“Centuries? I know elves live for long periods of time, but how old is he?”
“Old.”
“How old?”
Gondrial rubbed his chin. “The last time Enowene and I tried to figure it out, he was about nine thousand years old, but recently we found an account of him helping King Fet A’ador arrange the marriage of his daughter to the King of Lux Amarou, which would put him closer to twelve thousand.”
“Years,” Kaxen said stunned.
Gondrial laughed. “Aye, Asterial was one of the original disciples to the gods, as were Morgoran and Toborne. Do you not have an account of history in Brookhaven?”
“We do, but I never studied it.”
“Why not?”
Kaxen shrugged. “I can’t say. I suppose I found it uninteresting.”
Gondrial was shocked. “I suggest you read the histories. It will help you on your journeys.”
Kaxen nodded, and the two quickened their pace to catch up with the others.
Asterial led them through the city streets to a row of buildings overlooking the docks and ocean. The street was one of wealth and influence judging by its splendor and architecture. The building Asterial stopped in front of had marble steps leading to an arched porch with stone spires. The whole of the building was painted a light brown with white trim at the windows and doors. A man dressed in a blue overcoat came and took the horse.
“Find out what belongings belong with whom and have everything cleaned and polished and brought to their rooms, Kerick.”
“At once, Master Asterial,” the man in blue said.
“Gondrial, bring the boys to my study as soon as Mavis shows them their rooms.”
“Aye, Master,” Gondrial replied.
Asterial disappeared into the house as a large woman dressed in servants clothing halted them at the doorway.
“You still remember where your room is, Master Gondrial, I presume. Or has your brain been so pickled by ale you cannot remember?”
“Mistress Mavis, so good to see you. I assume you have fully stocked the cellar with my favorites.”
The round-faced woman’s stern look turned to one of jovial bliss. “And I will be helping you drink it.” The two embraced in a hug.
“Let me show the young masters to their rooms, and you can take them to the study. Master Asterial has been up near a week pouring over text in anticipation of this meeting.” Mavis turned to look at Aurelie. “And I suppose you would like a nice hot bath with sweet soaps and a dash of perfume.”
Aurelie’s face lit up. “Oh, very much so, mistress. I have not had a proper bath since Cedar Falls.”
“Come along then,” Mavis directed. She stopped beside Kaxen. “Don’t worry, you filthy boys will be next!” After Mavis showed them to their rooms, Gondrial took the boys down the hall to Asterial’s study while Mavis took Aurelie to the baths.
At the end of the hall stood wooden double doors carved with mosaics of ships and sea monsters. This end of the hall was somewhat dark, but as soon as Gondrial opened the doors, rich, natural light poured into the hall from the study. Asterial’s study dwarfed the common room of the Tiger’s Head Inn in comparison. Bookshelves lined either side with a large desk centered under towering, glass windows. Two large divans were positioned at an angle in front of the desk, and a long table with eight chairs stood between the divans and the double doors.
“Welcome to Adrontear,” Asterial said. “Come and have a seat while we wait for Lady Shey and Enowene.”
Kaxen, Asrion, and Rennon walked to the divans and made themselves comfortable while Gondrial headed for a small table near the window and began packing a pipe.
“Good idea, Gondrial,” Asterial said. “Pack me one as well, will you?”
The doors opened again, and Lady Shey entered carrying the tome she and Gondrial had taken from Symbor. “Sorry, I’m late.” Enowene followed in behind her.
“Not at all, Shey, you are right on time. The boys have just arrived.”
Kaxen felt the same strange feeling he had experienced in Signal Hill for a moment as if the events he was witnessing were somehow wrong. He felt uneasy and squirmed briefly in his seat until he realized Rennon was watching him inquisitively. Kaxen shook his head to let Rennon know it was nothing of his concern.
Lady Shey took the book and put it on Asterial’s desk before she sat down on an empty divan.
Asterial opened the tome and poured over its pages and then slammed it shut with dissatisfaction. “Useless, I am afraid, my lady,” he said. “Malanor has placed this tome as a decoy. He has the original already in his possession.”
“But the spells within worked, Master Asterial. I used them,” Lady Shey said.
Asterial opened the tome again. “Oh, yes, work they do, but they are of limited usefulness, Malanor has seen to that. This book is little more than a novelty. The real spell is hundreds of times more powerful than this one.” He slammed it shut again. “Placed to throw us off the trail of the real tome for months. We have to step up our plans a bit.”
“You mean we are to begin the training?” Gondrial asked.
“Aye, Gondrial, it is time for preparation. We may already be too late. The Krullen Thul are already on the prowl, looking for our young men here.”
“This should be good,” Gondrial said as he lit his pipe. He packed a second pipe and handed it to Asterial.
“Do you boys have any idea of the situation Symboria is in?” Asterial asked.
The boys looked at each other with puzzled expressions before Rennon finally spoke up. “Soldiers have been coming to Brookhaven whispering something about a coming war and possible invasion, but that rumor has been around as long as I can remember. Scarovia never makes good on the threat.”
“Rightly so, young Rennon,” Asterial said as he searched for a book on his bookshelves. “Dark minions called Krullen Thul have visited Brookhaven of late. These creatures were created by Toborne using ancient magic. Their numbers are few the last I heard. There are much more Dramyds than there are Krullen Thul to lead them. Their purpose is to gather what information they can and report back to Malanor.” He selected a blue bound book and held it into the air, showing he had found what he was searching for, and he placed it on his desk. “This prophecy I open on my desk tells of the last and only hope of our known world.”
“What kind of prophecy?” Rennon asked. “How can the future be revealed by a book? Rennon held his hand up to his mouth in a mocking drinking gesture as he looked at Kaxen.
Kaxen chuckled.
Asterial raised an eyebrow at Rennon.
Rennon stood up in anger. “I will not sit down and shut my mouth. I will not stand here and be insulted.”
Asterial smiled smugly. “How did you know what I was thinking Rennon? I spoke no words.”
Asrion gasped. “He’s right. He did not speak.”
“A trick, a simple trick he played,” Rennon insisted.
“Trick! Tricks and sleight of hand, is that it, boy?” Asterial’s words were venomous. “Sit down and hold your tongue, or did I not speak clearly enough?”
Rennon stood steadfast in defiance.
Asterial’s eyes narrowed. He exhaled a puff of white smoke, and Rennon sank down onto the divan.
“Prophecy is just that, my boy, a prediction. Nothing in this world is an absolute certainty.” Asterial took another puff of his pipe. “However, prophecy does give us a map to follow when hope fails us.” He stood and looked out of his window to the bustling port in the distance below. “Hope is failing us.” He turned back to his desk and the tome.
“How so. Master?” Gondrial asked.
Asterial closed his eyes. “The situation has become grave. Malanor possesses a power capable of granting him his goals. We are but a few, and we have to contend with madness, stupidity, and children.”
“Master, I realize we are few, but I have seen the potential in these simple folk from the mountains. Their upbringing is working against them, but I do bel
ieve there is hope in them yet,” Gondrial said.
“I trust your faith in them is warranted, my friend,” Asterial said, sitting behind his desk. He opened the book and read aloud. “In times of darkness, the land will divide once again, and from this division, the Silver Drake will be called to action for the search of a new high king. Once her decision is made, there will be five and then seven.”
“That’s a bit cryptic, isn’t it, Master?” Gondrial said.
“Hold on, it becomes clearer,” Asterial said with a grin. “A boy will be brought to life by the gods combined will, another will unite the realms of forgotten lore, still another, of finer grace, will bring the knights of the drakes. The last shall reunite the knights of men.” Asterial stopped and looked directly at Gondrial. “We need more time, and Malanor’s army stands ready.” Asterial’s gaze became distant for a moment. “I don’t suppose you have a plan to stop an army from invading?” Asterial said.
“Ha,” Gondrial laughed. “And they say elves have no sense of humor.”
“You do not have a plan then?” Asterial asked.
Gondrial sighed. “According to Enowene, Malanor’s army waits just over the Jagged Mountains, and if he has the tome, he will send his army to the heart of the Sacred Land while the hapless army of the West waits in the north and south passes. He will take the Sacred Land for himself before anyone can stop him. In addition, the Enforcers and even the general citizens will fight the use of wielders to aid them. Once Malanor has the Sacred Land, we will not have the power to dethrone him. Even if I had a plan, how would I implement it in time? I was hoping you would have a plan.”
“Why is the Sacred Land so important?” Kaxen asked. “I thought it was a blackened wasteland. I have never understood why the Defenders patrol and guard it anyhow.”
“Have you ever cleared a field of grass by fire, Kaxen?” Enowene asked.
“Aye, I have seen it done many times. Why?”
“What happens after you burn the field grass?”
“It comes back greener than before.”
“There is your answer, Kaxen,” Gondrial said. “The War of the Oracle took place a thousand years ago, and the wielders stripped the land, now known as the Sacred Land, of all its magical essence, drawing upon it to fight the battle. No wielder has been able to draw much essence from the Sacred Land since the war. Now, after a thousand years, its essence will return, only it will be many times stronger than it ever was before. Whoever controls that land when the essence returns will rule absolutely.”
“That is why we must take action. We have waited for far too long and underestimated Malanor,” Asterial said, returning the book of prophecy back to the shelf.
“There is one hope. If we could persuade the Defenders of the Sacred Land to aid us, we may be able to buy the armies some time to react to an invasion. After all, the Defenders are supposed to protect the Sacred Land from ill will,” Gondrial suggested.
Asterial puffed his pipe as he thought. “I can think of a few allies in the Sacred Land that may help us. The Defenders may not be strong enough in numbers to do much good against an invading army for long.” Asterial took a deep breath. “We need to protect our interests and hide Kaxen and his friends away for now.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Kaxen spoke up. “I still do not understand our involvement. If you need strong men to join the Defenders in the fight to save Symboria and the Sacred Land, then we need to join the armies of the West and do our part. Hiding us away makes no sense. We could contribute much more by fighting.”
Asterial feigned a weak smile. “My dear boy, you still cannot see the larger picture here. You and your friends have a higher purpose in the scheme of events unfolding.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“You will in time. You have not come here by chance and sorcery so that we might have the company of four youths from the mountains. You four have a greater significance, and it is our responsibility to see that you remain safe.”
Asterial began pacing behind his desk. “We need to take them to Foreshome where they will be protected by the Sylvan elves. Sildariel and the Archers of Endil will keep them safe.” Asterial put his hand on the black tome with silver runes. It is tempting to use this tome, but I fear it is enchanted. Each time you used it you may have alerted Malanor to your location. I will destroy this book, and we will travel most of the way by ship. In fact, I suggest we use the wielders way only under extreme circumstances. I don’t wish to draw attention to the road we travel or our destination.”
A knock on the door startled the old elf. “Enter,” he said.
“Sir,” Mavis interrupted. “I beg your pardon, but a man requires your audience.”
“Oh?” Asterial lit up with curiosity. “What sort of man would be calling to my home this day?”
“He is quite a frightening warrior, Master. He wears armor made of what appears to be red dragon scales.”
“A dragon knight,” Asterial said with enthusiasm. “Show him in.” He returned to his chair, a smile gracing his lips. “It seems our prophecy moves swifter than I imagined.”
Chapter 9
As he left Malanor’s castle, Drakkius motioned for Kimala to follow him out. She could not help but stare at him. Something in his eyes made her realize he was a far deeper and darker soul than she had imagined. He led her to the garden among strange, purple hewn trees. The moon hung full in the sky, gently illuminating the hedges and low bushes. The smell of sweet flowers intermingled with the pungent smell of decay made her dizzy with delight. Drakkius took hold of her arm and spun her around to face him. He held her in a death-like grip only an inch from his lips, staring into her eyes.
“So it is power you crave. I can give you what you want if you can give me what I want.”
Kimala was suddenly coy. “What is it you desire, my lord?”
“Ah, that is the question. What I want may carry a price too heavy for you to pay.”
“I will judge the cost for myself, my lord. You don’t know the depths of my needs or what I seek.”
“Indeed.” He lessened the grip a bit. “If you will serve my needs, I will have a place for you by my side. Malanor appears to care not for you or your wellbeing. I will ensure it. Do as I ask, and I will deliver to you your power and wealth. But fail me and I will destroy you.”
“All you need to do is ask this task of me, my lord, and I will not fail you.”
Drakkius smiled and let Kimala go. “Know that I do not trust you, wench.” In an exalted moment of passion, Kimala embraced him in a deep kiss, biting his lower lip as she parted, drawing a drop of blood. Drakkius curled his lip under and tasted it, cocked an eyebrow and turned to leave, his red cloak and cape whirling around him. “You have misunderstood me. I do not crave your carnal dalliances. Such behavior is of the base mentality.”
“My lord, what task shall I perform for you then?” she called after him.
Drakkius stopped and without turning, he replied, “I will contact you. Do not speak of this to anyone, especially that pawn, Malanor, and remember—”
She interrupted him. “I know. You will kill me if I talk to anyone about this,” she said mockingly. He nodded and then resumed exiting the garden. Kimala reentered the castle and returned to her room where she sank into her plush red velvet chair, breathing the sigh of a woman who got exactly what she had been after.
She secured her chambers and made sure there were no prying ears before she spoke. “You were right, Kyrie. Malanor is merely a pawn and Drakkius did indeed approach me. Drakkius, not Malanor, is behind all of this.”
The demure elf appeared from behind one of the sets of long red curtains. “Are you prepared to follow through with our plans?” He asked, “Even though you may be seen forever as a traitor?”
Kimala took a deep breath. “Aye, I will do my best. Go and report, and tell her what I have told you.”
Kyrie nodded, bounded out the nearest open window, and was gone into the night.
Kaxen teemed with anticipation of seeing an actual dragon knight. He remembered childhood stories of fierce dragon worshipers with fighting skills unparalleled in all the known kingdoms. Tradition suggested they were mostly benevolent, but any sensible person knew to fear them. The double doors opened, and Mavis walked in. “Bren Hallah, first dragon knight of the dragon called Amadace the Red, to see you, Master Asterial.
“Bid him entrance, Mavis,” Asterial said, rising from his chair.
Mavis curtsied and showed the broodlord in with a wave of her hand. Kaxen’s eyes widened as the man entered. He was even more impressive than Kaxen had imagined. His red dragon scale armor covered almost all of his body, and he held a great dragonhead helm under his arm. Sheathed on his left side was his dragon fang, a long slightly curved blade forged from tempered steel and an actual dragon fang hilt. Various pouches hung from his side, and a great red bow and quiver sprawled his back. A smaller parrying sword called a dragon’s claw hung to his right. Kaxen tried to see into the red quiver. It was rumored in stories that dragon knights carried bone-shafted arrows, but he could not see any. The dragon knight had a short cut, thin beard from ear to ear and a thin, neat mustache to match. On the left of his face, just below his eye, was an old scar about a quarter of an inch long. His steel blue eyes focused on Asterial, but Kaxen could feel the man’s attention on him as he entered the room. Jet-black hair, cut short on top with a small braided lock at the side, adorned his head.
“Welcome, broodlord of Amadace the Red. My lair is open to you, and its treasures are your treasures,” Asterial said, bowing with his hands turned outward and upward.
Bren cocked an eyebrow and then reciprocated the gesture. “You honor me with your knowledge of my culture, friend elf, and I will not forget your attention to detail.” Bren saluted Asterial in the manner of the Arillian elves by putting his hand over heart and extending it out open toward Asterial. “I give my heart to you so you may feel welcome.”
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