by Payne, Jenna
“I see them!” pointed Tabor, looking back at the path below them. “There looks to be about ten of them!”
“What’s your aim like with that bow?” asked Xenon.
“I’ve never seen better…” confirmed Arken, with a nod towards Tabor.
“See how many you can take out Tabor–it will slow them down at the very least…” instructed Xenon. Tabor positioned himself on a small outcrop and notched an arrow into his bow, patiently taking aim and waiting for a clear shot at the soldiers that were working their way up the cliff towards them.
Xenon and the others continued to push forwards, continued to push up, the top of the cliff was in sight and they were beginning to feel that they had a chance of reaching their goal, of reaching safety. Kirian looked back at the sound of falling rocks and could see one of the soldiers of Garnet Valley falling lifelessly down the side of the cliff, snared by one of Tabor’s arrows.
“Please can we wait for him?” asked Kirian.
“He wouldn’t want us to–he’ll catch up, he’ll be moving faster than us anyway. Don’t worry, I’ve got a lot of faith in Tabor…” replied Arken.
“We’re nearly at the top…” urged Xenon. “We’ll stop there and wait for Tabor.”
At the top of the cliff Kirian gasped in delight as the valley that belonged to Castle Drakon was revealed below.
“I can’t believe we’ve made it!” he exclaimed.
“We haven’t made it yet…” cautioned Arken, “but at least here comes Tabor! How many left my boy?”
“There’s at least five still on the path…” confirmed Tabor.
“Why don’t we wait here and finish them off?” suggested Arken.
“Yes, I think you’re right…” nodded Xenon, “We can’t risk drawing them down into the village. If there are only five then we will be able to overpower them given we have the advantage. Quickly, let’s conceal ourselves and wait for them.”
Kirian could feel his heart pounding as he tried to control his breathing while they lay in wait for the pursuing soldiers. It seemed like they had been hidden for an eternity, and he began to wonder whether the soldiers had perhaps given up the chase and turned back. Just as he was about to say something, he heard the scuffling of feet along the stony path, the clinking of weapons being carried. He clutched his knife tightly, drawing strength from the glowing stones. As the soldiers from Garnet Valley rounded the bend at the top of the cliff, there was a deafening roar as Arken leapt from his hiding place wielding his sword. There was a tremendous clash of metal, screams of dying men, and then an eerie silence. When Kirian emerged from behind the rock where he had been hiding he saw Arken standing proudly with the soldiers at his feet. The mercenary had done his work.
With the pressure of the immediate pursuit removed, Xenon was able to lead them carefully down the cliff and into the village below. Soon enough, horses were procured, some supplies were gathered, and the party was able to resume their journey to Castle Drakon. They were however now in the territory that belonged to Lord Sarkan. They were in lands that were safe, where no one was trying to hunt them or kill them. Prince Kirian felt as if a weight had lifted from his shoulders and he spurred his horse onwards, onwards to Castle Drakon.
*****
“Kirian, my grandson–you have made it!” Sarkan was waiting at the gates of Castle Drakon, immediately drawing the prince into a warm embrace as soon as he had dismounted from the horse that had carried him to safety.
“Grandfather!” he exclaimed. It felt slightly surreal to be in the arms of this powerful man, a man he felt such a deep connection to but had only met briefly, a long time ago when the world had seemed to be a different place, a safer place. “I have so much to ask you, so many questions!”
“Shhh…. there will be time for questions…” counselled Sarkan, “but first we must care for you. You need food, you need to bathe, you need to rest.”
“I will care for the prince…” declared Tabor, bowing respectfully to Sarkan.
“You have no need to bow before me my beloved Tabor…” smiled Sarkan, wrapping his arms around the young nobleman and drawing him into a deep embrace. “I knew you were the right choice to keep my grandson safe, and I have no doubt that you have been caring for all of his needs. How I have missed you in my bed each night. Go now, both of you, the servants will show you to your quarters and will provide you with food, clothing, and anything else that you might need. I will send for you once you’ve had a chance to recover your strength.”
Sarkan turned to the rest of the waiting party, Arken could sense a steeliness in the powerful man, he was clearly a man that was in control, a determined man who knew what needed to be done.
“Xenon, you have impressed me yet again. Well done…” nodded Sarkan.
“Thank you my Lord Sarkan…” bowed Xenon. “May I introduce you to Arken, the mercenary that has been travelling with Prince Kirian since his escape from Castle Vacheron.
Arken could feel Sarkan’s gaze fall on him, assessing him somehow, processing the information that Xenon had provided.
“You have my utmost gratitude…” said Sarkan firmly. “I can only imagine the hardships that you have suffered together on your escape from Castle Vacheron and the Garnet Valley. Your commitment to protecting my grandson is proof not only of your loyalty but also your immense courage and bravery. I am sure that we have much to talk about, but I can see that you are exhausted. Please, follow the household staff and they will help you with food, bathing, and fresh clothes.” Arken gratefully followed the servants towards the castle doors where food and rest waited for him.
Finally alone together in their quarters, Kirian wrapped his arms around Tabor and brought their bodies together, their mouths meeting in a deep, passionate kiss.
“We made it…” he whispered. “We’re safe.”
“Safe for the time being…” cautioned Tabor. “But you’re right, it is a relief to have finally made it to the sanctuary of Castle Drakon. Come, the servants have drawn a warm bath for you. Let me get you out of these clothes so I can bathe you, I want to wash every inch of you.”
“You asked to see me, my Lord Sarkan?” asked Arken, cautiously entering the old dragon’s study.
“Arken, please, come in…” instructed the Sarkan. “No one seems to know much about you, but my grandson speaks very highly of you and that is all I need to know. I am under no illusion that he would have been able to survive without your care and attention.”
“It has been my pleasure, my Lord Sarkan…” replied Arken.
“I understand that Davidon, Prince Kirian’s tutor, paid you a small fee to transport him here. I am happy to double that. I will have the gold prepared so that you can collect your reward and be released from your obligations.”
“My Lord? I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand?” asked Arken, his perplexed brow furrowed.
“It’s not enough? You demand more gold?” asked Sarkan.
“No, no, not at all. It’s just that… I don’t really want to be released from my obligations…” replied Arken.
“You are a mercenary, are you not? You have completed your mission and you should be rewarded for that…” pointed out Sarkan.
“I think perhaps that my mercenary days might be over…” replied Arken quietly. “No amount of gold in the world can make me walk away from Prince Kirian now. I need to see this through. I need to help him reclaim the throne of the Garnet Valley. I need to help him free his people.”
“You haven’t developed some sort of ridiculous romantic attachment to the prince have you?” snapped Sarkan.
“No, not all, quite the contrary…” explained Arken quickly. “I think of him almost as a nephew.”
“I see…” nodded Sarkan approvingly. “I can see that he was right to trust you. Good.”
“Good?” asked Arken, not sure exactly what the old dragon meant by this.
“Yes. Good…” affirmed the Sarkan. “We have difficult days ahead–my grandson
will need all of his friends and allies beside him. I want you to be his personal bodyguard. I want you to promise me that you will protect him.”
“Of course, my Lord Sarkan…” replied Arken. “I promise to protect him with my life…”
Sarkan walked to a window and stared out across the valley below.
“He’s coming for us…” he said quietly, staring into the distance.
“Prince Silas?” asked Arken, unsure if the statement had been directed towards him, unsure if he was required to give a response.
“Yes…he’s coming for us…” repeated Sarkan. “He will not rest until he has killed the prince. He will march his armies against us and will crush everything that stands in his way.”
“Should I take Prince Kirian away? Take him somewhere safe?” asked Arken.
“No. There isn’t anywhere. Nowhere is safe…” replied Sarkan quietly. “He must remain here… Prince Kirian is the bait that will draw that snake in…”
“You’re using Prince Kirian as bait?” asked Arken, not really sure that he had heard Sarkan correctly. “Isn’t that a fairly risky strategy?”
“Arken…” said the old dragon, turning towards him with a weary smile, “in this game the only way to win, is to risk it all.”
*****
The heavy, clanging bells in the towers of Castle Drakon sounded the call to arms.
Sarkan had assembled his army. The farmers and the tradesmen included. The soldiers of Castle Drakon had trained these new recruits as much as possible, and they had equipped them with as many weapons as possible, but as Arken surveyed the faces of the men that he would be commanding in battle, he wondered if it would be enough.
“You fear that we are no match for what marches towards our borders…” observed Tabor, sensing Arken’s concern.
“This is quite possibly madness…” nodded Arken with a rueful smile. “But the walls of this castle were built to withstand a siege, we just need to hold them as long as possible.”
“Is that the plan then?” asked Tabor. “To try and sit out a siege?”
“I think that is part of the plan…” replied Arken. “But I have to confess that Lord Sarkan hasn’t taken me fully into his confidence as to how he intends to defeat Prince Silas. I have a feeling though that the old dragon won’t be relying on the powers of men to win this battle.”
“You mean Kirian? The prince?” asked Tabor. Arken nodded, feeling that it probably wasn’t wise to elaborate any further. “Have you seen him this morning?” continued Tabor. “When I woke he had already left the bed.”
“I imagine that the boy is with his grandfather…” shrugged Arken. Noticing the sulky look on Tabor’s face, Arken ruffled his fingers through the young nobleman’s hair. “We live in interesting times my friend…” smiled Arken. “We live in interesting times.”
Sarkan sat in his study. Kirian was seated at his side. Both of them wore the rings of power, the stones glowing brightly, almost shining as they reflected and amplified the sun’s rays. In front of each of them sat their matching dagger. The Prince reached out and caressed the blade.
“Ready?” asked Sarkan quietly, looking intensely at the prince. Kirian nodded solemnly. Sarkan demonstrated what had to be done, they each took hold of the dagger in front of them and ran the sharp blade across the palm of their left hand. As the blood began to flow from their self-inflicted wounds, Sarkan showed Kirian how to hold his hand over the silver bowl that sat in the middle of the small wooden table. They both watched silently as their blood began to drip steadily down into the bowl, collecting and combining as it formed a small crimson pool. “Close your eyes now…” instructed Sarkan, “and visualize our future. Visualize a future where Castle Drakon is safe once more. Visualize a future where Prince Silas has been defeated. Visualize a future where you have been crowned as the rightful ruler of the Kingdom of Vacheron. Now we must visualize the sun setting and rising three times… dusk to dawn… dusk to dawn… dusk to dawn… together we create the future… There…you can open your eyes now.”
“Does it work Grandfather?” asked the prince quietly, in awe of the command and control that Sarkan displayed.
“This kind of magic only works if you believe that it will work…” smiled Sarkan. “But we know that we are stronger together, that when we put our hearts and minds together there is nothing that can stand in our way… We know that our blood comes from an ancient line of dragon kings and that when we choose to spill our blood for something that we believe in, something we are passionate about, then the earth will tremble before us and we will reach for the stars.”
“The bells are ringing…” observed Kirian. “What does that mean?”
“It means that a storm is coming…” nodded Sarkan. “It means that a storm is coming that will change the world for all of us. But we have to have faith that the future that we have visualized is the future that will come to pass.”
There was a gentle knock on the door.
“Yes?” responded Sarkan. It was Arken.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, my Lord Sarkan…” said Arken, bowing respectfully. “But your scouts have sent an alert that the armies of Prince Silas are nearing your borders.”
“Thank you Arken…” replied Sarkan, nodding thoughtfully. “Let them come, draw them in. We have prepared for a siege so let them march right up to these walls, that is the hand that we are playing.”
“What can I do?” Prince Kirian asked his grandfather.
“This will be the battle where we reveal to Prince Silas the full extent of your powers…” replied Sarkan, his voice steely with determination. “He tried to kill you in order to prevent you from coming of age, but he has no idea of the rage that he has unleashed, and the fire that we will rain down upon him. I promise you that your kingdom will be returned to you. Go now–have Tabor help you with your armor. Wait in your chambers for me. When it is time I will come to you and together we will end this madness and restore some balance to our world.
“Grandfather–I’m scared…” whispered Kirian, hugging Sarkan tightly.
“Turn that fear into determination…” counselled Sarkan. “There is a storm coming and we must not be bowed, we must not crumble, the old world may fall but the house of Drakon must rise from the ashes like a phoenix from the flames. From dusk until dawn my young prince!”
As Arken and Prince Kirian left Sarkan’s study, Sarkan looked from the window of his study out across the valley that surrounded Castle Drakon.
“A storm is coming…” he said quietly to himself. “A storm is coming.”
*****
“Bring me my horse!” ordered Prince Silas, storming out towards the stables of Castle Vacheron–the seat of power of Garnet Valley.
“Sir, would you like to go hunting?” suggested his arms-bearer, trying to gauge his master’s mood.
“No I would not like to go hunting!” spat the Prince. “My best hunters are out trying to catch that elusive fool of a boy–if they can’t manage to snare that rat then they would be of no use trying to hunt a fox. No. I will ride to consult the Druids. I ride alone.”
Silas’s horse began to paw the ground impatiently as he sensed the presence of his master. The stable boys quickly saddled the horse and prepared him to be ridden. Silas took hold of the reins, positioned his left foot in the stirrup, and pulled himself up into the saddle, swinging his right leg over the horse and securing it into the other stirrup before urging his horse into a brisk gallop. His soldiers quickly opened the gates of the castle as he rode through, heading out onto the open road, the road that would lead him to the Druid’s temple on the outskirts of the Amber Forest.
As he rode, Silas reflected that his plan had seemed so simple, yet ever since the moment that he had imprisoned his brother, the k
ing, and seized control of the Garnet Valley, he seemed to be being blocked and frustrated at every turn.
After two hours of solid riding, Silas came within site of the Druids’ temple–a small
stone building that seemed to be being reclaimed by the forest–creepers and grasses growing from every nook and cranny of the stone walls. One of the slaves of the Druids helped Silas to dismount, leading his horse away to the stables to be fed and watered.
Silas walked towards the large wooden door that was the entrance to the temple. The door opened slowly and an elderly man came out, dressed in a white robe–he wore a garland of mistletoe around his head and carried a tall staff made of oak.
“We have been expecting you Prince Silas…” smiled the druid.
“Your prophecies are false!” spat Silas. “I have followed everything that you have told me and yet still I am not king! Still the crown of the Garnet Valley eludes me!”
“Then why do you return here if you do not seek our counsel?” asked the druid calmly, leading Silas through the small antechamber of the temple and into a larger ceremonial hall concealed within the stone building.
The druid sat beside a small altar where a fire was burning. He poured some wine into an earthen goblet and gave it to Silas to drink.
“Did you bring a sacrifice in order for us to seek the guidance of the spirits?” asked the druid. Prince Silas reached inside his cloak and pulled out a small flask–handing it to the druid. “Is it the blood of King Ludus?” asked the druid, raising an eyebrow.
“No, my brother still lives–although my patience is wearing thin…” growled Silas. “This is the blood of Lord Ayre, my brother’s closest ally. Lord Ayre was sacrificed in the name of the spirits.”
“A fitting sacrifice…” nodded the druid, taking the stopper from the flask and pouring a small amount of blood into a silver bowl that was heating over the coals of the fire. “All human souls are immortal…death is only temporary…we pass from one form to another…”
The druid added some dried powders to the small silver bowl, swirling the blood gently as it heated over the fire, a strong odor began to fill the room and the druid closed his eyes.
