Raulin's Oath

The three ran down the street, searching for Arkas’s shop. As they ran, the screams of the fallen sliced through the streets and fire turned the rain into steam. The heat surrounding them swelled, and they were running out of time. In a matter of minutes, Belamoris had changed from an eerily quiet town into a war zone.

Gustoff locked on the sign on a building ahead that read The Potion Master: All are welcome. He turned to the children and yelled, “Arkas’s shop is just ahead. We must hurry!” A wall of fire blocked the street ahead, and a mighty black dragon dropped from the sky to interrupt their path. His roar spelled a terrible death for all who approached. Through the flames, the emerald green eyes glowed in a cool rage. A plume of flame swelled from the dragon, charring the streets and stretching out to meet the trio. The light was brilliant and all-consuming.

As the flame hurled through the night, Arietta’s eyes were on her grandfather. She knew without a doubt he would know what to do, and she trusted that he would protect her. She lifted her gentle song to the air; now, rather than lyrics, she released a high humming. The rain responded to her song, picking up in intensity. Gustoff lifted his staff, slamming it into the cobblestone. A white light burst from the bottom of his staff, weaving an intricate ball of brightness around the trio. Arietta watched in removed fascination as the flames licked up the walls, unable to reach its target.

Again, the dragon drew breath and launched flame. The molten fire engulfed the trio, surrounding them, yet not touching them. Arietta couldn’t even feel the temperature rise; Gustoff’s shield held. Sweat beaded on his temples and ran down into his long, flowing white beard. When the flame subsided, Arietta looked to the blackened ground. Beyond it, the Shadow Walkers gathered, rushing at them. The dragon considered them tentatively, cocking its head before blowing yet another sea of flames that encircled the field that Gustoff held around them, its heat unable to touch them. It was curious, testing to see what would crack the egg of light. The anger it had displayed was absent now, replaced with a tactical calm.

When the light subsided, the silhouette of a man stood where there was once a mighty dragon. He had a cape that trailed to the ground and stood with a regalness about him. He walked through the wall of fire, emerging unharmed, and continued toward the trio. The Shadow Walkers locked arms, forming layers and layers of boundary between the trio and any possible escape.

A gravelly, humorless laugh boomed, and the caped figure strode toward them. There was something different about his walk: it was a glide with power emphasized in each step. He held his head high, and there was an air of arrogance to him. Though she was terrified, when she looked to her Grandpa Gus and saw only strength and determination in his gaze, she grew more resolved. He slammed his staff down, emitting a blue flash, and the approaching army stopped in their tracks. They hissed and growled, shielding their eyes from the light. Arietta could not see a way out of this, couldn’t see an end where her corpse wasn’t charred amongst the ruins, where Jerry’s blood wasn’t splattered across the cobblestone, where her grandfather didn’t have to watch his grandchild die before he himself perished. Her voice was shaking now, and the glow was absent from her eyes. Hot tears formed, and her nostrils flared, extending a hand to her grandfather’s arm, and her fingers intertwined with Jerry’s.

They were completely surrounded and cut off from any help. This dark, menacing figure continued his approach until he was ten paces from them. He smiled dauntingly, a hateful teasing smile that made Arietta feel even smaller. Her grip on Jerry’s hand had her knuckles turning white, and rather than looking at the terrifying being, Jerry focused an intense gaze on Arietta. If he would die, his eyes would be set on her, only her.

Gustoff stood his ground determined that they would not meet their end in the streets of Belamoris. What had happened to Arkas? There was little hope of reaching the Earth now. How could he have been so careless to lead Arietta here? She was only thirteen. His grandbaby was never going to drive, never going to college… He should have gone to the capital and met with the Council. They would have helped them find a way home that was safe. No! He had to fix this. He pulled in a deep breath and slowly let it out. He needed to stop all of the background noise and focus on getting them out of this.

“Wizard, we meet at last. I have heard so much about you and your companions. It is a pity that we are meeting as foes instead of allies.”

***

Raulin stood before the gates of Dragon’s Bane, the castle that had once served as the center of the Council during the first Dragon Wars. The castle spiraled to the skies, and the bricks were scrubbed shiny clean. If they had put as much effort into the trails for the way here as they had put into the appearance of the castle, his hooves wouldn’t be aching quite so severely. He did not have to wait long.

The hall in which the nation’s leaders congregated produced a soft hum as the Council debated what should be done about the dilemma at hand. All wore their finest clothes, and all looked regal and incredibly elegant.

Timara was the first to speak to the group as a whole. Her voice, which was as smooth as silk, declared, “Do you realize that the attack on Equus was an attack on us all?” Everyone seemed to stop mid-sentence, mid-drink, mid-breath, as she said what no one else was brave enough to say.

Brannan, High Liege of the Casparnia, sneered at her. “No, the attack on Equus was planned as revenge against those that slayed the queen. They would not be foolish enough to make open war with the Seven Kingdoms. We need to assess our losses. The attack could have been just on Equus,” Timara released a glare that lesser men would have surrendered to, yet his gaze remained strong.

“Do not be foolish enough to think that they will stop with Equus, Brannon. I said what everyone else was too afraid to say aloud. I’m not sure you all comprehend how dire this situation is. They were condemned to the mountains because they were too powerful.” Her voice held her barely contained rage, and she tightened her fists. She smoothed out her golden gown, readjusting the crown with which her head was adorned as a way to tame her aggravation.

“Look, Timara, I mean no disrespect,” Brannon countered. “Lenovia, and many more of our homes, border Draconis directly. Your lands are far to the south. The Zeus herd protects your lands from invasion.”

“My country borders the majority of the Silent Forest. Creatures of the night frequently invade villages near the border, but our guards keep it in check,” she hissed.

Brannon argued, “Yes, but--”

His statement was promptly interrupted by Javaron, the King of Lenovia, who slammed his fists against the bocote wood table. “Enough of your bickering!” he exclaimed, and both snapped their heads to focus on him. “We are discussing a war of nations, and you two are bickering like children. The only way that we can win this fight is if we stand together.” He glowered, the heavy eyes of all who sat at the table ripping into him. The fiery redhead straightened his back to fix his posture, folding his hands on the table.

Timara shifted, crossing her long mocha legs. “You are right, Javaron. Let’s resume the conversation.” She tipped her head ever so slightly to the tempered man, and he did the same.

“Okay, let’s get to the point. What are we doing about this dragon king?” Timara’s eyes stayed on Javaron as he opened his mouth to reply. There was a loud pounding that could be heard through the great halls, and it echoed all the way to the dining room. Brannon stood, brushing off his pants, and went to confront the ones who had interrupted their important meeting.

“Raulin,” Brannon gasped, showing the shock that struck his heart. He had been positive that the stallion had been slaughtered. “You’re alive,” he said flatly, not betraying himself by exposing the feelings.

“I am. I have come to call a meeting of the council.” There was a wildness in Raulin’s eyes that hadn’t been there before, haunting memories engraved into them. The urgency, if not conveyed by his voice, was pushed further through his body language.

“The King has already called the Council together. Right this way.” Brannan extended a delicate hand, inviting him inside. He did not judge the knotted mane, nor did he judge his bedraggled state. It was obvious that Raulin had been through much, and had valuable stories to share with the Council. The dining room fell silent, most not resisting the urge to gape at the proud stallion, who still held his head high entering the room.

“Raulin!” Neoma exclaimed happily. “We thought-- we thought… Well, that doesn’t matter. We are so glad that you made it out alright. You must tell us what happened.”