Dragons Unremembered

by David A Wimsett

  Yetig was called back inside. They toasted their new alliance. Mirjel raised her goblet and held back tears, all the while picturing Ryckair’s face in her mind. Forgive me, my love, she thought. Be you alive or in the Dragons’ Halls.

  Jea stood before the council of Au. Amar stood beside her. “My Lords. I bring grave news that threatens all including Au. The Barasha have risen and intend to release Baras.” There was a rumble as she described the coronation, the demon cloud and the attack on Rascalla. “This is a darkness that will consume the world. We who hold faith with the dragons must rise together and fight the Barasha before they release Baras to spawn a new Dragon War. Carandirians who are loyal to the Crown need your support. Please, commit your militia and march on Meth.”

  The faces of several councilors, including Tradas, Giltom and Jara whom Amar had diced with, were ashen. They spoke up in favor of Jea’s request. A fourth councilor said, “Even if the Barasha have risen, the chronicles only say the crown formed the subduing spell. There is no mention that the crown can undo the spell. Most scholars believe Bara will never awake.”

  “The chronicles do not say the spell is unbreakable,” said another.

  Giltom said, “Still, were the Barasha alone came to Au, it would threaten our people and stifle commerce.”

  “Could we sue for peace and appease the sorcerers. It is written that others in the past have done so.”

  “And the tomes tell that the Barasha often betrayed their word.”

  “Still, to call a demon is a force we cannot stand before.”

  “But, what of the horrendous cost of fighting such a battle? No merchant would agree to the raising taxes for that when commerce is good here.”

  The arguments went back and forth. One conciliar said, “With all due respect, Baroness Jea, should it not be Baron Dek standing before us today? It is not the habit of this council to entertain talk of war from a woman who should be tending her own business.”

  Jea kept her composure. “My husband now roams the west fighting the sorcerers. If this council does not act the Barasha will soon be marching on Au.”

  A councilor stood. “All in Au hold faith with the dragons. They have always protected us. We need to take this under advisement. You will learn our discussion soon.”

  The councilors stood and filed out of the chambers.

  Over a week passed when a minor clerk came to the cottage. “The council has chosen not to act on at this time and to study the matter further.” Before Jea could say a word the clerk turned and left.

  Amar shook his head. “How could they be so blind? If they had seen the demon, but no.”

  Jea sat. “I feared this all along. They see only short turn profits. They live in the past and fear anything that threatens change.”

  A knock came at the door. Amar admitted a man with pale skin and almond shaped eyes, His facial features were slightly flat with high cheek bones. Jea had been introduced to him at several parties Exor, ambassador from Xinglan that was located to the far east on the Sothern shores of the Great River.

  Exor bowed. “Baroness. May I come in.”

  Jea indicated a couch. Exor spoke in a soft voice. “I was disappointed in the decision of the council. They do not see the threat and think the coming terror will pass them by. Millennia ago, my ancestors stood against Baras and suffered greatly. We have not forgotten the horror or the courage of Avar. Please, allow me to accompany you to Xinglan, I believe you would find a much different reception.”

  Jea smiled. “Thank you Ambassador.”

  The next day, Exor arrived at Jea’s grandparents’ house in a horse drawn carriage.

  Her grandmother hugged her. “Be careful, dear.” She stepped back to dab her eyes. Jea’s grandfather enveloped her in a hug. “We will do what we can to mobilize the council. Don’t give up hope. Fight on. You have always been brave and smart. You will find a way.”

  She and Amar traveled north for half a span until they reached the docks of Au. Men loaded and unloaded goods to and from rowing galleys using ramps and cranes. The ambassador’s galley had been made ready the night before and they boarded quickly. Jea was shown to quarters in the forecastle. They were modest but comfortable.

  The rowers fought their way upstream. Unlike the banks of the Great River near Meth, there were no cliffs along the way. Dusty, barren plains spread out along the shoreline. Winds blew in gusts and picked up the dirt that settled everywhere. All onboard covered their noses and mouths with brightly colored kerchiefs.

  Each night, Exor hosted Jea and Amar to supper. The food was unknown to her, consisting largely of vegetables and small portions of meat and fish. She cautiously took a bite, then smiled. “Ambassador, this is delightful.”

  Exor bowed his head. “I thank you and will relay your compliment to the to the cooks. It is simple fair.”

  “Simple? Said Captain Amar. “I can’t imagine what a banquet would be in your country.” They all laughed.

  Several weeks later, a peak appeared on the horizon. Soon, cliffs came into view that faced the water with openings cut into the rock. The galley docked at a stone pier. Jea saw people walking along paths carved into the cliff and going in and out the openings that she could now see were doorways. Exor said, “Welcome to my Xinglan.”

  They entered a large opening leading to an enormous cavern. There were paths and fountains and parks that were illuminated by sunlight that came from openings above. Whole buildings of many stories were carved in the stone. People wandered the underground streets. She heard voices speaking what seemed to be formal Carandirian, though it bore a sense of far more antiquity.

  Exor said, “Quarters have been arranged. I hope they are to your liking. I have petitioned for an audience with our queen.”

  Jea said “Thank you, Exor, for all you have done.”

  On the north continent, Theb recovered enough to walk with a crutch and sit on the practice field. He and Batu drilled the men daily, marching them in columns and dispersing them in squares. They moved them up hills, down hills, through the river and between buildings. Squads attacked each other in mock battles. Bows were made and arrows fletched to augment the picks and spears.

  After ten weeks of drills, the men moved as a military unit. Though Theb no longer needed the crutch, he still limped. Ryckair wanted to wait longer for him to heal. As the first flurries of snow had dusted the ground Ryckair considered wintering where they were. He decided it was better to march as far east as possible and prepare for an assault on his brother in the spring. They could hire themselves out to raise funds for passage south.

  On a brisk, sunny morning, Ryckair led his men through the east gate of the city. This was little more than a gap in the crumbled walls. The clothing and boots they had woven from reeds and grasses offered surprising warmth against a light snow that covered the ground.

  A well-marked road took them towards gently sloping hills. Tall grass poked above the light snow. At brightnail, they approached the summit. Ryckair looked back to the plain where the city stood. To the south was the ravine separating it from the Oola hordes. North, the nameless river flowed into the ocean.

  He turned to continue up the hill when he spied a group of fifteen men on horseback. Ryckair signaled to Theb who formed the troops into a line with the spearmen in front, those with picks behind them, and the archers in the rear.

  The horsemen halted several paces away. One of them rode forward. He was dressed in rough animal hides and sported a tangled beard. Ryckair walked forward with his hand near the obsidian knife that was strapped to his side.

  The man eyed the prince, then looked over to Ryckair’s men, and finally back to the prince. “I have never seen the like of your men.” His speech was a modern Carandirian with a thick accent that rolled each pronunciation of the letter ‘R’, gave emphasis to the first syllable and long emphasis to the vowels.

  Ryckair said, “We are travelers. Tell me, friend, where is the nearest settlement?”

  The man
smiled with yellow teeth, most of which were missing. “You must come from very far away to ask such a question.”

  “We do.”

  “Then you seek in vain, friend. There are no settlements here, only the hills and the Oola and the city of ghosts, which you were either very foolishly or very boldly to enter. It is death to do so.”

  “We seem to have survived.”

  The ruffian laughed, then stopped abruptly. “Drop your pitiful weapons and form a line. You will make fine slaves.” He drew a sword. Ryckair neither spoke nor moved. The brigand gave a raspy cry and spurred his horse forward. As he did, the rest of the outlaws charged.

  The bandit leader reached Ryckair and slashed. The prince dropped to the ground and rolled to one side. The slaver over extended his cut as he tried to reach the prone Ryckair and almost lost his hold. One of the attackers came up from behind and tried to run the prince down. Again, Ryckair waited until the horse was almost upon him, then jumped to the side opposite the attackers sword arm. As the horse passed, he pricked the animal’s hindquarters with his obsidian dagger. The animal was startled and reared up, throwing the rider to the ground. Ryckair ran up and sliced the man’s throat, then pulled the sword from the dead man’s hand.

  The brigand captain turned his steed and charged full on the prince. Ryckair ran to the unmounted horse. He rode straight for the bandit. The two men exchanged blows as they passed.

  When the rest of the outlaws reached Ryckair’s men, Theb raised an arm and swiftly snapped it down. The spearmen dropped to one knee and secured the ends of their weapons in the ground. The archers let fly shafts. They struck three of the charging attackers. The rest drew their swords and spurred their horses on. The archers fired a second volley. Four more slavers fell.

  The remaining outlaws slammed into the fence of spears. five horses were impaled. Ryckair’s men dispatched the riders with their picks. The remaining outlaws pulled back and regrouped. The spears were set again. The bandits surveyed the scene for an instant, then turned and rode swiftly away.

  The bandit chief, seeing his men in retreat, slashed at Ryckair with several powerful blows, then turned and fled after his men.

  Ryckair pulled up on the reigns. “Excellent, men.”

  A woman’s voice spoke loudly in the same heavy accent as the brigand captain. “Yes. outstanding.”

  Ryckair turned round to find the ridge of the hill occupied by at least two hundred mounted soldiers.

  CHAPTER TWLEVE

  The prince raised one hand, signaling his men to stand ready and inspected the newly arrived host. Some carried pikes, others bows. All had swords strapped to their sides. At the head of the company rode a tall, young woman with long red hair and green eyes. She gave a signal and a quarter of the force rode off in pursuit of the slavers.

  Though his men were able to face the bandits, Ryckair had no illusions that they could challenge such a force of armed and trained soldiers. He bowed formally from the saddle to the red headed woman.

  She raised an eyebrow, then walked her horse forward. “We have pursued these slavers for several weeks. You have killed many and delayed the others, a remarkable feat for a beggar army. Normally, you should be rewarded, but, you have broken our most sacred law and entered the forbidden city.”

  “We know not of your law, lady.”

  “Silence! You shall speak when questioned and not before. You stand as trespassers upon the Kingdom of Dharam. I am Shara, daughter of King Masalta and general of his fifth royal army. By what name are you known?”

  “Ryckair, Princess Shara.”

  She laughed. “Address me as ‘General’. It is the title that pleases me best for it is earned. Of what land do you come?”

  “From many lands, general. We escaped from the mines of the Sarte and fought our way through the Oola.”

  She considered this for a moment. “Then dismount and unarm yourselves. You will march with me, Ryckair of many lands. Your crime of trespass can be judged by King Masalta alone.”

  Mirjel sat in her chambers as Yetig slammed his fist against a table. “Madam. It is perfectly acceptable to intercept shipments to remote outposts. They have no way of knowing when the ration has been cut. But, these diversions come from the city militia. The Barasha would have had news of it before this evening.”

  “People are starving.”

  “How many more do you think will starve if your diversions are discovered?” He threw the orders Mirjel had issued that morning onto her writing table. They bore the seal of Craya, prince of Carandir, though, as always, it was Mirjel’s hand that held the signet ring.

  Yetig refastened his doublet. “I was able to intercept this before it was enacted, though it required a clerk to be dispatched to the Dragons’ Halls”

  Mirjel closed her eyes at the news of another life ended. In the weeks since Yetig stormed into their secret meeting she had learned just how many deaths he had ordered to cover up her siphoning of grain from the army. She always thought herself clever in fooling everyone. Now she knew that without Yetig’s intervention the Barasha would have discovered her plot long before.

  She knew Yetig’s anger was justified. The shipment she originally intended to divert had left a week early. She thought no one would notice. But, there were close ties between the town militia and the palace. The Barasha would get word through their spies and all grain shipments would be inspected. Mirjel now saw how the plan was doomed to failure. If Yetig had not killed the clerk their secret enclave would have been crushed. She felt her cheeks flush with rage. Not for the death, rather, for her acceptance of it.

  Yetig’s features relaxed and he adopted a gentler voice. “Your concern for the people of Carandir is noteworthy. It is poor luck that brings droughts for several years in a row. Yet, the Carandir spirit will triumph over all. In the end you will see.” He tossed the orders into the hearth and stirred the ashes.

  Long hours spent each day in overseeing to the running of a nation on the edge of starvation had left Mirjel exhausted. Her nearing term only made it worse. She needed to talk with someone about the burden of the daily decisions she faced.

  Telasec was secreted within the hidden rooms under Meth. With her pregnancy so far advanced, it was difficult for Mirjel to traverse the passageways to the cave at the base of the pinnacle. She wanted to make just one last trip and leave the palace for good.

  Orane and his brother Kyar were locked within the winding corridors of the old lower vaults. They spent their time reading the ancient scrolls and books in search of clues to defeat the Barasha. Reshna’s hold on Carandir increased. Soon, no power short of the dragon crest would be able to stop him.

  Then, there was Craya. She was able to tolerate him when he slept in a drunken stupor on his throne. But, when he awoke, he stumbled about the halls, mumbling incoherently, or berating her in front of whoever was present.

  Mirjel still needed him to hold the figure of power while she manipulated the affairs of state. For this reason, she placated him, spoke courteously, dined in his presence. At times she longed to tell Craya just how much she loathed him. Yetig counseled her to keep up the pretense.

  Yetig. She had hated him for his treachery. Now, though she despised the thought, she relied on him for advice and praise. Sweet Mother of Dragons, she thought. Without his support I would have gone mad long ago.

  As well, she admired him for his ability to turn the course of a mighty nation from behind the throne. It was contrary to her nature. An enemy faced straight on with a knife or sword was the way of her people. Still, she saw clearly the power of Yetig’s political maneuvering. He was ruthless, yet, when necessary, gentle and compassionate.

  She straightened her skirt. “You are right, of course.”

  Yetig bowed. “Soon we will remove the Barasha. Then, Carandir will be ours.”

  “Yes,” said Mirjel. “But, will ‘soon’ come in time?”

  A month passed while Jea and Amar waited. They enjoyed the food and parks. Captain
Amar had taken a particular liking to the local cuisine. But, Jea worried that their claim had been rejected and they would find no help. They had not seen Exor in over a week.

  One morning, a messenger arrived. “Baroness Jea. You are summoned for an audience in one span. An escort will call for you then.”

  Exor arrived half a span later. “It is my honor to accompany you into the presence of Queen Quanto and her consort, Chanlay.

  The audience hall of Xinglan was larger than the throne room of Carandir. It was resplendent with tapestries depicting hunting, fishing, battles and dragons. Exor led them through high, double doors to the twin thrones. On the left sat Queen Quanto and on the right Chanlay.

  Jea, Amar and Exor bowed to one knee.

  Quanto said, “Rise, my guests. Ambassador Exor has spoken of your mission. Please, tell us the story in full.”

  Jea recounted same the tale as she had presented in Au. Amar provided military information received from Colonel Herrik.

  When Jea finished, Quanto turned to Chanlay. “It is a troubling story, My Consort.”

  “Yes, My Queen, but one not wholly surprising.” Chanlay turned to Jea and Amar. “Xinglan stood with Avar the Great when he subdued Baras. We are attuned to the crown and know it is unfocused.”

  Quanto leaned forward. “The rise of the Barasha from death comes unlooked for. We can guess their plan.”

  Canley said, “If Baras were to be wake, would not the dragons intercede?”

  “That is unclear. With the coming of Avar the dragons gave the world to humans, though the Daro and Kyar hold some remnants of true magic. The Barasha’s revival endangers the great plan. It is difficult to see what will transpire.”

  Jea said, “Could you not add your magic to that of the Kyar and Daro?”