Chapter 3: A Princess of Dragon Tamers

Alverd says I worry too much, sometimes. That I’ll get premature gray hair before I hit twenty-five.

Someone had to do it. I mean, one could only get by on blind optimism for so long. And I found it quite insulting that he would insinuate that I’d feel so damn old by the time I was twenty-five. I was only nineteen, for crying out loud! He was two years older than me, so if I was old by then, he’d practically be ancient by his standards!

I had to plan things out step by step. At each step, I had to make sure we were staying the course. If we deviated from the plan, I saw it as an opportunity for everything to go horribly awry. But Alverd wasn’t so concerned with details. He was always someone who preferred to do things in the moment. Even for something as dangerous as illegally entering Ishmar, he was sure that everything would go off without a hitch.

I wasn’t so sure. As far as I was concerned, being paranoid was what kept us both alive. I always made sure to have a contingency in case the worst came to pass. There was the possibility I would be pleasantly surprised, and if not, prepared. This time though, Alverd was right. All the planning in the world would do little to stop us from being killed by dragon-riders if they found us.

It did little to comfort me as I tried to sleep in the dying light of our campfire, deep within the fortress.

We rose the next morning, assuming it was morning because we had no way to tell otherwise, our stomachs rumbling with hunger and a little sniffly from the cold. We’d left the tarketan meat to dry overnight, and it hadn’t spoiled. We chowed down on the meat, making sure to save some for later in case we couldn’t catch any game in the future.

We trekked through the pass for another two days, making good use of the camping gear we had salvaged from the outpost to bunk down when night fell. The supplies included everything from tents that sealed themselves against the cold air and wind to tarketan repellent, which we deployed around our campsites liberally before sleeping. Nevertheless, we took turns taking three hour night watch shifts. Old habits die hard, but I’d rather be dead tired than just dead.

I still wondered what we were going to do when we reached Ishmar. I wasn’t entirely sure if there would be a presence waiting for us on the other side of the Devil’s Jaw. It wasn’t likely given what the merchant had said. Even if Guilford had the brazen desire to invade Ishmar through the Devil’s Jaw, they’d be at a huge disadvantage. If Alverd and I were lucky, there would be a few dragon-riders and that would be it. If we were extremely lucky, there’d be none at all.

Dragons ridden by Ishmarian soldiers are not city-dwarfing monstrosities like the ones in ancient legends. Since the wars of hundreds of years ago, smaller breeds of dragons had sprung up throughout the land, likely the ones that had avoided being hunted into extinction in the aftermath. Ishmar was known as the only place on the continent of Selarune to domesticate the creatures. Many modern dragons were about nine or ten feet tall, could accommodate one or two riders, and were capable of breathing fire, though not on a scale comparable to dragons of old.

Larger varieties of dragons still existed, but they were rarer. I’m not an authority on dragon physiology or anatomy though. I know enough to know that Ishmarians use dragons to carry troops, supplies, weapons and other gear, and to conduct raids in which they eliminate key defensive weapons or drop shock troops behind enemy lines. If Alverd and I were to encounter dragon riding Ishmarians on the other side of the Jaw, the jig would be up before it even started. But there was no point in worrying about it now.

On the third day, we emerged from the fog and beheld a view that took my breath away; wide pastures of green and clear blue skies. We stumbled down the mountain range hurriedly, trying not to slip in our excitement to be out of that freezing death trap. The temperature became warmer and warmer until at last, I could no longer see my own breath curling from my mouth like wisps of smoke.

At the base of the mountain, Alverd and I made camp once more. We decided that there was no rush to blunder further into the country without being fully rested. We sat on the ground, eating tarketan meat (it was unbelievable how long that stuff will keep if you prepare it properly) and admiring the natural beauty around us.

If I had to say something nice about Ishmar, it would be the scenery. Beautiful seas of lush green grass with the occasional tree swaying gently in the summer breeze. The sky didn’t have a single cloud and was the clearest blue I had ever seen in my life. My eyes passed over smooth hills and fields of dracobells, flowers indigenous to Ishmar. They were stunning little things with orange buds and scintillating aromas. Given what I knew of the country, I half expected the place to be full of craters and scorched earth. In fact, the place was so bloody peaceful I half expected to fall asleep right there.

I flopped back onto the ground, crossing my arms behind my head to cradle it as I peered up at the sky, completely mesmerized by it. A light breeze gently stroked my face, whistling past as my eyes became heavier and heavier. I took a deep breath and finally closed them, allowing the air to carry me off to a light afternoon nap.

I dreamt of better, simpler times, of a man whose face was burned into my mind. Gregor Farnus, already the old, cantankerous sort when I was first introduced to him, had been my magic teacher for nearly ten years. I dreamt of the time he had tasked me with the simple job of showing some of my fellow apprentices how to conjure a fireball. I had taken the lesson to be just simple instruction for them, but in fact, it had turned out to be a serving of humble pie for me.

Pulling the heat from my body to form the basis of the spell, I had decided to wow the other apprentices. I pulled more heat from my body than was safe, producing a larger fireball that pulsed with power. However, I immediately keeled over in a fit of shivers as my body temperature immediately plummeted, my fingers and lips turning blue in seconds before my eyes. The fireball sputtered out of existences as I collapsed unto the ground, my teeth clacking loudly as I rubbed my arms across my chest furiously to warm myself.

Old Farnus stood over me, laughing uproariously, telling the gathered students, “pride goeth before the fall”. He repeated that rule many times during our instruction and it became ingrained in my heart, as did the memory of my three-day stay in the infirmary after the incident.

The dream flowed into my second bedridden day and how he had waltzed into the infirmary with a knowing smile plastered across his wrinkled face, his hand perched upon his gnarled staff. He sat down next to my bed and sighed deeply. After a moment, he spoke.

“You know something, Kuro? I’ve noticed something about you. You don’t seem to have a lick of sense in your head.” He lifted his hand and scratched his chin in that self-righteous manner that adults have when they think they have all the answers.

I had retaliated by saying something along the lines of “Well, once I’m your age, old man, I’m sure I’ll be telling someone like me the exact same thing.” Farnus simply laughed at that. “That’s the thing, Kuro. Mages like you and me rarely live to see my age!” We both shared a laugh at that. Once I had recovered, I made an effort not to embarrass myself again with only partial success. It pained me to admit that I wasn’t a very versatile mage. Or a quick learner for that matter.

My dreams took me to another place. A simple shop with blue flowers in its window planters. The sweet aroma of baked goods floating out of its open door. A smiling girl with dark hair was pulling me inside to show me all the things the shop had for sale. I’d never forget this place, even if I did live to see Professor Farnus’ age, I’d never lose the memory I associated with this shop.

Such was both a blessing and a curse now.