The Dragons of Sara Sara (25 page)

“I shall return in a moment.” Elsa said to those in the inn. She stuck an arrow in the ground where she stood, then set out at a trot toward the cross road. Those in the inn lost sight of her as she passed around the portal.

In her experience all such crossroads were marked with sign posts. Perhaps this one was also. It might indicate where she was. It took only a few minutes to reach the cross roads. Sure enough, there were markers on each road. The symbols were unknown to Elsa, but drawing a charcoal stick from her belt pouch she copied the symbols onto her arm. Perhaps Mei'An would know. She dashed back toward the portal. From this other side, it was only a hazy shimmer across the road. Circling around it where the arrow was stuck in the ground brought the others in the inn back into view. Pulling up her arrow she stepped back into the room. As her feet touched the floor proper, the portal winked out. “Ahh!” Yelled Elsa. It felt like the portal had almost closed with her still in it. “Careful my Lord.” She quipped as she quickly stepped forward, her hands going involuntarily toward her bottom.

“But… I did nothing.” Said Antonin with a worried look on his face.

Master Tallbar the innkeeper cleared his throat again and puffed mightily at his pipe. Clouds of smoke billowed around him.

“It do be time I told you of what I know of these things. I have kept this thing that was traded to me many years ago. It do be the crown of the King of the Malachites.” He rummaged in the huge pocket of his apron and drew out a fine gold headband. No thicker than a child's finger, it was of the finest workmanship. A fine script flowed around its circumference, like fine lace.

There were many drawings and painting of the ancient heroes of legend, and all those of the Malachite King showed him wearing just such a golden band on his head, sitting smoothly on his forehead as though moulded.

Antonin looked at the golden band. He could feel a tingling sensation that seemed to penetrate his very bones. Without thinking – he reached his fingers out and took the golden circlet. It fit perfectly to his head as though it had been there forever. The room began to fill with a bright light that seemed to be formed of a golden haze. It flashed into momentary brilliance then was gone. Antonin was clutching the fireplace trying to keep his feet. The band pulsed through his system like a living thing. He could feel the knowledge of the ages coursing into his memory. Just as he thought he could take no more, it stopped.

Mei'An had her fingers on his temples, and was making a low crooning sound.

“Slowly my king,” she whispered. “You must go slowly.”

Antonin rested his head on the fireplace arch, getting his breath back. Mei'An stepped back away from him and faced the others.

“The Malachite King has returned.” Was all she said. She looked at each person in the room in turn. The two girls, Catharina and Elsa were the first to move. They knelt before Antonin, right knee bent, left hand with knuckles on the floor.

“Our honour is to serve our king.” They spoke together. “The king of light, leader against the marshalled hosts of the Evil One.”

Antonin whirled around, pain in his eyes.

“No – no – no – get up, please. You are my friends, no my servants. Do not kneel to me. I am a farmer before I am anything else.” He fingered the golden band on his head. He could not deny its existence. It whispered to him. ‘You are the king returned though, you wool head, and you know it.'

He flung himself toward the corner where the portal had stood. There was a shower of ice into the room, and a swirl of snow as the portal opened and closed again almost immediately. Antonin was gone.

The snow and ice began to melt into puddles almost immediately. Everyone was stunned. Luan, normally expressionless was looking at Mei'An with raised eyebrows and the question half formed on his lips.

“Be careful what you think and say Companion.” She said.

“The boy had to know. How could I know he would fling himself into another world before he had proper control?”

Luan merely grunted. For him that was being talkative, and it spoke volumes. Catharina and Elsa were standing with guilty looks on their faces. Both were sure that their actions in kneeling to their king had precipitated his flight. Rees still sat at the table, rolling his dice in his fingers. His thoughts he kept to himself, but king or no, Antonin was his friend and lifelong companion first. So long as all this king stuff didn't give him a swollen head. He might well be leading the coming battle, but he was still young and would need his friends.

Tallbar was rubbing his hands on his apron.

“My lady,” he stammered. “Had I known, I would have asked your advice quietly. The young man – er… the King! Took me by surprise.” He puffed noisily on his pipe.

“I don't think he read the inscription either.” He added.

“The inscription?” Echoed Mei'An. “What inscription?” Worry in her voice.

“The Oath of the Malachite Kings, my lady.” Tallbar replied, puffing on his pipe. “Keeper of the dragon Throne. On one half the old scripts, the other the Kings Oath in plain script. ‘The wearer is King and leads unto death'. The first I do know not my lady. I am not versed in the old script. The second is according to legend. The golden circlet will kill any but the true blood who try to wear it. He that do wear it without pain, on whose head it do fit, he do be king in truth, and so must wear the crown, and serve the Light unto the very day of his death. If the young man would not be king, he should not have placed the circlet on his head. It is now too late. The circle fits, and cannot be removed.”

“Then we can only wait, and hope that he returns to us, his friends.” Said Mei'An quietly.

Mei'An looked at Elsa. “Elsa, what did you discover at the crossroads of the first portal?”

“Just this Mei'An,” replied Elsa. “I cannot read it, but one of the stones was marked thus with this script.” Elsa held out her arm for Mei'An to read the symbols she had marked with charcoal onto her inner arm.

Mei'An pondered the script. They were names, undoubtedly.

“I don't know any of these places. This script is of another land, far across the Sea of Storms. The country of Allangorn. The cities, or towns marked here I know not.” Mei'An pondered the script. “I wonder what connection our new king has with this place that he could so easily open a portal there?” Too many questions and not enough answers Mei'An thought. She began to pace slowly back and forth. Luan stood with his back to the door, face expressionless, his eyes constantly flicking around the room. Elsa and Catharina had taken up a position of guard just in front of the area where the strange portal had last appeared. They would not be caught napping again. The shame of her slowness as she saw it still brought a red flush to Catharina's cheeks. Should she catch up with Antonin again he would not disappear again so easily. She would be right there beside him. Elsa was no less determined. Both young warriors smarted at being caught flat footed and unawares like village girls, instead of the highly trained warriors that they were.

Rees still sat, rolling his dice between his fingers, lost in thought. He looked up.

“We can't just sit here can we? What if Antonin can't find his way back?” Rees looked from face to face.

Tallbar eased himself from the room. He had an inn to attend to. As important as these events were, there were people relying on him. A rapidly filling common room meant the day's trading was starting. Events would flow around him now. He knew that his old inn was linked to the web where the strands resonated to these new events.

Rees sat in his chair, rolling his dice. What he hadn't told anyone yet – hadn't dared think about it himself really, was that he thought he knew how Antonin had opened the portal. He was not entirely sure though. It now worried him that he could know such a thing at all. Was he linked in some way to all this talk of ancient kings? There was no doubt that Mei'An had indicated that he and Gaul were both linked, but she had not given any detail. Rees glanced up to find Mei'An no longer pacing, but stopped in mid step looking at him. Her unblinking look, dark eyes seeming to search into his very soul, began to make him nervous. He could almost feel her reading his thoughts. With some determination he concentrated on his dice. He had noticed that of the many throws he had made while sitting thinking, the same numbers always came up. He knew the dice were good, he had made them himself. Now this could be useful. The appeal to his adventurous nature began to form. ‘This.' He thought to himself, ‘This might be useful in the common room.' Finally Mei'An blinked and resumed her slow pacing. Rees rose from his chair and without a word left the room and headed for the common room. Whatever was decided in that room, he knew he would have no say in it. Besides, there was nothing he could do. He was not going after the Key to the Wheel alone. The two girls watched Rees leave. Time itself seemed to be standing still. The puddles left by the melting snow now only dark stains on the wooden floor.

 

 

Antonin suddenly found himself sprawled face down in the snow. The hard surface beneath him was ice. He was looking down into the blue depths of the ice at the remains of a city buried far below. Or was it? He was not sure. The snow was thick all around him. Crawling to his hands and knees he shook his head. What had happened? One minute he had been in the warmth of the inn, the next sprawled in the snow.

Where was he? He struggled to his feet, teeth chattering uncontrollably now. It was very cold, and already he could feel the strength being sapped from his body. His cloths were the light riding gear of a plainsman. Not the furs of those who dwelt far to the north in the snow country. He had never met such people, but the Traders had often spoken of them, and shown drawings of them in old wooden bound books.

Antonin looked about. He seemed to have fallen into a hollow in the snow, as there were steep banks of hard snow all about him. He could hear the wind moaning across the crags of ice he could see in the distance. Turning full circle he could see he was in a deep valley, and then it dawned on him. He was standing on a frozen lake. Quickly he knelt again and brushed away the snow from the smooth ice where he had lain. Perhaps it was a city he could see in the depths. But it was too indistinct. It was probably just piles of mountain rock, tumbled into the valley in times past.

With teeth chattering, he tried to decide what to do. Much longer in this cold and the decision would be taken from him. He would be dead. Perhaps he could open another portal and simply step back to his own world, safe by the fire in the inn. Nothing happened. He thought about it. Envisioned the room in all its detail. Flung his arms out in front of him. Yelled commands into the biting wind. Even flung himself forward as he had done in the inn. He lay panting in the snow, skin bruised from the splinters of ice just under the snow. Perhaps the portal he had used to get here was still open? Calculating where he had fallen, Antonin moved back looking for a clue. There was only a section of compressed snow, and a chink out of an ice wall where something had marked out a rectangular shape. Of a portal there was no sign. Antonin began to realize he was in serious trouble. Even to reach the distant mountains seemed about two days journey. The golden band around his head was beginning to hurt terribly as it turned colder and colder, compressing on his scalp. He had to get out of here, and the distant crags were his only seeming hope. If he could live long enough to make it.

Antonin struggled up the slope of the snow bank, kicking toe holds with his soft boots. He couldn't feel his feet, they were to cold. The wind slashed across the icy surface in swirling gusts that raised powder fine snow in huge clouds that seemed as if they would bury him one minute then pursue him across the hard pressed snow the next. He picked up speed and ran as he had never run before. He knew he did not have time to settle into a steady trot. He had to get out of this icy bowl as quickly as he could. His exhaustion was being increased by the occasional fall. The surface, while rock hard in most places had small pockets of soft snow scattered across it. A foot stepping accidentally into one of these sent him sprawling across the ice, arms out stretched, trying to save himself. It was getting more and more difficult to get up each time it happened. It was no good, he would have to slow to a trot. The falls were taking too much out of him. At least at a trot he could recover his balance and press on after a few faltering steps. The world seemed to be drawing in on him as in a tunnel. His vision of things appeared to him as though he looked through a long tube.. Blackness was all around, only his distant goal kept in focus. There was a strange humming in his ears. It must be caused by the gold circlet, but Antonin was too cold and exhausted to think about it. Perhaps it was loose. He would throw it away. It would not budge however. As he ran he tried to tear it from his head but it would not move.

Antonin had been running for what seemed like hours now. His strong paces at the beginning were now a shambling foot dragging agony of movement as he forced himself on. It was probably only his movement that kept him alive. His fingers and toes were a dark purple, and hurt more than he thought he could bear. He began to resign himself to dying in this light forsaken waste of snow and ice. In all his life he and never experienced anything like this.

For the thousandth time he stumbled on a hump in the snow and sprawled head long onto the hard surface. He lay there panting, mouth wide, sucking in lungs full of freezing air. ‘Get up' He told himself. He had to get up.

Antonin tried, but he could only make it to his hands and knees. He crawled back the slight distance to the hummock he had tripped over to try and get some leverage so he could stand. It took a moment to realize that the hummock on the ice was the body of a dead man. A man much like himself, but wrapped in thick furs from head to foot. Without hesitation Antonin began stripping the furs from the body. Soon he had struggled into them. Thick white furs, hood, vest, coats and boots with extra leggings. The only remaining skin exposed now was that area around his eyes, but that was deeply recessed now under the hood with its wrap around face protector. Already he was starting to warm up. Everything had gone on over the top of his existing cloths, and this extra layer began to warm immediately. His feet were extremely painful, as were his hands now inside the thick mittens, but he would live.

Antonin investigated the body of the man on the ice. There were no apparent wounds, so he had no idea what had caused the man's death. Perhaps thirst, perhaps starvation? Who knew. Realising the man was probably a hunter, Antonin began a search around the body for weapons. It didn't take long to find a huge long bow. Fully Antonin's height the bow had enormous power. The arrows in a tubular holder by the man's side had huge chisel shaped heads. They looked like they were made to pierce almost anything. There was nothing else around the man that Antonin could find. There was also no way of burying him properly. Antonin covered him again with a mound of snow and said the words he had been taught as a child to comfort the man on his long journey ahead. Antonin had no idea if the man even observed such rituals as his, but he was human and deserved to be treated with dignity. He had unknowingly saved Antonin's live with his gift of warm clothing. Already Antonin's feet and hands were returning to something like normal feeling. The furs that he wore kept out all the cold, only his eyes glittering through the narrow gap of the hood, as his breath turned to frost where it escaped around the furry edges.

Antonin turned his attention once more to the destination of the rocky crags. There appeared to be nothing in between. The weak yellow sun was almost behind the ranges to the left, but there was no point in camping out here. He would walk on through the night, calculating he should reach the valley walls sometime early the next day.

Antonin trudged on through the night. It was not possible to even trot in the massive furs, but he felt safe and warm now, and a little hungry. The golden crown had stopped its humming and no longer hurt for which Antonin was grateful. It had once again warmed up. Antonin tried occasionally to form a portal, but still nothing happened. ‘I might well be the King of the Malachites, but a lot of good it does me.' He thought wryly. A glittering full moon now followed the suns path across the sky.

Under different circumstances Antonin would have found the night time landscape beautiful. Now he only wanted to get off this ice, and find his way to civilisation again. He hoped he could get back to his own land. He had no idea where he was, but he guessed it was a long long way from where he lived. It did get cold on the Star Field Plain in deep winter, but nothing like this.

The moon had long since set, and the sky was starting to lighten again as the new day approached. Antonin was getting very hungry now, and increasingly weaker, but he trudged on, eating hands full of snow to quench his thirst. The mountain wall had drawn closer, revealed now in the weak light of the approaching dawn. It was still many hours, the sun well up and starting to warm the landscape before Antonin began to see the first boulders of the lower slopes. No hills. Just huge boulders rolled out on to the ice when they had come crashing down from the heights, not too far distant now.

They looked un-scaleable, but that man out on the ice had come from somewhere, and he was a hunter. So Antonin had to suppose that he had come down into the valley, and that there was something to hunt here. So there must be a way out. He stopped, and slowly scanned the massif before him. Tracks or trails, even campfire smoke if he was lucky. Any sign of life would be welcome, but there was nothing.

Antonin kept a wary eye on the heights ahead. Some of those boulders looked like they had only been in place a short while. It was hard to tell, but he had no intention of being rolled over by boulders the size of houses. They also provided a maze of cover if there were living things to use it. It would be wise to go carefully. Antonin removed his gloves and strung the bow. It was difficult in his weakened state and his hands started to freeze again, but he was out of the wind now, so it was bearable. Nocking one of the huge headed arrows, he moved on through the maze of boulders. The steep walls of the valley towered overhead. In his caution, senses heightened, Antonin saw there were marking on some of the boulders. They began to form a pattern, and appeared to mark out a trail that was leading straight to the cliff wall ahead. Well, the dead man had perhaps come this way after all. Antonin could do no worse than follow the markings. In time, he was led directly to a cavern low in the valley wall. The entrance was easily high enough to stand in, but only about an arm span wide, and was faced by a low wide ledge, about Antonin's height up the wall.

Easy to gain access to, but equally easy to defend. There had been no sign of game of any sort, but the cave promised warmth if nothing else. Antonin climbed up to the entrance. He could not see much of the dark interior, and a glance back showed only the windswept icy waste that he had just come through.

Cautiously he felt his way into the cavern. It was much larger inside, opening out from the entrance into a huge cavern that stretched back into the darkness. There was no telling how high the roof was, nor how far back it went. He stubbed his foot. Here was a find. Right at his feet was a hearth of stones, and wood for burning. It must have been carried here from outside the valley. Quickly Antonin gathered scraps and splinters together and dug out his flint stone. In moments he had a small fire crackling with a cheery sound and a bright yellow flame. The warmth of the fire was welcome on his frozen hands. The flickering flames penetrated the gloom showing the true size of the cavern. A whole village could be quartered here. There were piles of furs a little way back, and what was obviously a hide stretching frame. Strips of dried meat hung over a now dead fireplace near the hides. Antonin was chewing on a strip before he knew it, and looking closely at what was obviously a hunters camp. Was it the lone hunter he had found on the ice? Antonin began to investigate more closely. Yes, there were two piles of bedding furs. The hunter out there had not been alone. Moving slowly toward the rear of the cave, Antonin found a trickle of water in a crevice running across the floor. It came down the far wall, and disappeared down into the depths where there was a crack in the floor where it met the wall. It was all he needed though. He had food and water for the moment, and warmth. He thought with a smile that not only was he King of the Malachites, Lord of the Dragons, Keeper of the Dragon Throne, hammer of Truth but he was also Lord of the Chamber.

There was nothing else to discover in the cavern, and the little food, water and warmth were slowly closing his eyes.

Antonin rolled himself in the furs on the raised ledge to one side of the cavern and was asleep before he could even worry about animals creeping up on him. He slept like a log. Strange dreams crept up on him. He was on the valley floor. Out were the dead man was. He was the dead man. He could feel himself laying there in the snow, and someone was kicking him. Was there no peace even in death? The person kept kicking him. ‘Not hard,' he thought, ‘but I can't get up, I'm dead?' He was laying under a huge animal, he could feel it's warm fur. ‘This was crazy' he thought. ‘Wake up' he shouted to himself. ‘No wait.' That was a girls voice. “Wake Up.” The voice shouted again. Suddenly the darkness whirled away and Antonin sat bolt upright, wide awake. He had been dreaming, but the girl standing before him with a long spear pointing right at his heart was no dream, and she looked like she meant to use the spear if he so much as blinked. He didn't.

She was speaking in some language that Antonin had never heard. It sounded almost like a song, all rising and falling tones. Yet he seemed to understand her. So he was still dreaming. ‘Oh well' he thought, ‘may as well lay down again.' He rolled back into the furs and pulled them up over his head. He still had on the cloths he had taken from the dead man on the ice.

‘What was that woman doing?' He thought. He could feel her prodding him with the spear and hear her shouting at him in her strange musical voice. Well if this was a dream and he could understand her, perhaps he could talk with her. “Stop it,” he yelled in her language. “Don't you know who I am?” The girl went silent and the prodding stopped. Antonin smiled to himself. This was a good dream. People obeyed him. Now he could feel himself being dragged along the floor and before he could do anything about it, he had fallen from the ledge onto the hard floor of the cavern. That HURT. This was no dream. Antonin untangled himself from the furs and lurched to his feet. He couldn't see. It was pitch black. No – it was his hood. It had become turned completely around. And that infernal woman was prodding him with the butt of her spear again. He twisted his hood around so he could see, and turned to face her. She was yelling at him and calling him by another name. ‘She thinks I am the dead man still' Antonin realized. He backed away slowly and carefully removed the fur hood. The girl could now see his face clearly. Shock was clearly written all over her. In an instant she was in fighting stance, and only Antonin's quick wits saved him as the spear flashed by him, tearing through the coat just under his arm. The girl was now in a half crouch, a deadly blade almost like a short sword in her hand. “Where is Dafong?” She hissed, all song gone from her voice. “What have you done with him that you wear his clothes?” Her eyes kept flicking to the circlet on his head. She was becoming more uncertain by the moment. Antonin relaxed slightly. She would not kill him yet. She wanted answers to her questions. Yet still he could not understand how he knew her language. If this was still a dream, it was like no other dream he had ever had. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. The girl jumped at the sudden movement. His head shake had flung his hair away from the golden circlet, and she could now clearly see that it encircled his head, a fine band of white gold inlaid in the yellow. The small script plainly visible. The girl backed away from Antonin. She was no longer interested in attack, although her dark eyes still glittered with icy resolve.