she had slipped the bonds of the castle to go play warrior in a fantasy.

  The King had questioned Medcina himself as to what might be the princess’s intentions—where she might have gone with her “friends.” But the old maid had given back nothing but a defying grin. She had glumly looked at him sideways and had grinned with a mouth full of crooked teeth. She never uttered a sound, even as Orsak ordered the guard to run a dagger across her throat.

  “Are Wildon and Rojimon still alive?” he asked the young, nameless knight.

  “We are not certain, Sire. They survived the guards—a scout reported they may have run off into the forest.”

  Orsak stood with a faraway look in his eyes. The forest. He and Rojimon had ridden into that forest as young men in response to a challenge from which neither of them would back down. They had driven their stallions in at full gallop and when the horses threatened to throw them off their backs, they had run deeper into the trees. They had run with their eyes fixed ahead of them, bellowing out a battle cry. They had run until their sides hurt, but neither had stopped until the other showed signs of slowing down. They had smiled at one another as they doubled over and caught their breaths. With those smiles upon their faces they had declared themselves warriors of equal valor and by the ti
me they walked out of the forest gloom with each an arm around the other’s shoulder, they had become friends.

  The young soldier held his breath, perhaps waiting for Orsak to explode in anger. When the King did not react with anything other than a knowing nod, he went on. “A dragon may have killed some of them.”

  “A dragon? There are no dragons left in this part of the world. I know it. I killed the last.”

  “Apparently, Sire, the dragon the villagers believe haunts the mountains beyond the forest, truly exists.”

  “That is peasant lore. There is no—”

  The knight interrupted Orsak as he spoke, “The guards who chased after the prisoners say it took the squire, Delcan.”

  A spark burst in Orsak’s eyes. He took a step toward the knight with every intention of invading the personal space surrounding the young man and towering above him in a sign of dominance and authority. The knight continued to speak, this time interrupting Orsak’s movements with his words. “It lifted him off his horse. Most of the guards… they fled in fear, Sire. A few others remained behind to fight Sir Wildon and the old man. The princess went after the squire. There is no word as to where she now may be.”

  The King’s heart ran faster with each breath he took. His face turned the color of blood. His hands clenched and relaxed repeatedly at his sides. He wanted to wrap them around the young soldier’s throat and squeeze with all his strength until he felt some comfort—until the sense of losing control dissipated.

  As the knight continued on, Orsak’s head began to throb. At once, his eyes felt as if they were burning. He closed them and the world faded as the darkness behind his eyelids spun. He felt powerless and exposed. For decades he had held all the power of the kingdom in his hands and now it was slipping away, running over his fingers like a stream down the face of a mountain. A mountain atop which was perched a dragon with human eyes and a knowing grin.