Page 88 of Fire in Stone

“Can’t you see? If you die, my bloodline will end and I will cease to exist. In me, you’ll have the most loyal guard a king can ever have. I’ll do everything to keep you well and alive. I’ll die for you to save the generations that will come after you.”

“Hmm.” The dragon-king scratched his chin with a claw. “That’s true. Blood is more tangible than magic. Fine.” He gave Elex a once-over. “I better make sure you’ll live long enough to make yourself useful. You’re in a sorry state, my boy.”

The dragon shrank in size, shifting back into a man. After strolling to the throne, the king threw the fox mantle over his shoulders, leaving the remnants of his ripped clothes on the floor as they were. He then called for the guards to enter.

“Give Lord Elex a room close to the royal chambers,” the king ordered. “And send for the royal hag to treat his wounds. I need him fit and well as soon as possible. He’s my new personal guard.”

* * *

Elex’s new room was strikingly different from the dungeon cell of before. It was large and airy, with two big windows covered by painted wooden shutters. A wide perch stood inside a carved niche with an arched ceiling. It was piled high with silk bedding, feather-filled blankets, and furs.

Another perch was just outside the window. It was a long, thick beam carved from the mountain, strong enough to support him even if he wished to spend the night in his dragon form. The outside perch faced east. At sunrise, the sun would wake him up with the caress of its first ray of light.

He limped to the bed and sat on it, sinking into the silks and furs. The bed occupied so much space and was a luxury that hardly ever got used. Gargoyles rarely spent time in bed. Only when they were unwell and…well, for making love sometimes.

A tentative knock came on the door.

“My lord?” a husky voice sounded. “The king sent me.”

“Come in.”

The carved wooden door opened, letting in a hunched over figure, shrouded in a dark cloak. The hood was drawn low over their face.

“I’m the royal hag,” the woman introduced herself. “King Edkhar sent me to tend to your injuries.”

Finally.

As his wounds festered, it’d become clear his body needed help to heal.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, looking forward to getting rid of this pain. “I’m afraid you’ll have your work cut out for you at this point.”

From under her hood, she gave him a long, penetrating look.

“I see. You are in bad shape.”

She walked over to him, carrying a large basket under her arm. A clinking sound of metal hitting metal brought his attention to her feet. Barefoot, she had iron manacles fastened around her ankles. They were connected by a chain visible under the tattered hem of her long cloak.

“What’s that for?” He pointed at the restraints.

Every once in a while, a woman was born in Nerifir with magic so exceptional, it could rival that of a king. She would then have a chance to take a hag’s vow and give up her youth and her looks in exchange for more power. All gargoyle women were healers. But the power of the hags exceeded any of theirs. The hags spent their lives learning spells and magic inaccessible to the rest of the fae.

The hags were often feared, but always held in high regard.

Elex couldn’t believe someone would manacle one. “Who dares to treat you like that, Grandmother?”

“Oh, these?” She chuckled bitterly with a brief glance at the chain. “King Edkhar is a cautious man. As he should be,” she added, lowering her voice. “Many wish him dead.” Her tone of voice made him wonder if she was one of the “many” wishing for the king’s death. “Well, let me see what you’ve done to yourself. Lie down, my lord.”

He did as he was told, stretching over the soft bedding. “Can you mend the bones? I’m afraid my elbow is shattered.”

“Let me see.” She inspected all his injuries carefully, smacking her lips and shaking her head disapprovingly. “These wounds are old.”

“Yes.” He winced at the prodding of her gnarly fingers. “There was no one to look at them before.”

She nodded. “All healers have been banished from the castle.”

“Why?”

“The king believes their presence is distracting to his army. He wants his men to fight to the death. ‘A good warrior doesn’t need a healer,’ he likes to say, ‘forhe’sthe one inflicting mortal wounds on his enemies.’”

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