Drachenara

by T. G. Neal

  Vaelen looked into the forests around him. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admitted, reluctantly.

  “I’m sorry I pried.”

  “No need to apologize. It isn’t your fault.” Vaelen said.

  For a moment, Aurelia went silent, just riding. In the back of her mind she wondered if he hadn’t slept as well because she hadn’t been close to him. What childish thought, she thought to herself, I feel like a schoolgirl. She shook off the thought and fell back behind him in their path. She looked to him as he rode. And yet she felt the same way even still. She had a harder time sleeping because he was not within an earshot. She couldn’t hear him breathing. He wasn’t there as soon as she awoke.

  In their days on the road, before they had a new place to call home – though it did not yet feel like home – Vaelen had seen her at her worst. He had seen her hurt emotionally and hurt physically. He had saved her life and she had saved his, and what she felt she could only describe as love, yet it felt wrong of her to feel that way. It felt selfish, and she feared that her love would go unrequited. What a terrible feeling that would be.

  And so, they rode on, silent for some of the way until she spoke up again. “What will we be doing, specifically?” She asked. “They told me to get you to brief me before we went.”

  “Bandits,” Vaelen answered. “Supposedly a few bandits or highwaymen out around the small village of Jaesonsland. We’re to run them off; kill them if we must. The mayor of Jaesonsland is paying us to get them out of whatever place they’re staying in up in the edge of the mountains. None of the townsfolk are brave enough to chase them up. They say there’s something in the mountains.”

  “Yeah, a Dragon.” Aurelia remarked.

  “Though that was a peaceful encounter, I’d much rather not see that Dragon again.” Vaelen laughed nervously. “But, they say there are beasts in the mountains. Several of them. Which probably means the bandits have a safe place they’re calling home and the beasts come out at night.”

  Aurelia nodded silently, unseen by Vaelen.

  The ride itself was filled with pleasant conversation. Vaelen dare not say that he’d missed it, for he felt the same way Aurelia had. He dare not mention that he missed seeing her, being around her person and spending almost every waking moment with her. Hearing Mikael say that she cared for him only stoked an already burning ember, and yet he would not pursue that line of thinking, not yet, especially for fear of her not feeling the same way.

  Neither of them had specifically shown feelings for the other, not in each others’ eyes, yet in each others hearts, their song was already playing between them. Since the first night of the tragedy, when Vaelen selflessly saved her life. When she stitched up his wounds. And everything from that moment on had been an act of love, yet neither of them admitted it.

  Aurelia looked up through the treetops, seeing the edge of the mountains through the breaks in the canopy. As she rode she closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the sunshine on her face occasionally as it penetrated the thick green canopy. “Do you remember that night at the Grand Market?” She asked Vaelen suddenly.

  Vaelen looked back at her. “Of course, I do.”

  “I saw a vision of you dying.” She said.

  Vaelen didn’t say anything at first, he was taken aback. “I—Well, how?”

  “The woman who took me into the caravan. Her name was Cynthia in our language. She showed me something she said I needed to see.” Aurelia shook head and choked back her emotions. “I thought I was growing callous to death.”

  “There is no such thing.” Vaelen said. “We just do what we have to do out of necessity.”

  “What about becoming farmers?” She asked.

  Vaelen smiled a bit, then looked at her. “I don’t think there’s a nice farm anywhere with my name on it,” he said. “I’ve been fighting since I could hold a sword.”

  “You know, it’s funny,” Aurelia said. “My whole life I’ve wanted to be out doing this. From growing up inside the walls of a keep, safe and secure, learning to be a lady in every way possible. I learned to eat proper, read proper, speak proper and even how to be courted proper. The last thing I want is any of that. Then I had it all suddenly taken away from me, and all I’d like is to ask my parents what I should do.” She laughed softly. “I guess that’s fate, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it is.” Vaelen said. “I’ve really not known anything other than bloodshed. I’ve always just done what I’ve had to do. I don’t want to say I did it all because I was given orders to do so, because that’s not it.” Vaelen looked down at his horse, moving the reins from one side to the other, watching the horse follow his every movement and command. “I did what I needed to do to keep Drachenara safe.”

  “I feel cheated that I didn’t have an opportunity like you to get acclimate to this type of life.” Aurelia said, looking around still.

  “It’s not all it seems, Aurelia, I promise you. As I grew up inside the walls of the keep, practically, I considered what it would be like to be the child of the Bren or Brenness, or a highborn. I was grateful for my station; my father worked hard to get us where he got us. But I would dream about it, especially when I was younger. And I would play with servant children mostly, because I didn’t fit in with the highborn kids. They looked down on me.”

  “Your father kept them safe, though. How absurd.” Aurelia snapped.

  “They were children, they didn’t see it that way. Their money kept them safe. Mother and Father kept them safe. That’s how I grew to know so many servants by name, because I grew up playing with most of them.”

  “I wish we had been closer as children. I appreciate you teaching me to fight as we grew older. It’s served me well now. And now you’ve gotten me somewhere safe.” Aurelia said with a small bow to her head.

  “Maybe. Now you elect to place yourself in harm’s way. You ride to root out bandits with me, the man who chose to save you.” Vaelen said with a chuckle.

  “You did save me,” she said, but she thought, in more ways than one.

  Vaelen didn’t say anything else for a w ays, the silence was a break and sometimes seemed to quicken their pace. The terrain of the Emerald Wood changed as they got closer to the foothills of the Jagged Peak Mountains, a place they’d been just four days prior. The canopy of trees grew more sporadic, and more light broke through to the ground. Whereas green grass or leafy green ferns covered the ground before, a more dried and yellow grass covered the ground here, and an occasional rock would protrude from the ground, exposing little miniature versions of what obscured the horizon to the east.

  Aurelia admired the mountains as they came into better view. She played over the memory of the dragon touching her on the forehead. She remembered the gentle giant’s voice, playing over and over in her mind. Such a terrifying creature of legend had stood before her, yet it meant her no harm. She couldn’t believe it had ever happened. Each time she thought about it, it shocked her, but this whole adventure so far had been a shock to her. Only weeks ago, at this point, she had been the daughter of a Bren and Brenness. In only a night, that was taken from her. She then became an agent of the road, stealing and fighting and fleeing.

  A few more hours would put them at their intended location and they could get to work. For now, they once again enjoyed each other’s company.

  “With the urgency of the Jackdaw” was a term coined for the speed at which the bird could fly. Through torrential rains, blistering winds and even through enemy lines. The intelligence that the birds possessed rivaled no other avian species, they were unquestionably the most capable bird in the world, save for maybe falcons, but the falcon had a mind of its own, and would not serve man.

  The Jackdaw released from Greyever flew with urgency. She carried a note on her leg, clamped into place by the young squire who she served faithfully for many a month. Crosswinds at the Jagged Peak Mountains sent her spiraling, but still she recovered. No rest. No food. She knew her master had perished behind her. And
she knew that what she carried was of utmost importance.

  When her wings finally carried her into the city of Mreindale, she began to truly fatigue. Fighting against the winds of the sea beat her down even more. Over the roves of homes in the lower quadrant, she beat her wings to gain altitude. Higher and higher she climbed, trying to reach the castle atop the cliff side rise. Finally, rising to where she needed to be she stopped flying and glided into the window she aimed, skidding to a halt on the floor below.

  No normal bird was she, and she would remain unnamed by all but her master, whose life had been given to ensure this message sent. Confident that her job had been completed, she let out a small cry and her little body ceased to live, and she drew her last breath there on the floor, her heart too strained to continue.

  The room that she had skidded into was a grand study. Surrounding the densely covered desk in the center of the room were shelves upon shelves of books. The only natural light in the room was from the small slit of a window eight feet above the floor against the far wall. From behind a pile of scrolls, The Left heard the sound and lifted his head out from behind his work scrawling script onto the fibrous roll.

  He dusted down the front of his linen robes and stepped around his desk to see the bird lying on the floor. At first perplexed as to why the bird was lying dead on the floor, he saw the scroll on its leg. Quickly, The Left rushed to the bird’s side, taking a knee. He unclamped the small locking mechanism and removed the tiny scroll. As he unrolled he read aloud, “Prince assassinated. Soldiers dead. Enemy bears no mark.” The named signed was so erratic The Left could not read it, but it did not matter. In the bottom corner was the mark of the prince.

  The Left jumped to his feet and rushed out the door with haste only to moments later, burst through the door to the king’s chamber.

  “My last son is dead, isn’t he?” The King said, looking at the plate of food before him, having yet to touch it or the wine in his chalice. The pit in his stomach, the sneaking suspicion that his final son had passed had caught up to him. His intuition was rarely wrong.

  Looking into the resigned King’s eyes, The Left bowed his head and put down the message from the Jackdaw. “Your Grace.”

  “So, it is ended, then.” The King said rising to his feet. “My legacy for naught; my last son is dead. My bloodline is finished.” Tivanis furrowed his brow. At first his intent was to stay strong, but his stomach knotted. He leaned against the bookcase next to the fireplace.

  “Summon The Right and return with him.” The King said, his voice deep but cracking under the strain of his heartache.

  Once The Left turned to leave, King Tivanis looked at the scroll. In his mind, he could hear his sons passing. He knew before The Left came to see him that his son had died. He just knew. Tivanis contemplated his options, but even then, he already knew what he would do. For now, he sobbed. He sobbed until he fell into a coughing fit, a fine mist of blood and spittle coming up on his handkerchief.

  When The Left and The Right both returned together, the King had composed himself and turned to face them. For several moments, he was utterly silent. Even the sound of his breath was so quiet the two could not hear it. Both maintained a kneeling position on the floor, for it had been some time that both had been summoned in a time of such dire importance.

  Tivanis looked up to the both of them. He started to speak but his voice broke. He raised his hand, gesturing for them to give him a moment. He turned away, cleared his throat, and turned back to them. “I have considered what would be best in this matter. My son made a brash decision to go off after I expressly forbade him from doing so.” The King sat down and pursed his lips, furrowing his brow, making sure within himself that he was doing the right thing. “I have no doubt that this was related to the alliance of the Brendoms in the north. I do not wish to attack the members of my own; The Nine has stood reasonably peaceful for the last thirty years. For every year of my reign, we have avoided inner conflict. But now, I fear, trouble looms on the horizon.” Tivanis coughed but forced it to be subtler. “Mobilize our armies. Though I will act as our supreme commander, and you as my right hand, I wish for you to select a suitable Commandant for our forces.”

  The Right bowed his head, “Your Majesty.”

  Tivanis continued. “Henceforth, we will occupy the borders. As part of our defensive plans, on every major road and passage, I want soldiers tightening down the border, including the borders between Greyvale, Drachenara and Stormvale; especially the borders between those three brendoms. We do not recognize their alliance. Each unit will have a Sergeant, and that Sergeant may recruit anyone who wishes to join. We want our people to feel safe.”

  The Left raised his head as he knew King Tivanis would now move to him.

  “We must inform the people of my son’s assassination. It must become a national tragedy. Have heralds announce his death. Contact the city guard in Greyvale and begin speaking with Governor Hemund. Tell him I want my son’s body. If it cannot be found, then we tell the people his body has been stolen. We victimize the crown, and let the people infer that treachery is afoot.” The King coughed as his words grew fiercer. “Seek out a healer for me, as well. I must be more prepared to address our people and appearing to them as a sick old man will not do, for they will not have faith in the crown.”

  The two men both bowed their heads and looked up at the King. Then with a nod, they said “Your Grace,” as a finishing remark, then rose.

  “You are dismissed.” The King said, turning back to his fire.

  The old man who stood before the flames was weak, and he hadn’t felt weaker in years than he felt right at this moment. Too, though, in the back of his mind and heart, he could feel the flames of a younger man beginning to smolder to life within him. He had three sons at one time, a beautiful wife, and a Kingdom that was his own. The world might as well have been his. His wife died in child birth with their third child, Kyvan, a stubborn boy whose heart was always in the battle. Now, the battle seemed to have claimed his son, and it wasn’t even honorable. That part hurt Tivanis the most. He grimaced, feeling the pit in his stomach swelling.

  His middle son had been his favorite, though no parent should ever choose favorites. Perhaps it was the Maker punishing him for doing so. His middle son was called Tilvan, and he was a tender-hearted boy. He was tall and fearless, but merciful. He sought never to cause pain and always to help. They say the good die young; Tilvan succumbed to a sickness caught while helping the poor. Even with the best medicine, Tilvan passed. The medicine only eased his passing.

  His first born, and bearing his own namesake, Tivanis, was an adventurer. Forbade it though he may, King Tivanis watched as his first-born son sailed into the sunset bound for Vardos, the free-state across the sea. He said he wanted to see what the first men saw, and why the men across the sea always seemed so much happier than they. Tivanis, the son, perished while fighting a giant. He was entombed in Vardos, memorialized by a bronze sword and the head of the giant who slay him.

  The world had been a bitter, dangerous place for his family, and King Tivanis often cursed the sky for its sun, its rain, and its moons. He learned to be thankful for his youngest warrior son, Kyvan, even though he spent a great majority of his time away, training the soldiers or leading them against bandits. As he always suspected, Elmis Tivanis was cursed to be alone.

  The Left and The Right went separate ways when they left the King’s chambers, each one off to do as ordered.

  The Right immediately had word sent out across the capital to collect the commanding officers of the Grand Army and bring them together. Once word was sent out, he when to the rarely-used war room connected to the main hall.

  The room was designed to be the most open and available room in the entire castle. Though it was guarded by a Royal Templar, the inside was spacious and accommodating. One of the few rooms to have a ceiling covering two levels, the War Room had been designed ages before by whatever race originally constructed the monstrous cas
tle. In the center of the room was a massive table, constructed out of the base of a thousand-year old Oak, sanded smooth and a map of the Brendom was pinned to its surface. The table itself was large enough to accommodate all the ranking officials in the army, yet even still the room continued.

  Various banners decorate the room. Starting with the banner of the king, they rolled back to special detachments such as the Templars, the Knights, the Archers and the Mages. A special black and gray banner in the back hung to acknowledge the special society of Rogues—Subterfuge—whose names were only known by the highest-ranking members. But as the room continued past the banners, it opened up to look out over the sea and hung up above the cliff and water’s edge by several hundred feet.

  As the Right came into the room, he had a Templar aide that now followed him light the fires in the room and prepare. From here, once the highest ranking of the Army arrived, they began their plan to have a more noticeable presence. It has been too long that the Grand Army been out of national affairs. With such a tragic event sparking the flames of change, it was time for them to be seen more. It was decided that soldiers would have a presence at every border crossing, as it had been in the olden days. Small camps would be set up to facilitate the needs of the soldiers; food, water, cots and tents. It was also decided that to travel between the Brendoms, a merchant would have to be licensed and bear reason to be traveling. The economic impact would have to be absorbed in favor of a more secure nation.

  Officers were informed that the Grand Army was open for recruitment again, and that any recruit gained would stay within that nations border camp and barracks, but they would not be forced to join. To comply, border camps would also have an armory tent to supply any new recruits.

  The last bit of decided business was that any group or organization large enough to be considered an army would be disbanded immediately. Ranking officials determined that this would be over one-hundred infantry units active at any one time, the exception to this being the city guards, who were often too ill equipped to handle anything larger than a few bandits. Word of their decisions was sent to The Left, whose information gathering would assist in finding these groups too large to be allowed to exist.