Samual

by Greg Curtis

  Chapter Ten.

  “It's not a prophecy.”

  Master Rease caught Sam by surprise as he was tending to the horses, and he looked up, startled.

  “Pardon Master Rease?”

  “Your line of verse. It's not from any prophecy at all.”

  Sam looked at the Elder quizzically, surprised to see him away from the rest of the elders. He was a greying elf, a sign that he had to be at least a hundred and fifty years old, maybe much more. Yet in all those years he had apparently never learned how to be polite. He just turned up out of the blue and made his proclamations as though everyone should already be waiting there just for him to arrive and speak.

  Sam didn't mind the old elf's manners though. Not if he knew where that damned line of verse came from. And obviously if he knew it wasn't a prophecy and he'd come all this way to tell him, he also knew what it was. Sam raised an eyebrow in question and waited patiently for the Elder to tell him. He knew he would. The man was dying to show off his knowledge.

  “It's a poem. A piece of free verse written nigh on a thousand years ago by an explorer by the name of Haggard. A human I believe. He was –”

  “Of course! Thank you!” The Elder didn't need to say anymore because Sam finally remembered where he'd read the verse. It was like the opening of a door into his childhood. Some of his oldest and fondest memories.

  “He was exploring the caves of Andrea, the fabled birth place of the warlord himself. I remember reading that he was looking for anything to confirm or disprove that the Dragon Wars were as terrible as legend said, or even that they'd actually happened. He spent his life doing it, hunting through cavern after cavern, opening buried chamber after buried chamber, and still never found the proof he was seeking. But he wrote three journals about his journey.” Three journals that Sam had read as a child on his father's knee. Three wonderful, inspiring journals.

  While Haggard had never found all of what he was looking for, the journals themselves were considered by many to be seminal works. Mainly because they showed the true meaning of dedication and perseverance. In nigh on thirty years of trying, faced with set back after set back – fires, rebellions, wars, bandits, disease and just plain depression – Sir Haggard the Staunch as he had later been known, had never once given up. His had become the standard against which all other knightly quests were measured and few could ever compare.

  “Do you have the rest of it?”

  For an answer the Elder began reading from the piece of parchment in his hand:

  “When the sky is blue and the days are sweet,

  When the moon is full and the night air at peace,

  When the people are once more replete,

  Their bellies full and their cares few;

  Then shall the peace be shattered,

  and the ground shall turn red with the blood of the innocent,

  Then shall the golems taste their fill of soft, sweet flesh,

  And I shall taste victory.

  Then shall my steel find the tender heart

  and my teeth the softness of flesh.

  Then shall mothers mourn their children,

  And kings their people.

  And when the golems hunt,

  the cities shall fall,

  and the people shall know fear.

  They shall know Me.”

  “Of course! How could I have forgotten?” Even as he heard it Sam remembered the verse as if it was yesterday when he himself had read it aloud to his father. He had been only seven or eight at the time and had been proudly demonstrating his reading abilities to his father. He also remembered the pride he had felt in having such a wonderful father. Even now the memory brought a tear to his eye.

  “It's not a very good poem.”

  “It's not a poem at all,” Sam replied. “Or if it is, it's at least not one by Sir Haggard. It's a translation. The original script was carved into the walls of the master chamber as he called it, thousands of years before he entered it. Written in old heraldic scripture, the only written language we can decipher from the time of the Dragon Wars. It took months to translate and even then there were several different translations made.” Of course the scholar probably knew all of that, but it didn't stop Sam from continuing as he remembered the rest of it.

  “Sir Haggard always believed, though he could never prove it, that the lines had been written by the warlord himself before he unleashed his armies upon an unsuspecting world. He wrote it as a prophecy of his own triumph. Before he brought the entire ancient world to its end.” But even as he spoke, the wheels were turning in Sam's mind as he thought of another possibility. One that he was somehow certain was the truth.

  “But what if it was actually written after that? After the Dragon had lost and his armies had been defeated? The warlord was never killed according to the histories. His armies were defeated, the machina destroyed, the magic behind them broken, his mercenaries killed and he was struck down by a poison spell, dying. But they never found a body, nor any other proof of his death.”

  “Sick, perhaps even dying, his magic shattered and his protectors gone, he might well have returned to his ancient home as many believe the Andrea caves were. Certainly it was too strongly warded for any others to attack then. Even thousands of years later when the wards and the stone itself were crumbling with age, it was a long, hard fought battle to enter the chambers. It would have been a refuge for him when everything else was lost. A place for him to renew himself. What if he was prophesying his own return? And his eventual conquest of the known world?”

  “You jest! … Surely?” The scholar paled. Yet if he truly believed that why did the scholar sound frightened? Why did he try so hard to deny Sam's words?

  “I fear that the enemy we now face is the same one that the ancients fought all those years ago. I have done ever since I fought those things. These golems are true machina, and they have a master such as him. Either the Dragon himself has returned, or he has a true successor. A descendant perhaps. When I fought them, I heard or perhaps felt the commands that came from their master, and I knew that whatever else he was, he was no mere alchemist. He has the Dragon's power, and his knowledge, and the will to use it. He sees himself as an emperor, a king among kings – perhaps even a god – and he wants his kingdom and his sacrifices. We are only at the beginning of a new Dragon War.”

  And by the All Father did he hope it wouldn't end the same way. The first Dragon Wars had brought the ancient world to its end. Cities without number had been destroyed. Millions of people had been slaughtered. And most of what was known in those ancient days had been lost. The world – or the Continent of the Dragon's Spine at least – had been recovering from the effects of those wars for five thousand years since. And Sam doubted that they had even yet achieved the same level of knowledge that the ancients had possessed. They couldn't face another war like that.

  “The warlord is returned my love? The Dragon himself?”

  Sam turned to see Ryshal standing behind him and briefly wished he could bite off his own tongue. The last thing she needed to hear right now were his wild fancies. As before he instantly held back the rest of what he suspected, if only because it was such a miracle to actually be able to see her at all. And to know that she was getting better was even more so.

  And she was recovering. He knew it with every joyous fibre in his body. She had woken up once more from her slumber, and though it had only been three days since they arrived, already he could see the colour returning to her face. The healers had done wonders for her, filling her up with their strange potions, making her eat and helping her sleep. They had even given her gentle exercises to do. And all of it was working. The last of her sores were healed, she was continuing to put on weight, napping instead of fainting, and spending a lot more time on her feet each day. He could not thank the healers enough for their wondrous work. And whether the healers followed the Lord of Healing, Phil the White or the Goddess of the elves, they deserved praise.

  “Or som
eone with his gifts has found the remnants of his armies or the knowledge of his magic.” He went to her immediately, taking her hand and kissing it, before wrapping her up in his arms. She was still terribly light, but at least a dozen pounds heavier than she had been when he'd first rescued her. Presently wearing one of her mother's dresses, she could almost take him back to the days when they had first met.

  “You look much better Ry. I can now see some colour returning to your cheeks. But there is still much more resting and healing for you to do. Now is not the time to pay attention to my wild flights of fancy.”

  “My love, from the very first moment when I met you, when I fell in love with you and when I married you, I always knew one thing about you. You don't have wild fancies. That's my role in our marriage. You are the level headed one. The one who keeps us on the path. The rock upon which we stand. You are the ever serious soldier and I the dreamer. And this does not sound like a wild fancy to me. It sounds like a living nightmare, much like my people's waking lives these days.”

  It had been a shock he knew for her to arrive and find out just how bad things were among her own people. It had been a shock for him simply to return and find out how much larger the caravan had grown and how many more wounded there were. He might have stopped the main force of the rats, but others had been striking at the smaller towns and villages, which was why the entire province was being emptied.

  But it had to be harder for Ry. And that shock had been made all the worse because for five long years as she had sat in her dungeon all she had dreamed of was returning home to him, to her family and to Shavarra. For Ry, it was as though she had been given the greatest gift imaginable, and then someone had stolen it away from her before she'd even opened it.

  “Nevertheless it's still not something for you to concern yourself with now. For the moment you need your rest and healing. Leave the soldierly things to the soldiers, and the rest to the elders.” Sam spoke as gently as he could, while still trying to be firm. Fortunately she seemed to accept it though he knew that would not last. Sooner or later she would return to the topic, at which point she would not let him off so easily. He turned back to the Elder.

  Master Rease, I bid you take that tome and the other two volumes if you have copies, back to the elders, scholars, master spell casters and war masters, and go through them in detail. Whether this is the warlord himself or someone else following in his footsteps, there may be hints in Sir Haggard's writings as to the battle plan of our enemy. Strategies, strengths and weaknesses. Even some of the secrets behind the making of the machina. All of this will be vital information as to how to fight him.

  “I will do as you ask young Samual, but first I must also ask you to do something in turn. Master Bela and the other spell casters have requested your attendance in the vanguard.”

  It was Sam's turn to groan as Master Rease turned and slowly made his way back to his own wagon, his bad news given. Being summoned by the elder spell casters was likely to mean another interrogation. They had held off for three long days as he had tended to his wife, and in truth he hadn't even seen them except from a distance, for which kindness he was grateful. But the physician's reports were good and they had no doubt run out of patience with him. Especially Master Bela after his rudeness.

  “Samual, you know you have to go to them, lest they come here and annoy my family and me as well!” She laughed happily. Despite the suffering she had endured and the shocks of the previous week, Ry's sense of humour was returning by the day for which he was eternally grateful, and he laughed with her.

  “I can't move – my feet have turned to rock!” Sam thought he should at least try to think of an excuse, no matter how poor it was.

  “Hmmf – we both know it is your head that is full of rocks! Especially if you thought that would get you out of a meeting with the elders!” She laughed some more, but then kissed him merrily on the cheek.

  “But you have nothing to fear from them. They mean well even if they sometimes have a gruff way of showing it. Be honest and stand up for yourself. You are my husband, the man I love and one day I hope, the father of our children. You are also a brave and powerful soldier in the defence of our kin, and a mighty spell caster. You have earned a true place among us and you should walk with your head held proud. The people fear you no longer. They welcome you.”

  If she was right Sam hadn't truly noticed it. But then he hadn't been paying attention to anyone other than Ryshal ever since they'd returned.

  “I have you again. More than that I do not know and I do not care.” Sam picked her up and carried her to the wagon tray where he laid her down so that she could get some more sleep. Though truthfully she didn't look as though she wanted another nap right then. Instead of lying down, Ry sat up stubbornly and looked him directly in the eyes.

  “And I you, for which wonder I will spend the rest of my days thanking the Goddess. But I am telling you the truth when I say that you are welcome among our people. More than welcome. When they speak of the Fire Angel, it is you they speak of. It is a great honour. You are already seen as one of us. They think of you as our guardian. You would know that if only you raised your head once in a while to look at the people all around you. Perhaps you could even try smiling now and then.” Ry could be stern when she wanted to be, and this was apparently one of those times.

  Sam knew better than to argue with her and nodded instead.

  “Now go. Lest you keep the elders waiting and they grow impatient and come looking for you here!”

  On cue Ry's mother appeared from the nearby river where she'd been doing the washing, and quickly went to her daughter. Sam knew she'd be well cared for while he was away, even if it was as many hours as he feared. There was something about the caravan having stopped so early in the afternoon that was suddenly bothering him. It was almost as if some very important people had decided they wanted the time free for a very special purpose. He feared that purpose had something to do with him.

  Nodding his thanks to Alendro he mounted Tyla and cantered off toward the elders' wagons. They were up near the front of the caravan, a place they had to keep by virtue of their skills and importance, and as that was about a quarter of a league ahead of them he knew it would be best to hurry. They weren't a patient group.

  On the way there though, he did as Ry suggested and studied some of the other elves around him. He was surprised to see that she was right. For far from the reactions he had once got in Torin Vale when he'd first arrived, the people did seem more open to him. A few even smiled as he passed and he nodded politely back. It was a surprise. Obviously something had changed. And maybe, though he didn't like to admit it, the Elder had been right when he'd said that a part of Sam's difficulties had been of his own making.

  Eventually he reached the elders' wagons. They had pulled them up in a circle and he could see the elders sitting on the wagon sides discussing the business of the day. Apparently they were having an important discussion and sitting on the grass simply wasn't appropriate for such matters. Their families on the other hand weren't so fortunate, and sat on the grass enjoying a late breakfast, while they waited for their partners to finish. Then again, the children didn't seem to mind as they laughed and ran around gaily in the sun, and no more did their parents as they watched over them.

  Normally when Sam approached an elder he would have dismounted and gone to them on foot. But given that they were already raised high off the ground on the wagons, he decided that staying in the saddle was the better option. As Ry had said, he was a powerful wizard; he should hold his head high. It wasn't however, a sentiment that all of the elders seemed to agree with, and he watched a few give him disapproving stares as he remained on his horse.

  There seemed to be more elders than he had seen before, and all of them were spell casters. Sam would have guessed that over thirty men and women sat on the wagon sides, waiting patiently. Clearly more had joined them from the other towns as they had travelled. And all of them were staring at him a
s if he were an interesting new spell to master. For the first time in weeks he felt nervous. But at least there were no priests with them.

  “You sent for me Elders?” He thought it best to be polite as he bowed his head to them. It seemed he wasn't their most favourite person right then.

  “Indeed we did Samual Hanor. Young Ryshal is doing well?”

  “Yes Elder, she is recovering from my brother's malice even more quickly than I dared hope. The healers are doing wonderful work with her and I am deeply grateful for their care and skill.”

  “As are we for yours. In these past few weeks you have saved many of our people, and given us the chance to turn a panicked stampede into a more orderly march. You have brought us wisdom and wealth as well to help us on our way. And all for no recompense.”

  Elder Bela caught him somewhat off guard with his words. He hadn't known the Elder could even think that way about such things. The elves weren't exactly concerned with matters of wealth or payment. They had coin but for the most part did not use it. Property was not owned by any one person or family. People were just recognised as living in certain places. Homes were built according to need and by the town. And the basics of life such as food were free. It was only the little luxuries that coin was for. The unusual and sumptuous foods like the fruit from his trees. The more elegant clothes. The more ornate furniture. Heri would have died here!