The Dragon' Son (11 page)

Keegan stared at the dragon for a long moment. The warm glow that he saw in the dragon's eyes seemed to fill his chest and swirl and jump inside of him. It seemed to fill him with strength and warmth. At the same time, he thought he could feel the dragon's heartbeat, hear the dragon's every breath, feel the cooling fire in his lungs, and feel every muscle that the dragon flexed. He felt that he had jumped inside the dragon's body. He thought that now he completely understood the dragon. He understood the love and loyalty that the dragon felt toward him and the compassion and desire to protect him. How he understood and felt all these things, Keegan didn't know, but it was wonderful. He felt loved and protected again. He felt like he was in a family again. He could never let that go.

A humming sound, much like the one that had lulled Keegan to sleep the night before, began to reverberate from the dragon's throat. It was a soft, quiet sound that filled Keegan's muddled mind with peace, and yet it also vibrated an excitement that Keegan could not explain.

"Will you go to be with your people?” Pharrgon asked quietly. “Or come to live with me?”

Keegan continued to stare at the dragon in awe for a moment longer. He was barely able to pull his eyes away from the dragon's to look back at the White Mountains.

There, in those colossal mountains, were his people. People he knew and did not know. Alia would be in those mountains somewhere, he hoped, as would some of his other friends and family. But, if he went there, he would surely be an outcast among his people for having a dragon as a guardian and mentor. His people had been born with a fear, hate, and a lust for dragon blood, though he never understood why. He would be called a
Valad Drakoan
among his people. He would be shunned. Pharrgon would be unsafe among the Wovlens. They would kill them both.

Keegan could not leave the dragon. He felt tied to him with invisible bonds that he never wanted cut. He felt strong and safe with the dragon. He felt that Pharrgon was like a father to him now. He could not leave that nor jeopardize it; therefore, he could not go to the Wovlens ever again.

"There is no wise thing in going back to the Wovlens,” Keegan answered as he turned toward the graveyard and gazed at his parents’ head stones. “It is best if I am dead to them.” He turned to Pharrgon and looked up at the great, golden dragon. “I will be a
Valad Drakoan
: a Dragon's Son. I will be your son: the Dragon's Son.”

Chapter 6: Now a Young Man

13 Years Later

An elderly man stood from spreading hay in the village barn and straightened his back with a grimace. He wiped his sweaty brow then stiffly walked outside into the open air. He breathed in deeply, stretched his back, and then walked to the water well. He pulled out a bucket of water, grabbed the dipper, and took a long drink of the cool water. When he was done, he wiped his mouth and prepared to dump the remaining water from the bucket into the well when he noticed a rider coming toward the village atop a most magnificent horse. The elderly man stood straight and watched with curiosity as the horse and rider approached.

The horse seemed to be made of gold and jewels. It had the most superb golden coat, shiny and sleek, and a white mane and tail. As the horse moved, its coat glimmered and sparkled in the sun. The horse was truly brilliant. The old man was surprised to see that the magnificent horse wore no wonderful saddle but only a plain, faded blanket.

The rider was a young man of fair countenance. His hair was dark brown and hung a little below his shoulders, which were square and muscular. His posture was straight and calm, and his eyes glanced at objects around him, clearly taking in his surroundings, giving him a sort of cautious but confident air. He wore a threadbare brown shirt, tattered black vest, leather pants, and scuffed boots. A sword in a weather beaten scabbard haunted his left side, and his left hand rested on it gently.

This engrossed the elderly man very much. He was most pleased when the young rider angled his horse toward the well, and he was certain that his curiosity would soon be sated. The young rider smiled at the elderly man as he came up to the well. “Good day, sir,” he greeted the elderly man as he slid off of his horse and patted it on the neck. “May I and my horse drink from this well?” he asked with a slight bow.

“Yes, please drink till you are satisfied,” the elderly man said with a return bow. The young man grabbed the bucket and dumped the remaining water into the watering trough. His horse licked its lips and began to drink of the water gratefully. The young man stroked his horse’s neck for a moment then let the bucket fall back into the well. As soon as the bucket filled with water, he began to reel it back in.

“This is a truly wonderful animal that you have here,” the elderly man said as he gently patted the horse’s neck.

The young man pulled the bucket up onto the side of the well and reached for the dipper. “Yes, he is a wonderful companion,” he answered as he put the dipper of water to his lips. When he finished drinking, the young man poured more water into the trough for his horse and patted it on the neck again. “His name is Ardor,” he remarked with pride behind his voice.

Hearing his name, the horse raised his head from the water trough and nibbled at his rider’s shirt. The young man chuckled and patted Ardor again. “He is the best traveling companion that I could have,” the young man stated. “I watched as his mother gave birth to him, and I wiped the blood from his nose. I watched him grow. He and I have been through a lot together.” He stroked his horse across the forehead lovingly and fluffed the long white bangs that hung over the horse's merry brown eyes.

“It seems that he has served you well,” the elderly man said. “I have never seen a horse like him,” he added as he began to walk around the horse looking it over with a keen, well-trained eye. “He is a strong, well-built fellow. Better than King Orwin’s horses. I should know; I worked in the King’s stables for a time. I was the chief horse master,” the elderly man said with a smile, memories flooding his eyes. “He is an unusual color for a horse. Whose stables was he foaled in? Who was his sire and dam?” the elderly man asked, looking up at the young man.

The young man looked his elder in the eye with a smile shining in his own eyes. “He was born in the wild to an unknown mare and stallion,” he answered.

The elderly man’s expression turned to shock. “This magnificent animal--in the wild?” he asked. The younger man nodded and laughed then seemed to dismiss the subject. He patted his horse again and poured the remaining water from the bucket into the well. Suddenly, a cow bawled, and there was loud clatter in the nearby barn followed by a brown cow bolting out of the barn doors. A young milkmaid charged out after the cow but stopped once out of the barn door and flopped onto the ground rubbing her ankle painfully.

“Curse you, you old cow,” the young lady yelled after the running cow. She shook her fist then stood up and slowly started to limp the way that the creature had taken.

“I will fetch it for you!” the young man said as he flipped up onto his horse and began galloping after the bucking cow. It did not take him long to come up alongside the cow where he reached down and grasped the animal’s rope. His horse turned and cut the cow off from its course, directing it back toward the little village. When the cow had settled down, the young man and his horse began to lead the beast back to the village peacefully.

The young woman patiently stood and stared as the young man brought the cow up to her. The elderly man came up to her side with an amazed and excited expression. “I must say, that was amazing horsemanship, sire!” the elderly man said enthusiastically.

“Thank you. My father taught me expert horsemanship. I was only doing what needed done,” the young man said and smiled at the young lady. She had beautiful emerald eyes, fair skin, and golden hair, which was partially hidden under a head covering. She wore a simple white chemise with a brown surcoat that laced up the sides and a long brown leather belt--the typical attire of a farm maid.

“Would you like me to tie the cow in the barn for you?” the young man asked politely.

The lass reached up and took the rope from him with a smile. “No, thank you, sir. I shall do it myself,” she answered. As she took the rope from the young man, a strange silver ring with a red stone on his finger caught her attention, and she let her eyes linger on it for a moment before turning and leading the cow back toward the barn.

“Very well…” the young man said. He watched as the girl led the cow away, then he turned back to the elderly man. “I thank you for your kind hospitality,” he said with a nod of his head.

“It was my pleasure and the village’s pleasure. You may come back any time you please,” replied the elderly man.

“Thank you. I will keep that in mind,” said the young man. “May I know your name kind, sir?” he asked.

“Certainly! I am Geoff, at your service,” said the elderly man, bowing.

“No, please! It is I who am at your service, Master Geoff!” the young man laughed. “I will remember your kindness.” The young man inclined his head then turned and began to ride down the road, southbound.

Geoff watched as horse and rider leisurely began to walk away, then he started and slapped his hand to his forehead. “Wait! May I have the pleasure of knowing your name before you leave?” Geoff called out.

The young man turned his horse around and smiled. “I am Keegan,” he answered then turned again and trotted away without another word.

The black mist surrounded everything like a veil. Moans and groans of unseen people could be heard deep in the darkness. A foul stench swirled in the air. The Dorr Wolf looked at Keegan and bared its ivory teeth to snarl at him. The man with the scar across his face sat atop the foul creature with an accusing glare directed at Keegan.

“I have you now,” he said in a hissing voice. “You can’t escape me.”

Keegan stood helpless. He could not move. He did not understand why, and he could see nothing that bound him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not move. The scarred man then reached down to the ground from the wolf's back and grasped a chain. Keegan gritted his teeth, and sweat began to form on his brow. He knew what was going to happen next. The scarred man jerked a body out of a hole. It was Keegan’s father.

“It’s your fault, you know,” said the scarred man. “If you would have been intelligent, you would have told your father and uncle about me!” The man sneered again. “However, fortunately for me and Demitreah, you didn’t tell them.” He began to cackle like a mockingbird teasing a cat and then let the body fall back into the hole.

Keegan felt hot anger and desperation wash through his muscles. He struggled fiercely to free himself from his invisible bonds. The Dorr Wolf crouched back on its haunches and tightened every muscle in its legs. It leaped into the air and then….

Keegan bolted up right with a gasp and grasped his sword handle. Ardor jerked his head up from its resting place and looked at Keegan with ears forward. Keegan looked around as the sweat rolled off his face.

No Dorr Wolf, no scarred man, no sign of his father’s body, and no black mist. Only the tall trees lingered around him, releasing the sweet smell of spring, and the slight light of dawn crept across the sky. He wiped the sweat from his face with a heavy sigh.

Thirteen years had passed since the massacre, and he still had nightmares like this. The only freedom he had from the nightmares was when he was with Pharrgon. This particular nightmare repeated itself over and over again. However, it had one thing different in it this time: the name Demitreah. Who was Demitreah? The name sent a shiver down Keegan’s back unexpectedly. He did not like the sound of it. It roused something inside of him--some ancient desire that made him want to tear something apart and at the same time hide in fear. It was very confusing.