The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) (16 page)

CHAPTER
28

“Kanon’d’har will come to rail against the Dark Lord”

-Elven prophecy

V
alaron opened his eyes and blinked. Galdor stood over him.

“Wake up,” Galdor said.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Valaron jumped up and struggled to clear his head, his dagger in his hand.

“Look for yourself.” Galdor pointed at the dragon. A huge smile covered his face.

Valaron turned to see Draegon fast asleep and breathing easy.

“The elves were here early this morning,” said Galdor. “They say he is going to be fine. He is tired, of course, but then so am I.” He laughed and slapped Valaron on the back.

Looking past rider’s shoulder, Galdor suddenly stopped laughing. “It looks like we have company,” he said.

Valaron turned to see
Pen’d’roh
walk stiffly to where they were standing. He was accompanied by four grim elven warriors.

“Cler’d’roh wishes to speak with you,”
Pen’d’roh
said evenly.

Valaron looked at the four elves standing behind
Pen’d’roh
. They returned Valaron’s stare.

“And if I choose not to accompany you,” said Valaron. “What then?”

“Cler’d’roh wishes to speak with you,”
Pen’d’roh
repeated slowly, “and that is what is going to happen.”

Valaron stared at
Pen’d’roh
for some time, his jaw working and his anger growing.

Galdor leaned his head toward Valaron. “I believe I would go with them if I were you,” he said, keeping his eyes on the elves.

Valaron glanced at Galdor who was standing with his hand lightly resting on the hilt of his sword. Galdor’s posture had not gone unnoticed by the elves who fingered their own weapons.

“This is ridiculous,” fumed Valaron. He motioned for
Pen’d’roh
to lead the way and fell in beside him, all but one of the elves marching close behind. The last elf stood facing Galdor, his hand on his sword.

“Nice day,” said Galdor, his stare cold and hard. The elf stood silent; unmoving. Convinced that Galdor would not try to follow, the elf turned and sprinted to catch up to the others.

Galdor let out a long sigh. “Well, that was fun.” He watched the elves lead Valaron toward Cler’d’roh’s tent.

“What is this all about?” asked Valaron as he walked with the elves toward their camp.

“Cler’d’roh wishes to speak with you,” repeated
Pen’d’roh
.

“So it would seem,” grunted Valaron. They walked on in silence.

CHAPTER
29

Kanon’d’har

-Elf Man

V
alaron entered the tent where Cler’d’roh sat waiting. “What is the meaning of. . .” he began.

“Sit down,” she interrupted. Her smile was meant to be disarming, but it only increased Valaron’s anger.

“And what’s to keep me from leaving?” he asked hotly.

“You are aware of the five elven warriors that are guarding my tent,” she answered, her voice light and sweet. “Also be aware that they have orders to keep you here until we have finished.” She motioned to a cushion and said, “Please, sit down.”

Valaron remained standing and stared hotly at Cler’d’roh who smiled and waited. Finally, he fell heavily onto the cushion. “Well?” he snapped, waiting.

“There is much you do not know,” began Cler’d’roh, “and the time has come for you to be told. Do you know why my guards turned you away from my tent the other night?” she asked.

Valaron did not answer.

“It was because you were angry,” she said, answering her own question.

“How do you know I was angry?” he snapped. “I never even got to see you, much less talk to you.”

“That is my point,” she replied. “I knew you were angry because I could feel it.”

Valaron’s anger slowly gave way to confusion.

“I am going to tell you things, Valaron. Things about elven history and prophecies. Things about my people that have been hidden for thousands of years.” She looked at her hands nervously and added, “I am going to tell you what no human has ever been told.”

Valaron was surprised to see her uncertainty. Cler’d’roh had always been confident and strong. Now she seemed weak and vulnerable, almost afraid.

“You must promise me that you will never speak of these things you hear today.” Her eyes met his and she appeared in the moment as a fragile young girl.

“Of course,” Valaron replied, his anger quickly forgotten. “You have my word.”

Cler’d’roh called out, and
Pen’d’roh
’s head instantly appeared through the tent flap. “Have food sent at the noon hour. There are to be no other interruptions.”
Pen’d’roh
nodded and vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

“First things first,” said Cler’d’roh. “You seem to have a problem with Franklin, and I think I can guess what it is.” She looked him in the eyes and continued, “Franklin is my friend, and the reason that upsets you has to do with some of the things I must explain.” She cleared her throat. “Friendship means more to my people than it does to humans. It implies an intimacy that is more akin to human marriage.”

Valaron looked at her sharply, and she held up her hand to stop him from speaking.

“Not physically, but emotionally. My people carry what is called the ‘blessed curse’. Our emotions are magnified more than any human could ever understand. The least of our joy exceeds ecstasy, and our smallest irritation borders on insane rage. Because of this, my people warred against one another in the time that came and went; before Mael took Fraedol for his bride. The least provocation resulted in horrible civil wars between the clans. Tens of thousands of my people were killed. Elves were in jeopardy of dying off as a race.” She looked embarrassed as she continued. “We are not proud of our past. It is rarely spoken of even among our elders.

“Once there were twelve elven cities, all of them beautiful beyond description. They lay scattered throughout Ashandor like precious jewels. Elves covered the land, but because of our rage, now only Loeath’d’nah remains. Not a stone is standing of the other cities. We were slowly destroying ourselves in our endless wars.” Cler’d’roh stared into the distance for a long time.

“Skarson never mentioned any of this when he taught me the ancient history,” said Valaron.

“He does not know. No human does.” Cler’d’roh looked nervously around the tent. “Valaron, this is a secret that we have guarded with our lives. There are no written records. We only keep the memory alive through spoken tradition, warnings of what we will become if we ever drop our guard.

“It was the pureness of Fraedol that showed us another way.” A smile crossed her lips. “She taught us how to control our emotions. By using the morning rituals which include a special herb, we gather together our joys and our hurts, our anger and our frustration, and we bring them down to a level that we can control. We have to do this every day, Valaron,” she said, her voice breaking. Cler’d’roh paused and he watched her gather herself. “Every day,” she repeated, her voice a mere whisper. “If we abandon the rituals and stop taking the calming herb, our emotions will run out of control. As I said, it is called the ‘blessed curse’.”

Valaron thought for a moment. “So that is why you always seem so distant,” he said
.
“
S
o unreachable.”

Cler’d’roh nodded. “I knew you were angry because I could feel it. I felt it grow even as you did. My people can feel the emotions of others. We constantly struggle against our own desire to join that rush of power. This is the danger of the Wild-Elves. They have abandoned the rituals and the calming herb. They are returning to the old ways. Shaen’d’far wants to build a warrior society. The reason my feelings for Franklin upset you is because they are the feelings of an elf,” she explained. “They are magnified many times, so you see them as something more than they really are. Franklin is my friend,” she said, “and so are you.”

“So when I am angry, you not only feel it, but you have to fight to keep from adding your own anger?”

“Yes. And so do you.”

“What does this have to do with me?” he asked.

“Your mother was an elf,” she answered, “and more of her blood runs through your veins than does your father’s.”

“How can you know that?”

“The prophecies.” she replied. “They tell us that the One Rider will be of mixed birth, and though he appears as a man, he is much more. Prophecy calls him
Kanon’d’har; the Elf-
M
an
. It literally translates into the elf from the clan of men.” She watched him closely. “You are the One Rider. Of that, I am now certain. Your dragon’s illness was prophesied, as well. Had he died, I would not be telling you these things. Yet, he lives.” She smiled a knowing smile. “You are the One Rider, Valaron. There is no doubt.”

He sat quietly as she continued, “Are you not struggling to control your emotions? Do you not feel anger that totally consumes you? Does your joy become unbounded at times? There is an emotional swing building inside of you that makes you elven in every way. I must teach you to control your emotions or they will grow beyond your ability to manage them. Without the discipline of the rituals and the calming herb, you will become like the Wild-Elves, barbaric and uncontrollable. That is their heresy.” She hesitated, started to speak, and stopped.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Cler’d’roh lowered her eyes. “Shaen’d’far and his followers derive pleasure from the emotions of others. They torment captives just to feed on their terror and pain. It is like an intoxicating drink. I have seen what tortures they are willing to perform on innocent victims just to satisfy their lusts.” Cler’d’roh shuddered. “Shaen’d’far desires the old ways of the clans. He wants to rebuild the cities and reestablish the warrior ways. As Skarson mentioned while we were in the mountains, the twelve clans were divided into three Houses in the time that came and went, the time before Fraedol. Shaen’d’far and the Wild-Elves wish to return to the days of clan territories. They mark their faces with the clan markings and abandon the rituals in hopes of gaining an advantage over Klan’d’ron. Their emotions run unchecked. Shaen’d’far wants the warrior way, Valaron.” She leaned closer. “That will be your path unless you learn to embrace the way of Fraedol. You are an elf in a human body. Yet at the same time, your whole is more than the parts. The One Rider is much, much more.”

Cler’d’roh placed her hand on Valaron’s arm. “You have been given gifts that no man has ever possessed. Gifts that even you are unaware of.”

Without thinking, he placed his hand on hers as he listened.

“I tell you now a thing hard to bear.” She paused and picked her words carefully. “You will live a long life. Not in human terms, but a very long life. Your elven blood grants you a life-span that is beyond your comprehension.”

Valaron was speechless. This was too much to understand
, and
h
e felt as though he would
suffocate in
air too thick to take into his lungs.

“Barring accident or grave illness, you will easily live hundreds of years. Maybe more. Plus...” she stopped. “Are you all right?” she asked as he stumbled to his feet.

“I...” he started. “This...This is unbelievable. How can it be?” he asked. “Look at me. I am a human. I should live seventy years and be happy.” He dropped his head. “This is too much,” he said. His voice became weak
, and h
is hands began to shake.

Cler’d’roh took his arm and pulled him gently back down. “It will take time to come to terms with some of this, but please believe me. I will not lie to you, and I will never hurt you.” She brushed the hair out of his eyes. “There is more,” she said.

He looked at her cautiously.

“You have the power to do the one thing that no Dragon Rider before you has ever done. You can touch the mind of your dragon.”

“You mean I can read his thoughts?” he asked.

“In a way,” she said. “My people have the ability to feel the emotions of animals, but for you it is more than a feeling. You will know his thoughts as soon as he does. Each will know what the other is feeling. He will turn in the air as you think it. You will know of his hunger when he first feels it. His anger will feed yours, and you will enjoy the feelings of contentment that he feels. The two of you are joined as no dragon and rider have ever bonded before,” she said. “You are the One Rider. You are Kanon’d’har.”

Valaron thought of what this could mean. They would move as one. Fight as one. Think as one. Each would instantly know the others thoughts—their needs. “Why have I not felt this before?” he asked.

“You have,” she replied. “It was understanding that you lacked. Now that you know, you can reach out and feel him with your mind no matter the distance that separates you. He will always be there for you.” She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I envy you that comfort, never having to be alone.”

The tent flap opened and a meal was brought in. Cler’d’roh ate as Valaron picked at the food. They sat in silence for a long time while he struggled to come to terms with the things he was hearing.

He finally turned to her and said, “There is more.”

Cler’d’roh sighed. “Yes,” she answered. “The prophecy says that Kanon’d’har has come to battle the Dark Lord.”

“
Praelix
,” he muttered.

“No, Valaron. The King is but a fool.” She leaned closer. “There is another—a wizard,” she said. “He is the true enemy yet he remains hidden. The prophecy says that he will come to possess Aradorn, Fraedol’s Stone of Power, and once again our land will be thrust into darkness. This unknown wizard is the one you have come to stand against.”

“But not kill?”

Cler’d’roh hesitated, looking at her hands. “That is unclear,” she said.  “The future is sure, yet it is not certain.”

“Is there a difference?” he asked.

“It is a language problem.” She looked frustrated. “Your tongue does not have the words that let me translate it clearly.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “A thing may be known to happen,” she explained. “That would be sure;
Sharoom
in my tongue. The outcome. The particulars. That is the certainty; the
Sharaem
.”

“Prophecy can be sure of an event, but not certain of its outcome.” She looked at him with a hint of fear. “That you will meet the Dark Lord in battle is
Sharoom
.
I
t is sure,” she said. “Whether or not you will succeed, the
Sharaem
,
is unknown.”