“Is that the whole world?” he asked, pointing like a child.
Maedoc grinned, amused at the huge man’s child-like curiosity. “Yes, it is, my friend.”
“I did not know the world was so big.”
“Few people do, young man,” Maedoc mused. “Few people do.”
Eamon went to the map and pointed out the large island on which the North and South Kingdoms were located.
“We are here,” he said, then, pointing to the Northern area of the mainland, added, “And this is where your people came from.”
Wrothgaar stared, amazed.
“I have never seen a map this large,” he said. “Or one that showed the whole world. I’ve only seen maps of the islands and of my homeland.”
Maedoc motioned for the two to sit.
“The Queen will arrive shortly,” he said. “There is a matter of much importance to discuss. But first, Wrothgaar, I will tell you what you wished to hear.”
Wrothgaar settled comfortably in a soft, plush chair opposite Maedoc, and rested his elbows on the table to listen.
“I have spoken to the Dragon,” Maedoc began, “and what he told me is grave news. A dark force rises in the East, across the sea. The Dragon is not aware of its identity, only that it is a familiar presence. He fears that its influence is spreading to the very corners of the Earth. The Dragon can no longer commune with the land or the sea on his own, and fears that the power of the Firstborn is waning. If this happens, the world will fall to this new power.”
“What manner of creature is this new power?” Eamon asked.
“I do not know,” Maedoc replied, shaking his head. “But the presence is familiar to the Dragon, as I said before. He can feel the utter darkness it exudes, and how it has spread...even here across the sea.”
Wrothgaar leaned in closer. “How does this relate to the slaughter of an entire village of my people?”
“This being’s servants, the Jindala, carry his message and his will. They have overrun cities on the mainland, the Southern kingdom, and they are responsible for the deaths of your tribesmen. I believe they may have been looking for something specific. Otherwise, they would have had no reason to travel that far North.”
Wrothgaar grunted. “I cannot think of anything my people possess that would be of any use to them,” he said, gripping his axe.
“Your axe tells a different story,” Maedoc said. “It is not of this Earth, is it?”
“No,” Wrothgaar said. “It was forged by my Uncle from a metal that he said fell from the sky.”
“Ah yes,” Maedoc said. “Meteors contain iron. Many smiths in the past have forged blades of this metal. Its properties are different from standard iron, having traveled from far places through the void. Perhaps your axe was the reason. A weapon such as that could very well be useful against an otherworldly enemy.”
Wrothgaar said nothing, but simply stared at his axe.
“You said the Southern Kingdom has fallen?” Eamon interrupted.
“I’m afraid so.” Maedoc grieved. “The Dragon tells me your Aunt has allowed these fanatics into her castle. She has fallen under the influence of their envoys, who even now occupy her cities. Her people suffer, and she has done nothing. Her vanity and lust for attention have blinded her. Now she is powerless and under their control. She sits as a puppet upon her own throne.”
Eamon pounded his fist on the table. “Vile whore!” he hissed. “She will pay for this insult, and for the lives of all that she allowed to die!”
“Rightfully so,” Maedoc interjected. “But in due time. We cannot defeat this enemy without the aid of the Dragon. Their power is too great. I know this, Eamon. I have felt the presence of the dark and powerful beings they have brought with them. Creatures that could destroy whole armies at will. No, we cannot stand against them alone.”
“My people will fight at your side,” Wrothgaar interjected. “If they know it’s the only way to survive, they would rally behind me in my father’s absence. We can defeat them.”
“Only with a power of our own,” Maedoc warned. “One even stronger than Wrothgaar’s axe.”
“What power is this?” Eamon asked.
Maedoc stood, shuffling over to a cabinet to fetch a small scroll case containing another ornate map. He uncorked the case and unrolled the map onto the table, spreading it out and placing candles on each corner. He circled his finger over the parchment, chanting silently to himself. Slowly, symbols and writings began to appear on the map, lines and routes showing the path to a point in the center.
“Here,” Maedoc said, pointing. “Here, is where the power lies. At this location is an ancient temple that once housed the Priests of Drakkar, an order of Priests who tended to and served the Dragon thousands of years ago. If any of their descendants remain, they will give you the guidance you need.”
“Who were these Priests?” Eamon asked.
“They were men,” Maedoc replied. “Men who, throughout their years of service to the Dragon, have gained certain powers. For countless centuries they had been advisors and warriors serving the long line of Kings that have sat on the throne. Without their help, our Kings would not have been able to bring peace to the island. The kingdom would have fallen long ago to the wild men who once roamed the countryside. It was these same Priests who became the first Knights of the Dragon, under King Daegoth II.”
“The Knights of the Dragon?” Eamon asked, glancing at Wrothgaar, who, himself, was intrigued.
“They have been a Knightly order that has served the throne faithfully, until the time of your grandfather. King Deimius was the last King to lead them, and the last King to wield the Serpent’s Tongue; the sword of the Dragon.”
“I have the feeling I’m about to embark on a dangerous journey,” Eamon mused, raising an eyebrow at his uncle.
“You must take the lead in this battle, as your ancestors before you. Soon, you will be the King, and must take your place among them. Your Mother cannot wield the sword or lead the Knights. Only you can do this. You must travel to the Dol Drakkar and awaken the Order once again. You must choose your Knights, and lead them to victory as your ancestors did before you.”
“I am the only one who can lead these Knights?” Eamon wondered out loud. “Why?”
The chamber doors opened suddenly and the Queen stepped in, her eyes filled with tears. She went to her son, seeming meek and ridden with guilt.
“Because, my love,” She said. “You are the son of the Dragon.”
Chapter Four
Garret stood behind the Queen, his hand resting on her shoulder to comfort her. Eamon sat with his head in his hands, confused and angered at the same time. How could his own mother have hidden the truth from him for so long?
“You told me my father was a minstrel. That you met him before your ascension to the throne.”
Siobhan knelt down to embrace her son, sobbing. “In a way he was,” she explained. “That was how he presented himself to me. I was young and naive, and he was charming and handsome. He had an air of danger and mystery that would entice any young girl who spent her days in the confines of a palace. He was a way to rebel, in my eyes. I had no idea what he really was, and I do not care. He gave you to me, and for that, I am eternally grateful.”
“Why have you never said anything?” Eamon asked.
“When I finally knew that he was the Dragon, I realized how important your conception was. It meant that you were born for a reason. A reason I did not know at the time. I saw no need for you to bear such a burden without an explanation.”
Eamon sat silent, brooding over his thoughts. His head swam with emotion, and his heart felt heavy with the burden he was to undertake.
“But how is this possible?” Eamon asked. “A dragon, in human form?”
Maedoc interjected, “The Dragon has taken human form on many occasions, revealing himself to the Queens of our ancestors to create offspring when the need arises. Only Kings of his blood can wield the Serpent’s Tongue and l
ead the Order.”
“Then I am sworn to this burden,” Eamon realized, “whether I want it or not.”
“You are his son, and his descendant through your mother’s line as well. Your lineage is stronger than all those that came before you. You were born to follow The Path of the Dragon and lead the Order.”
“But that is not your only purpose,” Siobhan interrupted. “You are my son, the future King, and my life has always been devoted to your happiness.”
Garret spoke up finally, “And now your people need you,” he said. “They need you to keep our kingdom safe, to expel these invaders, and restore order.”
“And how do I do that?” Eamon asked.
“The time has come to unite the two kingdoms,” Garret explained. “Your aunt is unfit to rule, and indeed she has already turned over her power to some unknown governor. She must be removed from the throne, and the kingdoms united. Only then can we gather enough troops to fight the enemy, if they come at us full force. And under a single banner, the people will be one again.”
“And what of my people?” Wrothgaar asked.
Siobhan turned to the Northman. “The Mordumarc, my cavalry, will ride to your territory and hunt down these invaders. In the meantime, I will ask you to journey with my son to Dol Drakkar. It is a journey he should not undertake alone. He will need you.”
“What of my father?” Wrothgaar asked. “He will die, and my people will be leaderless.”
Maedoc shuffled over to his cabinet again, moving an endless amount of random objects to the side in search of a small vial of blue liquid, which he finally withdrew. He shook the vial, eyeing its contents briefly before showing it to Wrothgaar.
“The Queen will send her envoy to your village to speak with your father,” Maedoc said. “While he is there, he will be instructed to give this to your tribe’s shaman. It is an elixir that should bring the King to his feet once more.”
Wrothgaar considered the vial for a moment, then smiled. “I thank you, Maedoc,” he replied, nodding his approval. “I have no doubt my father will be grateful, and will rally our people to fight. If not for revenge, but for the greater good.”
“Now for the matter of my son,” Siobhan said. “Will you travel with him to Dol Drakkar?”
The Northman took little time to answer, turning to the Prince. “I will join you in this journey, my friend, and I will stand beside you in this battle. For my people, and yours.”
The two men clasped hands in friendship, bringing a smile to Siobhan’s face. Maedoc seemed pleased as well.
“Very well, then,” the seer said. “You shall depart in the morning. There is no time to waste.”
“I will instruct my envoy to leave immediately,” The Queen announced. “When you awaken, your provisions will be ready, and you will depart.”
She then took her son’s face in her hands, and put her forehead on his. “This is your destiny, my son. I am more proud of you now then I have ever been. I know in my heart that you will succeed. The Dragon’s power has always flowed strongly in your veins, and soon, the people will see it, too, when you unite them.”
“I will not fail, Mother,” Eamon assured her. “Neither you, nor our people. The kingdoms will be united, and I will lead the people to victory. You have my promise, and my love.”
Siobhan kissed him, embracing him tightly. “And you have mine.”
She then turned to Wrothgaar. “Northman, your willingness to accompany my son shows your quality. You have my blessing, and my friendship. This is my promise to you.”
Wrothgaar clasped her hand as she extended it. “Your friendship will never be taken for granted,” he said. “This is my promise.”
Garret took Wrothgaar’s hand as well, saying nothing, but nodding approvingly.
“Fine, now,” Maedoc said, finally, waving his hands in frustration. “All of you, get out.”
Kuros and his small squad of rangers spied the caravan approaching from the East. From this distance, they appeared as nothing more than minstrels or a traveling circus, but Kuros did not trust appearances. He was wise enough to know that outsiders often hid their true intentions. Besides, the ranger Captain could clearly see that there were no females in the group, and a circus would undoubtedly contain at least a handful of women.
If the caravan kept its current pace, it would reach Morduin in four days. That would give the rangers at least three nights to observe them, and judge whether or not the strangers were a threat. Then, a messenger could be sent to the castle to warn the Queen, or at least the city guards. Once the caravan arrived, the guards would be on alert and ready for any possible outcome, including whatever danger the mysterious strangers would bring.
Kuros felt a silent figure appear next to him, having taken to his side without a sound.
“What is it Captain?” Kuros’ second in command asked him. “Who are they?”
“Unknown, Daryth,” he said. “But they are in route to the Castle. We will stay ahead of them and keep watch from the vantage points around Cael Pass. They should be there in a few days.”
“They’re traveling very slowly,” Daryth remarked. “They could be diplomats, carrying gold. Something with which to buy loyalty.”
“That would explain their pace,” Kuros agreed. “Whatever their reasons, they do not appear to be in any hurry. We will make our way to the pass and wait for them there.”
Daryth nodded, and turned to give a barely audible signal to the men behind him. The squad quickly melted into the landscape, as silent and invisible as the wind.
Chapter Five
Eamon and Wrothgaar awoke shortly before sunrise. Both men consumed a large breakfast that was prepared for them, and, with a quick goodbye from the Queen, departed Morduin by horseback.
They were packed sufficiently for their journey, with all of the tools they would need; maps, cookware, herbs for healing, and emergency food. Both men, of course, were armed appropriately. Eamon wore his coal black and steel armor, his riding cloak, and carried his sword and bow. Wrothgaar carried his axe and was adorned in a new riding cloak given to him by the Queen.
The two rode swiftly away from the city, being careful to take the routes through the forest and the mountain trails known only to the people of Morduin and the rangers that guarded them. The route would be slightly longer than riding in the open, but it would be safer for both of them.
Their journey would take two days, at the most, and would take them North into the heart of the jagged Droma Mountains. There, nestled somewhere in the Valley, they would find Dol Drakkar. The route, according to the map Maedoc had given them, seemed fairly straightforward, but both knew that the map would not account for every peak or eroded trail, nor would it reveal any dangers along the way. Their journey would be rough, and their destination would be nothing more than the beginning for both of them.
As the two rode along, Eamon noticed the Northman struggling to maintain his posture in his saddle. Wrothgaar was, apparently, not very skilled in horsemanship. Eamon eyed the Northman curiously as he leaned left and right.
“I’ve never cared for horses.” Wrothgaar explained. “And this one doesn’t seem to like me. He isn’t going where I want him to.”
Eamon laughed, reaching out to pat Wrothgaar’s horse on the nose. “He’s a veteran, that one. He knows the best route. He’ll go where you want him to, but he’ll decide the best way to get there.”
Wrothgaar laughed. “I started on horseback,” he said. “But my horse abandoned me on the first night. I had to make the rest of my journey on foot.”
Eamon smiled, trying hard to picture the Northman’s reaction upon waking to a missing horse.
“What is his name?” The Northman asked, desperately trying to steer his horse in a straight line.
“Farnov,” Eamon replied. “Named after a legendary King of the Steppes. He’s seen many battles, but he’s a good traveling horse, as well. He won’t tire easily, and he’ll steer clear of any snakes.”
&nbs
p; “Snakes?” Wrothgaar asked, his eyes scanning the ground around him.
“Snakes, my friend. Snakes.” Eamon teased.
“I do not care for snakes, either.”
When dusk settled, the two men decided to make camp. They chose a clear spot just off the rocky forest path that had already been used once before. Large stones were arranged in a circle, marking the fire pit, and the remnants of a spit were still in place over it.
Wrothgaar gathered logs, while Eamon gathered smaller twigs and branches for tinder. Soon, they had a fire going, and both of them leaned back against large boulders that lie close to its warmth.
Eamon searched through the provision pack and took out a few slices of dried meat and a flagon of red wine. The two enjoyed dinner around the fire, passing the wine back and forth, becoming more comfortable with every passing swig.
“I’ve never seen much use for helmets,” Eamon said, eyeing Wrothgaar’s horned great helm. “Except in open battle, of course.”
“As a protective cover, they are fairly useless,” Wrothgaar said. “A club to the head will knock you senseless with or without one. The point is to frighten and disturb your enemy, to make them think you are fearsome and invincible. Hence the horns.”
“I can see how that could instill fear,” Eamon replied. “I remember my Grandfather’s helmet. Without it, he looked like an old man. But when he wore it, he was a fearsome beast with fangs and horns.”
“You know,” Wrothgaar said, his speech slightly slurred from the wine. “I have an uncle on my mother’s side whose head is so big, our blacksmith had to make his helmet out of a cauldron.”
Eamon nodded, saying nothing for a moment, then burst out in laughter.
“And I have another uncle who has two thumbs on his right hand. He is worthless as a warrior, but you should hear him play the mandolin.”
Onyx Dragon (Book 1) Page 3
