“What are you up to?” she whispered.
She refocused when two green scaled dragoons dragged King Manasseh’s lifeless body into the scene, laying him before the black monster. The vision then ended.
“Very interesting,” she contemplated. “Four stones and a fallen king. What do they mean?”
For the next several hours she scoured through the books and parchments strewn about the room. Xan had kept a grand collection over the centuries and there was much information to be gathered.
“What do we have here?” she said aloud. She read the passage in the book entitled Tales of the Ancients, “The ancient dragons searched for ways to prolong their spirits and worked with a human wizard of unknown origin. The wizard promised the old wyrms of the five colors that their spirits could be harnessed into younger bodies and they could live through eternity. However, he betrayed them and harnessed each of their powers into his own spirit. The wizard was known as the Dragon God, but was destroyed. Magical items pulling from the power of the natural elements of water, earth, air, and fire were created. When the age-old races banded together, bringing the antiquated heirlooms and combining the energy contained within them, the artifacts activated and opened a powerful portal, summoning the Dragon God against his will and casting him into it, to bring an end to the calamitous uprising.” Raina suddenly stopped as the next sentence spoke volumes. “The evil power of the wizard and the dragons were then separated and scattered throughout Ruauck-El in the form of the five colored stones.”
“Five colored stones,” she whispered. “They have four. They are looking for the fifth stone, but what does Manasseh have to do with this?” A flash of realization hit her.
Xan suddenly entered the room. The door was partially blocked with stacks of books and a couple of rows fell over with his sudden intrusion.
“What did you do to my library?” he exclaimed.
“You won’t care once I tell you what I have found, my brother. Come, we need to speak with King El’Korr.”
She whisked past him as he stood in the entryway looking around the disheveled room; his cherished collection of manuscripts tossed feverishly. Shaking his head, he closed the door and said under his breath, “Raina, this better be good.”
“Get your boys over that ridge and secure that location!” El’Korr demanded, pointing to an area on the wooden table, covered with maps.
“Yes sir!” the dwarf warrior responded as he back-peddled out of the room.
Raina and El’Korr, along with several of his generals, had spent time strategizing the best recourse for handling their growing numbers—thousands of remaining dwarves, elves, ordakians, and humans had come to them, seeking to serve the ones who had brought down Manasseh. The Moonstone Mountains were fine for training, but it would soon be unable to contain their masses or allow for a defensible position.
Geetock, a wild dwarf and longtime general under King El’Korr, stroked his knotted graying beard, and asked, “I know you are keeping the ranks busy here, so what is the real plan?”
El’Korr’s left eyebrow rose, “Very perceptive, Geetock. I’m planning on moving everyone to a place called the Shield, northwest of here. I need you and Rondee to coordinate with the others to get ready for the march, within days.”
“That is a lot to do in a short period of time.”
“Once the other Horn Kings verify Manasseh’s fall, they will begin strategizing their takeover into the North region. We can’t stay here. Moving to the Shield can give us a better defense and give us more time to gather strength.”
Geetock nodded his approval and said, “We will make it happen, my Malehk.”
“I know you will, my friend. Find Rondee and get him in here. I need to get him updated.”
“Yes sir.” Geetock exited just as Raina arrived.
“Raina! Where have you been?” El’Korr was surprised to see her in such a flustered state.
“Researching.”
“What information did you find?” El’Korr noticed Raina’s uneasiness. “You are troubled, and that makes me nervous.”
“I wish I carried happier news,” she responded.
“Clear the room!” El’Korr waved his arm in a sweeping motion.
Several wild dwarf sentries moved out of the room. Xan closed the door behind them and then turned to join Raina and El’Korr.
“What is it? I’m trying to secure the north ridge from those moonstone rock creatures.”
“They are the least of our worries,” she responded.
El’Korr glanced over to Xan, who shrugged. El’Korr was now concerned, as Raina did not get frazzled easily.
“A mystic of the West Horn is working with the black dragon, the same one who captured Bridazak and Xan,” she started her tale.
Xan shifted uncomfortably as he remembered being held hostage in the mouth of the beast.
She continued, “They are gathering the powerful dragon stones.”
Silence engulfed the room. El’Korr’s bushy orange eyebrow shot up on one side and he examined the tense posture of the mystic, noting her anxiousness. “So? I’m not following what that means exactly.”
“There are five colored rocks, each representing the dark dragon colors. Five ancient wyrms are held captive inside each of them. Once combined, under the right conditions someone could harness their powers and bring them back.” She stared at them to get some reaction, but the room remained silent.
“I’m still not following you. How do some crazy stones give me any reason to jump?”
“Where were these items placed, Raina?” Xan interjected.
“They were scattered across the realm and no one knew their location.”
“Well, there you have it. It appears it will take the mystic and the dragon quite a long time to gather their precious stones.” El’Korr shifted to the maps on his table, “Now in the meantime, it will take us a few more days to finish our training here before we march.” El’Korr looked up with excitement on his face, “Our new base will—,” he stopped short as he glanced back to Raina, her scowl communicating clearly. He cleared his throat, scrunching his brows as they wrinkled. “I guess I missed something.”
“I said were scattered. They have gathered four of the five stones.” She let this information hang in the air.
“Well, do they know where the fifth is located? If they don’t, then it could take quite some—”
Raina cut him off, “They also have the body of King Manasseh.”
“Now why would they need that foul corpse?” El’Korr blurted in disgust.
“I asked the same question, and I have surmised that Manasseh knew the location of the fifth stone.”
“But he is dead, and that knowledge died with him. There should be nothing to worry about, right?” El’Korr asked.
Xan, realizing what his sister had discovered, interjected, “The power of a black dragon combined with the dark magic of a mystic might possibly be able to bring back the dead.”
El’Korr paused. “That changes things. What do you suggest, Raina?”
“We need to find the elements originally created to destroy them.”
“Great, now it’s a mad search for things we know nothing about,” El’Korr responded.
“On the contrary, someone does know about the elements and their locations.”
“Who?” Xan quickly asked.
“I read of a Captain Yasooma. His life was dedicated to finding these elements in hopes of protecting the realm against anyone seeking the power of the five dragons.”
“Wonderful. Where is he?”
“He is dead, but I am certain he would have left behind some clues. The information we need from a long-dead man will be much harder to gather, when compared to what our enemies may already have, if they were successful. We are running out of time and we must go now.”
“Where do we start this search then?” El’Korr questioned.
“The great city of Tuskabar on the west coast, where he is buried,??
? she replied.
“Very well then, I will arrange for my men to hold the fort while we investigate. Rondee will accompany us.”
“My apologies King El’Korr,” Raina stated cryptically.
“Why do you apologize?”
The female mystic began her spell.
“Raina! No!” Xan countered, but it was too late.
Rondee burst through the door to see the swirling vortex of shimmering silver and gold energy. “My Malehk, de mosh teph me!” The wild dwarf dove into the dissipating remnants and was swallowed up just in time. The warped window of brilliant colors closed behind him and the crackling power sealed in an instant, leaving behind a low rumble of thunder in the distance.
Raina, Xan, and El’Korr found themselves standing inside an old wine cellar. Wooden aged barrels were lined up and stacked on either side of them. A musty smell of fermented alcohol assaulted their nostrils.
“Where are we?” El’Korr growled at Raina.
“Tuskabar.”
Suddenly, Rondee materialized and fell from above, landing on top of El’Korr. A clattering of armor sounded from the impact.
“What in dwarven hell!?”
“Malehk El’Korr rocks sembe float?” Rondee said in his bizarre verbiage.
“Du-maerde! Your rocks are going to be floating if you don’t get off of me.” El’Korr yelled angrily as Rondee helped him up, but then controlled his emotions and spoke calmly. “Raina, I understand you mean well, but I prefer to be asked to go somewhere and not forced.”
Xan stepped between them and tried to calm the situation, “She knows you better than any of us, and I suspect she teleported us now instead of waiting for you to plan out your departure. Apparently, this couldn’t wait.”
“My brother speaks the truth. I’m afraid we are called once again to protect the realm, but not with an army in tow.”
“What am I to do with you? Do you realize I was in the middle of planning a march to the Shield?”
“Yes, and last of my discoveries, that I hadn’t yet mentioned, is the location of the banishment portal for the Dragon God, which is at the very same place you named.”
El’Korr paused and then sighed, “Rondee, contact Geetock with your telepathy power and have him move the army to the Shield. Let him know that we are apparently on a side mission, and we will meet them there.”
Flaming torches atop long poles lit the trail for the unit of approaching dragoons. These creatures with the lizard-like heads spoke in a slithery language of their own—a race born from a mysterious lineage of dragon kin. Two of the dragoons dragged a human corpse by the arms. The sound of the cadaver’s black leather boots sliding along the cold stone floor echoed off the tunnel walls. They soon entered a large chamber where a monstrous black dragon, perched in the shadows atop an immense, worn stalagmite, awaited them. Attending the dragon was a human mystic adorned in black robes, clutching a jade staff topped with a ruby inset. The hooded wizard nodded as the dragoons plopped the body face down at his feet. They flanked their master, the dragon, and stood at attention.
“Are you powerful enough for this task, Mystic?” the booming voice of the dragon demanded inside the mage’s mind.
“Barawbyss, I taught my brother everything he knew. Manasseh will give us our information; that is certain.”
“Very well. Let the ceremony begin.”
The mage pulled back his hood. His pale skin glowed in this dark chamber, emanating a soft light through the black tattoos covering his bald scalp. Dark circles surrounded the deeply sunken eyes on his colorless face. He waved his staff over the corpse of the fallen King Manasseh and in a raspy arcane language, began to chant, the right side of his upper lip curling and revealing rotted teeth. “Shuul fha-té. Cal odem she et-kal.” His ruby crested staff began to glow brighter with each spoken word over the lifeless body. Slowly, Manasseh levitated and rotated until his face pointed to the ceiling. The chanting continued, “Telhal vatcu shadhal!” The dead man’s mouth opened wide.
The black dragon expanded its wings and leaned its head low. The toothy maw slowly opened and a single drop of saliva fell into Manasseh’s open-hanging jaw.
“Kobess-cay zesheil,” the mystic touched Manasseh’s chest with the tip of the brightly lit ruby as he finished his incantation. A surge of power, accompanied by a loud humming noise, jolted the corpse, which shook violently as a low gurgling sound rumbled from deep inside his gut and a foamy froth erupted from Manasseh’s mouth. The light dissipated and Veric backed away as Barawbyss retracted his wings and lifted his head.
Manasseh’s body continued to convulse; his long jet black hair flew wildly around his face with each violent rotation of his neck. Then all motion suddenly stopped. The body slumped and went limp.
“Can you hear me?” the mystic bent over to ask.
The blue lips of the corpse moved slightly as his dry voice replied in a hoarse whisper, “Yes.”
“What is your name?”
“Manasseh.”
The wizard righted himself and addressed Barawbyss, “It is complete.”
“Not until he gives us the answer we truly desire, Veric,” the dragon answered in his thoughts.
“Yes, of course,” the mystic leaned back toward Manasseh. “Where is the blue dragon stone?”
Manasseh’s body jerked, but he gave no answer. It was as though he was somehow resisting.
“Where is the blue dragon stone, Manasseh?” he asked again more forcefully.
Refusing to answer the question, he only replied, in a raspy, guttural tone, “I want revenge.”
Veric paused, looking to Barawbyss. The dragon glared back at him, “You will continue, Mage.”
“It is too dangerous to have him return.”
“You made your deal with me, that is no concern of mine. Continue!” he roared inside Veric’s mind.
Veric bowed low and turned again to Manasseh, “You will have your revenge, if you give us what we want.”
Manasseh slowly turned his head toward Veric and growled, “Bring me back first.”
“You can only name one soul. From whom amongst the living do you seek revenge?”
“Bridazak!”
Bridazak pointed to the old, edge frayed map, and asked, “Does any of this look familiar to you Spilf?”
He studied the markings, shook his head and said, “I just don’t see anything that stands out. I’m sorry.”
Dulgin growled, “Great! That’s wonderful, Stubby. We risk our necks for this map and—”
Bridazak held up his hand to stop him. He turned his back to the group, closed his eyes and silently prayed. He spun back a second later, a glint in his eyes.
“We obviously need to try something a little different.”
“What is your meaning, Master Bridazak?” Abawken inquired.
“Yeah, what do ya mean ‘different’?”
“Spilf, I want you to sit down with the map and ask for guidance on where to go.”
“Guidance?”
“Maybe there will be an impression or an instinct that comes when you concentrate. Let’s just try it. We have nothing to lose.”
Spilf sat as instructed, while the rest of them watched. Dulgin skeptically squinted, crossing his arms across his barrel chest.
The ordakian closed his eyes and began to focus on the memory of what God had shown him. It played back vividly in his mind. His mother was hit by the arrow and fell into the cold water. She pushed the canoe with all her remaining strength and told him to never come back and look for them. Tears were visible on Spilfer’s face as his friends continued to watch him relive the painful past he had forgotten—until God in the Holy City had shown him the memories he had lost.
Spilf then recalled the mist hovering over the lake engulfing him and the small vessel. While his eyes were still closed, an image of the map he held burst into his mind like a flash of light. He opened his eyes and without hesitation, pointed, “It’s here.”
Dulgin barged forth, ??
?What!? Let me see.” Spilf’s finger indicated a spot on the parchment that had no lake. It was a small area nestled at the base of the mountains. “There’s nothing there, ya blundering fool!”
Spilf turned to Bridazak, “I did as you asked and I feel it is there. I can’t explain it.”
“Well, that’s good enough for me, my friend,” Bridazak reassured him.
“What? You are going to follow this ridiculous eye-closing, finger-pointing, Ordakian-guessing? This is dwarfshit!”
“Dulgin, please calm down. We promised Spilf we would do what we could and all we have is this. Let’s make an adventure out of it, shall we?”
“Adventuring is one thing and sightseeing is another!” Dulgin stormed off, mumbling more obscenities under his breath.
Spilf shook his head, “You’d think meeting God would have changed even his heart.”
“Oh, his heart was changed,” Abawken responded, “Dulgin cares for each of us more deeply than before. His reconciliation to his brother and father, after hundreds of years, has undoubtedly disturbed some buried emotions and he is most likely a bit out of practice at letting those concerns show in any way other than dwarven anger.”
Each of them nodded in agreement before returning their attentions to the map.
“This location Spilf indicated will take several days to get to. Be mindful of our rations. There are no roads out here, so this map is a vital source,” Bridazak said.
At the break of dawn, the campfire, which had burned through the night, mingled the scent of charred wood with the refreshing brisk air of the new day. The heroes awoke and studied the rolling, treeless plains around them. In the distance, a maze of mountain ranges soared into the clouds. Throughout the rocky terrain were hundreds of bodies of water; some small, some vast. This area, known as the Endless Lakes, had notoriously taken the lives of a few travelers trying to navigate its seemingly peaceful but secretly deadly domain. This beautiful scenery was more dangerous than many creatures of the realm; some fell victim to the poisonous liquid appearing as clean as a fresh spring, others had died when drawn to the mesmerizing black-as-night waters, ready to swallow any passersby. It was easy to see why so few had ever seen this place, and how unknowing visitors could meet an untimely end.