Chapter Two: An Old Man

Dramon awoke in a straw bed covered in a cold sweat. He felt hot as if he had been put in a furnace. The whole dream flooded back over him again, and Dramon forgot all about the strange surroundings he was now in. Pain surged through his body as he sat up, “Kale...”

“Lie down, boy, and try not to move,” said a bearded man entering the room. “You and your friend are safe now. You’re both very lucky to even be alive.”

“Where am I? Where is my brother?” Dramon groaned as he tried to get out of bed.

“You, and your brother, are off the shelf and into the frying pan at best,” answered the man as he lowered Dramon back into bed.

“Where’s my brother old man,” Dramon shouted as he weakly grabbed the man’s white cloak.

“Your brother is resting in the other room,” replied the man calmly as he removed Dramon’s hands, “just like you should be doing right now.”

“What happened?” asked Dramon looking at his weak hands lying on the bed. “I’ve never felt so weak before.”

“You and your brother were in a death dream, and if another hour had past you would have been beyond my aid.” The old man took a mortar and pestle, and ground up a few dry leaves and a piece of dry bark into a fine red powder. He put half into a small wood tube that he laid in the fire, and sprinkled the other half of it into a bowl of water that instantly started to steam and release a sweet smell. The man then propped up Dramon’s head and put the bowl to his lips, “Drink this it will help you regain your strength.”

Dramon took a sip of the sweet smelling water; it tasted like honey mixed with cinnamon. Dramon could feel the drink in his gut cool down his core. Dramon took a second bigger gulp of the drink; the cooling feeling surge throughout his body. With a little more coaxing from the old man Dramon finished drinking the little bowl of red water.

“Now get some rest, boy,” said the old man as he walked to the door. “You’re going to need it if I’m right.”

The door now closed the room was completely dark except for the low red light from the fireplace. Dramon couldn’t help but think about his past life, what had just happened, and the feeling that he was about to be taken in over his head. The aroma from the burning powder had filled the room with its sweet smell. Dramon’s thoughts turned to Zohreh, and the thought that somehow he had put her into more danger than he had ever been in before. Dramon’s eyes began to droop as he breathed more of the sweet smell in. Dramon suddenly felt the weight of something, something he had long put off from picking up—responsibility. He finally fell asleep.



“Boys sit down please,” said the old man already sitting down. “We have a lot to talk about.”

Kale and Dramon both sat down on cushioned chairs opposite of the old man. The old man looked them both in the eye. “You two have no idea who you are, do you,” said the old man as he leaned back into his chair.

“What,” Dramon exclaimed squinting his left eye.

“We know who we are I’m Kale and he is Dramon,” answered Kale slightly infuriated. “And who are you anyway?”

“My name is Harkenson servant of the True Magic and a member of the White Council,” answered the old man “but that is hardly important at the moment. Do you know what these are?” continued Harkenson as he held out two silver trimmed daggers sheathed in two black leather scabbards, one bore a golden lion with a crown and the other an ivory knight on a horse. Kale and Dramon knew them alright.

“Hey, give those back,” shouted Dramon as he lunged for the daggers, but Harkenson pushed Dramon back into his seat with a wave of his hand.

“Please, tell me where you got them from,” asked Harkenson as he tossed the lion dagger to Kale and the knight dagger to Dramon.

“Our father gave them to us before he died,” answered Kale staring at the lion’s face. “He said never to sell them: that they would actually bring us to our destines in life.”

“Your father was right,” said Harkenson standing up and pulling a brown leather bound book from a shelf. Blowing off the dust on the cover Harkenson put it on the table between Kale and Dramon’s chairs. “There are certain tokens of power that are only reveal themselves when prophesy becomes flesh and bone.”

Kale stared at the illustrations then at the words then back at the illustrations. Dramon squinted at the words on the pages, before staring at the illustrations of the daggers that he and Kale both held in their hands. After a moment of staring at the pages Kale looked up at Harkenson with a look of distress on his face. A second later, Dramon gave Harkenson the same kind of look as Kale had.

Harkenson sighed heavily as he realized the truth, “You boys can’t read, can you?”

Both Kale and Dramon dropped their eyes and shook their heads. “It didn’t seem useful when living in the streets,” Kale said quietly.

“That adds to the things we’ve got to work through,” muttered Harkenson as he rubbed his eyes, “and we are run short on time if I’m right.”

“Could you please explain yourself now,” asked Dramon lifting the book up.

“Yes, yes,” answered Harkenson as he motioned for them to sit down again. “As you have noticed, your daggers match those illustrated in this book, but what you don’t know is the importance behind the daggers.” Harkenson leaned in a little closer to Kale and Dramon before continuing, “Your dagger, Kale, is the Right of Rule, a heirloom of the royal family of Deallvare, it was lost two hundred years ago.”

“That makes no sense,” interrupted Kale as he looked at the dagger. “What was our father doing with it then?”

“It is a mystery that is not important at this time, now,” answered Harkenson sharply. “Kale, I hope you realize that with this dagger the next true ruler of Deallvare will be chosen.”

“How does that happen?”

“There is a special ceremony for that, which you will have an important part in.” Harkenson then faced Dramon, “Your dagger, Dramon, has not been seen in over four thousand years; it is the dagger of the White Knight of Legend.”

“I sure he’s important somehow, but who is he?” asked Dramon scratching his head.

“That is a fair question as few now live that remember, or know the history, of the White Knight.” Harkenson answered as he picked up another book and began turning though the pages. Reaching his desired page, Harkenson turned the book towards Kale and Dramon. The illustration on the page was a simple black and white drawing of two boys plainly dressed sitting in front of half circle of wizards with long beards, plain robes, and each with a lantern on a staff. The illustration suddenly gained colour and began to move and change as Harkenson’s voice echoed out into the room. “Over four thousand years ago before the first kingdom was established there was only one type of magic, only one order of wizards, and peace throughout the whole world. At the time the White Council took an interest in a human boy and a young elf, both of which showed a natural ability in the use of True Magic. As the training of the two progressed, they each began to delve deeper into the purpose of True Magic. The young elf, however, started to twist the purpose of True Magic into something dark.”

The illustration had progressed to the young elf being thrown out into the rain as an unhappy group of wizards and a young man stare out after him. “The elf was thrown out for his corruptive influence on True Magic. In a rage the elf attacked the White Council wielding his corrupt Dark Magic, but the young man defeated the elf and drove him off into the northern mountains. The man then set about the task of teaching Elemental Magic to the different races as a way to better develop their societies, but no one was ever found who could master all eight aspects of Elemental Magic.”

The illustration was now filled with a wicked army of trolls, goblins, and several bald black cloaked men all following a tall, black-iron clad elf. “Years later the elf returned with an army ravaging the land as he marched towards the White Council. The man, however, met this army with an army of his own. A great battle ensued that lasted three days, and in the end the elf’s army was put to the sword with great cost.”

“Unwilling to sacrifice any more lives, or let the elf escape punishment, the man forged out of True Magic a sword, shield, and an interlocking white suit of armour to give him the protection he needed fight the elf and his remaining followers.” The illustration now showed the black iron clad elf facing off against the White Knight as the seven members of the White Council watched from a mountain peak and the elf’s dark followers watch from below. “After days of pursuing the White Knight finally gave personal combat to the elf. The combat last into the evening and finally the elf unleashed the Dark Magic within himself to reveal his true form, the Black Dragon. They fought all that night, and as the first rays of morning light the White Knight gained the advantage and slew the Black Dragon, who fell into a great chasm. With his last breath the Black Dragon proclaimed that he fell only to rise later. In a final act to protect the world from any return of the Black Dragon, the White Knight forged all of his knowledge, power, armour, and weapons into a single dagger that disappeared into the air as the White Knight breathed his last. That dagger is the same dagger that you have in your hand right now, Dramon.” The illustration had now turned into the dagger as Harkenson finished and closed the book. The room became silent as everyone looked at the dagger in Dramon’s hand.

“So does my having it make me the next White Knight,” asked Dramon with a spark in his eye.

“No,” answered Harkenson, “it has been foretold that the dagger would reappear with a caretaker that would, in the time of greatest need, find the next White Knight.”

The spark in Dramon’s eyes flickered a bit like a candle that doesn’t blow out easily. “Oh, I hoped it...” Dramon let his words drop off into nothing.

“Your part is just as important as you think it is,” said Harkenson to Dramon before addressing both of them. “To accomplish the purposes that you have been given the two of you are going to be the focus of everything evil in this world, but the parts that the two of you will play will be the stuff of legends, things that people read about and marvel at.”

“However, I think we have all had enough sleep for one day,” said Harkenson as he sprang up and walked to the only door in the room. “Wake up breakfast will be ready in a moment.” Harkenson then walked through the door and shut it behind him.