Chronicles of Den'dra: A land on Fire

by Spencer Johnson

  “Don’t use my title here.” Alban frowned down on the short black haired groom that had brought him the horse.

  “Forgive me the mistake. I am sorry for being so careless.”

  “As you should be. Reigns suspects nothing. My plan was right. If Crein had done as I had ordered, we might already have attained our goals. Crein thought to appease him with empty platitudes. Reigns had no respect for him, but he finds being met on equal ground to be intriguing. We go to castle Firgrest where we can make sure that these Dragon Lords don’t slip out of our hands again. Both of them being together was most fortuitous. One other piece of business. Reigns doesn’t have Stone Walker’s mace. Set people to finding it as soon as possible.”

  “At once my… What shall I call you?”

  “By my name, like you would for any normal person. Alban.”

  “I will send people to find the sword with all possible haste.”

  “Stone Walker’s mace. Not a sword.” The man’s angular face paled as Alban corrected him. Instead of risking further mistakes he acquired the vacant look that Alban knew meant he was contacting someone distant and relaying the message. Alban refrained from further conversation, even when Roark’s consciousness had returned to join his body in the courtyard. The level of security that Reigns surrounded himself with was opulent and suggestive of a man who feared for his life. If the rumors that Alban had heard and the reaction he had seen from Reigns when the Asgare was mentioned were to mean anything, then it was probably for this reason that two dozen cavalry were assigned to ride with him. The carriage was ready with the men in their plate armor holding the standards of a lesser lord for near a half an hour before Reigns swept out and appraised the assembly. Reigns went to his carriage while a trunk was loaded onto the back.

  After what seemed like an eternity to Alban, the order to depart was issued. Alban was about to spur his horse in behind the carriage when the first six men rode out with no indication of the carriage or the rest of the men following. A quarter hour passed before the rest of the procession, lacking another six men, began moving. Alban had to admit that his initial thoughts had been a little hasty. He had assumed that anyone in their right mind would know that no lesser lord would have the wherewithal to surround themselves with so many men. Perhaps a dozen was even stretching the limits of plausibility, but if one thought that the lord might be a little paranoid, it was definitely within reason. Sending a portion of the men ahead would ensure that any travelers could be sent off the road for the following party. Few people would think it odd. Often riders would go ahead to ensure that nothing blocked the road. When the carriage and the dozen guards passed by, few would take more notice than was necessary to see if they recognized the sigil or if the noble happened to have the curtains lifted. After that, they would in all likelihood return to the task at hand and barely notice a few more riders passing some minutes later.

  The tactical advantage lay in that the six men riding ahead would undoubtedly be wary of anything that smelled of an ambush and some could pause to keep an eye on any unsavory types encountered. Reigns had enough guards to deter even some of the larger bands of thugs that haunted to forests. Even if Reigns fell under attack, he still had the advantage of the six men that following being able to attack the assailants at the rear when they least expected it.

  The carriage was one of the more lavish of the famous traveling carriage line that had recently gone out of business. Although one could hardly recognize it from looking. All the ornate decorations had been removed and replaced with the standard adornments that came with the cheapest carriages. Alban had seen inside and knew that no such labor had been wasted inside that luxurious compartment. The sun faded curtains were double sided with golden velvet on the inside that matched the cushioned walls. If a lurch managed to get past the spring steel that attached the frame to the riding compartment, then one might be bounced against the soft walls a little. It allowed the carriage to move at higher speeds than would normally be thought safe for the passengers. The two rows of facing seats were reminiscent of the drowsy comforts that one might find by a fire in a castle. If the road was not too rough, one might drift off to sleep if not otherwise occupied. A compartment under the baggage permitted access to a tent along with all the accessories that permitted a peaceful night slumber with nearly all the comforts available in any inn found along the road. All the extra weight required an additional set of horses to pull it and betraying the fact that it wasn’t as ordinary as it looked. Alban felt a twinge of envy knowing that to maintain his role, he would not be partaking of any luxuries himself on this trip. He would instead be bedding down with the soldiers as nothing more than a commoner rather than the leader of the most powerful organization in Den’dra. It was a role he had played many times before. He had even played as a gardener around the castle in Shienhin. It had been the groundwork for today’s meeting with Reigns. Groundwork that, though tedious, had been rewarding.

  Evening fell with nearly half the distance to Firgrest covered. Reigns’ tent was erected and he went inside to be seen no more for the night. With nothing else to do, Alban and Roark proceeded to unharness their horses and set them to grazing with the soldier’s mounts, then going about eating some of the supplies that they had brought with them before laying out their bedrolls and going to sleep. Morning was well upon them before Reigns appeared briefly, then entering his carriage with a meal that had been roasting since daylight. The procession began the next leg of the journey the same way that is had that previous day as soon as the tent had been dismantled and packed up.

  With all the security, there were no confrontations as they wound their way into the forests that extended beyond the flanks of the Vaulwar Mountains well into the midlands. It was a logical place to have a personal castle if one was the ruling monarch. It had once been Illiad’s hunting estate, but Reigns had repurposed it. The rumors spoke of a large dungeon under the castle. During Illiad’s reign, it had been abandoned and nearly forgotten. Reigns had begun filling it. The stories that were whispered through the land was that the Gifted that were not killed were brought here or to another similar castle in Cercha. The locals in Cercha saw the black carriages roll through frequently. They looked like ordinary carriages, except the windows were boarded over and the doors were oddly built into the back. No one knew what fate awaited the unwilling passengers, but horror stories were told that caused even the burliest of men to shudder.

  With the castle coming into sight, Alban could see why Illiad had spent so much time here. It had an air of quiet repose about it that caused one to relax. The fir trees that gave the castle its name blocked out the horizon. One could climb to a tower, but even then, they would only be able to see forests in all directions. To the west the majestic Vaulwar Mountains appeared to claw their way out of the land in the distance. A distance that meant that the dragons wouldn’t be wandering this far. The north was nothing but miles of verdant forest until it broke on the cliffs over the silent sea. To the east one might see the vestiges of the midlands, but the intervening forests gave one a feeling of detachment. To the south, on a good day, one could see the edges of the tumbled green sea although distance obscured anything further on.

  The vast green forest was rife with wild game. Few lived in the woods beyond the couple wood cutting communities and the bandits that sought refuge in the trackless wilderness. There were far fewer now than when the robber baron had reigned over Firgrest in the time of Illiad’s father. Finally tiring of the constant harassment of his trade, the old king had besieged the castle. Though old as it was even then, it withstood the siege atop its rocky knob for nearly three years before the gates were battered down and the ramparts stormed. The robber baron was never found, having escaped through the dungeons as the stories were told. The torch had been set to it and the old king had left it to molder until a lesser brigand made to set himself the new robber baron. It was the work of a week to hang the blackguard. After that incident, the old king had rebuilt
the castle and made it over into a hunting estate complete with guards that prevented unwanted guests.

  “Do you sense anything?” Roark furtively queried as they dismounted in the courtyard. There was a heavy depressing air that clung to the stone.

  “I sense you.”

  “If I may, do you sense anyone other than me?” Alban knew what Roark meant. He knew of at least a dozen of his subjects that had been captured and moved to this foreboding place from whence nothing was ever heard of them again.

  “There are a few that I can sense. They are far below the ground so it is difficult to tell, but there is at least one powerfully gifted individual here. It is too soon to tell if he is one of our own.” Roark busied himself with the horses as Reigns approached.

  “There is something about the air here that invigorates you. Perhaps it is the absence of the stink raised by the wretches in the lower city. Whatever it is, I always feel more at ease here.” Reigns struck up an uncharacteristically friendly conversation.

  “As well you might. This was an estate held by the dark elf leadership caste before the Millennium Wars.”

  “My father was of the Sand Sea tribes. I fail to see how this would feel more like home to me than that parching waste.”

  “The Sand Sea was, as you say, a parching waste that shielded them for a time from the other races intent on driving them to extinction. Before then, Yer’entho was among the members of the leadership cast. A venerated position among the dark elves.”

  “Tell me, was my kind always bound to tragic deeds so as to be branded dark?” By the narrowing of Reigns’ eyes, Alban knew that there was considered a right and wrong answer.

  “It is far simpler than that. The ancient adage used to go something along the line of this: Of the day, the light elves danced under the sun and by night the elves of the dark sang the unending song to the moon. It is from one of the most ancient texts that speaks of the time before the dark and light elves separated. In the Braebach, you can see that the people of the south speak and look a little different than those of the north. The same thing happened with elves, but it wasn’t associated with the geography as much as with the day and night. Dark elves adapted to life at night while the light elves adapted to the day.” Reigns had relaxed his eyes by the time Alban finished.

  “Intriguing. You seem to have older texts than myself and I have the entire royal archives to peruse.” Reigns considered demanding access to the archives that Alban alluded to.

  “Many of our texts are impossible to find in circulation in any other library. It is a treasure trove of information that you will have full access to… once you are initiated.” Reigns hid a scowl by looking the other direction.

  “I am going to see the Dragon Lords. Have you any desire to accompany me?” Alban affirmed that he also wanted to look upon these beings of lore so they both entered the castle without any further delay. Inside, Firgrest was spacious with a mute majesty that spoke of a time long ago when nobility had walked these halls. It conjured visions of a great court that was held over a people of refinement and fine tastes. Now the crude reparations marred the ancient stonework that had been damaged by Illiad’s father. It would require a considerable level of craftsmanship to bring it up to the original levels. Such craftsman had never been common among the humans.

  At the rear of the entrance hall, a door opened into a spiraling staircase that gave one the option of ascending or descending. As expected, Reigns chose the option leading to the lower levels. The air took on a musty dampness that caused the walls to become slick. The steps would have been hazardous to walk if some industrious gaoler had not taken the time to chisel grooves in a crosshatched pattern into the stone. Alban could feel the oppressive atmosphere seeping into his soul. There were unknown numbers of fellow Gifted individuals imprisoned here without the light of the day for years, often until death unburdened the unfortunate prisoner, but even more frequently the mind would melt under the deprivation and become no more sentient than the rats that invaded the dungeons.

  “This one is quite interesting.” Reigns paused to look into a cell at the ragged figure huddled on the other end of the cell attempting to hide from the light cast from the torch that Reigns’ guard carried.

  “How so? He seems to me to be nothing special. Gifted but not overly so. Just a hint of it.”

  “This one is able to heal rapidly. Within days, there is no sign of the injury. It seems to have something to do with his blood. Fascinating really. His entire family was ungifted, but if this one’s blood was injected into their veins, they could heal for a few days. He had a brother that was killed by having the blood. The other one healed remarkably well for a time. I found that a certain number of people can gain his power, but most beyond his family die. Most animals have no beneficial effect if they survive. If I could find a way past that problem, I could heal my armies much faster.” Alban listened impassively to the details of Reigns’ experiment. It chafed him a little that Reigns wasn’t more interested in the importance of seeing the captives. What the man in the cell had endured was of little interest, but it was obvious that he was no longer a sane man. He alternated growling and whimpering. As they turned to continue down the tunnel, the man leaped snarling at the bars and clawed viciously at the men beyond. He retreated when the guard accompanying them began beating at him with the short metal rod that he carried.

  “Seems a little deranged to me.” Alban shrugged and followed as Reigns moved on.

  “He is, but he still has use to me. I wonder what effects the Dragon Lord’s blood might have.” Alban chilled a little as he realized that Reigns was attempting to perform blood forging. It was a practice that was outlawed among the ranks of the Shadow Order. Now was not the right time to acquaint Reigns with that fact. To offend the man now might mean Alban could be the one in that cell. After passing a few more cells, the guard stopped in front of a locked cell. Inside could be seen a young woman with black matted hair sticking out from under a metal helmet. Her wrists were shackled and a metal band like vest was latched around her abdomen. Chains were attached to the vest and wrists that went to cranks. The cranks were wound to the point that the woman was suspended in the air a couple feet from the ground. Her feet were manacled and chained to the floor without any slack. Across her mouth was a leather band that didn’t allow any speech. The eyes peering out of the gloom cast by the helmet around her face were narrow slits of a livid green.

  “Were the extra precautions necessary?” Reigns inquired of the guard.

  “They were difficult to capture. The men that brought them in told us to take extra care when it came to handling them. We didn’t want to take any risks.” The guard was fidgeting under Reigns’ scrutinizing gaze.

  “Very well. Where is the other one?” The relieved guard immediately took the lead and led them down a tunnel to another cell. Inside this cell, a youth was restrained in a fashion identical to the girl. Reigns nearly beamed with joy. The shock of blond hair hanging over the crystal blue eyes was unmistakably the same as the youth seen taking the fake princess.

  “What is the purpose of the gags?” Alban asked the guard.

  “When he woke up, he had an unsettling effect on anyone he was able to talk to. I wasn’t on duty, but they said that they couldn’t resist answering him.”

  “Explain further.” Reigns demanded.

  “They were compelled to answer him with the truth. Something that gets a little awkward when he begins asking about where he is or who we are working for.”

  “It wouldn’t matter anyways. They can’t tell anyone. I see that they both are wearing the blocking helms.” Reigns stepped closer to the door and smiled as the lad’s eyes widened.

  “I think he knows you.” Alban observed dryly.

  “He should. We met briefly in Shienhin. It wasn’t long enough to become acquainted, but now we will have plenty of time together to rectify that.” That look unnervingly spoke of more than recognition. It was the same fearless glare tha
t had been on the youth’s face during the kidnapping. There was also an element of distain that irked Reigns.

  “I think he realizes that. If I may, how do you plan on proceeding?”

  “Easy. I want to begin with a few experiments. Guard, go in there and shake him up a little.”

  “My lord?”

  “Go in there and get some of his blood.” Reigns eyed the guard until the man withdrew a mass of keys and unlocked the door. He placed the keys back on his belt and drew a small knife. There was an empty bowl in the cell that he picked up. All the while those crystal blue eyes never left Reigns.

  “It wasn’t the mouth. It is the eyes that were making them men tell the truth.” Reigns nodded silent agreement to Alban’s observation.

  “They hold a certain ensnaring power. I will probably put them out when I have learned what I want to about them.” Alban flinched a little. Even he wasn’t that heartless. Their attention was drawn back to the guard that was cautiously edging towards the prisoner. Both almost sighed in relief when the blue eyes moved from them to the guard when he was a few feet away. There was a muffled threat from the prisoner that froze the guard for a moment. He had only just recovered when Reigns demanded to know what had been said.

  “He… he said that his father is the Asgare. That he will kill us all if we don’t let him go.”

  “I suspected as much. Tell him that he is safe enough. Not even the Asgare could fight his way in here.” Reigns laughed at his own joke until Alban spoke up.

  “This could be an opportunity to capture the Asgare.”

  “It could be. I will have to try that before the lad is too far gone. Hurry up with getting that blood, I don’t have all day. There are other things that require my attention.” The guard nodded and stepped towards the lad with the knife outstretched. He cut the sleeve off one arm and made a small cut. Instead of the expected spurt of blood, they watched as a single drop of semi-translucent blue liquid formed at the lower end of the cut. It didn’t fall but rather solidified in a crystalline scab back along the cut.