The Cessation of Karrak_Ascension III Read online

  Hannock took a large gulp of his ale, “Oh crap!”

  “This sorcerer,” said Jared, slowly, “what did he look like?”

  “Big,” replied the innkeeper. “Bigger than you, much bigger. Dark-skinned fella. Polite enough with me but you could tell he was looking for trouble as soon as he walked through that door. Those guards didn’t stand a chance, especially once his horrible beast started ripping into ‘em.”

  “And here we go again,” sighed Hannock. “We can’t even have a quiet drink without your brother coming into the conversation. I’ll be so happy once I’ve killed him. Just a minute, did you say he was attacked by two others?”

  “Yes, astonishing really, they were so much younger than him but far stronger somehow. When I say they, it was only the one that attacked him. The other one never said a word, just stood there looking gormless.”

  “Can you describe them?” asked Jared.

  “Not really, just a couple of young lads at first appearance, they’d be about his age I suppose,” replied the barkeep, nodding toward Drake.

  “Why did the sorcerer attack the guards, and why did the young men attack the sorcerer?” asked Hannock.

  “The sorcerer came in with his mangy animal and the guards weren’t too happy that I’d allowed it. I tried to tell him to leave it outside but the look in his eyes scared the living daylights out of me, far more than being pushed around by the guards. They started taunting him and he didn’t like that. One of ‘em made a move for his sword and before you know it there was blood everywhere and all of ‘em were dead.”

  “Did the young men know him? Were they acquainted in some way?” asked Jared, probingly.

  “Not from what I could tell. The one who attacked him kept on about some lord or other. A shadow lord, yes that was it, a shadow lord.”

  “What did they want to know?” Jared continued.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I have no idea,” replied the innkeeper becoming slightly agitated as he started to wipe the tankards with a less-than-spotless rag, “I’m not a brave man, you see. First chance I got, I dodged down through the cellar hatch. I hid behind some barrels and stuck my fingers in my ears so I couldn’t hear anything. I was down there so long that I must have dozed off. When I woke up it was all quiet up here. I crept back up through the hatch to find they were all gone, thankfully.”

  “Any idea where they may have gone?” asked Hannock.

  “No, sir. I’d got my fingers in my ears. I just told you that!”

  “Oh yes, of course you did. How silly of me,” said Hannock. “Anyway, don’t let us keep you from your duties, we can see that you’re busy,” he added, glancing briefly around the deserted inn.

  Moving as far away from the bar as possible, the three sat huddled around a large table, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the others.

  “Well you have to give him his due,” said Hannock, “he’s done a remarkable job of cleaning the bloodstains off everything.”

  “Give it a rest, will you!” hissed Drake. “This is serious. Don’t you realise? The two young men he’s on about can only be Alex and Xarran!”

  “I think your imagination is running away with you a little, Drake. They attacked a sorcerer and defeated him with ease, apparently. That doesn’t sound like our friends to me.”

  “You’re wrong, Jared. It sounds exactly like them. One attacking and the other looking gormless. It describes Xarran and Alex perfectly. Somehow they’ve decided to go after Karrak by themselves!”

  “As eager as Xarran is to prove himself to his father, and as strange as Alex can be on occasion, I seriously doubt that either of them would be stupid enough to face Karrak without the rest of us,” replied Jared.

  Hannock slapped Drake gently on the back, “Perhaps you’re not the only wizards that survived,” he said. “Perhaps we have allies we know nothing about.”

  “We can hope, I suppose,” agreed Drake. “Does seem a bit coincidental though, doesn’t it?”

  ***

  Suddenly, the door to the inn flew open. There was a lot of bustle in the doorway as Emnor, Yello and Harley struggled to control a very dirty, seemingly uncontrollable, peasant. Try as they might, it was quite apparent that he had no intention of entering the premises without a fight.

  “Here!” yelled the innkeeper, “You can’t bring that scruffy herbert in my nice clean premises, throw him back outside, he stinks.”

  “Hold your tongue, barkeep,” bellowed Emnor. “Or would you like to see what I can do with this?” he asked, brandishing his staff.

  “Why me? Why do you all have to come in here? Why can’t I get some nice customers who just pay the tab and smile as they leave?” whimpered the poor innkeeper.

  Jared had the mother of all looks of confusion on his face, “Emnor, what are you doing? He doesn’t want to come in, let him go. He’s obviously used to the outdoor life, just give him some coin and send him on his way. Some people are happy being well, smelly and covered in… oh my word that smells disgusting.”

  “Let me go!” protested the old vagrant, “I need to leave. Who are you? I sleep in that hedge all the time. Leave me alone, please,” he implored.

  “This is ridiculous,” sighed Emnor. With a wave of his staff the old man closed his eyes and sank to the floor.

  The mixture of the ale and the brandy were now beginning to take their effect on Hannock, who found the scene most amusing, “If I’d have known you wanted a pet, Emnor, I’d have bought you a dog, or a goat, or something,” he sniggered.

  Emnor glared at him, “Thank you, Captain!” he snapped. “But this is no pet. Not any more anyway! Don’t you recognise him, Jared?”

  Jared shook his head, “No! Is he the winner of this year’s village idiot contest, perchance?”

  “Don’t be flippant, Jared. Take a closer look, are you sure he doesn’t look familiar?” asked Yello, sweeping the bedraggled old man’s matted hair from his face.

  Jared stood, held his nose and leaned forward to get a better look at the old man’s features. He peered at him for a few seconds shaking his head as Emnor attempted to wipe some of the filth from the stranger’s face with his sleeve. He was about to speak when, as he realised who he was looking at, his mouth fell open and he simply stood there agape, “Barden Oldman!” he breathed in realisation.

  “Yes, Jared. Barden Oldman,” replied Emnor, “We were talking to the blacksmith a short while ago when there was an almighty fuss behind us. Apparently, Barden had tried to steal a loaf of bread from one of the market stalls and the baker was none too pleased. Of course, we never realised who he was, but decided to intervene when the butcher got involved and threatened to chop his hands off. Imagine our surprise when we recognised him. The smith said that he appeared here just after some sort of incident that happened here in the inn, but the innkeeper refused to speak about it with anyone in the village.”

  All eyes turned to the poor innkeeper, who now looked decidedly nervous, “What you all looking at me for? I don’t know anything about it,” he said, unconvincingly.

  Yello ambled toward the innkeeper, his staff raised, “My friend here…” he said, gesturing toward Emnor, “… is far more polite than I, of that I can assure you. He threatens people all the time but would never actually harm anyone. I, on the other hand, threaten very few people, but when I do I am always prepared to do them harm should the need arise. I warn you, dullard, that need is arising right now.”

  “More threats!” exclaimed the innkeeper, “I’ve had enough, do your worst! Go on, roast me alive, turn me inside out, spread my innards up the wall if you like! I don’t care anymore!”

  Emnor and Yello suddenly felt terribly guilty. Their actions were not far removed from the actions of those whom they condemned on a regular basis. How could anyone differentiate between a sorcerer and a wizard if their behaviour was so similar? How could they believe that threatening an innocent, for that was exactly what the innkeeper was, would ever be comprehended as acceptable? The innkeeper
fell backwards and slid down the wall sobbing.

  Lowering his head in shame, Yello handed his staff to Emnor before venturing behind the bar. Leaning down, he took the man gently by the arm, “Forgive me,” he said, gently. “These are trying times for us all. We mean you no harm, my friend. The horrors you have witnessed must have taken a great strain on you. But, I must inform you that worse is yet to come, unless a few brave souls are willing to stand with us in the hope that we may prevent it.” He helped him to his feet and looked into his eyes, “Tell us your name.”

  “Douglas, sir. Douglas Torran.”

  “Well, Douglas, is there any way in which you could find it in your heart to forgive us? Would you be willing to help? Any information may prove useful, however trivial it may appear to you.”

  “I’ll tell you everything I know, but first I want that thing out of my tavern,” he said, pointing at Barden.

  “Don’t worry about him,” said Drake, quickly. “I’ll clean him up so he doesn’t stink the place out. All I need is a couple of buckets of water and a good stiff brush,” he added, a menacing grin spreading across his face.

  “No, you don’t understand,” replied Douglas. “He’s the beast. He’s the one that was with the dark-skinned fella. He’s the one who ripped the throats out of the guards. That young lad turned him into an old man before he left. Burst out laughing when he saw his face, kept making fun of him. It was as if he knew him.”

  Emnor and Yello turned to face Jared.

  “Gentlemen, take a seat,” said Hannock. “I think we may be here some time.”

  CHAPTER 4

  To Lodren, riding a dragon seemed to come as second nature. As they soared high in the clouds he was able to re-direct Thelwynn with the slightest movement. Leaning gently to one side would cause the dragon lord to turn and leaning forward, to descend gently. It had not taken long for the excitement to take hold of the Nibby as he rode upon the winged behemoth’s back. Within minutes he was charging upwards through the cloud before tilting forward and plummeting rapidly toward the ground. Faylore held her breath more than once, fearing that the over-exuberant novice would make a fatal mistake and cause both he and Thelwynn to crash into the trees or rock faces far below them. Throughout, there were the exalted roars of the newly-discovered Nibrilsiem. Grubb was not impressed and wasted no time in telling Faylore exactly how he felt about Lodren’s new, larger-than life persona.

  “Look at ‘im. What a pillock! He’s gonna smash into the floor next time ‘e tries that, you mark my words.”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” said Fireweigh, unexpectedly. “It’s in his nature. You don’t think that Thelwynn would allow them to fall do you? There’s a synergy between them that can only exist between a dragon and a Nibrilsiem. They feel one another’s movements, hear one another’s thoughts. The only reason Lodren moves is for balance.”

  “Cobblers!” snapped Grubb, “’e’s just showin’ off. All that shoutin’s gettin’ on my bloody nerves, to be honest.”

  “He can’t help it, Grubb. He’s just excited. I’m sure he’ll calm down once he gets used to it. The same as you may stop using that kind of language in front of me, when you do,” said Faylore.

  “I hate to interrupt, Your Majesty,” said Fireweigh, “but if anything, it will probably get worse. At the moment he’s only experiencing being airborne for the first time. Once Thelwynn allows him to access his mind fully he’ll learn how to ride a dragon into battle. I’m afraid that’s when he’ll begin to learn the war songs of his, and our, ancestors.”

  “Songs!” exclaimed Grubb. “That’s all we need! Not only will ‘e be full of ‘imself for ridin’ dragons, ‘e’ll be bloody singin’ while ‘e’s doin’it!”

  “Do not worry, Grubb,” chuckled Fireweigh, “that won’t come for some time yet, if at all.”

  “Could we possibly land for a while, Fireweigh?” asked Faylore, politely. “We Thedarians much prefer to walk and I need to stretch my legs, as it were.”

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” replied Fireweigh. “Give me a moment to inform Thelwynn. Hold tight.” He began to dive in order to catch up with Thelwynn who, at Lodren’s request, was skimming only inches above the ground.

  Grubb glanced behind him, the sight of Faylore made him smile. She appeared very different to the Faylore he knew. Her glittering white skin, reflecting the ruby red of Fireweigh’s scales gave her a crimson hue and her hair, whipped back in the billowing wind, resembled the bellows-induced flames of a smith’s forge. But one thing remained constant in Grubb’s mind. Crimson red or pale white, Faylore was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Leaning back into her arms, he gave a contented sigh.

  Moments later they were strolling through the long grass that had resembled a plush green carpet from high above. Faylore breathed deeply, savouring the scent of the morning dew as she allowed it to brush between her fingers. This was where she, and her kin, belonged. Grubb had transformed and now, as Wilf, lumbered along behind her. The only reason he had changed was because he couldn’t see where he was going in the tall grass!

  Lodren had not been so eager to land as they and was now becoming a little annoying. At least once, every minute, he would swoop past them still mounted on Thelwynn’s back and bawl something barely audible.

  It took Thelwynn himself to explain to Lodren that he, as the rider, could probably stay in the air indefinitely but that he, as the one doing the flying, could not.

  They landed directly in front of Fireweigh and Lodren dismounted, “My word!” he shouted, “That gets the blood pumping.”

  “Lodren, if ye don’t sit down and shut it, I swear your blood is gonna be pumpin’ all over the floor!” snapped Grubb.

  “What’s wrong with you?” asked Lodren, completely unaware of how obnoxious he had been over the last few hours. “Didn’t you enjoy it? Do you not like heights? Did it make you nauseous?”

  Faylore hurriedly stepped between them, “Let us say, he’s had better days, Lodren and leave it at that, shall we?”

  “Righty-ho then, if you think it best,” Lodren replied, cheerily. “Think I’m going to dig into my backpack, I’m starving. Fancy a bit of lunch, Faylore? I’ve still got some honey cakes.”

  Grubb watched Lodren as he rummaged through the provisions he had stored before they left. He hummed to himself for a while but every so often he would utter a random word subconsciously. Dum dum dum, strike, dum dum dum, hack, dum dum dum, burn. There was no tune at first, but one definitely began to form as the Nibby went on.

  Grubb dragged his hand across his face as he studied his friend with dread, “There’ll be no living with ‘im if we don’t put the mockers on this fast,” he mumbled to Faylore.

  “If we don’t, what?” asked Faylore.

  “This dragon-rider nonsense. We’ve got to nip it in the bud before we lose ‘im altogether.”

  “Ah, so that’s the problem. You’re scared of losing your friend!”

  “Course I am, an’ ‘e’s me best friend at that! When I say ‘e’s me best friend, I don’t mean that you an’ Jared an’ the rest of ‘em ain’t, but…”

  “It’s alright, Grubb, I understand,” said Faylore, smiling.

  “Could ye have a talk to ‘im? It’d sound better comin’ from you.”

  Faylore sighed and, rubbing Grubb’s horned head roughly, she wandered over to Lodren.

  He smiled up at her as she approached, “Is there anything in particular you’d like?” he asked politely, “I managed to pack a fair bit before we left.”

  “Oh, anything will be fine, I’ll trust your judgment as always.”

  “Is this about the dragons then?” he asked.

  Faylore tried not to look too surprised at the question and pretended to brush her hair from her face to hide the smile that had appeared on it.

  “I’m polite, Faylore, not daft,” said Lodren without looking up from his backpack.

  Faylore began to pace slowly, “They cannot accompany us, Lodren. O
nce we reach Reiggan Fortress, we must send them home.”

  “But why? Imagine how easy it would be to beat Karrak if we had two dragons fighting beside us.”

  “Imagine how you would feel if one of them were severely injured, or killed? This is not their fight, Lodren. It would be unfair to ask them to join something that could ultimately set them as a target for Karrak should we fail.”

  “You’re the first one to say that, and mean it. If we fail. Jared and Emnor and the others seem to think that, if we all stick together, we’ll beat this ‘shadow lord’ easily. Not once has it entered their heads that Karrak could win. They seem to be ignoring the idea, but I think there’s a very good chance of him killing all of us no matter what we do. I’ve never told anyone this, Faylore, but that day he attacked us at the castle… well, I was terrified. You couldn’t see it but my hands were shaking so badly, I could barely grip my hammer. But when I climbed into that saddle today I felt strong and unafraid. I felt like I could take on the whole world.”

  “All the more reason for you to stop before you become addicted to that feeling, Lodren,” Faylore said, stroking the Nibby’s cheek. “The person riding that dragon is not you, it is a memory, a shadow of days long passed. Dragon riders existed when the dragons themselves were little more than mindless beasts. To expect a dragon to bear a rider now is an insult. Would you expect someone to place a saddle on one of us as if we were a beast of burden?”

  “But, Thelwynn was the one who suggested it,” pleaded Lodren, “I would never dream of insulting anyone… maybe Grubb, but nobody who would take real offence, and most assuredly not a dragon.”

  “They… must… return… to… their… home, Lodren,” said Faylore, emphasising each word.