The Dragon Prince, Chapter 1
Betrayed
A warm breeze lazily flowed through the blue city of Torndil, Evendor’s capital. The handful of sentries taking their turn at the watch were the only men of the city’s fifty thousand inhabitants still awake. The pale light of the half moon revealed a young man standing atop the thirty-foot walls of the Citadel, the breeze filling out his gray cloak behind him. The light rain matted his thick, brown hair against his forehead, giving him a wolfish appearance. The rain clinked off the chainmail he wore and collected in a shallow pool at his boot-clad feet. His hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his side while his gray eyes stared off into the darkness to the north. A light rain began to fall and his body tensed at the change. The sound of a voice behind him seemed to shake him out of his trance and the grip on his sword tightened instinctively.
“Istamar,” the feminine voice called from somewhere close behind him, “what are you doing out here this late?”
“I could ask you the same question Lorewyn. You ought to be asleep.” Came the gruff reply of the King’s Nephew.
“What, and you shouldn’t? But that does nothing to answer me, what are you doing out this late?”
Istamar took a moment to answer; “I feel something in the wind...nothing to worry about. Go back to bed milady.” She stared at him darkly for a moment, started to say something, but suddenly the wind changed from a smooth breeze to a frigid gust.
Murmurs came from the courtyard at the sudden change; Lorewyn slipped beneath Istamar’s arm. Istamar glanced from the sky to the courtyard to the lower gates tensely. The rain blurred his vision somewhat, but he thought he discerned a shadow coming swiftly from the river about a league to the north.
“Lorewyn, go back inside. Now.” The tone in his voice left no room for argument. Without a word Lorewyn turned and ran into the keep. A few minutes later, a commotion was heard at the lowest gate of the city. Soon thereafter the sound of hooves was heard rapidly approaching the citadel. A lone horseman appeared out of the shadows, dismounting as he came to the gate. He was quickly ushered inside, and Istamar was at the gate to meet him.
“Derlyn, what are you doing here? Is all well with the king?” He asked, already knowing the answer to his question and fearing it. The rider paused a moment to catch his breath, “No my lord Istamar, everything that could have gone ill has done so. Santra marches on us at my very heels, and a great portion of our northern provinces are with them.”
“What of the king, Derlyn?” Istamar demanded, voice breaking.
Without a word, Derlyn reached towards his saddle and removed a cloth-wrapped bundle. Istamar took it, his hands trembling, and let the cloth fall. The gold encrusted scabbard was unmistakable.
“He is dead then?”
“Y...yes my lord. And all the guard with him. Slain by one of Solas’ knights.”
Istamar drew a sharp breath, his composure wavering. “Then we will ready the city for a siege.” He turned towards the keep to rouse Alvaris, the king’s second-in-command and Evendor’s military leader.
“This knight is strange, my lord...I do not know what to tell you of him, but beware, he is not one to be taken lightly.”
Istamar’s pace halted a moment, then quickened.
Istamar pounded on the door to Alvaris’ chambers, shouting the captain’s name. What seemed like an eternity later, the door swung open.
“Whatever your reason for waking me at this hour, it had better be good.” The old captain growled.
Istamar showed him the king’s sword, and the blood drained from Alvaris’ face.
“Solas has betrayed us.” Istamar began in an even tone, “All of Santra is emptied, the greater part of our northern provinces with them.”
Alvaris could not have looked paler were he dead. “Have you told the Princess?”
“No my lord, the town must be roused first.”
“Then I suggest you go and tell her. I will see to the ordering of the city.”
Istamar bowed slightly and disappeared down the hall. Upon reaching the Princess’s chambers he knocked on her door much lighter than he had on Alvaris’.
“You knocked?”
Istamar nearly jumped out of his skin, surprised by the voice coming from behind him. He spun around, hand on his sword, and almost knocked Lorewyn over.
“You’re too on edge tonight. Something more than the wind bothers you.” She said with a playful smile.
“You are right in that.” He said with a frown and sigh, “King Solas has betrayed us, and even now his troops are at our doorstep. Derlyn brought me this.” He gave her the sword. Immediately, tears began to fill her eyes.
“They killed him?” She collapsed against Istamar’s chest, her body wracked with sobs. Istamar wrapped his arms around her, “All will be well my lady.”
She pulled back in disbelief, “How can you say that? My father is dead!”
Istamar gently lifted her chin to look in her eyes. “My lady, do you think I am unaware or unfeeling? There will be a time for tears, but it is not now. You are the Queen of Evendor, and now we must put grief aside and focus on the task at hand, seeing that this city remains safe.”
A look of quiet resolution came over her tear-stained face, and she seemed to stand a little taller. The tears still rolled down her cheeks, but much slower than before. “You are right Istamar...For Evendor.”
“Aye my lady.” He said with a bow. He handed her the sword. “For Evendor.”
“Prince Istamar, Alvaris calls for you.” On of the palace messengers shouted as he ran down the hallway.
“Tell him I am on my way, and tell Elmaras to ready the Guard.”
“Yes my lord.” The boy dashed off again.
The deep throb of the alarm bells stirred the keep to action. Very little talk was heard, each person intent on his or her task to prepare the keep for the expected siege. Each servant, from chamberlain to the lowest kitchen drudges stopped and bowed as Evendor’s fourth in command passed by.
One daft butler stopped to ask if the rumors were true, that all Evendor was in rebellion and camped outside Torndil with a score of Dragon Knights at their head. Istamar corrected him without stopping, and managed to avoid questions until he reached the courtyard. The courtyard was a much more organized scene that the keep had been. Ordered ranks of swordsmen and archers poured through the citadel gate towards the lower levels. Elmaras greeted him in the middle of the courtyard, hand on his chest in salute to his captain.
“The Royal Guard stands ready to serve my lord.”
Istamar smiled, the unyielding devotion and obedience to him the guard displayed was encouraging.
“Elmaras, take half the Genam and find the Queen...if things go ill...you know what you are to do. The rest of you await my further orders.” The guard split quickly to their appointed tasks, each saluting Istamar as they passed. Istamar ascended the stair to the top of the citadel gate, where Alvaris was already looking over the city’s defenses and peering out into the darkness beyond its gates.
Torndil was set like a gem in the northern side of a mountain, four rings of stone walls emerging in wide half-circles around the Citadel. The first was fifteen feet in height, wide enough for six men to walk abreast, and within it lay the lower barracks and stables for the castle’s messengers. The second and third were twenty feet, blue stones were set in the walls, mined from the mountain, which gave the city it’s name. Within the second wall sat a majority of the cities shops and craft buildings, most homes were in the third. The fourth wall was of twenty-five feet and slightly wider than the lower walls. The homes of the nobility and the Royal Tombs were within the highest level. Rising an imposing thirty feet was the wall of the Citadel itself, which contain a courtyard about half a mile on each side, and the keep, which served as the royal residence.
“Three thousand swords and a thousand archers are already on the lowest level, the Northmen will pay dearly to enter the city.” Alvaris said, breaking out of his trance-like state, “About the same on the second and third. Two thousand of each on the fourth wall. The Guard is in the Citadel.”
“I sent Elmaras and the Genam to the Queen. What of the enemy, are they in sight yet?”
“Derlyn seems to think the entire northern province is up in arms, it could be several thousands. Until they cross the river there is no way to tell, I’ll not risk any men to scout.”
“Then I will go down and see what may be seen.” Istamar brought the horn at his side to his lips and loosed a loud blast, which seemed to shake the very foundations of the city. Lamps sputtered to life throughout the upper reaches of the city as the general populace began to stir. Istamar turned down the stair and wide street that ran from the Citadel to the lowest gates.
He studied the distance from the top of the main gate. Thick clouds were rolling in from the river, shadowing the moon. Darkness fell over the city; nervous murmurs circled through the city. The cloud cover obscured everything between the city and river, then, by chance, a sliver of moonlight poured through a break in the clouds. Istamar drew his breath in sharply; the brief glimmer revealed a host of shadows moving across the plain in a seemingly endless wave. He quickly scanned the entire plain in that moment of light, and his view quickly told him they were outnumbered.
There must be sixty thousand of them. Istamar thought to himself. A sudden chill wind blew through the city; Istamar shivered and pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders. There was something else there, a presence that could be felt roaming the city. He dashed down the stair and hurried back through the city. Alvaris was waiting for him at the gate with a questioning look.
“Solas spares half his full strength, less with our northmen with him. Still, he finds in a poor position. Most of the army is on the coast or trying to suppress the northern reaches...though clearly they have failed in that.” Istamar explained, “and there is...something else out there. My heart tells me there is more than a mere battle at hand here.”
Alvaris looked out over the wall in silence for several minutes. “I suppose you should know the story in full.”
“What ‘story’ Alvaris?” Istamar demanded.
“Solas comes for Evendor. It is clear, now at least, that he aided and encouraged the rebels in the northern regions. Quilivar went to confirm his suspicions, though I believe the sudden attack took even him by surprise.”
“Knowing Solas to be his enemy, he chose to walk willingly into the open arms of death? And somehow he trusted you and Almaryon enough to tell you, but I was somehow unfit to be informed that my king my not return?” He was shouting now.
“Istamar calm yourself. It was precisely because of his trust in you that we said nothing. Only you would have had the boldness to defy an order and follow him, and then where would you be? Dead with the rest of the Guard. You are the only man he trusts his daughter’s life to, I believe he told you as much before he left. She needs you, Istamar.”
Istamar sighed and stared at the keep. “So be it.” He said quietly, seeming to steel himself to some awaiting task
A series of trumpet blasts rent the air as another of the city runners shouted at Istamar.
“Galring says the enemy has lined for battle.” The boy yelled.
Without a word he reached for his bow and made for the lower walls. He took his usual perch atop the gate and pulled his bow from his shoulder. The clouds suddenly unleashed their full fury; the rain began to come down in a thick sheet. Istamar quickly ordered the men on the lower level. The bowmen he sent to the tops of the barracks on the outer face of the second wall and a handful on top of the gate. The swordsmen were in two rows across the length of the wall.
The array of northmen began to pound their weapons and shields together, raucous war cries mixing with the earth-shaking thunder to create a chilling roar. Istamar blew a mighty blast on his horn, then a deathly silence filled the city and plain.
“Edhisn siefa!” He shouted in the tongue of Evendor. The archers raised their bows and each readied an arrow in his string. “Gósi!” He shouted as he released his own arrow. A hail of barbs as thick as the rain whistled from the wall into the Northmen. The northerners answered with a volley of their own, few of their arrows finding a mark.
Massive catapults were set up on the plain and soon set to work. A flurry of rocks came flying towards the wall. The thick stonework bore it well, a handful of pockmarks added to the legacy of sieges the wall displayed. Soon thereafter a different sort of missile was hurdled over the wall. At first it seemed like smaller rocks, but closer inspection revealed a myriad of faces, the men sent to the north reaches to suppress the revolt there. Many were disfigured beyond recognition. A disheartened cry went up whenever a soldier looked on the face of a former comrade. Istamar’s anger simmered within, his hand gripped his bow until the blood drained from his knuckles. A steady stream of arrows poured from his bowstring, his fury channeled into killing as many of the enemy as possible.
With a shout the northmen launched towards the city raising a forest of ladders against the wall. Some were pushed back, but for every ladder that fell three more was quickly raised in its place. The Northmen were soon over the walls and launched themselves upon the soldiers with unnatural ferocity. Another volley leapt from the barrack rooftops while swordsmen tried to stem the brutal assault. Istamar finally threw down his bow and drew his sword. In the nearly constant glow of lighting crossing the sky, he saw that the eastern garrison was on the verge of giving way. He sped across the wall, his sword flashing as more than one northmen met his end. He hewed through many northerners, heedless of those he passed. He was unaware of the two that approached his back, swords raised.
“Captain!” Someone cried out. Istamar turned just in time to see one fall with an arrow in his back and hastily block the other’s blow. He spun around his attacker’s back beheaded him in one smooth stroke.
A shout went up when the Prince was seen, and the men battled with renewed vigor. The fray on the east wall was sharp, but encouraged by the presence of their captain, the soldiers soon pressed the northmen against the wall. Loud peals of thunder rang in Istamar’s ears, but it wasn’t until they became measured and consistent that he took notice of it. A brilliant flash of light revealed the source of the sound. A large pocket of men was pounding the iron gates with a pair of large tree trunks. He hurried down the nearest stair, pulling a handful of men with him.
“Rès hèvi! Vú rès hèvi!” He shouted, ordering the archers to train on the gate. With a creak the hinges began to give way. Another blow ripped them away and the gate fell with a deafening crash. The northmen leapt over the fallen gates, the front lines taken down by volleys from the archers. The survivors climbed over their fallen comrades and pressed the attack. Back and forth Istamar’s sword flashed, driving further and further into the northmen’s ranks. They gave way to his strength of arms, falling beneath his blade. He became so focused on driving the enemy back that took no notice of the quickly developing circle of northmen around him. It wasn’t until he was back to back with one of his soldiers that he realized his peril. Some of the swordsmen on the second wall had seen their captain’s danger and, together with the archers, sought to cleave a road to him.
Istamar sounded the retreat on his horn as he battled his way out of the sea of northmen. “Cedd! Cedd ta rès tidund miwim!” he yelled above the sounds of battle. A handful of swordsmen and the archers on the second wall held the northmen at bay while the rest of the outer garrison streamed through the gate. The heavy gates were shut behind the last man, though a handful of northmen made it through. They did not last long.
Istamar sat wearily against the wall, the rain masking the slow train of tears down his cheeks. In spite of the incessant pounding on the gates and the clattering of arrows all around him, Istamar could not will himself to move.
“My lord, I believe you left this on the wall.” Galring stood over him with a bow in his outstretched arm. “We shall soon need more arrows at this rate.”
“Aye, then I will send more down. My thanks.” Istamar slowly pulled himself off the ground and shook the fog from his mind. He slowly walked up the wide avenue to the citadel, sending small packs of men to the second level as he went and ordering those who remained.
“You look exhausted. How do things fare?” Alvaris asked as he topped the gate.
“I am. They have broken through the gates and hold the first level, but they paid dearly to enter. All in all, we are no worse off than two hours ago. But Galring calls for more arrows.” Istamar replied.
“Go and take some rest Prince, I will see to things for a time.” Alvaris called over his shoulder as he headed down to the courtyard. Istamar entered the keep and sought out Elmaras.
“My lord Istamar, how goes the battle?” The Guard captain asked.
“Not as well as we would like, but better than should be expected. They have taken the first level, but paid a heavy price.” Istamar leaned heavily on his sword, his hair matted against his forehead by the rain and his sweat.
“You look exhausted my lord.”
“Indeed. Take command of the Citadel for a spell, I must rest before the night is through.”
“As you wish Prince.” Elmaras bowed and disappeared down the hall.
Istamar knocked on the doors of the Queen’s residence, then slowly opened it.
“Istamar!” Lorewyn exclaimed in surprise. “Do things go ill?” Fear edged her voice.
He briefly recounted the events of the past couple of hours.
“You must be exhausted.”
Evaryon smiled slightly, “You are not the first say so, or even the second, so it must be true.”
He cast himself on the nearby bed and in short order fell into a deep sleep.
The fray on the second wall was every bit as fierce as the first. Many of the northern archers stood upon the first wall loosing arrows as quickly as they might. Evendor, however, had the advantage of cover; there was nowhere for the northmen to hide. Ladders were raised and pushed over across the second wall, and swords rang out as the Northmen tried desperately to sweep away Evendor’s defense. Alvaris himself stood bravely near the gate, rallying men to him wherever the defense seemed less sure. The lighting paled his face, giving him a ghastly appearance that few Northmen could abide.
An ear-splitting screech rent the air, followed by a rush of wind over the gate.
“Dragon!” One of the soldiers shouted, barely audible above the din of weather and battle. At first it was merely an indiscernible shadow, it’s great wingspan shadowing what little of the moon’s light that pierced the thick clouds. As it grew closer, it became more visible and terrifying at the same time. It was fifty feet from maw to tail, massive razor sharp talons snapped up men in a merciless death grip before dropping them from a great height back into the city. Every few seconds it immobilized all but the stoutest of hearts with another screech.
Now added to the myriad of noises was the faint bang on the gate, which only those on top of it noticed. The gates fell in once again with a crash, though few heard it, giving the Northmen a significant advantage. They fell on the handful of men on the ground with a shout, drawing the attention of the men on the wall.
“The wall is breached! The gate has fallen!” The shout went up.
Alvaris quickly gathered several swordsmen and took the fight to the ground. For a time, they stemmed the tide of the assault. Alvaris moved skillfully in spite of his advancing years, and more than a few northmen quaked before his blade.
His age did finally catch up to him, a northern blade caught him in the arm in a moment of distraction, leaving a wicked looking cut. One of the lieutenants shouted at him to go back up to the upper levels. Alvaris hesitated a moment before withdrawing, obvious pain on his face. As valiantly as they fought, Evendor was soon pushed out of the second level. Alvaris ordered the third wall before retreating to the citadel gate.
The dragon landed inside the second wall, it’s talons clicking on the stonework. It bellowed gouts of flame, setting several of the shops on fire. Its rider wielded his sword with unnerving skill, many of Evendor falling to his blade.
From the citadel gate, Alvaris could see the flames erupting on the lower levels. One of the healers found him on the gate and set to work on the arm while Alvaris watched in frustration as the city began to burn. When his arm had been wrapped in salve and bandages, he took up his sword to descend again when he saw a brilliant flash on the second level followed by a thunderous boom. Massive chunks of rock, which he guessed to be part of the third wall, flew hundreds of feet in the air, many falling in the upper levels. The Northmen pressed into the third level, falling upon citizens who had not escaped to the upper levels already. The men of Evendor were shaken by the explosion and clearly disheartened. The Northmen soon occupied the third level with little resistance. Evendor rallied on the fourth wall when Elmaras was sighted, single-minded determination etched in every muscle. His bowstring sang as he fired arrow after arrow into the Northern throng. The shear mass of ladders forced him to draw his sword. The Northmen shouted as they fought with the clear joy of expected victory. Elmaras ducked and dodged his way along the wall, ignoring all else but his line of sight on the wall. Northmen piled off of ladders behind him. Elmaras ducked beneath an enemy’s blow and drove a sword through his gut. He leaned a moment on his sword...just a moment, but it was moment enough. A Northmen seized the opportunity and drove a foot into the back of his knee. Elmaras faltered and a score of Northmen were on top of him in a flash. They raised their swords in triumph and mounted his head in a nearby spear.
A strange pain gripped Alvaris’ heart; he stared across nobles’ houses to the battle. His sharp eyes caught sight of Elmaras bobbing head on the spear; it struck him like a blow. He fell forward against the wall, tears quickly forming in the corners of his eyes. He brushed them away with his hand, then was taken with a look of sorrowful wrath. He held his sword in a vise grip and ran at an amazing pace for a fifty-year-old down the stair. He shouted for all in the courtyard to join him before the gate and waited.
A patch of white light appeared near the center of the door, which quickly expanded into a spider web of white streaks covering the door. A blinding flash was followed by an ear splitting crack! Chunks of the gate began to fall on top of friend and foe alike.
The sudden noise woke Istamar from his slumber. He fumbled for his sword and bolted out of the citadel without a word. Sword, shield, and spear rang against each other in a thunderous din of battle. A loud screech drew his attention, a large winged creature stepped over the rubble of the gate with a shrouded figure at its head.
Alvaris sidestepped a large piece of the now ruined gate as it hurtled towards him. Thick dust obscured his vision and choked him. Northmen began to pour through the gate after the dust had somewhat settled. The initial onslaught was fierce, but the men of the Citadel stood their ground.
A blood-freezing screech rent the air, followed by the appearance of a massive beast, which Alvaris could only assume was a dragon. A man jumped from its lengthy neck, shrouded in a cloak that seemed to absorb the light around him. The hood shadowed his face, and Alvaris was immediately filled with revulsion.
“You will not pass here!” Alvaris shouted at him.
“Fool.” Came a smooth voice in reply, “The City is mine. Stand aside and I will make your death quick.”
“It is yo—“ Alvaris words were cut short, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“Be silent fool.” The man interjected.
Alvaris drew his sword and carefully approached the man. A disturbing laugh met his ears, and Alvaris felt himself violently thrown on his back, unable to move. The man came and stood over him with sword drawn, gloating.
“You were warned old man. I have no time to for your pathetic interference. Now, you will die.” He walked away, and Alvaris for a moment relaxed. His relief was short lived, the beast stood over him, and its jaws open wide.
Istamar stood in the middle of the courtyard gawking by the beast. It stood over something, staring intently, but he couldn’t tell what through all the dust and rubble. A sharp pain ripped across his chest when a streak of flame shot from its mouth towards whatever it was standing over. He fell to his knees, sword spinning out of his hand. He griped his chest, gasping for air. The chilling sound of the man’s laughter shook him
“We must leave, now!” Istamar shouted down the halls of the citadel back to the Queen’s chambers.
“What? Istamar I don’t understand.” Lorewyn looked bewildered.
“I don’t have time to explain, but the city is lost and we need to get you out of here.”
“I don’t believe you will be going anywhere. You are right at least in that you have lost the city.” Istamar spun around in surprise at the smooth voice behind him.
“Lorewyn go, now.” He said, drawing his sword. “Who are you?”
“I,” the man began, “am Gothrawn, the Northmaster. I would suggest for you health that you stand aside.”
“You clearly have no idea who I am. Only a fool would attack me in my own halls.”
“On the contraire, I know you all too well Prince Istamar, Captain of Evendor.”
Istamar stood in stunned silence.
“Do not be so surprised my dear captain, Your king mentioned you often, before I ended his life anyway.”
“You...you killed Quilivar?” Istamar asked, not believing his ears.
“Yes, he and that other old fool at the gate, Alvaris was he name I believe. Honestly, it was time for them to go. Now if you will excuse me, I have a princess to take captive.”
Istamar stepped towards him with his sword raised before his face.
“Am I to be challenged at every turn? This should be rather fun. As you wish, captain.” Gothrawn drew his sword with a confident, almost bored, air.
Istamar’s anger rose past the boiling point and he swung heavily at Gothrawn’s head. Gothrawn parried his blow, throwing him back a few steps. Istamar swung again, this time at his ribs quickly changing the direction of his attack. Gothrawn blocked once again followed by a swing of his own. Istamar parried his sword shook in his hand from the strength of Gothrawn’s blow.
“Why are you even here?” Istamar said through gritted teeth.
“You see my dear captain, I am here for the kingdom. Solas and I are taking over, however, the Princess is clearly an obstacle to that end, isn’t she?”
Back and forth they went for several minutes, Gothrawn having a clear upper hand. Istamar marveled at Gothrawn’s skill, he seemed almost to be playing.
“Come now my dear captain, I expected much better from one so renowned at yourself.”
Istamar swung once more at him, their blades met in a shower of sparks, bringing them face to face. Istamar found himself slowly losing ground, then violently shoved backwards into the wall. His head slammed against the smooth marble and all went black.
************--**--**--**--**--**--**--***--**--**--**--**--**--**--************
Istamar woke to an intense pounding in his head. He tried to gain a feeling for his surroundings before opening his eyes. He noticed first that something wet was dripping on his face. He also noted that he was laying down on something hard, presumably a floor of some sort, and that his head was resting on some other surface. Finally, something soft was stroking his cheek.
He carefully opened his eyes, momentarily blind, the pain in his head increasing his sensitivity to light. The first thing he saw was Lorewyn’s face, and realized it was her tears falling on his own. It was indeed a stone floor he was laying on, Lorewyn was cradling his head in her lap, stroking his cheek with her hand.
He slowly sat up, fighting through the immobilizing pain coursing through his body.
“Istamar.” Lorewyn whispered his name and threw her arms around his neck.
“Easy, easy...my head’s still swimming.” He said slowly, nearly falling over.
“I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.” Came her muffled voice, buried in his shoulder.
“How touching.” Istamar closed his eyes and turned around. Gothrawn stood in the doorway of his cell with a mocking smile on his face. “Good to see you alive my dear captain.”
“And a pity that you are.” Istamar shot back angrily.
“Such hostility is really unbecoming, Istamar. But I suppose I should expect as much, I doubt you have ever been on this side of your own dungeon.”
“I would suggest that you let me go, at least then I might consider making your death quick.” Istamar said through gritted teeth.
“O the princess here knows the conditions on which I would release you, perhaps you can work something out with her.”
Istamar turned to Lorewyn with a questioning look.
“I’ve already told you no.” She said quietly.
“My patience wears thin, princess. However, I will give you a bit longer to consider this, for both your sakes I hope you make the...wiser decision.” The cold edge to his voice sent a shiver down Istamar’s spine.
“The moment I get out of here—“
“And I begin to doubt you ever will!” Gothrawn interjected through gritted teeth. Without another word he walked out of the dungeon. The door slammed shut with a cold, metallic ring.
The cell was no more than eight feet on any side. The dungeon was built in the castle’s foundation, consequently, solid rock walls formed three sides with an iron gate for the fourth, which opened into a narrow corridor that ran the length of the prison. The ceiling was low, and very little light, or heat, filtered into the room, creating an altogether chilling and disheartening feeling.
I’ll have to remember to have this place cleaned once I’m free. Istamar thought to himself when he leaned against the wall only to feel something slimy sliding down his arm. He spent over an hour searching the tiny cell for any crack or defect, something to reveal a way of escape, to no avail. Wearily he sunk to the floor, head in his hands. He gathered that night was approaching from fact that the already dim light was quickly disappearing and it was growing frigid in the cell. Lorewyn shivered, huddled in a corner. Istamar pulled the cloak from his shoulders and threw it around hers. She looked up at him with a smile and leaned against his shoulder.
“Good morning my dear captain.”
Not the voice Istamar would have chosen to wake to. “Of all things I would hardly call this morning ‘good’.”
“Perhaps not for you my dear captain, but it is for me. One way or the other, this day will mark a new beginning for Evendor, and all of the Northern Realms.”
Gothrawn pulled a ring of keys from his belt and started to unlock the cell door. Istamar’s eyes sparkled, but he maintained his calm demeanor. Gothrawn swung open the door, at that instant Istamar sprung to rip the maniacal man to shreds. At least, that’s what he had planned. He strained every muscle in his body, the fight written across his face, but he couldn’t, seemingly rooted to his spot on the floor. Gothrawn looked towards him and laughed at his efforts.
“My dear captain, I must applaud your determination, but did you honestly believe me daft enough to open you cell without negating whatever harm you pose me? I will always be many steps ahead of you captain, remember that.”
A hundred curses ran through Istamar’s mind, but he was unable so much as to open his mouth. Gothrawn grabbed Lorewyn by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She screamed and fought him, but he seemed to not even notice. He half dragged her out of the cell, slamming the door behind him. At once Istamar’s muscles relaxed and he was able to move again. He sprang to the now locked door and, unable to force it open, spat at Gothrawn’s back. The Knight turned around and locked his eyes on Istamar in a freezing gaze.
“You go too far now, captain.” He extended his hand and Istamar felt himself hurtled and pinned to the back wall of the cell, once again unable to move or speak. “Things will go much worse for her because of you.”
Istamar gauged that he’d spent six hours or more, it was difficult to tell with the lack of sunlight, immobilized against the wall before he heard the now too familiar sound of Gothrawn’s footsteps again. He unlocked the cell and tossed Lorewyn in, shutting the door behind her once again. She slumped to the floor, shaking with sobs. As the door shut, Istamar regained control of his body again. He hurried to her side, gathering her in his arms. She leaned into him, and soaked his shoulder in short order. For several minutes neither said a word.
The prison door was flung open, rebounding off the stone wall, and a dozen soldiers entered the dungeon. They quickly tied Istamar’s hands and he and Lorewyn were led out of the dungeon, up several slights of stairs, and into the Citadel courtyard. A large wooden pole stood in the middle, and Istamar was tied to it. The soldiers led Lorewyn up a stair to the one of the balconies of the Citadel. A large crowd was gathered both in the courtyard and a long way down the street leading through the city. Soldiers lined the walls, and every inch of space with a view of the Citadel was filled.
“So we come to the last round of the game captain.” Gothrawn shouted across the courtyard so the amassed crowd could hear. A trumpeting roar was heard from above. The soldiers cleared a wide space in front of Istamar and the dragon made a grand landing in front of him, loosing another blast in his face.
“You are surrendering then?” Istamar shouted back.
“Amusing to the end, captain, but no. I grow tired of the delays and indecision, so I will give the dear princess here one last chance.” He turned to Lorewyn, “I will not ask again. The captain’s life – and yours – hang on your decision. Choose wisely.”
Lorewyn looked down at Istamar; he returned her look with a look of pronounced determination, then a slight smile. Tears rolled down her cheek as she returned his smile.
“What do you say princess?” Gothrawn asked with ill-concealed impatience.
Lorewyn took a deep breath and gave a whispered answer. “Yes.” She quickly turned away, but he caught her arm and pulled her back to the railing. One of the Stewards of the kingdom brought a pair of crowns to Gothrawn and set one on his head, who in turn set the other on Lorewyn’s brow.
“I present you the new King and Queen of Evendor.” The Steward managed to choke out. The Northmen sent up a cheer, but the rest of the crowd was deathly silent.
“NO!” Istamar shouted above the din. Gothrawn’s grin faded, he motioned a soldier to him and said something while pointing towards Istamar. The soldier nodded and hurried down the stair, pulling a few of the other Northmen with him. They untied Istamar and half dragged him back up the stair and brought him before Gothrawn.
“My first inclination is to kill you captain, but for the sake of my new bride I have spared you thus far.” Evaryon spat at him. Gothrawn wiped his face with his sleeve then hit Istamar across the face. “You try my patience, and test my limits of civility. Be grateful to the Queen, she has bought your life. You have until sundown to leave the city. The moment you are found anywhere near the walls will be your last in this life. Now get out of my sight.”
The soldiers shoved Istamar towards the stair. He looked back at Lorewyn with a silent thank you, she looked back at him for only a moment before turning away and dashing back into the Citadel. Istamar wrapped his cloak around himself and hurried out of the courtyard under the watchful and menacing eye of the dragon.
************--**--**--**--**--**--**--***--**--**--**--**--**--**--************
Istamar walked through most of the night, not even sure of where he was going, but making great time in getting there. He headed south from Torndil, finally deciding to try his luck in Amonth, the great merchant city of Alogènia. It was a cloudless and cold night, the chill seeming to come from the north. Istamar stopped to look at the sky to reorient himself. He heard a rustling in the underbrush beside the road and silently cursed Gothrawn for taking his sword. He quickened his pace on the road until he thought he’d left the danger behind him.
Lorewyn lay in her bed curled up in a sobbing ball. The sum of the day’s events had proven too much, But at least he’s safe. She thought to herself. Gothrawn had lost no time in imprisoning, dismissing, or executing most of the former staff. Women from Northern Realms had replaced most of her ladies-in-waiting, and coarse Northmen had replaced the Genam. Everything about them, and Gothrawn, repulsed her.
Gothrawn sat on Evendor’s throne, flexing his fingers on likeness of golden dragons that formed the armrests. Runners had been dispatched to the generals in the northern regions to inform them of the victory along with orders to prepare for the attack on the handful of soldiers left with Solas. The old fool will have no idea what hit him. Gothrawn the Northmaster. And once he was the Lord of all the Northern Realms, nay, all Alogènia, the Queen would warm up to him...she would have to.
Istamar looked apprehensively over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling of being...watched. An ear-splitting shriek stopped him dead in his tracks before he broke into a run. He heard the sound again, followed by a gust of air that nearly knocked him of his feet. Suddenly the dragon crashed onto the road in front of him. He skidded to a stop and tried to turn the other way, but he found himself rooted where he was. Gothrawn’s voice pierced the darkness, “I am sorry my dear captain.” Followed by a menacing laughter, the last sound Istamar would here. A brilliant tongue of flame streaked from the dragon’s mouth, so ended the Prince of Evendor. | 
