The dragons, p.15
The Dragons, page 15
part #2 of The Onis Chronicles Series
Bowing her head slightly and nodding respectfully to the girl’s mother, Turathyl caught in her glimpse King Brakdrath watching them from a castle balcony in the distance.
‘We have a royal observer,’ she indicated to Laila.
Watching them humourlessly, the king then also nodded, acknowledging them before returning inside his castle.
* * *
“Are ye gunna’ tell me why ye got dragon’s fire in yer britches?” Hort demanded of Davion. “Why’d ye jus’ take off like that after seein’ the king? We should all be tagether comin’ up wit’ a plan ta convince him ta join us!”
Davion paced back and forth in a large room of Haddilydd’s home. He passed before an empty firepit, only half the sconces lit, as they cast shadowy flickers against the walls and floor. He didn’t feel like going back to his tight little room where he’d feel cooped up. Hands balled into fists, Davion only saw red while he steamed back and forth across the floor. Glondora waited quietly in the corner, out of the way, worried about the boy.
“Why does she hate me so much?” he fumed. “I know we got into an argument, but she couldn’t even look at me when I was talking to the king. Do I repel her that much?!”
“What in Ignisar’s Lair ye be talkin’ ‘bout?” Hort belted out.
Davion stopped pacing for a moment and looked at Hort, seething in his response. “When I was showing King Brakdrath the stones, she looked away like she was embarrassed of me speaking or something. Maybe she doesn’t want me here anymore. If she doesn’t want to be with me, that’s her loss, but I deserve better, and I deserve to be here!” The bare sconces in the room flared, igniting without command, and a spark flashed in the fire before dying out again.
Hort looked worriedly at the flames and back to the human. “Davion, me boy,” he said calmly, his hands held slightly out as though approaching a wild animal he hoped to befriend, attempting not to antagonize him further. “I dunna’ know what be goin’ on wit’ ye, but methinks ye may be readin’ too much inta things. Maybe ye need ta have a chat wit’ the lass, find out what really be goin’ on.”
Huffing, Davion tried to hear Hort’s words but was having trouble letting him in. He hated how much the elf maiden affected him; how with a smile she could make the sun rise; with a touch, she could make him want to move mountains. But, when she pulled away from him, it was like ripping his heart out of his chest, and then would come the burning.
Davion took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, trying to calm himself. “I don’t even know what I’d say to her, Uncle,” he said, slightly more collected. “I just wish she would open her eyes and realize that I’m the best thing for her. That we could do anything if we were together. She doesn’t need dark magic or that blastit drow! I could help her stop this war if she’d just stop pushing me away!”
Puzzled, Hort was disturbed by what was happening to Davion; this wasn’t like the boy he raised. He didn’t approve of how he was acting or thinking. He also didn’t understand how he was creating fire without casting a spell, and it troubled him greatly.
“What’s wrong with her?!” Davion cried out, looking to his uncle for answers, who stood there with eyebrows furrowed, unsure how to respond. “I don’t know how to fix her.”
Stepping cautiously out of the corner shadows, Glondora said, “Lad, I know the lass been strugglin’ since the Silvers. I dunna’ know how ta ‘elp her either, but methinks yer uncle be right, and ye need ta have a nice chat wit’ ‘er. If she loves ye, and ye love ‘er, then me ‘opes ye can sort it out, but ye need ta be willin’ ta listen too. Either way, I know she been put upon a great deal wit’ this prophecy, and it canna’ be easy on ‘er. Jus’ ‘ear ‘er out. What does ye say?”
Taking another deep breath, Davion focused on easing the fire he felt boiling up within him. He didn’t want to admit it, but he found himself feeling rather heated more and more, both physically and emotionally, as though the darkness that Firemaster Thornton had warned him about was somehow trying to escape. It was subtle at first and easily ignored, but as time passed and as his beautiful elven angel continued to grow more distant from him, he could feel it burning hotter within him.
Davion hadn’t told Hort or anyone about what was happening to him but saw how they were watching him and knew they noticed the fires ignite in the sconces without an incantation. It was getting worse, and he knew it, worried he would soon have to tell someone.
Not knowing what anyone could do to help him, Davion didn’t want to burden them with his struggle, but seeing fear and concern in their eyes made him realize that he may be losing control. He didn’t know why the fires would burn hotter or brighter when he was angry. To his knowledge, he had never started fires prior to this instance without the use of a spell at the very least and was taken aback. Is it possible he was just becoming more powerful? But why? He wondered if it had to do with his connection to the prophecy or what pulled him to Laila. But, what worried him more was that he had only noticed it for the first time after the orcs had nearly killed him, and Laila had brought him back from the brink of death. What else had she brought back with him?
When he managed to quell the burning inside of him, he looked upon Glondora earnestly and replied, “You are right. You both are. Maybe I overreacted and saw something that wasn’t there.” He attempted to give them a smile, which came out half-hearted. “I will speak with her when I get a chance.”
Davion continued pondering what it all meant while Glondora smiled at him and insisted that they all have some tea and cake before they find the others. Was this rising power within him something he should fear or something to be embraced? It clearly seemed like it would have its benefits if he could learn to control fire without the need for spells and incantations. Maybe he would become the most powerful pyromancer Onis has ever seen! His lips curled up in a sinister grin at the thought while he mused to himself.
* * *
As the evening pressed on, Turathyl and Laila were bombarded by more and more dwarves wanting to approach the dragon after seeing her friendly demeanor toward the child. Rarely, some would even brave that pivotal moment of reaching out just far enough to let their fingers graze against the cool hard scales of the beast, where they would then giggle childishly and back away swiftly.
Had Laila known what a circus was or how they showcase the strange and unusual, she would have very much felt like one of those on display before all these curious dwarves. But, since this was a new experience for her, and she didn’t see any harm in it—so long as Turathyl continued to tolerate them—she decided to indulge their wonderment, making quite the spectacle of themselves.
At first, it was primarily the women and children who wanted to gather around and greet the dragon, while the men typically stayed further back, eying Laila and Turathyl with distrust and apprehension. Laila didn’t mind. Seeing how much fun the others were having, she hoped that they would soften their hatred for the dragon and give the two of them a chance.
After some time, she even found herself enjoying casting little spells from the various spirits for their amusement. While the men seemed intrigued mostly by her display with the fire, the women would line up for a chance to give her various fruit seeds. Laila would rapidly grow them into young budding trees and vines, creating a following of very grateful dwarves. The children mostly loved her display with the snow and ice as she continued to play with them happily.
At one point, Glondora and Hort joined them as well, encouraging the Gortaxians to approach while raving about the magnificent Turathyl. They stayed for a while, excitedly telling tales of their journey and how they were going to bring peace to the land.
Laila was disappointed and a little sullen that Davion never came by to spend time with them, worried how he was faring after the way he had stormed off. Trying to stay optimistic, she forced a smile and prayed he was just too busy off somewhere celebrating what they believed to be a successful first meeting with the king, likely in one of the many taverns. The human was indeed off enjoying some Gortaxian dwarven mead. However, it was not in celebration.
In all the attention from the dwarven people, Laila hadn’t realized how much time had passed until the crowd gradually dispersed, returning home for the night to dream of friendly “Masters of the Sky.” It was much later than Laila had believed, but the city of Gortax would not grow dark for several more hours, long after the rest of Onis. As snow fell from the sky to the mountains below, the reflection of light on the tiny flakes kept the sky unusually bright well into the middle of the night, causing Laila to be out much later than she had intended. Now, she was completely exhausted, and morning would come much too soon for her liking.
Turathyl sent Laila a loving farewell as she spread her wings then headed back into the mountains for the remainder of the night, where she would feel more secure. The moment the dragon was gone, Nikolean approached Laila from where he had been watching over her all day, greeting each other with a smile and a nod.
Familiar with Nikolean’s nature, Laila wasn’t surprised by the silence as they strolled tiredly back to Haddilydd’s, but there was a strange discomfort walking with him through the empty streets. Without the noise or distractions of the others—and possibly in part due to her exhaustion—she couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind, curious if she truly had pushed him away along with Davion. Regardless, she was most grateful to have him there, particularly since she found herself quite turned around in this strange maze of a city, walking rather aimlessly.
“This way, my lady,” Nikolean said, veering down a street that led to their host’s dwelling.
Smiling sheepishly, Laila nodded and turned to follow. When she stepped toward him, her foot unexpectedly slipped on a patch of ice, and Laila felt herself falling backward with the ground flying out from under her. The next thing she knew, she was looking up into Nikolean’s eyes, his face only inches from hers, while grasping his arm tightly. He had swooped over and caught her, holding her hovering barely half her height away from the hard ground. It always amazed her how swiftly he could move, and she was thankful for the assist.
Being so near him, feeling the warmth of his breath and his strong arms around her, she gulped, her heart racing both from the fall and the anticipation of what might happen next. But her imagination had got the better of her, and Nikolean instead gently aided her back to her feet while she continued clinging to his arm.
“Thank you, Niko,” she told him, embarrassed, looking deeply into his red eyes. He stared back at her intently, unmoving. Her heart began to beat harder in her chest as she gazed at him, her breathing heavier, and she wondered if he’d dare to pull her against him as he had done once before. She wondered even more whether or not she’d stop him. Despite everything else, she couldn’t deny the spark that she felt every time he was near. But then Laila realized she had yet to release his arm, and that was likely the reason he still lingered so close.
Chuckling nervously, she released him and retrieved her hands before looking to the ground as though searching for more slippery patches of ice.
They resumed their stroll in silence, and he kept a respectable distance from her the rest of their course, noticeably averting his gaze whenever she would glance his way. It occurred to Laila that perhaps he had remained watching over her merely to honor his life debt and that the passion they had once shared was now just a distant memory for him, or even a mistake. She considered touching on his mind but decided it wouldn’t be right. That, and that she might not like what she found.
When they returned, the rest of the party had already been slumbering for some time. Upon reaching Laila’s room, she turned back to face him and smiled warmly as she said, “Goodnight, Niko.”
Without expression, the dark elf bowed to the Omi Méa and replied, “Goodnight, my lady.”
He then turned and began heading back down the hallway. Flustered by his seemingly cold demeanor, Laila quickly made her way into the bedchamber. She wasn’t sure what she had expected but realized he might have been too fatigued for chit-chat or pleasantries beyond a simple “goodnight.” Even still, she couldn’t help but feel disappointed, though not understanding why.
Taking a deep breath, she headed to her bed, too tired and confused to dwell on the mysterious dark elf’s perplexing mannerisms. Their meeting with the king would come all too quickly, and that needed to be her primary concern.
* * *
The morning following their little display for the dwarves, everyone prepared themselves suitably to go back before the king and enjoyed a quick breakfast courtesy of Haddilydd and Handul. Laila sensed that Davion had been trying to speak with her all morning. Even so, she had been too groggy from the late night and too caught up in the chaos of the morning preparations to give him the attention he sought. She found herself avoiding his attempts, hoping that they could have a chance after their meeting—and that he wouldn’t run off again.
When they reached the courtyard, they were guided to the center of the clearing where they had been the day prior, and Turathyl joined them soon after. Laila greeted her warmly, touching her face to her muzzle. It wasn’t much later that King Brakdrath came out to greet the comrades, clasping Laila’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting as he reached them.
“Lady Laila,” King Brakdrath said respectfully. “If ye dunna’ mind, I’d like ta take a stroll wit’ ye.” The king held out his arm chivalrously for Laila to grasp, and she did so modestly, looking at the others who all nodded in encouragement. They didn’t go far; they simply strolled around the courtyard, leisurely following a pathway framed with rock edging.
Unlike the last visit when she had been too nervous in front of the king, Laila regarded the courtyard amiably for the first time as they walked. With nothing able to grow here, the space had been landscaped with carved stone archways exhibiting delicate flowers and vines chiseled into their surface. A gazebo-style platform stood off to one side holding stone benches within. It was covered in snow, like everything else in this city, with extraordinarily large icicles dripping from the overhang. Various sculptures of dwarves were strategically placed along the path, each in a different pose, facing inward. The old king cleared his throat a few times as they wandered, presumably to say something, but words would never come.
Breaking the ice, Laila said, “Thank you for allowing us to stay in your great city, King Brakdrath. Turathyl and I enjoyed meeting with your people very much.”
“Yes, of course,” the king replied.
Reaching an end of the courtyard, Laila admired a sculpture of a dwarf paladin made of white stone, holding a sword erect above its head. The dwarf was depicted in a way that seemed humbled, as though praying to a god or goddess for a blessing on the sword. The king casually guided her along the path as it curved around the statue until they were heading back the way they came.
After a few more anticipatory moments, he finally said, “Lass, ye and that dragon o’ yers…” the king shook his head, and Laila’s nerves pitted in her stomach as she anxiously waited for him to continue. “I never woulda’ believed it ta be possible ‘ad me not seen it wit’ me own eyes.”
Worrying the king was struggling with his lingering doubts, she volunteered, “You have not asked to see my powers, Your Majesty. Perhaps you would like a demonstration to show you they are real?”
Raising his hand at her, the king shook his head and clenched his eyes, rejecting the offer. “That not be necessary, lass. Me ‘erd all ‘bout them powers o’ yers. Me people seen ye take out the orcs that ‘ad taken control o’ Gorén Gorge. I didna’ realize it ‘ad got so bad. I woulda’ lost many a man tryin’ ta take back that gorge and clear the roads back ta Lochlann. Ye did me a considerable favor and saved many o’ me men in doin’ so. Ye’ve already made ‘istory in me books, and I’ve no doubt yer ‘bout ta make more.”
Laila told him honestly, “I saw them about to eat your people, and I couldn’t let that happen.”
King Brakdrath stopped and turned, smiling graciously at her as he said, “Aye, so I ‘erd. Me people been speakin’ mighty high o’ ye. It doesna’ take a wizard ta see ye ‘ave a kind ‘eart and a powerful soul. I dunna’ know if that and yer powers be enough ta put a stop ta this war, but me seen and ‘erd enough ta convince me ta be a part o’ this rise against the ancients.”
Smiling widely at the king, Laila tried to contain herself. “What are you saying, Your Majesty?” she asked, wanting him to clarify before she became overly excited.
“I be sayin’ ye ‘ave the support o’ Gortax—and Lochlann—behind ye. I will start preparin’ an army fer battle ta be ready fer ye when the time comes. Ye will ‘ave all the soldiers me can spare fer yer quest ta stop the dragon war once and fer all.”
Unable to resist, Laila flung her arms around the king, and he patted her back uncomfortably.
“Thank you, King Brakdrath!” she exclaimed, releasing the king shamefully.
The others, having seen Laila’s excitement, realized they had the answer they had been praying for and gave each other celebratory handshakes and hugs—where agreeable. Smiling at the group’s relief and delight, King Brakdrath invited them all to join him for a feast that night where they could discuss the plan for his army’s involvement.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Strategy
The evening feast went splendidly, hosted by the king in a large banquet hall within the castle. In the spirit of the evening, Laila even decided to wear one of the exquisite elven gowns and jewelry she had brought along, including the necklace with Turathyl’s silver scale that she had tucked away until now. The elf maiden sparkled radiantly in her attire, feeling once again like a real princess dining with the king in his castle. It was a nice change of pace from how she had been feeling for quite some time.
