Just Another Shadow

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. But now there were seven.

Alearia was supposed to be filling the front courtyard with blooming vines of lyrwina as a gift from the Ilari to the king as was customary when visiting royalty. Instead, she was hiding behind a shrub of currently-unadorned asmeaf at the opposite side of the yard, peering through the foliage at the resplendent colors of dragonscales.

Two of the dragons were different shades of green, lighter and darker. One purple, one bright blinding sky blue, and three shades of orange. The darkest shade of orange was in the front.

All of the dragons were agitated.

The green ones sat together in the back of the group, heads down, but spurts of steam with occasional flames left their nostrils, leaving burnt patches in the wildgrass. The purple one was pawing the ground, digging small channels among the wildflowers with its massive claws, but it was looking off into the distance.

In all of her eight years, Alearia had never seen so many in one place. Their nerves made Alearia feel more exposed and she twirled her fingers around a small branch within the shrub, whispering her words as soft as she could. “Grow lyrwina, grow, hide me in blooms.” She whispered the mantra over and over. It was more about intention than words. She could feel the magic flowing from her fingertips feeding the plant through her source.

New leaves began to bud and unfurl rapidly and silently, until the asmeaf was twice as thick as before. Several loping vines of lyrwina had spiraled through the bush now as well, small lilac flowers opening.

Anticipating its climbing path, Alearia allowed the trailing vines to wrap around her thin tail and across one hand. She shivered at the ticklish leaves, using the camoflauge to gently push through the thicker foliage and continue watching the visiting dragons.

She knew they must be there to see King Aranlatesch. Each new dragon, as it gained its wings, paid a visit to the king.

But these did not look like young dragons. The one in front had a long scar down the rear leg closest to her, a trail of smoke billowing from its snout. After a moment it leaned back onto its rear legs, stretching its body toward the sky and opening its massive, toothy jaw, to exhale a monstrous fireball larger than the manor itself.

Alearia released the leaves she held, turning her face away just in time. She knew it wasn’t aimed at her, but her startled squeak was swallowed by the roar of the fire. The heat from the blast reached her, wicking away all the sweat that had previously coated her chesnut skin and leaving it dry and itchy. She felt as if she had suddenly been dropped into the Nalencarr Desert. The fireball was so large that its shadow covered all seven of the dragons before the flames dissipated into the clear blue skies.

The double doors to the manor burst open and a group of people came rushing down the cobbled pathway. Alearia didn’t look further than the first, because the first was King Aranlatesch himself. His raven hair flowed around his shoulders as he swiftly marched toward the dragons, his sizable guard falling in line behind. A delicate silver circlet glinted on his brow in the morning sun. Small leathery black wings, likely no longer than Alearia’s own arm, jutted out from the back of the embroidered tunic he wore.

As the king made his way toward the dragons, she glanced back at the attendants desperately attempting to catch up to the long legs of the king.

Her heart skipped a beat. He was followed by his guard, but rushing along behind them all were none other than her parents. Her mother’s dark skin and hair contrasted with her father’s fair features. They had each wrapped their tails around their waists, clearly upset.

Alearia looked back toward the scaled visitors. The two green ones in the back were shifting anxiously from foot to foot as if they were eager to be on their way.

King Aranlatesch appeared to be trying to speak to them. She couldn’t hear the tone of his voice over the rumbling noises of the dragons themselves, but his face was stressed. The russet-orange dragon, whom Alearia assumed was the leader of the group, shook its head at the king and jerked his snout toward the sky.

The king responded by raising his voice, clearly offended, but the words from this distance were garbled. He turned away from the dragon and walked back towards the group of guards and attendants, speaking to them quietly for a moment.

Oh, how she wished she could get closer! Or grow more sensitive ears!

The group backed away from the king and he turned to face the dragons. He raised his voice and shouted, this time loud enough for Alearia and probably half the Valley to hear the words. “Well, move then!”

And they did. All seven reared onto their back legs and spread their wings, launching themselves into the sky and buffeting the entire area with powerful gusts of wind. The king’s circlet toppled off of his head and Alearia’s asmeaf shook under the force a few moments later, leaves flying away. Luckily, enough foliage remained to keep her hidden, but she mumbled another spell just in case. She continued to watch the king, who did not seem at all concerned about his discarded circlet, but instead continued walking further away from his guards.

The king grew with each step, arms lengthening, belly bulging, face elongating and skin overlapping as he grew with crimson scales. An indignant puff of smoke escaped his snout and he spread his wings, taking flight and heading into the column of spiraling dragons above.

She had never seen him transform before. The king rarely transformed in view of others. She tracked his motion as he flew, wishing again she had a different type of ear. But ears could not allow her to hear the speech of the dragons. In their scaled forms they could only communicate with other dragons–or dragonlings, technically–and all of it was done psychically. This most likely explained the king’s sudden transformation regardless of the watching audience. He’d only be able to understand the dragonlings while in his dragon form himself.

As they spiraled higher, she wondered why the other dragons had not changed into their human forms to meet the king, as all others did before. Although all dragonlings could switch between their dragon-bodied forms and their human ones, the human form usually retained dragon-like physical characteristics, like the ornamental wings on the king's back.

For thousands of years, dragonlings were considered extinct, missing, gone from Ryserïa. Until the king’s existence as a dragonling was discovered. Even then he was considered the last and only, until recently. Dragonlings had been turning up in ones and twos, meeting the king and then being sent off toward Ratresch, the mysterious place to the west near the Malyean Ocean that could only be reached by flight. Only dragonlings knew what happened there.

The throbbing beats of the dragon wings began to fade and Alearia blinked her eyes, watching as the dragons came out of their downward spiral in a line, flying off toward the west as the king himself smoothly drifted down, transforming as soon as he touched the wildgrass.

Without the thrumming of dragon wings, the Valley went silent. The whispers from the king’s attendants had faded away. All eyes were on the king.

He bent down and picked up his circlet, settling it back on his head before addressing those waiting before him. “We have a problem.” His voice was tense, worried and commanding all at once. “I need everyone together so I can explain.”

He turned to Alearia. She froze as he stared directly at her hiding space, her lone bush too far beyond the constraints of the courtyard she was intended to be decorating for her presence to be a timely coincidence. Her heart beat loudly in her chest. “That includes you, Alearia.”

His commanding tone made her step from her hiding space in shock, dropping into a curtsy at his attention.

“You know everything there is to know about Ryserïan plants, do you not?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” She was surprised how clear her voice sounded, given she was currently shaking like a leaf.

“You better come along then.”

He turned and regrouped with his guards, leaving Alearia to disentangle herself from the still-clinging vines and jog to catch up to them. Her parents met her eyes; her mother’s stern look contrasting her father’s playful gaze. She caught up to them, bracing herself for a stern word, yet not one person in the group spoke.

The guards led them into the manor, across the wide entrance hall and into a nearby room. It was clearly intended as some kind of planning or war room, with a topographical map taking up a large square table in the middle. Fifty people could have stood around it with space to dance. As it were, those in the room numbered few and stood staring at the daunting map of Ryserïa before them. There were no names or cities, but the geography was represented in perfect detail. Some of the points of the Ordus Mountains looked sharp enough to puncture her finger.

Seven guards positioned themselves around the room. Aleria’s parents stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, and the king across the table. His attention was fixed at the northwestern corner of the map, where the clouded shape of Ratresch rose in the Malyean Ocean.

Patience was never her virtue, but she wasn’t about to be the first to ask all of the questions racing through her head. Instead she cast her gaze toward the window. On this side of the manor, it overlooked the Ruins of Dayonara and the magically wrecked edge of the Syrian Sea. The king had been working on the age-old problem of raising the ancient elven capital of Armoya that had been sunk into the ocean by a tyrannical King Akezzan of the Old Age. At the time, all of Ryserïa believed King Akezzan had nobly killed the elves for practicing evil with magic. In actuality, the elves went into hiding just in time to escape – most of them anyhow. Many lives had been ended by King Åkezzan.

It was Rhys – that is, King Aranlatesch – who dealt the final blow to that mad king, and so was crowned exultantly from all of Lorsa and beyond. Even thinking the name Lorsa sent a shudder through Alearia. Lorsa was dissolved after the mad king died. With King Aranlatesch at the mantle instead, the dragonling king had declared he was merely a figurehead. He needed no army or castle or royal grounds. He stepped into the affairs of the land only as was requested of him, or if the laws were not being obeyed. Each city, village or gathering are empowered to govern themselves in the highest fashion.

“Your Majesty, what seems to be the problem?” Her father, Inix, finally broke the silence.

The king slowly removed his circlet, setting it around the two northernmost peaks of the mountains closest to him on the map. “I asked you not to call me that, especially when it's just us.”

“Fine, Rhys, if you wish. What's wrong? Tell us so we can help.”

“You cannot help.” His crimson eyes flickered upward toward them and locked with Alearia’s own, making her blood go cold again. “You, however, may be our only hope.”

Her parents' hands squeezed her shoulders simultaneously.

The king stared down at the map once again. “There is a sickness originating around Andave.” He reached out a long pale finger and touched a point just beneath two tiny mountain peaks south of the Malyean Ocean. A red flare of light appeared beneath his touch, and the word Andave appeared in small glimmering text beneath. “It affects not only the plants and trees, but anyone with magic. Dragonlings, of course, are immune. There isn’t much magic that can affect us.”

“Andave is so far away.” Inix said. “They are separated by the whole of the Kyrian Flatts and the mountains. It can be contained there and–”

“Not quite,” Rhys interrupted. “Our maps do not show in detail the civilizations that lie in the Western world. The Ordus Mountains keep us isolated from that side.” He started to add more dots to the map, glowing crimson points in each place his finger touched. “Each of these locations are cities – approximately. I’m going off of my own memories, at least a hundred years behind.”

He continued adding pinpoints along the northern coastline of the Malyean Ocean and then further east and inland toward the westernmost reaches of Dai Kvänapt, the forest in which Alearia was born. “These are small villages. Outposts, trade routes, small dwellings. Andave used to be a small seaside village. It is now a bustling country all on its own, with many hectares of farmlands, and a seaside port to rival that of Illvina.”

“So it's spreading?”

“Rapidly. Many dead, more ill and ailing.”

A clatter by the open window suddenly commanded the attention of the room. A redheaded human in a green tunic with a bow slung over his back dropped into view from above. The concussive thrum of dragon wings explained his method of arrival.

“Dashar!” Alearia slipped from beneath her parents’ hands and bounded to the window, throwing herself into his arms.

He caught her easily, a grin already on his lips. “Good, you’re here already.”

Dashar was her uncle, sort of. He was the first person outside of her family to hold her when she was bloomed. Alearia was tall for an Ilari, reaching nearly to Dashar’s shoulder.

The king - Rhys - took an extra moment. “Was that another…?” Rhys rushed past them to the open parapet and looked up at the departing dragonling that had been Dashar’s ride. “Cheater!” He whirled around accusingly, but Dashar was shaking with silent laughter.

He released Alearia and held his arms open for the king instead. “You know you’re the only dragonling for me. Besides, desperate times–”

“Desperate indeed,” Rhys mumbled from the weight of Dashar’s crushing embrace. “I need to hear it from you.”

Dashar nodded and his usual genial visage became grim as he released the king and turned to the map of the land.

Alearia remained by Dashar’s side, taking comfort in his presence. The room no longer seemed stuffy and uninviting. In spite of the subject matter at hand, Alearia felt almost relaxed.

“This is where it started.” He pointed to a small ridge outside of Andave. “I didn’t go there, but stayed in the trees. I searched the entire western reaches of the forest, but the spread seems to completely stop before the mountain range. There are healthy flowers, right next to the dead ones.”

“Perhaps there is something in the forest there that offers immunity!” Alearia's mother chimed in. Vira was looking at the place where Dashar’s finger hovered, right in the middle of Dai Kvänapt.

“It could be,” Rhys was rubbing his chin contemplatively. He didn’t seem convinced.

“It started with flowers and plants. Several types began to wither and die with no discernable explanation. There are many different species, many different varieties affected. No one has been able to pinpoint a cause.”

“Is that why you wanted me?” Alearia asked softly to the silently brooding room.

Rhys’ crimson gaze fell upon her once again and she had to fight not to squirm beneath it. “Yes, Alearia. We need only the best if we are going to stop this in time.”

Dashar’s hand rested heavily on her small shoulder. “Azyriah is waiting for you,” Dashar said, speaking of his Ilari mate. He had been the first human in recorded Ilari history to bond into the species. In fact, none of the Ilari considered him a human at all. “We have our best healer, and our best botanist.”

“Wait a minute,” her father’s forehead was pinched. He was watching Rhys closely. “You said the sickness affects those with magic. Why then would you send Ilari? Our very existence began from magic.”

“Ilari are not affected,” Dashar said quietly. “Azyriah…. She exposed herself early on. She has none of the negative effects.”

“So dragonlings and Ilari…” the king mused. The small leathery wings on his back flicked silently, as if he were eager to be in his larger form to investigate himself. “I wonder if there is a connection? Maybe I should…”

“No.” Dashar turned to look at his friend. “You have to raise Armoya.”

“Well, yes, that is the dream, but–”

“The key to understanding what is corrupting the magic of Ryserïa may very well be contained in Armoya itself. It was once the oldest, most prolific elven city. You told me that yourself, Rhys. Isn’t that why you’re sequestering yourself here by the ruins?” He motioned toward the open window, where the crumbling stone remains of Dayonara stood watch over the precipice of the cracked world.

The king looked solemn. “I know you’re right, but I’m still grumpy with you.”

Dashar turned his startling green eyes back to Alearia. “Azyriah is awaiting you near Anemos.”

She looked back down at the small glowing red point just north of the Kyrian Flatts. She was about to be very far from home.