A Dragon's Tale Ch. 02

Chapter 2: "Viel Feind, viel Ehr" (many enemies, much honor)

* * *

Ethan felt like he was drifting in a sea of warmth. All was right with the world and he felt a profound sense of peace. It was like slowly waking up from a long nap when you were very tired. He felt refreshed and content; almost happy.

"Wake up dragon." A strange voice said. Something was shaking him, but a dragon? What did dragons have to do with anything?

"Wake up foul beast, or I'll put you down in your sleep." The voice said again.

Ethan's eyes slowly opened. He was in a dark room that was very blurry, or maybe that was his vision. The room was plain; there was no furniture and the floor was covered in grass -- a tent maybe? That's when Ethan remembered that Alana was going to meet someone from a traveling caravan.

Could this be them?

Something kicked him in the ribs. Hard.

"Wake up and answer me dragon." The voice said

"I'm awake." Ethan tried to say, but his mouth wouldn't move. It came out as a muffled sound. He looked down to discover he was wearing a muzzle; an actual muzzle -- made of rope.

"Good." The voice sounded calm but stern.

Ethan tried to move, but found he couldn't. He was strapped down to something. He tried to turn his head to see what, but it was difficult with his head also constrained.

"What did you do to Alana staff-maker?" the voice asked. Ethan again tried to answer, but the muzzle prevented him from speaking.

"Listen to me fell beast I'm going to remove the muzzle and you will answer my every question with complete honesty. If you don't, I will use your carcass as a pincushion. Do you understand?"

Ethan tried to both nod his head and say yes. Neither came out correctly, but apparently the voice got the idea. A pair of dark grey hands reached in front of Ethan and untied the muzzle.

"Thank you." Ethan said.

"Now, what have you done to Alana staff-maker?"

"What's wrong with her?" Ethan asked.

"You don't ask the questions here beast. Tell me what happened."

Ethan gave him the quick version of them being chased, which quickly led to the voice demanding that he tell him everything from the beginning. He did so, but there were many interruptions. The voice seemed particularly distressed when he mentioned that Hermair's men had burned Alana's house and destroyed her staff farm.

When he had finished, the voice was silent for several moments.

"So now will you tell me what's wrong with Alana?" Ethan asked. The voice didn't answer and Ethan could still barely move.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity -- but was probably only a minute or so -- the voice spoke.

"Alana is dying." The voice said.

"What!" Ethan's mouth fell open. "How?"

The voice made a pensive sound.

"Listen to me mister." Ethan said. "You better help her right now or I'll tear you limb from limb when I get out."

"A curious threat." The voice didn't seem concerned though. "You seem more concerned with helping Alana than freeing yourself. If that's the case, then you are a strange dragon."

"Yeah, she said the same thing." Ethan tested the restraints again. He could move a little, but not much.

"A dragon that has just reached adulthood showing concern for a wood elf. Curious. Most curious. I have never heard of a dragon that expressed concern for anything but gold."

Ethan rolled his eyes and then started actively trying to get out of his restraints. From the little he could see, it was cobbled together from boards and a few leather straps. He pushed with all his might but he wasn't strong enough to just break out. He started wriggling around to get his claws close to the leather straps. After a minute, he was almost there.

"Peace, beast." The voice said. "I shall release you if you stop struggling for a moment."

Ethan did, and a few moments later the straps holding him down went slack. He stood up to his full height and turned to face the voice's owner.

The man was clearly an elf like Alana, although with dark gray skin. His hair was almost white, but Ethan didn't think it was because of age as he looked barely middle-aged and seemed quite fit. He was wearing simple pants and shirt made from a rough fabric and had a short sword belted around his waist.

His hand was on the pommel.

Looking at the man's face, Ethan got the distinct impression that he shouldn't take this man lightly. His eyes were bright and spoke of cunning and intellect. He looked relaxed, but judging from his stance he was also a fighter and looked ready to move at a moment's notice. All of Ethan's instincts told him to be wary.

He ignored them.

He stalked toward the man until they were almost nose to nose. "Where is Alana?"

"Hmm." The man seemed completely at ease even with Ethan in his face. There were a few tense seconds while Ethan waited for a response, then finally the man spoke.

"I am Garthildur Trade-Captain. If you will follow me, I will take you to see Alana."

The elf walked out of the tent into a small encampment, Ethan following closely. The sun was low in the sky, but Ethan's excellent dragon night vision allowed him to see perfectly. The camp consisted of a half dozen tents in a rough circle with a fire in the center. The tents reminded Ethan of Native American tepees. Several women were cooking over the fire and a few kids were running about playing.

The moment he stepped out of the tent, several armed guards snapped to alert. They were armed with spears that were about eight feet long and tipped with wide-cutting blades. They pointed their spears at him the moment he appeared.

"Peace." Garthildur said. "I don't believe this dragon has hurt Alana."

The guards withdrew their spears, but didn't take their eyes off Ethan for a second. He got the distinct impression that Alana was well-liked here. He turned to follow the elf, but stopped in his tracks at the sight before him.

There was a dark-skinned elf carrying a horse.

The horse was literally on his shoulders. It wasn't a big horse, but it must've weighed over seven hundred pounds... And the man was walking with the horse on his shoulders as if the horse was a tenth of that weight.

"How in the world..." Ethan wondered aloud.

Garthildur stopped to see what he was looking at. "The horse is lame and they needed to move it; an enchanted amulet on the horse decreases its weight."

"Wow." Ethan stared for another moment, before remembering Alana and turning to follow the dark elf. He led the dragon to another tent and led him inside. Ethan barely noticed the inside of the tent because he only had eyes for Alana. She was barely breathing and her normally tanned skin was white as sheet. She looked like death warmed over.

"What happened to her?" he asked while rushing to her side.

"I believe you happened." Garthildur said. "Unless I read the battle scene wrong, you were shot in the heart with an arrow. If what you said is true, I think Alana gave you some of her deep mana to save you."

"What's that mean?" Ethan asked.

Garthildur sighed. "All living creatures need mana to survive. They draw it from the Ether and it provides life to their bodies. The excess we collect and use for spells and enchantments, but mana is still necessary for life. I believe Alana spent all of her mana trying to heal you, but didn't have enough. So instead of letting you die, she tapped into the deep mana that was keeping her alive."

"You mean she...?" Ethan stared at Alana. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was already dead. "Will she recover?"

"Not without help." Garthildur replied. "Deep mana sustains all life. Without it, her body is dying. She could normally replenish it, but she used so much that she's not strong enough to replace it fast enough. Her body will give out before she can recover."

"Is there no way to refill this deep mana back up again?"

"Not unless you know someone willing to risk his life for a slim chance of success."

"Explain." Ethan demanded.

"Deep mana is tricky and dangerous to trifle with." Garthildur said. "While on occasion a magic user will tap it, it comes with extreme risk. Using it to power a healing spell was reckless."

"You didn't answer the question." Ethan pointed out.

"No, I didn't." Garthildur paused. "Her deep magic must be replenished if she is to survive. Regular mana isn't sufficient; she needs deep mana from another living being."

"Oh, it's just like a blood transfusion. She can have some of mine."

"You hear, but you don't understand." Garthildur sighed. "Deep mana is much more than the regular mana used to power a spell. If that's all it was, I would've healed her already. Deep mana is the essence of a person's very being; of their spirit, their will, and their consciousness. Many call it the seat of the soul."

Ethan opened his mouth to respond when the enormity of what he'd just said hit him.

Wait, what?

His jaw went slack. "Alana gave me part of her soul to save me?"

"No, but not far off. Deep mana anchors a living being to life and contains the essence of a person." Garthildur said. "If you give her too much deep mana, you might die even if you save her."

"I'll take that chance." Ethan said without hesitation. "She did the same for me."

"Ah, the fire of youth." Garthildur sighed again. "Do you even know what sharing deep mana means in elven culture?"

"No." Ethan conceded.

"I thought not. Sharing deep mana with someone is a profoundly intimate act. When they share theirs back in return, it creates a strong and permanent bond. It is so intimate that the sharing of deep mana is the very heart of elven weddings."

"I thought you said it was dangerous."

"When you are both wounded and low on mana, yes." Garthildur sighed for the third time, clearly growing frustrated with his ignorance of Elven culture. "But when two people who are full of deep mana share it with each other, nothing is consumed because they replenish each other. There is no danger at all."

"Look. I don't know anything about the whole elven marriage thing. Where I come from, you're not married unless you exchange vows."

"You and Alana are both of marriageable age, so you can wed according to the laws of the land and elven tradition." Garthildur frowned. "Yet you would spit on our traditions?"

"Aren't you assuming I would just abandon my traditions about marriage and adopt yours?" Ethan countered. "Isn't that an insult to my traditions? But regardless, I can't let Alana die. I'm not saying I want to marry her, but I need to save her. So either show me how to heal her, or get out of the way so I can figure it out myself."

"Very well." Garthildur shook his head. "One last caution; to my knowledge no elf has ever shared deep mana with a dragon before, much less bonded with one. There may be additional side effects from this union."

"Noted." Ethan replied. "Let get started.

* * *

Rachel did her best not to look bored. For some reason, her father always insisted on making her sit through these endless reports. Today some boring minion was droning on about a failed mission.

"Hermair's men found the scouts dead. It appears the dragon and the wood elf killed them and escaped." The soldier said. It would have been funny how much he was shaking if she didn't know her father might kill him for the failure.

"Get out of my sight." Lord Delmar spat.

The soldier ran out of the room.

"Can I go too?" Rachel asked. Her father shot her a look that would have made a lesser woman cower.

Rachel sighed and resigned herself to spending the whole afternoon in the great hall. She had to admit it was grand. The vaulted ceilings were at least thirty feet high and the hall was at least twice that long. Elaborate tapestries and gold candle holders filled the room, leaving visitors in no doubt as to Lord Delmar's wealth and power.

His throne was even more magnificent than the rest of the room, and he sat on a platform raised so high that only the tallest of visitors would be level with his feet. Behind him, a stained-glass window depicted a rising sun and the great God Illuminar shining down favorably on the throne's occupant. From the viewer's perspective, it looked like he was bathed in the radiance of the sun and Illuminar's blessings.

Knowing what her father was really like -- and how disapproving Illuminar would be of his methods -- she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"His Excellency, Prince Vulrit of Marcadia." The herald announced loudly as he led a group into the hall. The prince entered with his entourage. Rachel suppressed the urge to sigh again; yet another stuck-up prince looking to forge an alliance with her father by marrying her. She was getting really tired of them treating her as if that was her sole purpose in life.

"My lady, your beauty is as ravishing as the sun when it rises." Prince Vulrit said with a dramatic bow.

Rachel meant to say something gracious in return, but her mouth ran ahead of her. "And by that do you mean common, because the sunrise is seen every day?"

The prince opened his mouth to respond, but he seemed to have spent all his wit on his compliment and had none left to think of an answer. He'd probably practiced that compliment for days to get it so polished. She wasn't surprised; he looked like he used his sword arm more than his brain. She could almost feel her father's glare and moved quickly to rectify the situation.

"Forgive me my prince." Rachel said feigning interest and lying through her teeth. "Your compliment was well received and I'm most grateful for your wit and charm. Many princes have come to court me, but I feel your sincerity dwarfs theirs and I would be delighted to entertain you at dinner tonight."

Only now did she glance at her father, but the mighty, all-wise, all-powerful, and oh-so-benevolent Lord Delmar didn't deign to look back at her. He kept his eyes on the prince and they started discussing some alliance, seemingly determined to bore her.

Rachel busied herself practicing her magic.

She would pull all the heat out of one of the candles in the room, extinguishing it. Then, she'd pull some heat from the great fireplace and use it to reignite the wick. She turned it into a game, seeing how fast she could extinguish and reignite a single candle.

When that became boring, she started playing with her ring. Her father had given it to her a few years ago and warned her never to take it off. She never had, but twirled it endlessly around her finger. The strange thing was, the skin under her ring started itching whenever she disobeyed him. He said it was a regular ring, but she sometimes felt like it was enchanted.

Almost an hour later, the prince and Lord Delmar finished their negotiations. Unsurprisingly, her father had walked all over the prince in the negotiations and received the better end of the deal by far.

"Clear the court." Lord Delmar ordered once the prince had left. Rachel stood up to leave, but he spoke again. "Not you Rachel."

"Come here." He ordered once the room was clear. Rachel rose from her seat and stood in front of his throne. He rose to his full and considerable height and then -- seemingly out of nowhere -- the back of his hand slapped across her cheek.

Hard.

"Ow! Father what was that--" Rachel started to say, but he slapped her again, even harder.

"I have tolerated your insolence for long enough." He said without emotion. "Your only value to me is to increase my standing through marriage."

"But father--" Rachel began, but was interrupted by his fist hitting her in the stomach and winding her. She fell to the floor gasping for breath.

"If you ever speak to a suitor like that again, I will throw you out into the cold with the peasants to teach you some respect."

A cold fury started to burn within her, but it was met with an equally powerful urge to comply and obey him. Rachel absentmindedly started twirling the ring on her finger. The skin under it was itching again. Her fury fought with the compulsion to submit and eventually her fury won out.

"No you won't!" Rachel said, standing up again. "How would your court react if they saw you throw your only child out into the cold? What would they think of you then? Who would ever want to marry into your family with a father as--"

He aimed another punch, but this time Rachel was expecting it. She dodged, only just avoiding the fist. Unfortunately, she didn't see his knee coming up at the same time. It collided with her chest and sent her over the edge of the platform. She landed on the stone floor and cried out in pain

Her father didn't seem to care.

He dropped down, grabbed her by the throat, and hauled up into the air with one hand.

"Yes. I. Would." He said, and then dropped her.

She fell onto the stone floor for a second time, this time managing to land on her feet. She immediately took several steps back.

"Your behavior today has threatened to dishonor our family name." He continued while Rachel tried to catch her breath. "I have no problem purging those without honor from my family."

When Rachel finally caught her breath, she'd had enough. She started pulling heat from all the nearby sources of fire to fuel her magic. That compulsion to obey fought her, but she pushed it aside.

"Foolish girl." Her father said, and abruptly all of the fires in the hall were completely drained of heat. He collected all the fire in his hand, then tossed it into the air above Rachel's head. From there it shot to the ground, forming a ten-foot ring of fire around her. She was trapped. Furthermore, she couldn't pull the heat from the flames. She didn't know how, but he was preventing her from doing it.

"Listen closely." Lord Delmar said. "From this moment onward, you will cease your childish ways and obey my every command. Do I make myself clear?" The ring of fire contracted a little as if to emphasize the point.

Rachel could feel the heat of the flames just a few feet away. They were almost as tall as she was and hotter than any flames she'd ever felt before. She didn't think she would survive trying to jump through them. She could feel the compulsion to obey grow in strength.

Where was that coming from?

"I already do--" she started to say, but the ring of fire closed even more.

"Do I make myself clear?" he asked again.

Rachel was astounded at the display of magical power. Her mentor, the most powerful mage in the court, would have already exhausted his powers by now. Yet her father showed no signs of fatigue and the flames showed no sign of dying. If anything, they were getting hotter.

Rachel thought frantically. She knew that fire was weak to wind attacks, but she didn't think she could blow a portion of the fire out and get through before it closed again. Then she had an idea; a crazy, brilliant, dangerous idea.

She tapped her mana to grab all of the air within the circle of fire, plus the air outside of the circle opposite her father. The compulsion to obey fought her, but with a titanic effort she shifted all of the air molecules so they were pointing in the same direction. The blast of wind she created was powerful enough to lift her off her feet and throw her clear.

In hindsight, she might have overdone it.

The air blew a gap in the flames at the same time it blasted her off her feet and threw her several yards away from her father. She landed awkwardly, but -- thanks to her successfully begging the castle's sword master for lessons -- she turned it into a roll and end up in a crouch. She didn't waste a single second; she turned around and started running for all she was worth.

Before she had taken two steps, she bounced off something solid.

She fell backward, feeling like the world was moving in slow motion.

Her father was already in front of her.

It didn't make sense. How had he moved so fast? It just wasn't possible for someone to move that fast. She had thrown everything she knew at him and he had beaten her like a toddler challenging an Arena champion.