by Sam Ferguson
Erik nodded. From Tillamon’s standpoint, it made sense. Then again, Tillamon didn’t know about the Infinium, or the visions that Tu’luh had shown him. Erik sighed and turned back to look at the fountain and the blue iris flowers.
“Lepkin believes in you, and he believes in this prophecy,” Tillamon said. “But I have to ask, what happens if slaying Tu’luh isn’t enough?”
Erik turned around with his brow drawn into a knot. “You mean what will I do if the magic has corrupted all of the dragons?”
Tillamon nodded. “Will you have the courage to finish the fight?”
Erik paused for a moment and then gave Tillamon a question. “What if the magic was the only way to save the world, would you have the courage to use it?”
The old man cocked his head back and frowned. His green eyes bored into Erik’s soul. “I’m not sure what you are getting at, but I have seen what this magic does. There is no scenario in which Nagar’s horrid curse could save anything in this world. It is only madness and abomination. It sucked my father’s soul out of his body and replaced him with a twisted monster that craved nothing but blood and destruction. If Nagar’s magic were the only way to save this world, then this world is already doomed, and would be better off burning to ash.” Erik nodded and ceded the point. The old man tapped the top of Erik’s head with his cane.
“What was that for?” Erik asked as he rubbed his scalp.
“Checking to see whether your head is made of mush,” Tillamon said.
Just then Tatev came out, tying a robe around himself and yawning wide. “It isn’t made of mush,” he said through his yawn. “He is trying to answer a riddle that Tu’luh gave him.”
Tillamon snorted. “What riddle is that?”
Erik answered in distant monotone as he recalled the vision with the fireballs. “If I defeat Tu’luh and destroy Nagar’s magic, I will save everyone from its curse, but I will condemn the world to destruction. However, if I side with Tu’luh, I can save the world, but only by enslaving it with Nagar’s magic.”
“Horse-apples, boy, that doesn’t even make sense,” Tillamon countered. “The dragon is trying to trick you, remember the first rule of fighting dragons?”
“The Infinium confirms the danger,” Tatev said quickly.
“The what?” Tillamon asked. “Isn’t that the cursed book whispered about around campfires to scare children? I’ll not take my wisdom from a ghost story.”
“It isn’t a ghost story,” Erik said. “Tatev has the book.”
Tillamon stood blankly for a moment, glancing from Erik to Tatev and then back to Erik. “Come again?”
“Tatev has the book,” Erik repeated.
Tillamon turned slowly back to Tatev and stroked his beard. “You have that book?”
Tatev smiled from ear to ear and nodded his head.
“That is incredible,” Tillamon said. He shook his head and smoothed his hair back as he thought about it. “Have you read it?”
Tatev shook his head. “Only the unsealed portions. It’s enough to confirm the possibility of the vision that Tu’luh showed Erik, but not much more than that.”
Tillamon nodded. “I have a friend who studies obscure artifacts and books, perhaps he could help.”
“Perhaps some other time,” Tatev said hesitantly.
“He lives close by, and I was going to suggest you stop by and see him anyway. He is a great scholar, and has essentially turned his entire house into a library. I bet he would give you any book he owns just for a chance to peek at your treasure.”
“What is his area of expertise?” Tatev asked, obviously intrigued.
“Orcs,” Tillamon replied quickly. “He was the resident expert on orcish culture, language, and history during my time at Ten Forts. More than a few battles were won based on information he could give us about orcish battle strategies and history. He stayed on at Ten Forts to serve Mercer after I left. Then, when Mercer was retired due to his injury, the new commander sent the scholar home as there hadn’t been any orc attacks for quite some time by that point.”
“What is his name?” Tatev asked.
“Patrical Domnik. I can take you right now, just let me get fully dressed first.”
“I don’t know,” Tatev said. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“Too late now,” Tillamon said. “You already let the cat out of the bag, and now I know that Erik here has doubts about whether he can kill the dragon. I think it best to settle the question right here and now.”
“He has a point,” Erik said. “If this other man can help us solve the question, it’s worth telling him about it.”
Tatev sighed. “Very well, I’ll get my shoes and pants.”
“And the book!” Tillamon insisted. “Come on now, let’s get a move on. If we are quick we can get back here before the others wake for breakfast.
Only a couple of minutes later the three of them were heading down the street just as fast as Tillamon’s leg would let them. His cane making a click-click-click in rhythm with his dragging, lame foot. No one else was out yet, except for a couple of round bellied men with white aprons and funny baker’s hats on their heads and baskets of fresh bread in their hands. Tillamon excitedly led Erik and Tatev through the winding streets, cutting through unfenced yards when possible, until they stopped at a brown stone building with dark wooden accents around the two windows in the front. They went right up to the front door and Tillamon gave a quick couple of taps with the brass handle of his cane.
A couple of minutes later Erik could hear heavy footsteps approaching from the other side of the door. A metal bolt scraped back out of the way and then the door ripped open to reveal a thin, balding man who looked to be at least seventy. A pair of gold rimmed spectacles sat upon his narrow, humped nose and the man had lines extending from the corners of his mouth that made it appear as though he always frowned. His brown eyes glanced over each of them and then landed on Tillamon.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked in a high-pitched nasal voice.
“Sorry if we woke you,” Tillamon offered.
“Nonsense,” Patrical said. “You know I always wake before the sun rises. It’s good for the mind.”
Tillamon nodded. “We have something to show you. Can we come in?”
Patrical looked to Tatev and Erik once more and then he noticed the book in Tatev’s hands. He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward a bit. Tatev turned the book over and showed the front to Patrical. The scholar put a hand up to his chest and nearly fell over backward as he stumbled over his feet and beckoned them all inside.
“Come in, come in!” Erik let the other two go in first. As he stepped inside Patrical pushed the door closed and threw the bolt back into place. Then the thin man scurried back in front of them and gestured for them to follow. “Come to the parlor.”
Erik looked around and noticed stacks of books everywhere. Bookcases lined the walls, stuffed completely full so that books laid atop other books, and some hung over the edge of the shelves so much that it looked like they should fall out. Tables and chairs were buried in books. Some were open, while other stacks were busy gathering dust. The hallway, which had once been as wide as Tillamon’s entrance, was so narrow that all of them had to turn sideways and shuffle through the hall, there were so many books stacked up.
They passed an open door and Erik happened to spy something inside that caught his attention. It was as if his eye was drawn to a green book in the middle of the room on top of a cherry wood desk. He glanced to the others and then, despite a little feeling warning him not to snoop, he ducked into the side room and went to the desk. The symbol on the spine intrigued him. It was a language he did not know, and yet it somehow felt familiar to him, almost as though it were similar to the dwarvish runes he had studied. He reached up to remove the other books from on top of it and set them on an adjacent stack. He took the green book in his hands and opened it. The pages inside were yellow and stiff with age, but not brittle. Each page was filled wit
h runes like the one on the cover. Every few pages there would be a drawing of stars, or a map of the Middle Kingdom. Then he found several pages that showed drawings of dragons. The first was a great, golden dragon, much like the one that he had seen on the mural in Valtuu Temple. He flipped through the pages, studying each dragon he saw. Beneath each image was a series of runes, but there was no way to know what they said.
“It isn’t polite to rummage through another man’s belongings,” a stern, nasal voice said from the doorway.
Erik jumped and quickly dropped the book. “I’m sorry,” he said. Tillamon appeared in the doorway behind Patrical and tapped the thin man’s arm with his cane.
“Don’t take it too personally, he did the same thing when he came to my home,” Tillamon said.
“Did he?” Patrical asked.
“Like I always say, inquisitive minds make better warriors,” Tillamon commented with a quick nod and a smile. “Come on, Erik, let’s get to the parlor and discuss the subject we came here for.”
Erik nodded. “What is this book?” he asked.
Patrical huffed impatiently. “It is an old dwarvish book about the creation. According to the dwarves it details the history of the gods, maps the stars as they formed Terramyr, and also explains the origins of the Ancients.”
Erik nodded. “So the dragons in the pictures are—”
“The Ancients, yes. Now, can we move to the parlor?” Patrical insisted.
Erik blushed and stole one last glance at the book as Patrical turned and left the room. A cold fear ripped through him and seized his heart. There, on the page before him, was Tu’luh the Red. He recognized the wicked fangs and downward curved horns as easily as if the beast stood in the same room with him at that very moment. Even as he stretched his hand out to pick up the book his heart thumped palpably in his chest. His breathing slowed, and his mind whirled around in a million different directions.
He raised the book up to his face and stared in shock at the drawing. He flipped back through the images until he found the golden dragon. He looked closely at the image, scrutinizing every detail of the snout, the legs, the fangs, and the body. Could it be?
Erik rushed out of the room, knocking a stack of books over as he brushed them with his hip on the way out. “What is this?” he shouted out after the others. He stumbled into the parlor and flipped the book open to Tu’luh’s image. “Why is Tu’luh in this book?”
“Because he is one of the Ancients,” Patrical replied dryly.
“No,” Tatev said. “He fell from his status. He is no longer included with the honorable ones.”
“Are you telling me that he was there when the Middle Kingdom was created?” Erik asked incredulously. “He… he helped create the Middle Kingdom?” Tatev opened his mouth to speak but Patrical beat him to it.
“He was not only there,” Patrical said. “He was one of the dragons responsible for establishing Roegudok Hall. He is the second oldest of the Ancients. He is Hiasyntar Ku’lai’s son, and heir to the kingdom of dragons.”
“Not anymore,” Tatev said sourly. “He betrayed the Ancients. He turned on them, and on the Middle Kingdom. He is no longer the heir, he is an outcast.”
Erik moved in and dropped the book down in front of Tatev. “It all makes sense now,” Erik said.
“What does?” Tillamon asked.
“This is why he showed me the vision. He wants to save the world. That is his motive.”
“No, he wants to destroy the world, like all dragons will if Nagar’s magic gets to them!” Tillamon shouted.
“No,” Tatev growled. “The magic can’t go beyond the mountains, it is bound in scope and power. The Ancients who fled to distant lands are safe. The only threat is Tu’luh!”
Patrical clapped his hands together and whistled so sharply that all three of them winced and shied away, covering their ears. “Now that I have your attention,” Patrical began, “might I ask what in the name of Hammenfein is going on?”
“I saw Tu’luh, at Valtuu Temple,” Erik said. “He told me that if I do not help him use Nagar’s magic, then our world is doomed to be consumed by fire.”
“You saw Tu’luh?” Patrical asked.
“I fought with him, as did many others,” Erik replied. Then he pointed to Tatev. “We found this book, The Infinium, which seems to confirm Tu’luh’s warnings. Now, we have come here to ask your help in deciphering this book. I need to know whether defeating Tu’luh will result in Terramyr’s end.”
Patrical’s eyebrows shot up so high upon his wrinkled forehead that Erik was sure they were going to get stuck up there. The scholar was silent for a long time, looking to the book in Tatev’s hands. He pointed to it after a moment and said, “That is not something I can read in a matter of minutes. It would likely take years of careful study by even the most talented of scholars, and even then they should be assisted by a master wizard to ensure they don’t lose their minds. The sealed portion of the book contains powerful magic, the likes of which no mere man can read.”
“Then who can read it?” Tillamon asked.
Patrical shrugged. “I would say there is only one who walks among the mortal realm who would have a chance at deciphering its pages.”
“The Immortal Mystic,” Tatev whispered. “I thought the same thing.”
Patrical nodded. “I’ll admit, I am excited to see it, and it is extremely tempting to open it, but realistically I cannot go beyond the unsealed portion. It would be far too dangerous. If you have already read that portion, and it confirms the vision Tu’luh gave you, then I am afraid you have your answer.”
“Tu’luh would enslave the Middle Kingdom,” Tatev countered. “Surely it would be better to live as free people, would it not?”
Patrical shook his head. “Who is to say what is right and what is wrong. Good and evil are merely matters of perspective. Is existing in any form, even that of a slave, better than extinction? Is freedom worth the price if all must die to get but a taste of it?”
“I don’t remember you being so philosophical,” Tillamon groused. “What happened to the scholar who helped me ensnare the orcs at Ten Forts? Where is the man who drew battle plans alongside me that would tear apart our enemies?”
Patrical bristled. “I have changed. Retirement and old age have forced me to ask more important questions. I search for peace now.”
Tillamon folded his arms and looked to Erik. “Remember what I told you in the garden,” he said. “That is what Tu’luh wants for the Middle Kingdom. Can you call that living? I can’t even imagine existing like that. Give me liberty and freedom, or put a sword through my heart and bury me down in the dirt for the worms. I don’t want what Tu’luh wants.”
“The boy brings up a good point,” Patrical said. He took the dwarven book from Erik and flipped to the first few pages. “This book is regarded as sacred by the dwarves. If you read it, it paints a vastly different picture of Tu’luh. It shows him as a merciful, loving steward. He helped establish the Middle Kingdom, and everything in it. The Ancients were entrusted with this part of Terramyr by the Old Gods. They have always had a role in preserving life. Perhaps Tu’luh is not the enemy here.”
“That book only covers the creation period down through the reign of the fifth dwarven king. It does not detail anything after that, nor does it explain how Tu’luh was expelled for betrayal.”
Patrical held up a hand. “Save your sermon, priest. I have other accounts here from valid, credible sources that show another side to that episode of history as well. It shows that Tu’luh was trying to warn of humanity’s bloodlust, and prevent it from spreading so far that it would threaten the Middle Kingdom.”
“Threaten the Middle Kingdom how?” Erik asked.
Patrical turned to him. “I don’t know what Tu’luh showed you in the vision, but the accounts I have read said that he tried to warn the other Ancients that humanity’s lust for riches, blood, and glory, would consume all of the Middle Kingdom, eventually calling down the wra
th of beings the book referred to as the four horsemen. An order of omnipotent warriors who destroy whole civilizations once they have become too corrupted.”
“That is nonsense,” Tillamon said. “I hate to say it, but you have lost your senses, my friend.”
“It’s true,” Patrical insisted. “I have devoted many years to studying this subject.” He pointed to Tatev. “That is the danger you speak of, is it not? The book you hold mentions them. You know it does.”
“It does,” Tatev admitted. “The horsemen are the reason we have come. We wanted to know whether you could help us uncover the truth behind the legends.”
Patrical shook his head. “I can’t read that book,” he said. “However, I can give you a book of mine. It details Tu’luh and Nagar, and it talks extensively about the four horsemen.”
“Who wrote it?” Tatev asked.
“Salarion,” Patrical replied.
Tatev’s mouth hung open for a moment and then he folded his arms and looked to Erik. His brows were knit above his nose and the color drained from his cheeks. Erik wasn’t sure who Salarion was, but he could see that the response had shaken Tatev considerably.
“You can’t trust anything written by Nagar’s daughter,” Tillamon spat. The disgust was clearly painted across his face. He turned to Erik. “Remember the first rule of fighting dragons? The same applies for dealing with Nagar and his ilk.”
“Decades ago, I might have agreed with you,” Patrical said. “But I have spent many years searching these books.” Patrical continued speaking, defending his position, but Erik was no longer listening to him. He noticed something. It was slight, at first, but it was almost as if a shadow was covering Patrical. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something was definitely wrong. Erik quieted his mind and called forth his power. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he knew Patrical was hiding something.
Suddenly Patrical stopped speaking and turned to look at Erik. His right brow was arched dangerously over threatening eyes. His cheeks flushed, and he took in a deep, measured breath. Had he sensed what Erik was doing? Could he feel Erik’s suspicion? Erik knew he had to act fast. He said the first thing that came to his mind, hoping it would throw Patrical off.