Umatelsa: Chapter Two

Chapter 2



Return of the Red Dragon



Crowds of people lined the shores of the sea, staring and speculating and pointing fingers at the five long boats rowing towards them. The rowers dipped, streaked and parted from the waves in unison, water sprinkling like crystals. A grand, black vessel floated in view, catching the awe and imagination of the fisherfolk.

Gary pushed through the people to see what the commotion was about. He too stood enamored of the great ship looming over their miniscule fishing boats, but in a different way. He saw the sinister aspect of it, as all others gawked in blind admiration. For it was a warship, sleek and deadly, its black sails a herald of doom. As a warrior, he immediately began to assess the strength of its hulk, and then turned his attention upon the approaching boats. There were about ten people on each, and those were deft, experienced hands that manned them. One boat, slightly more elaborate in design, came to shore first. A man, who was richly garbed and decked with jewelry, stepped down onto the beach.

As the rest docked, Gary could not help but notice how quickly the soldiers tied their boats and scrambled to dry land. There was no doubt that they despised the water like a poisonous substance. But why? He found himself staring at their strange attire. The soldiers wore hideous black helmets shaped like bulls’ heads, and grasped long black maces. Black, heavy-plate armor covered their bodies, oiled and glistening. Fifty of them formed in straight, still lines, every one of them giving an air of battle-hardened fortitude. Gary could not help but be impressed, though the apprehension rose within him. Someone had trained and prepared them well, as if flaunting their might deliberately. But why?

Though the crowds watched, they had not hastened forward to help the newcomers. The presence of armed warriors instilled an atmosphere of wariness, and the villagers fell silent, their curiosity overridden by uncertainty. What was the meaning of this? What did they want? The questions begged to be voiced, but no one did, cowed by a spark of fear. Shadun was a peaceful village, with seldom a need for violence or weapons, and to suddenly see so many menacing soldiers was extremely discomfiting.

The richly-dressed man, as if sensing the agitation, dusted himself off thoroughly like a rooster preening its feathers. Then he cleared his throat to speak.

“I am ambassador of the great King Kermokren, Lord of Malconde, Master of the Snenkish Tribes,” he began in a formal, yet uninterested tone. The villagers shuffled and murmured amongst themselves, baffled. The man swept them a disdainful glance, as if they were all inconsequential ants scuttling beneath his boots. Then he unfurled a black banner, and drove it into the ground.

Surprise struck all of the people, and there was a great uproar. The ambassador had stuck his flag right on the borders of Tonor! Gary hadn’t seen such a ridiculous ambassador, nor heard such a preposterous speech in all his life. One does not simply walk onto someone’s land and claim it for oneself. He recalled a little reading of Malconde from a scroll, an island nation to the southeast of Umatelsa, in the Sea of Saigha. It had little dealings or ties with Umatelsa, having an abundance of fertile land to feed its small population, yet growing nothing out of the norm. Umatelsa and Malconde cared as much as they knew about each other, which was basically next to nothing. Why had some Malcondean madman suddenly appeared to claim Tonorian lands?

“We understand why this has created a stir. Have no worries. Be assured that we intend to pay for what we claim,” the man continued.

A hardy fisherman stood out defiantly.

“Whas the meanin’ ar this?” he growled, veins almost bursting in his red face. “I don’ care who ya are, but you’d bettar take yar flag and bust outa hare in a beat!”

“I have no time to deal with vagrants like you. We shall see your king.” The man picked idly at his silver laced collar, bored and slightly irritated. “Now kindly make way, so that we may proceed inland to your capital.”

The affronted villagers blocked their path, with a foolish desire to protect the dignity of the realm. “Not til you remove t’ bunghole wipin’ flag thar.”

“No? Ah, well.” The man raised his brow in mild annoyance, fingers still picking distractedly at one of his huge emerald rings. “I hoped it would not come to this.”

The fisherman cursed at him.

A black-clad warrior from the envoy’s retinue stepped out, smashed his mace down on the fisherman’s head with practiced ease, and wiped the weapon casually on the body’s shirt before straightening and falling back in line.

The swiftness and nonchalant way in which the act was condoned shocked the crowd, and for a moment they stood agape, stricken dumb. They began to murmur in disbelief and then in rage, for killing someone without good reason meant death, or at least blood gold, if accepted by the victim’s family. Satisfied, the ambassador gestured his soldiers forward, and for a brief moment it seemed that the people would still oppose them. But a crack appeared in their blockade as one stepped aside, and soon, like sheep following the leader, the others scuffled out of the way. They watched, sullen, angry, but beaten, and let the delegation pass. Gary felt his fury rising, but restrained himself from jumping into their path to slay them all. He studied them as they passed, memorizing every detail. He would need what he gathered now.

When he reported to the king.

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“Trouble, trouble trouble,” scolded Furs, as if all this was Gary’s fault. The warrior moved about the room restlessly, gathering what he needed for the journey. “It follows you like a bee onto honey.”

“I must go to the palace before they do,” said Gary, ignoring his complaint. From the bottom of his chest, he brought out the long item concealed in folds of cloth and unwrapped it. He sat on the ground, fingering the sword he hadn’t touched in years. It was good steel, but soiled with rust. Seven years, he mused, then hastily wiped the dust off his shield, revealing a red dragon still as proud as when it was first painted. He would clean his blade after packing everything else. “I must warn the king,” he said.

“You never should have left the place,” snapped the ferret. “You are not born to be a fisherman, however much you try. It’s in your bearing, that aggressive, steel manner of a warrior.” Ignoring this, Gary slipped on his lighter suit of chain mail, and forced a leather tunic over it. He fastened his thick, black belt and attached his water canteen onto it. In his chest was also the great cloak rimmed with fur, bearing the king’s emblem, the dawning sun, upon it. But Gary forsook it for an ordinary gray cloak with a few acceptable holes, judging it unwise to draw attention to himself on the road by flaunting the king’s favor. The fine, intricately-carved dagger he concealed in his tunic. In a neat sack, he placed a small package of hard biscuits, some strips of dried salted fish, four figs, a few scattered silver coins, rope and a cutting knife. The food was not sufficient to sustain him to Tulime, but he could hunt as well as pay for what he lacked.

He was sitting behind the barn-shed, honing the neglected blade to perfection when he heard the footsteps coming. The sky was blue, as blue as the sea, and the birds were singing for the coming of autumn. Furs was strolling in the yard, marking every blade of grass with his scent and snapping at the humming bees. The day was indeed beautiful, but Gary did not seem to notice. His eyes stayed fixed on his sword, and the practiced, recurring motion of the whetstone.

When at last he brought himself to glance to his side, Dana was there, with their son in her arms, and her brow was furrowed in worry. Rhond swiped at a lock of her hair, succeeded with a squeal, and began tugging it violently in his tiny hands. Dana gently removed the infant's hand, but her gaze was fixed on her husband.

“Furs told me of the trouble. I saw the black ship,” she said, betraying nothing in her voice. Gary cast Furs a disapproving glance, for he had preferred to speak of this in his own time.

“It will not be long. But still, it will take time, considering the journey’s length. A fortnight will see me to Tulime, if I press myself hard enough. And the same coming back,” he explained, deciding he might as well be forthright with it.

“A black ship bodes ill. And blood has been spilled. Men are already mumbling among themselves. I feel the danger.” Rhond again reached up, and Dana absently disentangled his tenacious hand from her tearing her scalp.

“The king must be warned,” replied Gary determinedly, dismissing all her premonitions.

“He has dozens of spies who will inform him,” she pointed out.

“And offer dozens of advice as well, no doubt,” said Gary. “One clear head is what he needs at this moment. I must still go, if only to report the grievance of our village.”

“You hear the calling, do you not? Your life beckons to be unfurled. Even if the road is fraught with danger, you do not hesitate to go, despite what it could do to those you leave behind.” Dana clutched her son close, and the baby began to whimper, his thwarted hands still reaching.

“You know it is not like that! Why did I come here in the first place?” Gary shook his head, exasperated. “I see no reason in you, woman! It will take but a month or so, and I will be back. You know this.” He raised a hand to touch her, willing sense into her stubborn mind. Dana sighed but said no more.



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Gary sheathed his sword, listening to the smooth, familiar sound as the glistening steel slid into its rightful place. He slung his shield onto his back. He stepped into the barn, and his silver stallion, Storm, greeted him with a whicker, and a pair of drooped donkey ears flopped disdainfully as old Rose glanced his way. He greeted the donkey, who, after determining he had no treats about him, displayed his rump and dismissed him permanently. Storm stretched out his well-muscled neck to be petted, and investigated his tunic with a curious lip for sugar. The warhorse had been with him for a long time, and renegade white hairs were sprouting on his silver muzzle. The joints of his hind legs needed constant massaging and care with salve. Even so, he was the envy of the village, for none but Gary could claim to have a horse, much less a noble charger like Storm. Gary readied him, and despite his age Storm shifted from hoof to hoof excitedly like a prancing yearling. After slinging his bag and a roll of blanket over his steed’s back, he led him out and mounted.

“I’m going with or without you!” he called out into the yard. A moment later, as he predicted, the ferret shot out from beyond his view and raced after him.

“Fool! Of course I’m going! What else can I do, and I thought you would…” Furs’s voice trailed off as he chased to hop onto Gary’s shoulder, a feat which required scrambling up the side of a horse first. Smiling, Gary extended an arm, and Furs leaped on as they galloped toward the outer fence of the village. There was a sentry posted there, a bored dour-faced boy armed with a sharpened stick, squatting and yawning glumly. The slits of his eyes widened when he saw the magnificent warhorse, but he let Gary through without a word.

The road was long and dusty, and they struggled to stay ahead of the black troops, traveling by shortest routes that cut through forest and hills. The dark delegation journeyed by the known roads, as expected, sheltering in the best inns and spreading rumor. So it was that the news indeed preceded Gary, and everywhere he went people were whispering about the newcomers. The local lords did not know what to make of them, whether to feast them in their halls or riddle them with arrows. So mostly, the lords did nothing, and the local troops stayed out of the way. The king knew also, Gary deduced, and decided to do nothing. But his spies and informers were definitely not idle.

At first the weather was fair, and Gary was happy to sleep outside under the canopies on the dry bed of leaves. But as he rode inland there was a steady downpour of rain, and for days the paths were wet and slippery with treacherous mud. When Storm’s footing slipped, he was stranded at a roadside inn, forced to rest the horse. Luckily, the legs of the old mount was not damaged, though a knee was scraped. A thunderous storm drove him to another to another shabby inn, where a serving wench who thought herself charming tried to seduce him. After failing, she attempted in stupidity to rob him clean deep in the night, but ran off screaming when Gary fingered his dagger.

So it was that Gary, delayed for a few days, arrived at Tulime, the capital city of Tonor, in middle of the night. It was a formidable city, and even at night its splendor could snare the heart of any who looked upon its walls. Well defended and with watch towers overlooking all sides, it was impregnable as well as beautiful. Two guards stared down at him, their polished helms glinting in the torchlight. Another leaned on his spear, seemingly asleep. One of them shouted down at him in warning.

“Hai! State your business!”

“I have dire news that must be born to my lord,” replied Gary.

“No admittance after dark, sir. Gate opens at dawn,” he said, peering at him suspiciously. Gary recognized him as one of his fellows who had served under him in battle. He knew that he must reveal himself now, or be rejected outside for the night.

“Open the gates, Varn. It’s an order,” said Gary mockingly. Both soldiers started visibly, instantly tense. Only the third slumbered away.

“Who are you, sir?” Varn said tersely, gripping his spear.

“It is I.” Gary revealed his shield in the firelight, and Varn gave a wordless gasp, while the other only gaped.

“By Ayas! Of all the Gods’ pranks!” Varn exclaimed.

“It is I. Ill wind I bring, but to one pair of ears only,” said Gary.

“Yes, sir! I understand.” Varn shook his snoozing companion violently. “Wake up, you slug! Open the gate!” Then, rounding on the other guard, he growled threateningly under his breath, “You saw no one, you hear? No one!”

“But--” The other guard seemed confused, eyeing Gary with a puzzled expression.

“No one at all, understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Before long, the gate creaked open, and Gary galloped into the city. It had truly grown in the seven years left. There were new buildings that he did not recognize, new inns and taverns built of wood yet unstained by the years. The market square had been enlarged, a sign of boost in trade, though the trouble in Mayae surely hurt it. He could almost see the colors of silken fabric, the exotic twinkle of beads and jewelry, the frantic bleat of goats, the endless bickering of merchant and buyers, the warming aroma of spiced breads and hazelnuts. The streets were paved even with cobblestone and gravel, when before it had been a mess of dirt and loose rocks. The streets were deserted now, and the only boisterous merriment came from the drunken taverns. A few dark, tattered men lurked on the sides, likely brigands or cutpurses, but they scuttled away after a look at the forbidding warrior on the huge horse.

He took the wide, familiar path leading to the palace. It was blocked by a dozen guards, who let him and Furs in the palace gate as soon as they knew who Gary was. They were in the king’s colors, and Gary trusted them to keep their mouths shut. The inner gate stood in his way, and this time the guards demanded to search him. Reluctantly, Gary yielded his blade and dagger, along with the shield. He was then led through another circling wall into the courtyard, where a stable-boy, hair rumpled and red-eyed from sleep, led Storm away to the stables. Furs announced he was more than tired of this, and scampered off to hunt whatever the city corners could provide. After an impatient wait, Gary was ushered into the great halls to see the king, who was amazingly not sleeping, but still working on some papers in his chambers.

King Leon looked up from his documents, flicked Gary an unreadable glance, and dismissed the guard. The guard, apparently concerned for the king’s safety, tarried for a moment at the door, but then slipped out and closed it lightly.

Only then did Leon turn his gaze upon Gary, and the smile that lit his face made the lines on his face deepen. “So we meet again. I knew you would come back, someday.” The unspoken accusation lingered in the last word. But if it was meant as a rebuke, it was light enough, and kneeling, Gary returned his grin.

“Ah, get up, get up,” said Leon irritably. “Seven years, Gary, and all you do is kneel. Ha!”

“Seven years,” echoed Gary, his thoughts lost in his current of feeling. He rose and tried to recollect his senses.

“You have news to tell, I suppose,” said the king, “Do not rush. We have time, as long as you stay. You are staying for at least a week, correct?”

“A day or two, perhaps,” he replied, and seeing the disappointed creasing of Leon’s brow he amended, “Or three. My family expects me as soon as possible. I bring tidings, my lord. They are important.”

“Then sit down, and do speak of it,” said Leon, waving at a cushioned chair with his long, ink-stained fingers. But Gary wasn’t in the mood for sitting down. He frowned and paced restlessly around, explaining the details of his encounter with the black ship delegation. Leon listened thoughtfully, nodding a few times, but made no move to interrupt the flow of the story. Finally, when Gary was finished, he rubbed his bearded chin, splashed with gray and white, unintentionally smearing ink onto it.

“The Dark Lord Kermokren? We heard of his kingdom on Malconde Island. Heard of the evil that has descended upon that people. Though the details are unclear, we know that the island was conquered, not far in the past, by a savage race. Half beast and half men, my informers swore, but of course men love to exaggerate their experiences,” he said, looking questioningly at Gary.

“I cannot determine, my lord. The soldiers the envoy brings wear heavy black plate and their faces are shadowed by their huge bull-horn helms. Never did I hear them speak in any tongue, or even make a sound, for that matter. Their size, however, seems unnervingly massive even for the brawniest heavy infantryman.”

Habitually, Leon rubbed his chin again, and Gary smiled despite himself at the angry blot of ink that was clinging to the bristling beard.

“You look ridiculous with that upstart grin on your face! Now wipe it off and continue,” said Leon as he tried to find the reason of Gary’s amusement. “As you reported, they would buy the eastern tip of my land. Why? What would they gain?”

“Diagre is the major port city on that tip. The profits are plenty, and the soil is fertile. Perhaps they want a settlement to make trade easier? I do not know the exact amount of land they desire, but they are clearly after something. No one buys land for no use.”

“Hmm,” pondered the king, shoving a few parchments aside. “How much do they offer?”

“I do not know. We were a band of ragged peasants. He would not inform us of so much,” said Gary. “But they must have a high sum, if they dare to come barter.”

“Strong as well, and large in number,” Leon pointed out. “They must have enough forces, to have enough backbone to come. And has it ever occurred to you, why did they not use a major harbor in Diagre or any port city to dock, but rowed to shore in boats to a remote village?”

“Suppose they have reason not to dock their ship?” speculated Gary.

“What do you think? Do they have some dirty little secret?”

“When they arrive, we shall find out more,” shrugged Gary, quite exhausted after the hard ride, and finally he sank down into the soft chair.

“Yes. We will find out more. But do you sense what I sense?” the king replied, leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

“Black Magic,” whispered Gary gravely. “It binds the bullhorn soldiers to a much greater Source. I can feel it. There is something in them that unsettles me. I would like them to be human, or elf, or some sort of normal folk, but I don’t think they are.” Leon nodded absently. “My spies have spotted them in Laudstown today. We must allow them a couple of days before they arrive.”

“Laudstown? So close? Their feet must have grown wings!” Gary looked startled.

“Or hooves, really,” said Leon. He rose stiffly, stretching out his creaking bones, and went to a small tray of untouched food. He handed Gary a plate of roasted fowl and cold cut, then proceeded to pour the wine, waving Gary aside when he tried to take over the task. “They purchased horses on the way. Coin is one thing they do not lack. I do not doubt they are able to purchase that bit of land.”

“You aren't considering selling it to them are you?” said Gary, picturing what life would be like under foreign rule. He had just picked clean the fowl’s leg and was now working on the other.

“Of course not! Calm down, and don’t talk with your mouth full,” instructed the king. He gave a glass to him and sipped out of his own, sampling the fiery taste on his tongue. “This is of good stock. One of those exotic Mayaen brews that are becoming rare these days, due to their senseless civil war. I always wondered what they do make the grapes grow so.”

“No chance of finding out. The elves guard their grapevines like rabid mothers,” laughed Gary.

“The merchants are always complaining to me about the road,” said the king distastefully. “I hardly need a problem of this dark lord attempting to buy my land. I hope we find a diplomatic solution to this situation. Certainly there is a peaceful way.” He looked dubious even as the words left his mouth. Gary sobered immediately.

“I think not. They sure do not look like they will accept your refusal with a smiling face. I smell strife,” he said bluntly, with a groan.

“By Ayas, they are in middle of the Sea of Saigha! How does that Kermokren expect to fight us? Choke us with sea water?” snorted Leon. “He has no footing, no stronghold, no reliable source of supplies here on Umatelsa…”

“Is that why he wants to buy that piece of land?” asked Gary suddenly, standing up. “He has ships, he has troops. All he needs is a footing. Yes. He wants that footing, without costing him blood or loss.”

For a moment, Leon rubbed his chin in troubled silence, his glass of wine twirling absently in his hand. When he spoke again, his voice was pensive/

“We think too far ahead, my friend,” he sighed. “Perhaps it will not be as serious as this. Perhaps they only want the land for what it offers. When the envoy comes, we shall see. Now then, a toast to our reunion?” The proposal was answered with two glasses clinking together, and they both drained them in one gulp. The sweet fire of the wine drove the troubles away for a moment, and together, they talked of their younger days, sharing the private breathless laugh over adventurous memories. Gary was eighteen years the junior, and had come to the king, then a prince, at a very early age. For years they marched and campaigned and slept in the same soaked tent and fought side by side in more lines of shields than they could count. Tonor was never a peaceful nation, and it was only in the past fifteen years that it achieved full stability under Leon. War however, had strengthened their friendship into an unbreakable bond.

For the next two days, they passed the time in genuine conversation. In the mornings, Leon attended his court, and at noon he called meetings to discuss the new problems with his generals and officials. Gary avoided the public eye, for fear it would complicate his return home. But in the afternoons and late into the evening, Leon and him strolled through the royal gardens, inspected the guards at their training, and even found time for a ride through the woods outside the city. Leon’s wolfhound would have preferred a thrilling boar chase, but with the apprehension at the envoy’s coming looming over like a storm cloud, none of the men had the enthusiasm for a hunt.

They were interpreting a few wrinkled scrolls one night in Leon’s tower room study, when a Guard of the Inner Ring barged in sweating with panic as he bowed.

“Sire, there are strange black armored men with an envoy who wishes to come to see you. We informed them politely to leave their weapons with us, for they will have no use of it here. But they refused, and without provocation, one of theirs killed…they killed Dagger, my lord. They smashed his skull open. They just killed him, right then and there. We saw…we could not stop…we are fighting with them now…” The man was beginning to blabber, gasping for breath as the angry, stricken words streamed from him. It was a strict rule not to bear weapons onto palace grounds, unless you were authorized to do so. Leon raised a brow and met Gary’s gaze. Trouble already. Under the king’s roof, an envoy was a guest pledged the safety and protection of the host. To bear arms was a sign of mistrust, or rather, an outright insult that could send any ill-tempered lord into a fit.

“If they wish to impose their might here as they did at our village, they are bigger fools than I thought,” said Gary.

“End the fighting, and invite the guests into the throne room,” commanded Leon. Grumbling, the guard ran to carry out the orders. Gary pitied the man, whose friend seemed to have been killed. Bitter rage began to rise in him again.

“We shall proceed to the throne room, then,” said Leon.

Soon, the unsought visitors plodded in before the throne, neither cowed nor disarmed. The envoy swept Leon a magnificent bow.

“Leon the Great, King of Tonor, we have journeyed from the far Empire of Malconde. In the name of Holy Kermokren, blessed of all Gods, I greet you, fair king, ” His sly, contemptuous glance at Leon, however, held little in common with the lofty praises he just uttered . “Your country has been most hospitable and welcome, my lord, and the skirmish at the gate has sharpened my soldiers’ skills. They have been months without practicing. Thank you, great king.” Several palace guards gripped their spears, clenching their jaws in their effort to hold the fury in.

“You have killed one of my valued guards, envoy. And the death of a fisherman from the village of Shadun is also your responsibility as well,” observed Leon directly. “You shall pay blood gold for both, or forfeit your life.”

The envoy was taken aback by the frank demands of the king, and he groped for suitable words. “It shall be paid,” he managed at last.

“I am glad.” Leon nodded. “Now that it is settled, we may all retire. The day has been a taxing one, and after all your travels, you must be weary.”

“If the king is tired, we are obliged to schedule for an appointment tomorrow,” agreed the envoy amiably.

“Shall I recommend an inn? The Golden Cockerel is where the best rooms are, not to mention the service. All my nobles like to game there, when they tire of the palace,” suggested Leon.

“But surely, if we are to resume our conversation in the morning, it is best to keep close,” said the envoy, meaning he wanted to stay on palace grounds.

“In the morning? Our talk is finished now,” said Leon.

“But—”, stuttered the envoy, blinking in surprise. “We have not yet discussed the purpose of my coming.”

“Was it not to recompense the families of the victims you have slaughtered?” asked Leon.

“That, of course,” said the man hastily, wetting his lips with his tongue distastefully. “But also another matter as well.”

“If it is to buy my land, then I am afraid I must refuse, gracious sir,” said Leon. “I cannot bear to part with any of my territories. And what will happen to my common-folk?”

“They will be under the dominion of Kermokren, and treated much like they are now,” promised the envoy, now flustered and edgy.

“How much do you propose?” Leon pretended to be interested in his price. At this the envoy smiled, as if the question finally put him on safe footing.

“A barrel of gold for each fifty acres. For the coastline of the Tonorian Sea including Diagre,” he declared loudly, with a challenging glint in his eye as if daring the king to refuse such a sum. “If my lord has the time, we shall discuss in detail the area we wish to purchase.” And indeed it was a mammoth amount, a mountain of gold, or more than that. The unified intake of breath in the room widened the smirk on the envoy’s face. Even Gary was stunned. A barrel of gold for fifty acres was unheard of, and it made him doubly suspicious of what the land would be used for, should it fall into their hands.

“My friend, I would most indeed wish to negotiate the sale.” The envoy was openly sneering by now. “But unfortunately, I have no authority to grant the land to you. As you see, Diagre and that tip you would have is a fief granted to the Lord Cihers. I cannot sell their birthright to you,” Leon finished, and the envoy’s expression plummeted into disappointment.

“Can you not speak to this Lord Cihers?”

“I’m afraid not. He and I have been at odds for more than a decade. What I propose, whether for good or for ill, he will indiscriminately turn down,” said Leon regretfully, shaking his head. “But of course, you can always speak to him yourself. All men are lured by gold.” He rubbed two fingers together as if to make the point.

The envoy nodded knowingly, and bowed flatteringly. “Of course, my lord, you shall also receive compensation for such a disturbance late at night…and the blood gold, of course.”

“Your king Kermokren is generous,” praised Leon.

“Then, sire, if you would allow, we must be going. It was an honor to meet such a wise and gracious monarch,” said the envoy.

“Pass on my respects to your sovereign,” said Leon.

The envoy bowed one last time, and hurried out of the throne room. He would not seek a room anywhere in the city tonight, Gary knew. Before they retired, Leon sent off a pigeon, with a tiny scroll attached to its leg, toward the port city of Diagre.

Behind closed doors, Leon began to chuckle. Gary grinned in amusement at the smooth, flawless act of his king. He poured wine for the both of them, and drank the sun into the sky. When the envoy reached Diagre, he would find Lord Cihers indeed, who would make feast and merriment in his honor, then courteously inform him that the land was not for sale.



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Gary stayed with the king much longer than he intended to. A month had passed since the night he set foot in the palace. He had sent pigeons to Shadun, and received a worried message from Dana.

Another bird had arrived from Diagre, and it was Lord Ciher’s message, reporting that all had been done according to orders. It also expressed concern on the manner of the envoy’s departure, which turned out to be in a storm of rage at his refusal. The matter may not be so easily resolved, the scrap of paper warned. The king would do well to be on his guard. That was one reason Gary had tarried for so long. But all seemed quiet for the moment, and he decided to head for home, to his wife and child.

So on a bright clear morning, he saddled Storm, who looked not at all pleased to be leaving the luxurious comfort of the royal stables. He had to try several times before the irritated horse allowed the bit into his mouth.

“What’s wrong with it?” asked Furs, unafraid to perch upon the charger’s head. “Looks like the magic in it is about to burst.” Gary’s shield had been glowing and quivering from the time he entered the stall.

“The last time it was shaking like this, was just before someone tried to stick a knife in my ribs. I sense something—” Gary broke off, frowning.

Nevertheless, they rode off as the guards at the palace gate saluted them. Storm needed no directing to turn onto the wooded route, for he had trodden it on many occasions. The path was narrow, barely clearer than a deer trail overgrown with trees, and the darkness made Gary extremely uneasy. Snorting, Storm halted abruptly, and would go no further. Gary surveyed the woods on both sides warily, but saw nothing abnormal.

He clicked his tongue and urged the horse on with his heels, but Storm would not budge an inch. A branch cracked, almost surprising Gary from his seat. But it was only a squirrel, scampering through the leaves. Ahead was a flat-faced boulder by the side of the path, a good place to take a rest. Perhaps that was what the horse wanted.

Gary ducked, and an arrow whistled by his head. Storm and Furs shrieked. He was saved purely by instinct. But there was no time to celebrate his good luck, for in a moment, dozens of arrows rained down upon him. Gary raised his glowing shield, shimmering more violently than ever, and tried to block them. Yet even so, one arrow hit his leg, and he fell off his mount. Ten black armored bull-horns sprang out, with cruel maces in their hands, and their faces were covered with black bull skulls. Storm, though wounded in the chest with two arrows, kicked one of them to shield Gary. But after another arrow lodged into his stomach he faltered also, and sprawled onto his side. Gary, recovering a bit, drew his sword, enraged by the death of his horse. Nine of the ambushers leaped forward, and Gary blocked their maces with his shield, feeling the painful impacts in his shield arm. He took a chance and stabbed one of them in the neck. The eight others jumped back and formed a circle around him. Unexpectedly, Furs snarled madly, and sprang into the battle. They fought until there were only six enemies left standing, silent but for their hoarse panting. The arrow in Gary’s back seemed to crack his bones, for it was poisoned. Knowing that he needed help soon, he drew out a bronze horn, gift from Leon, and blew it several times. This seemed to rouse the bull-horns again, and they rushed him from all directions, as if finally deciding to dispose of him. Gary was overwhelmed, and as he fought, the largest bull-horn, supposedly the captain, arose to confront him. The others withdrew, forfeiting the right of killing him. The bullhorn lashed at Gary with its scimitar, but Gary caught its blade with his sword. They swung and slashed back and forth, while the others circled them, drinking in the battle. Just then, an answering horn was blown nearby, and a group of twenty city guards rushed to his rescue, hewing down the nearest bull-horns. The captain roared for his comrades to retreat, but lunged himself at Gary, and they locked together, scimitar and sword. Sweat ran down Gary’s face as he felt his opponent’s weight bearing down on him. Looking up, all he could see was a pair of blood red eyes. It was no human, nor elf, nor dwarf, nor even any race ever existing on Umatelsa. Gary’s sword splintered from the hilt, and the scimitar swiped into his side. Luckily, he took a step back before being hit, or his waist would have been severed. Desperately, he kicked the bull-horn in the stomach, and it staggered. Without wasting any time, Gary slammed his shield into its helm, and the enemy toppled over onto the ground. The captain struggled wildly, but Gary struck a shard of his broken sword into its neck. With it, went the last of his strength.

The guards by now had driven the attacking bull-horns away, and came to help the warrior up. But Gary was beyond rising now. The poison on the arrow was taking effect now, and he felt dizzy, and his eyes blurred. He felt death clawing greedily at him. Leaning against a tree, he called to Furs, who fell two enemies and was still unhurt.

“From now on, you’ll have to take care of Rhond and Dana,” he said softly.

“What are you talking about? You’ll be fine after receiving some healing,” said Furs, a bit nervous.

“My time is up. I have to go now.” Gary smiled weakly, shaking his head.

“But what about the…”

“This is not my war. My work is done in this world. This war will last a long time, and it will be for the younger ones,” interrupted Gary.

“How do you know?” said Furs, confused.

“A dying man may see many things that have not been foretold,” he whispered, and then gripped Furs, eyes blazing, and his voice grew strong. “Take them far away from the village. When he has proven himself worthy, give him the map of the island…” He handed an old map to Furs.

“To find the Sword!” Furs finished the sentence Gary was about to say. “So this is the secret that you have carried for all these years.”

“I left the city…partly because…too perilous to keep the map there.” Gary began to gasp for air.

“I will do it, I promise.” Furs said, choking back a whine.

“The enemy…will try to…to find it. Must…not…let them…have the…Sword,” stammered Gary with his last strength.

“Go in peace, old friend,” said Furs solemnly. Sighing deeply as if a great burden was lifted off him, Gary closed his eyes. The guards were shocked, for the Red Dragon was as a legend to them, and it was so unreal to see him die before their very eyes. When they finally stirred to carry his body, Furs was nowhere in sight.



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King Leon lifted the white sheet covering Gary’s body with a trembling hand. What he saw was a pale face, hard and gaunt but noble in death, with a hint of a smile on his lips. He was a warrior, and the greatest honor for a warrior was to die in battle. The guards stood woefully along the side, stealing glances at the legendary warrior.

“I feared it would be so,” whispered the king, and his voice trembled despite his fortitude. Then he straightened himself to hide his grief. “He died well, and will always be honored in our halls.” He waited until the guards bore Gary’s body to the healers, who would bathe and ready his body for burial, and waved the servants out. Then he wept alone for his old friend.

When Gary’s body had been properly buried alongside all the bodies of the warriors of old, Leon came to visit. He slid his hand across the white stone that marked his grave, and touched the symbols that spelled his name. There was a tiny red dragon carved into it, and its two hollow eyes stared out at him. What the Red Dragon had left was more than his name, his glory and his memory.

“I will avenge you,” Leon said darkly. An owl took flight, mighty wings embracing the night sky, witness to the solemn vow in the darkness.

The silver moon shimmered upon the tombs, where the forlorn dead would long linger in the deepest of shadows.