Amphroza

 (Part 2 of ?????)



      Markus was feeling good. Better than good; in fact, he was feeling fantastic! It had been four days since he had met Granite, and the atmosphere around him had changed considerably. After a few repetitions of his story, specifically the "no-bullying policy" Granite had told him about, the town bullies steered quite clear of their aggressive ways; none of them wanted a hungry dragon knocking down their door! Lord Syrik Adler had taken a particular interest in the tales concerning the new denizen of the valley. As part of his interest, he ensured that Markus’s relatively well-off family had plenty of food and a few rare gifts. Some of these gifts included a small pile of books, and a polished glass mirror.

       However, despite the new wave of fandom, Markus wasn’t eager to return to the lake. His nibbled back and sides still itched slightly, and the playful tongue kept haunting his dreams, dragging him past the gleaming fangs and into the pulsing throat of the beast. His mother, Safan, had fawned over her child after the scouting party found him lying in the clearing with a large grey scale atop his tattered shirt. When he had awoken the following afternoon, she had insisted that he tell her everything before she would give him anything to eat. However, her resolve had wavered as he complained he hadn’t had anything since leaving last afternoon.

       He practically inhaled the broth she had prepared for him, flavored with a piece of boar generously donated by the Lord of Greytree—likely to keep the family quiet until they could uncover the full story. After finishing the delicious soup, he had started telling his mother everything that had transpired the previous day. Around halfway through, Lord Syrik entered with his father, Zaraph, who, as a member of the town guard, had gone to fetch his Lord. This forced Markus to restart his story, but he trio listened patiently to the tale, never commenting until he finished. Even with this setback, he still finished before the hour had passed. By the end, his three spectators had become stuck on very different portions of the story. His mother had been rechecking his injuries after hearing what he had been through, his father was nervously examining the wooden structure surrounding them as if expecting it to burn into flames at any moment, and Lord Syrik had bit his lip and asked again what Granite had said about his taste.

       Markus had swallowed and tried to recall everything that she had said about his taste, which, when he thought about it, had been quite a bit. After a modicum of quiet reflection, the Lord asked when Markus could get a message to the valley’s “new” occupant. The comment brought both his mother and father’s thoughts into perfect harmony as they protested the danger of the situation. Both placed themselves between the Lord and their child as they debated another, safer, course of action. Markus ended the heated debate by assuring Lord Syrik that he would consider the preposition. Satisfied, Lord Syrik dipped his head in respect, assured his family a stipend of luxuries for their son’s bravery, and left to oversee the fortifications of his town. After Lord Syrik left, his parents had quickly rounded on their son and scolded him in the gentlest way possible, assuring him that facing the Lord’s disappointment was far better, and safer, than facing a dragon. Markus had assured his parents that he wouldn’t be doing anything for a few days, if he went back at all.

       After a short debate, his parents promptly grounded him for the rest of the week, ensuring that he would spend at least a few days without pointlessly endangering his life. Markus didn’t care; it gave him an excuse to remain at home, relax, and recover for a few days. His mother had suggested taking time off from the castle kitchens to keep an eye on their “rambunctious child” and, despite Markus’s pleads, she had done just that. For the next two days, she had watched him even more closely than Granite had. He could feel her disapproving gaze every time he approached a window or door, but the look always softened when he stepped back.

       Many visitors came to their house, many more visitors than Markus had ever seen in his entire life. Some came with presents in hopes of “appeasing the new power in town”. They never said such things, but with each and every one of the presents, his mother gave Markus a dirty look, as if it were somehow his fault. The looks stopped when Markus told the guests to keep what they brought, insisting that gifts weren’t necessary. Even after establishing this, the visitors continued to bring gifts and never took them back. Markus thanked them each in turn and tried to make up for it by retelling his story the best he could. Soon, the small hovel became so crowded that his mother conceded that Markus should tell his story in the town square. By the end of his first day back, Markus’s voice was rawer than it had been after inhaling Granite’s smoke the day before. Fortunately, the village was satisfied with his storytelling and most didn’t come back to get another fill the next day, so Markus spent a lot of his free time lounging around the tiny cottage.

       After a time, his mother grew tired of essentially watching a caged bee, and allowed him to stroll around the town, as long as he promised to stay within the town’s walls. Markus readily complied to the contract and practically bolted out of the door before she could reconsider. He skipped around the blocks of wooden buildings, finding it hard to avoid prying eyes, but he was too happy to care much. He, unintentionally, headed for the wooden barricade surrounding the little town, and watched the soldiers frantically seeking to increase the pitiful fortifications. His freedom had been short-lived as his father, who had been working at a bastion, spotted him and, quite literally, dragged him back home. After Zaraph explained to his wife where Markus had been, his mother grew furious and sent him to his room. Markus had stormed to his room and slammed the door. It isn’t fair, he had thought, seething. After a time, he'd realized his parents were just worried about him, and had apologized later that day. For the next two days, Markus had done what they wanted and stayed inside.

       Markus yawned and looked out the window of his home. Today just felt…right; like something big was going to happen. He skipped, and nearly tripped, into what amounted to the living room to see Safan and Zaraph, “testing” a new couch that Lord Syrik had delivered earlier that morning. His father was reclining peacefully, while his mother snoozed beside him.

       “What’s this?” Markus asked, curiously examining the foreign object.

       “Another gift,” his father, Zaraph, replied with a smile. He stole a glance towards his wife before continuing in a whisper. “To be quite honest, you meeting that dragon has really improved our lives.”

      “I heard that!” Safan’s eyes flew open and she shot her husband a glare. “I don’t need two men in my life trying to get my son killed!”

      “Two men!” his father gasped sarcastically, adopting a playfully suspicious look. “Who have you been meeting in the kitchens…”

      His teasing earned him a face-full of pillow as Safan chucked a cushion at him. “You know full well who it is!” With that, she turned back to Markus and her voice softened. “There’s some boiled eggs in the kitchen, sweetie.”

      Markus grinned and rushed to the kitchen, quickly snatching a duck egg and peeling back the shell. He finished it in a few quick bites and smiled; his father was right, their lives really had improved since he met Granite. Snatching up three more eggs Markus traveled back to the couch and tossed two to his parents before sitting in a chair across from them.

       “What makes you think we didn’t eat already?” Zaraph inquired, raising his eyebrows.

       “Mom never sleeps right after she eats,” Markus replied with a shrug. “Other than that, it was really a guess.”

      “Hmm.” His father nodded. “You’re very observant and know how to keep quiet…I think you’d make a good hunter.”

      “Forgive me if recent events are making me hesitant.” Markus shivered; he hadn’t liked filling the role of prey.

       His mother and father exchanged glances. “Speaking of that,” Zaraph began, “Your mother and I have deemed it appropriate to lift your punishment...” Markus’s ears perked up and he stopped mid-bite. “We believe that you have proven you can take care of yourself and not…put yourself in danger.”

      “So I can leave the walls?” Markus asked eagerly.

       “Now, now!” his father added quickly, before his wife could answer. “The forest is still strictly off limits and will remain so for some time!”

      Markus groaned. “So I can never go to the forest again?”

      “If you go there, you’re very, very grounded!” Safan assured him with a commanding glint in her eyes.

       Markus smirked. “Maybe not for very long…”

      Safan narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms in disapproval, refusing to acknowledge the humorous jest.

       “Oh, come on, I love it there!” Markus whined. “We used to go there all the time.”

      “There wasn’t a dragon then,” his father pointed out. “It’s dangerous now. We don’t know where this dragon lives, so you will steer clear of that area!”

      “I’m not eager to see her again!” Markus quickly blurted out. “She almost ate me! I just want to walk in the forest and by the lake...”

      His parents frowned at him, but deep down they both knew he was telling the truth. After a moment of reflection his father spoke.

“We’ll…talk about this again in a few weeks. Okay?”

      Markus sighed, but he knew it was probably for the best, “Okay.”

      The statement pleased the pair and they both visibly relaxed. Unfortunately, the moment didn’t last, as there was a loud knock at the door and a messenger entered.

       “Message for Mr. and Mrs. Longshard!” the young man announced, his eyes gleaming with excitement and proud importance. Markus smiled as he saw that the boy was around ten or so and this was probably his first job. The boy straightened up and handed a letter to his father before stepping back.

       His father opened the letter suspiciously and scanned the short notice. His mouth quickly twisted into a scowl and he passed the letter to his wife before glaring at the messenger. Safan scanned the letter and paled.

       “Absolutely not!” she snapped, tossing the offensive missive back at the, now frightened, boy. “My son is not doing that! He’s staying right here!”

      “B-but his Lordship i-is quite insistent,” the boy stammered, his previous confidence all but gone.

       Markus quickly snatched the parchment from the floor and quickly read its contents.

    Dear Mr. and Mrs. Longshard,

        Your son’s help has been requested for a special quest. He will travel up the side of Scalos Mountain and retrieve an important plant. The Amphroza flower is a black flower with red seeds and magical properties. This plant will be the crowning ingredient to a feast we will have tonight.

    -Thank you for your cooperation, Lord Syrik Adler.


       “You think you can just pull the wool over our eyes?” Zaraph snapped angrily. “This is obviously a scheme to get the dragon to find our son!”

      “N-no, that’s n-not it at all!” the messenger stammered.

       “Amphroza! He does know that I work in his kitchens, correct? I’ve worked there for years and never once have I heard of this ‘mythical ingredient’,” Safan added furiously.

       “I-I–”  

       “You go tell your ‘Lordship’ that if he wants to place my son into the jaws of a monster, he will have to come here with his guards!” Safan snarled, looking every bit as ferocious as a mountain lion.

       “That’s enough!” Markus jumped to the boy’s rescue. “Tell Lord Syrik that I’ll bring back his flower.”

      “What!” his parents cried in tandem, rounding on him. Markus flinched and turned to the messenger.

       “Just go quickly!” Markus told the boy, who wasted no time scampering out the door to deliver the message.

       Zaraph cursed and rose to chase after him.

       “I’m going after Granite!” Markus blurted before his father could give chase.

       His father froze and stared at him blankly. “What? But, you said that you didn’t want to go back!”

      “I don’t,” he confessed sheepishly. “I just said that so you wouldn’t try to catch that poor boy.”

      His father cursed again and glanced towards the door, but reasoned that the boy was out of reach and sat back down.

       “You’re not going,” he declared firmly.

       Markus sighed. “I am, you just didn’t read the letter closely enough.”

      “Don’t talk back to your father!” Safan scolded. “And what do you mean, we ‘didn’t read it close enough’?”

      “At the bottom,” Markus replied, passing the letter back to the confused pair. “Father, you’re summoned to the battlements while I’m gone, probably in case Granite comes to the town, and Mother, you’re to report to the kitchens to prepare for the feast. So, one way or another, I’m climbing that mountain. It just depends on whether you two want to be in prison or not.”

      “You watch your mouth, young man!” Safan snapped. “That place is off-limits, remember!”

      “It’s an open mountain, Mother,” Markus replied. “T-technically, I won’t really be entering the forest.” He bit his lip, knowing how dangerously argumentative he was sounding.

       “Exactly!” his father butted in. “It’s an open mountain face, and that dragon will spot you from miles away and scoop you right off it!”

      “I’m not getting you in trouble!” Markus cried, tears bubbling up in his eyes. “I don’t think Granite will hurt me, but I can’t watch Lord Syrik hurt you!” His parents fell silent at the outburst and watched the tears flow down his cheeks. “Granite could have eaten me many times before, but she didn’t – she took me home! Sure, she promised to lick me from head to toe, but Lord Syrik will get us together again if he has to drag me to her cave!”

      His parents exchanged a long look, but seemed to come to a mutual understanding. They turned back to Markus and relayed their thoughts.

       “You’re back before nightfall, ” Zaraph said firmly.

       “That means before sunset, young man,” Safan added. “If you come back even a minute after dark, you’re grounded for a full moon!”

      “Got it,” Markus assured them seriously. I don’t exactly have a choice, but I’ll try, he thought, but knew that if he voiced the idea he would never be allowed to leave. “Well, we best not keep Lord Syrik waiting,” he said, rising to his feet and heading for the door.

       “Wait!” his father said. “At least take this with you.” He handed Markus a small dagger in a plain leather sheath. “Tie this to your belt and don’t ever take it off!”

      “I won’t,” he promised, gratefully tucking the weapon into his new belt, securing it, and hiding it from view. With one last smile, he opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight. “See you both at the feast tonight!”