The obvious sorrow was nesting on his old, white brows and he took a long sigh while stooping his head over the stillness of his hands. A sad thought occurred to me, a dreadful image of an old me, who just like him, was regretting the choices that had broken a promised love or a missed opportunity. I quickly gulped down all the cold water and shook my head heartily, disbanding the doom my consideration would cause.
My gesture rekindled his spirit.
“North from Doradhur is a miserable place to venture, young Lorian. In time I thought I would learn the secrets of the citadel of Arkhanthï, yet I failed. Years passed as I moved from town to village, and from village to town. East to west, north to south. And every once in a while, I would brace myself again for a new attempt on spying on the citadel, and always with the same outcome. That place is cursed I tell you!” There was anger in his words now.
I stood in silence feeling compassion for his tormented past.
“In time I gave up looking for Naghnatë and started gathering as much information as I could about the tokens. From the many people I have met during my travelling years; menders, healers, wood choppers and warriors, I have learned, through their stories and recounts, about odd facts and curious places which I deemed worthy of consideration.” His enthusiasm seemed to be rising again.
“That’s why you have many scrolls and maps inside your home?” I asked.
“Indeed. I noted and scribbled every bit of information I could gather. I’m a proud master of the quill, I must say. This passion of mine, for words and paper, has only helped me keep track of everything I reckoned was worth conserving.”
The intense working of the dough was done. He covered the wooden bowl with the bread-ball inside and placed it near the fireplace.
Then he meticulously cleaned his hands. “Come! I might as well just show it to you!”
With haste I followed him inside and allowed him to share his cache of scrolls, maps, letters and books.
He started listing the names of the places he had visited, passing a finger on the map, pointing at the most obvious ones and rummaging with his eyes around the tall shelves when he mentioned others.
They were countless; places I’d never heard of and places I’d only heard in the stories of long lost treasures. I wondered how one could have accomplished so much and still feel dismayed. I could only marvel. This was the farthest I’d ventured, a mere day on horseback, and I was already homesick.
“There are so many!” I exclaimed in awe.
“Yes, there are! Our world is bigger than this valley, way bigger,” he laughed, “but mind you, it’s also a very dangerous place. I will spare you the details of my life’s work, we wouldn’t have enough time to go through all of my findings. Suffice to say there are many unexplored places, places of riches and magic and ancient beings that few attempted to visit. If that might come of interest, you know now how to find me.” He winked at me with honesty.
I took to heart his generosity and continued flatly, “And where would you start looking for the dragons?”
“Then, if the Glinting Den cannot interest you, nor its cache of diamonds, then I can show you this.” He pointed a thin finger on the Drakhahoul symbol at the side of the map.
“Arkhanthï?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? Why would they keep it so secret and protected?” he replied.
“There could be many reasons,” I tried to argue.
“Oh lad, if only you could see that place. You’d instantly know it.”
I was still not convinced.
“Would you take the chance of greeting someone when that someone felt the need to build another row of walls around his home, and keep its gates protected day and night? Clearly the man does not want to be disturbed, and clearly the closest cities inside the Aranthian Empire are well under his political influence. Can’t be otherwise.”
“True,” I whispered, not sure what to think.
With dexterity and haste, he unrolled a blank scroll from under the thick pile of parchments on the table, took his quill and ink and started to make the rough shape of a map.
“All the land you see right here on this map, was commonly known as the Aranthian Empire. Every race was freely and equally allowed to live and prosper within its lands and it has been so for millennia, when Drakhahouls thrived on Earth.” He pointed his thick quill on the dragon symbol drawn above the five red-roofed towers of the Arkhanthï’s citadel. “The divisions between races and the land they occupy afterwards, has only been made rather recently, once the balance and peace had been broken. If you ask me, I’d say that the Drakhahouls shouldn’t have made any artefacts at all. It was a mistake to trust mankind with such powerful yet treacherous gifts. Look how many wars and conflicts there have been from then until now! And for what, I say? The yearning for power and desire for wealth?”
I couldn’t agree more. Every single major conflict, battle or war that our parents, grandparents and their ancestors had lived through or heard about, had come about from the desire to own more. To some extent, even the most trivial of quarrels had a material-related problem to them. The clans that formed Sallncoln were the perfect example, having fought and argued over land ownership, fundamentally, for the entire existence of the village. To these days, the direct descendants still carried their obfuscated anger and discord amongst each other and only kept it at bay because of what another war would mean for its people.
“Nevertheless,” Alaric continued, having evaded his resentment, “these lands now are divided amongst humans, dwarves and elves, with a vast majority of human settlements.”
I watched as he made three circles on the map.
“There are only a few dwarf cities left inside the Aranthian Empire; Mount Nrom, which as mentioned is also known as the mountain of Iron where King Hegor Strongfist resides; then we have Callanor, which, because it is close to the western sea, is becoming more a human city than a dwarf one, and then, a bit under here, there is Erodir which I have only heard there have been dwarfs living there. On my single visit to the city I could see no other race but humans; different races and regions tall and short, though no dwarf. The last one is a bit south from mount Nrom and here we have the citadel of Fherefir, which truth be told, I doubt there are any dwarves left there either.” He lingered a moment over the name he had just written and softly blew some air to aid the dark ink dry on the amber paper.
I was impressed with the care he offered to the art of lettering; from the few circles and words scribbled on the parchment, each stroke and letter had the same intensity and inclination making the entire word pleasant to the eye and easy to understand.
“On the other side of the map,” his quill marked the names on the right side of the scroll, “we have, or had, I cannot confirm to the information’s reliability, we have the elven cities; Elmenor, to the very south, Thull somewhere around the middle, here, then on this edge we have Myrth and up north we have the island of Grora.”
I nodded at his enquiring glance.
“None of which I have been able to visit! If Arkhanthï is closed to outsiders, one can at least approach the outer walls and be told off. Elmenor, instead, as well as the other three cities, are entirely forbidden to any race except the elves. Nobody has succeeded in crossing the dense forests that surround the citadel and, from those that had ventured there, nobody had returned. The elves are cunning and can also be very dangerous if they want to be. They are also very secretive and rarely seen. Though, I do not believe for one second they’ve vanished, even if they never wanted anything to do with any other race that wasn’t theirs. And I wager they’d share none of their knowledge on any matter related to the tokens, dragons or magic. Probably they wouldn’t tell you the right direction if you’d got lost either!” His phrase that ended with a chuckle soon faded into an incomprehensible mumble.
His frantic stutter made me smile, though I had to withhold the laughter when his face turned red while cursing breathlessly under his beard. He reminded me o
f Numaluk, the oldest man in Sallncoln, that could keep at his grumble for the entire day, if one dared to keep him company for such a long time.
I shifted on my chair with a bit of noise, and Alaric took it as a hint to continue.
“Mh-mh,” he cleared his throat, “the elves have always preferred to keep to themselves and stay neutral for as long as they could, unless the matter involved them directly, which it never occurred except for very few occasions that time itself cannot recall. And what you already know, the story about Loreeia and how she has been deceived by the wizard, is not one of those occasions, as they didn’t lift a finger against the evil old wizard, they only accepted their defeat, retreated to their forests and kept silence. Argh…” Irritated by those particulars he let out another typical, old-man growl of complaint, only briefer this time.
Another fact on which I silently agreed; from all the stories I have read and been told, the elves were seldom in them. Few were the exceptions when rebellious characters of their race ventured into our world and allowed humans to interact as well as be let into some of their secrets, though mostly they kept to themselves caring for their lands and protecting their lengthy existence while keeping it safe and isolated.
“And this is what I can quickly surmise. Of course there are many, less important places, hidden caves and treasure maps, which I hope we’ll have the opportunity to discuss.” His words were a direct invitation to linger further.
“Perhaps another time?” I tried to be as polite as I could.
“Some other time, then,” he replied unshaken by my decline, “either way, the most sensible attempt for your endeavour would be to try and gain access to the citadel of Arkhanthï. I strongly believe that all our questions will be answered if you gained access!”
“If only it was that easy to reach it and charm the guards, but I would like very much to meet you again, one day.” I honestly hoped he could see I was serious about my suggestion, even if I was more than keen to return home at the present time.
“At least you could keep this!” He rolled the small scroll he had just sketched, tied it with thin string and gave it to me.
“Thank you, Alaric! I really appreciate it and I hope I can bring news of my findings, optimistic news. If only it were that easy to know what to do with a token of benevolence.” I smiled ironically.
“I thank you, Lorian Garr of Sallncoln. It was my pleasure to acquaint myself with such a passionate and fortunate young man. And I’m very certain you will, and something tells me sooner rather than later!”
The Citadel
Felduror / Ghaeloden
Thick unscathed walls, high as mountains, surrounded the white castle of Arkhanthï. Taller still, four round towers guarded it at each corner of the square-shaped city and a fifth stood tallest in its middle. Just like a warrior of stone that had endured through wars and time itself, the erection stood tall and shone brightly between the pale landscape of the early autumn. A sight that could take the breath away from most, even if Felduror, the old wizard, could not care less.
The citadel had been built on one of the tallest summits in the valley of the Whispering Peaks, a strange and ancient rock formation where wind caused the exposed rocks and their crevices to whisper with almost comprehensible words. It was said that the fearless King Arkhan himself had taken shelter amongst the rocks after an unfortunate day of hunting. His men, dogs and horses had been slayed or forced to scatter for their lives by a furious beast of the forests. Having lost his sword in an attempt to kill the beast, and being isolated from his remaining guards, the king had retreated among the rocks and there he had remained hidden for three days without food or water. Hungry, weakened and frightened, before the edges of insanity, he had solemnly vowed that if he were to be spared, he would build a citadel on top of those hostile rocks worthy of his worse enemy’s praises. When he had lost every hope, on the brink of the fourth day, a party of his subjects had finally found and rescued him. True to his promise, once he had recovered, he had ordered his master builders to come up with new plans for a new city; the citadel of Arkhanthï. The marvellous citadel had taken many years and resources to be finished, and its founding-father never had the chance to see it completed – he had died few years after the works had commenced, on another battlefield. Yet, his promise had been fulfilled.
Although many years had passed, the beauty of the place appeared untouched. It was as if time and weather could not lessen the magnificence of the ancient city. On the contrary, it appeared enhanced by it or, perhaps, the evil wizard had used spells to protect its ever-shining presence and preserve its splendour.
The dark red tiles canvased the roofs of all structures which contrasted the whiteness of the marble walls with a pleasant distinction of tones. A multitude of red and black standards flew frantically in the soaring wind, their flapping lifting a loud chorus in unison. Today, the fast-moving clouds allowed the sun to briefly shine its feeble rays and bounce back almost with the same blinding intensity, yet, its strength betrayed the cold that started to persist on the lands of the north. The rains had started angrier of late and the falling droplets fell like little ice-arrows bouncing on the stone-paved floor and walls.
Whilst the four external towers were of a somewhat normal fashion, used to garrison the guards’ brigades, workforces and archers that maintained and protected the citadel, the impenetrable main-tower was of a more peculiar manner. It evolved thinner and rounder by each floor and had a dragon-landing structure all around its summit, enforced by metal structures that dug within the stone’s surface.
It was the wizard’s favourite building of the entire city. He hardly ever visited the other four, as well as any other insignificant constructions inside and outside the walls, unless in their dungeons there were prisoners that needed visiting. The importance of the middle tower wasn’t provided by its majestic proportions, being the tallest and widest, but mainly because of what it enclosed.
Its tall and painted windows filtered the light on every level springing a flecking spectacle on the marble floor, which was of a different, rarer quality. Many rooms for many purposes lay symmetrically on a repeated pattern throughout the height of the tower. From the wine cellars to libraries, underground prisons, kitchens, storage and sleeping rooms and many secret rooms, which few were allowed to enter and fewer still knew of their existence, the tower had everything necessary to last for years of conflict in the unlikely and unprecedentedly event that the citadel came under siege.
The initial project, under the specific instructions of King Arkhan himself, had originally only a row of high walls, not far from the core of the five towers. It allowed for plenty of space for houses, markets and garrisons to be built. And, as soon as the new king, Belrug-the-Black had been crowned, the wizard had made a new request; to raise a secondary row of walls around the citadel, many miles away from the first. A request granted without a blink, given his influence upon the dragon’s young mind and therefore on every one of his loyal subjects. In the common people’s eyes, his request had appeared like a simple purpose of protection, yet he had known then as he knew now his true intentions.
Firstly, he meant to prevent any outsiders coming within sight of the main citadel, therefore unable to see what really happened inside. This allowed the few Drakhahouls that still lived within, plenty of safe space to hunt without being seen, given that the distance from the second row of walls to the citadel was such that even the biggest of them appeared the size of a small sparrow. Secondly, the vast space that divided the rows of walls allowed the lands to be shared by his farmers and his warriors. The farmers were humans, and were those whose families maintained the beauty of the realm, growing cattle and crops and all the necessities for the citadel and the empire to prosper. Closer to the walls, quite far from the human settlements, were the armies and these were made by the Gholaks, which had been summoned by Felduror himself from the deepest caves of the earth.
Although temptation and natural instincts of th
e orc brutes was to pillage and destroy, they blindly followed every order of his, and never once had there been any major conflict or quarrel between humans and orcs. They were settled in four major colonies, each of them guarding the four gates of the external walls; the eastern, the western, the northern and the southern gate. Gholaks never complained about rain, snow or sun and as long as they had food and ale, they rarely sent their chieftains with new requests to the wizard and the dragon king. Their perpetual presence around the citadel, made some of the mighty beasts perturbed, and not without reason as the two races never got along well, so in time most of the Drakhahouls had distanced themselves from the citadel. Many had retreated to the far-away islands of the east, lands impossible to reach by humans and many still to be discovered. The only dragons that remained were the younglings hatched from Sereri-the-White, who was the oldest Drakhahoul, but still young in dragon-years at four hundred years old. Given that she was the only eldest dragon at court, King Belrug being around two hundred years younger, the younglings knew almost nothing of the story – she had agreed to withhold various notions and events of their past considering, as Felduror had insisted and suggested, it was for their own good. That was of course until they grew older and memories of their long-lost relatives, as well as those still alive, started to mingle. There was still plenty of time before any of them came of that age and wisdom. They were growing freely, if free could be considered those restricted miles between the walls, where they could hunt. They were secluded, even if they felt protected from the outside world and lived and grew with no true knowledge of their history. Young as they were, they did not seem to miss or wonder about anything at all, and they kept providing their services as guardians of the citadel while enjoying their lives.
Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1) Page 10