Chapter 13
Gwendolyn froze, afraid to even turn back to the commanding voice. She was facing out over the edge of the turret, a most spectacular view of the city spread out below her, but she couldn’t enjoy it through her fear. She had never seen so many buildings, and she felt entirely out of her league.
“Turn around, slowly,” the voice said. She obeyed, turning until she faced this new threat, half a dozen men in chainmail armor holding swords. The frontmost man had long white hair and hard, angry blue eyes. Behind him stood men who were younger, and who looked less fearsome.
“It’s just a girl,” one said, sounding shocked.
“Hmphf, just a girl returned here as a captor of our late Prince’s dragon? Looks can be deceiving,” said the old man.
“Late… Prince?” choked out Gwendolyn.
“Silence,” the man said, and he took a step toward her.
As he did so, the floor shook. Though she was afraid to glance backward, Gwendolyn could sense that Yarrahm had taken one step toward her, stomping his foot down in warning. The grumbling cave-in noise emanated from his throat.
“The dragon is protecting her?” another of the young men says, half in awe and half in confusion.
The old man, who had stepped back respectfully, never took his eyes off Yarrahm as he said, “go inform the King and his council that the dragon doesn’t appear to want us to take the criminal with us.”
“Of course, Captain Brayard,” said one of the young men, the one closest to the door. He turned, looking not entirely upset to be leaving the scene, and fled out the door. For many minutes, there was nothing but tense silence, with Yarrahm still standing over her and growling.
Finally, just as the growing tension became so great that Gwendolyn wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand it, the door burst open. A young man, clearly not a guard, strode through the door with the young guard who had fled the scene bumbling along behind him.
Everyone on the platform bowed, except Gwendolyn, who didn’t know who this man was. After a long moment, she clumsily curtsied— or tried to. She was still wearing britches and had no skirt to grasp.
The man, who had short brown hair and was clean-shaven, a sign of luxury as well as an odd choice. He was the only man there who had hair that didn’t flow past his ears.
His eyes roamed the scene for a moment, a fascinating blue-purple color Gwendolyn had never seen before, and then he said, “so this is the feared Prince killer?”
Gwendolyn’s blood ran cold. Prince killer?
“I-I, I’ve never—” she tried to stutter out a defense, only to be cut off by the short-haired man.
“Silence, Prince killer.”
He focused his attention on Yarrahm, who had not stopped growling lightly. “Well, Solithi, what is it you want?”
The dragon ceased his growling behind her, but a moment later, Gwendolyn felt his claws wrap around her. Just one of his massive claws, this time, and he made no effort to scoop her up.
“Hmmm,” said the man. “It seems that we should let my brother’s dragon escort the captive to the Royal Throne Room, then.” He nodded at the dragon, who suddenly took off once more, at a more leisurely pace than before. Below Gwendolyn, who was dangling from one claw much less securely than when it had been two claws, she saw the little delegation of soldiers and the short-haired man file back through the door and out of sight. The dragon then flew in a downward spiral around the large tower, eventually landing in the massive courtyard with a soft thump on the grass. He once again placed her gently on her feet, and she looked around. The courtyard was massive, possibly bigger than her family’s entire farm. It was intimidating, too, for a reason she couldn’t quite put her finger on. She was afraid to move, and after a minute of her frozen and gazing around in awe at the bright green courtyard speckled with gold benches and marble fountains, the massive double doors to the tower opened and her captors filed out one by one. The short-haired man exited last.
“Ma’am,” he said politely, she suspected more for Yarrahm’s benefit than hers, and he indicated an archway across the courtyard.
It was massive, the largest entryway she had ever seen, large enough to accommodate six of Yarrahm.
Yarrahm nudged her with his nose and started to move toward the archway, and as Gwendolyn followed him, the short-haired man close behind her, she saw that it was made of pure silver.
Set slightly past the archway was an equally large set of silver doors, guarded by twelve men wearing chainmail. However, unlike the men who had confronted her atop the tower, Gwendolyn noticed that some of these men wore different colors, not of the Maitala family crest. She glanced back at her company of guard-captors to confirm that they all wore the red and black of the Royal Family, while three of these men wore green and gold, one wore white and blue, and another two wore a flaming orange colored tunic over their chainmail with a green tree embroidered over it.
They seemed to look almost straight through Gwendolyn, as though she were invisible, their eyes focused on either Yarrahm or the short-haired man, who had taken several long, quick strides so that he stood slightly in front of Gwendolyn.
Without a word, the men bowed, and the silver doors opened.
Stepping inside, Gwendolyn marveled at the size of the hall. Made entirely, it seemed, out of cool, white marble, the hall was three stories tall and had viewing galleries on all sides above the main floor, though all seemed to be empty. She had never seen a room so large, so grand. It was at least the length of four of the barns on her family farm, and the ceiling hung with chandeliers so high Gwendolyn couldn’t imagine how they were lit each day. Bright sunlight streamed in through tall, arched windows. Though the room was mostly laid with white stone, every few paces Gwendolyn saw the Maitala family crest etched into the stone, filled with gold, silver, and other precious materials.
As she approached the throne, shyly following Yarrahm and the short-haired man, she was almost too awed to remember to be afraid. Until, of course, she made eye contact with the king. She dropped her gaze at once, flustered, and didn’t look up again until she had come to a halt before a massive dais, on which the king sat in a throne made of some iridescent material she had never seen before.
Around him, not on the dais, but in grand chairs below it, sat a dozen or so men, all looking curiously at her.
She dropped into a low, long curtsy, and she held herself there until her leg started to shake. Finally, the King spoke.
“You may rise.”
She rose, finally daring to glance up at the King, who had hair so black it looked almost blue in the sunlight, and eyes of such a light grey color she almost thought they had no color at all. He surveyed her coldly.
“So, you are the one who killed my son, then?” He asked, in a booming voice. It was surprisingly high pitched, and yet still so authoritative that Gwendolyn was struck dumb with fear for a moment.
“No, no, I’ve never killed anyone,” she managed to choke out after a moment.
“And yet you were brought here as captive by my son’s dragon, and my son is dead.”
Yarrahm gave a low growl.
The King’s head immediately turned toward Yarrahm, surprised. “Hmmm?”
“Father,” said the short-haired man, stepping forward. He didn’t bow before the King, and Gwendolyn realized he himself must be a Prince. “Father, the dragon is quite protective of her. I do not know why, perhaps because she wants to hunt,” he added in a voice that made it clear he was speculating.
“Ah, wants to hunt the girl?” Gwendolyn couldn’t follow the conversation.
“Is that it Solithi?” The man asked, turning to the dragon, who was crouched low and looked angry. “Do you want to mete out justice yourself to this criminal?” But Yarrahm growled more than ever, and the King looked surprised.
“Solithi doesn’t seem aggressive toward this prisoner,” he mused.
“Solithi, is that his name?” Gwendolyn asked, before she could stop herself.
“Her name,” said the King imperiously.
She turned to look at Yarrahm, or Solithi. When they made eye contact, the dragon stopped growling, and extended its neck toward Gwendolyn affectionately. “Hey there, Solithi, sorry I called you the wrong name for so long,” she said. Solithi nudged her with her broad snout, then turned back to the King and the Prince.
“I called him, sorry, her, Yarrahm.” Gwendolyn says in a hesitant voice.
“You named the dragon?” the Prince asked, shocked. “Is that not proof you killed my brother to steal Solithi as your own?”
“No!” Gwendolyn said, but as she did so Solithi jumped forward, her snout directly in the Prince’s face. Threateningly, Solithi puffed smoke out of her nostrils and into the Prince’s face, growling all the while.
“Enough,” said the King, now sitting up straight and looking interested. “So,” he said as the Prince backed away from the dragon, “you didn’t kill my son, or kidnap Solithi here. What happened?”
“I found Yarr— sorry, I found Solithi in a cave on The Floating Valley, where I come from.”
“I could have guessed as much from the hair,” muttered the Prince.
Ignoring him, Gwendolyn continued, “I was seeking shelter from a rainstorm, I had been traveling and noticed the sky was darkening. I headed for a set of hills, and I found a cave. At first, it appeared small, but as I settled in, I realized it tunneled through the hills, and I heard a sound like rocks falling. I thought it might be a cave in, but I followed the sound, in case it was dangerous to me. I found Solithi with eight arrows in her left wing.”
“I see no evidence of that, and she flew just fine,” said the Prince.
“I… I know a little bit about herbs and medicine. I grew up on a farm, I’ve treated animals before. I had seen an herb garden nearby, so I gathered some medicinal plants and I removed the arrows. It was about two weeks ago. I thought that Solithi would be grounded for months, the injuries were so extensive. But this morning, she woke me up to show me she could fly. I thought we would part, there, so I packed my things and prepared to leave. But when she saw me come back out of the cave, she scooped me up and brought me here.”
“You treated her wounds, and she allowed it?” The King asked. He had one eyebrow cocked curiously.
“Yes, I think he… she… needed help. There was a lot of blood.”
For a long moment, the king didn’t speak, only surveying Gwendolyn and Solithi. Then, he threw back his head and called out, or cried out, in some language Gwendolyn couldn’t understand. It was a primeval, angry sounding yell, but Gwendolyn wasn’t scared.
She was slightly frightened when the walls shook slightly. Loud footsteps, louder than any man’s could be, louder than even Solithi’s, echoed through the hall from the courtyard. After a moment, a shadow grew outside the archway, as Gwendolyn turned to look, and then a massive, fully grown, sapphire blue dragon filled the archway. The dragon had matching blue irises that swept the room as it marched up to the King, anyone in its path scattering. Gwendolyn could see now why the hall was three stories tall, as this dragon himself was two stories tall and as wide as four of Solithi.
Solithi chattered, a noise that Gwendolyn hadn’t heard before, at the sight of this dragon. It was a happy, contented noise, similar to one that Marelon made when he saw her.
The dragon stopped near the throne, lowering its massive face to the King’s. He reached an arm out and scratched its scales, and the dragon began to purr, almost, a strange sound that was somehow soothing.
“This,” said the King, looking directly at Gwendolyn, “is Harplie. She is my dragon, and she is Solithi’s mother. She will determine the truth of what you’ve said to me.”