On several occasions, the Motangan mages came close to hitting the dragon. Enemy archers also took a shot at trying to hit it, but the marshal swore that the dragon laughed at them whenever they tried. He shook his head in disbelief. Not only did he not believe in dragons, but also he could not believe that the Emperor was a mage. He had fought alongside Marak at the battle of Balomar and would never have guessed that he held magical power in his hands. He wondered what the Khadoran soldiers would think of an emperor who was also a mage.
Marshal Berman pushed the thoughts from his mind and concentrated on the retreat. He smiled broadly when he received the message that the infantry had reached the third trench. When the message came in that the mages were also crossing the bridge, he knew that the Emperor had saved the day. The Balamor marshal waved to the dragon and ordered the archers to retreat. He called for his own horse and ordered the air mages to mount up. As he rode past the defensive cavalry positions, he saw the dragon high in the sky heading north. He smiled broadly and waved even though he knew his gesture would go unseen. As far as the marshal was concerned, he was thrilled to have an emperor mage.
Chapter 22
Revealing Surprises
Myka circled high over the second trench until the Khadoran infantry and mages were safely beyond the third and final trench. The Torak spoke briefly, and the dragon banked away to the northwest. Emperor Marak gazed down as the Khadoran soldiers waved at the dragon overhead. He smiled inwardly and wondered what the ramifications might be when others heard about the dragon and the emperor mage that rode her. Both were secrets that Marak had held closely, but the time for such secrets was over. Marak sighed anxiously as Myka headed for the Khadoran city of Sintula where the armies of the Imperial Valley were gathering.
Sintula, the third largest city in Khadora, was situated at the convergence of the Lituk and Khadora rivers. The skies around Sintula were already thick with smoke as the Khadorans burned their fields to prevent the food from falling to the enemy. Whatever crops could be harvested were already on their way to Khadoratung to feed the refugees and fill warehouses for the armies to draw from.
Myka flew into the thick smoke, seemingly unconcerned with the lack of visibility. Marak’s eyes teared with irritation, and his lungs felt taut as he inhaled the heavy smoke. The time in the clouds of smoke seemed to last forever, and Marak inhaled deeply when the dragon flew out of the smoke. He looked down at Sintula, its white buildings contrasting with the dark green forests and brown fields surrounding it. He wiped the tears from his eyes and coughed to clear his lungs as Myka turned into a spiraling descent. As the dragon dropped lower, the citizens of Sintula noticed her. Fearful shouts rose up to greet the Torak as people scurried through the city streets to find shelter from the huge beast.
Marak gazed beyond the city to a sea of tents in a newly cleared portion of the forest bordering Sintula. Colorful banners flew from long poles outside the tents, and the Torak sought out the colors of the clans that formed the Lords’ Council. Near the center of the makeshift camp he saw the purple and yellow of the Neju clan. Nearby were the banners of the Organila, Nordon, Scratti, Walkan, and Aritor clans. A large open rectangle sat in the center of the six encampments.
“Head for the large rectangle in the center,” the Torak said to the dragon. “The soldiers do not know of you so be careful. And try not to frighten them,” Marak added with a chuckle.
“Bah,” snorted Myka as she turned her snout downward and dove at the troops. “I am a dragon. Humans are supposed to fear me. Hang on.”
Officers shouted orders and soldiers scurried to defend themselves as the dragon approached. Arrows started flying upwards towards the dragon long before she was within range. Myka responded by belching long flames towards the ground, and some of the soldiers ran for cover, but most of the Khadorans held their ground.
“Hmmph,” scowled Myka. “Are they so foolish to stand there when I can burn their flesh before they hurt me?”
“Not foolish, Myka,” smiled Emperor Marak. “They are brave men. They understand that you can bring death upon them, but they are standing for their country and their loved ones. I advise a gentler approach.”
The dragon suddenly shot upward to stay outside the range of the Khadoran arrows. Marak drew the Sword of Torak and held it high. It was a gamble that immediately paid off. While some soldiers saw the sword as threatening, others recognized it for what it was. As Myka circled over the encampment, a resonating chant rippled through the Khadoran armies. It began in the Nordon camp and spread outward as bows were lowered and swords were held high as a form of salute. The sound drifted upwards and brought a smile to Marak’s lips.
“Torak! Torak! Torak!” chanted the soldiers.
Myka continued to circle, basking in the chant, as the large rectangular area was made clear of soldiers.
“They love you,” the dragon remarked.
“As they will come to love you,” grinned Marak. “Be on good behavior. These people are our people.”
Myka did not respond as she spread her wings wide and glided towards the ground. The chanting continued until the dragon was on the ground and then wild cheers erupted as Marak slid off of Myka’s back. Waiting at the edge of the cleared area were the members of the Lords’ Council. They bowed in respect as the emperor approached. Other clans’ lords gathered around to hear the words of the Emperor.
“There are still secrets that you keep from us,” greeted Lord Patel of the Nordon clan.
“A few,” smiled Emperor Marak. “Perhaps it is time to end the secrets. I am glad that you recognized me up there. I would hate to see a battle between friends. The dragon is named Myka. She is a formidable foe.”
“Actually,” offered Lord Jamarat of the Neju clan, “we did not recognize you. Latril used an air tunnel to let the armies at the trenches know of the danger presented by a dragon behind their lines. They told us of your attack on the enemy.”
“Then you already know more of my secrets,” sighed the Torak.
“That you are a mage?” asked Lord Kiamesh of the Scratti clan. “How is that possible? For generations all Khadoran mages have been female. Now all of a sudden, male mages appear. It makes no sense.”
“The Chula have male shaman,” replied Marak. “The Qubari and elves have male mages. So do the Omungans and Sakovans, and obviously the Motangans do as well. Why should Khadora be any different?”
“Because for generations we have closed our eyes to the truth?” proposed Lord Chenowith of the Walkan clan.
“Precisely,” nodded Marak. “There is one more secret that I have held from you,” he frowned. “Perhaps now is the time to reveal it.”
“I advise caution,” warned Lord Chenowith. “Perhaps there are some things that are best kept concealed.”
The other lords looked at Lord Chenowith questioningly, but Emperor Marak suddenly saw the Walkan lord in a new light.
“You know?” he asked softly.
“My father discovered it,” Lord Chenowith nodded. “I read it in his papers.”
“And he said nothing?” frowned the Emperor. “Why?”
“I cannot answer that question,” replied Lord Chenowith. “He did not confide in me regarding such things.”
“What is it?” demanded Lord Quilo of the Organila clan. “What drastic thing could be so terrible that you would not tell your friends?”
“It is not us that Marak fears,” interjected Lord Patel. “It is the reaction of our Khadoran brothers and sisters that he fears, and maybe his fears are justified. Perhaps Khadorans must be fed the truth slowly. Our ways have been ancient and barbaric. Only time can heal such things.”