Plot 405: Solar Eclipse

Isador | Adviser

There was a joke, in Aodhian society, about only gossip traveling faster than flame. Fire and speculative talk, two of the things that defined Eithne and that got stronger the more one sought to contain them.

So it was not long before panicked messengers were pounding on the Palace’s doors, and interrupting what had been an otherwise pleasant gathering for the Advisers and invited guests. Pleasant by Aodh standards, anyways. Veiled threats, minor extortion, surreptitious checking of food for poison, that sort of thing. Pleasant. But then the messages started pouring in, and the entire scene had changed. Isador had made his apologies and departed, making uncharacteristic haste to the farmlands.

“I must go,” Isador had told the room, the messenger having departed. “If reports are to be believed a,” and he hesitated for a moment, “dragon, is attacking outside the city.” Well, the flame was off the wick now, and no use wishing it back. If anyone in this room hadn’t realized what had been guarded in that tunnel for the past three months, they were bigger fools than Isador had credited them. “Evacuation is underway, any refugees must be given quarter within the gates. Chevaliers and those slaves that can be spared are fighting the blaze…” And Isador hesitated, then swept his cool gaze over the room. “Assist in these matters as you see fit; but the dragon must be… dealt with.” And the grey stallion had nodded his head once, seriously, then spun and was gone.

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If the Adviser felt naked without the hulking presence of his pit fighter, he did not show it. Indeed, the sight of the grey stallion cantering purposefully out of the city gates alone, without guard or ceremony, was startling. Or would have been, if not for the smoke, fire, and screams drifting from the fields. That, and the massive shadow that swept over the land.

But Isador showed no fear, only a resolute determination in his steady blue eyes and flagged tail. Aodh was without a leader, without a symbol to rally around. Aodh was faltering. Isador would not allow it, not on his watch. A shadow passed over the stallion, accompanied by an oppressive whump of sound, air displaced by massive wings. Isador slid neatly to a halt, head flung to the sky, the flames casting a sanguine glow to his pale coat. He did not look to the equines milling around the blazing homes, nor did he look to see if he was followed by any from the Palace. Isador had eyes only for the magnificent beast soaring over him. Legends, he thought distantly, were nothing, nothing to the sight of a true dragon, flesh and blood and glory as it took wing. Isador felt his chest tighten at the sheer beauty of it, destruction and chaos and politics temporarily forgotten. A dragon, a true dragon, commanded full attention, and for a heartbeat that spanned an eternity, Isador gave it, and gladly.

The dragon wheeled, and her roar reverberated in Isador’s chest, the sound like a drum, like a call to war. The beast swept over him, lending his shadow wings. Isador reared and spun.

“DRAGON,” he bellowed, and his voice was not the cool, smooth tones known throughout the Palace. It was deep and loud, and projected across the land. “CHILD OF FLAME! ATTEND!” Isador’s hooves slammed back to the scorched earth, puffs of ash rising in their wake. And the dragon banked sharply, her long tail whipping lethally through the air. She roared again, jewel-bright eyes dilating as they found Isador, standing proud and still. An earth-rending boom split the air as the massive beast landed violently before the Adviser, digging great furrows in the earth, her lean, angular head lowered to view Isador as she half-furled her wings over her back. Smoke spiraled from flared nostrils and she rumbled a low, teeth-rattling warning.

“Child of Ignacio,” Isador continued, meeting her wild, dangerous eyes. Eyes he could fall into, be lost and devoured and burned to a glorious crisp- with an effort, Isador wrenched his attention back. “You must be calm, mother of Aodh,” Isador said, and his voice shook only a little. “You harm your birthright. Your people. You are angry, and confused, but you must be still- attend me,” he added sharply, as the reptile lashed her tail and flared her wings, casting Isador in sudden and deep shadow.

“We are your people, we of the Flame. So be still. You harm those who would love you, revere you. Be still, and let us find you a place in this world.”

For a moment the dragon gazed steadily at Isador with whirling, calculating, and intelligent eyes. Then she keened once, a low and primal sound, and she lay her head on the smoking earth. And though she remained down, Isador’s shadow writhed of its own volition, and for a moment, he once more had wings, unfurled and spread in glory.