The Prince of Earthen Fire

by B C Penling

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: Ashes

  Chapter 2: Obsidian Sepulcher

  Chapter 3: Taking Flight

  Chapter 4: The Council in the Keep

  Chapter 5: An Early Departure

  Chapter 6: Gour's Prince

  Chapter 7: Failed Offensive

  Chapter 8: Seventh Door

  Chapter 9: Saia's Story

  Chapter 10: Time Heals

  Chapter 11: Retribution

  Chapter 12: Felis

  Chapter 13: Among Pantherians

  Chapter 14: Dear Departure

  Chapter 15: Elventon

  Chapter 16: Adrift

  Chapter 17: Welcomed to Port Eyzin

  Chapter 18: Eyzin Duplicity

  Chapter 19: Beneath Mountain's Shell

  Chapter 20: Camp Beside Scree

  Chapter 21: Summoned Anguish

  Chapter 22: Above and Beond

  Chapter 23: Handcuffs and Hunchback

  Chapter 24: Low and Below

  Chapter 25: Felisian Home

  Chapter 26: Prifisus

  Chapter 27: Thunderclaps

  Chapter 28: Monstrocity

  Chapter 29: Face of Adversary

  Chapter 30: Coming Storm

  Chapter 31: An Unlikely Ally, A Mutual Foe

  Chapter 32: Ourisian Pain

  Chapter 33: Flight and Folly

  CHAPTER 1

  ASHES

  The stench of death lingered fresh in the air as obvious as dawn on a moonless night. The second sun had begun to set, sinking lazily below the horizon. The city at the foot of a towering mountain range was smoldering. In the midst of the destruction were the remnants of many ornate buildings. The palace once had beautiful alabaster walls grandly rimmed with silver. It was now debris; broken, blackened and melted. Homes and shops were burned to the ground and still smoked and flickered with flame and embers. Arbortown, the largest elvin city, lay in ruins.

  Wind gathered under his wings and he ceased his flapping; eyes scanning the landscape. He could smell death on the restwardly winds as well as spy the ill-omened cloud of black smoke rising from the woods. It was what aroused him from his diurnal rest and he was too curious to continue sleeping. Not many abnormal things happened on Ancienta and he felt the need to investigate. As things were, his curiosity often got him into trouble; like the time he trekked to Poison Lake and nearly didn't return. Although his youth gifted him agility and strength, it also contributed to a great deal of injudicious and reckless behavior. The elders felt the necessity to keep him busy or else he was off gallivanting and, every now and then, getting into mischief. He was fortunate enough, this time, to leave Bledsoe Keep without scrutinizing eyes catching sight of him.

  There wasn’t a whole lot of trouble on Ancienta nor had there been very much of it in the past. The continent had only a few wars and disputes over territory and the likes. Nowadays the people and creatures of Ancienta lived in peace and tolerance of one another with the occasional finger pointing and simple squabbling of course. The only true threat to Ancientians now was the Warisai. They traveled there every so often from over the sea, to raid and garner the people and animals of the peaceful countryside. Tales from the other continent, from the men traveling by ships between them, told of the awful deeds the beasts executed.

  Dusk, beginning its daily journey, slowly swallowed the Alven Mountains like a snake consuming its prey. A shiver ran the length of his spine as he neared the rubble. He picked up a fetid scent; it was the Warisai. They smelled so bad that he could taste them. Their pong invaded his nostrils like meat rotting in the summer suns. He twisted his face into a snarl and snorted as waves of memory rushed through his mind.

  He had journeyed to the skeleton of a small human settlement far from where he was that suffered a Warisai attack. The villagers had managed to kill many but not enough to make a difference. They were ushered to their deaths. The Warisai harvested the villagers’ corpses but left their own dead unburied to further putrefy in the suns.

  He spoiled his lift and dove toward the city. He spied no signs of life so he spread his wing membranes tight and flapped hard to slow himself. His downwash snuffed flames and stirred the ashes. They swirled about him and drifted silently to the ground, like death on a wing. He kept his wings slightly unfurled. He was ready to spring them open and launch skyward in a moment’s notice.

  Snorting ash and smoke from his nose, he began walking through the rubble. There was only death amongst the ruined walls; mangled and half eaten bodies, limbs and entrails. An unbreakable rule laid down by the Elders had prevented him from visiting there before tragedy struck. He recognized the victims well enough. They were elvin kin. Their pointed ears were clearly visible beneath their long hair. The elves had always strived to be the peacekeeping race and had never before died, in such quantity, at the hands of an enemy. Many were armed inadequately with hand tools and many more were unarmed. They were victims of a ruthless onslaught that would only end in one thing; butcher. Innocent youth, held by their parents, were slain. The Warisai were savage phantoms of a dying continent. They were friends to no one, themselves included. The hideous brutes of dragonic descendants were ugly in more ways than one.

  The destruction of the city was almost unfathomable. His eyes took in every detail of the rubble and deceased he walked amid. His long spaded tail twitched in anger. He had been an elfriend for quite some time and the destruction made his heart worry for his friend’s safety. He met Mailaea many years ago and took a liking to her. She stayed among the wyvernkin for two fortnights during the annual newswap conclave. Something she had done for the past fifty-three years. They had become rather close friends since then and he had the privilege to be her escort and guide of Bledsoe Keep. He knew it was one of the elders’ many ways of keeping him busy and out of trouble. He could still hear her laugh, beautiful to everyone, and picture the sweet smile upon her flawless face. Elves, particularly Mailaea, were truly bravura.

  Whimpering…

  He had momentarily let his guard down as he reminisced, a dangerous thing to do where Warisai could still linger. Had it, in fact, been a whimper? Or was it his imagination? He raised his head and opened his ears. Another whimper was muffled slightly by the crackling flames, the owner of which was obscured by the smoke and raining ash. He followed the feeble sound, curiosity peaked his interest. Each of his steps fell silently in the gathering soot. Cautiously, he drew closer to the source before stopping in mid-step.

  The sound was coming from a young elf. Young in the sense of elvin years and life that is, she was likely hundreds of years old. Compared to human years and life length she looked as though she was in her middle to late teens. She was draped over the body of another, sobbing. He looked on silently and examined the girl. Her torn dress was singed around the hem and soiled with soot and blood from the body she clutched.

  “Someone, help me,” she sobbed.

  He was uncertain of what to do. Deciding whether or not he should leave her there and let her fend for herself was certainly a grave decision, for both him and the young elf. If he brought her back to Bledsoe Keep, the Elders would know he broke the unbreakable rule and he’d be punished severely. Then again, he could argue that Arbortown had been destroyed and is thus no longer a settlement. If it was no longer a settlement, though, then why did he find an elf there? So many arguments could be presented that would tip the scales of judgment; mostly likely, not in his favor. He frowned scornfully.

  Ultimately, what mattered to him was not what the priggish wyverns would want done. And, he often failed to follow their strictly woven rules anyways. Not to mention the thought of what could happen if he didn’t take her. It could possibly result in h
er death, especially once the Warisai returned, and his guilt-riddled feelings would haze his being.

  Although it would be easy for him to leave as silently as he approached, he could not bring himself to do so. He had to take her away from there, to where, it didn’t matter as long as she was safe. He hoped some elves had escaped the slaughter and were hiding. If that was the case, he could reunite her with them when they found them. But, for now, she appeared to be the only one. He didn’t know how many elves died there but one thing he knew was that he didn’t want to add to their tally after they returned to gather more bodies for their feasts.

  He made his decision fairly easy. He would take her. But now he faced another dilemma, more difficult than the last. Not all elves enjoyed the company of a dragon, like Mailaea did. Would she receive him well or cower in fear? He stood, quietly debating his actions. A dragon as large as him could easily be viewed as a threat and the last thing he wanted to do was scare her even more.

  A threat… An eerie feeling sidled up his spine and embraced his nerves like a parasitic infection. He shuddered as if an unpleasant sound ricocheted around the schooling cave in Bledsoe Keep, sending prickles along his muscles. He shook off the rising feeling and looked around, searching for anything out of place besides the evidence of attack. Buildings billowed smoke and shed their alabaster coats. Wagons were aflame, crackling happily among the mournful, razed city. A few dozen dead Warisai lay slain, their bodies left behind just as they were before. Pools of blood and drag marks from elf corpses being removed was all he could see through the gloomy, ash riddled air. He tensed his wings. Something didn’t seem right. Why had they left a solitary elf alive?

  He looked back at the elf girl and then to the body she wept upon. He looked at her face, a face he knew very well. A sharp pain flinched through his chest and his gut twisted with a flutter. He stared at the corpse. Distress and despair choked his mind like the smoke hanging heavy in the air around him.

  Her hair, dark brown and long, shined as it did on the first day he met her. Her eyes were open and staring blankly towards him, vacant of their elvin flare. Mailaea, his exquisite elvin friend, lay dead. Her body was covered with gaping lacerations that were filled with coagulated blood. Only her face remained unscathed, beautiful. He felt a rage rise within him, bubbling like a poison in his vessels, taking over his thoughts. The Warisai had taken his friend.

  His wings began to quiver. Smoke emanated from his nostrils. His vision narrowed and focused on her slackened face; everything else around her was blurred. Kneading the ashen ground with his talons, he tossed his head and let forth a long bellow. It was filled with anger and, as it goes hand in hand, with grief.

  He lowered his head and trotted to her side. He nuzzled her face gently with his nose and whispered her name faintly.

  “Mailaea.”

  He picked up her corpse with a clawed, yet gentle, hand. He caressed her face tenderly with his talons. If dragons could cry, he would. A gasp issued from a gap in the rubble. It was faint, only an astonished whisper, but his keen ears heard it. His amber eyes flicked to the dark cavity formed by fallen walls.

  His moment of sorrow was brief. Shouts broke the silence and echoed in the smoke. He opened his wings, took a step toward the crevice where the elf was hiding. Before he could grab her and get airborne, a net that was hidden by soot and debris, sprang up from the ground and wrapped around his body. He roared his disapproval and thrashed as the large fishing net quickly tightened. The net’s numerous loops easily got stuck on his spikes, horns and talons, making escape difficult. He fought against its clutching strands.

  From a wide perimeter around him appeared many Warisai with bows drawn and swords unsheathed. They began closing in on him. Their ugly faces were fixed in wicked satisfaction. Their breathing came in rattled draws as if they were quietly laughing. He looked down at his dead friend, his once beautiful friend. The ropes tightened again with strangling force. He refused to succumb.

  His anger erupted. He flailed wildly beneath the clinging, strong strands of the stolen net, trying to free himself. Pulley wheels creaked under the strain. One snapped and splintered, followed by another. Then, crumbling from his weight, the partially destroyed archway the Warisai had used as an anchor came crashing down, kicking up a thick cloud of ash and smoke as it impacted the ground. The net loosened enough for him to turn his head around. He showered his body in unnaturally bright, white flame. The net disintegrated into millions of black particles that joined the existing ash and smoke. It could no longer hold him. He shook off the unburned remnants of the net that hung from his wings and horns.

  Warisai ran to recapture their prey, hollering like beasts and scampering like vermin. The very sight of them disturbed him, and angered him. Their scaly bodies, clawed feet, deformed wings and snouts reminded him of hideous earthbound dragons. He shivered from disgust and hatred. He could feel their presence like he smelled them; raw, rancid and unwelcomed. They invaded every nerve and made his skin beneath his scales crawl with detest. He inhaled deeply and let loose with another assault of blinding white flame as he side-stepped to where he had heard the voice. Five Warisai, somewhere in the path of his aim, shrieked madly before falling to the ground and silencing. Growling with vengeful satisfaction he tossed aside the slab of broken wall with a swipe of his hand, behind which huddled the young elf.

  “Help me, please.” Her light brown eyes stared up at him pleadingly.

  They looked at each other; one quivering from fear and the other from rage. When he let out an ear piercing roar and bared his teeth, the elf recoiled. The dragon lunged forward and yanked her from the ground. His wings sprang over his back and in an instant they rocketed upward with powerful wing beats. The elf was pressed hard against his rough palm and caught a glimpse of the Warisai below swarming like flies to a corpse. They rose through the smoke. It choked her and stung at her eyes.

  As they left the destruction below them and the distance between her and death grew, a new fear presented itself. Her mother spoke about a dragon named Zen. Was it him? Or was it another dragon that was not as kindhearted?

  CHAPTER 2

  OBSIDIAN SEPULCHER

  He was magnificent in the setting sun. His crimson scales glimmered golden in the last light from Sunrest. His face, strewn with determination and anger, looked fiercely like the dragons the Warisai had. She knew not where they were going and couldn’t help but wonder whether or not she was safer in her hiding place among the smoldering ruins or in the palm of a dragon she didn’t know.

  Cold wind whipped her face, telling her she was not dreaming like she hoped. The dragon’s wings flapped steadily with an obvious intent to not stop until he reached the destination he had in mind. Thus far she had kept her eyes shut tight or looking at his long, sharp talons. She braved a look towards the ground. Trees, grass and an occasional settlement passed by below them. They were putting a lot of distance between them and the shattered elvin city and the plundering Warisai with each beat of his wings.

  She closed her eyes as dizziness threatened to make her retch. The speed and movement of the flight, coupled with the memories of murder, caused nausea to sweep through her body. She swallowed to stave off vomiting but to no avail. Her mouth filled with saliva, her teeth tingled sickeningly, and her stomach contracted violently. She heaved into the cold air and felt the dragon recoil slightly. The cold wind stung her lungs when she drew in a deep breath. She coughed violently before resting her head against the dragon’s scaly hand in an effort to impede the wind.

  Sunrest was the second sun to grace Dagan’s sky and the last to set. Significantly duller than its sister, Sunwake, Sunrest lit the brisk sky with hues of red, the same color it retained every day. It rested half beneath the horizon and cast long, formless shadows across the land. She opened her eyes to stare at the sun silhouetted mountains. Instead, her gaze fell upon something that made her breath catch and her throat swell. The dragon was holding her mother’s body. It dangled lifel
ess from his other hand, its hair waved in the wind, matted in places by dried blood. She let out a choking sob as her despair elevated.

  This has to be Zen. Why else would he still have her body? She thought.

  She wanted to say something to him but couldn’t find the words, her voice had abandoned her and the chilling wind was as suffocating as her grief.

  Ahead of them was a tall, grassy plateau where he planned to land. Upon it was nothing more than grass and an old oak. After slowing down considerably he landed on the wakeward edge. He placed the elf upon the ground but continued to hold Mailaea’s body. He carried her to the oak tree, his head held solemnly, and placed his lifeless friend beneath its strong boughs. A breeze rustled the tiring leaves, their golden surface dulling as the sky darkened, and threatened to dislodge them from their life source.

  The elvin child heard the dragon take flight and found she couldn’t move to watch him leave. Not only had her voice abandoned her but her strength did too. She lay on the ground and sobbed loudly. Her mother, father, siblings and friends were all dead. Her misery threatened to stifle her breath and she welcomed it to do so. She welcomed it to suffocate her, to drown her and take her into death, to reunite her with her family. But it didn’t do what she pleaded. Her misery was pursued by more sorrow.

  A while later she heard the soft rush of wings as the dragon returned. He was laden with thick slabs of slate, one in each of his taloned hands and feet, a total of four. The oak overlooked the grassland hills below, and that’s where he began to set up the stones. He laid down the longest slab and began to scratch it rhythmically with his talons. The coarse sound made the elf’s skin prickle.

  After he had ground through half of the slate’s thickness, he hit the crack with his fist. The rock fractured decently in half with only minor jagged edges. The elf stopped her sobbing, tears plaguing her eyes, and watched the dragon work.

  He was somber while he carefully erected the dull rocks. He placed them end on end and balanced them against one another. They stood shadowy in the darkening dusk around them. He examined and corrected their geometry where needed, then sighed and stepped back.