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Chapter 28: Roars and Whispers
(Commander Dario Langham)
Dario tapped his fingers on the window sill. His eyes were squinted against the midday sun, staring intently in the distance, west of the city, where the red forest began. He had climbed up to his chambers in the castle's tower for a better view, his heart beating with nervous anticipation.
Still, even from this height, he could see nothing unusual. Instead, he could easily see his own face mirrored in the large window glass. It was a single pane for the whole window; quite the extravagance. After all, these were the chambers of the city's former king. They were his now, though he had not demanded them. Eremar, the current king of Erfar, had assigned them to him, after promoting him to commander and tasking him with safeguarding the northern provinces. The appointed Earl of the Tinasi province hardly ever stayed in Tinas, so it was expected of Dario to take residence in the tallest tower himself, as the highest authority currently in the city.
This did not mean Dario liked these chambers. Reports took too long to get up here, and the food would always arrive cold. He preferred spending most of the time in the castle's lower halls, closer to the soldiers. In fact, he would have rather stayed in the barracks, eating in the mess halls, but his station did not allow him to mingle amongst the lower ranks too often.
Nonetheless, the old tower (the only one that had completely survived the annexation of Tinas into Erfar three generations past) did provide a good view of the surrounding lands. It was still not enough to see how his orders were currently being carried out. The forest was too far, too dense, too curved with hills. Unable to see much else whilst waiting, Dario studied his own reflection in the window.
He could see his own worry on his hardened face. Had his subordinates seen it too? He needed to look confident in moments like this. He sighed and pulled back his brown hair from his forehead. He shaved his face daily, but he always kept his wavy hair at shoulder length. It was an effective way to shield his neck from the cold, but also a habit from his soldiering days, as longer hair made helms and helmets feel more comfortable.
Dario squinted again, and saw wrinkles form around his eyes. He looked older than his thirty-three years, he knew, but he did have the experience and skills to back up his seasoned looks. He had seen more battles than most, despite his specialty currently laying in war-strategy and training.
In fact, taught to fight all his youth by elite warriors, Dario was also a learned man, tutored by competent truths-masters, which had made him the perfect choice for commander of the king's northern army, although, at first, it had also made it harder for him to gain the respect he needed from his new, northern subordinates. Soldiers shared little love for scholars of any kind, whether they could hold a sword or not. Dario had learned this very early on in his life.
That might have been the third reason why Dario kept his hair so long, against the current fashion, which called for very short-cut hair in men, sometimes even shaved at the sides, perhaps as an attempt to resemble some of the Tarbeni Windblades, who were known for shaving parts of their heads, if not all of them. Instead, Dario hoped his scruffier, irreverent looks helped the soldiers see he cared little for fashions, traditions, or reputation. He had never concealed his disapproval for such things as appearances, fame, or even frivolous courtly matters, and especially the politicking that came with them. That was why he had always steered clear from those topics with the city council, and while this had probably made him silently unpopular among the common people, he did not particularly care.
Dario did however value the trust of his men, so he always dressed as a soldier, even though his padded gambeson and partial plate and mail were not the best choice for the long hours of issuing orders and sitting around map-covered desks. They were still more comfortable than full-plate armor, of course, and appropriate enough for the times he was required to ride somewhere.
Those occasions, sadly, were only too rare. He could hardly recall the last time he had taken Ruar out of the stables.
Dario sighed, longing for his horse. Did he actually hate his job? He was not sure. On some days, he could see how indispensable he was. There were few men of his expertise in these northern provinces. Tinas needed men like him to defend itself from the looming Kadali threat. Yet, on most mornings, the prospect of going over rations, siege scenarios, barge schedules, supply routes, and empty scout reports, was, at the very least, unexciting.
Today, however, either for good or ill, was not such a boring day. A dragon had been spotted. An actual dragon, of those that were said to fly the northernmost skies of the world. It was reportedly sleeping in the red forest, probably injured. Most shockingly, it was wearing a saddle; at least that's what the scout had claimed, trying to hold back more than a hint of hysteria.
The novelty of the notion would have made this very exciting news, were it not for the possible implications. If Kadal's high inquisitor had somehow managed to arm himself with dragon-riding scouts, messengers, or, even worse, warriors, then, as Dario himself had put it to the scout reporting the discovery:
"Not just this city, but the whole kingdom is doomed to fall. And the Kadali don't take us 'pagans' as prisoners, so we either start praying to the ploughing 'one true god' of the west, or we are dead men already."
It did not help that the Kadali's fervent doctrine claimed their warrior prophet would one day descend from the heavens on a 'winged horse,' which was likely another word for dragon.
Dario had to capture that sleeping beast at all costs, find its rider, and question him with all means necessary. He had to find out how many more the inquisitor had, where, and what their abilities were. Such opportunity was not going to arise again. Questions like: 'How did the Kadali cross the Wicked Waters to get to those dragon-infested islands?' or 'How did they manage to control the legendary beasts?' would all come later.
Most importantly, he had to keep this a secret from the people. If news of dragon riders in the enemy's ranks were to suddenly spread, Dario was sure half of his own seasoned men were going to desert, not to mention the new recruits or the levied men from the surrounding cities and holds. People would start mass-converting to the One's religion out of fear, and, soon enough, the Kadali Inquisition would be greeted in the capital's throne room with groveling bows.
Allowing a small church of the 'One' in Tinas had already been an absurd concession to the few domesticated believers of that religion, who currently lingered in Erfar. They were probably no threat as they were, and Tinas, being so far from the capital, did pride itself in its multicultural and lax nature, but the kingdom could not allow itself to be wholly overtaken by those monotheists, and especially by the inquisitor who had made perfect puppets of them.
Hence, with the utmost urgency, Dario had given the order to Loben, captain of his special forces. A troop of fifteen highly trained men had been immediately dispatched to bind the beast, hide it until nightfall, then have it stealthily carted to the castle's dungeons under the cover of darkness. Among the soldiers, there was also one half-Viking, who claimed having experienced a few close encounters with the winged beasts during his youth, when he still lived with his Viking mother in the southern Archipelago.
At first, Dario had considered sending every man with Viking blood he had at his disposal to capture the dragon, but that would have defeated the purpose of secrecy. Besides, Dario did not possess actual dragon-fighters; those people lived so far north, that stories about them were often met with skepticism.
Currently, there was little else Dario could do, other than wait for reports. He could not go himself, much as he wanted to. The commander could not leave the city without raising questions.
Dario tapped his fingers on the window sill again. He huffed deeply. His heart was drumming in his gut. Had he given the right orders? Had the dragon flown away? Had he sent men to their deaths? The stories claimed it took an average of three trained Vikings to kill a dragon once grounded. The Erfari might have lacked the northerners' mythical brawn and experience, but fifteen of Loben's best men had to be more than enough to capture a single dragon, especially if injured.
There was a sound of rushing steps. Then the door burst open without a knock.
Dario did not mind. He immediately barked: "Report!"
"We caught it!" The young man exclaimed, sweat beading on his forehead. He had clearly rushed his way back to the city and up the tower's stairs. He was one of the four scouts in the troop, likely the greenest. "We have secured the beast," he added, hissing the words, remembering the demand for secrecy; not that there was anyone else in the tower to hear them.
"Where is it now?"
"In the old Marosi barn, as commanded. The wagon is now being modified to load the beast." The scout took a few breaths. "Nobody saw us."
"Good," Dario breathed out with some relief, "that's good. Found the rider?"
The scout shook his head, wheezing.
"Any dead?"
The young man hesitated. Had it been too much to hope?
"Answer the question, soldier."
"Four… dead."
"Four!?" Dario shouted. "Four dead?!"
The scout nodded, then added: "A few others sport injuries, Captain Loben too, nothing fatal, except perhaps for Nakis. He has burns that will be hard to explain, commander. Assuming he survives them."
Dario ran a hand through his hair, groaning. "Burns alone are easier to explain than four sudden dead men with both burns and teeth marks on them... Shit! Did any of them have families in Tinas?"
"Can't say for sure, commander. Private men they were."
"Shit…" Dario pinched the bridge of his nose. He paused to think. "You'll conceal their bodies for now. We can't let anyone else know about this. Let darkness fall deep before you enter the city. I'll make sure the watch is less alert for the night. You make sure the beast makes no sound as you carry it here."
The young scout chuckled nervously, unease plain on his face. "Truly, its roar..." he shivered, "it can be quite... noticeable. The beast... it's like nothing I've ever seen." He trailed off, then collected himself. "But we've already muzzled it near to strangling. It melted one of the chains with its flame, but we did it. Can't move an inch no more."
"Good. Go back now. Return with reports if anything, anything, happens; so much as a curious child asks about what you are doing, I'll want to know. Understood?"
"Yes, commander," the youth finally said, and bowed.
Dario nodded, and allowed him to leave, before he too descended the tower. He needed to talk to the high constable, urgently.
It was like death made flesh. Sleeker than a Tarbeni steel sword, more sinuous than a viper, more frightening than a pack of wolves, stronger than any bear, and deadlier than all those things put together, even without considering its fire. And, of course, it could also fly.
At first, when they had lifted the huge canvas from the cart, Dario had been surprised to find it smaller than he had imagined. He had only needed a second glance, however, to understand how powerful the black beast truly was.
And yet, there was a brown leather saddle on its back, now half shredded from the fight, but very much manmade. Despite the darkness, Dario could see it underneath the overabundance of straps and chains wrapped around the dragon, just as he could see the strange prosthetic on its tail, which was also torn to bits, its iron rods bent.
Was the prosthetic and mutilation of the tailfin part of the taming process? Dario wondered. What had the Kadali discovered? And how? Dragons never flew south of the Wicked Waters. Had something changed? Or could this be the only dragon rider the Kadali had? If so, then why risk sending him as a scout? It made no sense. They knew the red forest was constantly patrolled. No enemy scout could ever be that sloppy, especially one with such a precious mount.
What was this all about? Who was the man riding the beast? And how dangerous would such a man be? Likely more than any of the Windblades. Perhaps stronger than any Viking. Not very smart, though. Still, if the Kadali had more such men, then…
We are going to lose this war, Dario thought grimly to himself. We are going to lose all wars.
They had to capture that man at all costs. It had been an absurd stroke of luck to find the dragon sleeping on its own. They had to seize this chance, find that rider, and question him. Would such a man bend to torture? Where could he be hiding? Had he realized his dragon had been taken? Was he still alive?
Dario considered his next commands. He was going to have the whole forest, city, and surrounding lands combed for suspicious figures. He should have given the order already, but he had to be careful. He needed to avoid raising questions. They had to keep the situation utterly secret.
In fact, hard as it had been, Dario had insisted upon carting the dragon through the narrow corridors of the lowermost dungeons, to finally cram it into the deepest cell they had, hoping to keep it as hidden as possible. No one was to enter the dungeons unless Dario himself instructed them. Even the wine cellars were off limits, lest the sound of the beast thrashing its chains raised suspicion. And, of course, those who knew already were to remain tight-lipped about the whole thing.
The dragon opened its eyes. Flickering torchlight made them shine green in the darkness, except for the slitted pupils, which narrowed as they fell upon Dario's figure across the iron bars.
Alone, Dario felt a powerful urge to take several steps back. With an effort, he held his ground. If there were Vikings who regularly fought such foes without flinching, then so could he not soil himself at the sight of a caged one.
The dragon produced a low growl, which was all it could do, muzzled as it was. It then puffed dark smoke through its nostrils, and the sight made Dario shiver.
So they truly can breathe fire.
The dragon glared sharply at him, but Dario did not look away. He felt strangely fascinated. To think something so deadly could be so beautiful. At least, this dragon was. Dario had seen imported dragon skulls from the Archipelago, even skeletons, and none had suggested a figure as elegant as that of the beast before him. Frightening, yes, but not like this. Was this dragon somehow special? How had the Kadali gotten their hands on such a weapon?
"Hello beastie," Dario said.
The dragon narrowed its eyes, then looked around, searching, and the way its gaze moved suggested an intelligence that made Dario's breath catch. He did take a step back then. Were dragons smarter than mere horses?
Dario tried to recall some Kadali and asked: "Mùssola thàhta?"
'Where is your master?'
The dragon showed no recognition. The rumors suggesting they were mindless beasts were probably accurate. Still, those eyes… Dario was going to see those eyes again, he was sure of it.
In my next nightmare.
Dario felt nervous laughter bubble in his gut, accompanied by a wave of nausea. His job had suddenly gotten much harder, perhaps impossible. What would the king say? How would his men react? What could he do not to smother their courage before this new foe?
Regardless, I have orders to give.
Dario took a deep breath.
One step at a time. And may Tarsim keep Murasil from us for a while longer.
"Damn you, Loben, it's been a fucking week!" Dario growled, shaking his head and gazing into the flames, one hand on his hip, the other leaning on the frame of the walled fireplace. "I've practically handed you the city watch, and told the captains to keep their eyes peeled. Everyone knows something's brewing now, and they keep asking, asking, asking. I was taught to dodge swords, not questions! I'm no sweet talker like Fillatis. They think I'm going mad! The warden wants to know why he can no longer access the castle's cellars. And the constable… oh, the constable. Can't take a shit without him knocking at the privy's door. He thinks I'm plotting to seize full control of the city watch, which, truth be told, I almost have, to help your search. Now give me something, a rumor, a trail, anything."
He sighed and fully turned to Loben. He was receiving the captain's fruitless report in one of the lower meeting halls of the castle. The doors of the room were closed, guarded by trusted men. Rumor of the dragon had not yet spread, but Dario was close to giving up all secrecy, the impatience gnawing at him. He needed that rider found and questioned immediately.
Loben stood in the middle of the room, perfectly centered with the huge, red woven carpet. His posture was straight, his hands confidently behind his back, though one was gloveless and bandaged. "We've found nothing, commander," he replied. "My men are all tirelessly scouring the forest for tracks, and the city watch is on the lookout. There's not yet been a trace. And if the rider is dead, we've not yet found the body."
Dario gritted his teeth. "A damn saddled dragon drops from the sky, and that's it?" He groaned and went back to sit at the huge rectangular table. The fireplace cracked. "How many know of the dragon already? Fifteen?"
"Fourteen men for certain. Ten of mine survived the ambush. Four more you've placed in the dungeon, to feed and keep an eye on the beast. Others might be suspecting."
"What are the odds they haven't started whispering about this to friends and family?" Dario murmured, mostly to himself.
"I'd trust my men with my life," Loben said. "Can't speak for the others."
Dario shook his head absently. "No. It doesn't matter, this can't go on any longer." He laid his hand on the table and tapped his fingers. "I'll have to send word to the king. He put me here to make decisions myself, but I can't let this out without his approval, and I can't risk him learning of this from rumors. He's not going to like this; will probably say I should have told him immediately."
"Haven't you sent word already?" Loben asked, then quickly added: "If you don't mind my asking."
Dario cast a level look at the man. "I do mind; not so much for your veiled insubordination, but for the stupidity of the question. What information would you have sent? To involve the king, we need more than questions. I had hoped to have some answers by now, but it seems we're left with no choice. And, as I cannot trust just any rider with such a message, and, even worse, a pigeon relay, I guess you'll be going to the king personally, and with all haste."
"Me...? To Nym?!" Loben nearly squealed, incredulous. He did not seem pleased with the prospect of travelling to the capital, especially in a hurry. It usually took about twenty days to make the distance at a normal pace, changing plenty of horses along the King's Road. Doing it in less required perfect weather, and fresh, strong mounts at every possible horse post. Doing it in half the time was possible, but it entailed galloping a few good horses to death along the road, not to mention the saddle sores.
"Shouldn't we tell the Earl first?" Loben tried.
"I answer only to the king," Dario retorted gravely. "Besides, I wouldn't trust that profligate dimwit of an Earl with my chamber pot. Do you even know where he is? Even his servants can't keep track of where he'll be throwing the next ball or feast. It's quite a blessing he dislikes the smell of the city if you ask me. No, you'll be going to the king yourself. And pray I have this whole thing sorted out before your return. I want you back in three weeks."
Loben's eyes bulged at the demand, but he did not have time to complain, as someone knocked at the door.
"Enter," Dario shouted.
One of the guards stepped in.
"Apologies, commander. Another man of the city watch. Said he has word from the high constable. Should I let him through? He's quite insistent."
Dario rolled his eyes, then rubbed them, sighing once more. "Fine, let's be done with it."
The door closed, then reopened almost immediately as a tall, lanky man entered, full plate of armor gleaming with raindrops. He removed his helm, gave a small bow and said: "Lord Commander." He then noticed Loben and, bowing again, added: "Captain Parsin."
"What news from the constabulary?" Dario asked, forcing a fake smile. "How is our Lord Forinar today?"
"The lord high constable wishes to review his invitation for a meeting."
Dario raised an eyebrow. "I suspect you mean 'renew' his invitation?"
The armored man tensed, looked up, and gave a nod. "Yes, commander."
Dario turned to Loben, offered him a long, suffering glare, and said: "I wish I was the one going for a long ride." He then looked back at the constable's man. "So, does this mean the lord constable has any news for me regarding our search?"
The man seemed taken aback for a moment, then replied politely: "I don't presume to know the lord constable's business."
"It is your business too. Have you got nothing to report? Seen anything suspicious?"
"Uhh… afraid not, commander. We are all looking for the Kadali spy, but none seem to have turned up yet."
"Kadali... spy?" Dario asked, shifting his eyes back to Loben. Was that what Captain Loben had told the men of city watch? It was probably a good guess, and something most soldiers would have bought without further question, given the circumstances, but it was still rather specific.
"Is that not what we are looking for?" The armored man asked.
Dario hummed uncertainly. "Might be. Though any suspicious movements are to be reported."
"Oh…" the man hesitated a while, then finally said: "well, in that case… but no, it's nothing of import."
Dario looked back at the man with sudden expectation. "Speak freely, soldier."
The constable's man rearranged his helm under his arm. "Well… it's not really worth the commander's time. Not a threat in any way. Not really that strange even. Just happened to see him once this morning. Was talking to the men at noon and they said he keeps coming back, but, well…"
"Out with it," Dario barked. "I don't have all day."
"It's just a kid. A boy. A little pickpocket from the low city, most likely, gone a bit silly in the head. Keeps trying to come cliffside, no matter how often he's beaten and kicked away. It started at daybreak I think. They said he's been back twice since noon, all bloody and bruised. Seems not to care. Does not even try to hide. One of the patrols said the boy just rushed straight to him, yelling. The man dragged him downhill. He no longer had the heart to beat him, but the boy keeps coming back, beaten or not. The men aren't sure what to do. It's like he wants to get himself killed."
Dario frowned. "Now why would a boy try to get himself killed by the watch? What does he want in the high city? Has anyone asked him?"
"That's the thing, commander, none of the patrols speaks Viking, so we can't really tell."
"Viking?" Dario asked, his brow furrowing as the pieces of the puzzle began falling into place.
"That's what the men think, on account of the boy constantly yelling 'dreki'. Is that not the Viking word for 'dragon'?"
Dario stood up so fast, his chair fell back. He glared immediately at Loben, whose face flushed a fierce, guilty red. At least the man had the decency to keep his mouth shut. Had an excuse for his negligence escaped the captain's lips, Dario would have thrown a chair at him.
It was the armored man, however, who actually took a step back and gulped, as if preparing to receive an unexpected but violent reprimand from his superiors.
None came. The shouts were stuck in Dario's throat. His lip quivered.
Dario breathed and tried to calm himself. Finally, biting each word, he said to Loben: "I want that boy seized and brought to the dungeons immediately." His hands were trembling with rage, or relief, or both.
Loben did not even have the chance to acknowledge the order, before Dario bellowed:
"Now!"
The walls of the dungeon's wide corridors had been lined with fresh torches, which made the place feel slightly warmer than the castle's lower halls. While it wasn't cold enough to snow, the drizzling rain outside had brought a rather biting chill with it. It was midwinter after all.
Dario stepped down some stairs, then some more, descending deeper into the castle's guts. He went through a barred gate, then another, then turned left, towards a branch of the dungeons that stood in the opposite direction to where the dragon was currently kept.
Soon enough, he reached the questioning hall. It was a large vaulted chamber with two small doors along one wall, and two wide opposing entrances, one without a gate, and one with a long antechamber, its barred gate currently ajar. Dario entered from the latter. He walked the antechamber silently, but stopped just before the corner. He did not step fully inside.
Being so open, the place was not very private, but the other questioning chambers behind the smaller doors were not big enough to house all the torture contraptions that the former king of the city had enjoyed operating on his subjects, if the histories were to be believed.
Discreetly, Dario took a quick peek around the corner, and was pleased to see that Loben and his men had done their job properly this time.
The boy had already been stripped, his naked body thoroughly searched, then chained to the vertical, cross-shaped stretcher, a rather odd device that spread the limbs in all directions, like a normal cross, but which also allowed for those limbs to be pulled individually with four gears, all while standing upright. It was one of the few torture contraptions that was still functional.
Two of Loben's men were currently standing by. One was sitting on a regular stretcher, the other leaning on another, unspecified device. They were waiting, observing their new prisoner, and chatting idly. Neither of them saw or heard Dario; both had their backs to him.
He hesitated. Should he enter? Or should he stay hidden? Should he have remained upstairs? The practice of torture was somewhat frowned upon in Erfar, and it was usually delegated to officers far down the chain of command. Kings, commanders, or even captains were not supposed to directly approve or take part in such forms of interrogation, and were expected to feign ignorance whenever they were being carried out.
This was a matter of exceptional gravity, however. The possible threat could not be taken lightly.
Dario thought on this as he waited for the interrogator to arrive. He was also waiting for Loben to bring an interpreter. Dario did speak a bit of Norse himself, but not enough. If the boy was some lying Kadali, the interpreter was going to be unnecessary, but if the boy truly was a Viking, there were questions he still had to answer.
As Dario waited, he could not help but eavesdrop on the conversation between the two soldiers.
"… captain thinks he is," one man was saying, "so…"
"Nah," the second man cut in, his voice rough and hoarse. "This is a huge waste of time. What Kadali? What dragon rider? He's not even Viking if you ask me."
"Well, that's what they're saying," the first man insisted. He was the younger of the two, perhaps in his early twenties. "Besides, he does speak Viking, doesn't he?"
"Anyone can learn the language. But real Vikings are much bigger, or at least tougher. Not this one. Under all that muck, he's got skin like some fancy castle lady. Look at 'im. He's almost cute. He'd make a perfectly good wench."
The younger one snorted, chuckling. "Not with that thing between his legs."
"Only man's thing about 'im," the second man agreed. "He's still prettier than both my daughters. And an arse is always an arse. Bet he'd make the priciest little boy-whore in some desert-city pleasurehouse."
The first soldier let out an uncertain humm. "Uhh, Bren? Should I be worried? When was the last time you've been with a woman?"
"Heh!" Brennard exclaimed dejectedly. "Can't say. Wife may be dead, but two ugly daughters don't leave a man with much coin to spend." He paused, and then asked: "What in Tarsim's name do you think he's mutterin' now?"
The two guards stopped their banter. They seemed to be listening. Dario did the same. He could hear the boy mumbling in Norse. He could not catch each word, but he did hear one being repeated many times:
"Tǫnnlauss…"
Dario did not recognize it.
Was this all an act?
Making sure not to be seen by the two guards, Dario peeked around the corner again for a longer look.
The prisoner's head was lolling forward, dazed, straight auburn hair curtaining his eyes and face. From that position, only his body was visible, held up to the cross by his chained wrists, like a broken string puppet. Though he should have been expecting it, Dario frowned at the sight.
The boy was distinctly emaciated, and disturbingly young. His pale, lightly freckled skin was battered, bruised, and dirty all over, but, as the two soldiers' conversation had suggested, still too smooth for a man. Perhaps he was just slow of growth, blessed to avoid the uglier facets of awkward adolescence. His cracking voice did seem to suffer from it however, which would have been the only reliable sign of the boy's true age, if not for the wispy auburn fuzz that had begun to crown his manhood.
This lad has barely seen thirteen winters!
Could this young, gaunt boy truly be the dragon rider? Could he be a Kadali scout? Would he have given himself up if he was? Was he really an enemy of the kingdom? The notion felt suddenly contrived, but Dario had to explore all options. Boys his age were usually still training, but they could be sent to the battlefield if necessary.
Dario realized he was falling into an old habit of his, a remnant of his time in Nym, long before his promotion to commander, when it was part of his job to choose which youths were fit for war. He had taught hundreds of lads how to fight in those years, years he now remembered with a new, bittersweet fondness. That was probably why, despite the distance, Dario instinctively began assessing the young prisoner's build, his naked muscles, his scars.
The boy's upper body did not have the bulk for heavy weapons, but his shoulders were straight, and his proportions showed promise, assuming he was properly tutored, which had not been case. To Dario's experienced eyes, it was clear that the boy had not received any formal training.
The boy's lower body, however, told a different story. His thighs, while not bulging, were still hard with muscle, like those of a practiced cavalryman. This was all the more reason to believe he was indeed the dragon rider. Flying on those monsters probably required as much, if not more leg work than riding a horse.
Yes, with proper training, this kid could become a decent enough warrior…
Dario closed his eyes, hiding again behind the corner of the wall, sighing.
…for me to send to his death.
That was why he could no longer teach. Yes, he was a busy man, but he could have found the time. The problem was that he could not properly do his job, if he got too close to his men. He was not the kind of man who could sleep off the deaths of his own trainees or comrades. Nor, in fact, was he the kind of man who enjoyed torturing information out of starved young lads.
So... I guess I do hate this job.
Dario thumped the back of his head against the wall. He then took a deep breath, and stepped fully into the room.
Dario spent the rest of the afternoon in his chambers, mulling over his findings.
Erland (for that was the dragon rider's name) truly was a Viking. It had become quickly obvious that the boy spoke no word of Kadali or common Erfari, as he had shown no recognition of the threats he'd been made in those languages. After that, the rest of his story had been easy to confirm, particularly thanks to the interpreter, who, in a most surprising twist, had actually met the boy a week prior, in his bookbinding shop.
Apparently, Erland was a fourteen-year-old Viking from an island called Balheim. He was a blacksmith's apprentice who, having somehow befriended an injured dragon, had been forced to leave the archipelago. That explained why he had found his way to the bookbinding shop, asking for a map. No enemy spy or scout could have ever been so clumsy and unprepared. And, if all that was not enough to corroborate his story, they had found a journal on the boy, full of scribbles and sketches, most of which were of the dragon's ingenious prosthetic tail.
This whole situation was just an extraordinary, mind-boggling coincidence. But it was better this way.
Much, much better, Dario thought with another deep sigh of relief.
Safe in the knowledge that this was no Kadali threat, he decided to leave the judgement regarding the boy's and dragon's fate to the king. He certainly saw no reason to let the boy go, free to roam the kingdom's skies on the back of that terrifying weapon. They were both going to remain his prisoners for a good, long while.
Still, there was no stopping the rumors; leaks were unavoidable now, and they were soon going to ripple through the kingdom like wildfire. Too many people knew already, soldiers had died over this, and it was generally impossible to keep such secrets for long. Dario had to make sure it would all come out in a controlled way, and, to do that, he had to summon the city council.
After descending to the castle's great hall, Dario gestured for one of his officers, and told him to call for an urgent council meeting. As he watched the man run towards the gate, he saw another man enter, alone.
He was of average build, with black hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. He was also impeccably dressed; not in an ostentatious way, but his clothes were clearly of the finest cut. The man wore a dark blue, knee-long coat, with silver thread embroidered subtly at the edges, and a small amount of short grey fur, probably rabbit, lining the rim of the neck. An odd combination, which perfectly suited the odd man.
His leather boots made an elegantly pitched clopping noise on the stone floor as he approached.
Dario felt his jaw clench. He had never liked that man, but he could not send him away. While the man was not of noble blood, he had somehow made himself master of finance of Tinas, and hence a member of the very council Dario had just summoned. Not to mention the fact that he was the richest man in the city; some said richer than the Earl. He was also generously funding Dario's army, so Dario could not truly disapprove of him. He just could not abide the man's acid courtesy, or his shrewd smile, the very smile he was flaunting right now as he bowed a perfect bow and said:
"My Lord Commander."
"Fillatis," Dario almost sighed. "As always, you have suspiciously perfect timing. A paranoid man might think you have ears in the castle's walls."
Oliman Fillatis drawled affably: "Lord Langham, you offend me. I merely trade in cheese and wine, not whispers and secrets."
"Huh… So you say, and yet, to be here so quick, you must have heard something."
"Everyone with ears has heard something, my lord. But then, your men summon our dear truths-master Dàlaras as he's teaching Aticasi history to my daughter; summon him to the dungeons, no less. I've been merely connecting the dots."
"Is that so?" Dario asked with some annoyance, but no true surprise. "Tell me then, what picture have you uncovered?"
Oliman smiled his shrewd smile again. "One that might require my expertise, to become true art."
AN: The next chapter will have Hiccup's POV. We'll be having more Hiccup and Toothless chapters for a while, with the exception of one or two Berkian POVs. Still, I hope you've enjoyed this glimpse into the commander's life.
If you don't find depictions of political and military matters particularly interesting, rest assured that there won't be many more than this. From now on, we'll mostly see their consequences directly on Hiccup and Toothless. However, if you would like me to delve deeper into the political and military structure of Erfar, do let me know, though keep in mind that this story is about Hiccup and Toothless first and foremost.
NOTE TO GUEST REVIEWERS: Let me remind all guest reviewers that if you want your questions answered for certain and/or quickly, you'll have better chances by leaving a comment through an actual account on this website, or by sending me a PM, or, if you don't have an account here, by sending me an 'ask' on Tumblr. If you instead are willing to wait for the next update, and risk me forgetting about replying, at least try to use a custom name for your comment, something other than "Guest," so I can refer to you by it. I don't mind using my author notes to reply to guests' questions (if I consider the matter to be in everyone's interest), but I have no proper way to keep track of them.
Still, it goes without saying that I read all comments, and I'm grateful to all who leave them. If I could reply directly to each of you guest reviewers, I would, but that is not possible.
