Michael T. Hare

Sixteen Years After Seraphim Left…

Irvine traversed the scape of a Southern isle, gazing down one hundred feet to the ocean as its rolling waves lapped against the island’s stony base. Wooden stairs scaled downward, forging a pathway to the ports—a place bustling with unloading crates and far-flung sailers.

Similar hubbubs consumed the other islands, each crowd fussing excitedly like a mob of starving children; Irvine could hardly blame them. So many Irë Scantainian interceptions had stemmed their income of goods, and for a shipment to make it past the Oruugaria border was an infrequent feat. Even King Skrentis the Deaf, as the folk called him, was forced to exchange some blows of his own. Being so often on the back foot, the South had to take a stand, especially with the food shortages.

A roar from above took Irvine’s attention elsewhere, and his sagging eyes met three draconic silhouettes. The dragons, two a deep red and the smallest violet, weaved past the intricate bridges connecting the Southern Kingdom, heading for the Grelcun Mounts. A bad omen these creatures were, for they were prowled by a evil power known as the Skògh. On occasion, these strange, frozen creatures would take more than just the beasts. ‘We are justified in slaughtering whatever dragon crosses us,’ said the council. ‘They bring chaos, and for the good of our kingdom, we must be rid of them.’

Nevertheless, Irvine saw beauty in the creatures, and pity was always a sentiment that lingered in his heart. According to legend, the dragons were Eldíra’s most primitive inhabitants. They ought to be respected, at least in his mind. But what would one man do in defense of Dragonkind? He can do what is expected of him, he thought, and then started off to where he knew the drakes to be.

They’d be looking for shelter, primarily given the rackety chatter of the day. The fortuneate bit, however, was that most of the Southern Isles were tall, bread-loaf-shaped landmasses riddled with trees perfect for hiding. Daylight was an infrequent luxury unless shown through healthy flora.

Irvine walked across many wooden bridges, pressing on despite his aching old bones. He knew of an excellent place if the small flock sought shelter. Who was he not to give it? He’d done so quite often before.

His journey eventually ended, marked by patterns of knotted grass and slice marks trimmed with loose soil.

The cuts ran vertically across the island’s face—a common mistake among adolescent dragons. Their lengthening talons proved to be a curse yet a practical asset to hunters within the kingdom; perceived as chaos bringers, some locals found it more profitable to slay drake refugees than spare them. Irvine frowned at the thought of it.

A gnarled wood stood before him, its mangled trunks and boughs strangling one another as if in a heated battle. Part of him doubted any misfortune would befall the dragons here, but his intuition knew better. If they desired solitary above all else, then the Caves of Thrä would be unrivaled. Irvine stole a glance at Kaer Village before trekking into the forest, using the young dragon’s tracks as his compass. They couldn’t have gone too far if they’d foregone their wings.

The ocean breeze faltered as a sweet aroma of plant life took over. An abundance of stargazer lilies garnished the forest floor, each of their pink flowers jutting out between thick clumps of grass and limestone. Sand, periodic as it was, pooled in certain places, reminding Irvine of the wood’s oceanic past.

It wasn’t long before Irvine finally stumbled on his prize—a hollowed cave, reaching so deep in the earth its mouth showed nothing but blackness. The tracks led directly within it.

The man crouched, connecting his knee with a patch of moss as if a king stood before him. Golden eyes flickered in the darkness, and Irvine met them as a dragon prowled from the grotto like a living nightmare. Its scales glimmered with blood-red reflections in the available light, and though its thoughts boomed like a drum, Irvine heard only the forest’s serenity.

Human, the drake spat, angling his three-horned crown and giving a toothy snarl.

“I’ve come only to liberate you,” Irvine said, showing no fear. “You may deem me ignorant, but I’ll wager you have a growing hatchling with you. It left tracks leading to this position.”

Our little one cannot help it, said the dragon. His claws have grown too long; he’s maturing… unevenly thus far.

I understand perfectly, Irvine replied mentally, keeping an unwavering focus on the drake’s eyes. Most little dragons do. However, that isn’t the only threat to your survival. Many hunters have trekked this province before, and your existence will not remain hidden forever. I have a proposition.

The dragon rumbled, his sinuous tail flicking this way and that. And that is…

Tell me your name first, implored Irvine.

Must I, human?

No, but isn’t there a great enough dive between our races?

The red dragon huffed, but Irvine’s decency won him over. I am Riygus, he said, giving a subtle nod.

“Irvine.”

Riygus chuckled in a sort of dragonish way—an odd series of resonating, throaty growls. Through their present link, the dragon gave off a hybrid of amusement and mocking. Your risible names always bring me mirth, he said.

A little dragon toddled out from Riygus’ flank, its large, radiant eyes peering around curiously. The baby was big for a hatchling, but Irvine could only assume his size was a gift from Riygus, whose head could’ve risen past the trees were he not crouched like a feral cat.

Irvine scratched his horseshoe of gray hair. “I saw one more dragon,” he said cautiously.

My mate, Karühok, grunted Riygus. She is out hunting on the northern bank. I was to remain with our little one until her return. He hissed, poking Irvine with an ebony claw. You have not spoken this ‘proposition’ of yours.

The trees fluttered like a hurricane had settled upon them, and another crimson dragon joined the meeting, pinning three bloody sheep between her talons and the earth.

Karühok couldn’t have appeared less like her mate. Gill-like scales spanned the peripheries of her head, and two horns—both a pastel hue of her body—protruded from her nose’s tip and the epicenter of her scaly brows.

Private words passed between Karühok and Riygus while Irvine strained to look confident. Not that any of this was alien to him. Dragons were known for their hot-headed and stubborn actions. One could only hope they were on the creatures’ good side.

Karühok cocked her head, finally acknowledging the old man. Then speak your proposition, she said, not angry but obviously irritated.

Irvine nodded, rising to his feet. “There is a mountain hollow,” he explained, pointing a veiny finger through the trees. “Many dragons have hidden there, and some still utilize its safety today. I assure you, its walls will conceal you from all the world lest the enemy finds a miracle.” The old man clasped his hands behind himself. “I’d be honored to take you there.”

Even with his bestial facade, Riygus looked genuinely impressed. If what you speak is true, we would gladly follow your guidance, Irvine.

Karühok, though not as enthused, dipped her head in unison with Riygus. Taking this as a sign of gratitude, Irvine beckoned the drakes to follow. “Come now, friends, there isn’t a moment to…” Something peculiar wafted in the air, a chill that hadn’t been just moments ago.

White tendrils of ice slithered along the tree trunks ahead, each converging to rise in a mound of pale mist. The cold became numbing as two forms ambled from the murk. One was dressed in tattered robes as dark as a blizzard sky, and the second was a dragon. Its hulking build was erratically comprised of scaly ice flakes, which billowed like winter breath.

“By all means,” said the newcomer. “Come.” He spoke resonantly through an icy, bald helmet, where two eyeholes shrouded in darkness stared ahead. His voice was soft and hushed, causing Irvine’s skin to crawl and his body to shiver.

The dragons gnashed their teeth, muscles and tendons flexing as they shielded their baby.

“A touching sentiment,” said the man, outreaching his steel-plated fingers. “But I’ve come too far to waste time.” A pale, misty substance gathered at his palm, writhing like a confined animal anxious to slaughter. “Your pain will be the genesis of a new era.”

Irvine stepped in front of him and shielded the innocent creatures. “Now, let’s not let it come to blows,” he said gently but knew it was futile. This was one of them, one of the creatures children saw in their nightmares. “You are of the Skògh, aren’t you?”

The man didn’t reply, the dark eyeholes of his helmet revealing no emotion.

“Your demeanor hints at the fulx race,” continued Irvine, shivering at the name, “but they were not dragon riders. You ride one, do you not?”

The fulx tilted his head slightly, moving his hand to wave off his agitated dragon. The frozen drake growled upon seeing Irvine.

Seizing him by the tunic front, the fulx yanked Irvine aside. The man hastened to counterattack, but a reptilian tail looped his waist and lifted him. Bucking his legs and yelling in protest, he felt rivulets of cold snaking from his belly and spreading throughout his body. Magic, no doubt, and as the chill intensified, Irvine was suddenly a spectator to his ugliest memory.

A dying hatchling.

Save me.

“Hold still. You’ve been stabbed.”

I thought your brother loved us, Father.

Blood, moaning, and, in the end, death.

Irvine couldn’t forgive himself, and should he fail Dragonkind, he might never.

What if he was powerless against it?

Heaps of dragon corpses.

Broken eggs.

Irvine fought these abhorrent emotions as the fulx approached the family of drakes. Riygus rose with an arched neck, the dark ridges along his spine illuminating as an orb of Iyishhräll amassed behind his teeth. Dragon fire quickly swallowed the icy figure, blanketing him in golden flames.

To Irvine’s shock, the fulx emerged victorious, absorbing the inferno through his right hand. “Delicious!” he cried. “Feel my power. Yes, that’s it. Feed me with your fear.” He drew the rest of the Iyishhräll into himself like a sponge and aimed his fingers at both elder dragons; they clenched their jaws, yowling madly.

The fulx’s dragon constricted Irvine to the point of forbidding oxygen.

“I’m sorry you never earned your name.”

I… t—told you. I like the name you gave me.

Riygus and Karühok were now spitting Iyishhräll uncontrollably, as if trying to strike a zigzagging insect. The fulx pilfered it all, calling each massive shot to his hands while the hatchling lay coiled at the cave’s entrance, too frightened to look. Irvine struggled harder.

The scene dragged on for what seemed like hours, but Riygus ultimately collapsed from an excess of magic usage. Karühok maintained a longer streak but eventually succumbed as well. The fulx, seeing his objective was achieved, left the white essence to build at his hands again. Irvine knew what would come next, but his voice was all but perceptible to the frigid foe.

The hatchling observed warily from under a wing, blinking in stupefaction as the fulx readied to forever condemn his mother and father. Shrieking in protest, the baby sped on his lengthy claws to stand guard before Riygus and Karühok. The fulx halted, looking at the youth with new interest.

“No…” wheezed Irvine. “Please…”

The hatchling gave a tiny roar, valiantly flaring his wings in front of his elders, but the fulx let out a drowsy sigh of mist. “He’s a lot like you, old coot,” he spat. “In need of a teaching.”

Though brave, the little drake convulsed uncontrollably, golden eyes darting from his attacker to Irvine.

“The strong,” said the fulx, lifting his smoggy fist, “shall humble the weak.” Streaks of white haze sprang forth, and the hatchling gave a piercing cry before evolving into a frigid, icy rendition of himself—frozen, motionless, but not dead.

Riygus and Karühok roared, rising feebly in defiance, but even their massive shapes fell victim to the fulx’s power. Two more dragon sculptures joined their hatchling, each to be eternally plagued by fears. Nearly frozen to the marrow, Irvine banged his fists against the dragon’s tail. “You… m—monster,” he hissed, still fighting his own miseries.

The fulx turned, joints crackling like burdened ice. “What did you say, mortal?”

“Your kind torture dragons, and for what? To be spectators of anguish?” Irvine screamed and jerked his head side to hide, the terrors intensifying to a maddening level.

“There are… many reasons we do it,” said the fulx, his chilling ambiance grower nigher. “Power, revenge, liberation, attainment. Nevertheless, our master wishes it done. Thus, it shall be done.” He withdrew a tapered blade embellished with ice and hummed delightedly. “Your fear is delectable.”

The dragon rumbled in agreement.

Irvine clenched his jaw, willing himself to look the fulx in his pale eyes. “Kill me if you desire, demon,” he rasped, “but your dominance upon Eldíra will not endure. It will crumble like it did all those years ago when Seraphim—”

“Seraphim is dead!” yelled the fulx, clutching Irvine by the throat. “She perished years ago alongside her son! That pathetic hero is gone, you fool! All the Bondeds are!” The dragon slacked his hold, leaving Irvine to dangle from the fulx’s fingers.

“Say what you will,” sputtered the old man, “but it won’t last. Tell your master that!”

The fulx drove his blade between Irvine’s ribs, and a burst of ice rippled through the man’s body, transfixing him into a wintry statue. The fulx screamed, tensing his grip and shattering him into splinters of blighted ice. “The strong shall humble the weak,” he said again, then mounted his dragon and departed.