Chapter Three: Where have all the dragons gone?

 

Memory returned with each step, supported by the more familiar sounds, the stomp of hoofs from the Kings stables (accompanied by the scent of hay and manure), the whistle of the wind through the high towers (where he occasionally hid himself when ducking lessons – especially sword play that pitted him against his brother in a never ending rivalry as to whom could outfight whom), the scent of the king’s kitchens – the cooks contriving some new treat to satisfy the insatiable and often impossible to satisfy tastes of a monarch who preferred the sizzling spit of a fresh kill over a campfire, long passed the age when he could bring down the kill himself.

The guards in blue armor grew more numerous as Ely’s entourage neared the king’s inner sanctum, each standing firm at each of the tall stone pillars, almost in imitation of the faces of the gods that carved at the top of each – gods every child in Amlor knew almost as soon as he or she knew her own.

In whispers from the otherwise unmoving mouths of these guards came the name “Ajax,” then “No, it is not he, it is Ely,” as they observed Ely’s face that lacked the one distinctive feature that distinguished the two, the deep scar across Ajax’s pale forehead that Ely’s tanned face did not have.

Ely nodded at those few guards who paid him silent tribute as their prince – proving that not all those in this gray world had forgotten him or abandoned him as their future king, even this high up in the ranks of the king’s guard, not all adored Ajax as some among the legions had, a division in the ranks that might someday lead to civil war, Ely thought, those loyal to the crown against those members of the Ajax cult.

But all here in this hall seemed to sense the urgency that had brought their prince home, and in their gazes, Ely saw them wondering about it, stirred up no doubt about the rumors of foreign war – some of whom ached for glory; while others feared the spilled blood such glory would bring.

Then within a few yards of the King’s chamber’s door, Ely halted again, reluctant to advance, glancing as if admiring one of the eldest tapestries in the King’s keep, one he had truly admired at a boy, one with the image of a mounted knight thrusting a spear into the mouth of a dragon.

“Where have all the dragons gone?” he once asked the old wizard.

“Do you not recall any of your lessons?” Blyord scolded, bushy gray brows folding down over his gray yet not gray eyes, a gaze Ely always knew meant displeasure.

As bent as the wizard was, he towered over Ely then, almost as formidable as a god himself.

“Nothing about dragons,” Ely said.

“Then you were not paying attention,” the wizard said. “We have studied the wars of enchantment, have we not?”

“Are you saying they all perished in the great war?”

“Not all,” the wizard said, a sad tone coming into his creaky voice, his gaze turning away from Ely to stare into space, thoughtful, dredging up from his amazing memory visions of that time long ago. “Many of them – against my advice – were banished, not slaughtered.”

“Why would you want to kill all the dragons?”

“Because they were evil,” Blyord said, his voice growing cold, again his gaze seeing some memory Ely could not imagine, “or at least, they were used for evil purposes. We have not the power in these later days to turn them to good. They should have been destroyed.”

“Sire!” the guard with the scarred face said, stirring Ely out of his revery. “The king is waiting.”

Ely nodded and turned, but the door to the king’s inner chamber still stood closed, guards to either side of it gripping their spears, looking as stern as statues, their expressions carved in stone as they sought not to acknowledge the raised voices from within that the heavy doors could not contain.

Then, as if stirred to life from stone, two of the guards to either side of the door, held their spears across it, barring Ely from advancing.

“The king said you should be announced first,” one guard said.

The chill look in the eye of the guard stoked a bit of anger in Ely but did not emerge as wrath upon them. Ely knew neither he nor his brother had any rights here except at the will of the king. The guards simply did their duty, regardless of how much of an insult it seemed.

These guards, above all, had sworn undying loyalty to the king, and why they had the trust to guard his chambers.

“Very well,” Ely said. “Announce me.”

The door opened narrowly to let one guard ease through, his post replaced by another guard, who glared at Ely suspiciously.

Ely had hoped to see at least one familiar face among the king’s guard. But he had gone for too long, those men who had overseen the playful antics of the two twin princes gone with time and replaced by strangers.

No doubt the same had occurred among his old friends, gone off to other assignments, overseas or other dreary assignments along Amlor’s vast coast, having no prince to protect them, while those loyal to Ajax found greater favor in the court.

Even those young warriors who had kept ties to both princes then would not be here now, but out in the provenances where they might earn glory by fighting at Ajax’s side.

The door reopened; the guard reappeared, holding open the door with Ely to enter.

“The king will see you, Lord,” the guard said.

Ely hesitated.

“Who is it that is in with the king?” he asked.

“The king sits with the wizard,” the guard said.

Ely smiled, glancing back up at the tapestry depicting the knight slaying the dragon. He had dreaded meeting with the king alone and might rather have faced one of the ancient dragons. But if Blyord was within, he had at least one ally.

He made his way through the door and into the chambers of the kind.

 

  Witches menu

email to Al Sullivan