The Warrior of Dragonford 0.2

Chapter 2


"Ladies and gentlemen, Your Majesties, it is my pleasure, and privilege, to introduce our final act of the evening. Please welcome, our pride and joy, the Voltige Riders of Dragonford!" Joshamia bowed low in his bright blue waist coat and cream trousers. Sweat glistened on his tanned forehead as he stood beneath the thousands of candles used to light the undercover stage, like stars in the night sky.

Jasper handed his sister her herbal mixture, a confident smile on his young face. He was flushed from the excitement of the evening, and his arms ached from his juggling performance whilst the crowd had come in over an hour ago. His face had been painted white with lead, his grey eyes outline with kohl and his lips reddened with the paint that they used to decorate their caravans. It itched his face, but he was too energized to complain. In a few months, when he had done a few more shows, he would be used to the vast amount of makeup and uncomfortable clothing, just as the rest of them were.

Even without the lead paint on her face, Scarlet was the palest there, with fear spreading through her strong spine like wildfire. Her black hair was pinned on top of her head, two strands being stubborn and refusing to go up with the rest framed her face nicely, in the regal manner that it is said that the queens of Dragonford used to wear, before the dragons that the sorceress had brought from the otherworld had fled to Azul when the King of Kings died. The trees ceased to grow there after that, and the legends say that there are very few that have a drop of the feral blood of Dragonford flowing through their veins.

"I hear you murmur, but I would not speak such words even in the quietest whisper, for to be unaware of the great Warriors of Dragonford is to sign you own death warrant. So, I shall tell you if you wish, before the warriors learn of your ignorance," Joshamia said to the crowd, his voice getting quieter before booming across the audience.

"They come in the dead of night, their bows made of the golden bones from the dragons that live on their land. They dip their silver tipped arrows, fledges with the feathers of griffins, into the poisonous blood of the rare corocomba snake, ready to fire at a moment's notice. They are demons on horseback, their wrath feared by all that breathe. To cross such a fearsome warrior is a perilous road, not one that I would recommend for few live to see the sunrise."

Scarlet patted down the short black leather skirt, held in place by leather straps that attached the skirt to her black knee length leather boots, trimmed in the white fur of a winter fox. Her top was of a similar style, much simpler that the clothes and ornaments that the women in the audience wore. The pale skin of her toned stomach was bare, her  small breasts covered by a small stretch of cream fabric, held to her body by black leather. Black fingerless gloves rested on her shaking hands, as they did Calanon's.

His chest was bare, tattooed in the same red patterns that the warriors of Dragonford were said to have worn when going into battle. He wore black boots and short black shorts in the same way that Scarlet did.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Riders of Dragonford!" Joshamia finally ran from the stage, leaving the space clear for the pair to begin their performance.

Scarlet took one final breath before running a few metres onto the stage, her head twitching this way and that whilst her hands clasped onto the genuine dragon bone bow. The crowd was silenced by her savage appearance and the red fire tattoos on her face as she crouched down and walked around, her stance sinister and her gaze blank.
The drums began slowly, with Scarlet's soundless steps moving in time with the steady sound.

Calanon ran in, his bow slung across his broad chest like a toy and his hand gripping an axe as if it weighed nothing as the drums were joined by panpipes and the strange instruments of Dragonford. He reached Scarlet, who was staring into the eyes of the crowd, her gaze fixed on a frightened young boy.

The pair leapt to their feet, dancing in circles as the black Friesian and the stocky black cart horse cantered steadily toward their owners. Calanon and Scarlet moved slowly apart, their horses cantering on their forehands around the two people. In harmony, the dancers slowly raised their hands, twisting gracefully as they appeared to grow taller, and the two horses calmly reared in reason to the gesture.

She spun toward the centre, her arms calmly flowing at her side. Defender reared on a circle, his balance astounding. The girl slowly slid to the floor, her leg splitting beneath her as her hands were two snakes rising higher and higher, weaving in and out. The stallion went to one knee, the direction of his bow aimed tactfully at the royal box.

The pair lay flat on the ground, their bodies motionless.

Calanon, sitting astride Chalice's strong back, galloped over the resting pair, raising his body into the air on his hands whilst his mare cleared Scarlet and Defender's form perfectly. Scarlet changed her position subtly, vaulting gracefully onto her stallion's back as he rose to his feet, springing into a gallop.

The two horses had practices the routine so often as to get their strides to match flawlessly on the circle in the centre of the stage as their riders performed countless summersaults and flips with defined precision. Each delicate twist, every turn of their graceful bodies, entranced their audience. It was easy to believe that you truly were an onlooker to a Dragonford festival.

Scarlet vaulted from Defender's arched back onto Calanon's strong shoulders. Her handstand was greeted with the applause of near a thousand hands, her body swinging to the rhythm of the mare's steady stride. Calanon, standing on Chalices long back, bent his knees, letting go of his partner's delicate hands as they both flipped onto the floor, the pair of horses slowing to an extended trot, their legs high above the ground. They trotted calmly out of the arena, their owners twirling together in the centre.

Their dancing bodies flowed like water as they spun and wove between each other, teasing their partner with their sweating body, the chemistry between them portraying the painful romance of their tango. The drums beat louder, shadowing the high trill of the panpipes, the dancers moving faster.

The drums banged once before stopping, Scarlet and Calanon leaping high in the air and falling to the floor on the last loud thrum of the drum.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Warrior Riders of Dragonford!" Joshamia's proud voice rang high in the stunned silence of the crowd before the applause erupted from the audience in the galleries.

Scarlet's breath came hard and her chest heaved as she tried to calm her heart. Calanon stood, a proud smile on his angelic face, holding a sweaty hand out to his partner. She took it limply, too tired to feel the sparks that arrived every time their skin met. He pulled her to her feet for their bow, both of their heads swimming in the applause and adrenaline. A few people threw down white orchids, the most fashionable flower of the time in the Six Isles. Scarlet scooped up one, a crimson ribbon tied around the dark green stem, as she came up from her curtsy. The slower was sweet, with the petals showing a hint of rose; it was a usual specimen and she intended to add it to her collection.

They walked calmly through the stage door, their strides long and seemingly unhurried. Calanon pulled Scarlet to him as soon as the burgundy  curtains closed behind them.

"That was magnificent my little squid." His breath was soothing next to her ear, the gentle breeze it offered was a welcome respite to the warmth of her skin as her heart tried to still in her energized body.

"I'm exhausted. I think I might throw up. Thank Erenya its over," she said between gasps for breath.

"An astounding performance, my children. Erenya has smiled on us tonight." Master Tarquin leant of Jasper's arm, his old leg wound troubling him on this important evening. The young boy beamed at his big sister, only checked from running by the hobbling old man on his arm. Scarlet was grateful, and she was sure that Master Tarquin knew of the weariness that would engulf her and Calanon after their performance, although, somehow, her partner seemed to have an endless source of energy.

"Not as good as you were back in the day, my dear uncle!" Calanon laughed; his mood was never better than after performing.

Master Tarquin brushed the compliment off with a flick of his wrist, not wanting to steal the glory of his nephew and Scarlet, doubled over as her head swam.

"Are you all right, child? Is all well?" Despite the lack of concern in his voice, and the bored outlook on life that he played so well, Master Tarquin hated to see those in his family be hurt.

When he had accepted Morika into the Nomad family of the Six Isles, she had been heavily pregnant and hysterical with the loss of her lover. He asked no questions, nor did she offer any answers; he saw a woman in need and so he went to help her, knowing that Erenya would, in time, repay him for his kindness. On her death bed, he had sworn to her that he would protect her children and keep them away from the type of people that would mean them ill. He had made a promise, and he had no intention of breaking it.

"Yes, sir, I'm fine; the nerves have finally hit me, I think," she said, a smile planted on her flushed face as she flicked her hair behind her shoulders.

"I'm glad of that' it would not do to have such a fine young woman exhaust herself on our account." The four Nomads snapped their heads in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. He was dressed in blue and green silk, accompanied by two other men, two young men and two guards. The Nomads bowed to the two kings, their two heirs and the Lord of Ravenden. The duelled green and blue stars of Beamish and Skeloric were sewn onto the jerkin of one guard whilst the other wore the crimson star of Centrica.

Scarlet could not doubt which of the two young men was the boy that she had met in the woods on that day, seven years ago, when she met Defender.

Eduardo wore dark clothes, the only colour being the red feather in his black leather cap. The only part of his tanned skin visible was the very top of his neck and his diamond face, the rest being covered by the heavy garments that he had chosen for a night out in the open. She felt very naked in front of him as his black eyes roamed freely over her unguarded body. His brother and father, too, treated her as if she was a filly for auction and it made her uncomfortable.

Sensing her discomfort, Calanon wrapped his strong arm around her waist, pulling her body into his so that his bulk obscured their intrude vision of his best friend.

"My cousin and I have come to congratulate you on your fine show, Master. As a reward, my brother in law wishes to invite you and your family to our masquerade ball tomorrow night and to join my court, as well as my cousin's, as we travel to my capital, at least until we reach the city walls," King Verneir of Centrica said. His voice was calm, almost bored, but the smile on his lips was genuine.

The Nomads let Master Tarquin address the kings, as befit the elder of the Nomads of the Six Isles. He seemed to stand a little straighter, his voice as powerful as it must have been in his youth. It surprised even him to find that he could still sound so sure of his words and confident of his audience that the authority returned to his loud voice. "We would be honoured, Your Majesties, but I'm afraid that we are making our way north for the summer months; we would only be able to accompany you, and entertain you, for a few days before we must turn down a separate road. Although, we would be privileged to attend the ball tomorrow."

"Of course, Master; we shall discuss the details tomorrow night at the feast," the old king of Beamish and Skeloric turned to face the two panting performers, his eyes betraying his intrigue. Calanon, his arms still wrapped around Scarlet's shaking body, stared, unabashed, at his superior.

"Your Majesty," he said, reluctantly letting go of the girl in his arms as he bowed low. His voice was deep and as powerful as always, but it was strained, the reason being a mystery to Scarlet.

The kings left, speaking of a courtier as they went. Lord Condir followed, a little puppy waiting for scraps from his master. Nanook and his brother took longer to depart, their identical black eyes following the curves of Scarlet's petite figure. She turned to Master Tarquin, seemingly blind to her uncomfortable situation as his damaged eye roamed over the two young lords.

"Scarlet, child, I feel a chill in the air tonight; best to put a rug on Defender before he freezes."

"Yes, Master; I'll go now, with your leave, sir."

The old man nodded, his silver beard almost touching the floor at his finely polished black boots. He did not watch her leave, although he saw four pair of eyes, black, golden and grey, all tracking her steady stride as she walked with her head held high and her back straight. Calanon looked to his uncle, pleadingly. "Best to go help her, nephew; I hear that Ciara's moved things around again." The sweaty, half-naked young man of twenty-four years smiled to his old uncle as he prepared to sprint after his partner. "Before I forget, Calanon," his nephew froze his body rigid with fear on the wrong grounds, "a message came from my cousin in Farashi during the performance. My eyes are too old now to read his small hand; if the contents is of importance to me then I wish to be informed, if not then the news is yours to do with what you will. You are my heir, after all."

Calanon walked a little way from the two young lords, now wishing they had left with their father and the kings after Master Tarquin began to tell of his performing years. He smiled as he unfurled the tiny scroll, tied in the black ribbon of the Nomads of Farashi.


'My dear cousin of the Six Isles,

'It is my deepest regret that I send this letter, a confirmation of our darkest fears; the people of Wyspa have declared war on Cornilish. The kingdoms of Himilier and Wilst are going to aid the attackers whilst Mirazeal and Lograniv are allied with Cornilish. My King Elordium is in a difficult position, with our country having connections to both Wilst and Cornilish, and with Howschich and Scormia threatening to raid our borders. But that is nothing new.

'There are rumours that have reached my king's ears of a child that will determine the outcome of this apocalypse, if it does come to war. They say that the blood of the King of Kings runs through her veins, yet her soul is, still, pure and innocent. Many say that the child resides with you and your kin. If these whispers are to be believed then King Elordium wishes for her to travel to Farashi. And there are, too, rumours of war in your area; they say that the kings of the Six Isles plan to push harder against the Long Isle, and then against Mirazeal.

'I wished for you to hear the news from a friend.

'Yours,

'Master Istila of the Nomads of Farashi'


Calanon screwed the sheet in his hand before shoving it into his pocket. It was as his uncle had feared and now the life of their family was endangered. If it came to war then their men would be expected to fight for the kings of the Six Isles. Few would return home. And if there was to be a war and the heir of the King of Kings was alive, whether he lived amongst the Nomads of the Six Isles or not, the world would be remoulded yet again into the shape of another age.

For that has been how the world had moved from age to the next, an age of peace to an age of war; one man rose above the rest to the downfall, or the triumph as it may be, of the world. The change from one to the next was known to be strewn with bloodshed, the sound of thousands of mourning women to be heard on the wind through countless generations. Their tears replenish the ocean, the salt from their eyes a constant reminder to their unnecessary pain.

Scarlet ran out from the trees, her slender body falling onto his as he broke her fall.
Her hair tumbled over his glistening shoulder, the dark little spider webs twisting around his sweating skin. She had put on a black skirt, trimmed with a dark green to match her mossy eyes, her toned stomach still showing as she had had no time to delicately dismantle the tightly sewn leather shirt. Her boots were the same as she had performed in, although they were covered in sand and no longer the brightly polished leather that they had been when the sun had first set beyond the horizon.
They unscrambled their limbs, helping each other from the moist grass, soaked with the tears of the night. Scarlet pinned her black hair into a bun a top her high head, a gesture that Calanon had learned meant that she was trying to hide the flutter in her stomach, whether from passion or shame he could never tell.

"May I have the honour of your company on this fine evening, my little squid?" His voice was low, a secret intimacy flowing through the air between them as he offered his hand to her, his back bending in a little bow as his eyes refused to leave her flustered face.

"Of course Nonny; it would be my pleasure," she said gingerly as she took his hand. They both still wore the gloves from the performance, and neither liked the distance that it put between their touch.

Calanon gently pulled off her leather fingerless glove, damp with the cool sweat of the exertion that Scarlet had put herself through in order to entertain a wealthy group of courtiers that cared nothing for the lives of people such as the Nomads. His mother, he was told, had been an accomplished fortune teller before he was born. They said that only Morika had marred his mother's gifts, but those were the same people that had said that Scarlet's mother had been sent to test Erenya's will; they said that she had been a witch. He studied the Nomad girl's hand as if he knew what each line meant, to search for some sign.

"What do you see, oh Great Nonny?" Her voice was soft, a smile on her lips. But he saw the fear creeping into her eyes, the golden veins a sign enough of the winter that crossed through the warmth of her thoughts.

"This line here, the long one, says that you'll live for a long time, forever I'd say. This one, the Line of Fate, says that you have a great destiny. But that's nothing new," he said, looking briefly at her pink face. "Your Heart Line is long; that shows that you're very caring. And this, you see the two sections on your thumb, the top one is Willpower and the bottom is Logic. It looks like yours are pretty equal in strength."
Scarlet ripped her hand away, the rare appearance of her white teeth a joy for any man to see. In an instant she began to run, looking back every moment to check that he was following. He knew that he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

Neither knew how far they ran; only that the other was there and so nothing could harm them. At last the darkness finally settled into their legs and slowed them to a halt. Scarlet stood panting, her eyes closed as her face turned up to the full moon, a sign that Erenya was watching over them.

Calanon fell to the floor, too tired to stand for a moment longer. He pulled Scarlet down with him, her petite body landing gracefully on his lap as he wrapped his arms around her and laid his head on her shoulder.

"I love you," she said, her head tilted toward his as the wind rustled through her hair. Calanon had never heard her voice her feelings in so many words before, but, on this night of bliss, Erenya watched over the young Nomads with a smile in her heart.

There is no way to know who leant in first, but their lips met gently, both suppressing urge to push harder against the other. Calanon slowly began to nibble her bottom lip, his tongue feeling the smoothness of her pale skin. HE pulled away, holding her head in his hand as her mouth parted and her eyes closed.

He had never seen her so exposed.

"Marry me," he whispered.

She moaned.

"Marry me," he said as his lips murmured the phrase once more. It felt good to say it, just to let the words slip so delicately from his mouth as he restrained the passion beginning to stir inside of him.

"Yes," she said. "Yes."

"Yes."