The Dragonstone

The great Dragon Horn's call to arms shattered Thydreck's dream. He bolted upright on his bed and reached for Valgrind, his sword.

The bedroom doors were thrown open, Vizier Agras rushed through. "My lord, we're under attack!" he cried out as he wiped blood from his forehead and closed the doors behind him.

"How is this possible? It sounds like the battle is upon our very gate.” Thydrek responded in disbelief. “Why was the alarm not sounded before?"

"Sire, we are betrayed. Your brother is at the gates," said Agras.

Sounds of horns, the vanguard's personal call, came through the window. Peering out, he saw white banners with golden crosses flying in the wind upon the field below. His kingdom's emblem, and the y were marching against the castle.

Thydrek's mind reeled, "What treachery is this?"

Hopes of this being some nightmare vanished when he spotted the red flag in the middle, its white fist clenched tight in the center, his step-brother's personal sigil.

"Blast Marik, father's bastard son to hell and back,” Thydrek said looking toward the doors. Sounds of steel upon steel began behind them.

“What now sire?” the Vizier asked with a lost look upon his face.

"Quick, help me with my armor!" Thydrek stepped over to his closet, removed his mail armor and Agras helped him slide it over his head.

Thydrek the White Knight, his people called him, always standing for truth and justice. He was the heir to the throne of his late father, King Hadru, who had fallen off his horse in a hunting accident and died a few days later. The passing of his father had been hard on him.

He unsheathed his sword as he beckoned Agras to open the doors. With a lunge, he darted out. Boras, Yaldir and a few others of the royal guard were just outside; their swords blazed in the glory of protecting their future king. It gave him a glimpse that perhaps all was not lost.

"Thydrek get out of here!" yelled Boras.

"No! Not without Isolda," responded Thydrek grimly.

"The east quarter is blocked, there's no way to reach her. Sire, you must leave while we're still able to hold them off." Yaldir said as his blade sliced off an arm which fell to the wooden planked floor, its fingers twitching in spasms. "I won't have the men's deaths be in vain, my lord."

Thydrek surveyed the surroundings. Most of the his knights were either slain or dying. So be it then, he thought as he lowered his head.

"I order everyone to follow me to the dungeons. We'll have Marik's head for this; I'll send him to the hell he belongs."

His men glanced toward him, they could tell the last part of his words were more an oath than a curse.

They fought their way down the stairs, stepping over the fallen. Thydrek saw the bloodbath that sprawled out before them, his royal guard had sacrificed their lives defending the throne. Blood and mangled heaps of bodies laid upon the floor near the throne room's entrance.

"Quickly Now!" shouted Thydrek. "Get to the back behind the throne."

He pulled a lever disguised as a torch. A section of the wall opened and revealed a stone staircase leading down. His remaining knights followed him onto the stairwell and the hidden door was bolted from inside. Their descending footsteps of steel on stone intermingled with hammering sounds from their pursuers above as they tried to breach the stone door.

"That won't hold them long, we need to get to the end of the dungeons; to the outside gate. The stables will be close by," said Thydrek.

"Crafty little devil," replied Boras. "They should have named ya Thydrek the Little Devil, sire." All the men chuckled, and soon they were exiting the dungeon gates, heading towards the stables.

***

There were only eight of them as they rode on horseback towards Castle Rock in the North. Thydrek was quiet most of the way, while Boras could be seen lost in thought, contemplating their next course of action. He had been the King's most trusted knight and counsel. Boras the Bold, the name most called him, but Boras the Wise would have been more fitting. He knew in these desperate moments Thydrek would need the latter now.

Yaldrin rode next to Thydrek throughout the day's journey, being mentor and now ward of the young prince. Unlike Boras, the grey hairs were only just now sprouting along the sides of his head. He taught Thydrek the art of sword fighting as soon as he could hold up a sword. The King insisted upon his son learning the use of a sword at a young age. The bond between the two now stronger than ever. He looked towards Thydrek as the son he never had.

The remaining knights of the guard were solemn with despair and the shock of the betrayal. It had been quite unexpected, being only weeks after the passing of King Hadru, Thydrek's father and uncle to Marik. Hadru's brother had an illegitimate son, having not wed into royalty, he had promised his brother he would look after him as his own son upon his deathbed.

The inauguration of Thydrek's kingship was only days away. The Turks to the South had been advancing the last few months. Marik chose a time of weakness to strike, even if it had been proven foolish. After all, the White Knight did manage to escape from his clutches.

They rode hard, making sure they stayed close to the river, treading on the rocks, making it difficult for pursuit. Thydrek knew his step-brother well, and letting him live would not be an option. Thydrek had many allies within the Baltic States in the West, and as long as he still breathed they would question Marik's rule. Now they were heading to his closest ally, his anda (blood brother), Yorgen. They would just make it there before nightfall.

All he could think of was his beloved Isolda, not knowing her fate became too much to bare. I must speak to Yorgen and regroup, I can only hope for the best. He kept telling himself, but his gut instincts were telling him something worse.

***

His arrival was greeted with open gates, the soldiers at guard called out to him. "Prince Thydrek! Master Yorgen is awaiting you within the palace."

Stepping off his mount, he approached the palace.

Yaldir stopped him in his tracks. "My lord, perhaps we should go first and escort you inside," looking towards the other knights dismounting. They all seemed to agree with the notion, but Thydrek would not hear of it.

"Nonsense, if you must, station a few guards at the entrance, then see to stabling the horses. They've been ridden hard and need rest."

"Yes, my lord." Yaldir bowed, reluctantly moving to the side, carrying out his lord's commands.

Thydrek opened the heavy bronze doors of the palace, refusing to believe anyone meant him harm, especially his blood brother. The doors swung shut behind him. Yorgen took notice and immediately raised up from his chair.

"Brother Thydrek, I am so glad to see you," he said rushing forwards. Clasping hands, he pulled him into his embrace. "I've heard the dreadful news," Yorgen said. "What of Isolda? Is she safe?"

The look on Thydrek's face spoke more than words. A red shade of anger grew upon Yorgen's face.

"The bastard Marik will die by my sword if he's harmed her."

"I fear the worse Yorgen." he replied, words spoken in grief.

"I won't stand for any of that – she's my sister you know," scoffed Yorgen. "I told you not to trust Marik – didn't I?"

The look on Thydrek's face was of a crushed man, realizing the effect of his words, Yorgen grasped his shoulder's with both his hands.

"I'm sorry brother, I know you worry as much as I do for her. Come, you've been through enough, please take rest." Yorgen said pulling out a chair by the table nearby. They both sat down with heavy shoulders and worry upon their brows. Yorgen refrained from talking, awaiting his anda to speak first. It seemed as if hours passed by until words were spoken.

"Revenge, revenge my brother, I must have it now!" Thydrek cried out, breaking the silence. "Marik will pay for his treachery. His head will roll upon the edge of my steel," grasping Valgrind, his knuckles whitened from the iron grip of his hand upon the hilt. Seizing his chance to speak, Yorgen responded.

"I've sent emissaries to the western states, and have sent out my spies upon your lands. We'll know soon enough what has happened. We'll know...." the words failed him to mention anymore of his sister, with a choked voice he finished. "I mean we'll know the truth soon enough. We'll get word from the states of when they'll send aid."

"Dammit Yorgen, I can't wait, you know me better than this. I must have a fresh horse and find out what has happened to Isolda."

"I know you more than you think, brother," Yorgen clasped a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I know the pain you are feeling, because it's the same I feel, we both love her. But going back now would be suicide, you know they're scouring the country side as we speak for you."

"But I must go back." Thydrek said.

"No! What you must do is stay alive until we get reinforcements from the states. If you go off now in this fit of rage and lose your head, do you really think the other kingdoms will attack Marik?"

"Then what can be done now – sit around and wait? I'll have none of that. I'm sorry, but I must do something." Thydrek said, looking into his blood brother's face, knowing Yorgen's words rang true. He got up and began pacing back and forth.

An idea struck him just then. "You remember the tales of the two witches our fathers use to tell us when we were young don't you?"

"I suppose, but those were just tales, what is your point?" Yorgen asked as he rubbed the whiskers on his chin.

"Well in the stories people use to seek their aid long ago, before one of the sisters was murdered. What if I searched for the remaining one, I remember father use to talk of a dragon talisman that only the witches knew where to find it."

"Nonesense -- these were mere tales to put us to sleep Thydrek." He stood up with a look of worry in his eyes. "Are you going mad now my brother?"

"I'm just saying what if the stories are true. What if the talisman does hold great powers. It's something, rather than sitting here waiting isn't it?"

"I suppose, but how do you expect to find the witch? You need rest and if the stories are correct she still lives in the woods to the north, but nightfall has come -- are you mad, man?"

"No, even better I have Boras. You know he's half hound. If anyone can find the witch, it's him, regardless of whether it's day or night. He has never failed me before, and in these circumstances he'll make sure he doesn't."

"Ah! Be off with ya then," replied Yorgen with a shrug, all to well knowing once his anda had made up his mind, there was no reasoning with him. "Just let me take you to the stables, I can at least make sure you get a good horse, even if you do go trolling off on some fools errand." They both laughed as he escorted Thydrek to the stables. It was unfortunate that they were meeting at such bad times, but even after all that had happened, a bit of the old days still managed to surface between the two.

Yorgen could only hope for the best now, that Thydrek would find the witch, and his sister would be unharmed. His scouts would return soon enough. He wished to go along with Thydrek, but knew he had to stay close to his castle, if Marik decided to attack his people. They would need him to lead the defenses.

***

The cold wind blinded Thydrek in the dark moonless night. The cloud cover blacked out any hopes of the moon shining down from the stars. The mount given to him by Yorgen was named Shadow. He told him when the horse was just a colt, it would chase its own shadow. Always like his anda to give him something that had some kind of joke behind it, but this time, the horse did show merit. It was fast and quick on its feet.

Boras as always gave him assurance that if there would be any witch in these woods, he'd find them. Especially after he made the comment that Yorgen thought he wouldn't be able to. An outright lie, but it served the motivation to guarantee that Boras would be at his best this night, when he needed him the most.

Sniffing this way and that, Boras seemed to be on the trail. “I smell it, yes I do.” Boras said.

“You smell what old man?” Jeered Yaldir.

“It's a fire, and it's getting closer,” he replied, scratching his grizzled beard. “There, that clearing has a slight hill, perhaps I'll spot it from there,” kicking his mount towards the hill.

They all rode up onto the hill searching all sides for any sign of light. Boras might have been the hound of the group, but when it came to sight, he sure wasn't no hawk.

“There! In the north-east. See the light?” one of the guards said, pointing in the direction.

“Ah – I see it now. Let's dismount now and tie our horses to the tree line here. It doesn't look far.” Thydrek said. “We'll travel light on foot so we don't spook who ever is there, witch or no witch, aye.”

They went into the forests after securing the horses, veering off the trail in the direction of the light. The dark forest made Thydrek think of its name, Wolfshead, having been known to harbor criminals and poachers of the land. Hard to believe any old woman would live all alone in here, yet he supposed being a witch most likely scared even the most brave of scoundrels.

Flames soon became clear through the underbrush, with a whisper he told his men, “Wait here. I'll go out first. Come out when I raise my hand.” All the men grunted in confirmation. He stepped out into the thicket. The fire blazed under a cauldron of steaming stew near a small straw hut. Clearing his throat he spoke.

“Anyone home?”

“Awgh! Who goes there?” he heard come from the hut. “Don't you know it's impolite to disturb a witch, I oughta turn you into a toad... I should.” The old woman hobbled out of the hut, holding a staff waving it around, pointing it in his direction.

“I mean you no harm, I swear. My name is Thydrek, Prince Thydrek to be exact.”

“A prince you say you are.” squinting her eyes she saw his white armor. “Interesting, most interesting.” she said sitting down by the fire, laying her staff across her legs. The witch ushered him to do the same.

“I suppose you heard about me, huh?” she asked.

“Yes, well my father use to tell tales of the two witches that lived in the Wolfshead Forests.”

“That would be half true, you see there is only one of us now. Theodora got herself killed a few winters back, that infernal ogre named Rimdor killed her,” waving her staff in the air. “I told her not to be going around by herself nosing around that dragon's nest.”

“I'm sorry to here about your sister –?”

“Oh, you can call me Thorgrem. She always was the prettiest. Yes she was.”

“I see,” he said doubting any truth of any of the sisters even being close to being pretty, “and you speak of a dragon's nest?”

“Well Dragon's Keep is its name,” she snorted. “Up North, above the Corvinus Pass, on the tallest summit of the Jottenheim Mountains, is where it lies.”

“My father once told me about a talisman that granted its wearer great powers, I don't suppose you would know anything about it.”

“The Dragonstone, it grants control of dragons, they say,” she replied looking uneasy at the strange knight. “But what use is it now, since no dragons have been seen since the dragon wars, a long time ago that was." scratching her whiskers on her chin. "I reckon they've all died off by now in these parts.”

“Well, my father also mentioned a legend of a dragon messiah too.”

“Yes, yes, the dragon messiah to come is the legend. Some say he has already come to pass, that it's a part of the Dragonstone itself. While others foretell that when he returns, the Age of the Dragon will return. You see the stone is actually a draconite (a fabulous stone found in the head of a dragon) ,and certain legends speak of it as being from the dragon messiah.”

“Is it possible you'd be able to tell me where to find this Dragonstone?” he asked.

Her eyes widened and her hands began to shake holding the staff. “I had a dream, yes I did,” looking him over. “Hold out your hand so I can touch it.” Removing his gauntlet, he stretched out his hand. She snatched it up in her hands and closed her eyes.

Suddenly his men came out with swords drawn. “Release our master's hand wench,” shouted Boras.

“Stop!” Shouted Thydrek raising his hand. The witch stumbled backwards opening her eyes.

“Sheathe your swords, I told her I meant her no harm,” he spoke, scolding his men. “And which part of coming out when I raised my hand, did you not understand?”

“Well sire, you did stretch out your hand, but I admit you didn't raise it though,” answered Yaldir, looking towards Boras as the one to be blamed.

“Quite!” He barked looking back at the witch. She was now standing and began pointing towards him.

“Revenge! Revenge, that is what you truly seek.” She yelped, looking side to side. “You seek revenge, your traitor brother, yes – yes you do.”

Amazed, he stood up stretching his legs. “Yes I do – seek revenge.”

“And what's in it for old Thorgem, I say. What can you do in exchange for me telling you where the stone is huh?” A spark of light flickered in her mind's eye as she uttered the last part. “Maybe revenge for Thorgrem too.”

“Speak your mind woman,” he began to grow tiresome of haggling with the witch, and wanted it to end soon.

“I want you to slay Rimdor, that ogre needs to pay for my sister's death. But how do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?”

Boras stepped forward, “Do you know who you are talking to? This is the white knight, when he gives his word, it's as good as gold.” Thydrek swung out his arm across Boras's chest, signaling him to step back, point given.

Squinting some more, the witch saw the white armor again, and recalled hearing about this white knight, how he was honored bound when giving his word. This would be the chance she had been waiting for to get even with the ogre after all.

So she told them where to find the river north from there, to follow it till it came to the Jottenheim Mountains, and to veer off to the left, looking for the path in a crevice in it's side. She had given him specific advice for the best way to slay the ogre before they bade her well, and were off.

***

They reached the end of the river and neared the mountainside of Jottenheim. It took them a days journey to reach it, and twilight drew near.

“Rest the horses and set up camp here. I'll be going up the mountain alone.” Thydrek said while dismounting.

“But sire, you can't be serious. The ogre – I mean what chance does one have against an ogre?” barked Boras.

“Enough, I'll do what the witch advised, and I'll hear no more.” Threatened Thydrek in a brisk tone. The men all looked on with stern faces, but all nodded in acceptance.

So he approached the side of the rock face, and found the stairwell crevice the witch had spoke of, looking upward at its ascent. More like a ladder than a stairway he thought to himself. He remembered the witch telling him to climb it in the pitch of dark, but patience had never been one of his strongest virtues, and decided to begin at the hour of dusk.

About half an hour later, he reached the middle of the mountain's precipice. The light in the sky waning to the darkness, when it happened. Valgrind his trusted sword began to emit a high pitched shrill. He immediately sensed the danger it warned and looked skyward, ducking just in time as a huge boulder came smashing past his head into the rock wall behind him.

He saw the silhouette shape of a giant high above on the top of the mountain, arms raised, lowering and picking up another large boulder to launch upon him again. He began climbing faster, darkness only minutes away, but for the moment he needed to use haste, watching when the ogre sent his volley. Once the stone hurtled through the air he quickened his pace and managed to outdistance the aim. After several failed attempts the night came, and the sounds of crashing rock grew silent.

When he reached the top his arms ached from exertion, but he knew he had no time to rest, surveying the grounds he saw a metal corpse slung over on its side. A shrunken shroud, nothing more than a dry rotted shell of a dead warrior. It looked as if the unfortunate man had just made it to the top of the mountain, and the crushed helmet revealed that his head had been smashed.

An idea came to him, and he quickly carried it out.

The ogre came around a ridge on the top of the mountain. A bull helm with one horn broken rested on its head. The giant had to of been at least ten feet tall. As it passed the ridge a voice could be heard saying. “Drats – I dropped my gold!”

The giant leered its head towards the sound, and saw an armored foe leaning over to pick up a bag of sprawled coins that glittered the ground. He quickened his pace and jumped high, raising his club in the air. With a crash the bone maul came done on top of the man and his gold coins.

Thydrek launched himself from the tree. His sword aimed downwards. The blade bit deep into the ogre's back. He landed behind the giant, pulling out his sword, slinging it free from the flesh. Droplets of blood flew off the blade, spraying a red mist through the air.

The ogre laid upon the ground before him as he cleaned his blade and sheathed it in his scabbard. “That takes care of Rimdor. Now, off to the Dragon's Keep to get the Dragonstone,” he said, beginning to walk up the pathway towards the keep.

***

He awoke the next day mid-afternoon upon a grass hill. Visions of a dream flashed in his mind. Great skulls of dragons resting on walls of shadows. A green glow from the center of the cavern where the something hung upon a statue of a green dragon.

His hands reached to his chest, and he felt a chain. Looking down he saw the talisman. It was an oval green stone, inlaid with gold, fastened to a chain around his neck. How is this possible, he thought to himself. The visions were not a dream, they had been real, and for some reason he couldn't remember none of it.

What struck him most peculiar was he swore he heard his father's voice right before he awakened.

“Do not wake the dragon,” were always father's words before he grew angry with Thydrek and Marik when they were young. What did it mean now, he wondered.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and dusted himself off. Castle Brom, his castle stood to the south, but how – the journey to the keep had been days away from here. Taking another glance at the talisman around his neck, he wondered what powers lurked within the emerald hued stone.

Then the grief hit him all at once, Isolda his sweet love. With a quick pace he headed straight towards the castle, not caring if he would be seen. Finding out if Isolda lived was all that mattered.

He neared the castle towards the evening, as he came closer he noticed the scorched ramparts and the towers looked as if they had been bombarded by some type of siege weapon. Heading towards the west side of the castle where the river flowed along its side, he spotted something laying by the river shore.

“No!” he shouted. The horror of the truth sent daggers into his heart, with eyes filled with tears he ran towards the shore and pulled Isolda away from the river's edge. She felt cold to the touch and her skin was as pale as the moon. Laying there, he rocked her back and forth in his arms for what seemed hours.

Sadness turned to anger, and anger finally turned to rage. It became too much, his body went into fits of convulsions, and his eyes reddened with a vengeance of blood. He laid her down gently, crossing her arms over her body, kneeling to seal a kiss upon her purple lips.

Unsheathing Valgrind he headed toward the southern gates, to his astonishment they were open. What manner of witchcraft is this, he thought to himself as he entered the castle. The guards on the towers were no where to be seen, and the castle looked abandoned. A trap perhaps, maybe he had been spotted afar and they were waiting to spring upon him any minute, yet Valgrind remain silent, with no warning of danger at all.

He decided to enter the palace and headed towards the throne room. Valgrind began to shriek within his hand as he opened the doors to the throne room. Marik sat upon the throne, his arm in a sling, looking towards him as the doors closed shut.

“A brother – due come in. I've missed you these past few days,” said Marik.

“You're no brother of mine. You're nothing but my Uncle's bastard son, and you'll die for what you did to Isolda.” Thydrek shouted.

“Oh yes, twas a shame really – the poor girl jumped to her death. I guess my company was too much for her to bare. Poor Agras didn't favor me well either, so I decided to put him to the sword,” Mardrik replied laughing.

“What has happened Marik? Why is the castle in ruins?” Thydrek asked.

“Oh you must of missed it I suppose. You mean to tell me you didn't see the dragon. Such a pity, my men told me we should leave, but I knew you would come back.” He raised himself from the throne, rubbing the arm in the sling. “Too bad I injured my sword arm or I would revel in killing you myself, but the royal guard will do,” laughter rang out as the guards came threw the throne doors and encircled around Thydrek.

“Ah look Thydrek it's going to be a full moon tonight, please tell Father I send my best regards.” Mardrik looked out the window behind the throne.

The rays of the sun had just vanished, and the moon was full in the sky. Then it began, Thydrek tensed up and he felt a fire from within. Something inside of him began to change, the memories of the night before became clear to him as he spoke. He remembered going into the Dragon's Keep, and he knew what had happened when he put the talisman on.

“I don't think Father would be happy Mardrik, you know his temper – what would he always say before he got mad at us again? Aye – I know what he would say....”

“Don't wake the dragon!” Thydrek boomed out, his voice deepened. His eyes turned into yellow hues, their pupils turned to slits, arching his back spikes shot forth from his spine. He grew into an enormous size, skin turning into green. Giant blood stained fangs emerged from his mouth, and wings unfolded from behind him. He became a great green dragon. The night came alive with the roar of a dragon and the screams of dying men.

The last thing that went through Mardrik's mind before his death was that he had finally woke the dragon.

The End

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