Flame Kept

Chapter 1

 Varma

The skies over Bahkouzga Palace held the cold iron sheen of early morning, or early evening. Either an ending or a beginning.

Only a slight lightening of the eastern horizon hinted at the coming dawn. Even though the sun had not yet stirred to begin its day, a dozen Dragonions stood at the ready in the training yard.

Varma walked slowly past them, his hands clasped behind his back. His wings flared slightly in agitation as he inspected his new, raw recruits.

Young snot nosed brats of noblemen, farmboys with pig shit on their boots, and those not intelligent enough to learn a trade. What am I to do with this lot other than drown them all in the river and save us all a lot of trouble?

The recruits stiffened up as he passed them. As well they should. The first week he intended to keep them so off their guard they felt like pissing themselves when he came near.

Only one of the recruits did not. A Dragonion with scales like burnished brass stood at attention near the end of the line. A bit taller and slimmer than the others, he looked as if he’d spent some time with weapons in his hands.

The Dragonion, Lotor, was well known to Varma. At least, by proxy of his relations.

He thought Lotor was trying to prove something by not blanching like the rest. Varma would see him broken of that.

Varma moved up to the front of the line of recruits and shook his horned head.

“So. You think that you have what it takes to be Guardsmen?” He scoffed when no one responded. “I asked you a question, recruits. Do you think you have what it takes to be Guardsmen?”

“Yes, Sir!” The chorus came back strongly, but he felt the impetus was fear and not conviction.

“We shall see if that is true. Square up with each other and begin sparring.”

They all looked at each other like a bunch of does chewing their cud.

“Do it!” Varma snapped. The Dragonions paired off with each other, all but one.

“Do not seek to spar with me, Traitor’s Blood.” An orange scaled recruit backed away from Lotor.

“It looks as if you have no one who wishes to be your partner,” Varma said with a snicker. “Too bad I’m not giving you a choice. Square off, I say.”

“What are the rules? And we don’t have any practice weapons yet.”

“The only rule is no Dragonfire. The time will come when you will be trained in that…if you prove yourselves worthy. Today, you are not worthy of weapons yet.”

Varma raised his voice to parade levels.

“Now, spar!”

He made the recruits grapple and fight each other for the better part of an hour. They began eagerly enough, straining their bodies, limbs splayed wide as they each tried to wrestle the other to the ground.

Over time, exhaustion took its toll, and many of them were barely putting their hearts into it any longer.

The one exception was Lotor, who seemed to have better endurance than the others. Only he was suffering in other ways. The recruits mostly took care not to hurt each other during the sparring matches. In his case, they went out of their way to harm him. The young man had one eye swollen partially shut, and a line of blood trailing from his nostril.

“Enough.”

They paused, limbs flopping down to their sides as they groaned in relief. Almost as one, they shuffled toward the barrel of water shaded from the newly risen sun by the training area’s high stone walls.

“Where are you going?” He snapped. “No one’s earned a drink yet. We’re going to fly around the Palace a dozen times.”

“A dozen times?” gasped a purple scaled recruit.

“Yes, you’re right, much too easy,” Varma said with a sadistic grin. “Let’s do it twenty.”

He sprang into the air, beating his wings hard. The recruits followed suit, though they lagged in the air behind him.

In the end, no one made it the twenty laps around. One by one they dropped out of the sky, until only Lotor remained. Varma felt boiling contempt for the lot of them. On the sixteenth trip around the palace, his own wings began to ache. He felt a note of triumph as Lotor finally spiraled for the ground.

Varma let them have a water break, then started them in weapons training. When the sun had long passed its zenith, he finally called for an end to their first day.

He left the yard filled with groaning, aching recruits behind him. Normally, he would have commended the recruit who lasted the longest. However, it wound up being that brother of a traitor, Lotor.

Varma didn’t think that the rotten fruit had fallen far from that gnarled and diseased tree. Until Lotor did something overt enough to get himself kicked out, though, Varma was obligated to train him.

He moved out of the training area onto a bridge whose graceful arch seemed like flat ground. Formed from a glittering white mineral similar to quartz, the bridge was one of dozens which connected the many towers and battlements of Bahkouzga Palace.

Varma made his way to a green and white spiral staircase, all laid with weather resistant ceramic tile. He stepped to the side as a servant moved up the stairs with a brush and bucket of water, scrubbing the dirt from the grout lines.

On the ground at last, Varma moved to the Tremiz Public Bathhouse. He paid for the most lavish bath of all, mostly for the expected privacy. It was possible some well heeled member of the aristocracy would pay the fee and join him, but not likely.

Varma had no sooner lowered himself into the hot water when he saw another Dragonion approaching. His eyes bulged out of his head when he realized it was the King, Kaze.

“My liege.” He struggled to get out of the bath so he could bow.

“At ease, Weapons Master Varma.” The King doffed his bath towel, revealing his body in all its scaled glory. He slipped into the water as well. It would seem that being mated to the human woman, Scarlett, agreed with the King. He had much less stress around his shoulders than before.

“So, how is life?” the King said as he slipped into the water up to his neck, hissing at the intense heat.

The water and temperature in the bath chamber were beyond what humans were capable of tolerating, hence the force field in front of the door.

“Life is good. I fear I may not be able to make this newest batch of recruits into proper Guardsmen, but I will do my best.”

“You say that every year, and every year you consistently produce the finest warriors not just in the kingdom but all of Dragonia.” He laughed softly. “Though I’m a bit biased in that estimation.”

The King’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

“I heard that your entire contingent of recruits collapsed today.”

“Yes, they did.” Varma jutted his chin out proudly. “The new generation is so weak.”

The King’s expression did not change.

“Varma, I have just come from the infirmary. Seven of the recruits had to be admitted for exhaustion. I think you might be pushing these recruits too hard.”

Varma opened his mouth to protest, but then remembered he was dealing with his King, and remained silent.

“In fact,” the King continued “I do believe that of late your taciturn nature has taken a turn for the more…extreme.”

“Extremism in defense of the kingdom is no vice.”

“I disagree.” His brow ridges rose high on his face, wrinkling his scales under the base of his horns. “Extremism is by its very nature inflexible and therefore a poor tool for nearly any purpose. I believe that you have somewhat lost your way, old friend. And I also think I know of a way I can help you find your way back.”

“Lost…my way?”

The King heaved a sigh, relaxing his wings and creating small waves in the heated water.

“Varma, you take your duties more seriously than any man I have ever known. And yet, that could be your downfall. Your entire life is about your work, and when you are not working you sit at home by yourself. It’s not healthy.”

“What do you propose to do about it?” Varma struggled to keep his tone in check. “I am who I am. And if you’re hinting that I should select a mate, there is no female in the kingdom, Dragonion or Human, who would have me.”

The King’s eyes sparkled.

“Follow me.”

He rose from the bath, and servants moved forward to towel him dry. Varma did the same, and they dressed in loose fitting tunics, though the King’s was of a nicer grade of fabric.

The King led Varma to a stairwell, and then over a wide bridge arcing over the palace commons. The Bridge of Ancients gleamed in the sun, white marble cleaned meticulously by public workers.

Varma followed the King into a hanging garden, one favored by his wife and her friend the castle treasurer. The cool shade felt good on his scales as they moved to a small reception area. Refreshments had been set out on a wrought metal table, arranged to the side of three padded chairs.

The refreshments didn’t interest Varma nearly so much as the third member of their little confab. A woman with ivory skin and long, silver hair smiled at him from one of the chairs. She unfolded herself from the seat with liquid grace and strode over to take his hand.

“I know you,” he said, his tone a bit rude as they shook hands in the human tradition. Did that mean she was human? “You are Sagazia, matchmaker to my King.”

“Matchmaker to many,” The King corrected. “Not just to me. And now, she is here to be a matchmaker for you.”

“Sire, please,” Varma said in exasperation. “I do not wish to use her services…no offense. Lady Sagazia.”

“None taken,” she said smoothly. Her eyes seemed to bore into Varma’s soul. “And please do not call me Lady, unless you wish to start a fight.”

The King laughed, but Varma frowned. He turned to argue with his King some more.

“All I ask,” the King said, cutting him off, “is that you speak with Sagazia for a while and listen to her offer. That’s all.”

“Yes, my King,” Varma said with dejected defeat.

The King took his leave, and Sagazia gestured at the chairs.

“Would you like to sit?”

“I prefer to stand,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Very well, whatever makes you comfortable.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “You are an intriguing man, Weapons Master. I have seldom found a man more intent upon avoiding pleasure or enjoyment in my life.”

He scoffed.

“I enjoy my life very much. I love my work.”

“Is that all? No music? No poetry, or perhaps just someone to walk with you and enjoy the sunset?”

“The sunset means that I have not accomplished enough today,” he growled.

“I see.” Again that note of amusement. She leaned forward and lowered her tone. “Can I tell you a secret? I don’t think you can really be matched with anyone.”

“Oh thank the ancestors,” Varma said with a sigh. “That is such a relief.”

“Yes, I thought that it would be. But here’s the kicker. I’m afraid the King has asked me to match you, so I have to do it.”

His heart leaped in panic, and she forestalled his protests with an upraised palm.

“I know, I know, it’s not what either of us wants, but there you have it. So I’m going to have to match you, but don’t worry. It won’t take, because your suspicions are correct—you are unmatchable.”

He puffed out his chest with pride. Yes, that was what he was. Unmatchable. Not anyone’s fault at all. He began to have hope his life wouldn’t have to change after all.

“All I ask is that you do not do anything overt to make the match fail,” she said. “As I do have a reputation to maintain. But don’t worry, as you are unmatchable, you won’t have to do anything at all and the relationship will fizzle out.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding his head. “I feel you know me very well, Sagazia. I will put in the effort, showing my King that I am trying my hardest, but of course it won’t work. Then he will let all of this foolishness go and my life can go back to normal.”

“Exactly!” she said, clapping her hands. “So, do we have a deal?”

“We do.”

They shook on it, and Varma felt much better about himself. No way would he fall in love with some smooth skinned human girl.

No way.