Curse of the Dragon Kings, Page 4

  “Your pardon, but my master wishes to buy the lady a drink.” Culan interrupted. “What do you take, lady?”

  “Wine. I thank your master.” Aiovel said. Culan bowed.

  “Here, he is coming over,” observed Galanor with a playful, sly droll. “You have found yourself an admirer. The youth has been bestowing me with evil looks these last few minutes.” Galanor finished with a laugh as Dylan approached.

  “I could not help but notice the poor manners of your companion, lady. Pardon my intrusion, but a lady should never have to buy her own drink, not when decent men are about her.” Dylan bowed lightly, his eyes courteous and also blazing at Galanor.

  “Your generosity is appreciated, good sir.” Said Aiovel. “I am Aiovel, and this is an old friend of mine, Galanor.”

  “Would you care to join us?” Said Galanor in a festive mood, taking no offense to Dylan’s mute hostility.

  “I would not intrude—” said Dylan.

  “Your servant is welcome, also.” Said Aiovel. “Look, the music is about to start again. Come, sit with us and let us enjoy this fine evening.”

  “Very well, I accept,” said Dylan honorably. He motioned to Culan, who was just returning with a glass of wine. “Another wine for our new friend Galanor, if you please, and one for yourself. Bring that chair over to join us.”

  “Right away, sir,” said Culan.

  “Have you been long in Gyfen, lady?” Asked Dylan.

  “Three days,” returned Aiovel.

  “You have been staying at the Pegasus Inn?”

  “I arrived this afternoon.”

  “And your companion?” Dylan asked, his voice becoming tight and mechanical.

  “I am not Aiovel’s companion. I only just came into Gyfen yesterday,” returned Galanor. “My business has been elsewhere. But I did not expect to encounter anyone I knew at the Pegasus today.”

  “Your business, sir?” Dylan asked.

  “I am a hunter.”

  “Master Dylan is also a treasure hunter,” said Culan, as he set down the wine and took a seat. Dylan’s mild smile betrayed his affection and toleration of Culan’s presence in the conversation.

  “I have only just taken up that profession,” Dylan added. “For some time I have been hiring my sword arm for a price, and a worthy cause.”

  “Have your endeavors taken you far abroad?” asked Aiovel, noticing the shabby state of Dylan’s tunic. He drew himself upright.

  "We spent the first half of this year on the fields and banks east of the fork in the river,” said Culan. “But last year we lived entirely up and down the many villages of Rostend.”

  “Then I am surprised. There is little mercenary work in Rostend.” Said Galanor.

  “But many worthy causes, young sir.” Observed Culan, taking a defensive posture. Galanor eased back, but never lost his smile.

  “The eastern fork, that is where the troubles have started,” said Galanor. “Have you heard of them?”

  “I know of the black beast that folk say walks the fields at night,” said Dylan, taking a drink, “but I have never seen it. Culan and I stayed many nights at an inn by the forest. The evening talk was nothing but tales that would set any man’s hair on end. And the women and children are afraid to go out, by night or by day.”

  “You stayed at an inn by the forest?” Aiovel asked.

  “Elwellyn Forest.” Explained Dylan. “A fair stretch of woodland, but dark, dark and haunted. Folk do not go there. They say it is bewitched, and I fair well can believe them. The roaring wind does not make sound in that forest, nor does the humid summer air penetrate the cool of that shadowed place.”

  “You speak as though you went into the forest.” Said Aiovel.

  Dylan nodded. “I did. I did not go far, mind you. I could not bear the chill of the air. I cannot adequately explain. At first, all of my senses came alive. It was exhilarating. But with every step further from the field I felt inclined to tarry under the trees. My steps slowed, but I was not weary. I could hear and see things—“

  “Voices on the air.” Said Galanor. “I have been to that forest.”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” said Dylan, coming alive, his hostility towards Galanor abating. “Like a soft whispering wind. There were birds, clear-throated songbirds and twittering sparrows. I could hear so distinctly, and every smell seemed to penetrate my mind like an incense through the mist in the air. I could not bear the colors of the flowers. They were so bright, so beautiful, but my senses were overwhelmed. The leaves were like pure silver-gold. The sun managed to filter in, there by the edge. The light seemed to trick fantasies and illusions out of me. I was mesmerized. I sensed the presence of an ancient magic, and creatures of great power.

  “But then the mist began to turn my heart cold with fears. And the moment I began to fear, the canopy seemed to grow dark. The air was muted of sounds, and my feet grew weary. The mist seemed to draw a veil over the forest, until it was no longer beautiful but dark and terrifying, and the lower branches caught at my tunic. I had no armor to protect me. I had not the sense to walk in armed. It took my remaining strength to escape from that place.”

  “Have you had no time to mend your tunic?” said Galanor. “Tell me, how can it be that the Prince of Dunlaith can ill afford a tailor?”

  Dylan turned to him, stunned into silence.

  “How did you know?” he managed at last.

  “The crest, and your conduct. You are the youngest son of King Eroskar, whom they call the Black Horse, missing these six years."

  “I do not speak of who I am. It is not wise.” Dylan said. He eyed Galanor with a great curiosity, becoming aware of a deep mystery surrounding him, and of the man’s noble mien. Galanor parried with words like a swordsman. Dylan saw that he had made a great mistake in underestimating Galanor’s character, but he said nothing to indicate what he was thinking.

  “Does your family not long for news of you?” asked Aiovel.

  “They may,” said Dylan. “I do not know. Tell me, lady, what business brings you here to Gyfen?”

  “I come for assistance. I expect to make a journey quite soon, one that will lead me through the forest you spoke of.”

  “You cannot go in there alone, lady,” said Dylan urgently, half-rising. “It is a fearsome place, even if none of the tales of black beasts are true.”

  “Galanor has agreed to accompany me on my journey.”

  Dylan turned to the silver-haired man.

  “I do not fear the forest,” said Galanor. “But in the lands beyond where Aiovel is going, I can be of invaluable assistance to her. The quest she has undertaken is a perilous one, but unavoidable.”

  “Lady, clearly you are an Elf, and I do not know much of them but that they are strong with magic and great wealth. Why forsake comfort for danger? I cannot advise you to take such a risk—”

  “You are kind, sir, but I have no choice.” Said Aiovel. “There is an evil brewing to the east, and Prince Cormac will hear none of my counsel to him to defend his border. The forest is not his enemy, nor is it the source of the black beasts.”

  “What evil do you speak of?” said Dylan in alarm.

  “A sorcery more foul than any terror you have known, Prince,” said Galanor. “The black beasts are his minions, and they are not the worst.”

  “You spoke to Prince Cormac?” asked Dylan. “What did he say?”

  “I tried to warn him that the black beasts are only the beginning of a terror that is encroaching upon us. But he did not take my words to heart. He would grant me no aid. Nonetheless, I cannot sit idle and let darkness engulf the land.”

  “Do not go, lady.” Said Dylan. “How is this any of your concern?”

  “I bear the burden,” said Aiovel, “that is all you need know.”

  “Then you must take companions,”
said Dylan. “Are you certain that Gyfen is in danger from this evil? What of Dunlaith?”

  “All the lands of Daegoras are in grave peril. The evil I speak of is an ancient one. Long ago he plagued the land, but there were those who sealed his power. At the end of a great battle, this sorcerer was cast into a deep sleep, and cast into an oak tree, where he has slept for thousands of years. Untended, his creatures swarmed to the center of Daegoras, in the great wilderness that lies beyond the forest. But the sorcerer has awoken. It is only a matter of time before he fully recovers his power. I seek to destroy him before he enslaves this land. And if you found the enchantment of Elwellyn Forest evil, then your people have much to fear.”

  Dylan’s eyes flashed.

  “There is nothing evil in Elwellyn Forest, Prince,” continued Aiovel, “though you fear what it reflects from the depths of your own soul. The sorcerer I speak of is evil, and he would blacken this land with an enchantment more fearful than any army your people have faced. His other ally is a horde of dragons, and beasts that feast on the flesh of humankind. And yet some would say these beasts are lesser terrors than the creatures that feast on the human mind. There are those who have lived since that dark time, thousands of years ago—I say they live, but they are not as mortal men any more. They are enslaved to the evil that keeps them alive, a remnant of his darkness bending them to his evil will.

  “You will not know them, for they wear a glamour of his making. But nothing good can exist near them long. Their touch is the curse of a subtly growing malignancy. They reek of the potency of his malice—the chill of their hearts penetrates bone and flesh of those who draw near, and yet the spell they work on human minds is such that no being has ever seen them as they are, nor suspected himself to be cursed by them. They have moved through the world unfettered thus far for an age, and yet they were weak during his long sleep. Now their power shall grow again.”

  “Is there a danger to my people from these abominations?” asked Dylan.

  “There was no danger until now.” Said Aiovel. “The wizard Myrddin who lived by the magic gate has kept the west free of the scourge of his minions. But his power is not strong enough to stop the evil, and should he leave the west, the servants of the Dark Wizard would find no barrier to stop them from coming here. I had hoped to reach Myrddin and beg assistance from him, but it has been many months since I sent word to him in Bressilien on the Summer Isle, and I have had no response. I left my forest to look for him, and I took a ship to the Summer Isle, but he had disappeared from the druids’ city there with no forewarning. I fear now that there is no time to look further for him. Without his magic the west is defenseless.”

  “What can be done to save my people? I will go with you, if I may,” said Dylan.

  “I thank you, I will accept your assistance, for as long as you are willing to offer it.”

  “You are from that forest, lady.” Said Dylan, with a strange sense of wonder.

  “I am. And thither I shall return, once I have secured more companions. I have treasure enough to secure a few mercenaries, but I do not trust to keep them long.”

  “Pardon me, master,” said Culan. “But I heard that an elf and dwarf were asking round for work.”

  “Where did you hear this?” asked Dylan.

  “From the serving boy. He was asking the traders if they could use any labor. Said the elf is a priest and can move stones and bless crops.”

  Galanor’s eyes narrowed. He exchanged a long, meaningful glance with Aiovel.

  “Can you ask them if they would speak with us?” said Aiovel.

  “I can, lady,” said Culan pleasantly. “I don’t think the boy had much luck with the traders, anyhow.”

  Culan returned well into the hour with the elf and dwarf.

  “I am Ronan, and this is Mygdewyn” said the tall elf priest. His hair was long and pale yellow, and his eyes shone in the dim light of the tavern.

  “At your service,” bowed the dwarf.

 

  IV: Ronan's Calling

 

  "I do not like the sound of your tale,” said Ronan. “You say that the wizard Myrddin has gone missing?” The Elf wore a clouded expression. The news troubled him deeply.

  “You are from Bressilien?” asked Dylan.

  “We are,” answered Mygdewyn gravely. His tone was low, almost mournful. “I am sure Myrddin has not just disappeared. If there is danger—”

  “Mygdewyn,” said Ronan.

  The dwarf closed his mouth and said no more.

  “This news would be of interest to Myrddin, I am sure,” said Ronan. “And as a member of his order of priests, he would wish me to investigate further this matter.”

  “I am offering you compensation for my safe passage to the East with you as my protectors,” said Aiovel. “Our quest is to Dun Rigor, the fortress of the Dark Wizard.” Aiovel picked up a traveling sack from the floor. It was made of a sturdy, grey leather. She opened it and pulled out a piece of old parchment. She untied the red string around the parchment slowly.

  “This is a map of the lands to the east," she said. She laid it down.

  The city of Gyfen lay in the center of all Daegoras. To the east of it was Elwellyn Forest, and beyond that a vast wilderness of fields, mountains, forests, and plains. At the edge of the wilderness was the city of Gildoren, and nearby the fortress of Dun Rigor.

  "Can you read the runes, Ronan?" Mygdewyn asked.

  “They are in Elvish—yes,” said Ronan.

  "East of Elwellyn Forest lies the plains. It will take us many months to reach the Hills of Briodun on the edge of the River of Argolen. I hope to pass over the Silver Mountains in a few weeks. Beyond the mountain pass, in the valley of Gildoren," she pointed to the edge of her map, where the mountains ended, "lies the city of Gildoren, and Dun Rigor, the Dark Wizard’s mountain fortress.”

  "What is this marking?" Ronan asked, pointing to a rune between Elwellyn and the Hills of Briodun.

  "That was Argolen. Once a great city more than three thousand years ago, now only ruins."

  “Pardon me,” a voice piped up nearby. “I could not help but overhear your conversation. My name is Lilia Silversmith.” The owner of the voice turned out to be a green-eyed young woman of no more than twenty years. “If you are willing to hire these mercenaries to assist you, may I offer you my services as well?”

  “Who are you?” asked Dylan. “This is no trifling matter, little girl.”

  Lilia had a blade to his throat faster than he could see it coming. She smiled and lowered her knife.

  “Pardon that necessary demonstration,” she said. “I have learned many skills on the road, and I am fast with a knife.”

  “Where are you from, Lilia?” asked Ronan. “You are a Sea Elf, surely, from Windfall?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  “The Sea Folk cannot travel so far from water,” said Ronan.

  “I am half-Sea Elf. And I have traveled this far on my own. I do not tolerate the heat well. Still, I can tolerate it. But to the point—money is always in short supply, and my services are not otherwise engaged at present. I have been a mercenary. I have experience in combat, with and against the brigands outside Gyfen.”

  “Thieving lot!” Mygdewyn cursed. “A plague on them!”

  “I work for hire, I cannot afford to judge.” Lilia shrugged. “But my last employer met with an unfortunate end, and his fellows were not honorable. Yes, it is possible for thieves and mercenaries to have honor. I do not harm the innocent. Since that time I have traveled alone. I do not like the idea of going where you are headed, but as I listened to your story, I have grown more interested in what you are doing. It is a long time since I have found anything in this world of genuine interest. I am not brave, but I would rather go with you than not, whatever happens.”

  “Then if you
accept what I have to offer as compensation, I would gladly accept your services.” Said Aiovel. “Please join us. But if you accept, you must be willing to leave Gyfen as soon as it can be arranged.”

  Lilia nodded and drew another chair round the table.

  “Gold I can give you once we reach Gildoren,” said Aiovel, “for none of you can carry it over land where we are going.”

  "Agreed,” said Ronan.

  “However, I have small tokens which may do for your services, if you accept them. You will need a better weapon, I think, priest.” Observed Aiovel. “You will have my staff,” she decided. “I shall bring it to you tomorrow, for it is in safe-keeping in the chest by my bed. It has its own magic. While you carry it, you will feel much less hunger and thirst than those around you and require only a fraction of your usual food. With it, you will feel strong and hale far longer than your natural limits. Is it acceptable payment?”

  “Yes,” said Ronan in wonder. Surely her staff was blessed with the rare magic of the Elves.

  “Now for you, friend dwarf,” said Aiovel, looking over Mygdewyn. “Perhaps—this.” She removed a finely spun, neatly folded, grey woolen cloak from the sack. "A bit big for a dwarf, but very comfortable. It is also magic, of the kind that may save your life. What you cannot outrun will not easily see you in this.”

  Mygdewyn accepted the gift. The cloak warmed his hand as he took it. It was bound by a bejeweled clasp in the shape of a silver leaf. He stood and put it on. The cloak fell neatly to his heels, though it had appeared much longer.

  “It is a fine gift, lady.” Said the dwarf in delight. “I accept it as token for my services.”

  “Done,” said Aiovel. “I am pleased, for that is a cloak of the Elwellyn Elves. Its magic is precious, for it will protect you from a dragon's fire and breath."

  “Hmmmh!” snorted the dwarf. “Small use that will be! But I thank you, all the same. I have use for a warm cloak, for I prefer to travel the wider world with Ronan. If I had wanted great wealth, I would have returned to my kind, where many jewels are mined and adorn our mountain halls. A hearty meal at the end of the day is all else I could wish for.”