An invulnerable, dark foe of an ancient world seeks salvation from an old legend.
| Dorian awoke with sunlight hitting his face. He sat up from the hard terrain of the cave and looked at the people still sleeping in their wool sacks. The person climbed up to the cave mouth and stepped out. The full rays of the sun bathed his body and he stretched then smiled.
“Ah, day time, the time of refuge. If only life was not like this. If we did not have to shun the night and the terror it brings,” he said.
A voice behind him was heard. It was female and young sounding with a gentle manner. “That is what we all we wish for brother.”
Dorian turned his head replied. “Good morning Sytha. The sun is wonderful isn’t it?”
“Indeed. Someday we may not have to look to it as our safeguard against the specters,” Sytha chided as she went to his side.
“I know you believe the legend, but it has been over five hundred years and the relics remain hidden. At times I wish I was mortal. Maybe nonexistence is better than living like this.
“The three white horns of heaven exist. I can feel it and some others do. And you should be happy to live forever.”
“I just grow tired of hiding from them and remaining powerless to hurt them. I wish we were immune to fatal attacks and not just impervious to time.”
Then an elderly voice called from behind them. “Dorian, Sytha, I must speak with you, alone.”
The siblings looked at each other blankly.
“Were coming King Nathaal,” Dorian yelled back. “What does he want with us?” he finished.
“It must be important,” Sytha said.
The two met the king of the refugees in his tent with a centered fire pit. The air was still and warm.
“What I am about to say will shock you. Know, however, that it is the truth and of the utmost importance.” He was silent for a minute. “You two are one of the three to find the white horns of heaven.” king Nathaal said gravely.
Both were speechless.
“And as the legend says, you will blow them together and the armies of heaven will descend and destroy our foes once and for all.”
“How do you know this?” asked Sytha.
“Last night I found myself in a bright place with shining beings. One called Trophimus, told me this and instructed me to tell you.”
“Who is this third person?” asked Dorian.
“Trophimus said he lives in the great castle of Ifria.”
“That is less than a mile from here,” Sytha put forth.
Dorian reflected upon the things that were said. He was overcome with fear and curiosity, but more than that he felt hope. He did not know why. It was as though he could feel it like his sister said.
“You must depart now before sunset. I have prepared horses for you. Leave now!”
They set off for the castle of Ifria in apprehension but a candle of hope burned in Dorian and he felt Sytha did too. It was now midday and they were now at the Forest of Rune.
“I hope the dragons said to inhabit this place are false. We have no choice though,” said Dorian.
They entered and gradually the canopy thickened creating darkness. Suddenly there was a roar.
“A dragon?!”exclaimed Sytha.
“Perhaps, but we cannot turn back!”
Then they saw it; a bright red dragon flying after them with a gaping mouth.
“We have to get back into the open. They are supposed to be afraid of light,” yelled Dorian.
They drove their mounts as fast as they could go. Then a ball of fire grazed over them.
“I see it!” said Sytha pointing to a patch of light. “Just a little more!”
When the dragon was yards away from them, it suddenly veered back as Sytha and Dorian burst through the opening.
“We did it! And there is the castle.”
The two rode on until they approached the castle gates of Ifria. In a window above them a guard addressed them. “Why are you here?”
“We have been sent by the king of the fallen realm of Nimithar.”
“You are welcomed then.”
The gates were opened and they entered. They were approached by the king in his scarlet robe and silver crown. “I had a dream that you two were to come here. My son has been waiting to meet you. Together, you three will liberate us from the tyranny of the specters. Follow me.”
Sytha and Dorian were led to the king’s son Bronus, a valiant person. “Finally the foretold day has come. Now we will end this,” Bronus said.
“But the three horns are still elude us,” Dorian put forth.
“The horns lay in a lair beneath this castle that only we can enter. I will take you.”
When Bronus finished, he directed them to a long stairwell leading to large stone door with three hand imprints. As was obvious, they each put their hands in the imprints and the door opened with a grinding sound. And there were the white white horns on a golden altar. They stepped onto it and they each held a horn.
“My father said that when we touch the horns, the time of the specters would arrive,” Bronus said.
Without a word they stepped outside at night and there were the specters, like black phantoms attacking the people.
“Now!” cried Dorian.
They held up their horns and blew. Suddenly the dark sky ripped open with bright light as shining beings with flaming swords came down and ruthlessly slashed at the dark entities. The specters were dispatched as they fell apart like drifting sand. With every sword attack from the heavenly beings they gradually were no more.
All gave a shout of victory. The battle was won. Years of destruction were avenged and peace was restored.
“It was so simple,” said Dorian.
“Indeed,” said Sytha. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
Dorian mused. “It is. That’s all that counts.”