#fiandarsh

The room at the top of the tower was was guarded by a solid iron door. No one had a key to the door on the northeast tower.

Mainly because there wasn’t one. The door was opened by other means.

Zarakharn pressed his hand to the door. “Hâ’mar.”

The door opened at the incantation. He entered swiftly and shut the door behind him, plunging the room into darkness.

He took the torch near the door and exhaled onto it. He used it to light the others. High on the column in the center of the room was an empty throne.

Zarakharn raised his hands to the pedestal. “Sâ’man Ph’yandarst-isîrto,” he intoned.

Above him, there was a silver shimmering until the throne was filled by the translucent figure of a dragon, wearing no satchel, helm or ornament. He bore an ancestral resemblance to Zarakharn, for they were related distantly; there will be more on that later. However, his features were not as sharp, save for his piercing gaze as he looked down on his apprentice.

“Zauricron,” said Fiandarsh, for this was the name of the dragon spirit, and he spoke in the ancient tongue.

“Master,” Zarakharn replied in the same tongue, lowering his head so his horns faced his mentor. “I have discovered the location of my heartstone.”

“At last you can put this distraction behind you,” Fiandarsh sneered. “I warned you this heartstone would prove to chew your tail, and now it has.”

“It is true that many have died early deaths by the destruction of their heartstones,” Zarakharn replied, lifting his head. “But were it not for my stone, I would have died at the hands of Sal ar-Galdin decades ago. And yet, at this moment, I am yet alive.”

Sal ar-Galdin was the name of Sar Argandi in ancient Khrizan, much like Zauricron was Zarakharn’s name and Phyandarst was Fiandarsh’s. Fiandarsh detested Zarakharn’s language and would only speak in his own, and he insisted Zarakharn speak it when communing with him. Fortunately, Zarakharn had been taught the ancient tongue as a dragonet and was perfectly fluent.

“Where is it?” asked Fiandarsh, ignoring his apprentice’s assertion.

“In Raer, Master,” Zarakharn replied, and by Raer, he meant Rer.

Fiandarsh narrowed his eyes and leaned forward, snout hanging over the pedestal. “I sense there is more you wish to say on this.”

“The dragon who has it resembles the Shuziron Gilzaruk Rishta-rast ar-Rishta,” Zarakharn said, and by Shuziron Gilzaruk ar-Rishta he of course meant the Shazarian Ginzaekh Rissarash Arrissa.

“Resembles him?” Fiandarsh raised his eyebrow.

“I believe Gilzaruk ar-Rishta had a son,” Zarakharn said.

“Of this, it is certain,” said Fiandarsh. “And yet he was killed before any of his offspring could be more than ten.”

“His brother Nath still lives,” Zarakharn replied. “And his mate is Shuziron as well. They have children, or a child; whether one or two, I do not know.”

“Nath Rishta-rast has had a tooth in the Kenjai’s tail for near to seventy years,” Fiandarsh growled. “I have no doubt he has taught his nephew in the ways of magic. I have a strong suspicion that he is the traitorous inquisitor Dalkathash spoke of.”

“That is not possible,” said Zarakharn. “Nath ar-Rishta is not an inquisitor, or I would have him by now. This traitor must be a Shuziron we know little or nothing of.”

Fiandarsh considered this. “A pity the Ristlaron limits my sight, or I would be able to find him. As it is, however. . .”

Fiandarsh spread his ghostly wings and dropped to the foot of the pedestal. Had he not been a spirit, the clatter of his talons hitting the ground would have echoed through the chamber. “My disappointment in your recent blunders is great indeed.”

“I acquired the Band of Magic!” Zarakharn protested. “The third Band of Power! I wield the Band of Influence and the Band of Cunning! I killed Rishta ar-Rishta and Gilzaruk Rishta-rast, and wounded Sal ar-Galdin with an azgthul blade! I have rendered you faithful service for over a hundred years! I am the last Kenjai and the most powerful dragon alive!”

“You disregarded my counsel when you created that heartstone,” Fiandarsh growled, ghostly sparks snapping silently in his teeth. “And now you are paying for it. Had you heeded my counsel, your life would not be in jeopardy, and I would not be in danger of losing the most powerful apprentice I have had in thousands of years!”

Fiandarsh sighed, kneading the bridge of his snout between his claws. “The Ristlaron’s kind grow stronger,” he said. “The time which I saw in my vision has passed. They wield power only the Bands can stand against. They can wipe out half their own population with a tap of their finger, and they far outnumber the dragons. The Anthradracans, the Valkandirons, the Ildracagor, the Talathirons, the Longdral and the Farlazirons combined are but a sixth of their number. Of themselves they are small, and flameless and flightless, but their weapons surpass our natural abilities, and our magical abilities as well, except were every dragon in Aladugarim a mage of the highest capability.”

Fiandarsh hissed. “Were you not distracted by this stone, we would be that much closer to saving Aladugarim.”

Zarakharn personally believed that if the vision his master had had thousands of years ago as a child were true and had finally come to pass, there was still no threat to Ardagrin. The Rishnaran’s kind are not magic, he thought. No substitute, however cunning, can open the gateways the Bands can. But that was not to say Zarakharn did not care about obtaining the Bands as soon as possible. Far from it.

“I understand, my master, and I am truly as regretful as you are,” said Zarakharn humbly. “Please do not believe I misunderstand the urgency of the situation. Have I not worked tirelessly to acquire the Bands?”

“You have,” Fiandarsh admitted grudgingly. “And yet for a long time I have suspected you do so for your own gain, and not for the salvation of Aladugarim.”

“I would have nothing to gain by allowing Aladugarim to be doomed to the Ristlaron’s race, nor any other,” Zarakharn pointed out. “I know you realize this.”

“I do. It is the only reason you are still a Kenjai,” said Fiandarsh. “I see through you, apprentice. You would not save Aladugarin for the love of your world, but for the glory its inhabitants would bestow upon its savior.”

Fiandarsh flicked his silvery, forked tongue. “And. . . for the dominion over the universes.”

Zarakharn opened his mouth, but Fiandarsh cut him off. “Yes, I have seen it for a long time. I have watched you from the egg, my apprentice. A descendant of my brother, to use against him in my aim in order to spite him. Generation by generation, the line of the emperors grew softer and softer, to my utter disgust. But then came a dragon who held such weakness in contempt. Algnarud the Second was a dragon with iron-welded talons, a dragon of great hardness who could dedicate himself to a cause he believed in. But as I watched him I saw that he was too attached to his laws, to his throne, to be a profitable servant. I needed someone willing to slink in the shadows. Algnarud believed such things were beneath him, and had I made him a Kenjai, he would have sent his armies after the Bands while he sat on his throne governing his subjects’ every facet of their lives. It was wise that I did not reveal myself to him, for he would have once again revealed magic to the world. But his son. . . His son was different. Far different. His son was willing to use any means necessary. His son showed interest in the throne not out of a sense of duty, but for a hunger for power. Here was a tool I could use--a dragon with resources and the willingness to use them discreetly. A dragon who wielded more influence than I had in life--I had but a small army of loyal followers, and he held the throne for which I had so desperately battled and failed. A dragon whose jealousy and ambition surpassed my own--a superdragon whose innate cravings I could turn towards the greater good! It mattered not that you cared little for good. . . until I realized too late that your focus was misguided.”

“I have always--” Zarakharn protested, but Fiandarsh cut him off, shouting an incantation that slammed Zarakharn into the wall.

“You betrayed your focus when you sought immortality!” Fiandarsh roared, stamping his talons silently. “Time was of the essence and you bound your soul to a destructible object that was easily lost! You are not concerned for the welfare of the world! The threat of the Ristlaron’s race means nothing to you! You seek power, and only power!”

“Don’t you tell me that!” Zarakharn snarled. “How can I care nothing for my own world? My own subjects? What rational dragon would have such a disregard for his possessions?”

“I’ll tell you why you hold such a disregard,” Fiandarsh snapped. “Because you only care about having subjects to rule over. You are perfectly willing to sacrifice Aladugarim for a host of other worlds, and your sights are set on the world of the Ristlaron and on the realm of the ancient gods.”

“You are willing to sacrifice any number of dragons to save Aladugarim,” Zarakharn muttered.

“And you are willing to sacrifice all of them for your sole ambition of domination,” Fiandarsh snarled. “I have always seen your true desires. . . I believed they could prove useful to me. I was wrong.”

Zarakharn gritted his teeth, sparks dancing against them. “Master. . . there is a spell I could use, one I have read of that allows one to turn back time its--”

“No!” Fiandarsh shouted. “Such a spell can only be used once! We will not waste it. Even in the most desperate of situations, it cannot be trusted. You will not repeat the mistake I made those thousands of years ago.”

Zarakharn crushed the sparks viciously. He could see there was no arguing with his master. Fiandarsh was adamant about never using the power to erase the past. He had never taught Zarakharn how it was done. Zarakharn had had to discover the process on his own, and it was very difficult. As it was, had the stone been stolen before now, Zarakharn’s power would not have been great enough to perform the spell.

And Zarakharn was not ignorant of the spell’s consequences, as Fiandarsh would believe. It was Fiandarsh’s own mistake and not the process itself. Even without committing such a foolish error, the manipulation of time was not something to be taken lightly. There’s a reason the Rishnaran decreed it could only be used once, Fiandarsh had said. And once is too many.

Zarakharn could not afford to alienate Fiandarsh now. He needed Fiandarsh’s help.

“Master,” he said, adopting humility, “If you could travel to Raer and learn all you can about this Gilzaruk ar-Rishta, I would be deeply grateful. I apologize for my failings and insolence. I realize we cannot afford such distractions at this crucial time, when your vision has come to pass.”

Fiandarsh sighed, steam rising from his freezing gaze. “I will do this. Of yourself, make haste. Leave for Raer immediately to retrieve this stone.”

“Of course.” Zarakharn bowed.