Convergence (The Dragon Within Saga Book 1)

by Roberto Vecchi

  She gently withdrew her hand from my shoulder only to place it upon my outside cheek. Slowly drawing my eyes to meet hers, I saw she wore upon her face a warm smile that dissolved away all of my doubts and fears. Her eyes spoke of a deep concern for me, as if she knew the dooms I would face, the pains I would feel, and the deeds I would do. I saw nothing but compassion and empathy in the deep blue, oceanic pools now alight by the evening sun. She pulled my face toward hers and gently kissed my forehead. Had I all of my faculties, I would have protested, but I was currently under her spell and could do naught but follow whatever lead she provided to whatever ends she wanted.

  “My dear, precious Drin Martos, I would see you to the full understanding of whom you are and the important role you will play. This Selection is but a fading passage of time for you and you will not find it completed. I cannot tell you more except this: you are The Blade. And you must protect His Scribe.”

  Hanging on this moment in a place between conscious awareness and subconscious enlightenment, I heard every word she said speak deeply within everything I had kept hidden. Yes, The Blade! This spoke truth to me! She drew me in again and placed upon my forehead yet another kiss, letting her lips linger just a moment longer than before. When the silky warmth broke contact with my skin, I felt a forlorn haze develop in my heart, as if I would never feel her again.

  All time seemed to continue once again, and I found sitting in front of me a plate full of a deliciously prepared spiced meat with several vegetables ranging in colors form brilliant reds to deep greens. In addition, I found my goblet filled with an equally delicious ale, darker than the first and carrying with it a distinctly burnt aroma that complimented the meat perfectly. Her hand, sliding off of my cheek found its path down my shoulder and arm, lingering upon my fingers before she withdrew it. As the physical sense of touch ended, so too did the haze I was under allowing me to fully indulge in the magnificence of the meal, merriment of the talk, and fullness of the drink. I was given over to the celebration fully, finding myself laughing, conversing, and drinking. All the while, she was ever by my side. It was not before long that the meal had come to a conclusion, yet for me, it had ended a short while before the last course was served as the ale I was gluttonously indulging in had proved to be beyond my equal. My last remembrance of the evening was being lead somewhere by someone.

  I was woken by the faint realization of a warm body pressed against mine. Thick in mouth, and groggy of head, I tried to open my eyes, but only cracked them as the penetrating sunlight alit my head with a resounding, pulsating thudding mimicking the pounding force of a hammer upon a blacksmith’s anvil. Having been completely distracted by the thudding in my head, I would have forgotten about the warmth lying next to me if it was not for her morning greeting as she rolled over and snuggled her head into my shoulder, “Good morning.”

  I remained silent because I instantly recognized this voice. It was her. Welling up within me was a nausea surpassing the previously dominant thudding. Induced by the revelation that I spent the night with her, and fearing embarrassment beyond the salad, I would have rolled over a vomited if it was not for her calming presence once again. Just as it was about to consume me, the nausea started to subside, “How do you fare this morning, My Lord?”

  I did not answer her question, but responded with one of my own, “Why do you call me, My Lord? You are the only one at the feast yesterday who did so?”

  “Because, My Lord, I do not call you by what you presently are, I call you with what you will become. You will become a great Lord and I address you in accordance with the greater truth that I see.”

  “Who are you?” I asked out of sheer wonderment at the confidence she displayed in me.

  In response to that question, she let out a large and boisterous laugh and propped herself upon her elbow to look me in the eyes. “You are indeed a wonderfully special soul! I am all that you see when your eyes are closed, my dear. And nothing you see while they remain open.” She donned a great and wide smile upon her face.

  “Now you are just teasing me,” I responded.

  “Perhaps, but the hour is late and you must be home or your parents will never forgive me for keeping you from your morning chores.” With that, she gracefully dismissed me. “Do not look so sad, my dear Drin. You have not seen the last of me, though perhaps not in the manner you see me now. But we shall meet again, of that, I am sure.”

  We both rose together and she helped me dress. It was not until I had almost finished donning my attire that I realized the pounding within my head was almost gone and the dryness within my mouth was dissolving as well. She led me to the door of her current abode, hugged me gently, and placed both of her hands upon my cheeks. She drew my head toward hers and placed a familiar kiss upon my forehead. In that moment, any sickness from consuming an abundance of ale from the previous evening was gone, and I found myself striding away with the confident gait of a young man set to purpose.

  Bidainsio (Devotion).

  There was no sun, nor moon, nor stars that could shine a light bright enough on that day to prevent the awful release of the amassed summation of the evil, liquid power now coursing through his body. In the deep completion of his morning meditation, he could still feel the relentless hate and need to release it upon the abomination that stood in front of him all those years ago. His indulgence into his memory on this morning, the morning of all mornings, came to a crescendo of delight and bliss when he remembered, as if it were yesterday, the first time he drank from the black fountain and its subsequent, horrible release.

  And it was horrible, but only in that moment. It drained him completely and caused him to black out. He did not see the final result of his release, but he did not need to because he felt it. He felt all of it. The delicious filling of the dark liquid within veins that should have been too small, too weak to hold all the power; the utter rage that consumed the entirety of his heart leaving it burned into a small, black hole extending deeper than all of the ruin in his life; and the final rush of ecstasy as he released it all upon a single, intended target. He knew nothing could have withstood and survived everything he released. He knew the weak, young boy had finally given The Beast everything he had desired but was too weak to accomplish on his own.

  "Lord Jesolin," said a tentative voice from behind the curtain, "I believe they are ready for you."

  Under normal circumstances on any other day than today, he would have dealt with the insolence of interrupting his morning devotion swiftly and without reservation; however, today was a day long in the making. It was a triumphant day. It was a day of beginnings and not endings. So he calmly answered, "I will be there momentarily. Please instruct them to be prepared."

  "Yes Lord Kahl. As you wish."

  From behind calmly closed eyes, Lord Jesolin Kahl spoke again, "No. It is not what I wish. It is what My Lord wishes." He turned his head to further emphasize the mistake he had just heard, "Make sure they are ready."

  Each morning, after his devotional meditation into the dark fountain and presence of His Unholy Lord, he chose to devote its remainder to the instruction and training of his two most trusted and strongest advisers. Each of them had been with him and had seen his transformation from the weak, young boy they had first come to know as he emerged from the forest in a near death state on the brink of starvation and dehydration so many years ago, into their eventual leader and the Lord of all Darkness in Avendia. They bore witness to the beginning and the long years of development all the while never suspecting anything. How fortunate he was that his Lord led him into the wilderness away from the city and into the outstretched arms of a traveling band of gypsies who were predisposed to taking in those who were lost and without a home. This was just another example of what he had once thought to be simple coincidence, but later learned had been part of his Master’s plan for his protection, preparation, and deliverance. But the story they thought began when they found him actually had its true beginning several
weeks prior.

  As he slowly rose in order to prepare himself, because as powerful as he was, he still needed to prepare himself in order to show the complete dominance he desired, he reflected on the endless hours of training, teaching, admonishing, and instructing he had devoted to his two most devoted followers. They had learned well. The both began as his other followers had begun, but quickly distinguished themselves by proving their dedication and devotion to him.

  Vismorda, the leader of his Black Ravens, and Mordin, the Prime Necron and head of the Black Necromancers were, at first, resistant to his teachings, not to mention the dark worship needed to obtain its power. But then again, the resistance is what propagated his enjoyment of breaking them and made it that much more delicious when he subdued them and broke their wills. Yet, before fully indulging in the memory of his eventual and orchestrated rise to power, he had to acknowledge how his master had delivered him from a potentially devastating situation. Just as he slowly and methodically was donning his battle armor, he was equally as methodical in his indulgence into the next continuance of the foundational memories that would see him built into the perfect instrument of Darkness.

  Opening his eyes, he was no longer standing in his residence; he was taken back to the provincial jail he awoke in after being drained by the dark fountain to the point of utter exhaustion. And he was no longer the fully tempered weapon his master had artfully forged in the fires of his crucible. Instead, he once again drifted back to his childhood. As uncommon as his indulgences regarding his past were, he nevertheless could not help but acknowledge how profoundly he was made as a result of the atrocities imposed upon him by The Beast of his childhood home, and their unknowing necessity.

  Barely able to see, he was aware that his arms and hands were bound to the chair he was sitting in. His head was thick and thudding in rhythm with his rapidly beating heart. He felt withered, wasted, and hollow. Momentarily disoriented, he thought he was back in his room and expected to hear the heavy footfalls of The Beast's intent to punish and torment him for something he was perceived to have done.

  The Beast! The memory of it all came flooding back. The death of the dog, his pain and hate, the voice and deliciousness of the dark fountain; and the awful, yet wonderful release of all his summed power came rushing back to answer his question of how, but not where. He tried to stand, only to find that he had forgotten he was restrained. He began to panic. Where was he? Who was he with? What was going to happen to him?

  Fear not young one who has endured so much. Fear not my child whom I will be there to protect. You are not in a position to be hurt, but neither are you with friends.

  "Where am I?" he audibly asked through a wispy voice.

  You are with those I need you to be with. There is someone whom you must meet. He is powerful by some standards, but poses no threat to you.

  "Why do I have to meet him?" asked Jesolin as he continued to explore the severity of his bindings.

  Because there are things that must happen. I cannot explain more now, but all will be revealed in time. But fear not my precious child, you are in no danger.

  The answer to his last question did not come from the voice within him, instead he heard a loud, rough and authoritative voice answer, "Meet who, Boy?"

  "Wha...What..." Jesolin asked reflecting the weakness within his body.

  "You. You asked why you had to meet someone. Who were you talking to?" questioned the rough voice.

  "I...I do not know. Was...was I talking?" he answered meekly.

  "For the life of me, Boy, I have been Captain of the Guard here for more years than I care to remember. I have lived through goblin raids and orc raids. I have seen many strange things, yet this is the strangest. What happened?"

  "What happened when?" He was still feeling sick to his stomach, but the throbbing within his head was slowly subsiding and he could feel a little more of his strength return. He always felt weak, but what strength he did have he could feel building in the muscles and joints of his small frame.

  "What do you mean, 'when’?,” Taking a step to emphasize his displeasure, the captain squatted down so he could look at the young boy in his eyes, "Just moments ago when we found Rento laying in a mess of broken bones and broken wood in the street with you passed out in the orphanage."

  "Who's Rento?" Jesolin had never heard the name before, but it was spoken with the intention that it would make complete sense and the young boy would be expected to know the exact reference this name contained.

  Exasperated and not utilizing many techniques to subdue his own frustration, the captain stood up to enforce upon the boy his subservience to the current situation, “I do not know what game you are playing here, but if you think you are going to keep hidden what you know, then you have mistaken my resolve as something lesser than what it is,” he paused and seemed to swell in height as he began his next sentence. “There is no way you are leaving here without first telling me everything you know about what happened at that orphanage!”

  While the Captain stood over him for a few silent moments and just before he was going to speak again, another voice entered the scene, but this one was soft and reserved, “Excuse me Captain Vulin, but he has arrived.”

  A small grin appeared on Captain Vulin’s face. “Well, I had hoped to avoid this, but considering your refusal to answer any of my questions, you leave me with no choice,” Without allowing his eyes to leave the young boy, Captain Vulin addressed the soft voice, “Thank you Sargent Hunzen, If you will have him wait for me in my office, I would like to speak with him before he proceeds.”

  “Very well, Sir.”

  Turning his full attention back to Jesolin, Captain Vulin added as he began to briskly walk from the room, “In a few moments, we will see just how much you know.”

  The Captain’s exit gave Jesolin his first chance to examine where he was being held and to fully take in his surroundings. He was sitting in a chair in the center of a small holding cell roughly ten feet across, by ten feet wide. The walls behind and to the right of him were made of stone blocks and resembled normal inner walls that could be found in any building within the city. In contrast, the walls to the front and left of him were made from iron bars. He had never seen the inside of a jail, but had been told tales from some of the other children over the years. What they had described was very similar to the bars now containing him. His sight was limited from seeing farther by additional stone block walls situated beyond the barred walls. He could see a door almost directly ahead of him, but the door was solid providing no additional vantage point to see beyond.

  The orphanage. Was he ever going to return? Where was he going to go and what was going to be done to him? Should he reveal the voice and blame his actions upon it, or should he hold it within his secret's cage? The voice was the only intervention in his life that had offered assistance, at least directly. When he was beyond all hoping, when he was submerged completely within the dying understanding that he was in existence for no other reason than to be sustained by pain and misery, when all joy within him had shriveled and died, there it was. As softly as the silken sheets of royalty that were out of his reach, it offered a much needed companion. But he had companions before and none of them were sustained past the intention of being used to further his miserable life, until now.

  This companion, this voice, this saving grace had come into his life at just the right moment to grant him the power he needed to end the cycle of horrid destruction and decay. And yes, he had to admit, that while drinking from the Dark Fountain was intoxicating in its ecstatic power, it was also filled with a self-serving intent to destroy. But, at that moment, he was willing to pay the cost, whatever it may be and to whatever power it came from. He was desperate for an answer, any answer, and he received only one. No, he would not divulge his secret and betray his friend. He would protect him as he was protected by him.

  From somewhere outside of his cell, he felt more than heard someone approach. H
e was not sure what he felt, but he could definitely distinguish something prodding him from the inside. The more he focused, the more he felt a distant pressure trying to gain entrance into his mind, like a nagging headache with its pressure focused behind his left eye. At first, it was almost imperceptible, but as the moments passed, it began to grow and move. Its movement felt more like searching rather than damaging, though he could feel that if more pressure was applied, the nagging could develop into something more devastating. But he was fairly certain devastation was not the intent of whatever, or whoever was seeking whatever they were seeking.

  Do not worry little one of mine. He is just looking for something. But he will not find it.

  "What is he looking for?" Jesolin asked as he looked around trying to identify the location of the voice he heard, even though he knew it was inside him.

  He does not know what he is looking for. He thinks he is looking for something within you.

  "What do you mean?" the boy asked again as he continued to feel the prodding shift inside his head.