Honor Crowned (21 page)

“I have no need of a crown, nor any other honors.  I will serve the people, all of the people.  If need be, I will stand against my own King and any other king for the good of the people.  No one should be deprived of home and family.”

It was difficult to tell, with all the teeth and scales, but it appeared to Jorem that the dragon’s face had a smile on it.

“IT HAS BEEN SO LONG,” Echalain’s “voice” brushed his mind.  “LONG AGO, THEY WALKED THIS LAND, GUARDIANS OF ALL, ANSWERABLE ONLY TO THEMSELVES.  THEY WERE THE ONLY MORTALS EVER TO COMMAND MY KIND.”

Somewhere along the way, Jorem had gotten lost in the conversation.  Zensa was looking at him wide-eyed.  Something had just happened and he had no idea what it was.

“What exactly are we talking about?” Jorem asked in confusion.

“DRAGON KNIGHTS,” Echalain stated, his voice as solid as stone.  “LONG FORGOTTEN IN THE LORE OF HUMANS, THEY WERE A BREED APART.  THEY SERVED NOT JUST MANKIND, BUT ALL RACES EQUALLY.  THROUGH THEM DID ALL PROSPER AND MUCH PEACE CAME TO THE LANDS.”

“I’ve never heard of a Dragon Knight,” Jorem admitted, still unsure where Echalain was going with this.  “What were they and what happened to them?”

“THEY WERE MEN OF GREAT HONOR.  THEY PROTECTED THE WEAK AND THE INNOCENT.  WHEN NEEDED, THEY PUNISHED THE GUILTY.  SUCH RESPECT DID THEY HAVE FROM ALL, EVEN THE GREATEST OF RULERS DARED NOT DISMISS THEIR WORDS.  NEVER WERE THERE MANY.  WHEN ONE WOULD GROW OLD AND DIE, ANOTHER WOULD STEP FORWARD AND ALL WOULD KNOW HIM FOR WHAT HE WAS.  THEN ONE DAY, THERE WERE NONE.”

“So you’re saying…?” Jorem asked in bewilderment.

“THOU ART A DRAGON KNIGHT!”
Echalain thundered.  His mental exclamation was accompanied by a mighty roar.  “AT LONG LAST, THE KNIGHTS HAVE RETURNED.  WILT THOU DON THE ARMOR KEPT SO LONG IN WAIT FOR THY RETURN?”

Jorem was stunned.  For all of his life he had felt different from everyone else.  He’d always seen things differently and been able to understand the motives of others without knowing why.  Now he knew.  He
was
different.

He knew Echalain's words were true.  There was no doubt.  He was meant for this.  He was, he knew in his heart, a Dragon Knight.

“I will do this,” Jorem breathed quietly.

The great dragon, Echalain, planted all four feet firmly on the ground.  The claws of each foot dug deep furrows, firmly setting the dragon in place.  With its head raised high in the air, Echalain made a thrumming sound so deep and powerful the ground began to vibrate.

A cool mist started to appear around Jorem.  Gradually the mist grew thicker.  With the mist came an odd musty smell one would find in a long-closed room.  The thrumming grew in intensity, so much so that Jorem felt the vibrations running up his legs.  The mist grew so thick it darkened the sunlight from his view.  Soon all was blocked from his vision.

Cool tendrils of the mist began to caress his skin.  At its first touch the mist began to weave itself about him, growing denser as it came closer, coalescing about his body.  As he watched in wonder, he became encased in a shroud of mist.  The volume of the thrumming diminished, but its tone grew deeper.  Small pebbles at his feet danced upon the ground.

All at once, the thrumming stopped.  The mist surrounding him condensed into a thin layer about his body, hardening in place.  Intricate etchings covered the surface of what had been mist, but now was armor.  This armor was not flashy and shiny, but dull and plain.  Other than the dark gray etchings, there were no adornments.  At a glance, it appeared made of stone or freshly cast metal.

Jorem raised his arm and the armor moved with him, flowing with his movements like a coating of fine scales.  Before he could take a step, the ground at his feet began to bulge.  A small mound formed and the dirt fell away.  A helm, matching the gray coloring of the armor, emerged from the ground.  Though dull in coloring, the helm’s design was in the form of a dragon’s head.

Scooping up the helm, Jorem settled it on his head.  At first it was loose, but in moments it conformed itself to fit so snugly it could have been cast in place.  The armor and helm were lighter than anything Jorem had ever worn before.  It fit as if crafted just for him, even though the armor had formed over his Ovak armor.

“MAGE ZENSA,” Echalain’s voice commanded.

“Yes, my Lord?” Zensa replied.

“ARM THE KNIGHT THAT HE MAY STAND IN DEFENSE OF THOSE IN NEED.”

As the dragon spoke, several weapons appeared in front of the kneeling mage.  Zensa did not speak, but gathered up the items before her and approached Jorem.  Twin daggers she placed upon his hips, the sheaths attaching themselves to his armor of their own accord.  Each one was curved in the shape of a talon, with miniature dragon heads at the end of each hilt.

Two swords matching the daggers in exacting detail were placed on his back.  These too attached themselves, locking in place within easy reach, just over his shoulders.  Zensa stopped in front of him.  Her emerald eyes stared into his.

“You knew?” Jorem asked in a whisper.

Zensa raised a hand and lightly touched the helm at the side of his head.

“That you were… different, special?  Only a fool could not have seen that.  This?” her gaze took in all of him.  “No, but I should have, and all who have come to know you will say that it is right.”

When she stepped aside, Jorem was once more confronted with the massive dragon Echalain.

“DRAGON
KNIGHT
, LONG HAS THY WORK GONE UNDONE. WHERE WILT THOU START?”

Jorem knew instantly what he needed to do.

“As a dragon,” Jorem began hesitantly, “you will obey my commands?”

“IF WE DEEM IT IS OF WORTH, YES, I AND MY KIND WILL OBEY.”

“Then I believe we have a war to stop,” Jorem said with force.

“AGREED!”

Chapter XXIII

They had stayed the night near the glowing remains of the castle destroyed by dragon fire.  Although she had every right to join them in their mission, Zensa had chosen to remain behind.  With Echalain’s blessing, she would transport food and blankets from the stores at Dawnsword.  She would also bring workers to cook and render whatever assistance was needed.  At Jorem’s request she had agreed to seek out his men as well.  Before the false dawn Jorem and Echalain mounted into the sky.

The plains opened up beneath them as the snow-capped mountains receded into the distance.  Tightly gripped in the fore claw of the dragon Echalain, Jorem tried to focus on the horizon and not the bobbing queasiness of his stomach.  He knew speed was of the essence, but so far his experiences with flight left much to be desired.  After today, if at all possible, he would do his traveling on the ground.

Free of the mountains, the air began to grow warmer.  Echalain’s wings spread wide as he soared down out of the heights.  A haze of smoke ahead of them gave direction to their course.  The sun’s first rays of light pierced the mists of morning gloom.  If their timing was right, the day’s first battles had yet to begin.

Two vast armies stretched across the plains.  They covered the ground like swarms of ants.  A gap like a river separated the two groups.  As they got closer, Jorem could see no signs of there having been a major clash yet between the two armies.  He also knew that, in a battle between two large forces, it was common for a parlay to last for days before any actual fighting was done.

Threats and boasts, along with dire warnings and offers to accept surrender would be issued by one or both sides.  That the attackers from the north had waited this long told Jorem that they were waiting for something.  The monsters and special fighters he’d defeated at Cragg Keep came to mind.  Had they managed to mount an attack on the capital, a significant portion of the Kingdom’s army would have gone back to defend the throne, leaving far fewer soldiers to defend the border.

The Kingdom’s army was divided into four groups, each likely led by one of his brothers.  The main force was at the center with separate forces at each flank.  The fourth group was spread out behind the front three, ready to provide support where necessary.  At the forefront of each group was a singular figure wearing glistening, reflective armor.  There was no doubt in Jorem’s mind who they were.  He was surprised, though, that one of his brothers hadn’t launched an attack against the invading forces.

Close enough now to distinguish individuals from the crowd, Jorem spotted a large tent to the rear of the northern army.  The tent was well guarded, but no one went near it.  They had mages with them.  He sensed no magic at play, but the signs were all there.  When the time came, the enemy mages would unleash their magic on the unsuspecting fighters of the Kingdom.

Not knowing whether Echalain could hear him, Jorem pointed at the tent and shouted as loudly as he could.

“Destroy that tent!”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than a fireball larger than the tent itself tore through the air.  Where the tent had been, a pillar of fire erupted as the fireball struck.  Dirt and debris flew in all directions.  Those who had guarded the tent were either tossed away like the rest of the debris or turned to cinder where they stood.

“AAHHH…..YESSSS!” Echalain’s voice purred in satisfaction.  “THOSE WITHIN HAD FED UPON MY POWER.  NOW THEY ARE NO MORE!”

Trying not to shiver at the pleasure in the dragon’s voice, Jorem pointed to the space between the two armies.

“Can you separate them with a wall of flame?”

Echalain’s wings tucked closer to his body and they plummeted downward.  All eyes were on the burning crater where once a tent had stood, so their arrival was a complete surprise.  Just before they struck the ground, Echalain’s wings snapped out.  All of the downward momentum was transferred into a course parallel to the ground.  Jorem was fairly certain his stomach lay on the ground somewhere behind them.

They moved so fast, Jorem could feel the air tugging at his face.  A stream of fire burst from the maw of the dragon, turning the ground beneath them into a blazing inferno.  At the end of his run, Echalain rose and wheeled about.  There would be no doubt that a dragon had joined the fray.  The thundering roar he issued made certain that all watched as he glided to a landing just north of the still burning ground.

Jorem was quite pleased when Echalain set him gently on the ground, both because he was grateful to be back on the ground and because he hadn’t met it in the same way he had the day before at the end of his first dragon ride.  Facing the northern army, Jorem was taken back.  From the air, they had looked numerous, from the ground they seemed an unending sea of warriors.  The confidence with which he strode forward stemmed more from having a dragon at his back than from anything else.

“This war is over!” Jorem stated in as authoritative a voice as he could muster.

“I think not,” came a hard reply.

A giant of a man stepped out of the crowd.  He stood a good head taller than any of those around him.  His armor was also black, but far more elaborate, with whorls and stylized flames at every edge and surface.  The helm he wore concealed his face with a dark shroud in the shape of a skull.  Only his eyes were visible, and they were cold and cruel.  So similar in size and proportion to the man who had lead the warriors at Cragg Keep Jorem could not help but wonder where they came from and what would bring them to follow the Dark Mage.

“The Dark Mage is a match for any dragon that ever lived.  You, little man, are about to die.”

Before Jorem could respond, the giant rushed at him, sword drawn.  Once again, Neth’s training saved him.  His sword was out before he’d even contemplated the action.  The second sword followed soon after.  As the giant’s sword descended on Jorem, his own sword flashed up in response.  Fully expecting a tremendous blow from the force of the giant’s sword, he was startled when it didn’t happen.

The surprise on the giant man’s face mirrored that of Jorem’s when Jorem’s sword sliced cleanly through the large, descending sword.  Not daring to risk any hesitation, Jorem spun to the side and struck with both swords.  Not the man himself, however, but several of his straps.

Jorem’s swords moved with such blurring speed, his opponent dared not move. The swords were like extensions of his hands. When Jorem finally stopped, the tip of his left-hand sword was lightly pressing against the underside of the giant man’s chin.  With the flick of his wrist, the blade in his right hand severed one last strap.  The man’s breastplate, along with most of the rest of his armor, tumbled to the ground.

“Perhaps you misunderstood me,” Jorem said in a casual tone of voice, “I said, this war is over!”

Even unarmed and without armor, the man sneered at Jorem.  “We are sworn to the Dark Mage until death.”

Still holding his left sword in place, Jorem sheathed the other, freeing up his right hand.  Balling up his fist, Jorem swung with everything he could muster.  When his fist struck the man’s chin, his head snapped back and he fell to the ground.  Jorem glared down at the man, then at the rest of them.  Taking down their leader with such ease had left them staring in shock.

“The Dark Mage is no more!” Jorem shouted.  “Nor is the secret force sent through the mountain passes.  If your honor demands it, take your own lives.  Just don’t make a mess of it.  I’ve no desire to clean up after you. As for the rest of you, go back to your homes.  Go back to your families.  Go in peace!”

Jorem sheathed his other sword, turned his back to them and walked away.  By the time he reached the dragon’s side, scattered cheers were coming from behind him.  When he finally looked back, the field before him was clearing.  Most were walking away.  Some were actually running, perhaps in fear they might be stopped.  All were leaving save those in black armor.  They remained where they had been.

Slowly, the man Jorem had knocked down regained his feet.  While Jorem watched, he rummaged through the pile of armor on the ground, at last finding what he sought.  Holding a dagger above his head, he turned to his fellow warriors and began to yell.  The other warriors raised their voices with his and, as one, they charged. 

Jorem had both swords out, prepared to do battle.  Suddenly a searing heat came from above him.  Before the black-clad warriors had covered half the distance toward him, a burning stream of fire enveloped them.  So hot and so fast was the flame, there was not even time for them to scream.  They were there, then there was nothing but ash.

Such a waste of life left Jorem empty.

“THEY MADE THEIR CHOICE,” Echalain’s voice whispered in his mind.

“Yes, they did,” Jorem replied.  “It is a shame men’s choices are so seldom made with wisdom.”

“EVER HAS IT BEEN, EVER SHALL IT BE.”

“Come,” Jorem sighed, “let us deal with my brothers.”