The Princess's Dragon

by JManess

  “And so, as the sun sets, the princess Casiondra is returned to Morbidon’s embrace to bask in her Father’s love and the glory of his kingdom before she is reborn anew. Let us not grieve, for this is not an ending for the princess but merely a time of rest before her new beginning. The princess lived a blameless and genteel life and so will rejoin Vivacel’s realm blessed in her next destiny.” 128

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  Those gathered within the temple walls where the remains of the princess lay in state nodded along with the recitation, certain that the princess, despite her heretical ideas about magic, would indeed be reborn into a good life. At the back of the temple shrine, standing with the guards and armored bearers, but separated by an invisible wall of grief, Derek ground his teeth, angry and unmoved by the words of the priest, just as at the front of the temple, the king and queen buried their sorrow beneath rigid masks of polite neutrality.

  Sarai sobbed behind her dark veil, and Sergen sat clenching and unclenching his fists, his mind shying away from the thought of never seeing his closest sister again. The images that haunted him at night, the terror and agony she no doubt suffered at the jaws of the dragon, chased him into the daylight hours.

  The words of the priest washed over them, providing little solace and leaving their bereavement unchanged.

  After the services the mourners each selected a torch proffered by Morbidon’s novitiates and cast it on the pyre, setting flame to the mortal remains of the princess whose spirit the priest assured them even now resided in Morbidon’s kingdom. The royal family returned to the castle trailed by the nobles and other mourners who joined them there for a feast in honor of the tragically short life of the princess. A bard sang tales about the princess, describing her beauty and unfailing kindness, her intelligence and grace and, most remembered, her brilliant and magical smile. The family struggled to bear up under the strain of their melancholy before their duties ended and they would be free to release their grief in the privacy of their own quarters.

  Lord Derek had other plans. He spent the remainder of the funeral meeting with the royal engineers. The four learned men primarily focused on the planning and building of the kingdom’s infrastructure, bridges, waste disposal, roadways, and city layout. However, with the current uncertainty regarding the new resource of ginacite, the engineers spent the majority of their busy day designing and drafting plans for war engines. Fortunately, their training in the war-torn southern lands provided them plenty of inspiration for the task at hand. Still, they remained a bit confused at Lord Derek’s request for several large ballistae—massive, heavy crossbows the width of two men laid end to end that fired projectiles as long as a horse and as heavy as sapling trunks. This ballista would prove somewhat effective against enemy troops but wouldn’t possess the devastating area effect of damage from the catapults, despite the superior range of the ballista. Still, never ones to argue with their

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  employers, especially not with the Warlord, the engineers provided the ballista plans to their builders and included the special modifications that allowed for rope attachments to the projectiles.

  After ensuring construction for the weapons, Lord Derek made his rounds. He checked in on the new recruits, met with his generals to discuss tactics, and stopped in to provide new orders to the armorer and blacksmith that worked their apprentices half to death completing new armament for the training recruits. Many citizens doubted all of this expense and concern would even prove necessary, but Lord Derek ignored the skeptics and used the king’s royal approval to its fullest extent.

  The cycles passed, the people cast aside their mourning easily enough, and soon stopped watching the sky in waiting for a dragon to swoop down and carry off the next young maiden. Fears that the monster might demand sacrifices waned, and the kingdom carried on with life. As miners brought forth the first payloads of ore from the ginacite vein, people grew ever more excited by dreams of wealth and comfort.

  Only the royal family found their mourning difficult to cast aside and, despite the good news that the vein measured even richer than they previously suspected, a pall remained over the castle.

  Lord Derek followed one of his captains down to the dungeons. Captain Georgeff claimed that his men detained a spy they cornered in the Gate District.

  According to the guards, the spy had yet to explain his presence or whom he served, but they did confiscate orders from him demanding information about the ginacite vein, Ariva’s defenses, and the rumors about the youngest princess.

  Deep within the bowels of the castle laid the dungeon, a long neglected and abandoned stone-lined series of chambers belonging to the original fortress.

  At one time in Ariva’s history the dungeons held all manner of victims and villains, as well as implements of torture, festering disease and rotting corpses.

  Those days long passed, the current king’s grandfather had ordered the dungeon cleaned out and closed up in favor of the new jail he commissioned within the city for the Citizen’s Force. Though conditions there weren’t much of an improvement on the old castle dungeon, prisoners held less fear that they would disappear forever behind the jail’s walls as so many had within the depths of the dungeon.

  Derek decreed that the guards reopen the dungeon. He ordered that any 130

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  suspicious prisoners be moved from the city jail to the dungeon and held there until he could interrogate them personally. He expected that the news of the ginacite would bring spies out of the woodwork, desperate to discover more information. He just hadn’t hoped it would happen so quickly.

  They reached the cell where the man stood, manacled against the wall.

  His face swelled from his interrogation at the hands of the Citizen’s Force guards who originally brought him in. To a casual observer, the nondescript man looked much as any other commoner beneath his bruises, but Derek saw beneath his bland countenance, familiar with his kind from his days as a mercenary. He wasn’t so much concerned with what the man knew, but how much he’d already reported to his superiors and who they were. They both knew the man wouldn’t leave this dungeon alive. Unfortunately, the spy proved his professionalism, refusing to talk when Derek’s guards interrogated him.

  Lacking the torture devices removed and destroyed by the king’s grandfather, Derek and his men grew creative. The spy finally relented and released some of the information they sought.

  Derek discovered that the man worked for Halidor, as he suspected, and he’d prepared and already sent off the reports requested by his superiors. Other than that he had nothing else to add, and he anticipated glory in Morbidon’s kingdom for his service. Derek ordered the guards to keep him alive and chained within the dungeon.

  “You shall not see your glory yet, spy. I will personally see to it that you live a long and unhappy life locked beneath this castle.” Derek leaned in, studying the man’s bleeding face, unfazed by his missing eye or the chunks of flesh hanging from his cheek. He contained his irritation that they’d received no more useful information than what little they already suspected from this man. He turned away as the spy spoke again.

  “Don’t worry, milord. Prince Onian will see to it personally that you rejoin your princess. Or will she ever see the kingdom of Morbidon while trapped in a dragon’s belly?” The man chuckled and the guard standing closest to him punched him. He doubled over, grinning evilly at Derek as the Warlord drew his sword and buried it in the spy’s stomach so fiercely that it sank several inches into the stone behind him. Derek looked into the man’s triumphant dying eye, his own face dark with fury. He pulled the sword from the wall, twisting it in the man’s guts, then whipped it free and casually cleaned the blade on the dirty tunic of the dead spy before resheathing it.

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  “I want this man’s corpse buried in the moat, face down. Allow no prayers for him and
no mourners.” Derek turned away as the guards unlocked the manacles and dragged the man off. Captain Georgeff fell into step beside him as he strode back to the steps and made his way back to his office.

  “It is nothing more than we already suspected, milord,” the captain said of the interview with the spy and what little they’d learned.

  “Yes, I’m aware of that, Georgeff. I imagine Halidor is not the only kingdom sending new orders to their spies. By now, news of the ginacite will have certainly found its way to the ears of every ruler in the southern lands.

  It is no secret that we possess a pitiful number of troops, and Prince Onian, Halidor’s heir, will no doubt view Ariva and her newfound wealth as a ripe fruit ready to pluck. I want our own guards to sweep the Gate District and detain anyone suspicious. If they cannot claim relationship to a known citizen, imprison them in the dungeon. My hope is that we uncover another spy who has yet to pass on their report.”

  “You have a plan, milord?”

  “More like damage control, Captain. We will find a way to pass on inaccurate and conflicting information. It probably won’t help much but we must do anything we can do to confuse the enemy. It is early yet; Halidor still sends out feelers at this point.”

  “Shall I pass on a report of this capture to the king, milord?” Derek stopped and regarded the captain for a moment, contemplating his next move.

  “No, we don’t know enough yet. I have my own informants with their ears to the ground. We shall see what they hear about the other kingdoms. When I have their reports I will officially inform the king myself.”

  “Very well, milord. I will order my men to begin searching the Gate District immediately.”

  “Georgeff, search the Market District as well; many strangers come to ply their trade there, and perhaps our men will discover another spy among their number.”

  The captain nodded in agreement.

  “Now to other matters. Tell me, Captain, have your men located the wizard of the Woods yet?”

  The captain dreaded this question. After the attack on the princess, Lord Derek had ordered his men to search the enchanted Wood for any clues to 132

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  the whereabouts of the dragon as well as to locate the wizard in the hopes the old man could assist him in finding the monster. So far his men had met with frustrating failure. The Woods seemed to cast obstacles in their path at every turn, inevitably leading the nervous and superstitious soldiers back to the meadow empty-handed. As for the wizard, no one had yet spotted him or the cottage rumors claimed that he kept there. Like the Woods, it appeared the old man felt no desire to cooperate. Georgeff knew how important Lord Derek considered this information and he hated disappointing his superior.

  “We’ve found nothing, milord,” he reluctantly confessed. “The Woods don’t wish to reveal their secrets and each time I send men in there, they leave more frightened than ever.”

  “Hmm, that is … disappointing, Captain. What of the wizard? Surely you have located his residence. The Woods are not that extensive.” The captain felt sweat beading on his brow as duty forced him to deliver another negative report. “He remains elusive. He must know that we seek him, yet he has made no effort to contact our men, milord. We found no cottage, shack, or hovel that could possibly serve as his home. The men found nothing but trees and more trees.”

  “Damn the blasted old man! Why does he play these games with my men?

  We must find that dragon, Captain.” Lord Derek smacked a fist into his other palm, angered by the repeated failure of his men to locate any useful information about the dragon and its whereabouts. He held his own suspicions, but they hardly served him at this time.

  The captain remained silent, not about to suggest that Lord Derek’s interest in the dragon was more personal than his duty to the safety of the kingdom.

  They reached Derek’s office in the administrative wing of the castle and Derek preceded the captain inside, waving him in after him. “I want another sweep of the wood line and one more search of the Woods themselves, Captain.

  We cannot afford another dragon attack.”

  “But, milord …” the captain dared to interrupt, “wouldn’t our men be better served searching the city for spies and agents of other kingdoms?”

  “I have already given you orders to search the two districts I most suspect harbor enemies of our kingdom. We must consider the threat of the dragon as well. We cannot forget that it already claimed one life.”

  “Yes, but …”

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  “What is it, Captain?” Derek stepped behind his desk and picked up a sheathed dagger lying atop a pile of scrolls and maps. He regarded the unremarkable leather sheath before slowly drawing the dagger, his eyes fixed on the smooth, unmarked blade.

  The captain swallowed nervously before finding the courage to continue.

  “It is just that the dragon attack claimed only one victim, and no one has seen any sign of the creature since. Ahem … some people suggest that the attack was an isolated incident.” The captain paused as Derek pinned him, his eyes glacial and deadly.

  “Do continue, Captain. I wish to hear what else these ‘people’ suspect.” The captain gulped again, wishing he’d kept his silence and not blundered into this uncomfortable situation. “Some people, not myself, of course,”

  “Of course. Go on …”

  “They think that perhaps the attack was an act of the magical creatures in response to the young pr—princess’s heretical ideas.” The captain barely whispered the last words as Lord Derek drew the pad of one calloused thumb over the edge of the dagger blade, calmly regarding the bead of scarlet blood that formed there before replying.

  “You should guard your words, Captain. There are those that might view them as treasonous, and you realize that the penalty for treason is death.”

  “Of—of course; I merely repeat the rumors, milord, an—and only to you.

  I thought you should know about them.”

  “Naturally, this conversation has been … enlightening. You are dismissed to carry out your duties, Captain.” The captain turned to go, grateful for his escape.

  “Oh, one more thing, Captain. I trust you will report any more treasonous rumors and the names of those spreading them to me immediately. After all, we wouldn’t want agents of the enemy undermining the royal family just as we sit on the precarious brink of war, would we?” Lord Derek lifted his eyes to skewer the other man, now visibly perspiring in fear. “You may go.” Captain Georgeff barely closed the wooden door behind him when he heard the thud of the dagger striking the other side. He gasped and hurried off to perform his duties and ensure he never came into close contact with the Warlord again.

  Moments later, Lord Derek came to and regarded his destroyed office.

  The scarred desktop hadn’t survived the sword that struck it, splitting it in 134

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  half and sending scrolls and maps across the room, the drift of papers barely settling even as he regarded the mess around him. His breathing slowed as he grew calm again, irritated by his loss of control—not the first time since the death of the princess. He paced slowly, wading through the kindling that was all that remained of his chair and the tattered fabric left in the aftermath of the destruction of the tapestries. His steps brought him to the corner of the room, to a chest set below his armor stand, the only two items in the office that escaped his enraged fury.

  Derek fell to his knees before the chest and reverently opened it. Held within lay his father’s uniform, a fine linen in the colors and standard of the Ariva royal family. He pulled out the dress coat and held it up, admiring the carved silver buttons gifted only to the Royal Captain of the Guard, just as he had many times when he’d been a boy. He recalled his father’s words, spoken every morning to young Derek as he left to guard the king. “Loyalty, honor, courage, and chivalry, my son; those are the tenets of the knight
s of Ariva.” Of course, there hadn’t been true knights in Ariva for generations, but to Derek, an impressionable boy who’d lost his mother at a young age and had only his father to raise him, those tenets became his creed, his reason for striving in the training grounds long after exhaustion set in.

  When his father had passed into Morbidon’s kingdom, Derek had not wept. Instead, he trained until nothing remained of his grief but his exhausted muscles and his mud-stained clothing. He defeated men twice his size when only a boy, and later he carved a name for himself in the flesh of his enemies in the southern lands. Always he held those four tenets close in his heart. He returned to Ariva, a wealthy and skilled warrior, and the king gave him a title to match his new station in life.

  Derek pulled another scrap of fabric from the chest. The spidersilk ribbon gleamed dully in his broad, scarred hand. He remembered vividly how it had looked against Sondra’s tawny hair. She’d hardly been more than a child when he’d returned to the kingdom. She’d been a shapely girl of sixteen rotas, neither as slender nor as beautiful as either of her sisters. At first he hardly noticed her, he’d been so taken by her sister Sarai’s stunning beauty. But then Sondra skipped up to him and mockingly curtsied, her ribbon falling from her hair.

  As he caught it in his hand, moving with his exceptional reflexes, she smiled at him in thanks and Derek’s world changed forever.

  Her smile stunned him, but it was Sondra herself who won his heart.

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  Of course, at first he didn’t dare dream of asking for the hand of either of the two unmarried princesses. Despite his new title and wealth, he remained a commoner, and nothing could change his blood. He tortured himself by spending every spare moment with Sondra, finding her both delightfully curious and refreshingly innocent. She seemed to enjoy his company as well and demanded he tell her endless stories of the southern lands and everything he saw there. Derek could not mistake the attraction she felt for him; he’d known the affections of many women since he left Ariva, and he recognized the signs, but he also knew that as a princess, Sondra was more than just a woman; she was a dream that could never happen for him.