Lands of Daranor: Book 01 - DreamQuest

by Bill T Pottle

  Cilio shrugged his shoulders. “So we will wait until their homes are being attacked and burned? We won’t have any enlistments until it is too late. Don’t forget, we can order mandatory conscription.”

  Hano finally joined in the discussion. “We will have more troops than we need, if things go the way that they have. The elves are ready to fight to a man, and we would need but a handful if the Death Lord’s other troops fight like his first ones have. General Cilio and I have sent them scattering! They are nothing to us!”

  “Then you have seen nothing,” Yan interjected. “He has terrors you cannot dream about. To even think on them would be to destroy yourself. Do you think he uses only humans? No, soon you will see creatures of evil from out of legend. They are monsters of horror and power.”

  “Yet they still bleed,” Hano interrupted, pushing his point. “They still feel steel and they still die.”

  “Oh, no,” said Yan with a bitter chuckle of mixed sorrow and mirth. “Unfortunately for us, they don’t die.”

  This unnerved and hushed the room and the silence hung heavy over each member, the thoughts of what was to come eating away their bravado. Tarthur felt the chill of the winter outside fill him. Finally someone spoke; it was General Cilio, only his unfeeling nature was undisturbed.

  “Are we in possession of enough power of our own to neutralize the magic creatures that Darhyn is sure to create if he has not done so already?” Cilio was always considering the military aspects of any point.

  Zelin looked at Yan, took a deep breath, and began. “We do have a considerable amount of learning and power on our side, and Yan and I will be able to make a strong impact in the battle in any case. Yet, without knowing what minions he is making or summoning from other worlds…well I can only surmise. Yet it is imperative that we retrieve the Water Orb. With its power, we could win, unless he has something up his sleeve, such as an alliance with Marhyn, which I would not discount. One thing is for sure, the more time he has the more powerful the evil we will be faced with.”

  Cilio nodded, satisfied it seemed. “So then our present course of action would be to ready for an attack on Darhyn.” He raised his hand to ward off Sir Terin as he tried to make his point. “Your elementary concern is true, yet can be dealt with easily. We need the support of the people—that much is obvious. We must simply use the intelligence network to spread our propaganda. Whoever here is the leader must have his workers spread posters and announcements, we must set up plays and shows to help get the minds of the people into this fight.”

  Tarthur raised his hand, and asked Cilio to explain this “propaganda.” Cilio seemed slightly annoyed at the interruption at first, but then started explaining it to him.

  “You see, Tarthur, it is very important for the heart of all the people to be with us in this struggle. We are going to send people to every village, every street corner, and have them make up stories about our army and the Death Lord. We’ll be the valiant defenders of truth and justice and they will be all that is evil and loathsome. We’ll make stage productions of the old stories of his defeat, polish them up, and add some stories where common citizens have a stroke of good luck and suddenly become heroes. Of course, we’ll leave out all the other parts of war, like the dying and blood and pain and losing, and all that. We’ll send people to start talking, and start rumors (there’s a mountain of gold beneath his palace, you know.) We’ll do all these things and the people will be crawling over each other just to get a chance to enlist.”

  Derlin seemed a little bit confused. “We’re going to lie to them? What if they get killed because they think they are fighting for gold and fame and glory? That is wrong to the people.”

  King Garkin, a ruler who was removed by rank and stature from the common people, yet still felt for their lives and happiness, nodded gravely, yet said nothing.

  General Cilio still perceived King Garkin’s discomfort, and he got angry at these troublesome morals and ideals that the others held. They would be the downfall of the army if he didn’t do something quick. “Nothing is wrong if we win! The end justifies the means. Don’t you see that following these high-minded ideas will get us in trouble? If it helps you any, think of it as stretching the truth rather than lying. Darhyn is, after all, evil, and we are the good guys.” Cilio took a deep breath, focused intently on the king, and began to speak again, this time in a more calm tone. “You hired me to lead your armies and to give us victory. That is my job and I will do it. Your job is to protect your people, and you better start doing it too!”

  If the whole of the Lands of Daranor, outside of the regions belonging to the Death Lord and his sister was searched up and down, not another soul could be found who would dare address the king in that tone of voice or manner of words. Yet King Garkin did not reprimand him. He simply muttered, “Yes, I see now that it must be done. Please forgive me.” So the matter was settled, but Tarthur could not help notice a shimmer on the king’s eye, as if moisture were slowly departing from it.

  After a brief pause, Yan changed the subject. “If that is settled, then I would recommend that Tarthur begin training in the Arts of Magic immediately. We must teach him all that we possibly can about this power that he possesses.”

  The rest nodded in agreement, and Sir Terin rose, saying “That is a good idea, and may I suggest that you and Zelin take him under your personal care? It seems as if you two are at the peak of your profession.”

  “Thank you, Sir Terin, but no. Yan and I will help Tarthur and oversee his education, but we have other pressing business to attend to. We will, of course, stop by periodically and check on his progress, but I am sure there are others qualified to help him in the beginning.”

  Warren tried, though unsuccessfully, to phrase his question with guile and cunning. “Just what exactly is this pressing business?”

  “For one thing we are going to visit the merfolk and see exactly how they can help us in the coming struggle,” Zelin answered seriously, then “oh yes! And then we are going to try to make the whole army fly.” The unseen tensions between the rest of the group and Warren were revealed as the company burst into a mirthful laughter, and Warren’s embarrassed face wore a scowl.

  King Garkin rose again. “It appears that things are settled then. We will gather an army, train it and be ready to leave with spring. I know that is some three months from now, but making a good army takes time, and we could not attack him in the winter anyway, his power is stronger then. Tarthur will learn about magic. I am sure I don’t need to remind any of you, but what is said in this room stays here. This is very secret information, and it could be the doom of our country if any of it got out. Is that clear?” Everyone nodded, so the king continued. “Well, then, if no one has anything else?”

  No one did, and so the meeting was adjourned. Tarthur and Derlin were led to their chambers by a male servant, and soon they were reclining on a bed made of goose down. The bed had rich, thick, comforters, and enormous fluffy pillows. The room also had a huge fireplace, which Tarthur deemed unnecessary, seeing as how that bed alone could keep him warm in just about any temperature. It felt so different for the boys who were used to sleeping in a wooden cot with maybe one woolen blanket, or even sleeping outside with nothing but a thin tattered cloak. It was almost uncomfortable to have a servant lead them around and call them sir and provide whatever they needed. It made them feel out of their place. They had always made fun of Morty at home for his luxuries and schooling, but now they were in a much more luxurious room than there ever was in Krendon, and Tarthur was going to have to go to school for a few whole months!

  Despite not sleeping the night before, Tarthur and Derlin were ready to get out and see the city. Before they could, however, a tailor came in and started to measure them for new clothes. Tarthur and Derlin were dying to get away, but he informed them that they were to stay with him for the remainder of that day, and that the next day they might visit the city, but after that they were to study every day, with only Sundays t
o do with as they pleased. Tarthur gasped at this, but Derlin only nodded.

  They should have paid more attention to the tour that the tailor took them on, for he showed them the dining area, the latrine, the other people’s quarters, the study, and other places of interest in the castle. In the study, Tarthur met a somewhat tiresome middle-aged man, whom the tailor introduced as Akin. Akin was one of the principal magicians, and to him was entrusted Tarthur’s learning. From the very outset, Tarthur knew that he would dislike him, and while he seemed perfectly nice, something in his manner and voice irked him. The voice was thin and dull, and by the look of him Tarthur guessed that he had little or no experience having fun, or doing anything that was not horrendously boring.

  When the tour was completed, the tailor brought them back into the dining area where he took his leave of them. He informed them that servants would be around if they had any special needs, but otherwise they were to fend for themselves. The three meals would be served in the dining hall daily at the seventh, twelfth, and sixth chimes, respectively. They were to report to their places of education, as soon as they finished eating breakfast, or by the ninth chime at least. This was Akin’s study for Tarthur and the knight’s training courtyard for Derlin, who was learning swordsmanship so he could take part in the fighting,

  The meal was of average quality, but to one who rarely eats meat or any hot meal at all, it was more than satisfactory. The food in their stomachs, coupled with not sleeping much the night before began to take its toll shortly after dinner was finished. There was a roaming bard who went by the name of Wendel Grayleaf singing songs of yesteryear and telling about old stories that had been all but forgotten. Tarthur wanted to hear him, but it soon became obvious that he would have to wait until another time when he fell asleep during the very first song.

  “Let’s go to bed,” said Derlin with a yawn, as he shook Tarthur in an attempt to rouse him. Fortunately it worked, and the two soon were walking through the halls, in search of their quarters. By some miracle of chance they found them, and as soon as they hit the pillows they were fast asleep.

  * * *

  After falling asleep, he began to dream again. It was like that other dream, a while ago, back when he was living in the small village that had been his home for his whole life. The dream carried him across a barren wasteland. He floated effortlessly over the decay that was an eternal reality in this place where no living thing dared to disturb the stillness. But this was not a calm stillness, not a place for a troubled soul to find solace and peace. It was an electric stillness, a kind of perverted calm before the storm, where the land knows of the coming tempest, and eagerly anticipates it with a charged energy that makes skin crawl and hair stand on edge.

  He looked up and saw the reason for the anticipation, and the only monument that broke the endless stillness of the Savannah Plain. It was Castle Rathskellar, and the darkness where it cast its shadow was just a little blacker than the surrounding countryside. It was here that he floated on the dream currents, or rather to the one inside that he knew he was bound. He continued to float on, past sentries, through walls, over a regiment of the evil army training for battle. He saw by their startled looks that some saw him, even recognized him from when he had been there before, yet he was not afraid. He could tell by the way the monsters quickly turned away from his gaze, as if his look was death, that they would not hinder him. They did not seem particularly afraid of him, yet they remembered what had happened the last time the floating one with the golden hair had come, even though they cared not to.

  Soon he was before the last doors, and halted. Runes of protection and seals of destruction too numerous to mention wrapped about the doors as if they were strands of ivy around a crumbling marble column in some ancient house. Even without his body as he now was, the potent spells would destroy him, so the dream current stopped and he waited. Soon the door swung open by itself, and the current resumed once more. It carried him in this way past ten more identical doors. The last one was much larger, and even he, who as of yet had no learning in the ways and powers of magic, felt it. Soon the twelfth door opened, and he floated inside.

  Standing over a map of the world was a formless figure in a black cowl. As he looked up, a plain skull was all that could be made of his face. He had no heartbeat, and the only rhythmic sound in the room was the pulsating of evil from the Sword of Darkness that was at his side. It sent out waves of malevolence, unseen and unheard. Being here sent such a chill down the sleeper’s spine that he tried to will himself awake. It didn’t work. He had come here to do something, and now he would do it.

  The two fiery red eyes burning inside the otherwise vacant sockets began to eat away at his resolve, and the dreamer had to remind himself that he was not going to be hurt. He had promised that when they had first made their pact. Thinking of the pact made him wonder again why he was making it. Why was he selling out his own country, his people? It was like Sir Terin had said, people were going to die. And it was going to all be his fault. No, he thought again, that was not quite correct. He was just helping along the inevitable. He thought back to that other time he had come in a dream, and of the horrors he had seen. He guessed deep down inside that he wanted the king to win, but he knew. He knew what Darhyn could do. He had seen it. He was just being smart—survival of the fittest, the strong and smart, that’s what it was all about.

  “They are amassing an army to attack you, my lord.” Warren usually refrained from addressing anyone with that title, but this was not anyone. It was Him. “They believe that you are still asleep and that they can destroy you before you awake.” Warren looked into the Death Lord’s face, to gauge his reaction, but he did not move, almost as if he had not heard. He could have been stone were it not for the dancing tongues of flame that were his eyes. “They plan to attack with the spring, as if it will help them any!” With this Warren burst into a sort of laughter which quickly died out as Warren remembered what had happened the last time someone tried to joke with Him. The Death Lord did not joke. Although Warren saw no reaction from Darhyn, he felt his malevolence increase, if indeed that was possible, and inwardly cursed himself for his foolishness.

  “It is as I had hoped.” The words resounded in Warren’s head, and with that he knew the interview was over. He had no sign from the Evil One whether he was pleased, but as the dream currents wrapped around his body and began to lift him from the room, he thought he felt the evil pulse of the Sword of Darkness quicken slightly in anticipation…

  * * *

  The one who had been asleep arose slowly at first, trying to shake off the last efforts of sleep to drag him back bodily to its own domain, and at the same time trying to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. When the remembrance hit him though, Tarthur shot out of bed and flew to wake Derlin. After a few hurried words, the pair quickly dressed in the clothes that had been laid out on a small table in the middle of the room. If they would have taken the time to notice, they would have remembered that these were the clothes that the tailor had made for them the night before. Derlin put on Tarthur’s pants, and had to exchange them for his own when it became apparent that if he walked around in them he would most certainly trip before he had gone ten meters. In their excitement, they nearly neglected two small leather bags. When Tarthur looked at the contents, he saw that they each carried an enormous and incredible amount of pure golden coins! (Actually it was a very modest sum, but to the boys, who had never seen more than a few pennies at a time, it was quite a fortune.) They both foolishly deposited the whole of their allowances in a hidden pocket which appeared to be made for just this purpose, and hurried down to eat breakfast, for they had not a moment to lose.

  Today was the day they got to see the city.

  Walking quickly, or rather running just slowly enough so anyone not looking closely would assume they were walking in a dignified manner, but still going fast enough to obtain minimum travel time, Tarthur and Derlin talked about what they might see in the c
ity. Baron Ercrilla and a few people from Krendon had been there before, and the stories—which were usually made up of half-truths and some of them even of quarter-truths—told of wonders and sights amazing to behold. They told of streets where people sold things from the far corners of the world. They told of new animals and street shows, complete with magicians and acrobats, and other things people wouldn’t believe even if they saw them. They told of awe-inspiring wonders from the biggest gathering of people in any single place in all of Daranor…and now the boys were about to see for themselves. They walked past the guard at the door that led from the inner keep of the king’s castle and stepped out into the city…

  …And they saw filth. Buildings and houses crowded against each other, creating narrow alleys filled with refuse and stray dogs. They saw trash over nearly every possible space. But what amazed them the most was the feeling of enclosure. To Tarthur and Derlin, it seemed as if they were still inside. They began to walk among the shadows cast by the tall buildings that monopolized the landscape.

  “I don’t see any fair,” Derlin stated grimly. “Maybe we are just in the wrong section of the city.”

  Tarthur nodded, unconvinced. The two began to walk through the alley. They had never been in anything more than a small village before, and not knowing where to go was puzzling to them. In the places they had visited or lived in, one could see the entire town from wherever he looked. Mountains or forests where no one lived were places to get lost in, but cities?

  As it turned out, they were indeed in the wrong section of the city if one wants to see a market, and within a few minutes their alley came out onto one of the city’s major thoroughfares. They followed this one for some time, and soon they came upon the fair.

  It was truly like nothing they had ever seen. Tarthur and Derlin would have been intimidated by the sheer numbers of people, if they had been the kind of boys that got intimidated easily. They were accustomed to towns where everyone knew everyone else by name mostly and at least by face. Their travels in the world had numbed them somewhat, however, and as Tarthur looked at the many wonders from all around the world, he couldn’t help realizing how big the world was, and how small he felt in comparison.