Chapter 1: Fercius
They say that every decision ever made mirrored anything ever experienced, and that before someone meets ends with one of his decisions, he has already set the course for a lifetime of more decisions, all ending with the same answer as the very first – all leading to the same destiny.
Meet Fercius, an arctic dragon under the Sedonii Coalition. His decisions had already been made for him a generation back, his destiny set in stone, and although he was unaware of this, there were others that were…
“Come about Fercy, do you see that scarecrow atop that tree?” asked Darko, Fercius’ trainer. “Do you think you can hit it?”
With what? Fercius thought. He only wished he knew how to project flame like some of the other dragons in his training guild.
“Probably not huh? Well don’t feel bad, you’ll learn to breathe fire soon enough, you’re still young.”
It wasn’t the breathing that was difficult, as Fercius had learned during a terrible accident in the stable he usually slept in, basked in the simple comforts of hay. He didn’t quite remember what had happened, all he remembered was a terrible dream, where he saw his parents slain before him while he hid under their wings. He saw Darko in his dream, yelling his name, but then awoke to see Darko extinguishing the fire he must have caused. The entire barn burnt to the ground, horses and all. No dragons were harmed, but it wasn’t uncommon for him to hear snickers and glares coming from the other dragons while he walked by. He wished he could slap all of them across the face with a flame strike. And carrying that thought, Fercius returned his focus to the scarecrow, descending to just above the tree line, folding his wings back to pick up speed.
I may not be able to hit it with a flame, he thought, but I can most definitely give it a blow neither of us will forget. He expected Darko to pull on his reign, signaling for him to pull back to retreat to a higher altitude, but Darko just leaned farther forward, lowering his profile as he braced himself using the shield strapped to Fercius’ horns. This was what both of them had been practicing for months now. Heels in! Wings tight! Behind the shield! Above the tree-line! They knew the routine, and as Fercius uprooted the tree and brought the scarecrow flying through the air, he felt Darko tug on his left side.
“He’s not dead yet!” Darko said as Fercius turned around from the signal, coming around for another pass and head butting the scarecrow.
It shattered on impact, bits of hay striking the shield Darko was hiding behind. Fercius wondered if he would ever have to use these skills in war. He had never killed another dragon or human being. But he had heard stories of these wars. Terrible wars between factions, usually over trivial matters such as land or shiny weapons. He remembered the story one of the elder dragons had told about a sword they had fought for once. Fercius knew this sword well, for Darko wields it now, given to him by his father. It was a large broadsword with a silver hilt and golden handle. An impressive sword, but not something Fercius would enjoy dying for. Of course, he wouldn’t enjoy dying at all. At only nine years, arctic dragons like him had a lifespan of well over 300.
“It’s getting late Fercy, let’s head back.”
Fercius growled in agreement, turning in the direction the reigns signaled him and ascending well above the trees. He could see the sun setting in the west, the shades of red as they got tangled in the ripples of cloud, diffusing to an orange glow. After a few minutes of travel, he could already see the lights of the city of Sedon below him. This was his home, a place he was seldom allowed to leave. He could make out the pillars of Herus, as well as the Coalition palace where Darko lived. In the daytime, he found it comforting to see the shades of blue across the city. They shared his colors, which gave him some reassurance that this was where he was meant to be. But as the sun set, shades of orange were dominant, rolling across the city like a tidal wave of color. He saw the monks around the temple, probably paying their tributes to the Gods before retiring for the night. The temple of Sedon was magnificent, accentuating the shades of blue which he so loved. There were days when Darko told him to land there, generally during the masses Darko attended on Wednesdays, where he and other dragons would flank the main entrance, guarding the church like sentinels. Since he was one of the smallest and youngest dragons, he could lie right beside the church, seeing the massive blue structure next to him. It gave him an awkward sense of being at home, living up in the arctic where he knew he belonged. At least he assumed this was how the arctic looked like, with its shades of light blue. Sometimes he wished he could stay by the church all day, pretending he was in the arctic.
As he landed at the palace main entrance, Darko dismounted him and signaled for Fercius to kneel before him as Darko leaned over and detached the reigns on the tip of either horn. He then slid the shield up off his horns and removed Fercius’ saddle.
“Try not to sleep in any barns tonight eh Fercy? Perhaps sleeping in the fire-proof barracks where the other dragons rest is a better idea?”
Fercius wanted to tell him that he hated the other dragons and they hated him. But he knew he wouldn’t understand him, so he roared in protest and flared his wings as he beat himself off the ground, the dust building around him as he flew off.
“It was just a suggestion!” Darko yelled after him, laughing.
Maybe it’s my status, he thought, flying south towards the forest. He knew Darko was different, and that immediately made him different. He may be a dragonlancer, but even the other lancer’s treated him with more respect. Darko had to be royalty. The other dragons hated it, he sensed it, and he understood. Fercius had never done anything to be special, he didn’t have to pass any sort of test, and he didn’t have to fight any terrifying war. He hadn’t even killed anyone. For as long as he remembered, he had been here with Darko. The same instinct that made him hunt livestock when he was hungry made him protect Darko with his life. Doing anything else seemed wrong. If the palace alarm ever sounded, he would be there in a moment’s notice, regardless of what he was doing at the time. During the palace drills, he was always the first one in position, ready to be mounted by his lancer.
He neared the edge of the city now. This was where the lower class dwelled. He could see farmers looking up at him as he buzzed by. He flew a bit lower to catch a closer look when he sensed a massive object in front of him.
Oh God the city walls! This will be embarrassing.
“Hey dragon look ou – “
Black, it was all he saw for a while, with streaks of red shooting across his mind as he tried opening his eyes.
What a migraine… he thought; wrapping his wings around himself to make sure they were still there. He opened his eyes to a narrow slit, seeing a peasant crouching down by him.
“Is he alright?”
“Isn’t this Darko’s?”
“Should we leave it?”
There were worried murmurs all around him as people came out of their houses to see this clumsy dragon. As he lay on his side, he decided to open his eyes, looking up at the wall he had crashed into. The debris was still settling from the hole he had made in the reinforced stone. The walls looked pretty impressive from here, wearing colors similar to the church’s façade. Thoughts of the arctic made him tired, and soon he was sound asleep. His dreams of the arctic were soon overcome by red and black, however, haunting him as he slept. This time he saw the person that attacked his parents, and lunged at him. He wore a red and black robe, with a black hood that covered most of his face. The attacker disappeared as he passed through him, and a laugh echoed through the cave as a fireball flew towards his parents, the blast knocking Fercius against the cave walls. The man reappeared in front of him, charging up another blast using nothing but his bare hands. Fercius could feel the heat of the flame as it flew towards him, and immediately awoke to the heat of a fireball he had fired at the wall he was lying against. He coughed from the effort and instantly got an all fours, looking around him. It was still dark out.
“Another nightmare, Fercy?” Darko asked.
Oh no, Fercius thought, he didn’t want to inconvenience his lancer. He must have walked all the way here to see what had happened.
“I’m so sorry!” Fercius exclaimed, but naturally, Darko didn’t understand his growls, but gave him an affectionate pat on the neck anyways. Fercius heeled forward and looked Darko in the eyes, and as Darko petted him, Fercius looked down at the ground, ashamed at the damage he had done. He hadn’t realized how itchy the back of his short pointy ears were until Darko scratched them though, so he held his position by Darko for several minutes, submitted to the pleasures of being petted.
Maybe being young isn’t that bad, he thought, since younger dragons were petted much more often, due in part to how easy it was to pet something just a bit bigger than a human, and because younger dragons still didn’t mind the pleasures of simple things like being scratched.
“How immature!” Lorna scoffed.
Oh no, Fercius thought, not Lorna. He hated Lorna more than the other dragons, she was just a few years older than him, but acted as if she was the biggest and most mature dragon in any of the barracks. The fact that she was assigned to Commander Darsch of the Sentinels didn’t help with her inflated ego, and here they both were.
“We heard what had happened Darko.” Darsch said, “Is he alright?”
Oh great, Fercius thought, now Lorna’s going to tell everyone.
“He’s fine. Probably a little dazed.” Darko replied, laughing.
As Darko and Darsch had their conversation, Fercius focused on Lorna, she had dark green eyes, which she trained on Fercius for some reason, giving him a look that just asked to be smacked off of her light brown face. The rest of her body was lean and dark brown, with the web of her wings a shade of light gray very similar to the web of Fercius’. She held a stout stance of attention, her front legs touching the ground but fully extended, keeping her back up and wings folded. Even as Darsch patted her on the side of the neck she kept her eyes trained on him. He didn’t like being watched like this, and looked away towards the wall.
I wish I was in the arctic…
“You’re going to tell everyone, aren’t you?” Fercius asked, looking at her out of the corner of his right eye.
For a second he saw her stance falter, her grin fade, but it returned as she spoke.
“Everyone already heard it Fercy. They assumed it was you, it’s not like any other dragon could hit a wall that hard and that loud.”
“What do you mean?” Fercius asked, wishing he could take that as a compliment but knowing it was virtually impossible, especially coming from Lorna.
“Well it’s not like you can do anything else…” Lorna laughed, feeling Darsch jump up onto the saddle on her back. “I don’t know what he sees in you!” And off she went, blowing a puff of debris at Fercius using her wings before she flew off towards the palace.
He had to try…
He inhaled, and tried to imagine himself breathing a flame, firing the condensed burst of heat at Lorna, and just completely proving her wrong. It wasn’t uncommon for a dragon to get ridiculed for not being able to breathe fire; it was something every young one had to live with.
He exhaled a coughing growl, a puff of smoke escaping from his nostrils and traveling maybe a centimeter before dissipating into the atmosphere.
Maybe she’s right, Fercius thought, panting from the effort. Maybe that is all I can do. Maybe I’ll never learn to breathe fire. I’m not that young anymore, dragons that are years younger than me can do it….
Darko must have noticed his attempt, and simply said, “You really must hate her, don’t you?”
If only you knew. Fercius thought, looking back at him.