The Cessation of Karrak_Ascension III Read online

  “Well work it out. ‘ow long’s it been since ‘e left that place for more than an hour or two?” asked Grubb.

  Faylore tried to recall, “I don’t think he ever has,” she replied. “He’s been there since he was an egg.”

  “An’ is that ‘ow dragons ‘ve always behaved? I’m sure they didn’t grow wings just for flyin’ around the frozen wastelands.”

  “You know what that means then, don’t you?” asked Lodren as he started getting excited again. “He likes us. He really, really likes us.”

  “That’s all very well,” said Faylore. “But that does not mean that we should take advantage simply because you want to ride through the clouds. It’s positively obscene. Riding on a dragon indeed!”

  “So, what do we do?” asked Lodren. “He’ll be terribly disappointed if you say he can’t come with us.”

  “Wait here, I’ll talk to him,” said Faylore, “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  “But I don’t want him to understand,” said the frustrated Nibby, “I want him to come with us!”

  Faylore began to walk away. Turning slightly, she pointed at Lodren, “Stay there, Lodren. I mean it,” she added seriously.

  “Ah, Your Majesty,” said Thelwynn as Faylore approached him. “Is all going well with your preparations?”

  “Not exactly, my lord,” replied Faylore. “I have to admit that I am not altogether comfortable with your suggestion.”

  “Oh dear,” said Thelwynn. He paused for a moment before leaning down and whispering, “Scared of heights?”

  “Not in the slightest, Lord Thelwynn. That is not the issue and I’m sure you’re quite aware of it!”

  “Why are you so concerned, Faylore? All I offered to do was to help you reach your friends in a more timely manner. What could be wrong with that? We are friends after all.”

  “And you are the high lord of all dragons! You should set an example. You wouldn’t expect me to carry someone on my back, why should you?”

  “So, it’s a question of etiquette? You sound more like your mother with every day that passes, Your Majesty.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “Merely that it seems the adventurer inside you is beginning to fade, and the monarch emerging. Comes to us all, I suppose. We can’t stay young forever.”

  “Well I…. Listen you, I’m as adventurous as I ever was. I’m not that old yet. I’ve seen and done more than the last three Thedarian kings combined, and broken plenty of rules along the way, to boot.”

  “Yet you shy away from taking one simple flight on a dragon’s back?” asked Thelwynn, obviously taunting her.

  “There is more to consider than merely what I am prepared to do,” she replied.

  “Please, Your Majesty, enlighten me.”

  “Well look at the other two who will be along for this jaunt of yours. One is a shapeshifter who can and has become a hawk, so he knows how to fly. He can be the most obnoxious person you’ve ever met and would probably criticise your technique all the way. At least you could tip him off and tell him to follow. Then there’s Lodren,” she continued, “have you seen him since you made your suggestion? No? What a sight that is, he can’t keep still. Jumping around like a spoilt child telling Grubb and I to ‘hurry up’ every five seconds.”

  “Well, what do you expect?” asked Thelwynn, quietly. “With a bloodline like his, it’s quite natural.”

  Faylore paused, “What do you mean?” she asked, “A bloodline like his?”

  “Well, he is Drakeborn. Isn’t it obvious?”

  She had no idea what Thelwynn was talking about, “Sorry. He’s what?”

  Thelwynn laughed, “Drakeborn. You must have had an inkling at least? His arms, the big eyes, the hammer?”

  Faylore looked at him blankly, “No… still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “He’s Drakeborn, a dragon hunter. So are all his kin, have been for generations, actually.”

  “Dragon hunter!” exclaimed Faylore. “He nearly got himself squashed by a glamoch the first day I met him. I hardly think he’d be a match for a dragon if he were to face one.”

  “Perhaps ‘hunter’ was not the right word,” said Thelwynn. “His people never hunted dragons to harm them, they hunted them to protect them.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Dragons are peaceful, why would you need protection and from whom for goodness sake?”

  “The ones who were doing us the most harm, Faylore. We needed protection from ourselves.”

  “Oh,” said Faylore, realisation dawning on her face. “Can you tell me more?”

  Thelwynn sighed, his warm breath causing Faylore’s hair to flutter gently. She smiled at him.

  “Well,” he said, “it began many millennia ago. Dragons were primitive beasts, much the same as any other. They roamed the lands and skies unaware of the existence of others. So large and terrible were they that the merest whisper of one within ten leagues would cause decent folk to hide. No sensible person would venture outside, for they were quite certain that if the dragon saw them, they would undoubtedly be eaten. The situation remained unchanged for centuries until, one day, a stranger entered the lands. His kind had never been seen before and conversations were rife with the rumour of an enigmatic hero who had sworn to capture and tame all dragons. The villagers and cave dwellers he encountered on his quest implored him to rethink his plans. Why risk his life capturing such monstrous beasts when killing them would be far easier? The stranger replied that he would never take the life of a dragon. He explained that, although ferocious, they were also intelligent and that he had spoken to many in his time. Whenever he tracked a new dragon he would be forced to face it in combat as dragons knew no other way. He had defeated all that he had faced and once the battle was done he would tend the dragon’s wounds, remove his armour and lay down his giant hammer. He would invite them to eat him if they felt the need but asked for a little time in which to explain why they should not. Not one, having listened to him ever posed a problem to anyone again. He had discovered a labyrinth of caverns hidden deep within the frozen wastelands. The lava flow was a natural heating system that would ensure they would never be cold again and a mythical gem buried deeper than any could possibly reach would calm their aggressive nature. The legend of The Nibrilsiem has been told by my kin ever since. The legend of the one who united our species with kind words, determination, love, and a giant hammer. Well, that’s how the story goes, anyway.”

  Faylore jumped, without realising, she had become mesmerised, “Oh, my word. So you believe Lodren to be one of the Nibrilsiem?”

  “Without a shadow of a doubt, Your Majesty. He’s a dragon rider if ever I saw one. Which I haven’t by the way, but the description in the tales…”

  “So why refer to him as Drakeborn?”

  “I have no idea if you want the truth. We just do. The name got changed ages ago and I can’t understand why. The old term was so much better. ‘BOGGUMS’ we used to call them, has such a noble ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Faylore was agog. To think that she had known Lodren for years, and never once suspected him of being anything more than the polite, amiable Nibby that she had grown to love dearly, simply astounded her. She turned and stared at him, open-mouthed.

  ***

  “Ooh ‘eck,” mumbled Grubb. “Somethin’ ain’t right. They’re lookin’ over ‘ere. No, don’t look! Pretend you ‘aven’t seen ‘em!” he whispered.

  “If I don’t look I won’t have to, because I haven’t seen them, have I?”

  “Oh, ‘ang on a minute, it’s not as bad as I thought. They’re not lookin’ at me. They’re lookin’at you.”

  “How’s that ‘not so bad’!” exclaimed Lodren.

  “’cause they like you more than they like me. Trust me, I’ll be in the firin’ line for somethin’ shortly.”

  “What absolute nonsense! They like me more than you. Whatever gave you that idea?”

  “Not
sure, somethin’ in the eyes. You’ve gotta be careful, Lodren.”

  “I think you’re losing it, Grubb. I haven’t heard ravings like that since…” he lowered his voice, “… since Koloss, and we all know he was mental.”

  Grubb lowered his gaze to the floor, “Mmm Koloss,” he repeated.

  Lodren seemed a little concerned and tilted his head to one side to catch his friend’s eye, “Grubb?” he said, “We are friends, aren’t we?” he asked, tentatively.

  “Depends,” said Grubb, eyeing him carefully, “What ye done?”

  “I haven’t done anything, stupid!” exclaimed Lodren. “But we are, aren’t we? Best friends, I mean.”

  “Course we are! I wouldn’t be sittin’ with ye if we weren’t,” Grubb’s suspicion returned as he once again stared at his friend. “Come on,” he said, “out with it. What’s goin’ on in that big bonce o’ yours?”

  “I need to ask you a question, but I don’t want you to feel insulted,” Lodren lost his nerve. “On second thoughts, forget it. It’s none of my business. I should be ashamed of myself for probing around in people’s private affairs. Please accept my apologies, Grubb,” he pleaded.

  “FOR WHAT!” exclaimed Grubb at the top of his voice, “You didn’t even ask me anythin’!”

  “Shhh, calm down! I’m sorry, I promise it won’t happen again!”

  “What won’t?” continued Grubb, now in more of a fluster than Lodren. “How can it happen again? It didn’t ‘appen that time! Now will ye stop messin’ about and just ask me what ye wanted to and get it over with, ye stupid Nibby.”

  “I shouldn’t pry, Grubb. As I said, it really is none of my business.”

  Grubb transformed into Wilf in a flash. Grabbing Lodren by his tunic with two of his huge hands, he hoisted him into the air until they were nose to nose, “Ask… me… the blasted… question!” he growled.

  Lodren gulped, “Well, so long as you’re sure,” he whimpered. Wilf lowered him gently to the ground and began to shrink. Lodren was still procrastinating and began smoothing his tunic down, “Oh dear, this will definitely need pressing before I can wear it again. Look at the collar, it’s all…”

  Grubb was sitting directly in front of him. Leaning forward, he fixed his gaze on him and asked his own question for the last time, “The question?” he said, quietly.

  “Yes, of course, the question. I was thinking, and please stop me if you think I’m overstepping the mark,” he looked at Grubb, who was now glaring at him. “Hmm, well, do you remember the time right before we went into the hall of history with Jendilomin and Faylore?” he asked nervously.

  “What about it?” asked Grubb, frowning.

  “Just before Faylore and I found you by the cart, you said that Koloss had insulted you… because you were different. You said that he said you should be ashamed. It really hurt me to see you so upset, Grubb. What would make him say such a thing if he knew it would hurt you so much? What did he believe that you should feel ashamed about, and who are you different to anyway?”

  Grubb took a deep breath, “I can see this ‘as been playin’ on yer mind a bit. Why didn’t ye ask me sooner, ye puddin’?”

  “I didn’t like to,” replied Lodren, “I couldn’t get the look on your face out of my mind, still can’t to be honest. What’s the big secret?”

  “You’ve never met any other Vikkery ‘ave ye, Lodren?”

  “No, you’re the only one. Actually, now that I think about it, are you the only one?”

  “My word, no,” laughed Grubb. “Might ‘ave been a lot easier if I was. No, I ‘ave family and kin, same as everyone else. We just… never got along, I suppose. That, o’ course, was down to me bein’ different.”

  “How are you so different to the other Vikkery? Are they taller or broader, more intelligent, no offence,” he added, raising his hand to affirm it.

  Grubb laughed again, “Intelligent? Don’t make me laugh! ‘alf of ‘em wouldn’t know the difference between an apple and the tree it fell off! No, they’re different, or should I say I am because they can transform themselves into all kinds of ‘real’ animals, not made up ones like I ‘ave to. I’m a squelch!”

  “A squelch! What’s a squelch?” exclaimed Lodren

  “Alright, alright! Keep yer voice down,” urged Grubb. “There’s no need for all of ‘em to know. It’s kind of a nickname they give Vikkery like me. It’s the noise we make when we transform, see? Fer years and years, I tried me best to get it right, but I just can’t do it. Ye all seem to love Wilf, but it ain’t what he’s really supposed to look like.”

  “What is he supposed to look like then?” asked Lodren, slightly unsure of whether he wanted to hear the answer.

  “A bear. Simple and straightforward ye’d ‘ave thought, but I can’t even get that right. Closest I ever got was the eagle, and that was supposed to be a pigeon. Closest I ever got to transforming into a real beast,” Grubb replied.

  “Well, if you ask me, Wilf’s ten times better than a mangy old bear. He’s bigger for a start and with twice as many arms. How much of a bonus is that!”

  “That’s not the way the other people in our village saw it, they mocked me every day for years, I couldn’t take it any longer.”

  “Is that why you left? To get away from all the horrible comments?” asked Lodren.

  “It wasn’t that simple, I’m afraid. The taunting was what started it all though.”

  “Started what?” asked Lodren.

  “The war,” replied Grubb, solemnly.

  “The war!” exclaimed Lodren. “What war?”

  “The civil war between the Vikkery. My family on one side and my cousins and their families on the other.”

  “Oh, so it was a small family dispute then?” asked Lodren, hopefully.

  “Not, exactly,” replied Grubb. “There were about seven hundred of us and more than six hundred of them, so I’d hardly call it ‘small’. And if you think that the way to settle a family dispute is to tear one o’ yer cousins in half, then aye, ye could call it a dispute.”

  “My word!” exclaimed Lodren, “How did you manage to resolve your differences?” He gulped, “Don’t tell me your entire family were wiped out!”

  “O’ course not! None of the elders would ‘ave let it go that far. No, it was settled with single combat between the leaders of the two sides.”

  Lodren knew what the answer to his next question would be, but he asked it anyway. “Who were the two leaders?”

  “Me an’ me cousin, Crump.”

  Lodren sighed, “I should’ve known,” he said. “So, what happened?”

  “Well, our abilities being what they are, we very rarely use weapons. We always battle beast-style, as it were. Ye face off in a circle and try to time it right for when ye change, too soon an’ ye’ll give yer opponent the upper hand of knowing what ‘e’s up against. Too slow and ye could lose an arm, or worse.” Lodren never commented as Grubb continued with his story, “Now, I knew that Crump’s favourite thing was to change into a wolf, and he’d always go for the throat, so all I had to do was bide my time. Sure enough, he leapt at me, transforming in mid-air. He wasn’t fast enough. Turning into Wilf I caught him with one ‘and, crushed ‘is skull. If I ‘adn’t killed ‘im, ‘e would’ve killed me. His family got all funny about it, said it weren’t fair ‘cause it weren’t a real animal as I’d turned into.”

  “So, the war carried on?” asked Lodren, totally engrossed.

  “The village elders ‘ad a meetin’. Decided that they’d let the result stand on one condition,” replied Grubb.

  “And that was?”

  Grubb gave a huge sigh and dropped his head, “That I was banished for life,” he replied.

  “But that’s not fair!” exclaimed Lodren, “All you were doing was defending yourself and your family. Surely they can’t be allowed to banish you for that?”

  “Would ye prefer the alternative? Keep fighting each other until a few ‘undred more are dead. It was the best solution
in the end. Me leaving meant that all me family were safe and that’s all I wanted, especially as the reason it all began was because of something so petty. Pride, Lodren, the most dangerous emotion you’ll ever encounter. And now you’ve met the biggest idiot who has ever fallen victim to it.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Jared sat cross-legged on the ground, quietly reflecting on all that had taken place. Tucked into a corner of the gibbonite’s cave, he drew patterns in the dirt with his dagger. His thoughts were of Karrak and, what he felt to be, his own weakness when dealing with him in the past. It was as if destiny itself had spoken to him so many times. He had been presented with countless opportunities to end his brother’s life but had been too weak or simply too delusional to seize them. Jared could have easily nudged him, sending him plunging to his death from the ramparts of Borell Castle during one of his drunken rants. Seeing the rage in Karrak’s eyes revealed his hatred of all he felt were beneath him when he launched his unprovoked attack on Jared during their impromptu training session. Hannock had saved him, it was true, but why not end it there? Why not simply cut Karrak’s throat as he lay unconscious? It may have seemed callous at the time, but still, it would have brought about the same inevitable result they now sought. If he had been stronger, if only he could have set aside his pathetic sentimentality for a split second they would not now be facing a tyrannical shadow lord, and so many lives would have been saved. He glanced at the wizards, young and old. Would they be the next to be sacrificed? Was this an unwinnable war? Jared had inadvertently begun to thrust his dagger into the dirt.

  “I think I’d better take that, Your Highness.”

  Jared looked up. The sun was streaming through the open roof of the cave and was sitting directly behind the silhouetted Hannock.

  “Don’t worry, Hannock. I’m not suicidal, yet,” he said, smiling up at his friend.

  “It’s not that I’m worried about,” replied Hannock. “You’ve made an awful mess of that blade. Give it here, I’ll sharpen it for you.” He stretched out his hand and helped Jared to his feet.