"Dragon: Ch 7 - 8" by Sarah Colley

Chapter Seven

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Gradon straightens his shoulders and smoothes out his red cloak.  Drawing in a steadying breath, he steps into the receiving room of the manor house of Serress. He feels only a momentary pang of guilt looking across at the figure of Lord Xaron. Bowing his head in respect, he looks up at the man, clad in the green and yellow of his house.

“Sir Gradon,” Xaron welcomes with a return nod. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you, my Lord.” Glancing around, he settles onto a wooden seat without arms that is situated across from the man.  The screens are pulled back, letting a light breeze waft through the room, carrying the sweet scent of blooming ortica flowers.

“What can I do for you?” the lord inquires politely.  He keeps his face impassive, although the bright red that denotes the knight across from him as a follower of Altexia brings him pain, memories of Lana gripping his heart.

Looking around the room to insure himself they are alone, Gradon leans forward, his hands clasped. “I have news for you, my Lord.”

Curious, he shifts in his seat and asks, “Oh?”

“It concerns your daughter, my Lord.”

Now giving his full attention to the knight, whom he had only been humoring by meeting with, he sits up straight, his grey eyes intent. “What do you know of, Lena?”

“I know who was behind your great loss,” he assures him.

Xaron frowns at his words and challenges, “How could you know this when none have been able to find a clue?”

“There are clues, my Lord, it’s only that the Dragons don’t want you to know about them,” Gradon replies, dropping his voice.

Keeping his anger, and his suspicion in check, he leans forward. “Are you telling me The Order knows who killed my daughter?”

“I am, my Lord.”

“Who?”

Gradon fights hard to keep from grinning at how well things are going and replies, “House Jorin.”

Looking at him as if he has lost his mind, Lord Xaron repeats, “House Jorin.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the knight assures him. “You can see why they would not want to bring you this information. The first allegiance of The Order is to the emperor.”

Narrowing his eyes, the lord looks the knight over again. He can see no outward signs of deceit, but hoping for a sign that says ‘traitor’ was probably hoping for too much.  “You are a Dragon. Why would you go against your Order to bring me this information?”

“Because I am also a follower of Altexia and the dead must be honored. Your daughter’s soul cries out for justice from the Hall,” he replies with convincing sincerity.

“You have proof?”

“I do, my Lord.” Withdrawing a scroll, a silver necklace wrapped around it, from the folds of his crimson tunic, he hands it to the lord.

Taking the proffered items, Xaron’s hands shake. He fingers the necklace, easily recognizing it as belonging to his child. Unrolling the scroll, he reads it without comment, his jaw clenching. “I thank you,” he finally says at length.

Gradon rises to his feet, taking his cue to leave.  He bows low. “I’m sorry to be the barer of this news, but your daughter’s soul must be put to rest through the destruction of her murders.”

“One moment,” Xaron requests and rises to his feet.  Walking from the room, he returns a few minutes later, a small wooden box in hand. Holding the chest out, he offers it to Gradon. “With my gratitude,” he explains.

Taking the gift, the knight inclines his head. “I thank you, my Lord, although you didn’t have to reward me. I was only following the path of the goddess.”

“Which is why I honor you,” the lord assures him.

“The gods blessing on you and your House,” Gradon says with another bow, clutching the box protectively.  What the others didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt them and would go a long way in financing his disappearance before the world around him erupts in war, he decides.

* * *

Emperor Koneff sits dressed in solid red, his young face drawn in pain. A barely touched meal, even though it’s one of favorites, compliments of Chief Kolros, rests on the table before him. Watching the black striped animal sniff at the plate he says, “Go ahead, Lurk. I am done.”

The Tulock straightens up and cocks his head to the side, watching the boy. He chatters worriedly, but that does not stop him from snatching a piece of bread from the gold plate. 

“He is worried about you, Emperor,” Savia translates.

“It should have been me,” he intones, not for the first time. The guilt over surviving the attack refuses to lift.  The last day of mourning was upon him, but he felt no better. All of the forms had been followed, but the goddess refused to grant him release from the pain.  

The knight represses her sigh. Dressed all in red to observe the period of grief for the princess, she moves away from the window and turns to face the emperor.  “I must attend to a matter, Majesty.”

“Alright,” he says without much interest, instead rubbing Lurk’s stomach.

Opening the door, Ryil quietly walks into the room.  He hovers beside his wife, seeing the monarch is still weighed down by his grief. “Sorry for the delay.”

“It’s okay.” Looking at Koneff, she says, “Majesty, this is Ryil. He is First Captain of Altec, and my husband. I trust him with my life. He will be taking my place while I am away.”

Koneff looks up for a moment at the knight, vaguely remembering him from months before at the wedding feast. Sad again with memories of his sister, he none the less forces himself to remembering his manners. “Welcome, Captain.”

Bowing formally, Ryil says, “My condolences, Majesty.”

“Thank you,” he replies and returns his attention to the Tulock.

Savia shakes her head lightly and whispers. “He is young, he will come out of it. I won’t be gone long.  He is enjoying Lurk, so I am leaving him here.” Eying her husband she warns, “Be nice to him, but please make sure he doesn’t ‘borrow’ anything.”

“I will.” Kissing his wife’s cheek lightly he says, “The gods go with you, Savia.”

* * *

Lord Xaron inclines his head politely to Savia.  Although wanting to nothing more than to get to the point, his breeding forces him not to skip the pleasantries.  “Thank you for coming. Your trip was uneventful I trust.”

“I am always happy to aid you, Lord Xaron,” she assures him. “However, I must urge haste. I loathe to be away from the emperor for too long.”

“I am sure your fellow Dragons are guarding our great Emperor well.”

The knight smiles. She is once again dressed in her customary green, the period of mourning having lifted the day before. “Of course, but I would feel better being there. The emperor knows me and he has taken the death of the princess badly.”

“I can sympathize.” Waving his hand, he moves on to business, pleased to acquiesce to her request for haste. “I wish to know what more you have learned of Lana’s death.”

Savia frowns. “Unfortunately we have learned nothing more of those who attacked your heir,” she says. It is true, we don’t know who attacked her, she thinks. I am not lying to him, but I fear I will have to if he keeps this up. I know he is still in pain, but I must trust what we do is for the best.

Leveling his gaze on the knight, and beloved child of his ally, he replies, “I have recently been given information that says otherwise.”

Blinking, she looks at him. “From who? What have you learned?”

“The source is not currently the issue. That The Order is apparently protecting those who attacked my House is.”

“I assure you, Lord Xaron, The Order of the Silver Dragon is not knowingly harboring anyone involved in this attack. If we knew who did it, I assure you on the Honor of my House that you would know,” Savia says with conviction.

“I think for the right house, you would.”  

Someone has implicated Jorin after all, she realizes with sudden certainty. “Never, my Lord.”

“Savia, you know your honor has never been in question, but I cannot ignore what I have been given.” Paling at the thought of his child wandering the Halls in pain for her death, he shakes his head. “You must understand, Lana’s Soul demands retribution before she be at peace with the goddess.”

“It was not House Jorin,” she assures him. Just let it go. I cannot tell you that your daughter suffers as well, but she does. Do not make her sacrifice, or your own pain, in vain by still ending up in a conflict that you cannot hope to win.

Xaron watches her closely. “You did not have to think long to figure out that is the house I speak of.”

“It’s only logical. What other house would The Order possibly risk dishonor for?”

“Perhaps.”

Sighing, the knight looks at the Lord of House Serress. “Will nothing I say convince you that you are wrong?”

“Not when my child’s Soul is at stake, no.”

“Then I ask that you come with me and speak to my father. I assure you, the trip will be worth the delay,” she pleads. There is no other way. We will have to tell him, but that is a decision for father to make. It his honor most on the line. If Xaron holds us accountable for this deceit, no matter our intensions, it will still mean war. The gods protect Arafia if Serress and Aracien enter a Blood Feud, she thinks. Pulling herself from her thoughts, she adds, “If, after you have been to our estate you still feel House Jorin is at fault, I will not stand in your way.”

Considering her request, he finally nods his head. “Very well, I owe you that much. In any case, I will need to ask your father to ride at my side.”

* * *

Leading the way into the courtyard, she hands the reigns of Sorrin to the stable hand. Turning away from her black warhorse, sure he is in safe hands, Savia smiles tensely at her eldest brother who emerges from the shadows of the house to greet them. He is dressed in the deep purple of their house, always so becoming against dark coloring. “I see they sent word ahead.”

Kotir takes his sister into a hug and nods his head. “Of course. That is the entire point of laying the Warding Stones so far out- gives us plenty of time to prepare for unannounced guests.” Bowing his head formally to the Lord of House Serress he says, “Welcome to House Aracien, Lord Xaron. I do hope you accompanying my sister is not a sign of bad tidings to come?”

“Perhaps,” he answers. “We have come to see your father.”

“Then I shan’t keep you waiting.” Beckoning to the two, he personally leads them into the estate house. They pass through soaring columns and echoing marble hallways.  Vivid tapestries line the walls and plush rugs help to muffle the sound of their boots. Easily navigating the opulent structure, Kotir stops before the door to his father’s study. Opening the solid door, he waves them in.

Lord Tachir rises to his feet from behind the imposing grownas wood desk.  Arching his brows at the arrival of his daughter and oldest ally, although having known of their approach since they Stepped onto the estate, he motions for them to have a seat. “Xaron, old friend. What brings you to my lands unannounced?”

“Excuse the lack of formality, but Savia insisted I come to speak with you before making a decision.” Looking over at the other lord, his honor demands to be satisfied, even in light of his haste. “Please forgive me if I ask that we skip the required formalities?”

“Of course.” Suspecting it is time to end their charade he looks across to his son. “Please find Lanew and our guest and have them waiting.”

Kotir glances between the two lords and bows his head in supplication before moving from the room in search of the pair, a frown marring his lips.

Taking his seat once more, he returns his attention to his friend and says, “Tell me what I can do for you.”

“I have recently come into some information that implicates House Jorin in the death of my Lana,” he replies, not bothering to mask the details under the cloak of pleasantries and half truths that normally permeate the political structure of Arafia.

Leaning back in his chair, he considers the words before forming his response.  Deciding to start delicately, given his own secret knowledge, he replies, “This is no small accusation you level, Xaron. I trust you have proof?”

Withdrawing the scroll and silver necklace from his yellow satin robes, the lord hands the items over. “The necklace is the one Lana was wearing the day she left. It was her mother’s and she was never without it.”

Unrolling the scroll, Tachir reads the content aloud, “Highness- It is done.” Frowning deeply he looks over to his still grieving friend. “Yes, the title belongs only to those of House Jorin, but anyone could have written this.”

“And had the necklace?” he counters.

“Possibly.”

Xaron glances over at Savia and back. “I understand your reluctance on this issue. I have no desire to go against the emperor, but who could have had her necklace other than those who did it?”

“No one, I agree. However, the note could have been planted.”

“Then let us take it to The School. Surely they can cast a spell to determine its origins.”

“Undoubtedly, but that will not be necessary,” Tachir replies.

Relief flooding through his body, he looks to the graying lord and asks, “You believe me then?”

“No, but I have another way to prove to you that House Jorin did not murder your daughter.”  Raising his voice he calls out, “Bring them in, Kotir.”

Opening the door to the study, he steps in and to the side, revealing Lanew, his arm protectively around the slender figure of Lana.  The Heir of House Serress is dressed in a concealing green gown that falls all the way to the floor and runs the length of her arms. Her brown hair is piled atop her head in a mix of ringlets and slender braids.  

Lord Xaron jumps to his feet, unbelieving of his eyes, and demands, “What sorcery is this?!”

“None, I assure you,” Tachir replies sincerely. “Lana was not killed, but has been here with us since she was taken from your lands.” Lifting his hand to forestall the questions he says, “She was taken, but by her own request, and for the good of the Empire, when we found her, we could not return her to you.”

“Lana?” Xaron chokes out, “is this true?”

Lana trembles, hardly managing to stay in the room through her shame of the deceit she so willingly leveled against her own father. Her fingers flying, she signs her answer, trusting the man next to her will act as her voice.

Looking at the Lord of House Serress, Lanew translates. “I was captured by men. I do not know of what house. They intended to kill me, of that I am certain. Because of this, they spoke freely in my presence. I heard them speaking of their plan to frame House Jorin for my death, to draw you into a battle with them. I could not allow this to happen. When Savia found me, I would not let her take me to you, although it was the first thing she wanted to do.  Once I explained what I had heard, the Knights agreed with me that they had to discover who was behind the plan. The emperor had to be protected. This meant I needed to be dead. They wanted to tell you, but your grief had to be real so that none would suspect that I had survived. Lord Tachir kindly offered me sanctuary here where I would be safe and could heal.”

Xaron looks at his lovely daughter and to the man next to her, his mind reeling. He had seen the Language of the Hands used before, but only by soldiers, spies, and deft courtiers. “Why are you speaking for her? I have never known my daughter not to speak her own mind.”

“She can no longer speak,” Tachir explains gently.  “We did all we good. Councilor Avira herself attended to her. She and Savia were both gravely wounded. Lana by the attackers and further by the necessity of Stepping to escape.”

Feeling tears form in his eyes for his daughter’s pain, his rage at the situation seeps away.  He was being selfish to hold them accountable. What had he suffered compared to his child? He was grateful to know she had been among his closest allies and friends, if not with him. “Lana?”

The young girl nods her head, looking down at the floor in shame for failing her House and allowing herself to be so taken and abused.

The lord gathers the delicate silver chain from the table and walks over to his daughter. Taking her face in his hand, he tips her head back. “It does not matter. You are my daughter and heir. You may not speak with your voice,” he motions towards Lanew, “but you speak.” Taking the necklace he clasps it around her neck. “I believe you lost this.”

Lana trembles, having received more than she hoped for. Tears streaming down her face, she throws herself into her father’s arms.

Tachir shifts his weight, wishing he could give the pair privacy for their reunion.  Speaking from the heart, he says, “I am sorry for the pain you have endured, old friend, but there was no other way to protect the Empire or her. If they knew she was alive, they would assuredly come back to finish the job, given what she heard. The risk was just too great.”

Still rocking his child, he nods. “I understand, but now we must find them and destroy them so they cannot help my precious girl again, nor draw any other unsuspecting house into a war.”

“Yes, but how?” Savia asks.

“I gave the Knight who brought me the information a reward. Inside of the chest was a Home Stone.”

“Brilliant,” Kotir comments in appreciation from beside his sister, having moved away from the door to give the lord and his daughter space. He glances at his brother, unsurprised that he did not extend such a courtesy. He will be of Serress soon enough, he thinks.

“Why?” Savia inquires. “I thought you believed him.”

“I knew he knew something of what happened to Lana, the necklace proved that. That it was the emperor? Well, a name on a scroll anyone could have written did not make his case. I think they underestimated my loyalty to the emperor.”

“Or they thought your wits destroyed when you believed your child dead,” Tachir adds.

Xaron nods his head at the truth of the statement, having almost done just that. “If he spoke the truth or not, I suspected I would want to find him again.”

Nodding his head, following the threads of the plots, Kotir asks, “Do you know who the messenger was?”

“Gradon, he was a member of the Order of Altexia.”

Savia groans. “Gradon? Damn. We already knew he was involved. That puts us no closer to figuring out who the others are. They are the real brains behind this.”

“Which is, I am sure, why he was sent, but I doubt they counted on the Home Stone,” Lord Tachir replies with a grin, warming up to the Great Game.