The Order of the Dragon
Chapter 1
Dragons and Stone
“You are the poorest dragon I have ever met, do you know that?” Anariel Anastil commented, tossing yet another fake golden goblet over her shoulder. She looked to her left and poked the brown dragon lying next to her. “Hey, are you listening?” she asked, leaning over and pulling up its eyelid. “Not even registering, am I?” She sighed, then snapped the eyelid back into place. The dragon—still very much alive—snarled, and he strained against the magic holding him to snap this impertinent elf in half. Anariel winced against the power of the great beast, then worked to strengthen her telekinetic hold on the dragon before turning her attention back to the wyrm’s lair.
Her eyes wandered about the small cave—small for a dragon lair at least—and gave a dramatic sigh at the many piles of gold filling almost the entire chamber. The occasional drip of water echoed throughout the lair, landing in stagnant pools which lazily rolled into jagged ruts in the rough floor. Stalagmites rose up from the ground like the leering teeth of the brown dragon she securely held with her mind, some growing so tall that they met the stalactites coming down, joining together in a natural pillar that supported the rather unstable roof of the dragon’s lair.
“Probably because the reptile kept hitting his oversized head on it,” the elf snickered to herself, glancing back to the massive scaled head of the wyrm. “Perhaps that is what is wrong with you,” she said to the wyrm. She considered his expression for a moment—forked tongue lolling out and a confused, rage-filled expression in his golden eyes—then nodded. “There really is not anything up there,” she commented, knocking on his fearsome horned head like it was a door. “Anybody home?”
The dragon’s lip curled up, and his golden eyes blazed in unexplainable rage as he fought against the powerful elf. His tail thrashed wildly twenty feet down the way, sending gold flying high into the air. Still, she held him.
Anariel squinted slightly as the last rays of the setting sun streamed light into the entrance she had “created,” the other being occupied by dragon breath and snapping jaws. A pile of rubble lay near the hole, the remains of what had once been the wall. “By the sea and stars!” she exclaimed in her own language when she turned back to her treasure, pulling a necklace from the mountain of gold she was seated on. It was beautiful, and Anariel might have kept it for herself, were not each and every jewel set in it completely fake. “You probably did not even notice, did you,” she said to the wyrm.
The dragon’s eyes flicked constantly between her and his precious treasure she was desecrating. He could not believe he was pinned in such a fashion. He felt the kinetic power surrounding him, gentle, but unbreakable in its hold, and his blood boiled in rage.
Anariel winked at the dragon impishly, then tossed the worthless necklace over her shoulder, listening for the clang as it hit the stone floor. She heard a grunt instead. Quickly turning around, she winced as she saw her dwarven companion pull the necklace from his balding head.
“I be here, ye know,” he said sarcastically, straightening his brown leather jerkin. He glanced nervously at the dragon as its tail slid angrily along the stone, his scales causing scraping sounds that sent chills down his spine.
“Sorry, Rubble,” Anariel replied, trying to hide her customary mischievous smile. Pretending to be nervous, she tucked a wisp of red hair that had fallen out of place behind her ear, a sheepish smile coming onto her face.
“Ye durned, pointy-eared elf!” he cried, crossing his thick arms over his chest. “Me name’s not Rubble!”
“Yes, Rubble, pointy ears are what mark me as an elf,” Anariel replied sarcastically, not even looking at him anymore.
His real name was Cobble Rockroller, and he had once been a powerful mage for a wealthy woman. But, one of Cobble’s less than savory hobbies was stealing, and after a certain valuable circlet had been found hidden in his room, he was promptly kicked out and word had been spread throughout the region of his nature. Thus, Cobble had been forced to make his hobby into a business. Anariel had found him a few short years ago, boosting his floundering business considerably with her first day.
“Ye know that ye are a member of my guild,” he reminded her irritably. “I was the one who found the dragon.”
Anariel snorted. “Yes, and I was the one who secured the dragon.” She pointedly patted it on the head between its eyes. Cobble shuffled back uneasily. “You waited until I was finished before you dared to enter the cave at all,” she continued. “I appreciate your belief in my abilities—hence the absence of our other members—but you do not fit the norm of other dwarfs I have known…notably lacking is ferocity or the will to do battle. Do not make me comment on the treasure.”
The dragon snorted as if to deny her claim. Anariel raised an eyebrow and turned toward the beast. “What?” she asked him. “The treasure is worthless. Get over it.”
Rubble’s face flushed a deep red, setting a sharp contrast with his white beard streaked with different shades of blue from various dyes. Anariel glanced over at him and flashed a teasing smile, then returned to her digging. The many lines in Cobble’s face deepened as his forehead crinkled up and his hawklike nose seemed to grow as his nostrils flared in annoyance. He tapped a booted foot on the stone floor, pointedly making loud clicking sounds, but Anariel simply ignored him.
“How old are ye again, elf?” he asked, simply to get back at her. He knew how much she hated that question.
“I look twenty six,” she replied mechanically, then picked up a dagger. “Go with that.”
The dwarf had guessed her to be in
her early twenties on first sight, but after seeing her pointed ears, he had
immediately changed that estimate to the two hundred range. Watching her now, seated comfortably on the
mound of gold—half buried to her utmost pleasure—he realized that she must be
older than two hundred, much older. She
had surprised him in many ways, including knowing the language of nearly every
race on the planet to at least some extent.
Also, using magic was no new thing to her, and though he had only seen
glimpses of her power—single-handedly killing a dragon was something he had
thought impossible—he had a good guess of how much she held back. That thought frightened him more than a
little, despite his trust in her. If she
wanted to, he knew, she would have no problem doing away with a pesky little
dwarf and a little guild down in the abandoned city of
“I do not think there is one thing of value in here,” Anariel grumbled, tossing the dagger she had been inspecting over the dragon’s head. “This dragon was quite stupid if I do say so myself.” She looked at the dragon again, a look of utter disappointment and wounded pride on her face. The brown wyrm attempted to roar in response to the insult, but his mouth was snapped shut as Anariel’s mind hammered down.
Cobble chuckled quietly at the elf’s expression, then began to climb up the mound to her. Suddenly his breath was stolen away, for no longer did he have the security of the golden pile. Up into the air he floated, rising above the heap of fake coins and coming to sit next to Anariel, now even deeper in the gold and jewels. His dark blue cloak fluttered down slowly, landing lightly on top of his face.
Cobble put a hand over his heart, gasping for breath desperately. How he hated when Anariel levitated him! “Ye durned…” He couldn’t even finish his sentence and simply fell back, panting and grumbling under his breath.
Anariel giggled, studied the image of that hawk nose sticking out from underneath the cloak still covering his face, then extracted herself from the pile and slid down, little coins tinkling and falling to the stone floor with her. The elf landed gracefully on her feet, then spun about to face the dwarf, her wavy red hair fluttering about her waist as she turned.
“If ye was comin’ down, what did ye need to terrify me for?” he stuttered, his face bright red as he pulled off the cloak.
“I simply helped you in what you were trying to do,” Anariel said innocently, brushing away imaginary dust from her tightly fitted, black leather breeches. “I could have let you climb, but then your effort would have been wasted. You do not like to climb anyway.”
Cobble scowled at her, but his fierce expression washed away into one of absolute terror as he was again lifted off the ground. Anariel levitated him slowly and gently set him on the hard stone, but the dwarf fell over as soon as he landed.
“Ye gonna be the death o’ me!” he cried, though his pleas were lost on the elf who was laughing helplessly. Anariel twirled away, her black cloak flying behind her as she took off down the small cave.
“Ye durned elf!” Cobble cried for the third time that day, and not the last, he knew. Scrambling to his feet, he chased after her. To any onlookers, it would have seemed a rather pitiful attempt, for Anariel’s long legs had her a quarter of the way to the entrance in the time in took Cobble to run a few feet. However, Anariel did not know this.
The fiery elf glanced behind her as she ran to see if Cobble was clear, then, thinking she saw his shadow right behind her, released her hold on the dragon.
The dwarf scrambled out from behind a mound of gold just as Anariel turned away, then screeched to a stop and froze as he heard the great brown dragon behind him leap to his feet. Cobble’s eyes widened as a magnificent roar erupted in his ears. “Anariel!” he screamed, but the elf did not hear him. The dwarf burst into a run, but he felt the massive reptile’s terrible golden eyes blazing into his back.
A hacking sound issued from the wyrm, and sand spewed from his tooth-filled maw, connecting with the stone and immediately turning it into quicksand. Cobble stumbled as a part of his heel touched the edge of the pool, and a loud sucking noise issued as he fell onto his back and ripped his foot free. The quicksand eerily expanded, following Cobble to the entrance as he leaped to his feet. The dragon seemed not to care in his rage that it was slowly sinking his precious treasure. Another roar shook the unstable cave, followed by another breath of sand.
The huffing and puffing dwarf tripped right before the entrance, and the pool of quicksand sprang forward like a hunting cat, joining with the second ball of spewing sand. It grasped his foot and slowly climbed upward. “Anariel!” Cobble cried again, scratching his way toward the exit. The light from the fading sun fell onto his face as he crawled, and through sand-filled eyes, Cobble managed to see a magnificent white pegasus swoop down from the darkening sky, accompanied by a little black dot he knew to be Anariel’s pet raven, Fidget.
“Thieves!” the dragon roared, his baritone voice ricocheting off the walls. Stalactites shook in the ceiling above the prone dwarf’s head. “Curse the ground you walk on! I, Graeden the Brown, with hunt you down and bury you in my sand! May the One Dragon, kill you all!”
Anariel, riding atop her winged mount, heard the cries of her companion and the bellows of the free dragon. “No,” she hissed, silently cursing herself. Quickly, she snapped the mouth of the dragon closed with her mind again, then pulled back on her pegasus’s mane. The winged-horse angled up sharply, wind gusting up from underneath seven foot wings as she and the elf rose straight into the sky and out of sight.
“Heads up, Rubble,” came a voice from above, and the dwarf jerked up his head as sand climbed up his short body. Even as his eyes found the sky, they quickly lowered back to the ground as Anariel grabbed him by the back of his leather jerkin. Cobble screamed as a short game of tug-of-war ensued and began kicking frantically. The sand sucked loudly in protest, but the dwarf came free a moment later. His screams did not quiet, however. He was a dwarf, meant to be safe on the ground, under the ground even. To be flying on a pegasus steadily climbing into the sky with his short little legs dangling helplessly over a sure death was not the dwarf’s idea of a thrilling experience.
A roar echoed around them as Anariel released the dragon, but it sounded more like a whine. She glanced behind her as Cobble dangled helplessly, and breathed a sigh of relief when the dragon did not exit his lair. Another mournful roar followed the pegasus as she climbed higher, appearing like a bird to anyone on the ground, but the wyrm called Graeden did not appear.
“I am so sorry,” Anariel apologized sincerely as she gently placed Cobble behind her. She tried not to grunt as powerful arms wrapped about her waist, holding on for dear life. “I thought you were right behind me. Are you all right?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at the dwarf.
“Bah! Eyes on the sky, ye durned elf!” Cobble cried, tightening his hold all the more.
Anariel sighed, then her customary mischievous smile spread across her face. “Hey, Asrai,” she called to the pegasus over the wind, loudly enough for Cobble to hear. “Fly into that forest over there. We cannot be too careful when hiding from rival guilds.”
“No!” Cobble wailed helplessly, terrible memories of the last time they had been forced to fly into a forest filling his mind. A tree branch had apparently taken great offense to his face, and the poor dwarf’s bottom had met the ground in a less than dignified fashion.
“Oh, well,” Anariel said to the pegasus, shrugging her slim shoulders. “If he insists. I guess I will have to save him once again if we get into trouble.”
The pegasus snorted, a sound that the terrified dwarf correctly interpreted to be a laugh. “Hey! Don’t ye be laughin’ at me, too!”
Anariel said something to the pegasus in her own language, and the dwarf caught the word, “Sarnie.” Unfortunately, that was the only word the dwarf knew, but he had come to recognize it as his “name.” Sarnie meant pebble in the elvish language, and Cobble figured that was close enough to rubble for it to refer to him.
He sighed as the pegasus “laughed” again, and blocked out the rest of the conversation. Instead, he studied the only thing visible to him from his diminutive height—pegasus wings. Asrai’s wings were beautiful to behold, each white feather fluttering gently in the breeze as she flew. But her wings—stretching seven feet to the tip—were only a prelude to the beauty of the pegasus herself.
Cobble remembered the first time he had looked on the magnificent creature, and his awe had not lessened over the years he had known her. Her head was sculpted to absolute perfection, and her dished face and chocolate brown eyes revealed her higher intelligence. Always a showoff, the pegasus would prance about, picking each hoof high off the ground like a debutant avoiding a rain puddle, arching her powerful neck proudly and flicking her silky white tail.
Cobble knew why she seemed so perfect, though. Asrai was a summon creature—a yala onna as Anariel called her—and the necklace about Anariel’s neck was the key to the magic. An ordinary black chain held the large white diamond about Anariel’s neck. The jewel was carved with incredible detail into the shape of a pegasus with its wings outstretched and rearing. Asrai could be summoned and dismissed from this magnificent gem at will, though the animal was not compelled to come if she did not wish to. If ever the necklace was taken from Anariel, the pegasus would know, for the next time she was summoned, she would hear the new voice, thus having the option to serve her new “master,” or to remain on her own plane of existence until someone else claimed the necklace. She was timeless, so the matter of waiting for her assumed master to die was not too daunting, even for the years of an elf.
Anariel suddenly gasped, and a horrified expression came onto her face.
“What?” Cobble asked, her sound of distress bring him from his contemplations.
“Fidget!” she cried over the rush of wind in her ears.
Cobble’s eyes widened and he looked about for the bird. A frown crossed his face when he saw only white feathers. “Curse me short body,” he muttered under his breath.
A tired squawk caused both dwarf and elf to look behind them, and to their relief, they saw the little black raven flying quickly to catch up.
“Poor little bird,” Anariel crooned as Fidget lighted on her shoulder. Fidget cuddled up close to Anariel’s neck. The elf scratched him under the chin, ruffling his soft black feathers underneath, then flicked a finger on his orange beak. Fidget jerked back and squawked in protest, but Anariel continued and poked him in his fat little stomach like the Pillsbury Dough Boy commercials she remembered from her time on another planet called Earth.
“Maybe if you lost a few pounds you could keep up with Asrai,” she said, giggling at Fidget’s disgruntled expression, one feather standing up awkwardly on top of his head. Anariel flicked the feather back into place, then motioned for him to hop down. Fidget obliged, half flying and half hopping until he reached her wrist.
“See you soon,” Anariel promised, then twisted her wrist sharply. Fidget fell off and fluttered between her hands for a moment. Anariel clapped and the dwarf behind her blinked as the bird became a two-dimensional image between her palms. His features faded then, and only a strip of black cloth remained in Anariel’s hands. As if it were completely normal, the elf pressed the cloth against her exposed stomach, and the strip pulled itself around her slender waist, sewing the torn cloth back together with the rest of her black tunic.
“No matter how many times ye do that, I’ll never get used to it,” Cobble commented, shaking his head in amazement. “Ye were just croonin’ and lovin’ all o’er the thing, an’ then ye turned him into cloth!”
“But, that is what he is,” Anariel answered innocently.
“Yeah, but…” Cobble sighed and let the argument go. He knew that Fidget was only a piece of cloth, and he knew Anariel knew that. But, when the bird was animated, it was hard not to treat him like a living creature, for Fidget had his own charm that even the gruff Cobble could not ignore. Though, Anariel had possessed the magical cloth for years beyond his guess, and the dwarf assumed that she had added her own flair of magic to the bird’s character. He sighed and shook his balding head, chuckling helplessly. Anariel never ceased to amaze him, and it was not an easy thing to amaze Cobble Rockroller.
The ground spread out before them, rolling hills seeming to move of their own accord as the pegasus flew through the air, diving down to brush against the long grass of meadows, then shooting straight up into the sky when the line of trees became visible. The poor dwarf only moaned through the entire experience, his arms gripping Anariel all the tighter. Wind rushed past their faces, slightly cold as the last bite of winter fought to keep its hold, and their breath fogged out before them as Asrai passed through a cloud. Anariel shook raindrops from her hair, and they fell to the ground below like tiny crystals raining down. She glanced back when Cobble’s grumbling became a bit louder, and she quickly bit her lip to avoid bursting out laughing. The dwarf brushed at himself frantically, desperate to get the stinging, freezing water from his body. Spitting choice curses under his breath—directed at the pegasus—he pulled his dark blue cloak from behind him and wrung it out, more than a little water pouring out.
Anariel looked back to the sky before Cobble noticed her lack of attention, and her eyes soon found the dull shine of a city long dead, its central tower rising like a pinnacle in the sky and its surrounding crumbling wall curving about the entirety of it like a twisting snake.
“We are over Jersag,” Anariel called over her shoulder.
Silently, Cobble took back his curse concerning his short body. He figured that it would be even more terrifying to see the ground approaching along with his stomach flipping over.
As if the pegasus had heard—and she probably had via Anariel—she folded her wings tight against her sides and dove with terrifying speed toward the ground. The dwarf had a very good view.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two pairs of gleaming dragon eyes watched the pegasus swoop down toward the city, then disappear in the trees a short distance away. Savanastra arched her neck around so that she stared down her back between her delicately folded wings toward a cream-colored tent. “Tell him,” she growled at a dark elf soldier.
The soldier managed to keep his cool even as her got breath gusted around him, but he made a point to move quite quickly to the tent of his general, Dazzan Suliss’urn.
The blue and golden dragons exchanged knowing glances, their horned heads resembling great beasts cloaked in the deepening dusk. Blue sparks of lightning spat from Ivanir’s mouth as he growled excitedly, and a golden haze began to obscure Savanastra’s powerful jaws.
When night came, their attack would begin.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anariel sighed and rolled her eyes. “Rubble, must you continue to mutter? You have been on the ground for some time now.”
“I was just wonderin’ why we had to land so far away. Haven’t ye tortured me enough?”
“I simply helped you—”
“Ye durned elf!” Cobble shouted, stomping a booted foot. “Ye weren’t helpin’ me with nothin’. Ye wanted me to walk this far ‘cause I made ye attack a dragon to get a worthless treasure.”
Anariel’s smile faded slightly at the mention of the dragon, and her steps slowed. “Attacking the dragon was not a problem,” she whispered, and Cobble paused at the sudden change in her tone.
Anariel turned, and for just a moment, Cobble saw angry fires flash in her emerald green eyes. Utter rage that had been bottled up for centuries seemed to flow forth in that one glance, and Cobble unconsciously stepped back.
The tense moment disappeared as quickly as it had come, for Anariel laughed loudly and a wide smile spread across her face. “Once again you have caught me, my little friend,” she said, winking evilly at him. “But we are almost to the guild now, so further discussion is irrelevant, would you not agree?”
Cobble’s face flushed red at the impish expression on the elf’s face, but he said nothing. “Durned elf,” he muttered under his breath as he brushed past her, his whole body disappearing under her black cloak for a second before he came out the other side.
Anariel smiled, watching him stomp off down the broken and chipped cobbled streets toward his guild. She shook her head, then turned back the way she had come.
Let Cobble think what he may, she thought, flipping her cloak absently. It matters not. Anariel had not landed so far from the guild to punish Cobble. In fact, Cobble had not even entered her reasoning. The elf had needed the walk, for the sight of the dragon had brought old memories to the surface, memories better left forgotten as far as she was concerned.
Her high-heeled, black leather
boots made not a sound as she walked on the rough stone streets of the city of
Anariel placed a delicate hand on the broken outside wall; it had stood one hundred feet high it its days of glory. She ran her long fingers along the cracks, then sighed, digging her nails through the dirt and grime and brushing away what centuries of weather had brought. Beautiful white marble shown dully like a ghost in the fading sunlight for the first time in over 500 years as she persisted in her scraping.
This was once a great city, Anariel thought, brushing away more of the dust. Now it is a worthless ruin, left to decay by all. Anariel stopped when her hand hit a protruding part in the wall, and after a few moments of cleaning, she realized it was not just eroding, decaying stone, but a plaque reading:
The People of Jersag
Swear fealty to the
Order of the Dragon.
This plaque is a sign
Of our allegiance.
Anariel sighed and traced the silver lettering with her finger, noting where the original name of the city had been scratched out and rewritten as Jersag. Those had been the days of glory, when all beings capable of thought and speech lived in peace. Those were the days when the dragon and lion had been the most respected creatures alive, when the dragon had been a noble beast, willing to help the lesser beings around it.
Now they are useless wyrms, stupid and uncaring, Anariel thought bitterly, following the ‘new rule’ of the world as blindly as the dark elves! The elf turned sharply away from the plaque. The dragon beaten that very day had been no different from all the others. His mind had been fully lost to a spell, devotedly serving who he called the Dragon.
Oh, Vanima, Anariel asked in her mind, looking up a tall, twisting tower, bits of fabric still clinging to the flag pole, as if it still desired to fly proudly for its city. We were once powerful, all of us together. We lived among the humans peacefully, even though they did not know who we really were.
Anariel turned away from the once
grand tower, trying to ignore the crumbling base. This city was falling apart before her very
eyes, and, with it, her memories. She
looked out through a section of the outer, protective wall, to the looming
mountains in the east. The
“Why did you destroy it all?” she asked aloud, her voice barely a whisper. Not even the wind answered the question she had held for over 500 years. She closed her eyes and stood quietly, letting the soft breeze caress her face and run through her thick hair.
What
do you mean? You do not like it?
Anariel’s eyes snapped open as her memories seemed to become audible in the soft whisper of the wind. The gentle gusts blowing through her hair seemed to become more tangible, more like fingers.
No,
it is beautiful. I just did not know you could look so beautiful in it.
Oh,
stop it. Yes you did.
As the wind caressed her face, that tangible feel, those loving, gentle hands running through her hair, seemed to intensify, and Anariel could feel—more than ever before when she remembered—the touch of lips against her own.
Maybe I did.
The sharp twang of a bowstring echoed in her mind, followed by a dull thud. The intense rage that Cobble had caught a glimpse of welled in the elf suddenly. Whirling about, Anariel spun toward the plaque again.
“It was all a lie!” she screamed to it, and her fist found the silver lettering. As if a giant had blasted through the decaying wall, the elf slammed herself against it with strength not fitting her slender frame. All her memories pooled into one, forming the face of the one who had taken everything from her. The elf beat against this face, refusing to recognize the existence Vanima had forced upon her, upon all the people of the world. She felt it give under her hammering fists, and that spurred her on all the more. Cracks began to slowly inch away from the area where she pounded, climbing up to the top and outward along the wall.
Shaking with anger, the elf stepped back from the wall, one section now a simple pile of dust. Her eyes locked on the plaque, still intact and thrown to the side. Anariel snapped it up, the silver words fueling her anger.
“What Order of the Dragon?” she asked, mocking the words she had once supported. “It is as corrupt as Vanima!” And with those words, the plaque, made out of pure iron, broke apart in her grasp.
Breathing heavily, Anariel dropped the two pieces to the ground.
“Anariel?”
The elf whirled about, but quickly hid the emotions on her face when her eyes met those of Tathar Eledhwen. He was her dearest friend—her only elven friend at the time—and though he had been born after the horrible days that Anariel remembered, she felt that he was her one link to the good memories of the time now destroyed. He, Asrai, and Fidget, Anariel corrected herself.
“Are you all right?” he asked, cautiously approaching. He knew her better than any other person alive, even Cobble, and the elf could tell when she was acting to please him.
“I am fine,” Anariel answered, raising an eyebrow as if it were a strange question.
Tathar nodded, though his gaze did not leave her for a moment. He knew every detail of her face, and yet whenever he looked upon her, his heart would flutter within his chest as new aspects always made themselves known. His eyes took in every graceful movement, and he found himself unable to look away.
“Tathar?” Anariel asked, moving away from the broken wall and slowly approaching him.
The blonde elf watched the gentle sway of her hips for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead. Then his crystal blue eyes widened as he realized just how long and just how intently he had been staring at her. Cursing himself, he quickly jerked his head up to meet her eyes. One arched eyebrow and one side of her mouth turned up in a slight smirk met his gaze, and Tathar immediately blushed.
That smirk spread to a wide smile, and Anariel tried her best not to laugh. She studied his face for a moment. Anariel did think him handsome, his high cheek bones and thick blond hair appealing to any elf—or human for that matter—and she couldn’t help but notice that his eyes were the exact color of the sky on a clear day, but he had been her friend for countless years, ever since he was a little child 300 years ago. She would always see him as that little boy. “Come,” she said, holding out a hand. “Rubble is waiting. If we linger much longer, you might not have eyes to view me with.”
Tathar gasped and various words came out of his mouth in an attempt to protest, but Anariel only laughed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Where have ye two been?” Cobble asked, leaning forward in his chair, his thick arms crossed before him on the wooden table.
“Out for a walk,” Anariel answered simply as she and Tathar walked into the tiny stone room serving as their meeting place. It had one window, strategically placed to allow light to shine on the entire table, and held a small desk, a wooden table, and enough chairs for all the members of the guild in various corners. Toward the back of the room was a concealed door leading to the real guild and all of their rooms, much more elaborate and comfortable than the front entrance.
Cobble narrowed his gray eyes threateningly at the elf, knowing there was more to be said. There was always more to be said with that one, but he leaned back in his chair, waving his hands in the air in mock disgust.
Anariel brightened at his surrender and grabbed a chair. Placing a delicate hand on the back, she hoisted herself into the air and flung her legs over, coming to a seat with her legs propped up on the table, one crossed over the other.
Cobble just sighed and shook his balding head, his blue and white beard almost touching the wooden table. There were some things the dwarf had given up mentioning to the energetic elf.
Anariel turned her head sharply, her red hair flying forward to frame her face—purposely, Cobble knew—and the elf patted a chair next to her, motioning for Tathar to come.
“Where are Baine and
“Comin’ back through the streets as we speak,” Cobble answered.
Anariel cocked her head. “How did you—?”
Cobble waved a hand absently toward a corner, to the small desk with a little lamp and a crystal ball.
Anariel snorted. “So where is old pointy-nose anyway?” she asked, dropping her chin into her hands.
Cobble scowled at her, though he could not deny her words. The newest member to his growing business was Fredegar Dalequest, a young wizard that indeed possessed a nose rivaling a carrot tip.
As if he had heard her words, Fredegar stormed into the small meeting room, his faded blue wizard robes strewn everywhere as if he had just gotten out of bed. His thin brown hair, usually combed over to the opposite side of his head, stood up on end, and smoke and ash stained his face.
“Having troubles?” Anariel asked, a rather huge smirk spread across her face. The elf could barely contain her laughter every time she saw the bumbling wizard, for he was hardly attractive. Other than his hideously pointed nose, his face was long and narrow with his cheeks sunken in, causing him to have the appearance of a wide-eyed bug. The one—utterly horrible—time the elf had seen Fredegar stripped to the waist had been enough for her, and she did not hide a snicker when his robes nearly fell off.
“Th-th-that man!” Fredegar squealed, his high-pitched, somewhat feminine voice matching perfectly with his slender frame. Further explanation was not needed, as Baine Dulin and Cali Almare burst into the room, the former roaring in earth-shaking laughter.
“Well, now that everyone is all here…” Cobble sighed and dropped his forehead against the table as another girlish scream issued from Fredegar.
“How could you shoot me with a lightening bolt!” he cried, pointing a bony finger accusingly at Baine. Anariel lost what remaining control she had left and slumped against the table, laughing helplessly at the sight.
Baine stood well past six feet, and his thick, muscled arms were the width of Fredegar’s entire face. A double-headed battle axe was slung casually over one bulging soldier, and the size of the weapon alone seemed to shrink the sputtering wizard to a height of a halfling. Perfectly straight teeth gleamed in an impish smile, their pearly whiteness enhanced by Baine’s dark-skinned face. His belly laugh seemed to shake the entire stone room as he thudded in—various silver chains and other jewelry dangling from his light brown breeches and broad neck rattling together—and he patted the wizard on the back as he strode past him. Fredegar seemed like a rag doll at that moment, and he nearly fell over at what Baine considered a light and friendly pat.
Anariel studied one of the few human friends she had, and decided once again that he was not completely human. Perhaps an ogre, Anariel guessed, or a giant. She shook her head and chuckled. Perhaps he was just big.
“Anariel.”
The elf nearly fell from her seat in surprise, and it took her a moment to focus on the pretty face of Cali Almare.
Sky blue eyes—very similar to Tathar’s,
though a bit darker—stared out at the elf underneath long, dark eyelashes, and
her high cheek bones and angular face marked her as someone who would grow up
to be quite beautiful. She was just a
girl of eleven, and yet she had developed a level of stealth rivaling an
elf. Quiet and somewhat shy, the girl
mostly kept to herself, but under that calm exterior laid a fierce, independent
nature. No one took advantage of
A hint of a smile played on
“What is it,
A happy twinkle flashed in the sky blue eyes of the girl, though her expression changed not at all. “We had an interesting discovery in one of the caves,” she said in her soft, angelic voice.
Anariel leaned forward in her chair excitedly, her booted feet coming off the table and to the stone floor with a loud thud—purposely, of course. “Well I should hope so,” she said, giving an exaggerated sigh and rolling her eyes as she remembered the abundance of fake gold in the brown dragon’s lair. “You would not believe the stupidity of some dragons!”
Anariel cocked her head, waiting
somewhat impatiently as
“It broke,” she said apologetically as she pulled out several more pieces. “It crashed down right by my head like someone dropped it.
“That is all right,” Anariel said, waving a hand in the air dismissively. “I am good at puzzles.”
“What’re ye doin’?” Cobble asked, leaning forward to get a better look from his end of the table.
Fredegar halted in mid accusation, his mouth hanging open somewhat awkwardly, then turned away from the unconcerned Baine and studied the stone tablet.
Anariel just grunted in reply to Cobble’s question and slid another piece into the now recognizable corner of the tablet.
“Hey,” Baine said, standing up from his chair. “Is that what we found in the cave?”
Baine frowned at the curious reaction, then remembered his instructions to leave the tablet behind. “Aw,” he said, shaking his dark bald head. “You could’ve taken it. I just said it wasn’t worth anythin’.”
Tathar smiled, then leaned over. Sitting next to Anariel, he had a much better view of what was now almost completed. What he saw made him gasp, his crystal blue eyes widening in shock.
“What?” Baine, Cobble, and Fredegar asked in unison, giving up peering over the table and rushing over to Anariel’s side.
The red-haired elf slid the last
piece in, then leaned back in her chair. Her expression hardly matched everyone
else’s, though only
“This is…” Cobble tried to say, then just shook his head.
“What?” Baine asked, still confused.
“I cannot believe that…” Tathar trailed off and shook his head. “This is an ancient tablet from centuries before, depicting the Dragon herself.” He looked to Anariel, but his eager smile immediately faded.
The elf slowly came forward in her chair, her emerald green eyes never leaving the stone tablet. A dragon dominated the scene, horned and terrible, breathing fire down upon a village. Little figures were running away from the fiery blaze, heading for a lining of trees to the left of the tablet. But on the right, carved with incredible detail, was an army standing abreast, swords raised before them. Their long hair and pointed ears marked them as elves, but only Anariel recognized them for what they really were.
These were dark elves, once a noble people that lived in harmony with their cousins, dark and beautiful to behold. With skill that had no superior, they were the first to join the Order of the Dragon, swearing fealty to their most respected creature, promising to protect those of the lesser race, the humans.
But this tablet did not depict their protection of the humans, for indeed it was humans fleeing from the village. No, instead it showed what Anariel still remembered so vividly, what had changed the face of Orosta forever.
Anariel stood abruptly and whirled about, heading across the room in long, fluid strides to the concealed door. Anariel pushed in the appropriate stones, and the door swung inward, bathing the small meeting room in candlelight from deeper in the guild. Without even looking back to her confused friends, she disappeared down the carpeted hallway. The stone door clanged behind her with a resounding thud, returning the room to the dim light of the waning day.
The remaining members of the guild looked to each other, then back to the tablet. Cobble and Tathar knew where this tablet was from, but even they, who knew Anariel the best, could not begin to understand what had upset her so.