Chapter VI, Part 1: Separation

Liriel’s form was sliding through the forest like the trees weren’t even there. Her agile steps easily avoiding the treacherous vines and fallen branches; her sword on hand cutting a clear path through the thickest of the bushes. She felt invigorated. It was like her strength was not diminishing as she darted forward but renewing. With a last small jump she exited the thick embrace of the woods and found herself in a vast plain.

It was clear that the forest had ended abruptly, burned down to create the farmlands that surrounded the small city. As the sun was setting, she could clearly see a huge tower in the middle of the settlement. Even taller than the walls that surrounded it, it dwarfed the rest of the settlement. Liriel’s hopes rekindled when she saw the forms of two dragons landing on the top spire of the tower and her feet continued their frantic pace.

~~~

It was almost like a miracle happening, the guards had let her straight into the presence of this man, no questions asked, no waiting time, nothing at all.

“So my child what is the reason you had to see me for so urgently?”  His soft and deep voice seemed to engulf the whole room as his hands kept brushing his sort-cropped white beard.

Liriel, still gasping for air finally managed to clam down her heartbeat enough to speak. She felt like the presence of this man alone could force tranquility to her clouded mind. “Sir… please, a friend of mine… he is sick, dying, in the edge of the forest. If you could please bring him here with one of your dragons so as to be treated… I beg of you to-”

“Enough child.” His abrupt tone and the sudden raise of his hand startled her as he cutted her speech. “So you were in the camp beyond the forest eh? Where were you coming from and what is your clan?”

“I…Eh… We were wandering. We are clanless and… our village was destroyed when we were kids from bandits, we were wandering ever since…” Liriel couldn’t understand what was wrong. She had practice this lie since she realized that everyone would be asking such a question but the inquiring eyes of the wizard made it almost impossible for her to speak it…

“I see child. You should have known better than to leave an injured man to the brink of the forest. Since you say you have been traveling since kids, you should have known that…”

“Eh?”

“My Dragonriders found the camp you spoke of. There was nothing but blood there. I’m sorry child but the tracks indicate that tigers attacked and drew something heavy in the woods.”

“Tigers…?”

“Yes child, tigers. All the forests around here have them in abundant supply. Our hunters only dare to venture within the forest in whole groups. I’m sorry, but I think that tigers… killed… your friend. I’ll initiate a search of course, right now. But I fear that there is no hope for your friend… Till it is complete you are welcome in my city, also ask for guard Lornvail and ask him to give you the salvaged equipment from the camp. Since you are a wanderer, I expect to have no money to stay somewhere decent those days. Do yourself a favor and tell him to give you some money too… No please leave me, I have other things to attend to and I have to start the search party too.” Suddenly, his arms were all around her, grasping firmly her shoulders. “I promise child, that I’ll do whatever is in my hand to find your friend…”

And with that, he turned his back to her.

Liriel couldn’t understand what was going on. She stopped following the elder’s words when she heard that Jacob might be dead. How did she let that happen? Why? She felt arms around her, raising her from the ground and she saw the room moving. As she turned her head, she saw that a giant of a man had picked her up and was removing her from the council room. She put a glass in hand and almost forced her to drink it.

The overpowering stench of raw, distilled alcohol made her cough it up almost immediately but also jumpstarted her mind anew. She was in a different room now, still nice and huge but also much more plain than the previous one. As her eyes scanned the area they met with the dark, brown eyes of the man that had carried her here. A wild grin formed in his face as he realized that she was coming around.

“Well med gal. I’m Lornvail.” He said brushing his thick brown hair away from his face. “One of the two dragonriders of Clan Nenantial. Worry not; I’ll do whatever I can to find your friend.”

~~~

Darkness has fallen in Nenantial for good. It was a small city, a small clan, sustained mainly by its rich fields, and most people were already asleep awaiting the rise of the sun to go back and work on them. But in the brightly lit council room two figures were sitting watching the flames in the fireplace dancing. It was the wizard that broke the silence first.

“So, Lornvail, have you set up the girl in a modest inn yet?”

“Of course Master. Exactly as ordered. What did you learn?”

“She is lying. They are no wanderers. Their clothes were still in a decent condition and you’ve reported me that they were no more weapons in their small camp. The scar on the boy looked like a tainted whiplash or something similar. The girl stunted her speech when I imposed my will on her. They seem to have been running from something but they also don’t look or act like criminals. So, I think they are escapees or runaways slaves or something like that.”

“So, what do we do?”

“If someone is hunting them, I want the girl to leave as soon as possible. I don’t need the extra attention here. It will only distract us from our goal.”

“And the boy?”

“The boy we will use. He is still young, I have much to gain from him and he is not important and a runaway. The only one that would look for him would be his friend here. Make her leave tomorrow. I will give you a child’s skeleton to show to her as the remains of her friend, clean of course so as ‘to avoid gruesome scenes’. You’ll hunt her down two days later and kill her to avoid any unwanted suspicions.”

Chapter V: The will of a runner

Liriel was staring with disbelief at Jacob’s back. He always had those scars, but this time it seemed to be a much bigger one, like a whip that had struck his whole back, it traveled from his neck towards his bottom. Now she knew why some elders insisted that it was a curse and not a disease, she could not fathom how a natural disease would appear so sudden, so vulgar.

As Jacob was writhing in pain, she felt completely hopeless; she knew nothing of healing, she knew nothing of magic. The best she could do was to offer him the same salve that he had made for her burning. But Jacob had fervently shaken his head no, when she had asked…

The images of her nightmares returned… Charoden burning… Her beloved flag, alone in the tower, being reduced to ashes… Now, a new image has appeared, her father’s words “Protect Jacob”… and here she was, unable to do nothing for her protégée. How was she to help him when she had no knowledge of what ailed him? How was she to stand for her word when her only knowledge was the sword?

An eternity passed, and the new light of the day brought back hope. As the sun rose to illuminate the green fields with his bright light, a feint voice besides her whispered “Let’s go, we have much road to travel, if we have even guessed correctly where we are.”

Jacob’s voice, a voice cracked with pain, but yet, it still hold on to their goal, a Charodian heart she thought. The strength and determination that had made them great was apparent in his crumbled state. The will to never surrender, the power to endure everything. She wiped the clouds of her heart. She realized, that here, today, she was proven wrong. Her might was nothing in front of his heart. She had a long way to travel, but not so as to reach the town they sought, but to reach the courage that branded all the warriors of her clan…

A small yelp escaped his lips when he tried to rest the sword to his back. It would be impossible for him to carry it in his condition. Bitterly, Liriel accepted her new role, as Jacob’s spare luggage.

She felt a little worried about that. They were breaking their assigned roles, even if only temporary; the sword was to be carried by him. For some reason, that made her nervous. She couldn’t identify what exactly evoked such a feeling in her. As she grasped the beautiful blade, she felt a mixture of emotions overcoming her. She felt equally repulsed and attracted to this mundane thing.

This metal had cost her much; her home, her life, her father. They said that it is a symbol of what they are… What they were she corrected herself. She didn’t feel that way. As she gave a last look at Jacob, she decided that their people were bred strong; a blade couldn’t alter their beliefs and strengths. She looked at the other side of the blade, on the second phrase that was intricately etched upon it. It seemed that it had been written when the sword was made, far older than her clan’s motto. It was an ancient language, but most scholars agreed that it said something like “May no red blood stain this blade’s shine”.

It was due to this that Charoden had never involved itself with expansion wars. They seemed to interpret this phrase like they weren’t supposed to kill. The sorcerers attributed the pure stainless surface of the sword to the fact that it had never been used in battle. Of course there was always the opposite view, the one that said that this phrase meant that this blade wouldn’t dull even after countless kills…

Liriel swirled the blade in the air. For some reason she couldn’t grasp it well, like the blade was too light and off balance. But simultaneously she felt a surge of strength, a sense of power filling her. She looked at the massive blade wondering. She knew swords could kill, but this blade had cost the lives of her whole clan. A weapon of mass destruction, a sword meant to either survive or destroy. She feared this blade. They had made Jacob promise not to use it, to not stain it with blood, but she hadn’t promised anything. On the other hand, she couldn’t wield this blade to kill one person; she realized that this was far too petty goal for such a weapon.

As this drifting thought passed through her mind, she saw herself. She wasn’t alone; she was on a mountaintop, one hand wielding the sword, the other the Charodian banner. The flag itself was a little different; the brown mountain on the silver background was painted like a volcano, only it wasn’t lava that which came out, it was blood… Next to her, she saw soldiers, dressed in their traditional armors, charging towards a city’s walls. The sky was blood-red, the clashes of battle were surrounding her, screams echoed everywhere, and for some reason no one carried a shield. She could only attach one word to her vision, death.

As quickly as the vision came, it left. Liriel looked with amazement the sword. Jacob had a huge scar where he used to hang it, when she took it visions overwhelmed her, yet in all their lore, there was nothing about the sword having such kind of powers. She wrapped it in her spare cloak before fastening securely at her back. Her gut feeling was coming too damn right; this blade was far more dangerous than a common sword…

She hid those thought deep within. There was nothing to do about it now. Their goal was a small secluded village, whatever happened to them, they could not abandon the blade. She had to act like a soldier now, she had to focus on the immediate goal; one by one their problems had to be resolved in the directed order. No reason to hassle, no reason to panic. For now, the blade would stay in her back as a luggage, when the time would come, she will have to deal with it, but for now other things must be taken care off first.

By noon her burden had increased tenfold. Now she didn’t only have to carry her own armament and things, but in excess of the extra blade that was lying hidden to her back the small frame of Jacob was resting on her shoulders as they walked. His headaches had returned. His vision had blurred. There was no strength left in him to walk upright, no ability to walk straight…

It worked well in the end. Having to care about the immediate problems, having to push her body to her limits by continuously walking for two persons, worked like a charm. “Yes”, she thought, “I’m a soldier, this is what I do best, act. No thinking in marching is necessary, if you distract your body with passing thoughts it will tire you faster.”

It was well after dark when her power began to betray her. Sometime earlier she had resolved to toss Jacob above her shoulder, like a sack. They were going faster that way. They must have walked for over sixteen hours straight, with only one small break for some food. Her hopes had picked up during the afternoon; the edges of a forest were just visible in the horizon. Jacob was right, he had to be. He had said, when they started, that there should be a forest towards there, and here it was. Maybe the small town he had predicted was there too…

Tiredness overwhelmed her. The moment she closed her eyes she fall asleep. Not even the incomprehensible mumbling that came out of Jacob’s mouth seemed to bother her.

Her body had adapted to their march, a true soldier’s body that responds instantly to the needs of their goal. When the first light broke the darkness, she was already awake. Next to her, Jacob continued to mumble. He was in far worse condition than yesterday; black sacks underneath his eyes betrayed his lack of sleep and glazed eyes flicked in rapid motion around him betraying the total loss of the reality that surrounded him.

Liriel put her hand on him to try to bring him back to her senses, but was shocked. He was burning. She quickly turned him around. He seemed lighter, like a feather as she quickly undressed his upper body. The scar was still there, pulsating vividly scarlet. There seemed to be no evident mark of an infection, but his high fever and his condition said differently. She had to take him to the city immediately, there they could treat him.

She estimated the time that she would need according to his predictions. It would need at least one more day of travel to reach it if she was alone. By the way that he burdened her she would probably need even more.

“Hold on there…” She whispered to his ear. “I’ll be right back.”

It was time to put to test her training to test. It was time to prove to the gods that she could match and even beat even the finest soldiers of Charoden.

As she started running towards her destination the only thought that was in her mind was a phrase from her father.

“One can run for as long as he wishes if he is determined enough, if he has the heart of a warrior. He may collapse afterwards, but this is something for a soldier to judge. We pledge ourselves to our cause. Running is no different than a battle. One must give all he has and simply pray not to die…”

Jacob had such a heart, she knew it. He continued to walk even when plagued by his illness. He continued to stand straight even though he was carrying a much greater burden than what he was accustomed. His belief didn’t falter not even once. Now, it was time for her, to prove to herself that she was from Charoden too.

No food or spare clothes adorned her body. Her blade and the sword of Kaidin, along with little water, were the only possessions that burdened her. She had to run fast, she had to sprint light if she was to reach the city before dark. She may be able to convince them to send a Dragonrider to pick him up then. It was her only hope…

Chapter IV part 2:

Lugar was grinning impatiently. It has taken him over fifteen years but here he was. He looked over to his men. Sixty men, armed with torches and oil, ready to obey his commands. If what the ancient book that he held at his right hand was right, then he would skyrocket his clan in position through the riches that awaited him. If not, well, the citizens of the nearby villages wouldn’t have to be afraid of this cursed forest anymore.

He looked at the massive forest in front of him. Someone only needed to walk five minutes in it, and he would be denied the view of the sky. If you dared, and managed through the heavy foliage, to go even deeper, it would most certainly mean that you got lost.

He looked at the book again. The passage was clear enough, but what surrounded the passage was a tangled mess, much like this forest itself. But he was sure, after so many years, he had found the place that this insurmountable treasure, that the book spoke so cryptically about, was here.

Three times he had ventured deep into the forest in order to find this palace. Three times he had found his way out only through seer luck. Even the Dragonriders that he had put to search the forest from above had failed. There was no way for their sight to penetrate the thick blanket that the trees offered to the forest. And that was on the outskirts of the forest, because for some reason, probably because of a magical defense of the palace, the dragons refused to fly towards the center of the forest.

Well, today was the day. Negotiations had worked out. The propaganda about the clearing of the forest had already brainwashed the villages that were scattered around. This time, he would not get lost in the forest for he would burn his way towards his goal…

Lugar raised his hand and gave the signal. As his crew started to throw their oil around, he looked towards the moon. Many would say that burning the forest in night would be reckless, but he didn’t care; he had waited so long for this…

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~..~.~.~.~.

Duke Melvin was furious. This was something he hadn’t been prepared for. He crashed the report papers in his palm and through them violently towards the ragged sorcerer. He looked at the tattered clothes of the mage, the scorched marks on them evident. Yet, this man was one of his elite mages, a force to be reckoned.

When they woke him up, in the middle of the night, he thought that at last Charoden has fallen. But this… this was something he couldn’t believe. Over three hundred thousand men lay dead, over three hundred dragons, over a hundred mages…

He looked at the map that lay open in the table. Lermaine. A collection of over fifty lesser clans had formed the most massive force that had ever walked this place. What started as a loose alliance, over a hundred years ago, now formed a unanimous assembly of soldiers. An over five hundred thousands soldier military, without the mercenaries, a force that was practically undefeated, was now crushed from a single clan…

“Curse their blood” he shouted.

He was prepared to suffer heavy casualties against Charoden, even a hundred thousand. But he wasn’t prepared about the damned dragons.

“How dare they let that menace against us?” He screamed to one of the few survivors of the massacre. The sorcerer that was lucky enough to be near the border of the anti-teleportation field couldn’t answer.

Melvin looked again at the map. He had waged war against four clans, all so that he could eventually reach Charoden. And when he finally had that blasted blade so near his grasp, he was defeated.

He walked back, inside his room. Tears were staining his face. He was in no way capable of dealing with the other three oppressed clans. They would rebel and he would be unable to fully quench their rebellions. Even the small clans that were now assembled as Lermaine may start falling apart, each one remembering its individuality. There was no way to stop the crumbling of his empire. Yet all those thoughts faded as he looked at the small bed that was near his.

Melvin couldn’t care if the empire that was entrusted to him fell; he couldn’t bring himself to pity the thousands of people that lay dead by now. The report said that nothing was found on the council room, nothing on the mage’s tower either. Only one thing mattered now. He needed to find that sword.

As he lowered his head towards his son’s ear he whispered. “Don’t worry my little angel, I shall find it, I swear to you that you will be healed. Even if everything falls apart, I swear to you that I shall use the blade’s powers onto you”.

Now there was only one thing to do. He had to ensure that his empire wouldn’t vanish till he found the sword. And there was only one way to do it. “Regardless the cost…” he whispered once more, but this time he was telling this to himself.

When he walked out of his room, he was another man. “Go ready the rest of the mages and the Dragonriders. We will start the bonding procedure right now.” He told to the rugged mage. He saw the man’s eyes. They were astonished. He was begging him not to do this. A mixture of fear and horror was leaking though the mages moves. “NOW” Melvin shouted.

As the messenger departed, Melvin looked at the report he had received yesterday. What was just intriguing last night would be now his only clue about the whereabouts of the sword.

Yesterday’s report was another mystery on its own. A Dragonrider had reported that he had seen two people running away. When he tried to kill them, the ground opened beneath them and swallowed them. Not only that, but he swore that he could have burned them regardless that but the dragon, at the last moment, raised his head and spew out his fire towards the sky.

It was this last bit that held most of Melvin’s attention. A dragon denying incinerating its target could be due to the sword. He looked at the crude portrait of the girl, and he smiled…

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~..~.~.~.~.

Liriel was flailing wildly in her sleep. Her dreams wouldn’t let her go. Currently she was seeing the slender staff of the elder standing alone next to the flag. Suddenly the staff burst out in flames.

The intense heat carried over to her and she saw that there was a faint inscription on the length of it. Before she could read it, the staff and the flag incinerated to ashes. She was feeling despair now and agony. But for some reason she was also feeling satisfaction.

Liriel woke up with tears in her eyes. She knew that Charoden was no more…

Her head turned instantly towards Jacob. His screaming came crushing on her ears. As he jumped up she saw that a huge scar was being slashed across his back, as if an invisible blade was attacking him.

Chapter IV, Part 1: Pawns of destiny

Another day has gone by; their forth day since they left Charoden, the forth night that they were tossed to an unknown world, away from their haven.

Jacob was, as always, left a little behind Liriel. He couldn’t help but notice her grace as she walked proudly. Her slender sword, which was resting on her hip, matched her perfectly; much better than the cumbersome traditional Charodian steel that he was used to see her brandishing in the earlier years. The slim blade seemed to melt as one with her form, like a warrior that was used to it for decades; it was kind of weird to think that she had it for only four days.

On the other hand, the heavy blade that was resting in his back, hidden beneath his cloak, was exhausting him. He wasn’t used to carry so much weight. And the way they had it strapped on him, so as to be as unseen as possible and, more importantly, so that he wouldn’t be able to unsheathe it, made it only worse.

Even in the dark, his keen eyes were darting back and forth in the plains. Myriad of flowers bloomed around here; it was like an herbalist’s paradise. And he was grateful for that.

He always loved plants and flowers; it was something that was bred to him from the countless hours that he had spent in the library in his home. He was unable to wield magic, he was unable to fight with a blade; but he always prided himself for his knowledge of healing remedies.

The elders frowned upon him for his lack of strength, he had asked them plenty of times to become an apprentice healer, but they had refused him each and every one of them. He couldn’t understand why…

Yes, it was vital for a healer to have some magic ability, but that was because one could find a certain illness with magic in mere seconds, not because they used magic to treat those illnesses. He was certain, that if they trained him good enough, he would be able to find diseases and cure people even without magic. But once again, his inability to protect himself was a burden. “How would you survive long enough in a battlefield to give your aid?” they usually confronted him. What he couldn’t understand was why everything had to be about the damned battlefield and war…

He was happy today, it was through those simple plants he had found in the plains that he had somewhat cured the burn on Liriel’s hand. It was through his identification of those rare flowers that he had a slight idea, more like a guess, to where they were. He was determined to prove to all that not everyone needs to be able to kill. He would be perfectly fine if he never had to kill in his life…

Once again, his eyes drifted to the person ahead of him. He liked Liriel. He liked her for everything that the other people seemed to ignore on her, her clear eyes, her bright laughter, her calming voice, her kind heart. He liked her for she was the only one that treated him like a human and not like a defective byproduct.

He was somewhat disappointed. Four days now, and they hadn’t talked much. They used to talk everyday in Charoden about anything. But since they started on their journey they talked only about necessities. “We shouldn’t waste air”, she used to tell him. “Talking while marching will only tire us faster.”

She was seeing this trip as a disgrace, like a military duty that was demanded of her. On the other hand, for him it was salvation, a chance to get away from all this military discipline, a way to leave their shackles behind, and go on for a brighter, freer future, an opportunity to abandon all their training and spend their days with music and chatter. He longed for the day that she would, once again, start to play her flute. As he looked up in the moon, he wished for a chance to just be calm…

Once again, they stopped. It would be near midnight by now and they were walking since noon. They made a hasty camp without speaking much, and silently fell to a deep slumber.

Chapter III, part 2:

The two hooded figures were running in the darkness protected underneath the night’s veil and their dark cloaks.

Tears were running freely from Liriel’s eyes as she remembered Raymond’s parting words.

“You will leave when the moon starts to rise today, this is an order.”

“But this is unfair. I am one of the best soldiers for my age. I will fight and honor the name of Charoden.”

“There is no honor in dying child.”

“How dare you say those words? You sound like a traitor. That is our way. We fight; we don’t run away like children and cowards.”

“NO ONE IS ASKING YOU TO COWER, FOOL. What we demand of you is to honor your blood. Fight the most difficult battle you can give. We ask of you to manage to stay alive, so as to rebuild what we will lose. We ask of you to create wonders through dirt, to light up fires with wet wood.”

“You are asking me too much. You are asking me to turn my back in the perishing of our ways. I will have it not. I will fight, and if the gods wish it, I shall remain alive.”

“Forget the gods. Seven thousand years ago, it was not them that preserved what we have now.”

“Seven…?”

“Yes, seven. Not all history is taught in the schools. We have faced extinction again. It was the elder then that cultivated this plan. Then it worked. Then over one hundred of the most promising children were sent away in hiding. It took them hundred of years to rebuild the clan. It took them hundred of years to reunite. But they fought this battle. Many generations fought with their extinction, fought in the darkness of being clanless to the outside world. But they preserved. And when they were stronger, they came here and rebuild what was rightfully theirs.”

“So… I’m not the only one?”

“Of course not. Our youngest mages have already left with all our books. All of our history is being sent away in unknown, even to me, towers. From you, we ask the most serious duty of all. Protect Jacob. I can only trust you, to have enough strength to protect such a weak man.”

“Jacob?”

“Yes, he is being tasked with carrying the sword to its haven. Towards the village of Elemir where many of our children are already traveling to.”

“JACOB CARRIES THE SWORD? This is an insult on its own.”

“Foolish child… Who will ever suspect that such a weakling is a Charodian? It is cruel of us to ask him to use his weakness, but we know, that regardless of his physic, his heart belongs to Charoden.”

“Father… Please let me fight alongside you, under the banner of Charoden. It’s the only thing that I wished…”

“Go my daughter. As long as this banner you speak of stays in your heart, I shall always fight alongside you …”

It was the tear filled eyes of her father that have convinced her to go. General Raymond. She had to let the world know that her father could weep.

“Liriel!” The anxious voice behind her brought her back to reality.

As she turned she saw that Jacob was almost exhausted by their running. Regardless, he had never complained about their pace. Three days since they left and he had never asked to rest. Liriel agreed with her father on this. Yes, he may be weak, but his heart was pure Charodian.

Jacob was pointing somewhere in the sky, towards the darkness behind them.

“Oh gods… Run Jacob, run, he has already seen us…” Liriel cried.

The dragon was racing fast towards them. They couldn’t hope to outrun him. But maybe they could make it till the mountains that were just visible in the distance. They were caves there, they could hide, caves that this small dragon couldn’t enter.

It was hopeless, but it was their best shot. She had a slender sword with her, a weapon much less intimidating than her usual, but no armor or shield with her. The elder was adamant that she carried a more feminine weapon, so as not to betray her origin. The armor and shield were out of the question of course…

Liriel stumbled in the darkness. She felt like she was flying for a second, but in the end, she landed hard on the ground. As she turned, she saw the massive jaws of the dragon open, ready to spew out their deadly fires.

Her gaze drifted to Jacob. He was standing, out of breath, next to her. He looked too beat up to summon enough strength to continue his running.

A whisper escaped her mouth. “Sorry father… I have failed.” And with that she raised her hands in a vain attempt to protect her face, much like Jacob was doing, as the deadly flames were coming towards them.

The moment the first flicks of fire reached her arms, she felt the ground beneath her body give way. It was like she was falling from a well. In the distance above her, she could she the hole that she had fallen through continuously becoming smaller and smaller, until the faint light of the night sky was barely visible.

Liriel closed her eyes as she though ‘So this is what death feels like…’ The sudden stop shook her so badly that she stopped breathing, and then she fainted.

When she woke up, she was feeling like hell. Her whole body was aching. Her back was like someone had beaten it with a club. But all those were faint in comparison to the searing pain of her arm.

“This burning looks awful. It would probably take more than a month to fully heal” She heard a gentle voice besides her, speaking.

Sharply she turned her head. She was blinded for a moment as she faced the bright sun, but it was nothing compared to her shock as she was watching Jacob brewing an, awfully smelling, paste.

Slowly she looked around her in disbelief. She was lying on some rich, green fields, some mountains were just visible in the distance, but their shape was nothing like she knew. The sun was raised already towards the middle sky.

“Jacob?” She asked uncertainly. “Where are we?”

Jacob smiled tired. “How should I know… I’m just glad that we survived that dragon.”

“Wha… What happened?”

Now it was Jacob’s eyes to open wide. “What do you mean? I thought that you would know… the elders hardly told me anything before this journey.”

After a while, they concluded that for some reason the ground beneath their feet gave way. Jacob was not too sure of what happened next, except that they seemed to come out the other way of the hole they fell in, and appeared here. But the hole that they came out seemed to have vanished…

Jacob continued to brew a crude salve for Liriel’s burning as he ended his explanations.

“Maybe it is an unknown ability of the sword…” He sighted.

“Then we need to find someone that can tell us what those abilities are.” Liriel said as she silently blessed Jacob for his salve. It was already feeling at least refreshing on her skin.

“Well, I guess we first have to find out where we are and how we can get to Elemir.” Jacob held inside his fears. After all, he wasn’t going to be the one to tell Liriel that her hood had fallen from her face before they fell through the hole. He just wished that the Dragonrider didn’t have the chance to see her face, else they were almost certainly doomed…

Chapter III, part 1: When the mighty fall.

“Four days…” Razin whispered to the thick smoke. “We have lasted only for four days…”

He knew that they were doomed from the beginning. But he hoped that he could have given the younger ones some more time.

They had no way of succeeding through a direct confrontation, and so they have been forced to use skirmish tactics. No one in the world would count today as a defeat, no one than the Charodians that is. For even if they have killed five for each one they lost, tonight they would lose something even more vital.

Razin knew that he didn’t have another choice. Aldair’s plan demanded the exact opposite of what the archmage was about to do. But Aldair didn’t have the dreams that haunted the Count. Dreams that even a fool could distinguish for prophetic.

The Charodian way was to fight. Today it was asked for him to either leave his clan weaponless, or cower in the face of the world’s destruction. He looked at the banner, a silver banner with a brownish mountain. It was like an omen, the clan was there for the earth, not for the sake of themselves.

“Maybe they will succeed in the years to come. They could probably remake it through the sword.” As he looked at the tattered flag beside him, he knew that he was trying to fool himself. It would be near impossible for them to ever reach the knowledge and pureness that was required for this task. For he knew, that to form a pact so deep, something dire would have been required in the past…

Razin was standing on top of the sorcerers’ tower, one of the few buildings that weren’t burning. Down in the ground, the clashes of the swords were audible to all. The screams of death, resounded in his ears as he cast his last spell.

His loud voice was multiplied a hundred times in the night sky, deafening those that they were near, but also making it audible to all that were in the city, and even farther, a voice clear that echoed even above the sounds of the battle.

“Have you accomplished your goal Lermaine? Two hundred thousand of your soldiers have perished already. Three hundred of your dragons will never fly again. And yet, as a savage beast, you continue to send your butchers in. As a mindless ravager you devour the flesh of our children. How many more will you sent? Almost as many as those who have perished remain. But you were fool to kill us…

For five thousand years we stole eggs from the same two mountaintops. You should have wondered why the dragons have allowed us to live. Today, I set them free from their oath.”

And with that, the slim steel staff of the elder burst into flames. A relic old, presumably crafted alongside with the sword of Kaidin, but unknown to all save the elders of the clan. A symbol to mark the covenant between the humans of this land, and the dragons that roamed once free, was reduced to ashes in mere seconds…

The Count hoped; hoped that by this time tomorrow, the dragons wrath would have left nothing left of Charoden. No human would ever be allowed to live here. No building would be left standing. For five thousands years, Charoden has stolen the baby dragons from their mothers. Razin could only wish that in the resulting wrath not a single Lermaine soldier would be left alive. It would be necessary to destroy more than the two thirds of the whole Lermaine army if the world was to have a chance. And the numbers of the soldiers that were currently in the Charodian plains were much more than those…

It was only ten minutes later that the first dragon appeared. Razin stood straight up, unflinching, as the dragon swooped downwards towards him, its eyes blazing red with hatred.

The last elder of the clan smiled knowing that their murderers wouldn’t touch what they sought. He had done his part, now, in his last moments, he could only pray that the young ones had enough determination to rise from their ashes…

Chapter II, part 2:

Count Razin, the archmage and current elder of the Charoden clan, was exactly as a foreigner would have imagined him, and something more. His towering figure was unlike the normal mages, someone that could have been easily mistaken for a retired warrior. Only his slick steel staff and his great white beard betrayed his position. In the small council room, he dominated the scene.

The small beaked eyed man that stood opposite of him was like a bug compared to him. Regardless, his voice was clear and steady, his tone like reading an announcement rather than requesting a deal.

“Clan Lermaine has decided to unite all small clans that are around its borders in one great kingdom. In the name of the great charity that my clan is known for, we shall provide guidance and protection for all those people who are bound to be attacked by foreign forces. All we ask in return is something small, a token of your apprehension for this great act. Something to signify, that the clans joined in this agreement on their own accord, something to show that it is we who protect them.

Already the great falcon of clan Damar flies under the protective wings of our dragon banner. Of course, your clan has a greater history that one must think about. We do not want one of the most ancient flags seem lower than ours. So, we have decided that a simple trinket is enough. We humbly ask for the sword of Kaidin as a return for your protection.”

As the messenger spoke, his eyes slowly rose towards the back of the Count, towards the sword that was hanged by the wall. The light in the room wasn’t too much, but the beautiful, gem-encrusted sword, seemed to absorb and multiply it, as if it was a light source of itself. Its blade the most shinning steel, its hilt made of pure gold, the sword was considered a masterpiece of art, its slightly magical aura paled in front of its beauty.

“The sword of Kaidin eh?” The count’s tone was obviously sarcastic. “So it’s either this trinket, as you put it, or our complete genocide?”

The diplomat’s blank stare was enough to convince anyone that they were in the verge of extinction.

“But clan Lermaine should know, messenger, that this sword has two phrases etched in its blade, one older than the other. They say that the newer phrase was written by Charoden himself.”

The elder closed his eyes and started to chant the small passage that every Charodian knew by heart.

‘And as we stand alone in here, our only witness this blade; let it be known to all, that I forfeit my destiny to join yours. Let this blade be the symbol of our unity, for my lethality and your beauty, is equally represented in this sword. Let this blade be the symbol of our children, let them use its light to become one, as we have.’

“Our written history is over five thousands years old, and even then, the sword was already thought as ancient. For all those thousands years of our existence that our ancestors gave to us, they asked nothing back. And now here you come. Demanding that we give to you the blade that they left us? Asking from us to surrender to you their symbol of their union? Thousands of years, messenger, we were grateful to just honor our ancestors for everything that they have given us, for our blood...

This sword that you named a trinket IS Charoden. This blade IS this clan. This masterpiece doesn’t belong to Charodians; it is us that we belong to it. If you want it, you must earn it. Now leave pest. And say this to your master. Charoden will fight, and Charoden will perish. But warn him to make certain that there is not a single Charodian left alive when he finishes, because it would be by his hand that he will die.”

The diplomat was stunned. He wasn’t expecting a small clan to choose death over a sword. Regardless of the history of the sword and its material worth, its magical nature was well known, and it wasn’t something that great. Yet those people were ready to die for it. It was against all sense.

Silence ruled the room when the messenger left. The elder looked at the rest of the people that were in the room. Their firm gazes showed him that he has acted right. Not one of them, or of the rest of his citizens, would have accepted a different answer. Death or honor, cower or fight, regardless how one asked, the Charodian answer would always be the same.

It was Raymond who broke the silence. “So how many of them are here already?”

The head of the sorcerers, until the count retired from his position as elder to reclaim that place, answered. “About seventy thousands soldiers and four hundred dragons so far have teleported. They are just outside the anti-teleportation field that protects the city, about two days travel by foot.”

Raymond smiled. “At least we will fall gloriously. If Lermaine wants to become an empire she would need a larger army than this for the other large clans. But for now, let’s see how many of them we can squash.”

Lydia, the elder of the civilian representatives on the council smiled bitterly. “How many do we have general?”

“Well, that’s a null question isn’t it? Our force is ten thousands blades and fifty dragons, add some dozens of mages, and this is our military force. But shouldn’t the question be, how many will fight? For I count at least forty thousand more civilians that can wield a blade better than those weaklings that come against us.”

“Ha! You underestimate us civilians general” Lydia smiled. “You can count at lest fifty, of them to wield a blade. Even I, despite my age, have some fighting left in me.”

“ENOUGH” The elder cut them. “They are not stupid enough to come with only seventy thousands. I reckon that by tomorrow morning, we will have to face more than three hundred thousand soldiers. What I say stands. We are fighting the largest clan that there is currently out there. We cannot hope to survive. As our dear general has said, we can at least fall gloriously. That is to die to their eyes. Tonight we will start the necessary preparations to repeat Aldair’s plan. It is our only hope.”

The Aldair’s plan… Gazes fell down at the mention. Realization struck them. They couldn’t hope to win, but there was always pray to survive. It has worked in the past. But no one wanted to put his children through the centuries that have followed since then… no one could think of a better alternative either…

Chapter II, part 1: Memories of a blade.

Liriel was heading towards the giant cave in the center of the small city to start her morning training routine. The first rays of the sun barely managed to dispel the darkness of the night but despite that, her eyes were fixed towards the sky. And she was rewarded, this day too, for this act.

She saw three gracious forms lunging towards the air. One white and two blues today, she thought. As the large bodies of the dragons rose up elegantly, she sighted. She always held a deep fascination about dragons. Even the smaller ones, the human controlled, were beautiful and magnificent in her eyes. Each day, about the time that the training started, the morning dragons would fly towards their borderlines, to give the night watchers the necessary rest. Each day the past three years, she cursed her fate to be born a girl.

She was a perfect warrior; she would become even greater they assured her. But she could never become a Dragonrider. Due to her origin and her martial skill, due to her body and her discipline, she would have been a great rider. But no female riders existed.

It was all part of the ‘curse’ the more superstitious said. It was part of something unknown, the wisest scholars admitted. Because from the eggs that any human would steal from the dragon coves only small dragons came out. The current dragons that the clan had were a little larger than a two stories house, and no other clan could boast much larger ones. But the true dragons were over three times larger, and that was without counting the red ones which could dwarf even the largest of the other wild ones. Sadly, no one knew why the dragons were stunted the moment they hatched. For that matter, no one could explain why the dragons that came out of the eggs were only male ones, little creatures that even from their hatchling stage would never accept a woman to touch them.

That was why the dragon nests were precious to all. No one could breed a dragon but dragons themselves. The most, humans could do, was to sneak in and steal an egg or two before the dragon managed to break through the spells that bounded him. Huge hunting groups had been wasted in the wrath of a mother dragon because they underestimated the time that their sorcerers could handle them. Teleportation with the eggs was also impossible; as in human’s pregnancy, in dragons too, magic during the hatching was usually fatal for the unborn…

As she entered the brightly lit cave, she let all thoughts of dragons vanish from her mind. She had a job to do. She had to learn how to fight, and she had to teach others, younger, too. Even if she fought underneath the Dragonriders, she would make her clan proud, she would make the dragons proud to have Charodians lead them to battle and not whelps from the other clans.

The size of the cave was immense. Older warriors that had gone dragon hunting would even claim that it was over five times larger than the largest dragon lair that they had seen. Nowadays, many little tunnels were excavated around it, many places converted to storages and armories. But the central, largest place was still empty and used only for two things, festivities and the training of the youths.

It was an ancient custom that too. Legend had it that in this cave Charoden and Kaidin, the founders of their clan first logged. That in the natural abode that this place offered was where their clan started. And it stood to reason, someone could house over a thousand people here. Before a clan would be able to settle down, she would need somewhere to actually stay, someplace that those people slowly gathered together under a common banner. And as then, so now again, the youths would start their lives and their training here. As a small replica of the age of then, they would have to walk out of the cave complete men and women, people able to fight for their freedom.

Sweat was running thick under Liriel’s helmet. Her muscles were already feeling a little sore. And it was no wonder. For the past three hours, she was the only one of the trainees that still hadn’t taken a break. She hadn’t even let down her heavy, massive shield. She couldn’t afford to, she thought. Should she lost her shield in a normal battle, she would still be ok, the massive size of it made it difficult to use in close combat either way, but the shield wasn’t for humans. It was the only way that the infantry could protect itself from the fiery hell that came loose from the dragons’ mouths, at least until sorcerers, archers or their own dragons took them out.

Suddenly, a deafening shriek sounded from somewhere outside. Swords and shields froze in place. Trainees that were sitting rose instantly, the younger ones left to exchange pondering gazes with one another. In the stillness of the chamber only a body moved; Raymond was running at an incredible pace towards outside.

Liriel knew where he was going, to the council room. No one could ignore such a dragon shriek. A perfectly trained shout that wasn’t easy to reproduce unless the rider wanted to, an alarm. Someone has declared war on them.

Chapter I, part 2

Jacob… a mystery even to the elders. Even before his birth, this one was trouble she heard. He stayed unnatural long in his mother’s belly. The mages were forbidden to cast magic to help her since it is usually unpredictable what magic can do to a newborn, the doctors unable to help her… in the end, she gave birth and perished. The elders saw it as a bad omen, like the child was afraid to come out to this world. His father, who everyone doubted that he ever felt something for this boy except silent rage that he has killed his beloved one, soon perished in a battle. Some say that the way he fought was like he craved death…

But the child was born healthy, or so they thought. Jacob was too small; he had the stature of a twelfth year old child, despite him being now nearly sixteen. And his headaches were always there, ready to crash him. This was usually why he never got out of bed. If he was alright he would rise perfectly fine, and try his best, although that wasn’t much, in fighting. But if he stayed curled up like that, it meant that his head was, once again, a mess. But that was not the only problem; random thin scars often appeared on his body sometimes. They were evident in the mornings that he woke up, so they must have been inflicted in the night.

Many thought that the boy was cursed, but no one has yet found any trace of magic at him. That was also another problem. The scholars argued that with the love that this child showed towards books, he could have made an excellent sorcerer. But again he failed them all by his inability to grasp magic. Well, it was not something all could do, but everyone seemed to assume that since he wouldn’t be a soldier, he could at least had the gift of magic… now he was just a wasted mouth. The current theory about young Jacob was that he either had a weird disease, passed to him by his mother or that the boy was a sign that their clan was weakening… neither of those two worked, of course, in favor of him.

Liriel had taken a liking into the boy. Apart from the fact that he was one of the little few that didn’t spend their time praising her for her military prowess but actually spoke to her about interesting things, he liked him because they were the same and opposite simultaneously. She had an excellent body, for a warrior that is, muscled and sturdy. Her blade techniques were perfect, and she had the necessary fury to charge, face first, against her opponents. Twice till now she had been deployed in the battlefield. Twice the older soldiers laced her with honors that she will, sometime, become one of their best female warriors. He, on the other hand, was put to the force out of necessity, because the old law demanded that all young ones were to be trained either in magic or in sword. The looks that they were giving her, prideful stares that seemed to hymn her abilities in warfare were the exact opposite of what Jacob earned when a soldier even thought of looking at him. But in reality, no one expected Jacob to ever wielding a blade. Even Raymond, who in the beginning thought that he could turn Jacob into a man through training, had now lost all hope. The people of Charoden were not usually harsh. But what irritated them in Jacob wasn’t only his physical condition. They despised the way he thought. They hated that, if he was given the option to fight for his freedom, or to cower in the corner, he would choose the second.

And in all those differences, was where they were similar, for if Liriel was ever given a choice, she would have chosen to occupy herself with music. Because if someone asked her what body she would like, she would have chosen a gracious girly form, and not a mass of muscles. She loved her music, her flute. But it was ‘girly’ music. Bards and troubadours were singing about the might of the sword, while she sang the beauty that she craved. But all of this was pointless, her future had been already determined the moment she managed to wield the blade so well. All knew that she would be a soldier… the same way that they knew that Jacob was a born failure. The same way that they knew that their existence was safe…

Chapter I, part 1: Charoden.

Liriel’s long, blond hair was whipping wildly around her face as she was plummeting downwards. She could see the land below rushing up, towards her, at an incredible speed but for some reason she wasn’t afraid. She was wearing a beautiful silver dress that seemed to blend in with her figure perfectly. As it flapped against the wind, she heard a booming laughter besides her.

She saw that her pale, white hand was gently connected with another’s one. Turning her head, the image of a man overcame her senses. She wasn’t sure if it was the frame of the big, muscled man or the gentle, red haired face that captured her eyes the most. But out of a whim, she decided it was the latter; his big emotional eyes were filled with serenity, the affection that came out of them as she looked at her, straight in her soul, was evident even to the daftest woman. He was surely beautiful, but simultaneously, overly exotic for her normal tastes. But, here and now, it didn’t matter. They were grasping each other’s hand, like lovers, as they were falling to their death. But she didn’t care, and judging by his smile, she thought that he didn’t either…

“RISE UP YOUNGLIIIIINGS”

The unexpected, thundering voice made Liriel jump. Her head hit something hard, causing her to regain her senses. In the dark, vast room the few torches that were scattered around were unable to provide enough illumination. She rubbed her head where she had hit it in the bunker that was above hers. Her military, short cropped hair offered little resistance against her strong fingers.

“Come on Raymond.” She faintly whispered. “You don’t have to wake us up like that. It’s cruel!” She said as her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

The giant man that was standing in the entrance of the room turned his head towards her as he spoke. The smile that he gave her was ruined by his missing front tooth.

“Come on laziness incarnated… WAKE UP” The loud, sharp finale of his words forced Liriel and the surrounding children to cup their ears.

Slowly, she tossed her bed covering. She was already dressed in a manner of speaking. The soft, woolen clothing that they used to wear when they slept was little different from the undergarment of their armors.

She took a good look at Raymond again. He was busy now, rushing from bed to bed, tossing violently down anyone who was fool enough to not stand up by himself. Men or women, it held little difference on the way he treated his protégées.

He was already in his battle armor. A poor stitched collection of battered metal plates. Despite their obvious bulk, they produced little noise as the large man was moving around. The glint of the metal was already lost, but the huge silver emblem of the clan was kept in top notch condition. Despite his size, his movements were far too gracious, and that was without taking into account his age. An age that was only apparent in his hair color and the white, soft, long beard of his that fell in cascading waves towards his chest. Its color and length something that even old sorcerers would envy. He let the thin hair free nowadays, maybe as a small private revolution against the years he had it securely tied and tucked underneath the metal chestplate.

It took only ten minutes for the young men and women of the small barracks to do a quick bath and change to fresh undergarments. Fresh, of course, was a relative term. The badly stained and suspiciously hardened clothes, made the whole lot of them, look like worse than peasants.

But unofficially, the hardened the cloth was, the better one could boast about. Like a kind of a measurement between them; it signified how much sweat and blood had been shed to it in the strained years of their training.

Their armors were relatively in good condition, unlike Raymond’s. But Liriel had a suspicion that his hand modified plates were not only sturdier, but also allowed much more freedom of movement.

After all, he had denied uncountable times to wear the shinning, traditional armor of a trainer. Instead, he wore with pride, even in formal situations, his trusted battle armor. “Metal hardened through hundreds of fights, is metal to be prized”, he used to say to them when they inquired, “I respect the nobles and the council, but their silky garments pale in comparison to this masterpiece”.

And in reality, no noble could say much against him. A boy gifted with strength and agility from a young age. A man that his eyes alone inspired bravery to the soldiers, a war hero that not only had survived through so many decades of war, but had also masterminded some of their best plans. In the end, it took a special kind of a man to become an ‘honorary’ general; it took a man that had denied becoming a Dragonrider just for the sake of staying with his infantry. Someone that even after his retirement insisted that he should be the one that would train the youngest classes.

Sighing Liriel looked at the bunch that has now formed a neat line for inspection, a ragtag group that averaged fifteen years old. ‘The pride of Charoden’ they were called. It was traditionally the name given to the youngest class, from ages past. She understood it was an attempt to inspire pride into them, pride that they would join the real military of her little clan. Because that was all that Charoden seemed to be in the great clans that ruled the continent, just a small clan unworthy of their attention, a remnant of an old age.

They knew better themselves of course. They were one of the oldest clans still to be alive and kicking, so old that no one could even remember who was this ‘Charoden’ who started the clan. They were prided for their magic, their military and their diplomats and each one of those filled a particular spot, all necessary for their continuity as a clan. The military and sorcerers were the main battle force that protected their most prized possessions, the two mountaintops that were also breeding grounds for wild dragons. The diplomats were having a real strain in managing to prevent some of the biggest clans out there to rush them over so as to claim them. They have grown big by not being stupid. Charodians were raised to be warriors first of all. From the age of twelve till sixteen, all those that wouldn’t be trained as sorcerers were forced, not only to be trained as soldiers, but also expected to be put in the battlefield. After all, the small number of the true, permanent army wasn’t sufficient to battle off all those who tried in vain to seize the nests by force. But the biggest clans… well they could erase them off the map with ease. Despite having a real big ratio of Dragonriders, due to the gift of the land they owned, despite having some really powerful mages, the massive size of the armies that some of their opponents could master was simply overwhelming. And so it was necessary for some of those mages to ‘enlist’ in other clans, some of their warriors to lead armies that they couldn’t care less about, and even some of their prized dragon eggs to be given out… all in the name of ‘friendly relations’. But Liriel knew that this wasn’t charity. It wasn’t because the big clans pitied them that they allowed them to be. It was because of the superb quality of the Charodians that they ‘lent away’ that earned them a chance of living. “‘Tis something in their blood” foreigners would speak softly when they thought that they couldn’t be heard…

When Raymond was finished with his inspection he let a little sigh. Liriel couldn’t pinpoint if this was from relief that each day fewer and fewer young ones needed adjustment in their armors, or if this sigh was aimed at the only bunker that still seemed to house a tangled body underneath it. Not even the great battle master tried to make young Jacob stand up if he didn’t wish it. The penalty that Liriel would face if she couldn’t don her armor after nearly all the three years of her training would be steep, but no one seemed to bother that this boy, who was even slightly older than her, probably couldn’t even lift the combined weight of the armor, the great shield and the sword, let alone the short lance… She sometimes envied the freedom that this boy was given. But deep inside her she knew that she wouldn’t want to share his fate.