Suddenly the door latch rattled, and the door swung open. A weathered old man stepped into the light of the hallway. His upper body bent over slightly revealing a bit of a hump on his back. Round spectacles sat atop a bulbous nose and framed the beady eyes that shifted quickly between the three visitors. Broughlin sighed heavily then waved them all inside. As they walked into a large room lit by dozens of candles, Broughlin shut the door quickly and locked it. Once inside, Lucius took a closer look at the dragon lore master in the ample light. Broughlin wore a colorful robe that came down past his feet. A felt cap covered his silver hair which protruded in wisps from the bottom. He shuffled casually toward a large desk in the center of the room. The long robe covered his feet as he walked, making him appear like a ghost hovering above the stone floor.
All around the room were shelves and tables stocked with various books and scrolls. On the far wall hung curious metal devices that looked like bear traps. Behind Broughlin’s desk Lucius noticed another room that was dimly lit. Something large stood in the room which unnerved him at first. But as his eyes adjusted to the low light, he realized it was some kind of wooden horse.
“So this is the fabled Ellyllei, huh?” Broughlin scoffed. He adjusted his spectacles to look closer at Lucius and smacked his lips a few times. “Have you ever even seen a dragon, boy?”
“Yes — well, that is I’ve seen Kraegyn in my dreams frequently,” Lucius stammered.
Broughlin nodded slightly then turned to Dudley. “Lots to teach this one. Does he know how to fight, Bradley?”
Dudley let out a deep sigh. “For the hundredth time, my name is Dudley. Dudley!”
Darius looked away from his superior and stifled a chuckle. Lucius did the same, but Dudley caught the laughter and shot them both an angry look.
“And to answer your question, of course he can fight. Would I have brought him down here if he couldn’t?”
Broughlin pursed his lips in concentration then shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose not, but you never can be too sure. There’s lots of young lads out there that think they can take on a dragon, but it’s nothing more than childish boasting. You know how many times I’ve had to deal with spoiled brats claiming to be the Ellyllei? Why more than I can remember that’s for sure!?”
“There’s not much you can remember, old man,” Dudley whispered.
The comment brought about another round of stifled laughter from Darius and Lucius.
“Something on your mind son?” Broughlin asked, raising an eyebrow.
Lucius shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Very well then. We should get started. First, it is important for you to know about the history of the dragons and their tribes. Many Drachengarde warriors neglect such historical facts, but history is the basis of knowing one’s enemy.”
Dudley rolled his eyes then crossed his arms. Darius sighed heavily.
Lucius got the impression that Broughlin was about to ramble on and bore him with facts and details that he would not care much about. Curiously, he noticed there was only a single chair in the room —the one that the wizened tutor was using. He wondered if this was deliberate. Perhaps students who sat down fell asleep during one of his lectures. Lucius feared he was now about to find out.
"Now what did you say your name was again," Broughlin asked.
“Lucius. Lucius Nostra.”
“Yes. Lucas then, listen closely. For the knowledge that I impart upon you now rarely travels outside of these halls. I pride myself in being a scholar on all things relating to the beasts of Ghadarya.”
Broughlin fetched a book from a stack close to his chair and quickly flipped through it until his finger landed on a particular page. He tapped the page several times and nodded to himself. “Yes yes, let’s begin here. The Dragon tribes...”
Before the Drachengarde historian could begin, Dudley and Darius excused themselves and left their young protégé to fend for himself. Darius patted him sympathetically on the shoulder and followed his superior out of the room. Lucius swallowed hard. Though he had grown accustomed to academics in the company of elves, a bookish and intellectual race, he did not have his brother's penchant for history or scholarly study.
“Well, more fun for us. Aye, Lucas?” Broughlin cracked a smile.
Lucius grew annoyed at the incorrect name Broughlin ascribed to him. He opened his mouth to correct him, but the old man began speaking once more.
In an hours time, Lucius’s head was swimming with details and dates concerning dragon history that he could not hope to remember. But despite his fears of a long winded lecture from Broughlin, he actually found the old man rather charming in a quirky sort of way. And many of the details about dragons had certainly helped Lucius to grasp their aggressive and mysterious nature.
He learned there were four tribes of dragons initially. Each tribe represented a different scale coloring among the dragons. Amethyst, Sapphire, Emerald, and Gilded were the names of each tribe in Ghadarya. A fifth tribe, the Black tribe, emerged with the birth of Kraegyn—though he was its only member.
Despite Broughlin’s knowledge, the old man conceded that no living historian truly knew the origin of the dragons. They were a secretive race who did not utilize any writing implements or historical records. Though they spoke in the standard speech and also shak-teph, the beasts cared little about transcribing anything.
“Even the first dwarves who set foot in Azuleah used simplistic runes for communication and record-keeping, but the dragons are a haughty bunch. Written language and linguistics seem beneath them. They care not for such things.” Broughlin explained.
Interestingly, the dragons did care about good breeding and societal dominance. The tribes each ascribed to a kind of pecking order. Before Kraegyn, the Gilded tribe were the noblest and most respected among the tribes. The bottom of the order was the Emerald tribe, whose flames and size were more diminutive than the rest. Of course, the order changed dramatically with Kraegyn. The Black Dragon assumed superiority over his kin and at a very young age.
“He was larger than most adult males and his blue flames were more devastating than any among the Gilded tribe. It was only natural that he would become the alpha male,” Broughlin explained.
Lucius did not argue the logic. He wondered why the other tribes wouldn’t simply band together to reject the whelp from supplanting them. The answer was not at all what he expected.
“The prevailing theory among scholars is that Kraegyn is a manifestation of Nergoth. Black is significant color in dragon lore. It denotes the Abode of Shadows, death, evil — that sort of thing. Dragons, like humans and other races in Azuleah, can be quite superstitious. Subverting the will of a demon like Nergoth would be most unwise. So submission to this possible heir of Nergoth is much preferred,” Broughlin said.
When the old man’s lecture had come to an end, Lucius found himself wanting more details. But he wasn't overly enthusiastic about another hour's worth of minutia about dates and irrelevant traditions. Broughlin, sensing he had piqued his curiosity, raised his eyebrows in a visible question. “The wheels are turning, eh? Go ahead and ask a question. That’s why I’m here. I crave inquiring minds.”
“Well, it’s just that you spoke about how important breeding is to the dragons,” he said.
“I did. And?” Broughlin prompted.
“And it’s the first time I’ve heard that the dragons have offspring. I’ve heard no tales of dragon eggs or whelps before. Perhaps I assumed there were only a finite amount of dragons in existence.”
“You assumed wrong. All animals breed, boy. Didn’t the elves teach you that?”
Lucius frowned and found that his cheeks were flushing. “Of course! I just didn’t... Think of it is all.”
Broughlin let out a snort. “Don’t think much do you?”
"I haven't had the luxury of studying the topic as extensively as you have," Lucius said with an edge to his voice. "But I do wish to learn more about this breeding season you speak of. Do we need
to worry about a mass of dragons suddenly springing forth?"
Broughlin shook his head. "The breeding season is in late autumn. And the dragon mothers have reduced in number over the last few decades, so the dragons have shown little interest in increasing their brood. Obviously, this could change with the arrival of Kraegyn. But I am optimistic that King Silas and the Ellyllei will soon take care of that problem."
"You've put a lot of faith in a young boy," Lucius said.
"I'm familiar with the Ellyllei prophecy. And I am a devout follower of the Yéwa. My faith is firmly placed in him regarding this dragon business."
"Be that as it may, how would we deal with a new brood of dragons?" Lucius pressed.
"If, theoretically, the dragon mothers had new offspring. The hatchlings would not become mature until the following spring. I suppose if the dragons pushed them, they might be ready for the Wintermarch. But that is a large leap."
Lucius nodded, satisfied with the answer. But something in his mind just wouldn't let go of the slim possibility that dozens of dragon whelps could threaten Aldron. As he pondered the thought, another question formed in his mind. "Do we know how many dragons currently reside in Ghadarya?”
Broughlin pursed his lips, deep in thought. He counted the tips of his fingers on each hand absently. "Oh, I'd say there are at least... twenty-four, if my math is correct."
"Two dozen dragons?" Lucius asked, eyes widening. "Even after all the ones we've slain already?"
Broughlin nodded. "I believe so. But that number includes the dragon mothers, who have never left their dens. They tend to be larger than the males and are only hostile when an enemy breaches their nest.”
"How many dragon mothers are there then?"
"The last recorded number was about a half-dozen, but that estimate is over a decade old. More females could have hatched by now."
Lucius reflected on this for a moment. If the female numbers had stayed static for the last few years that meant the Drachengarde still had around twenty dragons to contend with. An assault from that many would undoubtedly be catastrophic for Aldron. If Silas’ plan for an offensive strike at Arkadeus could be coordinated in time, they could prevent further destruction to the city and reduce Ghadarya’s strength. But that depended on many variables, including whether or not Lucius could kill Kraegyn.
Broughlin veered their conversation toward the topic of dragon anatomy which, although interesting, quickly became too technical for Lucius. The sudden arrival of Dudley and Darius was a welcome relief.
“So have you learned every scintillating detail about dragons in the past two hours, Lucius?” Dudley asked with a hint of smile on his lips.
“Two hours?” Lucius asked. “It felt much longer than that.”
Broughlin raised an eyebrow at the comment and Lucius grinned ruefully.
“Scholarly studies are over. Now it's time you learn the art of slaying the beasts,” Dudley said.
“Yes, of course, the brutish part of being a member of the Drachengarde,” Broughlin replied. He picked up a book nearby and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Please use the training room for your sparring, Bradley.”
Dudley glared at the old man, but chose not to correct him. He led Lucius and Darius into the large room connected to Broughlin’s study then lit several candles sitting on a shelf nearby. The dark room came to life in the candlelight and Lucius took stock of all the training implements around them. Taking up most of the space in the room was the wooden horse which resembled a large bull in the light. On the walls were wooden swords and spring traps that resembled the kind fur trappers use in Sylvania. On a table along the back of the room were a pair of spiked balls and a number of vials filled with a dark powder.
“We don't have much time to train you before we set out tomorrow. So pay close attention to everything we teach,” Dudley instructed. “I'll try not to drone on for two hours before you actually pick up a sword.”
In the other room, Broughlin coughed loudly signaling that the aged tutor had heard the slight.
“Not as deaf as you thought,” Darius said, smiling.
“I knew he was faking it to annoy me.”
"No, you didn't," Broughlin replied.
“I suspected it!”
“What's that wooden bull for?” Lucius interrupted the exchange.
“It's not a bull. This is our training dragon,” Dudley corrected. He patted the round lump that designated the dummy’s head. “We call her Leslie. You'll come to know her well.”
Lucius didn't like the menacing tone Dudley injected in that sentence.
“Come, Ellyllei. We'll make a dragon slayer out of you yet.”
Chapter 4
The great hall of Gilead Palace had transformed from a regular dining area to a lavish banquet hall in a matter of hours. Dozens of tables, set with the finest plates, utensils, and crystal, filled the interior of the space. The large chandelier in the center of the room held over a hundred lit candles that gave the large room a warm, inviting light amidst the gathering dark outside. Nobles and merchants with connections to the royal court poured into the hall, finding their assigned tables as servants attended them. Violet strode past most of them, feeling overwhelmed by the pomp surrounding her. On one end of the room, a dais held a long table adorned with the crest of the Dermont family facing outward. Silas, her betrothed, sat at the center flanked by his two trusted advisors—Lord Blaise and Duke Weifar. Avani sat next to Weifar and Lord Helmer to the right of the king. On the left beside Blaise sat a man with a scarred face who Violet didn't recognize. Beside the man was an empty chair reserved for her. She walked down from the back of the hall toward her assigned seat, shaking with each step and dreading what was to come.
This entire affair was Silas’ idea. Throughout the winter months he labored over the military campaign and the imminent arrival of the Sangre army. Though he had promised her many times, he would find a time and place to announce their secret engagement, Violet assumed the event would never take place. With the kingdom embroiled in war, she held little hope that Silas might find time to discuss wedding plans much less throw an elaborate engagement party. Violet also remained pessimistic about their betrothal. She didn’t doubt Silas loved her, and she certainly shared the same feelings for him. But she was a commoner with no title, no dowry, and nothing to offer a sovereign ruler of Aldron. He had every right to call off this engagement for the sake of his family's honor. Part of her even wanted him to call it off. But Silas would never do it. He was a man of his word and he desired to see them married. Though she found that charming and romantic about him, few in the kingdom would share his sentiment.
As she approached the dais, she saw a reassuring glance from Silas. She smiled in return, but inwardly didn't have his confidence. The nobility assembled here would not approve of this match. And now was not the time to create scandal or division among his fellow nobles. Silas needed them to trust his rule, Violet thought. How could they do that if he was marrying below his station?
She sat down next to the man with the scars, suddenly becoming conscious of her own appearance. Her purple-dyed dress and silk shawl belonged to Avani, who suggested she wear it for the occasion. Although the dress fit her perfectly, the design exposed her neck and shoulders revealing more than she'd deem appropriate. Many of the noble ladies in attendance wore similar dresses since it was fashionable, but Violet preferred her linen smocks. She wrapped the shawl tighter around her bare shoulders as Silas rose to address his guests.
“Good evening, lords and ladies of the realm. Thank you for attending this banquet on such short notice. No doubt many of you are wondering why I would throw such a lavish dinner during such dark times as these. Even in the midst of trial and war, we celebrate and are grateful for everything we have. But before I get ahead of myself, I wish to address our current agenda regarding the escalating war,” Silas said.
He discussed the military campaign planned over the next few months. Violet already knew much
of the plans as did everyone else who sat at the table with her. But the majority of the nobility was unaware of certain details, like Sangre's reinforcements, and a banquet like this was a convenient occasion to apprise them of the situation. It was a strategic move, she thought. He would give them the information they eagerly sought through endless inquiries and random gossip then reveal his engagement to her as an afterthought. She hoped all the doom and gloom of the war would numb the grandeur of the announcement, but many of these rich nobles thrived on royal gossip. And her stomach twisted in knots as she waited for Silas to announce it.
As he went on with the particulars of the scouting mission to Arkadeus led by Avani and the Drachengarde, Violet fixed her thoughts elsewhere to ease her trembling hands. In the months she wintered in Gilead Palace, she kept herself busy in the infirmary helping the lead physician, Phineas Caldwell, with his patients. The elderly doctor was a kindhearted man who tended to be blunt and abrasive. He had several assistants to aid him with his work, but he gladly welcomed the extra help. To her credit, Caldwell remarked that few possessed the skill or knowledge of apothecarial art Violet possessed. He had seen her work firsthand when King Alfryd suffered the effects of a deadly poison several months ago. And though the elder monarch died from further poisoning, Caldwell was impressed with Violet’s efforts to keep the king alive for as long as she did.
"A poison as potent as this would’ve killed him in a single night. But your herbalism kept him with us much longer and eased his suffering," the doctor had said.
Keep of Dragons (The Azuleah Trilogy Book 3) Page 4
