Chapter 2
Lessons in Life
The ship carrying D'Argoth and his troops put into port at Fort Dragonia five days after the messenger had reached him on the rise above that border village; the mages on board the ship had made sure to put as much wind in the sails of the transport as they safely could. Since then, he had begun to hear more rumors of incredibly destructive power being wielded on the battlefield by the humans. Fortunately the news was not all bad, as the newest reports were indicating that in some instances, lightning was seen to fall among the humans as well. It seemed that the Elemental energy users on the side of the humans were beginning to reach their limits. It would only be a matter of time before they, too, were forced to abandon pursuit of such a foolish power.
The port was abuzz with activity this morning. Although D'Argoth had expected as much, it was still unusual to see so many moving about in one place; the Draconians were a long-lived race, but they were few; they did not propagate nearly as quickly as humans did. A single loss in the Draconian ranks amounted to an equivalent of almost ten men, and if there was any hope for a victory in this war, it could not wait for much longer. Longshoremen, sailors, and army soldiers all moved about their business, making as much of a point of ignoring each other as anything else. With the upcoming Raising, the mood around the docks, and more than likely everywhere else in the Sea of Eden, was tense enough to cut through with a blade. A first lieutenant strode up the dock to D'Argoth as soon as he was disembarked. The soldier informed D'Argoth that his presence was required in the palace immediately, and that a coach was waiting for him. As promised, the coach was waiting for D'Argoth at the head of the dock. A servant provided a step into the coach, and soon D'Argoth was headed for the palace.
The ride through the city was always a nostalgic one for D'Argoth. This was the town that he had grown up in, and he knew every inch of it by heart. Despite upbringing in a military family, D'Argoth, like all Draconian children, had been allowed a great deal of freedom to do as he pleased until his thirtieth naming day. Draconian society was very peaceful, and there was virtually no danger to Draconian children, even in the furthest corners of the enormous city. He saw the Crystal Spire, positioned in the center of town, and the Hall of the Scions, where the members of the Council would commune directly with the Dragon Gods when they needed guidance or advice. Multistoried, enormous houses lined the streets in the center of town, near the heart of the city's wealth. Farther out to the opposite edge of town, the sight of plainer, yet still comfortable abodes greeted him; it was in a house similar to those that he was looking at that D'Argoth had grown up. Finally, the town ended, and the road expanded. The Grand Avenue only had one destination after exiting town, and Arraketh Palace loomed fully in D'Argoth's eyes. As the coach approached the entrance, D'Argoth could see that there was a host of servants waiting at the enormous doors. Such opulence always made the military commander uncomfortable, but he realized that from even a pragmatic point of view, such displays could be useful. They inspired pride and honor in the population, and they offered the citizens a symbol of power to which they could look up.
When the coach came to a stop, one servant opened the door of the coach while another placed a stool at the ground for D'Argoth to step down onto. Instead, D'Argoth preferred to step directly down, much to the chagrin of the servant. Two of the Royal Guard, wielding deadly partisans and wary of anyone on the castle grounds, walked out of the palace to lead D'Argoth to see the king. One walked in front of him and one behind; neither spoke a word. They walked down hallway after hallway, corridor after corridor. D'Argoth once theorized that the purpose of this must have been to give the king a tactical advantage over anyone who sued for an audience; if someone was too tired to debate a point by the time he reached his opponent, then he was much easier to defeat.
The party approached the throne room, where two more guards, similarly garbed and armed, opened the doors to the inner chamber. As soon as D'Argoth stepped into the room, all four were surrounding him. It was not that they didn't trust D'Argoth – many of the Royal Guard were actually close friends of his. It was simply imprudent to take unnecessary security risks, particularly during times of war. Despite D'Argoth's relationship with most of the guards, he knew that none of them would hesitate to run him through with one of those partisans if they felt he represented a threat to the king's safety.
The throne room was an enormous enclosure, with ceilings that reached at least thirty feet into the air. Wall hangings and tapestries spanned the walls from top to bottom. Gilding was evident everywhere, and when looked at from above, the mosaic on the floor could be recognized as an enormous image of six great dragons ranging over the earth: the symbol of the power of the six Dragon Gods over the forces of nature. In sharp contrast from the rest of the throne room, the throne itself was made of wood, and not really ornate when compared to the rest of the room. Save for some scrollwork on the sides and sculpted legs, it was on the whole ordinary. Perhaps it might be fit for a well-to-do merchant, but nothing beyond that. The king had decided that comfort was of greater value in a throne than decoration.
The king, however, was not seated upon his throne at the moment. A set of double doors led out onto a large balcony outside the throne room, and it was there that D'Argoth saw King Andreth looking out over the town, to the sea beyond. He had aged considerably since the beginning of the war eight years ago. His skin had turned from a deep red to a much lighter shade, and his shoulders sagged where they had not before, as if bearing a weight much too great for them had forced them down permanently. Despite it all, Andreth's eyes still shined with an inner fire that refused to be quenched. His hearing was still sharp too, it seemed, as the king had begun speaking to him before D'Argoth realized he had been noticed.
"Are you trying to sneak up on an old man, D'Argoth? I knew your parents before you were born, and I'm sure that Zenneth taught you better manners than that."
"Forgive me, my liege. I intended no rudeness. I merely did not wish to disturb his Highness while he was in the midst of contemplation."
Andreth turned around to regard D'Argoth intently with his deep, brown eyes. D'Argoth felt as if every inch of him had just been summed up, analyzed, broken down, and reassembled all in one instant. He wondered if that was a skill unique to King Andreth, or if it was something that all leaders acquired over the course of their rule. It certainly did nothing to make him feel comfortable, but a warm grin broke out over the king's face, and D'Argoth immediately felt at ease. His father had been the First General to King Andreth two hundred years ago, when the king had only been a prince, and together they fought back the hordes that Magus had brought forth. In the final battle, it was Zenneth who dealt the killing blow to the monstrous commander of Magus' forces, sacrificing his life in the process.
Andreth's smile soon turned to an expression of profound sadness, though. The war with the humans had not only taken a toll on the monarch's physical health; there was a heavy emotional burden to be borne as well. The Dragon Gods had made it clear in no uncertain terms that mankind's threat to the harmony of the planet had reached the point where action could no longer be put off. Still, it was only natural that over the course of the conflict, in which so many lives were needlessly thrown away, for motives that many in Draconian society were seeing as increasingly suspicious, there would be doubts on the part of the person who was responsible for dealing the first blow. The king still maintained his convictions, and he had the full support of the Council, as it was they who had given the results of the communion to the king, but many of the common citizenry were beginning to question the methods being employed in dealing with the humans. After all, wasn't there some way a compromise could be reached without further bloodshed? Couldn't the humans be taught to live in harmony with the wishes of the planet? Was there truly no salvation for the progeny of Lavos?
"Humanity is threatening to overwhelm the planet, D'Argoth, and yet, I cannot find genuine fault within them of their own creation. They are like children lost in a cave, with a precipice right in front of them, and the light that would lead them to avoid the pitfalls is so bright that it will blind them if they ever look up to it. The only possible conclusion to this sad affair will be the destruction of mankind, either by our hands or their own, and the only possible saving grace is that, if we are the victors, the planet will survive. How will history judge me, D'Argoth? My hands are soaked in blood whether or not I act. I am tired; perhaps it was fate that this should happen, and yet I still look for a way out.
"I sent for you, D'Argoth, because first of all, your father was a dear friend of mine, and a valiant warrior. He saved us all at that time; I owe him my life, and you do too. I am trusting that you will succeed in your father's footsteps, with the same bravery and valor. I have faith in you D'Argoth, to do what needs to be done, and now I need your help more than ever. When we commence the Raising in the coming days, I will expect you to lead the people in the ceremony. If a fraction of your father's spirit resides within your heart, then I can rest assured that we will be successful."
D'Argoth was stunned at hearing this. The Raising was the most sacred of Draconian ceremonies, performed only in times of dire need, and the key to the ceremony was the Draconian who led the populace in the ceremony, ensuring that the life force of the people was properly channeled throughout the ritual. One missed inflection, a word stressed in the wrong place, and it could spell ruin for the entire Draconian civilization. Only a cleric of the highest order, usually one of the Council, was allowed to lead the ceremony. The idea that a common soldier, even a decorated one such as D'Argoth, should lead in the Raising was preposterous. Furthermore, D'Argoth was still far too young by Draconian standards; he was not yet three hundred years old!
"Highness, I am honored, but surely there is someone more qualified to initiate the Raising. In all the history of our people, such a thing has never been…."
"I need you to do this, D'Argoth. The people need you to do this. If I cannot escape my fate, why do you feel that you should so easily slip those same bonds?! Now I will plead with you; it is all I can do now, anyway. I believe in you, and so do the men under you. All of the merit that is yours, you have earned, unlike so many these days. I could order you as your king, but it would avail me nothing if you do not willingly perform this task, so I will ask of you once more: lead the ceremony, if for nothing else than the preservation of the memory of our people, lest we abandon the world to its own devices and become forgotten."
Andreth's eyes, so sharp just minutes ago, were now genuinely pleading with D'Argoth. He had not noticed it earlier, but those sharp eyes were in fact bordering on desperation. His father's friend, and the King of the Draconian people, had abased himself before a soldier in his service. There was no choice left.
"I will lead the ceremony, Highness; for good or ill, I will do it."
Erina sat in the classroom, carefully paying attention to the initiate of Gaspar's who was instructing the eight students from the surrounding countryside. Erina normally would be in the class back at Kajar, but special allowances had been made for her to come out and receive instruction here in the same place Aram had been assigned to. Had she been a little less talented, it would have been impossible for her to get permission, but the headmaster at the Academy wanted to indulge her greatest pupil (provided, of course, that the proximity between her and Aram wouldn't create too much of a distraction from her studies).
Additionally, the fact that this instructor had studied under one of the Three Gurus personally was almost as great an incentive for Erina to move. Very few were offered the chance to study under them; usually one particular student every twenty-odd years would prove him or herself worthy of the honor. Now the talented young man, whose name Erina discovered was Berem Macbeth, was discussing some of the more advanced techniques for merging magic energy with weaponry.
"…so the combination of lightning energy on the front and underside of a ballista bolt will not only increase the effective range of the projectile, but its destructive power as well. However, keep in mind the time required for such spells. In combat, the lives of many men will depend on your ability to focus on your casting. Always be aware of your surroundings, and don't be afraid to set off a series of smaller spells if you don't have the time to gather the energy for something with a larger area of effect. Oftentimes the tide of combat can be turned by only a small addition of force. That is all, for today."
Aram had been waiting outside, listening to the instructor. Magic was becoming an increasingly vital factor in warfare, but Aram still put more faith in a skilled men and a strong battlefield position than he did in the abilities of mages. The practice was still too new, and there were too many possibilities for a mistake to be made. Still, he had to grudgingly admit, the new and inventive uses currently being devised by Belthasar with this new form of magic, this Elemental power, certainly impressed him.
He had only witnessed it once, in a demonstration that the newest products of Belthasar's research had provided at the queen's request. A line of haystacks had been lined up in a row at one end of a field roughly six hundred feet wide. At the opposite end were three men, each wearing identical blue tunics with matching pants and a pin in the shape of a lightning bolt on the left lapel. As if on cue, each of the haystacks exploded in fire one after another, sending huge gouts of flame into the sky. The truly spectacular part of the demonstration wasn't evident until a few seconds after the flames had abruptly stopped; in place of each of the haystacks there now stood a solid chunk of ice whose physical form matched that of the original haystack perfectly! Aram couldn't even begin to contemplate the implications of such a powerful and versatile form of magic.
Any thoughts about magic or battle flew from his mind, though, as soon as Erina appeared out of the classroom. The instructor, Berem, had told Aram that "great potential" lay within Erina, and that given time, she could rise to a great position within mages' circles. Erina could often be found poring over some scrap of literature with the magic user, and they often chatted about things that Aram could make neither heads nor tails out of. Despite his level of patience with a mate who dropped buckets of water on his head, all this made Aram feel a tad jealous, but he trusted Erina; there was more to life than books and riddles, and Erina's spirit wouldn't allow her to stay shut up in a library somewhere.
"Aram, what are you doing here now? Didn't I say that I'd meet you out on the overpass when I was finished today?"
"I couldn't wait Erina; I've got some big news. They're letting me head back to the castle tonight, and I want you to come with me! There's no real reason for you to stay here, right? I mean, why bother to study under one of Gaspar's students when you can come with me and meet him in person?"
"What do you mean, tonight? Aram, it's impossible. I've got too many things to take care of here, and I've already made the arrangements to leave in time to be at your installation ceremony. If I change things now, there's a possibility I might not be admitted back into the class! I'm sorry about this, Aram."
"Please listen to me, Erina. I'm sure we can…."
"No, Aram. This is too important. I just can't."
"But…"
"No! Gods, but you are stubborn! What is wrong with you?"
"Erina, listen to me, this can't wait! Look, I know I never told you, but you have to believe me when I tell you this: I was raised by Melchior, in the Palace of Zeal. He saved me from a life on the streets, taught me to be a swordsman…."
"So you would resort to lying just to get me to go along with you now? What kind of a fool do you take me for, Aram? Outside of the Royal Court, nobody has even seen any of the Three Gurus in over ten years! How can you expect me to believe such a thing?"
"Erina, I swear it's true, just listen to me for a minute. I can prove it to you, too! A messenger just brought this from the palace from Melchior himself." Aram fished around in his jacket's inner pocket, only to come up empty. "I know it's here somewhere… where did it get off to…?"
"Are you done making a fool of yourself Aram? This is absolute nonsense. Just… leave me alone."
With that, Erina turned around and paced off, her short hair bobbing around her ears as anger played itself out in her body language. Aram considered following her, but common sense took hold of him and told him otherwise. He couldn't figure out what exactly had happened to the message, but Aram had never seen Erina so angry before. He would have to make it up to her somehow (even if he wasn't really at fault), but now was not the time. Aram made it back to his room and packed the belongings he would need for the journey, figuring that on a captain's pay, he could afford to buy whatever else he came up with when he reached the Royal City of Ashtear. A horse had been readied for him by the stable in the eastern quarter of the fortress, and he set off just as the sun began to touch the mountains behind him.
In his chamber at Arraketh Palace, D'Argoth read by firelight a report from one of his men who had been unable to accompany the rest of the soldiers for the Raising. Apparently the humans were making a point of pressing their advantage in numbers on the northern front. The soldiers near Nargoth had been forced to abandon an entire fortress and retreat en masse into the foothills outside the area, a result of overwhelming numbers. However, the same soldier was pleased to report that the entire compound was destroyed by the accompanying Draconian mages from a distance, with most of the human forces still inside. Even if they were losing, it seemed that victory had made the humans drunk, and in their drunkenness they had become careless, not bothering to scour the surrounding area, despite the fact that even the lowest-ranking officer knew to do that much. The northern campaign had apparently settled into something of a stalemate; safety had been assured, for the time being.
D'Argoth turned his attention to a matter more close at hand. Tomorrow night would be the night of the Raising, the night when he would lead his people in a last, desperate effort to turn the tide of this conflict in their favor. The king had ordered the Council to surrender the scrolls necessary for the ceremony over to him, despite the six sages' initial misgivings about the matter. From what D'Argoth had been led to believe, the last time the Councilmen had communed with the Dragon Gods, they were told to allow the ceremony to proceed. Thus it was that D'Argoth now had the support of both the king and the Council in this matter. There could be no turning back.
As he had done every night for the past two weeks since his return to the palace, D'Argoth made his way down to the Chapel of the Dragons, the evening service having long since concluded. Before the altar to the six deities, he withdrew the scroll from his robes, and began to recite the words written on the yellowed parchment, making sure that every word was enunciated just so, every inflection accurate. The twin moons shone brightly through the windows, illuminating the chapel in unearthly blue and red light. D'Argoth continued, not ceasing to take breath until he had read the entire length of the scroll. He would practice it two more times before finally returning to his bedchamber, just as he had done every night before, so that by the time the ceremony was to be held, D'Argoth would have the entire contents of the scroll memorized.
Erina stalked back to her room. The nerve of that man was unbelievable! What in the world could make him think that she would abandon her studies, and possibly lose the opportunity to ever be taught again? Sometimes she thought that all men must have been born with mush for brains, but she quickly dismissed the thought as she contemplated her last encounter with Aram. She thought she understood at least part of the reasoning behind his behavior.
Erina had been spending a lot of time with Berem Macbeth, and even though she knew that deep down Aram trusted her, it was clear that he wasn't enthused at all by the fact that she had been with the mage so much recently. Her relationship with Berem was strictly that of teacher and student, but the fact was that Berem knew a lot of things about the world that Aram would most likely never experience. To study under a Guru meant to be exposed to countless ages of knowledge, standing right in front of you and giving you your instructions. Despite what Aram had been babbling about earlier, he couldn't possibly have any idea how impossible it would be for her to meet one of the Three Gurus in person. Those mysterious men – if they were indeed men at all – answered to one person only: the ruling monarch of Zeal. Aside from those intimately involved in their machinations, the Gurus had virtually no contact with the outside world, and not even a Lord Captain on the day of his installation would be granted an audience with any of them.
Erina went back to her studying. If the Gurus never appeared in public to speak, they certainly made up for it in the amount of reading material the published. Gaspar's latest treatise on the use of magic in crafting fine tools, lenses, and other scientific instruments, beckoned to her. Without further contemplation, Erina picked up the book and began reading, losing herself in the dual worlds of science and magecraft, forgetting, for the moment at least, all of her worries.
Belthasar sat in his private chambers in solitude, deep beneath the palace. Night had fallen, and he was too exhausted to continue his experimentation today. He had implored Melchior to at least attempt a fusion of Elemental power with one of his weapons, but the Guru of Life would hear none of it. Melchior distrusted Elemental power, claiming it was too unstable to be of any practical use, and after several minutes of attempting to reason with him, Belthasar was literally shoved out of his colleague's chamber. The fact that Melchior had a point did nothing at all to improve Belthasar's mood, and the latest news seemed only to confirm it.
Belthasar seethed as he read the report from the Elemental training grounds. Three more soldiers had been put down by their comrades after losing control of their powers. Not only this, but another two were severely injured in the incidents. One was burned over his entire body, and not expected to live through the night. The other's situation, however, was more unique, and it troubled Belthasar even more. Apparently, when this one's partner lost control, the mad soldier burned his mind in a way that nobody quite understood. The results, however, spoke for themselves, as the mad soldier's partner now had the mental capacity of an infant. Care was being taken to make sure that there was no chance of him inadvertently causing any unnecessary destruction, but Belthasar doubted that in his state the man could possibly focus long enough to do any serious damage, if he even remembered how to use his power.
There has to be a solution; I didn't live this long, serve this kingdom so well, to fail here and now! If only the cause of the instability could be discerned, then maybe progress would be made. For the moment, Belthasar could only continue doing what he had been doing. Learning how to do something was always the easy part; why it worked when it did was another matter entirely. Humans knew could identify fire; they knew how to make it, and what it did. Still, anyone could strike a flint and begin one, but nobody had any concept of what it was composed of. Just as heat and light are only the results of fire, lightning and earthquakes were the results of Elemental power. It was the substance of it that eluded him, that drove him to his wits' end.
On top of everything else, Belthasar's sources near Korata were telling him that something big was happening. What it was, none could say, but the population in the city itself was swelling as all of the citizens in the outlying regions, as well as any soldiers who could be spared, were brought within the walls of the great city. Belthasar knew that the Draconians were desperate, and this latest news did nothing to encourage him.
Time was running out for Belthasar, it seemed. In a few more weeks, Elemental units would be in place in every troop and division in the army of Zeal along the front with the Draconians. He had already promised the queen that there would be no trouble integrating the new men into existing units, but unless he could correct his errors soon, the whole of mankind might end up paying the price for his pride.
