13. Dimitri
13
In darkest hours before the coming of dawn, Dimitri poured over manuscripts in the Athenaeum—the royal library—bending close to examine the tiny script in the small, wavering glow of faelight he had conjured. He could have afforded a bigger light, but he was in the restricted section. Whilst his rank gave him privilege to use it, Dimitri preferred to remain below the attention of the archive keepers, slipping through their realm like a shadow.
The fire driving him burnt like the dragon’s flame as the idea took hold. Could he use Saradon to rally a rebellion to his name? Saradon might have been long dead, but he was still a talisman of fear and change. It had been plain to see in the square—fear was a dangerous beast. Yet, it was also a tool. Yes, it could stifle and suppress… but it could also ignite a frenzy.
“The Heart of a Dragon shall resurrect him. The Heart of a Dragon will cast him down,” Dimitri muttered to himself, searching through the passages for any mention of such a prophecy, but none could he find. There were other, equally tantalising references of Saradon, but with no clarity to them. Dimitri sighed. He reviewed what he had—a scattering of phrases and sentences written on a small square of parchment in neat, cursive script in the coded language only he understood.
“‘As it was before, so it will be again, and this time, thrice as hard and thrice as deadly. A fated one holds the key. The fated one is a pinprick of light against an onslaught of darkness.’” The portrait of Saradon standing tall before the tiny light that defeated him sprang to mind. “Is this referring to what has already happened?” Of course, the empty night held no answers, only frustration. “This is impossible!” Dimitri tossed aside the book in annoyance. It slammed to the floor, and Dimitri cursed silently as the slap echoed through the shelves.
He suppressed a sneeze as dust from the ancient articles tickled his nose. For good measure, he warded himself so no sound of his presence would be heard, admonishing himself for failing to do so the moment he had entered, having forgotten in his anticipation. He spread a warmth spell, too, for no fires burnt in the place—too much a risk to the precious things gathered within—and the stone halls were draughty with the sneaking night air.
By the time he finished scanning through the stack of literature before him, Dimitri was still and chilled. He scanned the notes he had so far. They were nothing by themselves, but pieced together, he began to construct something. “Still too many pieces missing.” He sighed. And yet… He cocked his head, squinting at the map of Pelenor and the surrounding lands that sat beside him. It suggested that Saradon had been defeated and subsequently disappeared—but not killed. No body had ever been found. Could it have been nothing more than propoganda spread to calm the people, he wondered, whilst the truth was hidden or never truly known?
“Where would he have gone?” Dimitri asked himself. There were so many places Saradon could have hidden, both inside and outside Pelenor. Saradon did not seem the type to lie low and hold a grudge to the death, Dimitri mused. Not after what he had endured—and done. Throughout everything he saw ran a tantalising hint that Saradon had escaped in some way. What had happened?
Dimitri sent out his magic to search for more information on a particular mountain range that perhaps could hold the key to Saradon’s escape, then stilled. The magic dissipated, but he now had his answer. Dimitri could seek him. He would need more power and a relic that held magical resonance to Saradon, but it was possible. If he still existed in any form, Dimitri could find him.
If I am to take on his cause, by his name shall it be done, and Toroth will fear the both of us. He did not understand the scraps of prophecy and the mentions of Dragonhearts—yet. Dimitri hurried to return to his quarters and summon one of his associates, who soon appeared, well used to their master’s odd hours. Dimitri hesitated a moment. Even this was perhaps too much to trust to another, but Rook was the best at shadowy business such as this, and Dimitri could not risk being discovered. The lunar runes had given him a hare-brained idea, but an idea nonetheless.
“Find out where the Dragonhearts are kept presently.” He needed to know for certain for this to have any hope of working.
“Yes, Master.”
“And… ”
“Master?”
“Never mind. As quickly as you can.” He would seek out a relic himself. He already knew precisely where he would find one. Excitement thrummed through him as once more, he folded into smoke and wind.