Dormancy, p.10
Dormancy, page 10
part #1 of Khrysaor's Name Series
“Aye,” said Taliesin. “Just one thing.”
He pulled his direwolf pelt from his back and tossed it over Lord Pywel’s shoulders. Then he leaned down and the ran his hand through the dampened soil. Once dirtied enough, he reached up to wipe his hands roughly across Pywel’s cheeks.
“Excuse me--?” He gasped in shock, moving to brush away at his face and to push the wolf pelt from his shoulders. “I am nobility, I’ll have you know!”
“Exactly,” hissed the fur trader. “Which is why we’re makin’ you look the same as any other filthy common folk. If you’re spotted by angry townsfolk, you’ll be the first of us to be gutted, kid.”
He closed his mouth with a click of teeth, and his gaze trailed down. He pulled the hood up over his face and wiped away at the dirt. Not enough to brush the mud from his cheeks, but enough to dirty his delicate hands as well.
“Understood, master Uffren,” he muttered, defeated.
“Alright,” said Taliesin, helping Koh up onto his horse before mounting his own. “Keep your heads down. Don’t talk to anyone who looks like they might be armed. Don’t get us into trouble.”
“Fenice has never been dangerous…” Pywel mumbled, his shoulders lowered, his voice and posture small.
“That’s what happens when the people suddenly find themselves free of their oppressors. They think they’re goin’ to have their freedom torn away again at any moment, so they do whatever they can while they’ve still got the chance.” Said Brunhild.
Koh silently nodded his agreement. Taliesin had plucked the lantern from Pywel’s horse and tied it to his own saddle, to draw as little attention as possible to the noble in disguise. Though the young man put on a brave face, Koh could see the way his hands shook, and heard the drop in his voice when discussing matters of life and death.
Taliesin had been right. Nobles were sheepish creatures.
They passed soon by the city gates. From the road could be seen the still-smoking ruins of the once-clean city, and in the debris stood children and women, searching for lost possessions and valuables to loot.
Sitting beside the gate, a young woman reached out for the travelers, and Taliesin stopped his horse. Brunhild came to a rest beside him, putting herself between the woman and Pywel. Koh watched from the rear.
“Miss,” said Taliesin. “Are you well?”
“Mmh?” She wheezed. Ash coated her bare skin, and her voice wavered. Koh considered how much smoke she had to have breathed in the last few days and rubbed at his throat in sympathy. “Ah… I’ve lost my home, but I’ll be fine.”
“Can you tell us what happened here?” asked Taliesin.
“Hmm,” she hummed. “A woman with an odd lisp came into town two nights ago and announced Lord Hanes had died. A dragon had come down from the heavens and burned him to ashes, and we would all meet his fate if we didn’t submit to Dúin.”
“Did the people accept her word?” Asked Brunhild.
The old woman thought a moment, then solemnly shook her head. “No. We thought she was raving mad, until flame rained from the sky. It caught Hanes’ manor aflame. Some of his enemies ran to the blaze with torches and carried the fire to the homes of his knights and collectors.”
“So, they burned his sympathizers’ homes...”
“They did. But the flames didn’t burn themselves out once those homes were gone. Instead, they swept through Fenice and turned the town to ashes.”
“Where have all the people gone?” Koh asked.
“To Caer Sidi, they said. At least, the ones who lived. Most of my neighbors have died, either from burning or from breathing in the smoke,” said the woman.
Taliesin nodded his head and dipped a hand into his coinpurse. He fished out a half-coltan piece and handed it to her.
“Thank you for your time, miss. And best of luck to you in rebuilding.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, waving them off as they left.
Koh watched the people behind them as they rode off, families rummaging in the ashes of what once had been their homes, searching for something to build a new life from.
12
“Why have we stopped so near to the city?”
Lord Pywel looked about at their next campsite from the back of his horse. Mud and dirt still smeared across his face, which peeked out from underneath the heavy fur cloak draped over his figure. His shoulders raised, tense still after passing the ruins of Fenice.
“The sun’s rising,” said Taliesin, pointing up at the sky as it turned bright, the clouds overhead glowing, still streaked with thick rivers of dark grey smoke. Color began to return to the world with the sunrise, the dull grey colors of night leaving as green seeped into the fir trees again.
“We’re close enough to the city that it wouldn’t hurt to travel in the daylight,” said Pywel.
“That makes it worse, stupid,” said Brunhild, tossing Pywel’s bedroll to him. He caught it but fumbled terribly, and nearly toppled from his horse in the process. “We’ll be on royal roads. If they wanted to attack us then, other travelers would assume it’s an arrest.”
Pywel hummed in disappointment, but eventually dropped to the snow-covered ground, the thin layer of ice and snow crunching under his boots.
“Master Uffren,” he called across the clearing they’d found. “Do you want back your pelt?”
“Keep it for a while,” the trapper responded, looking up from pulling up a lean-to. “You’re so thin the wind would cut you in half without it.”
Pywel’s cheeks puffed out indignantly, and he shuffled across to Taliesin, offering his bedroll to the man. Taliesin took it in one hand and waved the young lord off, and he sighed, pulling the hunter’s pelt close around his chest.
Koh watched as the noble sulked, kicking around in the snow and ash as Brunhild and Taliesin set up camp. The smith had settled down beneath a tree. Brunhild insisted he should rest after so many days of travel. She hardly let him work anymore, now that he carried the power of Khrysaor. Not that he didn’t appreciate the moment to sit back and watch for a few minutes.
He raised a hand to beckon Pywel over. He reluctantly shuffled across the clearing, seating himself beside Koh with another heavy sigh, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath.
“Is something the matter?” asked Koh.
“Not at all,” said Pywel, raising his knees and resting his chin on them, arms folding around his legs. “Just… thinking, for the last few days.”
Koh hummed, and chuckled at the boy’s thoughts. “You know, you can share the things you think of. You’re stuck traveling with us. Might as well let us know what’s on your mind.”
Pywel thought for a bit. He idly reached into the snow, dragging his fingers through it, drawing an image of a wolf. He raised his hand to smear the drawing away as he finished. Koh grasped his wrist and held it still.
“Don’t,” he said. “I like it. You know, you have some promise as an artist.”
“… Thank you,” said Pywel quietly. He paused, hesitating to accept those words. “That’s a compliment, coming from a smith with your skill.”
“Hm?” Koh canted his head.
“I meant the armor you had on display at Eywell’s banquet,” he said. “The dragons. They were beautifully etched. The way the scales layered together… I didn’t think that level of detail was possible on plate armor.”
“Anything is possible. Only, some things are more difficult than others to accomplish,” said Koh, thinking of an earlier conversation. “You won’t be excellent at everything when you first try it.”
Pywel nodded, looking down to the wolf he had drawn in the snow.
“The wolf is the symbol of my family,” he said. “The direwolf of House Pedryvan.”
“You said once you were descended from a family of knights, didn’t you?” asked Koh, looking down to the wolf. It had been drawn with only straight lines, its fur jutting out at harsh angles, pointed and triangular. Koh’s artwork had always been flowing, forms moving into one another smoothly, but he enjoyed this angular style just as much.
“That’s right,” said Pywel, moving his hand away to once again hug his knees. “We served in Caer Sidi as the captains of companies of guards. Several generations ago House Pedryvan was given a parcel of land to defend.”
“And then you came into ownership of it?”
“Yes,” said Pywel. “My great-grandfather named it after himself and built a town, starting with only a few trading outposts he built on his own. He worked hard… built Pedryvan from the ground up.”
“It must be important to you, then.” Koh thought back to the banquet on the first. When he’d been asked to change how he ran his city, he’d refused firmly. Now, Koh understood the source of that defensiveness.
“It is,” said Pywel. “But I can’t shake the feeling that my ancestors are ashamed with the way I behave.”
Koh looked over, brows knit together. “How so?”
“… I’m no knight. I’m just a spoiled brat. My grandparents fought wars and won grand battles. I’ve never known pain or hardship in the least. They fended bandits away from townships and died for their king. I don’t even know the proper way to hold a sword, let alone how to use one.”
“At least you’ve begun to learn the meaning of those things,” Koh motioned to Pywel’s leg, wrapped firmly in bandages beneath his tights.
“Suppose so,” said Pywel. “But it hasn’t sunk in yet, if that makes sense. I know what happened, but part of me hasn’t processed that a dragon truly attacked the banquet. That the rest of the nobles are dead. My head says that I know the truth, but my heart doesn’t want to believe that they’re all just… gone, like that.”
“Better for you, isn’t it?” Said Koh. “That your rivals are gone.”
“No,” Pywel shook his head. “I had alliances and trade deals with them. I wove a web around myself and the other nobles. But that’s been upended. I have no more alliances. No more friends. Fenice has burned to the ground – who knows how many more towns will meet the same fate. And now, even fewer of the surrounding lords will see me as legitimate. I’ve lost everything, master Pendragon.”
Koh fell silent, watching as Pywel spiraled into his own thoughts, worrying and withering in the snow. He reached out and pat the boy’s shoulder several times, trying to comfort him.
“I think it’ll be alright in the end. When all is through, you’ll figure out a way to survive. That’s how it works for everyone who isn’t a noble, at least.”
“… I hope you’re right,” said Pywel. “I think I’ll try and make things right, now. I’ll devote as much time as I can to helping you get where you need to go. It’s the least I can do to thank you for saving me.”
Koh thought again to Alfred. To how close he had been to saving the servant boy when Pywel pulled him away. He sighed and shook his head to dismiss the thought. It was stupid to consider changing the past. Only the choice to be better and move forward remained.
“What will you do with Pedryvan, once you return home?” Asked Koh. He didn’t want to think about what could have been.
“Nothing,” said the younger. “It likely doesn’t stand any longer. I’m the eldest of my siblings, but why would they have any reason to believe I’m alive? They’ve probably torn the town to pieces trying to claim it for themselves.”
“… I see,” said Koh quietly. He looked down at the drawing he’d made made. The wolves of the Pedryvan family…
He reached down with his own finger, and drew an image of a dragon, smooth, long, flowing lines contrasting the harsh and angular fur of the beast Pywel had drawn. They faced one another, snarling together. The dragon’s claw rested atop the wolf’s raised paw.
“… You don’t have to, Lord Pendragon,” said Pywel.
“You’ve lost as much as anyone else at that banquet, Pywel,” said Koh. “I’ve spent this much time treating you like an imbecile who doesn’t know how the world works. I knew you went through the same thing I did – you were sitting beside me. I just don’t think I wanted to acknowledge it.”
“… It was terrifying, wasn’t it? Seeing them all burn…”
“It was,” said Koh. “I see it happen again every time I close my eyes. Again, and again, and again… I watch them all burn.”
“… Me too.” Said Pywel. “I couldn’t find Hanes in the last few seconds. Don’t know why I even looked for him. Some… horrible instinct, maybe, to watch him die. Maybe I wanted to make sure he would be okay. I knew he wouldn’t, though.”
“We do things that don’t make sense, sometimes. Like treat our traveling companions like fools for their upbringing.”
“I don’t blame you. I would have never known the world was really like this, if I had stayed in comfort.”
“Well,” said Koh. “What matters is that you’ve learned more about the world around you. You’ve grown since then.”
“It took the world burning down around me for it to happen,” he scoffed.
“Sometimes the forest has to burn for new growth to come up.”
“… Suppose it does,” said Pywel, looking to the drawings in the snow between them, Koh’s much more elegant in form than his own. He buried his chin again in his knees.
From behind the tree they both leaned against, Koh heard a deep, rhythmic snuffling. For a moment, he presumed it must have been a deer searching for food buried in the snow, until it grew nearer and lower.
A hot cloud of air washed over Koh’s shoulder. He tensed immediately. Brunhild and Taliesin both looked up and froze. Brunhild pulled a knife from her belt.
“Koh, Pywel, both of you get over here. An’ move slow,” she said, keeping her voice level and calm, though her eyes betrayed a fear Koh knew well. The same fear he saw in her emerald gaze when Eir had a blade to his throat.
“The hells is a bear doing awake in the middle of Llamrei?” Taliesin hissed out, drawing his bow.
“Must’ve been woken up by the fires around. Fenice can’t be the only town that’s burned in the last few days. The smoke an’ heat could’ve done it,” said the Weyrite woman.
Koh scrambled away through the snow without a moment’s hesitation.
White flakes began to gently fall from above, catching in Koh’s hair and melting on his skin. The bear moved past the tree, massive claws scraping lines into the snow-covered ground, leaving furrows in the powder. It sniffed, breathing in the scent of Koh and of Pywel. Deeming Koh too far away, the bear turned toward the young lord, frozen against the tree trunk.
Claws dragged across their drawings and smeared away the dragon and the wolf, the thin layer of white snow melting under the beast’s paw pads. It leaned in toward Pywel, wet nose moving as it took in the boy’s scent.
“Shoot!” Brunhild called to Taliesin.
“I can’t!” Taliesin growled. “If I hit, it might lash out at Pywel. Boy! Get away from the bear! Move slowly, alright?”
“Hit it in the heart, damn it! Aren’t you some master marksman?” Brunhild snapped.
“I won’t pierce its winter coat,” said the bowman. “Not from this angle. Pywel, gods damn it, get out of the way!”
Regardless of their shouts, the boy remained frozen in fear, staring into the eyes of the bear.
Koh felt a sudden urge to help, to run at the beast and take its attention from the helpless noble beside it. As that desire welled inside his chest, an unwelcome presence stirred in his bones.
Another consciousness pushed at the back of his eyes and shoved him aside in his own mind. The spirit of Khrysaor, filled with fire and rage, awakened in his veins. He tensed as it tried to take over, every muscle freezing.
He tried to resist, to little avail. The raging spirit of the dragon god proved too powerful. Instead his body heaved and convulsed, falling into the snow. It melted around him as his blood rose to a furious boil.
His flesh began to tear itself away, thick scales growing in its place along his legs and arms, the back of his neck, and his cheeks. He felt his canine teeth elongate and sharpen into the crushing fangs of the red king. The skin along his back shredded itself to ribbons, flaying to nothing to accommodate the growth of wings and a thick, scaled tail. He dropped to all fours in the snow, snarling with rage. His vision blurred and eyes unfocused as he tried and failed to regain control. Blood dripped from his ears and nose as his body broke inside and out, an ill-fitting vessel for the red dragon.
The bear looked up to the frenzied Koh and turned to face him, claws braced in the snow. Then the beast reared up onto its hind quarters, a full nine or more feet in height. Its jaws parted and it loosed a roar at the half-dragon.
Koh growled, legs bracing into the snow before he flung at the bear, claws extended. He grasped onto the creature’s front, talons digging into thick fur. His tail lashed and wings splayed out wide to keep his balance.
His armored tail swept to one side as the bear turned to throw him off, and slammed into Pywel’s cheek, throwing the boy to the ground. The beast then fell back to its feet and pushed Koh into the snow beneath it. Koh’s eyes flitted to each side, frantic, trying to make sense of his surroundings. As Khrysaor awakened uncontrolled inside his body, he found himself struggling to keep consciousness. A single mortal vessel struggled to contain the god’s soul.
He struck out with talons against the bear, and again dug harmlessly into its fur. He bared pointed teeth and growled. The bear reared up onto hind paws, forepaws coming together so it might fall back down and crush Koh beneath it with its weight.
A ball of snow struck the creature in the eyes and knocked it off-balance. Koh writhed out from underneath it. He flipped back onto all fours, ready to attack again.
A sweeping kick struck him firmly between the ribs. Brunhild’s boot collided with his chest with a crack, and Koh’s breath left him all at once. His form lifted from the ground with the force of the strike and barreled across the snow, his form landing in a tangled heap of wings and limbs across the clearing.
