Dormancy, p.26
Dormancy, page 26
part #1 of Khrysaor's Name Series
From the other side then, a white shape launched out of the swirling storm clouds, and sharp claws latched onto Koh’s shoulders. They pulled at his armor, yanking one of his massive pauldrons aside so white needle teeth might bury themselves in the scales of Koh’s shoulder.
The sharp fangs of the white dragon buried themselves deep into his flesh and he cried out with a roar. Blinding flame spilled forth from his open maw and scorched against Versa’s beating wings as the two of them spiraled through the air, Koh feeling Versa’s fangs drive into him. Pain and cold winter’s breath spread through his veins from where the other’s teeth pierced him, biting fiercer than winter ever could hope to. He writhed and roared in anger. Down below the clash of metal upon metal and the roar of battle reached his ears.
A thought of Taliesin passed through his mind’s eye, the man he loved fighting fiercely to drive back the army of Dúin, and another roar ripped from Koh’s throat.
In a frenzy, he turned in the air. Heat spread through his veins from his heart, and he forgot for a moment the pain he felt. He flung out a wing and the wind spun the two of them so Koh might come out on top. Claws latched deeply into Versa and held the white dragon in place, his own unarmored scales folding like paper underneath the iron grip of the red dragon.
Using the weight from the armor that covered his skin and the thick scales crowning his kingly form, he pushed Versa down through the air, folding his wings in to become a weight that would only push the other dragon down through the sky.
They breached the clouds again, trails of vapor clinging to them as they plummeted, Versa scratching uselessly and frantically at Koh’s scales and armor, hissing in fear and hatred. Koh could have sworn for only a moment that the other dragon had formed words, but he did not want to acknowledge them. He did not hear them – only the whistling of the wind in his ears as they fell earthward.
The ground rushed up to meet them as they fell, and Koh felt the crunch of bone underneath him as Versa struck the hard stone of the cliffs of Stoven Keep, and his body gave under the pressure. The white dragon crumpled under the red dragon, and Koh lost his grip. Koh’s own body flung across the field, away from the cliffs the Keep sat inside of, and he tumbled across the battlefield, his shoulder giving in pain, his bad leg twisting again underneath him even in the dragon’s form.
He pushed himself to his feet and watched as Versa, thoroughly broken upon impact, pulled himself up, limping terribly with eyes narrowed at the red dragon.
Versa turned, his body trembling in the rain as he stared down Koh, and threw himself inside of the Keep. He broke open the gates with the force of his already battered body and disappeared into the darkness of the dusty throne room.
Koh limped forward to follow as the war raged behind him on the field outside the Keep.
As he too disappeared into the darkness and quiet of the untouched throne room, he felt a sense of calm fall over him, as if the gods themselves watched him here. His draconic form melted away from around him, until only a small, injured man, limped across the long throne room, lit from behind through the shattered gates. His sword dragged behind him, held in his good hand, his other arm limp beside him as he dragged himself across the chamber.
He faltered with every new step in pain, the scrape of metal behind him the only sound that echoed through these hallowed stone halls from the tip of Dyrnwyn. The black blade glinted white as a flash of lightning illuminated the battlefield behind him. The crack of thunder drowned out the sounds of battle, and the ringing in his ears deafened the red dragon as he came upon the crumpled body of Versa Fensalir.
Versa lay in the center of the room, his wheezing breaths cutting through the silence. Dust stirred around him, illuminated lightly like swirling snow gently laid upon his delicate, bloodstained flesh.
The white prince lay in a pile of crumpled disarray. His hair, long and white and icy-blue in shadow, splayed around him in a fan of unruly threads. His robes had been torn and shredded, his limbs broken at unnatural angles around him.
Koh breathed out, a great effort in every heaving breath, as he stood over the broken and battered body of the ice Prince, and with his bad leg, he pushed at Versa’s shoulder to roll the prince over onto his back.
Versa gave a groan of pain, his expression turning to something more vulnerable and pained, only for half a second. He gasped in agony, but did not move from underneath Koh as the two of them stood there, at the end of everything. Koh raised Dyrnwyn and pressed the tip of the blade gently to Versa’s chest, waiting there, hesitant to plunge the blade into the prince and finish his task.
“You… hesitate,” Versa spat, coughed, and spluttered the words. Each breath came as an effort for the white dragon as he lay there, already dying. Koh’s own shoulder dripped dark crimson blood onto the dusty floor of the silent Keep. The steady drops set a drumbeat that echoed loud in Koh’s ears, the drums of war that pulsed in his own veins deafening him to everything but the sound of the other dragon’s voice.
“… I don’t wish for this to end in death,” said Koh, though he stood now over the dying body of Versa. The question no longer was if Versa would die, but if he would die slowly and suffer here, or if Koh would drive his blade through the man’s heart and free him from the pain. “You could do so much if you lived.”
“You know as well as I do that was no longer possible from the moment we met,” Versa sneered, though he spoke now less as if this was predestined, and as if he had written his own unfortunate fate. He now took responsibility for it.
“Versa,” Koh said, his sword hand trembling, his entire body threatening to give out underneath him. “I don’t want to kill you.”
“You don’t have the strength to regardless, whelp,” said Versa.
“… What will happen, if I kill you?”
“You will lose the power of Khrysaor and become a weak merchant again, and nothing more,” said the Prince. “One dragon cannot exist without the other. I learned this many years ago.”
“You knew I lived from the beginning, then?”
“I did. And I chose to ignore it. I thought you did not care about this world.”
“I didn’t, for a very long time,” admitted Koh.
“Yet you’ve come this far,” spat Versa.
“…What would you have done if you had killed me and lost the power of Llamrei?”
“I would have continued my rule as a prince. I had the power to rule already without the assistance of the dragon’s spirit. You, on the other hand, do not.”
“That is true…” Koh said. He lifted his blade and removed it from Versa’s chest. It clattered to the ground, and Koh collapsed before Versa, weak and breathing heavily. Both dragons bled together before one another, speaking on equal footing. Both weak, both desperate, both afraid.
“Everything sits on the edge of collapse, and when I die, nothing will remain. You won’t be a king anymore. You’ll just be some idiot wearing a medallion you have no proof that you earned.”
Versa coughed. Koh raised a hand to place upon his chest to comfort him. The prince shot the red dragon a look.
“Don’t.”
Koh let his hand fall, instead placing it back upon Dyrnwyn’s hilt.
“I have enough companions and friends that I have made upon this journey to trust with rebuilding,” Koh whispered, his voice lost to the wide, empty void of Stoven Keep. He looked up at the great tapestries of the dragons that hung above the thrones, moth-eaten and dust-covered from many thousands of years of neglect and disuse. The thrones themselves had great cracks across their stone surfaces – the seat of the white dragon nearly split in two after so long.
“So, you intend to finish me here, and then pass the job to them?” Versa coughed again.
“I do,” said Koh.
“You’ll be nothing when this ends.”
“That’s not true.”
He stood again with great effort, trembling with every movement and the effort it took. Then, he raised his blade, and pressed its tip against Versa’s chest once more.
“You can’t kill a man,” the shattered figure of the prince mocked. Even with broken limbs and grievous wounds, he taunted Koh with his death. “You don’t have the strength.”
Koh adjusted his grip upon the blade’s hilt, gathering his nerve.
“I have the strength to live, and the strength to set you free.”
Silence filled the space between them. Another distant rumble of thunder shook the pillars of the Keep. Dust stirred around the two figures, still as statues in the pale light that reached within.
“You don’t have to suffer any longer, King Versa Fensalir.”
With a deep breath to steady himself, then, Koh drove the black blade in his hand through the prince’s chest. It slid between his ribs, into his heart. Red stains spread across his robes, reaching out from Dyrnwyn to claim as much as they could, before Koh’s knees again gave out underneath him.
He cried there, kneeling over the body of Versa, still holding tightly to his blade. It was over, yet he cried and did not stop. He could not. He sobbed until he had no more strength left in him to, until every bit of fire in his bones had extinguished and left him a mess of ashes and tears, alone now in the throne room he had been once promised.
It had been so easy, to kill Versa. Versa died beneath him as he sobbed, and as the wings on his back and the tail that waved behind him turned to ash, and as his legs twisted back into human shape. The crown of horns along his forehead and the scales along his arms did not fade. The fire burning in his chest weakened, the light in his veins grew dim, and the soul of the dragon inside of him fell asleep.
Versa’s pale skin turned slowly to stone. As his body stiffened and the soul of Llamrei died inside the prince’s chest, Koh took his hands and crossed them over his chest, then closed the prince’s eyes. He made him look… peaceful.
For what felt like eternity, Koh Pendragon knelt over the body of Versa and cried, until there were no more tears left in him to shed.
The sound of footsteps echoed through the halls of the Keep behind Koh, followed by the rattle of armor.
“Koh…?” The voice of Taliesin sounded behind him from the broken-in doors of the throne hall. Koh looked up, hands clutched together close to his chest.
“… Taliesin,” he whispered.
The taller man moved across the room toward Koh. Behind him in the entryway, all rubble and broken stone, moved in several other shadows. Several roc-riders, a few of the remaining armored bears, and a number of soldiers.
“Their ranks broke ten minutes ago. I think they sensed the shift in the air.” Taliesin knelt beside the smith, placing a hand upon his shoulder. “Are you… okay?”
“I’m fine,” Koh said quietly. His eyes fell to the frozen body of Versa beside him.
“You did the right thing,” said Taliesin.
“I don’t know if I did. In the end, there wasn’t much of a difference between us.”
“You had more light in your heart than he ever did,” said Taliesin. “Don’t put yourself down so much.”
“Did I, Taliesin? Did I, truly?”
He felt himself be pulled up and forward, into an embrace by the bowman. Taliesin buried his nose in Koh’s hair and squeezed him tightly.
“I wouldn’t have fallen in love with a man like Versa. I wouldn’t have stood by his side as I did until the end as I have. You had a light about you that gave me joy. The same for Brunhild, and for all those around you. Lord Eywell too, for as long as he lived.”
Koh felt tears stinging at the corners of his eyes again, but they did not fall. He didn’t let them. He had no more tears to cry, and the burning in his chest was no longer one of magic, or one of pain, but of hope and love, and a genuine kindness that spread warm fingers through his veins.
He sighed and nodded. Then, he reached to pull his blade from the still, cold chest of Versa. It slid out easily, the blood of the Prince slipping from its black surface soundlessly, staining the ice blue dress the Prince had worn to his death. Koh breathed deeply in and placed the tip of the sword into the tile to push himself up to his feet, muscles straining with the movement. Fatigue dragged his bones down, heavily pulling at his body, desiring him to fall to the ground alongside the man he had killed.
His resolve was stronger than that.
He put his other arm around Taliesin’s shoulders, and the two of them began to hobble back toward the great gates of Stoven Keep, now destroyed, brought down to nothing more than rubble.
At the entryway, among the soldiers there, stood Mairsile, the queen of Tero-Brun. She knelt to the former dragon, and Koh shook his head.
“Don’t kneel for me,” he said softly.
“I want to,” she said.
“Friends do not kneel for friends,” said Koh, and she stood.
He leaned his weight all upon his good leg and untangled himself from Taliesin. Then, he held out his hand to Mairsile. In his curled fingers, he held the wrought metal medallion of Glyn Pendragon.
“Lord Pendragon,” Mairsile said. “You know that you are meant to be the one to rule Albion now, don’t you?”
“I don’t have the power of Khrysaor,” he said softly. “It was never meant to be a ruling power. Khrysaor… helps. It assists where it is needed, and then it leaves. I came to you to aid you in defeating Versa, and now that the deed is done, I’ll return home. That’s where I belong. I’m not a politician or a man of particularly powerful words. I’m simple. I favor the running water, the smell of candles and pine and petrichor, and the warmth of a small home.”
“You’ve done all you were meant to, then,” she said, and stood to accept the medallion. “I see. We’ll finish things here, and then escort you home.”
“It’s been a journey I don’t believe I’ll ever forget.” He bowed his head before leaning back onto Taliesin.
“May I come home with you?” Taliesin asked softly.
Outside on the fields of battle, the sounds of the retreating army could be heard, their morale broken as they felt the life of their prince end in the Keep, the atmosphere changing to the favor of the Ochren army.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Koh said gently.
Taliesin nodded. His hands wrapped around Koh’s waist then, and lifted him up into the air, bringing him to rest astride a black horse in royal-looking barding. The one Taliesin had ridden into battle, it seemed. Mairsile stood and showed the medallion to the soldiers around them, and each bowed in turn.
She mounted an armored bear, and with that, she and her forces left. Taliesin pulled himself up onto the horse Koh sat upon.
“Do you think you made the right decision, leaving rebuilding in her hands?”
“If there’s anyone I think that could lead three countries as one, it would be Mairsile Blacke. She’s led Tero-Brun for all these years. She’s capable, I know it.”
“You could’ve led. Even without the spirit of Khrysaor.”
“I didn’t want to. I didn’t grow up in that life. It wasn’t my duty to lead, in the end. I just had to guide those who were suited to it to the place they needed to be. I led them here, and now my job is finished.”
“So, then you’ll leave this in their hands from here out?”
Koh held in his hand Dyrnwyn, loosely looking at the blade, and then pulled it up to sheathe the black bastard sword.
“I’ll hang this over a hearth as a reminder of what has happened here. What I made possible for them. And from here on, I’ll trust them to take care of what needs to be done. Aeronwen would make a wonderful captain of the Ochren armies, if Mairsile needs retire from it as the new Queen. That man from before – Vortigen – he’s trustworthy and knows his enemies well. Daven will be an excellent advisor, with as deep a knowledge of history as he has. And I can imagine a need for Tem and her Scrappers now that we’ve no more wars to fight.” Koh smiled, shuddering softly in his seat. Now that his adrenaline began to fade, he felt the pain of his wounds fully. “They have no need of a smith with no power and no knowledge of politics.”
Taliesin nodded and spurred forward the horse they both sat astride, and it began to move from the empty Keep, out onto the fields outside, the gentle rain falling upon them and the flowing golden grass. The clouds broke above, and rays of soft orange light struck upon the field, littered with bodies of both armies and stained with blood far below. Across the grass, the Ochren army could be seen chasing down the remnants of the soldiers of Dúin, shouting and cheering, whooping and hollering that their tyrannical Prince had died.
Koh smiled softly.
“You know – where has Brunhild gone?”
“A roc rider fell in battle, but the roc was left unharmed. She took to the sky.” Taliesin pointed up into the clouds, where the rocs twisted midair, their riders raining down arrows. Among them, a white bird rode, a fiery red-haired rider atop it.
“It suits her,” Koh laughed as the two of them moved aside, away from the battlefield, up and up the ridge until they passed the ruined city outside the Keep, watching the two armies recede in the distance.
“Does she know we’re leaving?”
“I’m sure she’ll be told,” Taliesin said with a chuckle. “She isn’t tied to us, you know. You don’t have to keep track of her. She’s a grown woman with her own life and priorities. She’s here for her country, not for you.”
“I know that. I just wanted to tell her we’re alright.”
“She’ll receive a letter in the mail soon enough, I’m sure. Would you like for her to visit?”
“I’d like to ask her to be present when we wed.”
“When we wed? Moving a little quickly, aren’t you?”
“Everything has for these past few months. Would you consider this my proposal?” Koh laughed, though exhaustion wore him down heavily. He leaned back into Taliesin as the rain began to lighten, the clouds above parting to allow them both to be bathed in the sun’s golden evening rays.
“Would you consider this my acceptance?” Taliesin said, putting an arm around Koh as they rode, back toward Berdrin, and toward home.
