The Dragon Ring (Book 1) (31 page)

A deafening whoosh, a shower of sand, and Saxthor witnessed the wounded dragon burst into the smoky air over his head. Steaming blood trickled from the reptile’s wound as he flapped inland toward Helshia’s highest mountain. Saxthor stepped over the outcrop as Tournak and Bodrin rushed up. The men beheld each other as if surprised any were still alive.

“Your staying here to face the dragon wasn’t an accident, was it Saxthor?” Tournak asked.

“No. I had to kill him.”

“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” Bodrin asked. “Faced a dragon.”

“Yes.”

Tournak turned to Bodrin. “What do you mean he’s done this before?”

“His dragon ring... It’s still glowing.”

“You want to tell me something, Saxthor?” Tournak asked. He thrust his sword in the sheath, a clack the voice of frustration.

“Another time perhaps,” Saxthor said. “Now I think we must prepare to leave the island. I gave the beast a mortal wound. He’ll not return to Dreaddrac, but it’s time to go. Should the Dark Lord send another dragon to find this one, and if the beast should find the island, we’d not likely escape again. The dragon would find this young beast’s bones and surmise someone killed it.”

* * *

In the Wizard’s Tower in Neuyokkasin, Memlatec paced the floor of his workroom. The sound of huffing and puffing beyond the open door interrupted his analysis of signs in the northern energy fields.

“How long are you going to muddle around up here?” Aleman asked, propped against the doorframe. He entered and set down a food tray. “I’m good mind to let you starve.”

“I’m sorry, Aleman. I was caught up in a puzzling problem and didn’t hear you. Time flies. You can leave the tray; I’ll bring it down later.”

Aleman’s feet scraped over the dusty floor as he shuffled to Memlatec’s desk, scanning the cluttered room with harsh, furrowed brows.

“Ain’t nothing you can’t fix later?”

“I fear the Dark Lord’s war preparations have recovered and progressed to a dangerous level again. I can’t delay calling home the exiles any longer. The boys are still too young to confront the evil here and in the north, but time has run out.”

“Poor little Saxthor.”

“He’s not little anymore. He has the power I sent him to find. I can only hope it’s sufficient to counter what’s ahead.”

“Well, eat something and send for him if you got to. It’s been seven years, time the boy came home.”

“Time indeed, time indeed.”

* * *

Far to the north under the Munattahensenhov, the Dark Lord fumed.

“Where is that Crackle with the witch? I shouldn’t have sent a juvenile dragon on such a mission. He’s loose and playing around no doubt. Still, there was that unusual storm on the west coast of Tixos tinged with an energy magic could have sparked. I hope that vindictive witch didn’t play with spells she doesn’t understand again.”

“Perhaps the storm caught them and they were lost at sea,” Smegdor said.

“It was quite a storm. I wonder if it could overwhelm a dragon.”

“Shall I send another dragon to find them?”

“No, I need the dragons here for the war. I can’t waste my ultimate weapons searching for a bungling witch and a disobedient, rebellious dragon when the war preparations are reaching critical mass. We’ll wait and see. The storm may have blown the reckless young dragon off course. He may still return.”

17: Decline of Neuyokkasin

Return of the Prince

On the Wizard’s Tower high balcony, Memlatec viewed the valley below to Konnotan, sad to reflect on the city’s general decline. The queen’s grief had spread across the kingdom like the setting sun before him. Already, the cool shadows of dusk slipped over the city while the sunset still warmed the old man’s face. Back inside the workroom, Memlatec fretted. He noted the great horned owl that followed his pacing.

I must inform the exiles of the situation here, at least to the extent they can handle the news, he thought. I can’t keep everything from them.

The perceptive owl blinked, the action close enough to a sign of agreement.

Twice a year, Memlatec had conjured an ornsmak to update the men. An ornsmak was the only communication device he dared risk. The mechanism carried messages encoded in pure energy attuned to the intended recipient’s resonance. Thus, only the specific addressee could release the contents. Were he to send communications with winged couriers, opponents could shoot them down and obtain the letters.

Even an ornsmak was dangerous. If the maneuver fell into the wrong hands, it would arouse suspicion as to why Memlatec created such a secretive tool. These days, only Memlatec and possibly one or two other wizards could still create them. The discoverer would know the source. While others couldn’t read the message, the destination would likely be the missing prince. The secretive device would all but confirm both Saxthor was alive and Memlatec knew his whereabouts. Therefore, the wizard only dared update the exiles semiannually. He hoped the messages got through to Helshia.

* * *

Early one morning, some six months before, Tournak was walking on the beach while the boys slept. The wizard enjoyed solitude and peace as birds chirped their territorial claims from the trees behind him. Small, subdued waves toppled into the post dawn breeze. The early morning was clear, before the rising heat spawned a haze, making the sunrays vibrant.

As Tournak relished the clear, brilliance, an ornsmak rippled in the sun’s rays in front of him. The wizard considered the apparatus for a moment. Its presence suggested Memlatec might sense trouble. After an apprehensive minute, the magician took the missive, aligned its resonance and released the holographic message.

Life here at the Neuyokkasinian court continues to decline since Saxthor’s disappearance. Crown Prince Augusteros remains at the more lavish imperial court of Powteros to the south. Away from his family’s influence, he’s become increasingly self-absorbed, according to the ambassador’s reports. The queen despairs at the loss of both sons and continues to withdraw from public life. Without the queen’s enthusiasm, the nobility have returned to their estates and seclusion. Commerce deteriorates, and with less trade, the people on the land have less incentive to grow and sell additional quantities of agricultural products. Societal order is imploding.

In this general malaise, Earwig is exploiting the people’s discontent. She expands her knowledge of the dark arts while her despicable husband shrivels more under the weight of his insatiable greed. Their servants report he sits day after day in his vault in Castilyernov Earwighof’s cellar. He counts and recounts the money he steals through his administration of the queen’s estates. His corruption has physically diminished his frail frame until the parasite is little more than skin stretched over bone. Earwig grows more distorted too. Her pronounced, fake smile has become openly sinister. The witch’s vile self-confidence has emboldened her as darkness spreads over the kingdom.

Neuyokkasin must be in severe decline, Tournak thought. Memlatec fears another crisis looming with Dreaddrac’s growing power. He released the ornsmak’s energy with no reply, having determined he shouldn’t tell the boys the news.

*

Memlatec went to his workroom where he assembled the necessary elements to create another ornsmak. He closed the door before beginning the task he dreaded. He looked to Fedra for solace, but found none.

This year, Saxthor turned nineteen, Memlatec thought, preparing his semiannual message to the exiles on Helshia. The nation’s decline over these last seven years is at its worst. The kingdom’s perilous state and the impending war require me to call Saxthor home before I’d planned to. I must share something of the nation’s poor state of affairs to prepare him. I won’t divulge the extent of the downturn, or that I fear the queen is dying. I hope his character has matured to withstand the strains he must confront. Have his military arts developed to the degree he can survive the forces the Dark Lord or Earwig will send against the kingdom and him? I can delay no longer.

* * *

Twit sat watching Saxthor, who was sitting alone by a cave overlooking the sheltered bay where the exiles made a home two days after the dragon encounter. The prince regarded the ornsmak received earlier in the day with trepidation. Sensing his anxiety, Twit flew down on his shoulder and gently tugged at his ear. Saxthor concentrated on the message and with a gentle hand, brushed the little wren away. Twit hopped back and again pulled on Saxthor’s ear.

“What’s the matter with you, Twit?”

Twit bobbed up and down. He stared Saxthor straight in the face.

“Want some attention, huh? Well, I’m busy right now.”

Glaring at Saxthor, the cocky bird continued to bob up and down. The prince looked away at the ornsmak, so Twit flew up in his hair in a frenzied attempt to make a complete nest in under a minute.

“Stop that!”

Annoyed, Saxthor was about to brush the intruder out of his hair when the bird hopped down on Saxthor’s shoulder and again tugged on his ear.

“You deserve your time, too, don’t you, boy?”

Saxthor checked to ensure they were alone and slipped his finger under the tiny-feathered breast. Twit bobbed once and hopped up on his digit. Saxthor moved the little wren around in front of him, and stroked his feathers. After a moment, Twit seemed calmer. It felt so good, he stopped bobbing. Saxthor brought the bird up to his face and nuzzled the tiny breast with his nose. He put Twit back on the bush from which he’d come. Annoyed, the cantankerous fowl flew up into his fake nest in Saxthor’s hair and dropped a pellet of poop. Saxthor jumped up and pretended to swat him away flicking off the offending complaint.

“What did you do that for, you crazy bird? You’re so cranky.”

Twit flew off in search of breakfast.

-

Poor man, thought Twit. He needs to wash his soft, greasy beak. He got oil on my clean feathers. I’ll have to spend the morning preening.

-

As Tournak had taught him to do, Saxthor held the ornsmak in both hands. When his energy warmed the supple communiqué, the agitated device began to resonate at Saxthor’s precise frequency. The molecular structure then formed from its plasma state and the ornsmak crystallized. Saxthor used the Celestial Fire Topaz from his ring to capture and direct full-sunlight into the crystal. The device released Memlatec’s holographic message.

Memlatec questions the kingdom’s survival, Saxthor thought. Reading between the lines, he was more alarmed. Through the years of training, I’ve honed my extrasensory perception as well as my physical and intellectual skills. Memlatec doesn’t yet know of my natural affinity for the use of a higher energy plane. Saxthor looked at Twit returned from his morning repast, who stared back. He turned again to the hologram and frowned.

“If the dragon’s discovery of Helshia weren’t reason enough to leave, this message relates Neuyokkasin’s decline far more than previous messages. We must go home. I have to consult with Memlatec and see for myself the state of the kingdom.”

In the evening, sitting around a fire, Saxthor viewed the message again with his companions. He knew they wanted news of their home as much as he did. Tournak and Bodrin sat silent with their heads down. The prince observed each of them. They rocked back and forth with pursed lips and arms tucked over their stomachs.

“What do you think?” Saxthor asked.

“Time to go home,” Bodrin said.

Tournak looked up. “When we left, Memlatec instructed us to wait.”

“We can’t sit here while the kingdom collapses,” Saxthor said, “and we need to get away before another dragon comes searching for the dead one.” He stood up to face them and their despair. “We’ll pack and leave for the continent as soon as the weather permits. We’ve trained here for seven years, and whatever strengths we have must be put at Neuyokkasin’s disposal.”

“Memlatec believed conditions in Neuyokkasin wouldn’t be safe for you to return before you’re twenty-one,” Tournak said. “I suppose this message and the dragon change things.”

“Tournak,” Saxthor’s tone was authoritative, “we can all read what Memlatec is saying and not saying in the ornsmak. I for one cannot sit here while the state of affairs deteriorates at home. Neuyokkasin needs all its resources. I intend to go back and help in any way I can. Though the tone shows reluctance to recall us, Memlatec insinuates we should go home.”

Tournak shook his head. “In the autumn, storms can come up without warning. Western Tixos has no landing sites before its first beach at the southern tip. If a storm catches us in the old fishing boat, we’ll probably drown before ever reaching land.”

“Bodrin, what do you think?”

“I say we go.”

Saxthor nodded and put his hand on Tournak’s shoulder. “My friend, you’ve raised us like a father, but it’s time we made decisions for ourselves and took risks if need be. We understand your concern for us. You want to abide by Memlatec’s original directives. However, knowing what we know now, we must go back and help where we can.”

Saxthor stood straight, his chest out with hands on his hips. The willingness to defer to authority was gone, replaced by the band’s confident new leader. They recognized Saxthor’s decision to leave was final. All three men set about preparing without further protests.

“Check out the boat’s condition after so many years, Bodrin,” Tournak said.

Bodrin returned from the inspection. “The shelter we built has protected the boat. However, the planks have dried, opening cracks in the seams. I’ll soak the craft in water for a day or so. The wood should swell and close the cracks. We’ll scrape and seal the whole thing with tar.”

They collected, prepared, and dried foods for the voyage. Meats they cut into strips, and along with some fish, dried in the sun with split fruits. They sealed grains in clay jars to keep out moisture. Ceramic jugs held water since they had no aged wooden barrels. Tournak wove a new sail. Bodrin and Saxthor made ropes from fine strips of ninak vine rich in oil to keep them strong and supple. When the craft was ready, the sailors searched the sky for a favorable time for departure.