Phoenix Destiny

Eight

The dragon perched on Jaron’s chest, soft fore-claws on his chin while its tongue darted over his nose and eyelids. As he opened his eyes, he gave a start. The dragon yelped and backed up so quickly it tumbled off him and landed in the soft grass, damp with morning dew.

“Ivy. Sorry girl,” Jaron sat up. “Don’t you know not to wake a man suddenly?”

The dragon chirped.

“You’re probably hungry.”

The dragon tumbled in a tight circle, still not in full control of her limbs, before flopping onto her side. He picked up the squirming reptile. It clutched at his fingers, but its claws didn’t pierce the skin. The soft claws bent against his skin and retracted further into their sheaths.

“I guess your claws need time to harden,” he stroked its throat with his forefinger.

Ivy purred, rubbing her jaw against his fingertip. Jaron reached into his supply bag. From it, he removed rations. Ivy eagerly snapped up the dried meat and stale biscuits while Jaron thoughtfully chewed his share.

“I wonder what your mother would feed you if she had gotten to you first.”

Ivy purred. She gnawed at her claws, cleaning the soft edges of any crumbs that escaped her jaws.

“You certainly are a cute little thing, though I never heard of a dragon with yellow eyes.”

Ivy yawned and curled up in his hand, laying her head on the coils of her tail and gripping it in her claws. Her wings remained tight against her sides as if latched. Jaron laid the dragon on the ground before packing his things. Once the packs were secured to Gambler’s saddle, Jaron considered the dozing dragon, trying to decide how best to travel with it. It was too young to ride on its own, especially with its claws so soft. The only answer was to carry it, but how to keep it hidden?

In the packs?

Jaron shifted some of his things to make a comfortable place for the dragon. When the nest was ready, he picked it up and laid it in the space he made among his juggling balls and jester staff. The small reptile didn’t stir from its slumber. Amazed by its fortitude, he tied up the pack. Then he climbed into the saddle and turned Gambler back to the village. He wondered how he would explain the dragon to the General.

Perhaps it is best to keep the dragon secret.

The soldiers were mustering as Jaron rode up. Some looked at him, others ignored him. Dorrall laughed, drawing everyone’s attention, saying, “Well jester, have you come alone or did you bring your imaginary friend with you?”

Jaron said nothing.

“Come now, jester, no need to be shy. Tell us about your little friend. Man or woman? A woman I bet. Probably the only way you can get one into your bed.”

Jaron remained unmoved. He didn’t want to say anything that might reveal his newest addition and nothing that might invite violence near its sleeping place. The few soldiers who laughed with Dorrall stopped when they saw he could not be shaken.

Dorrall sneered and returned to his work. Grateful for the soldiers’ short attention spans, Jaron rode off to the wagons without any more harassment. Leaving Gambler free to graze, he helped load the equipment.

“Why do you stand Dorrall’s taunting?” Dak asked, leading his horse up to Jaron. “Most would hit him just to shut him up.”

“He’s a trained soldier, I’m not,” Jaron answered.

Dak looked at Jaron with an odd sort of grin before mounting up and riding off.

The company moved on and continued west. They left the forest and crossed into the kingdom of Manlea. Not a large kingdom, it was known for its forges. The kingdom thrived during times of war: whether it was fighting or supplying weapons to other kingdoms. The company rode night and day with infrequent stops, preventing Jaron from admiring the landscape or gathering local information. Villagers warily watched the armed procession. Their fear made Jaron nervous.

After several days of hard riding, the castle rose over the rolling hills. Wider than it was tall and made of dark gray stone from kingdoms further north, it was an odd sight among the heather and pale green fields. The company halted a mile from its shadow and waited while the General and his Captains rode on.

Jaron gritted his teeth. He felt on edge. His gaze scanned the parapets, counting the guards. He wondered if it was normal to have so many stationed on the wall. Something about the castle made him apprehensive. Gambler snorted. The stallion pawed the ground and gnashed its teeth.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” Jaron leaned forward and patted the stallion’s neck.

Ever since he was young, castles made him uneasy. It was difficult to perform his routines in their shadows and almost impossible inside. Gambler shared his unease, but he was never sure whether the horse was truly anxious or simply feeding off his own emotions.

He wondered why they traveled so far to reach the castle. Jaron glanced over at the rest of the company. Some had dismounted and relaxed on the soft turf while others milled about waiting for orders to pitch camp. Whether by chance or design, Dak eventually found his way to Jaron. They sat astride their mounts surveying the mingling company. Normally, everyone would be busy organizing the camp and lighting cook-fires by now.

“Is it always like this?” Jaron asked as a pair of soldiers tussled in the dirt.

“Pretty much,” the soldier replied. “We won’t pitch camp until the General is sure of our good standing. If the royals are hostile, we can retreat without having to tear down tents.”

Jaron glanced over his shoulder as the soldiers continued a good-natured brawl. Looking back at Dak, he raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t expect we’ll have to wait long. We’ve done business with these royals before. They’ve never betrayed us.”

“There is always a first time,” Jaron muttered, but said nothing more as a man on the parapet waved white and gold flags.

“Soldiers, pitch camp!” A call went up through the crowd, and the flurry of activity began.

Jaron didn’t have time for further speculation as he helped unload and pitch tents. Eventually, he got around to his own and freed Gambler from his packs and carried them inside. Situating his things, Jaron opened the pack containing the dragon only to find that it had vanished.

He stared at the jester’s staff, costume and four juggling balls, wondering where the dragon had gone. There were no holes to suggest it had escaped. So concerned about the little reptilian, he didn’t immediately realize he had one too many juggling balls.

He stared at them for a long time until one finally moved. One of the spiral-patterned balls expanded and retracted as if breathing. Then it uncurled. The colors shifted, and slowly the scales replaced the smooth texture.

It opened a pair of bright orange eyes and Jaron found himself looking at a drowsy young dragon. She blinked, yawned and stretched and then curled back up to sleep. He carefully picked her up before she shifted forms again.

The dragon purred in her sleep but didn’t wake. He laid her on his bedroll. She stretched and curled up again but remained a dragon. Silently, he picked up the real spiral ball and stared at it for a long moment.

It was definitely something to ask Artac about should the sprite ever return. Leaving some of his traveling rations out for Ivy, he left to help prepare the evening meal. He returned to his tent with a bowl of watered-down stew.

When he arrived, he saw Dorrall and another man walking around his tent, trying to catch Gambler. The stranger was dressed in fine clothing and, though he carried a sword, his stance suggested he rarely handled it. If Jaron had to guess, he was probably the kingdom’s crown prince.

The gray stallion trotted around with its ears flattened against its arching neck. Dorrall headed the stallion off, intent on stopping it. Gambler reared and pawed the air with his forelimbs. Dorrall shrunk away.

“A spirited beast,” the prince commented, “he is quite a beauty.”

Gambler returned to all fours once Dorrall backed away. The stallion whinnied and stomped the ground. It shook its head and threatened to rear up again at any move the men made toward it.

“It would take quite a bit to break that horse,” the prince said, studying the stallion with a narrow gaze.

“To break him would turn him into another horse,” Jaron said, keeping his distance from the pair. He had no desire to take on two adversaries. “In fact, he would be half the horse he is now.”

“Who are you?” the prince demanded.

The stallion trotted around Jaron, hanging its head over his shoulder. Jaron raised his hand and petted the long face.

“This is the General’s pet,” Dorrall said as a way of introduction, “the clown I was telling you about.”

“Ah, yes,” the prince sneered, “I look forward to your performance.”

“Unfortunately, tonight is my night of rest,” Jaron answered with a polite bow, “perhaps tomorrow.”

“Perhaps,” the prince answered, though it seemed unlikely he would accept the offer. Without a word of parting, he walked away with Dorrall trailing like a puppy. Jaron couldn’t explain why, but he had a bad feeling concerning this entire campaign.