Desperate Times (Fate of Periand Book 1)

by Ben Marshall

  “The Lord does not allow for delays. A lone wyvern is no threat, but a distraction you must not respond to.” The dragon’s speech was barely comprehensible, because it was spoken with a voice that was almost exactly the same as a roaring beast rather than a true language, and reminded Lonariel of the Orcish tongues he had heard the patrols use within the Kuhiar hall, and was not too dissimilar to the sound of Katchanga in the final scene of his dream.

  This dragon does not speak what he is trying to say, but is instead being the mouth of another being the wyvern told the Elf as he swerved around the swarm of dragons and continued on his own course.

  News that a powerful demon had taken control of an entire colony of the formidable creatures had shaken the Loremaster completely. A lone demon had been known to cause incredible damage to the lands that surrounded his chosen stronghold, yet combining such malice with the prowess, strength and magic of the Red dragons could give this Telaniec the chance to emulate Carrassiel. Such force could conquer much of the world. Yet it was as the dragon had thought, just a draconic feud for the present, an affair that Katchanga would not get involved in unless so directed by circumstance, but after the fall of the dragons who had helped defeat the armies of Carrassiel over two thousand years ago who could even dare to imagine what might befall the lands within Periand, if not the whole of Naturien? Such a thought was terrifying for the Fire Elf, and he asked the wyvern to alter course so that the journey might be shortened.

  The route will take us into the open sea. What if we are wounded in a storm?

  We won’t be, because the autumn is ever fair over the waters of the Lumnashae and always the sky is calm Lonariel assured his companion. He knew it was so, for he had often flown his Pegasus to learn from the Loremasters of the Glory Elves who dwelled upon the island realm of Halingol, to the north of the Khazinan mountains, where the contented and sedate waters of the Lumnashae met the powerful currents that encircled a small ocean region known by seafarers as Guliden, or “Demon Gate”, due to the rumour that all ships who traversed the wild, beguilingly clear water were lost, drawn down into the depths by cursed denizens of the Abyss. It was believed that it was the region where all banished demons were held, until they had served their sentence and could return to one of the many levels of the Demon Plane, and it had often been speculated as to whether Carrassiel now claimed dominion of the uncharted waters, awaiting a chance to exact vengeance for his defeat. The Loremaster had never held such notions, though he could not offer any certifiable evidence to the contrary or even offer a credible counter-theory since such waters existed solely within that small region. He did not have all the answers, but he had questions he knew only Katchanga could provide an answer for, and his thoughts conveyed to the wyvern the need for haste to be given a meaning beyond the current conception.

  Two Generals

  September 12th, 1190

  Usually Lonariel found flights across the topaz-hued waters of the Lumnashae to be relaxing, a chance for peaceful reflection that simply wasn’t available when he was upon the land and beset by the demands placed upon him by a Loremaster’s duties and his training and study under various masters, yet this journey was a most poignant exception to the rule. This time he could not think about anything save for the thoughts he had heard from the Red dragon, could not focus on anything other than the knowledge that an obviously powerful demon had achieved dominion over a substantial colony of notoriously the most malicious and powerful dragon species within the known world. He knew he had to speak to Katchanga urgently, an Elf who remained youthful despite having lived for nearly 7500 years when no other Elf had been known to live beyond 3000; and at 2500 few could still wield any weapon with proficiency while the being heralded by Taleinith as “Nature’s Most Favoured” was unsurpassed by any warrior. Clearly the former Eastern Elf, one of a race long ago split asunder and reduced to little beyond a score of survivors, was graced by some divine being, and was the only being who would know of this Telaniec. No race had spoken of a released demon since the fears during the early years of the Age of Conflicts, so a logical assumption was that he had been another of the high-ranking officers within the army of minions Carrassiel had unleashed upon the world. Such a position meant he was certainly a demon of great power, a fact confirmed by his assumption of the role as Dragon Lord within the territory of the Red dragons within Lebruskt, and so the news of his new role within the world was sure to be of importance to Katchanga if not the tribal nations of Lebruskt and the surrounding realms. Such thoughts drove him to push the wyvern ever harder, to try and get all the speed the beast’s lithe frame could produce so that the journey filled with unanswerable questions could at last be concluded.

  Usually the sight of the enchanted spires of the Council’s Citadel, each golden pillar topped with a perpetual fountain of dancing fire, brought forth within the Loremaster’s heart mixed reactions; a sense of both belonging and security and yet also a sense of regret that his discoveries and experiences couldn’t have lasted longer, however this return conjured up none of these emotions; just a sense that soon he would understand what he had witnessed. Though he was desperate to see Katchanga and learn the answers to the swirling mass of questions within his mind, he was at the same time uneasy at the thought of being so close to his mentor. His loss of control when he had attacked Halarniel had occurred on a night when the moon had been absent from the sky, yet this was in contradiction to all he had learnt concerning other beings who experienced a similar loss of control. Lycanthropes, of which the werewolf was the most common, usually only transformed into their monstrous alter-egos at times of the full moon, and judging by what he had witnessed in the vision Katchanga must surely be one of them.

  Katchanga is no mindless beast when he loses control, but instead he reverts back to the way he was when he commanded his band of warriors as an officer of the Banished Lord the wyvern commented, though the effort of maintaining the link amid the exertion of his unbroken flight since Lebruskt had drained his reserves of energy so the thoughts were no longer as clear as they previously had been.

  How do you know all this?

  All who faced Katchanga and his elite received death upon the battlefield, yet we wyverns didn’t ally ourselves with the Elves until several decades had passed since the dark forces swept through the mountains you call the Khazinans. Instead we watched, and the oldest of our brethren have told those who, like me, were not alive during those years of what they witnessed. We learn so that we know what to expect when history begins to repeat itself as it is so often fated to do.

  And will such events be repeated again?

  You have yourself seen the dragons and their strange movements, and by passing through your thoughts I have seen the insignia that was placed upon the Orcish armour the Dwarves recovered. It is the symbol of Moragil, the one-time general of the Banished Lord and the one who has now assumed his old master’s mantle.

  The words were like a fist that clenched the Loremaster’s heart, for the implications were terrible to imagine. He was still dwelling on this dire revelation when the wyvern drifted to a landing just outside the entrance to the Citadel, the ornate stronghold from where the Council delegated. The Council guards, knowing of no beings who rode wyverns, drew their weapons and advanced threateningly, while a number of unseen archers drew their bows ready to slay the potential threat at the first sign of malicious intent.

  Do not move, no matter what their actions Lonariel silently told his mount, a nod of the beast’s head the response he received. Drawing his slender blade from its sheath, the Loremaster rose slowly from his seat with the weapon held aloft and in clear view of the guards. He relaxed his grip on the hilt, allowing his sword to fall slowly in a gesture of peace. Closing his emerald eyes, more to avoid seeing any reaction from his fellow Elves than any other reason, the Fire Elf reached within him and used his kin’s innate powers to make fire dance the full length of the balanced blade. Trying to remain composed, for though he couldn’
t see them he knew the archers were following him with their bows, the Loremaster slid silently down the scaly flank of the wyvern to land before two armoured swordsmen, each one attired in the golden armour of the Citadel Guard.

  “State your name and business!” a hidden speaker barked as he stepped from the shadows at the base of the elaborate gatehouse that towered imposingly over the scene from the explorer’s right. Turning his head to calmly acknowledge the obvious Guard Captain, he felt as if he was re-living the night he had been questioned by Lady Halarniel.

  “I am Lonariel, the Loremaster of this realm who was sent by the honoured Council to discover the fate of the race known as Kuhiar. I have returned with the information I was ordered to obtain, and seek an audience with those who commanded me to undertake the journey.”

  “And what of your…steed? From where was he obtained, for no Elf from our lands rides such a beast as you seem to?” At the description of “beast” the wyvern’s serpentine neck seemed to swell, and turning his head slightly Lonariel could easily see the orange tinge of brewing fire within the creature’s maw.

  He doesn’t mean it as it sounds. Do not punish him for his ignorance, or I shall be unable to prevent the guards from slaying you the Loremaster silently thought to the draconic being, and couldn’t suppress a sigh as he saw the glow fade, though the golden eyes of the wyvern still burned with a hatred for the disrespectful warrior who had dared to call him “beast”.

  “The noble wyvern that bore me from the Khazinan Mountains chose to bear me of his own volition, after being called upon by our brethren who dwell in the forest of that region to bear me from my goal due to the dangers that lurk within the trails of that land. Now let me pass, for the Council and Lord Katchanga have need of the knowledge I have gained.” His authoritative stance and intonation caused the Guard Captain to withdraw a few paces before nodding to the other guards and advancing on the gatehouse. The heavy iron grille, shimmering in the glow cast by a myriad of fires, slid silently into the empty space within the marble structure that spanned across it, the portcullis winched steadily by concealed workers, and the Guardsmen flanked the Loremaster as he strode in the Captain’s wake towards the polished steps leading from the cobbled courtyard to the expansive oak entrance to the Council’s seat of power.

  As the double doors, the woodwork reinforced by thick iron plates that reflected the firelight, were opened by four servants of the Council, Lonariel was reminded of the majesty housed within the Citadel. He didn’t know how they did it, whether they were possessed with qualities of a magical nature or not, but as they did every time a being requested an audience the twelve members of the Council of Elders, a representative from each of the Ancient Houses who had been established at the founding of the nation, were waiting within the entrance hall. Looks of impatience where upon their faces, as if they had been kept waiting for his arrival, and they only nodded to him before dismissing the Captain and his Guardsmen. Sweeping into a low bow before his nation’s leaders, the Loremaster felt their icy looks upon him as he tried to organise his thoughts in anticipation of the interrogation he was about to undergo. Surprisingly, however, no questions came from the Elders, who instead turned to allow a thirteenth being to come into the explorer’s view. It never ceased to amaze and unnerve Lonariel at the silent walk of Katchanga, for not a footfall was heard upon the cold marble despite his wearing of thick boots crafted from the skin beneath the green scales of a dragon species that dwelled within the jungle valley close to his ancestral homeland far to the east. The respect shown the Eastern Elf by the Elders was shown only within the privacy of the Citadel, yet it was still whispered throughout the realm that he held true power due to his dark past. Though Katchanga had never ordered a being outside of his band of warriors, preferring to give counsel unless force was demanded to uphold the Order he served, his advice had always been the course of action taken by the Council, for his words were said to be guided by a divine hand.

  Bereft of the cowl that usually covered his garments, it was clear how Katchanga was so deadly a warrior. Had his face been concealed from view it would be difficult to place his race, for he appeared too muscular to be of Elven descent yet carried himself with a grace no human could hope to match within their short lifespan. An unnatural past was clear simply from his appearance, with his golden eyes matching the colour of his tanned body and his shoulder-length hair shimmering a golden blonde in the light, and his impassive gaze belied the wisdom he had gained through his experiences within Naturien.

  Katchanga tapped the shoulder of his pupil, indicating that the Loremaster should accompany him, and the Council members led them swiftly across the expansive and highly-polished marble corridor into a second chamber. This room was clearly intended as a dining room, with a fine spread of dishes across the length of the linen-covered oak table that dominated the epicentre of the room, a fireplace bathing the area in a soft glow as the only source of light. The Eastern Elf’s eyes glowed as he surveyed the fire, lifting one of the ornate chairs and carrying it to within a few metres of the heat before returning to the table to pick up a glass and a bottle filled with a dark red liquid. Sinking into the chair, knowing yet not caring that his back was kept towards his hosts and his pupil, he poured himself a drink and sipped on it before breaking the silence that had settles upon everyone.

  “I can tell thee have many questions Lonariel, some of which I am sure concern myself personally and that thee feel might not be suited to such a gathering. Ask them regardless, for thy Council members have proven themselves to understand such matters enough that they will react accordingly.” A few of the slightly younger members were annoyed at the way they were spoken of as if they were insignificant, but the older ones knew that such was Katchanga’s way, for to him everything had become insignificant over the passing of many dark years.

  “How do you lose control, like the night you ended up striking the Lady Halarniel? What are you that this can happen?” The questions, delivered without the tact that Lonariel usually used when speaking to his mentor of a bitter past, stunned the entire Council, though whether it was due to the audacity of the Loremaster or the revelation that Katchanga was unstable it was difficult to tell.

  “I shall answer those in reverse order, for such is the only way to explain. I am what I am, a simple enough response I am aware, but the only one that can apply because I can no longer be classified in the manner thou art desiring. I was an Elf from the realm of Hujikolien, a realm whose people are now just refugees to some extent or another and whose way of life, principles and all else that identified them has been lost. I became worse than a demon, for the power I was given as a reward for my weakness made me able to be stronger than it is possible for any being to imagine until he has tasted a sample of what I have come to possess. If an angel can fall and eventually become a demon if the descent cannot be halted, then I guess I can describe myself as a rising demon though it is obvious I am far from angelic. Though the Lord and Lady whom I now serve forgave me and returned my soul to me so that I might escape my bondage, they unleashed within me a nightmare I cannot escape. When this nightmare becomes too severe for my mind to bear I lose control, and I become the servant of Darkness I was before. I lose control because I am weak.” He spoke the words quietly, yet no one missed a word of Katchanga’s explanation, and few failed to notice that the glass within his hand had broken, the shards embedded within the exposed flesh and drawing blood that matched the spilt fluid with surprising likeness. Katchanga showed no indication that he had felt anything while he spoke, and calmly stood up and retrieved a fresh glass and poured another drink. “What is thy next question?”

  “Who is Telaniec?” The looks of confusion upon the faces of the Council were matched by Katchanga’s searching gaze as he slowly turned his head to face his pupil.

  “Why has that name come to hold meaning to you?” Lonariel told him, omitting no details from the captured thoughts of the red dragon. The self-proclaimed “rising dem
on” closed his eyes and settled into the chair, appearing as if he was searching within himself for an answer to both his pupil’s question and ones he was asking himself.

  “Telaniec is a demon who served Carrassiel. Because both he and his master were true demons, he was selected to be the being who spoke aloud what the Enemy couldn’t whisper for fear of losing the power such whisperings held over his minions such as myself. Though Moragil now holds power in the East it is Telaniec who is the more dangerous, for he is driven by a remembrance of defeat and fall from his rightful place in the hierarchy of the East. The Golden Dragons who are now ruled by Dehujin were once allies when the army I raised to challenge the efforts of the Dark Lord truly needed aid. The Red you broke into the thoughts of is right, however, that I cannot now aid my friend as I would wish, for such matters cannot be interfered with unless those I serve command it. It doesn’t go against the Order, which hasn’t changed if you know all of it as but a few beings are able to, and so it isn’t an action I can attempt to change. Should the motives behind the sending of such large numbers to take the mountains from the Gold dragons become a breach of the sacred Order, then I must and will give whatever aid I am capable of providing. As a demon Telaniec must surely have an agenda beyond simply seizing land, but such a belief cannot be verified and therefore cannot be acted against.” Sorrow seemed to flicker across his golden eyes as he said such words, and it was clear that the Eastern Elf regretted his position.