The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) Read online

  “They won’t try that again,” said Galdor. He and Valaron stood near the edge of the rebel camp. “The elves seem to think the Morts were simply testing us,” he said. “We killed over half of their force. The King will not be too pleased with whoever was in charge.”

  From across the field, Valaron watched Draegon’s labored breathing.

  “How is he?” asked Galdor.

  “He’s getting worse,” answered Valaron. “He still refuses to drink anything, and his fever is rising.” His voice fell to a whisper. “I’m not sure how much longer he can hold out.”

  “Carlton is nowhere to be found,” said Galdor. “I am fairly certain he was the one who poisoned your dragon.”

  Valaron slowly nodded his head, his eyes never moving as he watched Draegon wheezing and coughing. “I guessed as much.”

  Valaron sat by Draegon’s side to try and offer what comfort he could. In the darkness, the elves stood guard in a circle, just out of sight. The dragon wheezed and struggled, his breathing labored and uneven. Draegon’s massive body shook in fits of wet coughing. Valaron felt helpless, and the sorrow he felt was overwhelming. He could never remember a time when he had known such pain. His thoughts were interrupted by elves talking in the darkness. Pen’d’roh and Fen’d’mar entered the circle of light.

  “Our runners have returned,” Pen’d’roh said. Fen’d’mar the elder elf took a vial from inside his robe. He handed it to Valaron.

  Pen’d’roh pointed at the dragon. “Pour it in his mouth.”

  Valaron raised the dragon’s lip and poured the thick, brown liquid between his teeth. Draegon swallowed weakly.

  “Is that it?” asked Valaron.

  “It is done,” replied Pen’d’roh. “If he is to recover, it will be quick. We will know one way or the other by morning.” The elves walked slowly off into the darkness, and Valaron finally succumbed to the sleep of exhaustion.

  CHAPTER 27

  “And Maladron fashioned from the clay beneath Gal’s’duum an abomination. And he called it Mort.”

  -Excerpt from

  “The Book of Beginnings”

  Slath led what was left of his army back toward Kalador. The elves had given up their pursuit, so he hoped to reach the palace city without any more losses. The elves had been most bothersome. Many of the Morts were wounded, and Slath was nursing a bad cut to his shoulder that ached as he ran. He blocked out the pain and raced on in the darkness, leading the others to rejoin the main army back at Kalador.

  Slath’s orders had been clear. Attack the rebels to determine their strength, and kill the dragon if possible. He would be able to give an accurate report of the capability of the resistance, but he was upset that the dragon had survived. Praelix would not be happy. In his anger, Slath picked up the pace. The other Morts raced to keep up. They ran on through the next day and pushed closer to Kalador, hoping to make the palace city before sunset.

  #

  Moeldor stood on the parapet of the north tower and paced in the darkness. He recited the dwarves riddle over and over in his mind as he worked to discover Aradorn’s hiding place. The stars were crisp and clear in the night sky, The Circlet shone bright in the north. Mael stood in the east, his feet on the Grands and his arms outstretched to the heavens. Moeldor watched a shooting star as it appeared from near the pink star at Mael’s heart. It crossed the sky burning first white—then green. Its tail arced slowly overhead and soon faded from sight.

  The wizard stared for a long time after the shooting star had disappeared. His mind was lost in the heavens as he remembered the ancient history that described the creation of all that is. He shook his head and focused his thoughts back to the riddle.

  Moeldor struggled over the dwarves’ words until the early morning. The sky lightened and took on a slight glow in the east as the sun began to crawl up the back of the mountains. Something bothered him. Something he had seen. It touched at the back of his mind, and he knew the answer to the riddle was close at hand. If only he could recognize the image he sought, he was certain the other parts would fall into place.

  Tired and frustrated, the wizard walked to his chamber and collapsed on the bed, falling into a deep sleep. Moeldor saw the heavens in his dream, the shooting star larger and brighter than it had been when he had seen it during the night. It burst out of Mael’s chest and flashed brightly across the sky. In a repeat of his prior dream, the dwarves stood close by laughing and throwing rocks at his head.

  When he awoke, Moeldor quickly wrote in his journal and sat pondering his dream until late in the day. He read through several passages in his books and looked over his notes. The wizard tried desperately to put all of the pieces together, but the answer remained just outside his grasp. He felt as though he could reach out and touch it.

  Suddenly he sat up straight and inhaled sharply. Jumping up, he pulled a book from the bookcase. He rapidly flipped through the pages and stopped with his finger pointing at a section of underlined text. “Here it is,” he said. Moeldor read a short passage out loud. “The dwarves labored many years building the palace and fashioning all of the King’s furnishings.” He slammed the book shut and sat unmoving.

  “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Those arrogant little miners.” The wizard smiled darkly as the dwarves riddle unfolded before him. “Of course,” he repeated softly.

  #

  Kragh turned his garrison to the west and headed straight for the Raen mountains. They entered the forests of the foothills and turned north once again, following a trail that ran just inside the trees. Soon, Kalador could be seen off in the distance, and the Morts continued until they were directly across from the plains that lay in front of the palace. Kragh gave the signal to settle in. The Morts hid themselves among the trees maintaining a view of the impending battleground.

  “Are we to hide like children while the battle rages around us?” asked Slargh. “Maybe you have lost your nerve for war,” he said. His voice dripped with sarcasm.

  Kragh drove his dagger deep into Slargh’s throat. The Mort fell dead at the Commander’s feet.

  “Does anyone else want to question my orders?” he asked, wiping the bloody blade on his coat. The other Morts turned back to their places.

  The garrison silently watched the massed forces making preparations for war. They sat resting on the cool ground, broke out their rations, and ate for the first time in three days. Many of the soldiers slept while others kept watch. They would soon need all of their strength.

  #

  Slath bowed before the King. “The enemy is strong,” he said, standing to face Praelix. “We killed several hundred of their men, but the elves proved to be a greater opponent than we had thought. The rebels number well over five thousand. Half of my force was lost in the battle.”

  “And what of the dragon?” asked Praelix.

  “He lives,” replied Slath. “The elves fought as though taken by madness, and our splintered force could not overcome them.”

  “Did he fly?”

  “What, my Lord?” asked Slath.

  “Fly,” said the King. “Did the dragon and rider take to the air?”

  “No,” answered Slath. “The dragon never moved, my Lord. It remained on the ground while the elves fought around it. I never caught sight of the rider, but he was surely nearby.”

  “Excellent,” said Praelix. “You have done well, Slath. Make the final preparations. If the rebels come, it will be soon.” The King waved his hand in dismissal.

  “So,” Praelix said to himself. “The dragon and rider are grounded.” He smiled and sat back, drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne.

  CHAPTER 28

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

  -Elven prophecy

  Valaron 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.

&nb
sp; “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

  Valaron 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. “So 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 t
ell 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-Man. 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.”