by Jada Fisher
They danced in silence for a few minutes after that, the ballad ending and going into another slow one. They were content to just enjoy each other’s presence. They’d both almost died on their mission, and as knights, they’d go on many more where their lives would be in peril. These moments together… They’d be precious.
Marcella brought her hands to his cheeks and made him look at her. “You were very brave out there. That spirit could have killed us all, but you beat it.”
“I did what I had to do, what any knight would have done,” he said, shrugging off the praise. He wasn’t used to praise and compliments, even when they were warranted. It made his skin itch.
“Maybe, but you still did it. Thank you, Dorrick.”
She leaned up and brushed her lips against his.
A tingle shot down his spine as gooseflesh suddenly ran along his limbs and made all the hairs stand straight up in the best way. He had not expected this.
It wasn’t against the rules to become romantically involved with other knights, though it was frowned upon. They always preached that the heart and soul should be to the cause, in helping people and defending their great city. Having a romance could be a distraction. Or so they were taught. Still, it wasn’t against the rules. His father wouldn’t approve, which was hypocritical since he had sired Dorrick after all. He’d loved once too.
Those things went through his head as Marcella kissed him and pulled back, but he didn’t care about any of them.
Her cheeks blazed red. “Oh… Oh, I shouldn’t have done that. I— Sorry, I shouldn’t—”
Before she could say anymore, Dorrick kissed her himself, which felt as good as he thought it would. He felt her stiffen then subsequently melt in his arms. Her lips tasted of the honey mead that they’d both been drinking.
When he pulled away from her, he leaned his forehead against hers. She let out a breath. “Oh.”
“No need to apologize,” he whispered.
“I can see that,” she whispered back with a shy smile.
The song ended. People clapped for the troupe. Then they started another song, this one a fast-paced ode to battle that got everyone whooping and hollering. Knights and squires streamed back into the middle of the room, ready to sing the melody, but Dorrick didn’t join them. Marcella grabbed him by the arm and pulled him from the Great Hall.
They ran giggling down the halls, in the direction of the woman’s dormitories, but they hardly made it halfway there before Marcella grew impatient and pulled him into a shady alcove and kissed him again. And again, and again, and again.
Until their whole night was kisses and laughter and joy.
Dorrick was happy. And he didn’t want any of this to end.
8
Bishta
The portal sent her to a place where Bishta the Black had not expected, but nonetheless worked out in her favor: Ragvarral, or as it was usually translated, Land of the Scales. Also known as Land of Dragons.
The most beautiful and most terrifying place in the world. Bishta loved it.
Dragons came in all shapes and sizes, all backgrounds. Some were no bigger than a wolf, but the largest could blot out the sun and were bigger than even the greatest ships that sailed the seas. Dragons, as a species, were incredibly intelligent. Some would say that they were the most intelligent species. And they spoke of course.
Heck, deep within Bishta’s sage memories, she could see what she would only describe as a philosophy lesson being taught in an amphitheater by a large brown dragon with golden dorsal spikes and red whiskers.
She always loved to converse with the ones who could speak, which was a great deal of them.
Of course, the human stories about dragons hoarding gold and killing and burning everything they saw weren’t totally untrue. Dragons, thankfully, lacked the raw greed and ambitions that humans had. They were content to stay mostly to their island, but many roamed the wilds to the south, raining terror from above. Bishta had long ago heard that dragons who stayed in the Spirit Wilds would revert to a mindless, bestial state. Bishta couldn’t imagine that sort of hell, losing your mind and intelligence. Probably where the stories came from. Once dragons left their homeland, they became twisted by the world around them. For the ones that did hoard gold greedily, well… Bishta blamed the humans for that.
But she was getting ahead of herself.
When she first came through the portal, she couldn’t see a thing. She was in a pitch-black cave, one that left her with no sense of direction. The place was powerful and ancient, just as the basement in the great Library of Anganar had been. When Bishta emerged from the portal, she felt nauseous, uneasy, her head spinning. The trip had lasted a second and had been as simple as walking through an open door. And yet, the power of the portals took their toll.
She took one step, then another, before she fell to her knees, her head pounding. It took all her willpower to fight back the urge to vomit. Her throat burned from the bile trying to force its way up, but she kept it down.
I forgot how much of a pain portals are, she thought with a scowl.
True, portals were very convenient when you found one, though they only spit you out to their sister portal and nowhere else, and they left you feeling drained. So if you didn’t have any knowledge, you could be put in some random location feeling like death.
Luckily, Bishta was a sage, and as such was equipped to deal with situations like these.
She took a few deep breaths and steadied herself until the nausea and the headache passed. When they did, she ran a hand through her hair and sighed. Now I just need to figure out where I am.
It didn’t help that she was in complete darkness, save for the dim glow of the portal behind her, which did little to illuminate the space. But she knew she was in a cave, which meant she was probably deep underground, accompanied by who knew what manner of creatures. Bad things lived in caves. She was a sage, but a bear or a troll could kill her just as simply as they could a regular human.
Bishta lacked the knowledge or ability to conjure flames, whether they be for light, warmth, or combat, but magelight was another matter altogether. She muttered a spell and the tip of her iron staff suddenly flared to life in silvery light.
Her suspicions were correct—she was in a cave—and it was very deep. The top of the cavern was so high that it was beyond the range of her light. Thankfully, as she walked and turned her staff around her, there didn’t seem to be any signs of less-than-friendly creatures. That didn’t mean there wouldn’t be any in the other parts of the cave, but she got the sense that this place was abandoned.
It was ancient, like the library, a place of old power, primal. Nothing came down here. She couldn’t stay, so she cracked her toes against the moist floor and started out.
The cave was long and winding, with so many twists and turns that after an hour, Bishta was sure she was lost. Up and down, left and right, she had no sense of which direction she was going, and there wasn’t a spell that could help her.
She was about to turn right back around and go back to the portal—if she could even find it—when there was distant roar, one that had to be from outside. With renewed hope, she followed the sound. Still, the cave wound and wound, but the roar came again and this time, it was louder.
Her path curved and sloped up until she came across what had to be steps. Not natural but made by man or some other race from the world’s past. She took them two at a time, eager to be free of the dark and the damp. It went straight up, steep and slick. Going on forever, for so long that her legs tired and groaned and sweat dappled her skin and her lungs ached and heart pounded. How deep am I? Much too deep. Several times, she slipped, fell back on the steps, and banged her knees on the cold stone. Which made her curse worse than the sailors that frequented the ports of the great human cities.
But finally, finally, she saw a glimpse of light ahead. The roar sounded again, so close now, like a beacon, beckoning her forward. Closer and closer. She smiled. She was almost there.
Twenty more steps. Ten, nine, five, four…
Three, two, one.
Bishta the Black burst forth from the cave, out of breath and out of sorts, and lost her breath completely when she glimpsed the land around her.
The world was a blaze of fire, the sky orange. Volcanoes littered the horizon, and fire geysers dotted the landscape like fireflies in the night.
The roar sounded again, this time so loud and so close that Bishta yelped and jumped, something she was ashamed of. She was a sage after all, she had to be strong, resolute, fearless. But in that moment, she failed on those fronts. Her heart screamed and nearly gave out on her.
She found the source of the roar. On the nearest peak, maybe a quarter-mile away in the valley, perched a mighty dragon, with green scales and yellow whiskers running down its snout like a beard.
She’d been right. This was Ragvarral, the Land of Dragons.
The volcanoes rumbled in the distance as lava flowed in rivers of fire. A high dragon as large as a galleon flew overhead, red-brown scales glinting in the light, each flap of its wings like a thunderclap.
Though she’d spoken to dragons before, Bishta had never been to the Land of Dragons, at least not in her current incarnation. She had memories of past sages. Fields of golden grass and mountains and cities that glittered like crystal, the ancient cities of the dragons. Here, though, was the Valley of Fire, the range of volcanoes at the center of Ragvarral.
Her feet were bare, but she spoke a spell that made them like iron. Setl’no iroh. Her feet turned black and shiny, and felt like they weighed a ton, which she supposed they did. With that out of the way, she straightened her cloak, tightened the straps of her packs, and hiked down the mountain.
The Valley of Fire was as terrifyingly beautiful as she’d heard. The skies were alight with reds and golds and oranges, when they weren’t choked by smoke. Small fire sprites bounced around a nearby lava pool, their squeals and toothless smiles sounding of pure whimsy as they hopped around like rabbits. Far in the distance, titanic magma giants lumbered between the fiery peaks, each footstep sending tremors out for miles. The dragon nearby kept a watchful eye over them. Dragons and giants did not get along.
As beautiful as it was, the air was thick with smoke, and the heat was stifling and threatened to choke her. Before long, Bishta was drenched in sweat. It would have been more comfortable to walk completely naked, but of course she didn’t do that.
She had to find civilization, or at least one of the sapient dragons. The next stage of her plans was far away, and she would need a ride.
For hours, Bishta walked through the ash and soot and dried magma. Her limbs wobbled from exhaustion, and leaning on her staff did little to alleviate her fatigue. Sweat dripped off her like she was a leaky faucet, and it was so hard to breathe with the smoke and the heat. Despite wrapping her cloak around her mouth, it still felt like every labored breath was clogged with debris.
Finally, though, she came through a skeleton forest of pale white trees—like bony fingers reaching for the heavens—and found a flat field covered in shimmering gold-red grass. In the fields frolicked small drakons the size of horses, perhaps a bit bigger. None of them had wings, all with golden whiskers and mighty tusks that curled out beyond their lips. One might think they were wild and dangerous, but the caves along the valley walls—lined with polished stones and mosaics—told her that these were intelligent.
As she came to the edge of the field, she stumbled and fell to her knees in a huff. She couldn’t go any further.
Curse these feeble human legs, she thought with a grimace, then laughed. If only I could fly like these dragons.
The young drakons noticed Bishta immediately and stopped their play. As four of them stayed in the grass, their long necks peeking out over the top, two others strode toward the sage, eyes in suspicious slits.
The first was bigger than the others, copper scales glinting almost red in the sunlight. Two scars ran its face, with one eye a milky white, blinded. The other was smaller, with almost iridescent gold-and-peach scales. Small spinal feathers ran the length of them. A female, perhaps? Bishta had a hard time recalling basic dragon anatomy in her state.
The large one spoke, its voice deep and grating and painful to the ears. Bishta spoke many dialects of dragon tongue, but this one alluded her. It cocked its head, obviously awaiting an answer. She shook her head.
“I do not speak that dialect,” she said in the High Tongue, “but I speak the High Tongue, if you do.”
A rumble escaped from the smaller drakon. Its lips curled into a smile. “A human that speaks it? How interesting.” They sounded female, but genders could be tricky with dragon kind, that much Bishta could remember.
The other huffed, a bit of steam escaping its nose. These were fire-breathers, it seemed. “Not as interesting as a human being in Urhgenfye.”
Bishta wiped the sweat from her forehead, then used her staff to rise to her feet. Despite her best efforts, she was shaky. As intelligent as the higher dragons were, the lower ones often looked upon displays of weakness with disgust. She needed their help and needed to be in their good graces.
“I am Bishta the Black, Sage of the Dark,” she said, inclining her head. “I have come here seeking assistance.”
Her words reverberated over the field like a shockwave. The drakons all looked at one another, whispering. The implication of what she said had weight. The large drakon before her snorted, flames licking the edge of its mouth.
“How do we know you speak the truth? What’s stopping me from burning you to a crisp right now?”
The smaller one snorted. “Your brain must be addled, Jel-Gur. She’s radiating with magic. Only the high ones feel like this.”
He growled at her. “Her magic smells wrong.”
“I am the Sage of the Dark. I deal in death and spirits. I don’t know what you want me to smell like.”
“Do not mind my grumpy friend, Madam Sage,” said the other one. “I am Runa-Val. How may I serve you?”
Bishta sighed, relief flooding over her. She let herself fall to the ground, the need to impress no longer so strong. “Thank you, Runa-Val, it is a pleasure. In the short term, food and water would be appreciated. But what I really need is a ride. I seek passage to the Forgotten Continent.”
Jel-Gur growled. “Why do you mean to go there?”
She frowned at him, no longer as timid as she was a moment ago. “My business is my own, drakon.”
He didn’t like that response one bit. He looked like he wanted to bite her head off and roast her for dinner, but before he got the chance, Runa-Val head butted him and growled, tufts of steam wafting from their nostrils.
“Control yourself,” she growled. He listened. Runa returned her gaze to the sage while the angry drakon sauntered away, grumbling to himself as he trudged back into the grass. “Apologies, Sage. Let me take you to our high one.”
She lowered her neck so Bishta could climb atop. Bishta really didn’t want to move anymore, but she couldn’t rightly stay there, so she gritted her teeth, used her staff again as a crutch, and pushed herself to her feet. It took much more effort than she’d prefer to admit. The drakon’s head thankfully could lower a lot easier than a horse’s, so it was easy for her to climb aboard.
They entered the tall grass. “Keep your legs tucked tight against me,” Runa-Val said. “This is tyrlele. It will burn a human’s skin at the touch. Good thing you collapsed where you did.”
Bishta let out a breath. “Yeah, good thing.”
Fire grass. It was a rare plant, not seen outside of the Land of Dragons. It was coveted the world over by alchemists and apothecaries for its many interesting properties. Brewing it in a tea was said to cure all manner of illnesses. Smoking it could allow one to see at night. Eating it… Well, that would just burn your mouth. There were numerous other potions that could be made with it. Bishta had also heard that if one boiled it into a resin and then crystalized that and smoked it, it could
create an incredible high. She didn’t dabble in such things, but it was good to stay informed.
All in all, fire grass may have been the most sought-after plant on earth. It also happened to be in the most dangerous place in the world for humans. Dragons, even the high ones, did not like humans coming to take resources from their land.
Runa-Val strode gracefully over the fire grass, so Bishta didn’t have to worry. They took her through the fields as the other drakons looked on. Larger, winged dragons flew overhead, also looking down on her. Both were much bigger than these smaller drakons, though neither were a high dragon.
As they reached the end of the fire grass, Runa-Val asked, “So how did you come to be in the Land of Dragons? You don’t exactly look like you packed for such a place.”
The sage smiled wryly. “Not at all. I came through a portal. There’s one in the mountains south of here. Much too small for any greater drakon such as yourself to enter though. I didn’t know it would take me to the Valley of Fire. Otherwise, I would have worn a few more layers.”
Her drakon steed laughed, which was an odd sound. It was rare for anyone to hear a dragonkind laugh. “That explains it.”
Bishta nodded. She liked this drakon.
Thankfully, her escort didn’t pry into her business. They stayed silent for the rest of the way. Before long, they reached the edge of valley, where a massive peak overlooked it. Steps wound up and around the rocky surfaces, some disappearing around corners, others ending in massive archways leading into the mountain. A few even reached for the peaks, where Bishta could see structures high atop the mountain through the clouds.
“Our high one is up there,” Runa said, inclining her neck at the large building in the sky. “I will take you to him.”
“Thank you.”
They started their climb.
Bishta looked back as they got higher and higher, looking out over the Valley of Fire in the distance and the nearby peaks. Some of them had caves and buildings on them, while others were bare. As sophisticated as dragons were, they were more of a tribal people, living in small, secluded valleys, or even single peaks, each usually watched over by a single high dragon. Very rarely did dragons live together in cities the way humans did.
