22 April 760
I sat in silence, as I had so often of late. My hand touched hers, and my mind roamed far beyond the surrounding walls and the forests…a disembodied consciousness, probing out in all directions at once in a desperate search for some meaning. I felt…thin…dissipated; as if the substance of my life was being borne off in slow, inexorable draughts. So much loss, I thought. So many fallen from our grasp. Mother…Father…my People, all lost or beyond my reach. Darius – gone now these 35 years with no word of his Fate; or if the dragons would come to our aid as a result of his mission there. Myrrdin also – lost to us on some great task we did not even comprehend. The news of the war remained grim, as one city after another toppled to the will of Nargoroth. And now, this…yet another cruel blow in the unending succession.
I turned back to look at her – my Ivy, lying there as if asleep; the same benign expression on her face that had been there for nearly four months. Seeing her peaceful countenance nearly sparked a rage in me – an appearance of serenity that mocked the turmoil that bubbled within me. The worst of it was not knowing…not being able to understand its cause or cure. The Drow Priestess, Lio, had called it a fugue state – as if my sister lived now only in the dreaming world that lay somewhere between this life and the life beyond. But none of the priestesses, wise men or healers could say anything of its source – whether some evil perpetrated by the Shadow; or some illness they did not understand. I wanted to scream, in my anger and frustration; but all I could do was to sit, and wait…and hope my sister might somehow be returned to me.
My mind traveled back to happier times. Of Ivy on the day of her wedding to Sir Ean Paderborn – a beloved Elf-Lord who had come to us in answer to my summons; and had been reunited with Ivy after many years of separation. I recalled them playing together as children in those early days at Greatwood, declaring to all who would listen that they would one day stand as man and wife. Indeed, they did court as they grew to their majorities together; but that courtship was cuts short as Ean, like so many other young elven warriors, took up the sword in service to his Queen. The fire that burned in him made him one of the most loyal and committed soldiers to serve our cause. For twenty years, he led bands of Elf-Warriors on the most dangerous missions – moving about the world to find our People and call them to duty. His beloved, Ivy, waited patiently for his return – that they might speak their vows, each to the other, on the happiest day I had witnessed since those blissful, early years at Taur-na-Sylvhara.
I thought of her on the day of her consecration as Sylvan High Priestess…how she glistened in the white and silver ceremonial robes; and seemed to radiate a light of healing energy that touched all about her. I closed my eyes, and saw again that sparkle in her eyes; and in her beatific smile – as I asked her to take her vow of love and support for her Queen. That look – that seemed to me to say: “How silly, Comet! I have always loved you, and served and supported you. We need no ceremony to make it so!” I smiled, in spite of myself, as I recalled the warmth and beauty of that moment.
I touched her face – gently pushing back the few, golden wisps of hair that touched her forehead; and bent close to kiss her as I whispered: “Ivy…come back to me…I am not whole without you here…and will wait until the closing of time for your safe return to me. Quel esta, tenna’ ento lye omenta, a’mael.”
I sat back up, resisting the urge to sob, and heard a now familiar voice behind me. It would be Lord Obadiah, Prince of Eradon, who seemed never far from me these days – and especially since Ivy had fallen into slumber. He said “My Queen. I am sorry to disturb you; but Lord Malikith sends word of a small party approaching Qu’ellar Vil’rath…an odd group, by all reports, that he thinks you should come forward to greet.”
My heart leapt, and my mind spun through all the possibilities: Darius? Myrrdin? Could it be that one of them had returned? Or both? Or was it some other bringing fresh portents of good or ill from out in the world? I squeezed Ivy’s hand, tenderly; and rose from my chair to join Obadiah in the doorway. I opened my mouth to speak to him, to inquire what news he had of this approaching band. But as my lips moved, and before I could find the breath to form words, I heard a soft voice behind me say, in that unmistakable tone of confidence and certainty: “Nathan has returned to us, dear sister”.
I whirled about, my heart hammering and sure that I had imagined it. It took but a glance, however, to know that I had not – for there, looking back at me with those extraordinary eyes and omnipresent, peaceful smile, was my beloved sister. I ran to the bed, hurling myself into the air to cover the last few feet, and embraced her with a wild mixture of laughter and tears. No words came; but both knew that none were needed.
I left Ivy in the care of Calliope and Elëanesse, the young daughter of my aunt Elëanil. A beautiful child, Elëanesse had finely carved features, ivory skin and lustrous hair that looked as if spun from milk, honey and gold. She reminded me so much of Ivy at that age, and had become a personal favorite at Court. It seemed she would follow us – Ivy or me – wherever we went, scarcely leaving our sides. While I was reluctant to leave my sister so soon after her awakening, it was clear that she was fully restored – carrying on a conversation with Elëanesse and Calliope as if nothing had ever been amiss. I apologized to Ivy, telling her I must attend to Nathan’s arrival. I kissed her softly on the cheek and turned to leave the chamber. As I left the chamber, I heard her call after me, telling me to hurry back when able as there was “something of great import that we two must discuss”. I turned back to her, saw her reassuring smile, and nodded in return…before rushing after Prince Obadiah to seek out Nathan and his party.
I turned back to look at her – my Ivy, lying there as if asleep; the same benign expression on her face that had been there for nearly four months. Seeing her peaceful countenance nearly sparked a rage in me – an appearance of serenity that mocked the turmoil that bubbled within me. The worst of it was not knowing…not being able to understand its cause or cure. The Drow Priestess, Lio, had called it a fugue state – as if my sister lived now only in the dreaming world that lay somewhere between this life and the life beyond. But none of the priestesses, wise men or healers could say anything of its source – whether some evil perpetrated by the Shadow; or some illness they did not understand. I wanted to scream, in my anger and frustration; but all I could do was to sit, and wait…and hope my sister might somehow be returned to me.
My mind traveled back to happier times. Of Ivy on the day of her wedding to Sir Ean Paderborn – a beloved Elf-Lord who had come to us in answer to my summons; and had been reunited with Ivy after many years of separation. I recalled them playing together as children in those early days at Greatwood, declaring to all who would listen that they would one day stand as man and wife. Indeed, they did court as they grew to their majorities together; but that courtship was cuts short as Ean, like so many other young elven warriors, took up the sword in service to his Queen. The fire that burned in him made him one of the most loyal and committed soldiers to serve our cause. For twenty years, he led bands of Elf-Warriors on the most dangerous missions – moving about the world to find our People and call them to duty. His beloved, Ivy, waited patiently for his return – that they might speak their vows, each to the other, on the happiest day I had witnessed since those blissful, early years at Taur-na-Sylvhara.
I thought of her on the day of her consecration as Sylvan High Priestess…how she glistened in the white and silver ceremonial robes; and seemed to radiate a light of healing energy that touched all about her. I closed my eyes, and saw again that sparkle in her eyes; and in her beatific smile – as I asked her to take her vow of love and support for her Queen. That look – that seemed to me to say: “How silly, Comet! I have always loved you, and served and supported you. We need no ceremony to make it so!” I smiled, in spite of myself, as I recalled the warmth and beauty of that moment.
I touched her face – gently pushing back the few, golden wisps of hair that touched her forehead; and bent close to kiss her as I whispered: “Ivy…come back to me…I am not whole without you here…and will wait until the closing of time for your safe return to me. Quel esta, tenna’ ento lye omenta, a’mael.”
I sat back up, resisting the urge to sob, and heard a now familiar voice behind me. It would be Lord Obadiah, Prince of Eradon, who seemed never far from me these days – and especially since Ivy had fallen into slumber. He said “My Queen. I am sorry to disturb you; but Lord Malikith sends word of a small party approaching Qu’ellar Vil’rath…an odd group, by all reports, that he thinks you should come forward to greet.”
My heart leapt, and my mind spun through all the possibilities: Darius? Myrrdin? Could it be that one of them had returned? Or both? Or was it some other bringing fresh portents of good or ill from out in the world? I squeezed Ivy’s hand, tenderly; and rose from my chair to join Obadiah in the doorway. I opened my mouth to speak to him, to inquire what news he had of this approaching band. But as my lips moved, and before I could find the breath to form words, I heard a soft voice behind me say, in that unmistakable tone of confidence and certainty: “Nathan has returned to us, dear sister”.
I whirled about, my heart hammering and sure that I had imagined it. It took but a glance, however, to know that I had not – for there, looking back at me with those extraordinary eyes and omnipresent, peaceful smile, was my beloved sister. I ran to the bed, hurling myself into the air to cover the last few feet, and embraced her with a wild mixture of laughter and tears. No words came; but both knew that none were needed.
I left Ivy in the care of Calliope and Elëanesse, the young daughter of my aunt Elëanil. A beautiful child, Elëanesse had finely carved features, ivory skin and lustrous hair that looked as if spun from milk, honey and gold. She reminded me so much of Ivy at that age, and had become a personal favorite at Court. It seemed she would follow us – Ivy or me – wherever we went, scarcely leaving our sides. While I was reluctant to leave my sister so soon after her awakening, it was clear that she was fully restored – carrying on a conversation with Elëanesse and Calliope as if nothing had ever been amiss. I apologized to Ivy, telling her I must attend to Nathan’s arrival. I kissed her softly on the cheek and turned to leave the chamber. As I left the chamber, I heard her call after me, telling me to hurry back when able as there was “something of great import that we two must discuss”. I turned back to her, saw her reassuring smile, and nodded in return…before rushing after Prince Obadiah to seek out Nathan and his party.
*********************
I found them in the reception hall, where Malikith, Loren, Carandon and his guard were already assembled. I was both happy and relieved to see Nathan there, safely returned to us…though he was scarcely recognizable to me, or even to his beloved sister. His face was etched with care, bearing the mark of a man who had seen much in his years of absence…the look of one who would never again be the same as he had once been. For all that, he was in splendid vigor – hardened by his years in the weather and the wild.
With him had come an unusual group of companions: Carandon and his men, who had exhaustively sought him over the years, tracking down each report or possible sighting; a dark and somber man called Bartemis – who said little, but whose eyes seemed to take in all of what they surveyed; and – most remarkably of all – Draco, the heir to the Dragon King who had been sent into hiding by Mother and Father so very long ago. Carandon had found the three at Minas Baladon, a small village on the old trading road that led from Taur-na-Sylvhara to Yaana Amrun, in the North. The three were laid up at the Inn there, all nursing wounds of one form or another. Carandon discovered them just in time, as a small group of unsavory men had grown suspicious of the three travelers; and made to take them in order to see what they might be worth – and to whom. But by the time the brigands made their move, Carandon had swept up the party, put them on horseback and spirited them away on the Southern road toward the Shadowpine Forest.
I was eager to greet Lord Draco – whose kinship to me, though from a distance, was well established by virtue of my parents’ deeds. His arrival, along with Nathan, seemed ample cause for celebration. But as I entered the hall with Obadiah leading the way, I sensed immediately the ominous air that greeted me. The assembled party stood in silence, their faces masked in anguish; or turned their gazes from me as I came near. I stopped, looked at them, and said: “Nathan…Carandon…the mood of this place is as a funeral, and not a celebration of our Cousin’s return. Come, quick; and tell me what has happened?”
My demand was met by silence. Even Malikith – whom I trusted to spare me no news, no matter how dire – remained mute. Finally, Nathan rose from his chair and made his way to me through the throng. His face held firm a grimace, though I knew it was not from pain of his injuries. I looked at him and said, only: “Tell me, cousin, that which I must know”.
Nathan stopped, looked at me…and then away, studying some mark upon the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, stammering through the words…words that fell on me and drove the cold of the fiercest winter deep into my heart. I fought to remain standing as the impact of them struck me.
“My Queen…Comet…it is Lord Darius. We live because of him…but he has…fallen. He is…lost to us.”
With him had come an unusual group of companions: Carandon and his men, who had exhaustively sought him over the years, tracking down each report or possible sighting; a dark and somber man called Bartemis – who said little, but whose eyes seemed to take in all of what they surveyed; and – most remarkably of all – Draco, the heir to the Dragon King who had been sent into hiding by Mother and Father so very long ago. Carandon had found the three at Minas Baladon, a small village on the old trading road that led from Taur-na-Sylvhara to Yaana Amrun, in the North. The three were laid up at the Inn there, all nursing wounds of one form or another. Carandon discovered them just in time, as a small group of unsavory men had grown suspicious of the three travelers; and made to take them in order to see what they might be worth – and to whom. But by the time the brigands made their move, Carandon had swept up the party, put them on horseback and spirited them away on the Southern road toward the Shadowpine Forest.
I was eager to greet Lord Draco – whose kinship to me, though from a distance, was well established by virtue of my parents’ deeds. His arrival, along with Nathan, seemed ample cause for celebration. But as I entered the hall with Obadiah leading the way, I sensed immediately the ominous air that greeted me. The assembled party stood in silence, their faces masked in anguish; or turned their gazes from me as I came near. I stopped, looked at them, and said: “Nathan…Carandon…the mood of this place is as a funeral, and not a celebration of our Cousin’s return. Come, quick; and tell me what has happened?”
My demand was met by silence. Even Malikith – whom I trusted to spare me no news, no matter how dire – remained mute. Finally, Nathan rose from his chair and made his way to me through the throng. His face held firm a grimace, though I knew it was not from pain of his injuries. I looked at him and said, only: “Tell me, cousin, that which I must know”.
Nathan stopped, looked at me…and then away, studying some mark upon the floor. He opened his mouth to speak, stammering through the words…words that fell on me and drove the cold of the fiercest winter deep into my heart. I fought to remain standing as the impact of them struck me.
“My Queen…Comet…it is Lord Darius. We live because of him…but he has…fallen. He is…lost to us.”
************************
I sat at the table in the Great Hall, my senses numbed by the cold that enveloped me as Nathan and the others told their tale. I feared I would not make it through the stories; but each time I felt I might swoon, Obadiah was there – his hand upon my shoulder as if to give me strength. Part of me was offended by his boldness with his Queen, here in front of others; yet I was thankful for his intuitive sense and strength at a time of need.
Here is the tale told by Nathan and his companions, as I recorded it:
The letter came to in early October of that year. I recall it clearly, for it was the time of the Harvest Festival…and I knew there would be little call for architects as the year fell away to harsh winter. The letter was addressed to me at Durohn, and forwarded by couriers until it found me here. It was signed by a Lord Caradhras, and offered a commission for a most unique development – perhaps unprecedented in architectural history. He asked me to commit nothing more than to meet him at the Inn at Minas Baladon – the very same one at which Lord Carandon discovered us. It was not far, and I was intrigued – and made the decision to go on the spot.
I met Caradhras less than a fortnight later. He was an odd sort, and spoke only cryptically of what he knew. He was evasive; and I became frustrated and angry at his reluctance to speak freely of the project. I told him so, and then rose abruptly – declaring the meeting at an end…and, at that, he finally spoke. His commission was not from a man, or an elf or drow. It was for a dragon, he confided; and not just any dragon. It was for Gormackh – son and heir to Bragollach, who had provided such service to your Father in those early years. The Dragon Lord meant to build a magnificent temple for the dragons…more than a temple, a Cathedral. He hoped it might one day be a gathering point to draw together all the brothers and sisters scattered across the world by the forces of Shadow. I was amazed by this report; and fell in thrall to the notion of building it. I accepted the commission at once, forgetting to even inquire about the terms.
We set out the next morning on a three day journey to the north; to the mountainous area our ancestors called Orod Giliath. I am sure it would have taken a week longer to scale to the aerie – the very spot where the Great Council of Dragons once met to approve the Migration of the Wyrms. But before we could commence our climb, two young drakes descended and bore us up, on their backs – sent by Gormackh to do so. We landed in a great open courtyard, dwarfed by its immense scale. Around the walls roosted many dragons, young and old; brown, green and silver – or fire red; some gracefully acknowledging and welcoming me, but most ominously staring at me through their lidless eyes. At the far end of the room sat a large, fire-red dragon that I knew at once was Gormackh. I set off in that direction, with Caradhras trailing me. As I neared, I bowed deeply, and – with a dramatic sweep of my hand – presented myself to my new patron.
I talked with Gormackh for over three hours – listening to his vision of reuniting the great dragon hordes; and his designs for the dragon temple. He then fixed a look upon me and asked, bluntly “Do you think, elf mason, that you are up to the task I propose to you?” I stood my ground, replied that I did and I would; and just so was the commission offered. It was only in retrospect, hours later, that I realized I had – for a second time – failed to negotiate or even understand the terms. Most unlike me, I must say…
I began my work at once, asking to be taken to the site that I might view what nature provided and what mortal hands might thence create as its complement. I experienced an almost rhapsodic experience – a vision of the temple so clear it was as if I was recalling the common room of my own home. The pattern and style of columns, arches, promenades, sight lines possessed me. I called for paper, and worked without stopping for the next 16 hours – feverishly reducing my images to drawings lest I lose them, despite my sense that they were etched forever in my brain. Within 4 days, the design was complete; approved by Gormackh without question revision; and the work begun.
I remained in a fevered state for months afterward, obsessed with the quest for building this temple. A part of it, I think, was my belief that the purpose was great – to reunite the dragons as a force against the Shadow in these troubled times was a great work by itself. But, in truth, I was consumed by the selfish purpose of creating something never built before; and never to be seen again – something unrivaled in its grandeur and magnificence. It was clear to me that any sense of restraint had been tossed to the wind – so great was the passion of my sponsor to see this done. The months passed in a blur…I barely remember sleep, or taking a meal; or any respite from the spirited quest I was making…
Until, that is, the day Darius arrived…
I was in the quarry, overseeing the selection of the marble for the columns that would ring the Yaana Loki…the Great Dragon Temple. Suddenly, Caradhras was there; and he bade me come to court. He said we had a visitor of great import; and Gormackh would have all present to witness his welcome. I was annoyed, wanting no interruption to the vital work at hand; but a single look from Caradhras told me protest was futile. I left at once, and arrived to find the court already crowded by throngs of dragons, men and others. The air was charged; and I knew that something was afoot that I could not begin to understand. The assembled dragons perched about the room, as always; but silent as silent could be – quite unlike the usual raucous gatherings. Gormackh sat in his customary seat at high center. To his right, I saw – to my utter surprise – not a dragon but an elf-lord who exuded an aura of great dignity. To Gormackh’s left, I spied two men of fearsome cast…over-large and standing with the haughty stance of warriors who could look coldly in the eye of death as they defied it. They were well-armed and, by their appearance, accustomed to the use of those arms to command both fear and respect from all they confronted. They appeared to be identical twins, with chiseled faces that resembled men of the north, but dark manes of hair reminiscent of southern tribes. Their eyes were of ice – deep blue, and cold. I found, at once, that I did not like them.
I turned my eyes to the man who stood in audience before Gormackh – and gasped at my first glance of him. I rubbed my eyes, to assure they did not deceive me – and glanced quickly at the twins, and then to the visitor once more – to confirm that what I saw was real. There stood a man of near-identical cast to the two twins standing at the left hand of Gormackh. Save for his eyes – less feral, and possessed of an appearance that showed both wisdom and great pain – the likeness was stunning.
The visitor spoke, his strong voice ringing out across the courtyard in bold tones that spoke of his confidence. “My Lord Dragon, Gormackh son of Bragollach. I come to you bearing salutations from the Lady you know as Corm en’Quessir, Queen Comet of the Northern Sylvans, daughter and heir to Eyrturheru. It was that bold elven king, who with your own father, took arms against the Shadow Lord in the earliest days of this war; and sought to unite all the races of the world against the forces of evil. I come to you now, bearing her good tidings; and beseeching our brothers in this great quest – the dragons who lived in this world long before the Shadow touched all. The time has come to draw our peoples together, and throw down the Shadow Lord from the high post he has so unjustly assumed. It is in that hope, Lord Dragon, that I seek this humble audience.”
Gormackh remained silent as the man spoke – but something like a knowing smile claimed his face. At last he spoke, the mocking tone of his voice taking me quite by surprise. “Darakh’urra”, he snarled. “That is your true name if I am not mistaken. How odd that you, of all, would come before us delivering such speeches of high moral purpose. You, whose life has been far from moral or purposeful, would be a source of great amusement…were this petition not so insulting to us. That you, who have stood for nothing and betrayed all, would come amongst us and call us brothers; and ask our support for the vagabond queen of a dying race…you fill my heart with scorn and pity.”
The Dragon Lord’s words fell away; and the courtyard fell into silence, save for the rasping sounds that came from the wings – sounds that I took to be muffled laughter from some of the assembled dragons. But the visitor, Darakh’urra, kept his gaze upon Gormackh’s red eyes; and spoke calmly: “Milord Dragon, it seems a sad day when the son of noble Bragollach – most beloved of the elder race – would judge his friends so. You may question my heart or loyalties; but know that I have betrayed nothing that would not, of its own, betray us all. I have stood against the Shadow, and all who kneel to it; and will unto my death find harmony with others who stand so. It saddens me to think that the dragons – most noble and free of all the races – might fall to perils worse than death itself; and offer fealty to the evil that would consume this world. Is that the destiny you offer to your winged brethren…to take them as slaves to Nargoroth?”
At this last, Gormackh flew with amazing speed from his perch, knocking his visitor to the floor and closing his powerful talons about his neck. Smoke flowed from the Dragon Lord’s nostrils; and I imagined that he would immolate his quarry in flame and thus end this brief, angry debate. His eyes flashed fire, and the room stood hushed in anticipation of the kill. But at that moment, one of the twins who had stood by Gormackh’s side spoke up, his tone clear: “Lord Gormackh. Though you are well within your rights to take this small and insolent life, perhaps we might show some restraint – he comes to us with great knowledge, and it may serve us well to see what we might divine from him. Though his life may be of little consequence, what is in his mind might increase his value to us.”
The Dragon Lord shot a wild and terrible look at the speaker, as if his rage might flare anew at a new target. But his countenance quickly changed – to one filled with shame and fear, like a dog punished by its master for the failure at a hunt. “You are right, of course, Malfeus. There is much we might learn from this wretched half-breed. Take him to a room in the dungeon; and we will see how well his misguided loyalties will hold up to your ministrations.” At that, Gormackh released the man, gasping and bleeding from the talon wounds upon his neck. The dragon rose and turned, departing the great hall for his chambers; and the elf-lord, who had watched carefully but remained silent throughout, turned to follow. The twins stepped forward, their blades drawn, and took the fallen Darrakh’urra from the room.
Here is the tale told by Nathan and his companions, as I recorded it:
The letter came to in early October of that year. I recall it clearly, for it was the time of the Harvest Festival…and I knew there would be little call for architects as the year fell away to harsh winter. The letter was addressed to me at Durohn, and forwarded by couriers until it found me here. It was signed by a Lord Caradhras, and offered a commission for a most unique development – perhaps unprecedented in architectural history. He asked me to commit nothing more than to meet him at the Inn at Minas Baladon – the very same one at which Lord Carandon discovered us. It was not far, and I was intrigued – and made the decision to go on the spot.
I met Caradhras less than a fortnight later. He was an odd sort, and spoke only cryptically of what he knew. He was evasive; and I became frustrated and angry at his reluctance to speak freely of the project. I told him so, and then rose abruptly – declaring the meeting at an end…and, at that, he finally spoke. His commission was not from a man, or an elf or drow. It was for a dragon, he confided; and not just any dragon. It was for Gormackh – son and heir to Bragollach, who had provided such service to your Father in those early years. The Dragon Lord meant to build a magnificent temple for the dragons…more than a temple, a Cathedral. He hoped it might one day be a gathering point to draw together all the brothers and sisters scattered across the world by the forces of Shadow. I was amazed by this report; and fell in thrall to the notion of building it. I accepted the commission at once, forgetting to even inquire about the terms.
We set out the next morning on a three day journey to the north; to the mountainous area our ancestors called Orod Giliath. I am sure it would have taken a week longer to scale to the aerie – the very spot where the Great Council of Dragons once met to approve the Migration of the Wyrms. But before we could commence our climb, two young drakes descended and bore us up, on their backs – sent by Gormackh to do so. We landed in a great open courtyard, dwarfed by its immense scale. Around the walls roosted many dragons, young and old; brown, green and silver – or fire red; some gracefully acknowledging and welcoming me, but most ominously staring at me through their lidless eyes. At the far end of the room sat a large, fire-red dragon that I knew at once was Gormackh. I set off in that direction, with Caradhras trailing me. As I neared, I bowed deeply, and – with a dramatic sweep of my hand – presented myself to my new patron.
I talked with Gormackh for over three hours – listening to his vision of reuniting the great dragon hordes; and his designs for the dragon temple. He then fixed a look upon me and asked, bluntly “Do you think, elf mason, that you are up to the task I propose to you?” I stood my ground, replied that I did and I would; and just so was the commission offered. It was only in retrospect, hours later, that I realized I had – for a second time – failed to negotiate or even understand the terms. Most unlike me, I must say…
I began my work at once, asking to be taken to the site that I might view what nature provided and what mortal hands might thence create as its complement. I experienced an almost rhapsodic experience – a vision of the temple so clear it was as if I was recalling the common room of my own home. The pattern and style of columns, arches, promenades, sight lines possessed me. I called for paper, and worked without stopping for the next 16 hours – feverishly reducing my images to drawings lest I lose them, despite my sense that they were etched forever in my brain. Within 4 days, the design was complete; approved by Gormackh without question revision; and the work begun.
I remained in a fevered state for months afterward, obsessed with the quest for building this temple. A part of it, I think, was my belief that the purpose was great – to reunite the dragons as a force against the Shadow in these troubled times was a great work by itself. But, in truth, I was consumed by the selfish purpose of creating something never built before; and never to be seen again – something unrivaled in its grandeur and magnificence. It was clear to me that any sense of restraint had been tossed to the wind – so great was the passion of my sponsor to see this done. The months passed in a blur…I barely remember sleep, or taking a meal; or any respite from the spirited quest I was making…
Until, that is, the day Darius arrived…
I was in the quarry, overseeing the selection of the marble for the columns that would ring the Yaana Loki…the Great Dragon Temple. Suddenly, Caradhras was there; and he bade me come to court. He said we had a visitor of great import; and Gormackh would have all present to witness his welcome. I was annoyed, wanting no interruption to the vital work at hand; but a single look from Caradhras told me protest was futile. I left at once, and arrived to find the court already crowded by throngs of dragons, men and others. The air was charged; and I knew that something was afoot that I could not begin to understand. The assembled dragons perched about the room, as always; but silent as silent could be – quite unlike the usual raucous gatherings. Gormackh sat in his customary seat at high center. To his right, I saw – to my utter surprise – not a dragon but an elf-lord who exuded an aura of great dignity. To Gormackh’s left, I spied two men of fearsome cast…over-large and standing with the haughty stance of warriors who could look coldly in the eye of death as they defied it. They were well-armed and, by their appearance, accustomed to the use of those arms to command both fear and respect from all they confronted. They appeared to be identical twins, with chiseled faces that resembled men of the north, but dark manes of hair reminiscent of southern tribes. Their eyes were of ice – deep blue, and cold. I found, at once, that I did not like them.
I turned my eyes to the man who stood in audience before Gormackh – and gasped at my first glance of him. I rubbed my eyes, to assure they did not deceive me – and glanced quickly at the twins, and then to the visitor once more – to confirm that what I saw was real. There stood a man of near-identical cast to the two twins standing at the left hand of Gormackh. Save for his eyes – less feral, and possessed of an appearance that showed both wisdom and great pain – the likeness was stunning.
The visitor spoke, his strong voice ringing out across the courtyard in bold tones that spoke of his confidence. “My Lord Dragon, Gormackh son of Bragollach. I come to you bearing salutations from the Lady you know as Corm en’Quessir, Queen Comet of the Northern Sylvans, daughter and heir to Eyrturheru. It was that bold elven king, who with your own father, took arms against the Shadow Lord in the earliest days of this war; and sought to unite all the races of the world against the forces of evil. I come to you now, bearing her good tidings; and beseeching our brothers in this great quest – the dragons who lived in this world long before the Shadow touched all. The time has come to draw our peoples together, and throw down the Shadow Lord from the high post he has so unjustly assumed. It is in that hope, Lord Dragon, that I seek this humble audience.”
Gormackh remained silent as the man spoke – but something like a knowing smile claimed his face. At last he spoke, the mocking tone of his voice taking me quite by surprise. “Darakh’urra”, he snarled. “That is your true name if I am not mistaken. How odd that you, of all, would come before us delivering such speeches of high moral purpose. You, whose life has been far from moral or purposeful, would be a source of great amusement…were this petition not so insulting to us. That you, who have stood for nothing and betrayed all, would come amongst us and call us brothers; and ask our support for the vagabond queen of a dying race…you fill my heart with scorn and pity.”
The Dragon Lord’s words fell away; and the courtyard fell into silence, save for the rasping sounds that came from the wings – sounds that I took to be muffled laughter from some of the assembled dragons. But the visitor, Darakh’urra, kept his gaze upon Gormackh’s red eyes; and spoke calmly: “Milord Dragon, it seems a sad day when the son of noble Bragollach – most beloved of the elder race – would judge his friends so. You may question my heart or loyalties; but know that I have betrayed nothing that would not, of its own, betray us all. I have stood against the Shadow, and all who kneel to it; and will unto my death find harmony with others who stand so. It saddens me to think that the dragons – most noble and free of all the races – might fall to perils worse than death itself; and offer fealty to the evil that would consume this world. Is that the destiny you offer to your winged brethren…to take them as slaves to Nargoroth?”
At this last, Gormackh flew with amazing speed from his perch, knocking his visitor to the floor and closing his powerful talons about his neck. Smoke flowed from the Dragon Lord’s nostrils; and I imagined that he would immolate his quarry in flame and thus end this brief, angry debate. His eyes flashed fire, and the room stood hushed in anticipation of the kill. But at that moment, one of the twins who had stood by Gormackh’s side spoke up, his tone clear: “Lord Gormackh. Though you are well within your rights to take this small and insolent life, perhaps we might show some restraint – he comes to us with great knowledge, and it may serve us well to see what we might divine from him. Though his life may be of little consequence, what is in his mind might increase his value to us.”
The Dragon Lord shot a wild and terrible look at the speaker, as if his rage might flare anew at a new target. But his countenance quickly changed – to one filled with shame and fear, like a dog punished by its master for the failure at a hunt. “You are right, of course, Malfeus. There is much we might learn from this wretched half-breed. Take him to a room in the dungeon; and we will see how well his misguided loyalties will hold up to your ministrations.” At that, Gormackh released the man, gasping and bleeding from the talon wounds upon his neck. The dragon rose and turned, departing the great hall for his chambers; and the elf-lord, who had watched carefully but remained silent throughout, turned to follow. The twins stepped forward, their blades drawn, and took the fallen Darrakh’urra from the room.
******************
The climate at court seemed to change overnight – as if some thin veneer of pretense and deception had fallen away to expose its true nature. There were no longer any public forums, replaced now by private meetings in closed chambers and whispered conversations in the shadows. Gorkackh stormed about, barking orders to any within earshot – seldom out of the company of his two swarthy companions. For all their physical resemblance, those two proved to be very different. Malfeus was fierce, vocal – offering commands (even to Gormackh, it seemed) in snappish tones; while Bartemis was so silent as to be thought mute. Both were omnipresent, and their eyes were ever watchful – a presence that was felt like a heavy weight by all.
Wild tales and rumors were rampant. The twins were said to be emissaries from Nargoroth – bred as spawn of both dragon and man, and trained as assassins. Darrakh’urra, or Darius, was also said to be one of them; but had betrayed his master in favor of the elves. I was surprised to hear he had sworn an oath to Eyrturheru, and had been made Guardian to Comet, my cousin – for though such rumors had often reached my ears, I had paid them little heed until now.
The most remarkable was the rumor of the mysterious elf-lord. His name was Draco, and it seemed he too was not what he appeared on the surface. He came from the Sylvan realms of the high north; and though he seemed as other elf-lords I had met, the stories around the evening fires named him son and heir to Dragollich, the last great Dragon King. The tales said he had been hidden in exile, by Eyrturheru and Linnea, after Dragollich was slain by agents of the Shadow Lord. For nearly 200 years, Draco had lived among the elves, learning to take their form and biding his time before coming forth to claim his inheritance. He had answered the call to reunite the hordes from the places of refuge sought out in the Migration; but on his arrival found that he had been deceived, and was now held prisoner by Gormackh. It was by the sheer will of Draco, whose impassive presence had kept his own supporters from rising up against the indignities heaped upon him, that the dragons were kept from engaging in a venomous civil war.
The months slipped away, and then ebbed into years. I occupied my time and my mind on the work of the Cathedral; though it had quickly become clear that I was no less a prisoner to the will of Gormackh than any of the others. The saving grace was the very grandeur of the project itself. Gormackh remained obsessed with the project, and would allow no objections to compromise the work. It was a massive undertaking – a structure so huge that it might host the greatest gathering of the hordes the world had ever known. Because of its scale, the work progressed slowly – and Gormackh would often storm about in a rage over the apparent lack of movement. There were times I feared for my very life – though I knew, in my heart, that he would allow no harm to come to me while the project endured. It caused me to wonder of my Fate once the project was complete.
Life at court assumed a quiet monotony – not uncommon among the dragons, it seemed, owing to their long span of years. In that time, however, there was a constant stream of new arrivals, and with them came news of events throughout the world. It was from them that I first learned of the Alliance – with the Houses of Eyrturheru and Malice united to form its core and other peoples called to its banner to oppose Nargoroth. With such news, it seemed, came a heightening of passions to oppose the Shadow Lord – stoking the embers of a sensitive rift among the dragons. But each time those passions flared, Draco stepped forth and bade those loyal to the house of Dragollich to hold the peace.
At the same time, Gormackh sponsored games of sport to occupy the times and minds of the dragons at court…clearly amusements staged to distract. There were dragon races, of course – young drakes dashing about the perimeter of the emerging cathedral, competing for a place of honor among their caste. And there were other conventional forms of entertainment – as visitors presented their traditions of song and drama to serve the insatiable appetites of their dragon hosts. But as seemed woven into the structure of dragonkind, the attention often turned to darker fare – blood sports that were, in equal parts, rites of passage for young dragon lords and cruel contests involving unfortunate victims. It was in these latter that I next saw Darius, appearing for the first time since his imprisonment.
I had not seen him for over three years, since his disappearance into the dungeon. He had sorely changed, bearing terrible scars that bespoke his heinous treatment. His former look of bold confidence had subsided to a grim blankness – the look of a man who could look neither forward nor back with any clarity, and so just stared into space. It was the look, I thought, of a man who had endured unimaginable tortures…and yet maintained what secrets he might have carried. Now, he stepped into the arena, stripped to the waist to expose his ravaged body to all who might see; and armed only with a short sword. A great clamor went up from the crowd – greater than any I had heard on any prior occasion. From the other end came, predictably, the twins – Malfeus and Bartemis, fully armored and armed with both sword and spear. It bore the look not of arena sport, but of the ritual execution of a hated foe.
Darius fought bravely, but was no match for the brothers – who tormented him with heavy blows from the blunt ends of their weapons and deft slashes that opened anew one or more of his numerous scars. I turned away, in disgust and dismay, from the grim spectacle, feeling a helpless desperation. In the corner of my eye, I saw Malfeus, standing over the fallen Darius with his sword poised for the kill. He glanced briefly at Gormackh, but with no real interest in any signal from the Lord Dragon. His eyes flashed with a look of malice that chilled me. It was clear he meant to take the life of this would-be brother…but as he raised his sword to ready the killing blow, a single voice called out with such force of command that it froze the assassin where he stood.
“ENOUGH!” cried the voice, ringing out like thunder. And a thousand eyes turned and fell upon Draco, the heir to the Dragon King. He had risen from his seat, standing with his arms raised, and his voice called out again over the suddenly hushed arena. “ENOUGH, I say! For what has become of this once-proud race when wanton slaughter has become our daily bread…when we celebrate the violent abuses of outlanders?”
Malfeus sneered at Draco, his face contorted in a mask of utter rage; and his arms raised up again as if to strike his blow in defiance. But the second twin, Bartemis, now stepped forward to parry the descending blow; standing face to face with Malfeus and repeating the admonition: “Enough”. Malfeus turned purple in his rage, and it seemed his hatred might yet force the issue. But at that moment, the dragons loyal to Draco had risen from their perches – some of them taking to the air and circling down into the arena. His hands went slack, and the sword clattered to the ground; and he turned on his heels to depart the scene in anger. In the ensuing tumult, I saw Bartemis reach down, not gently, to pull Darius to his feet; and, with sword drawn, forced him from the field back toward the entry to the dungeons.
The scene was chaos, with small cadres of dragons forming and angry threats exchanged. It seemed that a great battle would break loose at any moment, despite the efforts of Draco and others to keep the situation from degrading further. I took the opportunity to leave the charged scene and return to my own quarters, shaken by the events and not quite understanding what I had just witnessed. As I closed the door to my chamber, I heard a soft voice commanding: “Bar the door, Nathan; and close the drapes as well.” I did so, without turning to see who sat in the dark of my rooms…for I knew the voice from its very first word.
“You are Bartemis”, I said, angrily, my back still turned. “Tell me why you are here and what you want, quickly…and stay this hand from the hilt of a sword”
He spoke, softly, his voice and manner taking me by surprise. “The lines are drawn, Nathan…and sides must be taken. The war is upon us; and as the good people of the world rise to fight the shadow, so must the dragons also join the fray. The first battle will pit brother against brother; and the dragons will make war among themselves…there is no escaping it. Draco has built his strength, and the numbers of his followers has grown strong. He will take up the cause against Nargoroth. Gormackh will not allow it, and has ordered Draco’s head brought to him on a platter. The sun will not rise again before the black blood of the dragons is shed in abundance; and to each will come a choice. I have made mine…for I must choose now between my own brothers. In my time here, I may have learnt only one thing: that we are wed not to the legacy we bear, but to the destiny we choose. My brother, Darius, has shown me this…and so for me, the choice is made. You must make ready to go, for we leave before the morning breaks.”
I started to object, and told myself it was from distrust of his schemes. But I knew in my heart that he was right; and that my reluctance sprung from my own arrogance – for the project I wished to see to its proper end. I lowered my head, and laughed at myself; and then looked up at the assassin, saying “I am with you, Bartemis. What must we do?”
The next hours flew by, in a chaotic blur of activity. I took what few items I could carry, and armed myself for the conflict to come. Bartemis and I first ran to the dungeons, and found Darius waiting there for us. Bartemis tossed him his weapons, and I saw the cold fire burning there in his eyes. We ran toward Draco’s chambers. As we neared them, it was clear that battle was under way in earnest – flashes in the dark night sky told of the violent conflict of dragons in the air. Fierce battles were being fought at every turn, both above and on the ground. I saw, ahead, a magnificent dragon, the reddish hue of its scales glowing like molten copper in the moonlight…and I knew at once that it was Draco in his natural form. He was surrounded by his most loyal warrior drakes, and they were being assailed by Gormackh and his elite horde. We plunged headlong into the melee, heedless of our own safety – consumed by the blood lust that had taken us.
The battle raged for hours, with many falling on both sides. As the fighting ebbed, briefly, Darius called out to Draco: “Milord Dragon, the issue will not be decided this night, in this place. You must take to the air, and your warriors with you – tend to the wounded and recover your strength. This battle is done; your war must now begin.”
Draco responded “Yes, Darius…your counsel is wise; and we must not yield to the passions of the moment and lose sight of the greater purpose. RALLY TO ME, DRAGON WARRIORS! We live to fight another day!” And in a great confusion of guttural dragon speech and the flapping of leathery wings, the horde of the Dragon King prepared to fly.
Draco began to speak, to offer his thanks and farewell, when another voice called out from the darkness: “Noble words, Lord Draco…a shame you will not live to see your purposes achieved!” It was Malfeus, emerging from the inky darkness of the courtyard, his bow in hand and his arrow drawn and trained on the throat of the Dragon heir. Its silver tip, edges honed razor sharp, glistened with the wet of a poison laid there; and we knew to a soul that Draco’s death was at hand. But before he could unleash the bolt, two things happened to thwart the assassination. First, Bartemis stepped forward and flung his shield with all the force he could muster, straight at his brother. Malfeus flinched, taken off guard by the sudden attack by his own brother. But before he could recover, Darius threw himself forward to knock the Dragon heir from harm’s way. As he did so, the arrow took him high on the shoulder, and he fell hard to the ground. Malfeus did not hesitate, leaping forward and drawing his sword in a final attempt to take down the heir; but Darius rose – his skin, it seemed, reddened in anger. But there was something more. He was…changing…growing…bursting out of his clothes. Malfeus froze as the transformation occurred; and where Darius the man had stood a moment before now stood a large, blood red dragon to block his passage. The arrow protruded from the crimson shoulder, his wound seeping black dragon blood…and about it, a sickening white-green expanse of necrotic flesh. The poison was doing its work, and quickly.
“GO, NOW!” came Darius’ voice from deep inside the dragon form. And with that, he leapt forward and locked his talons on Malfeus’s shoulders, piercing them and evoking a shriek of pain and rage. With a powerful flap of his scaled wings, the Darius-Dragon took to the air hauling Malfeus beneath him, flying up and over the walls into the dark night skies. We followed the silhouette as far as we could in the moonlight, but we did not have to follow it far. The dragon form and its wriggling cargo reached the edge of the dark forest…and then, weakening, fell into its depths. We heard and saw no more.
My Queen…that is the last we have seen or heard of Darius. He has fallen; but if not for him, all that has happened would have been lost…all of us now subject to the will of Nargoroth. That, my Queen, is my tale…of sadness, true; and yet we fight another day with dragons by our side.
Wild tales and rumors were rampant. The twins were said to be emissaries from Nargoroth – bred as spawn of both dragon and man, and trained as assassins. Darrakh’urra, or Darius, was also said to be one of them; but had betrayed his master in favor of the elves. I was surprised to hear he had sworn an oath to Eyrturheru, and had been made Guardian to Comet, my cousin – for though such rumors had often reached my ears, I had paid them little heed until now.
The most remarkable was the rumor of the mysterious elf-lord. His name was Draco, and it seemed he too was not what he appeared on the surface. He came from the Sylvan realms of the high north; and though he seemed as other elf-lords I had met, the stories around the evening fires named him son and heir to Dragollich, the last great Dragon King. The tales said he had been hidden in exile, by Eyrturheru and Linnea, after Dragollich was slain by agents of the Shadow Lord. For nearly 200 years, Draco had lived among the elves, learning to take their form and biding his time before coming forth to claim his inheritance. He had answered the call to reunite the hordes from the places of refuge sought out in the Migration; but on his arrival found that he had been deceived, and was now held prisoner by Gormackh. It was by the sheer will of Draco, whose impassive presence had kept his own supporters from rising up against the indignities heaped upon him, that the dragons were kept from engaging in a venomous civil war.
The months slipped away, and then ebbed into years. I occupied my time and my mind on the work of the Cathedral; though it had quickly become clear that I was no less a prisoner to the will of Gormackh than any of the others. The saving grace was the very grandeur of the project itself. Gormackh remained obsessed with the project, and would allow no objections to compromise the work. It was a massive undertaking – a structure so huge that it might host the greatest gathering of the hordes the world had ever known. Because of its scale, the work progressed slowly – and Gormackh would often storm about in a rage over the apparent lack of movement. There were times I feared for my very life – though I knew, in my heart, that he would allow no harm to come to me while the project endured. It caused me to wonder of my Fate once the project was complete.
Life at court assumed a quiet monotony – not uncommon among the dragons, it seemed, owing to their long span of years. In that time, however, there was a constant stream of new arrivals, and with them came news of events throughout the world. It was from them that I first learned of the Alliance – with the Houses of Eyrturheru and Malice united to form its core and other peoples called to its banner to oppose Nargoroth. With such news, it seemed, came a heightening of passions to oppose the Shadow Lord – stoking the embers of a sensitive rift among the dragons. But each time those passions flared, Draco stepped forth and bade those loyal to the house of Dragollich to hold the peace.
At the same time, Gormackh sponsored games of sport to occupy the times and minds of the dragons at court…clearly amusements staged to distract. There were dragon races, of course – young drakes dashing about the perimeter of the emerging cathedral, competing for a place of honor among their caste. And there were other conventional forms of entertainment – as visitors presented their traditions of song and drama to serve the insatiable appetites of their dragon hosts. But as seemed woven into the structure of dragonkind, the attention often turned to darker fare – blood sports that were, in equal parts, rites of passage for young dragon lords and cruel contests involving unfortunate victims. It was in these latter that I next saw Darius, appearing for the first time since his imprisonment.
I had not seen him for over three years, since his disappearance into the dungeon. He had sorely changed, bearing terrible scars that bespoke his heinous treatment. His former look of bold confidence had subsided to a grim blankness – the look of a man who could look neither forward nor back with any clarity, and so just stared into space. It was the look, I thought, of a man who had endured unimaginable tortures…and yet maintained what secrets he might have carried. Now, he stepped into the arena, stripped to the waist to expose his ravaged body to all who might see; and armed only with a short sword. A great clamor went up from the crowd – greater than any I had heard on any prior occasion. From the other end came, predictably, the twins – Malfeus and Bartemis, fully armored and armed with both sword and spear. It bore the look not of arena sport, but of the ritual execution of a hated foe.
Darius fought bravely, but was no match for the brothers – who tormented him with heavy blows from the blunt ends of their weapons and deft slashes that opened anew one or more of his numerous scars. I turned away, in disgust and dismay, from the grim spectacle, feeling a helpless desperation. In the corner of my eye, I saw Malfeus, standing over the fallen Darius with his sword poised for the kill. He glanced briefly at Gormackh, but with no real interest in any signal from the Lord Dragon. His eyes flashed with a look of malice that chilled me. It was clear he meant to take the life of this would-be brother…but as he raised his sword to ready the killing blow, a single voice called out with such force of command that it froze the assassin where he stood.
“ENOUGH!” cried the voice, ringing out like thunder. And a thousand eyes turned and fell upon Draco, the heir to the Dragon King. He had risen from his seat, standing with his arms raised, and his voice called out again over the suddenly hushed arena. “ENOUGH, I say! For what has become of this once-proud race when wanton slaughter has become our daily bread…when we celebrate the violent abuses of outlanders?”
Malfeus sneered at Draco, his face contorted in a mask of utter rage; and his arms raised up again as if to strike his blow in defiance. But the second twin, Bartemis, now stepped forward to parry the descending blow; standing face to face with Malfeus and repeating the admonition: “Enough”. Malfeus turned purple in his rage, and it seemed his hatred might yet force the issue. But at that moment, the dragons loyal to Draco had risen from their perches – some of them taking to the air and circling down into the arena. His hands went slack, and the sword clattered to the ground; and he turned on his heels to depart the scene in anger. In the ensuing tumult, I saw Bartemis reach down, not gently, to pull Darius to his feet; and, with sword drawn, forced him from the field back toward the entry to the dungeons.
The scene was chaos, with small cadres of dragons forming and angry threats exchanged. It seemed that a great battle would break loose at any moment, despite the efforts of Draco and others to keep the situation from degrading further. I took the opportunity to leave the charged scene and return to my own quarters, shaken by the events and not quite understanding what I had just witnessed. As I closed the door to my chamber, I heard a soft voice commanding: “Bar the door, Nathan; and close the drapes as well.” I did so, without turning to see who sat in the dark of my rooms…for I knew the voice from its very first word.
“You are Bartemis”, I said, angrily, my back still turned. “Tell me why you are here and what you want, quickly…and stay this hand from the hilt of a sword”
He spoke, softly, his voice and manner taking me by surprise. “The lines are drawn, Nathan…and sides must be taken. The war is upon us; and as the good people of the world rise to fight the shadow, so must the dragons also join the fray. The first battle will pit brother against brother; and the dragons will make war among themselves…there is no escaping it. Draco has built his strength, and the numbers of his followers has grown strong. He will take up the cause against Nargoroth. Gormackh will not allow it, and has ordered Draco’s head brought to him on a platter. The sun will not rise again before the black blood of the dragons is shed in abundance; and to each will come a choice. I have made mine…for I must choose now between my own brothers. In my time here, I may have learnt only one thing: that we are wed not to the legacy we bear, but to the destiny we choose. My brother, Darius, has shown me this…and so for me, the choice is made. You must make ready to go, for we leave before the morning breaks.”
I started to object, and told myself it was from distrust of his schemes. But I knew in my heart that he was right; and that my reluctance sprung from my own arrogance – for the project I wished to see to its proper end. I lowered my head, and laughed at myself; and then looked up at the assassin, saying “I am with you, Bartemis. What must we do?”
The next hours flew by, in a chaotic blur of activity. I took what few items I could carry, and armed myself for the conflict to come. Bartemis and I first ran to the dungeons, and found Darius waiting there for us. Bartemis tossed him his weapons, and I saw the cold fire burning there in his eyes. We ran toward Draco’s chambers. As we neared them, it was clear that battle was under way in earnest – flashes in the dark night sky told of the violent conflict of dragons in the air. Fierce battles were being fought at every turn, both above and on the ground. I saw, ahead, a magnificent dragon, the reddish hue of its scales glowing like molten copper in the moonlight…and I knew at once that it was Draco in his natural form. He was surrounded by his most loyal warrior drakes, and they were being assailed by Gormackh and his elite horde. We plunged headlong into the melee, heedless of our own safety – consumed by the blood lust that had taken us.
The battle raged for hours, with many falling on both sides. As the fighting ebbed, briefly, Darius called out to Draco: “Milord Dragon, the issue will not be decided this night, in this place. You must take to the air, and your warriors with you – tend to the wounded and recover your strength. This battle is done; your war must now begin.”
Draco responded “Yes, Darius…your counsel is wise; and we must not yield to the passions of the moment and lose sight of the greater purpose. RALLY TO ME, DRAGON WARRIORS! We live to fight another day!” And in a great confusion of guttural dragon speech and the flapping of leathery wings, the horde of the Dragon King prepared to fly.
Draco began to speak, to offer his thanks and farewell, when another voice called out from the darkness: “Noble words, Lord Draco…a shame you will not live to see your purposes achieved!” It was Malfeus, emerging from the inky darkness of the courtyard, his bow in hand and his arrow drawn and trained on the throat of the Dragon heir. Its silver tip, edges honed razor sharp, glistened with the wet of a poison laid there; and we knew to a soul that Draco’s death was at hand. But before he could unleash the bolt, two things happened to thwart the assassination. First, Bartemis stepped forward and flung his shield with all the force he could muster, straight at his brother. Malfeus flinched, taken off guard by the sudden attack by his own brother. But before he could recover, Darius threw himself forward to knock the Dragon heir from harm’s way. As he did so, the arrow took him high on the shoulder, and he fell hard to the ground. Malfeus did not hesitate, leaping forward and drawing his sword in a final attempt to take down the heir; but Darius rose – his skin, it seemed, reddened in anger. But there was something more. He was…changing…growing…bursting out of his clothes. Malfeus froze as the transformation occurred; and where Darius the man had stood a moment before now stood a large, blood red dragon to block his passage. The arrow protruded from the crimson shoulder, his wound seeping black dragon blood…and about it, a sickening white-green expanse of necrotic flesh. The poison was doing its work, and quickly.
“GO, NOW!” came Darius’ voice from deep inside the dragon form. And with that, he leapt forward and locked his talons on Malfeus’s shoulders, piercing them and evoking a shriek of pain and rage. With a powerful flap of his scaled wings, the Darius-Dragon took to the air hauling Malfeus beneath him, flying up and over the walls into the dark night skies. We followed the silhouette as far as we could in the moonlight, but we did not have to follow it far. The dragon form and its wriggling cargo reached the edge of the dark forest…and then, weakening, fell into its depths. We heard and saw no more.
My Queen…that is the last we have seen or heard of Darius. He has fallen; but if not for him, all that has happened would have been lost…all of us now subject to the will of Nargoroth. That, my Queen, is my tale…of sadness, true; and yet we fight another day with dragons by our side.
************************
23 April 760
Nathan’s words still echoed in my head. “He has fallen…” I felt numb…adrift from all about me. What had been done was needed, and many of the dragons would now come to join our cause as a result. Nathan was returned to us; and Draco, with his legacy restored. And Bartemis…who yet knew what he might tell us of the Shadow Lord’s intentions? But the cost…the cost…
“Comet”, I heard, the soft voice rousing me. It was Ivy, on whose bed I sat for this impromptu gathering in her chambers. Malikith was here, and Loren and Ean. Draco, Nathan and Bartemis were also present…and my ever vigilant Obadiah. Ivy continued: “My Queen, you have summoned this group to hear what I might say…despite the fact that you yourself have not yet heard it. Shall we begin, sister?”
I waved my hand absently, encouraging her to speak. She looked at me hesitantly, concern filling her eyes; and then began. “It was at the Winter Stolstice that I fell into my dreaming state. The last I recall, clearly, was the conclusion of the Merende en’ Yenearsira. A great weariness came over me, as if I had been overcome by strong draughts. But it was not mere sleep that claimed me…it was the start of a long journey in what seemed a waking dream.”
“I was aware of my body lying here, as my spirit moved up and out into the great expanse of the world. It was from there – as if looking down from the heavens – that I saw Nathan come to these gates; just as I had seen countless other scenes outside these walls: tremendous battles, villages under siege…the terror of Nargoroth’s armies and the valor that opposed him. My mind took all of it in, and yet I could not dally in these great affairs for my spirit was driven to pursue some greater purpose”. Her eyes grew distant as she recalled it, as if she were drifting away once more…and then focused on me with a penetrating gaze.
“Comet, I saw Father, looking out at me from the Western Shore; and Mother – she was with him, her spirit strong and vital.” I started as she spoke the words; and a chill took me. I knew what she said was true, and felt a terrible sense of longing for them. “Mother spoke to me”, she continued. “The same words twice…‘Seek for the wellspring of the elements, for there are all things reborn’. I was confused, toubled… I wanted only to stay with them, yet they were sending me away. But Mother merely smiled, and repeated the words again; and then both turned and left my sight. I felt a crushing sadness; but also felt oddly invigorated by what I heard. Even though I did not understand them, I knew her words were of great import.”
“My spirit traveled on, at a breathtaking pace – exploring all the high and low and distant places of the world. Somewhere in my mind, I knew I had been gone a long time…though it seemed mere moments. I felt no hunger, no thirst…no fatigue; but neither did I find what my spirit sought. Just as I began to lose hope…started to succumb to the fear that I might fail in this quest…there it was…”
“There what was?” I asked. And Ivy smiled – a smile of such brilliant, sheer joy that it seemed to drive all shadows from the room. “The wellspring”, she said. “The place where all the elements were joined as one. It is unique among all the great places in the world we know…a place where azure seas lap endlessly upon rich shores; where the earth nourishes all living things; and where the land is bound together by the very bones of the world…stone edifices that sink deep into her bosom. The air there is so fresh and invigorating you must believe it was heaved up as the world exhaled. Earth, Air, Water – all living in a unique, perfect harmony…a place of tremendous energy, drawn from the elemental powers that are its substance. It is…our beginning.”
I reached over and gently clasped Ivy’s hand, smiling gently at her. “Yes, dear sister; a place of power…a place for beginning. But beginning what? For what purpose was your spirit drawn there? What is the meaning of the place, for us?”
She looked at me, smiling – her face taking on a look of both deep love and the sort of tolerant exasperation one might see in the eyes of an adult dealing with a rather slow and difficult child. “Why Comet, don’t you see?” she asked. “It is the perfect place for a new beginning…for a rebirth, of sorts. It is meant to be the birthplace of the new Sylvhara!” she cried, and threw herself into my arms, wrapping me in a fierce embrace. I knew at once that she was right.
The room buzzed with excitement at this revelation. The entire group was caught up in it; and a wild cacophony of thoughts spilled forth. It was seen by all as a most potent omen of things to come – an important point in the turning of the tide. All, that was, except for my good Lord Obadiah…whose furrowed brow told me he was wrestling hard to solve some riddle in his mind. I had seen that look before – the mark of his uncanny ability to sense some missing piece of an otherwise complete picture. I looked at him, catching his eye; and that look alone was enough to encourage him to speak.
“Fire”, he murmured, and at that single word, the group fell silent. “It is the missing element from what you have seen, Lady Ivy. I doubt not that the place is a wellspring; but earth, air and water are only three of the elements. And while I seek no flaw in this profound discovery, I must ask what of the fourth? What of fire?”
Ivy’s face took on a mildly bewildered look, as if her confidence had just received a blow. It was clear that, in her rapturous embrace of what she had been shown, she did not see or question the missing element. The room fell silent, the elation of just few moments ago faded into quiet contemplation.
That stillness lasted some few moments; only to be broken by the rasping squeak of chair legs against the stone floor. Nathan had pushed back from the table, before standing and walking to the corner of the room. There he had left his field sack – a rough, deer hide bag that seemed never far from his grasp. I watched as he lifted it, with some effort – noting for the first time its weight. He brought it to the table and laid it down upon the rough wood surface with a resounding clunk that echoed in the silent hall. He smiled as he opened the drawstrings and reached in; and then pulled from the bag the most beautifully pure, crystalline stone I had ever laid my eyes on. But rather than the clear and colorless light of most crystals, this one was a deep, almost blood-red stone. It flashed brightly in the dimly lit hall, a light dancing within as if its center was an eternal, glowing flame. I knew, at once, that it could only be one thing – the Hoon tel’Orod. I sat in stunned silence as Nathan spoke, with his usual passion for the dramatic:
“Behold…I bring you Fire!”
“Comet”, I heard, the soft voice rousing me. It was Ivy, on whose bed I sat for this impromptu gathering in her chambers. Malikith was here, and Loren and Ean. Draco, Nathan and Bartemis were also present…and my ever vigilant Obadiah. Ivy continued: “My Queen, you have summoned this group to hear what I might say…despite the fact that you yourself have not yet heard it. Shall we begin, sister?”
I waved my hand absently, encouraging her to speak. She looked at me hesitantly, concern filling her eyes; and then began. “It was at the Winter Stolstice that I fell into my dreaming state. The last I recall, clearly, was the conclusion of the Merende en’ Yenearsira. A great weariness came over me, as if I had been overcome by strong draughts. But it was not mere sleep that claimed me…it was the start of a long journey in what seemed a waking dream.”
“I was aware of my body lying here, as my spirit moved up and out into the great expanse of the world. It was from there – as if looking down from the heavens – that I saw Nathan come to these gates; just as I had seen countless other scenes outside these walls: tremendous battles, villages under siege…the terror of Nargoroth’s armies and the valor that opposed him. My mind took all of it in, and yet I could not dally in these great affairs for my spirit was driven to pursue some greater purpose”. Her eyes grew distant as she recalled it, as if she were drifting away once more…and then focused on me with a penetrating gaze.
“Comet, I saw Father, looking out at me from the Western Shore; and Mother – she was with him, her spirit strong and vital.” I started as she spoke the words; and a chill took me. I knew what she said was true, and felt a terrible sense of longing for them. “Mother spoke to me”, she continued. “The same words twice…‘Seek for the wellspring of the elements, for there are all things reborn’. I was confused, toubled… I wanted only to stay with them, yet they were sending me away. But Mother merely smiled, and repeated the words again; and then both turned and left my sight. I felt a crushing sadness; but also felt oddly invigorated by what I heard. Even though I did not understand them, I knew her words were of great import.”
“My spirit traveled on, at a breathtaking pace – exploring all the high and low and distant places of the world. Somewhere in my mind, I knew I had been gone a long time…though it seemed mere moments. I felt no hunger, no thirst…no fatigue; but neither did I find what my spirit sought. Just as I began to lose hope…started to succumb to the fear that I might fail in this quest…there it was…”
“There what was?” I asked. And Ivy smiled – a smile of such brilliant, sheer joy that it seemed to drive all shadows from the room. “The wellspring”, she said. “The place where all the elements were joined as one. It is unique among all the great places in the world we know…a place where azure seas lap endlessly upon rich shores; where the earth nourishes all living things; and where the land is bound together by the very bones of the world…stone edifices that sink deep into her bosom. The air there is so fresh and invigorating you must believe it was heaved up as the world exhaled. Earth, Air, Water – all living in a unique, perfect harmony…a place of tremendous energy, drawn from the elemental powers that are its substance. It is…our beginning.”
I reached over and gently clasped Ivy’s hand, smiling gently at her. “Yes, dear sister; a place of power…a place for beginning. But beginning what? For what purpose was your spirit drawn there? What is the meaning of the place, for us?”
She looked at me, smiling – her face taking on a look of both deep love and the sort of tolerant exasperation one might see in the eyes of an adult dealing with a rather slow and difficult child. “Why Comet, don’t you see?” she asked. “It is the perfect place for a new beginning…for a rebirth, of sorts. It is meant to be the birthplace of the new Sylvhara!” she cried, and threw herself into my arms, wrapping me in a fierce embrace. I knew at once that she was right.
The room buzzed with excitement at this revelation. The entire group was caught up in it; and a wild cacophony of thoughts spilled forth. It was seen by all as a most potent omen of things to come – an important point in the turning of the tide. All, that was, except for my good Lord Obadiah…whose furrowed brow told me he was wrestling hard to solve some riddle in his mind. I had seen that look before – the mark of his uncanny ability to sense some missing piece of an otherwise complete picture. I looked at him, catching his eye; and that look alone was enough to encourage him to speak.
“Fire”, he murmured, and at that single word, the group fell silent. “It is the missing element from what you have seen, Lady Ivy. I doubt not that the place is a wellspring; but earth, air and water are only three of the elements. And while I seek no flaw in this profound discovery, I must ask what of the fourth? What of fire?”
Ivy’s face took on a mildly bewildered look, as if her confidence had just received a blow. It was clear that, in her rapturous embrace of what she had been shown, she did not see or question the missing element. The room fell silent, the elation of just few moments ago faded into quiet contemplation.
That stillness lasted some few moments; only to be broken by the rasping squeak of chair legs against the stone floor. Nathan had pushed back from the table, before standing and walking to the corner of the room. There he had left his field sack – a rough, deer hide bag that seemed never far from his grasp. I watched as he lifted it, with some effort – noting for the first time its weight. He brought it to the table and laid it down upon the rough wood surface with a resounding clunk that echoed in the silent hall. He smiled as he opened the drawstrings and reached in; and then pulled from the bag the most beautifully pure, crystalline stone I had ever laid my eyes on. But rather than the clear and colorless light of most crystals, this one was a deep, almost blood-red stone. It flashed brightly in the dimly lit hall, a light dancing within as if its center was an eternal, glowing flame. I knew, at once, that it could only be one thing – the Hoon tel’Orod. I sat in stunned silence as Nathan spoke, with his usual passion for the dramatic:
“Behold…I bring you Fire!”
> Chapter 7 postscript