Drachenara

by T. G. Neal

  “I saw it too,” she said, backing closer to the edge of the mountains on the southern side of the canyon. “What was it?” She asked.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go. Quickly.” He started almost jogging forward, hoping to find the trail that would lead them out of the mountains.

  Only a few steps further and something thudded behind them, large and heavy. It was so dark at that point, that Vaelen could make nothing out about whatever it was. He waited, hoping for a boulder, until he could feel the sudden heat of its breath. He rushed Aurelia in front of him and she began to run. He faced behind them and drew his claymore.

  As lightning struck again, it was gone, whatever it was. But then a second flash revealed that it was now standing before them, and it was a dragon. Its wings were outstretched, eyes blinking away the water, scales repelling the torrential rain that came down. Aurelia whimpered, “Uh, Vaelen.”

  He turned around to see it as another bolt of lightning struck. “Stay back.” He said, but the dragon outstretched its neck to Aurelia’s face and breathed. The warm breath brought reprieve from the cool rain, but at the same time instilled pure fear into Aurelia. Then the beast reached out and touched its snout to Aurelia’s forehead. At that very instant she heard a voice in her head different than her own, Fear not, little one. Then it withdrew from her and dove into the canyon.

  Vaelen, who was preparing to attack the Dragon, though it would have been a fruitless affair, was stunned and allowed his sword to droop to the ground. “What happened?”

  Aurelia turned to look at Vaelen, and he couldn’t tell if she was beginning to cry or if it was just the drenching rain, but she looked at his silhouette in the darkness and said “It spoke to me. I guess I mean: she spoke to me.”

  “What?” Vaelen asked simply, sliding his claymore back into the frog.

  “She told me to ‘Fear not,’ and she left.” Aurelia was flabbergasted.

  Vaelen didn’t know how to react, but he knew that the rain was driving him crazy. “Let’s try to find shelter somewhere. This rain is terrible.”

  Aurelia stared toward the canyon less than ten feet away, then she snapped back to Vaelen. “Yes, let’s.”

  They moved along the canyon wall for quite a while, even as the rain continued pelting down. The side of the mountains that they used as a guide was a sheer face for upward of at least one-hundred feet and finding a way through would likely be fruitless unless they found the intended path.

  It was at least an hour longer that they fought the rain before they found a path that pointed them south, at least in Vaelen’s best guess. Once there, they turned into the valley, settled nicely in between mountains to the east and west. Though these were sheer faces too, a small place appeared to have opened up in the middle that made for an easier path to traverse. As they walked, their boots suctioned with the ground, which meant soil was here. With any luck, that meant forest. Forest meant better chances of shelter, even if it was under the branches of a large forest tree.

  The rain eased up, but only slightly. When the bright flash lit up the sky, Vaelen’s eye caught something red in the distance, blowing in the breeze. “Come on.” He said, reaching for Aurelia’s hand and leading her forward. They stepped off the path, which Aurelia noticed, but trusted Vaelen well enough to follow him without any question.

  They passed a group of trees, and went straight back to the valley wall, directly up against the western mountains sheer face. There, Vaelen was pleased that his eyes had caught what they had. Even in the midst of the rain, he saw a red cloth marker, which was the telltale sign of a Wilder Ranger safe spot. Wilder Rangers had their stations built across the Nine, but they also had outposts and safe spots, places where they – or travelers – could find shelter for as long as they needed.

  Vaelen released Aurelia’s hand and crouched into the small cave. Aurelia followed shortly behind. The pitch black of the place made Aurelia uneasy, but within a moment she heard the clank of stone against steel, and then the room was ablaze with the light of a torch. Both she and Vaelen squinted, temporarily blinded by the light.

  The light of the flame put some perspective on the small place they stayed. At the far side of the cave the occasional flashes of lightning could still be seen, passing through the cracks of the stone wall that had been stacked up at the entrance to the cave. In the very back of the cave, water ran down a straight wall and onto the floor and back under the large rock in the back of the cave. The ceiling, barely tall enough to slouch and stand in, sloped high and back to the rear of the cave, where it appeared it vented out into the open night air, making it perfect for a fire. The charred stone of the ceiling, and the black marked ground made it evident that that was precisely what was done in the center of the chamber.

  Vaelen looked around the inside of the cave and spotted a few bits of wood that he used to start up a small fire, but then ventured out to get some wood under the branches of the nearby trees. He made five or six short trips out of the cave and collected all the pieces that weren’t entirely drenched and brought them back to dry next to the fire.

  While Vaelen collected the wood, Aurelia went about taking all their goods out of their bags and laying them out to dry. When Vaelen came back the last time, she laughed.

  “What is it?” He said, trying to discern her laughter.

  “You look like a poor stray animal.” She said.

  “Oh, well Maker be, thank you for that.” He said, shaking his head and laughing. He removed his torso armor, to allow it to dry, and sat close to the fire. His expression was contemplative. “A Dragon…” he said, trailing.

  Aurelia sat down right next to him. She placed a hand on his forearm and leaned her head on him. “I can’t explain it Vaelen. It was like she knew me.” She looked into the fire that Vaelen shifted to add a small log to. “It was like I knew her.”

  “You know, for my whole life I’ve heard stories of Dragon’s that lay waste to farms and steal cattle and sheep for meals. But I’ve never seen them. I’ve read legends of Dragons who wiped out entire armies. All of it violent. All of it.” Vaelen shook his head and looked to her, his cheek touching her short, wet hair. “And yet you meet one face to face and it touched you. Then, it spoke to you, in your mind.”

  “I don’t know how to explain it. I know how crazy it sounds.” Aurelia said bashfully.

  “If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t believe any of it.” Vaelen said simply. “No way.”

  Aurelia smiled. “I still don’t know that I believe it and it just happened to me.”

  Vaelen pinched her all of a sudden.

  She jumped back and rubbed the small spot where she had been pinched. “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Making sure you weren’t asleep.” He said, grinning mischievously.

  She slapped him on the shoulder.

  Vaelen leaned over on the dirt floor of the cave and picked up what was once a piece of bread. When he picked it up, he could almost hear it squelch. “Ugh. I don’t think there’s any drying this out.” He tossed the loaf out into the rain.

  Then he checked the rest of their items, all soaked, except for some of the dried meat which had managed to stay dry under their packed-away waterskins. He handed a few small pieces to Aurelia, who had just pulled off the upper layer of hardleather armor that covered her, leaving the softleather patchwork yet covering her arms and torso.

  As Vaelen nibbled on the dried meat, he also stacked the wood he had collected on the fire and sat back against the cave wall and stretched his legs out in front of him. He kicked his boots off and left them next to the fire to dry, allowing the warm air of the fire to dry his feet. “I never thought a cave could be so comfortable,” he said.

  Aurelia nodded and shifted over next to him. She was finishing her last bite when she leaned in against him. “Mhm.” It was more of a sound that she made, than an actual statement. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder again.

  Vaelen smiled and looked down at her. The
peace and quiet of their nights together had been pleasant. Through this whole experience, except maybe the first painful night, these nights in the strange and wild places had been good. The snap and crackle of the fire and the rain outside made for a lullaby that really made his eyes heavy with sleep. He looked down to Aurelia again as she repositioned herself with her head and one hand on his breast and fell asleep. “Good eve, My Lady.”

  Before long, he, too, fell asleep.

  Jorvig and Miliria made the three-day trek to Stormvale from Drachenara. Stormvale’s capital, Pardrantis, was situated atop the Stormy Rise, a series of plateaus along the coast that are comprised solely of basalt columns. Though the area immediately around the Keep is rather drab and devoid of vegetation, the hills beyond it, back to the east, are lush evergreen forests for as far as the eye can see.

  The original capital was built in the center of the Brendom, still several hundred feet above sea level, but was sacked several hundred years prior by the barbaric nations of the north that do not fall under the rule of the Nine. After the city and keep was destroyed the other two cities in Stormvale held the title of capital over the next couple of centuries.

  Finally, when Miliria’s father in law began construction seventy years prior, it was finished around the same time as the civil war. The Keep was a monstrously fortified structure, though it held no candle to the Nine’s capital in Mreindale. Bren Pardis used the keep as a staging and strategical position for much of the conflict. When he lost, and retreated back, the castle maintained much of its military resourcefulness, though the soldiers returned to their homes.

  Now though, with their home in Drachenara, Jorvig and Miliria were able to use Pardrantis’ keep as the stronghold it was built for once again. The Main Hall became a barracks, as did much of the open space around it. New construction began outside the city walls for new places to house soldiers and blacksmiths who worked tirelessly to produce armor and weapons. Many of the highborn of Pardrantis had been convinced to pour their family fortunes into the endeavor of fending off future barbarian and mercenary attacks against the regal families of Stormvale, Drachenara and Greyvale.

  As they rode through the countryside, some of the surrounding forest had been cut down in favor of constructing training grounds for the soldiers. Commanding officers were shouting orders to the individual soldiers, and they were acting in kind. Clearly their numbers had grown.

  As they arrived at the castle, Jorvig set off to inspect the soldiers. He had been a soldier since he had been old enough to pick up a sword, though most of his fighting took place against chivalrous targets in rings, as war had been scarce in his years. Now, he hoped, war was on the horizon and he would have the chance to become the hero he’d always wanted to be.

  Jorvig proudly walked amongst the ranks upon ranks of new soldiers, all volunteers, who knelt before him as he came through. “All this for me. All this for Miliria.” He smiled a devilishly conniving smile as he walked. Their numbers would not go without drawing attention, and hopefully they would be ready when attention was drawn.

  Now further away from the keep, he looked back to see his wife surrounded by her counselors, robed men and women whose faces were always obscured by masks. They fell in behind her and followed her into the keep. Jorvig would stay on the battlefield. The ethereal powers he didn’t understand, nor did he care about, could be handled by her and her mystics. Jorvig wanted to feel something more real.

  He approached a sergeant shouting orders at a group of recruits. The sergeant stopped immediately and saluted, “Bren Drache, sir!” He dropped to a knee.

  Jorvig waved him back up. “Sergeant. How goes the training?”

  “Good sir, I was teaching them the way of the blade.” The Sergeant said proudly.

  Jorvig stepped up and placed his hand out, gesturing for the Sergeant to hand him a blade. “And who among you is the best swordsman?”

  They all looked to each other, then one man finally pointed out the only man with skill, a man by the name of Millis.

  “Alright, Millis, is that true?”

  “Aye, sir. My father was a highborn in Drachenara, I’ve been training in the local circuits for months.” Millis said, confidently.

  “Fight me.” Jorvig said, turning around and stepping into the fighting ring nearby, marked off by a selection of stones in a circle. “Come on.”

  Millis hesitated and looked to his Sergeant first, then back to Jorvig. “My Lord –“

  “Do not fear to hurt me, Millis. I will fight ferociously. First to draw blood wins?”

  Millis was hesitant again.

  “Great!”

  Jorvig raised his sword in a salute and Millis returned the respectful motion. The two then clashed blades against one another. With only a matter of steps towards Millis, Jorvig jabbed, parried, spun and slashed Millis across the cheek, barely nicking him, yet it drew blood.

  “You withheld. Poor form.” Jorvig said.

  “I did.” Millis said.

  “Let’s go again. This time try.”

  Millis nodded and saluted Jorvig first, then immediately attacked him as if he were a beast caged, now released. He flurried a series of attacks at Jorvig that were hardly blocked away. Jorvig recovered though and began to smile. He sidestepped the blade now as it came down toward him, then brought his own blade down at full force, sending Millis’ blade downward into the dirt. Then with a step, Jorvig swung, but Millis ducked. When he ducked, he also brought his blade up and slashed across Jorvig’s thigh, the razor-sharp edge just scratching the surface and drawing blood.

  Jorvig hissed and stepped back.

  Millis bowed his head in apology and stepped back. Jorvig looked up at him. “No, please. Best two out of three.”

  Jorvig didn’t event salute this time, he just lunged at Millis. He stepped, swung, stepped, swung, and jabbed. On the last, he missed Millis, but kept his arm extended. With the pommel out he quickly clanged it against the side of Millis’ head and sent the young man reeling. As he stumbled, Jorvig seemed to just appear next to him. He suddenly gave a swoop of his leg, taking Millis further off balance, and then before Millis could react, Jorvig put both hands on the hilt of his sword and used his standing leverage to slam Millis into the ground.

  By the time his back hit the ground, Jorvig already had the tip of his blade at Millis’ throat. Jorvig was only slightly out of breath, but as he came out of his rage, he helped Millis back to his feet and patted him on the back. “Sergeant.”

  The Sergeant rushed to his side. “Sire!”

  “Take this one under your wing. Train him well and see yourself becoming a Lieutenant.” He turned his back on the group but stopped a moment to look back. “You men make me proud to lead you.”

  “For Drachenara!” One man shouted.

  As Jorvig turned back toward the keep, he said under his breath, “No. For me.”

  The ships rigging sang to him as he stood on the bow, looking ahead at the water as it serenely waved endlessly to the east, and crashed casually to the west against the shoreline of Berlessis, which he could see plainly.

  Below deck, the slow beat of a drum kept the men rowing in unison; a combination of elven and human slaves, indentured servants, and criminals kept the ship in motion. Above deck, a team of ten Royal Templar’s varied between sitting and standing across the beautifully hewn deck of the transport.

  They had been at sea for four days. Another two days and they would be where they needed to be, no doubt. If they picked up a tropical wind as they caught the western encroach of the ocean, they would certainly make it sooner.

  The captain of the vessel walked up behind him, “Prince Kyvan, My Lord, it looks as if we’ll catch the tropical northerlies just as we hoped. We’ll be in port in Greyever in just short of two days.”

  Kyvan looked at the captain and nodded. “Send a Jackdaw back to my father with this note.”

  The Captain nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  It took almost another full day fo
r Vaelen and Aurelia to navigate their way out of the southern side of the Jagged Peak Mountains and work their way down into Quardanis. Like Midland, Quardanis was sparsely settled, but instead of open plains, Quardanis was a thick forest for most of the terrain, then transitioned into rocky hills before finally becoming arid plains against Mreindale.

  Coming off the Jagged Peaks, travelers would immediately be immersed in what was known as the Emerald Wood, a dense forest full of ruins that stretched from the southern reaches of Alfendul, across the southern side of the jagged peaks, and bled into Berlessis.

  The Emerald Wood, particularly over into Berlessis, was once the place where the Elves remained, before so many fled, moved to cities, or were taken into slavery. In the days millennia ago, Elven kind and Humans would interact in these forests, some men going as far as to be so accepted by the Elves, that they too were able to achieve agelessness from the Elven goddess. Those times were long gone.

  As Vaelen strode ahead, he watched he paths nearly disappear into the woodland. “We’ll have to start looking around and asking,” he said, moving at barely a trot.

  Aurelia looked to him and quickened her pace ever so slightly. “Do you have any leads at all, or are we searching blindly?”

  “The latter.”

  Not fazed by Vaelen’s response, Aurelia looked around for any markers that might lead them to civilization. “How long has this place not seen life?” She asked.

  “Beyond the occasional traveler? A long time.” Vaelen said as he approached a sign. Looking down at it, it read: South along the path to Emerald’s Rest. East to Berlessis. West to Alfendul. He read the options aloud. “Emerald’s Rest is probably a tavern. We can ask there.”

  Aurelia thought it was as good a lead as any and followed Vaelen ahead down the path south. The trees around them seemed alive with the vigor that they emitted into the open air of the forest. The wood was so green that it gave it everything a green hue, which is what yielded the name Emerald Wood. The Elves had another name for it, but no living human knew of its true name, so in typical human fashion, it was given a name of its own in the human tongue.