Honor Crowned (20 page)

The growling stopped and the dragon’s head moved back a bit.  The pressure on his chest eased a little.  The head moved up, bringing the mouth even with Jorem.  The smell of brimstone assailed his nose.  Closing his eyes, he braced himself and hoped it would be quick.

Air whipped around Jorem’s face as the dragon inhaled.  Ready for the pain, he waited… and waited… and waited.  Nothing happened.  Finally, unable to curb his curiosity, he opened his eyes.  The dragon had backed its head away and was staring at Jorem.  Unfortunately, a dragon’s face, with all the scales, spikes and teeth, is not very readable.

The dragon turned away from Jorem as if he were no longer interesting.  What it didn’t do was let him go.  Instead, it launched itself up into the air.  Jorem had seen rocks thrown with a catapult before.  Now he knew how the rocks felt.  With each down beat of the huge wings, the ground receded into the distance.

The repeated upward surges at each beat of the dragon’s wings did not stop until they were too high for Jorem to distinguish any details on the land below.  He was too busy trying to control the queasiness of his stomach to care at the moment anyway.  When they finally leveled off in a glide, his stomach settled and he couldn’t help but stare at the view.

His previous flights had been so fast and at such unbelievable speed he’d not noticed much.  This time, although they were moving at an incredible speed, he could see the vista below him—dark canyons and tree-lined ridges.  Snowcapped peaks stretched up into the clouds, and winding rivers fed small lakes hidden in the mountains.

He had seen many maps of the Kingdom, but compared to this, they were mere pieces of parchment, lacking the life that surged through the land.  The more he saw, the more he wanted to see.  What wonders would be seen if they were a bit closer to the ground?  Looking up at the underbelly of the dragon, Jorem decided it was best not to ask any favors.

It was difficult to tell the passage of time, so much had happened.  The position of the sun was blocked by the dragon and it was impossible to tell what was shadow on the ground so far below.  It appeared they were headed north, but in truth, he wasn’t sure.  So many things he took for granted on the ground were useless to him now.  Hopefully, the dragon knew where it was going and not just flapping about.

Chapter XXVII

A lurch in his stomach let him know that they were descending.  After a short time, he was able to discern buildings and roads.  As they got closer, he saw a large structure with a small, clear space to one side.  Surrounding the large structure and clearing was a sprawling city.  Had the clearing encompassed the large structure, Jorem might have thought they were arriving at the capital.

The ground was coming up at an alarming rate.  Jorem’s throat tightened and his stomach did an interesting little twist.  He cringed.  If something didn’t change soon, this was really going to hurt.  A sudden jerk pulled him up.  The ground was still approaching, but at a much reduced rate.  A small figure stood in the clearing.

He was about a wagon’s length above the ground and quickly nearing the figure he’d seen when the talons that had been wrapped around him were gone.  He hit the ground with a thud and tumbled.  He was right, it hurt. 

A booming voice coming from all around him thundered,
“WATCH THAT!”

A blast of wind pushed him farther into the ground, not that he could have gotten up anyway.  Looking skyward, he saw the dragon soar away.  A shadow covered him as the figure at whom he had just been tossed came to stand over him.  With flaming sword, raven hair, and piercing green eyes, Zensa approached warily.

As soon as she recognized him, her sword vanished and she knelt at his side.

“You look terrible,” she said.

A laugh escaped his lips, then turned into a cough.  Prying himself off of the ground to a sitting position, he gazed at the Dragon Mage.  Her hair was tousled to the point of looking more like a bird’s nest.  A blotch of what looked like soot covered most of her face.  Her gown was torn and smeared with dirt.  Several spots had a definite singed look to them as well.

“And you, my lady,” Jorem said mockingly, “look as lovely as ever.”

Zensa rolled her eyes and shook her head.  As Jorem eased himself to his feet, she brushed her hair back with her fingers.  It didn’t do much good.  With a sigh of resignation, she looked at him.  Reaching over, she wiped something off of his face, then wiped her hand off on her gown.

“You’re bleeding,” she said bluntly.

Jorem rubbed his cheek.  His hand came away with a few smears of crimson.

“I seem to do that a lot, don’t I?”

“You’ve always been a bit accident-prone,” Zensa chuckled.

A screeching, rending sound drew their attention to the large building.  Seeing the building from his current vantage point—that is, not hurtling through the air toward the ground—Jorem noticed all the spires and turrets. The building was actually a castle—a castle that currently had a very large dragon perched on top of it.  As they watched, one of the spires crashed to the ground.  The dragon had torn it off and tossed it aside.

“So is that…?”

“Echalain,” Zensa confirmed.  “The Lord Dragon of Dawnsword, my liege.”

“What’s he doing up there?”

“I believe he’s having a discussion with the Dark Mage,” Zensa said with satisfaction.

“He’s still alive?” Jorem asked in surprise.

“Once you freed Echalain, the Dark Mage didn’t even have the power to keep his shield up.  I’ll leave his fate to the Lord Dragon.”

“What do you think he’ll do?”

The dragon roared his challenge again.  This time it was directed into the castle.  Flame burst from Echalain’s maw into the highest tower.  The sides of the tower began to glow and still the dragon spewed forth flame.  As the tower began to sag and crumble, Echalain took flight, his flames broken only long enough for him to draw another breath.

Stone began to melt.  The heat was so intense, Jorem could feel it radiating off his face, and he was a fair distance away.  Even after the first tower was little more than a puddle of molten rock, Echalain continued his assault on the castle.  If there was anyone else besides the Dark Mage there, they had very little time left.

A shuffling noise behind him caught Jorem’s attention.  Turning, he spotted a couple of children crouched by a nearby building.  From their ragged clothing and emaciated appearance, he guessed them to be beggars.  As he watched, a few more came into view and joined the first two.  Soon a few dozen stood watching the destruction of the castle; not all were children. Some of the children clung to adults.  A few of the adults were elderly, with tufts of gray or white hair marking their age.  The rest of the adults, based on their clothing, were women.  All of them, young and old alike, appeared frail and weak.  From their listless movements, Jorem guessed that they came more for the chance of warmth than for anything else.

They did not come closer, nor did they attempt to communicate.  This was a people without hope.  These were not beggars hoping for a handout; these were the citizens of this city, or what was left of them.  The rule of the Dark Mage had been hard on them.  Jorem was reminded of the farms and villages of his own land.  Women and children left without the help of their men, all because a ruler deemed it to be so.

Bitterness filled Jorem’s heart.  Was his father any better than this Dark Mage?  Was the power of a throne so great that people’s lives meant nothing?  Bile rose in his throat at the sight of a near skeletal woman trying to comfort a small bundle of rags she held in her arms.  These people would die if something wasn’t done to help them.

A rush of wind and the thunder of wings announced the return of Echalain.  The people didn’t even bother to flee.  With a crunching sound, the dragon landed.  Claws dug furrows into the ground.  The smell of cinder and flame filled the air.  Jorem shielded his eyes from the swirling dust that arose beneath the dragon’s beating wings.

Echalain looked magnificent.  His wings were spread wide across the clearing.  With his head held high and one of his front feet raised with claws extended, he could have been a masterpiece of art.  The sun reflected off of each scale of his hide.  When he moved, it was like rivers were cascading across his body.

“NOW,”
the voice boomed again,
“TO DEAL WITH THE REST OF THESE VERMIN!”

Jorem realized that the dragon was about to mete out the same punishment on these people as had been dealt to the Dark Mage.

“NO!” a voice shouted.

With a sinking feeling, Jorem realized that it had been his own voice challenging the dragon’s intent.  Facing the dragon, he took a few steps back toward the cowering people and reached for his sword.

It wasn’t there.

Cursing under his breath, Jorem cast about for some kind of weapon.  Nothing came to view.  Zensa stared at him as if he’d turned into some kind of freakish toad.  Slipping the largest blades from their hidden sheaths on his thighs, he stood alone.  Crouched low, he held one blade before him, and the other to his side.  No more would he stand by while others suffered oppression.

“These people have suffered enough!” Jorem shouted up at the dragon.  “I say no more!”

Echalain stared down at Jorem, a mere insect daring to challenge his rule.  A wisp of smoke drifted between the jagged teeth of his massive jaws.  A low rumble emanated from its throat.  Echalain’s head swiveled to face Zensa.  At his glance, she dropped to one knee, an act Jorem had not thought possible.

“WHAT IS THIS THING THAT DARES DEFY ME?”
   The voice rumbled, though not as intensely as before. 
“WHY IS IT I CANNOT SEE WITHIN IT?”

“My Lord,” Zensa spoke clearly, but with some trepidation.  “This is Prince Jorem, fifth son of King Halden, grandson to Grendith, Savior of the Folk.”

Jorem was impressed with the announcement and nearly looked around to see who she was talking about.  He’d heard the tale of his grandfather once, but never really put much stock into it.  Echalain reared back on his hind legs and looked anew at Jorem.  For his part, Jorem couldn’t tell if the dragon was impressed or excited for dessert.

Echalain lowered himself back down.  The ground shook as his forefeet impacted, creating small craters where they landed.  His head came down until he was even with Jorem.  It took great effort not to turn and run.  It took nearly as much to hide the trembling in his knees.  From this vantage, Jorem could easily see he would be but a mouthful.

“ARE YOU NOT AFRAID, PRINCELING?” the dragon’s “voice” thundered in Jorem’s mind.

Jorem swallowed hard before attempting to respond.  Knowing that the blades he held would be useless, Jorem kept them up more for himself than anything else.

“I…, I may be crazy,” Jorem finally managed to say, “but I’m not stupid.  Only a fool would not fear you, and most of them would too.  But I’ll not stand by while you bring more harm to these people than has already been done.”

“YOUR WOULD DIE FOR A PEOPLE ABOUT WHOM YOU KNOW NOTHING?” Echalain’s voice rumbled.

It was odd hearing a voice that was not spoken.  What he “heard” was clear enough, but it was not audible.  The fact that Echalain had not yet killed him was a surprise; that the dragon was speaking to him was astounding.

“There are worse things than death, as you well know,” Jorem said evenly.  “Look you there.”

He pointed with one blade at the pitiful group behind him.  Echalain didn’t even bother glancing at them.  Instead, he backed away and stood regarding Jorem.  Jorem remained where he was.  Whatever was going to happen was out of his hands.  Zensa still knelt on the ground, head bowed and silent.

“WHAT KNOW YOU OF
GRENDITH?” the dragon asked.

“I read a tale of him once, though I didn’t know who he was at the time.  He died long before I was born.  A searcher of the Folk spoke of him in passing and I’ve heard some say he was a good King.”

Jorem shrugged at his own lack of knowledge.  “What has this to do with me?”

“WHAT INDEED?” Echalain murmured.

A tingling ran up the back of Jorem’s neck.  Without thinking, he crouched lower and braced himself.  Magic was at play, for what, he did not know.  It felt as though a gust of wind pushed against him, but the air was still.  The grass around him blazed up in fire; a moment later the fire was gone, leaving the grass to smolder.

“AND SO IT COMES TO PASS,” the dragon’s voice echoed.

Jorem waited for the dragon to continue.  Echalain sat, then laid down.  If it weren’t for the teeth, claws and scales, he could have been a gigantic hound.  A bit of smoke drifted between the dragon’s teeth.  Nope, he was definitely not a hound.

“SOME TIME AGO A SPELL WAS CAST,” Echalain mused.  “A SPELL THAT TRANSCENDED TIME AND SPACE.  IT TIED THE SOULS OF VALIANT MEN FROM LONG AGO TO THOSE OF DAYS TO COME.  THE SPELL DREW MAGIC, NOT JUST FROM ITS CASTER BUT FROM THE WORLD ITSELF AND FROM DRAGONKIND AS WELL.

“BUT THESE MATTERS ARE OF NO CONCERN TO YOU.  YOU ARE A PRINCE WITH DUTIES AND DIFFICULTIES OF YOUR OWN.  YOU HAVE FREED ME FROM THE PRISON IN WHICH I WAS HELD.  A BOON I DO OWE THEE.  WOULD YOU BE KING?  THE THRONE CAN BE YOURS WITH THE CROWN UPON THY BROW.  UNDER YOUR RULE, ALL THE WRONGS IN YOUR LAND COULD BE RIGHTED.”

Would you be King?

King?  Could he be a King?  Thoughts raced around in Jorem’s mind.  There were so many things he could do as a King.  So many of the injustices and inequalities he had witnessed could be set right.  He could see himself riding into the capital to the cheers of the people, trumpets blaring as he rode up to the castle.  His brothers would be bowed down as his father beamed with pride.

That’s pretty much where the vision went awry.  He was not a child anymore and the time for such fantasies had passed.  He could claim the throne.  With the backing of a dragon, who would dare stop him?  But, that would not be the end of it.  His brothers would not stand idly by while he usurped the throne, and it was highly unlikely that his Father’s attitude would change overnight.

No, it would not be so simple.  Oh, there would be those who would support him.  Well did he recall the words of Lady Bethania.  But if he took the throne, there would be great contentions within the Kingdom.  A civil war would likely erupt at the cost of many lives.  Things needed to change, but that was not the way.

It would take longer working from the outside, but it would cost far fewer lives.  Free of the throne, he could go anywhere.  Even the people of this city deserved help, and without the restrictions of the crown, he could give it to them.  Suddenly, Jorem felt freer than he ever had before.

Without title, he was just another man.  He could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.  All of the people he had met between here and Broughbor would need help if their people taken for the war did not return.  The people behind him, and surely they were not the only ones left in this city, were obviously in need.

He had seen too much.  There was no way he could restrict himself to one city or one Kingdom.  Something in him burned to bring aid to all those in need.  Having witnessed the machinations of his father’s court, each man scheming for his own gain, Jorem knew that was not the route for him.  No, he would not be King; he could not be King.

Echalain had waited patiently while Jorem thoughtfully considered his offer.  Zensa, though, had a look of deep concern on her face.  She looked as if she wanted to say something, but dared not with her Lord present.  Standing a little straighter, Jorem glanced at the people behind him and then back at the dragon.