The Dragon Blade

by P D Atkerson

  Aroron picked one up, flipping through the pages. He couldn't believe Gil had been taught how to read. Aroron had to beg his mother to teach him.

  Aroron sighed and tossed the book back down.

  Blowing out the candle sitting next to the bed, he lay back under the warm covers, pulling the blanket up to his chin.

  Even though it was still early in the morning, the sky started to turn a lighter blue, and the stars began to fade.

  Aroron tossed and turned, as he tried in vain to sleep. He lay there, looking up at the roof. All he could think about was the fact that his father was in danger, and there was nothing he could do.

  Luckily, Trot only gave him till six to try and sleep. Once six came, Gil told Aroron to get dressed, so they would be able to head to the dungeon. The hallways would still be dark and not many people would be up yet.

  Aroron knew in the royal part of the castle, no one would be up till closer to ten-o-clock in the morning.

  It must be nice to be royal in the Dark Castle. Aroron had only slept past nine one time, and he'd been very sick and could barely move.

  Aroron quickly got dressed and headed into the main room, where Gil was stirring the fireplace coals from the night before. He looked up as Aroron entered.

  "You look a lot better, when you're not dripping wet and bone tired," Gil said, smiling. "Lord Trot will be in momentarily. In the mean time I brought food from the kitchen for you to eat." He pointed to a table in the middle of the room with his fire poker.

  Aroron looked at the food, and suddenly realize how hungry he was. Aroron hadn't eaten since dinner the night before, and he'd used up a lot of his energy! He sat down and started to eat the food.

  Aroron did not know if it was because he was hungry, but everything tasted so good to him this morning.

  He was just finishing eating a pear, when Gil told him he had something for him and left the room.

  He returned, carrying a pair of boots. "They're in better shape than the ones you had, but still broken in." He held them out to Aroron.

  "Thank you," Aroron said, sitting down to pull them on. They fit just right and came up to his thighs. They were nicer than any boots Aroron had before. As he buckled them up, he found a thin pocket on the side, he glanced up at Gil. "What's this for?" he asked.

  Gil looked down at them and squinted. "I think it's for a knife," he said, and nodded. "Yes, that's what it's for."

  Aroron nodded and pulled a knife out of his belt and slid it into the pocket of the boot and stood.

  "Thank you, they're great." He stood on one foot, then the other, trying them out. They were light weight, but thick and sturdy. "They don't feel anything like the boots I had. Where did you get them?" he asked Gil.

  "Lord Trot bought them a few weeks ago, when a traveler came from the kingdom of Shenock," Gil replied, looking down at the boots. "I think you'll find them very useful."

  As Gil was saying this, the door to Trot's room opened and Trot stepped out. He was finishing buttoning his jacket and glanced up at Aroron. "Are you ready to go?" he asked, letting his hands fall to his sides.

  Aroron nodded. "I just finished putting the boots on. Thank you, by the way."

  Trot looked down at Aroron's feet and the boots he wore. He nodded. "It would seem destiny wanted you to have them, seeing as I bought them, and they do not fit me. But enough talk, we must be going before the sun rises." He pulled the hood up over his head. "Come," he said, waving Aroron towards the door leading into the castle.

  Trot opened the door and stood in the doorway for a second. Then he waved to Aroron and dashed down the hallway.

  Trot waved for Aroron to follow him again down the hallway, Trot scurried into the shadows ahead of Aroron.

  Aroron stayed one step behind Trot, as they made their way down the hallway, moving slowly through the shadows.

  "Come on," Trot said, as he waved Aroron through the hallway. "Hurry, I don't want anyone knowing I met with Shon." Trot whispered, as he grabbed a hold of Aroron's arm and pulled him forwards.

  As Aroron and Trot made their way towards the dungeon, the sun started to peek up over the horizon, painting the floor in front of the windows in a yellow-orange-pink light.

  Trot pulled Aroron back against the wall, as a pair of guards crossed their path and continued. Aroron leaned against the wall, breathing hard. Glancing to his left, he looked out the window. There was a thin coating of snow on the ground, but already it was starting to melt, the day would be warm. Winter was coming and would soon cover the kingdom in a thick layer of snow. Aroron wondered if this winter would be colder than most years.

  Trot shook Aroron out of his thoughts. "Come on," He whispered. "They're gone and we need to move!"

  They moved silently down the hallway, not saying a word to one another for several minutes.

  Trot came to a stop in front of a pair of dark stairs, a torch burned on either side of it, but nothing lit the stairs themselves.

  "We need to go down these stairs," Trot said, pointing down the steps.

  Aroron peeked around the wall and down the stairs.

  The stairs looked like the throat of a monster, its mouth open to swallow them both in one bite. Aroron swallowed and looked over at Trot. "The dungeon's down there?" he asked, as he peered into the blackness again.

  "Yes," Trot whispered, moving closer to Aroron. "This is the less used entrance to the dungeon, there should only be one guard, and he doesn't speak to the other guards much," he said. "Or would you rather not see your father at all?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Aroron took in a deep breath. "No, I'll go, but I think it would be best if you go first."

  Trot smiled and shook his head. "Fine, I will go first, but we can't take any light with us," he said, and Aroron nodded. "Then let us begin," he said, stepping down into the inky blackness.

  Aroron sighed and took the first step onto the nearly pitch-black dungeon stairs, closely following behind Trot's shadow.

  Chapter 7

  The Fate of Shon Normel

  Aroron's heavy boots echoed off the walls of the stairwell, as they descended into the darkness of the dungeon below. He flinched every time he took a step.

  Aroron knew they weren't making a sound as they walked. It was only in his mind that they echoed, it was his fear coming out, and he knew it. If he didn't see his father soon, Aroron was sure his head was going to blow up.

  Every step Aroron took brought him closer to his father, and closer to his fate. His heart pounded as he followed even closer to Trot. Aroron could hear his heart beat in his ears. His breath came in short gasps as he tried to calm himself down before they made it to the bottom.

  Memories flickered through his mind, but he wouldn't let himself think about it.

  Aroron felt like everything he'd ever known was crashing down on him, and he knew his life would never be normal again.

  In one day, he'd gone from being the son of King Munay's most trusted Warrior, to being wanted by King Munay, and hunted like a rat through the castle. He was sneaking into the dungeon to meet his father! What had gone wrong?

  Aroron knew he had to find a way to make everything right again. He couldn't start his life over, like he did when he moved into the castle.

  Aroron sighed and looked down the stairs towards Trot, who was outlined in the light from above them.

  Trot ran his right hand along the wall of the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time. Aroron could hear him mumbling to himself, words Aroron couldn't make out. Trot was mad about something, or maybe someone?

  Aroron wondered what it was. Was it him? Was it because he'd come for help? Should he have tried to help Shon on his own? Aroron cleared his throat. "Are you mad about something, Trot?" Aroron asked. "Are you mad I came for help?"

  Trot stopped and looked back up the stairs at him. "What?" he asked, his voice distant and his face clouded. "Oh!" Trot said, as he finally understood what Aroron had said. "No, I'm not mad." He forced a smile. "I was just thi
nking about something, something which happened a few months ago down here. I don't want to talk about it," he said. "Come on, we need to keep moving, time is not on our side." Aroron nodded, as he took another step towards Trot. They continued their journey down the stairs to the dungeon below.

  Trot side stepped around another broken, chipped step, without looking down, as if he'd been down the stairs a hundred times before and didn't need to look where he was going. Aroron wondered how many times Trot had been down to the dungeon before. He didn't even need to carry a lamp to light his way anymore, he moved as if he could see the steps in his mind.

  Down, down, down they went. With every step, the air grew thicker and smelled foul, old and moldy.

  It seemed to Aroron the stairs went down forever and ever. He feared they'd never reach the bottom. Aroron heard stories about such places, where the path to them never ended. What if the Dark Castle Dungeon was one of those places, and the stairs would go on and on forever more into the unending darkness below, until the end of their days?

  Aroron was about to despair and give up on his father, to ask Trot to go back up the stairs, when he saw a glimmer of light, far below them. The light grew closer and Aroron could barely make out what it was.

  The light came from a guard's torch, as it hung behind him. The guard sat on a stool, leaning back against the cold wall. His eyes were closed, and he didn't stir as they came towards the bottom of the stairs. Aroron could hear his breathing.

  The Guard's cloak was wrapped tightly around himself, his chest rose and fell as he breathed. He was leaning to one side and looked like he might fall over at any moment. They took another step towards him, and Lord Trot's boots scraped against the ground.

  The guard sat bolt upright and looked in their direction, as he grabbed for his sword. "Who goes there?" the guard mumbled as he rose from his seat next to the metal barred door. He picked up the torch off the wall and raised it towards them, strange shadows played on his face.

  "I said, who goes there?!" he called out to them again.

  "Keep your hood up," Trot whispered to Aroron, as they stepped closer to the guard. Lord Trot moved forward, till light from the guard's torch fell across his face.

  Trot let his hood down, to reveal his face. He smiled at the dungeon guard. "We have the king's permission to see one of the prisoners. And that's all you need to know."

  The guard watched Trot for a minute, then glanced at Aroron. "And who might he be?" the guard asked, lifting his torch toward Aroron. "I don't remember you bringing anyone with you before," he said, rubbing his nose with his hand.

  "He is a friend of mine, and you will treat him with respect," Trot said, standing with his head held high. "He is allowed to enter the dungeon."

  The guard shrugged and opened the door for them. "Mind your step Lord Trot," the guard warned. As they passed through the door, he lit another torch hanging on the wall and handed it to Lord Trot. "the water above our heads has been seeping through the roof again and it's left behind a mess of puddles." He grinned. "Oh! And don't forget, no feeding the animals." He laughed, closing the door behind them. The door banged as the lock was put back into place. Aroron instantly felt caged. He swallowed and looked around, his hand resting on his sword.

  Ahead of them lay a long, wide path made of stones fitting together perfectly. It was chilly and damp down here. Every ten feet a small grill door was built into the ground, fixed in place by a rusty metal lock. The path stretched on into the darkness, and Aroron couldn't see the end of it. He noticed on the edges of the path there were pools of water forming.

  Aroron stood over one of the grills. "What are they for? And where is the water from?" Aroron whispered to Trot, as he looked down into the darkness below the grill. It looked like it might be a strange room, but he couldn't see much of it.

  "Those are the cells, and the water is from the lake the castle stands in, it's above our heads," Trot said, looking up. "If the roof were ever to break and fall in, this place would flood quickly." He lifted his torch and started walking, Aroron followed.

  As they walked past the first cell, a waft of air blew onto their faces. Aroron nearly threw up what he'd eaten earlier that morning.

  The dungeon smelled of mold, sewer and sweat. An even more concentrated smell of filth than outside the door, or on the stairs.

  Aroron quickly pulled his cloak over his mouth and slowed his breathing. "How do the prisoners even survive the smell of this place?" Aroron asked, his voice muffled.

  "Well, it isn't as if they have much of a choice, do they?" Trot asked, raising an eyebrow. "They do what they have to." He snorted. "I bet most of them don't even smell it anymore. They probably don't even remember what fresh air smells like."

  Aroron nodded. "I just hope Shon is okay and will make it out of this wretched place alive." He shuttered at the thought of Shon being down here, all alone, in the darkness, pools of filth and grime surrounding him.

  "Believe me when I say, your father has been through much worse things than a smelly dungeon, Aroron," Trot whispered back, as they passed the next cell. "He'll be fine down here. Come, your father will be in the last cell."

  Aroron couldn't believe the place. Other than their torch, there wasn't a single light for as far as the eye could see. He imagined the dungeon went on and on forever, into a black hole of nothingness. How big was the underground castle?

  A rat scurried across their path, and for a fleeting second, its blood red eyes bore into Aroron, he shuttered and stepped back. "This place is terrible!"

  Trot sighed and nodded. "I know, let's just keep moving."

  As Aroron and Trot passed over the next grill, they heard chains scraping against the ground. The hair on the back of Aroron's neck stood up, as he glanced down at the cell as they passed. He could make out nothing in the darkness, he hadn't really thought about the other people down here. All he'd cared about was Shon and himself. As he was moving past the cell, he heard strange laughing.

  "Bizarre things are going on and I notice you haven't come to see me this time," hissed a man in the cell, as he laughed again.

  Aroron froze and looked at Trot. He stopped, lowered his head, gripping a hand full of his cloak so tightly his knuckles turned white. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips together.

  "And it's been nearly two months since your last visit," the man said. "Have you forgotten about me already?" the man asked.

  Aroron figured Trot would ignore the man and continue walking, but he didn't. "I told you, I wasn't going to come back to see you again, not after what you said about me," Trot spoke through clenched teeth, without turning towards the man he spoke to. Trot's hands were shaking.

  Aroron heard chains moving again. He could just make out the outline of a man through the grating, he had a feeling the man was staring back at him. Aroron quickly looked down at the ground.

  "What I said was true," the man said, and laughed.

  How can someone laugh so much down here? Aroron wondered.

  "I don't love you and I never will, you were just an accident, a mistake," the man hissed. "We never wanted children, but your mother wouldn't hear of giving you away after you were born. As luck would have it, your mother lived longer than the rest of my wives," the man said. "Or I would have gotten rid of you before you could take the title of 'lord' away from me."

  Trot popped his knuckles, but the man laughed mockingly. Aroron cringed inwardly at the sound of the man's evil laughter, it reminded him of a cruel animal.

  "Your mother was a penniless little princess," said the man, "and she was only good for the title she carried from birth, just like you. But you took the title from me and now I sit down here rotting, and it's all your doing! Your doing, I say!"

  Trot spun around, his eyes burned, as he shoved past Aroron. Standing above the cell, he glared down at the man.

  "You little rat!" Trot hissed. "It's not my fault you're down here! Did I make you steal from King Munay? Did I make you the wretched person you a
re? No!" Trot snapped, slamming his foot down onto the bars. Dirt fell from his boot, into the man's face. The man stepped back. "The world would be better if you had died long ago, even better if you were never born!"

  "Watch your mouth, boy!" the man snapped, his voice stronger than before. He spat on the ground. "Or have you forgotten? if I had never been born, neither would you!"

  "I wish it were not true," Trot said, through gritted teeth. "Watching you rot down here is as close as I can get to my wish."

  "Well, someone is in a bad mood today," Lord Trot's father said, cackling. "And who is the boy with you?" he asked. "I saw him pass over with you, strange looking he is. Not like most of the boys I saw in the castle in my time."

  Trot stood up taller. "If you were any kind of a man, you would know who he is!" he hissed. "He is your grandson, by my sister Helen."

  "Um..." the man said. "Helen? Which one was she again?" the man asked Trot. "I can't place the name...." he mumbled

  A growl formed in Trot's throat. "Come, let us leave this man to rot in his own filth," Trot said to Aroron, as he glared at the man.

  "Tell Helen hello for me," the man said, with a smile. As he moved back into the shadows, closing his eyes as if he was asleep.

  Trot kicked the cell bar hard again with his foot. "She's dead, you little son of a devil!" Trot screamed at the man, turned around and grabbed Aroron's arm, pulling him away from the man in the cell. "Let's go."

  Once they were away from the man, Aroron pulled his arm free of Trot's tightening grasp. "Who was he?" Aroron asked. "And how do you know him?"

  Trot sighed and stopped walking. For a minute he said nothing, and only looked out into the darkness of the dungeon. Aroron could see his eyes were glossy, as if on the brink of crying, but he was fighting it back.

  "You know your mother was my half-sister?" Trot asked, and Aroron nodded. "Well, that beast of a man back there, was our father, though I wish it were not true."

  Aroron took in a breath of the foul air, he'd been right in his guess. "Her father?" Aroron whispered to himself. "Why have I never heard of him before?" he asked. "I always thought her parents were dead."