by Tiger Hebert
Nal’drin was the youngest of the twelve, and despite all Dominar’s encouraging words, he felt wholly inadequate of his title and role. He had doubts about whether he should even be on such a council. His reluctance, however, ebbed when he realized the stunning red-haired warrior was in attendance. He’d not so much as spoken a word to her yet, but his eyes had hardly left her since the first saw her in Tempour. Were it not for the grave importance of the meeting, he might have missed all that was said as his mind wanted to wander.
“For those that do not know, I am Nikolai Thorinson. This is my father, Tiereon Thorinson, the king of Jasprita,” announced Nikolai.
Using as little strength and energy as possible, the king gave a slight nod of the head to those gathered.
“Jasprita is about all that remains of Northern Darnisi, with the exception of the centaur lands,” continued the prince before turning the floor over to the orc chieftain.
Theros began, “I am Theros Hammerfist. We hailed from the Agremnall Hills until the black dragon left our homes in ash and ruin. We traveled north seeking refuge among the Sky Reach.
That is when the Baalim came.”
Nal’drin asked, “Who are the Baalim?”
“You might know them as Minotaur,” interjected Nikolai. “As some of you may recall, they stole this city away from our ancestors nearly sixty years ago. Having our ancestral home wasn’t enough. So once again they hunted us down and brought war to the Sky Reach Mountains, laying siege to Storm Vale. The city and the lives of many brave soldiers were lost. If it were not for the aid of our friends, and their many sacrifices, we would not be here today. They helped us rout the Minotaur and avenge the fallen. And it is only just now that Jasprita has finally been reclaimed by her rightful heirs. Now we stand together against whatever fate the dragon may try to impose upon us.”
“Have you seen any activity from that snake in this region lately?” asked Nal’drin.
“We haven’t seen anything this far north since they scourged the hills, but you have to understand, the Baalim were servants of the great dragon,” added Lokar.
“How can we be certain of their collusion?” asked Tua’Liluon.
“It is no secret. It is even spoken of in our sacred texts,” remarked the grand master. “I am sure you will also find mention of their servitude to the dark wyrm in the centaur’s texts, as well as the Gorn Tor Elbath, am I right, Sir Dwarf?”
As the little old man turned to him, Dominar nodded his head in agreement and said, “As a matter of fact, yes. I remember not the verses, but the passages clearly spoke of the bull and the serpent. Quite truthfully, I thought it to be nothing more than symbolic text, but it would appear to be quite literal now, wouldn’t it.”
“To answer your question, the last time we have seen the black army was when they drove us from our homes. That was just days after they burned Trellion to the ground,” answered Theros directly.
Nal’drin replied, “They swept over the fields north of my homeland like a plague. Those that would not enter into the service of the shadow drake were crushed. By the time we saw what was coming, it was too late. We evacuated the town and as many of the villages in the surrounding countryside as possible, but they got to many of them before we did. So we fled south to the dwarves.”
The elder dwarf added to the tale. “They brought us tidings of the coming threat, as did Master Kyarl. But in true dwarven fashion, many of my brethren stubbornly refused to heed the warning. Kyarl here led us away from Dar Mar’Kren to Tempour just before the dragon and his army reached us.”
“So you are the Brotherhood of the Unveiled Eye?” Theros asked.
“We are, my astute friend. You know of us?” asked the grand master with a bit of surprise.
“I have heard tales of your order,” answered Theros impatiently. “Back to the story.”
Duncan picked it up from there. “Rightfully so, my friend. We were fortunate enough to convince men, dwarf, and elf alike to come to Tempour. The dragon first led his army against Dar Mar’Kren. Once the dust settled, he assembled a second force and sent them our way. We had the fortifications, but there were just so many,” finished the grand master as his voice began to crack.
At that point, Kiriana took over for Duncan. “His army boasted thousands. Our troops fought well, but we were losing ground. We were losing hope. They cut us down. They cut…me down and left me to die. That is when he came. He…saved us, saved me,” she answered as she turned back to Aneri’On as tears began to well up in her eyes.
“I still don’t understand, how does one man singlehandedly turn the tide of an entire battle?” asked Nikolai with doubt.
“By Bafingbauld’s beard! He was a comet that fell right outta the sky, crashing to the ground in a glorious blaze of blue flames. Up from the flames he rose to do battle, and do battle he did. He took the fight right to them ya know, and they ran scared!” roared Dominar in his oratory perfection.
Looks of surprise washed over the faces of all those who did not get to witness his arrival. Then the weakened king conjured up the remainder of his strength to pull himself upright in the cart so he could get a better view of this stranger. Then he lifted his straining voice to ask, “Do my eyes fall upon the heralded one?”
Aneri’On walked toward the ailing man with his hands outstretched and answered him, saying, “They do, Wise King.”
“Hope and faith are not in vain. Now I may rest peacefully,” professed the king through a voice that was weakened, but full of joy.
Then the king turned and reached out to grab ahold of his son’s hand before instructing him, “My son, kneel before the last lord you shall have.”
The last words tumbled out of his mouth as a fit of coughing over took him. It ended, though, when Aneri’On’s outstretched hand came to rest upon his chest. The coughing stopped, and the fading king’s chest rose as fresh air filled his lungs one last time. He breathed peacefully while his son dropped down to his knees.
“My son, do you accept the rule and reign of the Frelsarine?” asked the king.
Nikolai had always had his doubts, but the tales his father told him were all too real to refuse any longer. The son answered him, “Yes, father.”
“My lord, would you?” asked the dying king.
“Yes, Faithful King,” he answered before turning his gaze upon the kneeling prince.
“Do you vow to follow the old ways of your people like your father has?” began Aneri’On.
“I do.”
“And do you vow to put the needs of your people before your own?” he continued.
“I do.”
“And do you vow to teach your people the old ways?”
“I do,” affirmed Nikolai.
“Nikolai Thorinson, do you accept this rank and responsibility?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then I ordain you king of Jasprita,” boomed Aneri’On’s deep voice.
Before the smile could fade from his face, the old king’s weakened hand fell away.
“Be at peace, Faithful King,” whispered Aneri’On as tears streamed down his face.
Tears filled Nikolai’s eyes as his father came to peace. The weeping spread to those that knew the king. The big and mighty Theros was not spared, nor Lokar, and certainly not Captain Melgrim. The old king was no more. The new king would rise in his stead, but he could never take his place. The group bowed their heads and lowered their eyes in the customary way as a sign of respect to both the old king and the new. There was a stillness that rested over them for a while before they could move ahead. But time was short, and albeit with heavy hearts, it forced them back to the task at hand—the dragon. They would have to mourn the king’s passing while they prepared for an attack.
Aneri’On paused. Then his somber voice returned with instruction, “Rise, my son, and lead your people as their king.”
With tearstained cheeks, Nikolai cleared his throat and spoke up, “For the first order of business, Captain Melgrim, co
me.”
Melgrim was surprised, but he moved toward Nikolai before dropping down to a knee before his new ruler.
“No one has served my father more faithfully than you, not even me. Rise, friend,” declared Nikolai before extending his hand. “As king of Jasprita, I name you to the rank of royal commander.” With that, Nikolai removed his commander’s signet ring and handed it to the former captain.
Melgrim looked at Nikolai with confusion as he accepted the symbol.
The small group that was in attendance congratulated him on his promotion, but the tears of mourning still raced over his stubble-ridden face. He loved the king, and his death stung.
Somehow suppressing his own tidal wave of emotions, Nikolai continued, “Now let’s get to the matter at hand. Our forces have been devastated. We arrived here with just around a thousand souls, and not much more than half of them are able to fight at this point. Fortunately, Lokar and the Hand of Horus remained on in service to us, giving us another two hundred cavalry.”
After a nudge from Duncan, Mistress Kiriana spoke up. “Sire, we suffered many losses, but we are close to two thousand warriors strong. Not all are capable of hand-to-hand combat on the field of battle, but most are at least skilled with the bow. And more importantly, we have him.”
Again she gestured to Aneri’On. His robed appearance was causing them to have misgivings too. He wasn’t plated in heavy armor, and he wasn’t carrying his sword. Apart from his size, he did not look like a warrior. There wasn’t a single one of them that would have believed he was such a hero had they not seen it themselves, and even then some still doubted. Aneri’On did not speak though; rather he simply nodded in agreement.
King Tua’Liluon added, “My ancestors in the ancient world boast many legends of dragon-slaying. And every legend tells of a great battle against a vile wyrm. Even then, the casualties were unimaginable. No one man could do what it took tens of thousands of the finest warriors in Aurion’s history to accomplish.”
Aneri’On calmly responded, “We will push back against the darkness, and we will defeat the dragon.”
The elven king struggled with placing all his trust on just one man, so he continued, “We do not have a force that can stand against him. This rabble of the well-intentioned bears no resemblance to his armies, not to mention the beast himself!”
“What would you have us do, King? Would you have us lay down our weapons and open our gates to the coming darkness and all the hell that comes with it? Or would you strike a bargain with him? Perhaps you already have? But I will not. I will stand and fight, and I will beat back the darkness, even if it takes my life,” shouted Aneri’On with fire in his voice.
Kyarl intervened, “Friend, you have already proven your worth with what you did back in Tempour, but those were just men. How can you hope to defeat a dragon?”
Aneri’On roared, “How do you not yet understand? Do scrolls, ancient texts, and the fulfillment of the prophecies mean nothing to you? And if I handed you the dragon’s smoldering skull, would you believe then? I was there when the dragons were forged in the flame, and I will be there when they are destroyed by the same!”
For a moment, perhaps two, the only sound on the seawall was the lapping of the low tide. Many eyes dropped to the ground— some out of anger, others from shame. King Tua’Liluon’s eyes lingered the longest upon the stone wall beneath his feet. He had never been embarrassed before, and it made his blood boil. He knew they couldn’t just hope and pray for victory. The thought of this man, any man, standing against such a creature was incomprehensible. It was pure fantasy, not reality, and he knew that.
The silence was broken as the orc’s guttural voice emerged, asking, “What must we do, Lord Aneri’On?”
“We must pray, and then we make our stand,” he answered.
That was the final straw. The elven king’s anger broke through, and he snapped, “Pray? We face the greatest enemy of our age. He is followed by an army unlike any that has ever been seen this side of the Black Sea, and you want us to pray? You pray! The rest of us will prepare for war!”
With that, King Tua’Liluon stormed away from the meeting, and it was not long before Kyarl bowed out behind him. The uncomfortable silence returned. Few could look into the face of this man. If they had, they would have seen that it wasn’t anger in any form, not rage or fury, but instead it was disappointment, and even sadness, that marred his visage. The dwarf’s stout legs carried Dominar to his side as everyone else slowly filtered out of the meeting.
The salty dwarf’s voice cracked a bit before the words could escape. “I’d love ta cram this fist in their suck holes!”
Aneri’On couldn’t help but chuckle, a brief reprieve from the sadness. With a disapproving shake of his head, he gently pushed the dwarves raised fist back down before saying, “They will see, my friend, they will see.”
33 What Tangled Webs We Weave
“How dare he address me like that! Trying to make a fool of me,” bristled the king as he hastily made his way through the streets of Jasprita.
“He does not respect your lordship,” provoked Kyarl.
Tua’Liluon replied sharply, “How could he? He knows nothing of rulers and kings and emperors!”
“How could he?” echoed Kyarl. “He is from Ismeldour.”
As they got to the outskirts of the town square, insult was added to injury when, by chance, his eyes happened to fall upon his niece, the young elf maiden, in the arms of Seratu. The king witnessed the human lean in to kiss her. And for all her virtue, the young girl did not offer any resistance or deploy any evasive maneuvers. Instead her arms pulled him closer until her tender lips were met by his. The king was a bubbling cauldron, seething with rage.
The furious king growled, “This must be stopped.”
Kyarl wasted no time grabbing the king’s arm to stop him for a moment. “She will grow older, you know? What will you do then?”
The king’s anger blazed. “I don’t care about her age! I will not leave an impure bloodline upon my throne!”
“Ahhh, now I am beginning to understand your problem,” replied Kyarl as he began to formulate a plan. “Wise King, I believe I can help you with your little problem—for the right price, of course.”
The king looked into Kyarl’s eyes and saw something, something he liked. The two men took a detour down one of the less busy side streets, and within moments, they were out of plain sight. Kyarl deftly maneuvered through the city’s maze of narrowing side streets and back alleys before they ended up in one of the far corners of the city. This part of the city wasn’t clean yet. It was still ripe with stink and filth and was rightfully abandoned. The master slayer looked about to his left and right before peering over his shoulder as he scanned the surroundings. Then he pushed open the nearest wooden door. Then after a quick scan of the building’s interior, he hurried inside, and the king followed.
The door remained cracked open just enough to allow breathable air and a bit of daylight into the chamber of the foul-smelling room. The urge to vomit was nearly insurmountable, yet there, in that dank and nasty little room, they talked and made a deal. And like snakes slithering from their eggs, they departed the wretched room and went separate ways off into the city. Their wicked plan was hatched.
The day ran away from them all, and nightfall came. Still hundreds labored as they made preparations for war. Arrows had to be fletched, bows restrung, armor repaired, and food cooked. But the night did not share their cares or concerns, and away she went, leaving them under the watchful eye of the rising sun. The sun tried to share his warmth, but it could hardly be felt through the season’s chill. Then soon he had passed up over and behind them as he began to drift out over the sea. That day too was nearly gone when Kyarl approached Commander Melgrim and King Nikolai.
“My lords, preparations have gone well, but we have no vision. Let me run a scouting mission,” asked Kyarl.
Melgrim looked to the king for his approval before answering the mas
ter slayer. “Very well. I can spare a few men and horses. I will go call five of my most trusted men.”
“I will gladly take the horses, but let me take but a couple of my own men. I know them and their capabilities well,” countered Kyarl.
“Granted, but return from your errand before the night is finished,” answered Melgrim as he acquiesced to the request.
Without further ado, the slayer turned away from the two commanders and made his way over to the northern rim of the city’s wall. Once atop the wall, he made his way through the series of battlements that stretched the length of the wall. There he found what he was looking for.
“Jaren, Seratu, we have a mission. Come,” demanded Kyarl.
Overhearing the orders, Kiriana jumped into the conversation. “What’s going on?”
“The enemy is coming, and we have no visibility of them, so we are running a scouting mission,” was his short reply.
“Then I am coming with you,” declared Kiriana.
“No,” snapped Kyarl before adjusting his tone. “It is too dangerous. We can’t afford the risk of losing you again.” “But—” she started.
“They need you here. I need you here,” insisted Kyarl as he cut her off. “Trust me.”
“Master Kyarl, I must say good-bye to someone before—” expressed Seratu.
But his superior interrupted him. “We leave now.”
“It will only take—” he rebutted.
“Sorry, slayer,” was Kyarl’s cold reply as he walked away.
That was the end of the debate and, for that matter, the conversation in general. The three men made their way down from the high city walls into the town center. Three horses were saddled up and waiting for them at the front gate. Mere moments had passed, and the three riders were off into the dark of night. And dark it was. The waning crescent moon had expired, and the blackness of a new moon night was upon them, leaving only the stars to light their path.