by Sam Ferguson
Siravel was waiting inside, obviously still upset. Her tail twitched on the floor and she was tapping one of her talons on the stone. Algearon was seated on the far end of the chamber, his nose buried in a book.
“Our son took a bear,” Geldryn announced proudly. “He has done more than any hatchling prince before him.”
Gorliad bounded around to look at his mother. “I also conquered the swimming pool by the entrance.”
Siravel’s mouth fell slack and she watched as Geldryn dropped the bear onto the stone. Then she looked back to Gorliad. “You swim?” she asked. “But that is very early,” she noted.
“Two years early, to be precise,” Geldryn said, his smile nearly dripping with pride. “Our son is a mighty one, and eager to advance!”
Siravel’s features softened and she smiled wide. “Then let us split the feast, as is tradition,” she said. The three of them shared the she-bear raw sparing only the hide and bones.
Once they finished, Gorliad looked up to his father. “May I continue swimming?” he asked.
“No!” Algearon shouted from his rocking chair. “Tradition states that a dragon should not begin swimming until he is of age.”
Geldryn scraped a claw on the stone. “In this instance, we shall make an exception. He shows talent, much more than any other students currently out there. Perhaps the Aurorean has blessed him with this strength. If that is the case, then we cannot deny him the opportunity to develop it fully.”
Algearon sighed and folded his arms. “By your command.”
Siravel spoke up. “What shall his rotation be now?”
Geldryn nodded thoughtfully. “Ceadryl has taught you hunting. You may continue to work with him one day out of seven. The following day you will work with Leadryn, he is a very experienced dragon warrior and will teach you the ways of combat. The following day will be spent with Timean, a dwarf scholar of war history. The next day will be spent with Simeon, a dwarf with unsurpassable knowledge of the plants and animals found in this kingdom, and in the wilds beyond. On the fifth day you will work with Rathim, our Master Engineer. On day six you will work with Rathim’s brother, Haytham. Haytham is our marshal, and second only to the general. He will teach you in dwarven battle formations and tactics. On the seventh day you will spend the entire time with Algearon, and he will go over lessons as he sees fit to make sure you advance properly to each new level of skill and expertise until you are ready to ascend to the prince’s chamber, where I will complete your training and prepare you to become a king.”
Algearon cleared his throat and approached. “My king, shall I ask Leadryn to assign drones as Gorliad’s sparring partners?”
Geldryn grinned. “Drones?” he asked sarcastically. “The prince has bested a she-bear in combat. Instruct Leadryn to assign drakes.” Geldryn then looked down to Gorliad and grinned widely. “And Algearon,” he said.
“Yes my king?”
“Make sure to take the prince swimming on the seventh day.”
Algearon frowned, but bowed his head and promised that he would.
And so the weeks and months rolled by. Gorliad progressed in his training and instruction. Though his progress was somewhat slower with some of the duller subjects, he continued to excel with hunting, fighting, and of course, swimming.
Chapter 12
A few months later, on Seventhday, Gorliad and Algearon made their usual trek down to the pool. Algearon had finished with his lessons on managing the jewel mines, and Gorliad was more than anxious to get back to the pool.
The young dragon raced on ahead of Algearon. The dwarf began to shout and fret as he always did, but Gorliad did not listen to him. He just raced on toward the pool. When he arrived, he found his usual swimming mates there already. Three of them were in the water, and two more were on the bank basking in the sun next to the green dragon, Sorin, the swimming instructor.
Gorliad leapt up high into the air and tucked his tail beneath him, almost rolling himself into a ball as he splashed down into the cool depths. He came up over the surface a moment later and spat a mouthful of water back over his head. The streaming jet of water perfectly struck Algearon in the chest just a half a breath after he entered the clearing.
“Won’t you come in?” Gorliad asked. “You’re already wet!”
Algearon’s scowl was more than enough of an answer. Gorliad knew the dwarf hated this time. Many times he had gone on and on about wasting the day on such a frivolous, unprofitable pursuit. Algearon had concluded long ago that if dragons had been meant to spend much time in the water, the Aurorean would have given them gills and made them like the fishes of the seas.
Gorliad paid little attention to the sour dwarf. The other dragons were calling out to play divers, a game where all but one of the dragons would hide underwater as long as they could. The remaining dragon would try to find them. Two points for each dragon found before they came up for air, one point for each dragon after they came up.
It was Gorliad’s favorite game. He never lost. Many times they asked him his secret, but he would never tell. One of the other young dragons went and hid his head behind Sorin. He began to count aloud to twelve. All of the other dragons, including Gorliad, dove beneath the water.
The burgundy hatchling swam to the far side of the pool. He pulled himself under a rock outcropping and into a small cave. He reached forward and grabbed hold of the stalactites inside, drawing himself along with hardly any effort at all. The darkness in the cave helped hide him from any who might be swimming out in the open. Honestly he was surprised none of the others had ever found the cave. Then again, most of them did not dive as deep as he did.
He spun around to watch the cave opening. The trunk of his tail cracked a slender, yet long stalactite free from the ceiling. It floated down to land upon its side at the bottom of the cave. Gorliad looked back to the entrance and watched as one of his swimming mates swam by, the red tail dragging in the water just beyond the cave.
Unwise. Gorliad thought to himself. Why waste so much energy swimming around when you could conserve your air and prolong your time underwater by clinging to something strong enough to hold you in place?
Two minutes passed and it had been a long time since he saw the last dragon swim by.
A flash of orange flame ripped through the water. Silver bubbles sizzled and hissed in the water, boiling up to the surface. That was Master Sorin’s signal that the game was over.
Gorliad crawled along the cave wall and then shot for the surface with all of his might. He broke the water to a hail of cheers, though some of them did sound a bit underwhelming.
“How are you always last to be found?” one of the swimmers asked.
“He lies on the bottom, like a stone,” another answered.
“Not so,” Gorliad replied.
Sorin chimed in, “Whatever the prince’s secret, the victory will be sweet once it is discovered and defeated.”
Gorliad pulled himself up to the bank. “I will never be defeated,” he said proudly. “I am the best.”
“Perhaps we should make this more interesting,” Sorin said. “Let us all hide from the prince, and see if he can find all of us before his breath runs out.”
Gorliad nodded. “I am up for the task.” He moved behind a large oak tree and began to count. He heard the frantic splashing and quick sucking in of breaths as the others scrambled below the surface. Gorliad counted slowly. He wanted this to be fair as possible for the others.
When he reached the number nine, something rattled in the brush nearby. He stopped counting altogether and put his nose to the air as Leadryn had taught him. The odor was foul, and musty. It was not an animal he could recognize, for it was nothing that Simeon had yet shown him.
A chattering click sounded off beyond the opposite bank of the pool, just inside the trees. A similar click-tickity-clack-clack answered it. He knew the call, even if he couldn’t place the scent. Simeon had taught him the call of the atorat.
“Algearon, grab yo
ur sword!” he shouted out.
Algearon brandished a highly polished sword and stood at the ready near the head of the pool. A pair of brown, snarling atorats charged out from the brush toward Gorliad. Each was easily fifty kilograms larger than the she-bear he had taken down a few months prior, but now Gorliad had additional training behind him. He feinted right with his neck, and then shot out with his tail, cracking it across both atorats’ faces. They cowered back and shrieked. One circled right and the other went left. Gorliad leapt to his left and pounced on one of the atorats. He crushed the head down, careful to avoid the snarling fangs. He dug his talons in, piercing through hide and sinew. The other atorat launched after him, as he had expected. He lifted the first atorat up before him like a shield. The second atorat tore into the belly of the first before it realized what had happened. Gorliad dropped the disemboweled creature and then lashed out with a savage back-handed strike that sent the atorat reeling back on its hind legs.
The burgundy dragon twisted his whole body, generating tremendous power for his tail whip. He landed the strike across the atorat’s belly, laying it open and toppling the creature backward, nearly into the pool. Several more of the foul creatures poured into the clearing from the forest. Gorliad blew a stream of fire into the water.
Sorin was the first to ascend. “Gave up without a…” he didn’t finish his words. He launched out from the water and engaged a trio of atorats at once. He snapped one in half, pinned another to the ground with his left foreleg, and slapped one away with an outward strike of his wing.
The other dragons began to surface. They each saw the intruders. They clambered out from the water and worked in pairs to attack the atorats.
Gorliad heard Algearon cry out in pain. He turned to see a pair of atorats upon him. One had the dwarf’s left shoulder in its mouth. Blood coursed down the dwarf’s arm. Gorliad sprinted for the dwarf. He blasted the nearest atorat with a stream of flame that bored a hole clean through the side of its body. The giant rat fell to the ground, smoking and popping like a burnt log.
The second atorat must have realized it would be next. It released Algearon and started to flee. Gorliad was faster. He jumped up and landed on the creature’s back, snapping its spine under his weight and then ripping the head off the twitching body with his right foreleg.
Gorliad turned back around to see the fight had been won. The vermin were all slain. He moved back to Algearon and inspected the dwarf’s arm.
“You’re not lame, I hope,” Gorliad teased.
Algearon arched an eyebrow and made a show of moving his arm all around. “I am still strong and fit,” he replied. “Besides, if I were injured and made lame, I would find the deepest, darkest mine and throw myself from it to finish the job. You won’t see me going lame. That’s a promise.”
Gorliad chuckled. He had only meant to jest with the dwarf, but as of yet, he was unable to draw any humor out from the surly bucket of rules and tradition. “Always sobriety and never any hint of levity,” Gorliad remarked.
“Levity is for the weak,” Algearon scoffed.
Sorin stepped in close. “My prince, are you hurt?”
Gorliad shook his head. “Not a scratch,” he replied. The hatchling looked to the other young dragons. “What about them?” he asked.
“They are well. A couple of small bites, but nothing serious,” Sorin replied. The green dragon looked down to Algearon. “Will you make the report, or shall I?” he asked.
The dwarf snorted. “I will tell him,” he groused. “My prince, swimming time for today is over. We have higher matters to attend to now.”
Gorliad and Algearon walked back toward the mountain. The dragon noted that Algearon winced as he swung his arm, but he didn’t mention it. “I could carry you,” Gorliad suggested.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Algearon said.
“Not out of sympathy,” Gorliad insisted. “It’s just that your legs are short, we could move faster with you upon my back.”
Algearon looked up and shot Gorliad as sour a look as he had ever seen from the dwarf. “It isn’t proper.”
Gorliad turned away and let the suggestion die. The two of them made their way through the hall. Dragons and dwarvescattered before them, bowing to the prince as he walked by. Luckily, both Geldryn and Siravel were in the grand hall when they arrived. The two of them lay in the far corner, near the archway that led up to the king’s personal chamber. Siravel had her head resting upon Geldryn’s shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. Ever since Gorliad had brought back the she-bear as a prize, the king and high queen had become inseparable.
Geldryn raised his head at their approach. His red-speckled brown eyes noted the blood from Algearon’s shoulder and the king rose to his feet. Siravel jerked awake and moved to stand as well. She looked to Algearon, and then quickly scanned over Gorliad.
“What is this?” Geldryn asked.
“My king,” Algearon began.
“Atorats,” Gorliad said before Algearon could finish formally addressing the king. “Attacked while we were at the swimming pool.”
“How many?” Geldryn asked, a throaty growl underscoring his hatred for the foul creatures.
“About a dozen,” Gorliad replied. “All dead now though.”
“They attacked while you were in the pool?” Siravel asked.
Gorliad nodded. “We were playing divers, and I was counting behind a tree. All the others were in the water.”
“Hmm,” Siravel mused. Gorliad knew she was likely thinking of how to blame Teratheal. She had made her distrust of queen Teratheal known some weeks after the incident with the snow leopards. Gorliad was sure she was overly paranoid though. Had there been any substance in the allegation there would have been proof of treachery and Geldryn would have dealt with it long ago.
“Algearon, get yourself to one of the surgeons. Have your wounds properly dressed,” Geldryn commanded.
Algearon bowed and walked out of the chamber. His echoing steps were the only sound until after the dwarf was out from the grand hall.
“We shall assemble the hunters,” Geldryn said. “Who is in charge of them now?” he asked.
Siravel answered. “Forlean is the captain now.”
Geldryn nodded slowly. “Was Hermean’s body ever recovered?”
Siravel shook her head. “No, my king, neither he nor his drake were ever recovered.”
Geldryn tapped a talon on the stone floor. “Perhaps he had found a second nest.” He shook out his neck and then circled around. He looked at Gorliad and smiled. “How many did you kill?” he asked.
Gorliad puffed his chest. “I slew four.”
The king laughed deeply and his grin widened. “Four out of twelve, that is impressive for a hatchling!”
Siravel smiled and stepped in. “How many did Sorin slay?” she asked.
Gorliad thought for a moment. “Three, I believe,” he responded. “The other dragons took the remainder between themselves.
Geldryn’s sides bounced as he laughed heartily. “My son, still a hatchling slew more atorats than a fully mature dragon!”
“I told you he was strong,” Siravel said as she snuggled in close to Geldryn. Geldryn nodded and draped his left wing over Siravel, pulling her in closer to him.
“How is your hunting?” Geldryn asked. “Are you up for sneaking about in an atorat den?”
Siravel pulled away and looked up at Geldryn. “Those dens do not lend themselves to easy maneuvers,” she reminded him. “Even hatchlings can get stuck in the narrow tunnels.”
Geldryn blew a line of smoke out from his nostrils. “Perhaps you are right.”
Gorliad shook his head. “I am not afraid,” he said. “Leadryn has taught me well, and my skills improve every session.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Geldryn said. “But, your mother is right. Hunting atorats is the duty of hunters and their drakes. Better for them to handle the situation.”
Loud steps echoed from the e
ntrance to the grand hall. All three of them turned to look. In came Teratheal, holding something in her clutches. Her knuckles rapped on the stone with each step. Beside her strode a dwarf that Gorliad had not seen before, and he was walking next to a drake that had a saddle upon its back. Gorliad knew it must be a hunter.
Behind the drake fumed a very angry Algearon. Even from this distance Gorliad could see the dwarf’s face was red and he was grumbling.
“What is this?” Siravel asked aloud.
Teratheal bowed her head low in deference, but continued coming in close. Geldryn stepped forward and motioned for Gorliad to step aside. The newcomers stopped a few meters before Geldryn. Gorliad looked down to Teratheal’s closed fist and saw something squirming inside.
The hunter was the first to step forward. “My king, with your permission, I will speak.”
“Speak Forlean,” Siravel snapped impatiently.
Forlean nodded. “Since my brother’s disappearance, I have been looking for additional atorat dens. I found signs of one to the east.”
“Interesting that you found this den so soon after my son was attacked at the pool,” Siravel put in.
Geldryn snorted a flash of flame. “Let him give his report.”
Forlean bowed again. “I must apologize,” he began. “I initiated a raid on the atorat den early this morning. I am afraid that it is my assault on the den that drove the atorats out toward the pool. We arrived perhaps five or ten minutes after they had attacked at the pool. We met with Sorin, and confirmed with him that all of the atorats had been destroyed.”
Algearon pushed Forlean out of the way and pointed at Teratheal’s clenched fist. “It will all make sense once she shows you what she is holding.”
“Show me,” Geldryn commanded.
Teratheal uncurled her talons and revealed a short, fat dwarf.
“Bildruf!” Geldryn bellowed. “You were thought dead!”
“He wasn’t dead, he is the one that brought the first wave of atorats in to the nursery before Gorliad hatched.”
