“Good!” growled Barden, “That’s the mindset I’ve been looking for. Strength is measured by the heart, friend, not merely physical ability.”
“You seem very sure of yourself, Barden, and even moreso of us. Do you have a weapon with which we could kill the dragon?”
“Indeed I do, my friend, indeed I do. Something far greater than a cumbersome tool or weapon that one can wield wildly and be lost or broken on the battlefield.” He pointed at the resident. “I have you, I have… the vikkery.”
The vikkery looked confused, “Help me understand,” he began. “You are saying that you will not present us with a weapon, but that we are the weapon?”
“Not yet, but I can make it so,” replied Barden, calmly. “I must be honest, however, you must agree to my terms before I can hand you this great gift. No less than a solemn promise will suffice before you can receive it.”
The vikkery sat forward, “Name your terms, Barden,” he growled. “If you can offer us anything that gives us the power to destroy that filth, you’ll have my promise.”
Barden stroked his beard thoughtfully with one hand whilst drumming the fingers of the other on his thigh, “What is your name?” he asked.
“Gelbran,” replied the vikkery.
“And I trust that you are allowed to speak for the rest of your clan?”
Gelbran nodded his head, “I am,” he replied. “I cannot see behind me, but I would think that by now they are all awake and listening to what’s being said.”
Barden smiled, “They are,” he confirmed. “And it speaks volumes that you have not taken your eyes off me since our meeting began. You were, and possibly still are, unsure whether I am friend or foe, but I can assure you that it is not the latter.”
“Well I can assure you, Barden, that if I or any of my people thought that was so, this discussion of ours would have been over long ago.”
“Good,” said Barden. “That means that I was correct in my estimation of the vikkery. You are indeed worthy of the gift.”
“What is this gift going to cost us?” asked Gelbran. “Sacrificial offerings, perhaps? A share in any valuables or profits in future ventures? Perhaps my unborn child?”
Barden laughed loudly as he shook his head, startling the vikkery who were behind Gelbran. “Oh, no, no, no,” he chortled. “Dread the thought.”
“Good,” said Gelbran. “Ask what you will but my kin must be protected, as must my little Grubb.”
“Little what?” asked Barden.
“My unborn child,” replied Gelbran. “It’s what me and the missus call him, or her, until we choose a proper name.”
“Well, there will be no offerings or sacrifices involved,” Barden assured him. “Your oath to me will be made up of two parts, Gelbran. Firstly, you must promise that, whenever and wherever you encounter any dragon, you must slay it without mercy. Secondly, and this is the most important part, when you find the one responsible for the murder of the rest of your kin, you must remove the crystal embedded in its brow and present it to me.”
Gelbran’s face wore a grim expression, “Give me what I need to defeat it and I’ll present you with its entire mangy carcase,” he hissed. “You have my word.”
Barden nodded slowly. Opening his palm, he blew gently. A faint, pale pink mist began to fill the entire cave, enveloping the vikkery. One by one they became drowsy. Then, succumbing to the mist, each of them fell into a deep sleep.
***
“The armour is strong, dragon, but I fear that it will be of little use.”
“You need not fear, Ballorn. I am sure it will be up to task.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” replied Ballorn. “That is not the issue. I’m no weakling, dragon, but I can barely move in it because of the weight! I haven’t mentioned it to the others, but I’d struggle to repel any attack if I was wearing all of it.”
“It’ll be fine,” the dragon assured him. “It’s not finished yet.”
“What do you mean, it’s not finished yet? Of course it’s finished! I made it!”
“You’ll understand later,” sighed the dragon dismissively, “We have other things to discuss. “What about my name?”
“Sorry?” said Ballorn.
“My name,” repeated the dragon. “You were going to give me a name.”
“Oh that,” replied Ballorn, quietly.
“Yes that,” said the dragon. “Or had you forgotten?”
“Oh no, I hadn’t forgotten,” replied Ballorn. “I just hope that you like the name I’ve chosen, that’s all.”
The dragon lowered his head and peered at the nervous nemilar, “Well?”
“Kel…” mumbled Ballorn.
“What? Speak up, I can’t hear you.”
Ballorn took a deep breath, “Keldenar,” he said clearly.
The dragon thought for a moment, “Yes,” he said approvingly, “I like that, I like that a lot. It has a certain ring to it, an air of nobility. What does it mean?”
“Raging fire,” Ballorn replied, “Well, it’s made up of two words, keld means rage and denar means fire. Mashed up together they just seemed to fit you perfectly.”
“But how would you know?” asked the dragon. “You’ve never seen me in a rage. Come to think of it, you’ve never seen me so much as cross.”
Ballorn placed his hands on his hips as he glared at the dragon, “It was a guess!”
The dragon lay flat on the ground as he studied Ballorn, “Well you guessed correctly,” he said, his smile unnerving Ballorn who was now viewing two rows of intimidating, razor-sharp teeth. “I have been known to be a little tetchy on occasion. Thank you so much, Ballorn, it’s perfect.”
“Happy to help,” said Ballorn with a sigh of relief. “Now, what else did you want to discuss?”
“Keldenar,” said the dragon quietly. “Keldenar,” he repeated more confidently. “I am Keldenar!” he finally announced aggressively, raising his head for effect.
Ballorn rolled his eyes, “Yes!” he said impatiently, “Your name is Keldenar. Now can we get on?”
“Terribly sorry, Ballorn,” said Keldenar, “I’ve never had a new name before. It’s very exciting!”
Ballorn folded his arms, raised his eyebrows and began tapping his foot, “Well?” he asked bluntly.
“Yes,” said Keldenar, lowering his head back to the ground. “You are about to embark on a very dangerous quest, Ballorn, of that I am convinced.”
“Get on with it!”
“As time passes it will become increasingly dangerous and some of your friends may not survive.”
Ballorn wobbled his head, “Well, there’s one I’m not particularly bothered about,” he said honestly, “but I’ll do my best to keep the others out of danger.”
“Perhaps,” said Keldenar. “However, regardless of what you may encounter, you must promise me one thing.”
“Which is?” sniffed Ballorn, a little disinterested by Keldenar’s request.
“There is no doubt that you will come across more than one dragon on your travels, Ballorn, but you must not kill them! In fact, you must do them as little harm as possible if you are to eventually find and destroy the crystal lord.”
Ballorn frowned, “Seriously!” he exclaimed. “You’re telling me that if one of your lot attacks me I can’t defend myself! What am I supposed to do, have a nice chat with it while it’s chewing on me?”
“I never said you can’t defend yourself, Ballorn,” replied Keldenar. “I only said that you must not kill them. If you are forced to engage them in battle, you must restrain yourself and not deal a fatal blow. After all, they will be nowhere near as strong as you!”
Ballorn’s mouth fell open, “Am I hearing things?” he asked in amazement. “I’ve just told you I can’t even take a step in that armour without falling flat on my face! If I don’t even have the strength to do that, how could I possibly be stronger than one of you lot?”
Keldenar closed his eyes and shook his head, “I know you’re not stro
ng enough now,” he sighed, “but you will be soon.”
“Oh that’s alright then!” exclaimed Ballorn. “What am I going to do, grow some more muscles overnight? Or perhaps I’ll sprout extra arms and legs to help me get out of the way when a dragon tries to flatten me?”
“Now you’re just being silly,” snorted Keldenar. “Just wait until tonight and all will become clear.”
Ballorn did as he was asked. He headed back to the others and suggested that they make camp a short distance from Keldenar.
“Charming!” said Dannard in a high-pitched voice. “We is good enough to trek all the way to Cheadleford for him, we is good enough to find enough silver for you to have your armour and we is good enough to haul it all back here, but we isn’t good enough to be in his company! What a cheek!”
Ballorn rolled his eyes, “He said he needed to be alone to prepare himself,” he sighed. “It’s nothing to do with not wanting us nearby… well, I suppose it is but only because he needs to concentrate without any distractions.”
“That’s what he says! We could be quiet, he wouldn’t hear a peep out of us, at least not from me anyway.”
“You?” laughed Hunter. “You’re about as distracting as anyone could be.”
“How dare you!” exclaimed Dannard, “I’ll have you know…”
“Calm down, Dannard!” Stitch urged him. “He just means that you like to be informed, and you do ask a lot of questions.”
“And you wouldn’t want to run the risk of upsetting a dragon, would you?” suggested Hunter. “One swipe of his tail or a misplaced step and… splat!”
Dannard’s eyes widened, “Well…” he gulped, “I wouldn’t want to get in the way whilst he, erm… preperates himself. I think right here would be just dandy for a campsite.”
Hunter smiled, “Good idea,” he said, “I’ll grab some firewood.”
Time went slowly as they waited. Endless times Ballorn glanced up at the sky, but each time he did, the sun seemed to have barely moved, “How long is this going to take?” he groaned, the frustration clear in his voice.
“Until it’s dark,” mumbled Senn. “You did say nightfall, didn’t you?”
“I know what I said! It’s just, it’s just… oh, shut your face, Senn!”
“Why don’t you try to get some rest, Ballorn?” suggested Stitch. “After all, I’m sure that the dragon’s preparations will have something to do with you.”
“His name is Keldenar, and why would what he’s doing have anything to do with me?”
“That’s any easy one,” said Hunter. “Allow me. All of this has something to do with you, you fool. You were the one who was attacked; you were the one he healed with magic; you were the one he told the secret of the silver armour to and finally, you are the one who’ll be wearing it! Why would you suddenly be excluded from anything?”
Ballorn stared at him thoughtfully, “Alright, smarty pants, what do you think he’s up to?”
“Ooh, I know!” exclaimed Stitch. “Maybe he’s going to give you some of his magic so that you can breathe fire like he does.”
“Or you’ll grow scales like his so you can’t be frizzled,” smiled Dannard.
Ballorn shook his head in disbelief, “So why would I need the poxy armour then?”
Dannard opened his mouth, thought for a second, then closed it again, “Hadn’t thought about that,” he mumbled.
Ballorn sat up and wagged his finger, “I’ve just remembered,” he said quickly, “He said the armour wasn’t finished yet!”
“So it’s something to do with the armour?” suggested Hunter.
“It must be,” replied Ballorn, “It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
“So that’s why you had us drag the anvil all the way here?” asked Senn.
“I suppose so,” said Ballorn.
“You supposes so!” exclaimed Dannard. “You mean you doesn’t know? You never asked it, I mean him?”
Ballorn shook his head, “Never even thought about it,” he admitted.
“Well we’ll find out soon enough,” said Hunter winking at him. “Just keep your fingers crossed that it doesn’t hurt too much.”
Once that thought had entered his mind, the time seemed to pass far more rapidly for Ballorn. He had managed to snooze for a while, much to the relief of the others, whom he berated constantly as his mood began to change. He had become anxious, but the angst soon turned to agitation. It reached a stage where his companions were reluctant to move, speak or even look in his general direction and all were grateful when he began to snore gently. Even Senn’s guards, despite being much larger than the bad tempered nemilar, breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank goodness for that,” whispered Dannard, glancing over nervously at Ballorn to make sure that he was definitely asleep.
“Wouldn’t you be a little unsure if the weight of the world rested on your shoulders?” asked Senn.
“But we is here to help him! Honest,” insisted Dannard. “Why would I be here if I doesn’t want to?”
Senn placed his hand on Dannard’s shoulder, “The only way that any of us can help him right now is to keep our voices down and let him sleep,” he smiled.
Ballorn was actually relieved when he was awoken from his troubled dreams. He saw raging infernos and heard deafening roars. He saw nemilar fleeing desperately before they were engulfed by flames, their screams piercing through his very soul as he stood there powerless to save them. He woke with a start, his eyes wild.
“Are you alright?” asked Hunter.
“Course I am!” snapped Ballorn. “What do you expect when you shake someone awake like that!”
Hunter had barely touched his shoulder to rouse him but had not spoken. “Sorry, Ballorn, I can be a little heavy-handed at times,” he lied.
“What do you want anyway?”
“It’s getting dark, Ballorn,” Hunter informed him, “I thought it might be time to see what the dragon’s next instructions are.”
“Keldenar,” Ballorn reminded him.
“Yeah,” smiled Hunter, “Him.” Reaching down, he grabbed Ballorn’s arm and pulled him to his feet.
The others were trying to make themselves look busy, not wanting to make eye contact with Ballorn.
“Sorry, you lot,” called the blacksmith, “Must have been a bit tired, I always get tetchy when…”
“You doesn’t say!” exclaimed Dannard. “We never would have noticed!” He gently tapped the hindquarters of the pony pulling the cart and it began to trundle up the hill toward Keldenar.
“Ballorn, you’re not on your own,” said Hunter, quietly. “You do realise that don’t you?”
Ballorn looked into his friend’s eyes, “Oh, really,” he replied, smiling. “Where’s your silver armour then?”
“Come now, Ballorn. How could I climb trees and give cover if I was encumbered by a cartload of silver?” laughed Hunter.
Ballorn raised his eyebrows, “Come on, let’s catch up with the others before Dannard gets himself eaten.”
“Ah yes,” replied Hunter, “But not too quickly, there’s no rush.”
CHAPTER 12
Barden’s eyes moved from vikkery to vikkery. He had studied them for some time before making his decision. Yes, they were small in stature, but there was something about them that gave him hope. Since their encounters with dragons their number was significantly depleted, and their diminutive stature and insignificance would hopefully render them inconspicuous. They had a natural distrust of strangers since becoming the prey of dragons and would stay hidden from prying eyes, perfect agents for him as they hid in the shadows. Should they succeed they would bring him his prize. Should they fail, the result, for them at least, would be the same. They would be eradicated. His gaze fell on the form of one of the female vikkery. Her stomach was swollen and Barden thought back to what Gelbran had said earlier… his unborn child. “Not you, little one,” he said quietly. “You need something else.” Placing his hand gently on the tiny vikkery’s s
tomach, he closed his eyes. A bright blue light pierced through the pink vapour that still lingered in the cave. “We can’t have all of you on the battlefield,” Barden whispered. “There must be someone left to care for the wounded. You and your mother will be the healers amongst the warriors of your kin.” Moving to the entrance of the cave, he looked down at Gelbran sleeping peacefully. A glint flashed in his eyes as he spoke one word, “Remember.”
***
It was daylight when Gelbran awoke. His head was swimming as he turned to see his people still sleeping. He rubbed his eyes, trying his best to remember the events of the previous night. He stumbled to his feet, walked to the entrance of the cave and looked over the edge. Was the stranger real or had it all been a dream? His head was beginning to clear, but for some reason there was a strange voice in his head, a voice that kept repeating a single word, remember. Venturing back inside, he sat down.
Looking across, he saw his wife. “Has he gone?” she asked.
“So I wasn’t dreaming then?”
His wife shook her head, “No, my love, you weren’t dreaming. We all saw him.”
Gelbran stared at his feet, trying harder to remember. Holding out his hands, he stared at his palms. His eyes grew wider as they began to change shape. His fingers began to knit together as fur sprouted from them. His fingernails became claws and his arms thickened. He looked up at his wife, his eyes were different, but panic stricken nonetheless, and she began to scream.
The rest of the vikkery, awoken by the screaming, scrambled to the back wall of the cave. Gelbran was horrified. The stranger had tricked him, he was somehow cursed, turned into a beast of which his people were now terrified. He tried to speak, wanting desperately to assure them that it was still him, but instead of words leaving his lips, he let out an enormous roar. He clamped his hands over his mouth. How could he tell his family that he meant them no harm? He fell to the floor and began to sob.
Then the strangest thing happened, the cave fell silent. Gelbran looked up, but now it was his turn to be afraid. The vikkery were gone and in their place stood many huge brown bears and an entire pack of wolves. Gelbran breathed a sigh of relief, he was still dreaming. He had to be. If this were real there was no way that even this many bears and wolves could devour his kin so quickly, and there was no blood either. Despite the peculiarity of his dream, Gelbran began to laugh. He looked at his paws. “This is fantastic!” he said aloud.
Mark of The Nibrilsiem: Set before The Ascension of Karrak (The Karrak Trilogy Book 4) Page 11
