Episode 1: Prologue – An Ending (Drey)

16 years, 10 months ago

“No apologies, from you,” he insisted.  “No regrets or remorse or contrition or any other things you may feel.”  He rested his finger gently on Aadya’s chin.  “I’ve loved every minute with you.”

“Me too,” she said.

“I have to go,” he said, and closed his eyes to fend off the tears.  “I’m sorry I can’t stay.”

“Don’t be sorry.”  She pulled him into a tight hug, which he held until he heard the sounds of soldiers jogging past.  He kissed the top of her head, then, and ducked out of their tent.

As soon as he reached the tent where he was to meet Konrad, the guard assessed him before saying in a clipped tone, “You’re late.  Are you ready?”

Drey removed his armor – someone had taken the time to clean it, after yesterday’s battle – from the chair where he’d left it the night before.  “Yes, I’ve joined a troop of idiots who do battle without armor.”

Konrad worked to help him into the large piece of leather that covered his torso, lacing it together.  “Are you telling me you wouldn’t, given the opportunity?”

“If I joined,” Drey pointed out,  “it wouldn’t be a troop of idiots, it would be a band of magnificent warriors.”

Konrad handed him a greaver.  “You may be tempted to cut a straight path to him, but you don’t want him to see you coming.  Let it seem to happen naturally.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Drey said, holding out his hand for the second greaver.  “I’d been thinking of time, and lives lost.

“A few lives aren’t worth the price everyone would pay if he realized your intent.  Take your time, be cautious.”

“Any other words of wisdom?” Drey asked dryly.

“Get out there and warm up,” Konrad said, shoving his shoulder to point him in the direction of the door to the tent. “We’re leaving soon.”

In previous battles, he’d kept track of every face.  Today, he barely saw the people.  He moved carefully, wending his way slowly towards his father. Sometimes moving forward, sometimes moving sideways, always moving closer.

They met before midday.  When he saw him, his father smiled.  “So?  Will you surrender your army, or will you die today, by my hand?”

One last chance, for himself as much as for his father.  “What will you do for the villages of the Lower Dell?  Will you help them recover from this?  Help them feed their children?  Put water in their wells?  Or will you go home, eat your food, pass judgement on criminals, and call yourself a king?”

“A Salamander king is charged with maintaining the line.  There is nothing in the lore about wasting one’s days helping an ungrateful populace.”

“A king is a servant.  The one who looks out for everyone’s interests above his own.”

He blinked, tasting the surreal flavor of this conversation, held in stillness amidst the chaos of battle.

“That’s your decision, then?” His father demanded.  “To die?”

“I will serve the Dells.”  He was afraid to say more, afraid to give himself away, didn’t have time to talk anyway.  His father lunged at him, and they fought.

This time, Drey didn’t care about injuries or about pacing himself.  He focused on his father’s steps, watching for an opportunity to strike, and when he found one, he took it, shoving his blade up, into his father’s abdomen, being sure as he drove the sword into him that it would pierce the aortic artery and hopefully the spinal cord behind it.

His father fell to the ground.  Blood poured from the wound, ebbing and flowing to the beat of his father’s pulse.

Drey sat beside him and drew his father’s head onto his lap.  “I’m sorry,” he said.  “I don’t want things to end like this, with so little understanding between us.”

His father laughed, as more blood bubbled from his wound.  “You still think you can kill me.  I am King of the Salamander line.”

Drey smiled, a mix of sadness and relief.  “The Salamander line ends with me.  The Dragon is returned.”

There was no recognition or comprehension in his father’s eyes.  Drey could see that the flow of blood was waning as his father’s body began to heal itself.  He was running out of time.

He felt a strange sense of calm settle over him, as time slowed and focused on this one moment.  The heat in the air around him gathered to his summons, strengthening the fire within him.

This was good.  This was right.  In his mind, he could see the vast expanse of years, the healing of the Dells with Aadya as their queen, the spread of lush green fields.  He could see Aadya, holding their daughters and sons, loving them, as the world readied itself for the rise of the dragon-riders.

He was at peace, knowing she would succeed, knowing that time would heal her.

He shifted his father’s head off his lap, and lay down beside him, pressing up against him as much as possible without actually being on top of him.

“What are you doing?” his father asked, voice a mix of anger and bewilderment.

All would be well.

He took one last breath.  The desert around them had cooled as he drew heat from the air.

Holding tight to his father, he blazed, consuming both of them.  He retained the heat rather than let it escape, burning himself hotter and hotter, past the point of tolerance, past the point of consciousness, past the point of life.  His magic burned long after he was gone, just as he’d wanted.

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