Usurper: Part 2 of a Spitefic by Torylltales

[torylltales]

Part 2 of my spitefic Usurper. Part one can be found here: antishurtugal-reborn.dreamwidth.org/292319.html

 

 

 

It was a dark and stormy morning, the kind of morning that would make a man want to roll over and go back to sleep. Except that someone would have to make sure the chickens were cooped, the horse and goats safely in the barn, and the window shutters latched. Farmer Alder groaned, glaring at the dark grey clouds through the gap in the curtains.

His scowl deepened when he caught a flash of motion in the sky: a patch of black darker than the surrounding clouds. It could have been his imagination, but he had a bad feeling.

 

It was late afternoon by the time the storm let up. Alder had long settled into his armchair in front of the glowing coals of a dying fire. He had whiled away the storm patching the holes in his clothes, a skill he had had to teach himself after his wife passed. But now his hands were still. His old fingers were done with fumbling with the too-small needle, his eyes were done with squinting in the dim firelight. The only sounds were his breath, the occasional creak of his chair when he shifted, and the soft blib-blib of water dripping through a leak in the old roof. Everything was still. Peaceful. Alder felt himself drifting to sleep.

WHAM! He jolted awake as a thump on the door frame shook the walls. Another one followed, sending a cloud of dust down from the rafters. “Dragonshite!” the old man yelled, falling out of his chair and scrambling to his feet to unlatch the door. Standing on the doorstep, fist raised, was the last person Alder wanted to see. The gleaming clay-coloured armour matched the orange-yellow gemstone set into the pommel of the sword at his hip and clashed jarringly with the long pale-yellow hair that flowed freely over the elf’s shoulders. Alder paled and took an involuntary step back. “Oh, dragonsh--”

 

∞

 

Morzan was a conflicted young man. It had been almost a year since the Rider Academy had expelled his closest friend, Galba, for the ‘crime’ of letting an urgal raiding party kill his dragon. That day had been hard. Morzan had never thought he would turn his back on someone he had known since they were children. He almost hadn’t. But his Master’s hand, digging almost painfully into his shoulder, squashed any thought of disobedience. And Morzan hated it. The grief and betrayal in Galba’s tear-filled eyes as they left him stranded on the shore haunted his nightmares.

 

A heavy thump behind him made the ground shake before a familiar voice filled his mind. Your thoughts are disturbed today, Morzan.

“Good evening, Alaion.”

A scaly red snout nudged his shoulder. Unsettled, like a spring breeze in the forest. Circling this way and that but going nowhere.

Morzan huffed. “Thanks, brother,” he said with a touch of sarcasm, “that really helps.”

Alaion nudged him again. You are upset. Do you want to talk about it?

Instead of speaking, Morzan sent the dragon a mental image. The last time he had seen Galba on the sandy shore of the mainland, watching silently as their boat rowed away back to Vroengard.

Hmm. Alaion stretched a wing over Morzan’s shoulder. Galba and Jarnunvösk were good friends.

“I just think… it was wrong. We were wrong. To abandon him like that.”

I have learned, the young dragon began thoughtfully, that humans are social creatures. You need your friends and family, and it pains you to lose such a bond.

“It’s just wrong,” Morzan repeated.

We dragons do not have such issues, but I think I understand. I would not like to be separated from you.

Morzan couldn’t help but smile a little as Alaion’s affection trickled through their connection.

 

“Morzan!” The momentary peace was shattered by the loud call of their master, Master Rider Erendriel. “Alaion! You’re late for training.”

Repressing a flash of annoyance, Morzan pushed himself to his feet and bowed respectfully to the tall, blond-haired elf. “Forgive us Master, we were, uh, meditating.”

The elf’s eyes narrowed. Thin fingers tapped on the orange gemstone embedded in the hilt of the sword at his hip. “Then I shall expect you to be all the more focused. Come, Thuviel is waiting to humiliate you on the duelling ground. Unless you’ve finally learned what I’ve been trying to teach you?”

Morzan sighed and walked after Erendriel. “Yes, Master. I shall try my best.”

“You’d best hope,” Erendriel said, chuckling at his own bad joke, “that your best is good enough this time. Or that Thuviel is sleepy.”

 

∞

Thuviel, Morzan’s chief rival, was a hulk of an elf, muscles on top of muscles barely restrained by the tight linen shirt he wore. The two had been at odds since Morzan arrived at the academy as a child, and Thuviel delighted in demonstrating his superiority at every opportunity to the smaller, younger human.

Morzan half-suspected Erendriel enjoyed seeing him defeated. The elf must know how unevenly matched he and Thuviel were.As if to highlight his imminent humiliation, the other trainees stood in a group to the side of the duelling ring. Morzan groaned. An audience was the last thing he needed.

“Morzan! Hurrah, Morzan!” No, Morzan mentally corrected himself. That was the last thing he needed. Brom, the younger trainee who had for some reason attached himself to Morzan, was standing slightly apart from the other trainees, waving madly. He tried to ignore the little shite, staring determinedly across the field at his opponent.

“Hey Morzan, your leofman is calling! Why don’t you answer him?” The trainees burst into laugher, and Morzan felt a stab of fury as Brom lowered his head and looked away. He might be an annoying little shite, but he was still a Rider trainee. There was no reason for the others to mock him so. With a sly smile, he responded. “Why, Glaerun, are you jealous?”
Fresh laughter burst out, but this time directed at Glaerun. Morzan allowed himself to bask in the twit’s discomfort.

“ENOUGH!” A huge amber-coloured dragon landed near the far edge of the field, and Erendriel dismounted gracefully. “You are here for serious training, not to make fun! Morzan, what have I been telling you?”

Morzan winced and turned to look up at the elf. “Always keep my focus, Master. Never let myself be distracted.”

Erendriel nodded. “And yet here you are making merry, while your enemy makes ready!” He backed away, and across the small duelling-field Thuviel stepped forward. “Ready, little human?”

Morzan wordlessly unsheathed his trusty red-hilted sword.

 

Thuviel and Morzan circled each other, one wary, the other confident. They tested each other, thrust-parry-riposte-parry, back and forth as they warmed up. For everything Morzan tried, Thuviel had an answer. Morzan lunged forward with a thrust, Thuviel gracefully sidestepped and counterattacked with a downward cut that Morzan barely managed to dodge. Thuviel stepped forward with a lunging thrust. Morzan parried it to the side and followed through with a sidewards chop, but Thuviel had already moved away. The elf pressed forward with a flurry of impossibly fast cuts that Morzan could barely block, stumbling back and swiping his sword blindly from side to side as Thuviel stabbed and cut and chopped.

 

Soon Morzan’s hilt was slippery with his own blood, seeping from dozens of shallow cuts and slashes on his fingers and arms. As quickly as he had begun, Thuviel stopped. Morzan stumbled back another step, trying to force his ragged breathing into the deep, slow breaths he had been taught to use. He glared at Thuviel, who sneered back with a look of unmistakable disdain, as though Morzan wasn’t even worth the effort to beat.

 

Somewhere behind him he could head the sniggers and calls of the other trainees, either calling encouragement to Thuviel or insults to himself. It didn’t matter which. He wiped his free hand on his trouser leg, leaving a dark streak of blood on the linen, before lifting his sword with both hands into an ox guard. Or he tried to, but his shaking hands refused to lift it. He settled into a fool’s guard, sword tip resting lightly on the ground in front of him.

 

In the blink of an eye Thuviel darted forward again. Morzan stepped back, slipped on the grass, and fell. He swung his arms out to catch himself, but landed with a spine-jarring thump. Someone yelled.

 

Morzan rolled up onto his knees, and suddenly realised Thuviel was on the ground too, sword forgotten, whimpering and clutching at his legs. A trail of blood led from the elf’s ankle to the tip of Morzan’s sword, which lay nearby.

 

“STOP!” Erendriel’s powerful voice echoed through the valley as he stormed forward. “That’s enough.” He knelt in front of Thuviel, whispering a quick healing spell. “I’ll not have elvish blood spilled on my duelling ground.” Once Thuviel was healed, their master escorted him away, the rest of the trainees following behind like a gaggle of goslings.

 

 

Only Brom stayed behind, helping Morzan to his feet. “That was amazing, Morz, you actually got him in the end,” the younger boy gushed. “I reckon next time he won’t be so smug.”

Morzan shoved him away, perhaps more forcefully than he meant to. “Next time Thuviel will probably kill me before I get anywhere near him. If Master Erendriel doesn’t kill me first.”

With a last parting glare at the annoying little idiot, Morzan turned away and stumbled back to his quarters.

 

 

Later that afternoon, Morzan was meditating. At least, that’s what he would tell people. He certainly was not moping. He had retreated from the crowds to his favourite thinking-place, hidden in a copse of berry bushes with his back to the city. From here the whole southern valley sloped downward to a distant speck of blue, and he could pretend for a while that Doru Araeba didn’t exist.

Alaion’s red-scaled snout nudged at his leg, drawing him out of his contemplation. You are troubled again, Morzan.

Morzan only harrumphed in reply.

Alaion nudged him again. Is it about Galba again?

“No, Alaion. It’s about… Thuviel, and our duel today. And Master Erendriel.”

You are upset? But you spilled the blood of your rival in combat! Alaion sent him a feeling of confusion mixed with pride and triumph.

“It was luck,” Morzan grumbled. “I slipped.”

Alaion raised his head and turned one red eye to Morzan’s face. This isn’t about the duel.

Morzan turned away, tugging at a weed. “It isn’t fair.” Alaion blinked slowly, silently encouraging Morzan to continue.

“Master Erendriel never cared about blood on the duelling ground when it was my blood. Then one of his precious elves gets a cut on his foot, and he goes and invents a blade-dulling spell!”

Alaion hummed in agreement. Elves look after each other. Even dragons are not as important to elves as other elves.

“It’s more than that. Master Erendriel looks at me like I’m something foul he’s just stepped in. He’s the same with all the humans here. He’s always been harsher with us.”

Perhaps, because your kind live such short lives, he expects you to make the most of your time?

“Not helpful, Alaion!” Morzan threw the torn-up weed at the dragon.

I am sorry.

“S’fine. I know you’re trying to help. It’s just so frustrating!”

Alaion gently rested his chin on Morzan’s leg, and Morzan automatically placed his hand on the dragon’s head, just behind the gently curved horns. Maybe you will feel better tomorrow.

“Maybe.”

 

∞

 

Wind howled across the plains, carrying with it the petrichorous scent of thunderstorms. Morzan had kept his head down in the months since his duel with Thuviel, training hard and staying out of his Master’s way. Morzan still resented the old elf with a growing intensity, but as a trainee his only options were to endure or run away. Desertion wasn’t an option, as he knew he would be hunted down by the Order, so he had done his best to endure.

 

In a rare display of approval, Erendriel had chosen him and Alaion to squire for him and Tamneth, his huge orange dragon, on their seasonal patrol of the mainland. Alaion had been weighed down with saddlebags, and Morzan had been instructed to clean and service Erendriel’s armour and sword each night when they landed. The chore had been worth it for the chance to get away from Vroengard Island and back to the grassy plains where he had grown up.

 

The air was crisp and fresh despite the black storm clouds rolling overhead. There wasn’t a hint of the harsh saltiness of the sea air that stung his eyes and dried out his hair at Vroengard. Morzan took a deep breath, savouring the familiar, almost nostalgic smells. Nearby, Alaion and Tamneth rested in the grass, while Erendriel checked his gear.

After a moment, Erendriel gracefully leapt up onto Tamneth with a single superhuman bound, leaving Morzan to scramble up to the built-in foothold on Alaion’s saddle. “Morzan! It’s time.” With that shouted command, Erendriel and Tamneth took off. Morzan and Alaion followed close behind.

 

Flying low underneath stormy grey clouds was thrilling. The winds buffeted Morzan as the clouds rumbled and flashed with hidden lightning. Alaion sent a rush of adrenaline and excitement through their bond, adding to Morzan’s own exhilaration. Then Morzan saw something that shocked him out of his reverie: a patch of darkness in the clouds, a flash of black amid the dark grey. Morzan turned and stared.

What is it? Alaion asked, wheeling around to face the face the same way. Did you see something?

“I… I thought so, but it was probably nothing. Just a shape in the clouds.”

Hmm. Alaion turned away, hurrying to catch up to Tamneth.

 

 

Not long later, they landed a short walk away from a small, run-down farmhouse. “Morzan! Follow, but say nothing.” Erendriel strode up to the house, one hand on the pommel of his sword. The dragons stayed behind as Morzan trotted to keep up with Erendriel’s long strides. The tall elf thumped on the door, shaking the walls and knocking dust and dead spiders from the eaves. He thumped again, and this time they heard a muffled shout from inside. The door flew open, and the old man inside paled and took a step back. “Oh, dragonshite.”

Erendriel took a step forward to fill the doorframe. “Alder of Alder Farm, we have come to collect your tribute.”

Morzan frowned. Tribute? He’d never heard of anything like that before. The Riders were benevolent protectors, keeping the roads clear of bandits and urgals and ensuring the people could live peacefully.

Morzan was shocked out of his musing by the sound of a muffled slap, followed by a thump and a low groan. The old man was curled up on the ground at Erendriel’s feet, whimpering and holding his head.

Erendriel turned and stomped out of the house, eyes blazing with fury. “This human cannot pay his share, Morzan.”

Alaion flew up as if summoned, landing just short of them both.

“Alaion,” Erendriel ground out through clenched teeth, “burn down the barn.”

“What?!” Morzan took a step back. “Why?”

Erendriel glared at him. “Do not question me, boy.”

Alaion hesitated, sensing his partner’s confusion. Erendriel turned back to him. “Well?”

 

Morzan looked on in horror as Alaion lifted his head, turning to look at the barn next to the little house. He watched, dumbfounded, as the red dragon obediently opened his huge jaws, fire glowing in his chest – and then paused. Morzan heard someone screaming and felt the weight of his sword in his hand. When had he drawn it?

 

He realised he was the one screaming and closed his mouth at the same time as Alaion. The dragon looked at Morzan, then past him. Morzan turned around and saw Erendriel glaring furiously, teeth bared and brows deeply furrowed. He stepped back as Erendriel took a menacing step closer.

“You… DARE?” Erendriel growled, drawing his sword. Morzan took another step backwards, raising his own sword between them.

“No! I won’t let you… He’s just an old man… innocent…” Morzan stumbled over his words, but kept his sword up as Erendriel stepped closer.

“He is a peasant who won’t pay his tax! A human who doesn’t know his place, just like you.” Erendriel raised his sword like an executioner’s axe.

 

Morzan cringed back, waiting for the blow to fall, when the night suddenly exploded into shadow and noise. An inhuman screech made his ears ring as something black knocked him down. Erendriel disappeared into darkness, as if the night itself had come alive. Downhill by the road Tamneth roared, a sound filled with shock and grief. Alaion roared, all confusion and terror. The night roared, fury and triumph. Morzan clutched at his head at the onslaught of emotions and wild dragon magic.

 

After a moment his head cleared, and Morzan could see that the shadow was a black dragon, as dark as night. At the black dragon’s feet, Erendriel’s body lay still. His head rested a few steps away and was almost unrecognisable, pale hair dirtied with blood and mud. Erendriel would have hated that; he always kept his hair meticulously clean and combed.

 

Tamneth roared again, shocking Morzan out of his daze. The roar was cut off as a huge green dragon fell on him, biting and clawing at the orange dragon until he, too, was still.

 

Morzan felt a huff of warm air over his shoulder and froze. The black dragon circled around him, sniffing. And then a black-clad man, almost impossible to see on the dragon’s back, jumped down. “Morzan?”

The voice of his old friend and training partner shocked him again, and Morzan felt his legs go weak. “G… Galba?”

 

DUN DUN DUNNNNN...

 

STAY TUNED FOR PART 3, SOME TIME IN THE NEXT YEAR OR SO.