Scales and Talons

Chapter 10

Cold rain poured from the dark sky, soaking the black cloak that protected King Maron from the unrelenting mountain cold. A hood was pulled over his head, keeping Maron's face in the dark and his thoughts hidden. He looked out over his war camp, soldiers and dragons spread out across the mountain range. 

He himself stood on the edge of the ruins, the tallest tower of the wizard's fortress built against the western mountain. Exactly where Maron's camp stood had once been the border of his land. He doubted he could still call it that, his land. Fear of the wizard had long since driven his people from this fort and closer to the walls of Fort Lian, leaving the borders to be taken. And Maron had done nothing but watch. 

He had never expected to be fighting in this very place to get his son back. His son whom he foolishly sent out and lost. He had lost him forever. There was no trace of him in the fort. No corpse, not even a sign that he had been captured and brought to this place.

Rain poured down from the dark clouds above Maron's head. And alone on the lookout, a single sob rocked the king's body. He could not control the wave of pain, the thought of losing his eldest son. It was not just that he had lost his heir. 

For a moment, he found himself 19 years back in a dimly lit room. Nurses were scurrying about, there was complete chaos in and around the room with celebrations. But none of this caught his attention. No, he was completely focused on the small, warm bundle in his arms. For a moment he relived the happiness he felt when he held his first son. Now that happiness had left him with regret. 

Over the years he had watched his son grow into the brightest of his peers. Maron had been hard on Roan, hoping that he would also take care of the sword, but Roan had always known how to avoid training and buried himself in books. And Maron had sent his son on several quests to prove himself. He had always made sure that Roan had the best trainers, the best horses, the best sword. But for what.

Frustrated, Maron bit his fist, trying to control his emotions. His vision had blurred, making the camp before him look like a starry night. Maron was unsure if any tears had escaped his eyes. The rain hid them well enough. A sudden tremor in the ground made Maron straighten up, not turning or lifting his hood, but assuming the posture expected of a ruler. 

The ground behind him shook as heavy footsteps approached. "Human King." A deep rumble came from behind him. "Lord Xerxes," Maron acknowledged the golden Dragon Lord. "What news from your side?" The dragon rumbled as he settled down on the wet ground, keeping a close eye on the camp.

"There were only small dragon camps on this mountain, so we did not have many casualties among the air force. It seemed they knew we were coming. I got the feeling that only those who would sacrifice themselves as a diversion were left behind. As for the numbers, there are two dragons seriously injured and only three losses in our ranks. I suppose your human troops did not fare much worse?"

Maron sighed. The Dragon Lord was right. His troops had suffered only minor losses and few injuries. But the huge fortress had only guards and prisoners left. They had found traces of troops, of the mage and his work, but nothing like the army they had expected. "Indeed. There was little resistance from the remaining guards. I cannot shake the feeling that we have wasted our time coming here. We were led here to give the enemies room to move. A cleverly placed diversion. Taking two of our dearest; Naxton and Roan." 

A sad rumble escaped Xerxes' mouth. "A cleverly laid diversion, yes. Perhaps our losses are far greater than we describe. A hit on the inside, not on our forces. An ingenious way to begin a war."

Maron felt another pang of sadness in his chest at Xerxes' words. Heavy losses indeed. A silence fell between Maron and the dragon. A silence of understanding. Only when the rain had stopped falling from the dark sky did they move from the edge of the mountain. "I will leave at first light with my personal guards and return to Fort Lian. My troops will follow the next day, but a squad will remain to investigate this place further. Perhaps we can gain some important knowledge.

Maron was the first to break the silence as he removed the hood from his head and walked away from the dragon towards the back of the ledge, pausing before making his way down.

Xerxes grumbled and made no attempt to move from where he was now lying. "Understood, my lord, my wingguard will follow you, but I will leave a dragon to protect your investigation group." The golden dragon agreed, but added: "However, I have another matter to attend to before I return to Fort Lian. I will take my brother with me to assist me, but I have noticed some strange behavior from the wild dragons we have slaughtered. I need to make sure of something."

Maron frowned in the darkness, but did not press the Dragon Lord. Though humans and dragons ruled together, their coexistence had its political challenges. And Maron's gut told him that this matter was only for the Dragon Lord's ears. "Understood. Then I wish you a good night. Or at least what remains of it." Maron said goodbye and made his way down the mountain to the camp.

Halfway down the mountain, four guards rushed towards him, clearly surprised by his presence. "Your Majesty," they said in unison, bowing their heads in respect. "My apologies, we were unaware that you had left the camp without guards." Maron nodded in acknowledgement but made no response to the guards. Instead he walked in a straight line towards his personal tent, flanked by the guards, nodding to the few soldiers still awake at this late hour. It seemed that the king was not the only one kept awake by the demons that haunted him. 

The campfires were surrounded by haunted soldiers, but Maron could not sit with them and find understanding. He was the king and should bear his burdens alone, to appear as an immovable force. And so he did, his legs carrying him through the mud towards his tent. When his dwelling came into view, he could only breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly the exhaustion of the day had caught up with him and when he saw his tent, Maron could not wait to isolate himself and rest. Just a few more rows of tents and he could forget the day.

Maron passed the last campfire in the center of the camp, again receiving greetings and bows of recognition. His eyes were drawn away from his tent for only a moment to return the acknowledgement, and for a moment he let his gaze wander over the small group of soldiers resting by the warmth of the campfire; one drinking, one playing a lute and annoying his companions playing cards, one seemingly dozing off, and one staring Maron straight in the eye.

 Maron frowned at the direct gaze and straightened his shoulders as if the soldier were challenging him. It was only for a moment, but it was a gesture long enough to worry Maron. His mother had always told him that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and what Maron had seen in this young man's eyes showed no love for his king. The look had been as cold as death itself, and the confidence with which the man had averted his eyes back to his companions had been as disrespectful as his gaze. 

For a moment Maron swore he saw the eyes change color and glow, but it was gone so quickly he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He was tired and not fond of people challenging him. So Maron would let it go for now, but he imprinted the young man's face in his mind. Just to be sure.

A sigh of relief left Maron's mouth as the flaps of his tent closed behind him. Inside it was pleasantly warm, illuminated by several candles. Carpets were laid out on the floor to keep the wet and cold out of his tent. It was only now that Maron realized how cold he had become in the rain and wind. His clothes were clinging to his body, soaked with the icy water that had been pouring down on him for hours. 

He stripped off his clothes, starting with his cloak and kicking off his boots, which landed with a wet sound at the entrance to the tent. Normally Maron had to keep his tent clean for meetings with his war officials, but he doubted anyone would pay him a visit before first light. So he left his clothes in a wet heap on the floor, trudged barefoot to his bed and grabbed a bottle of wine on the way. Only his sword and a drink accompanied the king as he lay down on the furs draped over his bed.