by Sam Ferguson
Siravel glanced at everyone and then settled a questioning gaze on Teratheal.
Teratheal noted the high queen’s stare and bowed her head. “I know you believe I have treacherous designs, so I worked with Forlean to root out any additional atorats. For the past several months our efforts had been fruitless, but when we found this nest, we attacked. Forlean went in with the hunters and he discovered Bildruf inside. This is the traitor.”
“Can this be true?” Siravel asked as she moved down to eye Bildruf. The dwarf yelped and covered his face from the high queen’s gaze.
“He made me think he died honorably!” Algearon shouted. “The severed hand holding the cheese in the nursery belonged to a different dwarf, someone he had dug up from a recent grave. He has no respect for the law, or for tradition. He threw in his lot with the festering atorats!”
“Enough!” Geldryn bellowed. All in the room bent their faces to the ground. Geldryn reached forward and seized Bildruf around the waist. “I will form the connection and uncover the truth of this for myself!” The king used the foretalon of his left leg to pry Bildruf’s hands away from his eyes. Then he locked gazes with the dwarf and formed the connection.
Gorliad watched as Bildruf went into a trance-like state for many minutes. His father emitted low growls, and Gorliad could see glowing fire deep behind the black scales of the king’s chest. Something was very, very wrong.
Finally the king dropped Bildruf. The dwarf fell several meters and landed wrong. Snap! His right ankle folded under him and he cried out in pain. Algearon pulled his sword.
“Sire, I beg for the honor to slay this traitor. Please, it was my error that he ever had access to the nursery.”
Geldryn nodded.
Algearon moved in. Bildruf blubbered and held up a hand to shield himself. Algearon hacked through the upheld arm and down through the limb to strike deeply into Bildruf’s neck. The traitor twitched and then was no more. Algearon jerked his sword free, wiped it across the front of Bildruf’s dirty tunic and then slid it back into place.
“If my death would please thee, it is yours to take,” Algearon said. “I should have discovered the traitor before he attacked.”
Geldryn shook his head. “Algearon, your service is true, and there is no fault in you. Now go to the surgeon as I told you before. Have your wounds dressed, Royal Hatcher.”
Algearon nodded and removed himself from the grand hall.
Geldryn then took in a deep breath and let out an immense roar that shook the entire mountain. A trio of greater dragons entered from the arch that led to the king’s chamber. Two more entered from the main tunnel. The king looked to them. “Bring me Belindal. She is a traitor to the mountain.”
The dragons galloped out from the chamber. Forlean, Teratheal, and Siravel all bowed their heads low. Only Gorliad kept his head up. He was too curious to remember his manners before the king. A short time later the five sentries walked in with Belindal in their midst.
The orange and yellow queen looked to Siravel, then to Teratheal, then back to Geldryn. “What is this?” she asked. “What have these two scheming dams accused me of?”
Geldryn pointed with a single talon to Bildruf’s broken body. “It is not the queens who have discovered you, but I.”
Belindal trembled visibly. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The five sentries moved to stand behind her. Two moved in and grabbed her by the wings, forcing her down before Geldryn. The king moved in close. He pulled Belindal’s neck straight by slipping two talons beneath her jaw and drawing her head out as far as possible. Then he pressed her head down to the stone.
“Belindal, you conspired with Bildruf to destroy the crowned egg while it lay in the nursery. Do you deny it?”
Belindal whimpered.
Siravel sat back on her haunches, and raised her head. Gorliad could see fire issuing out from her nostrils with every breath. Teratheal moved off to the side, as did Forlean and his drake.
Geldryn twisted his neck, cracking and popping the joints. “When that attack was foiled, you sought to build up a new nest in the hopes of slaying my hatchling son. Do you deny it?”
Belindal was quiet. Her yellow eyes went to Gorliad. The young hatchling felt a mixture of anger and sorrow toward the traitor. Having not seen what his father saw from Bildruf, he was left only with his father’s word that Belindal was a traitor. Yet, the lack of her denial gave rise to an anger within him that thirsted for her blood as recompense.
The king lifted his head up high and took a deep breath. “Belindal, you have forsaken the traditions and laws of the dragon. You sought to slay the crown prince, and you succeeded in murdering other unhatched eggs. You are hereby sentenced to death.” Geldryn moved down in one swift bite and snapped the queen’s neck. Her body went limp and the sentinels released her wings. Geldryn looked to the greater dragons and then motioned for them to carry away the body. “Carry her beyond the borders, and then dump her body for the wolves. Her meat is not fit for any creature within my kingdom.” The king walked back toward his hallway and stopped near Siravel. He glanced from Siravel to Teratheal, and then back to the high queen. “Siravel, let your quarrel with Teratheal end here. Her teeth have no blood upon them.”
Gorliad watched as Geldryn disappeared through the arch. Siravel exited to her chamber shortly thereafter. Forlean and Teratheal waited for the sentries to drag Belindal’s body out before leaving the chamber.
He stood there, staring at Bildruf’s body for some time. Knowing that there had been a traitor in their midst sullied all of Algearon’s teachings. What good were tradition, law, and the common goals of the mountain if they could still be corrupted?
When Gorliad finally returned to the upper nursery, he found Algearon smoking from his pipe and drinking deeply from his pewter mug. The two did not speak that night. They both ate quietly after the meat was brought up. Gorliad even set the fire in the hearth himself, taking the duty from Algearon. As Gorliad lay down to sleep, he noticed that Algearon did not stay in his rocker as usual. This night he went to the bed, and buried himself under the blankets. Gorliad couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard the sound of a crying coming from the bed.
As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks became months, the pain of the incident lessened and the mood of the mountain returned to normal. Gorliad went about his training as usual, though his father had assigned two greater dragon sentries to accompany him at all times now. Algearon also insisted on being ever present, personally watching over him at every session.
As time passed, Gorliad again began to excel in his training. He soon became the talk of all the mountain. Some called him the new hope, while others spun songs about his future conquests and his brilliant destiny to become a king of kings, and ruler over many lands. Gorliad’s father and mother grew closer together in accordance with their pride in him. Even Teratheal ceased to be a bother to the high queen. Everything was as it should be, and Gorliad was as happy as ever he wished.
Unfortunately, it was not to last. The strings of fate that pulled Gorliad toward his destiny weaved a tapestry for his life that was about to become much darker.
Chapter 13
Twenty-three years later, Gorliad sat perched upon a rock outcropping on the southern side of the mountain. The warm summer breeze teased his wings and caressed his face and neck.
“Will today be the day?” Algearon asked as he finished the hike up to where Gorliad sat.
Gorliad stretched his wings as far as they would reach, casting a shadow over the dwarf. “If not today, then one day,” Gorliad replied.
“Your optimism is admirable,” Algearon said as he turned to survey the vast expanse of green valley. He could see a pair of lesser dragons waiting in the valley, just in case. “That has been your response every day for the past two months.”
“I am not easily discouraged. I am a dragon. I am made to rule the skies.”
“So it is that simple?” Algearon asked. He turned back to
Gorliad and reached out to take the leathery membrane of Gorliad’s wing in between his fingers.
“It is precisely that simple. One day, whether today or a month from now, I shall fly so high that I will cast a shadow over the valley that covers all who stand therein.”
“Now you are boasting,” Algearon said with a wink. “Well, alright then, Future King, launch off from this rock and show me the shadow you will cast upon the valley.”
Gorliad stood from off his haunches and used his keen sight to pick a path down the slope. A talon on his right foreleg tapped nervously on the granite. The wind picked up, as if in answer to Algearon’s challenge to Gorliad. The burgundy dragon tensed his wings and arched his back and tail. He beat the wind down with two test flaps of his wings. The wind felt almost solid under him.
“It’s like swimming,” Algearon said. “You just pull a bit of the air toward you with your wings and the rest will take care of itself. Easy as falling off a log.”
Gorliad looked to Algearon. “Poor choice of metaphors,” he said.
“Well, as easy as swimming, then,” Algearon corrected quickly.
Gorliad cocked his head to the side with a slight grin across his lips. “Dwarves can’t swim.”
Algearon bristled and folded his arms. “A dwarf is not expected to swim. A dragon on the other hand, is expected to fly.”
Gorliad let out a throaty chuckle and shook his head. “If I glide down to the valley today, then you will learn how to swim.”
The dwarf shook his head. “My job is to make you into a future king. Geldryn cares not if I sink like a rock in a lake.”
“Afraid of a friendly wager?”
“A dragon has no friends,” Algearon said.
Gorliad balked at the words and looked down to the dwarf. “But, you are my friend.”
Algearon shook his head. “I am here because tradition and law demand it. That is a fact of all dwarves. We exist to serve. Without our service, our existence becomes meaningless. Without the protection offered by the dragons in return for our service, our survival is impossible.”
Gorliad stopped and stared into Algearon’s eyes. He focused all of his mind on the dwarf’s deep, dark brown orbs. He sent out the tendrils of energy, as his mother had shown him, trying to establish the connection. He felt the same warm sensations cross over his brow as he had before. Algearon’s pupils dilated, a sign that the connection was taking hold.
Algearon looked away, severing the connection and leaving Gorliad with a slight ache in his head. “You have to be of keener mind than the subject you wish to create the connection with,” Algearon said sharply. “I have many centuries on you, hatchling, and I know a trick or two yet that you do not.”
“Or you could let me in,” Gorliad corrected. “What are you hiding in that head of yours?”
“I am not hiding anything,” Algearon said. “However, I expect you to earn your way to new abilities. I will not simply hand it to you. What good would that serve in the long scheme of time?”
“Ah,” Gorliad said. “So you do care about me then.”
“Rubbish,” Algearon scoffed. “I do it because to do any less would be insufficient training for a future king. Everything I do comes back to tradition and law.”
“No friends at all?” Gorliad probed.
“What friends may a king have?” Algearon replied sharply. “A king has subjects. Some are loyal, some are not. A king has family, some are true, and some are not. However, a friend is a relationship born outside of necessity. The very traditions and laws that comprise the kingdom of a dragon deny friendships from forming. All dragons are beholden to the high king. From there stems an extremely rigid hierarchal society and system of rule. To use a term you will fully understand, our society is in fact, at its very core draconian. The high king may have created a clan of dwarves, but we are created as servants only. As such, we have for ourselves set out a fairly rigid system of hierarchies that directly mirror and reflect those of the dragon kingdom. Even among the dwarves friendships are rare. Tradition and law are ever at odds with a being’s avarice and ambition. While these facts of life exist, there can be no friends, especially not for a king.”
“Those are harsh words,” Gorliad commented.
“Life is harsh,” Algearon replied. “Each station and office has its trials, and a dragon king has more than his fair share. So the faster you get the notion of friends out of that head of yours, the better off you will be.”
Gorliad grinned. “When I am king, perhaps things shall be different.”
Algearon shook his head vehemently. “Tradition and law are what our society is built upon. To abolish that would be to destroy your heritage. Such words should not be spoken.”
Gorliad grinned wider. “If ever you should be ready to recognize it, I claim you as a friend, and may the scars on your left shoulder remind you of my claim.”
Algearon bristled and took a step back. His right hand went up to gently touch his left shoulder. The dwarf then shook his head and placed his hands on his hips.
The burgundy dragon laughed. “Nothing to say? That is not like you, dear Algearon.” He looked down the slope and tested the wind again. He leapt from off the rock and beat the wind down with his wings. He rose up into the air, soon level and then above the pines as he brought his mighty wings down. Then he stretched them wide and angled his body to glide down over the slope.
Excitement rushed through his body as he felt the wind rush over him. Then, something happened. He wasn’t sure how, but everything became wrong. Perhaps one of his wings went too low. Maybe he should have flapped one more time before taking to the gliding position. Whatever it was, he dropped from the sky and tumbled down the rocky slope, spewing earth and rock out to the side as his body tore down the mountainside.
From below he heard a pair of roars, and knew that the watching dragons were on their way to assist him. From above, he could hear the cursing shouts of an ever unpleased dwarf. He tumbled end over end for several meters, and then caught himself with his talons digging into the mountain. He stood up and shook the dirt from his skin and then began walking up the slope one more time.
“Another tumble like that and you could damage your wings,” Algearon chided when Gorliad reached the rock outcropping.
Gorliad didn’t say anything. There was a knot in his side and several sore spots along his legs that were sure to grow stiff as the day wore on. He flexed his wings to show that they were alright, and then he leapt back onto the rock.
“You have to feel the wind, move with it, and glide through it,” Algearon said.
Gorliad, for all of his talk of patiently waiting for the magical day when everything fell together and he would soar, was tired of listening to Algearon. “How is it that a dwarf should teach a hatchling to fly when a dwarf has no ability to jump even half its own height into the air?” He flicked his tongue out and wiped a smudge of pine needles from his upper lip and shot Algearon a sour look.
“King Geldryn showed me once,” Algearon replied swiftly, almost as if he had expected the question. “As royal hatcher, he formed the connection with me and allowed me to relive several of his flying memories.”
Gorliad snorted and a puff of orange flame shot out to splat upon the rock. “Still, it would be more logical for him to show me directly, don’t you think?”
Algearon nodded. “I do agree, but with the borders being tense of late, he has been called out on other matters that demand his attention. I stand in his place with you.”
Gorliad stuck his head out and indicated toward the other two dragons, who had just returned to their stations in the valley. “What of them? Surely one of them can show me how it is done.”
“That would go against tradition,” Algearon said. “If the king is unable to teach the crowned hatchling to fly, then it falls to the royal hatcher. Such is our way.” The dwarf folded his arms across his chest. “Besides, it isn’t a matter of simply making the connection and showing you how it is
done. You have to feel it.”
Gorliad shook his head. “I want one of them to come up and show me.”
Algearon moved to stand in front of the young wine-colored dragon and placed his hands out in the air to stop him. “You must not!” Algearon said. “It isn’t proper.”
“I want to fly,” Gorliad replied sternly. “I am supposed to fly. Either you show me what my father showed you, or I go to them and make them show me their flying memories.”
“You would use your size and strength to go around me and trample all of our traditions?” Algearon shouted.
Gorliad slowly brought his head down, so that his eyes came level with Algearon’s. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when a mighty shadow fell over them. He looked up to see Siravel, the red and gold queen. His mother dropped down near them. She looked from Algearon to Gorliad and then a slight smile turned her lips upward.
“My queen,” Algearon greeted with a gracious bow. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
She spoke in a soothing, soft tone. “I came to see how Gorliad progresses in his flying.”
Algearon shifted and fidgeted with his beard. “Well, he advances, somewhat… each day there is progress!”
“I still can’t fly,” Gorliad said bluntly. “I just fell after gliding for maybe a third of the slope. I will master it though, and soon.”
“Ah,” Siravel said as she looked down the slope and nodded her large, horned head. “Have you asked one of the other dragons to show you how it is done?”
“That is not permitted,” Algearon said quickly. “Tradition holds that –”
Siravel switched her tail behind her impatiently and a puff of blue flame silenced the dwarf. “I will show you,” she said.
“But, your majesty, that is not the way it is done.”
“True it may be that others outside the royal line and not occupying the office of royal hatcher are not to intervene with flying, there is nothing in our traditions that prevents the queen from doing so,” she countered.
