CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

The ride back to Radda seemed shorter than the trip to the palace. Demetrius pondered the king’s veiled threat and his offer. He wasn’t sure what Garun even wanted him to forge. And then there was the fact that the king believed there truly was a dragon rampaging across the land. He briefly toyed with the idea that the king had been drinking a bit too much wine. He didn’t know the man personally, but from all accounts he was a man of intelligence, calculating, and courageous. The fact that he seemed troubled and had asserted to have seen the beast did add weight to his claim.

Perhaps Oakvalor had unleashed some sort of beast loose on Talvaard? Something frightening enough to make people think it was a dragon. Demetrius didn’t know. He didn’t care either. A job for the crown could make him rich enough to stop working. He could buy a house in Talvaarin and spend his days relaxing or sail the Ocean and see the world. He smiled at the thought briefly before pushing those notions aside. He had to do the job first. And he wasn’t even sure that he could.

The carriage stopped and the door opened. The servant didn’t bother to motion him out of the cab as he was already moving towards the door before it opened. The man stopped Demetrius and handed him the leather pouch the king had tossed him. He had completely forgotten about it back in the palace.

“The king said I will know when he needs me. How will I know?” he asked the servant who, in reply, shrugged his shoulders. So much for an answer, he thought.

He made his way down the worn dirt path that led through the center of the port city he called home. While his shop was located near the docks, his house was in the center of the town, where the “better” houses were. Radda was home to many merchants and traders, as well as some nefarious characters. Since the port’s expansion some eighty years ago, the small town had grown to become somewhat of a city. While they didn’t have the paved stone roads of Talvaarin, they did have some of the best inns.

One such inn was the Crab, owned by a wealthy sailor who had made his fortune in the crab fishing industry. Crabs were considered a delicacy, especially among the nobles. Having made more money than he needed, the sailor had retired and opened the inn. Demetrius would come here to unwind from his work.

He preferred it over the other places. It was newer than the others, and so had less sketchy individuals to worry about. He paused outside the doorway, considered calling it a night. He decided to have one drink and he would be on his way. He entered the building to find it mostly empty with the exception of two patrons. The barmaid, a young girl no older than twenty, was delivering a tray of food to one of the customers. The other customer appeared to be a woman, but he couldn’t see her face and didn’t recognize her as anyone he knew in the dim light.

He found a seat at an empty table and ordered some wine when the barmaid asked what he’d like. Demetrius laid the leather bag on the table and opened the flap to peer inside. His eyes widened when he was that along with gold coins, there was also some precious stones similar to the ones he had seen in the carriage. If this was just for his trouble of closing for one afternoon, he could barely imagine how much the king would pay for the actual job.

He slid the bag into his lap and kept one hand on it. The young girl brought him his wine and he sank down into the chair. The chairs were covered in soft cushions, another reason he preferred the Crab. Demetrius sipped his wine slowly, enjoying the taste and the solitude. While he did appreciate his customers, he needed time away from people in general to keep a cheery attitude.

Demetrius was still young, at least he considered himself so. He was almost thirty and had never married. Not yet, anyway. His mother had died giving birth to him and his father, a poor thatcher, had always been distant from him. Demetrius assumed his father’s lack of attention was the result of the man’s superstitious beliefs. He had viewed his wife’s death as a bad omen for the character of the child. Whatever sinful things the child would do in the future resulted in the mother’s death. A sordid payment of sorts.

Demetrius didn’t hold a grudge against his father. Besides, he had an entire town full of people who helped raise him. The previous ruler, King Verin, had expanded the kingdom’s trade routes with established nations across the Ocean and financed the expansion of all the ports in the kingdom. Since Radda was so close to the palace, it received preferential treatment. The city flourished and grew rapidly, bringing in people from all cultures of the world.

It was one of those people who had made the city his home that took Demetrius in as his own. Childless and widowed, the man took pity on him and made Demetrius his apprentice in the silversmith trade. And the big man had a knack for it. Under his adoptive father’s guidance, he became one of the best in the kingdom. His goods were highly sought after, especially by the well-to-do.

His thoughts were scattered as the female customer stood up to leave. Her face was revealed by the lanterns that hung from the ceiling and he realized it was the woman from the market. His heart skipped a beat and he felt his stomach drop. What was wrong with him?

He stood up and their eyes met. He couldn’t take his eyes off her which made her face flush pink. She smiled shyly and went to leave.

“Wait,” he said gently. She looked back at him with a nervous look on her face. “At least tell me your name, woman.”

She seemed to hesitate, as if she would not answer. Demetrius waited, thinking perhaps he was too forward. He wanted to know who she was.

“Tomorrow.”

His confused look spoke volumes. “Tomorrow? That’s … different.”

She shook her head and smiled. “I will tell you tomorrow.”

“I won’t be here. I must deliver some items to a customer. I will be gone for two days.”

“Then when you return,” she responded bashfully.

“That seems so long from now,” he said, downcast.

“You have gone this long without knowing my name. What is a few more days?”

When he arrived at his house and slumped into bed, his thoughts were of the woman who seemed to have stolen his heart. He had finally heard her voice. And it was more beautiful than he imagined. As he drifted off to sleep, he was still smiling.

—

When the sun shining through the window woke him up, he groaned and rolled out of bed. His trip to Kish was at an end and he would be heading back home. He had not wanted to travel, but the customer had requested that Demetrius himself deliver the items. He tried to explain that he was a busy man, but his customer would not hear it.

Normally Demetrius would have merely declined the job, but the client offered triple the price for the trouble. He couldn’t turn down the offer; it was a great deal of money. If there was one thing he loved more than his craft, it was money.

Besides that, the man was an ambassador to Treyfeth, a minor kingdom beginning to grow into a power to be reckoned with. Word was that he was cousin to the king, something that Demetrius considered more seriously now after having met the king two days ago. He certainly wouldn’t want to offend a man who could have him thrown in the dungeon, or worse. All of the preparations were ready, the person he normally used had ensured all would be ready by dawn.

His client provided breakfast which he consumed quickly. He was impatient to see the beautiful woman again. Judging by their conversation at the inn, he sensed that what he was feeling for her was the same that she felt for him. He could hardly wait.

The journey took half a day, but it didn’t seem to take that long as his thoughts were in the clouds. The city of Kish was located in the same direction as the Abbey of the Divines, the home of the monks. It was further east than the abbey, so he did not get the opportunity to glimpse their stone walls. There was one road that led out of Radda. It was a straight road north leading to Talvaarin, then it broke east and west from there. Far to the west was the nation of Oakvalor. He had never been that far west, as there was nothing but a lonely road that winded over the dormant volcano and the mountains that surrounded it.

He had no reason to go there anyway. Talvaard and Oakvalor had been at war with each other for the past thousand years, maybe more. When asked, no one could answer how it all started. Time had a way of erasing things. As Demetrius continued heading south, he thought he could smell smoke in the air. “Odd,” he muttered to himself, attempting to block the sun from his eyes to get a better look ahead. He was still about a mile away and with the sun setting in the south, he couldn’t see much. A foreboding feeling began to gnaw at him.

Demetrius urged the two horses pulling his wagon to speed up. As he got closer, the smell of smoke became distinct. The terrain was all flat grasslands except right outside the city, where small rolling hills slowed his wagon down. He could hear noises now, and he was gripped with fear. He leapt off the wagon before the horses had completely stopped and ran to the top of the last hill.

Fire raged across the city. Shrill, high pitched screams of women and children invaded the air, mingling with the shouts of men who were trying desperately to put out the spreading destruction. The smoke rising from the buildings was dark and thick, billowing into the air and blotting out the fading sun; a mere sliver of dimming yellow light on the horizon as it was.

The smell of burnt wood, and possibly flesh, reached him as a cool breeze blew in from the Ocean. The massive port city of Radda was now a charred wasteland. Demetrius dropped to his knees, overcome with emotion. This was his home from childbirth. The people he knew, the woman he had hoped to know, all burned up in the inferno. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of his father, too aged to have run for safely. He punched the ground, raising up dust and cutting his knuckles on rocks. He barely felt it. He punched again and again, wishing he would wake up from this horrible nightmare.

The soft nickering of a horse beside him seemed a strange and out of place sound. He looked up through tearful eyes to see a man dressed in soldier’s clothes with the crest of the king displayed on the shoulder. His clothes were different from the soldier he had seen at the palace.

The man sat upon the horse, staring unfazed at the carnage. The man turned and looked down at him. Demetrius saw another emblem on the man’s clothing, one he supposed was the symbol of a general.

“Where are the king’s men?” Demetrius demanded, his voice breaking with grief.

The general turned his eyes back to the burning city. “Scattered throughout the kingdom dealing with similar situations.” The man’s voice was devoid of any genuine concern. Demetrius also looked back to the city. He wanted to rush down there and help, but he felt powerless and weak. He could only see a handful of people and they were trying to escape the flames, not put them out.

“It’s time,” the general said abruptly.

“Time for what?”

“To fulfill your obligation to the crown.”

—

Demetrius rode in silence. He followed behind the general who didn’t seem inclined to talk anyhow. He had fallen into a state of depressive calmness. He could feel tears sliding down his face but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.

He wasn’t aware that they had reached the castle until the general cleared his throat, breaking the silence. Demetrius looked up and saw the double doors that led into the palace. He looked over his shoulder, having some idea that maybe he would see his home, fine and undamaged as when he had left it. He saw only the ten-foot stone wall that separated the palace from the city of Talvaarin.

He slid off the horse and followed the general to the door, who entrusted him to the servant whom he had dealt with on his first visit. The antechamber was filled with servants and soldiers alike, dashing here and there, at times almost running into one another. The entire palace was in chaos. Demetrius oddly found comfort in seeing many people eye him with frowning faces, the only way they knew how to express their condolences.

The servant led him through the doorway in the middle of the chamber with haste. “Where is the King?” the servant was demanding to those who passed them in the giant hall. Some shrugged, others didn’t bother to answer at all.

Demetrius saw two women that appeared to be attendants, talking in hushed tones. As they passed by, he heard bits of their conversation and learned that Radda was only one of many cities across the kingdom that had burned to the ground. People were blaming Oakvalor and their king’s wizard for the destruction.

While he still held reservations about Garun’s story of a dragon, he didn’t think there was any way Oakvalor’s armies could burn so many cities without a single person seeing anything. The servant stopped at the end of the hall and glanced about. Demetrius wasn’t sure what he was doing. A hooded guard stepped out of the shadows and the servant nodded back toward Demetrius. “His Highness has summoned the smith. Do not delay me!”

The soldier eyed Demetrius warily but did as the servant bade. He watched the soldier run his hand along the wall. Seeming to find what he was looking for, he removed a key from his belt and slid it into the wall. There was a soft click and the wall opened inward about two inches. Both the guard and the servant glanced around again.

“Come,” the servant said, motioning Demetrius to follow him. He pushed the door and it opened silently. Once inside, the guard shut the door and Demetrius heard it lock. There were small lanterns every few feet, lighting what appeared to be another hallway. They walked straight ahead for about fifty feet before the servant turned to Demetrius. “I hope you aren’t afraid of small spaces,” he remarked as the floor in front of them slowly slid open, revealing stairs that wound downward.

“Where are we?” Demetrius asked. The servant stared at him intently before answering. “The palace that you see outside is only a small portion of the castle. The rest is hidden beneath the mountains.”

“Wait,” Demetrius grabbed hold of the servant’s arm. “We’re underground?” he asked incredulously.

“Not yet,” the servant smiled. He began to descend the stairs, then paused and looked sternly at Demetrius. “You didn’t see any of this.”