by A. Evermore
Marakon’s smile turned to dismay, ‘So few?’ he whispered sadly, remembering his knights had once numbered in the thousands. ‘The price has been paid, the curse lifted. I have returned to unite the Banished Legion once more. No longer will we walk the world in a living hell for a heinous crime committed against us. We will reclaim the glory that should have been ours!’ He looked at each of them in turn as he spoke, his passionate voice cracking with fatigue.
‘We will tell the world the truth of that day, we will remind the world what we were, what we stood for, what we are! Once more a plague blights Maioria and the dark moon calls us to do our duty,’ he pointed to the huge blue moon, ‘the Night Goddess calls to us, she calls us to victory and we will heed her call. Return to me my knights, I am Marakon, I am King Marakazian, and I call you one last time to your duty!’
With a roar he lifted his sword high above his head and the skeletons mirrored him, their rasping voices filled the valley. Light began to glow in their empty eye sockets as their imprisoned souls returned. Their bones disappeared beneath flesh and their rasping roar became more human as their throats became whole once more and their voices returned. Long decayed clothes, the clothes they had worn when they died, now looked brand new. Their armour became solid and clean and shining like once before.
Tears blurred Marakon’s vision as their faces became those he knew and loved so long ago.
‘Forgive me, my knights, my mind was poisoned,’ his voice cracked. ‘Demonic greed can never possess me again.’
His eyes rested upon two elves, Ghenath and Hylion, female and male, and they stood there blinking at him with clear and sparkling eyes as if they had never died. Blessed Woetala, do they even know of the elven Land of Mists and what has happened? The elves were great warriors and great allies, they should never have left Maioria to her fate. Perhaps these great knights can remind them again. The dwarves Ironbeard, Konnen, Cormak and Drenden. The humans Lan, Meyer, Nemeron, Oria and Hally.
Those eleven knights that stood before him were the best of his knights. The fastest, or the strongest, or the most skilled. And it was because of those things that they still remained. But their curse and their burden was the greatest. They alone killed the most and they alone suffered the most and paid the most. There was nothing but sorrow in this story.
Seeing them again, knowing all they had suffered, the bloody battles they had fought together to keep the demons out of Maioria, only to be banished to a foreign barren place, to die in the dust hated and loathed and then forgotten. Tears ran down his cheeks as their rusted armour became clean and whole and shone in the blue light; they looked glorious once more. Pride for what they once were and could be again rose as a lump in his throat and he smiled.
‘Are we free?’ Hally asked, her voice weak and disbelieving. What horrors had she suffered wandering this evil place?’
‘I think so,’ Marakon nodded.
‘It has been so long,’ Cormak meant to sound soft but it still came out gruff.
‘We are whole once more,’ Hylion said, looking down in awe at his hand.
‘This place was cursed long before we ever came here,’ Ghenath said staring out across the barren valley, ‘but now we can leave it for good. I long to be free,’ she breathed and closed her eyes.
‘We have our chance to make things right. To restore our former glory,’ Marakon said. ‘Deep in the Murk I know Karhlusus still lives and he will be made to pay for what he has done. But now a greater enemy, more dangerous and deadly even than the Greater Demons from beyond the Murk, plagues this land. That is why we have been given a second chance, we have been called to serve the light once more and in so doing redeem our souls.’
He took a step towards them with a clinking sound, suddenly feeling heavy and strange. He looked down in shock to find he was no longer dressed in torn linen but wore polished armour like his knights. His sword was his own but now it was polished and sharp like new. No evidence of his battle with the giant skeleton marred its shining surface. He took his helmet off and traced in wonder the golden circlet upon it, a king’s circlet for a good king who had once been loved.
There came a rumbling in the distance. It grew louder and louder until thunder filled the valley like a thousand drums beating. They all turned to stare at a great billowing dust cloud moving towards them led by a dark shape. As it came closer he saw it was a big black bird that flew before the huge cloud. He lifted up his eye patch and saw it was a raven. The messenger of the Night Goddess. Behind it followed twelve white horses, each with gleaming armour and saddles that shone in the blue light. The horses slowed as they neared and pranced around the knights, stomping the ground and tossing their majestic heads.
The knights laughed, wonder in their eyes as they reached for the reins. The raven circled down and landed beside Marakon, cocking its head to look at him. He looked down at it thoughtfully. All elves, even half-elves, knew Zanufey’s messenger when they saw it. What it meant he did not know and as always found himself rather suspicious of it. From the way it shifted as it looked at him he felt the feeling was mutual. The knights mounted their horses.
‘You look funny,’ Hylion said to Marakon as he settled down in his saddle, ‘but somehow the same.’
Marakon gave him a sour smile. ‘My fate was much more fun than yours. I had to live out my agonies, not wander around for thousands of years moaning like a banshee.’ The knights laughed, and he joined them. It felt good to laugh with them once more, especially then, and about that.
‘Wait until you hear about the elves,’ Marakon added as he turned his prancing horse. ‘You might find yourselves in rather a quiet world when it comes to elves. This time I am half-elven, so you cannot mock me any longer,’ he winked at them.
The raven launched into the air, and began heading off slowly as if waiting for them to follow.
‘Knights of the Shining Star,’ Marakon shouted, ‘we ride to restore our former glory. The world has need of us again and they will remember who once we were; they will remember honour, and light, and freedom!’
Marakon whirled his horse around to follow the raven and together he and his knights galloped across the barren plain of the Drowning Wastes into the world once more.
Chapter 41
Lovesick
ASAPH had watched her leave the hut. It was obvious she was trying to avoid him and wouldn’t look him in the eye. She looked lovely as always, even after last night’s over-indulgence; her tangled hair cascading down her back and her lips, albeit a little smeared with the red stuff she had put on them, he still longed to kiss again.
He hadn’t meant to kiss her then, but she had looked so beautiful lying there, smiling up him, drowning him in those sea green eyes. It was as if a spell woven of the most potent magic had been cast upon him; she had looked vulnerable and delicate and yet the spell she cast had been deadly.
She had responded hungrily and remembering it now sent his blood racing - and then his sore head pounding. But this morning, now the wine had worn off, she was too embarrassed to look at him or even speak to him. Did she regret what had happened? He hoped she didn’t. I don’t even know if she likes me, and why should she? I’m just a stranger to her. He sipped his tea sullenly.
For some reason he’d dreamed of her ever since he could remember. And now today she won’t even look at me. He stared sadly into the bottom of his empty cup. He would die for her, he knew that when he first saw her standing forsaken on the edge of the Shadowlands.
Watching her leave on the dangerous hunt filled him with fear. He would have tried to talk her out of it, would have gone with them had he not promised to help Coronos today. But really he would have done all those things anyway if he didn’t feel so guilty about kissing her. So he had kept silent. Though now she was gone he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He was hopelessly besotted and it was hard to focus on his own direction right now. He set his cup down and looked around for something to do.
Not wanting to speak to
anyone just yet and since Coronos was nowhere to be seen he set about cleaning and sharpening his sword. He found a quiet sunny patch of grass between the trees not far from Triest’anth’s house. He settled down on the warm ground and removed his sword from its scabbard. It glinted in the sunlight and didn’t really need cleaning or sharpening but it was something he could do whilst trying to take his mind off her.
If he turned his mind off Issa, and it was quite difficult to do, he heard another voice calling him. It whispered of snow-covered peaks, of clean icy winds and clear blue skies. Drax, I know it is. If all else fails I will see my homeland and I don’t care if I die trying. He had to find the dragons, if any still lived, and he was sure they did. Sleeping deep in their lairs. He even had notions of finding the Sword of Binding, my sword, as it was my mother’s sword before me, but he dared not ever mention that to Coronos or anyone else in case they thought he was insane.
Regardless, they would need to leave here soon, the enemy would be hunting for them; a Dragon Lord and the one who had killed Keteth. They would leave together, they were safer in numbers. Maybe they had stayed here too long already, enjoying the company and peace of these new found friends. The karalanths would no doubt prove valuable allies against the Maphraxies if the war ever came here. When the war came, he corrected himself. He would need some armour, maybe even a shield. Perhaps they had something useful here, though a search through Grast’anth’s smithy had revealed only weapons.
But try as he might his thoughts soon turned to Issa. Maybe he could make it up to her if she was cross with him. He could help her practice with the sword, could teach her everything Coronos had taught him. He had enjoyed watching her fight, she picked it up quickly and fought with passion. Watching how Grast’anth moved, remembering his own skirmish with Cusap’anth and his band when they had first encountered the karalanths, he knew the deer-people made formidable opponents. For a moment he was glad they were fighting on the same side.
Yet still she had defeated Grast’anth with quick and clever decisions, fearless actions and a stamina he doubted even he had despite all his years of training with the Kuapoh. Her passionate determination was impressive.
Is it driven by revenge like mine is? It makes us fearless but perhaps also foolish. Two determined fools, he laughed aloud at the thought. Both of us lost in the world, our homes and loved ones taken from us by the Maphraxies… I wonder what her home had been like. There is so little we know of each other, I don’t even know her family name! And yet none of that seemed to matter.
Ever since the raven had stolen his mother’s ring, ever since Feygriene herself had come to him, he knew that they were being called to a higher purpose. One in which he must help Issa, protect her and make sure she survived, just as she had helped him, had made sure he survived. It was a purpose he knew would one day lead them to stand against Baelthrom, and so it was something he didn’t dare think about too much. For who could stand against the Immortal Lord and triumph?
If he stood by her side no harm could come to her, how could it? He was a Dragon Lord, the last, so Coronos said, and he would not go without a fight. He only had to master the dragon within. But how could he master it when there was no other Dragon Lord to teach him?
He thought of Faelsun, the Guardian of the Dragon Dream. Yes, maybe Faelsun could teach him if he entered the Dragon Dream again. Something which, even now, he wasn’t sure how to do at will. All these things would be easy, he mused, if he had been trained properly like every other Dragon Lord before him.
She had been called by the Night Goddess and chosen to be her disciple, to walk that path no matter how hard it became. He could not change that, but he was determined to walk it with her. They were not simply pawns in this life to be moved around at a deity’s whim. They were dynamic interactive souls driven by a desire to be free, to live in peace. Just as they were born to be, just to be as the One Source of All intended. To be free…
They called her the Raven Queen, and it seemed a fearful term, a fearful dark and deathly aspect of the Great Goddess. But she, Issa, was not so frightening or fearsome as the texts led one to believe. Elegant, beautiful, regal like a queen, yes, but not that foreboding warrior aspect of the Great Goddess. He remembered the ominous Annals of Deeatrice that Coronos had spoken to him about a long time ago.
“… fear the Raven Queen when she comes but bless her too for she will come in the direst moment to lead us through death and darkness and destruction. Terrible is her will and her determination unstoppable, but come she must, or all is lost …”
That was how the prophecy started, and despite not being able to sleep much afterwards for thoughts of this dark and fearsome queen he had since paid such scriptures and prophecies scant attention, dismissing them as flights of fanciful imaginations. He was a Draxian and part dragon, after all, and not given to fancy poetry. But now it seemed he should have listened to Coronos' reciting more carefully.
It’s not like he’d had any books to study, they were all left in Drax in the exile and probably now all destroyed. The Kuapoh did not have books. They told stories of history from memory. Funny then, it seemed, that all of his lessons on history were also word of mouth from the memory of Coronos, and a little help from the orb that was an endless source of information.
Regardless, he had never linked the Raven Queen to Issa, and neither did he want to now. It seemed too much responsibility, too much to understand and take in. Raven Queen or not, Zanufey’s chosen or not, she was precious to him and he refused to leave her side regardless of her mission. All his life he had seen the Kuapoh women choose another over him, a foreigner, and he was not about to see another chance pass him by.
‘Urgh, I’m hopeless,’ he said aloud sighing deeply. No matter how hard he tried his thoughts always returned to her. He shoved his sword back in its scabbard with a loud smack. This was no time to be thinking about love, not when they were being hunted and the whole world was at war, and yet think about love was all he wanted to do.
‘Hopeless?’
Asaph jumped at Cusap’anth’s voice, he had not heard the proud karalanth arrive and hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud. ‘Nothing I have seen about you could possibly be called hopeless,’ Cusap’anth said his stern face regarded him for a moment and then softened into a smile, ‘unless of course you are talking about matters of the heart.’
Asaph snorted.
The karalanth leader had become a friend of sorts since they had forgiven each other for their aggressive first encounter that now seemed so long ago. The karalanth, seeing they had a Dragon Lord wounded by Keteth amongst them, had decided against killing him and instead carried him into their village to be nursed back to health. He had saved Asaph’s life in the end and for that Asaph was forever grateful.
Asaph groaned and stood up. ‘Am I so easy to read?’
‘Only about the dark haired one; it is hard to tell what you are thinking at the best of times. But then again Dragon Lords were ever mysterious beings,’ Cusap’anth replied. ‘It is high time that you should have a mate and, for all the darkness and heaviness of the world around us, she is still just a woman and you are just a man.’
‘You are right,’ Asaph nodded, the karalanth’s words lightened the load a little. ‘But I don’t even know if she likes me,’ he sighed, feeling like a pathetic lovesick teenager.
‘Give her time. It must be hard for her with so many things going on. From what I have heard her pain and loss are still raw, whereas ours our old,’ he gave a half smile. ‘And besides, I didn’t exactly see her run away from you last night,’ the karalanth winked.
Asaph considered that, Cusap’anth was right, he was being impatient. ‘Maybe I should leave her alone. I only wish she would leave my head alone.’
‘I think she needs you more than she realises,’ after a pause he added, ‘Come, there is something I want to show you,’ Cusap’anth motioned him to follow, but Asaph saw a frown pass across his face as he turned to go. He grabbed hi
s sword and cleaning cloth and followed the karalanth, the deer-man’s tail flicking to and fro in front of him as they walked back into the village.
‘My father thinks you should know the truth. We never thought we would see another Dragon Lord again after Drax fell to the Maphraxies,’ Cusap’anth said quietly as they entered his house several doors down from his father’s house. He opened the door of a heavy wooden cupboard stood in one corner of the large main room and dragged out an old wooden chest sealed with a large iron lock. He took a key from one of the jars on a shelf above the cupboard and hesitated.
‘As much as you might try to you cannot hide your identity from me, Prince Asaph, or should I say King Asaph? A Dragon Lord when no other Dragon Lord still exists. An old Draxian carrying the Orb of Air. The few Draxians that managed to flee Drax speak of a hunt for a missing baby, the queen’s baby, yet none was ever found. Then came rumours of people escaping on a ship heading west. Two people arriving in our lands from the shores of the Uncharted World when none has ever travelled those seas and returned to tell of what they found. There are too many coincidences for you not to be the heir to the Draxian throne.’
Asaph was silent, stricken, his hand instinctively went to his sword but did nothing. His heart was pounding in his chest so hard he was sure Cusap’anth could hear it. He was certainly getting to know the karalanths’ direct manner and demand for truth.
‘King of what?’ he challenged, the bitter gruffness in his voice surprised him. ‘King of a wasted barren land? King of a destroyed people, few of which now live? What kind of king is that?’ He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. His anger stirred the dragon within.