My Unfinished Stories" Part 2 :-)

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CHRONICLES OF THE LHYDIAN REGIONS Book I

Book One "Dragon's Breath"

From the journal of Abudi ibn-Nasir

Dragon Mountains, 22 Machl 1426

It was already dusk when a troop of black-clad riders emerged from between the high rocks. When they saw us, the leading knight signaled for them to halt. He rode forward and asked in common.

"What are you doing in this godforsaken place?"

His pale face was marked by fatigue, and his two-day-old beard bloomed. He leaned toward me, surveying what remained of our caravan.

"My name is Abudi ibn-Nasir from far Khodja, on the coast of Khaz. What

you see, worthy knight, are the remains of my caravan, which was attacked naked two hordes ago by vile bandits. The gods have sent you to us at a fitting hour." We were on our way to Heb with goods ordered by the venerable Jonathan Art, seneschal to the king of Kanon. Now most of them are unusable. I and my two surviving companions beg you, venerable sir, for help!

"I am Khail Walverde," he introduced himself, "Commander of this

Templar detachment from the Order of the White Lily.

" "Three hors of ride from here lies our fortified castle, whose

doors are open to anyone in need of assistance. I will give you five men to escort you; they will help you reach it safely. I, along with the rest of my men, must proceed, for we are pursuing a dangerous madman who is heading north."

I began to bow with gratitude and respect.

"See you. May Kharonaey be with you!"

He said goodbye and gave a signal, and five horsemen separated from the detachment and helped us gather with what remained of our caravan. He himself, at the head of his men, set off north along the dirt track. Only now did I notice the embroidered white lilies on the knights' black cloaks. We watched them department, raising a cloud of dust from the horses' hooves.

We built a small mound by the road, and after a mere hour and a half, we set off on the single surviving wagon to the castle of our saviors. The Templar who took command of the four remaining knights was named Lenthian Cavalieur. On the way, he told us a bit about their order.

It was the Order of Paladins, founded on the island of Sunnor in the Cantine Sea, guarding artifacts scattered throughout the lands from the ancient lord of darkness, who, he explained to me, reigned in ancient times. And these artifacts, the madman they were pursuing, was trying to recover.

Lord Xenor of Ashyria, for that was his name. He table parchments from the library in the temple of Kharonaey, which revealed the location of Asthar's artifacts.

From then on, all the Order's headquarters were put on alert, trying to capture him. Khail Walverde had come all the way from the island itself, following the sorcerer. This cunning madman had eluded them from an ambush set in the capital of the warlike tribes of Hed and headed for this area. As the Templar commander had said, after three horachs, we reached the Order's stronghold. If I had had to find the spot on my own, nestled among the rocky slopes of this hostile land, from which a paved road led directly to the castle gates, it would have taken me weeks. For the spot where one must deviate from the poor road onto the road is cleverly camouflaged by bushes and lush ferns, and practically invisible to an uninitiated layman like me. The structure itself was impressive. It was a fortress no self-respecting king, sheikh, or sultan would be ashamed of. On a plateau surrounded by sheer rock walls stood a Templar castle. Without towers, a solitary, tower-like bastion stood. The path led us to one of four drawbridges that allowed entrance, spanning the dark surface of a mountain lake. The entire area was illuminated by torches, their light amplified by signaling mirrors set on the rocks, which served to transmit information during the day. As we arrived, a horn, amplified by the mountains, resounded from the fortress, and the Lenthian Cavalieur drew his own, ornately decorated, and blew it. After crossing the bridge, we reached the courtyard, from which, through the stables, we reached the kitchen, where we were treated to fine wine, bread, and cheese. Despite the late hour, the area was bustling with activity. When I spoke to Lenthian, he told me that in this region the Order regularly clashes with small bands of orcs and trolls sent by the ruler of the local mountains, a certain Gwillzeth. There are also many humans among them. As our guardian said, it is very possible that it was one of these bands that attacked us in the gorge.

"That is impossible, sir," I replied. "Those who attacked us were only

human!

" "In that case, it could have been a group of cutthroats seeking

refuge in these mountains. They are hunted in neighboring kingdoms for crimes committed. It is precisely such men that Gwillzeth needs, and he clearly has not recruited them yet. Indeed, it is a long time since you passed this way. For now it is dangerous here. It is better to make a detour and bypass these mountains than to fall into the clutches of Gwillzeth's soldiers.

" "Who is this Gwillzeth?" I asked.

"That, truly, is unknown. His castle is somewhere in the

East, we don't know exactly where. Because it's protected by spells. Two of our troops have already perished trying to reach it. Only two knights have returned, speaking of a voice guarding the entrance to Gwillzeth's lair. They say this voice causes avalanches and blizzards. And that it comes from the devil himself. Walverde listened to their accounts and didn't believe them. Today he gathered volunteers and set out in pursuit of this sorcerer, whom he had sworn to pursue even to hell itself. So far, we haven't ventured further than the southern plain, teeming with Gwillzeth's soldiers. Beyond it stretches a steep wall of mountains, through which runs a pass protected by the voice. Only there can the sorcerer find refuge. If he succeeds, we will have open war.

With this tale ended our evening in Aldenhorn, for that was the name of the Templar stronghold. Together with my surviving companions, Rashid Gamal; A monk sworn to silence, a skilled archer whom I had hired to guard the caravan, and Sahib ibn-Shah, my worthy if somewhat imaginative cousin, we went to the room the Templars had placed at our disposal.

***

The detachment, led by Khail Walverde, reduced by the men he had left to guard the merchants, reached the end of the five-mile-long gorge. It was approaching midnight when he halted his knights. They waited for the return of the three men he had sent ahead to scout. They barely spoke, only the horses neighed restlessly, grazing on the sparse tufts of grass. After a few minutes, they heard the clatter of hooves. A moment later, three horsemen emerged from the darkness that drenched the area like pitch. They slowed at the sight of the detachment.

"There's open ground ahead. A trained eye will spot us sooner than

we would like, Lord." We hadn't made contact with the enemy. He was probably very good at camouflage, but the horses sensed their presence.

"Thank you. And stop calling me 'sir'!"

He gave a signal, and the troop moved on. He decided they wouldn't hide. He ordered a white flag, hastily made from the shirt of one of the knights, to be raised. Thus prepared, they set out for a vast plain, which the scouts estimated to be about a mile long. Afraid that their invisible enemy, who was surely already watching them, would interpret their presence as peaceful. He fervently hoped so, for he didn't want to get into a skirmish or have a rockfall descend on them before he could explain the purpose of his visit. They had ridden halfway to the mountain range when tiny flames began to glow white around them.

"Devilish tricks!" said one of the riders, making the sign of the ox. Widely believed to ward off evil spirits.

"Fool! No tricks." Even the druids thought they were little bugs that

glowed when exposed to cold... Or something, replied the second one.

Walverde glanced at them and nodded resignedly. What kind of people do they accept into the Order in these parts, he thought. Ignorant, superstitious, could they afford selfless sacrifice? He pushed aside these thoughts as they reached the edge of the plain. A steep mountain range rose majestically before them. The surviving soldiers described the wall in detail. He was now certain that magic had been used here—on a gigantic scale.

He halted the group and ordered a torch to be lit. After a moment, they found the pass where two Templar troops had perished. The Paladin dismounted. The others followed his example. He led them through a narrow entrance. The road sloped gently upward, and the vertical walls on either side of the beaten path rose very high. Above, the stars were barely visible in the sky. Alert, compact, weapons at the ready, they advanced amid the sounds of the night. They were surrounded by the sound of falling water, carving its tunnels between the stone walls, and the cries of nocturnal animals, which at this hour set out on their hunt. From time to time, the wind howled hypnotically, like devilish music, rising once, then falling again. And just when it seemed that no one and nothing would stop them from crossing the gorge, a voice boomed, the one the knights who had survived the massacre had told of. It rang out so suddenly and so loudly that everyone bowed before its power. Small pebbles fell from the rocks onto the road. They barely managed to quell their frightened horses.

"What have you come to do, mortal, that you do not fear my wrath

by disturbing my peace?"

The commander controlled his trembling and spoke in what seemed to him a confident voice.

"My name is Khail Walverde. I am an emissary of the Templar Order from the temple of the White Lily, the goddess Kharonaey...

" "In this place, only I am a god, mortal!" "

…I come with peaceful intentions to end the fighting between

us. For a situation has arisen in which even we must act together.

" "Peaceful intentions, you say. So why did you come with so many company? Why didn't you come alone?

" "We are pursuing a dangerous madman, whom I have reason to believe

you have given shelter to. We have been tracking him from the northern hills, and his tracks lead here. He is a sorcerer who seeks to unleash forces that threaten all creatures in the lands.

" "There are many among my people whom you consider dangerous and mad. Has not the one you so fiercely pursue stolen from you the secret for which you are willing to kill him?"

"We will not kill him. He will be judged according to all civilized laws," the Paladin replied calmly. Seeing the thin ice he was treading on, he wanted to withdraw his men to the safety of the plain as quickly as possible. He signaled with his hand for the unit to slowly begin moving toward the canyon exit.

"And doesn't death await him for this act? If he is so dangerous,

only death guarantees he won't escape. You think me a fool, mortal!" the voice boomed.

"I would never dare, as an envoy, to disregard you. I have

authority to pardon all your men. Therefore, I propose that you, or your envoys, meet with me for negotiations. Time is working against us both. Consider my offer calmly, and in two days at sunrise, I will be waiting for you or your companions on the plain," Walverde spoke with increasing urgency, betraying his nervousness.

"For now, allow us to depart and we will no longer disturb your peace." He bowed and began to turn his mount.

"Hey, hey, elf, for that is what you are. Or perhaps..." the voice pondered

.

"No! You are a hybrid, a cross between two species! That's what you are. You will leave when it is my will."

The paladin wanted to add something more, but the voice prevented him.

"You have angered me for the second time. By ignoring me, you expose yourself and your people to my wrath!"

The last word turned into a terrifying roar that shook the mountains to their foundations, and boulders and stones tore from the rocks, falling with a crash. The knights fled in panic, and the frightened horses rose and reared wildly.

"To the wall! To the wall!" Walverde shouted. The avalanche clattered onto the road before them, harmlessly. The voice burst into throaty laughter, magnified by the echo.

"You will live, mortal!" he thundered. A note of amusement tinged his voice.

"Take your men back. I will consider your offer and send you a reply to the plain! In two days, but not at dawn, but at dusk. That is my decision. Now depart. And remember! You are alive because you came as an envoy, and as an envoy you will depart from here! Only on foot!"

The voice boomed again, and the mountains echoed back, carrying the laughter tinged with mockery.

"Forgive me," Walverde said, "but what guarantee do I have that I am not speaking with a sorcerer who is cunningly impersonating the voice my companions told me about?

" "You have no such guarantee. Go back to whence you came and be glad I spared your life. That fact alone should give you that guarantee. Go. My patience is running out."

"Then, it's time for me to be on my way. Farewell," the paladin said, giving the order to leave the gorge.

On the way back, they encountered their horses, which had scattered across the plain. They suffered no wounds. Only a few scratches from the panic in the gorge during the demonstration of the mysterious voice's power.

Khail Walverde pondered the conversation. He thought about the lost two days, during which the sorcerer, Lord Xenor of Ashyria, for that was his name, might slip away again. He only hoped that the voice from the mountains wouldn't cover the madman's escape, and that he wouldn't grow strong enough to use the protection of his host, whoever he was, to escape. He tried to remember what he had read in the fortress about these mountains. Aside from a relatively recent reference, dating from several months ago, there was no trace of the mysterious voice with which he had negotiated. Who was this man who possessed magical power? He was certain of it, as every so often his sense of magic told him the voice came from a magical source. He had already found his horse, one of the first to graze near the entrance to the gorge. He urged his knights to hurry. He needed to speak quickly with the stronghold's resident, Grand Master Rosh Badulain, who, despite his advanced age, retained his lucidity.