Dragon's Heart

by Martin Gallagher

  “Your Highness, what’s wrong?” Senion asked anxiously, taking the princess by the arm to support her. Senion’s eyes widened in near panic as she saw how ashen the princess looked. “I’ll fetch the healer,” she began, but before she could say more, Emeldra stopped her.

  “No, you must not. Matra needs help, I must go to him.” Emeldra forced herself upright as she spoke. Though pale and trembling, she regarded her maid with a determined expression. “Bring some healing herbs and salves to the stables. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.” Emeldra pitched her voice low so that only Senion could hear as she watched the back of the healer as he busily bandaged a man at the far end of the room. “And don’t tell anyone,” she added. Turning, she silently left the room.

  Emeldra and Senion led their horses quietly to the postern gate. Stopping in the shadows they watched the guard at the gate. Seeing movement in the shadows the guard moved towards them. Before he could call out Emeldra made a gesture with her hand. The sword he was about to bring up to call challenge fell from his hands and he toppled over soundlessly to the ground.

  “What did you do to him?” whispered Senion, looking at the prone guard as Emeldra opened the gate.

  “Just a sleep spell. Don’t worry, he will wake later with nothing but a sore head,” Emeldra explained quietly. “I know you like him, Senion,” she added with a mischievous smile, recognising the guard as the young knight Senion had seen a lot of lately.

  Jon Manett, the healer, was feeling none too happy with the news he would have to tell the king, so when he saw one of the knights hurrying to the king’s study, he hoped to relieve himself of that duty and save himself from the king’s wrath. Instead, the knight who was on his way to report the dragon’s return insisted he come with him and tell the news to the king in person. The king listened silently as the knight made his report, the man finished by mentioning the healer had some news regarding a sudden disappearance of the princess.

  Scowling the king regarded the now sweating healer. “Out with it, man; what is that headstrong daughter of mine up to now?” the king demanded.

  The healer sweated even more as he told the king his daughter was probably on her way to the glade where the dragon lay. Storming out of the study, bellowing orders, the king left the red-faced and abashed healer wringing his hands.

  In the half-light of evening Emeldra entered the glade. Sliding off her horse she untied the bag of healing herbs and salves from the saddle and approached the dragon. Senion entered close behind. Dismounting, she stood fearfully back, watching. Only concern and loyalty to the princess had made her come this far.

  “Why doesn’t he change back?” Senion asked her eyes fixed on the muzzle of the dragon and the sharp fangs.

  “If he did in this state it would kill him,” Emeldra replied. “Don’t be afraid, Senion, he won’t hurt you even if he was able to. Come on, give me a hand.” Seeing a broken arrow shaft protruding from his side she carefully pulled it out.

  As Senion tentatively approached, Emeldra took her hands and placed them on the side of the dragon. The leathery scales of the dragon felt warm and surprisingly soft to the touch.

  “See, it’s all right,” Emeldra said she made Senion run her hands along the dragon’s side. Senion’s fear began to diminish, and Emeldra handed her some salves to apply.

  The blood that seeped from the arrow wound seemed no different than human blood. Emeldra worked her way around one side applying herbs and salves, while Senion treated the scorched wingtip. Finding another broken arrow shaft, Emeldra struggled to pull it out. The amount of blood that came from the wound alarmed her. The normal bright blue of the dragon now seemed faded and dull, and apart from a low rumble deep in his throat Matra looked lifeless.

  “He’s quite magnificent,” Senion said as she worked at rubbing a salve into the burns on his wingtip; she failed to notice Emeldra’s distress.

  “He is, isn’t he,” Emeldra answered, forcing back the flood of tears about to break loose. Her voice shook with emotion.

  Senion looked up at, Emeldra finally noticing her distress, on the verge of going to her side to reassure her that all would be well. Senion was suddenly flung backwards, landing motionless on the leafy ground.

  Emeldra froze as a bluish-white aura surrounded Matra; the glow seemed almost ghost-like in the fading light of day. Her mind held in a vice-like grip, Emeldra felt powerless, unable to move or communicate. Faintly she heard a protest from Matra and a seemingly feminine reply; a brief exchange followed. She wondered whether the feminine voice she heard was an overly jealous mate; the thought somehow disheartened her.

  Finally, the grip was gently released, and a voice sounded in her head, soft, rich and faintly amused. “No, human child, this one’s not my mate. I am the one that hatched him,” said the voice Emeldra now knew to be a queen dragon.

  “Your pardon, Beldragor, but why have you attacked us and what are you doing to Matra?” she replied, addressing the queen formally though some anger crept in. Emeldra glanced over to where Senion lay, still motionless.

  “I thought you meant him harm at first, human child. The other one will awaken soon. As to my hatchling, the shield around him will heal and protect him,” sent the queen. “I see your people are on their way and I’m not sure of their intentions toward mine,” continued the queen, her tone gentle and protective.

  “I would see closer the one my son believes to be the Weaver of Destiny,” the queen sent. Emeldra frowned in puzzlement at the queen’s reference to Weaver of Destiny and waited for her to qualify the statement.

  Emeldra’s surroundings suddenly blurred and faded out of focus. She felt a sudden wrenching within herself, and a sensation of floating on air. Almost at the speed of thought, she flew over treetops. Closing her eyes in a panic, she struggled to maintain her sense of reality as forests and hills passed in a blur of motion.

  Then opening her eyes again, ahead she saw a snow-covered landscape with a mountain in the foreground. On a cleft in the mountain a dragon crouched, the gold scales of the dragon standing out in stark contrast to the bleak surroundings. The moon had already risen in this hemisphere, the sky a dark cloudless blue. Emeldra judged it to be somewhere in Tulata.

  At last, everything seemed to come back into focus as Emeldra stood in front of the dragon. Her senses told her that she was here and at the same time she was still back in the glade. The size of the gold dragon made Emeldra feel small and insignificant. Emeldra had seen several queen dragons from a distance before; this was the first time she had seen one this close. She judged the dragon to be nearly twice the size of Matra. Feeling intimidated by the dragon’s size, Emeldra tried to back away. The queen dragon stirred. Eyes of gold and red fixed on Emeldra appraisingly.

  The dragon backed towards a cave entrance. A sudden rush of air made Emeldra blink; when she looked again, a woman stood before her. Hair the colour of fire down over her shoulders, dressed in golden lightweight armour.

  Icy blue eyes that showed flecks of gold regarded her thoughtfully. Emeldra judged the woman before her to be nearly twice her age. Her features, however, had a youthful and timeless beauty. Around her waist she wore a crimson scabbard in which nestled a long sword with a jewelled pommel.

  “There is no need to fear me, Princess Emeldra, Matra thinks you special amongst humankind, and now I see what he means,” began the woman. Her voice still carried the rich, mellow tone of her sending, with an added musical trill to it, which made her pleasant to listen to. “You may call me Cara.” Her mouth curled up into a thin smile.

  “Why have you brought me here, Beldragor, and how can I be here when I know I am still in the glade?” Emeldra asked, still keeping cautiously to formality. As she looked down at herself she felt alarmed as her body seemed insubstantial.

  “You are here in spirit, child, I believe you call it a soul focus,” began Cara, still smiling, “though I’m a little surprised myself that your spirit presence is here so strongly and that you can hold
it so without any effort. It does seem to make what Matra said about you ring true though,” she concluded, studying Emeldra thoughtfully.

  “You still have not answered my question as to why you brought me here, Beldragor.” She felt suddenly annoyed at having been wrenched from her body and dragged across half a continent to be scrutinised by a woman who was a dragon. On the verge of continuing and letting her temper get the better of her, Cara interrupted.

  “Stay your temper, child, time is short. I brought you here in part so that you would know me again when the time comes. There is much ahead of you, and upon you rests the destiny of our kind and maybe the whole world.” She paused briefly. “Listen to what your spirit dictates and all will be well. Now you must return as your people are near,” Cara finished. Emeldra felt herself returning across the distance to her body. The gold dragon’s voice echoed in her head as she found herself in the glade again.

  “Stand fast and believe what your heart tells you, child,” Cara said, her voice fading as she spoke. Emeldra frowned over the dragon’s fading words. If she followed what her heart seemed to be telling her? Emeldra dismissed the idea as being absurd, yet again she had a feeling of dismay. Resolutely she marshalled her emotions and put aside such thoughts as she saw Senion groggily get to her feet.

  Emeldra glanced at Matra then seeing the colour returning she went to check on Senion. “Are you all right, Senion?” she asked, looking at her maid and close friend anxiously.

  “I’m fine, Your Highness, just a little shaky, that is all,” she replied, brushing the leaves from her dress. A thunder of hooves made them both look up as Emeldra’s father approached.

  ‘We mustn’t let Father do anything to Matra,” Emeldra said. Stepping in front of Matra, she stood by him, her expression resolute. Senion nervously joined Emeldra.

  “Your father will have us both washing dishes for a month for this,” she replied as the king and a company of knights entered the clearing. The growing darkness made the king’s face hard to see until he dismounted and stomped up to them. Emeldra noticed that Marcus Lanton also came with him.

  “Have you no thought for your safety, Emeldra, to leave the castle when there might still be Paenalirs about? And not satisfied with risking your own life, you drag your maid into it as well. Daughter, your foolhardiness is beyond belief.” The king’s face went crimson as he regarded his daughter.

  Chapter Six

  “Your Majesty, I came willingly. Her Highness did not compel me to come,” Senion began, bowing as she quickly came to Emeldra’s defence. King Damon glowered at Senion and she shut her mouth without saying more. He turned once more to his daughter; his eyes momentarily fell on the still unmoving form of the dragon.

  “What’s more, you go charging off to help a shapeshifting dragon who for all we know may be part of the plot that led to today’s events,” he continued relentlessly. The knights still mounted behind them shifted uncomfortably in their saddles and tried to look away as the king harangued the princess. They all felt affection for the king and his daughter and knew that behind his harsh words the king had been afraid the princess may have come to harm.

  Emeldra stiffened angrily. That her father could accuse Matra after having fought the red dragon, then chasing the Paenalirs off, getting wounded maybe seriously in the process, was intolerable.

  “How dare you accuse Matra! He risked his life to help us. You can’t believe he had anything to do with the attack on the castle.” Emeldra clenched her fists, her whole body trembled uncontrollably; tears began to flow down her cheeks.

  Her father’s features softened as he regarded his headstrong daughter. “I’m sorry, Emeldra. You have been through a lot today, but I still need some answers,” he replied. Pointing at Matra, he took a deep breath to calm himself. Emeldra looked up at her father in disbelief.

  “Father you can’t really—” the words trailed off as Emeldra shook her head hardening her resolve. “You will only get to him over my dead body,” she finished defiantly, taking up a stance ready to fight.

  Beside her Senion shifted nervously, then readied herself to fight alongside the princess, her eyes widening in fear. She hoped fervently that someone would back down.

  The king regarded Emeldra and her maid incredulously; he considered taking his daughter and putting her over his knee. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed a good idea. The more also he felt proud of her courage; she had shown that same courage more than once today. That she was willing to fight for this dragon showed something else also that gave him pause.

  “I too think she is very courageous,” said Matra. All looked to where Matra now stood. As he stepped forward he rested a hand momentarily on Emeldra’s shoulder. “There is no need to fight my battles, Your Highness,” he said, giving Emeldra a reassuring smile, then regarded King Faldarin. “I will answer any questions you have, Your Majesty, willingly.”

  Matra sensed the suspicions of the King and his concern for his daughter, as well as other more turbulent thoughts. “Perhaps we should return to the castle first though,” he finished smoothly.

  Emeldra looked Matra over. There was no sign of the wounds he had received earlier; the queen dragon had done her job well. Emeldra regretted having spoken to her a little harshly earlier and wished she could apologise to her.

  “No apology needed,” sent Cara. Emeldra jumped in surprise. She might have known the queen dragon would watch out of concern to see what reception Matra would get from her father.

  Marcus Lanton standing quietly to one side had gone all but unnoticed. He studied Matra intensely, raising an eyebrow occasionally. Matra, however, had not overlooked the old sorcerer. He watched him as he approached the king and spoke quietly.

  “The sorcerer says you can read minds and influence peoples thoughts. I warn you, don’t try your tricks on me, Fangdragor.” The king regarded Matra suspiciously.

  “And do you suspect I hold influence over your daughter’s mind, your Majesty?” Matra answered in query, calmly.

  His words fell into a deafening silence as the king stared stony-faced at Matra, fists clenched at his side. Matra knew the King had to be able to trust him again if he was to be accepted back at the castle. The King’s hand hovered over his sword hilt. The knights shifted nervously. A horse snorted, shaking its head, sensing the tension around it.

  Emeldra hoped her father would not lose his temper now. Matra could surely kill them all if he wanted to. Even if they managed to overpower him, there was Cara to contend with. Emeldra heard a quiet affirmation from the gold dragon. Marcus Lanton finally broke the silence, stepping forward. Matra turned slightly to look at the aged sorcerer but waited for him to speak.

  “Your Majesty, I believe our young friend here to be blameless in being party to bringing the red dragon and the Paenalirs down on us today. Also in trying to control your daughter, or anyone else for that matter.” He paused, rubbing his hands together. “If he had wished to do so he could have done so long before now. Indeed, he could have probably stopped this present situation getting this far.” Looking at Matra, he smiled sagely.

  “Am I right, my young friend?” Seeing Matra smile back and nod an affirmative he continued. “Besides, Majesty, as our young friend already knows, I cast a truth spell at him. It did not entirely work, but enough for me to ascertain his intentions are noble. The fact he was aware of what I was up to and did not resist also shows his willingness to be open,” concluded Lanton, casting his gaze between the King and Matra.

  “He’s a sly one. I quite like the old fox!” the gold dragon sent in a laconic whisper to Emeldra. Emeldra smiled at Cara’s sending; she saw Matra turn and smile knowingly. King Damon relaxed visibly, letting out a gushing breath; the knights also began to relax. Tensed muscles relaxing as they sensed the moment of tension had passed. They waited patiently for further orders.

  “Very well then, back to the castle. The hour is late, and supper will soon be ready, but I still have some questions for you, Si
r Knight,” the king said, regarding Matra.

  “And as for you... he continued, looking at Emeldra.

  “Yes, Father dear?” Emeldra asked with feigned innocence. Senion, still by her side, covered her face with her hands to hide her giggles. King Damon muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he mounted his horse.

  “What was that, Father, I didn’t quite hear?” Emeldra posed. Senion nudged her shoulder to let be; Matra scowled at her. Emeldra, now having passed the moment of tension and having everything out in the open, felt light-hearted; nothing could dissuade her from her present humour.

  “Nothing,” replied her father

  “If I may be so bold to ask that the princess may be permitted to ride back with me? Her maid may also like the experience,” Matra asked, bowing formally. He glanced at Emeldra, who was already giving her horse to one of the knights. Senion, however, didn’t look too eager.

  The king frowned, looking none too happy. “Very well, it may help with morale. I suppose it’s something we all have to get used to,” he answered resignedly.

  Matra kept pace with the king and his knights as they returned to the castle, flying almost above the king as he rode through the gates. Senion clung tightly to Matra’s back. As he landed she gratefully clambered off. The pyre still burned in a remote corner of the castle courtyard, a grim reminder of the day’s events, sobering Emeldra’s mood. Dismounting, she waited while Matra shapeshifted, then joined by her father they entered the castle together.

  The red dragon watched Matra and the princess return to the castle through his soul focus. Nearby crouched the small bronze queen he had summoned earlier to heal his wounds. Snorting, though he knew it bad manners, he dismissed the bronze queen and stomped further into his lair.

  The bronze queen hissed her indignation at his rudeness before leaving. Var Firedragor licked his still incompletely healed wounds; a few scars would make him look more fearsome when he returned to the Paenalirs. He turned his thoughts to recent events and considered the intervention of the gold queen Beldragor. It was a complication he had not foreseen, but a new plan began to form in his mind. He cast his thoughts out to find his followers; unaware that on a small island warded by storms other eyes watched recent events with a patient expectancy.