The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) Page 15

  Cler’d’roh placed her hand on Valaron’s arm. “You have been given gifts that no man has ever possessed. Gifts that even you are unaware of.”

  Without thinking, he placed his hand on hers as he listened.

  “I tell you now a thing hard to bear.” She paused and picked her words carefully. “You will live a long life. Not in human terms, but a very long life. Your elven blood grants you a life-span that is beyond your comprehension.”

  Valaron was speechless. This was too much to understand, and he felt as though he would suffocate in air too thick to take into his lungs.

  “Barring accident or grave illness, you will easily live hundreds of years. Maybe more. Plus...” she stopped. “Are you all right?” she asked as he stumbled to his feet.

  “I...” he started. “This...This is unbelievable. How can it be?” he asked. “Look at me. I am a human. I should live seventy years and be happy.” He dropped his head. “This is too much,” he said. His voice became weak, and his hands began to shake.

  Cler’d’roh took his arm and pulled him gently back down. “It will take time to come to terms with some of this, but please believe me. I will not lie to you, and I will never hurt you.” She brushed the hair out of his eyes. “There is more,” she said.

  He looked at her cautiously.

  “You have the power to do the one thing that no Dragon Rider before you has ever done. You can touch the mind of your dragon.”

  “You mean I can read his thoughts?” he asked.

  “In a way,” she said. “My people have the ability to feel the emotions of animals, but for you it is more than a feeling. You will know his thoughts as soon as he does. Each will know what the other is feeling. He will turn in the air as you think it. You will know of his hunger when he first feels it. His anger will feed yours, and you will enjoy the feelings of contentment that he feels. The two of you are joined as no dragon and rider have ever bonded before,” she said. “You are the One Rider. You are Kanon’d’har.”

  Valaron thought of what this could mean. They would move as one. Fight as one. Think as one. Each would instantly know the others thoughts—their needs. “Why have I not felt this before?” he asked.

  “You have,” she replied. “It was understanding that you lacked. Now that you know, you can reach out and feel him with your mind no matter the distance that separates you. He will always be there for you.” She looked at him with sadness in her eyes. “I envy you that comfort, never having to be alone.”

  The tent flap opened and a meal was brought in. Cler’d’roh ate as Valaron picked at the food. They sat in silence for a long time while he struggled to come to terms with the things he was hearing.

  He finally turned to her and said, “There is more.”

  Cler’d’roh sighed. “Yes,” she answered. “The prophecy says that Kanon’d’har has come to battle the Dark Lord.”

  “Praelix,” he muttered.

  “No, Valaron. The King is but a fool.” She leaned closer. “There is another—a wizard,” she said. “He is the true enemy yet he remains hidden. The prophecy says that he will come to possess Aradorn, Fraedol’s Stone of Power, and once again our land will be thrust into darkness. This unknown wizard is the one you have come to stand against.”

  “But not kill?”

  Cler’d’roh hesitated, looking at her hands. “That is unclear,” she said. “The future is sure, yet it is not certain.”

  “Is there a difference?” he asked.

  “It is a language problem.” She looked frustrated. “Your tongue does not have the words that let me translate it clearly.” She stopped and thought for a moment. “A thing may be known to happen,” she explained. “That would be sure; Sharoom in my tongue. The outcome. The particulars. That is the certainty; the Sharaem.”

  “Prophecy can be sure of an event, but not certain of its outcome.” She looked at him with a hint of fear. “That you will meet the Dark Lord in battle is Sharoom. It is sure,” she said. “Whether or not you will succeed, the Sharaem, is unknown.”

  CHAPTER 30

  “The Battle is won when the warrior is convinced of victory.”

  -Excerpt from

  "The Warring Way"

  The rebel army approached Kalador under a blazing, noonday sun. The air hung thick and hot around them, and the wind whipped dust into the air that made it difficult to breathe. Valaron and Galdor stood on a rise overlooking the flat plain stretching from the base of the plateau to the city wall. The plain ran up to the mountains in the west and joined the grass of the flatlands in the east. They watched the Morts gather into battle-ready ranks, the regiments ordering their numbers for the impending war. Cler’d’roh joined Valaron and Galdor. The three friends watched their enemy make preparations for battle.

  “My guess would be around fifteen thousand Morts,” said Galdor as he looked over the plain. “It will be an uphill battle until the end.”

  “I agree,” replied Cler’d’roh. “Our archers will take out as many as they can, but once the fighting starts I expect we’ll see heavy losses among the villagers.”

  The Mort warriors covered the plain from one side to the other. The ground was black with bodies. Swords gleamed in the sunlight. Runners moved across the field carrying orders between the captains who made adjustments in the ranks and moved their garrisons to form larger battalions and regiments. A literal sea of monsters prepared for the coming war.

  “We can take the rest of the day to organize the men. It would be best to hold off until morning unless the Morts press an attack.” said Valaron. “Everyone will need to be well rested.”

  The rebels made camp across the plateau. Galdor rode off to meet his captains and prepare for a strategy meeting to be held at sunset. Cler’d’roh returned to inform the elves of the situation.

  Valaron stood alone for a long time while he watched the Mort army. He could feel a black anger that covered the plain. The Mort’s emotions ran unchecked. They fell over Valaron like a blanket of hatred. A sudden anger stuck in his throat, and he struggled against his own growing rage. Valaron practiced the centering techniques that Cler’d’roh taught him in the morning rituals. He inhaled deeply through his nose, held his breath, and then exhaled as slowly as possible. Each breathing cycle slowly worked to calm his growing rage.

  A new emotion broke the calm of his ritual. He recognized the familiar tendrils that wrapped themselves around his mind. Draegon was reaching out for him. Valaron turned his back on the enemy horde and made his way back to where Draegon waited. Valaron knew that his connection to Draegon was more pronounced than even Cler’d’roh imagined. Each one could touch the other’s mind with a direct familiarity, and Valaron had found no limit to the distance that their bond could cover. The link was so strong that several times Valaron almost believed that he had heard Draegon’s voice in his head.

  The sun fell quickly behind the mountains, and Valaron left Draegon to join the others gathered to lay plans for tomorrow’s battle. He entered the tent and found Galdor deep in conversation with another man dressed in the cavalry uniform. Galdor tapped the stranger on the shoulder and pointed at the arriving dragon rider. Cortain’s face lit up when he saw Valaron. He rushed through the crowd to embrace his nephew.

  “What are you doing here?” exclaimed Valaron.

  “Now is not the time for an old man to be tending his farm,” replied Cortain. “This is the time to stand up and fight.” A broad smile covered his face. “Galdor has asked me to help develop a battle plan, if that is acceptable to you,” he added.

  “Of course. You are one of the few men here that has any experience. Your help is more than welcome. How is your arm?” he asked.

  “A little stiff, but it seems to be getting better all the time,” answered Cortain. “I guess I will find out soon enough how well it has healed.”

  “Hello, Val.” Toran stepped from behind Galdor.

  “Toran!” Valaron embraced his friend then pushed him out to arms’ length. �
�What are you doing here?”

  “He would not stay behind,” said Cortain.

  “I did not want you to have all the fun.” Toran grinned and slapped Cortain on the back.

  “I am glad you are here,” said Valaron. “We can use your help.”

  Valaron called for attention and the meeting came to order.

  “We are terribly outnumbered,” began Valaron, “but numbers are not enough to gain victory for our enemy. The King must be unseated if we are to live in peace, and determination must win this war. We fight for what is right and true, and that shall carry us through the day.”

  “Without a larger army at our disposal, a direct assault will only end in disaster,” said Galdor. “The Morts are experienced warriors, and as we saw at Klastor our losses are heavy when we fight one-on-one. We must have a plan that overcomes our lack of numbers. As things stand now, the elves are our greatest strength.”

  “Our archers are experienced,” acknowledged Cler’d’roh, “and they will be able to remove many of the enemy if they are given time and opportunity.”

  “Are you suggesting that we let the elves fight for us?” asked Franklin. “My men are ready to do whatever is needed, but they didn’t come all this way to watch the elves fight our war.”

  “Nothing like that,” replied Galdor, “but it would be prudent, don’t you think, to allow as many Morts as possible to fall before we engage them with swords and lances.”

  “What you are talking about is an attack in two waves,” said Cortain. “The obstacle to archers is the presence of friendly troops. While we are out of the way, the elves will be free to fire into the Morts without the worry of hitting our own people.” He nodded to Cler’d’roh and added, “With all due respect to the elves accuracy, it is not my desire to die with an arrow in my back.”

  “Exactly,” said Galdor. “The first wave of the attack should be led by the archers, and the rest of us will hold back as long as possible to allow the elves to do as much damage as they can. The more we can reduce the enemy’s numbers, the greater our chance of success.”

  Cler’d’roh turned to Valaron and asked, “What of you and your dragon?”

  “We will have to move low and fast to avoid the Mort arrows,” answered Valaron. “I can fly across from east to west and attack the middle of their army. That should separate them into two smaller divisions. If we could attack them in two places, front and rear, that might give us an advantage over their numbers by keeping their attention drawn to two fronts.”

  Pen’d’roh entered the tent and pulled Cler’d’roh aside. “I see,” she said. Turning to the others, she smiled. “It would seem that I have good news. Klan’d’ron approaches from the south and will be here within the hour. He leads a complement of two thousand warriors from Loeath’d’nah.”

  “Excellent!” cried Cortain. “That may give us the advantage we were looking for.” He described a plan to the others that soon had them nodding their heads and smiling. The meeting ended in high spirits.

  Cler’d’roh led a band of elves to intercept Klan’d’ron and apprise him of their plan. She found the King and his army moving toward the plateau. Klan’d’ron was one of the oldest surviving elves. He was King when the Dark Son terrorized Ashandor. His silver hair fell majestically to his knees in large braids cascading from each temple, the hair woven with golden threads. The King’s green eyes were clear and bright. His thin face held a beauty that was unmatched among his kinsmen. The points of his ears stood high beside his head. Cler’d’roh explained Cortain’s plan and Klan’d’ron heartily agreed. The King and his elves raced due west into the forest of the Raen mountains.

  “The enemy is camped on the plateau, my Lord,” Slath said to the King. “I suspect they will attack at first light.”

  “Is everything ready?” asked Praelix, fingering the arms of his throne.

  “Yes, my Lord,” answered Slath. “The soldiers await your command. Shall we attack under the cover of night?”

  “No,” replied Praelix. “Let the rebels make the first move. It will be their last.” He leaned forward in his seat and asked, “Is there any sign of the dragon?”

  “No, my Lord,” answered Slath. “He has not been seen since they arrived.”

  “Excellent. Tell your warriors to be ready. I will tolerate no mistakes,” said Praelix, waving his hand. Slath left the throne room to return to the battlefield.

  The King’s rage focused on the rebels camped on the plateau. “Enjoy your rest,” he said to himself. “Tomorrow’s sunrise shall be your last.” He leaned back and nursed his anger.

  #

  Toran walked through camp to the tent he had been offered by one of the soldiers. When Toran entered, he found Vic sitting on the floor and digging in the dirt with a stick. The old man shot to his feet. “About time,” he said. “I thought I was going to have to come looking for you.”

  “What are you doing here?” said Toran.

  “Waiting for you. Are you listening?” Vic took Toran’s arm and started to leave, but the young boy held his ground.

  “Stop that. What do you want?”

  “Come along, boy. We have to hurry.” Vic tried to pull him outside. “Puss buckets. I guess I am going to have to show you.”

  “Show me what?”

  “This,” said Vic. He waved his hand and the flap moved out of the way, hanging in the air.

  Toran stood perfectly still.

  “I’ll explain later,” said Vic, “but we have to move quickly.” He pulled Toran outside. “You are coming with me.”

  “But I am here to fight,” said Toran. He was trying to make sense of what he had seen.

  “You have another destiny, boy, and it is waiting. Now come along.”

  “I cannot just leave. I have to tell someone. They will wonder what happened to me.”

  “Puss buckets! They have more to worry about than you,” said Vic. “Your part is in a much larger battle than you would see here, a part in something that will change all of Ashandor. There is a darkness that hides itself, boy. An evil that must be stopped and you are going to help me if I have to carry you. Now, quit stalling and follow me.”

  Toran was not sure why, but he knew that Vic was telling the truth. They gathered the few things that they could carry and headed off on foot toward the South.

  #

  Valaron sat beside Draegon in the darkness and enjoyed the contentment he felt from the dragon. His elven gifts allowed him to open his mind to Draegon, to feel what the dragon felt. The days spent marching from Klastor had allowed them to spend lots of time together learning to sort through each other’s emotions.

  Dragon and rider became even closer than before. They flew together with a shared mind, each one anticipating the other’s thoughts. Valaron no longer needed to urge the dragon with his knees. He merely had to think and Draegon reacted. The massive, black dragon was fully recovered fully from the effects of the plague, and he was as strong as ever.

  Valaron sang in the darkness while Draegon hummed deep in his throat. The two friends continued to sing long after the camp had grown silent, melodies coming to each of them at the same time. Harmonies flowed like a well rehearsed choir. No longer restricted to the Dragon Songs of old, Valaron and Draegon’s connection allowed them to make music that no human or elven ear had ever heard. Their thoughts were open to each other as they improvised. Notes flowed like water from a spring. The two friends sang for hours under the gaze of thousands of stars that twinkled brightly against the black heavens. Mael stood in the sky; his feet firmly planted on the Grands. It seemed to Valaron that the pink star at the constellation’s heart was brighter than ever before.

  CHAPTER 31

  "The battle strong

  did rage all day

  and victory was nigh,

  when from the midst

  of friends there came

  a traitor with his cry.

  All was lost

  and none had hope

  as day
turned into night.

  The war was failed

  and soon the rebels

  all would think of flight."

  -Epic Poem

  "Battle of Sa’haduum"

  Morning brought the sounds of troops preparing for war. Men and horses moved to form ranks as they prepared to descend to the plain below. Valaron and Cortain stood at the edge of the plateau overlooking Sa’haduum and watched the elves march down onto the battlefield, their armor glistening in the morning light.

  “I am proud of you, Valaron,” said Cortain. “You’ve not only been able to rally the villagers against the tyranny of Praelix, but you have formed an allegiance with the elves that has not been seen for hundreds of years.”

  “They will be our saving grace,” replied Valaron. “If we are to see victory, it will largely be due to the elves’ willingness to fight.” He looked around and asked, “Where is Toran?”

  “I have not seen him this morning.”

  “Well, I am sure that he will turn up.

  The two men watched the archers form four fronts that spanned the field. Each one readied his bow for the attack. The Morts began a slow advance toward the elves’ position while Galdor rode back and forth behind the elven archers waiting for the signal from Cortain.

  The Morts picked up speed and raced headlong toward the elves. When the enemy was within range of the archers, Cortain waved a red standard in the morning breeze and the war was on. Galdor gave the order. Elves fired their arrows into the advancing Morts. Bodies dropped all across the plain. Each rank fired in order from front to rear, and the Morts stumbled over the bodies of their own fallen warriors. Cortain led the rebels down from the plateau and formed their ranks behind the archers, a crush of bodies packed onto the rise and up and across the plateau.