The
Dragons of Fyre
Chapter
1
Drakon
halted his horse at the end of the pass and stared at the collection of houses
and the fields beyond. Last night he and
his companion had ridded well past moonrise so they could reach the village
this morning. Fall had arrived. Reds, yellows and oranges blazed across the
hills.
Why
had this village remained untouched? Ten
years ago, the lord of Sea Cliff had attacked High Peaks High Peaks
*You
will not,* the Old One said. *They are dead.*
Drakon
tightened his hold on the reins. Every
time the ancient yellow dragon spoke to him, he felt warmth and delight. Years ago, his inability to speak to the
dragons had doomed him to ten years as a slave.
*I wish they were alive so I could see to their punishment. Their treason made me Lagon’s prisoner and a
thing to be sold to the priestesses.*
*Better
a slave than living under the evil one’s control the way the heirs of the other
towers do.*
A
year had passed since Drakon’s escape from the temple of Fyre Sea Cliff Tower
*Patience,* the Old One said.
“Behold
the lush growth of the fields,” His
companion drew his steed to Drakon’s side.
“Look at the height and fullness of the fyrethorns. The harvest will be abundant.” He raked his fingers through his gray-tinged
brown hair.
Drakon
shook his head. “I see but do we need
all this for one dragon?”
Radlan
shrugged. “Who are we to cry about good
fortune? There are few dragons in the
land. From what I have heard there are
five pair at Sea Cliff and none at the other three towers.”
Drakon’s
jaw clenched. His desire for revenge
flared anew. If only there was a way to
defeat Lagon and free the High
Peaks
*Have
faith. There will be more dragons at our
tower.*
Some
of Drakon’s tension ebbed. *First
patience and now faith. I’ll try. Before I gain those virtues, there’s a
harvest to be completed.* He prodded the
steed with his heels and the horse trotted down the trail into the village.
As
Drakon dismounted the headman bustled across the commons with a hand extended
in welcome, “My lord.”
Drakon
straightened. Would he ever become used
to being named as the lord of High
Peaks Tower
The
gray-haired man nodded. “The men have
started in the fields and the crew for the fyrethorns has just assembled.”
Drakon
pulled on a pair of heavy leather gloves, grabbed a sack and strode to the row
of fyrethorn bushes. Radlan had been
right about the size of the harvest. A
wry smile crossed Drakon’s face. The
increased yield was due to the seeds he’d brought from the temple, the only
good thing to come from his stay to come from his stay as a stud in the harras.
A
half dozen young women and four young men joined him. Drakon glanced at his fellow workers. One young woman flipped her glossy ebony hair
over her shoulder. He swallowed. Her beauty made him wish for what was
impossible.
Of
the men, three were his age. The one
with black hair was older. He glared at
Drakon and drew the beauty away. Drakon
frowned. Why did the man dislike him
when they had never met?
He
shrugged off the stares of the others and moved along the hedgerow pulling
handfuls of the long blood red thorns.
As he removed them bunches of crimson berries were exposed. The young women pulled the clusters and
dropped them in baskets.
At
day’s end, Drakon stared at the sacks of thorns and berries he helped carry to
the storeroom. A bountiful harvest
indeed. He walked to where Radlan and
the headman stood. “We’ll need more than
two carts to carry all the fyrethorn products to the tower.”
The
older men laughed. Radlan clasped Drakon’s
shoulder. “We’ll take just one load of
thorns and berries. The other cart will
carry grain and vegetables for the winter.
Before the storms we’ll return for the rest and for flower ground from
the grain.” Radlan led the way to the
harvest feast.
“Do
you think the other villages will be rebuilt?”
Drakon asked.
Radlan
nodded. “There’s talk of a division in a
year or two. The people sworn to High Peaks
Tower
Drakon
stiffened. If they knew what had
happened to him ten years ago, they would avoid him. He crammed those memories away. Radlan had suggested keeping the days he’d
spent as a slave a secret. Drakon wished
he could talk to someone about his treatment in the temple of Fyre
He
glanced at the gathered people. Though
most of the older men and women wore what they had for the harvest, some of the
younger women had changed into bright colored skirts and blouses.
Aromas
of cooking meats rose from a put where a steer had cooked all day. Other meats hung on hooks over the
coals. Drakon lifted a large wooden
trencher and took some of the steer and a chicken leg. His stomach rumbled as he moved to a long
table where kettles of cooked vegetables, grains and bowls of greens and fruit
were displayed.
He
grabbed a mug of ale and looked for a place to sit. Beneath a large oak tree, he noticed a group
of young people. One of them waved. “Lord Drakon, come and eat with us. We’re glad you returned to the tower.”
As
Drakon started toward the group the young woman he’d noticed earlier stepped in
front of him. “Tiron, leave him
alone. I’m claiming him.”
Drakon
swallowed. One side of her blouse had
slid from her shoulder and nearly exposed her breast. Would she issue commands he would have to
obey? The sweet scent of her perfume
brought memories of the priestesses at the temple. He was torn between following her and joining
the larger group.
She
touched his arm. “Come with me. There is much I want from you.”
Her
voice held a demanding tone that seemed familiar. He walked beside her.
“Lord
Drakon, when will there be dragons at the tower?” someone called.
Drakon
couldn’t spot who had shouted. “There is
one in the cavern now. The Old One said
there soon would be more.”
“We
heard you couldn’t speak to them.”
“True
in part.” Drakon smiled. “I do not need the tea when I speak to the
Old One.”
The
young woman tugged on Drakon’s arm.
“Forget those fools. Come with
me.” She stepped closer. “Our kin ties are the most distant of any
girl’s in the village. I’m destined to
be your wife.”
Drakon
gulped a breath. Like a vise, uneasiness
gripped his chest. Her cloying perfume brought
flashes from the past he struggled to forget.
She reeked of desire the way the priestesses had. “Just who are you?”
“Bekla.”
She
led him to a sheltered place in the grove of hardwoods on the outskirts of the
village. The leaves rioted with colors
from pale yellow to russet. Drakon
halted and nearly spilled the ale when the young man who had glared at him
during the harvest appeared.
“Bejan,
I’ve brought Drakon so you could speak to him about the dragons.”
“I
have nothing to say to someone who was a slave.” Bejan turned and walked away.
How
had he known? Drakon had told no
one. Had Radlan let the secret
slip? Or had Lagon spread the story of
how he had sold Drakon?
“You’ll
lose out on a chance to be a speaker, but I won’t.” Bekla sat on the ground and arranged her
skirts so one of her thighs was partly bared.
“Drakon, come closer. Though he’s
my brother, he’s a boor.”
Drakon
sat on a log at arms distance from her.
He gulped some ale and began to eat.
“What do you want to know?”
She
leaned forward and her blouse gaped to expose her full breasts. “I want to be the wife of a dragon
speaker. You are the only one at High Peaks
Drakon
put the trencher on the ground. “The
yellow does not mate. There are no reds
or blues in the cavern.”
She
edged closer and brushed her hand over his thigh. “A dragon rises here.” She licked her lower lip. “Come to my aunt’s house at moonrise.”
His
stomach clenched. She commanded like the
priestesses had. This time there was a
choice. He had escaped from the
harras. He didn’t have to obey her. Though he felt ill, he rose. “Don’t wait for me.” As he strode away he realized he had taken
the first step toward freedom from the conditioning. Never again would he be trapped by a woman’s
demands. A dull headache began.
When
he reached the commons, he looked for Radlan but didn’t see the older man. Drakon stopped and talked to several of the
villagers. Though he searched for Tiron
and the other young people they seemed to have vanished. Finally Drakon slipped into the headman’s
house. He sat on one of the beds in the
guest room and rubbed his aching head.
At least the pain wasn’t as acute as when he’d drunk the berry tea or
when the priestesses had used thorns as a punishment. Strains of music and the buzz of voices
filtered through the shuttered windows.
He had no desire to tale part in the merriment.
When
Drakon woke the sun had just risen. He
broke his fast with food left from the feast and then joined the villagers in
loading the wagons. After he and Radlan
mounted their horses, they led the men who drove the wagons up the slope to the
trail leading to the tower.
During
the two day trip, Drakon’s thoughts drifted to his escape from the
priestesses. How fortunate he’d been to
have been chosen as one of the studs to travel with the women who sought a
rebellions acolyte and the stone seeker who had aided her escape. The man had given provided a waterskin and
torches to light the way through the dark passage. As Drakon had hurried along the tunnel,
earthquakes had caused rocks to fall. He
had burst into the open moments before the tunnel collapsed. What had caused the quakes? Perhaps he would never know.
*You
are finally home.*
The
voice of the Old One broke into Drakon’s reverie. *I am and we have brought a cart full of
thorns and berries and left as much or more behind.* He smiled.
Each time he spoke with the yellow, pride filled his chest. He wasn’t the misfit he’d been named by his
father and brothers. Unlike them, he
needed none of the berry tea for the speaker’s path to open.
*As
was in the old days. When the carts are
unloaded, come to the cavern.*
Drakon
joined the men unloading the wagons.
Once this chore was finished, he prepared the Old One’s meal and wheeled
the barrow across the forecourt to the cavern.
As
he entered the vast hollowed space, he wondered how the area had been
made. Was it a natural phenomena or had
magic been employed?”
*Part
of each. The wizard friend of the
dragons aided their escape and carved the mountain to make a refuge for them.*
The crystal pillars set about the
cavern rose from floor to dome. The
bright light momentarily blinded Drakon.
The colors reminded him of the fyrestones the priestesses had used in
their rituals. Side chambers, some dark
and one cold enough to store meat lined the left hand wall. Soft sand covered areas of the floor. Near the feeding trough and the area around
the warm pool were rock. A pair of
streams, one hot and the other cold, united to flow over a waterfall. Beside the waterfall was a wide ledge. The water left the pool through a drainage
hole on the far side.
Drakon entered the meat mixed with
thorns and berries into one of the stone troughs. He sat on the sand beside the Old One’s
wallow.
The yellow dragon lowered his head
so Drakon could scratch the leathery skin between his eyes. *Was the trip a pleasant one?*
Drakon wrapped his arms around his
bent knees. *The harvest was plentiful
and the food at the feast delicious.*
*I sense worry in your thoughts.*
*There was a young woman named
Bekla. She tried to seduce me.
*Those memories will fade.*
*It’s been a year and they’re still
strong.*
*And longer was needed to set the
conditioning.* The Old One moved to the
trough and ate. *Go to your dinner. Sofona cooked all day preparing for your
homecoming. The men from the village
will leave soon.*
Drakon patted the dragon’s
side. *I’ll come tomorrow.* He left the cavern and walked to the
tower. Inside the large kitchen the men
from the village lifted packs of food Sofona had prepared for their journey.
When they were gone, Sofona sank on
a bench. A few strands of gray wove
through her brown hair. “I’m glad I don’t
have to feed a large crew every day.
There’s a plate for you in the warming oven. Where have you been?”
“With the Old One. He wanted to know about the harvest. I also took him a feeding.”
Sofona laughed. “I doubt he needed one. He went out this morning and returned with a
wild boar. I took a ham and some of the
meat for us. He devoured the rest.”
Drakon ate a bite of the pork and
savored the flavor. He smiled fondly at
the man and woman who had become his family.
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