The Lost History of Sathyriel, Part One

What's this, aside from the result of increasing frustration with the visual arts? It's an idea I've had for quite a while, and yet another way of working on "The Last Battle" without actually working on "The Last Battle". What you're about to read is a story from Sathyriel's past that didn't make it into the history books. With time, Memories fade, stories change, and some events are just never spoken of. This is a case where those involved believe the incident in question is better not shared with the general public and best forgotten by everyone, Of course, since this take place about thirty years before "The Last Battle", you'll already know how it turns out, if not how we reach that point.

I'm not sure what effect ths is going to have on the "real" story. Certainly it will require altering physical descriptions of Cyra. I almost wish I could fir it into "The Last Battle" somehow, since I like it and I think it could reveal some interesting character parallels. But as of now, I can't see any good and organic way to fit a nine page (and growing) flashback into a story that already has pacing issues.

Comments encouraged.

Official History

By the year 708 of the Fourth Age, Cyra’s small band of freedom fighters had grown into a full-fledged army. Under the guidance of Cyra and her generals, the warriors of the future Sathyriel began taking their land back from the Keltarian forces. Though there were defeats for Cyra’s forces along the way, the growing army only seemed to come back stronger from each loss. Despite the rising attentions of the Keltarian invaders, battles were won more often than lost and Cyra herself was never captured.


The Lost History

It was a chilly evening in late autumn when Talshak first learned that Cyra had been captured. Almost as soon as the messenger breathlessly gasped out the news, Talshak began preparations to leave for Fortress Ullok. He was still cautious. He traveled by night and took strange, winding flight paths avoiding main roads. The last thing he needed now was for the public to wonder why Lord Talshak had left the capitol, heading towards a fortress of minor strategic interest.

Talshak arrived at Fortress Ullok three days later, near dusk. The fortress’s commanding general and a small company of soldiers came to meet him as he touched down a short distance from the fortress proper. It was far less of a greeting than befitted someone of Talshak’s rank, but a full formal welcoming might have attracted attention. Under the circumstance, Talshak was pleased.

“Sire.” The general, a stout troll with a broken right horn, stepped forward and bowed deeply. Talshak eyed the kneeling troll. Just a few seasons ago, he would have paid this underling no attention, taken his loyalty for certain. But the changing mood of the land was beginning to affect even his own troops. Talshak was not unaware of the growing concern in his ranks that the rebellion was gaining strength. He heard the whispered tales of victories won by their troops, of desertion and betrayal by his own. His most trusted envoys brought back the beginnings of rumors from Keltaria that Talshak’s sanity was slipping, or that he had designs on ruling Keltaria itself. So when Talshak looked at this troll bent low before him, he scoured his every movement, his every breath, anything that might betray some hint of disloyalty. Trust was a luxury Talshak could no longer afford.

“General,” he answered at last, sweeping aside any further formalities. The troll rose, rolling his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. Talshak turned from him and started towards the fortress. The troll dismissed his men and hurried after Talshak, struggling to match his gait.

“Have you increased the guard?” Talshak asked, not looking to see if the troll was keeping up with him.

“The guard on the main entrance was increased by half as soon as we had her and the guard on the dungeon itself is double. All from within the fortress, as you requested, sire.”

“Good.” Talshak had sent orders ahead of him to that effect. It would stretch the watch and patrols around the fortress thin, but at this point he could not risk bringing in outside forces. The rebels could not be allowed to discover where their leader was being held.

“What is the status of the village?” Talshak asked, though he was fairly certain of the answer.

The troll gave a snort, which Talshak assumed was a laugh at the expense of the village in question.

“It’s been ours since we retook it, sire. No sign of the rebels, and the villagers won’t be turning on us again.”

“Make certain that they don’t. I grant you full authority to exercise force in advance of another potential uprising.”

“Yes, sire”. Talshak could hear the pleasure in his general’s voice. The messenger had spoken of casualties on Talshak’s side and the general and his men would be eager to take their revenge in full.

“What happened to the sword?” Talshak continued. His general’s pace slowed for a moment.

“The sword was lost when she fell,” he began slowly. “We searched the battlefield afterwards, but there was no trace of it. We think one of the rebels might have recovered it during the fight.”

Talshak said nothing. It did not matter, really. Deslordian would have made a good trophy, another symbol of his victory over the rebellion. But if the legends about the sword were true, it would be of no use to the rebels and possibly even less use to him. As long as it stayed out of Cyra’s possession, Talshak didn’t care where the sword was.

“Now,” Talshak said, tuning back to the troll at last. “Bring me to the dungeons. I wish to see the prisoner.”


Fortress Ullok, the troll general explained, had been built from the remains of a winery. The expansive wine cellar had been quickly converted into the fortress dungeons, where local dissidents were held and interrogated prior to their near inevitable execution. The stairs leading from the armory down into the dungeons had been widened when the winery became a fortress, but it was still a tight squeeze for a dragon. But Talshak managed to navigate the narrow passageway. He had to see for himself this creature that had managed to best his troops time and time again and pose the first real threat to his rule.

The dungeon was darker than night, even to Talshak’s sharp eyes. Windowless and completely underground, the cavernous space could only be seen as far as the light from the troll’s torch would carry. Beyond the fire’s glow, everything dissolved into black nothingness. It was cold, and the bare walls and floors of stone did nothing to lessen the chill. Judging by the way the troll was covering his nose, the dungeon’s scent was equally inhospitable.

Despite the dark, Talshak did not take long to find the prisoner’s cell. The rest of the dungeon was empty. Any insurgents taken in the battle had been executed quickly to discourage further uprising by the villagers. Talshak’s eyes slowly grew accustomed to the near total darkness and soon he could make out a small shape at the back of one cell, leaning slightly forward as he and his guide approached. They drew nearer and Talshak could hear the metallic jangle of chains as the figure in the cell strained to get a better look at them.

The troll stopped in front of the cell and set his torch into a sconce on the opposite wall. The cell was still only dimly lit, but it was enough. For the first time, Talshak faced his enemy, Cyra.

Talshak nearly laughed at the sight of her. He’d known for a long time that she was human, but he had expected some freakishly large giant of the species. Cyra seemed even smaller than most humans he had encountered before. She looked strong enough, he supposed, for one of their kind. But certainly no match for even an average dragon. This was the great rebel leader? This tiny, weak little human had evaded capture and defeated his armies repeatedly? This was the challenge to his reign?

“You got a visitor!” The troll banged loudly on the bars of the cell with the flat of his short sword. Only Cyra’s eyes moved in response. She seemed to take no notice of the troll, but her eyes widened at the sight of Talshak. He smiled, confident that even if Cyra did not recognize him, she had a healthy fear of the Keltarian dragons. But if she was afraid of him, she gave no further sign. She settled back against the far wall of the cell.

“Unlock the cell and leave us,” Talshak ordered quietly without taking his eyes from Cyra. “I will summon you if I need you again.”

The troll seemed about to protest, but stopped before he said anything. Dutifully, he drew a ring of keys from his belt and turned one in the lock. He took one last look at Talshak and, when the dragon gave no further orders, made his way back to the stairs.

Talshak remained where he was, watching Cyra. It was difficult to know if his orders that she not be harmed had been followed. She was pale, but nearly every report said she always looked that way and her almost white hair seemed to confirm that she was naturally fair. She had a few fresh injuries: a slash on her sword arm, a mace wound of her left side, and a gash on her head mostly indicated by dried blood. All three had been crudely dressed in an effort to keep her condition from deteriorating before Talshak arrived. The important thing was that she was alive, and in no danger of being otherwise just yet.

The chains worried Talshak. There were far too many. He could understand caution, certainly, but this was overdone. Her forearms were manacled to the wall so that they hung slightly above her head when she sat as she did now. Multiple chains ran around her arms and back to the wall behind her. Her ankles were secured in much the same manner, the main cuffs supported by numerous encircling chains. There were more chains still wrapped around her body: waist, chest, neck, and anywhere else the guards had though to put one. Their attachment to the wall was relatively slack, but Talshak doubted they allowed Cyra to stand very well. It troubled him because it meant his troops still feared her, even after seeing that she was just an ordinary human. They could have bound her with far less and she still could never have escaped. Talshak disliked the idea that his men still considered Cyra a threat, but that concern would soon be dealt with.

Cyra was meeting his gaze as he watched her. The blue eyes betrayed no fear. Her brows were drawn low in a severe glare, but not the fury he’d seen from so many other prisoners. Whatever she felt looking at him, she was hiding it well. But she had to know by now. She may even have guessed it when she was first taken captive. It was over. She would not escape. No help was coming and her remaining days were few.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked at last.

She may not have known at first, but now the torchlight fell on his various decorations and symbols of rank. Talshak was not surprised when she nodded slowly, still saying nothing.

“I know you, too,” continued Talshak. He grinned, stepping casually back and forth in front of the open cell door.

“You’re the Vaar’s little pet, aren’t you?”

Cyra gave a noncommittal grunt in response. She probably took it as an attempted insult, but Talshak was quite certain it was truer than she wanted to acknowledge. If the legends were true the Vaar took her in out of some sense of obligation to that tiny dragoncaller village Talshak had his men obliterate years ago. But after all this time, no dragon could find this little human anything more than an amusement. The local clans were all perfectly willing to rise up against the Keltarian forces, as Talshak had been brutal with the dragons. But that was it. They cared for their freedom, not Cyra.

“You’ve been causing some trouble lately, I hear,” Talshak went on lightly. “But nothing to worry about. We’ll soon have things right again.”

Of course it wasn’t as minor an issue as Talshak made it sound. He had brushed off the first reports of an uprising in the north, even when dragons were mentioned. It had seemed like all the others: easily handled by the local forces, nothing he needed to take a personal interest in. But time went on and the reports of rebellion only grew worse. Talshak had spent nights and days scouring the maps charting the most recent battles, trying to detect a pattern and devise an effective counterattack. He had been worried, but he could already feel his concerns subsiding.

“Oh!” he remarked as though he had just thought of it. “Has anyone told you what became of that little village you fought so hard for?”

Cyra looked up, likely before she could think to stifle her emotion and feign disinterest. Talshak smiled to himself. He’d found a crack in her armor.

“Naturally, your people were completely shaken when you fell,” explained Talshak as if he were describing something of absolutely no consequence. “A few of them fought on, but most either fled or surrendered as soon as you were taken. I’ve been told the ringleaders were put to death publicly the next day. We’ve had troops searching the surrounding area for any remaining dissidents, but they seem to have run off to some far distant retreat. So the village is fully under our control again, as it will stay.”

Talshak watched in satisfaction as Cyra’s head lowered.

“Perhaps you were hoping some of them might come to rescue you,” Talshak mused. “Or were you counting on the Vaar? That would be interesting. We haven’t killed a dragon in some time.”

Cyra suddenly lunged forward and roared at him. As Talshak had predicted, the chains kept her from getting very far, but still he was taken aback. Her furious scream wasn’t just a random howl of rage. Talshak knew it well, from the days when the clans still fought against his armies, before repeated defeats forced them to resign themselves to the safety of the weyrs. It was the Vaar’s honor cry; the traditional response to a threat against the clan. And when Cyra roared it at him, the sound, the motion of her lunge, the spark of fury in her eyes, everything about her made Talshak think of his confrontations with the Vaar. He knew full well the creature before him was a human, but everything about her as she answered his threat with the honor cry told him this was a dragon. He’d known humans to imitate dragons in the past, but this was different. It was too perfect, too natural, even as it seemed so wrong coming from that diminutive form. Talshak drew back, but quickly stepped forward again, hoping Cyra hadn’t noticed. He would never admit it to her, but he was starting to believe that the Vaar might actually consider this human foundling to be one of their own.

“It must be difficult for you,” Talshak began softly. He lowered his head and began to enter the cell.

“You want to be rescued, of course. But you know full well there’s no hope. And anyone who comes for you will certainly be killed. Which you wouldn’t want, I suppose. And you know by now you can’t escape on your own.

Talshak now stood close enough to touch Cyra. She could have reached him as well, but he wasn’t concerned about it. Even if she were free, armed and armored, Talshak could have torn her apart before Cyra even landed a blow on him. He reached out a clawed finger and touched her cheek.

“I know,” he murmured, his mock sympathy sounding nearly genuine. “I know.”

He began stroking Cyra’s cheek, from the far corner of her left eye to her hard, set jaw. She did not react. Her head remained perfectly still, turned to the side as if the dragon’s touch had no effect on her. It was exactly the reaction Talshak had hoped for. Let her think he was only mocking her. Better if she never guessed what was coming.
He began so gradually that Cyra didn’t even notice the change. Just a little more pressure, not enough to hurt, barely enough to notice. Then a little more. Then a little more. Even in the faint torchlight, dim already and mostly hidden by Talshak’s body, Talshak could see the muscles in Cyra’s face tensing. The blue eyes narrowed and the already tight jaw clenched tighter still. She was trying to keep up the façade of indifference when everything in her wanted to react. Talshak persisted, watching Cyra’s face, waiting for the sign. He didn’t quite know what he was looking for, what threshold he wanted her to cross. And then he saw it. It only lasted a second, an almost imperceptible flash of teeth behind a curled lip. But it was enough, and Talshak struck.

The dragon changed nothing in his demeanor. No motion or expression gave him away. He touched the corner of Cyra’s eye, just like every other time. But he didn’t stop. His sharp claw tore into her soft skin, rewarding him with a hot burst of wet blood.

Cyra’s brave face evaporated. She still cut off her shocked cry of pain halfway, but she couldn’t fight her instincts any longer. She thrashed, struggled, strained against the chains in a futile attempt to get away. Of course it was useless. Talshak easily pinned her head back against the wall with one hand and continued his work. Her flesh opened easily and he could have cut her face open in an instant, but he took his time, slowly dragging his claw down her cheek and pressing increasingly deeper. Cyra stared at him wide eyed in horror. She didn’t scream. Her mouth remained tightly shut; lips curled back, breath coming in and out from between her teeth in hisses or air almost as hot as the blood dripping down onto Talshak’s hand. Her whole body shook with all the pain and terror and rage she couldn’t hold back anymore. But she didn’t scream.

Talshak finished at her jawline, ending the gouge in Cyra’s cheek with a particularly deep dig into her skin. He released her from his grip. Cyra gasped and flung her head to the side, shielding her torn cheek against the cell wall. She still drew the same hissing breaths in, but released them in sharp gasps that were cut off by a fierce snap of her teeth, as if she were biting back screams. Talshak observed all of this, calmly wiping the blood from his claw and hand. He considered saying something to Cyra, but thought the better of it. Nothing he said would be as effective as what he had just done.

Talshak turned his back to Cyra and left the cell. The torch had nearly burned down now and he could just barely make out Cyra’s slumped body in the back of the cell. Only the sound of alternating hisses and raspy exhales told Talshak that Cyra was still there, still alive. He called for the troll general.

The general rushed down the stairs with a fresh torch. He grabbed the spent one from the wall and snuffed the remaining embers. He stole a quick glance a Cyra, but if he could even tell what Talshak had done to her, he said nothing.

“Double the guard over the next three days,” Talshak ordered. “Pull troops from as many of the local towns and villages as you can reach over the next three days. Just a few from each area. Not enough to arouse any suspicions.”

“Yes, sire,” answered the troll. He took another furtive glance into Cyra’s cell.

“I will be returning to the capitol immediately,” Talshak continued. “I will be sending the First Battalion out and they will arrive here in six days to collect the prisoner.”

Talshak paused. He didn’t say what would happen next. But it didn’t matter. She knew. She had to know. He leaned in closer to the guard, but did not lower his voice.

“She is to be handed over to the First Battalion alive, but I don’t care what you do with her otherwise. Just so long as she survives the trip back to the capitol. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sire.” The general answered automatically, but Talshak was certain he would be happy to give his men the news. As much as they hated anyone who had turned against Talshak’s regime and took up arms against them, his troops hated Cyra, the one who gave this latest uprising its strength even more. Letting them take out their anger on her would be good for morale, though not nearly as good as Cyra’s public execution. The general took a last look into the cell. Cyra hadn’t moved, hadn’t even looked up. Talshak hadn’t expected her to. She had nothing left.

“Dismissed,” Talshak finished simply. He had no desire to drag out his stay any longer. He could take a more direct path back to the capitol while still keeping largely out of sight. He’d be there in two days, but the battalion traveling by land would take at least four to reach the fortress. There would be anxious moments in those next few days, but for now, Talshak felt content. Soon enough, Cyra would be dead, the rebellion would fall, and he would be in control again, as it should be.


Four days after Talshak’s departure, Fortress Ullok came under attack. Working off of information from their scouts, the rebel generals were able to detect unusual activity at the fortress and gather troops for a raid. The surprise attack was successful and all Keltarian forces were either killed or taken prisoner.

Cyra was freed from the fortress dungeon roughly ten days after being captured. She was not conscious when her forces reached and was suffering from numerous untreated injuries, many of them severe.

Though no one dared to say it, most believed she would not survive.