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A tale of intrigue and action; Viking descendents find the king of their settled island. |
| It is the year 1170. Descendents of Vikings have nearly completely settled an unknown Atlantic island and split into three kingdoms over the course of 300 years. Unbeknownst to the feuding Northmen, a lone watcher observes their progress... |
| So far I am using some time to review other people's work and slowly finish a short story based upon a prompt to get myself ready to re-engage with the novels. I'm hoping to get the novels going again soon. Stay tuned! |
| After eight years doing everything except writing; its great to be back writing again. I'm starting slow with short stories but I'll get back to the novels soon. :) |
| Greetings all. Well, I have given the story a little thought; to be honest I have been engrossed in other things such as my CD which is about finished. Anyhow, I should have something very soon. Thank you for your patience. Dr. I |
| Greetings all. Writing a book is certainly more difficult than I thought. I haven't written any new chapters for a while because I realized, much to my dismay, that I have to rewrite the chapter that was to be posted next. It should be done soon. Thank you for your patience. Dr. I |
| Waves gently washed upon the banks of the Stadmore River as life buzzed, flapped, and swam around it. The blue sky was matted with cottony puffs while a short sprinkle watered the garden surrounding the Stadmore. Men had not spent much time this far up the river and the land was still pristine. A blast of steam emerged from the depths. Fradir felt at peace here in the rushing waters of the Stadmore, the cool of the flow caressing his tight scales. His scales flashed a menagerie of satisfied colors as he floated with just his head above the water. Unlike his legendary relatives, water could not put out his flame; he was not only made of heat. His tufted ears gently waved in the air while bubbles passed over his neatly folded wings. Like an enormous crocodile, Fradir’s tail cut through the crystal, clear, and cool waters while he drew in his breath; he was preparing for a dive. A sudden sound of a horn around the bend caused him to instantaneously morph his scales to render him invisible. It was those meddle-some, encroaching bipeds again, once again trespassing in his territory. Fradir snorted in annoyance, took a huge breath, and sank beneath the waves. Overhead, the black keel of a fishing boat drifted above him with the sound of the horn reverberating through the water, announcing the presence of the noisy humans. “Irritating humans,” the dragon grumbled to himself. However, his need for concealment outweighed his growing desire to smash the boat and he waited for it to pass. The dark shadow of the hull moved on and Fradir floated back to the surface. Using his camouflage, Fradir quietly lifted his head above the water and saw the humans on deck only yards away. The fishermen threw their nets into the shimmering waves and waited for the nets to fill. Fradir fumed quietly nearby. Both of the men wore thick-spun cloaks around their dark shirts. The men were not cautious…for they had little reason to be. “Abbe, you catching anything yet?” “Not a thing yet. Any luck on your side?” “Not so far. These nets are too new for my taste. I like ‘em nice and well used.” “Those are likely to break with even a minnow.” “A minnow?” “Yes, Karsi, a minnow.” “Ridiculous.” “No, really.” “Respect your elder, youngster, I know about these things. In time, if you pay attention, you will too.” “Your way is much too slow old man. Let me show you a faster way.” With that, Abbe drew back his nets and then turned to his harpoon. It was a beautiful summer’s afternoon. The net fishing was much too slow for one of the fishermen, so he grabbed a harpoon. Abbe said, “see, this is the way to fish.” Looking carefully into the clear blue water, he spotted a large fish swimming just to the side of the boat. At the same time, Fradir watched all this with much interest. He was starving. He hadn’t eaten all morning and the rushing waters had few fish large enough for him to eat. With years of accumulated skill, the fisherman speared his large quarry and dragged it into the boat. The other fisherman, unimpressed, continued to watch his nets. The old dragon, however, felt his hunger rising within him and the swimming fish grew more appealing. Thus, Fradir began his own fishing in the same area. With a quick snap of his jaws, he snatched a fish swimming near the surface. It hardly was a snack. Unbeknownst to either Fradir, who was now focused on his fishing, or the fishermen: both the dragon and the boat were drifting closer together. The fisherman prepared to throw his harpoon once more. Fradir arched back his neck for a strike. An unsuspecting fish swam between them. At the same time as the dragon thrust his head forward, the fisherman let loose his spear. The fish moved. The harpoon smashed right into the dragon’s snout, glancing off of the concealed scales. Fradir was livid. With a quick turn of his body, he flung his tail amid the ship and broke it in two. He then sprung out of the water and for a moment was visible in all of his terrible glory. But that moment passed as his judgment got the better of his rage. Quick as thought, he returned to invisibility. The startled fishermen regained their wits and struggled to swim to shore. “What was that?!” shouted Karsi.” “I have no idea” replied Abbe, swimming nervously. Meanwhile, Fradir spread his wings and flew to an adjacent meadow to dry off. Pulling his wings into a brake, Fradir landed on the soft grass and walked over to the shade of a large solitary tree. He gently massaged his smitten jaw while his mind thought of his new problem. A tremor shook the ground and distracted the dragon. He knew of these tremors and their increasing frequency in the past few years. This concerned him even more than the irksome bipeds but he wasn’t sure why. Fradir turned his head in the direction of the river. He had been fully visible at least a second and this was more of a liability than his last indiscretion. In addition, the destruction of the boat offered clear evidence of his existence. Fradir then decided that he would stay within his cave for a time. Thus decided, he spread his wings and flew back towards his mountain home. |
| The darkness of night gave way to a soft glow as the sun rose the next day. Light spilled through the minute glass windows of the keep and lighted upon Almande’s tanned face. Almande heard a gentle hissing sound wafting from the kitchen accompanied by a pleasing meaty smell. “The cook must be awake already,” he thought as he slowly arose from his relatively small bed. “Ah,” he groaned as his tired joints protested his rousing. But his duty called him and he quickly went through his morning rituals which were as follows: a quick visit to the privy, dressing in his rough military tunic, and a quick time of prayer. For Almande, like most in Brandia was Christian; but exactly what kind Christian he was not even Almande was sure. Almande, like many of his countrymen, held little allegiance to the official Roman church that they had been separated from for the past three hundred years. But besides a certainty in their bishop, everything else was about the same as it was in Europe. Almande still held many Norse beliefs from his original culture that even over three hundred years of Christian influence had not washed away. Almande rose from the small altar near his bed and strode over to Hardride’s room only to find that the rider had vanished. “Apparently he left early,” Almande mumbled as he turned to enjoy his breakfast in the kitchen. After a hearty breakfast of roast lamb and wheat gruel, Almande turned to the great doors of the keep. The crisp morning air filled Almande’s lungs, invigorating him. The town surrounding the keep began to stir with activity as the day began. Smoke rose like gnarled fingers from the various chimneys of the small houses while great clouds arose from the baker’s house. The sun’s light reflected off the rough glass windows of the church and Almande shielded his eyes as he walked past. To his other side a low hum of activity arose from the open marketplace as merchants began to advertise their wares. Almande took an ornamented ram’s horn from his belt and quickly blew two short blasts on it. Out of the homes came the centerpiece of Almande’s fighting force: his personal guard. Descended from berserkers, this group of sword and archery trained warriors were Almande’s leaders and friends. Arising much more slowly from smaller thatched homes arose the militia, made up of every man within the castle besides the very young, the elderly, and the most critical merchants. As the heat began to rise within the hunkered walls of Geminone, Almande and his captains began the morning exercises of the town’s fighting men. At Almande’s direction, the men collected their wooden practice weapons from he armory and began to parry, thrust, and shield using both hands on the wooden swords. Sweat dripped from Almande’s face as he stood in the warming sun. Yet merely directing the action was not enough for Almande, after a short time, he threw himself into the exercises. While Almande, his personal guard, and half the militia practiced swordplay, the other half of the townsmen set up painted barrel-tops and used them for archery practice. “Fresh fish for sale!” “Baked bread, a loaf for a coin!” The sound of sellers advertising their wares drifted from the marketplace while a menagerie of smells came in its wake and interspersed with the sights and smells of the exercises. The warrior sparring with Almande was a burly young man but was still clumsy with his sword. Almande took him aside and began to drill with him, teaching him many of the basics of swordsmanship. After a time, the halves of the militia switched training; and Almande’s half began to practice their archery. A cool wind blew in from the south and many of the men took a mid-morning respite. Almande put down his bow and twitched his whiskers as he surveyed his men. Many of the militia either sat or lay down on the lighted ground. Almande shook his head slowly. He had tried to instill great discipline in the militia but ultimately; the militia were not warriors. In contrast to the militia, Almande’s personal guard continued their practice through the perceived break. Almande knew the militias were tradesmen, peasants, petty merchants, slaves, and recently freed serfs; not the warriors he desired to have. He was slightly less harsh on them due to their temporary statue. A low rumble echoed from the valleys behind the back gate. Almande’s eyes darted to the rear gate and listened for the signal of the sentry. The blare of a horn split the air; the signal of the King’s messenger. Almande gave command to his lieutenant and quickly marched to the opening back gate. The second in command quickly concluded the morning exercises and released the militia to their daily work while the tunic-clad Almande beheld the King’s messenger. He had strong leathery armor with a steel breastplate and an ornately decorated helm. But Almande noticed there was something different with this messenger, something that he could not quite make out. The messenger removed his helmet and flowing dark brown curls emerged from the helmet. The messenger was none other than the king’s youngest daughter, Danielle. Moments later, Danielle’s beleaguered escort came roaring past the walls to join her before the stunned knight. Almande was awestruck and perspiration beaded on his forehead. She was beautiful with a fresh, honest face with freckles lightly sprinkled amongst its features. His breath taken away, he swallowed hard while trying not to stare at her. Blinking back his initial shock, Almande said haltingly, “My Lady, what brings you to my humble domain?” “I bear a message from my father, King Thor: ‘Almande, my friend, I invite you to my palace on the morrow by mid-morning. Come swiftly, for we have much to discuss during (and after) the Althing. Your King, Thor.’” “Why did Thor send you and not the standard courier?” “My father trusts you and he trusts me; but he does not known who to trust beyond us. I fear for him, especially now in his old age.” “What does my liege have to fear? His sons are noble and pure to a man, the council is loyal, and his lords (especially myself) will die protecting him.” “Almande,” Princess Danielle said softly, “things are not what they appear. My father has more troubles than you realize. Especially since you have been away from court guarding the frontier for so many years. But he will elaborate when you arrive. My lord knight, I require lodging and provisions for the night. May I stay here?” “My princess,” Almande objected, “wouldn’t you be better accommodated at the royal palace than the guest house of this frontier fort?” “No, good knight, my father requested that I stay here for the night under your protection.” “What of your older sisters, The Ladies Heidi and Hallgerd, what will become of them?” “They are under the protection of other knights and chieftains such as yourself.” “What of your brothers?” “They will arrive here soon from the borders of Brandia.” “Here, my princess?” Almande asked. “Yes, they are to join you here as well.” “What of your dear mother?” “She has been ill for the past few years. But my father will elaborate upon your arrival.” “Why should I have this great honor?” “My father trusts you and he will explain tomorrow morning.” “Princess, I have not seen you for years…not since we have been children. You have grown beautiful with age.” “Many thanks, good knight,” Danielle said with a defined blush. “You certainly have learned good manners during your time out here. Well, I’m exhausted,” she said with a smile. “Let’s see your keep.” “Come then, my lady,” Almande exclaimed, “I must treat you to a decent meal.” With that Almande helped Danielle dismount her steed and escorted her to the keep with the sun gently dancing on her brown locks. Meanwhile Danielle’s escort quietly walked to the barracks to receive their reward for their service as well as a meal as well. “I will need to leave soon to arrive at your father hall by mid-morning, Princess” Almande said. “Then we must make haste, Lord Knight” Danielle replied. With that, Danielle turned to one of the cooks and quickly ordered porridge and toasted fish for her meal. Almande, having eaten only a few hours earlier, required no further sustenance. While the cooks prepared food for Danielle, Almande restlessly paced the cobbled floor and Danielle rested in Almande’s fur-covered chair. Light streamed through the narrow windows and illuminated the tapestry in the middle of the room while Almande stood and Danielle rested in the chair. The quiet moment passed as the head cook announced that Danielle’s breakfast was ready. As Danielle walked to the kitchen, Almande went to the stables in the back of keep Geminone. He crouched beneath the low doorway and his nostrils were filled with the musty smell of hay and horses. Within the central stall stood Eilif, the mighty stallion of Almande. Surrounded by the stalls of the other horses, Eilif’s black complexion darkened the room with his brooding presence. Almande directed the stable boy to his duties and entered the adjacent room where he proceeded to put on his light armor. First came the breastplate and the backplate, then the strong leather leg guards, the sculpted helm, and finally his great sword, Thorsenhammer. Having armed himself with the aid of his servant, also the stable boy, Almande returned to the central hall where Danielle’s escort was waiting for him. “My lord, my lady is asleep but she will be ready soon enough,” said a member of Danielle escort. “That is understandable. Alert my guard; I must meet with them before I leave.” “Your will be done, Lord Protector” the guards said with a salute as they marched out of the room and out of the iron doors of the keep. Almande quietly closed the door and once more began to pace, his footsteps echoing lowly from the cobbled floor. After some time, with the sunlight reaching its equinox and no longer streaming in through the keep’s narrow windows, Almande sat in his chair and waited for his guard while Danielle slept in the combination kitchen, guest room, and servants’ quarters. Why Danielle hadn’t asked Almande for his best accommodations, Almande did not understand. Perhaps her need for rest was greater than he perceived. The doors swung open. Almande’s personal guard marched into the chamber and crisply saluted Almande followed by the escort of the princess. “Welcome, my friends,” he said briskly. “There is some information I must share with you. First, I have been summoned to a meeting of the Folkmoot.” “The Folkmoot, my lord,” one of the men said. “Why have you been called?” another man asked. “I know not,” Almande replied, “but I know that it has to be important to be called to the Royal Hall on such short notice. Secondly, the princess will stay in this town along with both of her brothers. They are to remain under your personal protection. Guard them as you would me. Lastly, I must tell you of this report I received late last night. It appeared not all of our legends are in question. It is well known that our ancestors crossed into the Poison Sea to get here and our presence and life give proof to their doubt in the potency of it. However, I heard of a dark fiery presence on this island. Perhaps the rumors of a firedrake haunting this island are not as strained as the power of the Poison Sea. Perhaps not. We must be cautious, however. Double the guard. We must know if this were true. Also, alert our scouts to be extra careful. Our peoples may not be alone on this isle. Go, my men, and continue with your duties. I will return as soon as the King ends the session of the Thing.” “We hear and obey” Almande’s guard said in unison and they left to continue their work in the town. Almande, nevertheless, was still concerned about all he had to do. He ran to the stables and found the stable boy finishing his grooming of Eilif. Almande said, “My boy, thank you for your service. Tell the princess that I have left and she is under the care of my guard, her escort, and you.” “But what of you, my lord?” the stable boy asked. “Are you braving the journey without and escort?” “Yes, my boy,” Almande replied. “I have need of haste and I will ride through the night.” With that Almande mounted Eilif and burst through the stables’ door, passed out of the narrow back gate, and into the warm after noon down the back slope of Geminone hill. |
| Nestled amongst the craggy Tristine hills lay the Castle Geminone. Behind its weather-aged stonewalls, the knight Almande kept careful watch. It was his solemn duty, even in the cool of a summer’s nigh, to guard his lands from those who would bring them to harm. Almande began to pace with impatience; this night was proceeding slowly and getting colder by the moment. Almande had been awake since dawn and every bit of his body from his iron-shod feet to his helmed head desired, no, demanded sleep. But Almande strained against his own weariness and forced himself to look through the spy hole of the outer wall. It was difficult to see; the only nearby light was that of the flickering central keep’s torches illuminating the surrounding town. Thus the moon and the stars were Almande’s only true lighting companions and they were not much help in his evasion of sleep. A wolf’s howl rang out from the forest on the slopes bordering the castle’s hill; the nearby farms would be busy this night. Almande gripped his sword reflexively; wolves were only part of his many challenges.Roving packs of bandits would often attempt to prey upon the farms in the plain in front of he castle, Almande would lead his men into battle if that would occur. A sobering thought arose in Almande’s mind; his ancestors used to be roving bands of thieves. For Almande, like all of the other human inhabitants of this hidden isle, was the descendent of the Vikings, the greatest scourge the sea had ever known. Yet Almande was Viking, yet not Viking. He was in blood a Viking but in mind something further along. Almande was awakened from his thoughts by the thunder of galloping hooves; horses spooked by the continued howling of the wolf packs had just run by the gate. Almande yawned and briskly turned. His joints ached and rebelled against his engraved armor. Almande turned and looked at the town densely packed within the walls of his Castle Geminone. In the torch lit darkness, he saw the outlines of the stacked houses, the shops and carts of the open marketplace, and the various other important buildings such as the church. The smell of incense was heavy on the air. This was the smell of worry, of religion invoked from fear. The specter of war hung over the castle like a shroud. Almande felt it and steeled himself against it relying on his self-confidence, his men, and his God. Then Almande made out the boxy armory where the weapons were forged and kept. Its tall chimney made it stand out amongst the other squatter building of the enclosed town. Almande then began to think about his own fighting men. They were all experienced to some degree…at least in repelling thieves. Their light armor, reminiscent of the ancient Viking heritage, could withstand the crude wooden spears and arrows of the bandits with ease. However, the bandits were only a minor nuisance compared to the potential confrontation that loomed in Almande’s mind. Almande began to pace once more along the stony path alongside the walls. He turned and his heart grew strong again at the sight of the centerpiece of the castle: its mighty keep. By the light of the torches Almande saw its technological prowess; a series of four wooden catapults, two arrow towers and one rudimentary trebuchet. Its great shadowy presence enlivened Almande and his lonely pace quickened for a while. But as the night wore on, Almande grew more tired and his steps began to drag. Finally, Almande picked up a dropped spear and leaned against the gate. Almande’s eyes felt as heavy as the black pots that hung above the gate and Almande’s mind began to wander. Although he commanded this castle, there were too few men…too few for him to enjoy the luxuries of his birth and privilege. Thus, Almande volunteered himself for sentry duty on this frigid summer night. Besides, the high stonewalls provided enough protection for one sentry to stand alone and set the alarm, if need be. Almande was a good knight, worthy of the kingdom of Brandia and his devotion, even through his weariness showed it. Almande’s body started to settle into a final position when…there was a frantic sound at the gate. The gate clanged as a voice cried loudly in the night…”Open in the name of the king!” Almande snapped into action and pulled one door of the gate open with his armored arms. The gate door groaned as it swung open and a terrified rider stormed into the walled corridor. With a labored but quick motion, Almande closed the creaking gate and turned to the frightened rider. The foam-covered horse stamped the ground while the rider struggled to control it and him. “What is the meaning of this at this hour of the night?” Almande bellowed. “I bear a message from the village of Oakdale, one that could not wait until morning.” “What caused this speed and terrible fright rider?” Almande asked. The rider replied, “it concerns my message and what would hinder it reaching you.” “Speak quickly then.” “I am Hardride of Oakdale and tonight was the night of celebration, the marriage feast of our village elder. All was well and we went to our beds content and early. But late in the evening I felt a presence in our midst. This premonition woke me from my sleep and I had to investigate.” “Slow down son, you’re talking too fast.” “My apologies my liege, I’ve had a long night. Anyhow, I could smell some venison roasting, but I couldn’t remember if we had cooked any meat that night. No, I was sure that we hadn’t cooked that night because we found a bounty of nuts for the feast.” “Get to the point, Hardride,” Almande muttered impatiently. “Well, I could see something obscuring the fire…like an invisible shadow, sort-of there but not there…now before you dismiss me as a lunatic,” Almande was beginning to turn around, “listen to this. I waited for the shadow to leave and it did with a big gust of wind and the stars twinkling like crazy. I ran over to the spot and found an enormous footprint right next to our fire-spot. This couldn’t have been a coincidence and I rushed to tell you as soon as I could.” “How far is your village from here?” “Only a three hour’s ride, milord,” Hardride said briskly. “Then whatever you saw can’t be far from here,” Almande said with a slight twitch of his whiskers. “Milord, whatever I saw is gone, and my horse cannot make the trip back.” “Then we must wait for morning,” Almande said with a sigh. “You shall sleep in the guest room tonight until morning.” “Thank you, milord,” Hardride said with a bow, “I am in your debt.” At that moment the keep sentry called out: “Two o’clock and all’s well.” “My God,” Almande exclaimed, “I must be off to bed. I have training with the men in the morning.” Almande ran back to the keep with Hardride and his horse in tow. While still weary, Almande quickly stabled the tired horse and dragged himself and Hardride’s thin body towards the inner sanctum of the keep. At the same time, Almande’s replacement strode to the gate in the grand manner associated with his elite guard. Throwing back the heavy wooden door, Almande walked into his Spartan home in the keep of Geminone. After directing the traveler to his room, Almande thought about this strange turn of events. “What could cause such a thing,” he thought to himself as he settled into a padded chair. An idea came floating into his mind but he dismissed it quickly. “Wait,” he told himself, and he ran over to his wooden closet and took off his armor and placed it where it belonged. After a quick trip to the privy, he slipped into his nightshirt and walked toward his simple bed. “That’s much better,’ he thought as he climbed into his small bed at the back of the main room. Almande put out the candle next to the bed but before he did, he admired the colorful tapestry hanging from the ceiling, the artistic chronicle of his ancestors’ landing on the island. In the dark following the candle, Almande continued to stare at the heroic picture until his eyes grew heavy and he drifted into sleep. |
| About one thousand years ago within the mist-enshrouded shores of the island of Andosia, there lived a great dragon. He had lived alone as far back as he cared to remember and he’d grown comfortable with his existence. He flew quietly this evening, his gigantic frame making hardly a sound as he glided hundreds of feet above the green grasslands. His wings, with soft scales adapted for silence, beat quietly as he passed through the low-lying cottony clouds that hung in the sky. His tufted ears pricked slightly to the left; the glorious sound of prey was echoing from the high grasses below. With the sun lowering in the west, the dragon watched as a large herd of antelope-like creatures approached from the north in unison. Upon seeing this, the dragon began to hover far above the slowing herd as they reached their spot to graze one last time and sleep. The dragon, using his incredible patience and perfect camouflage to its utmost, continued to hover in the waning sunlight while the herd began to settle in for the night. Using his farsightedness, he noticed a young buck sleeping apart from the rest of the herd, far from the protection of their mossy and branched antlers. The dragon set back his wings into a dive. Swooping silently, his silhouette briefly appeared in the cool twilight sky. With the wind flowing past his face, the dragon felt the anticipation of the coming kill, and his fanged mouth began to water for the coming taste of venison. With a quick snap of his front two legs, the dragon snatched up the young antelope, grabbed it with its hind legs, and used its giant wings to beat the air for lift; all in one smooth motion. Squeezing tightly tightly like a python with all four of his legs, he was able to suffocate the antelope within moments. This was a perfection of his unique hunting method carefully practiced over four hundred years. The rest of the herd remained oblivious to his presence as he carried his prey back into the darkening sky. He then flew westward with his prey carefully carried between his four legs. The intoxicating musk of the antelope filed the dragon’s nostrils and heat pits, even more than the rushing air. But the dragon showed restraint; it was not wise to eat supper in the air. As he flew, the landscape changed from flat grasslands to gently rolling hills with a patchwork blanket of forest dotted with bogs, ponds, and isolated pools of water. The chaotic sounds of forest life grew beneath him and the nightlife began to stir as it had since the island’s beginning. But something was different over one particular spot where orange light illuminated a tall plume of smoke rising over the canopy. Slowing the rhythm of his padded wings and using his long tail as a brake, the dragon decelerated to investigate. Lowering himself, he glided in the darkness to discover a small village of the strange bipeds that had invaded his island three hundred years prior. With their huts arranged in a circle surrounded by massive trees, the people of the village slept while the bonfire was burning itself out. The dragon followed the plume of smoke and light down to the dying bonfire itself and landed silently on the soft humus next to it. Placing his prey on the dying embers, the dragon began to investigate this latest incursion into his ancient realm. The stink of human and their celebrations permeated this place; the mass of unwashed bodies started to nauseate the dragon. But his curiosity overwhelmed his distaste and he had a good look around. The mud-thatched huts enveloped the cleared space in which the dragon stood except for one spot directly in front of him. This spot had three important wooden buildings: a small armory with sharpened wood spears, a hall for the village elders, and a small thatched-roof church. These tiny huts were all wooden and the dragon could have incinerated the entire village with one sustained blast of his fiery breath. Yet the dragon felt no malice towards the obviously ignorant mammals (not good eating anyway) and his curiosity had been sated. More importantly to the dragon, his meal was getting cold. With a quick puff of flame, the dragon re-ignited the bonfire to reheat his meal. After a few minutes, the dragon felt that his antelope was warm enough. He picked up the antelope with his strong jaws and jetted into the inky air with his banner-like wings, his razor-sharp claws accelerating away from the cool earth. As he rose into the sky, the dragon began to muse about the lives of men; of their short futility, their business, their hope, their happiness…that was one thing this middle-aged dragon did not have. For he, Fradir, the great firedrake, knew none. He did not even know if more of his kind existed. His slight admiration of humanity was short-lived. Realizing that his curiosity may have compromised his secrecy, Fradir berated his stupidity. For the humans were still unaware of his existence. Turning from west to south, Fradir passed from the rolling hills to the jutted mountainous landscape that hid his home. Using his well-adapted eyesight and the light of rising moon, Fradir set his wings into a glide and began to drop towards a well-worn mountainside. Behind a cleft of rock illuminated by a beam of moonlight lay Fradir’s home, the cave of Brangbar. With the stars shining behind him, Fradir floated past the stalactites, through the thronging sanctuary of bats to his hidden room deep within the cave. Landing on the sandy floor of the cave, the dragon placed his dinner to the side and stretched his long body out. Using a quick puff, he ignited a pile of wood that he had collected that morning to light his cave-room. The smoke snaked up through a hole in the spiked ceiling while the warm-blooded lizard gently picked up the antelope with his hand-like front legs and washed its body with water from the underground stream that flowed close to the fire. Having washed his prey, Fradir plopped the carcass on the fire and quietly sang a deep song to himself. After a while, Fradir pulled his dinner out of the fire and delicately removed the antlers with his teeth. Having achieved this tedious task, the dragon swallowed his meal whole. Contented at last, Fradir climbed onto his bed of scavenged gold and rested his tired eyes. Reflecting on his long evening, he remained nervous about his indiscretion; but upon further thought, he concluded that nothing would come of it. Besides, the humans had never noticed him before and there was no real reason that they would now. After blowing out his fire with a gentle gust of air, Fradir fell back into his bed and into realm of dreams, sleeping to the sounds of the trickling water of the subterranean stream. |
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