Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest

by Bill T Pottle

  The Yan that stood before them now was completely different than what they were used to. He was slightly shorter, and dressed all in black cloth that wrapped loosely about his body. His face looked young, and Tarthur knew that this man was about thirty years old. His jet-black hair was barely visible, because of the dark veil that left only part of his face exposed. This formidable figure was shocking enough, but what astounded Tarthur more, and made the still cautious Yonathan draw his sword, was the presence of a miniature dragon, crimson red, and perching docilely on his shoulder.

  “You must understand,” Yan said as though nothing had happened, “that while I appear to have tremendous power, there are some limitations. When I transform into something else, I assume all of the strengths and intelligence of that object. That is why I prefer this form. I can keep my mind but my body is no longer plagued by weakness and age. You don’t know what it is like, to be able to run and jump and feel good again after so long…” Yan trailed off slowly.

  Tarthur was still awestruck by these new developments. “You mean you can transform into anything, even this rock if you wanted to?” Tarthur pointed at a rock that was lying by Yan’s feet.

  Yan nodded. “But remember. Were I to transform into that rock, my mind would think like a rock, which I imagine is not very well. I would be trapped in that form until I willed myself to become something else. And if I could not think…I would remain a rock forever.” Yan paused, then began again. “That is why I will usually be either a dragon, or a person, or both as I am now.”

  The Ninja Yan closed his mouth, and the minidrake began to speak. “Another limitation is that I can only transform into things as much as myself. It is hard to explain without detailed study into the workings of the universe, but know that if I wish to transform into something big, I will be less solid, and if I wish to transform into something smaller than myself, I will be more dense. I can split my being also. This person and I are both Yan, but we are each not quite fully him. That is why I seemed somewhat transparent when I was the big dragon.”

  The other Yan spoke now. “One of the small things the council has done for me is to give me a little leniency in this rule, by making my original self denser. It will help a little, but the rule still applies.”

  “How far are we away from the king’s castle?” It was Tarthur’s turn to talk.

  “If we continue at the pace we are going now, a little more than a week and a

  half,” Yan answered. “We will have to try to walk fast if we want to be of maximum help to King Garkin, so I suggest we all try to get some sleep.” Yan turned to Yonathan. “I wish to thank you for all of your help, but you can return to wherever you came from now, I will be able to protect Tarthur and Derlin from here until the castle.”

  “Good idea,” Tarthur agreed. “Yonathan, I wish to thank you again for all the help you have given us by coming with us, especially when you have lots of work to do as the assistant mayor of Freeton.

  Yonathan’s iron form placed a hand on Tarthur’s shoulder. “Kandan can take care of things while I am gone, but I must insist. I told the people I would accompany you and that is just what I plan to do.” He turned to Yan, the big man watching the dragon almost fearfully. “Now, I mean no disrespect, but what if he’s not on our side? What I mean is, well, if he can transform into anything, who’s to say he’s not an evil one who just transformed into your friend to fool you, and then will kill you when I’m gone? Even if he is on our side, it’s always been known that I’m a good man to have around when it comes to ruffians.”

  Yan wore a scowl of displeasure, and also a look that if killing Tarthur and Derlin was his intention, he would have already accomplished it without so much as a minor interference from Yonathan. He nodded his head. “If you wish, you may come with us. Now,” he said with the authority that closed the matter, “we leave at first light, so everyone try to get some sleep.”

  Had he known Tarthur and Derlin better, he would have known the folly of this command. They were so excited, with their renewed spirit of adventure and after finally meeting a dragon, telling them to sleep was like trying to persuade the king to find a penny in a hill of mud. “Wow,” Tarthur said, voicing his excitement. “I’d like to see someone try to mess with us now.”

  Yan overheard him, and turned to look at the startled Tarthur. “No you don’t. If someone does, may the Creator have mercy on his soul.”

  MORE BAD GUYS

  When he awoke, the prisoner let out a groan of frustration and hopelessness. As his vision came into focus, he saw something that vaguely resembled a man surrounded by two or three tough looking mercenaries. He was lying on a crude table, which was bobbing up and down with the rest of the room. As he turned his head to get a better view of his surroundings, Dalin felt something run down his cheek, and into his mouth. It tasted salty—Dalin realized what it was and spat out his own blood.

  One of the guards noticed his stirrings, and came over to examine him. “Admiral Tyven, the bugger’s awake. What shoult we do wit’im?”

  The creature that resembled a man came to stand by Dalin, and the elf soon saw that there were many things about him that Dalin would not consider to be human. He had flippers where both his feet and hands should be. Tyven Scarface, Admiral of the Dark Queen’s navies, simply stared at Dalin. Dalin tried to stare back, but soon had to look away from the cold and horrible face. Dalin felt himself wishing the monster would talk, condemn him, anything. But Tyven just stood there, silent, radiating evil from his very being. With a gesture of his flippered hand, the mercenaries lifted Dalin again and took him into an iron cell.

  The floor never stopped moving. Dalin thought he must have been hit on the head very hard to cause such an unusual sensation, but soon he found out that others were feeling it too. He was not crazy, but on a ship in the middle of the ocean. His jailer was a gruff looking black dwarf, and Dalin was indeed surprised to see him. Black dwarfs, while an unimportant and minuscule race of no more than a few hundred creatures that lived in mines in the Tabletop Plateau, were known for their hatred and distrust of outsiders, and it was fairly uncommon to see one roaming about the world. When Dalin asked him his name, the creature simply grunted and went back to consuming his ration of food.

  In fact, Dalin didn’t receive any new information about his surroundings until he was visited by his old commanding officer, Commander Erda. Erda was a tall, muscular man whom Dalin had given his tobacco and brandy to in order to get him drunk enough to take a quick glimpse at his orders. That was where Dalin had learned that they were to sail west. Dalin smiled when he remembered his clever ploy.

  “Smiling, Dalin?” Commander Erda’s remark caught Dalin off guard. “One such as you has little to smile about, no?”

  Dalin quickly set his face into a defiant look, and with a calmness that did not match his expression, Dalin made his reply. “I can smile when I look to the day when our forces will wipe Marhyn and her piddling army from the face of Daranor.”

  Erda shook his head sadly. “Dalin, Dalin, Dalin, when will you see? You should have stayed with us when you had the chance. Not everyone can be a captain in her majesty’s army. She will win, Dalin, I know. You haven’t seen it yet, but I know. Did you really think you could escape from us? Nobody escapes from us, Dalin.”

  “Two boys did,” Dalin spat his answer. “Two unarmed boys!”

  “They had magic!” Commander Erda’s face twisted into a state of uncontrollable rage, and then he forcibly calmed himself. “And yet, you could not. Two boys did and you could not.”

  “Who gave me up?” Dalin was desperate to find this answer, to find his mistake. He had purposely led the conversation in this direction, and then asked his question hoping Erda would gloat in the answer and rub it in Dalin’s face.

  Had he been a man of lesser intelligence, it might have worked, but Commander Erda was too smart. “You don’t really expect us to tell you that, do you? It could have been a million ways. Was it Biorf? Did the gr
eat one, Lithar Lifehater, remember you? Or was it the Dark Lady herself? Or I? You may never know. But, I will let you think about it until you go crazy.”

  Dalin tried again, this time nearly pleading. “Just tell me. What will it hurt you?”

  Erda shook his head and smiled an evil smile. “We’re not taking any chances. Knowledge is power, Dalin. The less you know, the better. We will win this war, Dalin, and you will help us.” When Dalin’s face showed that he had no intention of helping them, Erda let out a rolling laugh. “Of course not like that, boy. Your father will be very happy to see you, and we can find a use for his gold.”

  Dalin was about to protest that his father was just a poor farmer, when suddenly his words caught in his throat. Until this time, he hadn’t realized that Commander Erda was calling him Dalin. Used to forgetting about his real identity ever since he had left Breshen to seek out Truin, he hadn’t noticed his true name. Now he knew the situation was hopeless; his father, adoring all life, would pay every cent his people owned to get him back. And for them to be broke going into a war…

  The echo of Commander Erda’s laugh was all that Dalin heard in his mind for the next few days.

  * * *

  The warm liquor refreshed him, and helped wipe the sleep from his eyes even as he glanced at his candle and saw that it was nearly burnt out. They put a special drug from the kafen plant into his cider, and it helped him keep awake and alert late into the night. It wasn’t that King Garkin didn’t trust his bureaucracy, on the contrary he knew he had some excellent and competent ministers. It was just that with matters of the safety of the realm, he preferred to handle things himself. It had always been like that, and the demands of being king were already beginning to show themselves in his body. Well, being king did have some advantages for his health. He had the finest doctors, plenty of exercise, and excellent food. But the emotional strain of being responsible for the safety and well being of thousands of people was enormous, and it always weighed down on his consciousness. While it was only midnight, King Garkin looked at the stack of letters he had already written, and compared them to the stack of reminders for letters he had yet to write. The latter, unfortunately, was much higher. It was going to be a long night.

  The servant’s knock on his door startled the king out of his reverie. “A man is here to see you, majesty. I told him to return tomorrow but he says it could be urgent and should be handled without delay.”

  King Garkin nodded with anticipation. “Send him in.”

  Addyean walked calmly into the room and took a seat in a chair on the opposite side of the king’s desk. “I am sorry to bother you so late, your majesty, but I have been busy all day and I must leave on a trip to gather supplies in the morning.”

  “Think nothing of it,” The king replied jovially. “You just saved my life a few days ago, remember? You could wake me up in the middle of the night, and I wouldn’t mind one bit. What is on your mind?”

  “Your majesty has always known me to be a rational, down-to-earth man, have you not?” Addyean questioned.

  The king nodded his head. “Certainly, why?”

  Addyean took a deep breath and continued. “Because, what I am about to tell you may seem impossible, and unbelievable. I want to tell you what happened at Treshin.”

  “Oh yes,” The king replied. “You said something about a priest giving you the holy water that saved me.”

  Addyean nodded. “Yes, but that is not what really happened. When I got there, the spring was deserted. I knew priests usually tend to it, so I was a bit worried when none came out to greet me. I walked in to the outer spring, but no one was there either. I was about to fill up the flask there, when something stopped me. The door leading to the inside spring, the Holy of Holies, was ajar. I walked inside, and there…”

  King Garkin motioned for him to go on. “And there…?”

  “And there I saw Him—the Creator himself in the form of a cloud of light. I fell to my knees, but he told me to rise. Actually, I didn’t hear the words, or even feel them, I just knew them. Whenever he talked, I just knew what he was saying already in my mind. That place was filled with such beauty. There was an incredible aura of serenity that permeated the room. I have never felt more power or more peace at the same time. He gave me the flask of water, and told me to take it to you, for your leadership would be needed. I wanted to ask him more, but something kept me from doing so. We talked for a while, and he showed me memories from my boyhood that I had forgotten.”

  King Garkin stared at him in amazement. The Creator never came out from the Eternal Vale—half his people didn’t even believe the Creator existed. He could see why Addyean kept it to himself. “I…I feel unworthy. Why me? This has never happened to any other in my family, at least not in any recorded history.”

  “He said you were needed. I guess this means that there will be a war. Great things are happening now. Perhaps this means that we will win, and finally destroy Darhyn.”

  King Garkin shrugged. “Perhaps. But I have a feeling that the future is not yet determined.”

  “I don’t think it’s determined either, at least not in full. This is why I have a potentially important question to ask you. Tell me everything you know about Warren.”

  The king sat back in his chair and began. “Well, he came to us a few years back. Always was a rather annoying fellow. In the beginning, he wanted to be a knight, but he was just too clumsy. I think he had a falling out with old Ironfist then too. Those two have always hated each other. Anyway, we were in a drought then, and I put him in charge of rationing the grain. He did a good job of it, and when the drought was over I let him handle some of the economic issues of the realm. He’s done so well that we’ve actually been able to cut taxes each of the last three years. After his economic success, I made him my general advisor, and he has offered me only good advice from then until now. Why?”

  Addyean replied, “When Zelin and I first came to see you, he told us that you were ill, and then snuck out. Now, I imagine that he was thinking of the safety of the realm. But something in his voice and his manner led me to believe he might not have the best interests of the kingdom in mind. In my years as a spy, I’ve always prided myself on being an excellent judge of character. Something just is not right about him.”

  King Garkin thought about it for a minute. “You are not the first person to tell me this. Yet, for all of the complaints, he has never been found to be guilty. I even fully investigated him six months ago. We found nothing. He has only brought good things to the realm. And I wonder about one thing. If the Creator wants to protect me, why would he let Warren into my confidence?”

  Addyean had wondered the same thing. “If Warren was allied with the Evil One, I think the Creator would have warned me of it at Treshin. But still, something is not right.”

  “I have an idea,” King Garkin began. “In consideration of your skills in judging people, I will not tell Warren everything. He still is my advisor, however, and he can offer me very valuable advice. In the meantime, I will keep my eyes open. You should too. I will allow you to personally check up on him.”

  The king had spoken, and Addyean nodded his acceptance. “Very well, your majesty. I will see to it at once. In the meantime, I will let you get back to your work. May I help you in the writing of any of these letters?”

  King Garkin smiled and shook his head no. “Thank you, Addyean, but I can take care of it myself. It is nothing, really. I will have these finished soon and then I will get some sleep.”

  Addyean stood up, excused himself, and then left King Garkin to his duties.

  * * *

  The burning sensation at his side woke Derlin that night. It was the darkest part of the night, only a few hours had passed since they had started to sleep. Groggily, he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes and find what had prematurely awoken him. It was in vain, for he had slept for long enough to turn off his body, but not long enough to restore the energy needed to operate it. As he groped about hi
mself uncertainly, a bright but soothing light wrapped around him. His eyes drawn to the source, Derlin saw the Rune Sword, its handle pointing toward the back of the tent. That’s odd, he recalled. He thought Tarthur had left it by his side when he slept. Following the point of the blade, Derlin pulled aside the tent flap and peered outside.

  In a dreamlike trance, he glanced about the forest. A black cloud passed over the moon, as if to rob the land of every meager ray of light that it might provide. Derlin surveyed his surroundings. A thick fog wrapped itself through the trees and around the rocks, creating images so real and terrible that Derlin had to force himself not to think about them. The sensation made him shiver— no, it was only the cold. The forest was oddly quiet, not even so much as the sound of a cricket penetrated the night. The chill fog created intangible wraiths, which vanished as if they had never been with the slightest puff of wind. Staring ahead, Derlin caught sight of something that made him indeed wish it were a dream. Burning through the fog, too far away to reveal their origin, but close enough so that there could be no mistake about their purpose, were two fiery red eyes. Derlin felt like they were boring straight into his heart.

  Hurriedly he ducked back into the tent, and vividly shook Tarthur to wake him. Much too slowly, Tarthur came out of his slumber and started to mumble. Derlin quickly put a finger to his lips. Tarthur, now more awake, immediately understood and followed the direction Derlin’s shaky hand pointed, out of the tent.

  He only needed one word. “Eyes.”

  Tarthur strained to find them, but he could see naught in the darkness that enveloped the camp. “I don’t see them, but I feel it. It is evil, and I’m scared.”