15 for 15 (June 2012)

June 7 – Dragon

To a weary soldier she was an intimidating sight. But underneath the glamour lay Luala. Or so he hoped.

The dragon eyed him carefully. With hunger, perhaps. He heard rumors of the new Mistress of the Wyvern. Darkling ones. Fantastical ones. Ones he was hard-pressed to believe. Gazing upon her now, however, fear rose in him. He was a soldier. A good one, yes, but only a soldier. Politics lay beyond him.

As she descended the steps, staff ablaze, he realized his error. He had expected to encounter Luala, apprentice witch, raven-haired pixie, childhood friend and adolescent lover. To her he could speak his worries, voice troubling suspicions. Instead, he was met by the Office of the Wyvern.

She stopped an even thirteen paces before him. Only discipline kept his hands from shaking. “Rise.” It was the dragon that spoke. But he kept his gaze firmly fixed on the Mistress. “What news do you bring, Commander of the Northern Fleet?”

A minor lie. An omission. The Postulant assumed he was here in a military capacity. Perhaps he was. “I come as a citizen of the Realm, Wyvern, not as a fleet commander.”

“Speak.”

“There have always been whisperings of unbound wyvern at the edge of the Realms. Of rebel factions attempting to recreate covenant magic. What I bring to you, Wyvern, is an equal hand of truths and suspicions.” For an instance, the Mistress’ demeanor softened. She remembered then, what his plea of equal hand meant. The dragon remained unmoved. “I have seen with my own eyes a clutch of wyvern eggs in the caves of New Habitat, although our wyverns do not breed there. I have seen a wyvern and rider on four occasions fly over our garrison. Both were unknown to me. There is more, but it is conjecture.”

“You claim the rebellion as fact?” Whatever softness existed left her face. Luala was gone; it was the Mistress who spoke. “You travel this far, leave your duties, to speak of whispers and rumors?” The dragon bared its teeth.

“I claim nothing but what my eyes have seen. The Admiralty was concerned by my reports, and those of others in my garrison. They bade I lay the evidence, such as it is, before the Wyvern, that she might, if she chose, take it to the Councilors. They,” and here he paused, searching in vain for a diplomatic tongue, “they presumed upon our prior friendship that you would not dismiss me out of hand.”

“They presume much, my admirals.” That from the dragon. “And you as well, for taking this mission. You will have our answer soon. Be gone from our sight.” It turned away towards the steps and the spire.

The Mistress lingered. Her eyes were again Luala’s. “You have angered Sixtus. He does not like to hear of the unbound. But I will impress upon him your loyalty. I cannot guarantee the Council hears of your concerns, old friend.”

“Mistress… I do not understand.”

“There is much you do not understand. It is not for me to enlighten you.” She stepped forward, hand extended. “Will you take my hand, Amantes, and cry peace? For I do not think we shall meet again under such happy circumstances.”

The Wyvern knew of the unbound? Knew, and had done nothing? Good soldiers had risked limbs and lives in the unexplored Northern reaches. What reason but treason could there be for such silence? But he was a soldier, not a politician. And for now, this was Luala, not Mistress of the Wyvern.

He took her hand.