The Dragon Wrath: Book Two of the Arlon Prophecies

by Randy McWilson

  “Tar’tain?” Arlon repeated. “What’s that? Is that its name? Is that the name of the deserted city?”

  Maggmar clasped his gnarled hands together. “It is well-spoken. Tar’tain.”

  Mogg’s expression darkened. “A cursed city. A…forbidden city, Arlon of the Kla’aven Soteria.”

  Forbidden city?

  “I…see.” Arlon took a breather to collect his thoughts before proceeding with extreme caution. “Do you know what happened there? Where did all the people go?”

  Mogg lost interest.

  Instantly.

  “It is an ill thought.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The soft sounds…were wonderful.

  The tickling smells…equally wonderful.

  Arlon’s well-rested eyes peeled apart ever so slowly, allowing the gentle light permeating the round hut to filter in. There’s was no hurry, no alarm, no fear. Just waking up, naturally. A full belly on the inside and a lack of immediate threats on the outside had proved a potent potion for rest.

  It felt good.

  For the first time—in what seemed a very long time—he didn’t regain consciousness in a dirty hole, or in a musty cave, or in a horrific hurry to merely have the privilege of staying alive for just one more day.

  That felt…strange.

  He had the odd impression that his overnight dreams had been sweet, but even though he tried and tried, he couldn’t recall a single one of them with any lasting certainty. Just fleeting feelings more than firm facts. But regardless of his shallow recollection, even an ordinary dream was a delight compared to the horror and terror that had plagued all of the travelers the night before.

  Arlon stretched, farther and farther until his arms and legs threatened to snap off one at a time. An unexpected yawn overtook him just before he pushed himself up off the too-comfortable long-pillow. His eyes watered as he tried to blink them clear.

  Wow…I’m not tired.

  Two empty long-pillows on the far side of the round hut caught his groggy attention.

  Wow…I’m the last one up.

  But that is okay. He grinned. Arlon of the Kla’aven Soteria.

  Thirty seconds later he took a deep breath and shoved the door wide open, stepping out into the surreal world of Lamillar. Just off to his right Arlon spotted a healthy mix of giggling children (all armed with sticks) rushing about in some sort of game involving a small metal wheel.

  That explains the wonderful sounds.

  A steady column of smoke on his left rose from a skillet suspended above a roaring flame. His nose directed him to several thin strips of pink meat bubbling and sizzling across its hot surface.

  And that explains the wonderful smells.

  I cannot wait to tell mother all about this place! I will finally be able to tell her an incredible story for once.

  It didn’t take long for the awe-inspiring sight of the backside of the expansive waterfall to draw him further out (and gauging by the gawking responses of the Therion milling about, the blond-headed Dunamai must have been a bit of an awe-inspiring sight as well). The morning light pushed through the sparkling white veil, bathing the hidden community with all the diffused light of an overcast day. And yet, for all of its impressive length and obvious power, the wall of water seemed an almost silent guardian. He wanted to venture closer, to enjoy the spray on his face, but there were so many other tempting people and places for his eager eyes to soak in. Arlon wandered among the busy residents in a state of silent fascination.

  That’s when he noticed something.

  There were three of them.

  They matched his speed perfectly and imitated his every move precisely.

  Therion guards. Why am I not surprised?

  It was just like old times, back in Soteria.

  More babysitters.

  He smiled. My bodyguards used to protect me from everyone else. Now, I bet these guys are protecting everyone else…from me! Just the very thought of that strange twist made him laugh out loud.

  A familiar voice shattered the humor of the moment. “It’s about time you got up, you sleepy Soterian!”

  Arlon swiveled to his right just in time to see Paymer and Hort weaving their way through the streams of curious onlookers, with their own six-man Therion security detail in tow.

  “Alaithia is a long, long walk,” Arlon replied as they arrived. “I figured I would store up all the rest I could.”

  Paymer slapped his shoulder. “Walk? Who said anything about walking? Come on, the others are waiting. You gotta see this.”

  _____________________________________

  “And this is only one corral,” Trilyra announced with a suppressed grin as the boys walked up. “Supposedly…they have at least a dozen more just like it.”

  Arlon slowed to a surprised stop and stared at the herd of animals. He squinted at the Princess and then back at Trilyra. “Horses? You’re talking about riding horses? To Alaithia?”

  Trilyra was as giddy as Arlon had ever seen her. “Not just horses,” she boasted, “but big, strong, beautiful horses.” She motioned towards the majestic creatures as they paraded by. The ground shuddered and rumbled beneath their massive hooves. Trilyra hopped up onto the wooden rail and dared to slap one as it trotted past. “These are warhorses. Bred and trained for battle.”

  Arlon ventured closer with some reservation. “And, uh, we are Dunamai…bred and trained to avoid battle. And danger. And large animals. You know…like warhorses.”

  “Come on, Arlon,” Paymer encouraged. “It’s time to live a little, experience something new.”

  “What do you mean ‘experience something new’? That’s all we’ve done since we left Karaval,” Arlon countered. “We’ve had new adventures, new places, new dangers, new foods.” He lowered his voice. “New enemies...and hopefully new friends.” He glanced over at Hort. “Are you actually in favor of this?”

  Hort shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad yesterday. The three of us rode them for hours and hours. It was a lot better than walking everywhere.”

  “See there?” Paymer beamed. “Even the typically tight-lipped Hort from the port approves of the plan. And Mogg was here earlier. He said that we could have the horses. Free of charge. And all the food and supplies we can carry.” He motioned towards the corral. “And these sturdy stallions can carry quite a bit.”

  Trilyra jumped down and brushed the hair out of her eyes. “Sorry. We already took a vote this morning. Just a little while ago, in fact. We’re gonna take horses the rest of the way.”

  He frowned. “You…voted?”

  “Yep, just like we did in the coliseum back at that deserted city. It was your idea, remember?”

  Arlon stared at the ground and bit his bottom lip. “Uh, sure. I remember,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, well anyway, it was unanimous. All five of us voted ‘Yes.’”

  Wait…what? Five? What did she say?

  He glanced up. “All five?”

  She nodded.

  “Five? But how could it be five?” he asked. “I haven’t voted yet. I slept in. I just got here, remember?”

  Trilyra released a small laugh. “Oh, no, no. You’re not the fifth vote. You would make the sixth vote.”

  “Sixth?”

  Trilyra wasn’t budging. “Yes. Six.”

  “Okay…so…when did somebody magically get two votes?” he inquired.

  “Nope. Just one per customer,” she rebutted. “Me, you, Paymer, Hort, the Princess, and Mogg.”

  “Wait a minute…Mogg? Did you say Mogg?” He lowered his voice. “The Vish’tar of the Kla’aven Mogg…that Mogg? The one that almost got his nose broke by you? That Mogg?”

  Everyone immediately nodded.

  “But, I don’t understand,” Arlon protested. “I mean, I get it that they are his horses and all, but, uh, but why does he get a vote?”

  Trilyra shot Mae’Lee a quick nod.

  The Princess grabbed Arlon’s arm and sauntered right out in front of him. She ado
rned her beautiful face with an even more beautiful smile. “There’s something you need to know,” she said before leaning into his ear.

  “It’s a big secret.”

  CHAPTER 22

  Judging by the expressions spread across their normally-stoic faces, the hastily assembled handful of Therion elders were clearly confused. Maggmar held out his wrinkled hands and urged them to sit. They did.

  “My worthy brothers, I have already shared that which I know.”

  “Which is very little,” one elder quickly retorted.

  “You’ve shared nothing,” another huffed.

  Maggmar kept his composure, a trait, no doubt, born out of many, many years of interacting with difficult people. “The Vish’tar has summoned us to this gathering. He wishes to speak to us concerning a matter of great importance.”

  One of them rose back off of his pillow. “’Great importance’, you say?! I will tell you what is a matter of great importance, Maggmar. We have harbored the Vice! We have feasted with them and allowed them to roam freely in the city!”

  Maggmar refused to be ruffled. “They have the Mark of Power, Dresnic.”

  “And that should be a grave concern to all of us,” Dresnic responded very slowly, making eye contact with each and every one of his peers. “Why have they come? Have they come to assess the strength of the Kray? Are all the Kla’aven of the Vice seeking to attack? If Lamillar falls, then the Kla’aven Mage falls. And if the Kla’aven Mage falls, then, by the Red Leaf, all the Kray will surely fall.”

  “It is an ill thought,” Maggmar boomed, spreading his hands out wide. “These travelers are passing through, seeking the wisdom of the Northern Elders. They seek guidance concerning the Dragon.” He glared at Dresnic. “That is the enemy which this assembly needs to fear.”

  “That is their words, Maggmar. A captured among the Kray will speak lies to gain release. And what of the words of a captured Vice? Lies upon lies upon lies.”

  Maggmar’s wrinkled brow wrinkled further. “These Vice have brought to us the Red Leaf, my brother. This is not the gift of an enemy.”

  Dresnic pivoted about and returned to his pillow. “Some may see a gift.” He dropped down. “I sense a bribe.”

  Maggmar paused and folded his thin arms. “The Vish’tar has accepted both their intentions and their gift. Need I remind this counsel to not oppose the will of the Vish’tar?”

  “And what if the will of this inexperienced, foolish youth is endangering us all?” Dresnic barked forcefully. “He could not even overcome the simple strategies of a woman of the south!” A roomful of stunned faces glared back at him. “And I have no use for Kurric! He has brought this shame and disaster upon us all!”

  “And you have brought shame and dishonor upon yourself,” a voice announced as the door flung open. Mogg stepped through, followed by a visibly angered Kurric. “If these were not such desperate and difficult times, Dresnic, you would pay the price for your disrespect and divisiveness!”

  The embarrassed elder’s gaze dropped down into his own lap. “I beg your forgiveness, my Vish’tar. I only spoke out of an abundance of love for our people.”

  “It is forgiven,” Mogg declared. “But I dare say that it may be some time before it will ever be forgotten.” He stepped up to Maggmar and the two exchanged a warm, customary greeting. “May peace reign between us.”

  Maggmar nodded and placed his hand on Mogg’s chest. “Your enemies are my enemies, my brother.” The elder ambled over to his seat when Mogg intervened.

  “Please, my trusted advisor…remain on your feet.”

  “As you wish, my Vish’tar.”

  Mogg hesitated before peering down at all of them individually. “As I have said, desperate and difficult times have visited the Kla’aven Mage. Indeed, difficult times have visited all of the Kray. As we argue about the intentions of the Vice present among us, the Dragon continues to burn our forests and harm our people. Our future demands that we act.”

  “The Kray have survived the rise and the fall of Dragons before, my Vish’tar,” one of the men observed.

  Mogg directed his attention over to him. The pitiful prune of a man was missing his right eye and most of his right hand. “The Vish’tar does not doubt the truth of your words, my esteemed brother. But I have consulted with the Lohar. The Lohar assures me that the Kray have never faced a Dragon such as the beast that now threatens our land and villages.” He paused. “Was it chance that led these Vice to us? It is an ill thought. I believe that it was the will of the Zho which brought those with the Mark of Power to our borders.”

  “And none can resist His will,” another elder noted quietly.

  “Indeed,” Mogg replied. “And now it is time that I follow the will of the Zho. For none can resist His will.”

  Mogg swiveled to his left and strolled over to Maggmar. He placed his hand just above the elder’s heart. “By the Red Leaf, may you lead and protect our people with honor and wisdom, my brother.”

  Dresnic climbed to his feet, as did all the rest. “What…what is this?” he nearly shouted.

  “Restrain your voice,” Mogg commanded sharply. “For none but those in this chamber must learn of my decision. The safety of the Kla’aven Mage will rest in your silence…until I return. My decision is firm.”

  Maggmar grabbed Mogg’s hand with all the gentleness of a concerned father. “Return? What decision is this, my Vish’tar?” The old man’s eyes flitted back and forth, as tears began to form.

  Mogg’s eyes flared red in return. “You will take my place of authority, my brother. For the sake of our people, I am leaving Lamillar.” He sighed.

  “I will journey with them to seek out the Northern Elders.”

  CHAPTER 23

  It was a remarkable (and nearly frightful) sight.

  Arlon couldn’t help but imagine that any ordinary citizen would assume war was in the wind. Hundreds of fur-clad Therion warriors and teams of servants scrambled in a mad dash of travel preparation. Innumerable horses were harnessed and laden with supplies as long-knives and javelins were distributed by the wagon load.

  “Look!” Trilyra nearly shouted, pointing off to their left. A tall cage lumbered by hauling several curious creatures. At least two of them looked to be well over four feet tall.

  Arlon was puzzled. “What in the world?”

  She almost hopped up and down. “Those are Bloodtips! Bloodtip Falcons!”

  It took a few moments for the incredible size of the birds to register in Arlon’s mind.

  Wow. I wouldn’t want one of those things mad at me.

  “Can you imagine how big they are with their wings spread out?!” Paymer added. “Pretty freaky, huh?”

  “We have seen them with their wings spread out,” Arlon replied.

  “Well, yeah, but not this close.”

  Arlon squinted over at Trilyra. “What do the Therion call them?”

  She never took her eyes off the birds as they vanished into the maze of people and horses. “Kylldor…I think.”

  Paymer leaned close. “And I wouldn’t say Therion around these guys, Arlon.” He scanned the area nervously. “I think it’s offensive to them. They always say the Kray. It’s the Vice and the Kray.” Paymer pointed back and forth between Arlon and himself playfully. “We…Vice.” He swept his arm out to the side. “And they…they Kray. You got it?”

  Arlon narrowed his eyes. “How about I replace a few hundred of your tiny freckles with a couple of nice, big bruises?” They both chuckled.

  Mae’Lee stepped to the side to avoid getting smacked by a horse’s tail. “You know, the bluish-purple of a bruise would look lovely with your red hair, Paymer.”

  “Thanks, your Highnessness. But we have a saying about that in Orania.”

  Trilyra couldn’t resist. “Oh, please…please tell us another of your famous, convenient Oranian proverbs.”

  “Well, they say that ‘he who bruises a friend will find himself knocked off one horse and trampled by another.’
”

  Arlon fought to hide his smile. “I will try to remember that the next time the words of your mouth tempts the punching of my fist.” He winked. They all laughed.

  Except for Hort.

  Hort didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. He was preoccupied with the warriors nearby as they applied white face paint on each other. “I’m glad these guys are on our side,” he said.

  “Oh, I don’t know if I would say that they are on our side,” Trilyra responded, draping her arm over his tense shoulders.

  He shot her a panicked look.

  “But,” she continued, “that doesn’t mean that they are our enemies. At this moment at least.”

  “I don’t get it,” Arlon said, lowering his volume. “I thought you guys said that Mogg wanted to leave secretly.” He pointed at the tremendous flurry of activity. “This is not exactly what I would call a secret.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” Trilyra said. “But as long as he is offering free food and free horses, I’m not going to complain about his tactics.” She cleared her throat. “And speaking of the gracious Vish’tar, it looks like he and his personal guard are headed this way.” She gestured behind them.

  “What are we gonna call him?” Paymer asked discreetly. “Can we just use his name?”

  “Definitely not around his people,” she countered.

  Arlon shrugged. “I’ve just been saying ‘your Excellency.’ Nobody has had a problem with it so far.”

  “Well that’s great,” Paymer whispered. “We’ve got two royal travelers now. A Highness and an Excellency. This power struggle could get interesting.”

  Mae’Lee shot him a cold stare.

  “I mean, a beautiful royal and a long-haired, savage king of the forest devils,” Paymer quipped. Trilyra bumped him. Hard.

  Mogg came to a stop. “Have you eaten?”

  Most everyone nodded. Arlon frowned. “I haven’t…your Excellency. But I am still full from the feast last night. So I’m okay.”