by CA Morgan
Eris was silent. One by one he examined the daggers and knives and then rolled them one at a time into the lengths of crimson cloth he had cut from the pantaloons.
“You are a puzzle to me,” Raga said after a while. Feeling that maybe he could let down his guard, he stretched out on his side to watch Eris. “You can do things no other mortal man can do, yet you say you have no ties with any form of sorcery.”
Eris remained silent. He tossed two more logs on the fire.
The sorcerer continued. “Perhaps the answer is in your family. Tell me about your mother and father.”
Eris sighed and leaned back against the tree. Why couldn’t the red-beard just leave him alone?
“My mother died when I was very young. I’ve been to her grave many times, but always with a strange feeling that she wasn’t really under those mossy stones. Only a child’s wish…” He paused. “I was raised by my grandmother, a pleasant woman, and by my father,” he said quietly.
“And what kind of man was he?”
“He was huntsman to the king. He was a hard man of authority, and had a great sense of personal discipline. But at times, with family and close friends, he had quite a sense of humor.”
“Obviously that part was lost on you,” Raga commented, but Eris ignored him and went on.
“This forest reminds me of my homeland. I can still see and hear my father in places like this. Hunting was his passion, and the king often gifted him with great favor, which is why we lived in the keep. In times of crisis, he was a soldier to be envied,” Eris said. His voice sounded as far away as his memories.
“He taught you his trade well. Surely there are few men who can match you in a contest of arms,” Raga said. The compliment was sincere.
The words brought a faint smile to Eris’ face.
“I suppose he did. He used to tell me that the disciplines of the hunt, and of the sword, are the two most valuable lessons in life. When I was old enough to understand, he drove me in relentless pursuit of the mastery of both. And also discipline in work and duty to the king. Night came and sometimes it seemed I barely had the strength to eat and fall into bed. Often times, before I nodded off to sleep, I heard my grandmother chiding him for treating me so. In the end, it wasn’t a bad thing, I suppose, to keep a boy out of trouble,” Eris admitted.
“And where is home for you?”
“Far to the northwest of here. You’ve heard of the Kingdoms of Fen, I’m sure.”
“Of course, though I don’t recall ever being there. Or at least not in a very long time.”
Eris nodded. “I’m from the land of Fana-Fen, the middle kingdom.”
“And does your father wait for you there?”
In spite of the blackness of the forest night, Raga was sure a blacker shadow, a shadow of hatred, crossed Eris’ calm face.
“No. He was murdered,” he answered quietly. He picked up the wrapped daggers several at a time and put them back into the bottom of one saddlebag. “He died in my arms and there was nothing I could do to prevent it,” he added in a voice that was barely above the noise of the fire’s smoke as it drifted skyward.
“I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant memories,” Raga said, uncomfortable with Eris’ sudden openness and vulnerability. He hadn’t thought such a tenderness was in him and yet there it was. Where was the anger, the flurry of venomous words and threats?
Raga decided he preferred Eris’ indignant rage to this. He noticed that while his voice might hold the hurt of a younger man’s loss, the firm line of his mouth and the vigilance of his gaze told him that Eris understood the warrior’s code. That vengeance comes in its own time, and that the life of the warrior, from the day he first picks up the sword, is precariously balanced on the sharp edge of that finely-honed weapon.
Eris was silent a while longer then tossed another log onto the fire. The wood popped loudly. Red embers danced on jets of heated air and pieces of burning ash boiled up in curling coils of white smoke.
Eris took a deep breath. “There’s nothing to be sorry about.” His voice was back to normal. “Is it not the wish of every warrior to die, sword in hand, with the frenzy of battle slowly ebbing with the flow of his life? To see the host of your enemies slain before you, and the ground dark with their blood?”
Raga shivered at the increasing intensity in Eris’ voice and wondered about the particulars of the attack that had taken the life of a much-honored father.
“Aye, Eris, that it is,” Raga agreed quietly. However, sorcerers rarely had the occasion to use such brute force. They preferred less physical ways.
Eris fell silent. It was a pensive silence that didn’t sit well with Raga. It was possible, Raga surmised, that the encounter with the Sultan had somehow disturbed Eris more deeply than it appeared on the surface, but that would be a dead inquiry the moment is was spoken. The mind-bond was useless Raga discovered after a gentle probe. Eris had his thoughts drawn so deeply within himself that had he not been sitting up and breathing, Raga would have thought him dead.
“Sleep, Raga,” Eris said at last. “I’ll take the first watch. With any luck we should reach the Caverns of the Dragon King tomorrow. Then we’ll see if our information about the third gem is correct and what sort of sorcery we face.”
“You’ve hardly slept at all in the two weeks since we left Reshan. Why don’t you let me have the first watch,” Raga offered.
Eris turned his gaze on Raga. The sorcerer felt himself pushed into his blankets by the coldness of it. In that moment, Raga knew he was looking on the true face of Eris Pann. A face honed by the keen edge of discipline, and behind that a mind taught to be wary, ever vigilant, for treachery in others.
Underlying Eris’ grim countenance, Raga sensed coldness, a primal force, and a detachment from the world itself. As an elemental of fire, of warmth, he found it difficult to understand these emotions--cold and deep flowing like that of a cavern’s river. He found this unexpected aspect of his mortal companion troubling.
“You wish to say something else?” Eris asked. He drew his sword and laid it across his lap.
“No. Wake me when you tire and I’ll take my turn,” Raga answered. He grunted as he rolled over putting his back to Eris. For some reason, he couldn’t bear the thought of those piercing eyes upon his face while he slept. They didn’t do his back much good either.
Chapter 5
Morengoth
High in the jagged crags of the mountain known for a millennium as the Hall of the Dragon King, sunlight filtered through a wide doorway that led inward from an expansive, granite balcony. From the ground far below, it was seen as naught but a massive ledge of heavy, gray stone. Within the room to which the balcony belonged, a fire burned in a large, circular, stone pit. Fire-like flashes appeared on the walls as rays of orange light struck tiny slabs of exposed mica.
Near the fire a man sat clutching the stem of a golden goblet. By the appearance of his hand, one could say that he was not entirely a man, nor by the countenance of his face, that he was entirely bestial.
He was Morengoth.
Morengoth. It was a name spoken is awe, in reverence, and most often in fear. He was the one chosen, fated, to remain behind. He was the last of a great and honorable race of men; the last to be known and revered as the Dragon King; yet no one knew he lived and breathed outside the tales told of the mysterious forest.
Slowly, as he had done each morn since the last of his people cried out in death and annihilation, Morengoth rose from his kingly chair and walked with slow, shuffling steps onto the balcony to survey his empty kingdom.
For the passing of three, enchanted centuries he had stepped onto that cold, stone platform. Every morning he carried the hope of finding the maiden long prophesied in his dreams. She, whose voice he heard echoing through the vast forest on a wintry day, but had never seen. The woman whose lovely presence would end his centuries-long imprisonment, but most of all, his unbearable loneliness.
With eyes undimmed by the passage of
time, Morengoth gazed down into his forest. Waiting, watching, and hoping for a glimpse of the maiden promised to him. Soon the snow would fall and mark another year of his imprisonment. In the crystal clear mornings of winter, when the snow lay clean and unspoiled, he often heard a song drifting through the trees as if sung by a passing snow fairy. A fairy whose beauty was so exquisite and fragile, she was rarely seen.
His vision blurred into his daydreams. Did she know he would find her? Did she know that she would be the spark to herald the restoration of his kingdom and would bring back the music of the ancient songs, and by her the forest would again be filled with the hushed whisper of gliding wings?
Morengoth sighed and allowed his vision to focus once more on the ground below. His sweeping gaze crossed over a blue-green pond, which was fed and drained by the same stream channel. Something struck him as odd, or perhaps out of place from the morning before. His gaze returned to the pond and a slight frown creased his face. In the space of a tense heartbeat, he wondered if his aged eyes had finally failed.
Clutching the stone balcony with clawed hands, he leaned out as far as possible and stared at the water as if willing it to part and expose what was hidden in its depths. Did he dare to let his heart race with anticipation, or let his mind even wonder about what he thought he saw?
The water rippled and bubbled again. With a splash that sent watery gems, like pieces of a shattered rainbow into the morning light, a woman appeared.
The heart of the Dragon King soared. The centuries-old prophecy had finally come to pass. The years of loneliness and despair were at an end. She had come! Once again the great halls would be filled with the sounds of song and boisterous laughter. The sweet smell of summer clover would waft by his nose as his lady passed through the room.
Never had he expected a maiden of such beauty. His dreams were of a delicate snow fairy, pale and golden, but what he saw more suited his needs, his longings. She seemed tall. Her agility and athletic strengths were on display as she swam with powerful strokes the length of the pond. And most beautiful of all were the long raven tresses that clung wet and shiny down the length of her back when she stood up and walked to the bank.
Morengoth bellowed in a voice that echoed like thunder. His clawed hands gouged parallel striations into the balcony’s stone as he exalted in his happiness. And lest the woman escape the boundaries of his enchantment, Morengoth awakened the mists of sleep from their fens and caused them to move across the forest floor. A gentle sleep would hold her there until he could clasp her in his arms.
Eris shivered as he stepped from the water and chided himself for having fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He had stared into the hypnotic fire a bit too long, mesmerized by watching little tongues of fire slowly curl back slivers of wood and then the flames would flash high and as quickly a silvery piece of ash would fall into the embers.
Reaching behind his head, he wrapped Erisa’s long tresses around his hands and squeezed the water out. Cold rivulets trickled down his back making him shiver again. From atop a nearby bush, he pulled a blanket taken from his bedroll and wrapped himself tightly.
Something…a sound, a movement, he wasn’t quite sure what made him turn and stare up at the great mound of rock that was their destination. Something made him uneasy. He had the sensation of being watched, but knew that was a foolish notion. There was nothing in this forest but trees and animals. The dragon folk of legend, who supposedly inhabited this land, were long dead and gone.
He remembered what Raga had said about powerful magic surrounding the last of the gems and wondered if that was what he sensed. He wondered if the third gem really was hidden somewhere in those dark caverns. Neither of them knew for sure, but that was the place where their individually found information converged. Yet like all stories that came out of the Moren Forest, the truth was buried somewhere between the terror experienced and the braggart’s exaggeration in the tale’s telling.
Whatever the cause of his uneasiness, Eris was determined to face it. He had to. It seemed to him that as the days and weeks passed, Raga’s power waned and the pull of his curse grew stronger. It was powerful enough now to invade his subconscious, to influence his dreams. On bad days, his thoughts felt confused. Some days his confidence rode high, on others he worried they would starve to death though he knew very well how to hunt and catch a meal.
“Damn!” he swore quietly and shivered again, but this time not from the cold. One more stone and he and Raga would have their revenge. He decided then to forsake the vow he had made to destroy all vestiges of sorcery for a new one—to stay as far away from it as possible.
He tossed the blanket back onto the silver-green bush and pulled on his black tunic and breeches. Using the green strip of fabric he often wore around his head, he fashioned a sash to gird the slack fabric around his waist. As Erisa, his boots were too big, but he didn’t care. The ground was too damp and cold. Most important were the two matching bracers, which still held the green gem secure and hidden. Those he laced around his wrists and then slung his sword across his back.
As he stepped through a clump of bushes, he tossed the blanket over one shoulder and wondered if Raga was awake. He looked up and stopped short. Erisa’s cat-green eyes flashed with ire.
“Don’t you ever get tired of peeping at me?” Eris snapped.
“Not really,” Raga chuckled, “but I would like to know how this pleasant change came about. There isn’t a dancing girl for miles, and I would think that after what happened in Reshan, this would never happen again.”
Eris scowled and walked away mumbling.
“What did you say?” Raga scrambled to keep up with Eris’ long strides.
“I said I fell asleep.”
“You did? Then who was standing guard over us in this haunted forest?” Raga asked, mock horrified.
“Don’t play games with me, Raga. I don’t feel like wasting time with you this morning.”
“Well, I would still like to know how this happened. Just curious. No one has ever lived as long as you have with this…affliction.”
“Think, will you. I had a dream and woke up this way. This blasted curse seems to be embedding itself into my very soul,” Eris said, sitting down by the fire to get warm.
“Hmmm.” Raga put a hand to his chin.
“Hmm, what?” Eris asked irritably. He unstoppered a wineskin and drank down half of it before he put it aside.
“This isn’t a good sign, you changing by the suggestion of a dream. Is this why you haven’t slept of late?”
“Partly.”
“What other reasons have you?
“Must you know everything? Isn’t there a saying like curiosity kills or some such thing? Isn’t that the gist of your lectures to me?” Eris gathered his blankets and rolled them.
Raga looked perplexed. Why did Eris always have to be so difficult, so complicated?
“Now what?” Eris asked, annoyed, and looked over his horse’s rump as he saddled the beast.
“I don’t understand you. You think I lie to you and hold back important information. Then when I try to gather what I think is important, you won’t cooperate. How is it you are able to make up your mind on anything?” Raga answered and instantly wished he hadn’t when he saw the hard, cold words forming.
“It seems I can’t. One minute I see things clearly for what they are, and the next nothing is as it should be, yet I’m looking at the very same thing, nothing’s changed. Nothing is right these days. If it was, I wouldn’t be stuck in this forsaken forest with a power-drained sorcerer, who won’t be any use at all should we encounter sorcery within those brooding caverns yonder. You’d just better hope that whatever demons we find will fall to sharp steel. If things were right, I wouldn’t be in this situation, nor would I have ever met you.”
As if he were a child, Raga felt hurt by Eris’ harsh words, yet they were the truth.
“It may not turn out so bad. If we have any luck, we’ll find the gem and put
them all back into the bow. Then I’ll be good as before and our path will be clear to deal with Charra-Tir,” Raga said, but saw Eris was not convinced.
“We’ll see,” was all Eris muttered as he continued to break down their camp.
“So, what else is keeping you from sleep?” Raga asked again. “The lack of it is starting to show on your face, especially now. Your body must be feeling it as well.”
“Because I dream too easily and I was afraid this might happen. Why can’t you be satisfied with what I tell you?”
“Because I know you aren’t telling me everything. What else?”
“What does it matter? The price for my indiscretion with the maid, which amounted to nothing at all, is being paid yet again. That alone should make you and your kind happy, sorcerer,” Eris said as he tied his bundles behind the saddle.
“Unfortunately, it doesn’t. The end result in Reshan was more than enough payment as you call it, and you’re becoming a danger to us both. A warrior can’t fight if he’s exhausted.”
Eris put his forehead down on the saddle and clasped two slender hands behind his head. The woman within him, the woman he was becoming more like day by day was wrathfully indignant and felt ashamed. Angrily, he kicked at a clump of damp pine needles. Raga came to stand a little closer.
“I can’t get that man’s face out of my mind, and in his face, do I not also see a something of my own? My own indifference to the slavery and brutality I see around me and do nothing.”
Raga shrugged. “One man can’t change the world.”
Eris kicked the needles again. “He could try. The Sultan cares not that his women are slaves to him, only that they pleasure him. Their lives are spent bowing to his commands, his whims, and his brutality. He beats them in the name of obedience. He humiliates them as I’ve only seen in the actions of lesser men. He pleasures them not with love, or a thought for compassion, but with utter torment before he gives them release.” Eris paused to take a deep breath.