by Tiger Hebert
They did suffer losses of men and women of both elf and man, but the losses would have been absolute had the siege not been broken. So for nearly two weeks, the celebration carried on in the streets of the city. Great bonfires burned into the wee hours of the night, and music, dancing, and feasting were enjoyed by nearly all. They celebrated the victory, and more importantly, they celebrated the arrival of their champion.
Aneri’On enjoyed the victory, but he did not join the celebratory carousing that ensued. Instead he spent much of his time caring for the sick and wounded and teaching about the Ancient One. The rest of his time was spent within the temple walls. Some of it was spent with Grand Master Duncan, King Tua’Liluon, and Mistress Kiriana. Of course, they were astonished to see the fulfillment of the ancient prophecy, so they wanted to know everything they could. He was happy to spend time with them; he enjoyed their company, but he spent a great deal of his time in the solitude of prayer. They dared not interfere with this request, but they were always vying for his time.
Early one morning, stout old Dominar left his bunk early, before he had even rolled over for the second time. By lit candle, he traveled quietly out of the makeshift guest quarters, out into the streets, and then up the sweeping climb to the temple. He hoped he wasn’t too late as he silently crept inside of the great cathedral. Instead of a dark interior, he was surprised to find a long-since burning candelabra, with much of the wax and wick already spent. In the center of the sanctuary, between the rugged wooden pews, he saw the kneeling figure of the large man. His robed body rested in the middle of the woven runner that ran the course of walkway. There he was, with his hands and his face to the ground.
The dwarf took care to move extra silently so as to not disturb the man, but if it was all the same, he had hoped to be noticed at once. He just did not want it to be because of frustration or irritation. He was worried he might be found a nuisance or a distraction, but he couldn’t not take this chance.
“Good day, Master Dwarf,” came the calming voice with just a hint of an echo as the figure’s torso rose upward.
“Good day, Ane…Frels…sir,” muttered the dwarf clumsily.
The man chuckled as he turned to the dwarf. “Just one name will suffice, Master Dwarf.”
“And which one would give the appropriate honor to one such as yourself?” asked Dominar with a genuine heart.
“One such as myself? Hmmm, and who do they say I am?” questioned Aneri’On.
“Some say you are a gift given to us. Some say you are something like an angel that has fallen from heaven. Some say you are our savior, the Frelsarine,” answered Dominar.
“And you, Dominar, who do you say that I am?” inquired Aneri’On.
“You are the Frelsarine, the son of the Most High,” exclaimed the old dwarf without delay.
“Blessed are you, Dominar, son of Dorrien, son of Donarius,” replied Aneri’On as he rose up from the floor.
“Lord, I have so many questions but scarcely enough wisdom to know which to ask,” admitted the dwarf as he tugged on his beard.
“The one question that tugs on your heart more than others is of your homeland, no?” guessed the man.
“It is, my lord,” answered Dominar.
“The strength of the mountain has failed, and your home lies in ruins, but all is not lost, for the dragon has not accomplished all which he set out to do. In time, you will understand, and you and your people will have choices to make regarding your future, but that time has not yet come, my friend. For now, we must see the Father’s plan through,” advised Aneri’On.
Tears welled up in the elder dwarf’s eyes as he thought about his home and the dwarves that had stayed to defend it. They were lost. What they would do and where they would go were just two of the many questions that would need to be answered, but he would try to heed Aneri’On’s words.
“What is the Father’s plan, my lord?” asked the dwarf as he wiped the tears from his eyes.
“It is many things, my friend, and it has not ended with my arrival. In some ways, it has just begun. For now we must pray for all of those who are in need,” stated the robed man.
“Will there be more war? More blood to be shed?” asked Dominar.
“Even my own will be spilled before the black dragon is defeated,” replied Aneri’On.
“My lord, I will stand by your side as long as my beard grows!” proclaimed the dwarf as he pledged his life to the human.
“May your beard ever grow, Master Dwarf,” remarked Aneri’On as they both began to laugh.
The dwarf stayed in his company for much of the morning and as frequently as he could over the coming days. He was drawn to this man. It was something he just couldn’t shake, and frankly he would have it no other way.
There was something about this Aneri’On. Many people in the streets cheered this man, but they also gave him a very wide berth. Most exalted him as their champion, and they praised his name, but there was a great deal of fear regarding him. Even those who understood the stories of old that told of the coming savior still struggled to comprehend who or what he was. How could a man of flesh and bone crash to the earth like a falling star? No mortal man could survive such a thing, and even if he could, which he couldn’t, where in the heavens did he come from? Perhaps that was just it, the heavens. The thought of an angel or a god coming to their rescue did not make any more sense to most of them than the thought of a mortal man surviving such a fall. Then again, few of this mismatched congregation would have ever believed in dragons either. There were still a small number that were not content to have their questions, fears, and speculations go unresolved.
Duncan understood that the city of Tempour would never again be the same; it was now the crowded home of a diverse multitude. So in the wake of the victory, Duncan established the Core. It was a small group of leaders that were elected to represent the whole of Tempour. As the grand master, Duncan took the role of senior chairman, essentially electing himself to handle the administrative details. He then appointed a series of officers to the council. The first seat in the council went to Aneri’On. The second appointment was the elf king Tua’Liluon. Formalities then directed him to appoint the third seat to the human king Nal’drin. Despite lacking royal bloodlines, Dominar carried the seal of the dwarven kings, so he was appointed to the fourth seat. Both of the master slayers, Master Kyarl and Mistress Kiriana, filled the fifth and sixth seats, bringing their grand total to seven members. The Core was a fair representation of the combined forces of Tempour. It was at the start of the second week that the Core began to meet to discuss matters of importance.
“So you are truly the mighty warrior king of the Ancient One?” asked Kyarl with a bit of an edge.
“I am,” answered Aneri’On calmly.
“Then where is your army? Or do you just plan to walk right into the snake’s nest and strike him down?” questioned the doubtful slayer.
“My kingdom is not of this world, my friend,” he answered.
Kyarl’s sarcasm continued. “I suppose your army is similarly…absent then too?”
“Of course not,” interjected the elf king, “we are his army.”
“What is your claim against me, friend?” Aneri’On asked.
Kyarl’s bitter words poured out. “I just find it hard to believe that God Almighty sent us a hero without an army. God knows what we face. He knows that the greatest threat of this current age is Slayvin, the black dragon. And God, too, would know that no small army like this rabble of barely a few thousand can stand against the entirety of the enemy forces. Right now as we sing and dance and drink, the black dragon is no doubt seething at this setback and is rounding up an insurmountable force, the likes of which have never been seen in this half of Aurion!”
Aneri’On remained calm as he listened. Then he responded to Kyarl’s concerns. “Yes, my friend, you do have doubts. You struggle to believe many things. There is much to discuss and many roles to be played, but make no mistake, the black d
ragon will not prevail, for that is my purpose.”
The rest listened to the exchange in silence as Kyarl continued his diatribe. “How do we know that you truly are the Frelsarine?”
“That’s enough,” shouted the grand master as he slammed the wooden gavel down upon the oaken table in anger. “How can you say these things? We have devoted our entire lives to waiting for and protecting the prophecies, and now you don’t believe?”
With a raised hand toward Duncan, Aneri’On said, “Falling from heaven and delivering you from the jaws of defeat does not impress you, my brother? What about Kiriana’s life?”
“We have all heard stories of the great feats performed by dark conjurors and rogue wizards from even before the time of the Mage Wars. How do we know that you are not just another sorcerer seeking glory, and perhaps even pawns for your own plot?” snapped Kyarl.
“Indeed, many sorcerers have come in the name of one god or another, leading thousands if not tens of thousands of men blindly into battle. The Mage Wars nearly led my people to extinction,” added the elf king.
“Sorcery is an abomination to the Lord, and I do no such thing. I do not dabble in magics of any kind, nor do I possess any powers that are not first given to me by my Heavenly Father,” answered Aneri’On with a certain steadiness and evenness in his voice.
The response from the slayer did not wait. “Your story does not add up. The prophecies said the one would be born of flesh and blood, yet you have fallen out of the sky!”
“I was born and raised on the distant isles of Ismeldour. There I lived until my time had come,” said the man in calm and even tones.
“Ismeldour?” repeated Kyarl with a questioning tone.
“The northern isles,” exclaimed Duncan as he began to further connect the dots with excitement.
“You know of my home?” asked Aneri’On.
The little old man began to explain, “Know of it? Ha, I have been there!”
The murmur filled the small room where the council met as they exchanged many confused glances.
Kyarl interrogated Duncan, saying, “You mean to tell us that you have been to this mysterious place that none of the rest of us has even heard of?”
“Yes, and not just by myself either, young one! Jonus and I have both traveled to some extent in the days of our youth, when a great portion of our research was still yet to be done. We did indeed travel north of Darnisi, into the arctic seas toward Ismeldour. We spent a few months there studying some of the prophetic writings of their priests. Fascinating stuff, really,” remarked the grand master.
Kyarl was still not satisfied with what he had heard, so he continued, “So you have a home, which proves nothing. If you are not a sorcerer, then how did you manage to fall from the sky, bathed in flames?”
Aneri’On looked deep into Kyarl’s untrusting eyes before answering, “By answering my Father’s call. What does it matter, my friend? In your heart, you have already decided to hate me. No answer I provide will take that poison out of your heart. But I am not your enemy, and if you are willing to trust me, you can be free of its controlling grasp, forever.”
A quiet fell over the room as the slayer stared into the eyes of the warrior. His response was without words, but it spoke clearly to everyone as his eyes fell to the floor. Aneri’On placed his hand upon the young man’s shoulder before he turned back to the rest of the council.
“Slayvin will not take this defeat well. He will gather the greatest force that this part of the world has ever seen. He will be merciless as he tries to cover the land in an unending darkness,” stated Aneri’On.
“What must we do?” asked Dominar.
Boldly and sharply, his reply came, “We will take the fight to him!”
“This is madness,” shouted Tua’Liluon, surprising even himself.
All heads turned in surprise to the objecting face of the elven king.
Tua’Liluon continued, “The Danji alone nearly overtook this city, even without the aid of the black dragon or his mindless army. Do you honestly think this rabble of what, three, maybe four thousand able-bodied men—”
“And women,” interjected Kiriana sharply.
“—and women, can march into Karthusa and take on the black dragon himself and the thousands that have sold their souls into his service?” demanded Nal’drin.
“Everything is not as it seems. There are indeed thousands under the shadow drake’s spell, but the reach of the darkness is not without end, nor is your own number as small as you may think,” answered the mighty warrior.
“What do you mean?” asked Dominar.
“Many eyes have seen the shadow fall across their lands, but they stand, and they fight,” he replied.
“There are others who might join us?” asked Nal’drin with excitement.
“There are. However, they have battles that are still yet to be fought. While we wait, we must prepare for their arrival,” he answered.
“More guests are coming here? To Tempour?” inquired Kiriana.
“No, we must prepare to leave,” replied Aneri’On.
“Where are you going?” asked the grand master.
He responded with a smile. “We are all going north. This is not a small trip, and it could take us nearly two weeks to reach our destination, so no more questions for now. We must make haste with our preparations and get our journey underway.”
With that, the council was adjourned, and the members of the Core dispersed throughout the city to begin the preparations for this surprise voyage. The council certainly did not feel comfortable with this course of action. How could they? They did not even know what the course of action was, aside from the fact that they are being asked to depart the city that so many lives were just lost defending. It did not make sense to many of them, but they had to trust this hero, this Frelsarine, right? After all, if it were not for him, they would surely have been overrun by the Danji, and none of them would have lived to see another day. They couldn’t imagine he would save them, only to lead them to their deaths a few days later. Even if they did not trust him yet, they knew they had to. Now was not the time to fight with Aneri’On. Even those that did not trust him understood this much.
So the celebrations and feasts came to a halt, and the mixed peoples of Tempour busied themselves as they prepared for a journey. Yet another journey was just around the corner for a large portion of them, as many had just arrived from the dwarven lands of the Mar’Kren Mountains, but it mattered not. Fortunately, the city had a large inventory of carts and wagons. They were not all designed for human cargo, nor dwarves or elves, but it sure beat walking. Soon the great halls of Tempour were emptied of the warmth of life as all its inhabitants, both old and new, set out on a new journey. The great iron portcullis was closed behind them as they said good-bye to the jungle city. The company of elf, dwarf, and man took their loaded wagons across the long stone bridge as they crossed over the Yaresh one last time. Then it was off under the dark green canopy as they ventured down the old jungle road.
The initial concerns and reservations of the overwhelming majority seemed quite valid in the days that immediately followed their departure. The rain seemed like it would never stop. Only that lovely dark and foreboding green canopy above saved them from the absolute deluge that poured down from above. Still, even with the natural covering, water trickled and splish-splashed all over them. Their wooden wagon wheels splashed and squeaked through the sloppy muck and mire of the now-muddied jungle road. Everyone was soaked, and nearly everyone was just as miserable.
We left the comfort of our homes for this wretched mess?
That is exactly what many of them thought, but few, if any, really dared to voice their displeasure too loudly. They were not all a miserable and ungrateful lot. Some tried to look on the bright side of these wet and gloomy days, like the young elf maiden Isiirial.
“This thick covering shields us from the harshest weather. For that I am grateful,” she said as she attempted to lift the spi
rits of those around her while pointing to the leafy treetops.
“Unfortunately, we are nearly out of the jungle, and that covering will be long behind us,” replied Seratu.
“I thought you did not know our destination,” she retorted.
“I don’t, but at every junction, we have taken the most northern or north-westerly route we have come across. That tells me that we should be nearly out of the jungle soon,” explained Seratu matter-of-factly.
“Oh, I see,” said the maiden. “Well, at least we can be thankful that while it is wet, at least it is warm.”
“If the weather doesn’t change, we will be wet and cold by the time we break past the tree line,” he groaned.
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
“Well, once we are out into the flats beyond the jungle, there will be nothing shielding us from the wind coming off the ocean. The mountains and the jungle will be behind us, and we will be fully exposed to the elements. So let’s hope this rain doesn’t follow us all the way to wherever we are heading,” explained the slayer.
With that, the last traces of her optimism faded, and the conversation ended. She laid her head back on his chest as they huddled together in the back corner of the rickety old wagon. Her uncle, the king, watched the raindrops splash over them from a distance. They did not know that his disapproving gaze had fallen upon them, but it should have been expected. After all, she was an elf, and he was not. For now, he just kept his eyes fixed upon them, but his anger was kindled.
The journey carried on. The bouncing and shifting wagons finally broke through into the open flatlands north of the jungle. They were no longer protected from the unrelenting assault of the wind, but at least it appeared that the end of the rain was in sight. So the wet and weary caravan trudged forward over the grassy fields as they drove the wagons north.
27 From Underneath the Shadow
