The Dragon Rock

by Nebojsa Budjanovac

  Chapter 3. Haar - ol - garot

  Orin ar den Raamternan, son of king Argen, master of the Plain Countries, never in his life felt so small and weak like there, on the narrow paths that winded through the mountain. He knew no more where he was going. The cliffs that surrounded him have completely concealed the view of the Dragon Rock.

  He passed the edges of the canyons whose bottoms were in complete darkness, he climbed across the steep passages, and slid down the north slopes covered with snow. From time to time a light breeze followed him, with the scent of cold, and when he paused, the silence would return, and abide with him, like the most faithful friend. The silence was worst of all.

  He considered himself a serious, somewhat lonely man, a warrior, who carries the burden of his rank with dignity. When the meddlesome servants bored him, or when he was tired of damsels who were trying endlessly to draw his attention, he would go to one of his estates and spend a few days riding through the forest, polishing his skill at martial arts, studying the works of the generals from the past. But there he was also surrounded by his servants and assistants, all the time. It was not genuine solitude.

  On these damned, empty hillsides he realized for the first time what it meant to be really alone, in the cold, dark nights, without walls, or warm fireplaces and concubines to defend him from the Great Void. Never had the star-studded sky looked so enormous and threatening, and he was turning his eyes from it, covering his head with the blanket, and shivering from some unspeakable terror; he, who was not in fear of any living man. Sometimes he felt an overwhelming need to scream and drive away the fear, to unsheathe the sword and to challenge the inexorable mountain cliffs, to announce his existence to the Void and to fill it with his presence. Then the reason would prevail again, and he would clench his teeth and wait for the dawn, stiffed from the cold and insomnia.

  He used his supplies very sparingly, from time to time feeding on some edible herbs that grew on the sunny slopes, but on the fifteenth day of the journey there was nothing left in the sack. If he wanted to survive, he would have to catch some animal soon. Of course, it was easy to think of it, but almost impossible to do for somebody who, until now, hunted only in the king’s hunting grounds, which were swarming with game.

  Sometimes he could see little herds of mountain goats, but they were always on the opposite side of the gorge, too far for his rough bow, even if he could have thought of the way to cross the abyss and get to the game. There were almost none of the smaller animals.

  On the fifteenth day he was completely convinced that all stories about the Blue Mountains were fairy tales for the credulous. There was nothing and nobody here. The Blue Mountains weren’t a place for a man to dwell there.

  The sun was halfway on its journey to the west. The narrow path that he followed suddenly turned right, behind the stony bulk of the cliff, which towered still about hundred paces above him. He was exhausted of the starvation, and coughed more and more often. He sat down on the ground and looked at the sky. There was a new feeling born inside him. It felt like the beginning of the end.

  Fool! thought he. Common fool. All that is left for me is to die here. Nobody would ever know where the bones of the prince of the Plain Countries are. I got what I deserved.

  Somewhere in his guts, he felt wraith of fear dug its way deep into his consciousness. He tried to think about the Ring of the Kings, but he couldn’t remember what it was. The hunger gradually erased everything except the fear. Orin was always convinced that he isn’t afraid of dying and that, when his time comes, he would peacefully and with dignity cross the border of the Unknown. But that was before, when the death was far from him, something that didn’t belong into his world. He imagined himself dying on a battlefield, with the sword in hand, fighting against all odds; not starving in Blue Mountains, in the middle of nowhere, he who throughout his whole life hasn’t learned the meaning of the word hunger.

  The sun was shining high above the mountaintops, the only warm spot in the cold world. It invited him to drown in the light - forget all, dive in the yellowness, sleep... He was on edge of the consciousness, laying on the narrow path few steps from the abyss, when suddenly a clear woman’s voice reached him. Somebody behind the rock sang an eerie melody, gentle and serene, which for a moment chased death from Orin’s mind and made him open the eyes. With a great effort of will, he rose from the ground, leaning on his sword. His whole body was shivering. From behind the rock a figure appeared, a girl dressed in dark brown, with a staff in the hand and a sack on the back. Her black hair was woven in several braids that descended to the shoulders.

  Sighting Orin, the girl stopped in surprise and cried something unintelligible. Still in disbelief, Orin started toward her and lifted hand in the traditional greeting of the Plain Countries.

  “Peace!” said he in hoarse voice, hoping that girl wouldn’t escape. She, however, didn’t show any signs of fear. She stood and watched the warrior as he stumbled toward her, then she came near him and carefully, with questioning expression on the face, placed his hand over her shoulder. Nodding her head, the girl pointed to the direction from which she came and said something that maybe meant “let’s go”. Orin relaxed and obeyed, hanging on her rather than walking, but the girl endured the burden of his body with unbelievable ease.

  He couldn’t determine how long they staggered on the path, half an hour, full hour, or much longer, when ahead of them a great oval-shaped valley came into view, covered with pastures where goats and sheep were grazing. On the north side of the valley an enormous cliff was rising almost vertically. When they reached its foothill, a group of curious children surrounded them, making great noise and trying to touch the strange visitor. The girl drove them away with several sharp, but somehow good-natured commands, and then helped Orin to seat himself. Then, without a word, she went to the bottom of the cliff and started to climb using the slits, fissures and bulges in the stone. In wonder, Orin looked at the cliff more closely and saw in it many openings, which obviously were entrances to the caves. He gazed then at the valley. The only buildings there were folds for the animals. These strange people lived in the caves on the cliff, and most of them had their dwellings up on heights that were breathtaking for the ordinary men!

  With awesome quickness and agility, the girl climbed up to one of the entrances, about fifty paces high, and disappeared there. Immediately after, a long rope emerged from the cave and fell to the ground. Grasping the meaning of this, Orin tied the end of the rope around his waist. When he had done this, he felt himself lifting up. As soon as he stepped over the edge of the entrance, several pairs of strong hands gripped him and took him to bed, made of many layers of goatskin, in one of the cave’s corners. Somebody brought a cup with hot potion, which he swallowed in a second. Instantaneously, he sank into the void.

  It was the first encounter of Orin ar den Raamternan with the People on Stone, as this strange folk called themselves.

  Next few days he spent recovering and observing his saviours. The cave in which he lived was some kind of tribal meeting-place, roughly circular in shape, thirty paces in radius. Several tunnels connected the cave probably with the other caves on the cliff, but when he tried to enter one, he was resolutely turned back. In some other occasion this act would have infuriated him. Nobody ever commanded the Prince of the Plain Countries. Still, those people saved his life, and treated him kindly, even though he didn’t understand a word of their strange language.

  During the day, the cave was usually empty. Men worked on their little fields in the valley or took care of the living stock. He watched them from the cave entrance, tiny spots far below, so insignificant compared with the cold peaks that surrounded them. He couldn’t help but wonder at the skill they displayed climbing to their dwellings, not using any devices except their hands and feet, often carrying on their backs the children who were bored playing on meadows.

  In the evening, the women would come first on the meeting-place, and they would build the fire in
the fireplace, which occupied the middle of the cave. Gradually, the men would gather also, taking their places around the fire. There would be a noisy conversation, followed with laughter. They sang eerie, melodically songs while women carried the tune playing on wooden flutes and drumming with bone-made sticks. They passed around a long pipe manufactured also of bone, while the unpleasant, stiffening smell emanated from it. After some time, the smokers would be drunkenly swinging in their places and emitting weird cries. Finally, the participants of the ceremony, if it was a ceremony, would withdraw in the tunnels, until there would be only women left in the cave. Their last task was to clean the cave, and to extinguish the fire, and after that they would also go to their caves.

  Nobody paid too much attention to Orin. After they decided that he didn’t understand them, they limited the contact to bringing the food and the drink, and some malodorous, but invigorating potions. The girl who found him he saw only two times in ten days in which he dwelt in the cave, but she, like the others, didn’t show any considerable interest in him. Their attitude didn’t bother him. A prince communicated with common people only in rare occasions, and the few days with these people couldn’t have erased all those years he spent living as a nobleman. He couldn’t help but look at them with some arrogance, and they sensed it somehow, and restrained themselves from any interaction with him.

  The solitude and distance from other human beings was a common thing for him, since those feelings followed him from the day he was born.

  However, the children of these unusual people did not know a lot about differences between people, were they princes or peasants. A stranger was rarity in their country, and they had to get to know him better. On the fifth day, when the adults have left the cave, they gathered around the prince, who dozed in his quarters, and watched him without words – a bunch of little furry heads and enormous eyes full of curiosity. They were dressed in fur-lined leather clothes, worn but firmly woven and warm. Orin did not have a lot of experience with children, and did not know how to behave. He tried to send them away waving his arms, but his movements only resulted in confused smiles of the children. Now and then, a more courageous boy would come near to him and touch him, then laugh and quickly return to the group. This seemed to be a kind of game, or test of courage. Finally, he started to smile despite himself, not able to resist his little admirers. His smile caused an eruption of cheers. Soon, he was surrounded by crowd of children who touched him and quickly withdrew.

  He realized that they were interested in an object they have never seen in their short lives – his sword. The weapon in leather scabbard drew their attention, and every child tried to touch, bite or unsheathe the sword.

  “This is not for children!” tried Orin, lifting the sword above his head, but no one listened to him. Braver boys started to jump on him, shouting merrily, while curiosity flickered in their eyes. Finally, he had to give up.

  “All right”, he said, “I will unsheathe it, but you may only watch. The sword is a dangerous thing”.

  He took the bright blade out of the scabbard, and the awed murmur spread among the children. He slashed the sword several times through the air above their heads, and they scattered on the safe distance. They maybe haven’t seen a sword before, but they certainly seemed to understand its purpose. An elder boy slowly approached him, and touched the levelled blade with his fingertip. He jerked the hand with sharp cry of pain. Blood trickled down his finger. Orin quickly sheathed the sword and took the boy’s hand in his own. He wiped the cut with his sleeve, and the children gathered again around him. This little incident did not discourage them. They pulled him by the sleeve toward cave entrance, clearly urging him to follow them.

  The whole day they taught him how to climb the vertical rocks – how to find a support, how to recognize loose rocks that will not support him, how to find a way on seemingly impassable cliff. It was a tedious exercise, and Orin could not stop wondering at the skill of his little hosts. Since he wasn’t able to understand them, they taught him by gestures and their own example, showing him different types of cracks in the stone and how to use them in climbing. Of course, he stayed low, because he recognized the inherent danger. In the evening he was tired, but the sleep was invigorating.

  The following day, children led him through the valley, showing him their secret hiding places, playing grounds and streams full of fish. They were perfectly in place in this world, completely happy, without any worries. Their mood infected Orin – his quest seemed to him somehow distant, less important. The adults watched with approval the stranger who played with their children. Their attitude toward him has improved – they invited him to take place by the fire and to participate in the ritual. He accepted, because he was interested in what happens when a man inhales mysterious smoke from the bone pipe.

  The gathering began in usual time, after sunset. Sitting in the circle with other people, the prince watched the pipe coming closer to him with feeling of unease. A man who inhaled the smoke seemed not to be present anymore; to Orin, it seemed that they were staring into some unknown world beyond. Finally, the pipe passed to him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, watched by the people who waited for their turn.

  In the first moment, nothing happened. He flashed a superior smile and passed the pipe to his neighbour on the left. Then, darkness cloaked everything, in an infinite moment in time. After an eternity, Orin heard a voice calling to him. He turned and realized he was standing on a meadow surrounded by clouds. Behind him stood an enormous, golden dragon, watching him with huge reptilian eyes.

  “The ring awaits you.” The voice boomed in his head. “Can you reach it?”

  Orin started to answer, but the dragon transformed into shapeless dark being, which quickly approached the prince and enveloped him with his cloak woven of the night’s darkness. He knew he was dying and he wasn’t able to do anything about it; the darkness choked him, bursting into his lungs like water. He tried to breathe, but all was in vain. The last thing he saw was the face of sorcerer – goat herder he left on the far slopes – and then his eyes abruptly opened. He was surrounded by concerned faces of his hosts; people gathered around his body on the floor, shaking him awake.

  He needed many hours to recuperate from the frightening experience. Sitting in his quarters, he noticed his hosts were staying away from him, secretly staring at him, with sorrow in their eyes. He was burning with desire to find out what happened, but he couldn’t understand them. He did not know what his vision meant, but it was clear to him it wasn’t good. Therefore, he did the only thing he could – in the next few days, he tried to repress and forget his experience.

  The health of Orin ar den Raamternan improved quickly, but his spirit was all the more restless. The inevitability of having to dwell in such a narrow space almost drove him crazy. He was not used to any limitations. His will always had to be obeyed, no matter what.

  The passion for the adventure was awake again. The Ring of the Kings was maybe within his reach. It was not in Orin’s nature to give up, no matter how hard the task was. On the other hand, though, he still had a vivid memory of agony of wandering though mountainous wastelands and the nearness of death in utter solitude.

  In any case, to return home from this place would be as difficult as to continue the journey, and to stay here forever, in this backward tribe far from the world, in the middle of nowhere, was the worst possibility. This couldn’t be the destiny of a prince. The tenth day he decided to continue the quest.

  With great effort, using both his hands and feet, he explained to his hosts that he wanted to leave and that he expected from them to supply him for the road. Several men and women who happened to be in the cave gave him an odd look while he was trying to make his demands clear, but finally one of them smiled and started to speak something to the others, pointing at the entrance. Then he took Orin’s hand and led him to the opening of the cave. He waved his hand in the direction Orin came from, lifted ten fingers, and pointed at the sun.
They want me to return! realized Orin. “No” he shook his head, demonstrating his disagreement. He showed the opposite direction with his hand.

  “There,” said he, hoping the man would understand. The man waved with both hands, while traces of fear broke on his face.

  “Haar-ol-garot!” said he in terrified fashion, pointing the direction Orin wanted to take. “Haar-ol-garot!” All of them turned to him with reflection of what undoubtedly was terror on their faces.

  Haar-ol-garot? thought Orin bitterly. Something dangerous, obviously, but it seems I will have to discover for myself what it is. Probably this tribe, like all the other savages, has its superstitions. He shook his head again and said, more to himself: “I’ll go in that direction, and as for you, help me if you want, or stay out of my way!”

  The sound of his words seemed to have had left impression on the present people, because the man with whom he “conversed” shrugged his shoulders in resignation and said something to one of the older women. The negotiation seemed successful.

  So it was that Orin departed the next morning, in the company of the small pack animal which looked like crossbreed between a goat and a donkey, and which was loaded with food, to continue his search for the ultimate power which the Ring of the Kings would grant him. The People-on-Stone, peeping from their cave openings, followed him with sad eyes; it was like they were looking at someone who goes into the dark realm of Death forever.

  On the road - only the cliffs, the wind and the solitude again. Still, he felt safer with the animal on whose back there was food enough for at least a month. He followed the path that was carved into the stones, and leading toward the west. The presence of the human artefact calmed him, although he hadn’t seen any traveller in three days. On the end of this road there must be other human settlements, where he could renew his supplies, if need be.

  He trotted the narrow path carefully, closely following the animal that had an innate sense for surviving on the unstable mountain terrain. From time to time, a rock would roll under his feet and fall in the depth. Orin’s mind would then plunge after the rock, and he would have to lean against the cliff, struggling with strong dizziness. The nights he spent in the niches carved in stone, which were obviously made for this purpose.

  On the third day of the journey the persistent quietness of the mountain suddenly became threatening. The towering stones started to express a silent warning to the careless traveller - RETURN... DO NOT GO FURTHER... In his imagination, the rocks transformed for a moment into the weird and horrid shapes of the grinning demon-faces, and unknown evil lurked from the shadows.

  The frightening omens didn’t leave him indifferent, but the prince of the Plain Countries never paid too much attention to things which existed on the edges of the reality, penetrating sometimes into the human minds in the form of sensations and dreams, bringing fear and warnings. His world was always one of consciousness; the only dangers he acknowledged were the dangers he could oppose with his sword.

  Finally, before the sunset, he came across a canyon whose edges were spanned with a hanging bridge about fifty paces long. It was old, and the boards placed between the ropes could not inspire him to walk over them.

  The bridge, however, drew Orin’s attention only for a short time. On the other side of the canyon, to the left side of the road, close to the edge and leaned against high cliff, stood a castle.

  Its walls were made of black granite, and from the middle of the building a tall tower was sticking in the air. It seemed abandoned; there were no signs of human presence around.

  The view was fearsome. However, Orin would never admit to himself that he was afraid. It was probably a ruin from ancient times that could be a welcome shelter for a weary traveller. He stepped carefully on the bridge, leading the animal by the reins. After several minutes of terrible creaking and breath-taking swinging, they were on the other side. Orin wiped away sweat from his face, but the animal started to neigh, obviously frightened. Orin fruitlessly tried to calm it, and then released it, knowing it would not go too far. He was looking at the ominous building, his hand on the hilt of the sword.

  In that instant he heard the sound of stone hitting the metal. Old, rusty iron gates opened slowly, with squeaking sound. The prince felt gooseflesh down his spine. Somebody is living here after all, thought he to chase the fear away. Good. Maybe I could hope for a hot meal before I go to sleep.

  “Enter, traveller,” said a bodiless voice, and Orin couldn’t determine whether it came from the castle or from his mind. He unsheathed the sword and waited.

  “Enter, prince,” said the voice again. Orin, wondering, entered the yard carefully, while the gates behind him were closing.

  He was standing in a dark hall without windows, lightened only by fire, which was burning in the fireplace. From the walls, stone-made demon heads glared at him, their faces grinning with evil. “Welcome” said his host in a weak, rustling voice, rising slowly from a comfortable armchair that faced the fire. “Welcome, prince”. A tall, lean figure was outlined in the light of the fire. He was not able to see the face, but for some reason, it didn’t bother him. “Peace,” greeted Orin, while fear passed through his gut.

  “How long it is since I have had last visitor,” said the figure, as if speaking to himself. “Nobody comes here, for years, nobody...” Some strange longing enveloped his words, and he sounded very old to Orin.

  “How do you know who I am?” asked Orin.

  “There will be a time for that, prince,” said the old man. “Before the conversation, I shall ask you to join me in the dining room. I made a dinner for a weary traveller. After, you will find out everything that interests you.”

  “I am thankful,” said Orin. The old man went to one of the doors, moving with amazing ease, almost sliding on the marble floor. For a second, his face showed in the firelight. High cheekbones, long nose and deeply settled eyes reminded Orin of death. He lifted his hand and the door opened. “Come,” he invited the confused prince, who obediently started to follow him.

  The dining room was equally dark as the hall, with a long table filled with various meals, served for two. The three days of journey have made their impact and the careful part of the Orin’s mind was temporarily asleep.

  The food was delicious, but somehow it didn’t soothe his hunger. He ate enormous quantities, wondering why he can’t satisfy his appetite. In the darkness the only sound was clinging of the dishes, made from some precious metal. The host was sitting at the other side of the table and staring at the prince, without even touching the food.

  When Orin finally stopped eating, the old man began to talk. “You wonder who I am, Orin ar den Raamternan, and where do I know you from. I am the one who knows everything, all that was and that shall be. I am the one who owns the greatest desire of your heart.”

  Orin stiffened. “The Ring of the Kings?” said he quietly. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Haar-ol-garot. I believe you’ve heard it already.”

  Orin was astonished, and almost unaware of cold sweat that broke out on him. He remembered clearly the fear on the faces of the tribe people when this name was mentioned, although he didn’t know the reason for it.

  “I have heard your name,” admitted the prince. “People from the caves tried to scare me with it. They wanted me to return.”

  “Hah, simple minds,” said the old man quietly. “As always, they are afraid of everything they don’t understand. You are a prince; you know what I’m talking about.”

  “True”, said Orin. “I’m a prince. I do not associate with common people and I know how primitive they could be. Still, they saved me when I was on the brink of death, and they didn’t ask me who I am, where I’m going, or what do I want.”

  “They don’t care!” said Haar-ol-garot forcefully. “They take care only of their goats! I never endangered them, but they still hate me and are afraid of me.” Drained face was staring at him.

  “I am only a helpless old man,” he continu
ed in softer voice. “Since I came to these mountains to complete my research, these peasants have been attacking me. And I only wanted peace and solitude for my work.”

  “What is your work?” asked Orin. A deep sense of fatigue overwhelmed him, and it was only with great effort that he kept his mind focused.

  “I always researched the forces contained within the human mind,” answered Haar-ol-garot. “the forces that rule life and death. My goal is to discover the secret of immortality. Of life eternal. Now, my work is near the end. I need just a little time, just one more season, to finish it. But I’m afraid I won’t be alive for so long.” The old man bowed his head and fell silent.

  From some reason, those words reached some part of Orin and he felt sympathy for the old man. At the same time, fear continued to grow in his mind.

  “How do you know who am I? You called me a prince, but my kingdom is far from here,” asked he finally after a minute.

  Haar-ol-garot slowly lifted his head. “I’m a wizard,” murmured he. “It is my job to know things. I know who you are and what you are looking for. Your mind is open to me.”

  “Why are people afraid of you? Because you know what’s in their heads?” asked Orin.

  “You are also afraid of me,” said old man, “and I welcomed you.”

  “And entered my mind.”

  “It’s nothing. People’s minds are open books for me. But I’m not interested in that. There is nothing for me there. I’m interested in something else.”

  Orin felt sweat trickling down his brow.

  “Hear my offer,” continued the old man, seemingly unconscious of the tension in his guest. “You shall have the ring you longed for so much, but there is a price. I am old and my time shall come soon. Before the end, I want to finish my studies. You can help me. Only a little part of your life force can prolong my life enough so I can bring my work to the end. It will mean nothing for you. As soon as tomorrow you shall be fit like you usually are.”

  “Why don’t you use the Ring?” asked Orin. He didn’t understand how his life force could prolong the old man’s life, but he didn’t want to ask too many questions.

  “Even the Ring has its limitations. With it, you can rule the world, but life and death are in the domain of other forces, impregnable for its power.”

  Orin was thinking with effort. Maybe the old man is telling the truth. Maybe he really has the Ring of the Kings. It would be crazy to give up in front of the goal of his quest, but something inside him was screaming: “DANGER!”

  “How do I know you aren’t going to deceive me?” asked he.

  The old man got up from the chair fiercely. “Deceive?” he hissed. “Deceive! Only your total ignorance can be excuse for this insult! Haar-ol-garot was called many names, and not always nice ones, but nobody called him a liar and left this place to tell the world about it! My word itself is a law! But you don’t know, you don’t know anything. I forgive you,” said he, dropping back in the chair, still holding the table. The outburst seemed to have tired him. He breathed unevenly.

  Orin wanted to say “no”, but something didn’t allow him to think in clear terms. This reaction convinced him in old man’s sincerity. The superstitious fear of the people from the cliff was probably product of the mystery that Haar-ol-garot presented for them. For a moment, he even felt a surge of pity for a lonely old man.

  “When will I get the Ring?” asked he.

  “Tomorrow,” came the answer from the other side of the table.

  “I agree,” said Orin. It seemed to him like somebody else said those words.

  “Finally!” whispered the old man. “So much time, so much... let us do it now!” He rose and with light, almost sliding steps approached the prince, seizing his arm. The prince also rose and obediently followed him.

  They went up the twisting stairs, avoiding dusty spider webs, until they reached the room at the top of the tower. The room was some kind of a laboratory, filled with various pots and magical items. The shelves on the walls were covered with a thick layer of dust. The stench of the mould was disgusting. Haar-ol-garot seated Orin in a rough metal chair. Then he went to the corner of the laboratory and started to mix some potion. Some unexplainable dread had numbed Orin, the kind of fear he never felt before. There is no reason, his sleepy mind was convincing him, the old man will respect the deal, and there is no reason to be afraid...

  When the preparation was done, the old enchanter brought a tall crystal glass and handed it to Orin. The drink tasted pleasantly, like exotic fruit. As soon as he drank it, Orin felt his will slipping away. His mind was refusing to focus on single thought. He had a feeling of drifting away slowly, deeper and deeper into the darkness, while the fingers of Haar-ol-garot were moving in front of his eyes in some weird and complicated dance, followed by a ghastly incantation which sounded like it was not coming from the old man’s lips, but from some removed, gloomy place. A little part of reason that was still left to him was screaming this is the end, this is forever, this is the end; this is death... Uselessly. The space around him was turning into blackness.

  Suddenly, the world exploded in a flash of colours. The room was here again, the mind was at its place. The stress of the sudden wakening has quickened Orin’s heartbeat to the limits, and deadly terror was passing through his body in waves. He breathed the air with full lungs, unsuccessfully trying to calm himself. The face of Haar-ol-garot was twisted as he turned to face the entrance. The fingers were still moving, caught in the magic dance that was, seemingly, refusing to stop. “Who...” he hissed.

  At the door there was a silhouette in a leather cloak, almost invisible in the darkness of the room.

  “How did you get in? How I failed to notice you?” shouted the old man in panic.

  “They say that no one is given knowledge of the hour of his demise, not a living soul, nor your likes” said the newcomer in a calm voice. “I came to send you to a place from which you won’t come back.”

  Orin knew that voice. A sense of relief began to spread through his body, cleaning the layers of fear. It was like lifting a veil from his eyes, a veil that was keeping him from seeing things the way they really were. He tried to rise from the chair, but his limbs still weren’t obeying the weakened mind.

  Haar-ol-garot was moving toward the man. “Whoever you are, now you shall...” Not finishing his thought, he started with another ominous incantation followed by the finger-dance.

  The man laughed.

  “You better pray to your masters, demon, to show you mercy, because the time is here for you to face them!” he shouted and moved a hand in the old man’s direction. Then he stomped the floor with his foot, making a crack which in moment extended to Haar-ol-garot. With a terrible scream, the old man fell in the fissure, desperately trying to grasp the edges, and disappeared.

  The next minute, the room seemed normal again. Orin felt himself slipping into unconsciousness again. The stress was too much and his mind was crying out for escape. The last thing he saw was the grim face of Arios the Black towering above him, speaking words whose meaning he was not able to grasp any more.

  The next morning was a grey one, without the warmth of the sun. The wind was howling demonically through the ruined walls of the black castle. The frail bridge was swinging above the abyss, creaking under gusts of the wind. Up on the sky, two birds of prey were circling easily in their imposing dance.

  Orin was sitting on the stone, beside one end of the bridge, while Arios tinkered with the cargo animal which came back during the night. He was thinking about everything that has occurred, but his memory was full of holes.

  “Everything’s ready!” shouted the sorcerer to the prince, who was absorbed in thought.

  “But I’m not going back.” said Orin. “And look at you, ever since I woke up you talk about return. Why did you follow me as far as here at all when you want to go home?”

  “I followed you because I knew you won’t last long, alone in this country. In fact, you survived muc
h longer than I thought you would.”

  “I was lucky.”

  The black-haired goatherd who was also a sorcerer not once did mention the last night. Orin remembered that he saved him from certain death, destroying the old man who had welcomed and served him, and after that tried to kill him. The rest was unclear. He didn’t like the world around him unstructured. There’s always an explanation for everything.

  “What happened last night?” he asked Arios.

  “In short, I’ve sent your host beyond the border of the Unknown, where he belongs. But, this is a longer story,” said the sorcerer.

  “Let me hear it. It seems to me we’ve got enough time.” Orin stood up to stretch his legs. He was feeling drowsy, just like after a drinking party in one of his summerhouses.

  “Maybe, if we continue in the same direction. Back. The People-on-Stone will welcome us.”

  The animal was ready for the journey.

  “I’ve said that I’ll continue the quest,” said Orin. “It would be better for you to admit to yourself that you didn’t go after me only to bring me back. The Ring of the Kings is somewhere ahead of us. It would be madness to give up now.”

  “It would be even greater madness to continue the quest,” said Arios aloud, but he knew inside that Orin was telling the truth. While he was alone, tracing the prince’s trail through the mountain he could have deluded himself to a certain degree that he was not interested in the Ring of the Kings. Now it was not possible anymore. The only way which was open for him now led to the north, toward the Dragon Rock.

  “Will you go, then?” asked Orin.

  “Maybe we should go back to the People-on-Stone before we start the real search. Maybe they would give us a guide.”

  “No. I barely understood them when I was leaving. I don’t want new complications. Besides, we have enough supply for some time. I hope we will come across another human settlement.”

  Orin’s face clearly reflected his relief. He would not have to continue alone, after all.

  “There will be no problems with understanding. I speak their language,” tried Arios again.

  “I thought you never were in these parts of the mountains!” Orin was surprised.

  “No, I wasn’t, but I do have a special gift for the languages. With a little help of magic, of course.” Arios smiled.

  The conversation about the direction they should take lasted for some time more, until both of them have had enough of standing in the cold wind. Finally, Orin’s stubbornness prevailed and Arios was forced to agree to continue the voyage. They took a slow pace, leaving behind the black walls of the castle.

  The path was winding between big rocks. The morning was cold and unpleasant, but it was not affecting Orin’s optimism and satisfaction caused by the continuation of the quest, and with a company too, however strange it was.

  “Tell me now the story of Haar-ol-garot,” said he after some time, and Arios began:

  “I’ll tell you what Ulik had told me...”

  “Who?”

  “One of the old people from the Stone. Once upon a time, when the People-on-Stone were still young, an enchanter came from the heart of the mountain country and built his black home, on the place where it stands now. These people have always welcomed the strangers, but their new neighbour started to show his evil nature very soon. He longed for the power and domination over men. He wanted to become master of those who have always lived free, but he underestimated their capability to defend themselves. The night was his time, when the black magic he wielded was at its summit, fed by the fear of the common people. So one day, the council of the elders joined their minds and killed Haar-ol-garot as he slept. But, killing of the enchanter was not the end of the troubles for those people. His power reached to a certain degree into the realm of Death and his spirit returned, burning with desire for vengeance. For getting enough strength to perform act of revenge against his killers, he needed the life force of living. Several people lost their lives there before the black castle became a forbidden area. After that, for hundreds of years never did a human being set a foot there. A few travellers ever came here, and they usually listened to the warnings of the tribe. Until yesterday, when you came, and in your mad chase after the ultimate power forgot every caution. Demon’s endless patience almost paid off...”

  “What you are trying to say to me is, that the old man in fact was a ghost several hundreds years old?” interrupted Orin.

  “Exactly. But, it wasn’t his real appearance, nor was anything that you saw there actually real. Haar-ol-garot created an illusion around you, but his strength was limited, and if you were more careful, you would have seen through the deception.”

  “I think he offered me The Ring of the Kings in exchange for a tiny part of my strength...”

  “Yes, he probably needed your agreement for the ritual. Your life-force would have strengthened him enough to become a serious threat to the People-on-Stone.”

  They walked silently for some time. The canyon they were passing through extended into a wide valley, through whose bottom a clear brook was flowing. The dark backs of mountain trout were gliding just under the water surface. From time to time, a fish would jump in the air, catching mosquitoes and dragonflies. Arios was looking around, absorbing the wild beauty of the nature.

  Soon, Orin broke the silence.

  “If they knew what was awaiting me, why did nobody stop me? Even by force?”

  “I asked them the same question,” said Arios. “They tried to explain to you, but you didn’t understand them. Besides, they believe that the destiny of every single man is written deep below the very core of the mountains. To change it, one must erase what is written, and write a new destiny. I think it’s just their way of saying that the man is helpless. Try as he might, in the end all would be the way it was meant to be.”

  “But, who could know what is written?”

  “Only the gods,” concluded the sorcerer thoughtfully, “only the gods.”

  About midday they stopped to rest and to have a lunch on the little meadow beside the brook. They decided to continue to follow the same path, because it seemed to them that it goes toward the centre of the Blue Mountains, the enormous Dragon Rock which was sometimes visible between the nearer mountain tops, but looked not a bit closer than before. After the lunch they went on the road again, until the first dusk of the evening. The mountain was quiet and cold, a promise of another frosty night.

  Before they fell asleep under their furs, Orin decided to tell Arios another thing that bothered him.

  “You know, when I was in the cave, they invited me to participate in their pipe ritual.”

  “You accepted?” asked the sorcerer.

  “Yes. But I shouldn’t have. I had a nasty vision. First, a dragon offered me the Ring of the Kings, and then darkness enveloped me, and I was sure I was dying. Maybe I would have died if they did not call me back.”

  “And?” asked Arios, slightly disinterested.

  “Do you know what this means?”

  “I cannot know what your visions signify,” answered the sorcerer. “Maybe nothing. And maybe the rational part of your brain is telling you to turn back and to forget about the ring. Who would know?”

  “I asked you seriously,” said Orin, irritated. “If you don’t know, at least don’t mock me.”

  Arios turned and looked at him sincerely. “I wasn’t mocking you. You probably know how dangerous is the path that lies ahead of us. Maybe it would be best to return.”

  “We already discussed this. I’ll continue, and I won’t force you to go with me.”

  “All right,” said Arios. “This is fair. But, it would be better for you to admit you’re afraid.”

  “You really think it was my fear?”

  “I don’t know. It’s possible. I’m afraid of things which could be waiting for us, or maybe I’m afraid because I don’t know what awaits us.” answered the sorcerer.

  “True, I’m also afraid. It is normal,” sai
d Orin. “But I felt much more in that vision than my fear. It was like some other force is trying to warn me. Or maybe stop me. It is hard to tell. I only know I’m even afraid to think about it.”

  “Maybe you are right. Maybe something else caused the vision, but we cannot know what it was. You better sleep and gather strength for the journey,” concluded Arios, then turned and drifted into sleep.

  Orin was awake for long time, looking the night sky.

  So passed the first day of their quest, peacefully, without much conversation.

  The next days haven’t brought greater changes. Arios didn’t feel the need to talk more than it was necessary. Still, step by step, he was teaching the prince those small secrets, which make life easier to the people who live in the wilderness. Orin learned slowly to tell the edible herbs from non-edible ones and to find the water among the rocks that looked waterless. He was beginning to understand the wisdom of people who live from the soil, far from glamour, courts and servants who take care about the lives of their masters. It seemed to him that these people are much stronger and more powerful that the brilliant nobles who ruled armies, but were not capable of making their own breakfast. Arios always knew what to do in this environment, unknown and hostile to the prince.

  The power of an individual is most visible when he’s alone, not surrounded by thousands of servants behind which he can hide, thought Orin, and, until now, I was mostly hiding. I was a spineless coward, although I would have killed anyone who dared to say something like this. No, my guards would have killed him, he corrected himself with sense of irony. Maybe I’ll learn how to be a different man on this journey.

  As the days passed, the landscape gradually became more cultivated. Tall, naked cliffs were replaced by the steep green pastures and evergreen forests. In one occasion they came across a human settlement, a row of little villages, consisting of close gathered wooden huts, whose inhabitants looked at them with curiosity. They were dressed in leather trousers and fur coats, their heads decorated with big feathers painted in black and white. Obviously, they weren’t afraid of the strangers. The faces of the children peeked shyly from the darkness of the huts. The women, like those of the People-on-Stone, in the ways of dressing and decorating weren’t much different from the men. Their cruel environment prevented it. Arios repeatedly asked them which direction they should take to reach the Dragon Rock, which was visible in the distance, and they answered only by tittering and head shaking. Then, they would point with their hands at the space above the mountains and say “Here, that way!” in their strange, brusque language.

  “They think we are crazy,” concluded Arios, “they probably think no one can reach the Dragon Rock.”

  One old man pitied on them and said in a more serious voice, showing the horizon, “The Dragon Rock is a part of other mountain. You will not get there from this place.” These words made other villagers laugh again. Arios maybe did have a way to understand the words of the language with the help of magic, but there was no way for him to grasp the variety of its more subtle meanings. He didn’t understand the reason for laughter, and it worried him. Still, the villagers did supply them with food and thick leather blankets for the road. “It is very cold where you are going,” said a man, and they received the gifts with gratitude. Having loaded the supplies on the back of the animal, they went slowly ahead.

  Orin was enthusiastic about Arios’ capability to understand different languages with the aid of magic. But one thing bothered him for a long time, and when they left the village, he started a conversation.

  “Tell me something, sorcerer.”

  “Ask.”

  “Why do you withhold your magic? Why don’t you make our trip easier?”

  The sorcerer was silent for some time, thinking. In the end, he said, “In my life I’ve done much more harm than good things by using my knowledge. I don’t want to be more dependent on my magic than I ought to be. I was never a good sorcerer.”

  “Still, you did beat the powerful Haar-ol-garot!”

  “He was but a spectre from the times past. He got control over you only because you allowed him to do so.”

  The prince was not giving up so easily. “And if we are attacked by a mountain monster, or a bunch of the wild robbers, will you use your magic to save us?” Arios laughed. “There are better ways for a man to defend himself. Fast legs, for example. Or your sword.”

  “You don’t have a sword. Do you think mine would be enough?” said Orin.

  “Why do you bother yourself with these questions? Everything around us is quiet, the mountains are asleep, and the robbers fight the monsters somewhere far away, the dragons are eager to welcome us and to deliver you the ring you seek - the world is perfect. Why are you afraid, then? Besides,” added he in a serious voice, although his eyes were smiling, “magic is a very unreliable thing. One wise man from the east described the magic as creating the miracles. And it would be a poor miracle if it would fail to impress even the one who created it.”

  “You lie,” said Orin, grinning.

  “No. Imagine this - I become bored with your endless gibbering, and wish I didn’t have to listen to you any more. Then I cast a spell, and what happens? Instead of you gone mute, I have lost my ears!” For the next few moments the canyon was ringing with laughter of the two travellers.

  Then, the prince said in a more serious voice: “It is easy for you to laugh at me, now, when everything looks all right. But what will you do when the times change? The caution is a virtue of the wise. It is better to exaggerate with it, than to be careless,” said Orin, aware of the fact that he said it only to continue the quarrel, and that this particular wisdom never meant much in his life.

  “Then I will summon a mountain storm and fly back to my cottage. And leave you to negotiate with robbers. Or with monsters.” The sorcerer burst into laughter again.