Raulin's Oath

Lucius sat upright in his bed, drenched with sweat. Two of the Chosen had traveled to Palidonaya. They must be found before they realized their potential. He quickly made his way to the lower levels of the palace, where the high priest of the order loyal to the throne slept. As he approached the room, he found that the door was locked. Overtaken by rage, he engulfed the door in flame rather than knocking. The door disintegrated in a flash of orange light, and the flames kissed his scaly skin. The priest flew from his bed and bent at the knee as Lucius entered.

“Please forgive me, Your Majesty. I did not realize that you had summoned me.”

“Another of the Chosen has entered Palidonaya and has joined the girl! We need to close the gateway now.”

“This is not an easy task, My King. Closing the gateways takes old magic; I need more time.”

With that comment, Lucius clenched the priest’s robes in his right hand, lifting him into the air. Smoke curled from his nostrils as his gaze burned into the priest’s eyes. The high priest screamed in agony, a searing sensation overwhelming him. His eyes lost their color, from pearly white to charcoal, and the smell hung nauseatingly in the air. Lucius tossed him across the room, the priest crashing into the stone wall and sliding down. Black smoke rose from the empty ebony sockets that once contained his eyes.

“Close the gateway, priest, before my mood darkens. I will not be as forgiving if another joins them.” As he turned and strode out of the room, he summoned the healer to bandage the priest’s eyeless sockets.

Sleep would not come to Lucius again that night. As he sat in the throne room, his mind wandered. He could almost hear the voices of the leaders who met on that dark day a hundred years earlier. He was just a prince then, not allowed to attend the great meeting. His father, Abeloth agreed to meet with them near the capital city of Lenovia. The leaders from the regions of Palidonaya sat in seats spaced evenly around a large round table. He had signed the treaty that enslaved his own people. He felt himself slipping, the world losing its meaning as he was swept by the ebbing pull of the past.

Lucius had begged his father to avenge his mother’s murder, yet Abeloth followed the orders of the council and chose which dragons would remain. The rest were slaughtered like cattle. How could his father allow this? Abeloth was a coward! Little Lucius burned with hatred, watching his friends and family be slaughtered by that caitiff king that he would never claim. There the boy sat, a prince in ruin, covered in the blood of those he held dearest to him. Even at such a young age, he knew that he would be the one to claim Abeloth’s life.

That scent of burnt flesh interrupted his thoughts, and Lucius stirred. He wondered what would become of the priest, and if it was even necessary to have sent him to the healer.

The order of the priests had been around for millenia. Their sole purpose was to serve the dragons. They had tirelessly slaved to build the fortress that now stood atop the tallest peak of Mons Draconis and had served Lucius well since his father’s death. He had slowly built up the dragon population as the priests had rebuilt the city. Lucius kept their numbers a secret, ensuring that no more than two dragons hunted at the same time. With the help of the priests, Lucius had again brought pride to the once mighty race of dragons. They helped him develop hunters that were smaller and more agile than the dragons and had an uncanny ability to track prey, also helping develop the weapon that would spell doom for the lands of Palidonaya. The Shadow Walkers would be unleashed upon the land like a plague.

In a room distant from the mighty Lucius’s chambers, the healer slumped in frustration. She could do little to save the priest’s eyes; while she bandaged the seared sockets, no amount of magic could save the delicate material that had been melted. His injuries had proven too severe, and the healer ended the priest’s suffering. She hoped desperately that this wouldn’t spell her doom, but even if it had, she knew it mattered not. All that mattered was King Lucius, and should it bring him joy to slay her where she stood, she would gladly lay down her life.

A new priestess was transferred into his old room, the door left off. The priests were an odd order, completely and fully devoted to the dragon kind. The priestess, Clarette, gathered her robes of green, assorted them to pool perfectly around her feet and pulled her hood to cover her hair. She awaited the king anxiously, straightened her back, and willed her body into perfect posture. The normal sounds of destruction at Lucius’ feet pressured her to create the image of an obedient servant.

“Priestess!” he barked, aggressively entering her room. A feline smile came over her mouth, eyes sparkling.

“Yes, My King?” Her voice was velvet, and he glared at her with distaste.

He took a moment to himself, eyes blazing quizzically. He knew that she understood that her success or failure at the task that was assigned would determine her longevity as both high priestess and as a living, breathing creature. “Is the gateway closed yet?”

That same feline smile returned to her face. “It closes at sunset, though it requires a small sacrifice, if you will.”

His eyes narrowed. “What kind of a sacrifice?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, ignoring the pulsating sensation in his head that made him want to roar, pacing back and forth in her cramped room.

“Oh, it’s nothing, really. Some of your blood and the ritual is as good as complete.” Her voice lilted, and he immediately stopped his pacing. He turned on his heels to fully face her.

“Why my blood?”

“It requires the most powerful blood in the land, My King, your blood,” she insisted. For a moment, his headache receded, and a lazy smirk came over his face.

“Naturally.” He drew the bejeweled dagger he kept on him at all times, looking up to her. From inside her cloak, she produced a small vial, handing it over to him. Without hesitation, he grabbed the blade, sliding it down the length of his palm. He did not wince as he watched the glistening black blood flow into the vial, and he filled it to the top. He inserted the cork, sealing the blood, and handed it back to her.

Clarette took the vial of his blood, securing it to a chain around her neck. “I’ve sent the hunters into the Silent Forest, and should all go well, the closing of the portal may be unnecessary.”

He nodded approvingly at her words.

“I hope their slaughter is brutal,” he said, exiting the room without another word or glance.