The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) (14 page)

CHAPTER
25

"Quarrels serve

the master

of confusion

and his lie.

Division breaks

the peace

like a splinter

in the eye."

-Poem "Unrest"

V
alaron was up early to check in with Galdor before flying off in the growing light of a new day.

“By the way,” said Valaron. “How is Vic doing with the horses?”

“Better than we could have hoped. Did you know he has not taken a drink since we gave him that post?”

“Vic is not drinking?” Valaron shook his head in amazement. “It must be the end of the world.”

“I would not have believed it myself had it not come from a reliable source.”

Valaron made his way back toward Draegon, careful to avoid Cler’d’roh as she moved out into the field on her morning ritual. His emotions were still in turmoil from the night before.

The dragon sensed his rider’s uneasiness as they flew over the flatlands. Draegon turned his head and looked at Valaron through one eye.

“Be glad there are no female dragons, my friend.”

They turned to the north and flew on until the sun was directly overhead. In the bright light Valaron spotted a large column of men marching southward. “This must be the volunteers from Raenor,” he said to the dragon. They circled wide to look for following Morts, then Valaron leaned forward and squeezed his knees. Draegon dove toward the ground and landed heavily in front of the marching force. The horses reared and fought their bits at their first sight of a dragon. A single rider galloped out leaving a cloud of dust hanging in the air. Valaron ran out to meet him at a safe distance from the bristling Dragon.

“I am Valaron...” he started.

“Yes. Yes,” the man interrupted. “I certainly know who you are. Fentor’s the name,” he said, pumping Valaron’s hand. “I hope that we are not holding you up. We left as soon as we could.”

“Not at all. We appreciate your haste,” replied Valaron. “You should arrive at Klastor the day after tomorrow. It is not far now.”

“Excellent,” said Fentor. “The men will be happy to hear it. They have been pushing hard for several days.”

“I will get you squared away with Galdor when you arrive. He will see that you have what you need and that your men are well taken care of.” Valaron ran back to Draegon and they took to the sky. The dragon rider turned them west toward Kalador.

“The King knows about us so we might as well take a look around.” Draegon flew higher to avoid any Mort arrows. Dragon and rider soared over the plain that lay in front of the palace. The ground teemed with Mort soldiers running to form their ranks as Draegon’s shadow moved across their numbers.

Valaron could see them pointing toward the sky. He laughed to himself as they stumbled and fell into each other. Draegon added to the confusion by lifting his voice in a terrible roar that carried inside the palace. The dragon was ready to fight. Valaron sang softly against the wind, calming his friend’s anger.

The dragon rider looked at Kalador with a sense of awe. The dwarves labored many long years building the city, and the elves had helped layout its defenses. A high stone wall encircled Kalador with only one set of double-doors for an entrance. There was no other way in or out of the city. Each door stood over sixty feet tall and thirty feet across and was milled from timbers as thick as the breadth of a man’s reach. Large reinforcements ran across the doors the top, middle, and bottom. Two large, iron bolts as big around as barrels were mounted on either side of the doors, ready to slide across and lock against an enemy. A wide parapet that could hold a full garrison of Morts crossed over the top of the doors.

The wall was twenty feet thick and laid of massive stones quarried from the Raen Mountains behind the city. The top of the wall was flat containing a front cover of stone that held openings where archers could stand protected while sending their arrows into an attacking army.

The city lay sprawled inside the circular wall, and the palace dominated the center like a spring flower pushing through the grass. The palace was constructed of five sides with towers standing at each corner. Their tops reached two hundred feet into the air. The walls were adorned with carvings and decorated with thousands of precious stones that reflected the sunlight in glittering flashes. Large arched windows ringed the towers and parapets were finished off into the tops.

The palace entrance was served by wide marble steps that spanned the width of the building. Large columns held a portico to cover the open entranceway. Morts lined the steps and stood guard on either side of the doorway. They held that reached several feet over their heads. The King’s standard flew from the portico and flapped in the stiff summer breeze.

At the center of the palace was a ground-level opening. This had been the dragon approach where the Dragon Guard would take off and land before
Praelix
had them hunted down and killed. The five-sided opening was large enough to hold more than a dozen dragons, but now it was cluttered and overgrown with brush. A clearing, just large enough for one dragon, lay close to the northern wall.

Alarms sounded in the city below, and people scurried to take cover. The front gates were closed and bolted by a group of Morts, and the battlefield quickly took on a look of order as the Captains barked commands at the garrisons below. It looked as though the estimates were correct. There were at least ten thousand Mort soldiers covering the plain, maybe more. Draegon and Valaron turned southeast. They headed for Klastor.

Praelix
stood on the city wall and watched the black dragon and his rider disappear into the distance. The King’s fists were clenched tightly by his sides.

“You’ll not be so bold next time, boy,” he hissed. “Your dragon’s end is at hand.” The King stood looking into the distance long after Valaron and Draegon vanished to the south. “Soon he will not be able to help you.”

It was late afternoon when Draegon landed back at the rebel camp. Valaron found Galdor and informed him of what they had seen at Kalador. “The volunteers we are waiting on should arrive in the evening two days from now,” he said. “I will send Fentor to you when they arrive, and you can get them organized. We will let them rest overnight and start for Kalador the next morning.”

“I will ask Cler’d’roh to send a group of elves to escort them,” replied Galdor. “That should make them sit up and take notice. By the way,” he said, “Cler’d’roh has been looking for you. She is hoping that you can make it for dinner.”

“I have too many things to take care of.”

“I thought that was why you had me,” laughed Galdor. “Well, come by if you can. She is expecting you.” He gave Valaron a knowing look. “Women are a strange lot, son. I have never been able to figure them out. They rarely say what they mean. I would think it unwise to read too much into their choice of friends.” He shrugged. “I guess that is why I never married.”

“I thought you never married because you never throw anything away,” replied Valaron, a smile returning to his face.

Galdor laughed loudly. “Well, yes,” he said, “there is that as well.” He placed his hand on Valaron’s shoulder. “Try to shake yourself loose. She would really like to see you.”

Valaron turned and made his way back to where Draegon was waiting, and they took off, flying until well after dark. They sang together in the night sky. Draegon’s powerful wings carried them higher and higher. Finally, they soared effortlessly under the blanket of stars that lit the sky like thousands of tiny fires, the ground below them a distant darkness that had no form; a deep, black abyss
w
ithout sight of the ground. This was the type of flying Valaron enjoyed, carefree and simple. Dragon and rider sang as together in the dark skies.

The constellation Mael hung low in the east, its arms outstretched to the heavens. It was named for the god who took Fraedol the giant as his wife. The stars making up the legs appeared to stand atop two adjacent peaks of the Grands. Four bright stars made up the belt, and a single pink star flickered at the center where Mael’s heart would be. This was the star Fraedol, named after the god’s beloved wife. Out of jealousy, her son, Maladron, removed her enchanted necklace while she slept and placed it around his own neck. While he admired his reflection in a nearby pool, Fraedol died in her sleep. Aradorn, the stone in her necklace was all that granted her immortality.

Mael turned his back on Ashandor and returned to the stars. Maladron’s grief drove him to madness. His evil rule finally ended at the hands of the Dragon Guard.

Directly north of Mael lay the Circlet, a ring of six stars that shone brightest of all the others. Their light was blue and crisp and burned bright enough to cast a slight shadow on nights such as this when the moon still hid behind the mountains. In the center of the Circlet lay the
N
orth
S
tar. Small and dim, it appeared as though it were lit by the Circlet, unable to make its own light.

Valaron and Draegon continued to sing as the wind whipped around them. Their duets filled the night air. They soared on the high air currents that rose in invisible shafts around them. Draegon glided effortlessly with his great wings extended to their full length. He dipped and rise on air churned by the cooling winds of the night. His long neck bobbed up and down. Valaron was reminded of the gentle rocking of a horse as it trotted across an open field. When the moon began to peek over the mountains, the young rider realized that it was getting late. The two friends reluctantly descended through the growing moonlight in a long, slow spiral that took them back toward the field.

“I have missed dinner,” thought Valaron. He felt the frustration rising in his chest. “She has no need of my company,” he said out loud. “She has Franklin.” His thoughts rolled in his mind. Frustration quickly turned to anger. Valaron decided to confront Cler’d’roh. Draegon bellowed in the darkness, and they plummeted toward the ground.

Valaron slid from the saddle even before Draegon had folded his wings. He stormed off toward Cler’d’roh’s tent. Anger turned to rage as he made his way through the camp. He was surprised to see two elven warriors standing guard. He started toward the tent flap, but the guards stepped in front, barring his way.

“I have come to see Cler’d’roh,” he said.

“Not now,” replied one of the elven guards. “She does not wish to see you.”

“I have come to see her, and that is what is going to happen!” Valaron’s voice shook with rage.

Two swords were instantly drawn. They gleamed in the rising moonlight as the ring of steel hung in the air. The elves stood perfectly still, their weapons in hand. Valaron’s scimitar slid from its place at his side. He took a step forward, stopped, and stared hotly at the elves. His ears were ringing, his face burned, and he struggled to control his rage. At last, the young dragon rider turned on his heel and stomped off, his hand still clutching the scimitar.

Cler’d’roh sat shaking inside the tent. She sat on a cushion and hugged her knees. “Your time is close at hand, Valaron,” she whispered softly. “You have no idea who you are.” Tears flowed freely down her pale cheeks. “I hope you are strong enough to endure it.”

#

The streets of Klastor were deserted. A hooded figure made his way down the alley that led away from the marketplace. A man stood in the darkness of a sheltered doorway, his face covered in the gloom. The hooded figure joined him in the shadows, and the man pushed a letter into his hand.

“The King sends his greetings,” said Brainerd. He waited while the stranger opened and read the letter in the dim light. He placed the letter in his cloak.

“Tell the King that I will take care of it myself.” The stranger said. He turned out of the alley and made his way down the street to disappear in the deep shadows.

#

The rebels made final preparations over the next two days while awaiting the arrival of their allies from Raenor. Valaron spent his days flying and singing with Draegon, while Galdor busied himself readying the men.

Valaron struggled more and more with his emotions. His anger would give way to great moments of depression only to find
that he was
laughing joyously at the smallest thing. “What is wrong with me?” he thought to himself. He only felt at peace while flying with Draegon. Their solitary flights were his single source of comfort, and he spent most of his time flying over the flatlands.

Valaron and Draegon landed in the field and watched the Raenor volunteers come into view in the late afternoon. Valaron met Galdor and Carlton as they walked over from the camp.

“I will ride out and meet Fentor on the way in,” said Galdor. “We can begin to get his men organized and be ready to march first thing in the morning.”

“Send someone to Klastor for meat before you leave,” said Valaron. “The dragon needs to eat, and we have had no luck at finding game. He has scared everything away for miles around.”

“Right away,” replied Galdor.

“I can go,” offered Carlton. “Who better to buy meat than a butcher?” He left and made his way toward the city. The men from Raenor were joining the rebel camp when Carlton returned from his errand.