The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) (7 page)

With the vision of Cler’d’roh fresh in his mind, Valaron had a picture to frame the thoughts of his mother. He imagined her smiling face, lines forming at the corners of her bright, green eyes. He wished that just once, he could look into her face; hear her voice. His mood darkened when he thought of her death at the hands of a Mort, her baby still new in her arms.

Valaron’s thoughts turned to Cortain and the new life his uncle had tried to make for both of them. Love for Cortain grew stronger as he thought of all the sacrifices that had been made. Valaron finally felt his anger give way to a deep admiration. Cortain had given up everything. The young dragon rider was not about to let his uncle down.

Nearly four hours later, the dragon growled. He stared at a point in the darkness of the surrounding forest. Valaron was instantly alert. A few minutes later, he heard the sounds of horses making their way to the edge of the glade and he relaxed. Skarson and the elf were nearby. His dragon had traveled the distance in less than half an hour. The speed advantage of the Dragon Guard took on new meaning. From this point on, travel would be swift, and distance would be something he would have to relearn in terms of how long it takes to fly from one point to another. The dragon had not moved. His eyes remained focused on the same spot.

Skarson
, Toran,
and Cler’d’roh rode into the clearing and dismounted at the top of the glade. The dragon dropped his head and straightened his neck along the ground. He growled again and snapped his jaws in their direction.

“What’s wrong with you?” This was a side of his friend that Valaron had never seen.

Another low, rumbling growl ended with a fierce hiss that cut through Valaron like a knife. The sound was paralyzing.

The
horses reared and bolted, but the dragon ignored them, his attention focused on Cler’d’roh. She slowly backed away. The beast took a step forward and hissed again. The elf glanced toward the trees, her eyes filled with desperation.

“Place your hand on his neck,” called Skarson.

Valaron looked confused.

“Do it now, Valaron, or he is going to kill us.” Skarson’s voice was emotionless but firm. The Lone Rider’s eyes were locked on those of the dragon.

“I don’t understand. Why is he doing this?”

The dragon took another step forward and stretched his wings to their full width. A deafening roar shook the ground, and his muscles tightened as he prepared to attack.

“Do it!” screamed Skarson.

Valaron’s hand shot out and
landed on the scaly neck
.

The dragon stopped. Everyone stood perfectly still. Total quite filled the glade, and Valaron listened to his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. After several seconds, the dragon snapped his jaws, hissed again,
and then
turned his head to look at the young rider. The beast’s dark eye was filled with the look of a ruthless predator. Looking back at Skarson
and Toran
, the dragon snorted and flapped his wings in their direction. He turned back to Valaron and offered an ear to be scratched.

Skarson sank to the ground.
Toran stared at Valaron, and
Cler’d’roh was nowhere to be found.

#

“We were delayed,” said Skarson, “because we found your mystery savior.”

“What do you mean?” said Valaron.

“We found the one who pulled you to safety when you were about to fall, his body, that is.”

“His body?”

“Yes. The one who pulled you to safety was Vaelor. He survived his battle with the Morts, and apparently stayed hidden all of these years so that he could tend to his dragon. It was Vaelor who saved your life.”

“But you said you found his body. How did he die?”

“Vaelor took his own life after his dragon died,” said Skarson. “Apparently, the loss was too hard. Sometimes the grief is unbearable, and he followed the same path as many others before him.”

Valaron was stunned. He could imagine the overwhelming sense of grief that would drive a Lone Rider to take his own life. The bond was so strong that the loss of a dragon would drive a man do extremes.

#

Toran and t
he Lone Rider made camp while Valaron stayed with the dragon. Growls sounded in the dark, but there were no more violent displays.

“You stay here,” Valaron said as walked toward the
fire;
looking back to make sure the dragon kept his distance. Shining eyes accompanied the occasional growl.

“Have some tea,” offered Skarson.

Valaron took the cup and used it to warm his hands. “What was that all about?”

“He is maturing.”

“Will he grow out of it?”
said Toran.

“No,” replied Skarson. “It is called bolting. He is now driven by his wild nature. This is one of the reasons training is so important.” Skarson glanced at the dragon. “It is a dangerous time.” He tossed more wood on the dwindling fire. “He already answers to you, but you will have to add the finishing touches to make sure there is no question of his obedience.”

They sat and watched the fire until the tea was gone.

Valaron broke the silence. “I suppose we should start on that tomorrow.”

Skarson nodded. “That would probably be a good idea.”

#

Valaron awakened with a start.

“Get up.” Skarson threw another stone and hit Valaron in the shoulder. “Get up. Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Valaron stretched, walked up the rise, and sat by the fire. He took the offered plate and began inhaling his food.

“Did Cler’d’roh return?” he asked around a mouthful of bread.

“She slipped into camp well after your dragon was asleep,” replied Skarson. “She is not here now, but she will be back soon. Elves spend their mornings by themselves doing whatever it is elves do. It is a private ritual that they cling to from ancient times.” He shrugged his shoulders and added, “I have found that it is best not to ask too many questions.”

Valaron looked down the hill. The dragon stretched his wings and neck. “Will it be safe now for you
to stay?
”

“It will never be safe for anyone,” answered Skarson, “but he should be more tolerant now that you stopped him from killing us.”

“More tolerant?”
said Toran. “That is not much comfort.”

Skarson
ignored him and
looked at the young rider. “Valaron, there is one thing you must never forget. Your dragon is a cold-blooded killer
. A
beast
.
A
ruthless, cunning, and merciless predator. He is one big muscle with teeth, talons, and no conscience!” He pointed at the dragon. “That monster is king of all he surveys, and you are the only thing that keeps him from killing everyone in sight.”

Valaron sat in silence. The dragon stretched his jaws,
and then
snapped them shut with a loud pop. For the first time, the dragon rider saw the killing power that his friend held. He truly was a beast. Valaron felt small and insignificant.

“He can never be left in the care of another,” Skarson continued. “That is why lone dragons had to be killed. With the loss of their rider, a dragon’s true nature is unleashed, and it will begin to kill. If you die, so must your dragon.” Skarson paused. “I will see to it myself.”

Skarson poured more water over his tea leaves. “When Cler’d’roh returns, your training will begin in earnest. She is a master warrior in the King’s guard, so I am afraid you may be in for a tough time.” He smiled at some private joke and gave Valaron a sidelong glance. “I hope you are up to it,” he added, a gleam in his eyes. Skarson
and Toran
stood and walked down to take care of the horses.

Valaron attacked a second plate of food and leaned back to relax while sipping his tea. He quickly straightened when he heard, “I hope breakfast was to your liking.” Cler’d’roh stood beside him. He had not heard her approach across the open glade. Valaron jumped to his feet and answered, “Yes! Sorry, you startled me. Yes, it was nice. Thank you.”

The elf was even more stunning in the light of day. A short coverlet stopped at the tops of her thighs. She wore leather leggings and deerskin ankle boots. Her red hair was loose, and it fell softly across her face, covering one of her eyes, adding to her air of mystery.

A large leather belt was fastened around her small waist by a gold buckle, and from it hung a long, thin sword that angled back to the ground behind her. Its hilt was covered in gold with stones inlayed into the pommel. A matching dagger was thrust in the other side of her belt. A small leather pouch trimmed in fringe strung with tiny blue beads also hung from her belt. The pouch was decorated in elven markings.

Valaron realized he was staring and looked away, giving a nervous cough. “Did. . . Um. . . Did you cook our meal?” he asked. “It was very good.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Thank you.” She walked over and sat by the fire.

Valaron joined her. “You. . . . That is. Um. . . Skarson tells me,” he coughed and started again. “Skarson tells me that you are going to be training me in the sword.” He stared at the fire, his face burning in embarrassment at how tongue-tied he had become. In his mind, he saw Mal standing with her hands on her hips, an angry look covering her face.

“We will begin soon enough,” replied Cler’d’roh, seeming not to notice his red face. She pulled out a small amount of green leaves from her pouch and dropped them in her cup. The steaming water she added turned a dark shade of green, and a pungent odor filled the air. She sipped cautiously at the hot drink.

“This helps ease the aches and pains,” she said in answer to Valaron’s questioning look. She handed him the cup. Nodding his head in thanks, he took a drink of the dark green tea. It was bitter and sweet at the same time. There was a heady aroma that reminded him of the tea that Skarson drank when the weather was wet and cold.

“Thank you,” he said as he handed the cup back to her. There was the distinct aftertaste of cloves and something else that he could not quite identify.

“You will get used to it,” she said. “It will be most helpful for the training we will be doing.” She smiled and Valaron suddenly felt much better. He could not be sure if it was the effects of the tea or her disarming manner that improved his mood, but he was definitely fee
ling rather good at the moment.

CHAPTER
14

“Fair city, Loeath’d’nah.

Unseen through the ages.

Beauty hidden to prying eyes.

Veiled amid the forest;

Unchanging with the seasons.”

-Poem “The Hidden City”

L
oeath’d’nah was hidden deep in the Gra’d’har forest among the ancient trees. Set in the shape of a five-pointed star, thin towers rose at the points. The rest of the elven city was connected in broad hallways and large open-sided rooms. A single spire ascended from the center of the city and was topped by a flat roof that served as a watch tower for the elven guards. This high vantage point allowed the guards to see in every direction, their keen eyesight granting them a clear view of the forest for miles around.

Great open pergolas were covered in sprawling grapevines, and ivy climbed over many of the surfaces. Dark green leaves sparkled in shafts of sunlight bursting through the cover of trees that lay overhead like vast emerald clouds. Creeping vines wound their way through countless trellises, and open spaces had been left in the structure where small gardens grew among the stone walls, streams rambling along their twisted paths. The scattered gardens gave the city an appearance of being just another part of Gra’d’har, the ageless forest that stretched out in all directions as far as the eye could see.

Covered courtyards opened out onto long terraces of slate floors and waist-high railings turned from pink marble. Ivy snaked its way through the banisters and climbed the columns that sat at the corners of the arched openings. Lemon chrysoprase covered the outer walls of Loeath’d’nah, and the mottled stone blended into the surrounding forest, making the city nearly impossible to see.

Near the northern spire was a dragon approach used long ago by the Dragon Guard for their frequent visits to the city. The approach was large enough to accommodate more than a dozen dragons. Now grown over in hedge, it added to the city’s wild appearance.

Set into the stone at the dragon approach was a reflecting prism on the spire wall that had been used by the Guardsmen as a beacon to help them locate Loeath’d’nah on their flight through the forest. Covered under a black tapestry since the end of the Guard, it hung dark and useless on the spire wall, a constant reminder of the great loss Ashandor suffered at the hands of King
Praelix
.

Elves filled the meeting hall. King Klan’d’ron was seated at the end of a long shining table, and the council sat in ornate high-backed chairs, carved scenes of wildlife set into the top of each seat. The hall was open on all sides, and sunlight streamed through the large arched doorways. A summer breeze moved the tapestries that hung from the pillars. Precious gems and gold inlays covered every surface, reflecting the sunlight in a rainbow of colors.

Dozens of elves stood in the gallery talking among themselves. The King called for order, and a hush fell over the room.

“You are all aware of the message we have received from
Carloe
,” he began. “You have had time to reflect on the matter at hand. What say ye?” The King waited for a reply.

“I am wary of such an allegiance,” started Skal’d’tol, a stern and imposing figure who sat straight in his seat, his hands folded in his lap. “Such a thing as this has implications, the consequences of which are unsure.” Though he was shorter than most elves, the councilman had earned a great respect among his kinsmen. Many times his had been the lone voice of reason among the council, and his misgivings carried much weight. His words hung heavy in the summer air.

“True,” added Clan’d’roth. Leaning nearer the table, he said, “Unsure, but necessary in light of the situation.” The elder elf looked around the room, his silver hair shining in a shaft of light that came in through the skylight. “Do we not agree? The times are unstable and the course before us has merit.”

“An allegiance seems unavoidable despite our misgivings,” said Glan’d’roh, the King’s captain. He cast his glance around the room and fixing his eyes upon Skal’d’tol he continued, “
Carloe
is to be trusted. He has always held our best interest at heart. Is there any here who doubt his loyalty?” The room was engulfed in silence, heads nodded in agreement. “If he brings us this plan, then we can be certain there is no other course of action for us except to lend whatever aid we can.”

“Do not misunderstand me,” Skal’d’tol explained. “It is not
Carloe
that I distrust. He has always been a friend to the fair folk. I am wary of the allegiance he suggests.” He looked around the room at the other council members. “Our history is sure, and it speaks to us of deceit and treachery.”

A murmur filled the hall and Klan’d’ron called once again for order. “I am inclined to agree with Skal’d’tol,” he said. “His words are true and his intention is, as always, above reproach.” The King nodded soberly to the councilman and continued. “History is sure as he so rightly states. However, the future is uncertain. What came before does not have to foretell what is to be. All history was tainted by the Dark Son. His evil touched many who would have otherwise been our allies.”

“Evil walks abroad once again,” interrupted Skal’d’tol. “Who is to say that these same would-be allies will not succumb to the evil of this new and unknown wizard?”

“You are right, Skal’d’tol. We have no guarantees,” agreed Glan’d’roh. “We have only the word of
Carloe
, but I, for one, feel that his word is enough.” Glan’d’roh sat back in his chair. “The Lone Rider has answered our call on countless occasions, and there is a debt to be paid many times over. We owe him our assistance. We must set aside our prejudices—our fears. It is time to take action that ensures the peace of Ashandor.”

“In light of what we have learned from our scouts,” said Klan’d’ron, choosing his words carefully, “it appears that we must do what we can to avoid the darkness that threatens to once again cover our land. War with King
Praelix
is useful as a path to reach the wizard. He will reveal himself if
Praelix
falls, and then we will need allies if we are to prevail. To honor the prophecy, we must follow the course that fate dictates.
Carloe
is a man of strong will, and if we choose to deny his request he will undoubtedly move forward without us. If so, he is bound to fail, and his failure will be the end of Ashandor.” He looked around the room, and called for the council’s vote. “Those in favor of following
Carloe
’s path, make it known.”

Metal sounded on stone as swords were placed on the table signifying agreement. Skal’d’tol studied the King’s face for a moment looking for any sign of doubt. Satisfied, he slowly lay his sword on the table.

“It is agreed.” The King turned to Glan’d’roh and said, “Send a party of scouts to meet the Lone Rider. Tell him the fair folk will assist in any way we can.”