| |
IT is morning. They have survived the night. They are alive. The king’s men look around at one another. They count. They count again. They count once more, and not a one of them has been lost. They let loose a raucous cheer, and in the stillness of early morning, it is thunderous.
“It must have been the boundary line,” Sir Greyson says. “Perhaps no harm can come to us on the boundary line.” The captain feels good enough to grin at all his men, but, then, what kind of captain grins at his men? So he pulls his helmet over his head so they cannot see the joy in his eyes or the way it stretches across his face. He looks through the slit of his steel, toward the dragon lands. This will be no way to watch. He will have to remove the helmet, but, for now, he keeps the helmet low, his face hidden. No sense in riling up his men with false hope. They do not yet know if they will find anything, least of all the missing children.
But they have survived the night. This is enough hope on its own.
Sir Greyson and his men watch and wait, all four hundred eyes trained toward the wide expanse of dragon lands, looking for a sign that something lives there. The sun is hidden this early morning, so the land stretches before them, bathed in a harsh grey that makes it difficult to see into the distance. But with so many eyes trained on the land, it would be impossible for so many to escape without being discovered, and so Sir Greyson and his men continue their waiting and watching. They hardly dare to blink.
“They will not hide for long,” Sir Merrick says. “They will have to search for food. No one can survive without food.”
The words send a sharp pain to Sir Greyson’s stomach. His men have not been eating as they should. Truth be told, they stand, but they are weak on their feet. They did not bring adequate supplies to camp, and even now, they are longing for the castle grounds, where at least they could pull from the royal garden and fish in the tributary.
“Yes,” Sir Greyson says, though his voice is quiet and muffled behind his helmet. “Yes, we will find them soon.”
And then, just as the sky lightens to a softer gray, there is movement from a cave in the center of the dragon lands, and one of the men, who was looking that way quite by accident, for he did not think one would travel so far into the dragon lands and live, sees it. It was the head of a man, he is sure. And there it is again, scanning the land. The soldier cries out. He points.
“There!” he says. “There is a man!”
Not one of them knows whether this one man means anything at all, but you must understand that, after so long searching, anything is something. The man appears not to see the king’s men and, in their plain view, steps out of the cave. He is alone. He stands alone. He faces them, and they are, for once, glad there is no sun, for they are sure that their armor blends in with the sky. And perhaps it would, dear reader, if they had been standing against the sky. But they are standing against the backdrop of a forest, green everywhere, and so their silver armor stands out most obviously. Still the man remains, turned toward them. Still the man beckons behind him. Still the children come tumbling out.
“What is that?” a man shouts.
“It appears to be children,” Sir Greyson says. “A multitude of children.”
The men give another cheer, for they know this means, finally, miraculously, an end to their quest and a return to their homes. They have waited so very long for this day, and even Sir Greyson cannot help lifting up a shout of relief.
Finally. Finally they have found that for which they had searched.
Their cheer races across the land, as if it has wings. The trees behind them shake in their own silent cheer. Even the sun, for a moment, bursts through its clouds, disappearing as suddenly as it appeared.
It is as if every moment has led them here.
Sir Greyson cannot help but cry.
***
ARTHUR stops mid-step. The cheer has reached his ears. He turns toward the sound. He, of course, knew they were there, but he supposed they would not try to cross the land. And, indeed, the king’s men remain where they are, as they are. A whole line of men stands still, like the trees behind them, holding the reins of their horses.
“There,” he says. “See, children? Nothing to be afraid of.”
At the sound of his voice, Maude and the children turn around. They see what Arthur has seen, and all of them give a gasp in the same collective breath, for they do not see nothing to be afraid of at all. They see the king’s men, come to round them up once more. They see dungeons and darkness and danger. They taste fear. What will they do now? If they run, the dragons might sense their heavier foot falls. And yet, the king’s men are right behind them.
“Tell them,” Maude says, sensing the children’s fear. They cannot, in truth, move. They simply stare at the line of men before them.
“They will not cross the boundary,” Arthur says. “They will not risk it.” He nods toward the men. “You see? They have not moved.”
“How far until we reach the end of these dragon lands?” Hazel says. It is a whisper, for though her father has assured them the king’s men would not dare cross the boundary line, she cannot feel so sure.
“Three days’ journey, at least,” Arthur says, for he knows his daughter. He knows her worries, but he tries to remain calm himself. “We must walk, not run. We must take what caution we can.”
“They have horses,” Chester calls out. “They will surely awaken the dragons.”
“They will not cross,” Arthur says. And, indeed, the king’s men have not yet crossed, still. They would have crossed if they wanted. Arthur’s mind moves to what he knows of the dragon lands. They will have to take a straight shot, rather than walk the perimeter, for it would not take nearly so long to cut directly across Morad.
Arthur looks behind him, toward the way they must go. Surely, if the dragons still lived, they would have shown themselves by now. He looks back toward the men. The better way, the less dangerous way, would be to surrender to the king’s men. They would hatch a plan of escape then. But the dragons would leave no survivors, should there be any left. It is a great risk.
What seals the decision for him is the rumbling of a child’s belly. He knows that the children are not strong enough to escape from the king’s guard. They would have to risk. They would have to venture forward.
Hazel gasps. The king’s men have moved. They have climbed onto their horses. They look as though they are ready to cross the boundary line.
“Father,” she says. Her voice holds all the fears a girl could ever carry.
“Arthur?” Maude says. “We must do something.”
“What must we do, Father?” Hazel says. “They are coming. They will cross.”
“Run?” Maude says. She looks at her husband, but he does not meet her eye. In the distance, the king’s men wait on their commander’s order.
“Run,” Arthur says.
But before they can even put one foot in front of the other, the whole land gives a violent shake. Once, twice, a thousand times. Arthur stares at his feet, and then, slowly, slowly, slowly he turns around.
He does not need to look to know what he will find.
***
SIR Greyson watches them watch his men. He wonders why they do not run. He wonders why he does not order his men to attack. He wonders why the whole world holds still, as if they are all frozen into this scene of relief and, on the part of the children and the man, fear.
And then he sees them coming, and he understands. For he, too, had seen the armored man who crossed the boundary line before mounting his horse, the man who had misjudged the distance necessary to swing his leg, the man who had landed heavily back on the ground, one toe across the boundary line. He, too, had held his breath and waited.
Waited for exactly this.
***
ARTHUR and Maude and the children are paralyzed, it seems. Not because the only one of them who has seen a living dragon is Arthur, but because they never expected to see so many. Dragons stretch out as far as the eye can see. In fact, there are no more mountains on this land. There are only dragons, and more dragons, and more dragons still.
There are so many dragons. They stand before Arthur and Maude and the children in all their majesty, in all their shimmering elegance, in all their breathtaking menace.
No one will make it out of this alive. They are sure of this.
The dragons line up like the king’s men. Men lining one side, dragons lining the other. Maude, Arthur and the children are caught in the very middle of the dangers. They freeze. They cannot lift their feet. They can go nowhere, because they cannot, in truth, feel their legs, which have grown cold and useless in these last moments. Maude has lost all feeling in her face. Hazel does not feel her father’s hand move to hers.
The eyes of the dragons glow. They are yellow and red and green and blue and orange and white. They are every color and shade you can imagine, and while one might think it would be a beautiful thing to stare upon so many colors, when those colors are held in the eyes of dragons, it is anything but beautiful.
It does not take an expert on dragons to know that these dragons who stand before Arthur and Maude and all the children, are angry. They are angrier, perhaps, than any other dragons have ever been, for a dragon takes his word seriously. Years ago these dragons gave their word, and now it is the humans who have betrayed it. No man was supposed to cross into the lands of Morad, just as no dragons were to cross into the land of Fairendale, and now here they are, men and women and children touching the sacred sands of Morad.
One of the dragons, larger than the rest, moves forward. The ground rumbles, but it is nothing to the rumbling in his throat, where his scales turn ivory. Most of him is green, though not all of him. He lowers his head, and the children can see the sharp ivory horns at the top of his head.
“Zorag,” Arthur says, but no one is listening.
The dragon glares upon the intruders with golden eyes. His wings are held close to his body, though Arthur knows that those wings could wipe out the king’s men in one flap.
The children take a step back, afraid of the eyes that look as if lightning lives in them.
“You dare come into our lands,” the dragon says.
Arthur holds up his hands. “Please,” he says. “We are in need of escape. This was the only way.”
The dragon’s head moves up and back, as if he is tasting the clouds that gather in the sky. He lets out a frightful roar that makes the horses in the distance whinny and buck. The horses, you see, would like nothing more than to flee from this dragon danger, but they are well trained and will not go unless their riders permit them. And the riders, truth be told, are frozen in fear, just like the children.
“We made an agreement, long ago,” says the dragon, who is the leader in this land, though the humans do not know it. The only clue is his size, for he is much larger than the rest. But the children are too terrified to notice. The dragons all appear large. In fact, the word the children might use to describe these dragons before them is monstrous.
“Yes,” Arthur says. “Yes, we know. You are...” Arthur does not finish, though the dragon seems to know what it is Arthur is asking.
“I am called Zorag,” the great dragon says. His wings unfold now, and the children gasp. He is even larger than they thought.
Arthur bows low to the ground. The children, not knowing what else to do, bow too. When Arthur rises, he keeps his head low. “And I am called Arthur of Fairendale,” he says.
“Why are you here?” Zorag says. “Why have you crossed into my lands?”
“We had hoped for safe passage,” Arthur says.
Zorag roars, and the fire escaping between his jagged teeth makes the air above them burn. “No man is allowed to cross the dragon lands.”
Maude’s hand squeezes Arthur’s arm. Hazel squeezes his other hand. Arthur looks at the children. He did not want them to die like this. He had not supposed it would end so gruesomely. But he supposed he should have known, for the dragons had not been on friendly terms with the people for quite some time. He knew there was great risk. But they might very well have made it if the king’s men had not found them.
Perhaps there is still hope. Arthur dares look at Zorag. The dragon is not looking at him or the children but stares, instead, toward the king’s men.
“No man is allowed to cross the dragon lands!” Zorag roars again, and this time the whole ground shakes with the force of his growl.
Arthur hears the clatter of armor. The king’s men must be shaking. He does not blame them for being afraid. He is afraid, too, though he must not let his daughter and her friends see. So he waits. He says nothing. They may be able to slip away still, for it seems as though Zorag is more interested in the king’s men than he is in the children. Perhaps he will be able to strike a bargain. Perhaps they will make it after all.
Arthur removes his hand from Maude’s. She looks at him. He brings one finger to his lips. The children watch, too, and no one says a single word. Arthur takes one step forward, slowly, carefully. And then another. Zorag still watches the king’s men, but there are so many other dragons. The entire land stands still, except Arthur and Maude and the children, who move tiny steps forward, so small one would not even notice.
Arthur knows how little hope there is in this situation, but at least he will not die without trying.
Someone calls out from the line of king’s men, “We have no quarrel with you. We only want the children.”
And Zorag turns his fiery breath on Arthur and Maude and all the children, who cease to move once more. “You have brought these men to my land?” he roars.
Arthur holds up his hands higher, as if in complete surrender. “No,” he says. “Please. We are only trying to protect the children. These men—” Arthur points behind him. “We must not let them take the children. We must not let the children die. We must pass through the land. Please.” He is surprised to find that he is weeping.
The dragons all around begin a frightful clamor, roaring and flashing their fire and stomping the ground so the children can hardly keep their feet steady beneath them. It is as if a chorus of giant beings has joined together in an angry laugh, if you can imagine something as frightful as this. It is made more frightful still by the glowing eyes that now become slits.
The dragons, you see, are both angry and amused that humans would dare believe dragons would permit them to travel their lands, to break the sacred covenant made so many years ago, without repercussions. This is why they laugh. This is why their eyes narrow. This is why the fire becomes a heated blast, though they do not aim at the people as yet.
These dragons, led by their great and fearless chief Zorag, do not intend to let anyone go. And so it is with horror and regret that Arthur turns his face to all the wide-eyed children he has loved so deeply. They will die anyway. He has failed them. A single tear drops down Maude’s face. The ground shakes beneath their feet, for the dragons are drawing closer, flanking their leader.
“It was decreed long ago,” Zorag says, his neck high. His eyes flash. The children would like nothing more than to look away, but they are mesmerized by the color, the flecks of orange in yellow, as if even his eyes hold the heat that rumbles in his chest. “It was by no choice of my own, you understand.” Every step is measured. This, you might imagine, makes it far more worrisome for the children, for steps measured like these most always mean danger. “We agreed that no man would cross into our lands, that we, the dragons, would not cross into the lands of men.” Zorag is so close to them now they can feel the heat of his skin. “We would leave the humans to their peace, or what semblance they might conjure with their new king. And now.” He drops his head so it is level with Arthur’s face. His head, dear reader, is larger than Arthur’s entire body, but Arthur, brave man he is, does not shrink from the dragon. Zorag stares in Arthur’s eyes. Arthur stares back. “You dare defy me,” the dragon says.
“We merely sought safety,” Arthur says. “Protection. We did not wish to offend. There was no other way.”
“There was no other way,” Zorag says, “but through the dragon lands?”
“No,” Arthur says. “It was the only way to protect the children. We would not have crossed if there were any other way.”
Zorag roars again, this time lifting his face to the sky, and then he turns his attention upon the king’s men, who remain on the perimeter of the land, no one daring to cross.
“You shall not have these people,” Zorag says. The king’s men do not move. “They are mine.” He looks back at Arthur and Maude and the children, his eyes chilling them, though they are full of fire. “You are mine.”
The children, as if they are one and the same, begin to wail.