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- Herausgeber: Dragonfire Press
- Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
- Serie: The Fallen King Chronicles
- Sprache: Englisch
The soul of a powerful dragon has escaped its magical prison.
The creature’s wrath knows no bounds and spreads across two enemy kingdoms, forcing an unlikely alliance.
Calderon and Velkyn, the two young men charged with the safeguard of the sphere that held the dragon captive, must leave everything they’ve known in a quest to recapture the beast before it takes physical form.
Will they be able to stop events beyond their power, or will both kingdoms be destroyed by the dragon’s rage?
Das E-Book können Sie in Legimi-Apps oder einer beliebigen App lesen, die das folgende Format unterstützen:
Seitenzahl: 360
Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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Dragonsphere
The Fallen King Chronicles Book 1
Richard Fierce
Copyright © 2013 by Richard Fierce
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. All events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form without the express permission of the publisher.
Contents
“There has often been theological debate as to who, or what, is behind the forces of evil. No one is certain, but there is one thing everyone agrees upon: whatever it is, it certainly calls the Viss Mountains home. The feeling of evil there is palpable.” -from the Book of Faith
Year of the Divines 418
It was dark and cold. The distant sound of dripping water echoed throughout the narrow tunnel, part of a large system of interconnected passageways and caves deep in the Viss Mountains.
A hooded figure navigated his way through them hesitantly, pausing every few paces to run his fingers along the stone walls. He desperately wanted to light a torch, but he knew it was a foolish thought. If he brought light into that chamber…
The figure halted as he felt the familiar sigils on the wall. He had traveled through this cave many times now, yet it seemed he could never memorize his way to the central chamber within the mountain.
“I sense you.” It was a sound unlike anything in his most insidious nightmares. “Come forth.”
An intense fear overtook him. His breath came short and quick and he could feel his heart throbbing inside his chest. His hands began quivering so he clenched them into fists, hiding them within his robes. Closing his eyes momentarily, he forced a deep breath before stepping into the chamber.
Every rational thought told him to flee. A horrible feeling wriggled its way into his heart, melting his resolve like wax in a fire.
“You have carried out my instructions?”
The man crumbled to his knees. He could almost feel it hovering around him, able to see everything while he was as blind as a bat.
It was more of a demand than a question. The man could barely speak and meekly nodded his head. “I have arranged the bones in the cave as you said.” Something colder than ice touched his shoulder, causing his entire arm to go numb. It could only be the touch of his unholy master.
“You have pleased me. I shall reward your obedience when all falls into place.” It seemed to him that the words slithered across the cave like snakes, wrapping themselves around him.
“Yes… m-my… lord.”
“They thought they destroyed me. But I cannot be destroyed… no, I am eternal. And now … I will unleash hell upon the land.”
The man looked around futilely in the dark cave and could see nothing. But he could feel it. A shudder in the ground, a tremor in the walls. He could hear loose rocks clattering against each other as the rumbling grew stronger.
A wicked, cackling laughter erupted, making him flinch unexpectedly. Then silence. Suddenly there was a loud cracking sound, as if something were splitting open. He heard the roar echo out across the mountains, but he also heard the distinct sound of flapping wings.
An ancient and mighty creature had been awakened. The man couldn’t help but wonder: what have I done?
Death was coming. A dragon was coming.
“All of history bears false witness. Truth is only known by those who were present.” - from the Book of Faith
Year of the Divines 419
When rumors of a dragon attack reached Demetrius, he dismissed them almost immediately. Having lived in the port city of Radda his entire life, he had heard many wild stories from countless travelers. Everything ranging from giant squids in the open seas to horses with wings. Admittedly this was the first time he heard mention of a dragon, supposed giant mythical creatures that fed on the fear of people and could lay waste to entire cities.
“Rubbish,” he said. “Children’s tales told by parents to scare little ones into obedience.”
“I believe it,” the old sailor remarked enthusiastically. “Captain heard it ’imself. Says the whole city was burned to the ground and everyone killed.”
“Then how did your captain hear of it?” Demetrius eyed his friend sternly. The man’s face was covered in wrinkles and his hair bleached from constant sun. The man had been a sailor since he was not more than a boy and was prone to believe almost anything.
“What d’ya mean?” the sailor, Bannigan, asked.
“If everyone was killed, how did your captain hear this story? Who would have repeated it to him?”
The old man remained silent for a moment and scratched his prickly-haired chin. “It not be my place to question the Captain, silversmith.”
Demetrius laughed heartily. “Nice cover up.”
The sailor stomped his foot indignantly. “It ain’t no cover up. I trust the Captain’s word. How’s business?” Bannigan changed the subject.
“Profitable, as always. The war with Oakvalor hasn’t put a pinch in anyone’s pockets yet. I hear some of my fellow smiths have been requested to appear before the king, as to why is anyone’s guess.”
“Maybe the king needs more weapons.”
Demetrius shrugged his large shoulders. He wasn’t in the business of making weapons, so it mattered little to him. His craft was typically sought after by the well-to-do, custom pieces that didn’t come cheap. Some people had so much money they apparently didn’t know what to do with it. He could work with any metal he put his hands on, but he preferred silver. It was very easy to bend and could be cast or hammered which allowed him to form almost anything with it; from teapots to statues.
The clanging of the bell tower echoed loudly across the city, signaling noon. The bell tower was originally built to alert the populace of emergencies. Its main use now was to indicate the time. Bannigan clapped Demetrius on the shoulder and bid him farewell. “That’s my call,” he said, trying to be heard over the noise. Demetrius’ shop was situated near the docks for convenience and the daily clanging of the bell had eventually become a normal sound to him.
“Be safe,” he called out as the old man left. Bannigan waved to acknowledge he heard him. Not that anyone couldn’t.
Demetrius was a large man with a thunderous voice. At six and a half feet tall, he was a beast of a man, with muscles so large that he had to be custom fitted for his clothing. His hair was light brown and cut short to keep it out of his eyes, and to keep it from being singed. His skin was a deep bronze color as he preferred to be in the sun most of his time.
He watched his friend until he could no longer see him among the crowd. He heard his name a few stalls down and glanced to see who said it. He could see a member of the king’s guard talking to one of the vendors. The vendor pointed towards where he was standing. What in the Divines would a soldier of the crown want with him? He watched the soldier approach.
“Demetrius?”
The big man eyed the soldier warily. “Yes?”
“The silversmith?” he asked with an air of impatience.
“Yes.”
The soldier withdrew a scroll from his belt and handed it to Demetrius. “What’s this?” he questioned. The soldier shook his head. “Not my business, sir. I am just the messenger. I believe His Highness requests your presence at the palace.”
“What for?” Demetrius probed.
“Not my business.” The soldier’s impatience was evident by his short, almost rude, answers. “I must be on my way, sir.” The soldier turned and headed back from the way he came. Demetrius stared at the scroll, unsure if he even wanted to open it. Everyone knew he didn’t make weapons. Why would the king summon him if he was seeking smiths to make his armies more weapons?
He snapped the seal in half and opened the scroll. It read:
To Demetrius the silversmith,
Greetings from the Esteemed Ruler of Talvaard, King Garun. Your presence is requested at the palace. Do not worry about your business. You will be well compensated. A carriage has been arranged to meet you outside the city of Radda at sundown. Do not be late.
King Garun
There was a fancy signature and the crest of the king, a phoenix bursting forth from a pile of ashes, at the bottom of the parchment. Demetrius sighed. He hated politics.
Dusk found him standing near the road at the outskirts of his hometown. He had closed his shop early much to his disappointment. There was a certain beautiful woman who walked by his stall everyday around the same time, usually carrying fresh bread. He had only noticed her because he caught her staring at him as she passed by one day.
Her look was one of admiration. At least, that’s how he took it. She had smiled embarrassedly and blushed. And so, Demetrius made it a point in his day to watch her as she walked by and smile at her.
Closing early meant that he missed her. He was more than slightly frustrated by that, as he had finally worked up his nerve to actually speak to her. His hope was that she would let him get to know her and perhaps they would see where things went from there.
The carriage pulled up suddenly and Demetrius noticed that the sun was just sliding behind the mountains. “Well at least the king is punctual,” he muttered beneath his breath. The door to the carriage swung open and a man dressed in plain clothes, probably a servant, stepped out. He motioned to the carriage and bowed low. “If you would, sir.”
Demetrius dipped his head in thanks and climbed inside. A quiet whistle escaped his lips. The inside was adorned with all sorts of glittering shapes. He looked closely and recognized most of the precious stones. Diamonds and rubies comprised most of the decorations, but there were also a few sapphires and a couple stones he did not recognize. The fabric that made up the seats was comfortable and smooth to the touch. It was hard to tell whether the material was dark red or brown in the fading light.
Demetrius was impressed. He didn’t expect to be brought to the palace in luxury. Granted he was known among the higher ups for his skills in crafting, but he was not of noble birth. And most, if not all of them, seemed to ignore the fact that he was much wealthier than most of them, anyway. The servant did not get back into the carriage, but instead shut the door and climbed into the seat with the driver.
He had a decent amount of time to think as the buggy headed toward Talvaarin, the city built around the palace. It was a thirty-minute trip to the palace by horse. After what seemed like hours to him, he felt a difference in the road. Instead of bouncing about on the dirt path, the ride smoothed out and he could tell they were now on the stone paved roads of the city.
The carriage came to an abrupt stop and the door swung open. The servant stood there and motioned for Demetrius to come out. He had gotten comfortable and it took him a minute to move. Why did the king want him to come so late in the evening hours, he wondered.
The servant led him through enormously tall double doors and into a massive circular room that was normally filled with nobles and commoners alike, usually bringing petitions and requests to the king or his advisors. The room was empty and their footsteps reverberated off the walls.
Demetrius looked admiringly up at the vaulted ceiling, rising sixty feet above him. Support pillars were spaced every ten feet, outlining the main walkway through the antechamber. “This is huge,” he remarked to himself.
“Sir?” the servant looked back at him. Demetrius shook his head and the servant continued his hurried pace. A door in the middle of the far wall was flanked on either side by two giant alabaster statues of winged men standing at attention, their swords drawn and held up before them. Demetrius thought them an odd addition to the room. The walls were covered with portraits of regal looking men, whom he assumed were previous kings, and large brightly colored tapestries depicting scenes of long ago battles.
He began to wonder why he had never made a trip to the palace, if for no other reason than to say he had been there. The servant stopped before the door. “Wait here, sir,” he said breathlessly before disappearing through the door. Demetrius looked down at the floor. Stone tiles, painted orange and yellow, ran the length of the entire room, forming a triangular pattern. The tiles outside the three-sided shape were bright red.
He assumed there was some sort of significance to the design, but it was lost on him. Demetrius looked back up and noticed the servant was staring at him. “His Highness will see you now.” He held the door open and pointed down a long hallway. “It’s the last door on the left at the end of the hall.”
The big man nodded his head in thanks and walked to where he was directed. The hallway, large enough to comfortably hold two carriages side by side, was barely adorned at all. A guard stepped out from the shadows and startled him. “I didn’t see you,” he laughed nervously.
“That would be the point,” the guard answered, his face hidden by the hood over his head. He patted Demetrius down for weapons and finding none, opened the door for him to enter. “Go to the center of the room and do not leave the circle.”
“Circle? Why not?”
“Just don’t.”
Demetrius was starting to regret having made the trip. Then again, seeing how guarded the king was, he doubted he would have lived long had he refused to come. He walked to the middle of the room and noticed the circle design in the floor. He assumed that’s where he was supposed to stand.
The guard shut the door and Demetrius was enveloped in darkness. He cleared his throat and the sound echoed eerily. Torches flared to life and revealed a large wooden chair with a man seated on it.
“Demetrius,” the unknown man greeted. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before.”
Demetrius wasn’t sure if it was the king or not. And if it was, should he bow? He didn’t answer. The man must have taken his lack of response as hesitance. “You can speak freely.”
Demetrius felt a little better that he could speak his mind. He wasn’t one to bite his tongue. “What is this about? Why am I here? I am a very busy man, and I have lost half a day’s time…”
The man in the chair stood up swiftly and Demetrius fell silent. “I can assure you, master smith, that we are all busy. Some busy with tasks more important than others.” The man tossed a leather pouch onto the floor in front of him. “Consider this payment for your time.”
Demetrius didn’t dare move from the circle to see what was inside, heeding the warning the guard had given him.
“Talvaard has a shadow cast over it, master smith. A shadow that threatens to consume us all.”
Demetrius assumed the shadow was Oakvalor, the enemy kingdom that Talvaard had been at war with for as long as anyone could remember. “Then I must inform you, sir, that I am not a weapon smith. I make trinkets and items ordered for noble houses. I think you have erred in your selection of men to build your weapons of war.”
“Do you think that I am ignorant of those in my kingdom?” the man asked, revealing that he was indeed the king. “I know what you are capable of, Demetrius, and I have not summoned you here to build weapons. At least, not in the sense that you are thinking.”
“What do you mean?”
Several other torches lit up, as though by magic, and exposed King Garun in all his splendor. He was shorter than Demetrius by at least a foot. His hair was long and black, pulled back tight into a ponytail. His nose slanted down his face, reminding Demetrius of a bird’s beak. His eyes were hazel and set deep in his head. The king was nothing special in terms of attractiveness. What he lacked in looks, however, was made up for in bearing.
His posture and demeanor exhibited a great deal of confidence and his general appearance was enhanced by his garments. His crown gleamed in the torchlight and gave the impression that it was made of silver. Demetrius knew it wasn’t crafted of his favorite metal, but was instead made of something much more valuable: white gold.
It had three gems set in the front. A rare black diamond, twenty karats by Demetrius’ estimate, in the middle, surrounded on either side by two green serendibite stones. It was a marvelous treasure. The king’s shirt was turquoise and had a lustrous, dazzling sheen that only silk could give. His linen pants were a brilliant green color tucked into black leather boots. During the daylight hours, when dealing with matters of state, he would also wear a mantle that extended to the floor, joined at the neck and open down the front, that was emblazoned with the large phoenix crest on the back.
“I’m sure you have heard the rumors?”
“Of dragons, Your Highness?”
“Indeed. I can read the disbelief in your face. I know how you feel, as I too was of the same mind when word first reached me. I can assure you,” the king’s tone grew somber, “there is no myth to these tales.”
Demetrius was dubious. “What in the name of the Divines are you talking about? Dragons? Winged creatures that fly and breath fire? You can’t be serious, Your Highness.”
The king’s face remained solemn. “Had I not seen the creature for myself, I would be as doubtful as you, Demetrius. Unfortunately,” he paused, gave a great sigh, and continued, “it is very real.”
Demetrius was still in doubt, but he didn’t further voice his suspicion. “What does all this have to do with me?”
“It is said that no one in Talvaard can work silver like you.”
Demetrius had certainly earned a strong reputation for himself, but he was down to earth and didn’t like to boast. “So I have heard,” he replied, shrugging his large shoulders. “You still haven’t answered the question.”
The king closed the distance between him and Demetrius with a few quick steps. “I cannot reveal the details just yet, as I myself do not have them. All I know is that the skills of a silversmith are required, along with a few other details. Our ally,” he used the word frostily, “does not have the privilege of metal smiths. And we lack what they have. So you see, master smith, you would be doing Talvaard a great duty.”
“And if I refuse?” Demetrius asked, more out of curiosity than rebelliousness. A job for the king could prove to be very profitable.
Garun eyed him dangerously. “It would not be in your best interest… but you have a week to consider it.”
Demetrius felt goose bumps run up his back under the king’s baleful look. “I am loyal to my country, Your Highness. I would never refuse an opportunity to serve the crown.”
Garun smiled, the first Demetrius had seen on his face, apparently pleased with the answer. “My servant will escort you out and deliver you back to your home.”
“When will you require my services?”
“You will know,” the king answered.
“It was that day that I realized just how short life could be.” - Demetrius, silversmith
The ride back to Radda seemed shorter than the trip to the palace. Demetrius pondered the king’s veiled threat and his offer. He wasn’t sure what Garun even wanted him to forge. And then there was the fact that the king believed there truly was a dragon rampaging across the land. He briefly toyed with the idea that the king had been drinking a bit too much wine. He didn’t know the man personally, but from all accounts he was a man of intelligence, calculating, and courageous. The fact that he seemed troubled and had asserted to have seen the beast did add weight to his claim.
Perhaps Oakvalor had unleashed some sort of beast loose on Talvaard? Something frightening enough to make people think it was a dragon. Demetrius didn’t know. He didn’t care either. A job for the crown could make him rich enough to stop working. He could buy a house in Talvaarin and spend his days relaxing or sail the Ocean and see the world. He smiled at the thought briefly before pushing those notions aside. He had to do the job first. And he wasn’t even sure that he could.
The carriage stopped and the door opened. The servant didn’t bother to motion him out of the cab as he was already moving towards the door before it opened. The man stopped Demetrius and handed him the leather pouch the king had tossed him. He had completely forgotten about it back in the palace.
“The king said I will know when he needs me. How will I know?” he asked the servant who, in reply, shrugged his shoulders. So much for an answer, he thought.
He made his way down the worn dirt path that led through the center of the port city he called home. While his shop was located near the docks, his house was in the center of the town, where the “better” houses were. Radda was home to many merchants and traders, as well as some nefarious characters. Since the port’s expansion some eighty years ago, the small town had grown to become somewhat of a city. While they didn’t have the paved stone roads of Talvaarin, they did have some of the best inns.
One such inn was the Crab, owned by a wealthy sailor who had made his fortune in the crab fishing industry. Crabs were considered a delicacy, especially among the nobles. Having made more money than he needed, the sailor had retired and opened the inn. Demetrius would come here to unwind from his work.
He preferred it over the other places. It was newer than the others, and so had less sketchy individuals to worry about. He paused outside the doorway, considered calling it a night. He decided to have one drink and he would be on his way. He entered the building to find it mostly empty with the exception of two patrons. The barmaid, a young girl no older than twenty, was delivering a tray of food to one of the customers. The other customer appeared to be a woman, but he couldn’t see her face and didn’t recognize her as anyone he knew in the dim light.
He found a seat at an empty table and ordered some wine when the barmaid asked what he’d like. Demetrius laid the leather bag on the table and opened the flap to peer inside. His eyes widened when he was that along with gold coins, there was also some precious stones similar to the ones he had seen in the carriage. If this was just for his trouble of closing for one afternoon, he could barely imagine how much the king would pay for the actual job.
He slid the bag into his lap and kept one hand on it. The young girl brought him his wine and he sank down into the chair. The chairs were covered in soft cushions, another reason he preferred the Crab. Demetrius sipped his wine slowly, enjoying the taste and the solitude. While he did appreciate his customers, he needed time away from people in general to keep a cheery attitude.
Demetrius was still young, at least he considered himself so. He was almost thirty and had never married. Not yet, anyway. His mother had died giving birth to him and his father, a poor thatcher, had always been distant from him. Demetrius assumed his father’s lack of attention was the result of the man’s superstitious beliefs. He had viewed his wife’s death as a bad omen for the character of the child. Whatever sinful things the child would do in the future resulted in the mother’s death. A sordid payment of sorts.
Demetrius didn’t hold a grudge against his father. Besides, he had an entire town full of people who helped raise him. The previous ruler, King Verin, had expanded the kingdom’s trade routes with established nations across the Ocean and financed the expansion of all the ports in the kingdom. Since Radda was so close to the palace, it received preferential treatment. The city flourished and grew rapidly, bringing in people from all cultures of the world.
It was one of those people who had made the city his home that took Demetrius in as his own. Childless and widowed, the man took pity on him and made Demetrius his apprentice in the silversmith trade. And the big man had a knack for it. Under his adoptive father’s guidance, he became one of the best in the kingdom. His goods were highly sought after, especially by the well-to-do.
His thoughts were scattered as the female customer stood up to leave. Her face was revealed by the lanterns that hung from the ceiling and he realized it was the woman from the market. His heart skipped a beat and he felt his stomach drop. What was wrong with him?
He stood up and their eyes met. He couldn’t take his eyes off her which made her face flush pink. She smiled shyly and went to leave.
“Wait,” he said gently. She looked back at him with a nervous look on her face. “At least tell me your name, woman.”
She seemed to hesitate, as if she would not answer. Demetrius waited, thinking perhaps he was too forward. He wanted to know who she was.
“Tomorrow.”
His confused look spoke volumes. “Tomorrow? That’s… different.”
She shook her head and smiled. “I will tell you tomorrow.”
“I won’t be here. I must deliver some items to a customer. I will be gone for two days.”
“Then when you return,” she responded bashfully.
“That seems so long from now,” he said, downcast.
“You have gone this long without knowing my name. What is a few more days?”
When he arrived at his house and slumped into bed, his thoughts were of the woman who seemed to have stolen his heart. He had finally heard her voice. And it was more beautiful than he imagined. As he drifted off to sleep, he was still smiling.
When the sun shining through the window woke him up, he groaned and rolled out of bed. His trip to Kish was at an end and he would be heading back home. He had not wanted to travel, but the customer had requested that Demetrius himself deliver the items. He tried to explain that he was a busy man, but his customer would not hear it.
Normally Demetrius would have merely declined the job, but the client offered triple the price for the trouble. He couldn’t turn down the offer; it was a great deal of money. If there was one thing he loved more than his craft, it was money.
Besides that, the man was an ambassador to Treyfeth, a minor kingdom beginning to grow into a power to be reckoned with. Word was that he was cousin to the king, something that Demetrius considered more seriously now after having met the king two days ago. He certainly wouldn’t want to offend a man who could have him thrown in the dungeon, or worse. All of the preparations were ready, the person he normally used had ensured all would be ready by dawn.
His client provided breakfast which he consumed quickly. He was impatient to see the beautiful woman again. Judging by their conversation at the inn, he sensed that what he was feeling for her was the same that she felt for him. He could hardly wait.
The journey took half a day, but it didn’t seem to take that long as his thoughts were in the clouds. The city of Kish was located in the same direction as the Abbey of the Divines, the home of the monks. It was further east than the abbey, so he did not get the opportunity to glimpse their stone walls. There was one road that led out of Radda. It was a straight road north leading to Talvaarin, then it broke east and west from there. Far to the west was the nation of Oakvalor. He had never been that far west, as there was nothing but a lonely road that winded over the dormant volcano and the mountains that surrounded it.
He had no reason to go there anyway. Talvaard and Oakvalor had been at war with each other for the past thousand years, maybe more. When asked, no one could answer how it all started. Time had a way of erasing things. As Demetrius continued heading south, he thought he could smell smoke in the air. “Odd,” he muttered to himself, attempting to block the sun from his eyes to get a better look ahead. He was still about a mile away and with the sun setting in the south, he couldn’t see much. A foreboding feeling began to gnaw at him.
Demetrius urged the two horses pulling his wagon to speed up. As he got closer, the smell of smoke became distinct. The terrain was all flat grasslands except right outside the city, where small rolling hills slowed his wagon down. He could hear noises now, and he was gripped with fear. He leapt off the wagon before the horses had completely stopped and ran to the top of the last hill.
Fire raged across the city. Shrill, high pitched screams of women and children invaded the air, mingling with the shouts of men who were trying desperately to put out the spreading destruction. The smoke rising from the buildings was dark and thick, billowing into the air and blotting out the fading sun; a mere sliver of dimming yellow light on the horizon as it was.
The smell of burnt wood, and possibly flesh, reached him as a cool breeze blew in from the Ocean. The massive port city of Radda was now a charred wasteland. Demetrius dropped to his knees, overcome with emotion. This was his home from childbirth. The people he knew, the woman he had hoped to know, all burned up in the inferno. Tears stung his eyes as he thought of his father, too aged to have run for safely. He punched the ground, raising up dust and cutting his knuckles on rocks. He barely felt it. He punched again and again, wishing he would wake up from this horrible nightmare.
The soft nickering of a horse beside him seemed a strange and out of place sound. He looked up through tearful eyes to see a man dressed in soldier’s clothes with the crest of the king displayed on the shoulder. His clothes were different from the soldier he had seen at the palace.
The man sat upon the horse, staring unfazed at the carnage. The man turned and looked down at him. Demetrius saw another emblem on the man’s clothing, one he supposed was the symbol of a general.
“Where are the king’s men?” Demetrius demanded, his voice breaking with grief.
The general turned his eyes back to the burning city. “Scattered throughout the kingdom dealing with similar situations.” The man’s voice was devoid of any genuine concern. Demetrius also looked back to the city. He wanted to rush down there and help, but he felt powerless and weak. He could only see a handful of people and they were trying to escape the flames, not put them out.
“It’s time,” the general said abruptly.
“Time for what?”
“To fulfill your obligation to the crown.”
Demetrius rode in silence. He followed behind the general who didn’t seem inclined to talk anyhow. He had fallen into a state of depressive calmness. He could feel tears sliding down his face but he didn’t bother to wipe them away.
He wasn’t aware that they had reached the castle until the general cleared his throat, breaking the silence. Demetrius looked up and saw the double doors that led into the palace. He looked over his shoulder, having some idea that maybe he would see his home, fine and undamaged as when he had left it. He saw only the ten-foot stone wall that separated the palace from the city of Talvaarin.
He slid off the horse and followed the general to the door, who entrusted him to the servant whom he had dealt with on his first visit. The antechamber was filled with servants and soldiers alike, dashing here and there, at times almost running into one another. The entire palace was in chaos. Demetrius oddly found comfort in seeing many people eye him with frowning faces, the only way they knew how to express their condolences.
The servant led him through the doorway in the middle of the chamber with haste. “Where is the King?” the servant was demanding to those who passed them in the giant hall. Some shrugged, others didn’t bother to answer at all.
Demetrius saw two women that appeared to be attendants, talking in hushed tones. As they passed by, he heard bits of their conversation and learned that Radda was only one of many cities across the kingdom that had burned to the ground. People were blaming Oakvalor and their king’s wizard for the destruction.
While he still held reservations about Garun’s story of a dragon, he didn’t think there was any way Oakvalor’s armies could burn so many cities without a single person seeing anything. The servant stopped at the end of the hall and glanced about. Demetrius wasn’t sure what he was doing. A hooded guard stepped out of the shadows and the servant nodded back toward Demetrius. “His Highness has summoned the smith. Do not delay me!”
The soldier eyed Demetrius warily but did as the servant bade. He watched the soldier run his hand along the wall. Seeming to find what he was looking for, he removed a key from his belt and slid it into the wall. There was a soft click and the wall opened inward about two inches. Both the guard and the servant glanced around again.
“Come,” the servant said, motioning Demetrius to follow him. He pushed the door and it opened silently. Once inside, the guard shut the door and Demetrius heard it lock. There were small lanterns every few feet, lighting what appeared to be another hallway. They walked straight ahead for about fifty feet before the servant turned to Demetrius. “I hope you aren’t afraid of small spaces,” he remarked as the floor in front of them slowly slid open, revealing stairs that wound downward.
“Where are we?” Demetrius asked. The servant stared at him intently before answering. “The palace that you see outside is only a small portion of the castle. The rest is hidden beneath the mountains.”
“Wait,” Demetrius grabbed hold of the servant’s arm. “We’re underground?” he asked incredulously.
“Not yet,” the servant smiled. He began to descend the stairs, then paused and looked sternly at Demetrius. “You didn’t see any of this.”
“King Garun, needing an edge in the war with Oakvalor, had all their smiths assassinated. This caused Oakvalor no end of trouble, but the Oaks could boast of something Talvaard could not: the power of wizards.” - A History of Talvaard
Demetrius found himself feeling a little claustrophobic. The chamber he stood in was enormous in terms of open space, but the knowledge that he was deep underground gave him chills. The idea that more dirt and stone than he could imagine was being held up by a few wooden beams was distressing. The air was cool, but he was sweating so profusely his shirt was soaked. It clung to his skin and made him even more uncomfortable. The servant had left him alone in the room, and he was beginning to wonder what was taking so long.
The door swung open and the same general who had met him outside Radda strode in, followed by two guards leading a blindfolded man in flowing grey robes. Demetrius looked questioningly at the general. “This—” he waved towards the man, “—is Vallen. He will be working with you.”
Demetrius’ brows rose. “Who is he? A prisoner?”
The grey robed man let out a chuckle. The general was not impressed.
“He is King Manaem’s wizard. We don’t need the Oaks having anymore advantages over us; hence the blindfold.”
That put Demetrius on his heels. His initial shock, and then anger, was apparent on his face. “I will not work with some fool from Oakvalor,” he cried angrily. “Especially not a servant of their king! Is this some sort of joke? My home was destroyed and you come in here…” his large body was shaking with rage.
“Be calm, silversmith. The Oaks,” he used the insulting slang term again, “are facing the same problems we are. King Garun has issued an unofficial treaty of peace with Manaem. Do this task so we can be rid of the vermin from our land.”
Demetrius almost refused, but the look on the general’s face reminded him of the deadly stare of the king. He hated the Oaks as much as anyone else in Talvaard, but he valued his life and nodded in resignation.
“Follow me.”
The general led them through a maze of passages and into a chamber similar to the one they left. There was a furnace and an anvil, as well as all sorts of tools hanging on one of the walls. “I still don’t know what I am supposed to forge,” he commented to the general, who in turn said nothing. He instructed the guards to take the blindfold off the wizard and left Demetrius in the room with him.
Demetrius looked at the wizard. He was young, perhaps younger than himself. His robes looked to be made of velvet. The man’s hair was long and platinum colored, hanging down past his shoulders. His eyes were slate blue and brought the waters of the Ocean to mind. He carried an ordinary looking staff made of wood, but it was not to help the wizard walk.
The smith had never met a wizard. Before he was born, sorcerers were a common sight. A few bad seeds, however, caused a great persecution to break out against anyone who practiced the craft. The soldiers were able to quell the violence, but it was too late. Those who had not been killed went into hiding or gave up the craft altogether. It was whispered that the church had a hand in the revolt, but the Abbot condemned such accusations. It was also whispered that some wizards had the ability to control others with the power of their minds.
If the rumors were true… Demetrius suddenly wondered if this man had that power. He looked questioningly at the wizard, who frowned and muttered something about stupidity.
“Well?” Vallen said impatiently.
“Well what?” Demetrius answered.
“Are you ready to get to work or are you going to stand there until the beast destroys both our lands?”
“The king hasn’t told me what to forge,” he reiterated.
“I’m telling you what to forge, you fool.”
Demetrius was the best at what he did because he worked alone. No one told him what to make or how to make it. His clients asked for certain pieces, true, but they did not dictate to him how to accomplish it. And that was precisely the reason he wanted to strangle Vallen. The wizard had drawn up a very specific blueprint and he insisted every detail be followed.
With each hammer blow, he would hear Vallen mutter something about “too much force” or “this is the best smith they could find?” Demetrius glared at him on one such occasion.
“Do you want to do this?” Vallen returned his glare but didn’t say another word.
Demetrius prided himself on attention to detail, which was one of the reasons his work was so highly sought after. But this… this was just a round, hollow sphere of silver unadorned in any way. He had to shape it in two separate pieces, each one the wizard inspected meticulously. With both pieces complete, Vallen had him heat the metal pieces up so that he could engrave some sort of symbols onto the inside.
When Vallen was finished, Demetrius melded the two together, ensuring it was a perfect seal. For all the specifics, it looked like something he may have crafted when he was an apprentice.
“It looks unfinished,” he lamented, turning his gaze to Vallen. For the first time since they had met, Vallen was smiling.
“It’s perfect.” Vallen reached over to pick up the sphere. “You are crazy, you blasted Oak!” Demetrius smacked the wizard’s hand away. “The heat of the metal will burn the skin right off your fingers!”
The wizard’s smile quickly vanished and turned into a scowl. “Watch what my craft can do.” Vallen snatched the sphere off the anvil and held it close to Demetrius’ face. “Do you feel any heat?”
To his surprise, Demetrius didn’t. If anything, the metal seemed to be radiating a coldness. “What is it?” he questioned.
“This, silversmith, is a weapon beyond imagining. And it is going to save our kingdoms.”
