by P D Dennison
“Fair enough. You keep that volume and study it well. I will not be responsible for fostering dragons back into the Land of Shaarn without being properly cared for by men. It is your responsibility now to ensure the dragons are fostered well and that men are taught the ways of dragon husbandry again, that the breeds might live and flourish according to the creator’s original plan. They should never be used for ill-conceived purpose or wickedness. I shall give you a gift to ensure your success in this task. I will forge for you a staff you shall carry until your chosen time of dying, at which you will pass it to your most trusted apprentice who will continue to train the dragons and educate the people of Shaarn in your stead. Come with me.” He motioned for her to follow him into the cottage where Ravak and Turynn sat by a large window, fire crackling, playing a game of cards, smoking great long curved pipes of sweet scented tobacco, drinking from great tankards of ale, and thoroughly enjoying themselves. They rose immediately as the god entered the room.
“Gentlemen, please clear the table by the fire,” Krigaar said.
They quickly packed up their cards and tobacco and the ashtray they had placed there, scooped up their tankards, and moved them all off into one of the adjoining rooms where they had kept their belongings.
“Gentlemen, please leave the cottage. Go and hunt out in the wilds of this bountiful valley I have brought you to. Do not come back until nightfall. Enjoy yourselves. Manya is safe here in my care.”
The two men looked at each other and nodded in agreement, headed for the door as the god commanded.
“Manya, it was no coincidence that we met, though I’m sure you know that given the circumstances under which I came to you, Avgud and I have been observing you and your brother for a very long time. Both of you come to me from a very well respected elven bloodline in Shaarn. In the First Age, your ancestors fought hard against many evils to maintain the balance in the land under the Order of the White Flame. The White Flame was an order of elven knights of no small renown whom I had nurtured into power to hold back evils much like your present day Graxxen. Not all trained as warriors in the classic sense. Many like you volunteered, sorceresses and sorcerers. Some were Rangers. Some were my priests. All were sworn to the cause of justice in the name of righteousness and freedom to balance the Land of Shaarn. They are all long dead now and enjoy an eternity in the Halls of Valhaalla, where you and yours will one day live out your eternities as reward for lives well lived in service to the gods of Asgaard. I had given to each of my commanders in the Order of the White Flame an item of power that I imbued myself and that is what I want to do for you today. You shall taste the awesome power of your ancestors and become a steward in service to the gods. Rejoice, for yours is no longer the life of the mundane.”
Krigaar smiled broadly and stepped over to the fire. He closed his eyes and held out his hands, palms open to the hearth. He began to chant and the fire began to dance. His body began to sway and then Manya could hear the magick coming up from within Krigaar. It sparked from the fire to his finger with a quick white flash of electric magick. The fire came alive with the energy of Krigaar’s god-magick as he slowly lowered to his knees, still chanting and concentrating deeply. He leaned out and stuck his hands directly into the flames. Manya lost sight of them for a while before he pulled them back out again, unburned and unmarked.
He held in his hands a great long white staff with the figure of a platinum dragon wound around the top. The dragon clutched a great green emerald in its upward facing maw. The staff shone with brilliance. The length of it mystically carved in an ancient language Manya recognized as a dialect of elven. This particular dialect she’d never seen before. Krigaar opened his eyes, which still glowed white from the magick within him and the electricity of its power still shot the occasional current from the fire into the staff. He turned placing it on the table and rose. It smoked and sparked as it settled into the wyrld of mortality. He pulled a chair over for Manya and motioned politely for her to sit and then grabbed a chair for himself. She said nothing waiting for him to gather his thoughts. He sat across from her, the awesome staff between them on the table glowing with a brilliant white light. It relaxed into the Land of Shaarn and the light faded to a faint glow.
“This is Liv Givare.” He slowly passed his hand over the length of the magnificent staff, brilliant white crackles and fizzles of intense magickal energy emanated from the haft of it. The static licked at his hand as he moved down its length. “Take it. It is yours now. It will give you the power to command dragons and will make your task much easier. It will give you the leg up you need to defeat Graxxen, for his magick is much more powerful than that of the magi of the Tower. He is ancient and he is learned, but worst of all, he is wicked. He is a terrible foe and his mistress even more terrible still than he.
The formations at the head of the staff are not just for show. The figure of the dragon is that of a platinum dragon, of which there is but one named Adder, but to ancient Midgaard folk, he was known as Haskare Platina Drake, King of the Dragons. He is an eternal being like the gods of Midgaard, but not of our pantheon. No one knows where the dragons came from, but he is the father of them all. The mother of all dragons being the seven-headed hydra Tiamat, a name of legend I’m sure you will recognize. She is wicked beyond imagining or reason and is without mercy or heart. We are not even sure she has a soul. She is evil incarnate and some say older than the Abyss itself. You must use the power of Liv Givare to overcome this evil. This staff has the power to summon Adder. Though I have no direct power over him, he and I have been companions for eons and he will come to the aid of an honourable person in need when there are evil dragons about to be dealt with. He is Adder, King of All Dragon kind, and his power is as great and immense as that of any god of Asgaard. This great power is at your disposal, young Manya.
“The aid of Adder is not to be called upon lightheartedly for he is a being of little patience. He will punish you, but that punishment will simply be his warning should you cry wolf and call on him too frequently. The staff has the power to heal, to grow from egg to maturity a dragon in but one moon, to bring forth water and food at will thrice per day, to transport you to any known location thrice per moon. The staff can also be used as a spell focus, as many of your kind require. It is such a potent focus that you will not be required to carry with you spell tomes or the components for your spells any longer, one further gift to you from the gods to aid you in your service as steward over the dragons in the Land of Shaarn.” He picked up the staff now that the magick had settled into its new home and handed it to her with both hands. “Manya Silverleaf, I pronounce thee Drake Vardar, Steward of the Dragon.”
She rose with tears in her eyes, lip quivering trying to hold back the emotion of the honour being bestowed upon her. She wished Turynn were there, but Krigaar had sent him and Ravak off. She needed this time with the god to gain her bearing and ask the many questions about to flood her mind as the magick of Liv Givare was about to take her. She reached out for the staff and could feel the intense sensation of its power against her hand in the air before even grasping it. A bolt of white energy leapt from the staff into her fingertip and she jumped startled by the shocking, tingling sensation.
She moved her hand over the length of the staff as Krigaar had done and again the intense electrical storm of magickal energies locked within came to life. Magick danced from the staff into the palm of her tiny quivering hand. She looked up at him with all the wide-eyed wonder of a child at her first gift opening and smiled, tears of joy and fear in her eyes. He smiled down at her and pushed the staff forward for her to take. She clasped it tightly with both hands and took one step back from the table, looking at it outstretched in her arms before her.
The magick felt strong. Stronger than any she’d ever encountered before and it came over her like a wash of white hot flame electrocuting her very soul. Suddenly she felt cool like a fall breeze. It filled her nostrils and chilled her ears and nose. She became dizzy and lighthe
aded, consumed by the crackling flame that did not burn. First it started at her hands and then she was completely engulfed in white electrified, magickal god fire. She could see only light and the faintest glow of the outline of Krigaar across the table from her now. She’d lost track of all time, space and reality.
Manya found herself completely within the grasp of the magick, utterly consumed by its immense power. It filled her and at first, she grew terribly frightened, gasping and trying to let go, but she found she could not release it. When she finally thought rationally about the source of the magick, she relaxed and accepted the sensation. Alight with magickal energy, her hair sticking out in all directions like curly queues, her eyes shone white as the power of Liv Givare took her mortality and replaced it with something more, something beatific. She could feel the power of Krigaar coursing through her veins, even within her lungs as she breathed. Then she heard the voice of the staff come alive in her mind.
“Lady Manya, I am Liv Givare and you are my steward now. Together we shall keep well all the dragons of the Land of Shaarn. You shall do my bidding and I yours. Together we shall coexist for many lifetimes of mortal men for your task is a great one and you shall be rewarded with the wisdom of Ages past present and future. As reward for your service, you shall live a long life and know much happiness. But with such power comes the burden of responsibility. There will be times of hardship and woe as we battle the forces of darkness together. I am bound to you, so now even when I am out of your hands and out of your sight, I am yours to command and no other shall be able to bring to life the magick I harbour deep within. Only your life force can now control me until the time comes that you should choose a successor as Krigaar said, and pass me along to that person. When that day comes, you will have but ten seasons of life remaining and then will die a natural mortal death. Until then, may you have many seasons as the Drake Vardar and I, Liv Givare, shall serve you truly.”
It all went quiet and the light faded. Manya found herself sitting, again at the table across from Krigaar. The room drew very still except for the fire crackling beside them, the sound of birds outside in the valley, and the wind as it whistled through a tiny crack in the doorframe. She struggled to breathe, a gasp here and a cough there. She tried to speak to Krigaar, but no words came to her mouth, only a couple of muffled sounds. She felt lightheaded. The room began to tip sideways and then went black.
“Noooo!” cried Skulga in a terrible wicked rage at the sight her mind’s eye had just beheld. She’d seen it all. She pulled her hand back from the bloody scrying pool and held it close to her breast, moaning and whimpering in disgust and frustration, the blood oozing and dripping down her pallid white arm, crawling up the pedestal as if it were alive and back into the pool from whence it came. She sighed deeply and gasped for air. It seemed everyone was out to foil her plans, even her own dear nephew, Krigaar. Up until now, she had no quarrel with him, but this was simply too much.
She would take from Krigaar. She would take someone he loved dearly and destroy them; in turn destroying the god’s will and weakening him. Then when the god of justice was at his most vulnerable, she would destroy him and sentence him to an eternity imprisoned in darkness. She turned and walked from the well, shaking from her arm the last of the fouled blood.
Turynn and Ravak arrived back at the cottage just as the sun was dipping down behind the distant peaks of the unknown mountains that bordered the mysterious valley they had taken up residence in under the wing of a god. They were arguing over who had the better shots of the day and again smoking a very large pipe full of the sweet scented tobacco that Krigaar had introduced them to, passing it back and forth between them as they went.
Ravak stepped through the door first. Silence filled the room. Krigaar had stoked the fire before leaving. It crackled and popped before them when they entered. Manya lay fast asleep next to the open window, drapes billowing about her. Across her torso lay Liv Givare and the note Krigaar left had now slid down to find its place on the floor beside her.
Turynn walked over to check on his sister somewhat distraught at the scene before him. He took her hand and rubbed it, calling softly to wake her. When that would not work, he patted her tiny little hand and then her cheek to nudge her from her deep slumber. Still he got no response. He checked her breathing and her heart and all seemed well. She simply slept very deeply. Something appeared different about her though. She had streaks of gold, silver, copper and bronze throughout her hair now. Her skin had grown pale where it had once been a nice healthy tanned and rosy-cheeked color before. In fact, her skin appeared almost a platinum color, save for her pale pink lips. He could have sworn there was almost a slight metallic sheen to her flesh.
“What’s this?” said Ravak as he bent down to retrieve the envelope from under the heel of Turynn’s boot. “An envelope.” He opened it up and carefully unfolded the note within.
‘My dearest friends,
Thank you for your companionship over the last few days. It has been quite a pleasant visit, but I regret to inform you I have to be off as matters of godly politicking require my attention.
Manya; I trust I can count on you to take seriously the very important charge I have assigned you.
Turynn and Ravak; it is now your responsibility to see my new servant Manya is kept safe and out of harm’s way, whatever the cost, even if it means your lives. She bears the burden of an assignment of great importance that must be acted out at all cost and I am sure I can trust you two honourable and gentle souls to ensure you see her through it to the very end, no matter how bitter the days ahead may become. I have not chosen Manya for this task lightly, and Manya, I must say I wanted you to choose the task for yourself and you did. It was this morning when you suggested to me you be the one to rear the dragons that I knew you had come to fully realize your purpose without yet seeing the full picture. With Liv Givare at your side now, you shall have the power you need to fulfill your duty as Drake Varder which is no small task and shall keep you very busy until the end of your days.
When you are faced with despair, do not give into it, young friends. I am never far and Avgud the All Father watches over all the Land of Shaarn. You are loved by the gods of Asgaard. You have our blessing as you battle the forces of evil that seek to sway the balance in your lands. Until we meet again or until the Halls of Valhaalla call you home, may you face good fortune, courage, and strength in your journey.’
-Krigaar
Both men looked down at Manya then at each other in stunned amazement, unable to put to words the thoughts and emotions that had overtaken them upon reading the god’s letter.
Chapter 13
Strangers in the Night
It was late afternoon and approaching the supper hour when Rostioff finally rested Stoneshanks. He’d made it to the crossroads. Heading northeast, the road lead up along the base of the Mystpeaks through steep foothills and craggy terrain toward the pass he sought through to the North. To the west lay an even less friendly road that led along the same rough hills and mountain base to the foot of the famed Mithril Mountain and the dwarven city of Stonehammer Keep. He rested near the Qu’Anaar River and decided this was where he would spend the night. Though he knew the way through the pass, he’d also become aware of the goblins that had recently attacked Summervale and of the attitudes of the Winter Wolf peoples to unwelcome Southern guests in their lands after dark. He decided he wouldn’t take his chances with either at night.
He let Stoneshanks graze near the river, laid out his bedroll, and made a little fire to cook his simple supper by. He had some dried elk he’d hunted several days previous and some wild berries and roots he gathered together into sort of a stew. He simmered it all in a small pot over the flames. The smell of the simmering berries was wonderful and whet his appetite. He washed it all down with some cool ale from one of his many skins he had filled for the journey and settled down, staring into the fire.
He thought long of the Dragon Orb he possessed, its power,
its purpose in the First Age, and why it had come to him. The orbs were a magick so ancient and so powerful that they contained their own sentience. They communicated with their bearers through telepathy and empathy.
This particular orb remained mostly quiet. It allowed Rostioff to lead the way sensing his honourable intentions. On the other side of that same coin, perhaps it lay in wait for the moment when a foe weakens Rostioff. It would then take control of the Arch Mage’s immense power to wield for evil purposes. So far Rostioff had not seen even a glimmer of evil from the small sphere, save that it showed the scintillating colors of the various breeds of magick contained within, demonstrating power both good and evil.
He pulled the Dragon Orb from beneath his robe and stared into the mass of swirling color within. The orb appeared to be about the size of a small apple. It felt uncharacteristically light, giving the impression that perhaps it might be hollow when in fact; it had been transmuted into a solid mass of crystal that had once been a dragon’s eye. Ancient magick was employed to harden and crystallize the eye into an orb to contain the arcane enchantments. The colors swirled and churned within like the sky over a stormy sea at dusk.
As he gazed into the boiling mass, his mind began to wander. He thought of Manya and all the seasons under his tutelage she’d spent with him in the Tower of High Sorcery. He thought of her brother Turynn, who would do anything to see his sister succeed in her studies, even going so far as to steal and take up with the Hand of Shadows to help make their way. He thought of them both as his very own children, even though they were both his seniors in seasons. He’d never made time for a wife and family of his own and they’d lost their parents at a very young age. His thoughts wandered back to the time he first met the two. Manya had come for her interview at the tower and Turynn came along to lend moral support. She couldn’t have been more than thirty seasons old, just a youth by half-elf standards. While Rostioff interviewed Manya, Turynn pilfered anything that wasn’t nailed down from the antechamber.