War Dragons

by C. K. Rieke

  “The king welcomes you,” he said, urging them to come forward. His heavy eyelids lifted wide at the sight of the two dragons behind them. “I assume your dragons will be waiting outside of the castle gates.”

  Lilaci looked to Kera.

  “I think they will be all right waiting in this room,” Kera said, looking around at the entryway to the palace, lit in the lights of a hundred bright torches. “We like to stay together. They won’t tear up anything I don’t think.”

  The emissary cleared his throat with a big gulp, but bowed and ushered them in. Lilaci winked at Kera, who winked back.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The party made their way up the tower together. Inside of the palace, its center was a massive and hollow interior with three sets of stairs that wound their way up to the highest peak of Āsobôr. As Lilaci looked up toward the top of the tower, it felt to her as if they were in a great, hollowed out mountain of smooth, white stone. She imagined what it must be like to look up the way she was during a warm afternoon, with soft sunlight flowing through the windows and shining down upon the three winding staircases. It must be beautiful. Now the interior glowed with a wicked red and orange hue, and with the helpless screams roaring outside its walls, the palace felt like a place out of a dream—no, a nightmare.

  They walked quietly up on the staircase, holding onto a smooth, marble handle at their left as they walked up step by step. Lilaci thought it would take them at least a couple of hours to climb up to the very top chamber, if that’s where the king and prince were. Then she noticed a platform coming into view, and then she saw the ropes that were hanging down from the top of the tower. Once they had walked another hundred or so stairs, they arrived at it. The emissary walked onto the platform first, then ushered them to walk out onto the platform quickly. Its base was a lightweight, gray metal, with more pieces of metal coming up on its sides and meeting a bar that was high enough for Lilaci to easily rest a hand on.

  “It’s perfectly safe,” the emissary said, “and much, much quicker.” He looked up toward the top of the tower and fitting his finger and thumb into the sides of his mouth, he let out a unique three-beat whistle that rang out to the top, filling and echoing throughout the entirety of the hollowed ‘mountain’. Lilaci gripped the cold metal with her hand and clasped onto Kera’s cloak as the platform shifted with a loud rattle.

  She watched as the ropes on both sides of the platform began to move around wheels, holding large spools of the rope. None talked as they rose now easily up toward where the king presumably awaited.

  After twenty minutes of being carried upward, they approached a flat, white stone top that was close to one-hundred yards in diameter. With it only ten feet overhead, the platform halted, and the emissary put out a hand for them to exit and enter the very last section of the stairway.

  “We are here,” he said, waving his hand. Lilaci couldn’t tell if he was just impatient or scared for his city.

  They hurried up the stairs, and arrived at a heavy, dark wooden door, which just before Lilaci went to grip its black-metal handle, it unlatched from the other side, and she instantly saw what had carried them up the tower; a set of wheels like were on the platform, only these were as tall as her with two broad-shouldered men on each side of them. They looked at her curiously, as if they’d never seen a Lu-Polini before.

  The emissary shot past her, brushing across her arm. “After me, hurry.”

  They did just that, and after a right turn, they ended up in the middle of a hallway with a soft red rug and ornate candles on each side of the white stone. Just as they reached the closed iron door, and as the emissary reached out to knock on the door, they heard a heavy thud on the other side of the door, and then another thud as something hit the ground. Lilaci listened intently. Then there was the sound of something breaking on another wall inside the chamber. She noticed the emissary clear his throat. He pounded his fist on the door once.

  “My liege,” he called to the king. “They’re here.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Let them in.” Lilaci heard the voice call out from the inside.

  The door opened with a loud creaking sound, the marble-like stone white floor was littered with broken vases, torn sheets, candles and candelabras scattered. At the middle of the mess in the large room decorated with fine oil paintings of what were presumably kings and queens of times past, stood the king.

  “Kera, Lilaci,” the emissary said, with his shoulders and head back. “May I present to you and your comrades King Garrond Warrgon, the first of his name.”

  Lilaci was astonished by the king’s appearance. He resembled little of what she’d been told of the strong war-king. He stood, slightly hunched over, breathing heavily, shirtless, and... crying. His black beard was shaved off, and now replaced by a stubbly chin. Empty bottles were strewn across the room, with pools of dark wine and clear liquid pooling in places. The room smelled musty from sweat and alcohol. The king seemed to be trying to calm himself, but his beady eyes only showed pain, and anger.

  “King Garrond,” Kera said, taking a step toward him. “We are here to help you. I’m sorry we are so late, but we have finally arrived in your city of Scindír.”

  The king went to speak, but then his eyes welled up with tears again, and he bit his lip as his jaw quivered.

  “The dragon,” Gogenanth asked, with his hand held gently out. “Have your soldiers found any weakness in the beast? Anything you can tell us at all?”

  “Dragon...” the king mumbled. “They sent the dragon...”

  “King Garrond,” Veranor then said in a stern voice, as if trying to reach through the king’s current state. “What’s happened here? You know me. I am Commander Veranor. We need to know what you know, and quickly.”

  The emissary seemed stunned, eying back to the guards at the king’s throne room door.

  “It's all right,” Fewn said to the emissary. “He didn’t mean any disrespect. But we must know.”

  The old emissary brushed away the guards with their golden tridents drawn.

  “He...” the king struggled to say, then glanced around the room hastily. His eyes fixed on what appeared to be a bottle upright in the corner. He ran over and upturned it to his lips, only to find drops wetting his lips. He flung the bottle against the far wall, smashing it to pieces. Lilaci took a stride to stand in between Kera and him. “He... he’s taken everything.”

  “Who, Dânoz?” Lilaci asked.

  Then a fire erupted in his eyes. “No! Arymos! He did this. All of this. My son...” Garrond choked up, falling to the wall behind him, and sliding down until he hit the ground, and he began to sob.

  “Prince Garrond,” Veranor said, walking toward the king. “Where is the prince?” The king continued crying, and let his head fall to his knees. They looked to the emissary who shied away from the question. But Veranor took two wide paces at him. His scarred face glared heavily on the old, frail man. “It may be difficult, but you have a mad dragon tearing your city apart, and your king is indisposed. We’re wasting valuable time.”

  “Wasting your time?” the king said in an all-the-sudden very clear voice. Rising back up and lumbering over to Veranor, he grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. Lilaci saw his eyes mad with rage. Not only the king’s, but Veranor wasn’t used to being treated so, and she knew he was working hard to keep from defending himself. “I fought wars for him, for all of them! I gave my life for them. Everything I ever did was for them and my family. You’ve been in a war. You’ve seen the eyes of the young men you kill. It changes a man. Forever.”

  Lilaci went over and put a calming hand on the king’s shoulder. “We’re not your enemy. Your city is burning. We are your only chance. Calm yourself. You can speak to us.”

  “Is that you, Lilaci?” the king asked, releasing Veranor from his grasp and staggering backward. “You’re not as I pictured you. I knew you were of the Lu-Polini, but I thought you’d be... younger.”

  “You
’re not the only one going through hardships in this war,” Lilaci said. “This is only the beginning too, if we don’t stop,” she was about to say Dânoz, but chose, “Arymos, first.”

  The war-kings eyes refocused heavily and glared at the floor.

  “He killed m’boy,” Garrond said. “Right in front of m’eyes. Flayed him. Flayed him he did.” The king was swaying his head back and forth. “We raised those dragons you know. The gods couldn’t do it. It had to be royal blood as the offering, as a willing offering. My whole life has been for them, and for naught now...”

  “Arymos flayed the prince?” Fewn asked, with her hand slightly covering her mouth. “Why would he do that?”

  “To punish me, he knew Lezeral, Borr, Eza, and I agreed. My son even tried to dissuade me from the agreement. Perhaps he was right, maybe I shouldn’t have gone to war with you. Maybe he’d still be alive now.”

  There was a hollow silence, but the cries for help still murmured from far down below in the city.

  “Right or wrong,” Kera then said, stepping out from behind Lilaci. She went over and knelt before the king, so they were almost at eye level, as he had fallen back to the floor. “We are here now. I feel for your loss. There will be time to grieve for your, son. We all have lost loved ones.” She looked around. “We’ve all lost our families because of the gods.”

  His eyes met hers, as if he was listening to a wise, old, oracle.

  “If this never ends, then nothing will change,” she said. “You’re a king. Would you ever unleash complete destruction like this upon your people? How mad would you have to be to do such an evil act? Ruling is a difficult task. Seeing over that many people must keep you up at night, most nights. But how far would you have to go to do such murder? You wouldn’t I’d wager. But he did. They do. He murdered your own son in front of you, and believe me when I say this, that we have all been there before.”

  The king’s eyes looked around the room at the group before him. A hardened persona came back to him then, and for the first time since they’d arrived, Lilaci felt as though she was looking at a king.

  “Yes,” he said as he stood. “I know you as Scaethers have been through what I am going through and more. Please, let us have a much-needed conversation. In order that you may help me save my city.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Is Arymos’ goal to kill everyone in this city?” Fewn asked the king, her eyes wide as she looked out the window at the city as it burned. “While you watch it from on high? Helpless?”

  “It looks that way...” The king sighed. “But not all is lost.” His beady eyes went to Kera, who was dimly lit in the mix of candlelight and the aura of fire wafting through the windows. The great dragon roared from outside the castle walls. “The Dragon’s Breath is standing here in front of me now, with dragons of her own now. The prophecy was true all along.”

  “What can you tell us?” Gogenanth asked, his arms were folded over his chest, but his boot tapped impatiently.

  “The dragon, its name is... Obsidrox, a great dragon of old lore.” Behind the king, past the windows that layout the city behind him the giant silhouette of a massive dragon flew past. There were six dragons Dânoz, Arymos and the others had us resurrect. But you well know that. You fought them, and you beat them.”

  “They’re different now,” Lilaci said, “changed. Tell us, when we first fought the dragons they were still quite large, but rib bones poked out of their sides like dead wood protruding through the sands. They had ripped wings and rotten breath. Now, they look like they’ve been roaming these skies a century. Do you have any idea what kind of trick Dânoz is using to force their growth so? Can it be reversed?”

  “Those are not the only dragons that are growing rapidly.” He gave Kera a wry smile. Looking back at Lilaci his smile faded. “Whatever enchantment is placed on them to create such growth in them seems to be working on your dragons as well. Given time, yours will reach the same size as Obsidrox, Tirilin and the others.”

  “We don’t have the luxury of waiting until then,” Gogenanth said. “What did Arymos tell you while he was here? Did he give any clues as to how to defeat them and the dragons?”

  “Arymos, that bastard,” the king said, with his eyes wrought with grief and anger. “He was here, just before your last battle with the six dragons, the gods originally were going to hole themselves in the three cities. But they didn’t expect you to survive that fight, let alone kill two of their dragons. He didn’t say anything that would give me a clear clue as to what was causing the dragons to become such monsters. After all, these six dragons were originally the most feared by the gods.”

  “How so?” Ezmerelda asked.

  “These dragons were the most difficult to kill back in the old wars, and they had a real hatred for the gods, so whatever spell is holding them in restraint is powerful indeed, even in their newfound life after death.”

  “King Garrond,” Kera then asked, her voice was gentle but clear. “What—what are the gods?”

  Lilaci was taken aback by the question. She’d always just assumed the gods were the gods. It wasn’t really until Kera asked that question she thought they might be something else.

  “What do you mean?” Garrond said, shaking his head. “They’re the gods. That simple.”

  “No,” Kera said, shaking her head. “I think you’re wrong. There’s something telling me the Arr wasn’t born of the Six. The Six took it for their own.” She paused. “Does any of this sound familiar. I just was thinking that if anyone in these lands knew anything more about the gods than was commonly known, it would be you.”

  “I will say, we never thought that one of them could be killed!” His eyes shot to Veranor, and he nodded. “Well done on that one. You really spooked them by killing Gorlen.” His focus returned to the severity of the question. “I have no knowledge of the time before the gods, if there ever was one. After all, all of our history is written around them.”

  “I’ve been to another land,” Gogenanth said, then he corrected himself, looking to Ezmerelda. “We’ve been to another land. Where the gods were powerful, yes, but they got their powers from another source. Does that sound familiar?”

  The king leaned back, seemingly deep in thought, and his right eye ever-so-slightly twitched. He looked to be weighing how much they knew.

  “The stones,” Lilaci said, holding out her hand to the king, as if to have one in her hand. “Lezeral told us, she said Gorlen may have dropped one.”

  “There is an old tale that said something along those lines,” the king said, “but it may be a fable.”

  “It may not also,” Fewn said.

  “It’s not a fable in Essill,” Gogenanth said. “I saw it with my own eyes. I lost friends too.”

  “Be clear and straight with us,” Lilaci said. “We are about to leave the safety of this palace and go fight for your people. Should we just leave now?”

  “Wait,” the king said, holding his hand out as Lilaci had just begun to turn back toward the door. “I have my theories. In exchange for this information, I ask one thing in return, if my theory does end up being correct.”

  “What is that?” Lilaci folded her arms.

  “The stones,” he said. “I want the stones.”

  “Ha!” Fewn laughed. “You and Lezeral too. You kings and queens are all the same!”

  “We’ve promised one to Lezeral,” Lilaci said. “That should be enough, if they prove to be powerful, they don’t all need to be in the hands of the rich and powerful.”

  “King Garrond,” Kera said with kind, silver eyes, “wouldn’t it be enough to know that any knowledge you give us that may help us; will help every soul alive in the desert. Isn’t that enough of a reward for you?”

  The king was deep in thought and scratched his stubbly chin. “I suppose it would be enough of a reward if you stop these damned dragons from burning my city to the ground. So, as I said, I don’t know if this has any merit, but my theory has to do with the i
sland of Arralyn itself.”

  “Go on, please,” Kera said.

  “My father told me there was a reason the gods live there. It’s not written on any page of papyrus, or in any book. His father told him of a rare metal that lay in the rocks there, veining its way throughout the island. And that metal had a rare power, and it lay nowhere else. The island, you see, is seething with it, and the gods adore it over all else.”

  “The metal,” Veranor said, “I’ve never heard of it. What does it look like? What does it do, what is this rare power?”

  “I know not what it looks like,” the king said, “as I’ve never seen it with my own eyes. But I have been to the island once, when I was just a young prince, and I remember the greenest of greens, and the most vivid yellows and violets of flowers you could imagine. I didn’t want to leave and come back to the sands. I believe the metal somehow sustains life or enriches it. Whatever it does, I believe that is what is causing the dragons to grow as they are. There may have been some of that metal brought with the gods when they came here from Firen-ar, and that somehow affected the dragons. Perhaps that is the same way they are driving the dragons mad.”

  “So, the same thing that is causing them to grow is also what is sending them into this rage?” Fewn asked, scratching her head. “Then why aren’t our dragons mad?”

  “They also aren’t growing as fast as the larger dragons,” Ezmerelda said. “It could be possible that madness would find its way to Herradax and Kôrran... Although that would be a tragedy.”

  “Doesn’t the tale say that any dragons that went to attack Arralyn were driven mad, and eventually would be drowned in the sea,” Kera asked. “Then that makes sense that a substance in the rocks itself could create that, and that they brought some of that metal with them. Knowing Herradax the way I know her now, I’m certain that if those six dragons were as ferocious against the gods as you say, they would never obey the gods, and attack other dragons as they did!”