Jaax simply stood there, letting his mind forget the distant past for now. Instead he reflected on what had just happened between himself and the Mystic. He hated to admit it, but she was right about Jahrra. The girl had spirit; he had known that ever since his first visit after leaving her with Hroombra. Even as a child she had shown signs of the strength she would one day need. This visit to the Castle Ruin had fulfilled its purpose; it had helped Jaax focus on what was important. A pang of remorse hit him as he realized how awful his behavior towards Hroombra had been. I must apologize, he thought to himself. Hroombra has raised Jahrra the best way that he could, and no one could have cared for her better, not even I.
He blinked and turned his face up to what was once a great painted ceiling but now was only a canopy of green. It was no more than an hour after mid-day, and he could smell the approaching rain over the ocean. Another storm, he thought ruefully. Perfect weather for the mood of the hour.
Jaax gazed over at the faded murals upon the dying walls. He closed his eyes and reluctantly let his mind travel back into the past, into the past of his ancestors. He wondered if he could even conjure memories that old, but he knew that he could, even though it haunted him to do so. He sighed and forced those depressing thoughts from his head and instead replaced them with more pleasant ones. He pictured a time when the castle was at its finest, when the sweeping drive and elegant entrance hall were gleaming with life and joyous activity. He thought of a time when the gardens were overflowing with flowers of all colors, shapes and sizes, and not overrun with threatening thorns.
He tried with all his might to hear the sound of happy voices that might have once graced these halls. Like Hroombra a few years before, Jaax imagined children chasing each other through the grounds with music and laughter floating from the dance hall. In that moment he could see it, the shining castle in a time of great celebration, but after awhile the music transformed into the clamor of battle and the laughter became screaming. The bursting flowers became angry flames and the children weren’t chasing each other in mirth, but running, terrified, from some unseen enemy.
Jaax opened his eyes and found himself face to face with the final scene of the mural, the scene of the dragon shadows and the men fleeing in fear. He heard the sounds of torment and destruction, and he tried to tear his mind away. He tried to will himself back to the present, but the shouting in his mind only grew louder, and after awhile he heard something else. The scream was not human, or Elvish. It was the sound of a dragon in distress. Could my imagination be this real? Jaax thought in frightened astonishment. Could these horrible sounds be so loud in my own mind? He shook his great head and waited, and then he heard it again, the bellow of a dragon suffering. A real dragon, its roaring cries carried on the wind, a wind that was blowing from the south.
A cold chill crept over Jaax’s scales as he realized what he was hearing.
“Hroombra!” he rasped silently.
Hundreds of years of avoiding the wrath of the Crimson King had made hesitating second nature to Jaax, but he could hesitate no longer. He began to move quickly, but as stealthily as possible, back towards the Castle Guard Ruin. While he hurtled towards the Ruin, a dread slowly filled his heart. His mind was working furiously, a hundred possibilities flashing through his head, but he couldn’t stop and review them now.
Jaax broke through the last clump of trees at the edge of the wood and shot his green eyes in the direction of the Ruin, his heart almost stopping as he took in the scene before him. Several yards away many broken groups of men had Hroombra surrounded, throwing stones, shooting arrows, and thrusting lances and swords at him. They wore crude armor and shouted out harsh phrases in a foreign tongue. Smoke was rising from a few charred patches of earth where Jaax was sure Hroombra had breathed fire, and a large pile of firewood was aflame, the thick smoke billowing high into the sky.
The Tanaan dragon seethed with heated rage and hatred, but his blood froze when he saw who could only be their leader, a dark figure astride a tall horse. No, not a horse, Jaax shivered, a low rumbling beginning in his throat, a quahna. The dragon recalled what he knew of the terrifying animals. The quahna were horse-like creatures that the Crimson King had developed near the beginning of his reign. Massive in size, cloven-hoofed with the teeth of a boar, this monster struck fear into the hearts of the bravest warriors. The quahna were known to tear a soldier from the saddle, kill his horse, and then come after the soldier himself.
Jaax shuddered once again, feeling like his blood was draining from every inch of his body. He didn’t fear the frightful animal or even the men that had assailed Hroombra and the Ruin, it was their very presence that terrified him. He now knew that Denaeh’s predictions were right; the Tyrant had finally found Hroombra, and in finding Hroombra he had finally found Jahrra.
Jaax opened his wings, ready to leap into the air and rain a torrent of fire down upon the mercenaries, but at that very moment another rider came charging over the crest in the road. Jaax nearly choked in horror.
“Jahrra!” he whispered hoarsely.
She must have seen the smoke from wherever she had been and rushed back, for Phrym was slathered in sweat and the girl looked like she was about to fall out of the saddle. Jahrra wouldn’t know the danger she was riding into, and the thought of what could happen if she was recognized was something that terrified Jaax more than anything.
“Don’t come any closer!” he tried to roar, but his warning only came out as a faint croak, impossible for her to hear over the distance and shouts of the attackers.
He crouched to take flight again, but before he could leap into the sky, the dark figure on the quahna turned and spotted Jahrra gazing down upon the scene in horror.
“JAHRRA! RUN!” Jaax roared successfully this time.
The dark figure pulled his monster around and spotted the dragon just on the edge of the woods. Jaax couldn’t see the cloaked man’s face, but he could feel his malicious grin, cutting across the distance between them like a scythe. No! he thought desperately as the man turned his quahna once more, drawing a wicked-looking sword and charging full speed towards Jahrra and Phrym.
No longer frozen in shock, Jaax spread his wings and took off from the ground with great speed. He flew low over the field, wishing he could help Hroombra who now lay unconscious beside the Ruin, but knowing nothing, not even aiding the old dragon, was more important than protecting Jahrra. It took Jaax only moments to reach the top of the gentle slope. With the grace of Ethoes, he managed to land right in front of the girl, just before the dark rider reached her. The man pulled his beast to a skidding halt, almost crashing into the Tanaan dragon.
Jaax unfurled his giant wings to their full extent and stood up as tall as he could on his hind legs, completely blocking Jahrra from view, as he roared a stream of jade and sapphire flames directly at the mercenary. The quahna screamed with rage and fear, but its hide was too thick to suffer much damage from the dragon’s breath, and its rider blocked the torrent of flame with a long shield. The men who had been harassing Hroombra stopped dead and stared blankly at this new, much more powerful dragon in unsettled awe.
Jaax had a feeling that whoever had sent these men hadn’t counted on another, much more ferocious adversary to stand in their way. He glared down at the man on the demon horse and caught a small glimpse of the right side of his face. The Tanaan dragon lost some of his rage then. He dropped to the ground, staring at his enemy in raw horror. The stolen emblem of the Tyrant; the mark of Cierryon. It was the blood rose of Ethoes, but tainted and twisted in its design. Branded onto this man’s face, it no longer symbolized the life-giving force of the Goddess, but the evil carnage wrought out by the Crimson King.