Winterhorn (Tokens Of Benevolence Book 1)

by Nicolae Ovidiu Baiculescu

  “I hope you won’t mind if I indulge myself in a hot cup of tea?” she asked. “The wind’s got into my bones and I can’t shake it off. Would you like to try it, Nuuk?”

  “Me? I have never tried tea. Will I like it?”

  “I don’t think you’d mind it,” she replied, “otherwise I can melt a candle, if the tea is not to your liking.” She winked at the dragon and they all shared an honest laugh.

  As soon as the tea was ready, and their bodies warm enough, Naghnatë started talking again. “You have every right to doubt my intentions, but we can all agree that Felduror in power is a problem for everyone. And he will soon become unmatched if no one stops him.” She started moving her hands on the table restlessly. “You might know or have heard about, what he has done to the dwarfs of the north, or to the Iprorims of Grora. Not to mention to the elves of Elmenor!”

  “Yes, master Ghaeloden, Naghnatë told me I was taken to be drained of my magical knowledge, together with others from Grora,” added Nuuk, with some enthusiasm.

  “How so?” the dragon asked.

  “Haven’t you been living in the citadel?” The witch was confused; she had thought that at least the dragon would have known about it.

  “Felduror has used every single Iprorim to expand his knowledge. He found ancient texts where the wizards of ancient times, unable to wield magic, had learned a way to draw powers from pure creatures of magic, such as wild elves, faeries and imps. Unfortunately, at the cost of the poor creatures’ lives themselves.” She paused for a moment and reached for Nuuk’s hand. “I am afraid none survived his greed. That is the reason I left in the first place. I could not and would not learn magic at the cost of another’s living soul. You clearly must’ve served him in other ways, to still be alive.”

  She realised that the more she said, the more the imp’s face turned paler and disordered. He was speechless and only rotated his head to look at the door where the dragon’s eye was following their reactions – his big, bright-orange irises fully dilated on the little creature.

  He swallowed a mouthful of the dry candle-scented air and took away his hand from Naghnatë’s, “I- Iprorims? It can’t be!” He let out a weak squeal and tried to wet his dry lips. “There must be a mistake. They were freed before Felduror took me into his service. He told me so.”

  “I must admit, it is rather odd that I’ve never seen any other imp at the castle these past years besides you, Nuuk.” There was a tint of sorrow in Ghaeloden’s voice.

  “Yes, because they have been freed,” the imp added unconvincingly, seeking sympathetic confirmation from one of the two.

  “Or they have been slain.” Naghnatë measured that her brutal words would make him at least consider such a possibility.

  He winced and she grabbed his forearm, firmly this time. Tears started falling on his human-looking face and he gulped uncontrollably. His aimless stare went through the wooden floor when neither the witch nor the dragon knew what else to say. Hand in hand, his fingers were hesitantly moving without a purpose and it took the dragon multiple calls to get his attention.

  “Nuuk, look at me!” Ghaeloden’s words were loud. “We will make that rotten wizard pay! I have always had my suspicions about his behaviour and I cannot understand why the other Drakhahouls have turned a blind eye for so long. It is beyond my comprehension.”

  With excitement and hope, Naghnatë measured the dragon’s words to be honest. She had dreamed for a moment like this and had almost given up hoping for an opportunity to make things right. The signs were right; the time was near.

  “Most fail to see what lies in front of them! You are an exception, Ghaeloden,” she said. “Perhaps your rebellious young spirit and your stubbornness enabled you to see how things really are, alas I doubt you’d succeed to convince any of the older dragons on your own. Especially that cold, blue-eyed and black-hearted Sereri-the-White, your mother.”

  The dragon’s throat vibrated with distress.

  “Felduror had learned to wield the power of the stones just as he had been about to destroy the first one he had found,” Naghnatë continued. “He probably thought that by ridding himself of such a threat he might stand a chance to claim the reins of the empire, only to discover that his chances improved if he collected them. Do you suppose the clans of the northern dwarfs had a better fate? Or the elves in Elmenor? Felduror and his Gholaks massacred them all, and those that survived cowered under the ground or deep in the forests. With these two powers kept under control, he cannot be stopped, not by the feeble attempts that sporadically break within his empire. And the humans? Bah,” she let out her discontent, “they don’t stand a chance; they’ll never join arms and even if they did, they’re not strong enough.” She felt sickened by the weak nature of humans that never agreed on anything and always wanted everything.

  “What about the other Drakhahouls, those that have fled?” Ghaeloden asked eagerly.

  “That is something only you might be able to tell us. I cannot sense a dragon and I haven’t been at the citadel in a long time. I haven’t the faintest clue of how many of you still live there or what their inclination is.”

  The dragon let out another suppressed sound of angst, and appeared as if he wanted to avoid a direct account. “If only I knew,” he replied.

  Naghnatë did not fully comprehend his comment, yet she knew there were things that the young dragon would have to understand himself first, before imparting what he knew to others, or trusting her.

  “Why do you think he sent us after you? And why did he say you would not give up an opportunity to return to the citadel?” the imp asked.

  “Heh,” Naghnatë sighed, “the citadel was the only place that felt like home. I have lived my most vibrant years behind those walls, and he knows how much I liked it there. As for what he wants from me, well, I suppose he thinks I found his wretched stones. But I haven’t!” Naghnatë was almost angry; the recollection of how she had left the place was something still inexplicably disquieting, even after so many years.

  “He is a liar,” Ghaeloden added as if he just now realised something. “I reckon he’s lied to my mother as well, about the stones. Yet, I fail to comprehend how could she believe such things and aid him in his plans. How could she not know he’s corrupt?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first putrid lie to come out of his mouth.” The witch struggled to stay calm and started grinding her teeth.

  Neither the stunned face of the imp, nor the loud exhale of the dragon distracted her or soothed her nerves, as she turned and grabbed a chair to sit on.

  “I suppose, then, that it is a good thing he is still looking for you. As long as we’re the ones looking for you, and not the orcs, it is a good sign.” Ghaeloden’s voice made her turn to face the two again.

  “For now that is. Still, I wonder how much we still have,” she replied in a low tone.

  “How many stones are there?” asked the imp.

  “No one can tell for sure. I’ve only learned about six powerful stones!” She counted on her fingers.

  “Six of them?” The voices of the dragon and the imp resonated in chorus.

  “Well, there must be countless more. I reckon he’s mainly after the most powerful ones, which coincidentally are the most ancient ones. There is the Blight-Stone and the Lux, which I know already the wizard has. There is Lifir’s Feather which I destroyed, that makes three…”

  “What? You have already found and destroyed one?” Ghaeloden sounded amazed.

  “Yes, Lifir’s feather, the only proof that a feathered dragon existed.” She was proud to recount such a deed, knowing how hard it had been to find the rare artefact.

  “I’m beyond disappointed, Naghnatë.” The dragon’s words were something she expected, and even if she tried to explain, he would not understand.

  “Well, I didn’t kill the dragon, I only found out that he or she existed, if that was your concern, master Ghaeloden. Would you rather Felduror had kept it?”

  The dragon
did not reply and the imp did not intervene.

  She closed the argument listing the rest of the tokens she knew of, “Then we have the Armuren’s Scale and Ulrenmyr’s Tusk. So that’s five of them. And there is the Blood-Stone, which I strongly believe he hasn’t found yet.”

  “Why so?” The dragon seemed still upset.

  “Because,” she failed to hide her irritation, “the Blood-Stone was the first artefact ever made, and therefore has acquired much more power during the millennia. This makes it the most precious for those that seek them, especially for the crazed wizard. You really don’t know anything you two, do you? Have you lived in a cage your whole lives?”

  “None of the dragons in Arkhanthï ever mentioned the stones and the artefacts you humans seem so keen to obtain. And I, like all the other Drakhahoul younglings, are not allowed to venture far way. This is my sole journey outside the Aranthian realm!” Ghaeloden snorted and shook away the snow that had started piling on his head.

  The witch reconsidered her outburst. Perhaps she underestimated Felduror’s intelligence. He had indeed succeeded in keeping everyone in his realm unaware of his intentions as well as prevented his subjects knowing or spreading the true significance of the artefacts. All those long years since she had decided to spread the truth, with the exhausting, long journeys that covered every major village and town from east, west, north and south, seemed to have yielded no positive results at all. Was it possible that human race wanted nothing to do with this? Was it possible that nobody saw the real threat Felduror posed to the entire land?

  She rubbed her hands and poured herself a second mug of tea, adding a spoon-full of bee’s honey, ignoring the following gaze of Nuuk and the ever shape-shifting iris of the Drakhahoul. She slowly stirred the spoon in the warm, scented tea until the honey melted and she then cupped the mug with her palms.

  “I apologise for my irascibility.” Her voice was weak, more because she was ashamed of having to excuse herself, than anything else. “Arkhanthï must be a fortress of late. The days where everyone could visit its endless libraries are long gone,” she said. “Felduror is far more cunning and clever than I thought and there is one thing alone we have advantage of…” She let her words linger purposely, waiting to see if either one would show an interest.

  “What advantage do we have?” it was Nuuk who asked, while the dragon kept silent.

  “For a start, nobody knows I am alive, except you two!” Once again, she paused to ensure they understood what she implied. “Then, besides my powers, which might not be enough, we have this!” She pointed at the glowing sceptre.

  “Oh that,” added the dragon with rejuvenated interest, “speaking of which, we were wondering if, given that Nuuk disappears whenever he holds it, does it make us both disappear when we fly together?”

  She hadn’t considered such a thing. “I wonder if that might be the case? We should find out!” She was keen to see what could be achieved.

  She lifted herself up and took few steps to sit in the middle of the little room. Nuuk followed her attentively.

  “If you will, grab the sceptre and take my hand!” she said extending her hand towards him.

  As soon as Nuuk placed his hand upon the glowing object, he vanished entirely. A couple of long instants passed before anything else happened. Both the dragon and the witch were impatiently waiting for the imp to touch her hand. And just at the summit of their waiting, when hope was almost gone, Naghnatë disappeared as well.

  At first, she did not know what had happened. The light was paler, as was the shade of the candles’ beam. She recognised the same room, even if it seemed different now, as if she were looking through a piece of clouded glass. Were it not for the strong grip of Nuuk’s hand, she wouldn’t have known that it had worked. They were both invisible.

  “I think it worked!” she exclaimed admiring the bright-blue glow that surrounded them.

  Nuuk nodded and confirmed by indicating towards the dragon’s eye that was scrutinising the room with more velocity. As soon as he dropped the sceptre back on the table and released Naghnatë’s hand, they could see themselves appear in the reflection of Ghaeloden’s eye.

  “It worked!” they exclaimed in unison.

  Nuuk tried a second test, this time touching the dragon’s brow while holding the sceptre. She never expected it to work, yet it did; the Drakhahoul disappeared as if his own might weighed nothing.

  Naghnatë was dumbfounded and had to change her mind on Bilberith’s capabilities. After all, he had exceeded his skills and accomplished his lifetime’s dream; forging a magical item ‘worthy of a tale’ as he had used to brag to everyone in the seminary.

  She had met him long time ago when she had started her apprenticeship as a young student in the citadel of Arkhanthï. She was but a child with no magical experience, who soon surpassed his skills, making what could have been a real friendship die out before it even started. Although they never had a real argument or quarrel, they had grown distant and took different paths; Bilberith had to continue with his speciality, the practicalities of magical inventions, while she took a more natural approach to magic; the herbal method. She had soon understood there were ways to extend one’s life. Unfortunately, when Bilberith had fallen ill, years after her arrival, she had barely started the study of the ageless-potion and her knowledge of herbs had been insufficient to treat the gravity of his illness. She could do nothing to help and the wizard passed away.

  Tremors ran along her spine and she came back with a shiver from the sad recollection. The others hadn’t noticed her absence; Nuuk was eager to share what he had learned about the sceptre to the dragon. She took the opportunity to top-up her tea once more; it was starting to get cold.

  She cleared her throat before starting to speak. “So now that we have established that this sceptre can indeed come in handy, we should plan our next move!”

  If either had ever wished to free themselves from the wizard’s grasp, she knew they’d have to speak now or continue to succumb to their already-decided fate. She was sure that, to some extent, both of them had plausible reasons to want it, though neither of them spoke.

  Only when the silence lingered to a resounding point she continued. “The key to free your king, as much as your kin Drakhahouls,” she continued, “is to understand how many artefacts the wizard has found. Possibly get them and destroy them, although that is a wild desire for now. If that happens, however, he would be deprived of their powers and easier to defeat.”

  “On this we all agree,” the imp acknowledged.

  “But, how are we supposed to look for the artefacts when Felduror never leaves the tower?” the dragon asked, seemingly interested in joining her cause.

  “And what should we tell him that happened in Sallncoln?” added the imp.

  “Do not fret, my dears!” Her voice picked up some excitement at their interest. “You shall take me with you and bring me to him!”

  “Nonsense!” shouted the imp. “He will most likely lock you in a cell or bind you with magic and you will never free yourself! Look at what I am forced to wear?” He lifted his shirt and pointed at his restricted wings. “And I am neither foe nor a real threat. Imagine what he’d do to you?”

  “Don’t worry, Nuuk!” she replied angered by the sight. “He needs me! There is no other way for him other than to treat me with respect and keep me alive and well fed, otherwise he will get nothing from me!”

  Surely her knowledge and her magical expertise would prevent her from getting into harm’s ways, she considered.

  Many times she had imagined the moment when she’d have to confront the wizard. And it had always been an alternation between a civilized encounter and a duel to the death, yet there was not a single scenario in her head that ended with her being harmed or jailed in the wizard’s towers. Not with her shifting technique! The practice of moving from place to place unseen she had perfected during her long years of hiding. It had always proved to be the right asset against the many spi
es in the service of the old wizard.

  “He will ask me what I know about the stones and if I managed to find any in my long absence from the citadel. I will delay him as much as possible as well as keep him busy and concentrated on me alone. During this time, I want you, Nuuk, to put to good use the sceptre and search inside each tower… by the way, does he still live in the main tower of the citadel?”

  “Has he ever lived in any other place?” returned Ghaeloden, followed by a quick nod of confirmation from the imp.

  “Well, that’s that, then! Though we’ll might find it harder to explore since he spends so much time inside those walls and is unlikely to leave its premises. Who knows what wards has he placed to guard his beloved treasures?” continued Naghnatë. “Either way, we do not have any other choice. We’d first need to know how many artefacts has he found and, most important of all, which ones. This will give us a clue on where he has already travelled to and where he will venture next. And, with some luck, maybe we can anticipate him.”

  “And what should I do? I am unable to go inside the towers.” Ghaeloden’s concern could be understood.

  “You shall continue with your routine at the citadel and be of service for the wizard. That way, we won’t arouse suspicion…” Naghnatë interrupted her sentence, lifting her hand in mid-air as if demanding a moment of silence.

  A feeble, but palpable flicker of energy was gaining in intensity in the air. By the attentive look on the dragon’s and the immobilised gaze of the imp, she realised they had sensed it too. “Someone else has wielded magic!”

  The Calling

  Lorian

  The rain stopped completely when I decided to return to Sallncoln. Clouds scattered towards the east, taking their menacing presence and allowing a weak early-autumn sun to be glimpsed in the sky.

  I was content with what I’d learned, though still confused about many aspects and only too keen to ask the elder’s opinion. As much as I enjoyed Alaric’s company and his tales, I was eager to return home. Heaven alone knew how worried my grandmother was. Though, I knew she’d be delighted to offer her opinion on my findings and perhaps she’d have better news to impart about Elmira’s.