Dragon's Heart

by Martin Gallagher

  The steward scurried out the door as the king left his desk and stood by the window. Moments later the steward returned with the beggar. The king glanced over the dirty and dishevelled beggar with a careful eye, noticing that his clothes, though worn and dirty, were not those normally expected of a beggar. His lips curled into a thin smile as he dismissed his steward.

  As soon as the steward left the beggar’s bent form straightened and his twisted features fell back into their normal shape. He strode across the room silently and without further ado sat on the king’s favourite cushioned side chair. The king’s smile broadened into a grin as he regarded the man in the chair.

  “Doogan, it’s good to see you, where you have been? If you had been here before the attack with your talents and contacts, we could have been forewarned.”

  Doogan's face took a look of self-reproach as he answered. “I must confess, Sire, I couldn’t get away without jeopardising the lives of several good agents. I did know what the Paenalirs planed,” said Doogan pausing, his face looked haggard. The king surmised his master spy had put his own life at great risk also.

  “I did try to get a message through. Later I found out the messenger had been caught, and killed,” he paused again taking a deep breath. “He died without telling them anything, otherwise I would not be here today.” Doogan’s eyes were haunted as he spoke.

  Chapter Eleven

  King Faldarin poured the master spy a drink from a half empty decanter on his desk, handing it to him; he waited while the man drank deeply and gathered himself.

  Doogan handed back the empty goblet; the haunted look gone as if it had never been there his expression became grave as he regarded the king.

  “Sire, I bring dire news,” he paused waiting for the king’s permission to continue his report.

  “Perhaps you prefer to rest and refresh yourself first?” asked the king. He had never seen his master spy look as troubled as he did now.

  “No, I’d sooner tell you my news first,” answered Doogan. Leaning forward as the king nodded for him to continue, he gathered his thoughts. “The Paenalirs have a new leader who is joining all the clans under him. This leader is organising and training them as a cohesive fighting force. The talk among the Paenalirs is that they plan a mass attack on Ladlian.” He paused, considering something. “There was also at least one weyr of red dragons with them before I left. This new leader had a meeting with several dissident leaders from Tulata, Cyomatro and Deryl,” said Doogan grimly.

  King Faldarin mulled over Doogan’s news, studying each piece of information and its possible implications in minute detail; none of it was good. Zacharia Doogan sat silently waiting for the king he had pledged his allegiance to make his judgement on the information he risked his own life to bring. His life mattered nothing to him, only his loyalty to the man in front of him who had spared his life fifteen years ago. Half Paenalir himself, Doogan could pass easily as a Ladlian. That was why he had been chosen to infiltrate Castle Talmon and try to assassinate the king. Though he lived mostly among the Paenalirs, his mother was a Ladlian who had taught him moral values. He had reached all the way to the king’s bedchambers unseen, then gave himself up, expecting to be executed as an assassin.

  Instead, the king had seen the potential in him and had apprenticed him to Jalat Kine, the then master spy. When Kine died King Faldarin made Doogan master spy. He had then not only sworn allegiance to the king, but his very life to the man he deeply respected and regarded as an older brother. Only the king’s most trusted advisors knew about Doogan; he had met both the sorcerer and Sir Halwain on several occasions. Doogan surmised, though, they were both contrasting in character. It was that very contrast that gave the king a more balanced perspective on the problems set before him.

  “The news you bring is grim indeed. What more can you tell me about these red dragons or of this new Paenalir leader?” asked the king finally, his expression one of intense concentration as he moved from the window. He sat at his desk and propped his chin up with one hand.

  “The Paenalir leader is not a true Paenalir. He’s fair skinned with sandy hair, tall with blue eyes and has several scars on his face,” replied Doogan. Taking a breath, he continued. “There is something odd about him, and all the dragons seem to look to him,” concluded Doogan finally.

  The king’s eyebrows went up as Doogan finished. ‘There is someone you should meet, who might throw some light on the identity of this Paenalir leader.” He already had a good idea but needed to be sure. The king summoned his steward as Doogan blended into the lengthening shadows in the room. Giving orders, the king briefly glanced out the window; dusk gathered outside. A hard frost made the courtyard shine with millions of sparkles. He turned back to Doogan, asking him to go over everything again in more detail.

  Rising to stretch his legs, Matra walked to the window and watched the sunset throwing the library into deep shadows. Realising there was no candle or torch allowed in the library because of the risk of fire, he cast a light spell and sat down again. Thumbing a page, he found a very old prophecy regarding the dragon king. Frowning, he continued to read. The library door opened and Jason Kith appeared in the doorway, his face cast in shadow. “The king has half the castle looking for you. The only reason I thought to look here is that I bumped into Marcus. He told me I would probably find you here,” stated Jason, his face cracked into a half smile. “His Majesty is none too happy you are making him wait,” concluded Jason, still smiling.

  “Better not keep him waiting any longer then, had we,” Matra replied. Rising, he followed Jason through the door.

  Entering the king’s study, Matra at first thought the king alone then he noticed the shadowy figure sat in a chair. There was something about the man that didn’t seem right. He scanned the man’s thoughts and detected a well-ordered and guarded mind. The man was deliberately thinking obscure and trivial thoughts, in what Matra judged was a normal defensive measure.

  “Sire, you sent for me.” Matra bowed formally. As he spoke, he watched the man in the chair from the corner of his eye carefully.

  “Yes, where have you been, Sir Fangdragor? I’ve had people looking for you, and even Emeldra didn’t know where you had got to.” The king regarded Matra, disgruntled.

  “I was in the library, Sire,” he answered. The man in the chair leant forward a little, a nearby lantern throwing light onto gaunt features that were part Paenalir. Suspicions now roused, Matra felt the need to tell the king the man was not what he appeared to be.

  “Sire, forgive me, but there is something amiss here,” Matra began firmly. “I don’t know what business you have with this man, but he is not what he seems to be.” Matra eyed the man coolly as he spoke. The king’s face widened into a broad grin which Matra found puzzling. Half turning, he spoke to the man in the chair.

  “Well, Doogan, he’s got you figured out right,” stated the king. He turned to face Matra again. “Matra, meet Zacharia Doogan, my master spy,” he said, still grinning. Doogan stood and stepped forward. He held out his hand to Matra. As they shook hands, Doogan sniffed and then looked closer at Matra.

  “So this is your shapeshifting dragon,” Doogan began, still studying Matra. “I’ve heard the stories, and I’ve been close enough to dragons to note that distinctive spicy scent,” qualified Doogan. “I must congratulate you, Sir Fangdragor, your human form is very er...” he paused, considering the right word. “Human,” he concluded for lack of a better word. He sat back in his chair as the king beckoned Matra to take a seat.

  “That brings me to the point of why I sent for you Matra,” began the king, carrying the conversation on from were Doogan left off. “Tell Matra about this new Paenalir leader and the red dragons, Doogan.” The king leaned back in his chair. Matra seated himself in a high-backed chair opposite the king and listened as Doogan told again about the Paenalir leader and his relationship with the red dragons.

  “As I told His Majesty, there is something very odd about this Paenalir lead
er,” concluded Doogan, regarding Matra.

  “Can you be more specific?” said Matra, frowning.

  “Well, he walks strangely, sort of as if he hasn’t got proper control of his legs and his eyes seem to change from blue to red when you look closely. Also his speech is a little archaic,” replied Doogan reflectively.

  “Undoubtedly your Paenalir leader is Var Firedragor in human form,” returned Matra. “He always has favoured the flowery thees and thous form of speech,” Matra observed in conclusion.

  “Yes we thought as much,” King Faldarin began, his brow creased in thought. “From what you have told me before, Matra, this red dragon intends not only to overrun Ladlian but have all of Althya engulfed in a cataclysmic war of destruction,” he recapped grimly. Matra nodded silently and bowed his head as if ashamed one of his kind could contemplate such a thing. The king regarded the man who was a dragon sympathetically, apart from that short time after he found out what he was. He had always liked and respected Matra and had even on occasion let himself imagine him as the son he never had. The king frowned. It was very easy to think of Matra as a man. Obviously, Emeldra did. He would have to do something about that sooner or later.

  “I still find it hard to believe you are a dragon, Sir Fangdragor,” Doogan was saying, almost echoing the king’s thoughts.

  “Well, Var Firedragor is still fairly new at shapeshifting. I have perfected the technique,” Matra answered, smiling thinly. The king thought Matra’s response a little arrogant and out of character.

  “Maybe that’s it,” said Doogan half to himself. He still did not seem satisfied with Matra’s explanation. The king stood, deciding his next course of action as Doogan and Matra fell silent.

  “We will have to call a meeting of the Grand Council,” the king stated, his expression grim. “Doogan, can your agents in Cyomatro contact the empress, and see if she will come or at least send her first advisor?” the king asked.

  “I will make the arrangements as soon as I leave, Sire,” answered Doogan with a nod.

  “Good. I will send a personal messenger to King Amard in Deryl, which leaves the two factions in Tulata, and the native Tulatans, maybe you can help us there, Matra?” The king frowned in thought as he spoke.

  “I’ll contact mother, she will help. Can I ask what this Grand Council is?” Matra replied, brushing a hand through his hair.

  “I forget you aren’t familiar with human politics,” began the king, half smiling. “It’s a meeting of heads of countries to sort out disagreements and the like, to put it simply. If we can get some consensus, we may foil the red dragon’s plans before he can put them into action,” explained the king.

  “And if you can’t?” Matra asked simply.

  “Then at worst Ladlian will be overrun and maybe parts of Cyomatro and Tulata, before they could regroup and mobilise their armies,” replied the king tersely. “No one will take Ladlian while I live though,” he added forcefully.

  “Ladlian will not fall, this I promise on my own life, Your Majesty,” returned Matra in a tone that made his voice commanding. Both the king and Doogan stared at Matra in silence.

  Then Doogan spoke into the quiet. “I’ll second that, Sire.” Doogan’s gaunt features cracked into an ironic smile.

  Daylight broke cold and grey snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the castle and its grounds with a fluffy white powder. Emeldra walked across the courtyard, her footsteps crunching in the snow as she made her way to the remote part of the eastern wing were the Paenalir prisoners were held. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders shivering in the cold air. Since the Paenalirs arrived at the castle, she had spent a good part of her time with them trying to teach them Ladlian. Emeldra found it hard to associate the captives kept under close guard with the race of hated barbaric slavers they belonged too.

  Two sturdy guards stood outside the room where the captives stayed, with two more inside. The room was a previously abandoned hall and although quite a large space, was still cramped. Inside a fire burned in an open hearth against the far wall. The Paenalirs looked at Emeldra with faces mingled with awe and fear except for the two older boys, who remained defiant.

  Emeldra had concentrated her main efforts on the young woman Sir Halwain had said tried to express gratitude on the way back from the desert. She had a small boy and girl whose ages Emeldra guessed to be between five and seven. The woman was quick and willing to learn and could already speak several words in Ladlian.

  “Good morning, Jilena,” said Emeldra, addressing the woman, smiling brightly. From what she could assertion Jilena was the nearest interpretation in Ladlian to the woman’s name. Jilena rose and bowed awkwardly.

  “Goo—Goo-ad m-morn-ning, P-Princess.” Jilena stumbled over the words the last coming out in a rush.

  “Well done, Jilena. You’ve been practising hard, I see,” Emeldra encouraged, still smiling. Jilena beamed back and brushed a strand of straw-coloured hair nervously from her face. The two children giggled and pulled at their mother's skirts. Emeldra tousled the boy’s hair playfully. As she settled herself on a rickety stool to begin teaching, the girl climbed on her knee as the other Paenalirs watched impassively.

  Emeldra’s stomach growled noisily, telling her it must be near time for dinner. She had made good progress with Jilena and some few others. She considered asking her father to let Jilena and her children into the main castle, perhaps even quarter them with Senion. While she considered how to approach her father on the matter, she heard the door open behind her. All the Paenalirs looked towards the door fearfully. Emeldra didn’t have to look round to know it was Matra.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I’ve come to escort you to dinner, Princess,” said Matra as Emeldra stood and turned. Matra walked towards her as all the Paenalirs fell to their knees murmuring fearfully.

  “Any idea what this is all about, Matra?” Emeldra asked, looking around at the cowering Paenalirs. Matra frowned and spoke a few words in Paenalir to one of the older women. The women looked up eyes wide with fear as she answered.

  “I didn’t know you spoke Paenalir,” Emeldra said, a little surprised.

  “Only a little, Your Highness,” replied Matra, facing the princess.

  “Well, what did she say?” Emeldra asked, regarding Matra expectantly.

  “Well, you know Paenalirs regard dragons like gods?” Emeldra nodded as Matra continued, “Well, they think me one of the higher gods, something to do with being sent to punish the lesser gods’ folly from what I could gather,” Matra said. Glancing around, he noticed a little girl cowering at Emeldra’s feet.

  “Kiame, don’t be afraid.” Emeldra bent down and stroked the girl’s blonde hair gently. Matra reached down and lifted the girl up into his arms. She struggled briefly. “Don’t be afraid he will not hurt you,” Emeldra spoke reassuringly. The girl’s mother came sobbing and fell at Matra’s feet.

  “P—P-lease, drag—on, no take Kiame,” Jilena pleaded. Matra looked at Jilena sympathetically and set the girl down beside her mother. Jilena hugged the girl close and gave Matra a look of awed gratitude. Matra felt embarrassed by Jilena’s gratitude as they left and met Jason and Senion on their way to the dining hall.

  Several more days past, each one colder than the last. With a little help from Matra and Senion Emeldra had persuaded her father to bring Jilena and her children into the main castle.

  Empress Vella Maya sat on the gold throne, frowning as she considered what the Ladlian spy had told her. For the man to compromise his position meant they considered the situation grave indeed. She had her problems with rebellions in the east. There had been rumours of troubles in Deryl as well. Of course, she had her spy at Castle Talmon though she had not heard from him since the castle was attacked. She had to assume that he was either killed in the attack or badly wounded and unable to send a message.

  There was no love lost between herself and King Faldarin, but she respected the man as a worthy opponent. She would have to send First
Advisor Raemalis. The man was a born sceptic and only believed what he could see and prove with his own eyes. Like most of her subjects, he did not even believe in dragons. She had not believed it herself until she saw one close up. That had been a long time ago now, and it seemed like it had been another person, not herself that had stared into the maw of a huge dragon. The dragon’s eyes rooted her to the ground she stood on as it looked her up and down as if considering whether to eat her or not, or maybe it was looking for something she would never know. Then it had simply let her go and had flown away. She had nightmares for years after but no longer—that is, until recently. A small cough nearby made her look up; Natam Raemalis bowed in front of her.

  “You sent for me, oh Empress of Cyom, Light of the World—”

  “Oh do stop, Raemalis, I don’t have time for all this formality,” the empress interjected, her tone exasperated. Raemalis looked mortified; his face reddened as he came to a stammering halt. Maya glowered; the man was a stickler for formality. Not for the first time, she considered sending her daughter-heir instead of Raemalis. Casandra was eager to go, never having been far from home before, but she could not risk her only heiress on such a journey; besides, she was too inexperienced.

  Despite his shortcomings, Raemalis was an experienced and competent negotiator and capable of upholding the best interests of Cyomatro at the council. After having explained the situation and sending Raemalis packing to make preparations Maya went to her chambers, she felt a headache coming on after having to browbeat the man over the urgency of the situation practically. He still believed it some trick by the Ladlian’s to get Cyomatro to help them with their domestic problems with the Paenalirs. She knew King Faldarin better than that, the man wouldn’t even think of calling a meeting of the Grand Council unless the matter was most serious indeed.