Dragonsphere (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 1) Page 8

  “You are a true servant of the Ai, brother. Your sign. Look behind you.”

  The old man slowly turned, a grin mixed of shock and joy forming on his face at what he saw, and their numbers. That which he had not seen in Oakvalor for many centuries. He turned to the messenger. The man had left as he had come, silently and unnoticed.

  “Farewell, my brother,” he said. “Our day of reunion shall not await me much longer. I shall meet you once more, this time in the House of the Ai.” The old man turned to his newor oldfriends. “Greetings, cousins,” he said, embracing each of their scaled necks. “It has been a long time.”

  One of them shot a wisp of smoke out of his nostril in affection. “Much time indeed, Father Ean.”

  “Too much time,” said another. “The Serpentauri have been long in waiting for the day we should return to Oakvalor and avenge ourselves.”

  “Your time has come, my cousin. It has come,” said Father Ean. “A pity you did not come to me these hundred years. I am old, and my powers are not what they used to be.”

  The first of the Serpentauri to speak reared on his hind legs, bellowing in a long column of fire and smoke. “You have not to fear of such, lord, nor to dwell on an imagined weakness. I am Kelros, Chieftain of the Serpentauri that live, descended from our ancestors of Orlek’s golden age. You have as many of us as live to stand behind you.”

  Father Ean nodded. “Although I would have you stomach your fire until your time to fight has come, I accept your pledge. The battle we fight will not be anything as simple as the one which was fought those generations past. Our enemy has grown strong and all the more bitter in ninety-five years. He has remained alive all this time, an advantage over yourselves.”

  “We remember. Although the Aihi might let such things slip their memories, the Serpentauri never forget. We have had just as long as Orlek to remember, perhaps longer. Should we die in battle, better that we die a thousand deaths than back down against an enemy of more advantage, though our race should live to rule Oakvalor.”

  The old man nodded. “You might think it stupid of me when I ask, but where has been the dwelling place of the Serpentauri these centuries past? I had noticed a drain on the magic that gives life to Oakvalor, but had always thought it to be the festering hole in which Orlek lies.”

  Kelros laughed. “You were probably correct in the assumption that the dominion of our old friend Orlek is responsible for the drain on magic, although I suppose that we just might have been responsible for a small portion of the loss. The race of the Serpentauri somewhat … died out … after the fall of the age of Orlek, at least, that is, disappeared from the Five Islands.”

  Father Ean nodded in remembrance, allowing the chief to continue. “There is a land to the East, far beyond the limits of the maps and charts used even today. You have been there, I presume?”

  “That I have, and know it well,” said Father Ean. “Continue.”

  “A large number of our people set off to the east in whatever boats we could find that had not been destroyed in the battles in an effort to escape the wrath of Orlek should the outcome of the war have been favorable to the orcs. We sailed east with the hope of finding some haven of safety for our race. The boats, built by men for men, did not accommodate us well and had not been built to withstand such a voyage, the length of which our ancestors could not surmise. Many boats fell apart, the occupants drowning. Those vessels that survived the journey were seriously leaking and had become dangerously waterlogged by the time land had been sighted. We were unable to travel further, and the land was to our liking, so we settled there.”

  The Serpentaur’s tongue flicked out across his nose. “Why you had not discovered our presence is a mystery. Perhaps we were guarded by some strange magic.”

  “Perhaps we were,” said the second Serpentaur.

  “A fantastic story of perseverance, cousins,” said Father Ean. “I still do not see how even one of those boats could have lasted such a journey. I am surprised that our harbors held anything seaworthy after that battle.”

  “Unbelievable it is, even to us,” stated Kelros, smoke slowly trickling up from out of his large mouth. “Even more a mystery, however, is the tale of our return.”

  Father Ean rested his chin on the top of his staff. “Please tell me this as well.”

  The Serpentauri began to mumble among themselves, until one said, “We do not remember, Father Ean. We fell asleep this past night. When we awoke, we were sitting here, in this forest. A man approached us, telling us to remain here in silence until you should come to us. You were sitting on that rock when the same man came and spoke to you.”

  A fourth Serpentaur stepped forward. “Now that we have told you our history, what are our plans? When, Father Ean, do we begin?”

  Father Ean laughed. “You must be patient, and not show yourselves until the proper time. The old Great High Priest has been killed, and no doubt his body has been discovered and is being buried this day. The new Great High Priest has yet to be given the Red Sword, the new Council of High Priests to be ordained. We must wait until the battle has begun. I swear to you by all that I was, am, and will become and all that we labor towards that you shall have your revenge.”

  “Then may the Ai hasten the start of the battle,” said Kelros, “and may I live to see the victory, or die amidst the lifeless bodies of my enemies. Victory or my death, for I shall not back down, even if I am the last of the Aihi forces standing. Life for myself on the victory of the Ai and his people. My blood is fairly wagered.”

  A fifth spoke up. “What are we to do for now, Father Ean?”

  The rest of the Serpentauri mumbled in agreement with the question. “He is right,” stated Kelros, “for we cannot hide ourselves in this place much longer.”

  Again, a general agreement from the group. Father Ean sat down again, looking out over the bay. “We have before us a few choices. I could disguise you all as common animals …”

  “And be captured and hunted by men. Or eaten by the animals of the forest?” interrupted the second one.

  Father Ean continued, ignoring the remark. “The Tunnel entrance has been opened. I suppose that just this arm of the Tunnel would be sufficient to conceal you. A bit dark, though.”

  “The Priests of this island, at least while our race walked Oakvalor, have guarded the entrance to an opened Tunnel most heavily, letting no man, woman, orc or any other thinking creature enter. Even disguised, we would be destroyed. I say we stay to the places on the Island that are traveled little, such as the Deep Woods,” said Kelros.

  Father Ean pondered the option a moment. “True. However, there are some, mostly youthful adventure seekers, that still enter the Deep Woods. What would you do if one of these were to discover you? Roast him alive? Nay. The Five Islands will need that hand of the sword before our time is through.”

  One of the younger of the Serpentauri walked over to Father Ean, nudging him on the shoulder with his snake-like nose. “The choice is difficult. I, for one, would not lead my people to their deaths, nor wish to cause a friendly hand the same affliction. On this Island, there are not many choices available. We do not know of the habits of these people so changed from the stories handed down through the generations. We can only make a decision and hope it to be the best. You, Father Ean, know this land and its people. You have seen the changes of this race even before our people made alliance with them. You were born as one of these people. We let you decide for us, Father Ean.”

  Father Ean paused for a few seconds, then grinned. “The Ai’s pardon on the poor pupil in green armor that watches the entrance of the Tunnel this night.”

  Ideas of what was to happen already forming in their minds, the rest of the Serpentauri began to laugh, almost losing control of their fire all at once. After a bit they calmed down, waiting for the sun to bid Oakvalor goodnight. Clouds lined the horizon. The stars would dance behind the billowy curtains that night, almost no light being left for the Tunnel guard to see by. A
small amount of magic would be sure to get them past the guard unnoticed in the dark of night. They had but to wait.

  “You cannot have a proud and chivalrous spirit if your conduct is mean and paltry; for whatever a man’s actions are, such must be his spirit.”

  - Byramm, chamberlain

  CHAPTER TEN

  Prince Ranaan’s attendants would not come near him. No one would except for the chamberlain. Byramm stood in the royal audience chamber, trying desperately to sort through the actions of the young prince. Why would he kill his own brother? And worse, why would he give more reason for Oakvalor to continue the war with them? Prince Ranaan strode into the chamber and sat upon the throne that had long been his father’s.

  “My Prince,” Byramm began. Ranaan looked to him and held his hand up, silencing the chamberlain. “Am I not king?” he asked. “Yes, my lord, but there is the ceremony to make it official. Plans must be made to”

  “I am king,” Ranaan interrupted, his tone ending the argument. “I do not need a ceremony to make it so. Call for my generals.” Byramm shifted uncomfortably. “My lord?” Ranaan motioned for Byamm to come near. “My brother thought to unite our kingdoms in peace through marriage. There can never be peace. Elkanah sought only to subvert our kingdom through his daughter. My brother was weak to think there could ever be peace.”

  Byramm shook his head. “You do not believe that.” Ranaan glared at the chamberlain. “Do not presume to tell me what I believe. I will not suffer fools. Now call for my generals.”

  Byramm left the chamber to do as he was bid. Something was amiss. He had raised both Ranaan and his brother from birth and knew that this was not Ranaan’s character. Something wasn’t right, and he was going to find out what.

  Soon after, the men who had faithfully served Ranaan’s father as the leaders of the kingdom’s military had gathered before the throne. “I demand your loyalty as my father did,” Ranaan said, standing tall and straight before the group of generals. Some of them began whispering. One of the men, Lord Sius, stepped forward. “Your father did not demand our loyalty, he earned it by fighting beside us. You haven’t even wielded a sword.”

  Ranaan smirked at the brash general. “I thought you might say that. Hear me out before you make your decision.” Sius conferred with the others, then nodded to Ranaan. “We will listen.”

  The dragon’s spirit that had possessed the prince could feel the man’s own spirit battling against its will. The dragon easily pushed the man’s spirit aside, but could feel him still, trying to fight. This man was persistent. The creature only needed the body long enough to get his own back. “We have long been at war with Oakvalor. My brother thought wrongly to join us with our enemies. That would never do. No, we must drive our enemies out.”

  “Out?” asked Sius.

  “We must drive them out of their own land. We must recall all of the troops and march against Oakvalor. We will drive them out before the might of our armies. My armies.”

  The look on Sius’s face revealed his incredulity. “We cannot simply call them back. Especially not the men who protect our western borders. And even if we could, it would take weeks just to get them here. It would take months to mobilize them all. Add to that the setup of provision lines, ensuring we have enough water for the troops and the animals … it is not as easily done as you would think, young Ranaan.”

  “King Ranaan, and do not forget my title again, Sius. Either you will carry out my orders or I will appoint someone who will. Someone more loyal to the crown.” Ranaan smirked at the general. Lord Sius knew to who Ranaan was referring. A talented young upstart who had earned his way into the dungeon through some disreputable acts. “When do you want to march?” Sius questioned.

  “Immediately,” Ranaan answered tersely. “My lord,” Sius began. Ranaan interrupted him. “You will take the troops still stationed here at the castle immediately, and those recalled will follow. Consider them reinforcements.”

  “I refuse,” Sius said defiantly. He crossed his arms over his chest to accentuate his point. A few of the other generals followed his example. Ranaan’s smile left his face quickly and he stared at Sius for long moments. “It wasn’t a request.” Sius didn’t answer, but kept his posture of insolence. Ranaan nodded his head and several heavily armed men stepped out from either side of the throne. “Take them to the dungeon,” Ranaan said. “And release Maverick and bring him to me.” The guards grabbed Sius and the few men who stood with him and led them out with their weapons drawn.

  “As for the rest of you, I am honored by your loyalty,” Ranaan smiled again, but it was not out of joy. “Ready the men and march first thing in the morning. I will have Byramm send out the recall orders without delay. I want a report every two days. As soon as you cross into Oakvalor and reach Palindrom, inform me at once. I will ride to meet you. I would watch the city burn to the ground.”

  The generals nodded their accord and left the audience chamber. “The dungeon, my king?” Byramm asked hesitantly. “We cannot afford men who will not obey the crown to be running about Talvaard. It is for the safety of the kingdom. Now go and issue a recall of all soldiers. They are to report to the castle. If I have already left for Palindrom, they are to march straightaway to meet the armies there. Oakvalor will fall within the week.”

  Byramm wasn’t so sure about that last statement. Talvaard had long been at a disadvantage due to the fact that Oakvalor had wizards among their cities. Oakvalor might fall, but at what price? Byramm determined that he would follow the king’s command. Perhaps he would expound on the orders. Yes, he decided. He would add a few things to ensure there was no miscommunication. He walked with a surety to his step that he had not had since the days of Ranaan’s father.

  Ranaan finished the remaining affairs of state and retired to his personal chambers. He gazed out one of the windows. It had been too long since he flew above the clouds. The dragon, Cordathvellonth, yearned for his body. He had been promised mountains of gold if he would terrorize Talvaard. Yet that blasted orc Orlek had deceived him. Orlek promised that no wizard had the power to come against him, and yet one had crafted a spell strong enough to wrench his spirit from his body. Blast that wizard! He had killed the wizard in the end, true, but he had spent the last hundred something years trapped in a cold ball of silver.

  And so, he would raze Palindrom to ensure that would not happen again. He had hoped the king of Oakvalor would have used his bones to decorate the royal carriage. Then he could have resurrected his body and assumed his true form. Instead, Cordath had learned that some fool had the idea to use his bones as decoration for one of Oakvalor’s war machines. Now he had to live inside this wretched human until he could find a way to get near his bones. Perhaps when his newly acquired armies marched into Oakvalor, they would bring forth their war machine. Cordath smiled at that. Yes, he could feign retreat and goad Oakvalor into pursuit. And at the right moment, he would fuse his spirit with his body once more. Then he would slaughter every man, woman, and child as retribution for his imprisonment. Cordath felt Ranaan’s spirit shudder under his thoughts. Cordath flashed some of his memories at Ranaan, visions of entire cities burned to the ground, mutilated bodies by the hundreds that littered desolate landscapes.

  Cordath took pleasure in Ranaan’s torment. Orlek had summoned him to this world, but when Cordath was finished with his fiery rage, this world would be nothing. And after he had destroyed everything, he would go back to his own realm. The following morning, when the armies of Talvaard began their march, Cordath knew he was one step closer to annihilating this pathetic world.

  “The Golden Age of Orlek is both a blessing and a blight. One outweighs the other, but that is the crux of the matter. Which one is worth more?”

  - Lord Imen,

  called Aio

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Imen mourned the tragic circumstances that found him the temporary leader of the four other pupils. First, the reopening of the Tunnel, and then the death of their beloved ma
ster, murdered within the walls of his own hut; a symbol drawn on his back in blood.

  The Lord Aio had been murdered the night of their return from Aicatan, the night they had discovered the opened Tunnel. A quick glance at the inside of the hut, the burn marks and gashes made in the walls and on the furniture, the scattered papers, the books, writing materials and weapons tossed carelessly around the room, and the shredded clothing told of a great struggle. The body of the Lord Aio was found in the center of the hut, facedown, a symbol carved into his bare back. Only one thing could have caused the incident to go unnoticed to the group of five pupils, considering all the noise that must have been made by such a struggle: magic. A strong, evil magic.

  Certainly, with the unexplained murder of the Lord Aio, the young High Priest would rise to yet a new level of leadership and seniority, having pupils of his own, each one listening intently to every sound that would come out of his mouth as if it had come from the Ai himself. He would continue in his priesthood, most likely as the High Priest on one of the four other islands. Although his power would not be of a political nature, his influence would stretch even into the Great Cabinet. He would have power over the beliefs of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of gullible people. If he said that milk came from horses, all the milkmaids on the Island he presided over would attempt to milk their horses. He would have the abilitywhich he would never exerciseto corrupt his position and deceive the people for his own gain. All however, without the Lord Aio to guide him.

  Imen doubted himself. He was being thrust into a position of leadership that he did not feel himself capable of holding, in a time when one would need such self-confidence more than any other. Imen wished that he could have died with the Lord Aio, or perhaps even in his stead. He had always wished to be the great leader, the great warrior, the Great High Priest. At this time he did not wish for any political influence or moral power. As his dream became more of a reality, losing its sheen, as the burdens gained weight, he felt an increasing desire to give it all to anyone. Even to Erasan, the pupil maladroit. Having raised himself on the streets of the city, the fourth-year pupil was afraid of very little. At least he would have accepted any type of challenge such as this with the enthusiasm and determination to conquer an army of orcs.