Chapter 5:
The Hermit and the Cave
STRADDLING VERALGON, I made my way to Chezarith Castle.
The castle was positioned at the northwestern tip of the crescent-shaped territory. In summer, it would apparently be possible to reach there in two days, but the dragon riders I consulted told me it would take five at this time of year. In summer, one could simply fly directly over the ocean, but with the days shorter during the winter months, the sun would set somewhere in the middle of the journey. Flying over a pitch-black sea was hazardous to all but the most seasoned veterans. Therefore, I needed to take a detour along the coast.
I’d received His Majesty’s permission to take a temporary leave from Dragonjaw Gate. I couldn’t reveal I was searching for some hermit in the mountains, so I instead wrote, “As a dragon rider, I would like to acquire more experience flying long distances.” The king himself responded, first apologizing for delegating such a tedious job to me. Then, he gave me permission to take it easy for a while. It seemed he thought I had grown weary of the boring ceremony and wanted to break up the monotony.
He concluded his message with something along the lines of, “Do not take on any unnecessary tasks in your travels, even if someone begs you to assist them in some matter. If such a request occurs, send the information to the palace.” Well, I didn’t want any headaches either. If I could throw a request like that to someone else, I would certainly do so.
The dragon keeper who’d brought me the message said he would accompany me to Chezarith, per His Majesty’s orders. The boy-king really was good at looking after people.
It was fine weather all the way. Without a cloud in the sky, an updraft was all it took to climb high above the world. The wind was cold enough, but compared to those icy winds from when I had crossed the Dragonbone Ridge, it felt like a light breeze. The dragon keeper riding behind me gave me tips on how to use strong upward air currents coming off cliffs and the sea to gain altitude.
Clinging fast to my back, his stubble scraping against my ears, the keeper instructed, “Okay, a little closer to the cliffs! Position his head a bit more downwind! Wonderful! Now you’ve got it!”
With his help, I learned better how to use the terrain to my advantage, especially when sustaining a flight of a long distance. Perhaps if I’d had this knowledge earlier, I could have crossed the Dragonbone Ridge with less fatigue.
He cried, “Pardon my saying so, but it is funny how you handle a dragon so well yet you know so little about using the wind!”
“I never! Learned to fly! In my! Homeland!”
If we didn’t scream into each other’s ears, the roar of the wind would blow our words away. The dragon keeper seemed more accustomed to talking like this, and he spoke with a particular cadence. His voice came through well, despite the wind.
“Really? I was convinced you kept dragons in your homeland!”
Definitely not. There would be quite a scene, were I to fly a dragon there.
He went on, “I guess dragon riding really comes down to the talent!”
“Well you sound! Pretty knowledgeable! About air currents!”
“I’ve been riding behind dragon riders for thirty years now!”
The veteran dragon keeper related how he had banged on the army’s gates, hoping to become a rider. However, he lacked the natural talent to pull it off.
“But hey, once you get used to it, being a dragon keeper ain’t so bad! I still get to fly, don’t I? And it’s a lot safer!” He laughed into the wind.
In the evening, three days out from Dragonjaw Gate, we arrived in the airspace above Chezarith Castle. The weather had been on our side, and having put the keeper’s tricks into play, we arrived considerably earlier than scheduled.
The castle was built atop a cliff at the tip of a long and narrow peninsula. The base of the cliff had been eroded by waves, the castle above practically suspended in the air. As the castle had been built on such a narrow plot of land, it was tall and elongated, looking terribly unstable, as if a gust of wind were all it would take for it to topple into the sea.
After one circle around the castle, I continued on my course north. A short distance beyond was a large port town, where the lord had permitted the dragon riders to build their own dragon house. It was the third largest such building after the grand dragon house and the facility in Dragonjaw Gate. The plan was to leave Veralgon there, spend a night, and visit the lord of the castle the next morning. There could be trouble if I loitered around someone’s territory without permission, so I would need to speak with the lord first before going in search of the hermit.
As I was unloading Veralgon at the dragon house, a messenger with a long and well-groomed white beard sought me out and courteously lowered his head.
“I take it this white dragon belongs to the hero from another world. My name is Bangas, son of Bangel. I am a knight in service to the Lord of Chezarith. My lord wishes to invite the hero to tonight’s feast. I know you must be tired from your trip, but won’t you accompany me to the castle?”
I’d intended to go anyway, so this invitation just made things easier.
“I humbly accept the invitation. I was meaning to drop by.”
“Wonderful,” Bangas said, smiling. “I have a horse waiting; I shall guide you there. Please just call out once you’re ready. The one who accompanied you is invited as well, of course.”
“Come back as soon as you can, Hero,” the dragon keeper, who had to remain with Veralgon, anxiously urged me before I headed off to Chezarith Castle. Veralgon was in a bad mood, but then again, when wasn’t he?
It was around thirty minutes from the port town to the castle by horse. While the castle had looked precarious from above, it reared quite splendidly when seen from below. In fact, it was nearly impregnable, with no clear angle of attack. On three sides, high cliffs loomed above the sea, sheltering it from ship and dragon, and the only ground route was that narrow peninsula with its treacherous road. It would be all but impossible to install siege weapons upon it.
Bangas’s call was answered by the rattling of chains as the sturdy gate rose. Beyond the threshold stood a familiar man.
“Hero! We lived another day, thanks to you. You have my gratitude!”
This man, along with the twenty behind him, got down on one knee and lowered his head. There was no mistaking the scar on his face. He was Galeom, the one who had saved me and Kyel when we were shot down over an orc village. Back then, he had introduced himself as some lord, though I didn’t quite remember the details.
Having been abandoned in orcish territory with his men, he’d entrusted me with a letter that detailed instructions for a rescue ship. I was safely recovered by Sir Rigel’s rescue party, and upon my return, I made sure the letter was delivered to his territory. It appeared the message had been safely received.
“I simply handed off a letter. In fact, I’m the one indebted to you. Please, raise your head.”
Galeom looked up and reached out his hand. “Hero, give us the honor of exchanging the vows of comrades, that our debts shall always be equal.”
Had he learned of my status after he’d returned here? His tone had changed, as if he were addressing someone above him. I grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Cheers erupted behind him. On closer inspection, I vaguely remembered his surviving knights as well. I shook their hands and shared hugs with them too.
“Now we are comrades in war!” Galeom cried, and together we hurried toward the promised feast.
Barrels of ale were piled in the four corners of the room, and extravagant food covered four long tables arranged into a square. In the center of the square blazed a fire pit, over which a plump pig was being roasted whole. I was surprised they had managed to prepare all this in the short time since learning of my arrival. The ale had simply been brought up from the cellar, but the cooks must have gone through hell.
In front of the fire, surrounded by the banquet tables, a minstrel performed a song based on my fall and crash, and the battle that had followed. Galeom had had his personal poet draft it upon returning to his territory alive.
The story detailed in the ballad was this:
Galeom had led the army of Chezarith Castle through Dragonjaw Gate to overrun the orcs, taking out one force of orcish resistance after the next and reaping the spoils of war. However, those cowardly orcs sealed the entrance to the valley, and Galeom’s men could no longer return home. The hero summoned here from another world led the dragon riders to breach the orcs’ blockade. Unfortunately, even the dragon riders were no match for the enemy formations, and at the end of an intense battle, the hero and a young dragon rider were shot out of the sky. Unwilling to abandon his injured friend, the hero elected to remain in the enemy’s midst, resulting in him being assailed by over ten thousand orcs at once.
Meanwhile, Galeom and his men had seen the dragons fall from the sky, and they rushed to the aid of the two riders. There, they witnessed the hero protecting his friend as orcish corpses piled around him like castle ramparts. Ultimately, though, the hero ran out of strength and collapsed to his knees. Without a moment to lose, Galeom blew his horn and ordered a charge. Despite being ten thousand strong, the orcish army fell into a panic at the sudden appearance of an army bearing down on them, and the knights of Chezarith tore through their ranks to rescue the hero. Afterward, when the hero was taken away by dragon, Galeom entrusted him with a letter requesting that help be sent. Then, Galeom and his men marched west toward the sea, crushing orcish platoons along the way. However, a fearsome foe pursued them: the beak-dogs led by the infamous Black Dog. The fleet Galeom had requested in his letter arrived just in time, and the Black Dog was left stamping his feet in frustration as the humans made off with their spoils.