Afezaria: The Tale of the Dragon Speaker - Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO: THE BROKEN PRINCE

The morn was unlike any that he had experienced before. Upon his sleeping eyelids was the glow of the sunrise, but in his nose was the smell of a bonfire and upon his skin was the heat of an oven. Most alarmingly, upon his ears was the sound of a scream. Was this a nightmare? Was this is mind’s idea of horror? Was he in the flame that was boiling a kettle and this all a cruel nightmare?

Flaré opened his eyes to view Inara, reaching out toward him from above, tears covering her features and face wrought with fear. Gold plated talons gripped onto her like those of a giant lizard. Similarly, the monster’s body was reptilian, plated with gold. Massive wings shook the trees with heavy, storm winds, just trying to keep the beast aloft. Its neck curved out with swan-like grace and sported a reptilian head, plated with gold, sparing the eyes, nostrils and lips. Its eyes were glowing red, but the colour of its eyes were the least of Flaré’s worries, for curling passed its lips were plumes of fire. Those plumes of fire reached every tree for a mile at least in every direction.

“Dragon!” Flaré cried out and hurried to his feet, scrambling among his clothes for his sword. Those glowing red eyes set on him and fire curled from the dragon’s nostrils.

“You think that you can fight me?” It spoke in a gnashed, garbled tone. Only Inara heard his voice. Flaré only heard a nasty roar before those wings began to produce malicious winds, bent on knocking the prince onto his bare bum. Flaré went tumbling backward, sword flung out onto the ground beside him. He hugged himself to the ground, waiting for an opening to attack the dragon and save Inara from its clutches. There was a five second gap between each strong wing beat, so he took his chance.

His vision was blurred, and doubled. He felt sick with adrenaline, about ready to collapse and empty his bowels. He jumped to his feet, grabbing his sword and he charged at the dragon. His arms arched back, preparing a swing at the beast, but the gale was swift in knocking him off of his feet once more. The prince made a loud groan before the opening came once more and he scrambled to his feet. Only now, the dragon was out of his reach, moving higher into the sky and sending a rain of fire down onto the forest.

Smoke billowed from the tops of the trees, the horrible smell of the burning forest causing the prince to become light-headed very quickly. Flaré wavered and stumbled, screaming into the sky for the dragon to return with his princess.

“You bastard! Bring her back to me!” He cried out as the dragon rose higher and higher. The screams of his lover were becoming more and more faint. “Set her down!! Bring her back!!” No order could tame the dragon. The dragon continued to beat its golden wings, lifting itself higher into the sky and further from the screaming prince. “Bring her back!” His hope was lost. The dragon disappeared into the sky with Inara in its clutches.

The nausea from the heat began to set it. Fire was creeping in on the prince rapidly, trees catching fire like match heads. Flaré took off from the clearing, running as quickly as he could to avoid being scorched by the flames. He looked like a fire spirit as he ran; nude, bearing nothing but his sword and his wild hair matching the flames of the forest.

He ran as quickly as he could, dodging left and right to avoid falling tree branches. Soon, it was no longer just falling branches, but whole trees falling. Flaré did his best to dodge these as he went, bobbing and weaving through the burning foliage. Within the forest, it was raining fire; each burning leaf fluttering around the forest so long as it couldn’t escape into the air. The path that Flaré and Inara had taken, once been an exciting passage into a world of unknown pleasures and freedom, was now a river of burning guilt, weaving through a storm of fire.

The soles of Flaré’s feet were now white with the ash of the forest and they burned with the pain of the forest. His hair was lightly dusted with the same burnt snow as his feet and the ends of his luscious red hair was beginning to blacken and burn. His jade eyes soon focused on a sweltering portal at the edge of the forest. The burning trees bent and shook off their leaves there, but there was just enough room for Flaré to be able to escape.

Pointing his body toward the exit, he made a mad dash through the burning forest. The path seemed to pull away from him, stretching and elongating the distance between the small opening and Flaré. Still, there was no hurry for his escape but that of his own impatience and fear. That was until a crackling groan split his ears. A tall, looming, blazing oak was beginning to lean, just ahead of him. The tree looked as if it were miles wide and the impending dread of being crushed quickly became very real to the prince.

I could die here. He thought. I could be flattened by this tree and I would never have had the chance to save Inara. That series of thoughts began to twist the prince’s stomach in horrible ways. Giving up to him was such a sickening thought. He couldn’t possibly submit to such a demeaning fate as being crushed by an oak.

“Inara!” was the roar that left his lips as he tensed all of his muscles and attempted to run faster than he already was. His eyes never averted from the exit. He couldn’t take his eyes off of his destination, lest he be willing to fall to distractions and risk hesitation. Any hesitation would lead to his death. There was simply no margin for error. He threw himself from the burning forest, pulling his legs close to his chest in an effort to get his body as far away from the fire and the falling oak as possible. He rolled for a yard at least, tucked into an ashy ball, gaining more soot as he rolled. Flaré flopped out onto his back as soon as he lost momentum and heavy breaths began to rivet his chest muscles, hearing the sharp, deep crack of the oak striking the ground.

After a few minutes of being showered in ash, he finally pushed himself off of the hot earth and began to trudge along toward the castle. Only now that he was out of immediate danger did his body allow him knowledge of the large burn that had forced its way through his skin and toward his muscles. He let off a howl in pain, but forced himself onward, limping and keeping his weight off of his injured leg. His world was beginning to wobble and spin as the pain was threading nausea through his body. The urge to lose his bowels was beginning to overwhelm him, however, he knew that the prime directive was to get inside of the castle. With every step, pain riveted his body as if he were jumping upon knives. Tears began to sting that backs of his eyes as he limped, pain forcing his vocal chords into another blood curdling scream.

At long last, he collapsed within the nearest entrance of the castle, which was a hay littered servant entrance. The sharp, dried hay stuck to his fleshy burn wound and were quickly painted red. Flaré rolled onto his back, screaming loudly and gripping at his leg. He didn’t have anything to help his wound or his pain. Tears ran down his eyes as he laid on the hay covered floor, gripping onto his leg above his wound. His breaths came laboured and quick, often full of screams. He seemed to lay there for hours, writhing in pain.

At long last, a servant girl scurried to him. She had mousy brown hair and her brown eyes were wide with terror as she had already seen the forest burning. She was a wiry young girl, so when she attempted to lift Flaré from the ground, she was thwarted by his weight.

“Stay here, my Lord.” She requested of him before she scurried off to get additional help. Her small feet tapped a hurried rhythm on the marble floor that slowly faded away as she went further and further from the distressed, injured prince. Flaré was left to tremble and cry over the pain in his leg, gripping onto the piece of limb above the wound.

It wasn’t long before the mousy servant girl returned with two larger- yet just as thin- servant boys. They looked to be seventeen each and they looked strong, but underfed. They hurried to the prince’s side and gently lifted him, the servant with dirty blonde hair lifting his torso and supporting his head while the other servant with bland brown hair lifted his legs. The prince flailed out his arms, attempting to be free of their grips. He knew that they were only trying to help, but the pain that they were causing was unbearable.

“Stop! Set me down at once!” He cried out, throwing his finger’s into the blonde’s hair and pulling on its roots. The blonde bit his lip and endured the pain, keeping the prince in his arms.

“We can’t, my Lord. We must get you to a doctor.” Said the brunette in reply, holding tight onto the prince’s legs, minding the terrible burn on his left thigh. Flaré only squirmed for a few more moments before his fingers unlatched from the blonde’s hair and he went limp. It wasn’t long after that his eyelids covered his pretty green orbs and he drifted into a vast, endless world of unconsciousness.

#

Flaré’s eyes opened slowly to an entirely white sight above him. His head turned to the right. Beside him was the wiry servant girl with mousy brown hair. She was just arriving at his side, holding out a tray of various foods for him to select from. He turned his head to the left and gazed over the empty expanse of the medical room. No one was here to visit him presently, which he was thankful for. He didn’t have his father’s red face looking through a gold and red beard laced with white at him with scorn. He didn’t have to worry about those stubby fingers wrapping around his neck and wringing it for bringing on a dragon and losing the Dragon Speaker.

“My Lord,” whispered the mousy maid, “I have food for you.” She moved closer to him, nearly placing the breakfast tray on his lap before placing it on his bed stand instead. “It’s two eggs over easy with a side of toast, accompanied by seven grapes, nothing more, nothing less. Additionally, there is a cup of tea, for your health.” The maid explained. The prince always enjoyed to be told what he was being served. He like the number seven, so as frequently as he could have around him, he would. Flaré nearly smiled, but simply turned toward her and began to sit up.

“Thank you.” He told her before crying out in pain. The dressed burn wound rubbed roughly on the blanket that was covering him. “Get this blanket off of me!” He ordered.

“I’m so sorry! I’m sorry!” The servant apologized and hurried forward him, quickly and gently pulling the blanket away from him. The two of them let out a heavy sigh in relief.

“Thank you.” Flaré whispered, glaring down at his leg. “How... How long have I been here?” He asked. The wound looked as if it were beginning to heal. There was a film of dried blood over it, as if it were healing. It hurt a great deal less than it had the last time that he could remember, but it still hurt a great deal more than he ever thought that a burn could.

“You’ve been asleep for two days.” The servant told him, slowly shaking off the scare that he had given her. Her fingers still rattled as she lifted the pot of tea and began to pour into the tea cup. The rattling sent the tea splattering onto the saucer beneath it and onto the table as well. Most of the tea in the kettle was on the table by the time that she had filled the cup. She seemed oblivious to the mess that she was making until she had finished filling the cup, then she jumped ten feet in the air, yelping. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Lord Prince!” She cried out. “I’ll have the mess cleaned up right away!”

Flaré should have snapped at the maid, or he should have struck her with his hand. Instead, he reached his hand out and took the tea cup, smiling sweetly to her. He said, “Don’t be so nervous. I don’t bite.” The maid looked him over, dumbfounded, her skittish brown eyes watching for signs of a threat.

“Thank you, Lord Prince.” The mousy maid smiled slightly. She looked almost like a loose rock on a cliff face. She looked as if the slightest demand could set her off into a fit of terror. “T-The King has sought your presence when you are well once more.” She informed him, her words wavering as she spoke. Flaré took on a look of fear, similar to that of the mousy maid. His father wanted to see him? It was certainly a frightening thought to be forced before the red bearded, red faced king.

“He wants to see me?” He asked slowly, confirming that he had heard the maid correctly. Oh, such an order terrified him. His father, the red bearded, red faced king wanted to see him after he lost the Dragon Speaker and burned down the forest. Perhaps the village had caught fire too. Either way, he was terrified to see his father after he had caused such calamity.

“Yes. The king...” the mousy maid trailed off, fear consuming her brown eyes, “...seeks your presence.”

“I’m not going.” Flaré’s reaction was immediate. He was not going to see his father so long as he had no safety from his enraged father. He wasn’t ready for his wrath; his red wrath.

The maid shook her head. “That isn’t possible. You must obey the king.”

“And you must obey me, so be quiet.” He ordered quickly, letting his thoughts retreat into the safety of his mind.

The mousy maid nearly let her mouth drop open once more and speech pour out, but she stopped herself. The king was going to be livid with anger. She turned from the prince and scrambled from the room, leaving the prince to wallow in his own fear of his red bearded father.

Flaré’s hand slowly reached up into his hair, gripping at the roots and holding them in his fists. His upper teeth clamped down on his lower lip and bit softly at first, but gradually bit harder into the skin as his fear deepened and the worry weighed heavier. What would his father do to him? Would it be painful? Would it drive the prince mad? He was sure that whatever it would be, it wouldn’t be pleasant. The mere thought of the extent to which his father could punish him was... nauseating.

Flaré could already see the horrors playing out before him. He watched himself being cuffed by the guards with heavy, iron shackles that were far too heavy for a person to bear on their wrists. He saw them drag his slumped, weak person down into the musty, moldy, cold dungeon and he could almost feel the impact of his body hitting the moist floor of the cell as the guards threw him in. He knew that the worst was yet to come to him, for his red faced father stepped from the litten stairway and began forward toward the cell. He didn’t need a whip or an hot iron poker. His rage and his hands were enough to make the strong prince cry in agony. The king advanced toward Flaré and his hand pulled back to strike him.

The impact made a harsh snap, but the king’s hand came forward to take Flaré’s red locks in his fat fingers. This was no day dream. This was reality. Flaré’s face was stinging as if he had been branded and he felt as if his hair were being uprooted.

“How dare you defy my order and not appease my summon?” The very inflamed face of the king asked, spittle flying out from beyond the hairy frame of his bearded lips. The king’s green eyes pierced through Flaré’s with an intensity only gained from years of battle. It was a look that he only gave to a person deserving of death.

Flaré was far too afraid to speak as he had grown up always knowing to stay silent in the face of his father’s rage.

“Answer me!” The king roared, slamming his son’s head back against the wall which he had been leaning against. Tears pricked Flaré’s eyes, but he didn’t let them loose. He held them and sent a menacing glare, only a fraction as intensely as his father could muster.

“I am afraid of you, father.” Flaré admitted through his teeth, attempting to better the intensity of his glare. However, his eyes remained smooth emeralds peeking through a narrowed frame. The prince was no more menacing than a puppy.

“If that is so, then you should have heeded my order!” The king snapped, slamming his son’s head against the wall once more before letting go. “You’re just a coward. I was wrong to have let your mother raise you. You’re too weak.” He said.

“I’m not weak!” Flaré immediately snapped, his eyes beginning to take on more severity. He didn’t like to be called weak, but far more was he angry at his father’s comment about his mother. “Mother was kind to me and she raised me to be empathetic, not a ruthless killing machine!”

The king’s glare was sent once more to his son, but he refrained from making an additional comment as he knew that he would never hear the end of it from Flaré if the king continually insulted his deceased wife.

“You must be punished for letting the Dragon Speaker-” He was interrupted.

“She has a name.” Flaré stated. He was in enough trouble already. He could afford an interruption. “Her name is Inara, not the Dragon Speaker.” There was a long pause in which the king considered whether or not he would punish his son for interrupting him.

“Very well.” The king huffed out. “You will be punished for letting Inara be taken from us by the Golden Dragon.” He declared, his face slowly losing its red colour. “I’ve thought long and hard on the nature of your error and of what nature your punishment should be. I’ve come to the conclusion that you shall take a quest. You will travel from here to the Mirron Mountains and you will retrieve the Dragon Speaker before she is killed by the Dragon. I would say that you have only two months to complete this quest before she is killed.” The king told Flaré. If they lost the Dragon Speaker, their world was doomed.

“A... quest?” Flaré asked slowly, letting the words slowly settle into his mind. “You mean to say that you will... send me alone to retrieve her?” He asked. Could he possibly do it alone? He wasn’t certain.

“You shall go on this quest alone.” The king responded, nodding his head to show that his mind was settled. There was no possible way to change his mind. This was his justice. “That is final.” He claimed, reinforcing the order already thundered into stone by his voice.

"My King, he's never gone on a quest alone;" one of the royal guard stepped forward and offered, "let me accompany him." That soft, low voice and those charming, warm brown eyes could be recognized anywhere by anyone. The guard removed his horned, gold crested helmet and shook out his soft blond curls. His smile radiated from his soft lips. This was Talam. His name meant sunrise, and he certainly was a ray of hope for the despairing prince.

The king went silent for the longest time, slumping down in his thrown, back curved and hips and legs jutted forward so that they were hanging off in a crooked manner. This posture made him look nearly ten years older than he was. His fat fingers came to twirl the red hairs of his beard as he considered the thought. What Talam had said was true. His son was inexperienced and lacked the proper skills to form a battle strategy.

"Very well." He said, letting off a heavy breath that disturbed some of the wavy hairs in his beard and almost turning them into fire. A smile began to grow on the lips of Flaré as he had won a partner, and a good friend at that.

"Thank you father." Flaré nodded and bowed low to him, red curls dancing over his eyes for the moment that his head hung low. He stood straight and turned away from his father and toward Talam. "And thank you, for saving my life."

"I won't need to save your life if you'll just slow down and learn from me." Talam smiled, moving to his side and laying a gloved hand on the prince's shoulder. "Come on," he said, "lets get you a horse." He said with a charming smile and began to lead his limping friend away from the uncomfortable, tense throne room; a room that Flaré would eternally despise and dread, all for the sake of his father.