Chapter 61: Meeting Drevolan
I was tempted to challenge the question but decided against it given my unfamiliarity with the protocol and unfavorable odds. "Viktor Dravos of Vorgan House, carrying out a task for Lord Drevolan D'Lira." I hoped this would silence him.
And it did. "Up the stairs, straight to the end, last door on the left. Knock and enter."
I nodded, resisting the urge to bow excessively.
"What's spooking you, Chief?"
"Quiet, Opal," I shot back.
The stairs were uncomfortably steep for my liking, making it a task to ascend nonchalantly, especially under the watchful gaze of the two Dragonlords I felt on my back. I managed as best as I could. My footsteps reverberated around me, the staircase seemingly stretching on forever. Once I finally reached the top, I navigated a corridor that was longer than the building that accommodated my entire team. I bypassed a grand door at the end and stopped at a door to my left, as instructed. With a single knock, I entered.
Eldran, apparently lost in thought as he gazed out the window, turned at my entrance.
He was young, with a pair of sparkling eyes and a pale, healed gash above his eyebrowsa mark he must have held dear, otherwise he would have had it erased. His dark, straight hair was styled backward, resembling a typical Vorgan cut. Rings, all studded with gems, adorned four fingers on each of his hands. Four upholstered chairs, a couch, and a grey banner above the window were the only furnishings in the room, notably missing a desk. A few short, black rods leaned against the far wall, accompanied by a hefty sword in a black sheath.
His eyes narrowed briefly upon my entrance, then he said, "Dravos?"
He pronounced it correctly.
I bowed and responded, "Eldran?"
He nodded. "Come closer."
So, I did.
He made a dismissive gesture in my direction as if swatting a bug, and I felt a sickening lurch in my gut, finding myself suddenly in the courtyard of Nocturne Castle, apparently standing on solid air that felt like stone but appeared as though nothing was beneath me.
Just like that, without any warning.
I've often wondered why teleportation upsets my stomach, a discomfort apparently shared by all Terrans but not Imperions. Between teleportation episodes, I've concluded it's all in the Terran's mind, but post-teleportation, that explanation feels inadequate. As I stood in front of Drevolan's castle, encircled by its walls, towers, and guards, another theory came to me. Perhaps teleportation also disturbs the Imperion stomach, but Imperions simply won't admit it. How can the unsettling sensation of your insides churning not make you nauseous? Is it a result of natural selection? That's hard to believeI just can't imagine that nature intended for people to move from one place to another without traversing the space in between.
These thoughts served as a distraction while I allowed my stomach to regain its equilibrium. Another diversion was observing the guards in the towers who were eyeing me but didn't appear overly startled. Okay, so they were anticipating my arrival. Above one tower, a single grey banner fluttered.
Finally, I risked glancing downward. The trees beneath resembled tiny shrubs, and the two paths and one stream traced lines of brown and blue respectively, intersecting and running almost parallel, forming a pattern that, with some imagination, could be construed as a symbol in a runic alphabet. Maybe it was a symbol conveying a message to the castle: "Remain upright." That brought some relief.
I straightened my cloak, ran a hand through my hair, and headed towards the double doors of Nocturne Castle. As I neared, they swung openan occurrence I should've expected, as it happened on my previous visit. I muttered a curse under my breath but maintained a slight smile on my face and kept my pace steadyDragonlords were observing.
The last time I visited, I failed to notice that when the doors swing open to reveal Lady Eldara, she's the sole sight to beholdthe entrance is engulfed in darkness, making her seem like a beacon in a void, much like one might envision the realm of the deceased. (However, the land of the dead isn't a voidit's far worse. But that's another tale.)
"My Lord Dravos," Eldara greeted. "We're honored by your presence in our abode. The Lord awaits you. Please, come in and feel at home."
I felt oddly welcomed despite my more skeptical side murmuring, "Sure."
Stepping inside, Lady Eldara didn't extend an offer to take my cloak as she did before. She led me through a hallway adorned with paintings, up a grand, spiraling staircase, and finally to the library. The room was sizable, filled with plush chairs and weighty books. Near the entrance, three enormous, jewel-studded tomes were chained to pedestalsan oddity I noted but decided against questioning. Upon my arrival, Drevolan set a book aside and stood, acknowledging me with a slight bow.
As he opened his mouth, presumably to offer some sort of sardonic courtesy as a foil to Eldara's genuine one, I cut him off, asking, "Who died?" He closed his mouth, cast a glance at Opal, and gestured towards a chair adjacent to his. I took a seat.
"Verill," he revealed.
"Oh," was my response.
Drevolan seemed to expect more, so eventually I commented, "You know, when I first met him, I had the impression he wouldn't be"
"Do not jest about it, Viktor," he interrupted.
"Alright. What do you expect me to say? It didn't seem like he was a friend of yours."
"He wasn't," Drevolan confirmed.
"Well?" I prodded.
At this moment, Lady Eldara reappeared with a drinka sweet white wine served over ice cubes. Initially, I took a polite sip, only to realize I quite liked it. Serevia smoothly exited the room. The chair's wide, flat arms conveniently served as a stand for the wine goblet, given the absence of a table.
"Well?" I pressed again.
"In the second place," Drevolan began, "he was a man of significance. And in the first place"
"He was a Dragon," I finished his sentence. "Yeah, I get it."
Drevolan simply nodded. I savored more wine, discovering that the chilliness of the drink helped balance out the sweetnessa fact you might not be aware of.
"So, what happened to the unfortunate soul?" I asked.
Drevolan, who seemed about to answer, paused, and then stated, "It is not relevant."
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