The One Rider (Ashandor Chronicles) Read online

  CHAPTER 33

  First the pride,

  Then the fall.

  -Elven Saying

  Moeldor watched from the northern tower as the dwarves turned the battle in favor of the rebels. He quickly ran back into the palace and raced to the throne room. The wizard climbed the steps and stood in front of the throne. “One pace up,” he said, stepping up onto the throne’s seat, “and one pace back.” He stood facing the back of the throne. The constellation Mael was laid out in shining gems. Using his dagger he pried the pink stone from the heart of Mael and jumped down from the throne. “Aradorn,” he said, turning it over and over in his hand.

  Shouts carried into the throne room. Moeldor quickly pocketed the stone. He made his way out of the back of the palace and through the city streets to the back wall. A quick dash into a small shed near the well hid him from the rebels. He lifted a section of floor to reveal steps that descended into the dark ground. Moeldor lit a torch and climbed down into a tunnel that reached back under the wall to a rear exit that the dwarves had built when the palace was being constructed. He followed the tunnel until he saw a light up ahead. Moeldor stumbled out into the forest. Kragh and his captains were waiting for him. As night fell, the wizard led them back into the mountains.

  #

  Valaron raised his weapon just in time. The King’s blow glanced off to the side, and the dragon rider leaped to his feet.

  “So,” said Praelix. “You think that you are able to best your King?” He slowly circled to the left. “I know who you are, Valaron.” The King dragged the point of his sword over the slate floor as he continued to circle to Valaron’s left. The scraping noise grated on the young boy’s nerves. “Your father died by my command, and I will personally crush his lineage. That monster of yours will be no use without a rider. It will have to be destroyed.”

  Praelix lunged forward and showered Valaron with a barrage of blows. They moved over the slate floor from one end of the hall to the other, each thrust and cut answered with ringing steel.

  “The time has come for your oppression to end,” said Valaron.

  Blow after blow rang out in the dimness of the great hall, the sound of steel echoing off the stone walls. The two enemies moved as one, swords slashing at one another.

  “The only thing that will come to an end today is your short life,” said Praelix. The King was an accomplished swordsman who had many duels to his credit, and he was quickly taking the upper hand. The long day of battle was taking its toll on Valaron. His arm was tiring quickly, and his blows were met at every side as he tried to find an opening.

  #

  Skarson and the Lone Riders stormed the palace. They were accompanied by Shamesh, the dwarf King, his brother Shmiosh, and Olkin, the Archway guard that had made the decision to allow Skarson and his Lone Riders entry to the dwarf stronghold. They hurried through the halls looking for opposition. As they passed the throne room they heard the ringing of swords just up ahead. “Olkin,” Skarson said to the dwarf by his side, “come with me. The rest of you make sure the palace is secure.” He and Olkin ran toward the sounds of swordplay.

  #

  Praelix feinted up then slashed downward across Valaron’s face leaving a bloody cut. The young dragon rider stumbled backwards and slid to the side to avoid the King’s next thrust. Valaron’s sword arm was growing weary. His scimitar was becoming too heavy to lift, and hot blood streamed down his face. Valaron sliced at Praelix, but the King blocked Valaron’s sword and dealt him a solid blow to the chin with the hilt of his weapon.

  Praelix pounded at the stunned dragon rider and backed him across the hall. A mighty blow from Praelix sent Valaron to his knees. The King had knocked the scimitar from Valaron’s grasp, and it dangled at the end of its cord.

  “There will be no Dragon Guard,” hissed Praelix. “It dies with you!” The King raised his sword to deal a death blow, and his blade arced downward to sever Valaron at the neck. A mighty ringing sound filled the hall as Olkin’s ax stayed the King’s blade. “Not today,” growled the dwarf. Olkin rushed forward and forced Praelix away from Valaron. The King’s blows were answered by swings of Olkin’s battle ax. The dwarf pushed Praelix across the hall, and the ax rang as he met the King’s sword with quick turns. Praelix cut wildly in the air, desperately trying to find an opening for his sword.

  “Down here,” Olkin laughed as he pressed harder.

  King and dwarf moved over the floor like dancers locked in a deadly waltz. Olkin continued to push Praelix back using his battle ax to counter the King’s attacks. Every thrust was deftly blocked by the diminutive warrior, and Praelix struggled to stay away from the dwarf’s ax.

  Olkin was tireless in his efforts, and the King was quickly losing heart as the duel continued to rage across the hall. Praelix misjudged many of his cuts, and they slid harmlessly over the dwarf’s head. Each time the King missed, Olkin would shove him back with the end of his ax shouting, “Try again!” His deep laughter echoed off of the stone walls.

  Praelix lunged in desperation. Olkin went down onto his knees, ducked under the King’s sword, and with a mighty shout, his ax cut through the King’s sword arm. Stunned, Praelix stared at the blood pouring from his wound. The King’s sword slid across the floor, his severed hand still clutching the hilt.

  Olkin jumped up and swung again. Praelix fell dead at the dwarf’s feet. Olkin pulled his ax from the King’s chest, shook blood from the blades, and poked the body to make sure the King was dead. Satisfied, he turned and grinned at Skarson. “Your little adventure has done this old dwarf some good,” he said. “I feel a hundred years younger.” He thumped the butt of his ax on the floor, and his laughter filled the great hall as the other Lone Riders joined them.

  “The city is ours,” said Willem, “and the palace is clear.”

  “Good,” replied Skarson. “Where are Shamesh and Shmiosh?”

  “They went off to look for more Morts to kill,” laughed Willem.

  “Very well,” replied Skarson. “Take your men outside. We’ll join you there.”

  “I am Olkin, son of Dorkin,” said the dwarf, bowing low and introducing himself to Valaron. “I’ll tend to your wound if you will allow.” Olkin crushed the leaves of an herb he dug out of the pouch that hung by his side. He pressed the green mass onto Valaron’s face and pushed it deep into the opening. Valaron winced as the dwarf packed the shiny, wet poultice into the cut. “It will heal, but there will be a nasty scar,” he said, looking at the deep gash that ran from under Valaron’s left eye all the way down to his chin. “Don’t worry, boy,” laughed Olkin. “The ladies will love it. Battle scars lend the warrior a certain appeal.”

  Skarson, Olkin, and Valaron made their way down the hallway and out of the palace to find a large host of the rebel force collecting in the city courtyard alongside the elves and many of the dwarves. The people of Kalador cheered at the news of the King’s death. Galdor, Cortain, and the other rebels stood tall in the twilight as the townspeople shouted their praise.

  Draegon flew low over the gathered throng, and a new cheer raced through the crowd. The black dragon threw back his head, and with a mighty roar, joined in the celebration.

  Pen’d’roh ran through the crowd and pushed his way to stand before Valaron. “You must come at once,” he said. His face was dark and grim. Valaron looked around. He suddenly realized that Cler’d’roh was nowhere to be found. Overwhelmed by a feeling of dread, he raced after Pen’d’roh.

  CHAPTER 34

  “Darkness is a light that shines bright in those who seek power”

  -Elven saying

  Moeldor stopped at the top of a ridge overlooking the palace and turned to survey the scene below. The plain lay covered in bodies, and the rebel forces were gathered inside the city.

  “Why are we stopping,” asked Kragh. “We must keep moving!”

  “Patience,” said Moeldor. He smiled and pulled Aradorn from his pocket. A soft rhythmic chant escaped from his lips. The wizard held the
stone firmly in his hand and swayed in the growing darkness. A heavy mist formed on the plain and moved quickly over Kalador. A blanket of thick, rolling fog covered the palace and crawled up the mountain. Moeldor held up his hand to the approaching fog. It stopped, banking high at their feet.

  “Follow me,” he said, pocketing the stone.

  They marched deeper into the mountains and made their way up an incline where they came to a wide trail that turned to the west. Moeldor followed the trail until well after midnight. He turned back into the forest and led them through the thickets that dropped off the back side of the ridge and into a narrow valley.

  The Morts followed Moeldor farther up the valley until they came to another thicket, pushed their way through, and stumbled out on the other side into a wide glade. In the center of the green field there stood an immense tower of black marble. The walls of stood straight and smooth three hundred feet into the night sky. The band of refugees stood looking up at the black spire as the moon made its way over the mountains. The rays of moonlight were swallowed by the black stone walls.

  #

  Cler’d’roh lay on the ground in the heavy fog outside the city gate. Pen’d’roh pushed his way through a host of elves, Valaron and Skarson close behind. Fen’d’mar was attending to Cler’d’roh’s wounds. He turned to speak with Pen’d’roh.

  “What is he saying?” asked Valaron

  “She is gravely injured,” Skarson translated. “They must take her back to Loeath’d’nah at once. Her only hope of survival is at the hands of the elven healers.”

  Cler’d’roh’s face shone ghostly white as they placed her on the litter. Her clothes were covered in blood and stuck to her slim form. Bones pushed through the skin from a break below the elbow of her left arm. A Mort arrow was sticking out of her shoulder, and a savage cut crossed her stomach. The elves had managed to stop the bleeding, but not before she had lost quite a bit of blood. Her face was drawn in pain as they applied a splint to her broken arm.

  “They will leave immediately,” said Pen’d’roh. “If fate is kind, they will reach Loeath’d’nah before it is too late.” The elves picked up the litter and raced off through the fog. The others stood staring in disbelief long after the elves had vanished in the heavy mist.

  Shamesh and Shmiosh came out of the fog and wormed their way through the throng of elves. Shamesh pulled Skarson down by his arm. “The wizard has broken the riddle,” he said. “Moeldor has taken the stone and is leading a small band of Morts into the mountains behind the palace. Aradorn is gone!”

  “We must find him,” said Skarson. “Aradorn can grant him the power to become a great sorcerer. Moeldor has a black heart, and we will face a terrible enemy if he learns how to use Aradorn’s power.”

  “So, Moeldor is the wizard!” exclaimed Valaron.

  “Yes,” replied Skarson. “We did not know who it was until I met with the dwarves. They have known of his power for some time now. Moeldor is our real enemy, and he has broken the dwarves’ riddle. He has taken Aradorn, Fraedol’s Stone of Power. We have to follow him and take it back before he learns how to unleash its power.”

  “I will go,” offered Valaron. “I can take a force into the mountains and recover Aradorn. Their trail should be easy to follow.”

  “I am afraid that you will have to wait until morning,” replied Skarson. “There is no way to track them in this fog.”

  “I will gather together a band of dwarves and accompany you,” said Olkin. “We know the mountains better than any.”

  “Willem and the Lone Riders will go as well,” said Skarson.

  “Very well,” answered Valaron. “Be ready to leave at first light.”

  #

  The rebels camped just outside the city gates. Valaron sipped his elven tea as he and Olkin talked by the fire. “There is something that I do not understand,” said Valaron. “If your people are such great warriors, how did the Morts ever gain their advantage in the ancient days when Maladron ruled Ashandor?”

  “We were not always warriors, Kanon’d’har,” replied Olkin. “We were simple miners when we found Aradorn hidden under the mountain. Our people had lived in peace for thousands of years. They worked in the mines and crafted metal and stone for all the peoples of Ashandor. We foolishly thought the evil of the Dark Son to be of no concern and lived our lives in peace, ignoring the suffering around us until it was too late.”

  “When Maladron learned that we had uncovered Aradorn, he attacked with his Mort army and wiped out most of my people. They murdered young and old alike, mothers, fathers, children—it made no difference to the Morts. They killed everything that moved. There were only a handful of my people who survived by hiding deep in the mines.” Olkin shuddered in the cold fog and pulled his cloak tighter around his broad shoulders. “From that time on, we vowed never again to fall to the hands of a Mort. Since that day, we have trained as warriors. We waited for the proper time to harvest our revenge.” Olkin sat tall and proud in the flickering light of the fire, his blood-stained battle ax resting lightly across his knees. “Today, we have proven ourselves.”

  Skarson watched Draegon as he stood listening. Draegon crooned softly in the firelight, stretched out his neck, and spread his hood.

  “When Carloe came to ask for our help,” said Olkin, “Shamesh decided that now was the time to set right our mistakes of the past. Only one thing remains.”

  “And what is that?” asked Valaron

  “We must retrieve Aradorn and destroy it as the elves wanted. Their wisdom was greater than ours, and now my people’s arrogance places all of Ashandor in great jeopardy.”

  Draegon popped his jaws and settled onto his side. Low growls rumbled from deep within his throat, a warning that the others did not ignore. They moved farther away until the dragon seemed satisfied the he could rest in peace.

  #

  Valaron returned from his morning ritual as the sun was burning off the fog. He met Olkin and Willem and prepared to lead the war party into the mountains. Galdor, the Lone Riders, and the dwarves who had volunteered to accompany them were talking when Skarson and Cortain arrived.

  “Has anyone seen Toran?” said Valaron

  “I heard that he left with Vic before the battle started,” said Cortain.

  “That cannot be right. He would not leave without telling me.”

  “He is not among the fallen,” said Skarson. “And no one has seen Vic.”

  Valaron could not believe that Toran would run away. He had always been a loyal friend. “We are ready to go,” offered Valaron.

  “I am afraid that you will not be going anywhere,” replied Skarson.

  “What?” exclaimed Valaron. “It was you who said that we must move quickly if we are to stop Moeldor. It is my destiny to face this new wizard. I cannot turn away from my duty.”

  “Calm yourself, Valaron. Your duty lies here. These others will go, but you have more pressing business.” Skarson and Cortain grinned broadly and looked at each other.

  “What business is that?” asked Valaron.

  “Your dragon is heavy with eggs, son” answered Cortain. “He will be grounded for several days.”

  Valaron was speechless. He had forgotten that Draegon was capable of laying a clutch of eggs. “How do you know?” he asked.

  “The signs are there,” answered Skarson. “In time you will learn to see them yourself, but for now be content with your duty to rebuild the Dragon Guard. The eggs are just the beginning. We will need to prepare others for the bonding. Willem can lead the chase into the mountains. You will have to stay here.”

  “I will stay with the One Rider,” said Olkin as he walked to Valaron’s side. “Kanon’d’har is young and needs a brave warrior by his side. I, Olkin, am such a warrior,” he said, loudly thumping the butt of his battle ax on the ground. The dwarf stood as tall as he could and looked proudly at the others, his face split by a broad smile.

  “Uldor can take my place. He is almost as fine a warrior as I.”
Olkin laughed loudly, pushed the stout dwarf forward, and clapped him on the back. “Uldor is a killer of Morts,” he said. “One of the best. His hammer swings true!” A deep bow from Uldor acknowledged the compliment. He joined the other dwarves and fell into their ranks behind Shamesh and Shmiosh. Uldor’s blood-stained hammer sat loosely over his shoulder. Willem gathered his force and marched off into the mountains.

  Valaron watched them disappear into the forest behind the palace wall. He silently wished them luck and cursed the fact that he could not accompany them. His thoughts turned to Cler’d’roh as he pictured the elves racing toward Loeath’d’nah. Her injuries were severe. Pen’d’roh refused to answer any questions about her fate, hiding his emotions behind his elven training.

  Valaron looked off to the south. He wondered if the elves would reach their healers in time. “So many things remain unknown,” he thought to himself. “I was sure that removing the King would be the end of my duty, but more lies ahead, much more.” He watched as the sun burned off the last wisps of fog and wondered why Toran would desert him when he was needed most.

  CHAPTER 35

  Darkness all around.

  -Lament

  Kragh stared at the marble tower that climbed high over his head. The black walls were smooth from age and appeared to be nearly transparent, absorbing any light that struck them. “What is this place?” he growled.

  “You will see soon enough,” replied Moeldor.

  He led his band of Morts through the entrance and into the dim light. They made their way up into the heart of the tower and climbed a circular staircase of worn slate. Their steps echoed off of the stone walls. Rows of torches flickered against the black marble as they climbed higher. At last Moeldor left the stairs and led the Morts through a large arched doorway, then into a long hallway that stretched out under a high ceiling.