Arataas alarmed the night guard as he punched through the rocky veil of the Scar training grounds. He clutched Slate in his two front claws, pulled tight to his belly. His hind claws dragged on the manicured grass to slow his approach.
"Make way!" shouted the Dragon. "I have injured! Get Balomar!"
The guards scrambled into the depths of the Scar, then came running with a stretcher. Arataas ignored them and barreled through the cave entrance knowing right where he had to go. He finally reached the infirmary and found Gilladrus, a Priest of Panadahe, cleaning up from his last patient.
"What's going on here?" Gilladrus protested. "This is most irregular." After seeing what the gold held, he waved him in. "Gods! Place him on the healing stone!"
Arataas placed his uncle on the large, white marble slab used for healing procedures. In the bright magic-born light of the infirmary, Arataas noticed Slate's eyes clouding over. Instead of his scales being an inky black sheen, they looked slimy and grey. His veins and arteries throbbed, threatening to burst. "I believe some kind of Demon magic poisoned him. I just don't know."
"Got to get him out of this state," Gilladrus said. The Man swept back his long white hair and tied it together with a leather throng. "Stand back! We must give him room to shift." He ran to his apothecary and removed a blue potion from a wooden wall rack and popped the cork. Carefully, he poured the contents into Slate's mouth.
Arataas pointed to a guard wanting to do something, anything to help. "Get Balomar! Please!" The guard ran off with all she needed.
"Skraaah!"
The blue potion relaxed Slate enough to where he passively shifted out of his guised form.
Gilladrus did not get clear in time and Slate's rogue wing knocked him to the stone floor. He struggled to his feet, ignoring his scraped knees. "Mighty Slate. Can you speak?"
The ancient black responded with garbled nonsense.
"I need a sample of his blood," the Priest decided. He waved the gold over. "Arataas, hold him down."
Arataas gently held his uncle's claw in one, then gently pressed down on his elbow joint.
"Help him," hissed Slate in his dream state. "Save him, Arataas. There must be a way."
"I will, Uncle," said the gold, "I promise, but you need to hang on for us."
Gilladrus made a small incision between his scales and gathered the strange, dark blood in a glass vial. He shivered knowing full well that healthy dragon blood should be a bright red.
A thin line of blue light tore through the air and Balomar stepped from the seam in time and space, bringing with him a gust of cool air that bellowed his indigo robes and scattered the priest's sheets of scripture. He hurried to Gilladrus. "Poison?" asked the Wizard. His voice much higher in pitch and volume than his normal reserved self. He fished a glass magnification lens from one of his many pockets and examined Slate's blood.
"I believe so," Gilladrus said. "I must run some tests to find the origin." He sped to his apothecary. "See what you can do for him! How I wish for the days of Panadahe's grace." He clenched his fists as he reminisced.
Arataas understood the Priest's frustration all too well. The Order lost many Warriors since the day the god fell and Gilladrus lost his healing powers. And of course...there was Inori. "Try Jewel Weed first!" He said. He remembered that the plant's leaves cured the poisonous bite of the Demon. He felt sure Gilladrus already knew this though.
In the meantime, the Dragon prince related Balomar the story of Kellis Vöhl and how Slate pieced together the puzzle.
"By all the stars above," said the Wizard. He went to Slate and rested a hand on his massive forehead, his scales burned to the touch. "I've heard some wild tales, but you've never given me reason for doubt, Arataas." He produced a vial of dark volcanic dust from his black leather satchel. He sprinkled it over Slate and cast his incantation. "Calima Fortis Infidium."
Instantly, the ancient black Dragon snuffed at the air, then slipped into a deep rest.
"What happened?" asked Arataas. He snatched up his uncle's claw and held it tight. He went to pat Slate on his jaw, but Balomar intercepted him.
"No, no." Balomar whispered. "We mustn't wake him."
"Is he asleep?" asked Arataas with a whisper.
"It's much deeper than sleep. I've put him into stasis." The Wizard saw Arataas' confusion and explained further. "It almost makes him a living statue. It slows his heartbeat considerably so we can cure him. It prevents the spread of the poison, or whatever ails him."
Arataas nodded in agreement. "All right." At last he could breathe but for a moment. "Please, do everything you can for him. I must speak with my Father." With that, he turned and headed for his parents' chambers.
[][][]
"You did what?"
His father heard him the first time, but it did not register. "I'm sorry, but what other choice did I have?" asked Arataas. "Let him go alone?"
"I already told you what to do," said Cyrus. "I asked you to remain on standby for orders—"
"Yes, orders that never came," said Arataas. He paced back and forth wearing a rut in the stone floor of the library. His mother always insisted on having those conversations there as it reminded them to lean on knowledge, learning, and strategy to solve problems.
"Let us focus on the hazards at hand," said Araness.
The males conceded and the Prince began again. "The point is, there is a real threat that needs the Order to deal with. I would go back there myself, but..."
Cyrus waited but his patience had a limit. "What?"
"My fire seemed to have no effect on him."
This halted the royal couple and made them ponder. They sat silent for a long while.
"Explain," Cyrus said.
"I could have sworn I smote him with my fire, but Lord Vöhl..."
"Don't call him that," said Araness. Rarely quick to anger, the false title curled her scales.
"Sorry, Mother. He just recovered so fast. Like it was just a nuisance to him." The young gold sorted through all the things he should have done. Pondered the things he should have said. Gods how he wanted that vile creature in his clutches.
Cyrus turned to his wall of books. He craned his head to read the titles and removed his choice from the shelf with a single dark claw. He cast a simple incantation. "Enaris." The volume enlarged to his liking and he cradled it in the silver reading stand. The book titled, 'Demon Omnibus' was penned by the original founders of the Order of Kalimas.
Arataas noticed the book and recalled a legend that says Kalimas himself scribed the first half of the tome.
Magic binding protected and cared for the book, but Cyrus still turned each of the worn pages with care. "We must research this. We must play this out carefully. In the meantime, we need to find out what the Druids know. Their concern is the stones, but this could get out of control quickly. I do not believe we have Eyes in their camp."
"We do not," said Araness. "The power of the Druids keeps them independent." She thought a moment, bringing a claw to her chin. "Perhaps we should bring in the last Kitherean? His actions always speak of good intent to the world."
Cyrus nodded. "He's a strong leader for the Mindful, but they need him there. Anyhow, Rangers are a strange folk and are set in their wandering ways. They are like the Fae. We always select the more disciplined. We need to remember what the gods asked of us."
Arataas seized the moment. "I know we are stretched thin. I would like to take on this mission myself."
Cyrus and Araness looked at each other and discussed it with a mere glance. After being together for hundreds of years, their nuanced expressions turned into a language all its own.
"Very well," Cyrus said still looking at his queen. "We planned for you to come with us on the emerging gates in the desert. Aoh is in need of Warriors. The situation there grows worse by the day."
"He attacked Slate. He made this personal, Father," said Arataas. "I shall not rest until Kellis Vöhl is at peace." His golden scales flushed and his jaw clenched as he said the vow.
"That is what we all want," said his mother, "But remember to practice caution here. Look at what happened to Slate."
"Report in on regular intervals," said the king. "This is a fact-finding mission only. Try not to directly interfere with the Mindful solving their own problems. This isn't a Demon spawn as of yet, but I want to make sure it stays that way. If this starts to turn on it's head we need to know."
"As is our duty," said Arataas, "I understand."
Araness said, "You will have to work on your guise. You've grown into a fine Dragon. You're sixty-eight sole, my son, but your powers are still evolving."
"Enough mothering now," said Cyrus with his voice deepening in thunder. "He's seen many a battle. I hear he's actually taken a shine to a mate."
"What?" Aratass' eyes whitened and he shuffled back. "Who?"
"Claraficé?" asked Araness.
"You've heard the rumor too," said Cyrus.
Steam escaped Arataas' nostrils. "Claraficé is my friend." His old sparring partner would find his life-giver's words hilarious and he couldn't wait to spill. He turned for the door. "I'll take my leave."
"Fine, keep your secrets," his mother said.
"Don't forget to see Kieldere before you go," Cyrus said.
"May the stars shine on you!" said his mother.
Arataas waved his front claw as he closed the library door behind him.
[][][]
Arataas had no qualms about waking Kieldere Splintershard in the dead of the night because of all the practical jokes the Dwarf played on him.
"Rise up, Kieldere!" Arataas said. He threw open the door and snapped the Dwarf out of his dream.
Kieldere sat up wide-eyed and mouth agape. His long, white stocking cap trailed down his back. He sat up and stumbled to the gold Dragon. "Arataas! It's you. I was having the most vivid dream. I was holding hands with the queen's daughter, the queen of Qar Salo mind, skipping through the barrows—"
"Let me stop you there, old friend," Arataas butted in. "I'm on a mission."
The Dwarf rubbed at his eyes to get the sleep out of them. "A mission? A mission you say? Well then, do tell."
"I'm to find out the goings-on at Green Haven."
"Green Haven," Kieldere repeated. "Well then, you'll need some special kit, aye?" He pivoted out of his bed that stood barely a foot off the floor and slipped into his steel framed battle boots. "Follow me." His sleeveless woolen pyjamas exposed his unusually massive arms. Gemstones that protruded out of his skin at strange angles and dark, magical tattoos decorated his muscles. He pushed past the big gold in the doorway.
They walked to the armory and side-by-side until they reached the armory. The Dwarf produced a Silversteel key from a chain about his stump of a neck. He unlocked the massive door and the pair stepped in.
"Light those for me would you?" asked Kieldere pointing to the many brazier's scattered throughout the room.
"Sure," said Arataas. He breathed fire into the steel lanterns and brought the room to a warm glow. Suits of armor clung to the walls like spectral Knights long-forgotten. Racks upon racks of ancient weapons engraved with magical runes lined the floor in columns hundreds of feet long. The Kalimas armory held powerful items centuries old, each worthy of intense study and delicate restoration. Being commonplace to him, he paid it no mind. "I could use something to wear with my guise. I need to blend in best I can."
"Alright then," said Kieldere, "shifted for me so we can size you up a bit."
Arataas closed his eyes to focus, then shifted into his Mindful form.
"What did you have in mind?" asked the Dwarf. He bent over the nearest chest and threw Arataas a dark quilted cloak. "Cover yourself up by the gods!"
"Sorry." He slipped on the cloak then turned his head in thought. "There are several mercenaries there. Perhaps armor and weapons of that sort?"
Kieldere scratched at the stubble on his chin, then rifled through the many wooden chests and weapons. Arataas heard a few statements under his Dwarf friend's breath. "Job for the Eyes." "Far too dangerous."
Kieldere handed him a set of clothes, a full leather satchel, and a bandolier holding many stuffed pouches. "Take this old glaive to complete the deception. As ordinary as I can muster I'm afraid."
"Thank you, old friend." They shook hands.
"What's next?" asked Kieldere.
"I will check on my Uncle. He's been poisoned."
"Slate's been Poisoned?"
"Gilladrus and Balomar watch over him," said the Dragon easing his worry. "I fear he will not be the last."
A/N - Hope you found this entertaining. I'm still figuring out exactly how to write Dragons let alone how to write! Thanks for bearing with me on this first draft.