Dawn of the Dragon

by Shawn E. Crapo

  Liam turned and nodded in greeting. "Good morning, friend," he said. "Leaving so soon?"

  "Not yet," Dearg said. "I will await Morrigan and Igrid's departure."

  "Good, good," Liam said. "I think there is someone down there in the woods who wants to speak to you?"

  Dearg looked at him strangely. "You feel it, too?"

  Liam laughed. "Feel?" he repeated with a grin. "No, lad, I saw her. There."

  He pointed off toward a clearing below, where a number of large rocks had rolled from the ridge and settled into the ground. They were overgrown with vines and roots, cracked and grayish-brown, and covered in moss. There, standing near the largest of them, was a scarlet-robed woman.

  The sorceress.

  "How long has she been there?" Dearg asked, his heart racing.

  "All morning," Liam said. "Since the sun came up. She has done nothing but wait, so I figured she wanted to talk to you. Same sorceress from the river, eh?"

  "Right," Dearg said. "Well, I suppose I'll go talk to her."

  "Shall I come with you?"

  "No," Dearg said. "I'll be fine."

  Liam folded his arms across his chest and began wandering back and forth as Dearg descended. The slope was rough and rocky, but Dearg managed it without looking down. His eyes were focused on the sorceress, and he was strangely unable to look away. There was something about her that was beautiful yet dark and mysterious at the same time.

  It was hard to tell whether she was a friend or an enemy, but as of yet she had made no moves against him.

  "You there," he called out. "Show yourself."

  He gripped the handle of his sword as she reached up to lower her cowl. Though he had already seen her face for the most part, he saw that, fully revealed, it was beautiful beyond measure. Her hair was flowing red, and her green eyes sparkled like polished jade. Her smile was warm and inviting, yet still somewhat guarded and cautious.

  She evidently feared him as much as he feared her.

  "Who are you?" he asked. "You were at the gates before."

  "Yes, I was," she replied. Her voice was commanding yet calm and gentle.

  "I ask you again, who are you?"

  "My name is Igraina," she replied. "As far as I know anyway."

  "What does that mean?"

  Igraina shook her head, lowering her eyes. "That is not important."

  "Then what is it you want, Igraina?"

  "I have come to bid you travel to Dol Drakkar."

  Dearg narrowed his gaze at her. How did she know this?

  "It is important that you receive your father's blessing if you are to defeat T'kar."

  "How do you know all of this?" he asked suspiciously. "What are you?"

  "I was once T'kar's seer," Igraina said. "But I am now a wanderer, hoping that the heir of Daegoth will reclaim the throne of the Dragon. You are that man, and I am here to help you achieve that goal."

  "What can you do for me?"

  "To achieve your goals, you will need the strength of will," Igraina said. "I can give you that."

  "Why do I need your help?" Dearg asked. "If I am the son of the Dragon, he will welcome me."

  "Of course," Igraina said. "But to convince the tribes of the south to join your cause, you will need something that the Dragon may or may not give you."

  Dearg cocked his head, confused. "I don't understand."

  "I am immortal, Daegoth," she said. "And I can lend you some of that power; you and your bloodline."

  "My bloodline?"

  Igraina smiled. "Yes," she said. "Our bloodlines will cross in the future. But for now, you will need some of my power and knowledge. I am willing to help the Dragon reclaim his lands, and in exchange, you will help me defeat my own enemy."

  Dearg stepped forward, looking her over. She seemed powerful enough to defeat anyone or anything that stood in her way.

  "What enemy?" he asked.

  "My sister, Lilit, who now serves King T'kar in my stead."

  Dearg nodded. That seemed simple enough. "Alright," he said. "What do you want me to do?"

  "When you receive the Dragon's blessing," she said. "I merely want a small part of that power. It is a part that you can spare, and your bloodline will be stronger for the exchange."

  "You keep speaking of my bloodline," Dearg said. "If our bloodlines will merge in the future, why do you need it now?"

  Igraina looked down sadly. "When I defeat my sister, I will not be the same woman I am now."

  "Why?"

  "I will absorb her power, and her spirit, thus her darkness. I was once like her, and will be like her again. I want what is left of my goodness to live on."

  "And how do I do this?"

  "I will see you again," Igraina said. "When you have traveled to Tel Drakkar in the south, I will await you."

  "How do you know of… never mind."

  Igraina smiled. "I know everything," she said. "I know your name. You were called Daegoth, after your grandfather, but your new parents named you Dearg."

  He nodded. "What is my father's name, then? The man who raised me."

  "Olav," Igraina said. "And the woman who raised you is named Svana. She makes the best stew in all the land."

  Dearg laughed when she mentioned Svana's stew. He didn't ask how she knew these things. It didn't seem important. What was important was that she knew these things, and she was willing to help him defeat T'kar.

  "Fine, then," he said. "We have a deal. When I have received the Dragon's blessing, I will see you again."

  "Good," Igraina said. "For now, I will give you my own blessing."

  She stepped forward, raising her hand to touch Dearg's forehead. She closed her eyes, letting her lips open. Dearg stared at her, watching her lips move silently as she chanted some kind of spell. Then, he felt a strange presence flowing through him, as if a part of her own spirit was entering him. His own eyes closed, and he saw things in his mind that he did not understand.

  He saw the Lady Allora, beautiful and glowing as she was when she gave Morrigan the sword. She was surrounded by her people, including Menelith, who was bowed at her feet for some reason he couldn't fathom. He stood, facing another Alvar who Dearg realized was Menelith's brother.

  And his brother ran him through with his blade.

  Dearg's heart pounded at the sight of it. Menelith was his friend, and now he lay dying on the ground. The other Alvar drew their blades and slew Menelith's troops in cold blood. Lady Allora watched it all, unmoving and unfeeling. Menelith struggled to stand, but was wracked with agony. Lady Allora raised her arms, conjuring an odd spell that summoned darkness from the air itself. Menelith and his men were swallowed up within it, their bodies twisting and deforming as their spirits were merged with the darkness.

  Then, the scene changed.

  Lady Allora stood in battle alone. A dark sorcerer threw magic at her, destroying her body and dissolving every bit of Alvar magic that she bore. Her body was torn apart and ravished by the dark sorcerer, by both his magic, and his foul body. Allora was anguished and screaming, tortured and destroyed as the sorcerer trapped her soul within some strange object.

  Allora's body was burned and decimated, until there was nothing left but her bones. Her soul was still there, twisted and deformed, ethereal and dark. He knew the truth of her new form. The people of Eirenoch had a word for what she had become.

  Banshee.

  Dearg wanted to reach out to her, to bring her soul back to her body. But there was nothing left. The dark sorcerer held her skull in his hands, grinning in a vile fashion as he inscribed dark symbols upon it, binding her dark spirit to it forever.

  And then the scene changed again.

  Allora stood in full form, her beauty having been returned. Her smiling face looked down upon a young man who knelt at her feet. He looked like Dearg, though taller and thinner. He held in his hands a beautiful ring of silver and emeralds the same color as her eyes.

  This was Dearg's descendant, he knew.

  "Eamon wil
l be the last of the Sons of the Dragon," Igraina said. "He is my grandson. This is how our bloodlines will merge, with the children I will bear for your descendent, Magnus."

  "I understand," Dearg said.

  "Allora will merge the Dragon's blood with the blood of the Alvar," Igraina continued. "And her son will reclaim Eirenoch in the far future, after the Great Mother has died for all time. Only his magic will return life to the Earth. That is our future, Dearg, and that is why our blood must mingle, lest the Earth die once and for all."

  "I understand," Dearg said.

  The visions ceased, and Dearg opened his eyes. Igraina still stood there, a tear running down her cheek. Dearg reached out to wipe it away, but she pulled back.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  "No," Igraina said. "I am sorry. For all of this to happen, I must lose everything I am now, otherwise Earth will pass into shadow. Only my evil will set these things into motion, but I want my blood to remain loyal to the Great Mother of this world. My firstborn will stay upon this Earth to watch over it and wield the power of Gaia for all time."

  "Who?" Dearg asked. "What firstborn?"

  "My firstborn," Igraina said. "And yours."

  "Mine?" Dearg asked. "You mean…"

  Igraina laughed. "No, Dearg. I do not want your seed. That belongs to the woman you love. I only want your essence. I can have that without defiling the love you have for your woman."

  Dearg smiled, thinking of how Morrigan would react to such a thing. "She wouldn't like that at all."

  "No," Igraina agreed. "She would not, and I would not ask for it."

  "But what will these offspring be?"

  "I will leave them with good people who will protect them and allow them to grow. They will be my gift to Gaia before Lilit takes my soul away. For after that occurs, I will become what I fear the most. You must protect them from me as best you can."

  "How?"

  "By keeping them secret," Igraina said. "And by banishing me from this island. When you reclaim the throne, which I will help you do before I face Lilit, you will have the Dragon's power, and may banish me. This, I want you to do."

  Dearg nodded. "None of this makes any sense to me," he said. "You seem like a good person, but… if this is what you want, then it will be so."

  "Good," Igraina said, backing away. "I will meet you in Tel Drakkar, my friend."

  Dearg opened his mouth to speak, but Igraina faded away quickly, leaving him standing alone in the forest as the birds began chirping again.

  "Goodbye," he whispered.

  What a bewildering encounter. What did it all mean? Why did Allora destroy Menelith and his warriors? Had he done something wrong? And why was Allora herself destroyed and cursed? None of it made any sense. But as he thought more, he realized it didn't really have to. He was being shown glimpses of the future; a future he did not belong to.

  Not in body, anyway, but in spirit perhaps.

  "Dearg," Liam called out from the ridge above. "Are you alright?"

  Dearg turned and looked up at his friend. The man was crouched and peering through the tree tops, genuinely concerned, it seemed.

  "I'm fine, Liam," he said, making his way up the slope.

  "Was it the sorceress?"

  "It was," Dearg replied. "She wishes me well."

  "Who is she?"

  "I'm not sure, exactly," Dearg said. "But her name is Igraina. She is on our side, but has her own agenda."

  Liam chuckled. "Witches always do," he said. "But, no matter. As long as she helps, I suppose we can all look past her…"

  "Witchery?" Dearg finished, smiling. "Never mind it all, Liam. What's important is that we have an ally."

  "Well, we'll be needing one once everyone departs. I'll be sorry to see all of you go."

  Dearg clasped Liam's hand in friendship. He liked the man, and hoped that he would survive everything. His son Alric was a good man as well, and Dearg knew that Liam was honored that the young man had been chosen to be one of Dearg's knights—and Dearg was honored to have him.

  "You'll be fine," he said. "And don't worry, I'll bring Alric back safe and sound."

  "Well, he's a man now. Whatever happens, he chose it. But I know he'll be fine with you as his captain."

  The Knights of the Dragon were mounted up by full sunrise, prepared for their journey south. Dearg stood embracing Morrigan as he himself prepared to depart. It would be a long while before he saw her again, he knew, and his heart ached when he realized it was very possible that either one of them could die.

  Morrigan had her own mission, she and Igrid. They too would journey into the southlands, seeking out their mysterious sisters for a reason Dearg didn't truly understand. All that he knew was that he was proud to be with a woman of such importance. But in his heart he knew that her role in the Great Mother's plan might possibly take her away from him. She would be a priestess, and a priestess didn't typically engage in romantic affairs. They would likely have to remain celibate.

  A sad thing indeed for a woman like Igrid.

  "This is your destiny, Dearg," Morrigan said. "You have yours, and I have mine. But we have a common goal; to overthrow T'kar and restore peace to the kingdom."

  "Whatever plan the Great Mother has for you," Dearg said. "I hope she will allow you to be my queen, should I take the throne."

  Morrigan smiled, embracing him tighter and pressing her face against his chest. "I hope that, too."

  "Brother," Ivar said. "We are ready to depart."

  Dearg released Morrigan and went to his knights. They were all set for departure, as Ivar had said, and awaited his orders. He looked upon them proudly, seeing their great strength of will and arm. He had chosen them well, and now it seemed with the loss of Fleek, they were incomplete. But he knew they would persist without him and their missing brother.

  He would find another knight.

  "We will travel along the eastern shore," Baleron said. "We should reach Tel Drakkar in ten days or so."

  Dearg reached up and took Baleron's hand. "I know you will lead them well," he said. "And don't let Ivar give you any grief."

  "Grief?" Ivar said, smiling. "As long as he doesn't cast any spells on me, we'll get along just fine."

  "Good," Dearg said. "Remember, Baleron is in charge. Do what he says or I'll wrestle you to the ground."

  Ivar smirked humorously, drawing a smile from Alric.

  "I'll keep an eye on him," the young man said.

  "So will I," Freyja added. "Like I always have."

  "Goodbye, my friends," Dearg said. "I will meet you soon."

  "Gates!" Baleron shouted, then turning to Dearg, "Farewell, son of the Dragon."

  Dearg raised his hand in greeting, and all of his friends returned the gesture as they rode through the gates and out of sight. When he turned, Morrigan and Igrid were also mounted and ready to depart. Although he didn't know where they were going, he knew they would find their way.

  "Goodbye, my love," Morrigan said.

  "Fight well or die well," Igrid said with her hand on her heart. "May Kronos guide you."

  "And you as well, my friend."

  He watched them ride through the gates with a heavy heart. Though he knew they were strong and able as any man he had ever met, there was still a part of him that worried for both of them. He had known Igrid his whole life, and had fallen in love with Morrigan. The thought of losing either of them pained him, but he had faith that the gods, and Gaia, would watch over them and give them strength.

  And the Dragon would do the same for him, he hoped.

  Dearg climbed the slope up to the caves, his sword and pack equipped, and his mind reeling with doubt. He was glad to see Menelith waiting for him by the cave entrance, accompanied by two of his warriors. The Alvar stood with his arms folded across his chest, and a smile on his face. Dearg clasped his hand when he reached them, hoping that Menelith had some words of wisdom for him.

  "Menelith," he said. "I trust you will guard the fortress well and keep ever
yone safe."

  "I will, my friend," the Alvar said. "Our contingency plan is in place. The entire village is prepared to flee into the Highlands if need be."

  "Good," Dearg said. "I have faith in you and your people."

  "My brother will join us if the situation calls for it."

  Dearg couldn't help but think of his vision, the way Menelith's brother had skewered him with his sword. It was a horrible sight, and an even worse fate for such a noble warrior. He couldn't imagine any transgression Menelith could have committed to warrant such a fate, and there was the thought that perhaps it was a false vision.

  It had to be.

  "Mind your brother," Dearg said. "Do not anger him or your lady. Trust me."

  Menelith cocked his head strangely. Dearg didn't speak, but gripped the Alvar's shoulder tightly, hoping in his heart that the vision was just that—a vision.

  "Never mind," he said. "Take care of yourself and our people."

  Menelith smiled at him, gripping Dearg's shoulder in return. "Take care of yourself as well," Menelith said. "And remember, things are not always what they seem. Remember the false path I showed you. You needn't fear anyone else being there in the valley."

  "I will remember."

  "And remember that the Dragon can change shape. He may or may not appear to you in the form of a dragon."

  One of Menelith's companions reached into his cloak and brought out a small amulet, handing it to Dearg. It was gold, with a gilded emerald charm in the center. It felt strange in his hand, and he could feel the warmth and vibrations of life within it.

  "What is this?" he asked.

  "It is a soul gem," Menelith said. "Wear it around your neck, and it will help to guide you. There will be small folk about, and this will help you communicate with them."

  Dearg put his head through the thick chain, centering the amulet on his chest. "Thank you," he said.

  "Fare well, Dragon," Menelith said, stepping aside.

  Dearg took a deep breath, gathering his will and strength for the journey ahead.

  "Goodbye, my friends."