The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) (19 page)

CHAPTER
34

“Darkness is a light that shines bright in those who seek power”

-Elven saying

M
oeldor stopped at the top of a ridge overlooking the palace and turned to survey the scene below. The plain lay covered in bodies, and the rebel forces were gathered inside the city.

“Why are we stopping,” asked Kragh. “We must keep moving!”

“Patience,” said Moeldor. He smiled and pulled Aradorn from his pocket. A soft rhythmic chant escaped from his lips. The wizard held the stone firmly in his hand and swayed in the growing darkness. A heavy mist formed on the plain and moved quickly over Kalador. A blanket of thick, rolling fog covered the palace and crawled up the mountain. Moeldor held up his hand to the approaching fog. It stopped, banking high at their feet.

“Follow me,” he said, pocketing the stone.

They marched deeper into the mountains and made their way up an incline where they came to a wide trail that turned to the west. Moeldor followed the trail until well after midnight. He turned back into the forest and led them through the thickets that dropped off the back side of the ridge and into a narrow valley.

The Morts followed Moeldor farther up the valley until they came to another thicket, pushed their way through, and stumbled out on the other side into a wide glade. In the center of the green field
there
stood an immense tower of
black marble. The walls of
stood straight and smooth three hundred feet into the night sky. The band of refugees stood looking up at the black spire as the moon made its way over the mountains. The rays of moonlight were swallowed by the black stone walls.

#

Cler’d’roh lay on the ground in the heavy fog outside the city gate.
Pen’d’roh
pushed his way through a host of elves, Valaron and Skarson close behind. Fen’d’mar was attending to Cler’d’roh’s wounds. He turned to speak with
Pen’d’roh
.

“What is he saying?” asked Valaron

“She is gravely injured,” Skarson translated. “They must take her back to Loeath’d’nah at once. Her only hope of survival is at the hands of the elven healers.”

Cler’d’roh’s face shone ghostly white as they placed her on the litter. Her clothes were covered in blood and stuck to her slim form. Bones pushed through the skin from a break below the elbow of her left arm. A Mort arrow was sticking out of her shoulder, and a savage cut crossed her stomach. The elves had managed to stop the bleeding, but not before she had lost quite a bit of blood. Her face was drawn in pain as they applied a splint to her broken arm.

“They will leave immediately,” said
Pen’d’roh
. “If fate is kind, they will reach Loeath’d’nah before it is too late.” The elves picked up the litter and raced off through the fog. The others stood staring in disbelief long after the elves had vanished in the heavy mist.

Shamesh and Shmiosh came out of the fog and wormed their way through the throng of elves. Shamesh pulled Skarson down by his arm. “The wizard has broken the riddle,” he said. “Moeldor has taken the stone and is leading a small band of Morts into the mountains behind the palace. Aradorn is gone!”

“We must find him,” said Skarson. “Aradorn can grant him the power to become a great sorcerer. Moeldor has a black heart, and we will face a terrible enemy if he learns how to use Aradorn’s power.”

“So, Moeldor is the wizard!” exclaimed Valaron.

“Yes,” replied Skarson. “We did not know who it was until I met with the dwarves. They have known of his power for some time now. Moeldor is our real enemy, and he has broken the dwarves’ riddle. He has taken Aradorn, Fraedol’s Stone of Power. We have to follow him and take it back before he learns how to unleash its power.”

“I will go,” offered Valaron. “I can take a force into the mountains and recover Aradorn. Their trail should be easy to follow.”

“I am afraid that you will have to wait until morning,” replied Skarson. “There is no way to track them in this fog.”

“I will gather together a band of dwarves and accompany you,” said Olkin. “We know the mountains better than any.”

“
Willem
and the Lone Riders will go as well,” said Skarson.

“Very well,” answered Valaron. “Be ready to leave at first light.”

#

The rebels camped just outside the city gates. Valaron sipped his elven tea as he and Olkin talked by the fire. “There is something that I do not understand,” said Valaron. “If your people are such great warriors, how did the Morts ever gain their advantage in the ancient days when Maladron ruled Ashandor?”

“We were not always warriors, Kanon’d’har,” replied Olkin. “We were simple miners when we found Aradorn hidden under the mountain. Our people had lived in peace for thousands of years. They worked in the mines and crafted metal and stone for all the peoples of Ashandor. We foolishly thought the evil of the Dark Son to be of no concern and lived our lives in peace, ignoring the suffering around us until it was too late.”

“When Maladron learned that we had uncovered Aradorn
,
he attacked with his Mort army and wiped out most of my people. They murdered young and old alike, mothers, fathers, children—it made no difference to the Morts. They killed everything that moved.
There were o
nly a handful
of my people who
survived by hiding deep in the mines.” Olkin shuddered in the cold fog and pulled his cloak tighter around his broad shoulders. “From that time on, we vowed never again to fall to the hands of a Mort. Since that day, we have trained as warriors. We waited for the proper time to harvest our revenge.” Olkin sat tall and proud in the flickering light of the fire, his blood-stained battle ax resting lightly across his knees. “Today, we have proven ourselves.”

Skarson watched
Draegon as he stood listening
.
Draegon crooned softly in the firelight
, stretched out his neck,
and
spread his hood
.

“When
Carloe
came to ask for our help,”
said
Olkin, “Shamesh decided that now was the time to set right our mistakes of the past. Only one thing remains.”

“And what is that?” asked Valaron

“We must retrieve Aradorn and destroy it as the elves wanted. Their wisdom was greater than ours, and now my people’s arrogance places all of Ashandor in great jeopardy.”

Draegon popped his jaws and settled onto his side. Low growls rumbled from deep within his throat, a warning that the others did not ignore. They moved farther away until the dragon seemed satisfied the he could rest in peace.

#

Valaron returned from his morning ritual as the sun was burning off the fog. He met Olkin and
Willem
and prepared to lead the war party into the mountains. Galdor, the Lone Riders, and the dwarves who had volunteered to accompany them were talking when Skarson and Cortain arrived.

“Has anyone seen Toran?” said Valaron

“I heard that he left with Vic before the battle started,” said Cortain.

“That cannot be right. He would not leave without telling me.”

“He is not among the fallen,” said Skarson. “And no one has seen Vic.”

Valaron could not believe that Toran would run away. He had always been a loyal friend.
“We are ready to go,” offered Valaron.

“I am afraid that you will not be going anywhere,” replied Skarson.

“What?” exclaimed Valaron. “It was you who said that we must move quickly if we are to stop Moeldor. It is my destiny to face this new wizard. I cannot turn away from my duty.”

“Calm yourself, Valaron. Your duty lies here. These others will go, but you have more pressing business.” Skarson and Cortain grinned broadly and looked at each other.

“What business is that?” asked Valaron.

“Your dragon is heavy with eggs, son” answered Cortain. “He will be grounded for several days.”

Valaron was speechless. He had forgotten that Draegon was capable of laying a clutch of eggs. “How do you know?” he asked.

“The signs are there,” answered Skarson. “In time you will learn to see them yourself, but for now be content with your duty to rebuild the Dragon Guard. The eggs are just the beginning. We will need to prepare others for the bonding.
Willem
can lead the chase into the mountains. You will have to stay here.”

“I will stay with the One Rider,” said Olkin as he walked to Valaron’s side. “Kanon’d’har is young and needs a brave warrior by his side. I, Olkin, am such a warrior,” he said, loudly thumping the butt of his battle ax on the ground. The dwarf stood as tall as he could and looked proudly at the others, his face split by a broad smile.

“Uldor can take my place. He is almost as fine a warrior as I.” Olkin laughed loudly, pushed the stout dwarf forward, and clapped him on the back. “Uldor is a killer of Morts,” he said. “One of the best. His hammer swings true!” A deep bow from Uldor acknowledged the compliment. He joined the other dwarves and fell into their ranks behind Shamesh and Shmiosh. Uldor’s blood-stained hammer sat loosely over his shoulder.
Willem
gathered his force and marched off into the mountains.

Valaron watched them disappear into the forest behind the palace wall. He silently wished them luck and cursed the fact that he could not accompany them. His thoughts turned to Cler’d’roh as he pictured the elves racing toward Loeath’d’nah. Her injuries were severe.
Pen’d’roh
refused to answer any questions about her fate, hiding his emotions behind his elven training.

Valaron looked off to the south. He wondered if the elves would reach their healers in time. “So many things remain unknown,” he thought to himself. “I was sure that removing the King would be the end of my duty, but more lies ahead
,
much more.” He watched as the sun burned off the last wisps of fog
and wondered why Toran would desert him when he was needed most
.

CHAPTER
35

Darkness all around.

-Lament

Kragh stared at the marble tower that climbed high over his head. The black walls were smooth from age and appeared to be nearly transparent, absorbing any light that struck them. “What is this place?” he growled.

“You will see soon enough,” replied Moeldor.

He led his band of Morts through the entrance and into the dim light. They made their way up into the heart of the tower and climbed a circular staircase of worn slate. Their steps echoed off of the stone walls. Rows of torches flickered against the black marble as they climbed higher. At last Moeldor left the stairs and led the Morts through a large arched doorway, then into a long hall
way
that stretched out under a high ceiling.

They walked past rows of fluted columns set on either side of the great hall. The floor was inlaid with gold. Precious stones set into the walls reflected the light of the torches. A rainbow of colors filled the room. The wizard and his Mort companions crossed to the far end of the hall. They approached a dark throne situated on a raised dais of solid gold. Moeldor bowed deeply and handed over Aradorn, the Stone of Power.

“Finally,” said Maladron. He lustfully fingered the stone. “You have done well, Moeldor.” The Dark Son’s voice was sweet like the call of a songbird in the early spring morning. Its soft, baritone timbre was disarming, and the lilting pace of his speech mesmerized those who heard it. Maladron rose from his throne and strode down the steps to face the band of renegades. “Go and rest. I will call when I have need of you.” He dismissed them with a nod. Moeldor and the Morts left the throne room.

Maladron closed his eyes. “See, mother,” he whispered, fingering the pink stone. “My patience has received its due.”

A figure slowly emerged from the deep shadows at the back of the throne room. Maladron turned to face the approaching footfalls. The tall elf bowed before the Dark Son. He slowly straightened to reveal the unmistakable facial markings of the Wild-Elves. A black star sat above his right eye and four black streaks crossed from his right jaw up to his left temple. The pigment was applied under the skin in a painful ritual that permanently branded the wearer, forever identified by House and Clan affiliation.

“Well, Shaen of Clan Far,” spoke Maladron. “Are you convinced? I have Aradorn as I predicted.”

“You have kept your word,” agreed the elf.

“Yes,” said Maladron. “I always do.” He smiled and stepped closer. “Because of Vaelor’s deception, I will soon have need of your unique services. This new dragon that threatens my power is an offspring of
Nathal
’s beast, the vile monster that took away my beloved Aradorn. Vaelor’s dragon somehow survived and produced this new, black abomination. It lays eggs even now to rebuild the accursed Guard.” Maladron face revealed his anger. “Soon there will be many dragons for you to kill. I trust you will find that enjoyable.” The Dark Son’s stepped closer. “I also trust that your return to the old ways is more than empty rhetoric. Elves were once great dragon hunters. I expect nothing less from you and your followers.”

“Our promises will be kept,” replied Shaen’d’far.

“Excellent.” Maladron smiled again. “Afterwards, I will help you overthrow Klan’d’ron the Arrogant. You, Shaen of Clan Far, can rebuild your elven cities and sit on your throne.”

“We await your orders, my Lord.” The leader of the Wild-Elves turned and left the royal chamber.

The Dark Son stood still in the flickering light. His long, black hair fell in soft curls around his shoulders. The fire from the torches that burned along the walls reflected a myriad of colors that danced over his smooth, white skin. Maladron’s face was the picture of beauty. Perfect proportions were highlighted by high cheekbones and a square chin.

A smile of madness slowly creased the Dark Son’s stunning features. The corners of his mouth twitched as he held Aradorn to the light. Maladron’s clear, blue eyes stared deeply into the Stone of Power. He inhaled sharply then quickly drew Aradorn close to his breast, his eyes searching the royal chamber. Satisfied that he was alone, Maladron slowly exhaled. His apprehe
nsion gave way to a dark scowl.

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