Growing up with Ymitoth, Maelich shouldn’t have been surprised at the amount of preparation his mentor had put into a trip the man wasn’t even taking, but he still was. Ymitoth had thought of everything. Maelich looked on as Ymitoth quickly went over last-minute instructions and pointed out a couple of dangerous spots on a map he had prepared. Not only were the dangerous spots marked, but the safe ones too. If Maelich and Jom kept a steady but comfortable pace, they’d earn a perfect spot for camp each night. Ymitoth had even considered the wee bit Jom would slow the journey. Based on Ymitoth’s calculations, if they stayed the course and didn’t dawdle, the entire journey should take about a month and a half.
“Ye’ll be following Galgooth, that river what ye crossed on your way from the hut. There be a road what runs right alongside it. She be crossing it a few times back and forth, but ye’ll be right next to it until ye hit The Bloody Mountains. Ye’ll be takin’ care through them mountains. They earned that name from belching liquid fire up into the sky from deep under the ground. Ye mind that fire, lad. It be raining back down on ye and ain’t caring one way or another what your mission might be. It be a dangerous place. Ain’t no spot for dawdling. Beyond them mountains be a lone peak all by itself. This be Alharin. Ye’ll be finding a cave up around its peak, Brerto’s cave. Brerto be powerful and enlightened beyond all men. He be having control of the elements. He’ll be the one to complete your training, son.”
Maelich recognized the name and asked, “Brerto, the great wizard from your stories is to be my mentor? I thought he was a character you had made up, a myth. If he’s a real man, he must have been around for ages.”
“Aye, but I don’t know that ye can be calling him a man really,” Ymitoth wore the expression of one trying to explain something he himself didn’t completely understand. “He be like a man, but he be immortal, been around longer even than the language we be speaking. I ain’t never seen him, and most nobody does. All them stories what I already told ye be all I ever known about him.”
Maelich gazed down into the valley as his mind tumbled over this new info, “This is exciting to me, an honor. I can’t believe I’m to be trained by the great Brerto. Do you think I’m worthy?”
“Aye,” was all Ymitoth said.
“How long will I train?”
“That I ain’t be knowing,” Ymitoth shrugged. “until ye be done, I guess. I do be knowing that when our paths be crossing again, I’ll be an old man, and ye’ll be a grown man.”
Ymitoth spared only one last tear as he pulled Maelich in close again, “Till our path’s be crossing again, son.”
“Yes, father,” Maelich replied quietly, “until then.”
Maelich then moved on to Perrin. He scooped her up and hugged her tight. “I’ll miss you, little lady!”
Perrin giggled through the tears that had already started welling up in her eyes. “Aye, I’ll be missing ye too. Come back to me when ye can.”
“Of course, I will,” he kissed her cheek and gently set her down.
He then looked to Kendal, “Look after her. She’s like blood to me.”
Kendal nodded, “Aye, she’s like me own now.”
Maelich leapt onto Validus’s saddle and waved. Most of the crowd from the ceremony had followed him down to the gate to see him off. They followed him as he trotted down the stone street toward the south gate with Jom at his side. Horn blowers stationed along the road on either side blasted as he rode by.
Hidden among the euphoric crowd, happily cheering their new hero on to great glory, a stranger peered at Havenstahl’s newest warrior from the darkness of his heavy hood. While he watched the hero trot by amid booming cheers, his fingers traced the lines of the crest hiding beneath his cloak. The prang thing was identical in every way to Maelich’s save one detail, instead of an image of a fallon with a grand rack, this man’s crest sported an image of a mighty dragon belching fire.
Chapter 12
Watchers
Moshat watched intently as Kaldumahn sat shaking and mumbling in a trance-like state upon his throne. Moshat’s curiosity grew as the hours slipped past. He thought about rousing his brother at one point when he shouted something inaudible, but he thought better of it. The last time he had interrupted one of Kaldumahn’s vision it began an argument that lasted the better part of ten summers. On top of that, he knew how jarring it was to be woken from a trance, especially one that includes a deep connection with someone else’s mind. Despite being somewhat miffed the spell Kaldumahn had cast on Daritus—the object of his brother’s vision—didn’t include him, he decided to wait it out without intruding.
Finally, Kaldumahn woke. After sucking in the kind of bottomless breath a drowning man takes when finally reaching the surface of the water, he shouted, “Maelich has earned the Crest of Havenstahl! He has left the city.”
Moshat thought for a moment, “Should we move on him?”
“Not yet,” Kaldumahn’s reply was quick. “He is not yet ready.”
Moshat continued diplomatically, “I know we disagree on this, but don’t you think the longer we wait the more solid his beliefs will become?”
“Perhaps, but he is of no use to us right now,” Kaldumahn shrugged.
“We could finish his training,” Moshat’s retort was matter of fact. “We could help him tap into his power and teach him truth.”
“If we move now, we will bring Kallum’s fury down upon us. In Maelich’s current state he would be of no use as an ally, and we would have no time to convince him of our cause even if he were. No, he must complete his course,” Kaldumahn finished with a shake of his head.
“You fear Kallum?” Moshat goaded his brother, a hint of disgust dancing among the notes of his voice.
“Kallum? No,” he scoffed. “Kallum, Brerto and Maelich together, absolutely. If Maelich’s power were unleashed before he has learned to contain it, all could be lost. We have no idea how he would react in a battle such as that. Furthermore, we do not know where Ijilv’s allegiance lies. He, as yet, is undecided. He could tip the scales for us or against us.”
“So, we wait?” Moshat’s tone now completely saturated in disgust.
“Yes, we wait. The lad has a logical mind. In the end, the choice must be his. Hopefully, he makes the correct choice,” Kaldumahn’s tone hinted at optimism.
“A gamble on hope is not a safe bet in my eyes. I prefer action to idealistic banter. I must walk in the garden and contemplate,” Moshat spat before he first dimmed, then faded, and finally disappeared completely. His voice remained, however, for one last jibe, “The complexity of your nonsense frustrates me to my core, Kaldumahn.”
Kaldumahn humphed at the empty throne Moshat had occupied only a moment prior. It was just like him to leave mid-debate after a juvenile statement. Moshat was frustrated by his complexity? Well, he was equally frustrated, no disgusted, by Moshat’s simplicity. This plan had been laid out eons ago. There was no sense in rushing when the end was so near. Besides, the plan was a recipe of one far greater and more enlightened than they. Who was Moshat to question? He was so utterly impatient. Twelve years would be but a blink, a whisper.
Kaldumahn laid his head back against his throne and closed his eyes. There was much to see. Moshat could wander and contemplate all he wanted. Kaldumahn opened his conscience and let it stretch out across space. At first the sensation was like flying, tossing on a high wind. As it slowly mellowed, flying and tumbling became more like floating on calm waters. Then the visions came. He watched Maelich, head held high, trot down the road out of Havenstahl. The time would come, but it wasn’t now.
Chapter 13
The Road to Alharin
The River Galgooth, the great river of the north Maelich now had a name for, came into Havenstahl from the east. It wrapped around Mount Elzkahon and then doubled back, forming the valley between Elzkahon and Elbahor. From there it headed in an easterly direction. Maelich traveled back into the valley between Havenstahl and The Sobbing Forest and took the main road eas
t from there. That road took him straight east, crossing Galgooth once before angling northeast. Another two days beyond the crossing, he met back up with the river. His progress slowed a bit beyond the river as the valley gave way to hills that proved demanding for Jom. The scrod was setting the pace.
As the days on the trail melted away, Maelich grew more and more impressed by Ymitoth’s planning of his trip. The spots he had mapped out for sites to make camp never came more than half of an hour before or after Maelich was ready to quit for the day. The fact he had factored in the limitations of a scrod made the feat nothing short of amazing.
The road dragged on as days became more and more difficult to differentiate from each other. For the most part, the journey proved uneventful. Following alongside the river, each curve of the trail seemed nearly identical to the prior. They passed through a handful of small settlements along the way. That broke up the monotony a bit. Maelich was even invited to share a meal once or twice. His newly-earned crest garnered much respect among the townsfolk and wound up sparking more than one conversation. More often than not, his young age became a dominant theme. However, once his hosts heard of his trials, those questions were quickly forgotten. His mastery of language didn’t hurt either. Of course, he told the story of the young boy taking the giant’s head so many times, he had nearly grown tired of it. It was worth the full horse sacks. It seemed he couldn’t leave a village without having his supplies replenished.
Before long, the hills gave way to flatlands, speckled with small outcroppings of trees. Every now and then the road would cross the river. It seemed a bit odd to Maelich to be flitting back and forth from one side of the river to the other while remaining on the same road. Perhaps someone needed a good reason to build bridges, too much wood hanging about. In actuality, the cause always seemed to be another road coming to the river from another direction. No matter the cause, Maelich was growing bored and lonely on the trail.
Those roads coming from who knows where, crossing the river, and then heading off to another who knows where began earning more of Maelich’s attention. Where could all those roads possibly lead, and would he ever have cause to explore them? Up until a few weeks ago, his world had been so much smaller, not much more than a hut, a hill with a massive tree, and a big pond. Sure, Ymitoth had taken him into a small town a time or two, mostly for supplies and whatnot, but they never travelled more than a few hours across the prairie. In the past few weeks, he had done more traveling than the twelve summers prior, and this current jaunt represented the farthest he had ever been.
Maelich glanced down at Jom, as if the scrod might somehow validate his amazement at how very big was the world he lived in. The scrod didn’t seem to care. He just trotted along, sniffing this and poking at that. A few times, he chased off after some critter making too much ruckus along the side of the trail. On these occasions, Maelich gave him a break from the trail and brought him up onto Validus’s back with him. These were intended as punishments, but Maelich was beginning to believe the scrod was earning them intentionally.
As the land remained flat for a time, Maelich marveled at how vast a distance he could see. Of course, aside from the river he traveled alongside, there wasn’t much to see. He seemed to be sailing through a sea of gently-rolling, green waves interrupted painfully infrequently by random clumps of trees.
On one occasion, when Maelich stopped to snack on some dried tubber and water the animals, he found something else interrupting the great, green sea. A dark shape far off in the distance seemed to be traveling along the same trail. Maelich stared for a long moment, finally deciding that, though it was much too far off to distinguish what it was, it was not his imagination. Something was following. The day had far too much light left to offer to backtrack and investigate. Not to mention, as much as he could see that something was following, whatever that something was would see him heading back the way he had come.
Shortly after the western sky completely lost the last glow from the setting sun, and both Jom and Validus had bedded down for the night, Maelich started back down the trail on foot. The moon was bright and full that night. He didn’t even have to strain his eyes to see the trail. The light was so good in fact, he started out the journey at a run. The fresh prairie air whipping about on a brisk, northerly wind had him feeling alive. Hair blowing about behind him, he devoured the trail. He was one with the night. The soft taps of his feet lightly gliding across the packed dirt of the path spun round with the whoosh of tall grass bent over by the strong winds. Randomly among the light beat of Maelich’s feet and the rhythm of the wind, animals chirped, croaked, rustled, or howled their melodic solos completing the symphony.
Suddenly, a horse grunted loudly from a dark patch of trees just north of the trail. Though Maelich had spent most of his life in and around the hut he shared with Ymitoth, he was well versed in what should and should not be lurking about the darkness of the great prairie east of Havenstahl. Books were wonderful things. There hadn’t been wild horses in these lands for probably one-hundred summers. If there were a horse lurking about in the trees, its rider couldn’t be far away.
Maelich slowed and crouched as he moved off the trail and into the tall grass. He crept quietly toward the shadows of the trees. His breaths remained as tight, short, and calculated as his movements. A blind man standing beside him would have been completely ignorant to his presence.
Once in shadow, he caught the dim, orange flicker of a dying fire. Though he couldn’t see the flames, he imagined their wild dance as they leapt from glowing coals gobbling up all the air they could grab and casting shadows random and grotesque to mar the clean stability of those born of the moonlight. Within moments, Maelich had found a dark spot from which to spy.
The horse Maelich had heard from the trail stamped and whinnied, fighting against a thick rope binding him fast to a tree. The beast’s eyes were wild with agitation. Maelich remained completely still as he watched the animal work itself into frenzy. There is no way the horse could have heard Maelich’s approach. Perhaps it had gotten a hold of his scent.
Movement next to the embers of the dying fire lighting up the clearing dragged his attention from the frightened horse. A man jumped up from behind the fire. The fellow appeared confused, disoriented, and at least as startled as the horse. The same something that had startled the beast must have startled this man as well.
Maelich focused on the symphony of sounds filling the nighttime air, seeking an out of place footstep or heavy breath. Nothing reached his ears over the sounds of the heavy horse’s hooves pounding the earth along with its frantic snorting and whinnying. Even the man’s shuffling footsteps were drowned out by the animal’s panic.
Though much quieter than his horse, the man seemed equally agitated. He drew his sword as his head darted around at the trees. Perhaps Ymitoth had sent one of Havenstahl’s finest to ensure Maelich’s safe passage. The man was obviously a warrior. Though startled, he held his sword with confidence and moved as if he knew how to use it. The medallion hanging from his neck caught hold of the flickering firelight as he turned toward Maelich and confirmed it.
Maelich’s eyes locked on the medallion as it bounced in the fire’s orange glow. The shimmering, prang thing resembled his own in every way except for one important detail. The image etched upon it wasn’t the mighty fallon of Havenstahl, far from it. A dragon in flight with fire bursting forth from its lips met his gaze. Maelich set his jaw tight as he reached down and gripped the handle of his sword. Though he had never seen the image before, Ymitoth had told him everything he needed to know about it early on in his training. The breast it danced upon belonged to a blasphemer, a vile scrod who worshipped the ultimate evil as a god. The simple act of allowing the evil image to touch your skin was breaking Kallum’s first law, “You shall serve none other than I.”
Heat formed in Maelich’s belly and raced out to the rest of his body as adrenalin coursed through his veins. Seeing the evil image Ymitoth had warned him about sp
arked a rage in him and brought a deep scowl to his face. This man was no escort sent by Ymitoth to guard Maelich’s back. He was a villain in service of the most horrible evil on Ouloos; sneaking and hiding in the dark, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Maelich wouldn’t give him the chance. He leapt to his feet, drawing his sword as he rose. However, just as he prepared to charge, he paused. There were others hiding about in the darkness.
In a flash, the horse Maelich believed his scent had disturbed was flailing. Blood gushed from a wound on the animal’s head. The frantic thing moaned and kicked, violently trying to free itself from the rope binding it to the trunk of a formidable, old oak. As the poor animal struggled helplessly against its bonds, four large, greenish-brown creatures rushed into the center of the clearing. Each of the beasts brandished heavy, wooden clubs. One of them—obviously the cause of the giant gash on the horse’s head—dripped fresh blood from a slick of red that glistened in the firelight.
Shock, surprise, or a morbid desire to see the evil dragon warrior’s skull cracked open by the club of a savage beast, Maelich couldn’t be certain, but something stayed his feet and kept him from charging into the melee. The beasts were grongs. Though he had never seen one up close, there could be no mistake. They fit the description perfectly. Covered in scales, their squat, massive bodies gave way to thick necks and oblong heads. From the tops of their heads to the tips of their short, thick tails, small armor like plates jutted out of their skin. Long, slithery tongues slipped quickly in and out between thin, dry lips that barely concealed sharp, needle-like teeth.
As Maelich examined the nasty grongs, the dragon warrior sprung to action, dodging clubs and parrying blows from the crude, heavy weapons. The four beasts attacking the man fought with savage urgency, but he was wily and quick. Their weapons tasted no flesh, just dirt and bark.
Kill the Dragon (Lake of Dragons Book 1) Page 15