

The Legend of the

Dragonskinner

Christopher Goodrum

The Legend of the Dragonskinner

By Christopher Goodrum

Copyright 2013 Christopher Goodrum

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Preface

Inspiration can strike you at any moment and come from any number of things whether you are looking for it or not. I come from an entertainment background of theater and theme parks, including California's Great America (formerly Paramount's Great America) and the Disneyland Resort. Writing stories and music, directing, and improvising are what I do.

Inspiration is more than an idea. It is a catalyst for action and nurtured with an open-mind to allow it to guide you no matter where it takes you. They are not all gems, mind you. Writing a skit where a Ferengi and a Klingon perform "Romeo and Juliet" is probably not the best idea. But take a tribble, throw it off a balcony to play catch with a captive audience, and somehow, it's always a winner.

The Legend of the Dragonskinner was created purely by accident, sparked by inspiration. Ironically, it was not originally my story to tell. It was presented to me in the summer of 2009 and there was much on my plate. I was working full-time at a movie theater, earning my Bachelor's degree in Business Management online, supporting my family, and working on a creative project of my own (which I'll probably finish before I die). During that period of time at the movie theater, my job was to run the film projectors. This was before majority of theaters switched to digital. The great thing about working at a movie theater was the free movies, and the free popcorn and soda while on duty. Not great for the cholesterol count, though.

I was contacted by radio and called down from the booth to meet with two friends, my manager, Tyler, and fellow usher, Dustin. They were interested in writing a story and pitched me the idea. The original concept was a wild, outlandish tale of a man in search of three mythical creatures, a daughter, an army of dragons, and, for some reason, social services. This humorous romp involved an incredible series of events and story points that transcended ridiculous and approached existential. To their credit, they had a page full of notes for, what they intended to be a short story. They knew of my background and invited me to join as I was the only one with writing experience. At the time, I declined, as I had far too much studying to do.

So, I headed back up to the booth to run film. But their story got me thinking. There are many aspects of the story that I do not recall. They had a lot going on for a short story, but they had something. Damn them!

Ten minutes later, I returned downstairs in search of them. I had a title for them: The Legend of the Dragonskinner. I agreed to help them write it and I asked them to let me crack open the first three chapter to see where it goes. The plan was to trade off every three chapters.

That was the plan...

They loved what I had, and I just kept going.

Dragonskinner was unveiling the story to them in five installments. This is the basis for the five Acts in the story. It divides each league of Ryan's journey like episodes of an old time serial. It was only designed that way for the slow reveal as each act was completed. In a complete manuscript format, I think it still works.

I had a lot of fun creating, developing, and working on this story. The hunt for three mythical creatures gave the story such a direction to structure the story around, and subsequently, the acts around. It also gave me the opportunity to return to my comical roots, taking me back to my days of writing skits and one-act plays. Ultimately, I saw this story as an experiment: to explore how this hapless character, a believer of mythical creatures, come to terms with the world he is presented.

It strikes me as ironic that I am writing this as I never read these things. It reminds me of when I first started writing and why I started writing in the first place. At the time, there wasn't a single book that I read in its entirety. Aside from comic books, I read some or most of a book, but never from start to finish. I apologize to every English teacher I ever had. I took some liberties with my book reports. The truth of the matter was that I couldn't find books that were interesting to read. So I figured I would write my own stories. Stories that I would find interesting. And so it began, at the age of 13, I began crafting my own stories from comedy skits and plays to teleplays and books.

Then, I realized, if I want people to read my work, I should read others. I chalked it up to professional courtesy. It sounded logical at the time. I first delved into Stephen King's IT. Not the shortest of books. Then, The Paper, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass, and eventually, some of the science fiction/fantasy classics including The Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Star Wars saga, and I, Robot. If I may throw out some recommendations: The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon by Stephen King, the Star Trek: New Frontier series and Knight Life by Peter David, and any Sherlock Holmes stories by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. If you're going to learn, learn from the best.

If you made it this far, I appreciate your willingness to read through this controlled ramble. I am excited for you to enter this world beyond these pages.

_____ Table of Contents _____

Preface

Acknowledgements

Act One: The Call

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Act Two: The Quest

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Act Three: No More, No Lass!

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Act Four: The Third Truth

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Act Five: Let the Madness Begin

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Excerpt from Book Two of The Dragonskinner and the Hanging Stones of Wiltshire

About the Author

Also by Christopher Goodrum

Connect with Christopher Goodrum

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to my wife, Kellie, and my children: Conner, Sara, Julianna, and Grace. Your love and support is unending.

Thanks to Tyler Mullen and Dustin Hughes for pitching me the idea and letting me run with it.

And to the "Real Guys": David Maddox, Kevin Miller, and Justin Worsham. I've never worked and had adventures with a more creative bunch.

This would also not be possible without the contributions and support of those who helped me publish this story. My deepest appreciation to Makiesa Ramsay, Blaine Whitten, Sharon Alexander, Yvonne Delgado, Lindsey Ballou, Cindy Anderson, Elizabeth Monger, Jessica Thompson, and Madison Bechthold.

For Jayden...have story time with the other angels.

The Legend of the

Dragonskinner

Some Stories Were Born to Become Legends

Some Legends Never Die....

...And Some Legends Should Never Be Told...
Part I

The Call
Prologue

He heard whispers in the dark. Faint whispers that called for him, beaconed him. Darkness was all around without a single glimmer of light in existence. He didn't remember how he got there or even where he was before this moment. But he did recall four words shouted to him: "Swirl attack. 25 damage."

Ryan was disorientated and confused. The voices sounded familiar somehow. Like distant memories lurking behind the veil of remembrance. He walked forward despite the lack of sight, reaching out in front of him and hoping to not run into anything or stumble over a rock or log. His feet sloshed through a pool of water, although he didn't notice standing in it beforehand.

"Hello?" he called out.

A singular voice stood out above the whispers and answered, "What are you saying 'hello' for? You hear us. You know there's someone here."

"Where am I?"

"Between what is real, and what is not," the voice answered, while other whispers continued in the background.

"Avalon," Ryan exclaimed. "The home of the Dragons."

"What?! No! Your mind," the voice corrected. "Avalon is the resting place of King Arthur."

"Taken there by the Dragon Elders and entombed him will fire and ice until the day of his awakening where the Holy Grail will be placed within his noble grasp and return to the world an era of honor and peace with his trusted companion, Fework, Lord of the Dragons."

The voice and whispers fell silent, and Ryan was left alone. "Hello?"

The voice returned. "Sorry, I had to double check to see if I was speaking with Forrest Gump."

"Who?"

"Nevermind," the voice replied. Whispers returned in the background. Ryan couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but he heard the words "quest", "legacy", and "pillar". He became excited as the voice continued to speak to him. "I have a message for you, Ryan," it said. "First, be careful of the pillar."

"What pillar?"

Suddenly, a pillar eluded Ryan's out-stretched arms and met with his face with a wet crack as it broke his nose. Ryan screamed in pain, stumbled backwards, and fell on his butt into the pool of water.

"Second," the voice continued without delay. "Stay true to who you are for your greatest trials are ahead of you."

"Is this real blood," Ryan asked in a muffled voice. His hands cupped his broken nose and covered his mouth. His voice quivered from the pain. "Since this is my mind, will I have a broken nose in reality? You know, like in Dreamscape?"

The voice began to sound annoyed. "Ryan, can we focus here? Find the Three Truths and all will be revealed. This is your path."

The voice and the whispers faded away into silence. Only the quiet movement of the once still water filled the air. Ryan remained seated in the pool of water, tending to his nose in wet pants. The roll of thunder now can be heard in the distance. It began as a soft crackling sound, then quickly exploded into a boom overhead so incredibly loud, it was good thing Ryan's pants were already wet.
Chapter One

California, 1994

Ryan awoke to a loud boom of thunder. His head shot up from his school desk, rattling his glasses a bit causing him to straighten it out. A pog, from a stack of Magic Pogs scattered along his desk, was stuck to his right cheek. They were part of a game that phased out of popularity in the '90s where two opponents square off in a battle in order to collect the most plastic discs. The game was simplistically played stacking a collection of pogs and with a unique pog designated as the slammer, the disc is slammed unto the stack, dispersing the pogs. Pogs that were flipped onto its back were collected by the player who activated the slammer. All remaining pogs were restacked for another round.

Ryan's pogs were a variation of the original, combined with properties of Magic cards, depicting characters, places, and magical items and possessed attributes that benefit or hinders the player's gaming experience. Ryan spent a good portion of his weekly allowance, collecting the best and most powerful of pogs, hours perfecting his game, and nights memorizing every attribute on every pog he owned. Unfortunately, he regularly failed to get anyone to play with him.

There were rules against having such objects out during a lesson. It was bad enough that some students didn't pay attention in class. The teacher didn't need other external and irrelevant distractions, nor did she like the idea of students falling asleep in class. Luckily, Ryan's desk was located in the back of the classroom and the student in front of him was tall and wide enough to obstruct his teacher's view of him.

The rain clouds had moved in rather quickly in the late morning, which meant that the after school dueling tournament would have to be in his parents' house to keep the Magic Pogs from getting wet. Rain lightly sprayed the windows, distorting the view of the empty playground.

Ryan glanced at the clock and it was the eleven o'clock hour, which meant science class had started. His teacher, Ms. Carter, had begun with writing a word upon the chalkboard and its definition. She was a pretty, young teacher. Ryan guessed that she was in her early 30's, when in fact, she was in her mid-20's. Her light brown hair was pulled back behind her ears from her reading glasses that momentarily sat upon her head.

After writing the definition, she set the chalk down and turned to face the class. "Predator: any organism that exists by preying upon other organisms. These are organisms that feed on another. Or simply, animals that hunt or stalk other animals to feed upon them. Can anyone think of any examples of predators?"

"Lions," a student called out.

"Hawks," another answered.

"Sharks," a third student replied.

"Yes," Ms. Carter began. "Those are all examples. Let us not forget certain plants and insects. We, too, are predators. We hunt. We fish..." She looked at Ryan, noticed an object stuck to his right cheek, and tapped her own.

Ryan touched his right cheek and felt the Magic Pog. He removed it and saw that it was one of his rare limited edition pogs: The Pog of Destiny represented by a fire breathing blue dragon surrounded by green flames.

"...Does anyone know what are the most dangerous animals in the world today," Ms. Carter continued.

With a sudden burst of confidence, Ryan raised his hand. Pleasantly surprised, Ms. Carter called on him.

"Dragons," Ryan announced. The entire class stopped what they were doing and turned to face him with confused and concerned looks. "They have great night vision, 500-foot wingspans, and unmatched sense of smell."

The class erupted in laughter. The girls giggled and the boys guffawed.

Ms. Carter fought back her own laughter and only held it together long enough to see the sincerity in Ryan's eyes. "I don't think those are accurate characteristics, Ryan."

"No, really! They are great companions, but fearsome hunters. Their talons are razor sharp and have powerful grips. Their fire breath burns ten times hotter than any man-made fire, and they have +50 dexterity."

Ms. Carter raised her hands to settle down the class and get it back on track. "I was speaking of real animals. Not mythological."

"So was I," Ryan replied, which caused another episode of laughter throughout the class. The reaction of the class angered Ryan. "They are real. They are just in centuries-long hibernation."

"That's enough class," Ms. Carter commanded. "Settle down." After a few long moments, the class eventually settled down and Ms. Carter resumed her lesson. "Surprisingly, the most dangerous animal in the world is the mosquito. Remember that insects do have animal cells rather than plant cells. Therefore, they can be classified as animals. More people die from mosquitoes than bears and sharks. How? Well..."

Ryan no longer listened...or cared. He was right. He knew he was right. And that's all that mattered. And one day, he would prove it to them because the truth was on his side.
Chapter Two

California, 2009

No one likes a flat tire, especially during the height of summer. But Ryan, now 28, had the curious fortune of his ice cream truck being temporarily immobilized in front of the city park, which was also across the street from the Boys and Girls Club. The kids were out in abundance, enjoying the hot day with water gun battles and football games. The water fountains were popular, but only gave out warm, iron-tasting water.

So, business was booming and he had plenty of chocolate malts, creamsicles, and push-ups to last for hours. The tow truck wouldn't be around for a while yet, so Ryan was free to chat with many of the young men that parked themselves along the curb to rest and who had plenty of extra cash to spend on ice cream.

There were ten of them, but he only focused on the four directly in front of him, since he could only stick his head so far from the side of the ice cream truck which opened up into a sales counter. The boys were twelve years old, wearing skateboarding shirts and sporting faux hawks. Orange creamsicles were their flavor of choice and they were on their second round.

"You boys are really taken with those orange creamsicles," Ryan said. "We just got a new flavor yesterday. Bananas-and-creamsicles. You should give it a try."

"What do you do for a real job," one of them said. He had a green faux hawk and went by the nickname, Thrasher.

"This is my real job."

"No. Really."

"Really!"

"How much do you make," another asked. He had a white Tony Hawk shirt and a pair of Oakleys hanging from the collar.

"It's not the pay that defines the job's worth," Ryan began. "But the integrity you bring to it."

"That bad, huh," the third boy replied. "Do you get free ice cream?"

"Yes," Ryan replied happily, but realized he had to double back and explain. "Well, only after you've rotated them out, fill out a requisition form, and wait for them to be released from inventory, and open for claim before the ice crystals form on them or some of them begin to liquefy into a sticky, syrupy thing."

"That's lame," Thrasher declared.

"But they still taste good."

"It's like having useless superpowers like the chick from 'Heroes'," the third boy stated.

"Which one," Thrasher asked.

"All of them, really."

Ryan's eyes widened in interest. "Do you boys like comic books?"

"They're all right," the Tony Hawk wearing boy answered. "Batman is pretty raw. But Spider-Man is lame."

"Batman?! It's all about Spawn."

"Are you kidding me," the fourth boy finally spoke. "Wolverine can carve up all of them."

"Too bad his movie sucked," Thrasher replied.

"Oh, snap," Ryan laughed.

The boys looked at him, strangely. And realizing his un-"hip" status, Ryan stopped laughing shortly after.

"Who do you like," Ryan asked Thrasher.

"Green Arrow."

"Oliver Queen. Nice choice."

"He's lame," the third boy remarked.

"Screw you," Thrasher replied, sourly.

"Don't be a punk, Thrasher," the third boy replied. "You read what you are."

"Piss off, man."

Ryan, understanding Thrasher's frustration, felt the need to step in. "First of all, Green Arrow is not lame. He asked Black Bird to marry him at one point."

"Black Canary," Thrasher corrected.

"I read Green Arrow."

"Lame," the Tony Hawk wearing boy remarked, disguised behind a fake cough.

"If you like comic books, I've got some real vintage stuff," Ryan said. "These are rare series of comic books. You won't find them anywhere."

"Why? Because they suck?"

"No! Well, their runs were short compared to most, but they were awesome stories. I'm talking about 'Doom 2009', 'The Fly', and 'Darkhawk'. I've got some on the passenger seat. Do you want to take a look?"

"We never heard of them."

"They're no Captain America or Ritchie Rich, but..."

"Who the hell is Ritchie Rich," Thrasher asked. He turned to the other three, tossed his creamsicle wrapper on the ground, and stood up. "This guy is a loser, let's bail."

The four boys left Ryan and the ice cream truck, and took the rest of his business with them.

Ryan didn't sell another ice cream or fudgesicle for another hour until the tow truck arrived to change the flat tire. The tow truck driver bought two rockets and a push-up before taking payment for his time and service, then drove away.

Ryan closed up shop, securing the side of the truck, and decided to head home for the day.

It was only two o'clock in the afternoon.

A couple miles away from his home, driving through a residential area, the ice cream truck hit a massive pothole, knocking a couple of his comic books off the passenger seat and onto the floor between the driver's and passenger's seat.

Ryan cursed underneath his breath and reached down for his "Batman versus Predator" comic and "Justice League Europe" 1994 annual crossover issue, taking his eyes off the road for a brief moment. When his eyes came back upon the road, he had to jerk the steering wheel suddenly to the right, sending the ice cream truck into a light pole and his head into the steering wheel.

Before he lost consciousness, he only had one thought of realization...

...he had wet his pants.
Part II

The Quest
Chapter Three

His nose screamed in agony with excruciating pain as the sound of blood pitter-pattered in a pool of water. Ryan opened his eyes, but saw nothing. Darkness had engulfed him. The dripping of blood overcoming the barrier of his hands that cupped his nose was the only sound as he sat in the pool of water.

Whispers faded into the far distance, too soft to be understood. Through the whispers a boisterous voice came in. And it was angry.

"What the hell, Ryan?"

"Excuse me?!" The voice was familiar to Ryan, but he didn't recall it being British before.

"The Three Truths. Find the Three Truths. Have you forgotten?"

"Not exactly..."

"Not exactly?! What the hell does that mean?"

Ryan was hesitant to answer. "I...don't know."

"So, you haven't been looking."

"I don't know what I'm looking for. What are the Three Truths?"

"Must I spell out everything?"

A light began to appear surrounding a form in the distance. The form could not be identified at the moment, or present distinguishable features, but Ryan could make out a white robe draping the figure as the light turned to a light blue glow.

Ryan stared intently, trying to understand what he was seeing. "Ben? Ben Kenobi?"

The figure stepped forward and, like a blur, travelled fifty yards in a matter of moments. The figure was a young boy, standing at about 5'8", and wore circular glasses. "Do I bloody look like Alec Guiness?"

"Actually, you look like a cross between Harry Potter and Hugh Grant," Ryan replied.

"You are quite unintelligent, aren't you?" "Hugh Potter" didn't wait for a response. "Your quest still lies before you, Ryan, and you must take the journey. The Three Truths are what have been hidden from the world. And you must find them to show the world so that you may unlock the legacy within you. You shall inherent the most sought after reward and restore peace and harmony to the world."

"Where must I go?"

"Search among the maple leaves for the one whom the land bears its name. Wash with the Irish Springs to call forth an Untouchable ally. Take flight on the winds of fire to restore the order of things."

Ryan, being confused, sought for clarification. "So...you want me to wash myself with Irish Spring soap in a maple tree and light a fart into the wind?"

Hugh Potter shook his head and rubbed his temples feeling a migraine coming on. "It's like conversing with a simpleton," he said to himself. "No, you tossa'. Go to Canada, Ireland, and England. Find Bigfoot, the Loch Ness monster, and the last remaining dragon guardian of England." Hugh Potter spoke less enthusiastically and with less flourish. "Do you think you can handle that?"

"A dragon?" Ryan became excited. To find a dragon and to show the world of its existence would finally vindicate him. Those from his childhood would have to come forward and admit to their ignorance and lack of open-mindedness. And when he is riding high on his new found companion, he would have his sweet revenge. An image of Sebastian riding Falcor at the end of The Neverending Story came to mind.

Hugh Potter folded his arms and sighed. "You're thinking of Falcor, aren't you?" Ryan nodded with a moronic grin as something caught Hugh Potter's eyes, floating in the water. "Please tell me that's a fudgesicle."
Chapter Four

Two weeks passed since the accident that resulted in his ice cream truck license being suspended, his truck in the body shop, and his inventory melted. His nose still hurt when he sneezed.

He didn't know what he was going to do for money. He had a quest to embark on. The first leg of the journey was set, but continuing onto Ireland and England was going to be a financial challenge.

Ryan found solace in visiting the city pool, standing beyond the chain-linked fence surrounding it, and watching the boys explode into cannonballs upon the water. He missed his youth, his innocence, and his boyish freedom. Despite the fact that he couldn't swim, the city pool was the perfect escape from his ordinary life.

He was so lost in contemplative misery, he didn't notice that a young woman was standing next to him...or how long she may have been there. She, too, was looking out onto the pool, but she focused on nothing in particular. She was slightly shorter than Ryan with straight, shoulder-length black hair and a slender frame. Her complexion was a medium brown tone and she had deep brown eyes that could call upon men like a siren...but those kinds of charms did not work on Ryan.

"You shouldn't be here," she said to him.

"Do I know you," he asked.

"No. But I know you. Destiny. They're intertwined, yours and mine."

Mistaking her meaning, Ryan replied, "Not interested."

"What?! Ewww! No!" She took a step back with an incredible urge to vomit from the repulsive thought. "I am the Guardian of the Prize."

"What is the prize?"

"You will not come to know it. I am charged with its safe keeping, and you will never come to know of its location, or obtain the prize."

Ryan began to step away from the fence, feeling uneasy and uncertain as to where the conversation was headed. He had never seen this young woman before, yet she had known him somehow. But in a way that was not flattering or friendly. For whatever reason, she meant to do him harm. She knew of his quest and for some reason, she meant to stop him. Stop his discovery of the Three Truths. Stop his revelation to the world about dragons.

He could begin to feel her judging eyes upon him, her close-mindedness, and her ridicule. Like all those before her in the classroom, in the ice cream inventory warehouse, and at Christmas dinners.

The blood in his veins grew cold with fury, his eyes narrowed in distrust, and his mind turned dark in thought. The truth will be known and he must not let her stop him.

"Who are you, really," he asked.

"The one who cannot allow you to reveal the dragons."

Ryan suddenly knew what to do. His mind was clear with the knowledge and understanding of his strength and power, as if a great gift was uncovered before his eyes, complete with a mental instruction manual.

A voice inside his head told him to embrace his destiny, and so he reached inside the right pocket of his khaki shorts.

He found nothing.

He dug a little deeper.

Still nothing.

But then, hidden along the pocket lining of his outer thigh, he grabbed hold of a small object, smiled, and then prepared himself for battle.

"Let's dance," he announced.

In a swift movement, Ryan pulled out his Pog of Destiny and released it like a ninja throwing star. It erupted into blue flames as soon as it left his grasp, flying towards the Guardian with lethal intent.

The Guardian snatched the Magic Pog out of the air as if it was a Nerf ball sailing slowly in the air. Ryan's expression went from devious to embarrassment.

"Nice catch," he said.

"Terrible throw," she replied as the flames quickly died.

"It always worked for Gambit."

The Guardian tossed aside the Magic Pog and sprung into a counterattack. She spun into a powerful roundhouse kick to Ryan's face, continued her momentum to bring herself to a low crouch, and delivered a powerful punch to his crotch.

Ryan's face exploded from the pain. It was nothing he had ever felt before. It was like fire, lightning, and a sharp chillness of ice that coursed throughout his entire head.

Curiously, he felt nothing from the crotch assault.

His glasses rattled upon his face. The lenses nearly shattered from the impact.

There was no time to react, however, as the Guardian rose from her crouched position and sent him a mighty uppercut that dropped Ryan to the ground. A yellow mist formed around her hands, manifesting out of the very air around her. With a flick of her hand, the yellow mist quickly surrounded Ryan. The mist moved about like light particles exposed to electricity.

The world froze around them. Birds were motionless in the sky. Activity in the swimming pool halted. Cannonballers and divers never entered the water, splashers never got their targets wet, and lifeguards never got the chance to yell at a couple of kids running outside the pool. Time was at a standstill.

But for Ryan, time was moving at an exceedingly rapid rate. In a matter of moments, a thick moustache grew upon his face, his waist expanded, and his stomach rounded out. Slight lines of crow's feet appeared, gray tones lightly colored his hair, and a few dozen brain cells died.

Then quite unexpectedly to the Guardian, the yellow mist dissipated, vanishing into nothingness. The Guardian took a step back, unsure of what was happening.

Then, in a blink of an eye, Ryan disappeared and time resumed in the world.

"The time will come, Guardian," the voice of Hugh Potter began, "where the battle shall commence. But it is not this day. He is not ready..."

"Obviously."

"I know, right?! But the time will come where he will be your greatest adversary, and the prize shall be his."

The voice of Hugh Potter left her and she was left with her failure to destroy Ryan. And as she looked down at the discarded Pog of Destiny, she now knew what she had to do. She had to find the key to it all: the Third Truth. Beatrice, the Guardian of the Prize, had to find Veggan.
Chapter Five

Saskatchewan, Canada

Tall, thick grass cushioned his head and body as large, coniferous trees towered over him. Ryan could feel the changes made to his body. He could sense the new discomforts in his joints that came with age. He could hear the thoughts in his head telling him that he no longer was mentally capable of processing information quickly. His face was rounder and hairier. His body was plumper and physically slower.

He had aged. And he was now 40.

He slowly rose to find that he was in the middle of a forest and not outside a community pool like he was moments ago. The sounds of wildlife echoed softly in the distance. Birds flapped their wings overhead, hidden in the treetops.

It was mid-day most likely, judging by the height of the sun in the sky, but Ryan couldn't tell exactly what time that might have been. He could barely see the sun through the arboreal ceiling. Just a sliver of the sun could be seen.

"Where am I?"

"Poor bloke! Doesn't even know a forest when he's in one," a voice said behind him.

Ryan quickly turned around to see two tall creatures sitting upon a fallen tree, watching him with curious fascination. They were covered in thick, dark brown hair and possessed large, thick feet. One of them was wearing an explorer's outfit, complete with hat and ascot. The other simply was wearing trousers with binoculars around his neck and a monocle.

"Chewie?" Ryan asked, feeling disoriented.

"No," the one with the monocle spoke. "We are not in Mexico." He had a strong British accent and a composure about him that was very...British. "The poor fellow thinks we are in Mexico," he said to the other one.

"My good man," the other began. "I do believe he is not asking if your name is 'Chuy' of the Hispanic descent, but rather mistaking you for a fictional character popularized by a science fiction genre of the American cinema."

"That's preposterous. Utterly preposterous!"

"I couldn't agree more, Thames." The hairy creature arose from the log and approached Ryan. He straightened his ascot and said, "We are not in Mexico as my brother had mentioned. But rather quite the opposite. We are in Canada. Saskatchewan to be more precise."

"But you're British," Ryan replied in confusion.

"That's right," Thames replied.

"I thought only the French colonized Canada," Ryan said.

"That is a common misconception," Thames stated as the other chuckled.

"My good man. Where do you think British Columbia came from?" The only response they got from Ryan was a shrug. Then, in a moment of realization, he said, "I, daresay. Where are my manners? An introduction is in order. My name is Bartholomew. Jonas Bartholomew, Esquire. My brother, here, is Thames."

"Please to make your acquaintance," Thames greeted.

"My name is Ryan. Ryan Henderson. How did I get here?"

"Not the foggiest, I'm afraid. But you did appear to be in some sort of distress."

Ryan looked at his hands, noticing the extra thickness and plumpness in his palms and fingers. He touched his face and felt the roundness, the scruffy facial hair lining his upper lips, and the fullness of his cheeks. His heart sank as despair fell over him.

"How did this happen," he asked himself. "I'm old."

"And unattractive."

"Thames," Jonas began in a disapproving tone. "I'm quite certain he was unattractive before."

"You are quite right, Jonas. My apologies."

"Now that you know where you are, do you know why you are here?"

"I'm on a quest," Ryan answered, although, due to his current physical condition, he didn't sound thrilled about it.

But Jonas did. "Oh, jolly good! An expedition into the unknown. I am dressed for just an occasion. May we join you on this grand venture?"

"You don't know what the expedition is for, Jonas," Thames stated matter-of-factly.

"That is of no concern to an adventurer such as myself," Jonas replied. "It is the thrill of the chase. Whatever you are chasing, my good sir, I want in."

"Actually," Ryan realized, "I think I'm here to find you."

"Me?"

"Well, not you, exactly. But your kind. You're a Bigfoot. A Sasquatch!"

Jonas and Thames looked at each other and began to laugh. "We certainly are not," Thames replied.

"But you're tall and hairy and have large feet," Ryan said, pointing to their thick, hairy feet.

"And I'm wearing clothes and speaking," Jonas added. "In a British accent, no less. Thames, here, is wearing a monocle. No! We are not the infamous people of the sasquatch."

"We are not so fortunate to be among them," Thames stated, adjusting his monocle.

"We are Swatchers. Their observers and guardians."

"Swatchers?" Ryan asked.

"Sasquatch Watchers," Thames explained. "A slightly less significant clan. You see, our feet are rather quite diminutive by comparison."

"Among us, the crude term of 'bigfoot' is more of a physical distinction rather than a physical description."

"But if I were to take you to...say...Ireland," Ryan ventured. "People would mistake you as a sasquatch."

"I suppose so," Jonas shrugged. "What's to explore in Ireland?"

"The most elusive creature known to man," Ryan enticed.

He began to feel the desire burn within him. It was the drive that began to fuel his urgency to continue with his quest. He couldn't believe how fast it was to locate the First Truth. By sheer luck or divine intervention, he was dropped right in front of two. He hoped the remaining two would be just as easy to find.

He just didn't know how he was going to get out of Canada and into Ireland.

Thames opted not to go on the adventure, ranting about how ridiculously full of rubbish it all seemed. Jonas didn't care. He was looking for a good adventure. Anything to redeem him from the woodland zamboni incident of '03, which resulted into a lawsuit by Kris Kringle.

"Apparently, the dear ol' chap's vacation was ruined when I spray painted his zamboni brown and placed antlers on the front of it to give it a more woodland look. Unfortunately, a male moose mistook it for a potential mate. It gave the Misses an awful fright," Jonas explained during the trek out of the forest. "Your quest. It must be of some importance."

Ryan nodded. He was increasingly getting winded from all the walking. The plain was fairly level. Not a whole lot of inclines or steep declines along the way. He was getting weary and they had only been walking for twenty minutes.

"I am on a quest to find the Three Truths."

"My word! The Three Truths!"

"Do you know what they are?"

Jonas shook his head. "No. But they sound magnificent...and rather vague."

"Well, I believe you are one of them. Sasquatch. Bigfoot. The First Truth."

"And going to Ireland will uncover the Second Truth," Jonas asked.

"Yes!"

"May I ask? How are we getting there?'

"Haven't figured that out, yet."

Ryan stopped, looking around him to get a new sense of direction, and panting heavily.

"Forgive me for saying so, but you do not look intelligent enough to have it figured out before we get there."

"Do you have any suggestions," Ryan asked.

Jonas Bartholomew, Esq. leaned in close to Ryan, requiring him to bend down quite a bit, and said in a discreet tone, "How do you feel about...unicorns?
Part III

No More, No Lass!
Chapter Six

There was something so wondrous about the unicorn that pleased Ryan's eyes. Was it the pure white coat of its body that glimmered in the sunlight? Was it the radiance it seemed to produce from a deeper source of magic? Or was it the long white manes that flowed in the gentle breeze that reminded him of Billy Ray Cyrus during the country singer's "Achy Breaky Heart" days? Ryan didn't know.

But Jonas suspected it was the single, spiral-etched horn protruding from the middle of its forehead, shining in the daylight like polished ivory. Jonas watched his new travelling companion as Ryan's eyes were completely transfixed by the unicorn's horn.

"You know," Ryan began. "The horn is the only feature that distinguishes a unicorn from an actual horse."

"You mean, besides the billy-goat beard, a lion's tail, and cloven hooves," Jonas corrected.

"Yeah," Ryan replied sheepishly, "besides those. How do we get to Ireland? Do we ride them there."

There were, in fact, two unicorns before him, waiting patiently and feeling serene in their surroundings at the moment.

"You can't simply mount a unicorn," Jonas scoffed. "We are not worthy to do such things. They merely act as our gateways, magically transporting us to wherever we desire to go."

"Ah, yes! I've read about this somewhere. We have to stroke its horn."

Ryan reached out to take hold of the unicorn's horn that was in front of him. The unicorn quickly backed up and sneered.

"Bloody hell," Jonas exclaimed. "Are you out of your bloody mind?! You just can't touch someone else's horns. You can't just violate the natural laws. They will go stark raving mad. How would you like it if some random funny looking, pathetic of a man walked up and tried to grab your horn?"

"Well..." Ryan began.

"They will impale you just as sure as they will kill you. You must have a head full of straw." Jonas continued to berate him for a moment longer, took a deep breath to calm himself, then said, "No! We do not touch the unicorns." Ryan snapped his fingers in disappointment, interrupting Jonas for a moment (which annoyed the Swatcher). "We simply stand between them."

"That's it? Then what?"

"Then we wait for the KGB to give us a ride."

Ryan looked worried. "The KGB?!"

"The Killer Giant Beavers," Jonas explained as if it was obvious.

Ryan shook his head in rejection to the idea. "I don't do beavers."

"Pish-posh! You'll be fine."

Having no other real option but to trust Jonas, Ryan stepped in-between the two unicorns with the Swatcher, and waited. He wasn't certain for how long they had to wait for the KGB. Jonas couldn't tell him because Jonas, himself, didn't know.

"It's not like we made an appointment," Jonas told him. "They have been called. They will get here when they get here."

The unicorns also waited in patience. They were nearly motionless aside from the occasional huff and turning of their heads. After awhile, Ryan and Jonas sat on the ground. Much time had passed in waiting. The amount of time was uncertain, but the sun had begun its quick descent towards the western horizon. After a quick round of "I Spy", Ryan was getting impatient. After all, there were only so many greens and browns you can spy in the forest.

"They are coming, right," Ryan asked.

"Yes. I should have mentioned that they do not have very good sense of time. No use relying on them to be punctual or respectful of other people's time. But beavers are the best way to travel through the gateways. So, we must wait."

Another hour had passed and shadows loomed throughout the forest. The weather was remarkably comfortable, but the winds were still. Not much movement was heard throughout the forest, as well.

Overhead in the tall, thick trees, Ryan began to hear the rustling of leaves and the sharp cracking of wood. Something was moving along the treetops. Nothing could be seen as night approached and the full height of the trees could not be easily seen. A louder crack came from Ryan's left. It came from high in the trees, but a lot lower in height than the first. The crack was followed by a loud snap and the sound of a large tree branch tumbling to the forest floor, while directly overhead, Ryan eyed a large, dark object free falling to the ground.

Ryan scooted back in a hurry and narrowly avoided being slammed on top of his head by a ten pound sack of potatoes, which landed between his legs where he once sat. He gasped from the near miss. But he was more surprised by what almost landed on him rather than the fact that he almost got hit by it.

"Ah, good," Jonas exclaimed, rising to his feet. "They're here."

Two large beavers dropped in a couple yards in front of the unicorns. One had long brown fur, trimmed and groomed to a respectable length while the other beaver, who was much older, had short, graying black fur. They were the size of adolescent bovine with wide, flat tails, and deadly sharp buck teeth.

The brown beaver, who went by the name of Aces, looked at Ryan anxiously and began to assess his overall appearance. Ryan noticed Aces' had a sack of potatoes strapped to his underbelly.

The older beaver breathed heavily as he walked wearily to the fallen sack of potatoes, picked up the sack, and restrapped it to himself with the belt that was still around his waist. He, also, took an assessment of Ryan, but it was only a quick glance before he said to Aces, "You're taking the fat one."

Aces stomped his hind foot on the ground and replied, "Fine."

"We've known about you for awhile now," Tack told Ryan. "Didn't expect you to be here so soon."

"Found him, did ya," Aces asked, referring to Jonas.

"Who told you about me," Ryan asked.

"A mutual friend. He also made arrangements in Ireland."

The beavers joined Ryan and Jonas in the middle of the unicorns, and with a nod of approval from both the beavers and Jonas, Ryan mounted Aces. He felt strange about the whole thing. And because he didn't quite know what to expect, he assumed that feeling awkward about riding a beaver like some pony must have been normal.

"What are the sacks of potatoes for," Ryan asked.

"You are going to Ireland, right," Tack, the gray-furred beaver asked in return. Ryan simply nodded, and Tack replied, "Then you'll need the sack of potatoes."

The horns of the unicorns began to illuminate. The surface lining of the horns became transparent, revealing spindles and shimmers of rapidly moving light within. The lights soon began to pulsate towards the tips where a powerful stream of light extended from the horns, and joined together to create a vortex of bright white light. A web of blue electricity appeared sporadically along the outer edges of the vortex.

"Hang on tight," Aces ordered.

Aces and Tack shifted their weight to their hind legs, rolling up onto the tails as it bent underneath them. They looked at each other, Tack gave a nod, and they quickly sprung forward, disappearing into the vortex with Ryan and Jonas in tow.
Chapter Seven

Sherkin Island, W. Cork, Ireland

Southwest of Cork County within the sea lough known as Roaringwater Bay, laid Sherkin Island. Not many people resided on the island as the dimension of the Irish island was only three miles long and one and a half miles wide. It was quite windy with gusts strong enough to carry sea foam up and over sheer cliffs and several hundred feet across the land.

Upon one of the northern-most cliffs, the vortex opened. Light and electricity poured out from it, temporarily blinding the small welcoming committee standing ten yards away. In unison, as if they were of one mind, the half dozen red-clad leprechauns reached into their coats, pulled out a pair of sunglasses, and put them on.

Tack emerged from the vortex first, landing squarely on all fours with Jonas a couple feet from the leprechauns. The beaver was breathing more heavily than before with a bit of a wheeze. Aces soon followed, but he was on top of Ryan, somehow, riding the fall to the ground upon Ryan's back as Ryan hit the ground with his face and slid several feet to Tack's side.

The leprechauns cringed from the sight as blades of grass were uprooted and stones relocated. Jonas simply stood up off of Tack, shaking his head in embarrassment. Slowly, but surely, Ryan picked himself up, dusting off the new layers of dirt from his khakis. Aces slid off Ryan's back and began to unstrap the potatoes from his back.

"Are you all right, dear fellow," Jonas asked.

"Yeah," Ryan replied. "I guess I have more cushions now."

"I told you to hang on," Aces barked. "If it wasn't for me hopping on your back like I did, you would've found yourself in Romania... or worse."

Ryan's eyes widened in amazement as he finally caught sight of the small congregation of boyish looking little men dressed in red. "Holy crap! Leprechauns."

"He seems a little too happy to see us," one leprechaun said to another.

The vortex closed, taking with it the brightness that temporarily blinded the leprechauns.

"Welcome to Sherkin Island," the leader of the small group of leprechauns said. He was a wee bit shorter than the other five, but his red-haired beard was longer by several inches, which was a mark of distinction among them. "We have been expecting you for quite some time, now. My name is Boyd. Master Cobbler of the McCloken clan."

"My name is Ryan. And this is Jonas."

Boyd took off his sunglasses to look upon Jonas as the Swatcher blocked the sun for him. Compared to Boyd, Jonas was a walking sentinel tower, too fierce to climb.

"I thought leprechauns wore green," Ryan added.

"Those are the Northside Leprechauns," Boyd explained. "Mischievous lot. Always worried about their bloody gold." Boyd eyed the sack of potatoes. "Ah, good, you've brought the potatoes. You will need them."

Boyd clapped his hands and the other leprechauns (for a lack of a better description) scurried towards Aces and Tack to retrieve the potatoes. The red-clad leprechauns were the size of little boys, 4'8" to 4'11", but they moved with a little bit more grace than penguins. There were two leprechauns per sack while the fifth leprechaun, named Fritz, supervised.

"So," Boyd continued. "Where shall we go first?"

"I don't know," Ryan shrugged. "Where do you suggest?"

"The southeastern shoreline," Fritz answered.

"This is simply marvelous," Jonas exclaimed, peering around the island. He was taken in by the view as he could see the entire island, from shoreline to shoreline. "We should be able to locate whatever it is you seek, my good man. Which brings me to an important point --- it will be bloody helpful if I knew what we were in search for."

Ryan had a huge smile on his face when he said, "the Loch Ness monster."

Jonas was dumbfounded at the revelation. "Boy George! Loch Ness? The Loch Ness monster?!" Ryan nodded. "The same Loch Ness monster that was discovered in 1933...in Scotland?"

The smile on Ryan's face dropped faster than the sack of potatoes as Aces and Tack took a couple steps back to distance themselves from Ryan's stupidity. "What?"

"The Loch Ness monster was discovered in the loch known as Loch Ness in the highlands of Scotland, Ryan. Not Ireland."

"But this is where I was told to go."

"And this is where we were told to take you," Tack said in the beavers' navigational defense.

"He is here," Boyd corrected. "Loch Ness. He is swimming about."

"He is," Ryan and Jonas both asked in unison.

"What did you think you needed the potatoes for," Fritz asked.

Boyd took the lead, guiding them all to the southeastern shoreline of Sherkin Island. The trek would normally have been a short one, but the way the leprechauns hobbled, it was going to take awhile to travel across the island. Along the way, the Master Cobbler began to explain the presence of the Loch Ness monster in Ireland and the sack of potatoes.

"The Loch Ness monster, as you have come to know him," Boyd began, "sleeps within the caverns underneath this island. The island is his home. And so is Ireland. There are only two in existence at any given time. The other one currently resides in Iceland."

"Iceland," Ryan asked.

"Vacation home," Fritz offered.

"The discovery in Scotland was a mere accident. They were playing 'Go Fish' and the school of fish happened to escape into the Scottish loch," Boyd continued. "It was Nestor who chased them in there. He realized he didn't know where he was, so he broke the surface to look at the landscape. They can always tell by the landscape. But that was the first and only time he was seen. And...that happened to have been the last time either one of them went to Scotland."

"I thought the Loch Ness was a girl," Ryan said. "They call it, Nessie, don't they?"

Fritz scampered into Ryan's path, pulled out a shoe horn from a jacket pocket, and waved it at him in a threatening manner. "Don't ever call him 'Nessie'. He hates that."

"Fritz..." Boyd barked. "Put that away and get behind the beavers." Fritz slowly placed the shoe horn back into his pocket as he leered at Ryan. After an uncomfortable moment, he stepped away, taking his new place behind the beavers. "I swear...the lad is not happy unless he cuts off someone's lucky charms."

"I'm pretty sure it's just the one wee bit of a charm," Fritz mumbled to himself.

"I heard that," Ryan called back to Fritz.

"You can't get too angry," Boyd remarked. "Fritz has a gift for knowing the truth of things."

By the time they reached the southern shoreline, Ryan was exhausted from all the walking. There wasn't a discernible trail, so they hiked over uneven ground filled with protruding rocks and choppy terrain. But they had finally arrived, staring out onto the Atlantic Ocean from a cliff that was only twenty feet high.

The leprechauns immediately began to open the sack of potatoes and tossed a couple into the water below.

Boyd continued with the explanations. "Nestor has lived for about 350 years. And when he was born, he was mighty hungry. Famished, in fact. So much so, he began to eat more food then he should have. There wasn't enough for the people of Ireland. Starving, as they were, many of the Irish folk left overseas. For six years, he fed. Mostly potatoes. It was the only thing he could stomach at the time. So, we harvested some for him.

"Little did we know that coming in contact with Nestor and then touching the potatoes would kill many potato crops and make people sick. So, to make amends, we swore to never feed Nestor potatoes from the island."

"We get them from Idaho, now," Fritz added, tossing three more spuds into the ocean.

Sea foam began to form in large clusters near the base of the cliff. Winds skimmed off the top layers, carried them up and over the cliff, and released them to float where they may. Waves began to crash along the wall of the cliff as well as a mound of water rose from the surface. Within moments, smooth, dark blue skin appeared, followed by a long curving neck, rolling back out of the water to reveal his head.

Nestor was quite large and wide. His head was shaped more like the head of a brontosaurus than a water serpent. No one could see his body since he was still submerged in the ocean water, but Ryan could only guess how far he went down. Nestor's neck stretched to about twenty five feet over the surface of the water, coiling back quite a bit so that he could look upon Ryan at eye level. He took stock of Ryan, and then Jonas, before looking toward the leprechauns for more potatoes.

Without hesitation, the leprechauns obliged, throwing a half dozen potatoes into the air. Nestor caught them in his mouth with great ease.

"Blimey," Jonas exclaimed.

Ryan was speechless.

And then, he fainted.
Chapter Eight

When Ryan came to, he found a couple of flat beaver tails fanning air into his face in attempt to wake him and all the leprechauns staring at him disapprovingly. He hadn't seen that kind of look since he put on a one-man stage performance of Krull in high school.

He was a little groggy waking from unconsciousness until he smelled something foul coming from Tack. The strong odor caused Ryan to sit straight up, groaning from the odorous exposure.

"Sorry," Tack said. "I am old, you know. Not much bodily control. There's a lot of fiber in sycamore trees."

Also looking over was a familiar sight: Hugh Potter. But he wasn't particularly happy to be there. He stood just out of the view of the beavers and leprechauns, who were too focused on Ryan to notice another person in the mix.

Ryan blinked twice to make sure he was really seeing him. "Hugh? Hugh Potter?"

Jonas, the beavers, and leprechauns now looked behind them to see Hugh Potter. Nestor, the Loch Ness monster, saw Hugh Potter there from the beginning.

"Get up," Hugh Potter commanded. "You're embarrassing me."

"You're real," Ryan said, dumbfounded at the revelation.

"Of course, I'm real. Who do you think saved you from the Guardian of the Prize?"

"Thank you for that, by the way," Ryan added as he picked himself up off the ground and straightened out his glasses. "I nearly got my butt kicked."

"You did get your butt kicked," Hugh Potter corrected.

The leprechauns began to laugh. Heaping belly full of laughter filled the air. Fritz began to dance a merry little jig. But a harsh look from Hugh Potter put a stop to it.

"The Guardian of the Prize," Jonas asked.

"She is Ryan's new arch-nemesis."

"I have an arch-nemesis," Ryan asked in amazement. "That is so awesome."

"You have come so far in so little time. Not without assistance, I might add. You must now hold your own against the challenges you will face. You must be able to stand against her."

"How can I? She aged me."

"By claiming your destiny," Hugh Potter replied. "Only then will you rise above your enemies...all those who doubt your worth...and rule over them as the new overseer of peace. The third and final truth awaits you."

"Pardon me, sir," Jonas interrupted. "Jonas Bartholomew, Esq. Swatcher. First Truth. And all around good chap. What is the purpose of this journey? What is the significance behind the Three Truths, as it were?"

"To rule over the world," Hugh Potter began to explain, "you must know all within it. Even those whom the world wants to forget. The Three Truths, like you, have been rejected by the world. Discounted as significant, or not of reality. But they are. And you needed to see them with your own eyes. Know they existed beyond your faith, fantasy, and imagination. It is one thing to believe...it is quite another thing to actually see. It is time to shake the foundations of their self-righteousness and restore the law of the dragons. And you, Ryan, will be their master."

All fell silent for a long moment. Only the crashing waves of the ocean were heard.

"I am so confused," Ryan finally replied.

Hugh Potter sighed in resignation. "Where did I lose you?"

"Pretty much after 'to rule the world'."

Hugh Potter explained everything again: Ryan's destiny, the purpose of finding the Three Truths, and their significance to his quest. Once again, Ryan had a hard time following. So, Hugh Potter began to explain it one more time. This time, the leprechauns joined in, talking it through more simply as if Ryan was a ten-year-old.

That seemed to work.

"So," Ryan ventured. "What you're saying is that I get to ride a dragon."

"That is not exactly the point," Hugh Potter replied. "But that is the long and the short of it, funny enough."

"So, now what? Do we brave the frontier in search of this dragon," Jonas asked, excitedly.

"Your journey is not with him," Boyd said, pointing to Ryan. "Nestor can only take one person." Ryan looked surprised and baffled, so Boyd offered further information. "Ryan is to go with Nestor to his next destination. Only he is permitted to go. Nestor will not take another."

"Your path, Jonas," Hugh Potter began, "lies with me. If you so choose, we will begin a new adventure. The KGB, as well."

Aces and Tack looked at each other, whispered among themselves for a moment, and then accepted the offer.

Jonas did as well. There was something about the vague offer that sounded like the promise of something absolutely thrilling.

Hugh Potter gestured for Ryan to step towards Nestor, and Ryan walked cautiously toward the water creature.

"We're not going to go underwater are we? Because I can't swim."

"It's the ability to breath you have to worry about," Fritz replied.

Nestor shook his massive head. Then he turned, bringing his body up alongside the cliff. More ocean water slammed against the cliff, spraying huge amounts of water into the air.

Ryan was to sit upon his back. But he didn't see how he was supposed to hang on. Nestor's neck was still quite far from where he was about to sit. Even if he was close enough, Nestor's neck was too thick to wrap his arm around.

"WWAD," Ryan thought to himself. "What would Aquaman do?"

He reached deep inside his left pocket of his khaki, feeling a nudge to act upon his instincts. Deep within, he grabbed hold of a small disc: a Magic Pog. He removed it from his pocket and took notice of it: the Lariat of Coral.

He tossed the pog into the air, sending the pog over the body of Nestor. The pog hovered over Nestor's back for a moment before transforming into a rope made of coral. It stretched out and tied itself around Nestor's neck like a noose. The other end of the rope formed into handles that Ryan could grip like reins. The end of the reins loosely hung around a knob of a water saddle that began to materialize upon Nestor's back. It was made of soft opal and designed like a mount made for royalty. The back and side rims of the opal saddle was ornately decorated with pearls and light green gems.

The image was awe-inspiring and majestic.

The leprechauns looked on in wonder.

The Killer Giant Beavers watched in astonishment.

Jonas was somehow reminded of a zamboni.

Ryan climbed into the saddle, taking hold of the coral reins. He was amazingly pleased at how comfortable the saddle was. The seat, itself, was cushioned in a plush spongy-like mass that could only be described as squishy and moist. And for the first time, Ryan could feel his destiny within his grasp.

He will find the Third Truth.

He will find the dragon.

He will ride the dragon.

And he will love every minute of it.
Part IV

The Third Truth
Chapter Nine

He was a chariot like no other. Nestor sailed gloriously over, and in, the ocean. Since Ryan could not go underwater for the fear of getting lost in it, away from Nestor and drowning, Nestor had to move along the Atlantic Ocean with his head and neck exposed, as well as a portion of his back where the water saddle was mounted. This also caused Nestor to move a lot slower than he was capable of.

That was not the only hindrance. The ocean water had gotten incredibly choppy and increasingly so the further they moved out from the shoreline of Sherkin Island. The jump to the United Kingdom, specifically England, was relatively a short one. Wales, Scotland, and Northern England were a mere skip and a hop away. But their destination was not that simple, or that close.

Their journey was to take them to West Sussex: a county on the southeastern shoreline of England.

Another hindrance was the sound of Ryan's voice. It really wasn't a hindrance so much as it was an annoyance, but the constant talking in conjuction with the actual sound of his voice made it difficult for Nestor to concentrate on the direction Nestor needed to go in order for them not to be seen. Many course corrections had to be made to avoid fishing boats, cruise liners, and cargo ships. Without the necessary amount of focus, Nestor could get them lost or swimming in circles.

Nestor would gladly tell Ryan to shut up, but Nestor had the unfortunate inability to speak in ways humans could understand. So, he swam on, trying to ignore Ryan's ramblings the best he could.

"I don't know," Ryan said. "It is a hard decision. I mean, the differences in leadership skills are massive. On the one hand, you have one that basically goes at it alone despite having friends around. And he manages them well and inspires them. But then there's the other who values teamwork and leads with power and conviction. Both have high moral standards. There is a code of honor that is unmatched and unsurpassed. I know what you're thinking. They're the same person. But they're really not. I mean, ideally they are, but they are at the opposite ends of the time continuum spectrum. Ancient past and far-off future. Hercules and Dylan Hunt. You have to give Kevin Sorbo some major props."

That was the kind of drivel Nestor was subjected to. He didn't know what Ryan was talking about, or who Kevin Sorbo was, or what a television was. And he was incapable of conveying that to Ryan.

And that was only the first hour.

The second was more trying on his patience and mild manner. There was much talk about more things he never heard of. Ryan spoke of a thing call Rodimus Prime, some sort of series of visual stories under a curious title "My Secret Identity", and yammered on about John Stamos' hair.

The third hour didn't let up with nonsensical talk about the variety of pogs, slammers, and their power stats. Damages, dexterities, fortitudes, special feats...Nestor didn't understand the thrill of it, or any practical use in anyone's life. The rules sounded complex, but not incredibly complicated. Yet, Ryan felt the need to explain it over and over again in great detail. It was maddening.

Nestor didn't care about detection any longer as he decided to put on some speed in the fourth hour. Water sprayed everywhere as Nestor drove onward, washing over him, and splashing Ryan as it ran up against the water saddle.

"This is going to be exciting," Ryan exclaimed. "To find a real dragon will be such a profound moment. No one will be able to doubt me anymore. No one will be able to deny what I discovered. Did you know that a dragon's wingspan is so incredibly massive, they can cover an entire football field, tip to tip? And claws so sharp and strong, they can lift an entire house right off its foundation. Can you imagine the power, the...*cough, cough*"

Nestor plunged his head into the ocean, sending large amounts of salt water into Ryan's face, onto his glasses, and into his mouth causing Ryan to choke. When Nestor brought his head back up, refreshed and revitalized, he looked back at his choking rider and smiled.

Ryan didn't speak for the rest of the journey. That was wholly satisfying to Nestor as night began to cover their entry into the English Channel.

Upon arriving to the English county of West Sussex, Ryan noticed how incredibly quiet the coastline was. The water rolled smoothly upon the beach, a gentle breeze carried in the crisp cool ocean scent, and sea gulls were nowhere to be found. The coastline was peaceful, serene, and empty. It was almost unnaturally quiet.

Nestor still couldn't risk being seen, and so, he remained a hundred yards from shore, blanketed by a cloudy night sky.

"What," Ryan asked, looking at all the water that was still around them, and the distance from Nestor to the shore. "Don't tell me you're not going to get closer. How am I supposed to get over there? I can't swim, remember?"

A thin curtain of blue and green light appeared along the coastline, illuminating at the very edges where the ocean water touched the sand, and it appeared to move along with the tide. Ryan had never seen anything like it before, but he imagined that this was what the Aurora Borealis looked like in the Arctic. The lights danced along the thin veil as if a prism was placed directly in the moonlight.

The light show was elegant, soothing, and...moving towards them.

The veil of light became more like a barrier as it moved onto the surface of the ocean and quickly glided toward them. In a matter of moments, it overtook them, allowing Ryan to pass right through, and then faded out of existence.

Afraid that something bad was going to happen, Ryan had closed his eyes and covered them with his left elbow and forearm. When he opened his eyes, he was nearly blinded by sunlight.

Ryan furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. It was somehow day, again, when night had fallen only an hour ago. But that wasn't all to his bafflement.

Nestor was gone.

The Loch Ness monster was no longer underneath him. Nor was the water saddle made of opal, or the lariat made of coral.

Instead, Ryan found himself in a small wooden boat holding a pair of oars. His shirt and khaki shorts were also gone, replaced by a dark red knight's tunic that was embroidered in gold and a small brown satchel slung over his shoulder.

Seeing no other option, Ryan placed the oars in the water and began to row himself to shore. It took longer than he expected and his arms were extremely tired by the time he beached. Not to mention he was out of breath.

There was a rope inside the boat tied to the bow. Ryan hopped into the shallow water with the rope in hand, and pulled the boat further onto the sand until he felt it was clear from the high tide that was starting to come in.

Exhausted beyond belief, Ryan lied down on the sand and took a deep breath of the ocean air.

It wasn't long before he found a pair of young men staring down at him and a couple of pitch forks lowered at his face, only inches away from making new holes.

Knowing nothing else to say, Ryan said, "Greetings, gentlemen."
Chapter Ten

West Sussex County, England, Year – Unknown

It wasn't strange enough that the current events had led Ryan to Canada to meet Jonas, Ireland to ride Nestor, and then slip through a veil of light that caused Nestor to vanish and brought a random change of clothes, but he now faced too young men with pitch forks on the shores of West Sussex County.

The young men were roughly the same height and both had shaggy brown hair. One had dirty brown pants, a crème colored shirt, and a light brown vest. The other was more or less dressed in rags.

Without speaking, they gestured Ryan to get up and walk to the north. Not about to argue with them, Ryan slowly stood up from the sand and began to walk in the direction he was pointed at. The young men walked behind him with the pitch forks leveled at Ryan's back.

"Do you mind telling me where I am," Ryan asked.

"Yes," the young man in rags replied.

"Would you at least tell me where you are taking me?"

"Would you tell us who you are and where you came from," the other young man asked.

"My name is Ryan, and I'm from America."

"Where," the young man in rags asked.

"Which kingdom does that land belong to," the other asked.

A bit confused, Ryan hesitated to answer.

"Speak, knight," the second young man ordered, poking the tips of his pitch fork into Ryan's back.Ryan flinched from the sudden pinch.

He had a feeling that he had better watch what he says. He was starting to understand that he was not where he thought he was. More accurately, he wasn't when he thought he was. Looking down at the knight's tunic he was wearing, he came up with a different answer.

"I hail from the Primus Kingdom," he replied rather slowly, unsure of his words. "Under the charge of Sir Ratchet and ruled by King Optimus. We are along the Welsh border."

"The unexplored territories," the young man in rags whispered to the other. He, then, asked Ryan, "How did you get all the way out here? Where's your steed?"

"And why do you talk funny," the other asked.

"I lost my steed in battle," Ryan tried to explain. "The Welsh were advancing on our border. They thought they out-flanked us, but we were greater in numbers than they anticipated. Unfortunately, my trusted steed and companion...Seabiscuit...ended up on the wrong end of a broad sword at the beginning of the battle. In defeat, the Welsh retreated with barely their honor, and their lives."

"That still doesn't explain how you ended up here," the young man in rags pointed out.

"Or the accent," the other added.

"Oh, yeah," Ryan realized. "But killer story, huh?" In response, Ryan felt another pinch from the pitch fork, causing him to jump a bit. "All right, all right! I'm on a quest. Now, can you lower those things? We're all friends, here."

"No, we're not," the young man in the brown vest replied. "We still do not know who you are, or this kingdom you speak of. By order of the king, all strangers discovered upon his land are to be taken before him. Resistance is authorized to be met with immediate death."

"You sound like a smart young man," Ryan began. "What is your name?"

"You will not have the pleasure of knowing my name, knight."

"Fine! Winston. Can I call you Winston? Because I'm tired of referring to the two of you in my head as...the young man in rags and the other one."

"Whatever suits your fancy, knight," Winston replied.

"Look, I would love to go with you and..." Ryan's hand waved around in a circle as he tried to think of another name. "...Churchill, here. But I have an important quest to accomplish. I'm talking about massive XP increase and picking up a special edition Magic Pog with fortitude upgrade."

Having no idea what Ryan just said, Winston simply replied, "The king will decide your fate."

Winston and Churchill soon brought Ryan to a dirt trail where a horse-drawn hay cart was waiting for them. The horse was a skinny, mangy looking thing with long manes and a thick coat. The cart was empty aside from a scattering of hay straws lining the wooden bed. With a near jab to his backside, Ryan was forced into the cart. Winston also climbed in as a guard as Churchill took the reins and gave it a firm snap, sending the horse in motion up the trail.

They travelled long and far across the countryside. Ryan didn't see a single town or village. All he saw was endless landscapes of grass and meadows stretching from hillside to hillside. The trail shortly became a rocky dirt road as they continued to travel north, further inland. Ryan wasn't sure exactly how far they had travelled, or for how long he had been held captive, but he was pretty certain that it had been for a number of miles. The sun had moved from the east to the west since he arrived in West Sussex.

Eventually, they slowly began to approach a hill where a grand castle was settled upon it. It was still quite small in the distance, but it didn't appear to be very tall. Its length, however, more than made up for its height. As they drew closer, the castle only got longer and longer, and at the base of the hill rested a large township. To Ryan's amazement, the township also only got longer and longer as they passed through the gates.

Ryan saw many structures made of wood and stone, town folk dressed like peasants or 14th century working class citizens. They passed by paupers and butchers, peddlers and alchemists, and farm hands and blacksmiths. Ryan was pretty certain, now, that he was in another time.

Churchill drove the cart up a winding road running up the hillside leading to the castle. The slope was gentle, at first, and gradually became steeper. The horse struggled a bit, trying to maintain its footing upon a stone filled road. Its shoes were old and in need of replacing, but had enough traction to get them and the cart to the top.

When they finally reached the top, they were met by two guards at the entrance of the main door that enclosed the courtyard. The guards wore chainmail and armor; polished and ready for action. They had no helmets but their heads were covered by the hoods of their chain mail. Their swords were sheathed as they stood rigidly at their post with a lance by their sides.

"State your business," one of the guards commanded.

"We found this stranger along the south shores," Churchill replied. "He claims to be from a kingdom near the Welsh border. We are taking him before the king in accordance to the king's law."

The guard nodded and gave them permission to pass through into the courtyard.

Winston ordered Ryan to get out of the cart. Wishing to avoid another prodding of the pitch fork, Ryan complied and proceeded to follow Churchill beyond the stone walls, and into the courtyard.

Wasting very little time, they crossed the courtyard, passing eight more guards on the grounds and ten guards with crossbows posted up on the walls, and entered the main hall where a servant directed them into the throne room. The throne room was a massive room with polished white marble flooring and ivory pillars. Brown and green banners hung on each side of every window, displaying the well-known victories of battle of past kings.

At the far end of the room, sat the king. He was perched on his throne and flanked by his queen and his royal advisor. The throne, itself, rested upon a platform on top a series of five marble steps and made out of oak. The queen's chair was placed at the king's left side upon the third step while the seat of the royal advisor was upon the first step at the king's right side.

The king was dressed in a royal garb with colors matching the banners and gold trimming. A shiny gold crown sat on top of his head, sporting a single emerald jewel at the center. His black hair was cut short and laid flat like a Caesar of Rome, and a ring cut from jade adorned the middle finger of his right hand.

Winston and Churchill bowed and went down upon their knees as Ryan just stood there.

"What brings you before me," the king asked of them.

"We discovered this stranger in your kingdom, my liege," Winston answered. "He claims to be from afar and on some sort of quest."

"You may rise," the king said. Winston and Churchill laid down their pitch forks and arose as the king commanded. The king, then, continued, "I am King Burgi. Ruler of this kingdom of Arundel. Your presence upon my land is a mystery to us. That is not to say that you are unwelcomed. But this is a time of war. And we must be cautious. What is this quest he..." referring to Winston, "...speaks of?"

"Well, Your Honor..."

"I am a king," King Burgi interrupted. "Not a judge."

"Sorry, Your Kingliness," Ryan corrected. "I am Ryan and I seek a dragon."

"Then you are a dragon slayer."

"Dragon slayers are not welcomed, here," the queen added. Her voice was soft and sweet, yet, carried much power and confidence.

"No, you misunderstand," Ryan replied. "I intend to become its rider."

"Then you seek the Protectorate," the royal advisor clarified. "The last dragon guardian of England: Andro."

"Yes," Ryan replied, excitedly.

King Burgi shook his head. "It is impossible. Andro will not permit any riders. Not until you prove yourself worthy."

"How?"

"You will have to kill an enemy of Andro's" the king answered. "Another dragon of a rival clan."

"You said dragon slayers are not welcomed here."

"Quite right. But we are having difficulties with one particular dragon from the kingdom ruled by Kent."

"Clark Kent?"

"No," the king replied, baffled at Ryan's response. "King Rupert Kent IX. Our kingdom is plagued with a rogue dragon called Ceptus. Ceptus has been killing all other dragons allied to this kingdom. Allied dragons belonging to Andro's clan."

"I see," Ryan began. "Where do I find Ceptus?"

Ryan was starting to feel the weight of the situation. Finding a dragon was one thing. Killing a dragon was another. He didn't know how he was going to do that...let alone live through it. He realized that he was in way over his head.

"There are caverns to the west. A half a day's journey," the royal advisor answered. "We know that Ceptus resides deep within. He now violated our borders and the territory of Andro with ill-intent to destroy her. The entrance is incredibly small, but large enough for a person to crawl through. We do not know where he enters. His entrance has eluded Andro and his clan for many years now. But we are certain Ceptus is down there."

"How many have tried before me?"

"You will be the first," the queen answered. "This year."

Ryan suddenly got a lump in his throat. "And what year would that be?"

"Find Ceptus. Kill him. And bring back proof, and you shall be worthy to be brought before Andro to make your request to become his rider," King Burgi proclaimed. "But first, you must rest from your travels. You will stay the night in one of our guest quarters. You will be brought food and wine whenever you wish. I will appoint a young squire to you, and he will call upon you in the morning."

"Young squire," Ryan asked. "How young?"

"He will be of age, Sir Knight."

"Twelve years," the royal advisor clarified.

Ryan lowered his head in a slight bow in gratitude. "Thank you, Your Majestic Honor...Sir...Royal...Burgi King."

Two royal guards came up from behind Ryan. Their armor clanked loudly as they approached, echoing throughout the throne room. One of the guards gestured Ryan to follow him as the other guard escorted Winston and Churchill away in the opposite direction.

Ryan was led through what seemed like half the castle before he and the guard ascended a long, stony staircase which brought them to the second level. Once there, it was only a few meters until they arrived at Ryan's quarters.

Ryan entered the room and was amazed at the size of it. The length and width of the quarters was similar to a suite at the Ramada. The décor was rather plain with a crudely furnished wood cabinet and a bed fit for a prince, but it was spacious. The ceiling was fifteen feet high, and as he removed the satchel from his shoulder and placed it on the bed, he imagined how much of a benefit it would be for a knight to practice his sword fighting techniques in this space.

Only...Ryan didn't have a sword. Or a weapon of any kind. All he had was a satchel. A satchel with contents unknown.

So, Ryan sat down on the bed, opened the satchel, and peered inside. His eyes widened as they fell upon a pile of Magic Pogs with images and icons engraved on silver discs the size of fifty cent pieces. The engravings were lined with a faint hint of red, and some with yellow, and glowed slightly to enhance the depictions of power within. As Ryan sorted through them, two pogs specifically caught his eye.

He set those aside and sorted through the rest. No two pogs were alike and he had generous handfuls in the satchel. He discarded a few immediately, including the Wizard's Merit, Lady of Virtue, and Alchemist's Bane; completely disregarded some as irrelevant such as Priestess' Charms, Helmet of Knowledge, and the Seer's Looking Glass; and removed Wolf's Breath, the Huntress Dagger, and the Flowery Blue Sandals of Flight.

Actually, after a moment's second thought, he kept the last one.

He got rid of the discarded with the Slammer of Smite, slamming it upon the small pile. In a blink of an eye, a tremendous jolt of energy coursed through the discarded pogs and evaporated them, leaving only the slammer. A wisp of smoke coiled into the air.

Setting the satchel carefully on the stone floor, Ryan held the two reserved pogs in his hands. These would be a good fit for the quest tomorrow, Ryan thought. A quest that should have been shaking him in his knightly, black leather boots. Instead, he began to ponder the power he held in his grasp. If the Lariat of Coral pog manifested a majestic water saddle, the two pogs should yield greater power and if used right, they could be devastating to any foe.

And before he fell asleep, Ryan imagined what he could do with the Saber of Might and the Dragon Cleaver.
Chapter Eleven

Arundel, West Sussex County, England, Year – Still Unknown

By daybreak, Ryan's squire had already placed a tin plate of poached eggs and sausage at the foot of his bed upon a splintered wooden tray. Surprisingly, there was no sign of the squire, but he imagined that it was the squire and not a guard or servant. He slept heavily as usual, dreaming of riding high on the back of a black dragon...so it was safe to assume that if anyone had entered the quarters, he would have slept right through it.

That wasn't exactly a reassuring thought since he was in an era where one would find oneself with a dagger in one's chest during sleep.

Ryan grabbed the tray and brought it closer to him as he sat up in the bed. The three pronged fork that was provided was made of tarnished metal and each prong was slightly bent. His cup was a small wooden thing filled to the brim with warm goat's milk. Ryan dared to take a sip and found that he rather liked it. He took a deeper and longer sip, coloring his thick moustache in white.

Heartedly, he began to eat his breakfast. It was still hot, as if fresh from the kitchen. Ryan didn't realize how hungry he was, or remembered how long it had been since he last ate because his plate was cleared in just a couple short minutes. He, then, chased the food down with the rest of the goat's milk.

At the very moment he set the wooden cup upon the tray, there was a knock at his door. Ryan stood up, straightened his knight's tunic he slept in, and approached the door. When he opened it, he found a young boy dressed in a dark brown and black plain tunic. A dark green leather belt held the tunic close to his body with an empty sheath large enough for a hunting blade. He was twelve years of age but had a presence and stature of a twenty five year old. Long black hair covered his ears and barely touched his shoulder and he had deep brown eyes that seemed to look right into Ryan's soul.

Ryan smiled. "You must be my squire."

"Yes, sir," the squire replied. "My name is Buskaru. Did you enjoy your morning meal?"

"I wouldn't really call it a meal," Ryan chuckled. "I could have used a few flapjacks and meatier sausage."

"What's a flapjack?"

"Nevermind," he waved off. Sensing that they better have been on their way, Ryan stepped over to the side of the bed, grabbed his satchel, and walked into the corridor. Buskaru followed. "So, tell me, Basket..."

"Buskaru," the young squire corrected with a tone of annoyance.

"...Buskaru...what is today?"

"The thirteenth day of Sauntis."

"And what year would that be?" Buskaru looked at him strangely as they walked side by side. Ryan, then, said, "Indulge me."

"The last year of the Re-Awakening. Two thousand and nine in the year of our Lord. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No," Ryan answered, as they began to descend the long staircase. "I belong to a kingdom that borders the Welsh in the unexplored territories."

Buskaru shook his head and said with certainty, "No, you are not."

"Of course, I am." Ryan was trying to sound absolutely genuine. But judging by the doubting stare from his newly appointed squire, he was sure it wasn't working. "I'm wearing the colors of my liege, King Optimus."

"You're from beyond the Line," Buskaru simply replied.

"The Line?"

"The dimensional line that separates my world and yours. You didn't think Buskaru was a normal English name, did you? So, where exactly do you hail from? Your accent? American?"

"Yes! How do you know all this," Ryan asked. He was both amazed and confused.

Before long, they had entered the courtyard with Buskaru taking the lead this time. He said nothing else to Ryan, despite Ryan's insistence, until they had passed through the main gate and started heading down the hill on foot. Only when they were out of earshot and view of the castle walls did Buskaru begin to explain further.

"You apparently crossed over a dimensional line. It's the same place and same year, just different dimension."

"Like the 'Twilight Zone'."

"The what?"

"Nevermind."

"Think of it as an alternate reality," Buskaru continued. "Only a selected few even knows of this, so you must not speak of this with other folk."

"How selected?"

"Five. Including myself. So it is best to not talk about this at all."

"You seem to know a lot for being just a squire."

"I'm not just a squire," Buskaru replied with an unpleasant edge in his voice. "I am the Seer's apprentice. All the other squires didn't want to go anywhere near you. I was the only one the captain of the guard could persuade."

"Oh!"

Buskaru guided Ryan down to the bottom of the hill, then proceeded to travel along the ridgeline to the West. The further they travelled, the less pleasant the countryside got. Lush, vibrant grass gave way to dirt and rocks; colorful, flourishing trees became thin and sickly; and the land turned into rough terrain as the hillside became barely noticeable as a hill. It was more jagged with sheer drops and misshapen boulders protruding from the ground.

By noon, they arrived at the mouth of a cave. It was small; the size of a fox-hole, partially covered with sickly branches and dead leaves. Around the cavern entrance, it looked like it was scorched by fire; perhaps from Ceptus himself.

Ryan stared at the entrance for a long moment to gather his thoughts...and nerve. He was at the point of no return.

Buskaru waited patiently.

"I'm not the same size I used to be," Ryan finally said. "Are you sure this is the entrance? The only entrance?" Buskaru nodded. Ryan, then, took a deep breath, and said, "Why don't you crawl inside and see if it opens up. I would hate to get stuck in there."

"I am not permitted to go beyond this point," Buskaru replied. "By having me stay out here, I can make sure you go in there...and not run off."

"You have that much faith in me, huh?"

"Less, actually."

"Tell me, how many others have come through the Line?"

"Two others."

"And where are they?"

"One of them is down there, funny enough," Buskaru replied.

"Great!"

Ryan got down upon his knees to peer inside the cavern entrance. He couldn't see much: just darkness. But from what he could tell, the cavern did indeed run deep. The entrance could very well have been the way to Ceptus' lair.

He pulled back some of the dead leaves and branches from the side of the opening. They gave way with a crisp snap as Ryan started to crawl in. He paused halfway inside, and Buskaru thought he was going to double back and run off crying into the woods that bordered the land surrounding the cavern and Arundel.

"If I'm not back in an hour, send for help."

"If you are not back in an hour," Buskaru replied, "then you have been killed."

"You're a great motivational speaker."

Crawling further into the cavern, Ryan's knees and legs banged and scraped over many sharp rocks. The path was relatively straight for the most part. No turns or major curves. But it did begin to slope downward a little about twenty yards in. And it was still completely dark inside. Too dark.

The ground seemed to stop and disappear right from under him. His hands fell through what should have been solid rock, and touched nothing but air.

Ryan fell through empty space.

By the time he realized he was falling dangerously toward...well, anything that might had been waiting down below...he had already fallen twenty five feet. And before he realized that this fall could kill him, a small, short flash appeared before him as he fell another thirty feet.

Finally, he hit a body of water.

The water was strangely ice cold and crisp, and as Ryan surfaced, gasping for air, light began to slowly fill the area.

He was deep within a cavern stretching for miles with a ceiling about five to six stories high. The lake he was now in, nearly covered the entire area except for a patch of land just a quick swim away. The part of the water he was in wasn't very deep, however. He planted his feet on the bottom and stood to discover that the surface of the lake came up to his chin. Without hesitation, he made his way to the patch of land walking as fast as he could. He, then, focused on controlling his breathing.

It was still relatively dark. Especially upon the patch of land he now stood. Ryan would have like a little more light. He could distinguish the land from the lake. At least, that was a start. It appeared that the light, from whatever source it came from, was concentrated on the lake. On the land, he saw mostly shadows. Shadows of mounds and rocks.

He stood there for awhile, drenched from the lake and feeling a heavier weight upon his shoulder from a soaked satchel. The air smelled odd. It was like barbequed meat mixed with the smell of lilac and incense. And the air was thick with eeriness.

He felt the need to arm himself, and so he reached into the satchel and found the Dragon Cleaver pog. Its yellow lined image glowed dimly in the darkness. He held it firmly in his right hand, rolled his wrist, and suddenly, a large rectangular blade with a leather gripped handle appeared. It was a cleaver: razor-sharp on one side with jagged teeth half way down the other. The blade itself was one-foot long while the handle was only half the length. Its weight was remarkably light, as if he was only carrying a plastic toy lightsaber.

He began to explore the cavern when he came into view of thin streams of smoke rising from a mound, masked in the shadows. At first it looked like steam rising from a vent, but the flow wasn't constant. It was, however, consistent, like breath visible in the winter's cold morning. As he approached further, he was seeing irregular shapes in the mound: sharp protrusions in various areas, wavy ridges that began to look like scales, and two crescent moons encircled in yellow orbs.

Finally, he realized how dangerously close he was to a dragon.

Standing ten yards away and being stared at was enough for Ryan to nearly lose all brain function. If it wasn't dark and if the dragon wasn't black, Ryan was certain it would have been a sight to behold.

But he was there to claim the life of Ceptus. Admiration for the legendary creature wasn't exactly an appropriate response at the moment.

Luckily, the dragon wasn't moving and Ryan had a good grip on the Dragon Cleaver. He knew he had to act quickly. He knew he only had one shot. And like a quarterback on the verge of the winning touchdown pass, Ryan raised the cleaver, pulled it back behind him, and released it. The cleaver flipped end over end perfectly, sailing towards the dragon.

And when Ryan and the dragon watched the cleaver fly by and bury itself into an eight foot high rock without so much as a flinch or a blink from the dragon, Ryan nearly unloaded in his pants.

The dragon's eyes centered back on Ryan as it began to rise from its laying position. It towered over Ryan, spreading its black wings like a cobra opening its hood before it strikes. Its tail lifted from the ground, ready to swing into action.

Ryan could do nothing but watch the dragon present itself, and wish that he wasn't such a moron.
Part V

Let the Madness Begin
Chapter Twelve

Ryan stood before the king in the throne room covered in blood and sweat. His tunic was ripped in several places in sets of three, his hair was matted with blood, and the left lens of his glasses was cracked. He had walked into the throne room with a limp, carrying a medium-sized sack that Buskaru was somehow able to provide while he was deep within the cave, over the opposite shoulder his satchel was slung over.

A large audience had gathered in the throne room. News had spread over the night of Ryan's arrival and the task given by King Burgi to slay Ceptus, the rogue dragon of Kent. Some of the townsfolk came in anticipation to witness the historic day. Others had arrived early to place wagers on the way Ryan would meet his death and how soon that would happen. The rest of the crowd followed Ryan and Buskaru as they spotted the pseudo-knight and his squire begin to ascend back up the hill towards Arundel Castle.

The atmosphere was thick with suspense and anticipation as the king looked upon Ryan with an impressed expression and a curious mind.

Ryan removed the sack from over his shoulder and tossed it unto the marble floor in front of him. The sack landed with a moist thud. Ryan appeared ready to collapse, but he had a grin on his face. He felt victorious. He felt strong. And he felt ready to fully embrace his destiny as a rider of dragons.

The queen, always beautiful and regal in appearance, stared at the sack in awe. "You have done what others could not. Do tell, Sir Knight, how were you able to accomplish such a feat?"

"It was not easy, milady," Ryan replied. "The dragon fought bravely, honorably and without mercy. Ceptus was fierce and unforgiving. But I didn't relent. I mastered my weapon."

"What weapon, Sir Ryan," the royal advisor asked. He, as well as the rest the crowd, looked for a weapon on Ryan, but there was none. They also noticed that Ryan did not have a sheath or so much as a scabbard attached to his belt.

Not yet willing to reveal his magical cache of weaponry, Ryan replied, "My mind. My mental prowess."

The audience murmured in astonishment and reverence. Buskaru leaned in close to Ryan and whispered, "Laying it on pretty thick, don't you think?"

"My weapon," Ryan continued, "a sword like no other, now resides within the chest of the beast. His skin was hard as diamonds, his breath was hotter than the summer sun, and eyes so keen, they can pierce right through a knight's soul.

"I have much respect for the dragon. Ceptus, the mighty dragon and scourge of the land of Arundel and to the clan belonging to Andro, showed no weakness and no fear as he faced his death."King Burgi stood from his throne, draped in a thick brown cape. "You shall be commended for your courage, endurance, and resilience, Sir Knight of the Kingdom of Prime. No one has ever come back alive from Ceptus' lair. And it seems that you barely got out with yours. You have proven yourself worthy to be brought before Andro. But please, enlighten us on how you defeated Ceptus, and reveal to us the proof of your triumph."

The audience focused on Ryan intently, eager to hear the story that would live on in infamy and told to generations to come. The king and queen eagerly awaited the tale. The king stepped down to the third marble step to be beside his wife.

Ryan began to tell how the battle unfolded.

\---

Fury burned within the dragon as it looked down upon Ryan. Its wings were spread and tail lifted, ready to attack its intruder. A fiery red glow appeared within its bosom like a furnace. Smoke bellowed from the edges of its mouth. Its nostrils flared as its gaze lingered heavily on Ryan.

Slowly, Ryan blindly reached into the satchel. He needed to be careful to not make any sudden movements. Any such movements could provoke an early attack by the dragon. The dragon was already poised to attack, but it was also waiting to see what Ryan was going to do.

Ryan grabbed hold of the first pog he touched and ran his thumb over the etching. As far as he could tell, there were multiple shapes of the same depiction: slim triangular objects coming to a sharp point. He surmised that they were arrowheads or throwing knives, strong enough to piece the thick hide of a dragon. Carefully, he began to remove it from the satchel, holding it tightly in his fist.

The dragon continued to leer at Ryan like a gunfighter waiting for a clock to strike noon. Ryan's eyes narrowed, and if he wasn't imagining things, it seemed to him that the dragon's eyes narrowed as well.

Then, on the quick draw, Ryan removed the pog from the satchel and released it in the air as the dragon's head lunged forward sending out a rush of fire toward him. Ryan back-stepped for the fear of the incoming flames, tripping over a large, rocky bump as the pog flashed a light blue color and transformed into a ten foot wall of ice. The ice wall blocked the fire's path and resisted the heat for a number of seconds until the dragon realized the futility of its attack. Instead, it charged forward and crashed through the ice wall.

Chunks of ice exploded in all directions, giving way to the massive power of the dragon. Ryan quickly got to his feet and dove out of the way of the dragon. But the dragon lashed out with its right claw, slashing Ryan's tunic and narrowly missing any contact with flesh. Ryan's leap was haphazard and he rolled several feet along the rocky land.

But he was nowhere near a safe distance and the dragon was quick to follow Ryan's evasive maneuvering. The dragon lashed out again as Ryan rolled, tearing a bit of flesh this time. Ryan howled in pain, stumbling to a plain of boulders that were close enough to each other to create a momentary safe corridor which stretched for ten feet. The gap between was barely a foot, but it was enough to prevent the dragon from reaching in, and it was high enough to prevent any extraction from up top.

Reaching into the satchel, Ryan scrambled for another weapon. He imagined that the safety of the corridor was only going to last until the dragon mustered enough breath to...The dragon's head loomed over the top of the rocky corridor, smoke fuming from the corners of its jaws. It was time for Ryan to vacate the corridor, and so he ran toward the body of the dragon and under it as a river of fire filled the rocky gap. Ryan figured it would take time for the dragon to turn around and for the moment, heading toward the underbelly of his foe seemed like the best play.

The dragon was too smart and swung its tail underneath itself, sideswiping Ryan, and sending him careening into another tall boulder. His glasses and satchel flew off his body, landing far away near the edge of the lake. But Ryan was able to grab hold of one Magic Pog: the Saber of Might.

Despite being a bit jostled and disoriented, Ryan caught a blurring vision of the dragon preparing for another attack. Wasting no time, Ryan flicked his wrist to bring into reality a shiny broad sword with a golden hilt. He raised it up in defense. Again, Ryan was amazed at how light it was in his less than capable hands.

Then, quite unexpectedly, the dragon took flight and soared high into the air near the ceiling of the cavern, and dove into the lake. The splash of its entry created a large wave that rolled unto the land and thinned out at Ryan's feet. Several moments passed without any sight of the dragon.

Cautiously, Ryan moved towards the lake. His limbs and muscles were aching from overuse as warm blood seeped from open wounds. The rush of adrenaline didn't mask any pain. The rips in his thigh were incredibly painful with each step. He realized he must have hit his head on something because a bit of blood began to run down from his forehead.

His satchel lied several feet away, but his glasses were a bit closer. Things were still a bit blurry, particularly in the darkness. However, a glimmer of light reflected off of one of the lenses and he made his way to it. He picked them up and placed the glasses back on his face. A lens was cracked, though, but his sight was better with the crack then being without his glasses.

The dragon had been submerged for some time now. The surface of the lake had calmed and grew still. Heat from the release of fires was lifting. But Ryan felt no safer than he did staring down the dragon.

So, he moved quickly toward his satchel. At the very moment he reached for it and bent down to grab it, the dragon burst out of the lake just ten feet from Ryan. Its wings were draped at its side, allowing a more air resistant climb. It peered down at Ryan as it soared overheard and let out its fiery breath.

Out of pure reaction, Ryan raised his sword and cowardly looked away, expecting to be burnt to a crisp. Instead, the sword acted as some sort of fiery magnet, pulling in the breath of fire into the blade. The blade glowed white and red from the absorption, channeling it through the hilt, and releasing that energy as green flames that began to surround the blade.

The dragon did not expect such a reaction and so arrested its assault, landing on the ground in a defensive posture.

Without notice or control, the green flames left the Saber of Might and struck the ground in front of the black dragon, creating a fiery enclosure that magically held it there. Ryan looked upon the entrapment with a pleasantly surprised expression. How he managed to do that he wasn't sure, but he was sure glad it happened.

The flames grew, climbing higher and higher until it encased the dragon completely in a fiery shell. The flames, then, solidified into a green barrier comprised of light and electricity. The dragon's tail struck the barrier in protest, but the transparent barrier held firmly intact. It, then, lashed out with a defiant claw and received a surge of electricity instead. It roared loudly and angrily.

Feeling safer, now, Ryan approached the dragon, wincing at every step and limping a bit. The dragon had been caged and, for all intents and purposes, neutralized. It was his time to strike and the dragon was vulnerable. He still approached with caution, however, realizing that it would be a mistake to feel too secured or to underestimate the dragon's mettle. But he did feel comfortable to get close enough to strike at the heart of the dragon, and as Ryan stared down the dragon one last time, he brought the Saber of Might high above his head.

With a firm grip and the last of his strength, Ryan released the Saber of Might, letting it fly straight into the breast of the dragon.

\---

The audience applauded and cheered at the telling of the story. Never have they heard such an adventurous tale with great heroics, suspense, and danger. Never have they heard of such relentless bravery. Ceptus was slain and this was truly a tremendous occasion for the kingdom of Arundel.

"Bards shall be telling your tale for years to come," the queen applauded. "You are truly an unexpected marvel to behold."

"A spectacular display of courage and honor," King Burgi declared. "There shall be a feast in your honor." He stepped down from the throne platforms and walked toward Ryan and Buskaru in a commanding stride. "Now, what manner of proof did you bring before me, Sir Knight?"

"A worthy gift for Your Majesty," Ryan replied proudly. "The skin of Ceptus, so that you may wear him as a cape."

"No, Sir Knight. It is you who must wear the hide of the beastly dragon, and the world shall come to know you as the Dragonskinner," the king declared.

In unison, the crowd began to chant Ryan's newly christened name: Dragonskinner. More applause filled the throne room, echoing throughout. The king summoned two of his guards and commanded them to open the sack for the king wanted to see the proof before him.

One of the guards held up the sack as the other opened it. King Burgi peered inside and his reaction was not what Ryan expected. King Burgi took a couple steps back in fear, waving to guards to leave. The guards became confused and did not move at first. But the king shouted and the sack fell back onto the marble floor. The contents of the sack spilled out, revealing the black skin of the dragon.

A mumbled and fearful commotion now stirred among the crowd.

Buskaru stared at the skin, wide-eyed, and took a couple steps back from Ryan.

"What's wrong," Ryan asked.

"That is not the skin of Ceptus," King Burgi answered fearfully.

"What are you talking about?"

"That is not Ceptus. That is his mate...Veggan."

Suddenly, a ferocious roar bellowed in the far distance and the crowd reacted with gasps and fits of panic. Some began to leave hurriedly out of the throne room and made their way out of the castle.

The royal advisor took hold of the queen and escorted her away as the guards drew their swords.

"Are you telling me that I just accidentally killed the wife of a now pissed off dragon?"

"Yes," the king replied. "And now there will be a reckoning like no other."
Chapter Thirteen

Sounds of chaos came from the township below as explosions erupted throughout. As the audience dispersed from the throne room and the royal advisor ran the queen to safety, Buskaru ran to the westward windows. The window sill was at chest level with its arched peak near the ceiling, so Buskaru's view of the outside world was uninterrupted. Although, he wasn't able to see the township, itself. He did, however, see a dragon circling high above, releasing massive fireballs down at the township below.

It was Ceptus.

Ceptus was much larger than his mate, Veggan, with large bone-like spikes on the tip of his tail, frontal horns curved like a couple of hooks, and dark yellow skin. Between fireballs, he spewed out yellow and black flames, growling and roaring in anger, and Arundel was going to suffer his wrath.

"It's Ceptus," Buskaru announced.

"He will destroy us all," King Burgi warned. "The death of Veggan is upon you, Dragonskinner. You must now protest us."

"You didn't tell me there were two of them," Ryan complained, shaking his head at the king's request.

"You wanted to be a dragon rider. You should have known the difference between a male and female dragon."

"I'm sorry. I'll check for parts next time." Ryan rushed to Buskaru and peered out the window to look at Ceptus. To his dismay, Ceptus appeared more ferocious than Veggan did. Even at that distance. The dragon's muscles looked more defined and claws looked incredibly sharp. "What should we do?"

Buskaru shrugged. "I didn't see this coming."

"Embrace your destiny, Dragonskinner," King Burgi begged. "Slay Ceptus. Save us. And you shall earn Andro's worth."

"Or..." a new voice began, "stand down and answer for your crime."

Ryan, Buskaru, and King Burgi turned around and found a woman, alone, along the eastern wall. It was Beatrice, the Guardian of the Prize, and she stared at Ryan with intense hatred. She, now, wore a modest, dark blue warrior's robe with black leather gauntlets, boots, and outer corset, and held a quarter staff by her side.

"What crime," Ryan asked.

"The willful participation in the murder of Veggan, a dragon of the honorable Trian clan."

"These dragons are a menace to these people. Ceptus had gone rogue."

"According to whose account? The king's?"

"Your presence here is a violation of the Lectan Treaty, Guardian," King Burgi proclaimed.

"You know her," Ryan asked.

Beatrice ignored Ryan and began to approach the king instead. "You mean, the very same treaty that your...Dragonskinner...violated by murdering the queen of the Trian clan," she asked with disdain. She, then, looked at Ryan. "Do you have any idea what you have done? What you have become?"

King Burgi started to back away from Beatrice as she approached. He was hoping to call for guards, but the throne room had been cleared and no one has yet to come back for him. Did they assume that Ryan would protect him, or did Beatrice take them out on her way to the throne room?

"I have become a hero to these people," Ryan replied. "And I am to take my place among the dragon riders and restore order to the world."

"One person's hero is another person's villain. And that's what you are, Ryan. A villain. The Trian clan strives to preserve the peace. The clan you wish to become a rider for is determined to bring a new order of peace under subterfuge. These people of Arundel are slaves, Dragonskinner. Tricked by the guile of Andro to be ruled over. She has promised them riches and protection while her and her clan strip them of their freedom. They are blind to her malevolence and now you mean to become her rider. I cannot allow that."

Ryan reached into his satchel and removed a pog from it. He looked down and recognized its etching from sorting through them last night. It was a depiction of a scroll. He, then, closed his hand into a fist and the pog transfigured into a golden light which became absorbed into his hand giving him the power of knowledge. And as he reached back into the satchel, he said. "If it is my destiny to ride dragons, then I accept. And no one can take that away from me. And I cannot allow you to not allow what is to be my destiny."

"Are you truly this stupid?"

Behind Ryan, Buskaru nodded.

"You caused me to age, Guardian," Ryan said. He pulled out another pog, and with the scroll pog of knowledge, he didn't need to look at it or be concerned about how to use it in battle; he already knew. He glared at Beatrice. "Aging me as you have made you my enemy. And all you stand for is meaningless to me."

"Then you are lost,...Dragonskinner."

Beatrice advanced on Ryan, passing the king and twirling her quarter staff as she neared. She held it firm as she got within striking range and swung at him with the lower half of the staff, thrusting forward with her left hand. Ryan's pog magically turned into a knight's sword, and he skillfully blocked the strike.

Buskaru took the opportunity to make a break for the king and headed for a safer location out of the throne room while Ryan and Beatrice squared off.

Pressing forward, Beatrice executed a series of attacks. She struck high and low, maneuvering the quarter staff with great precision. Her movements were quick and sharp, yet, her new opponent countered each one. She found him competent this time around unlike their first encounter outside of the community pool. But she could see that he moved just a little too slow.

The quarter staff caught Ryan's lower rib, causing him to hunch over. The weapon, then, rotated in its owner's hand, came in low behind Ryan's leg, and swept him upon his back and onto the cold marble floor.

Beatrice placed a firm foot on Ryan's chest, aiming the end of the quarter staff at his face. "Yield, Dragonskinner."

The sound of explosions drew nearer and a rumble could be felt slightly through the floor. Pieces of stone and dirt pelted the walls outside. Ceptus roared mightily. And he was close. Very close. Ryan could also hear shouting from guards outside, and unfortunately, he could also hear some scream in pain.

"I said, yield!"

"You have been against me from the beginning. Why," Ryan asked.

"I know you, and your type. Always searching for acceptance. Never admitting that you're wrong about anything. Your ignorance overshadows your intelligence, as little as that already is. You think that embracing your destiny and becoming a rider will garner you fame and honor? It won't. Your obsession with dragons will only drive you to madness. I've seen it. Veggan was a good friend and a fine warrior. Many will mourn her loss. But not yours."

A large fireball broke through the western wall and broke apart into small flames upon the floor, which soon dissipated. Stone bricks flew in all directions from the fiery breach. Another fireball came through one of the windows, clipping a side of the window as it forced its way inside. The second fireball flew in high and reached the opposite wall, catching a banner on fire.

"So, what are you going to do? Kill me?" Ryan tried to sound brave and defiant, but the reality of the situation began to sink in. This wasn't a dream or some wild hallucination. He was really there. He was really bleeding. And he was really flat on his back facing a really angry woman. His voice trembled with fear.

"No," Beatrice replied coldly. "Killing is not in my nature. Besides, I have a quarter staff. With that thick skull of yours, it will take me all day just to bludgeon you to death. No! That honor will be given to Ceptus. He will judge your fate."

The ceiling of the throne room buckled under the weight of Ceptus as he crashed through. Shards of wood and bricks of stone fell heavily onto the center of the throne room floor. The sound of the collision with the marble floor echoed throughout the room. The marble cracked and splintered from the impact and under the weight of Ceptus as he landed on all fours. His wings, yellow with black bones between the leather webbing, were up, pulled back against his body, and then fanned out after he landed securely in the throne room.

He was truly a sight to behold: majestic, fierce, and honorable in stature. But he was also very angry with eyebrows furrowed and a glare that could even make Satan think twice about doing anything. He let out a monstrous roar extending his neck toward the ceiling. The vibrations from his roar sent tremors along the floor.

Several guards finally charged into the throne room behind Ceptus with long swords, spears, and shields. Ceptus wasted no time, sensing their close proximity behind him. He made quick work of them and gave them a strong whack with his sharply spiked tail, sending them flying across the room. They fell with a loud metallic clatter: disarmed and unconscious. Ceptus, then, set the throne room ablaze.

"Release your sword," Beatrice ordered.

Ryan complied, but then got confused when he heard...

"Pick up your sword," a familiar voice suggested.

It was Aces, perched on an eastern window sill while Tack slowly climbed down from the other window next to it.

Beatrice turned around to see who spoke. During the momentary distraction, Ryan scrambled to his feet, picking up the sword in the process, and gave himself some distance.

"A beaver," Beatrice exclaimed in surprise.

"How did you two get here," Ryan asked. He never thought he would be glad to see beavers.

"Does that really matter, right now," Aces asked. "We have more pressing matters." He approached Ceptus and then took a defensive stance bearing short claws. His large, thick tail smacked the floor repeatedly like a war drum. "I'm about to get beasty on this dragon."

Aces charged, letting out a guttural, yet indescribable battle cry. He leapt, flipped, landed on his tail, and used it as a spring board to catapult himself toward Ceptus.

Ceptus watched at Aces soared through the air. The large beaver was certainly brave and full of guile. But the beaver did not have a weapon, choosing to attack like a velociraptor attacking a tyrannosaurus rex. Ceptus wondered what Aces' next move would have been. Then, he realized that line of thought wasn't particularly relevant for he let out a fiery stream of fire that quickly consumed Aces in mid-air. By the time Aces hit the ground, he was only a pile of charred bones.

Ceptus, then, stared at Tack and the other beaver backed up against the east wall.

Beatrice's attention went back to Ryan, who was now running away.

Ryan made a dash for the entranceway but was cut off by a fiery explosion that collapsed the doorway and trapped him inside. He turned around in search of another exit. He saw none other than the one behind Ceptus. And between the dark yellow dragon and Beatrice, he wasn't certain if he was going to get out alive.

Then, he looked up at the large breach in the ceiling and remembered a useful pog he decided to keep: the Blue Flowery Sandals of Flight. So, he reached into his satchel, frantically searching for the Magic Pog. In the corner of his eye, he could see Beatrice closing in on him.

Until...she was halted by Ceptus.

"Leave him," Ceptus commanded. His voice was deep and rough. It was full of anger and sadness, but no less threatening. "This kingdom will fall and he shall fall with it. This castle will not stand. Come, Guardian."

Reluctantly, Beatrice stopped and returned to Ceptus, who gingerly took hold of her in his massive claw and then took flight, exiting through the ceiling.

The fire spread throughout the throne, stone bricks continued to fall, and walls began to crumble. The fire covered more than half the throne room, igniting the wood that was now scattered throughout the room. The fire also began to consume the thrones. Banners fell, becoming unrecognizable.

Ryan found the Blue Flowery Sandals of Flight and gave the pog a flick of his wrist. The pog turned into blue flowery sandals. They emanated a faint blue glow as they levitated in the air for a moment. Ryan felt relieved, eager to slip them on and fly out of the castle. As he hurried to take off his boots, the sandals suddenly rose higher into the air and then left him, flying straight out the nearest window. Ryan shouted in dismay.

"You weren't supposed to wear them," Tack explained, scurrying to him. "You were just supposed to hang on to them."

"Now what?"

"We weren't sent here to help you fight," Tack replied. "We were sent to get you out of here. Hop on!"

"I rather not."

"Would you rather die? Come on. Don't be afraid to touch the beaver."

Ryan got on the back of Tack, dropping his sword in order to hang on as Tack's tail bent underneath him. Tack rolled up on his tail and without another moment's pause, Tack sprung forward out of the nearest window, leaving the throne room to collapse on itself.
Chapter Fourteen

From upon another hill north of the castle, Ryan looked down upon the smoldering castle of Arundel and the destroyed township of its people. The hill stood at a great distance from the thick, black smoke that now covered the valley between the two hills. Ryan was at a loss at what exactly happened down there. Ceptus had called off Beatrice and let him live, only to be crushed by the falling structure of the throne room. Then, the rescue by Tack had nullified Ceptus' abandonment of Ryan. Things were getting out of control.

"The destruction of Arundel. This is my fault, isn't it?"

"Yeah! Pretty much," Tack simply replied. "Things would have been different if you were properly ready."

"Ready?"

"Trained," the beaver clarified. "You weren't meant to face a dragon in battle. Killing Veggan was sheer luck. Stupid, too. But you're alive and I suppose that's saying something."

"How did you get here, Tack? Beyond the Line?"

"I'm from here," Tack said matter-of-factly. "Did you really think there were talking beavers in your reality?"

Ryan shrugged. He never thought about it one way or another. He supposed he just assumed that there were since he was only aware of the one reality: his. "What do I do now?"

"Always full of questions," a deep, dark voice began, hovering in the air. It sounded like it was coming from right beside them, but there was only him and Tack on the hill. "But never any answers. You rebuild, Dragonskinner. Rebuild the castle and take your place as king."

"Who is speaking," Ryan asked Tack.

"The one who asked me to get you."

"And Hugh Potter and Jonas?"

"Awaiting your arrival."

"To where?"

"To wherever I desire you to be, Dragonskinner," the voice interjected. "You shall learn the way of the warrior. Learn to defend yourself. And learn to rule. King Burgi was unable to do this. Incompetent in his ways to rid his kingdom of Ceptus. A kingdom I gave him. And a kingdom I now give to you, Dragonskinner. And together, we shall take our revenge. Revenge against all those who have ever laughed at you, dismissed you, and counted you as worthless. Do this and the prize shall be yours."

Ryan was intrigued. Getting back at all those who doubted him and his intelligence sounded pretty good. Especially against the Guardian. "What is the prize?"

"Immortality and youth. The Fountain of Youth awaits you, Dragonskinner. And together, we will travel to your reality and find it."

Ryan smiled at the idea of becoming young again, and immortal. He felt himself getting excited. Youthful possibilities began to turn in his mind. "Who are you?"

An image became visible through the black smoke hovering between the hills. A silhouette of a dragon. At first, Ryan feared it was Ceptus and he nearly made a break for it. But before his feet got moving, he realized that the dragon was not Ceptus. As it began to emerge from the cloud cover, Ryan took notice of its blue skin and horns on top of its head and at the corners of his angular jaws. Its underbelly was black as well as the bones within its wings.

Its flight path took it high above the hill in which Ryan and Tuck stood upon before it circled around and landed with such grace, a ballerina would have found it hard to match. Its appearance was beautiful, yet terrifying. But it was more terrifying than anything else. And when it spoke again, the deepness in its voice faded away and a softer tone resonated, instead, but retained its darkness.

"I am Andro of the Meda clan," she announced. "And you...Dragonskinner...are my rider."

An Excerpt from Book Two

The Dragonskinner and the Hanging Stone of Wiltshire
Kent, England

"You have come before us to ask the impossible, Ceptus," the eldest of Elders spoke. "It cannot be done."

"It can be done if the council allows it," Ceptus replied. He stood before the six dragon elders of the Trian clan with the Guardian. The six Elders surrounded them in a large broken circle, partially masked in darkness as large cavernous-like alcoves covered their bodies. "Or is this council bound by some sort of false preservation of myth?"

"Myth? No," another Elder answered. "Logic and practicality, yes. We will continue to believe in the mystical and spiritual representation of our founder's artifact. But to believe in the myth that the artifact can return our founder to a mortal existence is too much of a leap of faith. Even for us."

"What if the humans found their Holy Grail only to find that it doesn't work," another elder added.

"Except as Keepers and Elders, you all know that it is real and where it can be found," Ceptus argued.

"This...Dragonskinner...poses no threat," the eldest declared. "Based on your account, he has neither the strength nor the intelligence to inflict serious harm."

The Guardian, now donning a black hooded robe, stepped forward a bit from Ceptus' side to address the council. "He is like a monkey with a torch. But even a careless monkey can burn down an entire village."

"He did manage to kill one of our own," an Elder positioned behind them added, solemnly.

There was momentary silence throughout the council chamber. It was a somewhat circular room sculpted from rock and supported by the bones of long forgotten creatures. The younger generation of dragons had come to believe that they were the bones of enemies their ancestors had destroyed centuries ago, before the order of their clan had come into fruition. The bones had fossilized over the many years and lined the ceiling and entrances to each alcove. The bones also were set into the rocky floor, creating a pattern that held great meaning to the Trian clan, but was unintelligible to any human. The ceiling was designed in the same manner but displayed a different design.

"We are saddened to receive such news," the eldest finally spoke. "Veggan was a great and fearsome warrior. Among the wisest of our clan. And the most intuitive."

"Your loss is great, Ceptus," another Elder spoke. "And as her mother, I share your loss. But to permit this venture would be foolish."

"Is the significance of the Dragonskinner that important to resurrect the one who founded our clan," the eldest asked.

"It is only a matter of time before Andro claims the Dragonskinner as his rider and amass his army," the Guardian answered.

The eldest of the Elders let out a deep huff in frustration. It was the hastiness of the younger generation that tried his patience, coupled with a request that was not within their right to make that lowered his tolerance of this conversation. "That is of little consequence. We have withstood his army before."

"If he is such a threat," another Elder began, "why did you not dispose of him? Risking his survival on chance is very dangerous. Assuming the Dragonskinner did survive."

Ceptus thought about the very question ever since he left Arundel. He had the choice. He made the decision at the behest of Veggan, whose disembodied voice pleaded to him to abandon his rage. He could have ended it. Prevented a benign threat from potentially becoming malignant and completely bypass this discussion...this debate.

"The Dragonskinner is ignorant of the magnitude of his actions, its consequences, and his role in this world. He is like a canine that is unaware of its undesirable behavior as it shakes mud off its fur in the home. The canine cannot be faulted if such behavior was never rectified. Responsible, but not fully accountable. The Dragonskinner's actions prove negligence rather than malicious intent.

"But with training, he will become aware and have the capacity to decide for himself the actions he will take. If he chooses to follow Andro and his clan, he will be held accountable for every action and every decision. We must prepare for that day."

"And if this Dragonskinner proves to be nothing more than a mindless oaf," an elder asked.

"It does not matter," Ceptus retorted, shaking his head. "Andro would have still used him as an excuse to mount his army. Murdering Veggan assured that result. Her death and my act of retribution upon the people of Arundel was the catalyst, providing justification for violating the treaty."

"If only you had that foresight before your rampage," the eldest remarked. "You could have saved this council from this predicament."

"What is the will of the council," Ceptus asked, growing impatient.

An uncomfortable silence filled the council chamber. The Elders lowered their heads in a slight bow and closed their eyes. From their brows, a light, clear mist formed and began to flow towards the ceiling, drawn together like opposing magnets. The six streams swirled around each other in the center of the chamber above Ceptus and the Guardian as it hovered several feet below the high ceiling. They began to gather more closely together until the six separate streams faded into a disc-shaped pool of mist. Soon after, the mist rose to the ceiling and became one with the pattern that adorned it. The pattern glowed after it absorbed the mist. First, it was a bright white color and then it shifted to a dark orange. It stayed lit for a few seconds before the light faded away completely.

"The will of the council has made itself known," the eldest declared. "We will speak no more of this."

Ceptus bowed with respect, turned, and began to leave the council chamber through the entrance. The Guardian was quick to follow.

As they entered a long, rocky corridor which led five hundred yards to an exit, the Guardian shook her head, frustrated from the whole experience with the Elders. "Now what?"

"The will of the Elders is final," Ceptus simply answered. "But it is neither just nor wise. It is folly."

"What shall we do," the Guardian asked. "The Meda clan has grown in both strength and in number. With the power of the Dragonskinner, if it is allowed to mature, they will overwhelm us."

"That is why we will not heed to the judgment of the council," Ceptus replied with a tone of defiance. They exited the corridor onto a wide ledge thirty thousand feet above sea level on the side of a jagged mountain. "We will locate the memory box."

"Ceptus, we cannot defy the council," the Guardian warned.

"The collective voice of the Elders is not absolute and does not bind the universe to their will. Nor is their judgment infallible. I will do what I know is right. Their words are neither just nor wise. Therefore, you are not bound to follow them. But if you choose to respect their ruling, than I shall leave you here."

The Guardian shook her head. "I owe Veggan a great deal. The least I can do is watch your back."

Ceptus huffed in amusement. "Then gather your supplies. We have a long journey ahead of us."

Without another word, Ceptus launched into the air and quickly climbed in elevation until he cleared the adjoining mountain and disappeared behind it. The Guardian sighed, anticipating the long journey ahead.

About the Author

Christopher Goodrum is a well-rounded writer of novels, plays, and poetry, and a composer of music. He has studied both journalism in high school and freelance writing in college. Over the years, Christopher has written, performed, and directed his own body of works. Although a consummate entertainer, Christopher prefers the art of the written word, with a knack for storytelling in the genres of science fiction and fantasy.

A native Californian, Christopher currently resides in Washington with his family.

Also by Christopher Goodrum

The Dragonskinner and the

Hanging Stones of Wiltshire

Addison Jane and the Christmas Chase

The Order

Alice's Strange & Peculiar Easter

with Julianna Goodrum

The Leaping Lepre of Letterfrack

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