Roland of the High Crags - Books 1-3

Chapter 2-2

She was a female dragon child dressed in the finest of silk in the green and gold of the House of Anktooth. Perhaps five in age, she was a tiny, delicate creature standing between the three warriors. Her reptilian eyes, with their blue vertical-shaped pupils in dull gray eyeballs, stared up at me in wondrous awe. I confess, I stared with awe at her as well. There had been rumors, of course, during the year’s siege of such a creature existing. Yet no one had observed her. Only whispers of her presence circulated among us when we rested our weary bones during the night. But to believe a Pearl Princess actually lived within the walls of Ank was too much to accept. Until now.

She was a Pearl Princess. Her pebbled skin was the color of a dull off-white and the circle of tiny horns, no bigger than the tip of a small finger, encircling her head, were like startling white pearls. Unlike the dull tan or yellow horns which decorated the skulls of King Dragons in various configurations, the horns of a legendary Pearl Princess were as white as the finest porcelain and of the same texture as pearls. Fabled Pearl Princesses were legendary in their exotic beauty among dragonkind. They held an almost mystical power for the dragon. They were reputed to be able to see into, and predict, the future. It had been, as the legends said, a Pearl Princess who first drove the ancestors of the King Dragons from out of the steaming swamps of the Southern Seas and made them compete against humans. A hundred generations later, it had been a different such creature who preached of warring against all of mankind and dominating them.

It was said that the Hartooth were destined to be the rulers over all of the dragon baronies because only from the ranks of the Hartooth were Pearl Princesses sired. Baron Hartooth’s troops were even now beginning to pillage the castle we stood in. Dimly, I heard the clash of steel against steel and the shouting of men in battle from somewhere beneath me. The noise was heard by those standing around the tiny princess as well.

“My liege, we must hurry!” the mercenary Winged Beastie captain hissed, turning to look at the old baron. “In moments, the enemy will be upon us. Let me take the child. With my troops, I promise to deliver her to safety.”

“Give her to me, my lord,” Helgar Longhair growled, an oily smile creasing his handsome face as he patted the child on the head. “I shall take her into the High Kanris. No Winged Beastie will be able to follow. No one will find her until it is time.”

The old and grizzled baron listened to each speak before slowly shaking his head no. His dark slits for eyes lifted and settled onto my visage, and he gave a slight nod to me as he spoke.

“This is the one whom I have told you about. He is of the Bretan Brotherhood. He has been here since the beginning, leading man and dragon into battle fearlessly, never tiring of his desire to beat the forces of the Hartooth. He is the one whom I will entrust my grandchild to. No other.”

“Bah!” exclaimed the human, turning fiercely burning brown eyes toward me and balling his hands into fists. “There is no such thing as the Bretan Brotherhood. That vile heresy was stamped out over a hundred years ago in the High Kanris. This warrior is an impostor, I tell you! Why won’t you believe me, my lord?”

I said nothing. I admitted nothing. But with narrowed eyes, I watched the old baron’s face intently. Even as the noise of battle approached, my full attention was on the old warrior. I too, wondered why he called me something long since dead.

“I know, Helgar Longhair, of what I speak. He is who I say he is, and that is all you need to know.”

“But my liege. . .” Dagan Horak began, stopping in mid-sentence when the old baron lifted a hand up in a gesture demanding silence.

“We waste time with words, captains. And time I have little to spare. Roland of the High Crags, approach me.”

I stepped closer to the old baron as he knelt to one knee and gently enveloped the small child into his arms for one last embrace. Kissing her on the forehead, he looked into her beautiful blue eyes for a few heartbeats and then nodded in silence. Rising, he gently pushed her away from him. She ran to me, instantly clutching at the leather of my leggings. I felt her tiny body press against my leg, and I felt her shaking in terror. Instinctively, I lowered a hand and gently placed it against her pale cheek. One tiny child’s hands grabbed mine and held on for dear life, her fragile soul radiating, like a burning forge, waves of fear and terror at what might come next. Squeezing her hand gently, trying to convey in my touch the feeling that all would be well, my spirit filled with a desire to protect this innocent life from those who wished to harm her.

“She is called Ursala, and she is my last surviving heir,” the old warrior began, controlling his voice evenly. Yet one could hear the aching pain of being separated from a part of his life in his words. “She is also the youngest daughter of Baron Hartooth. Being the daughter of the most powerful baron of all dragonkind, and a Pearl Princess at the same time, makes her immeasurably important to my enemies. But I am determined to save her and stop the baron. You and your brotherhood must help me.

You are to take her, young warrior. You and your fabulous Great Wing are to ride high into the mountains beyond. Hide her, Roland of the High Crags. Hide her and protect her for as long as you can. If I survive this night, if I can rally the Clan Anktooth and our cousin clans, perhaps in a year or two, I will have gathered enough strength to challenge the Hartooth and stop this madness.”

“Bah, you cannot stop him,” the yellow and blue pebble-skinned Dagan Horak hissed, turning and walking two steps away before whirling around angrily to glare at the old baron. “Even as his troops assault your castle, my lord, the Hartooth are spreading like a disease across three separate kingdoms. The Clans Ahknak, Kaboo, and Ghagh are all toppling even as we speak. By this time tomorrow, the First Clan will have quadrupled their holdings and Baron Hartooth will command close to a half million troops!”

“My lord,” the golden-haired human began soothingly with the voice of the diplomat’s suave assurance. “My spies have informed me the enemy is negotiating a treaty with the Clan Hue. It is said a huge shipment of gold—more gold than any human or dragon has ever seen gathered in one place—is the bribe the baron is paying the Hue to remain neutral. Without the ancestral enemy of the Hartooth to thwart their plans, the baron will sweep across the northern landscape like a plague.

At the same time, he has issued a decree proclaiming he will pay a king’s ransom for any paladin Winged Beastie and his warrior to come and fight under his banner. Hundreds are answering that call, my lord. His wealth is unlimited. His power grows with each passing hour. His armies are commanded by renowned dragon generals. With no power able to stand before him, how can you trust this charlatan with the fate of your grandchild?”

“I am aware of all you tell me,” the Baron Anktooth growled, nodding in acknowledgment, “I understand the hour is bleak and there seems to be little hope. But my decision stands. This warrior will take the child and he will care for her for as long as it takes for me to raise an opposing army. The Hartooth can be destroyed. But we must continue to fight and not allow overwhelming odds make us falter!”

The old baron took a step closer to me, touched the child again with one hand, and looked up into my eyes.

“Below the castle are catacombs, Bretan. Miles and miles of underground catacombs. I have selected a few to follow me into the subterranean vaults in an attempt to escape. I have released all others from their oaths. They are free to abandon the City of Ank and save themselves. But from you, warrior, I ask you to do something that could easily make you the most hated individual in all of humankind. I ask you to take the child and become her tutor. Teach her the ways of the trained Bretan mind. Teach her how to control her terrible powers. With the two of you standing together to face the First Clan’s terrible wrath, hope may yet exist the prophecies of the Dark Lords might be broken and cast aside. Take the child. Summon your Great Wing and flee. Save her, warrior. She is the only hope this world has in stopping the First Clan and their madness. Without her as a rallying point, man and dragon will die by the millions!”

He turned, and with a firm step that which belied his advanced years, bellowed for the dragon and human mercenaries to follow him. Sweeping out of the aviary and down a second hidden passage, the child and I stood in this empty place almost engulfed in blackness. Only the torch in my hand held the dark shadows at bay. But just before the entourage left, Helgar Longhair paused at the entrance of the passage and turned to stare long and hard at me. As if making a silent vow, I saw him nod his head, and then disappear into the inky depths of the passage one second before the stones slid heavily across the cold granite floor.

Holding the torch above me, I half-turned and found myself surprised to see the battle-hardened, weather-lined face of the Clan Mauk dragon standing directly behind me.

“Listen carefully, human. Time, we do not have,” the captain of the baron’s guards hissed softly and just loud enough for me to hear. “My lord is to be betrayed tonight. He is to lead the few still loyal to him through the catacombs. But he knows there is a trap waiting for him. Death probably awaits him, and he knows it. Yet he must make the appearance as if he is unaware of the trap and continue along with his original plan. His death might guarantee the safety of his grandchild. He will gladly give his to save her.

“My job is to take my Upasha, my old friend, and flee to the south while you take the princess and enter the High Kanris. I am to accomplish what my lord wishes to accomplish. I am to find dragon barons who fear the Hartooth and, like us, wish to destroy him. It will be a year’s worth of effort to find even a minuscule amount for such a task. The Hartooth’s gold speaks with a persuasive tongue, human. I am not hopeful there will be enough strength to defeat him. Still, we must try.”

Upasha“Why does the Hartooth war against the Anktooth? I know of no such dragon prophecy which foresaw the destruction of your lord’s clan.”

“You know little about the dragon’s heart, warrior. You cannot believe the howl of our blood in its lust to make war. This lust for destruction and blood letting runs the deepest and most fiercely in the Clan Hartooth. It has been our curse for thousands of years. Many dragon clans have come to resist it, to change their ways and become more—how do you humans say it?—civilized? Yes. Civilized.