Chronicles of Den'dra: A Land Torn: Ancient Powers Awaken

by Spencer Johnson

  No matter. The odd feeling was gone and Skeln was headed out of town freshly appeared. He couldn’t escape the concentrated populace fast enough for his liking. Having that many people in such close confines went against his upbringing. A country bumpkin he might be but if he didn’t want found then he must abandon what made him track able. While most of the Braebach was evenly spread with villages and towns there were areas where the wilderness was untamed but for a few hardy souls.

  The Draeld Swamps to the south were some of these untamed lands. The Garoche Heights were only sparsely inhabited. Skeln’s home village had been located in the Garoche Highlands. The Garoche Heights were said to be a white desolation of mountains that extended to the outlands on the other side. This line of mountain extended south in a progressively smaller string of peaks until they became the badlands. To the north they ended suddenly and were replaced by a vast plane. On the other side of the plane was the dragon infested Vaulwar Mountains. In the choke point in between was Shienhin, seat of the kingdom. The set of mountain ranges formed a natural wall on two of the sides of the Braebach Empire. In the vast valley in between were scattered villages, towns and some cities of considerable size.

  The cities were as far as Skeln was concerned, an untrackable wilderness to match any of the unpopulated lands. Thinking about it he made up his mind. He had grown up living in a backwater village. Living off the land in a way without actually leaving the village. He had no background in populated areas. If he did what was expected of him then he had the highest chance of getting caught. As scary and strange as the cities where, there were no other options available to Skeln. On the one hand he had trying to survive in the wilderness and on the other trying to survive surrounded by people. Neither option was appealing.

  To this end Skeln set out. Warton was too close to where the men in chainmail would be looking. Another city would have to do. Shienhin was too big not to mention probably where Reigns was going to be located. In the dream Skeln had spent at least three days in the carriage. That meant he had been taken anywhere in the Lower Garoche. To leave the Lower Garoche one would need at least a week on foot. If you were generous. It was hard to estimate the speed of the carriage but it had stopped at night so twice to thrice foot speed was as close as Skeln could guess. That meant that the Lower Garoche was no longer safe to reside in. To the north was Shienhin so north wasn’t a safe option either. This left the midlands or the Vaulwar Lowlands.

  Of the two options, Skeln leaned towards the Vaulwar Lowlands. As far as he could get away from the Garoche the better. The sun was still a few bandwidths above the horizon so Skeln could make at least a few miles distance before another night came upon him. He also kept an eye out for any likely hunting along the way. The hard bread he carried would not last forever.

  It was only an hour or so till the light would be unusable before Skeln came upon a bramble thicket not far off the traveled road. Rabbits were scarcer here in the lowlands when compared to the highlands. After careful stalking he finally shot a rabbit. The first one had escaped when Skeln’s arrow had flown wide. Carrying his prize he moved on and vowed to practice his archery skills when he had made some more arrows.

  Light was long gone by the time Skeln made camp. He found a ring of trees that afforded seclusion and protection from the wind. Here he made a small fire and by its light cleaned the rabbit. The meat sizzled and took forever to brown while Skeln impatiently waited. When it was finally done he carried off the last scraps and buried them down wind of his camp. No use attracting any unsavory visitors like last night’s wolves. A placated stomach and muscles weary from a lack of rest eased Skeln to sleep.

  The next day dawned clear and bright. Skeln woke with the sun and wished he had saved a portion of last night’s meal. Contenting himself with a piece of bread he returned to the road. He had made up his mind to an extent. The road he walked led south. Before reaching the Draeld Swamps he would cut west and find a city large enough to disappear into. Until then he would live off the land. Skeln no longer existed. In his place was a new person unrecognizable from the other. He needed a new name.

  Draceros. That was a strong name. It had a good ring to it. The derivable abbreviations weren’t too offensive. It was a big name for a youth to have so abbreviations were going to be more common than the actual name. Cero was the one that he had a leaning towards.

  “Cero.” He said it aloud to see how it felt. It rolled of the tongue rather well. Satisfied with the choice he moved on to other aspects of his new identity. He would be an orphan. He had some experience along that line so it wouldn’t be difficult to play the part. On the other hand, His pursuers would be looking for someone that might claim orphan hood. There were thousands infesting the cities across the land. Wars tend to produce orphans in bulk. He decided that it was a risk worth taking. One orphan among thousands was unlikely to draw any special attention. Claiming orphan hood added an element of veiled past that needed no more development.

  Finding details about an orphan’s past was next to impossible unless the individual volunteered the information. More frequently than not the story was that a father had gone to war and never returned while a mother had been struck with some malady leaving the child an orphan. Because such individuals were condemned to begging or stealing for a living they were outcasts that no one cared to pry secrets out of. If asked he could always claim that it was too painful to talk about. He noted that he would need to practice his grief. The thought of leaving Urake all alone without an explanation was painful enough of a memory. Not that he should feel bad about it. If anything, he should feel betrayed. The last time he had seen the man, he had been leading the soldiers on Skeln’s trail. Cero’s trail he corrected. Never mind. It had been Skeln’s trail at that time. Skeln’s trail should have ended in Warton.

  Next he began inventorying his skills and talents. He knew a fair bit about edible plants but the vegetation here was different than in the Garoche Highlands so that was not that productive of a talent. He was a middling hand at archery. He remembered his vow to grow more proficient in this area. Errands around the village had gained knowledge but no usable skills. He racked his mind and couldn’t think of any more useful skills at the time.

  Physical attribute he had. A healthy body. Inventive mind. Resistance to cold. He could swim and run for hours without getting tired. His wiry body belied his strength. All very basic attributes that weren’t overly helpful.

  Then there was the other thing. There had been that dream that had only narrowly been averted. He had no idea what it meant and hoped nothing else manifested. It would make hiding more difficult if he began manifesting a Gift.

  “Draceros.” He mouthed the name and smiled. The old life was gone and a new life was ahead of him.

  Chapter Eight

  “Have the dragons ever told you why they are protecting you?” Torroth inquired. Inadar adjusted her stance to counter his and danced in with a jab.

  “They just tell me that I am important.” Torroth expertly avoided her jab and deflected it off his wrist guard. Dragons were now a frequent sight about the village. Some were still uncomfortable after that day five years ago but for the most part people were used to it. That winter would have been a lot harder due to a shortage of small game. The larger game had moved higher up into the hills beyond the reach of the hunters. The dragons had taken it upon themselves to drop large game into the village as they flew by. The village had emerged out of the winter with plans for building a fireproof store house and an appreciation for the dragons.

  “Weren’t you and the gray one talking last week?” Torroth tested Inadar’s defenses with a jab of his own. In the last few years hardly a month passed by without a dragon settling down outside the village. Inadar seemed to have an instinctive sense for the presence of dragons and more frequently than not would arrive at the landing zone moments after the dragon.

  “Iradaemi doesn’t like being called that. She has a name. Use it.” Inadar evaded the ja
b and caught Torroth’s wrist. Twisting she added her turning moment to Torroth’s momentum. He reacted by going into a roll that he exited on his feet.

  “Good. You’re getting faster. So what did Iradaemi have to say?” Torroth had been training Inadar for over a year now. She had always contended that she should learn the martial arts sooner but he had a strict rule about not teaching little girls how to fight. Fortunately Encer had supported his scruples and so Inadar had been forced to wait. Appeals to the dragons had not helped her cause. It seems that they felt hatchlings were too clumsy and underdeveloped in their first fourteen years to learn to fly or breathe fire. They felt the same applied to human hatchlings.

  “Not a lot really. She was delivering a tome to Encer from Rothlt.” Inadar spun her wooden dagger in her hand. Almost as fast as the knife she suddenly dropped to a knee and spun upwards past Torroth’s defenses. He countered by twisting out of the blade’s path and gave her a shove landing her in the dirt.

  “I bet Iradaemi is just jealous about her color. She doesn’t like being a dingy gray. She wants to be like Setur doesn’t she?” Torroth jested as Inadar got to her feet. Inadar frowned and lowered her knife a hair.

  “If Iradaemi heard you call her that, not even Setur could stop her from rending you in half.” Torroth realized that he shouldn’t joke about dragons and that he might have gone too far. He was about to apologize for the rude comment when he found Inadar’s knife at his throat and a twinkle in her eye.

  “Didn’t you tell me never to let down my guard no matter what my opponent said?” Torroth realized that he was in no danger from Iradaemi and that his own tactic had been used against him. He had hoped to put Inadar off her guard with his comment. He thought he had succeeded only to have gone too far. Now he knew she had played him like an expert.

  “I think that’s enough for one day.” Torroth brushed the blade away and slid his into his belt.

  “We just started. Did I do something wrong?” Inadar protested.

  “We started three hours ago. I do enjoy our practice sessions but I do have other things that need done.” Torroth laughed at Inadar’s annoyed expression. He was one of the few that dared cross her besides Encer who she looked up to like a father and Mytera who was her mother short of birthing the girl.

  “Whatever. Tomorrow then?”

  “Sure. We can work on your blocking. You tend to not consider counter attacks when you make a strike.” Inadar scowled at this criticism for a moment then smiled and gave Torroth a look that meant he would not find her weakness so easily exploited in the next session. Shaking his head he watched her walk away. She had grown as nearly as tall as he this last spring. Though he was not a tall man to begin with she was tall for her age. Her figure had begun filling out and had curves now. Curves that would have caught the approving eye of any boy with eyes in his head to see with. Black hair that normally fell in wavy cascades of darkness shiny enough to be mistaken for silver in the right light. Right now the wealth of darkness was bound in a single braid that danced over her back as she jogged home.

  A couple ambitious boys had made passes formal and informal. Inadar so far had been immune to their charms no matter to what romantic heights they had aspired. Torroth himself would have made an attempt if he had been a little less sensible. She was headstrong and independent. Whoever captured her heart was also going to have to be fearless. It was not every future bride that consorted with dragons. He was also of the opinion that nothing short of dragon fire could ignite a passion in the girl. Her little spats were never out of control. She could scream and yell to match any girl in the village and a couple of the boys had carried black eyes as testimony of her fighting prowess. No matter how she raged she could stop the instant her point was understood by her adversary. The fights that Torroth had witnessed had been righteous indignation. The girls that had slighted her mother and made comments in keeping with the nature of a concubine. The boys had made the mistake of bullying a weaker member of the community within earshot of the lioness. Never had her emotions been uncontrolled though.

  It scared Torroth sometimes to realize she could make her body lie convincingly. He had fallen victim to her only just now and found her knife at his throat. He had seen her call a flood of tears that had made her suitors suddenly self-conscious and seeking escape from her presence. He had witnessed the tears instantly dry up and Inadar continue about her business as if nothing had happened.

  Whoever sparked love in her bosom would have to cherish the flame. It was likely that if it was extinguished, his life fires would become cold coals in short order. She was no fragile thing for her beauty. What her dark looks hid was a will stronger than dwarven steel, muscles of a man twice her size and every bit as fast as lightning.

  Encer meanwhile was deep in the book he had been lent by the dragon. It seemed a history of sorts. It hadn’t been written by dragons even though it was in their possession. The language was old and in spots difficult to understand. Whoever had written it talked about dragons much like Inadar did only with more familiarity.

  It had at first given a brief discussion on the six races that had once inhabited the known lands. There were the dragons and their kin the shifters, the elves both dark and light, the dwarves masters of both stone and metal, the humans of the short lives, and the Wraith and their ilk. The author had deemed the bulk of information about these races common knowledge and declined to expound further. Encer had never heard of there being two different kinds of elf let alone of the shifters and the wraith. The reference to the humans of the short lives was also annoying. It led one to the conclusion that of the six mentioned races that humans were the only ones bound by mortality.

  Another section spoke of the rigors of travel through the mountains leading Encer to think that the tome had been a personal journal of sorts. The author’s companion was known as Ice Heart. It wasn’t for several pages until it was discovered that Ice Heart was a weapon of rare quality. It was ascribed the characteristics of a living person. Strangely it was described as being anhungered. Later it was described as feeding endlessly. A meeting with a dwarven resident of the mountain was described in detail. Here was a description of an evening spent with a member of the long lost fabled race of blacksmiths and miners.

  Encer shook his head and thought about it. Here was a priceless piece of history. The personal journal of someone from an age long lost. Continuing he came across a reference to the millennium war in which the Wraith tried to seize power with the rest of their allied races. Dark elves with the cursed spawn of hell known as the wraith halflings were led in a thousand year war by the Wraith.

  It was only after dozens of battles were described that happened decades apart that Encer realized it wasn’t a human writing the text. It wasn’t an elf either. Sections were confusing and made no sense. One spoke of having only slightly scorched a mountain goat when he had brought it down. Another talked about a young lizard having seized a chunk of meat far too large for his gullet. The ensuing description of the lizard had involved a great deal of hilarity and mirth. One passage read thusly. “The poor thing was trying his best to swallow the chunk of mutton. It was too large for his throat and he was flapping his little wings and running from the other lizards in an attempt to retain his prize. It was all for naught when he tripped and the piece of meat fell through a hole into the ever burning mountain.”

  It made no sense to Encer so he read on. Later a passage described the hatching of one of these lizards mournfully. The last of the eggs was now hatched and soon the young ones would be without a protector. Their kind could die off before another generation was conceived. Here the author told of how he shared blood with the creatures in the hopes of warding off the curse. The aforementioned curse wasn’t elaborated on.

  Nearing the end the author told a strange tale. “If these words are ever read by my kind then the last foreseeing of my people are coming to pass. The last egg has hatched and my hope is that by sharing my blood with these noble crea
tures they will never again be threatened by the insidious workings of the Wraith. Only the unhatched eggs were spared the dreaded fate. All but two. I hope that the dragons curse my memory when they find out my transgression. My only regret is that I won’t be there to partake of the punishment they see fit to mete out on my memory. I did the unthinkable and daily pay the price with regret. I endangered the future of these noble creatures in the hope of saving the future of my people. As unthinkably selfish is this is, it is done and can’t be undone. Human, shifter and dragon blood combined in the eggs. They have shown no signs of life so I can only assume failure. I could have created another abomination like the wraith. They were the reason blood combination was never to be performed again. Despite my feelings concerning these eggs, I can’t bring myself to destroy them. Ice Heart could sunder them in a single blow but something stays my hand. Perhaps it is a father’s attachment to his creations but whatever the reason they remain. They may never hatch without the ever burning mountain to incubate them.”

  Encer really had no idea what to think. One idea was that the writer had gone mad and was recording his descent. Why the dragons had the journal was a mystery. However mad the tale, Encer was compelled to continue. “The black lizard brought down a mountain sheep yesterday. I believe my time caring for them is coming to an end. They can feed themselves and no longer require me. I have lasted far longer than my brothers but the end is inexorably drawing nearer. This is most probable because I haven’t shifted since the curse. Those that did died almost immediately. Only lasting a couple years before death. I have been alone now for the last century waiting for the eggs to hatch. Ice Heart’s hunger is almost more than I can handle. It isn’t really him feeding of me but the energy it takes to use his power. Without him, I can hardly stir a leaf when once I could have laid the mountain bare with a thought.”