by Mike Shelton
Then Bakari saw Lan motioning for him to join Lan on the dais. Bakari let out a deep sigh, knowing that this was now his lot in life. There would be few rooms where he wouldn’t be recognized or honored.
Go on, Rider. Represent us well, Abylar voiced through the bond. He and the two female dragons, Miriel and Cholena, were feasting by the sea on some food the elves had prepared for them.
Bakari took strength from Abylar’s words and stepped forward, toward the dais, leaving Kharlia to sit with Roland, Alli, and Jaimon, the only others in attendance—an honor that was given to few individuals that weren’t elves.
As Bakari sat down next to Prince Lan, the man put a hand of encouragement on Bakari’s knee.
“Thank you,” Lan said. “I feel better knowing you are here.”
Confused, Bakari leaned over and whispered, “Are you worried about something?” Bakari glanced around the room but didn’t see anything out of place. They shouldn’t be expecting any trouble from any of the elves. Lan was well-liked by his people and had been trained his entire life to become king after his father’s death.
“I hope not.” The prince shook his head, his long hair flying softly to each side. “But something seems off.”
Bakari reached out with his own heightened senses, though they hadn’t been very strong until combined with his dragon’s bond. He didn’t sense anything at first but kept searching. Though not the strongest of magic users, elves were the most sensitive to detecting its use. Most elves had some type of magical ability, even if they weren’t called wizards. They were also more in tune with nature than other races in the human kingdoms were.
After the doors in the back were closed, the chief council member stood and approached the podium. “In recent days, we have grieved the unfortunate passing of our beloved and long-reigning king, Arrowyn Soliel.”
Heads bowed in respect for the old king, and eyes glistened with memories of his fair rule. Then the council member cleared his throat and continued, “During times of grief, we must still move on. And so today we bring forward the heir to the throne of the elves, Prince Lanwaithian Soliel.”
The prince stood, his face looking serious, but his eyes seemed alert and bright. He took a few steps toward the front of the dais to stand next to the councilor. Then the councilor nodded to another man, who stood and brought forth a small crown. Interlaced with gold and silver, the crown reflected the bright lights in the room.
The prince knelt down. A slight breeze could be heard outside the room, rustling through the great trees. Bakari watched in amazement. This was the second coronation he had seen in recent months: the first being for Mericus in Bakari’s own land of Alaris.
“All gathered today do witness this occasion,” began the councilor. “The crown of faithfulness doth now bless thy head, Lanwaithian Soliel. Ye are now consecrated in this sacred duty: to be the servant of all the elves in this land. As I place this crown on thy head this day, may your heart be graced with love, your mind be infused with clarity, and your body be filled with strength from the earth you touch, and may ye reign in honor and fairness with justice and mercy. Do ye accept this burden of your own free will?”
As Lan lifted his head, his green eyes were glistening. “Yea, I do accept this crown with all the burdens it holds, to be the servant of all. I will rule in fairness and walk in the light all my days.”
Bakari glanced over at the assembled crowd and caught Kharlia wiping her eyes. As their eyes met, he smiled at her. Even Roland appeared moved by the solemn occasion. Bakari moved his gaze around the room, noticing that most of the elves seemed to be at peace. But a few hung their heads low, and Bakari could not discern their thoughts.
Then the crown was placed on Lan’s head, and the chief councilor bade him to rise.
“May I present, to those assembled, our new king, King Lanwaithian Soliel. Long live the king!”
“Long live the king!” the crowd repeated.
Lan stood at the podium and, with a voice thick with emotion, began to say a few words. “In recognition of my father, we will forgo the celebratory coronation for three months. During that time, I will meet with the council and heads of houses. May our kingdom continue to be a place of peace, and may our people live within the light and within the strength of the earth and its great trees.” Lan seemed to be struggling for the appropriate words. He turned to Breelyn, then to Bakari and added, “I am honored to serve beside these great dragon riders and thank them for all their service to Elvyn and to the lands around us. May our peoples live in peace.”
With that, the councilor directed the heads of houses to come forth and give their fealty to their new king. One by one, each elf came forward, elegant with their long hair and silk robes, to greet their new king. Bakari stood with Breelyn off to the side and marveled at this serious reception. In the six months that he had known the elves, he had found them surprisingly humorous and full of laughter in their daily duties. Today, however, marked a solemn occasion, one that did not occur often in the Elvyn kingdom—the last time being over one hundred and fifty years previous.
Then Roland, Alli, Kharlia, and Jaimon moved closer to the front of the room, on the opposite side of the king from where Bakari and Breelyn stood. Alli, with tight leather armor hugging her sixteen-year-old body, stood with a hand on her sword’s hilt, her eyes flickering around the room. She looked ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. Roland appeared relaxed, but Bakari could tell by the clenching of his jaw that Roland too was worried about something happening.
As the line of elves dwindled, Breelyn put her arm on Bakari’s shoulder and leaned in, whispering, “Something is not right here, Master.”
It felt strange to Bakari for Breelyn to refer to himself as her master. She was twice his age and had served as an Elvyn protector for many years. But he did know, in regards to their relationship to each other through the dragon bond, he was indeed her master.
Bakari agreed with Breelyn’s assessment and sent a thought through the bond to his dragon, Abylar: Be vigilant in watching for trouble. Aloud, Bakari said, “Breelyn, as a protector of the elves, do you know everyone here?”
Breelyn’s eyes swept around the room carefully and then returned to Bakari. “Most. I know all the councilors and other officials, but the heads of houses can change.”
Bakari signaled for Jaimon to watch the back door. Still not quite fifteen years old, Jaimon Schafer hailed from Quentis, a kingdom to the south of Alaris. Being the last rider to receive a dragon and not a magic user like Bakari or Breelyn, Jaimon was still getting used to the bond with his dragon.
Roland came around front, closer to the king, and caught Bakari’s attention. Then he tilted his head toward the last elf in line. The man had long, dark hair falling over a light cream robe with gold bands running at its edges. He didn’t look any different than the rest, except that he kept his head down. Given the solemnity of the occasion, that action hadn’t brought any undue attention to him until now.
Lan finished accepting the sworn allegiance of the second to last elf, lifting the man from his knees and giving his thanks. Then he glanced over at Bakari, his face still grim. Even though Lan had been trained for this day for many years, Bakari knew that it was still hard for Lan to lose his father, the old king.
As the new king held out his hand, to beckon the last head of house forward, the man still did not look up but took two steps closer. The other elves had gathered at the side of the room, and Bakari could hear the light laughter of one of them rise over the otherwise quiet moment.
Bringing his hands up, the last elf pushed back his long, dark hair and brought his face up to glare at Lan.
“Bakari!” Roland yelled. “It’s him, the Chameleon.”
Bakari’s eyes widened as he too saw what Roland did: the same green eyes that had looked at him months ago from multiple faces—including that of a new black dragon.
Before Bakari could say anything, the Chameleon pulled a shiny black blade out of his rob
es and struck at the new king. Bakari would swear that he had seen wisps of black smoke rising off it. But Bakari rushed to Lan’s side, pushing Lan away from the danger; however, the blade still scraped along the side of Lan’s arm.
As the king yelled out in pain and tried to pull his own sword with his other hand, Alli jumped across three rows of benches in a flash, spinning in the air, and then pulled the Chameleon backward by the back of his robes, sending him stumbling into the benches. But he somehow remained upright and then jumped up onto one of the benches.
The others in the room either pulled out their weapons or rallied around the king to protect him. Bakari saw that Jaimon hung at the back, for he was the one least trained to fight.
Breelyn knelt down next to Lan as Bakari stood up to face the menace. In front of them all, the Chameleon’s hair shortened, his ears rounded, and his face, as well as his body, took on a new look—even his eyes took on a yellow glow. He had now become a humongous warrior.
Bakari paused as the man grew even taller in front of them.
“You cannot defeat me, you pathetic magic users,” the Chameleon said. “We will rule you all.”
“We?” Bakari asked, trying to keep the Chameleon’s attention as Alli moved back behind the man. “I don’t see anyone else here with you.”
“The thrones of all the lands will be ours,” the Chameleon continued as he waved his hands in the air, a dark magic pulsating through the room.
Alli screamed, and Bakari looked over at her.
“My magic,” the young battle wizard said, “is gone.”
“All the magic is gone. From each of you.” The Chameleon smiled and changed his shape again. This time he appeared as a scholar wizard.
Bakari glanced at Roland for confirmation. He nodded his head at Bakari. The other elves confirmed that they too had lost what little magic they had possessed. Bakari sensed two things about himself then: He had lost his normal wizard magic, as weak as it had been. But, he still retained his powers as a dragon rider—extensive abilities that he could pull from the power and might of his dragon. With a quick glance at Breelyn and Jaimon, Bakari could see in their eyes that they too still felt the power of their dragons.
“What do you want?” Bakari took a step toward the Chameleon.
“Want?” The Chameleon’s golden eyes flashed, and he put his finger on his chin as if thinking. “I want you all dead.” With this, he brought his hands up in front of him and called forth a ball of black fire.
Alli threw a knife at the Chameleon’s back, but it seemed to bounce off of some invisible shield.
Then the Chameleon said, “And you will be the first, Roland Tyre,” as he tossed the fire at Roland and, once again, changed shapes—into Roland himself now.
Bakari moved quickly, pulling on the power of his dragon, and blocked the ball of fire with a shield of air.
The Chameleon turned to him, his surprise written all over his face. “Incredible,” the Chameleon said, still looking like Roland. “I guess I underestimated the power of the dragon riders.”
The real Roland reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial. “Breelyn,” he called out, tossing it into the air and saying, “I can’t use it right now, but you can. It is powerful magic.”
Breelyn grabbed the vial from the air and took off its top. Black tendrils rose out of it, winding their way around Breelyn. The elf maiden took a deep breath and then stretched her hands forward, toward the Chameleon.
But before Breelyn’s power could leave her fingertips, the Chameleon had changed again, now looking like an exact replica of Lan, the new king. “You wouldn’t kill me, would you?” The voice was Lan’s, and Breelyn faltered.
From the ground, the real king groaned as he tried to sit up. So Kharlia rushed to Lan’s side to help.
“It’s spreading, Bak!” she screamed out.
Bakari glanced over. Along the king’s arm a thin, spidery trail of black was extending out from his knife wound.
Breelyn turned back and gathered her strength. “You will die for what you have done.” She brought forth all the power she could muster from her dragon and, with the help of Roland’s vial, she pushed it all at the Chameleon. The black ball of fire only slid around the man, vanishing in the air.
“You cannot use my own powers against me, girl.” The Chameleon laughed deeply.
Breelyn’s face grew darker, and her eyes became black.
“Good, good. Feel the rage, the power,” the Chameleon encouraged. “That’s what I feel. Isn’t it wonderful?”
“Breelyn, no!” shouted Lan. “Don’t do this!”
“He tried to kill you!” Breelyn said, raising her voice, a mass of black fog encircling her.
From outside of the hall came a giant roar of despair that was heard and felt by all. Then the walls rattled and the lamps swung widely, and the Chameleon stumbled and began to fall off the bench.
Bakari felt Abylar’s terror through the bond.
She is going to kill us, Abylar shouted to Bakari’s mind. The power is dark and evil.
Bakari turned to Breelyn. “Stop, Breelyn.” He reached his hand out to her. “You must stop or you will kill the dragons.”
Then Jaimon bent over and held his head in his hands. Bakari almost doubled over in pain as well. He suffered from the foul power of what Breelyn held and what the Chameleon commanded. The power was filthy and gross.
“Kill me, elf maiden,” the Chameleon taunted.
Bakari forced himself to concentrate as he pulled all the pure power from Abylar that he could. He hated to pull rank on one of the other dragon riders, but there was no choice.
“Breelyn,” Bakari said, “as your master, I command you: Stop. Let go of the power.” The voice he had spoken with was Bakari’s own, but deeper, nobler, full of power. A command from the dragon master.
He flung out his power toward her, finding the full might and authority of the Dragon King at his disposal. His power wrapped around the black tendrils and held them at bay.
Slowly, Breelyn’s eyes returned to their clear, sparkling blue, and she shuddered, taking in a long breath.
With a nod of her head to her master, Breelyn brought her hands down, dropping the container and releasing the evil power. Then she fell, slumping to the ground, and cried. Bakari wanted to go to her, but he knew that the Chameleon was still a threat.
Then the Chameleon changed appearances again. This time, into a nondescript young elf. He pulled a cowl up over his head, hiding his eyes—the only characteristic that Bakari had found to distinguish the Chameleon from anyone else. Then he pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened the lid.
“You will bow to me one day, Dragon Rider, Elf King, and High Wizard,” the Chameleon said to them, his body starting to vaporize in front of them. “My brothers and I will rule the western lands under my father—the real wizard king.”
Soon, only the Chameleon’s head and torso were left. Bakari was too spent to bring forth any more magic, and Breelyn had stayed sprawled on the ground. But Jaimon still stood by the back of the room. Fear spread across his face, but then a determined look set in. Through the bond, Bakari could feel the power of the dragons being pulled into the youngest dragon rider.
Right before the Chameleon would have disappeared completely, Jaimon threw a bright ball of pure dragon power at him. As the power hit, the Chameleon shrieked, then disappeared.
“Is he gone?” Alli asked. “I hate not having my powers.” Her features showed she was furious, and she clenched her sword’s hilt in her hand.
Jaimon shook his head. “I did not kill him. I was too late.” The young man lowered his head. “I hesitated too long.”
Bakari could feel the boy’s shame. “Jaimon, you did well. None of us were able to disarm or kill him, and you did what you could.”
Jaimon nodded but didn’t look convinced.
A loud wail came from the floor, and all eyes turned back toward the king. Lan’s arm was now almost completely black
.
CHAPTER THREE
When Bakari took charge, no one challenged his authority. He sent most of the elves out into the tree city of Lor’l, to make sure no other damage had been done.
Roland moved over to Lan’s side and put his hand on Lan’s darkening arm. Roland closed his eyes for a few minutes. Then he shook his head and said with almost a wail, “I can’t sense my magic anymore.” He stood up and began pacing the room. “It’s impossible. I won’t let that maniac take my abilities away.” Then the High Wizard mumbled under his breath, “I am magic.”
Kharlia grabbed her bag and pushed Bakari gently out of the way with a grim smile. “Magic isn’t always around to heal,” Kharlia said. “Let me see what I can do.” She dug into her pack, pulling out small bags of herbs and jars of ointments.
Bakari knew Kharlia had learned her craft well from her mother and could heal many things, but this injury was done with magic—evil magic. So Bakari didn’t know if she could do anything for Lan, but he would let her try nevertheless.
Breelyn was sitting on the floor about ten feet away, her head in her hands, only looking up whenever Lan moaned. He was conscious still, but just barely so. His face looked red and hot, as if a fever were moving in rapid waves over his entire body.
Bakari sat and then scooted over on the floor next to Breelyn. She was the first elf he had ever met and, actually, the first person to step foot into Alaris in over one hundred and fifty years. She had found Erryl, a young guardian of the Orb, an orb that had really been Abylar’s egg. These two had then found Bakari and had helped him to find the Orb and release his dragon from it.
Breelyn’s long, blond hair hung to her hips, and her skin, normally pale, now appeared a shade darker.
“Breelyn.” Bakari didn’t know what else to say.
She glanced up at him, her bright blue eyes rimmed with red and brimming with tears, but still as beautiful as ever. “Bakari, I…I…I’m so sorry,” Breelyn said weakly, her pale lips quivering.
Bakari shook his head, his braids swinging from side to side. “It’s fine, Breelyn. I didn’t want to do that either. It wasn’t right of me.”
