Princess of Lanfor

by F. P. Spirit

  “You really should rest, you know.”

  The gypsy gazed up at him, a delicate eyebrow arched. “I’m not…” A sudden yawn interrupted her response. “…tired…”

  A knowing smile spread across Glolindir’s face. “You were saying?”

  A tiny, bell-like laugh escaped Elistra’s lips, followed by a mischievous grin. “Very well… but only if you join me.”

  The elf’s smile turned into genuine laughter. “How could I possibly resist an invitation like that?”

  Cyclone wasn’t one for pleasantries, but something about these two amused him. He kept his expression neutral, but watched on with curiosity as the duo excused themselves and disappeared arm-in-arm through the entryway to the monolith. Once they were gone, the slight elf, Donatello, spun back around, wearing a wide grin. “Well, there go the love-birds.”

  The elven bard, Elladan, playfully shoved his friend in the arm. “You’re one to talk. You’ve got not one, but two women chasing after you!”

  Donatello placed his hands on his hips, his jaw set as he eyed his fellow elf with mock anger. “First of all, Alana is far from ‘chasing’ me. Second, Ruka is waaaaay too young to even consider.”

  The tall warrior, Lloyd, gazed from Donatello to Elladan with a perplexed expression, his brow furrowed into deep creases. “But Ruka’s a dragon, so wouldn’t that make her older than she looks?”

  Donnie shifted his gaze toward Lloyd and grimaced, his tone plaintive as he addressed the young man. “Not you, too.”

  A sheepish grin crossed the young warrior’s face, his hand going to the back of his neck. “It was just an observation.”

  A thin smirk crossed Cyclone’s lips as he listened to the three friends banter back and forth. They were an interesting lot. They fought hard together, but harassed each other with equal enthusiasm. Cyclone was not overly fond of strangers, but he found himself intrigued by this strange little group.

  As Elladan continued to needle Donatello, Cyclone decided to weigh in on the conversation. “If I had to guess, your friend Ruka appears to be somewhere on the border between a juvenile and a young adult dragon. That would make her around fifty.”

  Lloyd turned to gaze at him, the young man’s eyes filled with curiosity. “So, what would that be in human years?”

  Cyclone folded his arms across his chest as he mulled it over. “Roughly around fifteen.”

  Elladan’s lips pursed as he cast a sidelong glance at Donatello. “How old did you say you were?”

  The thin elf gazed back at him with a triumphant expression. He pointed a finger and cried, “Ah ha! One hundred and ten—far too old for her, even in dragon years.”

  A crafty smile spread across Elladan’s features. He wagged a finger back at his friend in response. “Ah, but that would make you only seventeen in human years—that’s only two year’s difference.”

  Elladan held up two fingers in the air, a wide smile on his face as he peered at his elven friend. The sandy-haired elf glared back at him with obvious discomfort, his complexion slowly reddening at the bard’s suggestion. Cyclone found himself enjoying the exchange probably far more than he should, but any further banter was cut short by Lloyd.

  “Guys?”

  Everyone turned their attention to the tall warrior. Lloyd nodded toward the remains of the camp at the edge of the clearing. “All things considered, maybe we should clean that up, before Alana returns with the squires.”

  Any traces of a smile swiftly drained from Elladan’s face. The bard gazed over at the campground, his expression turning dreadfully somber. “You’re right, of course.”

  Donatello gazed at the young man with clear appreciation. “Thanks for thinking of that.”

  The three of them started across the clearing. Cyclone hesitated, gazing reluctantly at the huge dragon carcass before him. What he really wanted to do was cut off some scales and flesh. The scales made a decent trophy, and if you collected enough, would make a tough armor. Or you could even sell them for a nice price. Dragon meat was also a delicacy if cooked and seasoned right. It would be a shame to let the carcass sit for too long, but Lloyd was right—they needed to take care of the knights who had fallen in battle first.

  The hunter let out a deep sigh, then followed the others across the clearing. Upon reaching the edge of the campground, they were met with a grisly sight. The men and women of the small company had been dissolved away, only parts of their skeletal structure still left intact. Donatello went pale at the sight. “I’m just glad Alana hasn’t seen this.”

  Elladan reached out and placed a hand on Donatello’s shoulder. “Let’s clean this up quick, so she never has to.”

  Elladan and Donatello set to work gathering all the remains, while Cyclone and Lloyd dug out a deep pit. The two elves stacked those remains in a pile next to the hole they were excavating. After a few trips back and forth, Donatello broke the heavy silence. “Not that I’m worried right now, mind you, but what would happen if someone was to, say, resurrect the green dragon?”

  Cyclone stopped digging for a moment, and peered up at the slim elf. A short laugh escaped his lips. “Well, hypothetically, you’d be the first one he’d eat.”

  Donatello’s face turned absolutely pale. “Uh…I was afraid you might say something like that.”

  Elladan drew up next to them, respectfully adding more remains to the pile. “From my understanding, green dragons are the most aggressive of the chromatic side of the tree.”

  “That’s the colored dragons, right?” Lloyd asked, as he threw another shovelful of dirt over his shoulder.

  Cyclone shifted his gaze toward the tall man and nodded, digging in with his own shovel while answering. “Whites, blues, greens, blacks, and reds are all your ‘not so friendly’ dragons. The metallics, like your friend, Ruka, are supposed to be the good ones, but personally, I still don’t believe that.”

  Donatello raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. The conversation died down after that, ’til the slim elf returned with another armful. “So how do we prevent anyone, like that black knight guy, for instance, from coming back and resurrecting this dragon?”

  He finished with a nod toward the great carcass, still lying near the entrance to the monolith. Lloyd, now knee-deep into the pit they were digging, proposed a solution. “What if we burn it?”

  Cyclone shifted his gaze toward the tall man, and eyed him cynically. Is he truly that stupid? When he answered, there was more than just a trace of sarcasm in his tone. “That’s a lot of dragon to burn. It’s not like we can just gather some firewood, and light it up.”

  Lloyd responded with a short nod, as he hefted another shovelful of dirt. “Yeah, I know, but we do have a wizard with us… and he definitely has fire spells…”

  “…which he absolutely loves to use,” Donatello finished, as he carefully unloaded another armful.

  Cyclone peered up at the sandy-haired elf, his eyes narrowing. “Are you just flapping your gums, or is there a story behind that?”

  “Oh, there’s a story, alright,” Donnie said with a grin. He motioned to Elladan as the handsome elf rejoined them. “You’re the master storyteller—care to do the honors?”

  Elladan paused a moment, then launched into the tale of how the elven wizard single-handedly burnt down the Cape Marlin lighthouse. The elven bard finished with the words, “The lighthouse burned most of the night, and the wreckage was still smoking when they left the next day.”

  “That’s Glo for you,” Donnie added with a wry smile. “He never does anything halfway.”

  A short laugh escaped Cyclone’s mouth as he stepped firmly on his shovel and dug out another spadeful. “Heh. That might just work.”

  The corners of Elladan’s eyes crinkled as he broke out into a grin. “Oh, it will work, alright. Let’s just hope he doesn’t take the monolith down wit
h it.”

  The bard’s comment drew a round of laughter. Even Cyclone found it amusing. It wasn’t much longer till they finished with the pit. Elladan and Donnie had gathered all the remains, and the four of them carefully stacked the bones in the grave. When they were done, they piled the loose dirt back on top, creating a large mound.

  Donnie recovered the knights’ pennants and carefully planted them in the ground around the perimeter of the mass grave. When he was finished, he wiped the sweat from his brow, and nodded toward the trail that led into the clearing. “Looks like we finished just in time.”

  Cyclone shifted his gaze in that direction, and saw Alana and Martan had returned, the pair accompanied by two young boys. A few horses trailed after them, led by the reins. While Lloyd and Martan tended to the horses, Donnie gently escorted Alana and the boys over to the grave. The lady knight and the two young squires stood over the mass grave, their expressions grim. After a few moments of silence, Alana finally spoke.

  Great Cormar:

  Please receive these stalwart men and women into your open arms.

  They were brave souls to the very last, giving their lives in defense of that which is good and righteous.

  Please reserve a place for them by your side, so that their souls may dwell in peace.

  Cyclone listened to the lady knight’s heartfelt prayer, with his head bowed in respect for the fallen. He was not personally a great believer in the deities, preferring instead to depend on his own two hands to get the job done. Cyclone’s father had lived his life that way, and raised his son to do the same. But just the same, Cyclone was all too familiar with loss.

  His father had been a dragon hunter, like his father before him. Their family spawned from a long line of hunters going well back before the Thrall Wars. Cyclone began training the moment he could hold a spear. His father was a tough teacher, but Cyclone never complained. In a few short years, he won the right to carry a halberd.

  Cyclone went on a few hunts with his father, but those had been younger dragons. There were not many of the creatures left on the east coast of Thac these days. So when an adult red, the most ferocious of dragons, appeared off the coast a few years back, it was a strange occurrence. His father had gone on that hunt alone, leaving Cyclone behind. He never returned.

  Alana and the squires finished their prayers, then the lady knight escorted the two boys inside the monolith to eat and rest. Over by the edge of the forest, Martan and Lloyd were busily fixing the broken hitching post. Elladan motioned for Donnie and Cyclone to follow him, leading the pair to what had previously been a large campfire pit. Miraculously, the cauldron was still intact, but the wooden frame was smashed and the kindling scattered. Elladan stood over the pit, his hands on his hips as he appraised it carefully. “This shouldn’t be too hard to fix.”

  Donnie cocked his head to one side and stared at the pit speculatively. “Once this is fixed up, I can get Martan, and the two of us could go hunting.”

  Cyclone swept his eyes across the duo. “Ever taste dragon?”

  The pair turned to face him, their mouths agape. Elladan’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

  Cyclone responded with a curt nod.

  Donnie glanced across the clearing toward the huge dragon carcass lying in front of the monolith. “Isn’t that thing just a little big to eat?”

  Cyclone glared at the slight elf as if he were daft. “We’re not gonna eat the whole thing.”

  Elladan held a hand to his chin, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It would have to be prepared right. We’d need to drain that acid blood, and then add the right seasonings.”

  Cyclone strode over and threw an arm around the elf, shaking him roughly. “Now you’re talking!”

  The elf stared back at him, his mouth twisting into a half smile. The bard then turned to Donnie. “I’ll give you a list of herbs to hunt down in the forest. Meanwhile, we’ll get things set up here.”

  Donnie went to fetch Martan, while Cyclone helped Elladan erect the frame and re-attach the cauldron to it. When they were done, Cyclone saw the slim elf disappear with the tracker into the woods. A few moments later, Lloyd drifted over to join them. Cyclone motioned for the young warrior to follow him, then headed back toward the dragon carcass.

  “What are we doing?” Lloyd asked curiously.

  Cyclone glanced at the tall man with a thin smirk. “Ever filet a dragon?”

  Lloyd’s eyes went wide as they strode together across the clearing.

  After a restful afternoon, Glo returned to the clearing with Elistra, Alana, and her two squires. It was late in the day, probably an hour before nightfall, the sun gaining a reddish hue as it approached the horizon. The others were already gathered around a large campfire, Elladan busily preparing an evening stew from the dragon they had killed.

  Glo had balked at the idea at first, but Elladan assured him that he had prepared it so that it was safe. The smell of the simmering cauldron reached Glo’s nostrils, making his stomach grumble. If Elladan said it was okay, he supposed he could give it a try.

  Yet before he could sit down with the others, Donnie pulled Glo aside and asked him to use his magic to light up the rest of the dragon’s carcass. The slight elf confessed his worries about the dragon being resurrected and hunting them all down. Glo cast a glance at Cyclone, but the dragon hunter offered no comment, merely sitting near the fire with his arms folded across his chest.

  Glo felt two slim hands wrap themselves around his arm. He gazed down and saw Elistra looking up at him with those big violet eyes. “Could it really hurt?”

  Glo let out a short sigh and smiled affectionately at the dulcet seeress. “I suppose not.”

  Glo retraced his steps, slowly circling around the huge dragon carcass as he estimated the power he would need. It was still mostly intact, other than a large chunk along the flank where the scales had been removed and strips of flesh had been sliced off. In the end, a couple of fireballs did the trick. The dragon’s carcass lit up nicely, looking like a giant bonfire next to the tall, dark monolith.

  “Dinner’s ready!” Elladan announced from across the clearing.

  Everyone converged on the campfire, as the bard gingerly ladled out bowls of stew, handing them over to be passed around. Glo’s mouth watered with each bowl that went by—even with dragon meat, Elladan’s seasonings were a delicacy not to be missed.

  Once everyone had a bowl in hand, the bard set down his ladle and cleared his throat. “I’d like to take a moment to thank the gods for this bounty we have received, and to honor the memory of our fallen comrades. Brave men and woman, all, they gave their lives for the noblest of causes—the safety of others. May their souls find peace in the afterlife.”

  The entire gathering bowed their heads in silence. Glo briefly thought of the last time he had seen all those brave souls alive, just a little more than a day ago. It was heartbreaking that they were all now gone.

  The young elf cast a furtive glance at Alana. The lady knight’s head was bowed, a single tear flowing down one cheek. Donnie stood next to her, his head bowed as well, silently holding her hand. Lamorn and Syndir stood on the other side of the lady knight, their faces ashen. After a full minute of silence, Alana raised her head, her eyes falling on Elladan. “Thank you for your kind words. Our comrades will be sorely missed.”

  They all sat down and quietly began to eat. As the meal progressed, sporadic conversation broke the silence, eventually growing into full-fledged discussions. Much of it concerned their hectic adventures over these last few days, but Alana also shared a few stories about her fallen comrades. Overall, it had a cathartic effect, helping Alana and the squires to deal with their grief.

  Although Glo had not known them personally, he felt deeply for the loss of all those good people. It made him miss his family, and those friends who were not currently with the
m. Glo briefly wondered about his mother and father. He hadn’t seen them in a few months now, and he hadn’t exactly left on the best of terms, especially with his father.

  His mind then drifted to Aksel and Ruka. It was almost night now, the sun fallen behind the trees, darkness already blanketing the sky to the east. It was too soon for the duo to have reached Vermoorden—they were probably still in flight.

  Glo let out a deep sigh as his thoughts turned to Seth. The halfling had been gone for almost an entire day now, chasing after the one black mage who had escaped their battle with the Serpent Cult. Glo silently hoped that wherever he was, his small friend was alright.

  Deepwood Sniper

  In the blink of an eye, three arrows suddenly appeared in the mage’s body.

  The forest had grown thicker during the last day or so of travel—much thicker and wilder, but notably less oppressive, and far more peaceful than the Darkwoods—perhaps too peaceful. Seth Korzair might have enjoyed the quiet of the forest, if it weren’t for his current mission and the ever-present nagging feeling that someone, or something, was watching him. He glanced around at the large trees suspiciously, noting a few evening stars peeking through the canopy above, then he refocused on his quarry’s trail.

  During the fight with the Serpent Cult inside the monolith, one mage had escaped—he had left the monolith, stolen a horse, and fled into the woods. Being a halfling with a very particular skill set, stealth being king among them, Seth followed the mage, hoping he would lead him to the rest of the Serpent Cult—the viper’s nest, so to speak. The mage had mostly kept to the road that ran toward Bendenwood, the capital of the Druids, though he had been sure to circumvent any towns, especially Bendenwood itself.

  Seth had stayed one step behind him all the way, using a magic spell he’d learned to keep from exhausting his riding dog, and double its speed. He suspected that the mage was using the same magic on his stolen horse, because he had only stopped twice during the last twenty-four hours to refill his water.