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An oppressive silence hung over the valley; no wind stirred the blanket of dead leaves carpeting the floor, no sound broke the spell of impending doom. The trees shivered as if touched by some ethereal hand whilst predator and prey alike huddled in their den. Nature, roused by the blood shed in an unnatural battle, screamed out her silent warning; a warning to beware the coming of war, a war which threatened all of Kyrnn.
Yet, deep in her cave, one lone dragon lay sleeping, oblivious to all around her. Forgotten gems lay scattered in the den, lying like a child's discarded toys. Amid the relics of a war long past, a war known to most of Kyrnn as the War of the Dragons, an ancient dragon, a relic of the war herself, lay sleeping. Locked in a world of her own making, she dreamt away the decades. The outside world had no meaning where she lay. In her dreams, she revelled in her youth; eyes clouded with age saw once more the beauty of the skies; ears from which time had long since purloined their hearing heard the triumphant cries of her kindred; and heart, laden with the sorrow of the years, shrugged off its weary burden and knew only the joy of being alive, of being young. Whilst the world around her was engulfed in a struggle for survival, she sought sanctuary in her dreams. Her dreams were her defence against the pain and sorrow of reality. In her sleep, she found escape; she found oblivion. In her world, war and war's sorrows seemed but ephemeral. In her cave, the dragon lay sleeping, deaf to nature's call to arms, oblivious to the cries of the dead and dying.
Staring through a haze of red, the young knight struggled against his foe. With steadfast determination, he went through the motions of dodge and parry, went through a mode of battle which proved ineffective against his foe. He clung to his training simply because there was nothing else. This was a battle which he cannot hope to win. Out of the cacophony of the battle field, he heard a shouted command from his commander, a command cut short by a gurgle of blood. Even before the death of his commander, his friend, could register in his mind, he swept aside the grief which he knew would come. So many had already died. Death walked among them as they fought, his ice-cold hands reaching out to claim the lives of his friends as they fought. There was no time for grief, not now, not yet. He would join them soon enough.
Leaden arms swung stroke after stroke to no avail. The hilt of his sword became slippery with blood. As he deflected another blow, he wondered idly if the blood was his or someone else's. Rivulets of blood trickled down from the various wounds around his body to mingle with those at his feet. He had been lucky; none of them had been fatal. Not yet. Death's icy scathe had touched him so many times in this battle. Death was his companion in the battle field. It rode on his shoulder, watching, waiting.
He suddenly became aware of the funereal silence which had stolen up and blanketed the battlefield. Aside from his own laboured breathing, he realised that strangled command had been the last sound he had heard. He took a furtive glance around him. His vision met with blood. The ground darkened as a massive shadow loomed over his back and he swirled to face his foe. He saw a clawed hand descending upon him; felt a blinding pain in his side, then, darkness...
Bodies lay, scattered like broken dolls, on the ruddy ground. One lone figure fought off the shroud of death and struggled up from amongst the dead littering the ground. Drunk with pain and fatigue, he staggered from body to body, tears and blood mingling as they streamed down his face. Desperation fuelled him as he searched among the dead, searching for a sign of life; a sign that someone, anyone, had survived the battle. The sea of corpses swam before his eyes; the scent of death permeated the air. At last, exhausted, he collapsed next to the twisted pile of bloodied armour which had once been the young knight's commander. Clasping the lifeless hand to his chest, the body seemed to epitomise the magnitude of his loss and sorrow, this bloodied relic which had been a mentor, a friend, who had taught him all he knew, who had befriended him.
Why? Why did I live? There were so many more worthy than I! Why me? Why have you left me alone? So alone ... Crushed under the burden of overwhelming grief, the young knight clutched his commander's hand, bowed his head and wept.
Tears helped to assuage the grief until it became a dull ache, until it receded so that his mind could function again. Levering himself upright with his sword, he staggered to his feet, dashing the tears away with his hand. There was no time for tears. Not now, not yet. There was still the chaos dragon, the dragon who had killed his friends. It was still roaming the skies. Duty was all he had left now and duty, duty and honour, demanded that he find a way to stop the chaos spawn. He saw again the sea of faces, the faces which now adorned the corpses around him. Finally, he saw the body at his feet. He would find a way. He would find a way to stop the dragons of chaos.
Pain and exhaustion drove out all traces of humanity. He was aware of nothing except for the burning pain in his side and the driving need to go forward. Duty, duty and the vision of the dead behind him, fuelled him as he struggled league after league. Knowing only that if he stopped, he would never get up again, he kept going. One step at a time. Time lost all meaning. The days blurred into a haze of pain in his memory. He could not tell how far he had staggered, half blind with pain. He no longer knew even where he was. He was in a valley, that was all he knew. A half formed notion of seeking help from Palanthas drifted across his mind. As he walked, he prayed that eventually, he would reach his destination, prayed that he would know his destination when he reached it.
As he staggered through the valley, the trees themselves seemed to wince and draw way from the bloodied personification of death and war which struggled in their midst. He tripped and fell, crashing onto the ground, his armour clattering eerily in the underground. Weeping with exhaustion and pain, he clutched at his side. Fresh blood ran down his hands. With a single-minded determination born of desperation, he ignored the pain and tried to lever himself up with his sword but his legs rebelled against him and he fell once more.
In her cave, the dragon stirred.
His legs refused to obey him as he lay there, staring up at the sky. The trees seemed to sway in sympathy for this lonely mortal as he lay bleeding at their feet. As he lay, staring at the leaves above him, the sky seemed to bleed, staining the leaves red. Then the leaves fell and it seemed as if the heavens had opened and was weeping. Blood. So much blood ...
He saw the chaos dragons, laughing, laughing at him, at this pathetic mortal who had sought to halt him. Eyes, empty orbs of nothingness, seemed to mock him as he lay there bleeding. Foolish mortal, have you not realised that there is NOTHING you can do? Look, foolish mortal, and see what happens to those who dare to oppose ME!
His vision went once more to the battlefield and, as he watched, the corpses no longer bled blood but speckles of darkness, speckles of nothingness. The bodies seemed to melt and meld with the darkness around them until they were consumed by the darkness. I will claim what is mine. My foolish children created this world; tried to impose order and had the temerity to CAPTURE me. But now I am free! And they and their creation shall know the power of the Father of All and of Nothing... Foolish mortal, even now, my minions are spreading throughout the world, wrecking chaos on the unwary. I shall have my revenge!
A hot breeze swept over him and suddenly, the voice was gone. As the realisation of the voice's words gradually dawned upon him, the young knight collapsed within himself and wept. I have failed! He attempted once more to rise, willed himself onto his feet but his body steadfastly refused to obey. He tried to sweep the blood over the insignia on his armour. I am no longer worthy of this! His arm rose slightly but fell back to the ground before the gesture could be finished. Even in this I have failed. I am sorry. I have failed ... I am so alone ... Why? Don't leave me, not here, not alone ...
Failed. I hardly think so! A laughing voice sounded inside his mind. The voice sounded familiar but the memories seemed buried deep beyond the haze of pain which clouded his mind. Failed, my dear boy? No, not failed, and never alone.
The haze of pain lifted and the knight stared once more at the leaves above him. The ruddy hue faded from his vision and he saw a figure walking towards him. The figure smiled and held out his hand invitingly. He stared at the figure before him. Bemused, he took the proffered hand. Who are you?
The voice in his mind laughed and the figure's eyes danced with mirth. Shame! Do you not recognise me, young knight? Do not fear me. I have been waiting for you. The figure clasped the knight's hand in his own and helped him to his feet.
As he rose to his feet, the knight finally understood who the figure was and smiled. Wait, my friends. I come to join you.
In her cave, the dragon opened one silver eye and stared.
"Your wife will have your hide when she finds out you've been drinking, Ratyn!"
"And how exactly is she going to know unless you tell her, Terus?"
"Don't look at me! I don't have a problem with you drinking!"
"That's because I pay for half your ale!"
"Is it my fault you always bet against me and lose?"
"I swear, Terus! You rigged the bets. How could I possibly lose? Have I told you about the time I bet against the blacksmith that I could out drink him? You should have seen ..."
"Yes! I was there, remember. I was the one who had to carry you home after you celebrated with more ale!"
The two friends bantered affably as they sat drinking at a table. A sign swung and squeaked outside the inn. On the sign, a brown smear of an indeterminable substance with a scribble underneath proclaimed the establishment as "The Drunken Bear". Light from the inn shone through the windows and coloured the pavements with pools of gold. The gentle hubbub of the inn subsided into silence as a cloaked figure entered. The patrons quickly sobered and watched the figure warily.
"A room. For the night. And lodging for my horse at your stable."
s. Of course. Best rooms in the house. Supper? Our inn's renowned for its fine fare ..."
figure swept back the hood and a pair of silver eyes stared at the innkeeper. Ignoring the derisive laughter from several patrons at the innkeeper's last comment, the figure interrupted the innkeeper before he could wax eloquently on the quality of his establishment. "Enough. I only require room for myself and my mount. How much?" The figure swept the cloak from herself, revealing a body clad in leather armour with a matching pair of swords at the scabbard at her waist.
innkeeper glanced around, avoiding the figure's gaze. "Two silvers for the lodging and stable room, mistress. That includes feed for the horse."
figured dropped a gold coin onto the hand of the innkeeper. "No silver. I will take the rest of this in provisions. Where is the room?"
stairs, second door to your right, mistress."
nd the provisions before first light tomorrow." The swept the cloak around herself and strode up the stairs, disappearing into the corridor upstairs. As the figure disappeared, the conversations at the inn resumed as if the patrons were released from a spell.
Who was that?" Ratyn whispered to his friend.
"Don't you know? Name's Stille, or at least that's what people call her. She's a strange one, at least according to people I've talked to. Oozes danger and can kill a man just by looking at him, that's what they said. I didn't know what they meant until just now. They say that she never pays in silver. Gold, brass, that's alright with her but never silver. You heard what she said, 'No silver'. This is just heresy, mind you, but I heard she's a pretty sharp fighter. She just freezes people with that ice-cold eyes of hers and slash! She can kill you before you blink with those swords she carries ..." Terus shivered uncomfortably.
"I've heard your stories before, Terus. You can't fool me! She can't be as dangerous as that!"
"I don't know. But I sure ain't going to try to find out just HOW dangerous she is. I'll stay away from her if I were you. I know I'm going to!"
Ratyn gulped down his ale and seemed to find courage in his cups. He shrugged off his feelings of discomfort. "Can't be as bad as all that!" he slurred.
"It's your hide. Don't say I didn't warn you!"
Tossing her cloak aside, Stille glanced around the room. Her eyes roved around the room, searching for anything out of place. Nothing. She started to unbuckle her swords then stopped, her hands clutching instinctively at the hilts of her weapons. Two small children, young girls, stared at her from the corner of the room. As she stood, transfixed, one of them fall back, her chest torn open ... A gaping wound ... The other child stared at the body then at her own blood stained hands.
The child turn around and Stille saw the horror written plainly on her face. Horror and perhaps, guilt? Stille tumbled back and crashed against the wood of the table. Pain brought her out of the vision and, when she looked back at the corner of the room, it was devoid of the spectres of the children. An empty, ordinary corner stared back at her. The children had disappeared, just as they always do. Why are they haunting me? Why do I see them where every I go? I feel as if I have seen this before, and not in a vision? What is this? What does it have to do with me?
Questions broiled in her mind as she collapsed against the table. She clung to the wooden table behind her, clung to her only tangible link with reality. As she leaned against the table, she released her vice like grip on the hilts of her swords and forced herself to release the tension in her muscles. It is late. There is nothing I can do about these visions. They are gone now.
As she settled down onto the only bed in the room, she could not help but ponder the meaning of these visions, these visions which seemed to be driving her towards some unseen goal.
The body lying on the ground seemed so out of place among the trees. Stille glanced around, seeking for what had killed the young knight. Blood had congealed on the wound at his side. The young child, her chest torn open ... A trail of blood told her that the young knight had not been attacked here in the forest. She released her grip on her swords but her hands remained close to the hilts. Blood stained hands. Eyes, guilty eyes ... His insignia was obscured by blood. Knights, mounted on dragons as they fought against the dark queen. Silver, gold and bronze coloured the skies. She was so proud, so proud ... Several marks on the ground around the body seemed to indicate that he had fallen, had tried to rise again but failed. She was falling, falling, falling. She screamed but no one heeded her cries for help. There was no one to help her as she fell and fell and fell. A sickening crash, a blinding pain, then, silence ...
She straightened from her examination of the body. The visions were coming more and more frequently, colouring her perceptions, intruding upon everything she did. She pushed the visions aside and stared at the trees around her. Strange, but the forest seems so familiar ... The trees themselves seemed to wave and greet her as she travelled under the venereal showers. Bemused, she wandered through the forest. Guided by some unseen hand, her feet threaded through the trees heading for the cliffs which bordered one side of the valley.
She clambered up the cliff. This cliff is smaller than I remembered but harder to climb ... The inanity of the thought struck her as she took refuge on an exposed ledge halfway up the face of the cliff. She had never been here before, how could she remember the cliff?
"There must be an easier way up this cliff!" She pondered aloud. An insidious part of her mind answered her. You can always fly ... Stille laughed at the thought. Well, no helping it. Unless I can suddenly sprout wings or turn into a dragon, it seemed unlikely that I could fly up this cliff! Rising from the ledge, she was preparing to resume her climb when a shadow loomed over her. A clawed hand flashed across her face. She struck out instinctively at the shape before her and felt her sword contact with flesh. Then she screamed and fell ...
"Mother!" The baby dragon giggled as she scampered over the silver form lying in the cave, "Mother!" Tiny, clawed hands grasped at the sparkling gems scattered across the floor of the den. The young dragon stared, mesmerised, as the jewel deflected the light into different colours and cast them about the walls of the cave. "Mother!"
Watching the antics of her child with pride, the ancient dragon smiled to herself. "Stay here with your brother. I have to go." The child nodded, eyes sparkling with merriment and mischief. The ancient dragon muttered the words of an arcane spell. Her dragon form shimmered and disappeared and, in its place, a human emerged, her silver eyes watching her child.
Eyes wide with wonder, the young dragon scampered up to her mother. "Mother! Mother! Show me!"
The woman laughed, "Very well. I shall show you, again, my child." Smiling indulgently, the woman spoke the words which reversed the transformation. "Listen closely." The dragon gently admonished her child. Repeating her incantation as her child watched, the dragon returned to her human form. Transformed once more, the woman walked out of the cave and left the child with her brother.
Play?" The child offered the glittering gem to her brother. "Pretty Gem? Play?"
Eyes filled with tears. "Play!" She demanded.
The older dragon looked about in consternation. Looked at the doleful face staring back a him. An idea occurred to him. "Do you want to see knights? Real knights on gold and bronze dragons?"
Eyes brightened, tears and gem forgotten. "Will there be silver dragons too? Will there?"
"Of course!"
"Dragons! I want to see dragons!"
The older dragon smiled at his sister. "Come with me. We will go to see the knights and silver dragons!"
The skies swarmed and glittered with gold, bronze and silver. Sunlight sparkled and reflected off the metallic scales. Knights in their gleaming armour rode astride each dragon, their faces bright with dreams of honour and glory. Among them, the dragon child and her brother flew. "Dragons!" The dragon child proclaimed in glee. "Knights and Dragons!" She looked towards her bother and laughed.
"It's an attack!" Panic reigned. Sirens blared as each mount and rider looked about, seeking their foe. "We're being attacked!" In the distance, closing rapidly, flew dragons, blue, red, white, spurred on by their riders.
Amid the cacophony of shouted orders and mounting knights, the older dragon searched about him in panic for the dragon child. Disregarding the danger, he flew above the others in an attempt to find the child. He saw her, struggling to say aloft in the turbulence as the dragon riders flew by. Twisting his body around, he prepared to dive to help her when he felt a pain at his side. Snarling, he whipped around and came face to face with a red dragon and his rider. Desperation gave him energy as he fought the pair in a deadly dance of death ... It was not enough. The last thing he saw as the ground rushed up to meet him was the dragon child, plummeting to the ground; the last sound her terrified scream ...
She hurt. Whimpering softly, the dragon child cried as she struggled back to consciousness. Her mind swam with images of dragon fighting, dragons falling, dying. Suddenly, she realised that someone was approaching. Danger, her mind cried. It's them. She slashed out with one clawed hand instinctively and felt it connect with flesh. Silence. She opened her eyes cautiously, blinking at the sudden influx of light. Her claws felt sticky. She looked at her hand. Blood ...its source lay on the floor beside her hand ... a small body ... a child's body ... open ... bleeding ... Her mind rebelled away from what she had done, refused to acknowledge what lay before her. Sanity fled. The only thing she could remember were the half heard words as her mother had transformed into a human ...
Two children lay on the floor. One would never wake. The other looked with horror at her blood stained hands. Chubby pink digits stared back at her. She wiped the hands on her body, her human body. She remembered nothing ... A word emerged out of the emptiness her mind had created to protect itself from the horrors of reality ... Stille ...
I remember ... what a child had created to protect herself out of fear had crumbled away ... The memories are released. I remember ... Stille twisted around in mid air. The words of the reversal spell broke through to the surface of her mind and she grasp at it before it could escape back into the void.
The air shimmered and a dragon emerged, her silver hide glittering in the sun. She screamed out a challenge as she flew up the face of the cliff to face the creature that had attacked her. A fiery form confronted her as she approached the ledge from which she had fallen. Dragon? Empty pinpoints of darkness stared at her, orbs of nothingness which served as the creature's eyes. Chaos spawn! Exercising her newly rediscovered wings, she extended her claws and charged at the chaos dragon.
That sound, so familiar ... My child? ... The ancient dragon blinked. My child, can it be? A scream of pain sounded above her. My child! Rousing herself from her slumber, the dragon flapped her silver wings and lunged out of her den.
Her twinned claws served in place of her swords as she lashed at the chaos spawn. Blood seeped from gashes on her hide. Surprising how hard it is actually ... Better than a suit of armour ... Twisting in the air, Stille narrowly avoided an attack from the chaos dragon. Suddenly, she became aware of another dragon was approaching, rising from beneath them towards her. The shape seemed so familiar ... Mother? Her concentration broke and she raised one claw in a half formed gesture to the dragon approaching her. At the same time, while her side lay unprotected, the chaos dragon struck. Stille screamed in pain and fell ...
"My child!" The ancient dragons screamed as she watched the younger dragon fall. Rage smothered in her eyes, rage which drove out all traces of sanity. Heedless of the danger, the ancient dragon launched into an attack against the chaos dragon. Her aim was true. Preoccupied with his own fight against the younger dragon, the chaos spawn had not seen the attack of the older dragon until it was too late. Old though she was, her claws remained sharp and true, it struck at the chaos spawn and embedded itself in his unprotected throat.
The fire raging in the chaos dragon flickered, yet, he will not be so easily defeated. He had destroyed a whole company of knights and a young dragon! Let his last payment be in the blood of his new foe! Before darkness, darkness and chaos, reclaimed him, he struck back at the older dragon, tearing at her wings. There would be no escape for her on the unforgiving ground below ...
Clawing through the air with her broken wings, she tried to reach her child as she fell. The younger dragon blinked, eyes opened, clouded with pain. "Mother?"
"My child ..."
The younger dragon twisted upwards from her downward plummet. "I am so cold, Mother."
Two clawed hands clasped each other in a tender embrace.
"Don't leave me!"
"Never, my child. Never. I will be with you forever."
The treetops loomed before them, then, darkness ...