The Fires of Cerran

Chapter Nineteen

There was an awkward silence around the table of the Council Hall as the meeting of the High Lords of the West began. The day was quiet, the sky blue and the winds gentle. Against the wall with the tapestry of the Denmir, Ser Lenren stood over the meeting in deep thought. The King was seated facing away from the balcony, so that all eyes would be drawn to him. He was flanked, on either side, by the High Lords of his Council and Kingdom. Opposite him sat the Lord of Blackridge, Lord Elmorc, in fine robes of a fair brown colour, with crisp white undershirts and a perfect smile running along his clean-shaven face. A slow grinding, almost painful sound came from the door, and in walked a solemn looking Ser Ramon of Garth. Velgar shot a quick, disapproving look to the man who nodded in apology and stood opposite his Captain, Lenren. The curved walls of the place made the whole affair tight, almost claustrophobic and Lenren let out a deep uneasy sigh amongst the silence. A moment later, Lord Louton of Arisen came in, dressed in golden finery but with a hard expression on his face. He took his seat without so much as a glance to Brodon and were it not for the arrival of Lord Fenkel of Rhea and Rhaysar Mulmet of Fildron, the tension may have boiled over quickly. Beneath a furrowed brow Ser Ramon’s eyes shifted between the Lord’s, and he wondered just how these proceedings would play out. So much power, he thought, all in one room. A perfect storm.

 

Only now did the silence end, with the slow and somewhat self-conscious sound of Velgar’s gabble against the wooden tabletop. The red-faced man stood, a large leatherbound book sitting open in front of him and his arms out in warm greetings in front of him.

 ‘Friends, Lord’s, I welcome you to Ceraborn. However, I only wish that it were in times far brighter than these.’ Lord Louton shifted uneasily in his seat.  

 ‘Yet, it is times such as these that the powers extended upon us are most vital. My Lord’s now is the time for action, for the good of the Kingdom we hold most dear.’ Velgar’s eyes fell across all men that sat before him before resting gently onto Brodon. The King let out a deep, sad sigh and clasped his hands tightly together.

 ‘This Kingdom is facing great threats, not only the farmlands in the South, but now the fear of beasts we did not to exist beyond the pages of our Elder texts.’ The King’s voice was grave, every word was pointed like the tip of a spear.

 ‘There have been rumours in the North about Cerran.’ Replied Fenkel bluntly, his gaze held firmly by his closed palms.

 ‘Aye, we know.’ Brodon returned.

 ‘Brodon, you must tell us.’ Louton said after a moment of quiet.

Brodon’s voice was merely a whisper now, and his lips seemed to gently quiver.

 ‘A dragon.’

 

*

The winds blew cold against the sand dunes of Ilad D’Maar, Zhai. The sky was a deep blue lit by an endless sea of unclouded stars. A bald eagle landed softly against the sand and gripped helplessly at the sand as it shifted along the ground. Eventually, heaving its exhausted body up the incline of the hillock, it reached the bare twisted roots of an orchid tree and sat calmly by its trunk. The bird’s eyes shifted focus, sensing something but not quite able to see it. Turning back, it faced the trunk of the tree and squawked. The branches of the tree swayed softly in the starlight and the white, pink flowers started to fall around the squawking bird. A moment after and the bird felt its feet fade away, as slowly its body gave way to the sand from which had been born, and with a final glance out across the dunes that lay for untold miles ahead, it saw what it feared. The sand settled, and it seemed to mirror the twinkling stars above it, and on the hillock, where no tree grew and no birds found refugee, a dark shape shifted into form.