Veil of the Dragon (Prophecy of the Evarun) (5 page)

“It was for this that I challenged my father’s judgment. He couldn’t let it stand. He struck me and I saw darkness. I awoke and he was dead, his sword in my hand, his blood a fearful tapestry across the snow.
No
sooner
had he died,
than
the gathered Roan Lords bow
ed
in fealty before me.

“That is my shame – that’s how I came to sit on my father’s throne.”

“Your father died long before,” Al-Aaron confided. “And perhaps there is more you have yet to remember.”

“But either way his blood is on my hands.” To Chaelus’ surprise, anger welled within him
;
anger at his fate, at his loss, at his father, and at the promise of the child knight before him when every promise his order had made had been broken. 

“You watched me fall,” Chaelus said. “You watched me as Magus
–
as the Dragon
–
poisoned me, just as it d
id
my father. Why didn’t you save me then?”

Al-Aaron raised
a stick, pressing one end of it into the still
-
burning cloth, setting glowing embers of it rising upon the air. His wounded arm d
iminished
against him.

“You weren’t ready.”

***
  

Al-Mariam waited. 

The needle passed unwavering
, held
in the Mother’s hand. The thin
white cloth took up the dappled sunlight of the small white room into a fire all its own. 

“I know it’s been long, my dear,” the Mother said. “You’ve already surrendered so much. But the time hasn’t come for this.”

The Mother’s voice flowed as did her hands, working threads of blue, green and gold. Her words were gentle, strong and deliberate. There was no mistake within them and Al-Mariam knew that, despite their closeness to each other, the Mother would brook no argument from one who had requested her counsel. But this time she would at least try.

“But, he’s my brother,” she said, the words coming out more rushed than she’d planned. 

The Mother’s needle passed through the cloth once more, her thin lips unmoved. 

“I know I’m ready,” Al-Mariam persisted.

“Then you know little, and less even than I’d thought.” The Mother set her cloth down, letting the needle rest on it. “You forget that it’s not your place to decide this. You’ve only just taken your oath and already you would so willingly cast it aside.”

Al-Mariam bit her lip as she stared at the ground. She drew her hands deep within the shadow of her robes. She listened to the remembered screams of the dying. The pitiful cry of little Michalas resounding above them all, as he was torn from her arms while the hands of the soldiers groped her. Above the sordid and jeering faces, she suffered most at the sight of the banner of the Servian Lord, Ras Dumas, tossing upon the gray sky.

Her voice trembled as she spoke. “I can’t abandon him.”

“No, my child,” the Mother said. “But your love won’t save him. Neither will your wrath against the one who took him, or even against the ones who defiled you. Be wary of what you call truth. There is only one, and it is patient and good. There are no others. Be wary of letting your passions rule you.”

“Than what would you have me do? I know Ras Dumas let him live. I know that for some foul reason he kept him for his own. I won’t abandon my brother just because the tower of Ras Dumas has fallen silent.”

“But you must. The loss of Dumas and the other Servian Lords is no small thing. The Dragon has reclaimed its servants, and we were caught unaware. I do not care for this veil which has passed over us.”

“It’s not Dumas that I care for!”

“And that is why you must be wary,” the Mother said. “Our fate is tied to that of the Fallen Ones, just as they are bound by prophecy to us. It may be the only thing that saves us. Don’t let your desire hide this from you.”

“What of Al-Aaron?  Does he not seek his own heart first?”

“The path upon which Al-Aaron has placed himself is a perilous one.”

“But you believe him.”

“No. But I believe in the spirit of Rua which works through him. His path can’t be bent. It’s a truth, I fear, for which he will suffer terribly. No. Do not be jealous of the child. I think you should pity him instead, for he’ll need it in the darker days to come.”

***

The burning motes drifted for a time before they fell.

Al-Aaron removed the charred stave from the dying coals as he watched Chaelus step away beneath the outstretched bower of the twisted oak.

The cold breath of Malius’ spirit settled against his ear.

“You nearly failed me, child,” Malius said.

“I’m…sorry,” Al-Aaron whispered.

“Don’t bother me with your sorrow. You were prideful and arrogant, and you nearly cost me my son because of it.”

The soft touch of Malius’ gloved hand brushed against his face. “But only nearly, my love. It’s no matter, now. There is still work left for you to do.”

Al-Aaron closed his eyes. “I don’t know if I can. My fever, the Dragon’s Sleep, already it claims me.”

Malius’ hand came to rest upon his wound. The chill of the poison drifted away.

“You need only bring him to the Hallas gate,” he said. “I will carry you until then.”

Chapter Five

Flesh and Bone

Chaelus reined Idyliss in.

The shadow of the Karagas Mun, the boundary of Gorondia, the land of the Dragon, stretched across the horizon. The fortification known as the Line, once watched over by the Servian Order, stretched unseen and forgotten along its length.

Beneath the dark border of the distant mountains, a chalk white cliff reached out like a long bone finger. Tall stands of pine crowned the summit of the cliff and gathered again along its base.

The sky was clear in the way that only comes after a storm. 

Chaelus shifted uneasily at the sight of the ancient borders, both near and far. Together they had controlled his past, now it seemed they would control his future as well. 

Aaron sat behind him in weighted silence. 

“The edge of Sanseveria,” Chaelus observed.

Al-Aaron shifted. “The Garden of Rua lies at its heart. It’s where the members of my Order await us. There we’ll find our protection, and our rest.”

“The Garden of Rua. My father never spoke of it,”

“It’s a sacred place, a secret place.”

The ground fell to where the trees gathered at the base of the pallid cliff. A heavy mist clung about them. A thicker silence weighted the air. 

With no other guidance from the boy, Chaelus led them forward.

Conifer trees stood dark and defiant above the tall grasses. Ancient oaks grew between them. The false promise of sunlight whispered through their leafless branches above. 

Idyliss dug at the ground, her eyes wide, not unlike the night before. Chaelus stroked her neck and dismounted. “Something’s already here.”

Al-Aaron slumped down, his sword bundle in hand. “The Dragon is waiting. Let Idyliss go. She can’t go where we go.”

Before he knew he had, Chaelus released the reins from his hand. 

To slay the Dragon and win a kingdom back.

Idyliss leaned into him, the strength and warmth and memories of her muzzle against his face. She would go on if he asked her to. Had she not so far? Within Idyliss’ dark eyes similar memories dwelled, but they were different as well. Idyliss saw only honor and duty. Yet it was he who’d been summoned. He wouldn’t ask the same of her.  

Al-Aaron pulled the cover from his sword, letting it drop into the tall grasses. His balance wavered.

Chaelus laid his hand on Idyliss’ flank. She galloped south towards her duty, towards home.

“She’ll be safe,” Al-Aaron said. 

Chaelus, concerned, drew up next to him. The pallor of Al-Aaron’s eyes had spread across his cheek and brow. 

“I know,” Chaelus said. “She’ll find her way back, back to the white tower. I worry more for you.”

Al-Aaron dismissed him. “I’ll find my rest in the Garden.”

Chaelus caught him as he stumbled.

Al-Aaron’s stare was unfocused.

Chaelus held onto him as they walked.

The grasses gave way to the tangled growth of underbrush beneath the trees. Mist gathered in the low swells of the ground. Its touch felt like ice as they passed. 

Thin traces of blue flame flickered along Al-Aaron’s gossamer blade. Against its glow, the shadows of the wood took on the visage of Remnants from the night before.

Chaelus kept his hand near Sundengal’s hilt.

The muted rush of broken water echoed through the trees, appearing in brief glimpses between them. Shallow and wide, the river broke over stones thrust up against its wake. Beyond it, the chalk pale of the cliff stood above them, just beyond the band of woods at its base. The broken and rust colored ground climbed up to meet it like flesh on sullen bone.

Al-Aaron slumped down beside the river’s edge.

Chaelus eyed him, and then the face of the cliff, its top obscured by the haze rising from the river’s opposite bank. The silence of shadow and mist gave its reply.

“We shouldn’t linger,” Chaelus said.

“Come closer,” Al-Aaron replied.

The markings on Chaelus’ brow grew warm. “The mist gathers.”

“Our speed won’t carry us from it.”

Al-Aaron turned slightly from the water, cupping his hands before him, water dripping from between his fingers. A gesture from his eyes motioned Chaelus down to him.

Chaelus knelt. The sunlight dimmed in the mist, but he could see what Al-Aaron held. The water shimmered in his hands, as thin shadows cascaded within it. The air near the water grew chill.

Al-Aaron looked into him, his voice a whisper. “The seed of the Dragon. It’s in the water, it’s in the air, it’s waiting inside all of us.”

Chaelus stood, stepping back as Al-Aaron released the water from his hands.

Al-Aaron stared at him, a blank expression for the moment upon his face. “It is time.”

A black wall of overlapping shields stood within the mist of the opposing bank.  Magus drifted behind them, a silent shadow. He carried the same standard as the night before, though this time careless across his shoulder as he edged his mount behind the line.

Al-Aaron hefted his sword and staggered into the shallow rushing water, his face still pale. The river muted his voice.

“Don’t challenge them, Chaelus. This is what it seeks. The Dragon only wields what power you give it. Have faith in my protection.”

Magus reined his steed in a cascade of stone at the base of the broken slope.

“My shadow grows within you, child.”

Al-Aaron lowered his sword to his side, its aura settling upon the surface of the water. “Still, you can’t stop us.”

Chaelus drew Sundengal. The ring of it cut through mist and shadow alike. The time had come. And this time he would have it. “Nor will you stand after we’ve passed.”

The Remnant Legionnaires stepped forward, splashing into the river to meet him. From behind their shields rasped the teeth of their blades, beckoning a shadow all of their own.

Their lorica glistened, but not from the water. Shifting darkness covered them. The stench of decay clung about them like oil. The soulless shadow of the Dragon’s eyes burned within each of them, a cold fire beyond their chainmail veils.

The Remnants stopped just before they passed into the azure light of Aaron’s blade.

Chaelus kept moving towards the silver face of Magus beyond them. With a war cry he threw the weight of Sundengal’s steel against the waiting shield wall that stood between them. The river fought against him, but he slammed into his opponents, jarring shield and limb, forcing the one to the right of him backwards. Sundengal’s tip found its mark between the blackened plated steel plates of one to the left of him.

Some moments last longer than others.

The legionnaire, or Remnant, or Dragon, stared back at him with the eyes of no man. Beneath its armored veil, beyond the rough gray cloth that wrapped the pallid skin, the portal to its soul was nearly empty to all but the swirling malice of the Dragon within it. But within it there was something else watching him as well, something helpless buried deep beneath its grieving, a nearly silent voice attempting to cry out, until a gurgling snarl silenced it.

Chaelus’ thrust forced Sundengal down, turning it as he did, feeling for the response of the back of the black armor beyond. The Remnant hung rigid upon the blade, its haunting visage passed, a blistering wind cascading around it.

Chaelus yanked Sundengal free, forcing his way through the gap where the Remnant fell. The husk collapsed into the river behind him, the bright scrape of steel still resounding. To the legionnaires on either side of him, he paid no heed. 

Blue light from Al-Aaron’s blade drifted upon Magus’ silver mask.
“Come with me,”
Magus whispered.

Chaelus stood alone in the torch lit darkness of his throne room.

“You will not hide from me, Dragon!” he screamed.

Magus stepped out from the edge of shadows behind the throne. He traced his hand along its crest.
“For long you trusted my council. For long I protected you from your enemies. Don’t turn away from me now.”
Magus stepped down from the dais. “
Leave the child knight, and come back with me.”

“It’s from you that he saved me,” Chaelus replied.

“And I see that you’re better for your rest. Perhaps even better knowing many of the truths he’s told you, many of which I’ve protected you from all this time.”
Magus turned away.
“But still it’s alone that Baelus sits upon your throne. I don’t know how long he can suffer the wait of your return. Already there are so many who stand against him.”

“Only because you poison him just as you did me, just as you did to our father, just as you do to me again now.”

Magus held out his hand. His whisper descended.
“But you could save him, and in doing so save everything, if you would just return with me.”

Chaelus closed his eyes. Fire burned upon his brow. He opened them to the brightness of a noonday sun, and another memory summoned against him.

The war sky had faded. The fires had gone and the smoke had yielded at last. But the whisper of Magus continued.
“Let this be your rightful day.”

Sunlight glinted off shield, helm, spear and bridle upon the ridge above him. His Guard waited there, radiant. Their stone faces worn smooth by the pride of their feats, of the test that lay behind them and of their faith in their liege as well. The once white ruins of his father’s House rose above them, the blackened stone and timber of the great tower now reclaimed. Now he could rebuild what his brother and his father had both so miserably lost. 

Chaelus spurred Idyliss to meet them. It was a new day. The bodies of the dead could stay behind him.

Al-Aaron’s grip upon his arm brought him back. 

“Walk,” Al-Aaron urged. The strength of his voice still persisted beneath its tremor. With his voice, the weight of the river and the morning light returned. 

The Remnants’ shield wall had withdrawn but it still waited before Chaelus, motionless in the shadows upon the shore. They had not closed the gap where one of their number had fallen. Magus held his beast in check beyond the open portal.

With a simple rush, Chaelus could end this with Magus impaled upon his blade. The whisper silenced and his kingdom returned to him. A new day.