The First Seal

by Jared Zakarian

  On the far end of the field, he found the campsite—what was left of it. An incomplete ring of small rocks outlined where the fire would have been. This was the camp where it all started. The morning when they ran for Darnum began here.

  Faolan smiled as he remembered his parents and their faces, though the details eluded him. Then the memory changed, and he grew sad. He saw their dead bodies lying before him in his mind’s eye. He shook the dreadful memory from his thoughts.

  He looked at the rising sun and decided which direction to travel. He headed east toward Darnum; it was not far and would not take him long. He wanted to go see his old home, the last remnant of his parents’ memory, a place that had always brought him comfort. Maybe he would find something there, a piece of his parents that he could take with him.

  He took off and reached Darnum’s western gate by noon, spotting the high decaying mound of Nathra bodies lying before the destroyed wooden doors, remnants of the attack on Darnum. He held his breath as he made his way around them and made sure not to touch the decaying flesh.

  He entered the gate and gazed on the abandoned city of Darnum. It had been a long time since he had last seen it, the familiar buildings and comforting walls. He traveled down the main path toward the city center and caught sight of the old shops he used to visit. He envisioned the people inside.

  The smithy and his daughter: the little girl’s smile would greet him every time he walked into their shop to get something repaired. She was always dressed in bright colors that her father worked hard to pay for.

  Then there was the bakery, where the baker and his wife created wonderful pastries. They were well known for their fruit-filled cakes, small round pastries with a crispy caramel coating. Faolan began to crave one as he thought about its flavors.

  The pub used to be festive with singing and dancing; the celebratory sounds would roar out its doors. He could see everyone from his memories, including the well-dressed children playing a game of Zephyr with a windball in the streets as well as the old beggar shouting at them to go away.

  Wait, he thought and paused as an eerie feeling flowed through him. I have seen him before.

  The old beggar? Faolan hesitated, thinking of the old man in Lesley. Was he the same old man sitting on that old barrel in the capital? Speaking crazy? What was it?

  He thought hard. Was it something about five will rise? Ah, what was it? Beware the two. Watch for one. Something about horns and claws.

  He struggled to remember. He had not paid close enough attention to the ramblings of the old man to recollect, but he did remember the old man staring at him with a crazy gaze every time he crossed paths with him. In fact, Faolan began to remember even more instances of seeing the old man in his memories.

  Have you been following me? He questioned the old man’s motives to himself.

  He shook his head through the confusing thoughts, unable to understand the frequency with which the old man appeared in his memories. He let the old man drop from his thoughts and kept moving forward through town with a residual uncomfortableness.

  He headed toward the southeast corner of town where his old family residence stood among other family homes. To get there he had to enter the town center, the market district. It should have been bustling with activity, but today, the streets and buildings stood abandoned.

  Faolan rounded the city circle toward the south and looked around at the vacant buildings.

  He stopped when he saw a hole in the ground. He stared at it for a moment; it was off to his left and in the very center of town. The hole was quite wide and seemed to have been created by a huge creature. The buildings surrounding it had collapsed, and it looked like a burrow of sorts.

  “Oh no . . .” Faolan sighed. He remembered another piece of lore he had heard from Caedmon on their travels.

  He could hear Caedmon saying the riddle in his head: if you find a cave where it should not belong, then turn tail and run. You do not have long before the mountain mover shall sing your song.

  “Mottamoth dragon!” Faolan said fearfully under his breath. A curse rang from his lips. “What is with all the dragons?”

  He sprinted down the south road and heard Caedmon’s voice again: It will sense your movements and wait for you to near. Walk or run, you are done. Pray, because it comes.

  The ground began to vibrate; the tremors grew stronger and stronger. The buildings to his left heaved upward and then collapsed into the ground, sinking into the world below.

  Another curse fell from Faolan’s lips. “Seriously?”

  A lone dragon, five hundred feet tall, rose from the massive opening. No horns adorned its form, rightly so, as they would have made it harder for the dragon to burrow underground. Its scales were smooth and rusty orange.

  “What in the . . . ?” Faolan was shocked at the dragon’s sheer size.

  The dragon’s wings unfolded and blotted out the sun as it roared. Its voice was so deep that Faolan could not hear the roar with his ears but felt the ground shake violently from the infrasound vibrations. He thought back to the original cave he saw in the city center. It was much too small for the dragon to fit through. His mind raced. A breathing hole. How far did the dragon’s tunnels extend?

  The dragon’s gigantic eyes peered down at the tiny person running below it.

  “How is something that big able to feed itself?” he exclaimed, looking straight up to see its head.

  He remembered what Caedmon had said: A single man can feed a Mottamoth dragon for an entire year. They were created by powerful magic known by an ancient race, long lost to this world. Ancient Ikalreev text says the first Mottamoth dragon was born in a kingdom known as Litanien Volnar. They were used for war.

  “Litanien Volnar,” Faolan gasped as the connection linked in his mind.

  The dragon’s massive head lowered. Its giant mouth opened wide, and it sped toward Faolan.

  Faolan made it to the southern gate. The gate was still barred from the Nathra attack. He turned right and sprinted up the battlements’ stairway. He crested the wall and leaped off without second thought. He landed hard and rolled up onto his feet.

  As he fled from Darnum, he looked back and saw the enormous gaping jaw chasing after him. Faolan was lucky the Mottamoth dragon was slow due to its massive size.

  Faolan ran at top speed and heaved air in desperation. The dragon stepped on the southern gate and crushed it underfoot. Prey and predator raced across the field. Faolan ran over the bridge spanning the Turquoise River, which flowed counter to gravity.

  He looked back at the dragon and cursed when he saw the beast’s whole body with wings spread to their fullest.

  He disappeared into the tall redwood tree line on the opposite side of the bridge. He entered the Mythios Woods, home of the forest elves.

  The dragon faded from view, and the giant redwoods covered Faolan’s retreat. He could feel the ground shake as the dragon’s infrasound roar ran through the dirt.

  The dragon was frustrated that its meal had escaped.

  Faolan slowed a short distance into the forest once he was sure the dragon was not following. He sighed in relief. His shoulders slumped, and he sat down among the fern-dotted undergrowth.

  He heaved in air, recovering from the flight.

  “Ridiculous! Why would anyone create such a thing?” he shouted into the silent woods.

  He lay back and stared into the high canopy while trying to catch his breath. He rested there for a long time and thought about the recent events since winning his freedom from the demon-infested castle: the two strangers who helped him escape, the long trek up the pass, the gravestones, and his uncomfortable memory of Regtul.

  It felt as a real memory should, though it was hard for him to believe that it was something he had personally experienced. It was hard to know what was truth and what was hallucination.

  What is happening to me? He lay in thought for a while longer.

  Once Faolan was ready, he stood up and placed Darnum behind h
im, then walked south toward Lesley.

  Chapter 14

  A Million Souls

  More will rest on her shoulders than she is aware. The fates of many are cradled in her hands as a heart of great power will be captured by hers.

  The Ikalreev Prophecies 14:8–9

  The sun was shining brightly over Lesley. There were no clouds in the sky, and the air was still. The day was a bit warm, and the city flourished with life.

  Treasach had asked Gavina to walk the city with him near midday as his father had requested that he report back to him on how the southern races were cohabitating with the citizens.

  Gavina had been waiting patiently for the prince for some time before he walked through the castle gates. She noticed the prince wearing new garments, primarily gold and dark purple with flashes of white. He also had a white cape trimmed in gold with the Harmaalinna insignia on the back, a stylized X with the house sigil between the top arms and Caedmon’s sigil below the bottom arms.

  “What are you wearing?” she laughed.

  “My father had the tailor make me a new uniform. He said I needed to wear the house colors proudly. Insisting I was no longer a child and juvenile-minded, something about preparing for the future,” Treasach said, pulling uncomfortably at his collar and sleeves.

  “Besides the fact it does not seem right for you at all, it looks quite attractive on you. Rather princely.” She lifted a suggestive eyebrow at him.

  “Oh stop, Gavina. I cannot stand this uniform,” he said.

  “The ladies of the city will have their thoughts on you,” she jested. “You cannot tell me the prince will not enjoy that.” She alluded to her true feelings about him but would not give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud. It was more enjoyable for her to softly joke about it because she knew it made him uncomfortable.

  “They can swoon all they like; I am not ready for that at all. Being tied down is the last thing I wish. I want adventure. I want to see the world. There is more than enough time to settle down later. Besides, my father will not relinquish the throne any time soon,” he said.

  Her gazed lowered as her heart hurt a little from his words, though part of her knew he might not think of her in that way at all. A hope that might never be for her.

  She gave a slight, fake smile. “Shall we begin?”

  “Yes, I suppose we should visit the greenskins first.”

  They started walking north from the castle gates, up the main road, side by side. Gavina eyed him in his new uniform from the corner of her eye. His gaze was forward and focused on the town around him.

  “So, how is Ireli?” she asked.

  “Still recovering. Better, but still struggling.”

  She nodded and glanced down at the road before her. “Did you know she had family?”

  He shook his head. “No. She never spoke about them on our travels. I assumed they were dead, or she ran away.”

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  “She is coarse on the outside. A loner. And secretive. Traits normally indicative of a troubled past, one that a person is usually seeking to forget,” he said.

  She was taken aback by his words. “She is kind at heart, though, softer than you know.”

  “Perhaps. She has not shown a side like that to me, so I could not say,” he said, eyes scanning the buildings before them.

  “You are too harsh on her. Be nice.”

  He looked at her, sensing something different from her reactions but unable to understand what it was.

  “Very well,” he agreed. “Have you heard from Ehreion?”

  “Yes, he stands at the top of the outer gate most days. Awaiting his next battle. His dwarven pride will not let him say it, but I believe he is disappointed in himself for failing at the seal. He wants to make it right and take his self-appointed dissatisfaction out on the enemy,” she said.

  “Sounds all right to me.”

  “For the most part. I am sure he will be fine,” she added.

  As they walked up the main road, they noticed an old man sitting on an aged barrel off to their left. He seemed human.

  Gavina was secretly stunned by his eyes. They looked almost catlike, with thin vertical pupils. Something didn’t sit right with her about that man. His eyes followed her as they passed, and, for a second, they locked gazes, sending shivers down her body.

  She quickly glanced away and returned her distracted attention to their patrol, but her mind lingered on the unusual man. She tried to focus on what Treasach was saying.

  “I hear the market is doing well with the surplus population. A strain on supplies, but good coin for the merchants,” he said.

  Gavina scrambled for an answer as she shook the old man from her thoughts. “A-ah, yes. There have been no fights in the marketplace for four days. A new record.”

  “That is good news. I think the three races are finally learning to coexist. It has taken some time, but I hear less and less about scuffles and disagreements,” he said.

  They passed under the inner gate archway and turned west toward the greenskin camps.

  “I cannot say coexisting is the correct word for it. Maybe tolerating, at a stretch,” Gavina said.

  She glanced around at the many soldiers practicing and sparring in the drill yards. Swords clanked against armor and shield. Footwork was precise and well planned, gauging opponents accurately. There were some humans training with Bayne. They had elven instructors assisting with their technique and posture. The humans were at a great disadvantage as they had not been under a rule with a history of swordsmanship or battle tactics. Their kingdom had fallen into ruin long ago, and they never recovered.

  Gavina felt bad for the humans as their way of living was much harsher than the forest elves’. Some of their towns were raided by orcs; others had no resources of value. Crime ran rampant through their streets, with many humans just trying to survive. Those with nothing stealing from those with little. It created a terrible atmosphere, one that crippled them still.

  She glanced away from the humans as they passed and looked up at the redwood canopy above them. The outer ring of Lesley was covered with massive redwood trees, a piece of home within their walls. They were remnants of a time before the giants’ attack nearly a century ago, when the whole city was in the trees, and the forest blended with their homes.

  Now the redwoods were used tactically by the military. The archers practiced drills of platoons, taking sections of the canopy as a vantage point of attack should the outer wall fall. At times one might see archers leaping between branches high up in the canopy and using the trunks as protective barriers.

  Seeing their movements was always intriguing to her as she quite enjoyed watching the variety of strategies and teamwork they used. Observing other leaders always provided her with insight and new techniques to try with her own soldiers, when she had some.

  They neared the temporary barrier between the elven military and the orc camps in the west side of the outer ring. Several elven guards stood watch at a narrow gap between two old redwoods. To either side of the trees were constructed barriers made of wood and stone.

  They approached the guards.

  “Report, soldier,” Treasach commanded.

  “Sir, they have remained beyond the separating wall without opposition. No contact since their encamping,” a lieutenant said. “Every now and then, we hear their war drums, but nothing can be seen through the redwoods.”

  “Understood. You have a runner?” Treasach asked.

  “Yes, sir. Alphyn here will run for us, should any problems arise,” the lieutenant said.

  “Good.” Treasach nodded respectfully to Alphyn, then looked back to the lieutenant. “Should they need food or water, have it brought to them hastily. We do not want any problems inside the walls. Have a plan; they will be needing supplies in time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Men.” Treasach nodded to them and turned away.

  They departed from the guards at the west wa
tch and began walking back around the outer ring toward the east watch.

  “Now for the giants and trolls,” Treasach told Gavina.

  They walked back through the redwoods, past the training fields. As they neared the main gates, they could see a giant lifting a defensive structure. It was a thick log with iron spikes protruding out of its circumference and entire length. Two thick ropes were attached to its two ends from above the outer gate.

  The giant could only lift it halfway up the wall because the wall was twice the giant’s height, but the assistance of the massive creature aided the elves in hoisting the defensive log up to the top of the outer gate.

  After a few moments, a call rang out from the top and bottom of the outer gate.

  “Clear the road! Everyone move away from the outer gate!”

  The giant backed away and everyone moved several hundred feet away from the outer gate.

  A new call rang out three times from above the outer gate. “Incoming!”

  Then the long-spiked log rolled off the outer gate from the inside, down a centerless railing, curved to produce a spin in the log. The iron spikes spun around the log, and the log rolled off the railings into a free-fall swing. The log swung through the open outer gates with rapidly cycling spikes of metal. It crested far outside the front of the gate, then swung back through in the opposite direction.

  “I would hate to be on the deserving end of that,” Treasach said.

  “Nilver has completely redefined the defenses of Lesley. They keep developing new ways to defend the walls. It’s intriguing and worrisome at the same time,” Gavina said.

  He glanced at her and knew what she meant. He nodded and broke eye contact with her. “Have you heard?”

  She hesitated, concerned. “Heard what?”

  “The peregrines no longer fly from Lithilias.” He saw her stunned expression from the corner of his eye. “It is safe to assume the green city has fallen.”

  “When was this noticed?” There was a tremor in her voice.