 
# The Dragon Rock

Aleksandar Budjanovac

##

Copyright© 2015 Nebojsa Budjanovac

Cover Design by Andjela Budjanovac

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine, or journal.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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## Contents

Prologue: The Dweller

Chapter 1. One Dream Shattered

Chapter 2. One Peace Lost

Chapter 3. Haar - ol - garot

Chapter 4. The Enlightened

Chapter 5. The vision

Chapter 6. Keol

Chapter 7. The mission

Chapter 8. The People of the heights

Chapter 9. The premonition of storm

Chapter 10. Elf king

Chapter 11. The Army without hope

Chapter 12. The Forest Castle

Chapter 13. The battle

Chapter 14. The decision

Chapter 15. Arios

Epilogue

About Author

## Prologue: The Dweller

Mornings were always cool, up there on the high slopes of the Blue Mountains - scattered white clouds, the wind gliding toward distant plains, and tall pine trees, dark green, straight and silent. The spirit of self-sufficient solitude ruled inviolably over these green hillsides. It was rarely that the foot of man, or any other creature which belongs to the arrogant races victoriously treading through the world, left its print on the mountain meadows. This was the land of Nature's spirits, whose quiet existence could not stand any disturbance of the Unity. Only those who would bow to their laws could live up here. It was a rather lonely country.

On the little plateau at the bottom of the Eagle's Peak, fitted into surrounding rocks, there was a cottage. Made of thick pine trunks, with moss-covered roof, it was almost invisible from afar. On the back side, the cottage was supplemented with a small pen. Nothing revealed any presence of living beings anywhere near. In this time of the morning, the cottage's inhabitant was usually visiting one of the steep pastures which extended on the slopes above his dwelling place. Gentle breeze was inaudibly passing by the cottage, carrying the fresh scent of the forest, calm beeches and ancient pines.

A man was sitting on the edge of the rocky cliff and observing the depth beneath, the surrounding mountain ranges, which, in the clean morning air, seemed so close, and magnificent shapes of the clouds in the sky ocean.

Judging by appearance, there was no difference between him and other few shepherds who spent summers with their flocks on the hillsides of the Blue Mountains - leather clothes, long black hair, shaven and sun-burned face, in places furrowed with shallow wrinkles.

Dark eyes expressed nothing of what was happening in his mind.

Behind him, five goats jumped around the meadow in carefree manner, browsing low vegetation.

The shepherd's thoughts were far away, with the tiny bright speckles circling in heights above a distant range called the Dragon Rock; it towered above other mountain ranges, mastering the northern horizon.

Flying high, ruling the skies unchallenged, hiding unimagined knowledge in their mysterious minds - the inhabitants of the Dragon Rock always fascinated him. It was quite understandable. From time immemorial, the dragons were the greatest mystery of the High Countries, distant and intimidating. Old legends told that the descent of the dragon in the lands of men is an evil omen, bringing unpredictable changes. There was no one alive who knew if there was some truth in the old tales - for the centuries, the dragons lived far, separated, and mysterious. The man on the cliff liked them.

He hadn't had any special name for himself. The name Arios the Black, which he carried in the days of his youth, had been given to him after entering the order of Consecrated, and it meant nothing to him any more; he had almost forgotten it. Here, on the mountain, there was nobody who could call him by any name. Besides, he learned here that names meant nothing if there are no people here who would give them meaning. He was what he was, trying to merge his personality with the nature in which he lived, and believing himself content with that. Naming things meant separation from the Unity. And separation meant loneliness. Besides, in the world of humans, names too often concealed the truth.

As the years passed, he got used to the solitude, and he was not too interested in what was happening on the distant plains. Still, a vision of the old age in complete solitude was growing strong in his deepest nightmares. As time passed by, the feeling was ever harder to ignore. His sub-consciousness was not as clean as he liked to think. Often it seemed to him that his spiritual harmony was only resignation and giving up of life.

He was afraid of the world, and he had a good reason for that (at least he thought so), and at the same time, he wanted to return among the people. But he had not enough courage to solve this problem.

That morning, there was a sense of something unusual in the nature. It was not anything a man could point his finger at and say "This isn't right." The sun was shimmering in the tiny drops of dew on the grass, the light breeze was flowing over the uneven surface of the rocks, and the mountain was silent. Still, in his inner eye Arios saw that something unusual, something hideous has happened. Maybe the monotonous life developed his senses to the point in which they received messages unreadable to the mind, or it was the whisper of the mountain spirits, passing in moment from one place to another and talking to those who knew how to listen. Anyway, the lonely shepherd never underestimated these messages coming from nowhere, so he decided to lead his little herd back home and wait there for anything this day could bring.

"Let's go," said he to the goats, and these obediently started to follow him, breaking their play. Then he turned to the dragons in the distance.

"'Till tomorrow," said he quietly.

## Chapter 1. One Dream Shattered

For somebody who was used to court life, surrounded with all the attention and honours, the mountain was a very dangerous place.

Orin ar den Raamternan, son of Argen Raamternan, king of the Plain Countries, and the only heir to his father's throne, realized this a bit too late. His whole escort was scattered last night in a fierce attack of an enormous pack of the Longhaired wolves, most dangerous in the early spring when, savage with hunger, they attack everything that moves. Orin was a brave fighter, but a pack of wolves would be too much even for a much better warrior than him. Ten surrounded knights with their long swords succeeded to keep the ferocious animals at bay for some time, but there were many wolves, and their hunger was a force that overwhelmed any attempts of resistance. Men fell one by one; the powerful jaws ended their cries. Orin wielded his sword savagely, but fear and excitement weakened his efforts - some strikes found their mark, but it was not enough. Soon, the last warrior was dead, because his men guarded him above their own lives. It was knight's honour to die for his lord. There were only a few servants and squires remained, who were hiding behind the swords of their masters. Their only weapons were short daggers and rods - they were doomed, too. Nevertheless, they tried to protect their prince with their bodies. Finally, ragged and exhausted, Orin escaped the jaws and found shelter high in the tree-top of an old pine tree. The servants were down, in the melee, and their resistance was almost over.

The prince still couldn't feel the pain in his wounds, undoubtedly because of the shock.

At last, full of scratches and exhausted, he was lucky enough to get away from the hungry jaws and to find a shelter on the high branches of an old pine tree. Because of the shock, he had not yet started to feel pain in his numerous wounds. His clothes were stained with his blood, and blood of his men. The strong stench urged him to vomit, but somehow he was able to control the urge. He watched in terror as the last of his guards disappeared, protecting the retreat of his prince. He felt no sorrow for them - Orin was always taught that it is soldier's sacred task to give life for his master; what shocked him was the brutality of killing, the agony of the bodies that quivered under the black-furred mass of the huge beasts. It was not death in battle, it was a slaughter. The ground was soaked with blood, but the corpses were dragged into the wood to the last.

Stocked between the branches, he spent the night in some kind of half-sleep, torn by the nightmarish dreams about wolves, death, and comfort of his quarters in the Castle-on-the-River, where he daydreamed of heroic deeds and quests worthy of greatest heroes of the past. The wounds started to burn, and there was numbness in his limbs, caused by the cold wind and uncomfortable position.

How all of it seemed simple there, back at home! Without much thinking of the obstacles, many dangers on the road and enemies, he shall fearlessly reach the end of his quest, find the lost Ring of the Kings, and spread his rule through all known lands! It will be a real heroic quest, quite different from those brawls in the court halls, duels from which he always came out a victor, because there was nobody who dared to confront him seriously, him, the heir apparent. He will show his power to the whole world, and it will not be the usual power gained by inheritance, but something completely different, something more real.

The reality was rarely corresponding to the daydreams, even the royal ones.

Leather clothes and the cloak were not adequate protection from the icy wind, even in the thick treetop. It was sheer luck that saved him from falling down out of that uncomfortable position. When the morning came, he was frostbitten, stiff and utterly discouraged. The bleeding stopped; by some miracle, his wounds were all skin-deep - not one fang had buried deep in his flesh. Still, it was not much of a comfort for the defeated prince. This was the very beginning of his quest, but now it seemed more like the end.

With the rising of the sun, the beasts left for their hidden lairs. The Longhaired wolves liked the moon and its ghostly radiance much more.

Orin moved his leg. It was completely numb. He succeeded to free himself from his shelter, but missed the branch he tried to reach. With the clatter of broken branches, he trashed on the wet, hard ground. Trying to rise, he felt the blood starting to circulate slowly through his legs.

Nothing broken, he thought with relief. Scratches and bites burned mercilessly all over his body. With an effort, he crawled to the sword that was lying on the ground, where he threw it to make climbing easier. He grabbed the sword's hilt. The closeness of the weapon always calmed him. There was nothing on this world he trusted more than the cold steel. Martial arts were a religion for him. Sword in hand meant power over common people. And if a man is to survive, he has to have such power.

Orin believed that the power is the only thing that matters in this miserable life. His father, Argen Raamternan, had a royal power, but it was only illusory and now it was descending. The king was old, and numerous enemies plotted endlessly against him. One of these days they will succeed in their intention and show to everyone that even the king is only human, vulnerable and mortal. Orin wanted no such power. The power he dreamed of was complete, undeniable and endless.

Many wise men have spent their nights trying to find the answer on his question, and finally they came to him, admitting their failure. Nobody knew the secret of ultimate power. A rumour began in the kingdom, about the prince possessed, the prince gone mad...

...until one day, an old man in a long black cloak limped to the throne, coming from nowhere, nameless, looking small between the tall king's guards. His face revealed advanced old age, and deeply set eyes shone with wicked glow, hiding unimagined darkness. He stopped, leaning against a long wooden staff which was changing in shades of green.

"I know what you are looking for, prince," said he impudently, his dry voice somehow filling every corner of the vast hall, without showing honours to the heir apparent, "and I know the answer to your question."

"Why don't you bow to the prince, as it is appropriate?" asked Orin insolently. He was not used to disrespectful behaviour.

"I bow only to the true power", answered the old man.

"You say that you know its secret - what do you want in return?"

"Very little. You will find out when the time comes," said the old man, and then he began telling the story.

"In ancient times, when the Blue Mountains were still young, mighty kingdoms existed in the Plain Countries. Hard and long wars for supremacy were waged, wars with many losers, but without the victor. Powerful sorcerers wove their demonic webs of spells; brave warlords led armies in bloody battles. And then, from the dark depths of time, emerged a sorcerer not known to anyone, and brought with him an item forged probably on the fires of hell, Ring of the Kings, the tool of ultimate power. It is not known whether the sorcerer intended to give it to someone, or maybe to keep it for himself; for, on the day he wanted to show it to the world from the highest tower in Sun City, an enormous dragon came from the sky, seized the Ring, and vanished with it in the heights. He who finds the ring shall rule the world. Nothing could stand against his will."

It was a dream come true for Orin ar den Raamternan.

"How can I find the ring?" asked Orin.

"I don't know where it is," said old man, "but I do know who may have more knowledge than I do. Search for the Dragon Rock beyond the Blue Mountains and maybe you will find what you want."

"If it was the ultimate power," asked the prince curiously, "why did the sorcerer allow the dragon to snatch his ring?"

"I do not know answer to that question, prince, but I do know a few things concerning the nature of the Ring's power. It rules the mind. He who wears it dominates over anything that has a soul, so much I can tell you."

"Well, then this power isn't ultimate!" exclaimed Orin. "There are many things without a soul in the world! Even with the ring, a man cannot rule over storms, fire, and earthquakes! And any animal can be a danger for the bearer of the ring. How is he different, then, from the other rulers, if he masters only the people? This power isn't ultimate; it is a kind of power which most of the good kings wield!"

"You are wrong, prince," answered the old man coldly. "All things in this world have a soul. The spirit defines existence of all things. Without spirit, nothing exists, nothing lives and nothing dies. Even the death doesn't signify non-existence of the spirit, because for something to die, it must live before. After life, spirit goes to the spheres of death. When there's no spirit, there is a void. And in the void, there is no death or life. Only in the void the Ring of the Kings has no power at all."

"Who are you, old man, to have such knowledge?"

"It matters not who I am. The better question is what I want."

"What do you want, then?"

"I am old, and I haven't got enough strength for a long journey. You are young and strong. You can go in the search for a legend. The Ring was supposed to bring peace for the warring kingdoms. This land is on the edge of a new slaughter. You know that the king is old and weak, and you are not the only one who wants his throne. It is my wish that you find the Ring of the Kings and use it for the welfare of all the land. It is my only wish."

The old man turned then and left the hall without a goodbye, limping lightly, and the king's guards didn't bother him, but his words still echoed in the air, almost tangible in the silence. There were numerous questions left unsaid, but it was too late.

Of course, Orin was not able to resist the temptation. He gathered a large escort and left in the search for a legend, not aware of what he got into. Now they were all dead, and his chances to live through the following night were small. He stood up, bracing himself on the sword, and looked around. His whole body was shivering but the strength did not leave him completely.

All the equipment lay scattered on the ground. He grabbed the nearest bag and started to gather everything he could use. Once he gathered enough food, he took off the ground a longbow, which unfortunately hadn't been of much help to its previous owner, and picked all the arrows he was able to find. Then he began to walk slowly forward, leaning on the long rod. He did not want to stay in this place for a minute longer than it was necessary.

The sun rose over the mountaintops when he finally came out from the forest and saw the broad and steep hillsides of the Blue Mountains - wide, slightly wooded meadows, and barren rocks.

He stretched out on the sun-warmed grass, whose wet warmth had a healing effect on his beaten body (or so it seemed to him). His back ached as never before in his life. He must think of something useful now, and think of it fast. The next night could be the last for him. His wounds will fester, certainly. He had to do something before it happened, because he'll be beyond salvation then.

But the fatigue overcame Orin as soon as he relaxed. At the moment, he couldn't make his mind to focus on anything. The night spent in the treetop was taking its toll and the prince fell asleep.

He awoke, sensing someone's presence, straightened up quickly and grabbed the sword. Not far away, a man with long black hair, dressed in shabby clothes, was sitting on the rock and watching him. Orin jumped in a fighting position, but then he felt dizzy from exhaustion and staggered.

The man smiled. "Peace," said he in the Valley language, showing an open palm toward Orin.

The prince smiled to himself with relief. "You are really a great warrior," he muttered, "almost attacking this poor peasant."

"I didn't know that Valley people talk to themselves too," said the man with laugh.

"Who are you?" asked the prince.

"I think you are now more interested in what do I have for lunch. And your wounds also need cleaning. Or else you are in big trouble," answered the man and stood up, signalling Orin with his hand. Orin, slightly confused, didn't have a choice.

They walked up the hill until the sun reached its zenith, arriving finally on the plateau with the small cottage.

The man waved Orin to enter, and he obeyed. For the first time in his life, he entered a shepherd's dwelling. He was struck by the various odours. The room was half dark. Dried herbs were hanging on the wall. It was quite unbelievable that somebody lived in such a hole.

His host pointed to a crudely manufactured wooden table in the corner.

"Sit down," said he. He was not very talkative, obviously.

The man brought on the table a loaf of bread baked in the ashes and a wooden plate filled with goat cheese. Orin accepted the offer without a word and started devouring the food.

"You are a lucky man," stated the shepherd suddenly.

"How do you know that?" mumbled Orin between two swallows. "Do you know me by any chance?" This was not impossible at all. The glory of the king spreads far away. Even the Blue Mountains were not completely separated from the rest of the world.

"I don't know why I should know you," answered the man, "but anyone who in this time of the year survives the attack of the wolves must be a lucky one."

Orin glanced at him in wonder.

"How did you know?" asked he again.

"The scent of blood and death reaches far. This morning, on the pastures, I sensed it. Here, men are rare visitors. It would be a waste to left any survivors to the wolves."

"And you? Don't you have a fear of the wolves?" asked Orin.

"Everyone fears the wolves. But they don't bother me." The man smiled mysteriously. "They don't even come here."

Orin continued with his lunch, thinking about the strange shepherd. The man radiated such serenity that Orin, used to humbleness and awe from the others, started to feel uneasy.

"What is your name?" asked he, just to break the silence.

The man smiled again.

"I haven't had any special name for years. The goats call me guardian," said he calmly. "There's nobody else here."

He rose from the table and went to the fireplace.

"But, you can call me by my old name - Arios. Once they called me Arios."

"Once? Well, you don't seem so old to me!" wondered Orin.

"I am not old. Up here on the mountains the time is passing slowly," said Arios while cleaning the fireplace.

"You must be tired. If you want, lie down and get some sleep."

That was a good advice. Orin rose from the table and placed himself on what obviously was the shepherd's bed. It didn't look all that clean, but in the darkness this fact was not important to Orin. This was surely better than sleeping on the tree branch. While looking at his silent host as he moved skilfully through the dusk of the cottage, the prince drifted away on the pathways of dream... where the wolves waited for him.

"Let's see if we have something against bite wounds," said Arios to himself, seeing his guest asleep. Soon, the cottage was filled with the fragrance of healing herbs.

## Chapter 2. One Peace Lost

The afternoon was slowly turning into evening, although the sun was still visible above distant, gloomy mountaintops. Arios was sitting on his cliff, and holding a small instrument with strings and a long neck in his lap. Light tune could be heard far in the mountain silence. On the rock above him sat a little human-like creature with slender limbs and pointed ears. Talluellen, mountain elf, liked to listen to the Arios' music much more than the sound of his voice. His kind lived mostly near big rocks, rarely showing themselves to the shepherds, who didn't believe in their existence any more. Arios could hear them often, in peaceful nights, playing, dancing and having joy in the moonlight. Sometimes, in the morning, he would found before his door a small basket woven of leaves and small branches, filled with blueberries, blackberries and strawberries. Talluellen's people were mischievous, but friendly to the human race.

"Our visitor is high-born," said Arios when he finished with playing the melody.

"I don't say that it matters to me, but he didn't even try to show any gratitude for the hospitality."

"Your race is ungrateful. Play more!" Talluellen was not in the mood for conversation.

"No, I won't." said Arios firmly. "You see more and better than me. Tell me, what is going on?"

"Don't ask me. Ask him. He isn't here by accident. And now, play!" Little elf jumped from the rock to the ground in front of man. His body assumed the colour of the grass. The mountain elves could be seen only by those whom they permitted to see them.

Arios gave up arguing and started to play a merry tune. It was impossible to argue with the little people. They always did and said only what they wanted. Before he finished playing, Talluellen suddenly jumped and disappeared behind the rock. Arios looked down the slope. Big strides were carrying the young man, Orin, toward him.

He came to him, panting slightly. The sword was hanging on his belt. His face was youthful and regular. He had a thin scar across the brow, which extended to his short-cut hair. His glance revealed a man who was used to giving commands. Even his torn, unskilfully patched clothes did not lessen his image of superiority. He was wearing his dark travel cloak.

"So, this is your pasture," he stated, sprawling himself on the ground beside the shepherd.

"I have slept enough."

Arios looked at him with a smile. "Now that you have recovered, could you tell me whom I have rescued? You don't look to me like common mercenary. Or the things have changed since I left the world of men?"

"I don't know how long you were absent, but I am sure little has changed. For better, at least," answered Orin. "I am Orin ar den Raamternan, son of Argen, king of the Plain Countries. I began a holy and grand quest, but the destiny decided to test my determination. Now it seems to me that the quest has already ended, even though it hasn't really started yet."

"I knew that you are not a beggar," said Arios. "If it isn't a secret, may I learn something of your holy quest?" asked he, intentionally sarcastic. However, behind his question lurked a feeling of unease. He knew that people with quests in life could be very dangerous - for themselves as well as for others.

"It is of no concern for a common peasant!" flared Orin, who was rather experienced in flaring at others. He was also annoyed because of the shepherd's constant failing to show at least a little awe toward the noble guest.

Arios was not disturbed.

"It really isn't of any concern for a peasant. But I am no peasant. Besides, why does it matter whether your quest is or isn't my concern - just tell me the story. I will not, for sure, betray you. I don't have anyone to betray you to," said he, smiling softly.

Orin was silent. His glance was directed toward the distant Dragon Rock. In the early dusk the tiny speckles above it weren't visible.

"The rock of the dragons!" said he quietly.

"It was never so clearly visible from my castle! It must be the highest mountain on the whole world!"

He turned to Arios.

"All right. I will tell you everything, if you tell me your story. It seems to me that you also have something to disclose."

"Agreed!" said Arios.

When the story was told, he was not able to hide his wonder.

"I have never heard of anything like this! The Ring of the Kings! A grand quest." He smiled. "But, you will never make it alone."

"Why?" asked Orin.

"The Blue Mountains are a strange place. It was said that many heroes, greater than you, searched there for their dreams. Only a few have found what they wanted. The majority found something quite different."

"Now it is your turn for storytelling." interrupted Orin.

"It is a short story," said Arios and continued: "I came from Otram, a country hundreds of miles to the east from here. Like you, I was also always interested in power. I wanted to change the world. It is a desire of most of the young fools. But, unlike others, I was really able to do it. I was born with a natural talent for controlling forces of nature hardly comprehensible to most people. In my childhood days still, they brought me to the Temple of the Consecrated. I stayed there until I was twenty years old and have learned all I could. By then, even my teachers were in fear of me. Very quickly, I became the sorcerer at the king's court. It was a tradition for every nobleman to have his own sorcerer. The king was bound to have the best one. In the beginning, I was content; I saw many opportunities ahead. So many things should have been changed; the way of people's life could have been improved, the hunger overcame... but rather quickly I came to understand some other truths of life. Nobody really wanted changes. The rich were satisfied to live on the backs of the common people, the common people were satisfied they could blame nobility for all their misery, and nobody paid any attention to the words of a sorcerer, even though he was a king's sorcerer. The noblemen used sorcerers only for entertainment."

"You don't like the nobility?" asked Orin.

"Ah, since I grew up, I generally dislike people," said the sorcerer. "Or I'm trying to convince myself I do," added he and continued:

"So, I came into conflict with many, and realized that my power meant nothing, the way I understood it. By using it, I could only bring harm on people, even when it looked like helping them. And that was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Then the war came. Hordes of the barbarians from the south were pouring toward our kingdom. The king gathered an army, ready to defend the borders of Otram to the death. Death of his soldiers, of course.

"I wanted something different. You see, the magic of the Consecrated is a magic of man's heart and spirit. It has a power over those. The spirit of man hides an enormous energy, but those who can wake it are few."

"The old man said the same thing!" Orin interrupted. "The Ring of the Kings dominates over the human spirit, but also over all other creatures and objects which have a soul."

"Yes, it is possible that all magic uses the energy of the human spirit. I don't know that. There are so many things I still don't know even after years of study," said Arios "Anyway, in my madness and thoughtlessness I was convinced that I could prevent the slaughter. I entered the areas of the unknown, where even the greatest sorcerers before me dared not enter, and released a terrible force.

"Both the kingdom of Otram and the raiders disappeared in fire."

Arios paused for a moment and looked into the distance. The dusk was setting above the slopes. The goats were eager to return to the safety of their fold.

"What happened then?" asked Orin quietly.

"For some time I wandered through the various kingdoms. The power remained in my mind. I wasn't able to run away from it. I did not choose my sleeping places; I was more often starving than not."

"Why haven't you used your magic?"

"I never used magic again. Great power can consume a man in no time. And it can destroy everything it touches."

"The power can serve good causes, too."

"In the man's world one could hardly tell good from evil and be sure that it is right. That's why I left. Since then I am here. That is the whole story."

He rose and turned to the herd.

"Let's go home," said he.

For the next few days Orin followed the shepherd to the pastures. They haven't had much conversation, because it seemed pointless to disturb the silence of high meadows, the peace of ancient pines. Those were quiet days, something very uncommon in his life. The wounds healed slowly, but safely. Arios' healing herbs soothed his painful flesh. The painful memory of the horrible night healed with the wounds.

Most of the time he spent on the cliff from which the Dragon Rock was visible. It was impossible to estimate from his point of view how far it actually was. It was also impossible to find out if a man could ever enter the land of the dragons. The chance of getting there alone seemed ridiculously small. And the only human being in this wilderness was his strange host.

"Come with me," said he on a sunny morning, one of those mornings when nothing seems impossible and hopeless.

Arios was silent. The company of the proud prince had left its print on him, awakening in him some indefinite longing for the old ways of life, which he gave up long time ago. He knew it would be hard to stay utterly alone again. It mattered no more whether he wanted it or not; his peace was aggravated.

"If we succeed, I'll bring you back among people with greatest honours. You will be king's sorcerer again, at the court of the most powerful man in the world!"

"I don't want to be a sorcerer," said Arios.

But, he thought, you do want to come back among people - admit it at least to yourself, even if you don't admit it to this short-tempered prince who thinks a journey through the Blue Mountains is the same as a walk through the garden of his castle. You want to come back and, at the same time, it is the most terrifying thing on the world. You have been alone for too long. The silence became your habit. The emptiness filled you. Maybe the dragons have a solution for your problem. Maybe they could set you free of the power that ruined your life. Nobody knows anything about the ways of dragons. If we could make good our way there, and if they grant us our wishes, what then? Would I continue living in the world of men?

"I'm still going to go, even if you aren't," said Orin. "I don't want to return from the quest before it even started."

"I think I'll stay here." Arios was very quiet.

The goats grazed, peacefully, in the sunshine.

"Then you will, at least, supply me for the road." Orin's face darkened.

The following day, early in the morning, he went, with sword on his belt, hunting bow and arrows, the sack filled with food on his back, dressed warmly for the chill mountain nights. The snow was common thing in the mountains, even in the middle of summer. The smile, which he managed to set on his face at the departure, was twisted and restless.

They parted without a word.

Arios repeated in vain the old saying that man must be content with what he has, more and more doubting the wisdom of this. He sat on the cliff, watching the abyss, while Orin was moving out of the sight behind the hill. The seed of restlessness was planted in his mind and he didn't know how to get rid of it.

## Chapter 3. Haar - ol - garot

Orin ar den Raamternan, son of king Argen, master of the Plain Countries, never in his life felt so small and weak like there, on the narrow paths that winded through the mountain. He knew no more where he was going. The cliffs that surrounded him have completely concealed the view of the Dragon Rock.

He passed the edges of the canyons whose bottoms were in complete darkness, he climbed across the steep passages, and slid down the north slopes covered with snow. From time to time a light breeze followed him, with the scent of cold, and when he paused, the silence would return, and abide with him, like the most faithful friend. The silence was worst of all.

He considered himself a serious, somewhat lonely man, a warrior, who carries the burden of his rank with dignity. When the meddlesome servants bored him, or when he was tired of damsels who were trying endlessly to draw his attention, he would go to one of his estates and spend a few days riding through the forest, polishing his skill at martial arts, studying the works of the generals from the past. But there he was also surrounded by his servants and assistants, all the time. It was not genuine solitude.

On these damned, empty hillsides he realized for the first time what it meant to be really alone, in the cold, dark nights, without walls, or warm fireplaces and concubines to defend him from the Great Void. Never had the star-studded sky looked so enormous and threatening, and he was turning his eyes from it, covering his head with the blanket, and shivering from some unspeakable terror; he, who was not in fear of any living man. Sometimes he felt an overwhelming need to scream and drive away the fear, to unsheathe the sword and to challenge the inexorable mountain cliffs, to announce his existence to the Void and to fill it with his presence. Then the reason would prevail again, and he would clench his teeth and wait for the dawn, stiffed from the cold and insomnia.

He used his supplies very sparingly, from time to time feeding on some edible herbs that grew on the sunny slopes, but on the fifteenth day of the journey there was nothing left in the sack. If he wanted to survive, he would have to catch some animal soon. Of course, it was easy to think of it, but almost impossible to do for somebody who, until now, hunted only in the king's hunting grounds, which were swarming with game.

Sometimes he could see little herds of mountain goats, but they were always on the opposite side of the gorge, too far for his rough bow, even if he could have thought of the way to cross the abyss and get to the game. There were almost none of the smaller animals.

On the fifteenth day he was completely convinced that all stories about the Blue Mountains were fairy tales for the credulous. There was nothing and nobody here. The Blue Mountains weren't a place for a man to dwell there.

The sun was halfway on its journey to the west. The narrow path that he followed suddenly turned right, behind the stony bulk of the cliff, which towered still about hundred paces above him. He was exhausted of the starvation, and coughed more and more often. He sat down on the ground and looked at the sky. There was a new feeling born inside him. It felt like the beginning of the end.

Fool! thought he. Common fool. All that is left for me is to die here. Nobody would ever know where the bones of the prince of the Plain Countries are. I got what I deserved.

Somewhere in his guts, he felt wraith of fear dug its way deep into his consciousness. He tried to think about the Ring of the Kings, but he couldn't remember what it was. The hunger gradually erased everything except the fear. Orin was always convinced that he isn't afraid of dying and that, when his time comes, he would peacefully and with dignity cross the border of the Unknown. But that was before, when the death was far from him, something that didn't belong into his world. He imagined himself dying on a battlefield, with the sword in hand, fighting against all odds; not starving in Blue Mountains, in the middle of nowhere, he who throughout his whole life hasn't learned the meaning of the word hunger.

The sun was shining high above the mountaintops, the only warm spot in the cold world. It invited him to drown in the light - forget all, dive in the yellowness, sleep... He was on edge of the consciousness, laying on the narrow path few steps from the abyss, when suddenly a clear woman's voice reached him. Somebody behind the rock sang an eerie melody, gentle and serene, which for a moment chased death from Orin's mind and made him open the eyes. With a great effort of will, he rose from the ground, leaning on his sword. His whole body was shivering. From behind the rock a figure appeared, a girl dressed in dark brown, with a staff in the hand and a sack on the back. Her black hair was woven in several braids that descended to the shoulders.

Sighting Orin, the girl stopped in surprise and cried something unintelligible. Still in disbelief, Orin started toward her and lifted hand in the traditional greeting of the Plain Countries.

"Peace!" said he in hoarse voice, hoping that girl wouldn't escape. She, however, didn't show any signs of fear. She stood and watched the warrior as he stumbled toward her, then she came near him and carefully, with questioning expression on the face, placed his hand over her shoulder. Nodding her head, the girl pointed to the direction from which she came and said something that maybe meant "let's go". Orin relaxed and obeyed, hanging on her rather than walking, but the girl endured the burden of his body with unbelievable ease.

He couldn't determine how long they staggered on the path, half an hour, full hour, or much longer, when ahead of them a great oval-shaped valley came into view, covered with pastures where goats and sheep were grazing. On the north side of the valley an enormous cliff was rising almost vertically. When they reached its foothill, a group of curious children surrounded them, making great noise and trying to touch the strange visitor. The girl drove them away with several sharp, but somehow good-natured commands, and then helped Orin to seat himself. Then, without a word, she went to the bottom of the cliff and started to climb using the slits, fissures and bulges in the stone. In wonder, Orin looked at the cliff more closely and saw in it many openings, which obviously were entrances to the caves. He gazed then at the valley. The only buildings there were folds for the animals. These strange people lived in the caves on the cliff, and most of them had their dwellings up on heights that were breathtaking for the ordinary men!

With awesome quickness and agility, the girl climbed up to one of the entrances, about fifty paces high, and disappeared there. Immediately after, a long rope emerged from the cave and fell to the ground. Grasping the meaning of this, Orin tied the end of the rope around his waist. When he had done this, he felt himself lifting up. As soon as he stepped over the edge of the entrance, several pairs of strong hands gripped him and took him to bed, made of many layers of goatskin, in one of the cave's corners. Somebody brought a cup with hot potion, which he swallowed in a second. Instantaneously, he sank into the void.

It was the first encounter of Orin ar den Raamternan with the People on Stone, as this strange folk called themselves.

Next few days he spent recovering and observing his saviours. The cave in which he lived was some kind of tribal meeting-place, roughly circular in shape, thirty paces in radius. Several tunnels connected the cave probably with the other caves on the cliff, but when he tried to enter one, he was resolutely turned back. In some other occasion this act would have infuriated him. Nobody ever commanded the Prince of the Plain Countries. Still, those people saved his life, and treated him kindly, even though he didn't understand a word of their strange language.

During the day, the cave was usually empty. Men worked on their little fields in the valley or took care of the living stock. He watched them from the cave entrance, tiny spots far below, so insignificant compared with the cold peaks that surrounded them. He couldn't help but wonder at the skill they displayed climbing to their dwellings, not using any devices except their hands and feet, often carrying on their backs the children who were bored playing on meadows.

In the evening, the women would come first on the meeting-place, and they would build the fire in the fireplace, which occupied the middle of the cave. Gradually, the men would gather also, taking their places around the fire. There would be a noisy conversation, followed with laughter. They sang eerie, melodically songs while women carried the tune playing on wooden flutes and drumming with bone-made sticks. They passed around a long pipe manufactured also of bone, while the unpleasant, stiffening smell emanated from it. After some time, the smokers would be drunkenly swinging in their places and emitting weird cries. Finally, the participants of the ceremony, if it was a ceremony, would withdraw in the tunnels, until there would be only women left in the cave. Their last task was to clean the cave, and to extinguish the fire, and after that they would also go to their caves.

Nobody paid too much attention to Orin. After they decided that he didn't understand them, they limited the contact to bringing the food and the drink, and some malodorous, but invigorating potions. The girl who found him he saw only two times in ten days in which he dwelt in the cave, but she, like the others, didn't show any considerable interest in him. Their attitude didn't bother him. A prince communicated with common people only in rare occasions, and the few days with these people couldn't have erased all those years he spent living as a nobleman. He couldn't help but look at them with some arrogance, and they sensed it somehow, and restrained themselves from any interaction with him.

The solitude and distance from other human beings was a common thing for him, since those feelings followed him from the day he was born.

However, the children of these unusual people did not know a lot about differences between people, were they princes or peasants. A stranger was rarity in their country, and they had to get to know him better. On the fifth day, when the adults have left the cave, they gathered around the prince, who dozed in his quarters, and watched him without words – a bunch of little furry heads and enormous eyes full of curiosity. They were dressed in fur-lined leather clothes, worn but firmly woven and warm. Orin did not have a lot of experience with children, and did not know how to behave. He tried to send them away waving his arms, but his movements only resulted in confused smiles of the children. Now and then, a more courageous boy would come near to him and touch him, then laugh and quickly return to the group. This seemed to be a kind of game, or test of courage. Finally, he started to smile despite himself, not able to resist his little admirers. His smile caused an eruption of cheers. Soon, he was surrounded by crowd of children who touched him and quickly withdrew.

He realized that they were interested in an object they have never seen in their short lives – his sword. The weapon in leather scabbard drew their attention, and every child tried to touch, bite or unsheathe the sword.

"This is not for children!" tried Orin, lifting the sword above his head, but no one listened to him. Braver boys started to jump on him, shouting merrily, while curiosity flickered in their eyes. Finally, he had to give up.

"All right", he said, "I will unsheathe it, but you may only watch. The sword is a dangerous thing".

He took the bright blade out of the scabbard, and the awed murmur spread among the children. He slashed the sword several times through the air above their heads, and they scattered on the safe distance. They maybe haven't seen a sword before, but they certainly seemed to understand its purpose. An elder boy slowly approached him, and touched the levelled blade with his fingertip. He jerked the hand with sharp cry of pain. Blood trickled down his finger. Orin quickly sheathed the sword and took the boy's hand in his own. He wiped the cut with his sleeve, and the children gathered again around him. This little incident did not discourage them. They pulled him by the sleeve toward cave entrance, clearly urging him to follow them.

The whole day they taught him how to climb the vertical rocks – how to find a support, how to recognize loose rocks that will not support him, how to find a way on seemingly impassable cliff. It was a tedious exercise, and Orin could not stop wondering at the skill of his little hosts. Since he wasn't able to understand them, they taught him by gestures and their own example, showing him different types of cracks in the stone and how to use them in climbing. Of course, he stayed low, because he recognized the inherent danger. In the evening he was tired, but the sleep was invigorating.

The following day, children led him through the valley, showing him their secret hiding places, playing grounds and streams full of fish. They were perfectly in place in this world, completely happy, without any worries. Their mood infected Orin – his quest seemed to him somehow distant, less important. The adults watched with approval the stranger who played with their children. Their attitude toward him has improved – they invited him to take place by the fire and to participate in the ritual. He accepted, because he was interested in what happens when a man inhales mysterious smoke from the bone pipe.

The gathering began in usual time, after sunset. Sitting in the circle with other people, the prince watched the pipe coming closer to him with feeling of unease. A man who inhaled the smoke seemed not to be present anymore; to Orin, it seemed that they were staring into some unknown world beyond. Finally, the pipe passed to him. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, watched by the people who waited for their turn.

In the first moment, nothing happened. He flashed a superior smile and passed the pipe to his neighbour on the left. Then, darkness cloaked everything, in an infinite moment in time. After an eternity, Orin heard a voice calling to him. He turned and realized he was standing on a meadow surrounded by clouds. Behind him stood an enormous, golden dragon, watching him with huge reptilian eyes.

"The ring awaits you." The voice boomed in his head. "Can you reach it?"

Orin started to answer, but the dragon transformed into shapeless dark being, which quickly approached the prince and enveloped him with his cloak woven of the night's darkness. He knew he was dying and he wasn't able to do anything about it; the darkness choked him, bursting into his lungs like water. He tried to breathe, but all was in vain. The last thing he saw was the face of sorcerer – goat herder he left on the far slopes – and then his eyes abruptly opened. He was surrounded by concerned faces of his hosts; people gathered around his body on the floor, shaking him awake.

He needed many hours to recuperate from the frightening experience. Sitting in his quarters, he noticed his hosts were staying away from him, secretly staring at him, with sorrow in their eyes. He was burning with desire to find out what happened, but he couldn't understand them. He did not know what his vision meant, but it was clear to him it wasn't good. Therefore, he did the only thing he could – in the next few days, he tried to repress and forget his experience.

The health of Orin ar den Raamternan improved quickly, but his spirit was all the more restless. The inevitability of having to dwell in such a narrow space almost drove him crazy. He was not used to any limitations. His will always had to be obeyed, no matter what.

The passion for the adventure was awake again. The Ring of the Kings was maybe within his reach. It was not in Orin's nature to give up, no matter how hard the task was. On the other hand, though, he still had a vivid memory of agony of wandering though mountainous wastelands and the nearness of death in utter solitude.

In any case, to return home from this place would be as difficult as to continue the journey, and to stay here forever, in this backward tribe far from the world, in the middle of nowhere, was the worst possibility. This couldn't be the destiny of a prince. The tenth day he decided to continue the quest.

With great effort, using both his hands and feet, he explained to his hosts that he wanted to leave and that he expected from them to supply him for the road. Several men and women who happened to be in the cave gave him an odd look while he was trying to make his demands clear, but finally one of them smiled and started to speak something to the others, pointing at the entrance. Then he took Orin's hand and led him to the opening of the cave. He waved his hand in the direction Orin came from, lifted ten fingers, and pointed at the sun. They want me to return! realized Orin. "No" he shook his head, demonstrating his disagreement. He showed the opposite direction with his hand.

"There," said he, hoping the man would understand. The man waved with both hands, while traces of fear broke on his face.

"Haar-ol-garot!" said he in terrified fashion, pointing the direction Orin wanted to take. "Haar-ol-garot!" All of them turned to him with reflection of what undoubtedly was terror on their faces.

Haar-ol-garot? thought Orin bitterly. Something dangerous, obviously, but it seems I will have to discover for myself what it is. Probably this tribe, like all the other savages, has its superstitions. He shook his head again and said, more to himself: "I'll go in that direction, and as for you, help me if you want, or stay out of my way!"

The sound of his words seemed to have had left impression on the present people, because the man with whom he "conversed" shrugged his shoulders in resignation and said something to one of the older women. The negotiation seemed successful.

So it was that Orin departed the next morning, in the company of the small pack animal which looked like crossbreed between a goat and a donkey, and which was loaded with food, to continue his search for the ultimate power which the Ring of the Kings would grant him. The People-on-Stone, peeping from their cave openings, followed him with sad eyes; it was like they were looking at someone who goes into the dark realm of Death forever.

On the road - only the cliffs, the wind and the solitude again. Still, he felt safer with the animal on whose back there was food enough for at least a month. He followed the path that was carved into the stones, and leading toward the west. The presence of the human artefact calmed him, although he hadn't seen any traveller in three days. On the end of this road there must be other human settlements, where he could renew his supplies, if need be.

He trotted the narrow path carefully, closely following the animal that had an innate sense for surviving on the unstable mountain terrain. From time to time, a rock would roll under his feet and fall in the depth. Orin's mind would then plunge after the rock, and he would have to lean against the cliff, struggling with strong dizziness. The nights he spent in the niches carved in stone, which were obviously made for this purpose.

On the third day of the journey the persistent quietness of the mountain suddenly became threatening. The towering stones started to express a silent warning to the careless traveller - RETURN... DO NOT GO FURTHER... In his imagination, the rocks transformed for a moment into the weird and horrid shapes of the grinning demon-faces, and unknown evil lurked from the shadows.

The frightening omens didn't leave him indifferent, but the prince of the Plain Countries never paid too much attention to things which existed on the edges of the reality, penetrating sometimes into the human minds in the form of sensations and dreams, bringing fear and warnings. His world was always one of consciousness; the only dangers he acknowledged were the dangers he could oppose with his sword.

Finally, before the sunset, he came across a canyon whose edges were spanned with a hanging bridge about fifty paces long. It was old, and the boards placed between the ropes could not inspire him to walk over them.

The bridge, however, drew Orin's attention only for a short time. On the other side of the canyon, to the left side of the road, close to the edge and leaned against high cliff, stood a castle.

Its walls were made of black granite, and from the middle of the building a tall tower was sticking in the air. It seemed abandoned; there were no signs of human presence around.

The view was fearsome. However, Orin would never admit to himself that he was afraid. It was probably a ruin from ancient times that could be a welcome shelter for a weary traveller. He stepped carefully on the bridge, leading the animal by the reins. After several minutes of terrible creaking and breath-taking swinging, they were on the other side. Orin wiped away sweat from his face, but the animal started to neigh, obviously frightened. Orin fruitlessly tried to calm it, and then released it, knowing it would not go too far. He was looking at the ominous building, his hand on the hilt of the sword.

In that instant he heard the sound of stone hitting the metal. Old, rusty iron gates opened slowly, with squeaking sound. The prince felt gooseflesh down his spine. Somebody is living here after all, thought he to chase the fear away. Good. Maybe I could hope for a hot meal before I go to sleep.

"Enter, traveller," said a bodiless voice, and Orin couldn't determine whether it came from the castle or from his mind. He unsheathed the sword and waited.

"Enter, prince," said the voice again. Orin, wondering, entered the yard carefully, while the gates behind him were closing.

He was standing in a dark hall without windows, lightened only by fire, which was burning in the fireplace. From the walls, stone-made demon heads glared at him, their faces grinning with evil. "Welcome" said his host in a weak, rustling voice, rising slowly from a comfortable armchair that faced the fire. "Welcome, prince". A tall, lean figure was outlined in the light of the fire. He was not able to see the face, but for some reason, it didn't bother him. "Peace," greeted Orin, while fear passed through his gut.

"How long it is since I have had last visitor," said the figure, as if speaking to himself. "Nobody comes here, for years, nobody..." Some strange longing enveloped his words, and he sounded very old to Orin.

"How do you know who I am?" asked Orin.

"There will be a time for that, prince," said the old man. "Before the conversation, I shall ask you to join me in the dining room. I made a dinner for a weary traveller. After, you will find out everything that interests you."

"I am thankful," said Orin. The old man went to one of the doors, moving with amazing ease, almost sliding on the marble floor. For a second, his face showed in the firelight. High cheekbones, long nose and deeply settled eyes reminded Orin of death. He lifted his hand and the door opened. "Come," he invited the confused prince, who obediently started to follow him.

The dining room was equally dark as the hall, with a long table filled with various meals, served for two. The three days of journey have made their impact and the careful part of the Orin's mind was temporarily asleep.

The food was delicious, but somehow it didn't soothe his hunger. He ate enormous quantities, wondering why he can't satisfy his appetite. In the darkness the only sound was clinging of the dishes, made from some precious metal. The host was sitting at the other side of the table and staring at the prince, without even touching the food.

When Orin finally stopped eating, the old man began to talk. "You wonder who I am, Orin ar den Raamternan, and where do I know you from. I am the one who knows everything, all that was and that shall be. I am the one who owns the greatest desire of your heart."

Orin stiffened. "The Ring of the Kings?" said he quietly. "Who are you?"

"My name is Haar-ol-garot. I believe you've heard it already."

Orin was astonished, and almost unaware of cold sweat that broke out on him. He remembered clearly the fear on the faces of the tribe people when this name was mentioned, although he didn't know the reason for it.

"I have heard your name," admitted the prince. "People from the caves tried to scare me with it. They wanted me to return."

"Hah, simple minds," said the old man quietly. "As always, they are afraid of everything they don't understand. You are a prince; you know what I'm talking about."

"True", said Orin. "I'm a prince. I do not associate with common people and I know how primitive they could be. Still, they saved me when I was on the brink of death, and they didn't ask me who I am, where I'm going, or what do I want."

"They don't care!" said Haar-ol-garot forcefully. "They take care only of their goats! I never endangered them, but they still hate me and are afraid of me." Drained face was staring at him.

"I am only a helpless old man," he continued in softer voice. "Since I came to these mountains to complete my research, these peasants have been attacking me. And I only wanted peace and solitude for my work."

"What is your work?" asked Orin. A deep sense of fatigue overwhelmed him, and it was only with great effort that he kept his mind focused.

"I always researched the forces contained within the human mind," answered Haar-ol-garot. "the forces that rule life and death. My goal is to discover the secret of immortality. Of life eternal. Now, my work is near the end. I need just a little time, just one more season, to finish it. But I'm afraid I won't be alive for so long." The old man bowed his head and fell silent.

From some reason, those words reached some part of Orin and he felt sympathy for the old man. At the same time, fear continued to grow in his mind.

"How do you know who am I? You called me a prince, but my kingdom is far from here," asked he finally after a minute.

Haar-ol-garot slowly lifted his head. "I'm a wizard," murmured he. "It is my job to know things. I know who you are and what you are looking for. Your mind is open to me."

"Why are people afraid of you? Because you know what's in their heads?" asked Orin.

"You are also afraid of me," said old man, "and I welcomed you."

"And entered my mind."

"It's nothing. People's minds are open books for me. But I'm not interested in that. There is nothing for me there. I'm interested in something else."

Orin felt sweat trickling down his brow.

"Hear my offer," continued the old man, seemingly unconscious of the tension in his guest. "You shall have the ring you longed for so much, but there is a price. I am old and my time shall come soon. Before the end, I want to finish my studies. You can help me. Only a little part of your life force can prolong my life enough so I can bring my work to the end. It will mean nothing for you. As soon as tomorrow you shall be fit like you usually are."

"Why don't you use the Ring?" asked Orin. He didn't understand how his life force could prolong the old man's life, but he didn't want to ask too many questions.

"Even the Ring has its limitations. With it, you can rule the world, but life and death are in the domain of other forces, impregnable for its power."

Orin was thinking with effort. Maybe the old man is telling the truth. Maybe he really has the Ring of the Kings. It would be crazy to give up in front of the goal of his quest, but something inside him was screaming: "DANGER!"

"How do I know you aren't going to deceive me?" asked he.

The old man got up from the chair fiercely. "Deceive?" he hissed. "Deceive! Only your total ignorance can be excuse for this insult! Haar-ol-garot was called many names, and not always nice ones, but nobody called him a liar and left this place to tell the world about it! My word itself is a law! But you don't know, you don't know anything. I forgive you," said he, dropping back in the chair, still holding the table. The outburst seemed to have tired him. He breathed unevenly.

Orin wanted to say "no", but something didn't allow him to think in clear terms. This reaction convinced him in old man's sincerity. The superstitious fear of the people from the cliff was probably product of the mystery that Haar-ol-garot presented for them. For a moment, he even felt a surge of pity for a lonely old man.

"When will I get the Ring?" asked he.

"Tomorrow," came the answer from the other side of the table.

"I agree," said Orin. It seemed to him like somebody else said those words.

"Finally!" whispered the old man. "So much time, so much... let us do it now!" He rose and with light, almost sliding steps approached the prince, seizing his arm. The prince also rose and obediently followed him.

They went up the twisting stairs, avoiding dusty spider webs, until they reached the room at the top of the tower. The room was some kind of a laboratory, filled with various pots and magical items. The shelves on the walls were covered with a thick layer of dust. The stench of the mould was disgusting. Haar-ol-garot seated Orin in a rough metal chair. Then he went to the corner of the laboratory and started to mix some potion. Some unexplainable dread had numbed Orin, the kind of fear he never felt before. There is no reason, his sleepy mind was convincing him, the old man will respect the deal, and there is no reason to be afraid...

When the preparation was done, the old enchanter brought a tall crystal glass and handed it to Orin. The drink tasted pleasantly, like exotic fruit. As soon as he drank it, Orin felt his will slipping away. His mind was refusing to focus on single thought. He had a feeling of drifting away slowly, deeper and deeper into the darkness, while the fingers of Haar-ol-garot were moving in front of his eyes in some weird and complicated dance, followed by a ghastly incantation which sounded like it was not coming from the old man's lips, but from some removed, gloomy place. A little part of reason that was still left to him was screaming this is the end, this is forever, this is the end; this is death... Uselessly. The space around him was turning into blackness.

Suddenly, the world exploded in a flash of colours. The room was here again, the mind was at its place. The stress of the sudden wakening has quickened Orin's heartbeat to the limits, and deadly terror was passing through his body in waves. He breathed the air with full lungs, unsuccessfully trying to calm himself. The face of Haar-ol-garot was twisted as he turned to face the entrance. The fingers were still moving, caught in the magic dance that was, seemingly, refusing to stop. "Who..." he hissed.

At the door there was a silhouette in a leather cloak, almost invisible in the darkness of the room.

"How did you get in? How I failed to notice you?" shouted the old man in panic.

"They say that no one is given knowledge of the hour of his demise, not a living soul, nor your likes" said the newcomer in a calm voice. "I came to send you to a place from which you won't come back."

Orin knew that voice. A sense of relief began to spread through his body, cleaning the layers of fear. It was like lifting a veil from his eyes, a veil that was keeping him from seeing things the way they really were. He tried to rise from the chair, but his limbs still weren't obeying the weakened mind.

Haar-ol-garot was moving toward the man. "Whoever you are, now you shall..." Not finishing his thought, he started with another ominous incantation followed by the finger-dance.

The man laughed.

"You better pray to your masters, demon, to show you mercy, because the time is here for you to face them!" he shouted and moved a hand in the old man's direction. Then he stomped the floor with his foot, making a crack which in moment extended to Haar-ol-garot. With a terrible scream, the old man fell in the fissure, desperately trying to grasp the edges, and disappeared.

The next minute, the room seemed normal again. Orin felt himself slipping into unconsciousness again. The stress was too much and his mind was crying out for escape. The last thing he saw was the grim face of Arios the Black towering above him, speaking words whose meaning he was not able to grasp any more.

The next morning was a grey one, without the warmth of the sun. The wind was howling demonically through the ruined walls of the black castle. The frail bridge was swinging above the abyss, creaking under gusts of the wind. Up on the sky, two birds of prey were circling easily in their imposing dance.

Orin was sitting on the stone, beside one end of the bridge, while Arios tinkered with the cargo animal which came back during the night. He was thinking about everything that has occurred, but his memory was full of holes.

"Everything's ready!" shouted the sorcerer to the prince, who was absorbed in thought.

"But I'm not going back." said Orin. "And look at you, ever since I woke up you talk about return. Why did you follow me as far as here at all when you want to go home?"

"I followed you because I knew you won't last long, alone in this country. In fact, you survived much longer than I thought you would."

"I was lucky."

The black-haired goatherd who was also a sorcerer not once did mention the last night. Orin remembered that he saved him from certain death, destroying the old man who had welcomed and served him, and after that tried to kill him. The rest was unclear. He didn't like the world around him unstructured. There's always an explanation for everything.

"What happened last night?" he asked Arios.

"In short, I've sent your host beyond the border of the Unknown, where he belongs. But, this is a longer story," said the sorcerer.

"Let me hear it. It seems to me we've got enough time." Orin stood up to stretch his legs. He was feeling drowsy, just like after a drinking party in one of his summerhouses.

"Maybe, if we continue in the same direction. Back. The People-on-Stone will welcome us."

The animal was ready for the journey.

"I've said that I'll continue the quest," said Orin. "It would be better for you to admit to yourself that you didn't go after me only to bring me back. The Ring of the Kings is somewhere ahead of us. It would be madness to give up now."

"It would be even greater madness to continue the quest," said Arios aloud, but he knew inside that Orin was telling the truth. While he was alone, tracing the prince's trail through the mountain he could have deluded himself to a certain degree that he was not interested in the Ring of the Kings. Now it was not possible anymore. The only way which was open for him now led to the north, toward the Dragon Rock.

"Will you go, then?" asked Orin.

"Maybe we should go back to the People-on-Stone before we start the real search. Maybe they would give us a guide."

"No. I barely understood them when I was leaving. I don't want new complications. Besides, we have enough supply for some time. I hope we will come across another human settlement."

Orin's face clearly reflected his relief. He would not have to continue alone, after all.

"There will be no problems with understanding. I speak their language," tried Arios again.

"I thought you never were in these parts of the mountains!" Orin was surprised.

"No, I wasn't, but I do have a special gift for the languages. With a little help of magic, of course." Arios smiled.

The conversation about the direction they should take lasted for some time more, until both of them have had enough of standing in the cold wind. Finally, Orin's stubbornness prevailed and Arios was forced to agree to continue the voyage. They took a slow pace, leaving behind the black walls of the castle.

The path was winding between big rocks. The morning was cold and unpleasant, but it was not affecting Orin's optimism and satisfaction caused by the continuation of the quest, and with a company too, however strange it was.

"Tell me now the story of Haar-ol-garot," said he after some time, and Arios began:

"I'll tell you what Ulik had told me..."

"Who?"

"One of the old people from the Stone. Once upon a time, when the People-on-Stone were still young, an enchanter came from the heart of the mountain country and built his black home, on the place where it stands now. These people have always welcomed the strangers, but their new neighbour started to show his evil nature very soon. He longed for the power and domination over men. He wanted to become master of those who have always lived free, but he underestimated their capability to defend themselves. The night was his time, when the black magic he wielded was at its summit, fed by the fear of the common people. So one day, the council of the elders joined their minds and killed Haar-ol-garot as he slept. But, killing of the enchanter was not the end of the troubles for those people. His power reached to a certain degree into the realm of Death and his spirit returned, burning with desire for vengeance. For getting enough strength to perform act of revenge against his killers, he needed the life force of living. Several people lost their lives there before the black castle became a forbidden area. After that, for hundreds of years never did a human being set a foot there. A few travellers ever came here, and they usually listened to the warnings of the tribe. Until yesterday, when you came, and in your mad chase after the ultimate power forgot every caution. Demon's endless patience almost paid off..."

"What you are trying to say to me is, that the old man in fact was a ghost several hundreds years old?" interrupted Orin.

"Exactly. But, it wasn't his real appearance, nor was anything that you saw there actually real. Haar-ol-garot created an illusion around you, but his strength was limited, and if you were more careful, you would have seen through the deception."

"I think he offered me The Ring of the Kings in exchange for a tiny part of my strength..."

"Yes, he probably needed your agreement for the ritual. Your life-force would have strengthened him enough to become a serious threat to the People-on-Stone."

They walked silently for some time. The canyon they were passing through extended into a wide valley, through whose bottom a clear brook was flowing. The dark backs of mountain trout were gliding just under the water surface. From time to time, a fish would jump in the air, catching mosquitoes and dragonflies. Arios was looking around, absorbing the wild beauty of the nature.

Soon, Orin broke the silence.

"If they knew what was awaiting me, why did nobody stop me? Even by force?"

"I asked them the same question," said Arios. "They tried to explain to you, but you didn't understand them. Besides, they believe that the destiny of every single man is written deep below the very core of the mountains. To change it, one must erase what is written, and write a new destiny. I think it's just their way of saying that the man is helpless. Try as he might, in the end all would be the way it was meant to be."

"But, who could know what is written?"

"Only the gods," concluded the sorcerer thoughtfully, "only the gods."

About midday they stopped to rest and to have a lunch on the little meadow beside the brook. They decided to continue to follow the same path, because it seemed to them that it goes toward the centre of the Blue Mountains, the enormous Dragon Rock which was sometimes visible between the nearer mountain tops, but looked not a bit closer than before. After the lunch they went on the road again, until the first dusk of the evening. The mountain was quiet and cold, a promise of another frosty night.

Before they fell asleep under their furs, Orin decided to tell Arios another thing that bothered him.

"You know, when I was in the cave, they invited me to participate in their pipe ritual."

"You accepted?" asked the sorcerer.

"Yes. But I shouldn't have. I had a nasty vision. First, a dragon offered me the Ring of the Kings, and then darkness enveloped me, and I was sure I was dying. Maybe I would have died if they did not call me back."

"And?" asked Arios, slightly disinterested.

"Do you know what this means?"

"I cannot know what your visions signify," answered the sorcerer. "Maybe nothing. And maybe the rational part of your brain is telling you to turn back and to forget about the ring. Who would know?"

"I asked you seriously," said Orin, irritated. "If you don't know, at least don't mock me."

Arios turned and looked at him sincerely. "I wasn't mocking you. You probably know how dangerous is the path that lies ahead of us. Maybe it would be best to return."

"We already discussed this. I'll continue, and I won't force you to go with me."

"All right," said Arios. "This is fair. But, it would be better for you to admit you're afraid."

"You really think it was my fear?"

"I don't know. It's possible. I'm afraid of things which could be waiting for us, or maybe I'm afraid because I don't know what awaits us." answered the sorcerer.

"True, I'm also afraid. It is normal," said Orin. "But I felt much more in that vision than my fear. It was like some other force is trying to warn me. Or maybe stop me. It is hard to tell. I only know I'm even afraid to think about it."

"Maybe you are right. Maybe something else caused the vision, but we cannot know what it was. You better sleep and gather strength for the journey," concluded Arios, then turned and drifted into sleep.

Orin was awake for long time, looking the night sky.

So passed the first day of their quest, peacefully, without much conversation.

The next days haven't brought greater changes. Arios didn't feel the need to talk more than it was necessary. Still, step by step, he was teaching the prince those small secrets, which make life easier to the people who live in the wilderness. Orin learned slowly to tell the edible herbs from non-edible ones and to find the water among the rocks that looked waterless. He was beginning to understand the wisdom of people who live from the soil, far from glamour, courts and servants who take care about the lives of their masters. It seemed to him that these people are much stronger and more powerful that the brilliant nobles who ruled armies, but were not capable of making their own breakfast. Arios always knew what to do in this environment, unknown and hostile to the prince.

The power of an individual is most visible when he's alone, not surrounded by thousands of servants behind which he can hide, thought Orin, and, until now, I was mostly hiding. I was a spineless coward, although I would have killed anyone who dared to say something like this. No, my guards would have killed him, he corrected himself with sense of irony. Maybe I'll learn how to be a different man on this journey.

As the days passed, the landscape gradually became more cultivated. Tall, naked cliffs were replaced by the steep green pastures and evergreen forests. In one occasion they came across a human settlement, a row of little villages, consisting of close gathered wooden huts, whose inhabitants looked at them with curiosity. They were dressed in leather trousers and fur coats, their heads decorated with big feathers painted in black and white. Obviously, they weren't afraid of the strangers. The faces of the children peeked shyly from the darkness of the huts. The women, like those of the People-on-Stone, in the ways of dressing and decorating weren't much different from the men. Their cruel environment prevented it. Arios repeatedly asked them which direction they should take to reach the Dragon Rock, which was visible in the distance, and they answered only by tittering and head shaking. Then, they would point with their hands at the space above the mountains and say "Here, that way!" in their strange, brusque language.

"They think we are crazy," concluded Arios, "they probably think no one can reach the Dragon Rock."

One old man pitied on them and said in a more serious voice, showing the horizon, "The Dragon Rock is a part of other mountain. You will not get there from this place." These words made other villagers laugh again. Arios maybe did have a way to understand the words of the language with the help of magic, but there was no way for him to grasp the variety of its more subtle meanings. He didn't understand the reason for laughter, and it worried him. Still, the villagers did supply them with food and thick leather blankets for the road. "It is very cold where you are going," said a man, and they received the gifts with gratitude. Having loaded the supplies on the back of the animal, they went slowly ahead.

Orin was enthusiastic about Arios' capability to understand different languages with the aid of magic. But one thing bothered him for a long time, and when they left the village, he started a conversation.

"Tell me something, sorcerer."

"Ask."

"Why do you withhold your magic? Why don't you make our trip easier?"

The sorcerer was silent for some time, thinking. In the end, he said, "In my life I've done much more harm than good things by using my knowledge. I don't want to be more dependent on my magic than I ought to be. I was never a good sorcerer."

"Still, you did beat the powerful Haar-ol-garot!"

"He was but a spectre from the times past. He got control over you only because you allowed him to do so."

The prince was not giving up so easily. "And if we are attacked by a mountain monster, or a bunch of the wild robbers, will you use your magic to save us?" Arios laughed. "There are better ways for a man to defend himself. Fast legs, for example. Or your sword."

"You don't have a sword. Do you think mine would be enough?" said Orin.

"Why do you bother yourself with these questions? Everything around us is quiet, the mountains are asleep, and the robbers fight the monsters somewhere far away, the dragons are eager to welcome us and to deliver you the ring you seek - the world is perfect. Why are you afraid, then? Besides," added he in a serious voice, although his eyes were smiling, "magic is a very unreliable thing. One wise man from the east described the magic as creating the miracles. And it would be a poor miracle if it would fail to impress even the one who created it."

"You lie," said Orin, grinning.

"No. Imagine this \- I become bored with your endless gibbering, and wish I didn't have to listen to you any more. Then I cast a spell, and what happens? Instead of you gone mute, I have lost my ears!" For the next few moments the canyon was ringing with laughter of the two travellers.

Then, the prince said in a more serious voice: "It is easy for you to laugh at me, now, when everything looks all right. But what will you do when the times change? The caution is a virtue of the wise. It is better to exaggerate with it, than to be careless," said Orin, aware of the fact that he said it only to continue the quarrel, and that this particular wisdom never meant much in his life.

"Then I will summon a mountain storm and fly back to my cottage. And leave you to negotiate with robbers. Or with monsters." The sorcerer burst into laughter again.

## Chapter 4. The Enlightened

Living beside his odd companion, the prince of the Plain Countries gradually started to see the mountain from a different point of view. The landscape was not looking dry and empty to him anymore. Arios was teaching him how to find nutritious roots even in the places where only bare ground was visible. He talked to the cool mountain streams – it was his way to find comfort in the wasteland. Even the cliffs were not so threatening like before. They rather resembled wise old men that have seen many ages, guardians of everything that flies, runs or crawls through their realm. He didn't know if this was caused by some sorcerer's spell, or all the magic was in the fact that he was not alone anymore. It would be too much to say, however, that in those days a great friendship developed between the two. Arios was a silent companion. He talked only when it was necessary, when there was a need to set a camp, find some food, light a fire. There was a kind of empty space around him which limited any closeness with another human being. It was probably result of the long solitude, a way to survive without other people, or maybe it was other way around - maybe the emptiness which surrounded him resulted in withdrawing from the world of men. With these things it was impossible to tell which was the effect and which the cause.

Still, his simple presence was having almost a healing influence on Orin's spirit, because the prince used to be surrounded with people who would have not even looked at him twice if he weren't the son of their ruler. In the Plain Countries, what everyone saw was his title, and they bowed to him out of fear. It meant nothing to Arios. He did not have any power over the sorcerer. Here, he was not a prince, he hadn't had any privileges, he couldn't force his will on anything, and yet it seemed to him he was now for the first time in his life in company of another human being. It was a new experience for him and it demanded a certain effort to get used to the situation.

He was ever more convinced he will reach his goal, and the sense of it fulfilled him. He was daydreaming about the moment when he would put on his finger the Ring of the Kings and proclaim to his country the beginning of the age of peace and prosperity.

"Once I am a true ruler of my people," said he to Arios, who listened with interest the prince talking about his quest, "there will never be war again. Everyone will have all what he needs and be satisfied with his position. Nobody would stand against the bearer of the Ring of the Kings. The life in the Plain Countries will be happy, at last."

The sorcerer didn't share his enthusiasm.

"Foolishness," he said. "Nobody could make all people happy. There will always be the malcontents you will have to calm down. It's not in human's nature, to be happy all the time. That doesn't depend on the good will of their ruler or the richness of the country. Only rare moments in life can be considered really happy ones. If you use your ultimate power to forbid people the right to be unhappy, they will consider you a tyrant, just like they would if you hold them in slavery and misery. And they would hate you even more, knowing they cannot overthrow you."

"What do you know!" Orin waved his hand angrily. "You didn't live among people for years. It seems you've forgotten more about them than you think!"

Arios shrugged and continued walking.

After some time he said "And you, do you think the ultimate power will make you happy?"

"I yearned for it since I was boy," said the prince. "When I get it, I'll know if it made me happy."

"My power was great," said Arios. "And it was the cause of my ruin. Sometimes it looks to me there is some strange law - the greater power a man wields, the more often his deeds end as a disaster. Besides, you always live in fear of losing it. Conspiracies, plots... Rulers are always in grave peril."

Orin laughed.

"Anyway, I am already living in fear. And in the matter of that law of yours, I would rather say that deeds of all men equally often do end as a disaster, only the consequences are more severe when those mightier are involved."

"This means, if you want to do something good, you must question ten times every decision you make." Arios was not giving up. "You would become a slave of your own power. And the slaves are never happy."

"Hah, you just philosophize," the answer came, "but you cannot know what will happen if you don't try. In any case, I am not afraid to try. Unlike a certain sorcerer whose magic scared him so much that he ran away into the desert and pushed his head in a hole, I just might succeed in improving the world."

"Hah! I can hardly wait the day you'll swallow these words!" grinned the sorcerer.

"And when I reach the ultimate power, beware!" shouted the prince. "You will be the first one whom I'll forbid the bad moods and unhappiness! Even if you'll hate me because of it for the rest of your life."

"I would like to know what wrong I did to the gods, to send me on a road with such a fool." The sorcerer concluded the argument, rolling his eyes.

Light conversations like this helped them to break the monotony of the journey. Neither one of them was able to imagine what would really happen if they find the ring, and what is the nature of its power.

So they travelled for many days, orienting themselves by the gigantic bulk of the Dragon Rock which still rose in the distance, still towering above all the other peaks; and was still very far from them.

One sombre afternoon the road brought them to a huge plateau, surrounded by mountains. The ground was bare, without vegetation. The rocks of unusual shapes, the works of art made by the sharp wind which blew continuously over the plain, were placed here and there, disabling the travellers to see the whole plateau.

"This looks deserted," said Orin.

"I feel a presence," Arios warned.

"Whose?"

"It's hard to tell. But this plateau is not completely deserted."

"The best thing is to keep moving. We'll find out what it is."

"This sword of yours," said Arios, "is it just a decoration, or do you use it?"

"We shall see," said Orin. "Just a few people were successful in beating me, but those were friendly skirmishes, to the first blood. I've used it only once in real situation, against the bunch of drunken soldiers in some tavern who did not recognize me at first."

He unsheathed the weapon. It was a broadsword, which only a very strong man could wield with just one hand. The hilt was wrapped with the skin so the sword wouldn't slip out of the hand when the swordsman begins to sweat. The blade was carefully polished and the tip sharpened; this also enabled stabbing.

"I hope they wouldn't be warlike, whoever they might be," said Arios. "Better put it back in sheath."

They moved carefully, listening from time to time to the silence. The breeze which followed them on the road vanished somewhere behind, on the beginning of the maze. Nothing moved, and that was most frightening. The places where birds and beasts do not dwell, Arios knew, surely were haunted by some restless ghosts.

After some time of wandering quietly, they reached open space, obviously the centre of the maze. There was a building in that place, made of green stones, tall and silent, with a round roof - a remnant of some ancient age, maybe from the times when the dragons were still flying freely over the lands of men. Its door, ten paces in height, were opened, and in its interior darkness abode.

"What is this?" Orin's voice echoed from the naked walls and was amplified a hundred times, resounding through the maze. The travellers suddenly felt uneasy.

"I don't know. A temple, a shrine, maybe?" whispered Arios.

"Shall we go in?"

"These places could be dangerous."

"The building is ancient. There's nobody in the vicinity. It would be better to sleep in there."

"Yes," said Arios, but his thoughtful gaze was saying the opposite.

"Maybe you are right. The god that inhabited this temple must have been dead for a long time."

The inside of the building consisted of one chamber only, dim and cold. In the middle there was a simple altar made from the same green stone, without any visible symbols. They settled beside the wall, close to the entrance, and brought out part of their supplies from the sacks. The animal, free from its burden, wandered away searching for the sparse grass. Arios was not afraid of losing the animal - this gift from the People-on-Stone proved to be a very intelligent, obedient and enduring creature.

The time that was left until the nightfall they have spent walking around, seeking for any trace of life. If there ever was something in the temple that would have revealed the secret of its builders, it probably crumbled into dust a long time ago.

The green stone was gleaming under last rays of the setting sun. The night came swiftly, and the travellers sprawled on their blankets, trying to sleep.

"Strange," said Orin, lying in the dark, "Who would build a temple in such a wasteland?"

"I don't have any idea. Maybe we'll find out tomorrow. And maybe we won't. Anyway, I would like to sleep now," concluded the sorcerer, breaking Orin's attempt to make conversation.

Orin was awake for a long time after. The thoughts of the Ring of the Kings and the power it contains were endlessly repeating anew. Is it possible for a man to have ultimate power? Could he stand face to face with death and say: "I am not afraid of you any more; the world is now but a reflection of my imagination?"

At some hour he felt an irresistible desire to sit on the stone altar. Somebody was quietly whispering inside his head, telling him what to do, and it all looked perfectly natural and understandable. His drowsy mind didn't question anything. He rose, carefully trying not to wake the sleeping man, and tiptoed to the green stone. There he sat down with his legs crossed and closed his eyes.

"The Death is your ultimate enemy, the most powerful, the most terrible," the quiet voice was rustling in prince's ears. "He, who conquers the Death, becomes the mightiest man. Destroy the fear, face it, laugh at it, and it will disappear."

He was slowly sinking into a deeper trance. The echo of the non-material voice in his head has made all the other senses irrelevant. "If you look in the Death's eyes and pass through it, you shall be free. Death is an evil master who rules our souls. But it doesn't have real power over us. If you laugh in the Death's face, you will be almighty. Gain freedom by crossing the border of Death."

Greenish light was crawling like sticky liquor through the gates of the temple. Silent incantation reverberated through the chilly night air. A ghostly procession emerged from the darkness, gliding to the temple. Their faces drained, their eye-sockets black, came the people from times past, walking slowly, with measure, singing prayer to the divinity who waited for them on the other side of death; it was like every step they made was prescribed by some spectral master of ceremony. The procession separated and encircled the altar, where the prince was sitting.

"Be enlightened," the voice was saying, "join the army of the immortals!"

The last part of Orin's free consciousness was warning the intoxicated mind, but in vain. He rose from the altar and stepped among the eerie apparitions. The green light enveloped him completely. Without a word, the procession started through the door, disappearing in the night.

The next morning, Arios woke alone in the ominous silence.

Interesting, how it always seems to a man that he alone, of his own will, decides about his actions, that he's free to shape his own destiny, the sorcerer was reflecting while he made his way out of the stony maze.

He was followed by the animal of burden, and also by the wind, which never faltered in its wanderings through the empty passages.

The mad prince vanished somewhere, leaving even his sword behind, and I, for myself, have no business in these mountains. Why, then, shouldn't I simply gather the few things I have and go home? It would, without doubt, be the smartest thing I can do. Every other possibility could prove fatal. I owe nothing to Orin. I followed him because of curiosity, or something similar. Now that he's gone, it would really be best for me to return. It would be reasonable thing to do. But, I'm still going on. I am not able to listen to my reason, but rather, my will is directed by something else, something I don't understand. I sense I must find that fool and help him to survive his stupid quest for something that probably even doesn't exist. What's driving him to abandon all the comfort of living at the court and risk his life for nothing? And maybe somebody did write our destinies, and we are only following the roads which were inscribed before? Why? Where is the meaning?

The current of Arios' thoughts was suddenly interrupted by the ending of the maze. On this side, the plateau was lightly descending into a narrow valley, encircled by steep cliffs - a landscape he was already used to. On the other side, the valley was narrowing even more, until all that was left of it was a gorge, which led beyond, into the unknown. In the middle of the valley there stood a monastery, surrounded with a high wall of stone – a gloomy, grey building which upset the natural harmony of the surrounding rocks.

"Lo!" said Arios to himself, "people at last. And it seems to me I might get an answer to some of my questions. For example, where did Orin ar den Raamternan disappear?"

He pulled the animal by the reins and started slowly toward the valley.

The high gates were widely open. People dressed in many-coloured cloaks were following their businesses, moving with dignity, without a word, without turning to look around. Even those occupied with mere daily activities, like carrying the jugs with water or herding goats and little mountain cows to the pasture, were behaving like all their movements were strictly prescribed by some majestic scheme. Arios had a strong impression they were all dancing some ancient dance, to the music that only their ears could hear.

Some of them noticed the newcomer, but they showed not a little bit of curiosity or desire to make a contact with him. After several failed attempts to address people passing by, Arios decided simply to enter their town and wait until someone noticed him.

These men are behaving like they know something which makes them worthier than common mortals, he thought ironically, smiling to himself. In fact, it isn't anything unusual. Actually, almost all of us behave that way sometimes.

At the central square stood a tall dark grey granite monolith, casting long shadow toward western wall. He seated himself down by its base, determined to wait. Sooner or later, someone will approach him.

The sect to whom these people belonged was utterly unknown to him, but it was not anything unusual - few people in the Plain Countries and on the hillsides of the Blue Mountains knew what forms life can take, there beyond the impassable cliffs. Besides, Arios didn't have a great sympathy for the sects. People who see only high ideals are usually blind for the real world surrounding them. But, then, who was ever able to tell which world is more real?

"Unconverted strangers usually do not have the right to enter the monastery," said a voice behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

"But here are so few of the unconverted strangers that nobody remembers that rule."

Arios turned toward the speaker. A man in white cloak was standing before him, middle aged, with shaven head and expressionless face.

"I wasn't acquainted with your ways and I beg your forgiveness," said he diplomatically. "I have come from afar, and would like to talk to someone."

"In this place conversation hasn't any significance,", the man said. "We don't have much to say."

"I'm interested in only one thing," continued the sorcerer. "Namely, I came here with a companion. Last evening I had a companion with me, which disappeared this morning, up there in the green temple. What interests me is, did he come this way? And with whom? I do believe that his disappearance wasn't completely an act of free will."

The man was looking at him carefully, a few moments longer than politeness would permit.

"Come with me," said he finally, "maybe we will have something to talk about."

Arios stood up and slowly followed the man to the building which was probably the shrine.

"Do you know what this place you wandered into is?" said the man in white.

"No," answered Arios sincerely. They ascended into the temple by a broad stairway build of black granite.

"We don't have any special name for ourselves, though the people across the mountain" \- he pointed north "call us the Living dead. Common folk, not understanding anything outside their narrow frame. The ones, who in the moment of enlightenment come here to find out the Final Secret and defeat Death, are rare. You see, the green temple, as you call it, is a strange place. Many of us, travelling this wilderness for various reasons, right there have had an insight in the meaning and purpose of life. This place has been founded long ago by the first follower of our way..."

"Wait a moment," Arios carelessly interrupted the speech, "are you trying to say that anyone who enters the green temple becomes one of your sect?"

"Of course not" The man looked at him, his smile superior. "You were there also, haven't you?"

"It is true. I haven't noticed anything..."

"Your friend is a man of great aspiration. Only those whose inner tension and desire for knowledge is strong enough can be enlightened. I haven't seen any newcomers since morning, but it's possible he is in one of the chambers for initiation. Anyway, you're searching in vain. He has chosen his way."

"His way was different until yesterday," said Arios.

"He gained enlightenment! You don't understand anything, peasant!" A weird fire sparkled in the man's eyes. "Go away, and leave the consecrated to search for the way of confronting the Death!"

"I am sorry, "said Arios, "and I will leave."

But not before I have a word with that fool, he thought.

The man looked at him scornfully and walked away, his head high.

Finding the missing companion was not an easy job. Most of the doors were closed to him, and men, although they didn't chase him away, didn't show a bit of desire to help him. He spent the whole day wandering through the monastery, searching in vain for the hidden places in hope he would find Orin in one of them; in the evening, seeing that no one bothers him, he unfolded his blankets in front of the monolith on the square, and lay down to sleep.

Still, it was not meant for sorcerer to have a peaceful sleep that night.

Many people in their time have experienced some events which indicated that something carefully rules over their lives, and that things which seemed sometimes just lucky or unlucky coincidences were in fact a part of a complex mosaic which represents organization of the world.

So it happened that Arios came in the monastery just in time when one of the consecrated had reached the moment of his revelation and chose the way he will confront death. The ritual took place that very night, and if Arios by some chance had missed it, Orin would probably have to stay in the sect for the rest of his days.

Quiet footsteps of the crowd tapped through his dream for some time, until he realized he was not asleep any more, and that long line of people is really passing around him. He stood up, wide awake now, watching what was happening on the square. The crowd of the consecrated gathered around the stairway of the temple. The population of the monastery was much more numerous than it seemed in the daytime.

The sound of the footsteps was replaced by solemn, ghostly silence and the sense of tensed expectation. After a few minutes of dramatic pause, from the temple emerged a figure of a priest dressed in black robes, and lifted his arms theatrically. Then he uttered a few deep sounds in an unknown language. The crowd answered with quiet murmur.

From the right side appeared a man in white; from the left, three men, the middle one carrying an enormous cutlass, whose blade glittered in the ghostly radiance of the moonshine, occasionally throwing light on some mesmerized face in the crowd.

The priest in black robes disappeared from the scene, and two attendants of the man with the cutlass took the arms of the man clothed in white, spreading them. The cutlass suddenly came to life in the hands of the executioner, and described a wide arc of light in the dark.

A single, rapid stroke, and one arm was severed from the body. The man was standing still, his head raised in the defiance of death, screaming unintelligibly the words of an ancient ritual. It seemed he felt neither pain nor fear.

Stroke, and there went the other arm. Stroke, and the head was rolling on the floor. The dreadful silence filled the crowd.

The man with the cutlass didn't stop even when body without sparkle of life dropped down on the stone floor.

The cutlass craves blood, a thought darted through Arios' mind, leaving a sense of deep uneasiness. He knew the ways and rituals of many schools of magic too well not to recognize a force beyond the human mind at work here, a force which imposed itself, creating a false sense of freedom in its followers. Feeding, probably, on their blood.

When the bloody scene was over, the crowd started to move slowly, rhythmically, muttering the words of a prayer in a ghostly trance.

Arios returned to his place under the monolith. Nobody paid any attention to him, and that was good. He lay down on the blanket and tried to fall asleep again. However, as soon as he closed his eyes, the horrible event started to unfold before his mind-eye. The blood drummed in his ears, and the comfort of the dream would not come. He fell asleep just before dawn, when the fatigue finally won over the troubled mind.

The next morning, the square radiated with joy. Last night's catharsis obviously did good to the followers of the strange sect, whose purpose seemingly was to confront the death fearlessly, in that way prevailing over it and gaining, as they believed, the ultimate power.

The sky was clear, and the sun was rising over the jagged cliffs.

When he came awake, the sorcerer forced himself to eat some of the dried meat from his provisions. Then he sat on the ground, leaning on the stone monolith with his back. If all the doors of the temple were closed to him, he'll try to find the prince by means of magic. He closed his eyes. In his mind, he quickly uttered a short spell which helped the spirit to separate from the body for a while and to move through both the physical and the other world, without obstacles. Arios didn't like this spell - it was quite dangerous, and in the areas beyond the physical world many a brave explorer has met a bitter end by unknown horrors. There were too many stories about great sorcerers who went too far, for Arios to feel at ease following their steps. But, he was only going to find his companion and to return back, to the known world.

His consciousness suddenly surged upward. He was floating over the black stone, watching the movement in the monastery, and straight below, his unmoving body, which no one noticed.

He was disturbed by the sight - it was not a pleasant experience to watch one's own body from this point of view. He went further, in the inner part of the temple, shaping prince's name in his mind, calling him and hoping he will be able to hear the call, wherever he may be.

Indeed, from some direction there was an answer, faint at first, then stronger - Arios? - Who - how - where am I - don't bother me... It's him, the sorcerer knew, but his mind is darkened.

He went in the direction the unintelligible answer came from.

The next moment, his spirit was floating through the underground passages which interwove the space below the monastery. There was complete darkness, so intense that he couldn't tell for sure whether he is still in the physical world, or somewhere else.

Suddenly, he felt a presence in the darkness, a presence of something else, stronger, enormous, which moved toward him. Orin's voice was completely drowned in this entity, powerful and full of rage. "Infidel!" - The thought clasped Arios' consciousness like dragon's jaw. "An infidel in the very heart of my world!" - the dreadful presence was roaring. The greenish light enveloped the sorcerer's soul, threatening to rip him apart and devour him. Arios dashed back in panic, disappearing from the physical world, hoping the horror would stop following him.

He didn't know any more where he was. Everything around him looked ethereal and blurred, like a dream. He was surrounded with white clouds and freckles of the blue sky. There were thoughts from outside in his head again, but this time somehow brighter. "Come, search for us... we are waiting... we always wait..."

"Who is it? Who calls me?" His thought flied away to the void, but there was no answer. He hurried back, downward. In the next moment, he was in his own body again, which lay on the ground, contorted under blows. The peaceful dwellers of the monastery were beating him. "Infidel!" the crowd was howling, "Infidel! Death!"

It was impossible to resist them. They grabbed him, half-conscious, and dragged, dragged him a long time on the stony ground, until he sank in the darkness again.

"Arios!"

The prince of the Plain Countries suddenly came awake. His body was dripping with sweat. He was dressed in a white linen tunic, soiled with the dirt in which he lay. The strange dream he was having was abruptly interrupted. In the dream, he was invited to discover the secret of the ultimate power, which he will gain if he succeed to scorn the Death and to laugh in its face. He came to the place which many visited, in the hope that the secret will be revealed to them, the secret only the most daring can learn; he came to the place where many died challenging the Death, showing that they are stronger. He was closed in some dark and cold place until his mind was clear from all the mundane issues and prepared for the waiting time, in which the consecrated gather their strength to make a final act and boldly face the Death.

He was sitting in the darkness quietly, slowly forgetting his earlier life, when he heard a call from the distance. The voice was familiar, and it had a peculiar sound, which brought him awake. Or maybe his weary mind fell asleep now, and he was awake before? No, he said to himself, I am Orin ar den Raamternan, the prince of the Plain Countries, and I had a weird dream. But Arios' call is reality, and I've got to find him. He was frightened.

He tried to rise, but lost his balance for a moment and fell on the ground. This finally roused him. What am I doing here really? he asked himself trying to find way out from the darkness. He ran out from the chamber into the long corridor, lightened by the torch on the wall. He started to run in one direction, reached the end of the corridor, returned the same way, and wandered for a while until he found the exit from the underground – a narrow stairway which he followed up; in a short while he found himself standing under the dome of the temple, blinking in the light too intense for his eyes.

On the right side of the entrance stood a man in white.

"Who are you?" asked Orin. "Where am I?"

The man looked him calmly, and then went out wordlessly.

The prince hurried after him. The man was standing on the stairway, saying something to the crowd which started to gather around him. Orin regretted not having any weapon. "Where is my sword? And where is the sorcerer? He would know what to do."

The crowd, however, didn't left him much choice. In a few moments he was surrounded and grabbed by many arms. The prince of the Plain Countries was a rather strong man. There was not a man in the crowd who was his match, but their strength was in numbers. Besides, Orin's limbs were still stiffened from the long sleep. He tried to shove aside his captors, knocking down several men, but this didn't accomplish anything. He attempted to wrest from them more strongly, and then somebody slammed him in the head, and the world disappeared in the flash of light.

He regained consciousness later, lying on the ground of the chamber which stank of mould and excrement. Near the top of the wall, facing the door, there was a small opening through which shone a ray of daylight. His eyes needed some time to adjust to the half-darkness. In the corner of the cell, an unmoving body was laying.

"Sorcerer!" he said to himself.

"He's here too!" It was a comforting thought in this horrible situation.

Bending close, he checked if the man is still breathing. After he assured himself Arios is alive, he tried to wake him, shaking and slapping him on the face, but his efforts were useless. The sorcerer was breathing, but otherwise he looked like a dead man.

The prince of the Plain Countries sat down on the stinking, cold ground, leaned on the wall and tried to figure out what happened.

The time passed by, unbelievably slow. The ray of sunlight was fading. When the darkness closed completely around him, Orin was still sitting. He barely felt his stiffened body, or hunger, or stench. Death was the most probable outcome of this story, he was rather sure of it. He escaped dying several times, thanks to his luck, and help from the man who was lying beside him. But, the sorcerer was defeated now, and obviously didn't have enough strength to return from the unconscious state he was in.

He was probably going to end up like a sacrifice in some demonic ritual, or they would be forgotten and left rotting in this pit. He was filled with the fear of death, which hampered any meaningful thinking. He could not think of a way to change their situation. The doors of the cell were tough, resisting, the walls were made of stone, and the opening the size of a rat's hole. Escape was impossible. The only thing he could do was to wait and hope he will not lose his mind.

Finally, he drifted into a dreamless sleep.

When he woke, the ray of sunlight was in its place again, lightening the dark cell. He felt weak, although his mind was a little clearer. He tried to wake the sorcerer again, with same result as before. After that he searched the room, every part of the floor, just to gain control over himself and the feeling he could still do something.

This is, in fact, ridiculous, he thought. I went on a journey to acquire the ultimate power over the world, and now here I am, crawling in this pit like a rat. But, rats have greater power than me. They can survive and be happy with this way of living. Back home, I was a prince, and all my whims were obeyed. But no, this was not enough for Orin, he wanted something more. Only the world is a little different when you're not a prince, but a rat feeding on human waste. Failure to accomplish the task I've set for myself obviously means only death. If so much was at stake, what then would be the reward? It seems I will not find out.

The man who in his whole life didn't need to think, tried in this way, following incoherent course of thoughts, to keep his common sense; another day in the darkness passed slowly, like eternity. In the evening, the door suddenly opened. Somebody's hand pushed in a dish with gruel and a slice of bread.

"Wait!" shouted the prince and jumped to grab the man, but he disappeared immediately, slamming the door.

The prince crashed into the door several times, realizing the moment after the stupidity of his behaviour. Then he took the dish with the gruel and sniffed suspiciously. It smelled like something edible.

The sorcerer in his condition wouldn't need the food anyway, thought he, gulping the content of the dish. Only then he realized how hungry he was.

Maybe they won't forget us after all. He was trying to find some comfort. At the end of the second day, any kind of death looked to him more appealing than the vision of the life under the ground. He didn't want to think about the time he would have to spend in this cell.

The third day came, and he realized he was sick. His whole body was shivering, and at the same time he was bathing in sweat. The feeling of dizziness disabled almost any movement.

This must be the end, without doubt, was the only clear thought which was left to him. He didn't feel the fear anymore; he was too weak for that.

For the next two days (or maybe it was three, he was not sure anymore), he forced himself somehow to crawl to the door and take the dish with the food. It took him an enormous effort to swallow every mouthful of the gruel, but he knew it was his only chance to stay alive for just a little longer. And the will for life, despite everything, hadn't left him yet. So it is with the human nature, that at the very doorway of the death a man still hopes he will be spared of the journey to the unknown, although he knows that no one before has been shown such mercy.

The prince of the Plain Countries, however, did not reach the end of his time yet. After a few days spent in the nightmarish half-dream, the illness suddenly surrendered. His organism, although exhausted, was still strong enough to heal itself. Orin's sense came back, and he was again able to think about hopelessness of his situation.

And then, in a moment near the end of the day, when the last ray of the sunshine was ready to leave the cold cell, Arios opened his eyes.

"Where am I?" asked he in a weak voice, sounding like it came from the other side of death.

The prince was staring for a few moments in surprise, not believing his ears. He tried to stand up, but the dizziness held him back. "You are alive, cursed warlock!" His voice sounded strange after the long silence. "You were asleep while I was dying!"

He crawled to the sorcerer, who was lying on his back.

"I was deathly ill, I almost got crazy in this hole, and you were asleep the whole time!" Orin didn't want to show how much relief he sensed with the sorcerer's coming back to life, but the sound of his voice was telling something different than his words. He was not alone any more!

Arios tried to lift himself on his elbows, but his hands couldn't hold him up.

"I'm back," he stated. "Everything's all right now."

"Nothing's all right, you fool!" shouted Orin as loud as his voice permitted him. "We are closed in the basement and probably are going to be killed soon, if they don't forget us before. In any case, we are finished!"

The sorcerer's glance, however, was calm. "They forgot us," he said. "Now we only have to get out of here."

"You seem to know more than me, warlock" said the prince sardonically. "A moment ago you wake up, and already you sound like you are in control of the situation."

"I'm not," said Arios shortly. "Help me to stand up, if you can."

With effort, two men stood up on their feet.

"My legs won't hold me", said the sorcerer, faltering. "We must get out of here quickly, or we're really in danger."

"You seem to forget we're still in a locked cell. Or you're still asleep?" said Orin. Arios confused him, like always.

"I would be a poor sorcerer if one rotten door could hold me," stated Arios, waving lightly. The door opened, with the lock loudly breaking.

"Let's go."

"Some day you would have to explain me what's really going on here." Orin was rather confused.

"As soon as we reach a good distance from this place. But I don't understand everything, either."

"Is it possible?" said prince to himself while they staggered into the dark hallway.

Utterly impossible as it seemed to be, the two friends were almost invisible for the inhabitants of the monastery. People were getting out of their way, looking in another direction, acting like they didn't exist. Arios was silent while they searched for their pack animal with their supplies and equipment. Without any interference, they found and picked up everything they left, and, leaning against strong back of the animal, staggered out of the monastery's yard, northward. High peaks were before them, peaks they needed to cross.

"We must get a good rest before continuing our journey," concluded the prince. "Crossing these mountains will be quite a task."

They found a rather comfortable shelter under a cliff, and encamped there. Arios dug out some roots from the ground, and from their juices he made a healing potion which restored their strength, at least to some degree. "We'll stay here for a few days," said he, looking at the distant walls of the monastery. "We're far enough."

The prince burned with desire to know how this unbelievable turn of events came to pass, but he learned until now not to rush. Arios still was not willing to talk. He was obviously burdened with whatever happened back there, lost in his thoughts, with only few moments of attention for his companion. Most of the time they spent gathering strength for the crossing of the peaks, he sat on the rock, observed the valley and kept silent.

Orin, on the other hand, went hunting, trying successfully to get his thoughts off the things that bothered him. He found watering place of the mountain goats, a swift stream which, because of the configuration of the ground, expanded in one place to form a small lake. He needed only to wait until the evening, when the animals descended from the higher slopes where they searched for the sweetest grass. Mountain goats weren't really smart animals. First day, he succeeded to bring two down with his arrows before the rest realized something's wrong and scattered in fear. It was obvious they haven't had many encounters with human beings. After two days of successful hunt and four killed goats, whose meat was already drying on the cool mountain air, the animals stayed in the safety of their narrow paths. But, Orin was content, because they had meat for at least a month. He was completely healed and yearned for action again.

## Chapter 5. The vision

The sky over the mountains was now more often covered with clouds. The days turned colder and windy.

"The birds are flying southward," said Arios the twelfth morning, looking at the flock of the wild geese disappearing in the distance, "and soon the snow will come. We must go."

His mood also improved slightly. Orin expected he'll reveal the secret of the strange monastery soon enough. But, Arios was still silent.

"It really is time, sorcerer," said he. "I can hardly wait for you to recover. We have food, we're rested - and the Ring of the Kings is still somewhere ahead of us. We'll never find it if we don't start finally." From the place where they stood it was impossible to see the Dragon Rock, because of the high mountain peaks. The prince, however, could feel its call ever more strongly. He was restless, ready to run ahead, to the new troubles. It is commonly thought that people learn from their mistakes, but, if it were so, the human race would have become perfect a long time ago.

They started up the slope the same day, while merciless wind chilled their faces and hindered their walk. There was no path before them, and they needed to find the easiest pass over the peaks, eternally clothed in snow.

When the view at the monastery in the valley was hidden behind the granite rocks, Orin again decided to try to find out from the sorcerer what really happened.

"I'm not sure," said Arios. "When I..."

"Wait," interrupted the prince, "Give me an explanation - how is it possible that those priests haven't seen us when we walked out of the cell?"

"They aren't important," continued the sorcerer. "They're just dolls on the string. You see, in that place something exists, a kind of force, some dark entity which rules over those people completely. I met it for the first time when I was searching for you with my spiritual eye. I entered the temple, and suffered an attack unbelievably strong and full of hate..."

"Are you saying that you are able to divide your spirit from the body and travel wherever you want?" asked the prince in wonder.

"It isn't so simple," said Arios, "There are limits. Besides, it's very dangerous. Many a sorcerer failed to return from such a journey. Anyway, I was blocked by that force, attacked so strongly that I had to escape out of our reality to save myself. But, when I returned to my body, the priests were there to capture me; they threw me in that basement cell - the same thing happened to you, I believe. My spirit was dragged away in the darkness again. I don't know why, but that creature was afraid of me. It used all its strength to destroy my mind. At first, I could only run away. I was afraid of it too. It was terrible; my whole mind consisted only of horror."

While he was talking, his face twisted unconsciously, and sweat broke out on his forehead. Noticing that, Orin kept his silence, not wanting to interrupt the story, this time maybe for good.

"And then, at one moment, I found myself in some other place. I wasn't alone. Somebody else was there also, friendly and good-willed. I don't know exactly what it was, but suddenly, it seemed like I could see again. Suddenly, I wasn't afraid anymore. It was perfectly clear that the dark force didn't have any power over me. I couldn't find out anymore why I was running away in the first place. I went back, toward it, and it retreated, utterly helpless, and tried to hide from me. I knew that I have won, and that I can wake up, but I didn't know how much my body was drained during the struggle. I was utterly empty. I couldn't talk about anything. So, this is what happened." Arios concluded the story.

"What do you think about all these things? There has to be an explanation," said Orin.

"Yes, there is one. Everything in the world has an explanation, in fact, as many explanations as there are human beings searching for it. Maybe this dark force is some ancient god who has always been there, searching for unwary travellers and guiding them to worship him, feeding on their lives. He would have get you too, have you been there alone.

But, then, it seems to me sometimes that the force was created by the sect itself. It may be the collective spirit of the priests, who became so strong in time, that it mastered over them completely, became a separate entity. It holds them in a conviction that they still have free will, and that their decisions and deeds are still their own. But, as you witnessed, they are so strongly under its influence that they forgot about us completely as soon as it withdrew from me. When I was still a disciple, I learned about the societies which were swallowed by their own ideals. They became their own victims. Human lives served those ideas, instead of being the other way around."

"And why were you immune to its power?" asked the prince, slowly realizing what the sorcerer's story was about.

"Who would know? Maybe it's because I lived a long time separated from the world of men. Maybe because I learned that ideas have power over men as long as they believe in them. And I stopped believing in ideas a long time ago. Maybe this force was afraid of me because it knew I don't believe in it? Who could know? I cannot find out who helped me to see through all of it. It was a presence of different kind. But it was like a dream." He laughed. "Well, it was a kind of dream, really!"

"When I gain the ultimate power, I'll think carefully about things you spoke of," said Orin. "There must be a way to make things right, and to help all people who live in such slavery."

"Maybe. Who would know?" answered the sorcerer.

The conversation lasted for a better part of the following day of the journey, when it was still possible to find a good path. The next days, however, were more exhausting. The path became steeper, and their advance slowed considerably. For a while, unusual events they experienced were pushed aside in their minds, being replaced with more mundane problems.

Finally, they reached the spot from where their pack animal could no longer go further. They took their packs, dividing the supplies between two of them, and chased the animal away, back to the valley. The added weight slowed them even more, but it was the only solution. The mountain path became even harder, and they were walking ahead slowly, deeply breathing thin mountain air. Headaches and dizziness tormented them all the time, and they made their ascent with great effort. They were very slowly adapting to the great heights. The mountains were always cruel towards the intruders who entered their beautiful realm. Two travellers, however, didn't have much choice - only the way ahead existed for them. Ice-covered peaks seemed to be within reach of their hands in the crystal clear atmosphere, and that gave them strength for the next step.

For a few days already they were walking over a thin layer of snow. The weather was still clear enough, but the snow could be felt in the air, and it was only matter of time when it'll begin to fall. From the goatskins and sinews they made something that vaguely resembled a tent. The nights were becoming chillier, and they needed a good shelter from the wind. Still, the skins in which they slept weren't enough, and they spent nights shivering, in a kind of half-dream, stiffed. The whole mountain seemed to say - go back, you cannot go through. To return, however, was out of the question.

Day after day passed and what seemed to be an unreachable mountaintop was finally almost at hand. The sun was high on the horizon when Arios saw the land on the other side for the first time.

"We did it!" he shouted to Orin, who was sitting and trying to catch breath, twenty paces below. "Unbelievable!"

"Why... unbelievable?" Orin shouted back. "I... never... doubted... we'll do it!"

But Arios was looking at the Dragon Rock, which was still higher than the highest mountain, and more distant than the end of the world. "Not that. The Dragon Rock. It can be seen again. And the flying specks around it. No matter how far we came, it's still equally distant!"

"Well, it just seems so! The mountains can't move!" the answer came. "It's only unbelievably high." The prince stood up, despite his fatigue, and staggered to Arios. He looked at the distance. The Dragon Rock made all the surrounding mountains look like small hills.

"I saw it from my pastures the same way I see it now," said the sorcerer. "I can't understand it. The Blue Mountains really are a strange place!"

"There has to be an explanation. For example, it could not be seen from the monastery. It must be a trick of the light," said Orin, blinking to see little specks flying slowly around the top.

"I don't know. We may find out some day," concluded Arios.

The mountaintop on which they stood was covered with snow, but not too steep. In fact, the other side descended much more gently to the lower lands, overgrown in thick evergreen forests. Far in the north, many thousands of paces away, another sharp-peaked mountain range rose, and beyond it, the monumental body of the Dragon Rock.

"Here we'll make a camp. Tomorrow we can begin with the descent. We must reach the forests before snow storms set on us," decided Orin.

Arios didn't answer, since he was trying to build their little tent. But he knew Orin was right. There was a premonition of snow in the wind. The sorcerer knew this like he knew the night follows the day, but he didn't want to make his companion worry even more. The best he could do was to make a good shelter.

That night he had a strange dream. In the dream, he heard an eerie melody coming from the dark, a melody which reminded him of something long forgotten, some happy moments from the time he was still living in the world of men, and they kept evading him, calling to him to find them in the labyrinth of the memory. He rose, partly aware he was dreaming, and went into the night, following the sound. He didn't know how long he walked; the time lost its meaning while he strode over the moonshine glowing in the snow.

On the stone ahead of him there sat a slender, transparent figure dressed in white, with long, black hair descending to the ground. The girl had her back turned to him, but when the sorcerer got close, she spoke in a quiet, melodious voice. Arios thought she was speaking some unknown language, but he did understand her words somehow.

"Do not come any closer, because a mortal who beholds an elven face is not a master of his own life any more."

"You are of elven kind!" words were rough in sorcerer's mouth. The girl didn't react to his comment.

"Where you are going, you may find the very thing you are running from your whole life. So listen well to what I have to say to you. Not long ago, your spirit strayed into my land. Then we understood you will probably never find it again on your own. So they send me to give to you a gift which could help you."

"Who are you?" asked Arios. "What are you talking about? Are you warning me about something?"

The figure moved her head slightly.

"Remember the smallest things when times are hard. When there are no other roads, they will open the gates. I can tell you no more."

The girl rose slowly and walked over the snow, disappearing in the darkness.

"Wait!" shouted the sorcerer, running after her. "I want to see your face!"

The figure turned for a moment and threw something from her hand in the snow in front of Arios. Then she finally disappeared.

"What a strange dream!" thought the sorcerer, overwhelmed with all kind of emotions. He swayed, and fell on the snow. "I must wake!" was his last thought before he lost consciousness.

After Orin came awake and discovered his companion is not in the tent, driven by some impulse, he ran into the darkness to find him. He found the sorcerer lying in the snow unconsciously, not far from their camp. Beside his head, there was a small flute made from the willow bark, like those that the shepherds usually make in the spring.

The next morning, the blizzard was raging over the mountain.

## Chapter 6. Keol

Ten days passed since the strange encounter. Despite the snowdrifts and icy wind, the travellers finally succeeded to get through to the shelter of the forest. Thick pine trunks blocked the storm's way in the realm of the half-darkness and tranquillity.

Over the days, they made their way slowly through the thin layer of snow, and during the nights they made shelters of the branches and goatskins. Exhausted constantly, they didn't talk much. Besides, after the encounter with the elven girl, Arios was even more silent than before, looking at the wooden flute, trying to understand the meaning of the girl's words. The girl certainly belonged to the high-born elves, which, according to legends, long time ago lived in this land and gave it life, populating it with animals and many other creatures, small spirits of the nature, guardians over everything that grows, runs and flies. High-born elven beings almost never showed themselves to the mortals, and the sorcerer didn't know how he earned that privilege. Those few, who have seen them, old stories told, never did live the same life afterwards. But, it was many centuries ago. According to these stories, the elves went to some other world, and forgot completely about this land. Nobody even believed any more they really existed.

"My life's changed, too," thought Arios.

The memory of the encounter was still fresh in his mind, and kept him from thinking about the issues of everyday life.

Orin, on the other hand, didn't know the reason for sorcerer's further withdrawal, but he didn't want to bother him in his contemplation. Another important thing he learned, which was not in accordance with his royal upbringing, was that people could not behave themselves all the time in the way other people wanted them to, and that these things one should accept the way they were.

They travelled very slowly through the shade of the gigantic trees. The forest was thick, and the snow hardly reached the ground. Most of the time, they moved separately - Arios carried supplies, while the prince wandered through the woods trying to catch something edible. The nights they spent in a half-dream, constantly feeding big campfires which kept the Longhaired wolves at distance. Their horrible howling, often in their vicinity, disturbed even the absent-minded sorcerer.

"One day," Orin used to speak in those moments, "we'll laugh remembering how we trembled with fear. When I find the Ring, everything will be different."

Arios was silent most of the time, but even the usually non-perceptive prince felt that this silence isn't a reflection of peace and tranquillity in sorcerer's mind any more, but rather of chaos.

On the thirty-fifth day of wandering though the maze of the forest, the monotony of the journey finally ended.

A wild pig trotted on the small clearing at the same moment Orin drew the bowstring. The arrow whizzed and buried itself in the hind leg of the animal, which painfully roared, and ran limping back into the bush. Orin cursed and ran after it.

He had been following the pig for several hours already, getting more and more distant from their camp. It would be waste if it succeeded to run away now. He was running through the forest, following the cracking of dry branches. Suddenly, he found himself on another small clearing. The snow-covered meadow was cut in half by a stream. Swift current obviously resisted the winter's attempt to enclose it in ice. Orin stopped in wonder, breathing deeply, while his own breath fogged his view. Beside the stream, a lonely figure was sitting and looking at the water. With his back turned to Orin, the man was surrounded with his equipment - animal skins, packs with supplies - obviously, a traveller. He had short, thick black hair, and was dressed in dark brown leather clothes. Near him lay a short, broad sword in black sheath, and another, at least four feet long, with a two-handed hilt, wrapped in tanned hide.

Orin stopped like frozen, without idea about what he should do.

"You won't need your weapon," said the man then. His voice was quiet, but contained some quality which didn't allow the listener to go over his words easily. He was still looking at the stream, as if he decided that to turn around would be an unnecessary effort.

"Who are you?" asked Orin. The man was not surprised by prince's appearance, nor did he show any fear of the armed stranger.

"Patience," said the man. "First, lower your bow and sit down in our camp."

"Our?" uttered Orin.

The man turned to face him. He had youthful, clean-shaven face covered with scars. He obviously was not stranger to the warfare, being mercenary or a soldier. Orin saw many like him in his life. But his eyes, different from the others' of that kind, were sharp and vivid.

"My friends." He pointed with his hand to the edge of meadow. Orin looked in that direction, but he couldn't see a thing. "If we considered you an enemy, your bow wouldn't be of much help to you." Then he shouted something in some unknown language. Two figures separated from the shadows of the trees, one from the left, the other from the right, and approached to them, their strides light. They were about the same height, dressed in identical clothes which perfectly melted with the colour of the surrounding countryside, their hair braided. Their hands were empty.

A smile appeared on their faces, also similar. It was obvious they were twins.

"They are Nai and Saim, brother and sister from the tribe of the Hunters of the mountain lions. I am lucky to share my journey with them," said the man.

"I am called Keol. I hope we'll get to know your name."

"My name is Orin" said the prince. It was not necessary for these people to know his identity, but his pride forced him to continue: "I'm a son of the king of Plain Countries, Argen Raamternan." He instantly sensed this didn't mean much to them, and fell silent.

"Royal blood," smiled Keol. "How come you are roaming these mountains? You don't need to tell me, if you won't," he added.

Orin decided to keep his quest for himself, at least for now. "I'm going north," he said vaguely.

The strange twins sat beside them, silent. They watched Orin with interest, but he didn't know if they understood a word.

"Where is your companion?" asked the man.

"How do you know I'm not travelling alone?" wondered Orin.

"We're travelling side by side for some time. We saw you many times."

"How it is, then, that we haven't seen a thing?"

"Don't blame yourself for that. The people from the Hunters tribe can be seen only when they want it. They are quieter than the forest elves."

Orin looked at the twins. Their clothes, dark coloured just few moments before, now were almost white, like the colour of snow around them.

Keol noticed Orin's stare. "Ah, their clothes! It's made of the skin of many-coloured dragon."

"Dragon?" asked Orin in awe. "They hunt dragons?"

The man laughed. "Well, they are not really dragons in a sense of a word, they only call them so. The many-coloured dragon is a common lizard, slightly bigger than man, in truth. It climbs the cliffs and hunts for the wild goats. Apart from that, it's an easily frightened animal which runs away from man, and has an ability to adapt its colour to the surrounding terrain, in order to avoid danger. But, when it's cornered, trust me, it fights like a real dragon." He looked at the two Hunters.

"They know that," he stated, and continued "The Hunters have found a way to preserve the skin for rather long time after its owner is dead."

"Fantastic!" Orin had never heard for anything like this.

The male twin, Saim, rose at that moment and said something to his companions. The prince couldn't comprehend a word of what he was saying.

"Saim said we must go on," said Keol. "Our ways seem to go in the same direction. It would be good if you would call your friend, and if we continued the journey together, for a time, at least. Bigger the company, smaller the danger from the wolves."

"My experience's different. They slaughtered my whole escort, fifteen men!" said Orin sceptically.

"You probably neglected the fire. But, don't worry, with these two, we don't have to be too afraid," answered Keol.

Orin shrugged. "All right, I'm going to get Arios. Our campsite isn't too far from here."

He hoped the sorcerer wouldn't mind travelling in company. Although he didn't know them, these people somehow radiated trust. With them along, it could be an easier journey.

"While you're gone, Saim and Nai will bring the pig. It didn't get far. You should aim better." said Keol, smiling.

Arios looked slightly suspicious, but didn't say anything.

When they reached the meadow, the three companions were waiting for them, ready to go. The appearance of the sorcerer disturbed the twins. After a short conversation, Keol said: "Saim and Nai are telling me you are Learned in Secrets. I think it's their name for the shamans. It seems they are a bit afraid of you."

"It's true," said the sorcerer. "You can call me Arios. And you don't have to be afraid. My knowledge isn't going to put anyone in jeopardy." I hope so, he finished in his thoughts.

They gathered their supplies and started northward.

"We'll get to know each other on the road," said Keol.

The story of the three travellers was an unusual one: Keol met the twins under rather suspicious circumstances in the City-under-the-granite-stone, one of the bigger crossroads, in the southwest part of the Blue Mountains. "A grim place, gathering of the scum from all sides of the world," Keol was telling. It was a market place for the peoples of the Blue Mountains, a place for exchange of goods and information. Also, a place for hiring mercenaries of all kind. A man from the far north came there, searching for the Hunters. Nai and Saim weren't satisfied with offerings they were getting for their lion skins. The man offered a rich prize in gemstones, but he couldn't explain what kind of job awaits them. Seeing his wealth, several brigands who were sitting at the next table and listening to the conversation thought they could get to those gemstones easily. A bloody struggle broke out, and Keol joined the combat, deciding that ten against three were not fair odds. The brigands were beaten, but their employer was mortally wounded. All he managed to say was for them to be at the Emerald Falls, which flowed from the stone called Dragon's Tooth, in precisely sixty days. There, they would find out what awaits them. "Why didn't you simply go away..." asked Orin.

Keol's cold gaze interrupted the question. "I'm a mercenary, not a thief. Besides, where Nai and Saim are coming from, they don't have a word for deceit." Then he smiled. "After all, wouldn't you be interested what kind of job it is?"

Responding to trust with trust, Orin told them shortly where and why they were going.

"I heard about a legend of that ring. Few people know it, and they are so old they can't remember what it was any more," said Keol. "If there is a place where one should search for it, it is surely the Dragon Rock."

"Why?" interrupted the sorcerer.

"I have seen the world, many lands and wonders," said the mercenary, "but the Dragon Rock is the greatest mystery. Haven't you noticed it doesn't get any closer, no matter how long you travel in its direction?"

"Yes," said Orin. "I think it's so because of its size. It lies much more distant than it seems."

"Maybe." Keol was not convinced. "But, let me tell you something. I met several people who claimed they've been there. Not one of them could tell anything about that journey, or about the Rock. Nobody knows why it is so."

"If there is some magic, Arios will help us," said Orin. "He's much more powerful than he wants to admit."

The sorcerer was silent.

Nai and Saim were walking at a small distance ahead from the rest, listening, searching for marks on the trees and the ground only they knew how to find.

"Your companions seem to be even weirder than mine," stated Orin.

"Many tales could be told of the Hunters of the mountain lions. Most people consider them the best hunters and warriors that ever lived in Blue Mountains. I met them from time to time. Their skill for survival borders with magic. And yet, the magic is the only thing they are afraid of."

"It means they are wise, too," Arios broke off the Keol's talk. "Magic really is something one should be afraid of."

"I don't understand it," said the prince. "If a man is powerful, why should he be afraid? Magic is power - if I have it, there is no reason to be afraid of it."

"Well, maybe you're right." The sorcerer was not in the mood for arguing. "I hope we will get an answer to that question too."

"The sky is clear," said Keol. "Tonight it will be very cold. The wolves prefer such nights for hunting. We should be even more careful."

The twilight came, and they made a camp under one huge pine tree, and a big fire, hoping it would protect them enough. But, the wolves came.

Someone was shaking Arios, and he woke, returning from the strange ways of dream into the cold night. "Wake up!" Orin was whispering. "Wolves!"

Sharp yellow eyes sparkled in the darkness, all around them. The twins threw the last dry branches in the fire. The flame was high, but the pack waited patiently.

"There are many of them!" whispered Keol. The long sword in his hand reflected the light of the fire, awaiting battle. "Usually they wouldn't dare to attack. When the pack is big enough and the hunger becomes impossible to endure, nothing can stop them!"

From the darkness, ominous growling could be heard. Arios thought he could hear words spoken in those deep, hoarse sounds, words which promised death, and feast.

"Fearrrrr!"

"Destrrroy!"

"Brrrrreak!"

Orin was leaning on the tree, holding his bow ready. A thin layer of sweat covered his forehead. The smell of fear encouraged the attackers to get one step closer, then another. Big, dark silhouettes were clearly visible now, moving silently among the trees. Keol's hand was shaking slightly, while the firelight glistened against the blade of his sword.

Arios was thinking fervently about the spell that could stop the whole pack. On his pastures on the mountain slopes, the wolves felt the presence of the unknown power, and avoided his herd and cottage. Here, in the middle of their realm, they feared nothing. He was just a trespasser, who couldn't hope he'll be given mercy. For the first time in his life, fear disabled the sorcerer's thinking. He couldn't remember anything, and felt utterly helpless, being forced to depend on Keol's short sword. Fortunately, there was a time he was not a stranger to the art of sword.

Only the faces of Nai and Saim were unreadable. They waited silently, almost invisible in their suits which turned to the colour of the night, and their hands were, surprisingly, empty. It's impossible that these people fight the beasts with bare hands! thought Orin, looking at the twins for a moment.

The fire was still burning when the first of the wolves lost his patience and charged at his intended prey, growling wildly. Keol's sword cut him almost in half, with horrible cracking of the bones. In the same moment, Orin shot an arrow in the dark, then another.

The twins were on the move also, acting synchronized, like one. Arios caught with the corner of his eye a moment of their action, before he was forced to face the attacker from the dark.

Saim and Nai were throwing small darts with astonishing speed. Darts disappeared in the darkness, and, judging by sounds, few of them missed the target. The darts must have been covered with strong poison, because the animals that were hit didn't stay on their feet longer than a few seconds.

They managed to push back the first assault, although no one among them was left without a scar. They were standing around the dying fire, legs shaking, waiting for the next onslaught of the animals which refused to give up. Orin has spent his arrows, the twins their darts, and now they held long daggers which they pulled from their boots.

The night was filled with the stench of spilled entrails and blood. Hot steam blurred the sight of the fighters, in expectation of the oncoming battle.

This time, the wolves were fiercer. The defenders stood on a growing pile of dead animals, swinging wildly their swords. One huge animal jumped at sorcerer's back, bringing him down. In the same moment it was slain by Keol's long sword, now darkened with blood. The mercenary stood over the sorcerer, to protect him until he stands up, but Arios was out of strength. He was lying on the ground, his lungs bursting with effort.

Despite the desperate defence, the battle was closing to its only possible end. Fighters subdued to fatigue, and now it was only despair which led their swords and daggers. Once again, Orin was sure he reached the end of his mad journey.

At that moment, Arios saw beside him a small wooden object. It was the elven flute, which probably dropped from his bag during the battle. He took it in his hand, and felt somehow calm. Not knowing why, he started to play it quietly. This was not the first time that sorcerer tried to play the flute, but all other attempts were meaningless. The flute hadn't been different from other wooden instruments that he used to made, back home, on his pastures. This time, the playing was different. The sound which the flute made was impossible to describe, in the same time quiet and piercing, unearthly, pleasant and irritating. It was a sound which only an instrument made by the hands of a craftsman of high-born elves could product.

Everything froze momentarily. Humans dropped their weapons, the wolves stopped, as in a trance. Then, they turned one by one, and went back into the depths of the forest. In a few moments, the battlefield was empty. Only the piles of corpses were left of the bloody battle.

Keol broke the silence. What he said seemed strange to the sorcerer.

"We have won. They gave up."

"Or maybe something scared them?" added the prince, still barely breathing.

Arios said nothing. It seemed that no one heard the sound of the flute. Or, more typically for elven magic, the next moment people forgot what happened.

They decided to gather their things and to found a new campsite. The wolves could return. They would have to tend to their wounds later.

"Unbelievable luck!" Keol was saying. "If I ever get a chance to talk to people about this, no one's going to believe me! No one ever survived an attack like this!"

Arios was content that his share in the victory went unnoticed. It was better for people not to feel the scent of power which followed the magic.

Still, when they were moving, Saim gave him a glance which almost surely meant gratitude.

Remember the smallest things when times are hard. Salvation may be hidden in them. The words of the elven girl rang in sorcerer's mind again. The flute was much more of a gift than he thought. But, what price was he going to pay for an elven gift?

The next day, the companions were tending their wounds. No one was wounded severely. The twins made ointment from the mixture of pine's pitch, needles and water, which eased the pain. Keol was good at sewing wounds. He worked with skill, without paying attention to twitching and cries from Arios and Orin.

The night of the struggle for life got the company closer and made an atmosphere of trust, which even a month of travelling together couldn't do.

It is true that a man can get to know someone well only when they go through trouble together, thought Orin. Action is more efficient than all the words in the world. Their new companions were people you can count on. The night of horrors left them unmoved. Unlike my escort, the greatest knights of the realm, these wanderers got through it alive, and stronger.

They didn't talk much. Arios noticed that no one's mentioning the unusual end of the battle. The memory of elven magic was short in human mind.

Keol was telling funny stories from his mercenary days, making jokes on account of generals and nobles under whose banners he used to earn money. His life philosophy was simple. What one needs in life is to survive, and get from it as much pleasure as can be found.

"When my time's over, I hope I will be holding a sword in my hands," said he, grinning.

The twins nodded their heads, smiling. They understood the language of the Plain Countries, but they didn't show any intention to use it. These two people were a complete mystery for Orin. He didn't know a way to get close to them and get to know them better. But, maybe it was better that way. Maybe for worlds so much apart it was better to stay apart. Besides, the truth is, even the closest people often do not have a relationship they would want to have.

The following nights they were ready for fight, but the wolves didn't come anymore. Their journey was peaceful. In moments of rest, Orin and Keol used to practice the sword-fight. The prince had been learning from the best teachers, and was rather good with his long sword, but after first few strokes it was clear he was no match for the mercenary.

"You've had good teachers, lad," Keol told him, "but everyone could tell you've never lived by your sword. You're hesitating when you need to act, and you're missing your chances."

"The strength isn't most important in the art of sword," he said in another occasion, when they were resting. "In the Plain Countries, they use the sword as a cudgel, trying to hammer their opponent in the ground with sheer force of strokes. But, these strokes are slow and easy to parry. In the east, they do not think much of that kind of swordplay. The masters from the east say that everything is in one moment. If you strike in the right moment, you win. If you wait and think, you're dead. You must learn to recognize that moment, when the opponent's defences are most vulnerable."

"How can I recognize it?" asked the prince.

"Watch the eyes," answered Keol. "Everything's written in the eyes."

His huge weapon flying around the prince's head was with unbelievable lightness, breaking his defences and knocking out the sword from his hands. Orin was not too fond of his numerous defeats or of the lessons the mercenary gave him, but he had to confess to himself that Keol's words were not empty, and that his actions supported them.

"You aren't hopelessly inept," said the mercenary, looking at him. "You learn fast, and you know how to take a good advice from your betters."

The prince was sure Keol knew how it is hard for him to listen to advice, and his pride prevented him from showing anger. So he quietly listened, trying to remember as much as he can. On the other side, Keol was given to teaching his new student generously.

"I used to teach many boys," he often said. "When I'm gone, at least one part of Keol will continue to live in warriors of the Plain Countries. I think it's more than most people can say."

## Chapter 7. The mission

The Dragon's Tooth was a high rock which towered above the trees, in a place where the forest began to give place to the mountain meadows.

Here, in the sun, the snow was melting already, and the smell of young grass refreshed the air.

Pyramidal in shape, the rock narrowed toward the top, a hundred feet above the ground. Its greyness was distinct in the surrounding green, and it actually looked like an enormous tooth which broke out from the ground. On the top, small, glistening stream of water was emerging, and falling down to make clear, green lake at the base of the rock. Small drops of water were rising in the air, making a thin cover of mist. The Emerald Fall.

"Fantastic!" shouted Arios. "The water is coming from the ground and rising all the way to the top of the rock!"

"Dragon's Tooth dropping poison," said Keol. "There is a story about something unusual in the water. It seems it can affect the mind of the person who drinks it!"

"People tell nonsense!" Arios was still awed by the sight.

Saim whispered something to his sister, and then he addressed the mercenary.

"Saim says this is the sacred place of the elven people. He feels a strong magic around it," explained Keol. "He thinks we shouldn't be around here for too long."

"I agree," said the sorcerer.

"There are people!" Orin interrupted.

Indeed, not far from the rock there was a campsite.

"These are our employers," said Keol. "We must be careful. We have only their gemstones, without their messenger."

The men noticed them and came in their direction. They were dressed in dark leather suits, armed with short spears, bows and arrows, and their faces were painted in blue stripes. It seemed they were on a war campaign.

"Ten," stated Keol, laying his hand on the hilt of the sword. "Let us see what happens."

The leader was a tall, strong man. He probably won his position by the strength of his muscles, and his attitude made it clear he will not tolerate any confrontation by the newcomers.

Keol, as the spokesman of the group, explained the situation. These men were using a language much like that which was used in the Plain Countries, so no one had any troubles to understand it. The leader was suspicious. He expected his messenger and several Hunters. The company which arrived was not what he would have preferred. Still, he was forced to except the given situation. They went to the campsite and sat there. The leader laid down his weapons and began to talk. His hoarse voice easily overcame the noise of the fall.

"My people peacefully live, west of this valley. We cattle have, we anyone do not bother. On the north there," he waved his hand toward the mountain, "cursed Eagle-men nests have. They our cattle steal, our women steal, our children steal! Ten children three months ago they stole! People can not without children survive. The fathers here are eager, to bring the children back." His grim face now resembled a storm cloud.

"The fort of the Eagles on the high mountain stands. My people at heights good are not. Hunters we need, to lead us to the town of Eagles. Bring our children back we must."

"What do you think?" whispered Orin to Arios, while Keol was talking with the twins. "It would be interesting to help these people. Besides, we're going in the same direction anyway."

"I don't know," answered the sorcerer. "Maybe it would be better if we part from them when we get there and leave them to their own problems. I'm not sure we could help them."

"You could find some magic way to help them."

"Do not mention anything about me to anyone. I don't want to be dragged into something that's not my concern."

"How do you know it's not your concern? Maybe it's our destiny to go with these people!"

"Yes, maybe it's our destiny to die with them, too. I don't like them. Did you notice they didn't offer us their names, nor they asked for ours?" said Arios.

"Yes, so what?"

"The traditions of people are different, but the names are sacred to all, and exchange of names represents the giving of the trust. These men don't trust us, or they think we are not worthy to know their names!"

"Maybe you're wrong. Maybe their ways are different," whispered the prince.

"Maybe," answered Arios. "Still, I think we should follow our own way."

The fate was once again set against the sorcerer's wishes.

The twins and Keol agreed to accept the job.

"We will help you to bring your children back," said Keol. "Saim and Nai have the skill great enough to defeat the mountain lions, which tremble when they sense their scent. We are safe with them. This one here," he pointed at Orin, "is a great and brave swordsman, prince of his land, who will be glad to lend his sword to a righteous cause. Besides," added he, while cold sweat covered Arios, "we have a sorcerer with us, who is a master of powerful spells. His magic will help you to bring your children home."

The leader of the war band looked at Arios for the first time. There was a dark pleasure reflecting in his eyes. "My people magic do not like," said he, "but the destiny sent you. The destiny wants justice to win!"

People around him cheered. Arios knew he couldn't do anything. He'll have to figure out something when time comes. At that moment, arguing wouldn't help.

The Eagle people lived on the northern end of the wood-covered plateau, in a town that was built on the top of the cliff. Further to the north, beyond their rocky, steep lands, the vast territory of the Blue Mountains was spreading again, and above them towered the Dragon Rock, clearly visible from the place where the avenging party camped.

The Eagle people earned their name because of an unusual agreement, which their ancestors made with the gigantic mountain eagles. The mountain eagles fed their masters, who in return enabled them to nest safely within their walls, and protected their young from numerous dangers. As the leader of the band said, the Eagle people flew on their birds and were spreading fear among the tribes of the cattle herders, stealing their cattle, women and children.

No one ever succeeded to bring back those who were stolen. So the leader asked help from those who could make their odds better.

They needed to reach the town of the Eagle people unnoticed, so the company travelled only by night, while every morning they carefully camouflaged under the trees to avoid the sharp eyes of the eagles which flew above them sometimes.

The cattle herder carried with them two long, thin but strong ropes, which they intended to use to climb up to the town on the mountain. They had a plan, which consisted of the Hunters climbing to the top and there securing the ropes; then, the rest of them would follow. They needed to find children and run away before anyone notices them. Arios thought the plan desperate, almost impossible. His opinion, however, was not asked for. He was here to make the quest easier with magic. It is strange, thought he, that all my powers could not help me against the wish of this group. If I intended to confront them, I would have to hurt them. And there is something in me which prevents me to do that, although I could, almost without effort. What is this power of other people over us, that has such influence on our decisions?

Orin was eagerly waiting for the action. He wanted to prove to himself and to everyone else he was able to endure all hardships. He wanted to assure himself he was worthy enough to carry the Ring of the Kings. Now he will have a real chance.

The journey was mostly peaceful, but the second night, the existing tension between the two groups resulted in an incident, which deepened Arios' doubts about the avenging herders. Everything started when Saim returned from the hunt somewhere after midnight and joined the company, which was resting after the exhausting march. The hunt was successful; his sister helped him disembowel a young mountain goat. The Hunters knew how to make the raw meat edible in just half a day, using some herbs. The meat should be rubbed with the ground dry leaves of some kind of mountain nettle, which doesn't grow in lower lands. It would "dry" meat somehow and give it a specific taste. The meat prepared that way could last as long as the meat prepared more traditionally. The Hunters had good food even when they had no time for cooking, or during the hunt and the war campaigns, when the use of fire was forbidden. The leader of the cattle herders, however, had a different idea. Seeing the short-statured Hunter with his game, he approached the twins, his strides overconfident.

"Meat you bring. Good," he said in a gruff voice. Saim and Nai continued with preparing the meat, acting as if they did not notice him.

"You, start fire," he said to one of his people who were watching their leader carefully. "We have a feast before the battle!"

The man hurried to fulfil the task, but then Keol, who was watching the situation, spoke: "Wait!" he said in a quiet voice. "We must not start a fire! Someone could notice."

"You, shut up!" the leader roughly stopped him. "The Eagles are asleep. The mountain is far. No one sees!"

"They will notice in the morning, you cannot hide remains of the fire from the Eagles!" said Keol, rising up.

"I say, start fire!" the man's words became threatening. The rest of the herder company jumped, their hands on the weapons.

"I am the leader," said the man, "I pay you. You obey me."

The twins rose from the ground and kept silent. Keol was standing still. The moonlight was shining behind his face, hiding his expression. Orin also stood up, beside the mercenary. Now, only Arios was outside the situation.

"The goat belongs to Saim, not to you," said Keol.

"I paid for the Hunter. The Hunter's mine, and the goat's mine." The man was not going to give up. Orin reached for the sword, but felt Keol's hand on his own.

"We are yours," said the mercenary then. "We will not fight you. Your word will be obeyed here. But, the Eagles are waiting for us. They are the enemies. The Hunters of the mountain lions never give their game. If you want to take it from them, you will have to kill them. Or die trying. The Eagles will remain unpunished then. Don't you want to bring back your children?"

"The children?" said the leader thoughtfully. "Yes, the children we must bring back."

Keol relaxed. The man accepted the excuse that will save his authority.

The man turned to his people.

"Let them keep the stinking goat. Real feast we will have soon!"

The tension was over, it was visible. The men returned back to their places, and the twins continued to work.

"I don't like this at all," said Orin to Keol when the herders sat back.

"Me neither, lad," answered the mercenary.

"They don't have the attitude of the concerned fathers," Arios joined the conversation. "Who knows what these men really are up to?"

"We'll see. But, we must be careful," said Keol.

The company spent several nights to reach the foothills of the mountain. It seemed they were unnoticed until now. They talked only when it was necessary. No one was mentioning the recent conflict, but the atmosphere was not a pleasant one. When they reached their destination, Arios relaxed. He did not like being surrounded with people anyway, and if their attitude was not friendly, it was much worse.

The way through the narrow canyon led them to the base of the cliff they were going to climb. Up there, on the night sky, the wall of the Eagle people's fort was outlined. The company found a shelter below a broad rock. The leader was giving the last instructions.

"When the moon's covered with clouds, we go. Warlock, it is time for your help," he whispered.

In the tensed silence, Arios quietly spoke the words of power. When the incantation was over, he said to people who were waiting expectantly: "This spell will make you invisible to your enemies until the morning. You will be able to pass near them, without them noticing. But, be careful and use the cover of the night, because the spell can easily be broken. It's all I can do for you."

Keol looked lost in his thoughts. Orin approached him while they watched Saim and Nai securing the ropes and preparing for climbing.

"This is a weird night," said the mercenary.

"Why?"

"It is said that some people, with time, after many survived battles, develop special feelings, something which warns them about the danger, the vicinity of death. I never thought much about it until now, but tonight..."

"The task is dangerous," said Orin. "But, the twins aren't showing any signs of fear or excitement."

"They don't know what it is. Death isn't a part of their religion. The Hunters of the mountain lions, while they live, never think about it. When someone of their own dies, they say 'It is so. He's gone. Life's going on.'"

"How is it possible?"

Keol smiled in the dark. "I don't know. But I think they are happier. Thinking about dying takes a great part of our lives. And it is useless."

"Don't talk about death anymore," said Orin. "Everything will be all right."

"I wish it would," said Keol, but there was darkness in his voice.

Nai and Saim started their ascent up the nearly vertical cliff, using every extension with great skill. Soon, they were invisible on the dark background. Their ascent made not one unnatural sound - a pebble rolling down, a breeze stroking the cliff. Less than hour after, two strong ropes descended from above. The cliff was about sixty paces high. The little company began climbing. One rope could bear the weight of two men at the same time, but the climbing was much quicker. Keol and Orin climbed last. Arios remained at the foothill, waiting and watching over the rest of the equipment.

The prince had been in many dangerous situations until now, but the ascending that cliff in the pitch-black night was probably the worst of them. After the first few minutes, his whole body hurt, not from the physical effort, but from the enormous focus of mind that every next step demanded. Now he fully realized what the two Hunters, who climbed without ropes, have done. Their skill was really superhuman.

When he finally reached the edge of the cliff and jumped over it, it seemed to him it lasted an eternity. He felt like being reborn. But, now the real danger was ahead.

The sorcerer's spell worked as he said. The small company was moving through the fort, and every guard they passed by would only look around suspiciously, then shrug his shoulders and continue to stare into the night. The fort was big - its stone buildings filled the whole broad plateau. On the numerous towers, eagle nests were visible. The gigantic birds were almost blind at night and there was no danger they could discover the group, shielded by magic. They were stealing through the narrow streets, and then the leader stopped in front of one of the doors, and signalized the group to enter the fort.

"I don't understand," said Keol quietly to the prince. "This one's acting like he has been here before. The question is what we're really looking for?"

"I don't know," answered Orin, "maybe the children are in there?"

"I don't believe anymore in the story of the children. This seems to me like a plain robbery."

"I'm thinking the same. But, we'll see," said the prince. The mercenary was right. The leader behaved like he knew the fort. The things were different from what their employers told them. However, it was too late to retreat.

What followed after remained very unclear in the prince's mind. All he recalled was the long sneaking through the dark corridors at the back of the group, and then the sounds of struggle somewhere ahead and the terrible scream, which began the nightmare. The spell of invisibility was somehow broken. The night was filled suddenly with Eagle men, tall bony silhouettes who were attacking mercilessly with cudgels shaped like eagle talons. Their shrieking war-cries echoed among the stone.

Keol's long sword was reaping the attackers, making horrible sounds of cutting meat and breaking bones.

He didn't know where Nai and Saim were, have they escaped, or fell under the cudgels.

He defended in frenzy for some time, stroking with sword on all sides, but the attackers were coming endlessly. He saw Keol cutting an Eagle man in half, and falling down after, hit in head.

Then a mountain fell on him, and there was only dark and nothingness.

The next morning, four gigantic eagles with their riders came in the canyon to get Arios. The sorcerer was ready, knowing that the night action failed. Seeing that no one's coming back, he decided to stay and wait for the Eagle men, convinced they are going to find him quickly. He did not have any special plan. It was important to see if his companions were alive. Then, if necessary, he would use the magic that he abhorred so.

The eagle riders threw at him two nets, without a word, and then flew up, carrying him to the high fort.

## Chapter 8. The People of the heights

The grey ridges seemed unbelievably close from the place where he was standing. The morning air, crystal clear, enabled Arios to see every crack, every hole in the stone walls which rose from the other side of the abyss. The terrace had a low stone-made wall, the only protection from the long fall. On the right side of the wall, an enormous brown eagle sat and watched him carefully. Tiny, round bird's eyes were hiding whatever was happening in the eagle's mind. What are you thinking about? - the sorcerer was wondering silently, looking at the big bird. Do you understand me or is my mind impregnable for you, as is yours for me? Do you consider me an enemy? Are you afraid of me, maybe? Human mind is also impossible to know, though he thought. What man could say that he really knows what's happening in the mind of someone else? Who can say he really knows the other human being? People spend their lives surrounded with other people, but all this time, they are alone, closed in their own heads, behind the unbreakable walls and barriers. Luckily, most of the people never realize that. Only a few fools.

The world of the Eagle people was not similar to the world of any other human nation. What they did with their attackers, the way they treated the captured robbers, completely confused Arios. Five surviving, but wounded men were resting comfortably in a guest room near the top of the fort. One of them was the prince of the Plain Countries, who was lying unconsciously in bed, with brain concussion. The leader of the herder-robbers and three of his men were also lying, and awaited fearfully every arrival of the people who tended them. They believed that their enemies were trying to heal them only to put them to torture and execute them in the end. Arios knew it was not true. When they brought him into this room, five days ago, afraid and given to thinking of the ways to escape, an old shaman came to him and brought him to the balcony.

They stood there for some time, silently watching the horizon. The old man was wrapped in a black cloak, painted with white magic symbols Arios has never seen before. He had long, white hair, and dry, weather-beaten face darkened from the sun and time. His deeply-settled eyes were pale grey in colour. For a moment, the sorcerer thought they were covered with cataract, and blind, but then the man looked at him with a profound, long glance which didn't leave place for any doubt. Arios was silent, staring back at the old man. He didn't want to break the silence, not knowing what to expect. The shaman spoke first.

"Isn't it beautiful?" asked he, not expecting an answer. "It makes a man feel complete."

"Yes," said Arios shortly. He looked at the man. "What are you going to do with us?"

The old shaman overheard the question. "The mountains are above everything," said he, "and it has been given to eagles that they can fly above them. My people prize flying over everything else. It is our freedom. It is beauty."

A short pause followed. "With you?" remembered he. "Well, you'll have to recover first. And what will you do after that, I don't know."

Arios couldn't understand. "We are your prisoners. We attacked you because of robbery, although some believed they are fighting for something rightful. They said you were stealing their children. We thought it was rescue attempt. It turned out they had only robbery on their minds."

"You don't need to apologize, or to explain," said the old man. "You attacked us, we defended ourselves. Many men died. Now, it is over."

"Aren't you going to take you vengeance on us?" asked Arios.

"Revenge means lack of understanding. He who understands other man, loses his will to revenge."

"You are justifying those who attacked you?"

The old man was looking at the stone cliff. Arios thought he was bored with the conversation, and wanted to enjoy the landscape.

Finally, the shaman answered.

"We aren't justifying anybody. Nor are we judging them. When we are endangered, we defend ourselves. When we are safe, there's no need for violence. Eagles kill their prey when they are hungry."

"Yes. Animals do behave that way, but people almost never do." said Arios.

"I have never flied far from this town," said the shaman. "We have an agreement with the eagles. I don't know the ways of other people. You should know them better."

"What do you mean?" Arios looked at him sharply.

"I think once you were a great shaman of your people. I sense power in you."

"True," stated Arios. "And I helped the robbers to get to you. Without me, it would be much more difficult. And many innocent people would be alive right now. It is the truth about my power. It destroys everything it touches."

"The power is an ability to make wishes come true," said the shaman. "It does not decide what they will be. That depends on the one who is using it."

"Yes," answered Arios, "but a man who can fulfil all his wishes always wants more and more. The common sense is outweighed by passion in the end, so the distinction between good and evil is forgotten."

"Such a man is weak, because he let his own power overcome him. It means the evil is hiding in the weakness of man, not in his strength. A strong man wouldn't misuse his power."

"Maybe you are right. But, it seems that in the world I'm coming from no such man exists."

"The Eagle people are strong," concluded the shaman. A long pause followed.

The closest mountain tops blocked the view at the north, but the distant Dragon Rock still mastered the horizon.

"How much does it take to get there?" asked Arios thoughtfully, looking at the distance. "It seems to me..."

"You are travelling there? Maybe it would be best to return." Old man's eyes were serious.

"It seems to me we were travelling for an eternity, but we couldn't reach it, or even get any closer," finished the sorcerer. "Its height is probably the reason. It's much more distant than it seems."

"When you cross this mountain ahead of us, you enter a strange country. Our flyers dare not to go further north. Many disappeared there forever. The country there is different from ours. Lower, more green. We don't know it and don't understand it. You see, our people are simple. We are happy because we have a gift of flying up in the skies, and we do not ask much about other things. Most of the others have been less lucky."

Yes, but we who crawl on the ground still want something more, thought the sorcerer. The prince wants power, his needs are simple. And I? What do I want?

"If you want, we'll carry you over those mountains. They are impassable," said the shaman.

"When my companion recovers," said Arios. "Your behaviour will not be forgotten. The people of Plain Countries, and all other countries, act differently toward their enemies."

"Maybe that's the reason they have enemies, don't you think? Are our enemies born no matter what we do, or do we make them?" The old shaman laughed aloud, and his laughter became dry coughing. "I have seen innumerable winters, and still don't know the answer to that question," said he, breathing hardly. "I must take my potions. When you need something, call. Someone will hear you."

The days went by slowly. The sorcerer spent his time wandering through the fort, learning about the life of Eagle people. It was a quiet nation; they wasted no words in vain. They made their living mostly by hunting and trading with other human settlements, who, in return for the gemstones, supplied them with food, clothing and other life's necessities, which were hard to get on the top of the mountain. Indeed, it was crazy to believe the story about Eagle people living of robbery. Their wealth, however, was the object of desire for many robbers.

The possession of large amounts of the precious stones called Eagle's Tears was one of the features of the Eagle people, and their greatest secret. The stones were transparent, with soft green nuances which changed in the sunlight. They used those stones to decorate their clothes, to make heavy necklaces and bracelets, but also as a strong remedy for many diseases. He listened with interest to the tribal medicine man who explained to him how the stones cure colds, inflammations and poisonings, if they are melted in mouth. He took one stone in his mouth and discovered it was very firm, unusually light and tasteless, but after several minutes he felt the stone getting smaller. After few hours, it disappeared completely.

"But, where do you mine such unusual stones?" asked he the man, who laughed. "I haven't seen mines on your cliff, there are no diggers?"

The man just kept laughing. "It is our secret," he finally said. "I won't tell it to you."

With just one stone, it was possible to buy enough wheat to feed a grown man for three days, and with ten stones, one could buy a wolf skin. Eagle people flew on their birds far away, over distant mountaintops, carrying with them bags full of their stones; they returned with various goods. Other mountain dwellers knew they would never run out of the stones – such trade existed from the dawn of time. However, the wealth of the Eagle people was attractive plunder for many robbers.

The eagles nested on the tops of the high towers, where their eggs were safe from all dangers, and they descended at the call of their masters, carrying them to the heights. Their calm, graceful flight enchanted the sorcerer, who used to sit for hours on his balcony and watch them circling high above.

The narrow grey streets of the stone city were never crowded. Most of the public life was concentrated on the two small squares, where the people exchanged their goods, and done their daily tasks. The Eagle people dressed themselves in the warm clothes painted in vivid colours. Men wore caps decorated with eagle's feathers, while women were mostly bareheaded - old tradition with few exceptions. Their community was small, but Arios got an impression they were deeply respectful about the privacy of the individuals. The conversations at the public places were discreet, and although the communication was filled with extreme kindness, people did not show too many emotions openly. With the newcomers talked only those who had to. Arios talked only to the old shaman, and only about issues from everyday life which interested him. Such isolation did not bother him, of course. It was the only way of life he was used to.

"What is the secret of the Eagle's Tears?" he asked the shaman one afternoon, while they were sitting in a gazebo on the edge of eastern cliff and watching crystal clear peaks on the other side.

"No one in these mountains is allowed to find out where they come from," said the shaman. "But you are a sorcerer and you know how to keep secrets. I can tell you."

"I would like to know. The stones are very unusual. They remind me of diamonds, but they are not so hard, and they melt in the mouth. I never heard for stone which melts in mouth."

"It's because these are not really stones," said the old man. "They don't call them Eagle's Tears without reason. The eagles are the real source. Their feathers are very sensitive, easily damaged by cold winds, rains and snow. Therefore, their bodies ooze some kind of ointment which covers the feathers and protects them. A long time ago, we discovered that the fallen feathers, which we always have in great quantities, are covered in this ointment. If the feathers are burned, the ointment melts. It becomes soft, almost liquid. Then we form it in balls or other shapes, and left it to cool down and to dry. In such way, Eagle's Tears are created. They are much valued for their beauty in the mountains. Our forefathers discovered the healing properties of the ointment, so they started to use it as a remedy. There, this is the whole truth about our precious stones."

Arios was fascinated. "It's so simple! But, why you are keeping it a secret?"

"It's much better to sell precious stones to people, than to sell birds' ointment," laughed the old man. "We get better prices. And everyone is happy."

"Logical," said Arios with a smile. "Don't worry; your secret is safe with me."

Orin woke one morning, after long nights spent in fever. The rest of the wounded men were taken away the day before, and Arios never saw them again. He had no interest in their destiny at all. They probably were left down on the pastures, to dream about unreachable treasure.

"You slept long," said Arios to the prince, who was slowly rising from the bed.

"I think now is the right moment for me to ask what happened," said Orin, smiling sardonically. "It seems I somehow succeeded in sleeping over the important things."

"Everything's all right if you didn't loose your sense for humour. In fact, not much has happened. They brought us here to recover, and then they will release us."

"What are you saying?" Orin was touching the painful spot on his head. "What a bump!"

"It hurts, eh?" the sorcerer smiled.

"Why would they release us? We attacked them and failed. They've won."

"Exactly. We attacked them, tried to rob them..."

"Rob them?"

"You see, our employers tricked us. There weren't any children. All they wanted were gemstones."

"I don't recall everything, but I know something seemed wrong," said the prince, suddenly remembering: "Where are Keol and the twins?"

The sorcerer's face was like a stone. "The twins disappeared. The eagles didn't find them. I think they escaped."

"And Keol?"

"Dead."

For some time, Orin was silent, staring at the wall. Then he said quietly: "I didn't think he could be killed. Not so stupidly. He was too good a fighter. No one could match him with the sword."

"I don't know," said Arios. "In the east, they used to say that a man is already dead from the moment he takes the sword and decides to follow the way of the warrior. The time between that moment and the moment of real death is only borrowed. There's no place for regret."

Orin sighed. "It's easy to quote wise proverbs," said he, lowering his head. "But, the sorrow of us who stay behind isn't less painful."

"Right," agreed the sorcerer. "And what can we do? Nothing."

"Just so," concluded Orin. "Nothing."

Why do I feel so calm about death, the sorcerer asked himself. People go, so what? But, then, I never lived to see someone really close to me die. Probably because there never was someone really close to me, thought he cynically.

The next few days Orin did not talk much about the dead mercenary, but Arios knew his death fell hard on the prince. So he tried to occupy his mind with practical, everyday things. The decision will have to be made, about how to continue their journey, what to do next. The sorcerer told to his companion everything he'd heard about the lands beyond the mountain ridges. Orin, however, was not interested in difficulties. He was eager to go further.

"The eagles will carry us over," said he. "When we get there, we'll see what to do next."

"I admire your caution," said Arios sardonically. "So many times..."

"This isn't the first time I was close to death," interrupted the prince. "Don't you have a feeling it was destined that I reach my goal? The caution would be unnecessary, then."

"Destined? Maybe, if there is such thing as destiny," said Arios. And all that happened confirms that this is true, thought he. Everything's happening like it was already written somewhere. But, why cannot we be sure? Why cannot we have some proof, which could answer our questions? If everything is already written, why we are not given at least to know we are but a part of a great theatre, and therefore not responsible for our deeds? That it doesn't matter what we do, because the outcome is already known?

A few days later, Orin, looking at the mountain from the balcony of their room, said: "We'll go today."

The midday sun was blinding. Protecting his eyes with his hand, Arios followed the flight of the great eagles on the sky.

"All right. Today is a good day. Prepare our equipment, and I'll go to the shaman."

Later, they stood on the square, waiting for the flyers to come. No one spoke. Their hosts talked only when it was needed. Orin and Arios were too excited to talk. The flight was both frightening and attractive for them. Climbing the mountains was maybe dangerous, but neither of them had ever been above the ground. And, of course, both of them would rather die than show fear.

"So," said the old shaman, "now we part. I don't know what awaits you. You will have to discover for yourself what lies behind the mountain."

"You never told me your name," said the sorcerer.

"Nor have I asked for yours," answered the old man. "You see, it is a common thing for all peoples in these mountains. They never give their names to the strangers, and use them only in some occasions."

"Why?" asked Arios.

"Ah, no one knows for sure. There are stories about old times, when wizards existed, sorcerers who stole names from people, enslaving them in that way. Old women still claim that name could be used against its owner. But, it seems to me, it's because the name is the only thing we really possess, the only thing which is really ours. When we give it to someone, it means we have nothing more to give. In that way, people who have our name, have us, too."

"Yes." said Arios. "I understand."

Orin smiled.

"So, we will not know the names of our benefactors," said he.

"No." The old man turned his head. "Your eagles are coming."

Three flying giants were descending in circles toward the square. They landed easily, gracefully, and folded their wings. Standing on the ground, they were almost twice as tall as the people who waited for them. One of them carried a rider, tied with leather belts to the small saddle which was attached between the wings. The other two eagles carried only saddles on them.

When the two travellers approached them, they lowered their heads, thus enabling men to climb on them.

"Tie yourself with those belts!" the flyer shouted to them, showing the prince and the sorcerer what to do. When everything was ready, the old shaman waved his hand in farewell, and the eagles went up, jumping and spreading their mighty wings. The next moment, they were gliding through air, above the square. In a few seconds, abyss opened below them. Arios loudly exclaimed, but regained control, trying to forget he was thousands of paces above the ground. The bird that carried him seemed like it had lost its weight. The sorcerer had an impression he was flying without help. If he hasn't been tied to the saddle, he would surely drift down in the void.

Later, when Orin was trying to describe that moment, he hardly found words for his feelings. "I didn't know if I would faint or jump from my own body," he would say, but it could not do justice to the exhilaration of the flight on the great eagles.

When they passed over the top of the mountain, eternally covered in snow, in front of them a view was spreading at a broad countryside - green forests and rolling hills; it seemed much more pleasant than the lands they were passing through before. And far in the distance, the Dragon Rock loomed, threatening, imposing, and daring the two travellers with its mystery.

Cold wind stole the breath from their lungs. The eagles shrieked cheerfully, air currents under their wings; they floated in the void, sank down, and then went upward again, leaving the stone cliffs in the distance.

When their leader gave the signal, they started descending toward the green slopes. The magnificent moments of the flying were over. The birds landed on the wide meadow, above a hill-surrounded forest valley. After few awkward, jumping steps, they stopped and lowered heads, so their riders could climb down.

"We go no further!" shouted the flyer. "You are on your own from here." He waved his hand, and his bird was in the air again. The eagles that carried Orin and Arios followed their leader, and soon were lost beyond the ridge.

The scent of the fresh grass, still wet from the melted snow, filled the air, chasing restlessness from the minds of two companions. Taking their backpacks, they started walking toward the forest.

## Chapter 9. The premonition of storm

The first day on the road since they parted with the Eagle people went by peacefully. They did not have to worry about food, for a time being. The supplies Eagle men gave them will last at least five days. Besides, the countryside was full of wildlife, which promised good hunting. When the sun descended, they made their camp in the woods, prepared the dinner, ate it, and went to sleep, wrapped in blankets. The mountain nights were chill, especially in the spring, but after so much time spent in the open, the two men hardened, became more resistant to petty discomforts.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, a cry woke them. It was not a sound which animal throat could have made. It was terrible howling, followed by low snarls, sad, twisted, angry, but at the same time somehow lifeless, mechanical.

"What is that?" Orin woke with a start and reached for his sword.

Arios was sitting stiffly, seemingly calm. However, the drops of sweat on his face glistened on the weak moonshine, revealing fear.

The howl abruptly stopped.

"I don't know. Be quiet," whispered the sorcerer in the ominous silence.

They sat silently for a long time, listening, not daring even to breathe in fear of drawing attention. The forest was silent.

Finally, Orin spoke: "Whatever it was, it seems it's gone. But, what sort of animals lives in this land?"

"This was no ordinary animal," said Arios. "I've never heard a sound like that. I'm afraid your sword will be of little use if we encounter it."

"You're probably right," the prince said, then added: "Listen now, what if it was a dragon? One of those which fly around the Rock? Maybe we are closer than we thought?"

"Everything's possible," answered Arios. "Still, I didn't imagine the dragons like that. They should be joyful creatures. What we heard sounded like rage and despair of a thousand people. I don't think it was a dragon."

"Whatever it was, I hope we'll find out," stated Orin.

"Maybe it's better we never find out. I just realized I'm bigger coward than I thought." Arios smiled nervously in the darkness.

The rest of the night they spent awake, sitting, listening for every sound, trying to stay as quiet as possible.

With the first morning light they gathered their belongings, covered the remains of the camp, and continued the journey. The half-shade of the forest returned the sense of safety for them. When the sun reached its zenith, the fear loosened its grip. In the daylight, the horrors of the night fade away, become unreal.

They came across a village, then. The forest ended, and suddenly, in front of the two travellers a small valley was spreading, with a river, on whose banks a picturesque settlement found its place. A few dozen houses built of wood and stone stood there, and two bridges connected the banks of the river. What seemed most unusual in these wild lands was the dirt road, obviously often used, which led to the northwest from the village.

"It seems we've found the civilization?" asked Orin, with an expression of relief on his face.

Arios was silent, but it was obvious he was equally astonished.

On the surrounding meadows grazed the longhaired mountain cows with big horns. The fields were cultivated, but empty. At the gate of the village a guard was standing, armed with a long wooden spear and a sling. The man was tall, balding, strong-armed and rough-faced, dressed in leather pants, shirt and cloak. The appearance of the strangers from the south surprised him. He made a threatening move and shouted: "Stop! Who are you and why are you here?"

"We're just travellers on our way north!" answered the sorcerer, speaking the language he'd heard never before. The spell of understanding was invaluable.

"No one comes to this country from the south! You are spies!" shouted the man. Then he saw the sword on Orin's back and took two steps backward.

Arios noticed the man's fear.

"We bear you no ill intentions. We're travelling toward Dragon Rock, and we thought we'll find here a sleeping place for the night."

The guard hesitated, still fearful and mistrusting. A few similar-looking men joined him, then.

"What's this, Daort?" asked one of them, an older man who carried himself proudly, obviously well-respected in his community.

"Strangers," answered the guard, "they say they are travelling north, toward something called a Dragon Rock, and they came from the south. They must be lying! Spies! What is a Dragon Rock? No such thing exists here! And the mountains to the south are impassable."

"I'm not lying," Arios said quietly.

"We crossed the mountains few days ago. We're travelling north, toward the Dragon Rock. How it's possible that you don't see it? It's the highest mountain in the world. Even now, I can see it clearly," He pointed his hand toward the distant shape. "We thought we will reach it a long time ago, but it is still ahead of us. There!"

Leader of the peasants stroked his beard and seemed to think about it. He looked at the Dragon Rock and smiled.

"There are weird stories about the southern lands," said the leader of the villagers, "but no more weird than those which are told about the Witch Mountain, that you call Dragon Rock. You say you are coming from one legend and searching for another?"

"Exactly," said Arios. "But, it seems there on the south they think your country is weird and dangerous."

The man smiled. "Strangers, if you are saying the truth, you will find hospitality here. If you are spies, you will not find way out of the village again. My name is Venor, and I'm the chief of the village. Come with me."

"What have you been talking about?" Orin asked Arios when they were moving among the houses. "I didn't understand a word!"

"I'll cast the spell of understanding on you too, tonight. It seems you'll need it," said the sorcerer.

"It was about time. I'm bored with playing mute fool," muttered Orin.

Venor and his two sons led the travellers to the village inn.

The room was big but dark and the air was heavy, full of smoke, scent of roasted meat and wine. In the middle of the room there was a big fireplace where two kids were roasting. The restless fire was the only source of the light. People in the mountain lands did not care much for windows.

Dark glances followed them from every corner of the room, but the presence of the chief of the village calmed the atmosphere. They settled around a broad wooden table and ordered lunch from the innkeeper.

"Don't your people work in the fields?" asked Arios, wondering at the crowded inn.

"It's a long story," answered Venor. "I'm not sure you want to hear it. Still, I must tell you about the situation in our kingdom. Maybe you will decide to turn back."

"We would be thankful to you for useful information, "said Arios, "but I think my friend decided too firmly to get to the Rock for anything to stop him."

Venor smiled, looking at Orin, who was silent. "I understand. I'll tell you what I know, which is not too much, but before, you must tell me something about yourself. Who are you and where are you going?"

"All right." Arios told him the story about their journey, not mentioning Orin's heritage or the Ring of the Kings. It was enough to introduce Orin and himself as two ex mercenaries in search of legendary treasure.

While he told the story, the innkeeper brought roasted beef and vegetables, with a pitcher of wine. The man was dirty, but two travellers were too hungry to pay notice. Orin, who was rather bored during the conversation, finally found some interest.

Arios' story was rather astonishing for Venor and his sons, especially the part with the Eagle people, whom they used to see sometimes, circling in the sky, and considered them to be some kind of demons.

"And now, Arios," said the chief, "I'll tell you what I know, not much, mind you, because I haven't been leaving the village lately."

He continued, slightly theatrically.

"Our village is the southernmost village of the kingdom Ledonia, called the Green Kingdom because of many forests. Our king, Seton the Third, lives in the castle surrounded with high walls, and oaks thousands of years old. Because of it, people called it the Forest Castle. Seton the Third, they say, has elven blood, and he's often in the company of the wood elves, but not everyone believes in those stories. I mean," he laughed, "who had ever seen the wood elves and returned to talk about them? But you know how people are. Although, in the history of the royal family there were enough unusual and mysterious events for people to start telling stories."

"I know," said Arios, although people always were mystery for him.

"Anyway, in this kingdom no one complains too much about the king and the government. People are occupied with land, cattle, selling wood, and they are happy, as long as the taxes are low. At least it was so until recently. First, strange stories appeared, about events on the far north. The travellers who came from there told of armed bands gathering, consisting of worst human scum, but also of other, worse creatures. They told about pillaged, burning villages, and massacres. If only half of those stories are true, an enormous army from the north waits for the right moment to attack Ledonia. At first, we didn't believe in those stories. But, they were coming every day, from even nearer places. Then the refugees began to appear. Now, no one doubts any more. Someone from the north is planning to invade the south, and it will begin in several days.

"And the Witch Mountain? My people believe it is an evil place. Demons fly around it, guarding the passes. Some people tried to reach the mountain a long time ago, tried to find its secret, but no one succeeded. Few returned to tell about it, most did not. Those who returned told how they never succeeded to reach the Witch Mountain. It was always ahead of them, even when they came to the edge of Iceland on the other side of White Wall, the mountain ridge at the utmost north. Iceland is the end of the world. Only cold and silence exist there, and no life at all. Smarter travellers came to the edge of this barren land and returned. Others went there and disappeared. But, even at the edge of the Iceland, the Witch Mountain was only a shape on the horizon."

"We have already heard that the Dragon Rock may not belong to our world, and that it's very hard to reach it," said Arios. "Your words only confirmed other stories. But, my companion won't give up. He believes he will succeed."

"Some people say that the Witch Mountain is the source of the evil that befell us," said Venor. "Be as it may, it is not very smart to go in that direction."

The chief followed his words with a long swallow of wine, then wiped his mouth.

"In this village there is a man who came back from the north few days ago. He doesn't talk much, and stays in his house, not wishing to see anyone. He's frightened to death, if you ask me. Maybe it would be good if you visit him. Maybe he'll tell more to you than he did to us."

Arios noticed that most of the people sitting at the surrounding tables were listening to their chief. Fear was visible on their faces. The place became uncommonly silent for a village's gathering.

"So, we don't know exactly what is going on," continued Venor, "but we know that king started recruiting people for his own army, and the defence of the Forest Castle is preparing. In these times, you will hardly reach north. There is bigger chance you will end up like mercenaries in Seton's army."

The man finished his story and took another long swallow.

"These are bad news," agreed Arios. If the story was true, their journey could be seriously endangered.

"You see," continued Venor, "my people are scared. No one knows what to do. Some young men went to join the king's army. No one forces us to do this, you know. Ledonia was never a warlike country. The king has his own army which he feeds and pays enough to ensure their loyalty. It is small, because we never had larger wars. Sometimes, raiders from the east attack the country, but they usually avoid open conflict and run away when in danger. But now, a war is awaiting us. The king will need bigger army. I fear our peasant heads will also fall this time." He took another swallow.

Arios opened his mouth to ask the chief about the strange howling they heard last night, but changed his mind at the last moment.

"Can you show us the way to the man that you mentioned? The one who returned from the north?" asked he instead.

"Of course," said Venor. "In our village everything's near."

They finished their lunch in silence. The chief gave the innkeeper a few copper pennies.

"If you don't have anything else, you can sleep here," said the man. "We have several rooms for travellers and merchants. Now all are empty, of course. Bad times, bad times," he murmured for himself, putting the money in the bag at his belt.

The house in front of them was small, wooden. The roof of the dried moss and straw mixed with mud seemed to be a good protection from the bad weather. It stood near the river, in the western part of the village. The door was closed.

"Here we are," said Venor. "Ordan!" shouted he toward the house. "Come out! You have visitors!"

After a few moments of silence, the door opened slowly. The face of a middle-aged woman appeared. "Venor!" said she in greeting. "Ordan is ill. He doesn't want to see anybody."

"Since when did your house become inhospitable for visitors, Rhia?" the chief did not give up. "We just want to greet Ordan and to chat a little."

Woman opened the door slowly. The power and the reputation of the chief obviously were great.

"All right, if it is not long..." she said reluctantly. "Come inside."

The room they entered was low and dark and smelled of the dried grass. It was the only room in the house. The fireplace was in the middle, and on the bed in the corner a man was laying, his back turned to them.

"What do you want?" he asked in uncertain, hoarse voice when they entered.

"These two are travellers from the south," said Venor. "They want you to tell them what you know about the army from the north."

The man twisted, still facing the wall.

"There's nothing to say. An army's rising, everyone knows that. Big army, which will roll over everything," the last words were said in a shaky voice.

This man is really frightened to death, thought Arios. "What kind of army?" he asked. "Who leads it?"

"Who leads it, you ask? A demon is its leader, the evil god of war incarnated, leading his servants to raze the world. No one will stop him." The man chuckled hysterically, then turned and looked at them.

Seeing his look, the two friends stiffed for a moment. The eyes were empty, cold like madman's, the face was sneering, at the same time looking like man's in endless pain and despair for which there's no cure in the whole world.

The woman jumped to calm her husband.

"You see," said she, "he's like this since he returned from the north. Lying on the bed, crying and laughing. It gets no better, no way."

"It's all right, Rhia," said Venor, "your husband will get better. The war has put him under stress. He'll get better."

Arios was silent. The expression on the man's face reminded him of something else, equally desperate and hopeless.

That evening, in the guest room, the sorcerer cast the spell of understanding at Orin. "You'll never put me to sleep, I'm resistant to such tricks," were the last words of the prince before Arios' complex hand movements made his head slowly go down. When he woke several minutes later, he didn't feel any difference, but the next morning he was amazed by the fact he could understand the language of the peasants.

For some time, they talked about the story they've heard. Orin was explicit.

"We must find a way to break through. If there is a war, it will not last forever. In this country a man could hide, disappear for some time. If we are careful, maybe no one would notice us."

"Honestly, I don't see what is it which attracts you so to this ring which maybe doesn't exist?" said Arios. "Why is it so hard to give up?"

"It's simple," answered the prince. "The further we go, the stronger I feel it's the only thing in the world I really have. I mean, only the Ring of the Kings appears to be real. My former life isn't more than an old dream I've dreamed long time ago. A dream I don't even remember. It seems my whole life has been spent in the search of the Dragon Rock. How can I give up?"

"You are right. I have that feeling too. But, we'll have to be very careful. And now, it's time to go to sleep. Good night."

Their sleep didn't last long, however. In the middle of the night they both jumped from their beds, frightening, staring in the complete darkness. The inhuman howl was echoing in the night, coming from the woods, horrible, painful and desperate.

"The torch! Lit the torch!" hissed Orin, jumping from the bed.

"Wait! I can't see a thing!"

The prince touched the hilt of his sword, and unsheathed it.

"Now we'll see who is howling!"

Arios finally managed to lit the candle with his flint stone, and the room filled with weak light.

Outside, in the night, the ghostly howling was reaching its peak.

"Let's go!" shouted Orin. "That direction!"

The sorcerer didn't like running out blindly in the darkness, but he didn't have much choice. Holding the torch in his hand, he ran out from the inn, following the prince who was running across the meadow, swinging with his sword.

Fear makes heroes of men, thought he ironically, and after that, there was no time for thinking.

The howling was still coming from the woods across the river, but it was not so loud anymore. The village was empty, however. People were too frightened to go out discovering what was happening.

When they crossed the bridge, the howling stopped. The quiet murmur of the river was the only sound in the dark.

Frightened and out of breath, two men paid no attention to the chill of the night. Twenty paces from the place they were standing was the edge of the forest; ghostly and threatening, still, frozen with the horror it was hiding. Through the thin layer of the clouds, moonshine was visible, bathing the world in icy light, which made the shadows look deeper.

"Now where?" whispered Arios, breathing hardly.

Orin was standing, trying to see something in the darkness. "I don't know. It came from there," he pointed in one direction. "Now I don't know anymore." He lowered the sword and wiped his forehead with his hand.

The answer came unbidden. From the left, they heard snapping of the branches, the sound of something enormous rolling through the bushes. Both men crouched in the same moment, ready for everything that could appear. Only a thin line of reason separated them from panic and mindless escape from the thing that rolled through the forest.

One endless moment more, and there it was, breaking out on the clearing, a black creature, low and broad, oval in shape, carrying itself on many ill-formed limbs with great speed. Arios and Orin couldn't see the details, it was too dark, but it seemed its body constantly changed shape, like a blob filled with water which could burst in any moment.

Orin was standing, frozen, too confused to remember the sword in his hand. The creature was rolling toward them, panting repulsively. When it neared less than several paces from them, the prince finally took action and attacked with the sword. His stroke missed, but the creature stopped. Black body, shaking on the unsure limbs, tried to avoid the man with the sword. Arios was not armed. His mind was too shocked to reach for some spell. He could only stand and watch.

"It wants to get across the river!" shouted Orin, "I'll stop you" added he through his teeth, swinging the sword again several times, until he succeeded in hitting the monster. Scream of rage ripped the darkness again. The swollen body shivered in spasm, and then it began to retreat toward the forest. Orin started after it, but Arios' hand stopped him.

"Wait!"

"Why? It's wounded! I could finish it now!"

"No! Let him go! We go back!" the sorcerer didn't give up.

"Why? What's wrong with you now?" Orin's rage was almost visible.

"I think I have realized something." Arios was calm. "We'll try to solve this in other way."

"I don't understand," said Orin.

"Maybe I'm wrong, but we still go back."

"It probably won't return." Orin leaned on his sword, breathing deeply. "It got a lesson. But, what it was? I didn't see such a creature in my whole life!"

Arios kept quiet, staring in the darkness. If his assumption was correct, this country was bound for hard times.

The following morning, Venor was not too much surprised. "I knew you're no ordinary mercenary," he said to Arios. "I guessed you must be some kind of wizard. It was obvious you knew much more than you show. But it is hard to believe what you said."

"You'll have to believe. You believed the stories about the war on the north. Why would this be so hard to believe?" Arios was telling quietly. They were sitting in the inn, surrounded with the most respected people of the village. The atmosphere was tense.

"A few nights ago, a monster attacked my cow," said a short, rough-looking man. "In the morning, we found the remains, half melted! Melted! How could a human being do such a thing?"

"It isn't a human being. At least, not after the metamorphosis." said Arios. "We saw it tonight, me and my friend, face to face."

"You are claiming that someone of the villagers turns into a monster by night and wanders through the woods?" asked Venor incredulously. Arios confirmed. "I think it was the man who returned from the north. Ordan was his name?"

For a few long moments, the gathering was silent. Finally, someone said "What's happening?"

"I know something about every school of magic that exists in the world," began the sorcerer. "What happened to Ordan was doing of the darkest forces. A spell was cast on him, very powerful, which enables something or someone, a creature we usually call a demon, to take his body and shape it at will. It was a doing of a very powerful sorcerer."

After these words, the room burst with frightened talk.

"If it is so, could you do anything?" asked Venor.

"I could try. I don't know if it would work. The price could be big. But, if we do nothing, things may get worse."

Men chattered again.

"What if the stranger is lying?" shouted a man. "How could we know he's telling the truth?"

"Maybe he's a spy!" came a cry from the other side. "Maybe he had been sent to spread stories like this one! To frighten people!" A few people rose from their chairs. Orin's hand went to the hilt of his sword.

Arios kept his calm. "Wait. You can check if I'm lying. Bring Ordan here and I'll question him. Anyway, I can't escape."

A short pause followed. In silence, the chief of the village slowly rose from his chair. His head was bowed when he said: "We'll go get Ordan."

No one stood against the decision.

Orin didn't talk, keeping his hand on the hilt of the sword. Beside the monster from the woods, the villagers frightened enough to do something stupid were also a source of danger.

Three strong men dragged Ordan to the village square, in front of the inn. All villagers, including the children, stood in the half-circle, in complete silence. Their faces were dark and revealed fear. No one knew what will happen next.

Ordan was trying to free himself, struggling, crying and screaming, uselessly. Arios stood in front of the crowd, and went to the half-crazed man. He extended his hand toward Ordan, and uttered a word of power. Ordan relaxed in a moment and fell to the ground.

"Set him free, but be ready," the sorcerer said firmly to the men who brought Ordan, then addressed him.

"Talk to me: what happened in the north? Who put the spell on you? Maybe I can help you."

The man covered his head with hands. "The sun!" he wailed. "It burns! Let me go home!"

"What happened?" Arios was persistent.

"Aah... don't know... don't remember..." Ordan's voice became whisper.

"Remember!" shouted Arios and moved his hand again.

The man fell flat on the ground, seemingly unconscious, his eyes fixed on nothing. Then his lips moved, and he began to talk, slightly unintelligible and incoherent at first.

"I was there... hiding in the hole, when they came... Lord of Doom, yes, they call him so... laughed... laughed at me... he said you will live and go back home...another came...in black cloak...did something to me...ah, I ran away..." The man's talking suddenly turned into a long howl. Spasms shook Ordan's body on the ground, and then he was still.

Arios turned to Venor, who was standing behind him.

"I thought so," said he. Big drops of sweat covered his face. "Now I'll try to send the demon back from where it came."

Orin remembered the sorcerer's duel with Haar-ol-garot. He succeeded in destroying the demon, then. Will he be able to do the same again? Arios used his magic very rarely, so the prince sometimes forgot he was travelling with a sorcerer. How strong his powers really are? Does he know it?

Arios sat down in front of the unmoving body, joined his palms above his face, and closed his eyes. His lips were soundlessly forming words. The tension in the crowd was rising. The half-circle was getting wider; men were backing away, awaiting the outcome.

For several minutes, the silence was complete. And then the horror began. Ordan's body on the ground twisted once more, stretched and started to lose its shape, like a blob filling with water. His skin became dark grey in colour, and numerous tentacles broke out on all parts. But, what was most horrible, the whole upper part of the blob became an enormous disfigured face; a mockery of human's face, with round black eyes, flat nose and big, drooling mouth. The whole metamorphosis was followed by obnoxious panting.

In a split second, the creature attacked the nearest villager, frozen by the sight in front of him. Arios jumped on his feet, shouting a word, but it was too late. The man's head and torso disappeared in the demon's mouth, which splashed green ooze. In the moment the victim's legs were still shaking, the body began to melt. It was this last thing that set the frozen crowd into panicked, screaming run from the scene.

Orin unsheathed his sword and stood his ground.

Arios, in crouched position, watched the monster finishing his unfortunate victim. And then, the enormous face turned to the sorcerer. His mouth went into rictus. The creature spoke few unintelligible words in a deep, growling voice, and stretched on the ground, madly laughing.

Then, there was only silence. Arios approached the carcass carefully, his view blurred with streams of sweat which ran down his face. He turned away then, disgusted, and went into the inn, sat at the table, and buried his face in his hands.

Orin, Venor and few villagers followed him slowly.

Ominous silence settled in the room. The villagers stood silently, watching the man at the table with mixture of fear and hate.

"You shouldn't have done this," said the chief. "People are scared. I cannot protect you, even if you are innocent."

Arios looked up. "I know. I am scared, too." His voice was shaking.

Orin interrupted: "But, you killed the demon - you were stronger..."

"I was not!" Arios interrupted him. "You don't understand! The monster laughed in my face!" The shadow of fear made the black depth of his eyes even deeper.

"He said to me something I don't even dare to repeat, and then he simply left, leaving the shell of his former body! He went away! I couldn't control him, he was playing with me - he could have jumped on anyone - even me, if he wanted. But no, he was playing with me!" he sighed deeply and went silent. Orin had never before seen him so scared.

"People are afraid of you," said one of the peasants. "I don't think you are a spy, but it would be best if you leave the village as soon as you can."

"Yes," agreed Venor. "You must understand - these people are peaceful - they don't like to fight - but too many terrible things happened lately, and everybody is tense. They could take their vengeance on you."

"Let them try," said Orin firmly. "We didn't bring the evil in this country. Arios tried to help."

"They are right, Orin. It's better for us to leave the village..." The sorcerer's voice was tired.

"I'm not afraid..." began the prince.

"I don't want a conflict with you," said Venor, trying to ease the atmosphere. "But, I could not be responsible for all people in this village – you'd better leave."

From the outside, sounds of the approaching crowd came.

"People are gathering, Venor," said one of the peasants.

"It's time for us to go," said Arios.

Taking their packs, they went out from the half-darkness of the inn.

People were standing in the half-circle if front of the entrance. The look of enmity on their faces was unmistakable. They have chosen whom they would blame for the death of their neighbours.

"Warlock!" a shout came when Arios showed at the door. People began to close around them.

"Murderer!"

"Demon!"

"Wait!" yelled the chief. "Leave these men be. They are leaving the village. They are not guilty!"

"Yes, they are!" cried someone.

"If not for their spells, two men would be alive now!"

"They should be stoned!"

"Wait!" Venor raised his hands. A stone flew from somewhere and hit Orin in the collarbone. The prince shouted in rage and drew the sword from the scabbard. Next moment, several spears and pitchforks were pointed at them. Orin hacked at the nearest pole. The crowd backed few steps, but a shower of stones fell on two friends. Arios, enraged because of sharp pain and stupidity of the crowd, raised his hand and began a spell which would confuse minds of the people in the crowd, but then something else crossed his mind. Shielding his head with the right hand, he reached in the pocket of his cloak and took out the wooden flute, the gift of the elven girl, which was for most of the time out of his conscious mind. Turning towards the crowd, he blew the flute in anger. This time, the sound was not pleasant. Sharp, piercing whistle froze the crowd. The scene suddenly went silent. And then, all eyes turned to a spot above the sorcerer's head, a spot which was out of this world. Orin also fell under the spell, staring with blank expression. They stood for a few moments, listening to the sound which was coming from the depths of their minds. Someone started to dance. Their faces blissful, they began to follow mechanical movements of some grotesque minuet, making strange figures, jumping and bowing to others, spinning in circles. Everything was happening in a complete silence.

The elves have a weird sense of humour, thought Arios, watching the madman's dance, creeps flowing through him.

The spell did not work on him, but his thoughts were slow and incoherent. He needed some time to realize what he should do. With an effort of will, he grabbed the dancing prince's shoulder and shook him.

"Quickly! We must run away while this lasts!" Orin did not resist, his attention focused only to the music which was coming from his head. So they staggered out from the enchanted village, the prince dancing and hopping all the way, smiling blissfully, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

I hope they will come to their senses sooner or later, thought the sorcerer smiling maliciously. Or is it possible they actually came to their senses now, while the rest of their lives they spend in trance? One would think so, seeing this mad prince chasing his dream straight into disaster.

"And you are following him, fool!" said he aloud, and laughed. "You're no better than him." He was walking rapidly, dragging the helpless Orin behind.

"Two madmen are going to confront all the demons of the darkness tomorrow! Hah! Our only chance will be if our stupidity confuses them, and it is a very small chance. I really shouldn't have left my home!"

The next day, the prince was conscious again, although little confused, and he didn't remember anything. Arios' memory strangely faded, too. He knew what happened, but he could swear it was only a dream.

## Chapter 10. Elf king

The path arched through the scattered woods awake with the breath of spring, through fields and meadows filled with small flowers, leading the two travellers toward the uncertain future. Light breeze was coming from the north, drying the sweat on their faces. Arios was certain that he felt the scent of burning and battlefield, but he attributed that feeling to his active imagination.

It was a desolated landscape, and few farms they came across showed no signs of life; it seemed like all people were hiding, in expectation of a storm. And the storm was gathering in the northern darkness, waiting to grow strong enough and to roll over the land of these peaceful people, destroying everything, dragging the world down into a grey vortex. The ominous clouds in the distance whirled in the sky, enormous, wild, blocking the view at Dragon Rock. The reflection of the setting sun on their steel-coloured wet greyness gave the landscape an unusual, frightening beauty, filling the travellers with awe and wonder for the forces of nature, fascinating even when foreboding darkness and horror.

"It seems like all the demons from the hell are playing with the clouds!" Orin couldn't but comment the awesome sight.

"Believe me, all the demons from hell will be there, walking the land freely," said Arios. "Great is the power that summons them. No one could stand against it."

"Unless we reach the Rock." Orin's voice was steady. "Maybe it's the only hope."

"Maybe your hope's nothing but common delusion," said Arios gloomily. "It seems we'll never make that journey."

"You can't be sure of that." The prince did not like the sorcerer being so feeble hearted, but he felt it was not a time for arguing. They needed to think about the way ahead, which was growing more dangerous every day.

They walked on for four days, travelling the dusty road, sleeping in the improvised shelters, meeting more and more refugees from the north. Those people didn't think much about where they were going, only if it was far enough from the war. The eyes of the children were brimming with tears, witnessing all the horrors of the night that adults used to scare them with suddenly came alive. The only topic of the tavern talks was the war. King Seton gathered an army for defence of Ledonia, but refugees from the north didn't believe it can stop the demon legion under command of the Lord of Doom. Horrible stories were told in the flickering lights of the hearth fires - flying demons butchering people and drinking their blood, huge black monsters destroying villages, devouring everything alive, people turning against each other in madness, wild warriors on fast horses attacking the refugees. In several places where few bold men decided to show some resistance to the legions, the battlefields soon became places of slaughter. A silhouette in black armour mounted on an enormous war stallion could be seen near those battlefields, uttering dark incantations, commanding the armies. Indeed, nothing could stop the storm.

Orin and Arios silently listened to people attempting to turn them away from their way to the north.

"Only a madman could have a wish to go there", the villagers said, shaking their heads, giving up on what they thought to be lost souls.

Still, they continued, driven on by despair and resignation rather than hope. They were determined to reach the King's fortified city, and then decide what to do.

"To get there, you must go through the forest," an innkeeper said to them. "But beware, that forest was said to be a weird place. I'm telling you, strange things used to happen to the careless people. Devil's business, I think, but they don't believe me, no sir, there's always some smart guy who thinks I'm lying, I'm telling stories, but I'm telling you, such guys come to a sorry end..."

He wiped their table with the filthy cloth and lowered his bulk on the wooden chair, which made a squeaking sound.

"We were careful till now, chief," Orin interrupted him, "we'll try to stay alert."

"Yes, be careful, gentlemen and I'm telling you, don't leave the road, strange things happen..."

The evening came, and the room was getting darker. Over the hearth fire, a skewered kid was roasting. Several people at the neighbouring table talked quietly, looking at them from time to time.

"You just take care of our dinner," said Orin to the innkeeper. "I could eat whole goat."

"Right now, gentlemen," said the innkeeper rising from the chair. In that moment, the dog that was lying quietly near the fire jumped and barked wildly. The inn went silent. Then, the doors were pushed roughly, and five men entered the room. Looking around, they chose a table and settled themselves around it. They looked like people who were on the road a long time without rest. Their faces were bearded, their hair black, long and filthy, and deeply set eyes darted glances at the other people. They were dressed in the shabby leather suits whose stench was even stronger than the smoke which filled the room. They carried broad, huge knives at their belts, and also some sickle-like blades, and the man who looked like the leader carried heavy war axe, obviously worn out with use. But it was not the main thing that attracted the attention of other people. The stitches of their coats and trousers were ornamented with long locks of human hair, probably women's. The leader had a necklace around his neck, made from mummified human fingers and ears.

The dog growled quietly, retreating to the other side of the room. For one moment, only the cracking of the firewood could be heard. Then the leader broke the silence with deep, hoarse voice, not loud, but threatening.

"Innkeeper, bring us the best you have! And mind you, that goat will not be enough!"

The frightened innkeeper tried to protest: "Gentlemen, you will wait a while, these, er, good people came before and... woman! Bring more meat!... excuse me, but..."

"One more unnecessary word and you will never talk again," said the leader of the group. The man beside him pulled out his knife. The fat man's face was covered with sweat. For the moment, it seemed he'll back out, but his pride was hurt and it overcame the fear. "You can't do this, gentleman," said he, stuttering, "my house has rules and..."

Arios and Orin exchanged looks. It was clear that the innkeeper's rebellion will not be forgiven. The man misjudged the situation, or had too much confidence in the other guests. In his life, the prince has spent many a night in the similar town inns and he saw enough of the bullies. Their behaviour was easy to predict. If no one stood in his defence, the innkeeper was about to receive a lesson he will not forget.

From behind the back door, an older plump woman appeared, her face twisted with fear. The guests sitting at the near table turned to the gang.

The leader of the gang rose slowly from his chair. "When a slave refuses the will of the master, " said he in the same quiet, threatening voice, "there's no other choice."

The innkeeper tried to step back.

"Now..." whispered Arios.

The brutality and the speed of what happened the next few moments petrified all the witnesses. Moving like a snake, the rogue pulled his knife from the belt and in the same, unbroken motion, buried it under the chin of the unfortunate man, piercing his jaws to the brain. The cracking of the bones, short gurgling sound, and the fall of the heavy body on the floor followed. The rogue leered maliciously, looking at the others. Then he kneeled to the body and took out the knife from the dead man's head. Other brigands seemed ready to jump at anyone who moves.

The murderer calmly wiped his weapon on his trousers and sheathed it back at the belt.

"Gentlemen", said he in a voice mocking that of the innkeeper, "I'm afraid you'll soon get used to the swift executions of justice. A new time is coming, a time without mercy for disobedient slaves."

The innkeeper's wife recovered from the first shock and, screaming loudly, ran to the lifeless body, but the rogue pushed her on the hearth fire. The barbecue fell, and the woman rolled from the fire, still screaming.

It was the drop that spilled the glass for Orin.

"Wait!" hissed the sorcerer, whose sense told him not to act, but it was too late. Pushing his chair aside, the prince unsheathed his long sword and cried something unintelligible. The nearest brigand jumped in front of his leader and the blade of the sword drove right in his temple. In the moment the lifeless body touched the ground, Orin retreated two steps, crouching in the fighting stance. The other four brigands rushed on him, shouting wildly. They averted their attention completely from the sorcerer at the table, which proved to be a fatal error. Arios extended his leg and the nearest brigand tripped over it. In a second, the sorcerer's knee was on the man's neck, breaking the spine. In the meantime, Orin's sword put an end to another of the attackers. This stopped the leader and the other surviving brigand. "Let's go!" he roared. "You'll regret this, before three sunsets come to pass!"

They ran out from the inn and disappeared in the dark.

Orin was standing, breathing with effort. Sweat was streaming on his face. The stench of the blood filled the room. People were still sitting at the table, without a word. The innkeeper's wife, burned only lightly, wailed over the dead body of her husband.

Arios slowly rose from the floor. "This isn't good," said he.

"I know," said Orin, his breathing deeper. "We shouldn't have let them run away. They weren't alone, that's for sure."

"Advance guard," one of the guests spoke for the first time. "They are only advance guard. They'll return with the reinforcements and level the whole village."

Arios looked at him. "You're right."

"All of you should be fleeing this place. It seems the war got here before we thought it would."

"This was only a scouting party," said Orin, cleaning his sword before he returned it in the scabbard.

"It would be best if you go right now," said the man. "They'll look especially for you."

"We can't go further in the dark. The forest is ahead," said the sorcerer. "It would be even more dangerous. Best if we go early, before the dawn."

"You go straight through the forest," said the man, rising. "Maybe they wouldn't dare to go that way. The forest is rather strange, especially to some people," said he mysteriously.

"And I would like to say, I think, for all of us - what you did wasn't very smart, but... it's good someone showed them it won't be as easy as they thought it would. We are peaceful people; we could never stand up against them. Thank you, gentlemen, no matter what happens after."

"It was our pleasure," said Orin, "although it was over too soon".

"Ha!" said Arios. "It seems to me it would be more of it than you could desire. I'm not really looking forward to the near future."

"I'm not expecting you to," answered Orin. "When will you show some optimism?"

"I think we should go right now," he continued. "They could return this night. I would if I were in their place."

"I'm too tired," said Arios, "and you aren't in much better shape. I think we should sleep for at least few hours. They are sure of themselves. I don't think they'll return so soon."

"What do you know about them? We don't know who they are, how many men they have. All we know is that they are extremely dangerous. We better move off their way." Orin felt a strong urge to leave this place. The need for sleep, however, was stronger. After a short arguing they decided to stay and rest for three hours, and then continue their journey through the forest.

Arios was roused abruptly from his dreamless sleep, awaken by the stirring in the room. Orin was trying to defend himself from the several dark figures, so much he realized from the groaning, the curses, the strikes and the kicks which were exchanged. The sorcerer jumped to help his friend, but a brutal hit to the head stopped him. After that, there was only emptiness.

This time, awakening was painful and difficult. First, he heard voices. Then he realized he was lying on the back of some big animal, which smelled unpleasantly, unusually, and whose moving was slow. His arms were tied tightly on his back, completely stiffened, so he couldn't feel his hands. He opened his eyes. The first morning light was beginning to break through the dusk of the forest. A bird could be heard from time to time, high in the treetops. The fresh scent of the wet ground and leaves woke his senses completely. He managed to turn his head from the body of the animal, trying to see something.

The column of about ten brigands mounted on their strange animals was moving silently along the narrow forest path. Looking upside down, it was hard to see clearly, but the creatures looked like some crossbreeds of the longhaired wolves and short mountain horses. Their great jaws were filled with long, sharp teeth, and the small, vicious eyes were covered with the long fur. The animals probably were equally useful for fighting as they were for riding. Their riders looked like the last night's visitors in the inn - rough leather suits, filthy hair, armed to their teeth with blades and bludgeons. There was no doubt who their captors were.

In front of Arios, the prince was in an equally uncomfortable position. He was also awake, and noticed the sorcerer was looking at him.

"Good morning," he uttered through his teeth. "Remind me never to listen to your advice again."

Arios shook his head helplessly.

One of the brigands was walking beside the prisoners, and he noticed the conversation.

"Silence!" hissed he, hitting Orin's face with his fist.

The party was following the path meandering through the forest, on their way north. No one was speaking. There was a strong feeling of tension in the air. They walked for a whole day, stopping shortly only for two times to eat and rest. The brigands listened to the sounds of the forest, trying to see through the semidarkness of the trees. The prisoners were left hanging on the backs of the animals for the whole time, and they didn't give them any food.

These people are afraid of something, both of them realized. That thought eased their suffering a little. They did not dare to think about the reasons which led their captors to spare them and take them along. The image of the unfortunate man-demon from the village was still too vivid in their minds.

As soon as Arios woke, the brigands tied a cloth over his mouth. Somehow, they knew about the sorcerer's powers. Of course, they couldn't stop him from sensing the spiritual presence in the woods, probably the same that caused the feeling of unease among the brigands. It was ominous, threatening, but somehow deep and wide, like it emanated from the very roots of the enormous trees that towered over them. Besides, it filled him with a feeling of safety and peace, despite the hard situation in which he found himself. He was wondering if Orin could sense at least something of that "spirit of the forest".

There was another presence, but narrow and much smaller, evil and dangerous, connected with the brigands - like it was controlling their behaviour. Somewhere in the vicinity there is a black sorcerer, came the flash of realization. He is the real leader of these people, which would have torn us apart if they were alone. There is a great possibility we will become a gift for some of their demons.

That thought caused a knot of fear in his stomach. We must run away, until it's too late.

It was clear that the brigands belonged to the army from the north. There probably were many raiding parties such as this, sent out to spread fear among the people, to burn and murder, making it easier for the rest of the legions to triumph over any army this land could raise.

During the day, his consciousness wandered several times in the darkness, tortured by the pains he felt in his whole body. In those moments, the feeling of the spiritual presence was strongest, almost like that day in the mountain temple, when, fleeing from the demon, his spirit was lost in the unknown, and found a solace there.

Be still, something was telling him, the moment is not here yet.

When the evening came, he almost couldn't feel his body any more, but the hope didn't left him.

Orin was enraged, mainly at himself, because he was captured so easy, almost without a fight, by these miserable excuses for human beings. The bruise on his face reminded him painfully, constantly, of its presence. After he got a punch, he had not tried to speak with the sorcerer again. He kept silence, gathering the hate inside, waiting for the opportunity to express it on their captors. But, of course, there was no such opportunity. They were riding almost without rest, the whole day, slowly and silently, like they did not want to rouse the forest. It was obvious that they felt unease, and it gave him courage. They needed to make their escape while still in these shades, or it would be too late. He had not had any doubt that they spared them because there was something much worse than the death awaiting them in the future. If only he could free his hands and reach the sword which hung from the belt of the gang leader...

For now, however, he was able only to wait, suffering the pains, which were getting stronger.

In the twilight, after some twenty hours of riding, the column finally stopped. The fatigue overwhelmed their need to get away from that place. They took down the equipment from the animals and built the campsite. The prisoners were brutally thrown down to the ground, still tied, still hungry and thirsty. No one thought about feeding them. For some time, the people were sitting in the circle, eating dried food, speaking quietly. They did not light a bonfire. The wolf-horses were lying around them, devouring the meat their masters were tossing them. From time to time, the brigands laughed maliciously, and someone would throw a look at the prisoners, which were lying behind.

"How are you?" asked Orin quietly, and then remembered that sorcerer's mouth is gagged.

Arios mumbled something.

"So, better than me, it seems," stated the prince ironically.

"I can't get free," continued Orin. "If only I could..."

"Silence, slaves!" shouted the leader of the party. He rose and ran to the men lying on the ground. He was about to kick Orin in the head, but in that moment came a quiet, deep voice from the forest.

"Stop! The prisoners must be alive!" Orin slowly raised his head to look at the place from which the voice came. In the darkness, nothing could be seen, but he could have sworn he could feel some evil presence, powerful and dark. The black sorcerer, a thought came.

The dark shadow came near the brigands, which fell silent abruptly.

"For the Ritual of the embodiment, the bodies must be alive!" hissed he, "Or I will use one of you!"

The men bowed their heads, frightened. The sorcerer approached the prisoners. He was wearing a black cloak with the hood, under which his face couldn't be seen, if there was a face at all.

"Strong, strong bodies," murmured he for himself. "Masters will be satisfied, very satisfied." Orin's fear blocked his ability to speak.

Arios' face was covered in sweat. From under the black hood, quiet, hissing sound came, hard breathing.

In that moment, the sorcerer suddenly straightened himself in full height.

"Wait! Danger!"

In split second, men jumped, pulling out their weapons. There was a scream among them. One of the brigands fell on the ground, his legs twitching. The wolf-horses growled wildly, running to the woods. From the shadow, a swarm of glistening arrows came, burying in the bodies of the panicked brigands.

"This is it!" thought Arios, although he was not so sure about what was happening, and who the invisible attackers were. He knew only that the salvation was finally here.

The black sorcerer shouted several words of power into the night, followed by ritual gestures, but in the next moment, he was filled with arrows. He cried sharply, fell on the ground and stayed there, unmoving.

The rest of the party was also dead. The howling of the animals stopped, too. The forest went silent again.

Then, some invisible hands lifted the two friends up. They felt someone was carrying them with great speed, avoiding the big trees with unbelievable skill. They were not sure if they were still in their own reality, or their whole world turned to a landscape from a weird dream.

The time flow stopped. They were standing free, without pains, in an enormous hall whose walls were giant trees, and the ceiling green treetops, and it was day, and gentle light filled every corner, coming from nowhere. A pleasant, quiet melody was played on some string instrument, or maybe a flute. It was hard to focus the attention to anything; the details were lost when they tried to look at them carefully. In the middle of the hall there was a high throne, or maybe just a common trunk of some old tree, and an unusual man was sitting on it.

"This is elf land!", a thought come to Arios, "The elves saved us!"

The elven king raised his head slowly. His long face looked airy, pale, fragile and without wrinkles; but his eyes emanated firmness and wisdom of age. His clothes evaded any attempt to be defined, like all other things in this unearthly hall. On his head there was a shining ornament which made them difficult to see much more of the man's face; or it seemed to be so. When he spoke, his voice sounded like it was coming from a great distance, yet it was clear and strong.

"You come in this land like harbingers of evil times, strangers," he said. "People didn't stray into our forests, not without a great need. No one could hunt the wild animals and kill the trees without the permission of the elven people. Now, there are many who walk through our forests, not afraid of our laws. The legions from the north drove them here, they said. Their fear is stronger than the respect for our laws. They're killing the trees thousands of years old. They're stealing the very sources of our strength. They are driving us out from our realm. But, not long ago, a word came from the Upper Realms. A man will come, from far south. He'll bring back hope for the dying land."

He sighed heavily.

"My heart is old," continued he, "but it's still capable of hope. Maybe one of you is that man. Maybe not. It doesn't matter. Our power reaches to the borders of these forests. Beyond them, we can't help you. Our strength comes from the deepest roots of the trees, and exists as long as they're alive."

Arios' mind was full of questions, but he was not able to single out any of them from the confusion. Finally, he stuttered: "What are the Upper Realms?"

The sound of his own voice, coming from distance, cold and alienated, surprised him. Orin was looking straight, his eyes focused, not seeing a thing. The sorcerer's voice brought him back from trance.

The elven king smiled sadly.

"Long ago, our kind was often visiting the Upper Realms. We were strong; our thoughts carried us freely to the places most people cannot reach. The Upper Realms are a place where only one truth exists. Our world is but a copy of that world, pale imitation, and imperfect in its weakness. Those who still travel there are few. And for the mortals, it became unreachable a long time ago. But it doesn't interest you; you are only desperate trespassers..." His head began to follow the rhythm of the melody which was filling the hall. Their music is sad beyond comprehension, thought Arios. They are disappearing.

"My brother is losing his hope" a new voice spoke then.

From behind the king, like out of the mist, a new figure appeared, tall, with long black hair and beard, wearing a black cloak. The strange elven feeling emanated from him, too, but Arios was somehow sure he was a human being.

"But I know we still do have a choice," said he. "We can wait peacefully for the darkness from the north to devour us, or face it and leave this world with dignity."

"Who are you?" asked Orin suddenly.

"You are a warrior," stated the man in black, not trying to answer Orin's question. "I can read in your heart that you yearn for battles and glory. I'm offering you a chance to fulfil your wish - the greatest battle in the history of Ledonia, and glory which will last to the end of our world. Which will come much sooner than we would like, I'm afraid," he smiled sadly, stepping forward.

"The reward will be worthy of a warrior – an honourable death in the battle against an enemy hundred times stronger and the impossible odds. Much better than that which awaits us if we try to skulk, that's for sure. I'm offering you a place in the first ranks of the army of King Seton of Ledonia, in the battle against all the demons from hell coming from the north! Accept the offer if you're a warrior!"

The elven king was sitting unmoving, looking at the two friends.

Silence descended on the forest-hall. The invisible musicians stopped their playing.

"You are...?" started Orin.

"Yes," said the man in black, with sardonic smile, "I am Seton, the king of this land of peasants, half-brother of the King of Elves, commander of the Army Without Hope, a condemned man whose days are numbered, just as the days of the world are numbered."

"We search for the way to the Dragon Rock," interrupted Arios, "maybe we'll find salvation there. Maybe we'll be more useful that way than with the sword in hand."

"Speak for yourself!" flared Orin, rather impressed by the king's speech. "The Dragon Rock is but a dream! I was stupid when I thought I could reach it! It doesn't even exist! It was an apparition, which served to bring me here! My real destiny lies in this war. I am Orin ar den Raamternan, son of Argen, king of the Plain Countries, only heir to the throne! I learned strategy from the best war leaders of the Plain Countries. Maybe we can prevail at the end!"

"Oh, royal blood flows through the veins of our unusual visitor!" Seton smiled. "I must treat you with due respect. Your Majesty?" said he ironically.

Orin didn't have any comment on king's jesting, and Seton became serious again.

"If we were fighting an ordinary enemy, I would never give up the hope, no matter how much stronger he is. But, now..."

"Doesn't matter!" shouted the prince. "You can count on my sword, King Seton. And also on some abilities of my companion! He is maybe reluctant, and needs some persuasion, but I'm telling you, he's a great sorcerer and his magic could help us to win!"

From the moment Arios mentioned the Dragon Rock, the face of the elven king became thoughtful. When Orin finished with his speech, he silenced Seton with a wave of his hand, and spoke to Arios.

"You're searching for the Dragon Rock, you said? Maybe you are the one mentioned in the prophecy!"

"I don't feel so," said Arios. "My powers aren't so great, really. Besides, I don't know what we are searching for, nor how do we get there. The Rock can be seen in the distance, higher than any other mountain, and eludes us from the beginning. In fact, we are completely lost."

"Do you know what the Dragon Rock is?" said the king.

"It's the border of the worlds. People can see it, but no one could find it. People usually don't know where to find the things they are yearning for. They pursue their vision, thinking they'll find it if they walk long enough, if they suffer enough. Why? Because they are expecting a reward for their efforts. They think they can buy power, glory, immortality - but the laws of human hearts don't rule the Upper Realms. Those who find them learn that lesson."

"But, how do I get there, then?" asked Arios.

"There are many ways," answered the king, "and each man must find his own way. I cannot help you."

"Strange are the ways to the Upper Realms," concluded Seton. "But, we proved to be inadequate hosts! We torture our guests with questions and riddles, without offering them any refreshment. Join us in our last feast!"

The king waved his hand and suddenly, like in a dream, the hall was filled with long tables covered with best food, and elven folk gathered, drinking from golden cups, toasting each other and their king. The air was filled with music again, slender elven girls in white dresses were dancing magical dances, their feet not touching the ground, and everything was decorated with many-coloured flowers which grew from the tree-trunks, emanating sweet fragrances. The king was sitting on the throne in the middle of the hall, watching his court with sad eyes, while his half-brother, seated by his right side, emptied cup after cup of sweet wine.

"My last feast!" he shouted. "I don't want to be sober at its end!"

The forest warriors, dressed in green and brown clothes, demonstrated their skill of shooting with bows and arrows, followed by the cheers of the audience. Orin and Arios watched in astonishment how slim arrows passed through columns of rings at the distance of dozens of feet, how they sliced the strawberries thrown in the air, and punctured through the thick oak boards. Then, seemingly from nowhere, came jugglers and acrobats, elven poets and bards, and it seemed to the two friends the feast will go on forever. For the moment, they forgot the dreary reality which waited for them out there, in the world, and they surrendered to the wine and the music, and their hearts were filled with strange joy.

## Chapter 11. The Army without hope

The next morning was troubled and gloomy, like a thought of death. They woke on the meadow in the middle of the forest, surrounded with tall oaks. A light breeze stirred the old branches, and the rustling of the leaves was the only music. Of the elven court, there was no trace. The day drove the magic away, and the events of the last night seemed now like a fading dream to the two friends. Only through the presence of the king of Ledonia the dream and the solid world were connected. In the daylight, it was visible that the half-elven was much older than it seemed last night. The long black hair was sprinkled with shades of grey, and his forehead was furrowed with deep wrinkles. The weight of age covered the gifts of the elven blood.

"We need to return to the castle," he stated.

They mounted the tall black horses which were waiting not far from them. "A gift from my brother," explained the king.

"His people will follow us to the edge of the forest. My escort from the castle awaits us there. The elven people would be an excellent ally in war," he said, "but their power doesn't reach beyond the last trees. Without forest, they die. My blood is half elven, so I always return here. The forest has tough roots. Without it, there's no life for its dwellers."

The sorcerer never rode a horse until now, but the animal was intelligent and well trained, and it patiently endured the inexperience of its rider.

The journey through the forest went quietly. Riding the narrow forest path, the companions caught just the glimpses of movement among the trees, a rustling of leaves not caused by the wind.

On the edge of the forest, a company of ten strong, well-armed soldiers awaited them. They were dressed in solid armour made of leather and bronze, and on their heads they wore helmets decorated with horse tails. Their rough faces were covered with long, thick beards.

"The royal guards," said Seton. "Mercenaries gathered from all sides of the world, searching for fortune or death. I'm offering them the latter, probably."

After the greetings for the king, the small company went northward, to the Forest Castle, the capital of Seton the Third. The landscape they were moving through was inhabited, but the fields were barren, and the doors and windows of the houses were closed. The thudding of the horseshoes on the dusty road was the only sound, which only deepened the silence.

A thick blackness appeared on the north, hiding the Dragon Rock from the horizon.

"An illusion!" said Orin bitterly. "And you knew all the time what a fool I was! You knew we'll never reach the goal!"

"I didn't know it." Arios was calm. "I don't like to predict anything. I knew only one thing from the beginning - that I must follow you on your way, wherever it may end. That feeling never left me, although I couldn't explain it. Maybe we are dolls on somebody's string after all, don't you think so?"

"Maybe. Maybe somebody's directing this whole game. And maybe everything that happened was just a pure coincidence, nothing else, just a concurrence of bad luck. A mad prince has had a wish for the ultimate power which he planned to gain in some non-existing place, he ran into a sorcerer even crazier than himself, and here they are now, riding into a certain death, their dream gone without a trace. But, damn it, life would be much easier if we could know there is some meaning in everything."

Orin spurred his horse trying to catch up with the King, who rode on the head of the column.

"I'm going to consider some military issues with him!" shouted he to Arios.

Finally, the moment you waited for a long time is close, thought Arios, looking at the prince. A great battle against the forces of evil, in which you are playing one of the leading roles.

He smiled ironically.

But, you still don't believe you can die, not really. All this looks like an adventure to you, adventure you can walk away from when it starts to bore you, or turns to be too serious. You went through countless perils, together with me, and you learned nothing. And what's most amazing, that is your greatest power. Unlike me, you never think of giving up.

Unaware that the sorcerer was looking at him, Orin rode to the King, who was talking to the captain of the guard. When he reached them, Seton spoke to him: "This is Lao-Min, the leader of the mercenaries from the east, and the captain of my guard in these troubled times. His hundred horsemen are the backbone of my army."

The man was tall and strong, his face covered partly with a metal visor, partly with a thick, black beard. A long, curved sabre was attached to his belt, the same kind which Orin's teachers from the east used to wear. He rode a powerful charger, black, with armoured thighs, which carried his weight with ease.

"In the whole world you'll not find their likes, young man!" shouted the tall warrior, swinging his arm. "They are ready to confront all the devils from the depths of hell! Are you worthy to ride with us?"

On some other occasion, Orin would be insulted with the question, but Lao-Min's voice was good-natured, and his eyes friendly.

"That question will be answered at the battlefield," answered Orin with a smile. "But, would you mind introducing me to your strategy, and the odds we are facing? What are we fighting against, in fact?"

"Ha!" exclaimed the captain. "If we knew that, half of the victory would be in our hands!"

"I've heard various rumours," said the prince.

"Most of it is true." Seton interrupted the conversation, darkness in his voice. "At the head of the conqueror army rides the terrible Lord of Doom, a creature whose face no one saw and lived to talk about it. They say his black sorcerers are summoning the demons which were forbidden to enter this plane from the dawn of time. And his army is composed of the worst human scum ever born on the world, and many other horrible things, things without name."

"I know," said the prince gloomily. "We had the privilege of meeting some of them."

"They have our number of soldiers many times over," continued the king. "Ledonia is a peaceful country; the last wars were fought over a century ago. My army is small and without experience. Most of it consists of peasants who decided for themselves that it's better to confront the enemy than to hide until they've been driven out from their holes and slaughtered."

"How many warriors does your army have?" asked Orin.

"Ah, hundred times fifty," shouted Lao-Min, answering for the king. "And the number of our enemies isn't known to us. But we know he blackened the northern wastes with his hosts! Good odds! Ha!" he spitted in despise. "It doesn't matter! In the right moment, every soldier of our army will be worthy fifty of these wretches!"

"Lao-Min believes in victory, sometimes," said Seton with a smile. "That's something I like about him."

"My king, wise old men said: Never fight with thoughts of victory or defeat. Think only of your actions and the actions of your enemy and the gods shall decide which of you they shall take to themselves!" said the warrior.

"One could only wish it were so easy," answered the king.

"Ah, but it is! I don't know anything else, and here I am - and my enemies are worm-food!"

"Enough joking," interrupted the king. "I would rather have you explain the battle plan to our friend. Let's see where he could fit in. You told us you've learned strategy, didn't you?" he asked Orin.

"The best war leaders of the Plain Countries were my teachers. I studied the ancient battles, and led armies in the annual War games in my father's country. I also led parties against brigands in our forests. But I never took part in a real war. Plain Countries have kept peace for a long time."

"Doesn't matter," said Lao-Min. "Our strategy is this: Ledonia is separated from the northern wastes by enormous, deep Gray River, which flows from distant western countries and runs far to the east. It's impossible to get across it at any place, except one crossing which connects us with the north."

"We used to trade with the northern tribes," explained the king. "Forest Castle was built near that road, several hours ride southward from the river ford. Unfortunately, the enemy is now at our threshold."

"I understand," said Orin.

"Our army is positioned on this side of the Grey River," continued the warrior. "The last few days, scouts bring us news about the massing of the enemy troops. It's only matter of moments when they'll try to get across the river. Some of their scouts have already succeeded to come behind our backs. Our only chance lays in stopping them on their side. We cannot allow the main body of their host to cross over. Then, they will really be unstoppable."

"How do you plan to accomplish that?" asked the prince.

"Two thousand archers have been deployed on the surrounding hills. When the enemy starts with crossing, they'll be confronted with swarms of our arrows. Those who succeed in reaching our side will be met by thousand of our pikemen who will push them back into river. Our advantage is steep river bank. Besides, there are two hundred elite warriors, mercenaries like us, whose duty is to solve any difficult situation which could arise on the battlefield. Fifteen hundred men-at-arms will guard the flanks of the cavalry, and in the rear, we'll have five hundred swordsmen waiting as reinforcement. They also have the task to overview the whole area and to prevent any attempt of the enemy to get behind our backs."

"The plan seems good, but couldn't they prevail by sheer number?" frowned Orin.

"I say to you, young man," said Seton, "it's not their numbers we're afraid of. It's their nature. Even if half of the rumours from the north were lies, the remaining truth is terrible enough."

"Maybe," said Orin.

They rode slowly the whole day, stopping only once to rest and refresh. They raised a small camp near the few birch trees, and started preparing the meal. Later, the prince confronted the king's guards in several mock-fights. Lao-Min was the most skilled of them, but it turned out that Orin's last teacher was much better than the prince thought. And much more famous.

Catching his breath after many exchanged strokes, the tall captain of the guard lifted his hand, seeking truce.

"There is much more about you than it seems, lad," said he to the prince, who was smiling. "I could almost swear that one old friend of mine gave you lessons, but he disappeared without a trace many years ago. Some of your moves reminded me of him." He was breathing deeply.

"Ha!" uttered Orin, "And would the name of that man be Keol?"

"By all gods of war, I was right!" shouted Lao-Min in surprise. "Keol! But, where did you meet him? Where did he go?"

"We met in the south, in the Blue Mountains. We travelled together for some time, fighting side by side. I've learned a lot from him. He was really a great swordsman..."

"Was?"

"Was." Orin's face darkened. "He was killed in a stupid struggle with the Eagle men, misled by lies. Ah, it's a sad story. I don't want to talk about it."

"Keol dead!" exclaimed Lao-Min, stunned. "I didn't think the old weasel could be killed. He was too smart for it. What battles we fought together, and went through without a scratch!"

"But, he didn't worry," stated Arios, who was standing nearby, watching the fight.

"What do you mean?" asked the mercenary.

"I mean he didn't care too much whether he lives or dies."

"Yes, he was too nonchalant." admitted Lao-Min. "But, if we had several such warriors to lead our army, our chances would be much bigger!"

"But, we have his last apprentice!" laughed the sorcerer.

"Even that's worth something!" added Lao-Min.

The mercenaries gathered around the two fighters, commenting the duel loudly. They were short-tempered men, and kept together, all but one. A short man with dark face and black hair was sitting under one of the birches, seeming uninterested in the events in the camp. His look was focused at something in the distance. He had two curved swords in black scabbards at his belt, one long, one short.

"Who's that man?" Arios asked Seton who was sitting on a low wooden folding chair, watching his soldiers practicing. "There, under the birch?"

The king looked away from the combatants.

"That one? No one knows. He came few months ago and requested to enter into my service. His behaviour was always irreproachable, but he never said more than it was necessary. I don't know myself why I took him into my personal guard. No one ever saw him drawing his swords out from the scabbard. Ha, they may be made of wood," he smiled. "He doesn't hang out with the others. He said he had no name. That's why they call him by many names, most of them not very pleasant. My men are rough a bit when it comes to humour."

"And if I go to talk to him?" asked Orin, who gave up any further fighting and was sitting by the sorcerer. "Maybe he's a spy."

"I don't think so..." started Arios, but Orin was already on his way to the strange warrior.

He approached slowly and sat down, looking at the distance.

"It's hot today, isn't it?" said he. "The air is stuffy before the storm."

The man looked at him, a trace of smile on his lips.

"Yes", said he. "And on the stuffy days mosquitoes are especially boring to the weary men."

"What?" Orin was confused, but he continued. "I wanted to ask you, where do you come from? I never saw such swords. They look somehow thin, like they would break with the first hard strike."

"Exactly," said the warrior, still looking at the branches on the birch, waving gently on the breeze.

The prince was embarrassed, not knowing how to continue the conversation. Then Arios sat near them.

"Your country lies much more to the east from Otram. I think I've heard stories about it."

The man looked at him, but said nothing.

"Why didn't you practice with others?" asked Orin.

"My practice is different," said the warrior.

"Our teachers have a saying - practice saves life. You cannot leave everything to luck." continued Orin.

"The goal of the fight isn't to save one's life." answered the warrior. "He who wants to save his life must lay down the weapons."

"Are you saying you actually want to die?"

"No. I don't want anything. I simply act. In the life of a warrior, only action exists. No wishes."

"It's a strange philosophy," said Orin, confused.

The warrior smiled and said: "If one wants to do his duty properly, one must die before. Only a dead man can lead a proper life."

"I don't understand," sighed Orin.

"It's quite simple", said the man, "but it can't be understood."

"I give up this conversation," said Orin, rising. On the other side of the camp was the company he could communicate with. Arios looked at the man's dark face and smiled. The short warrior returned the smile.

"You've heard of my country?" asked he.

"I came here from the east, also." said Arios. "From the kingdom of Otram. And I've heard many stories, about a distant country, on the end of the world, where sun rises from the sea waves. A country where honour and rightness of a man are much worthier than his life."

"And where beauty is honoured above all else," added the warrior. "Yes, that was my country."

"Why did you left?" asked the sorcerer.

"It's a long story." said the man, and then continued. "But, in short, I was the first warrior of my master. It's a very high position in our society. It brings many enemies and false friends on one's way. The latter convinced the master in my betrayal. As a punishment, he condemned my whole family to death, and asked me to take my own life in public, which would be a right thing to do, but I didn't want to give my 'friends' the satisfaction of a complete victory. I left the country and my name behind me, and became a nameless mercenary. I was sure I would return and take revenge on my enemies. But, bad luck drove me too far. Now, I'm here. I haven't found the revenge, but ahead of me there is honourable death in a great battle. It seems I was lucky, after all," he smiled bitterly.

"Yes," said Arios, lost in thoughts. "The battle we are awaiting will be remembered until the end of time, no matter who wins." He was confused with the man's indifference. It's something I always lacked, thought he. I always pretended, fooling myself that I don't mind what's happening. In fact, I never did lose hope that something will change and that I'll be able to live my life again. That is why I'm here now. It serves me right.

"Our army cannot win," said the warrior with conviction.

"You don't think we have a slightest chance?" Arios was aware of that fact, but tried to avoid thinking about it. "I know you're right. But we human beings are made that way. We never lose hope completely. That's what keeps us going."

"I don't live. I don't need hope." said the warrior quietly, and added:

"The blooms have

Fallen from branches

In my orchard, long ago."

Arios was silent.

After a while, they resumed their journey. There was only a few hours' ride to the castle. Seton was reckless, deciding to continue even after the sunset. Soon, only the weak moonshine was casting light on the road. The small party moved carefully through the night.

Suddenly, Arios felt the presence of a stranger's mind ahead. The night was not empty any more. Someone was in front of them, working on the complex magical incantations. A black sorcerer! Arios pulled his horse's reins strongly. "Stop!" shouted he. "Ambush!"

The terrain they were passing through was plain, without advantages for setting the ambush. As far as they could see, there was no one in the darkness.

Seton turned in surprise.

"What are you talking about, sorcerer?"

The mercenaries stopped their horses, turning around carefully.

Arios did not hear the question. His mind struggled to break the illusion of the invisibility which surrounded the attackers. After a few long moments, from the darkness ahead, a cry of pain came. Then, just fifty paces from them, a host of berserkers, armed with axes and swords, riding on the wolf-horses emerged out of nowhere, charging at the confused king's escort. From the throats of the attackers, many of which certainly were not human, terrible war-cries came, striking at the defenders before the rusty blades.

"Battle formation!" the loud Lao-Min's command could be heard. The old mercenary did not loose his head. Ten horsemen prepared for the onslaught. In a few moments, the enemy will be on them. The tension and fear were almost tangible in the hot night's air. The horses jumped restlessly, in fear of the scent of the attacker's beasts. Suddenly, everyone felt a strange exhaustion and fear. The enemy is much stronger, the confrontation is meaningless. It is best for us to surrender, they want only the king, the rest of us will be spared... the swords began to lower. Weakness and despair was visible on everyone's face.

Orin, realizing what's happening, used the last remains of his will and shouted:

"Magic! Lie! Fight!". Then he fell from the horse. He couldn't move, like in a nightmare, completely aware of the terrible danger, which was closing on him very fast.

Arios was struggling to bind the strong mind of the black sorcerer who gave up the invisibility spell and was trying to destroy the will of the guards. After several difficult moments, the will of the necromancer started to crumble. The howling of the attackers was out-shouted by the disgusting shriek that came from the figure in black, which was sitting on an enormous horse. The black sorcerer clutched his head, and then fell on the ground. The swords in the hands of the defenders rose again, just in the moment of the encounter with the attackers. The steel rang through the night, sound more piercing than the yelling and screaming of combatants. The first wave of the attackers fell down, slaughtered, too weak for the enraged mercenaries. Two horses fell on their backs, mortally wounded, dragging their riders with them. Both of the unfortunate soldiers were under several enemies at once, and their screams abruptly stopped.

The wild wolf-horses without riders attacked everything that moved, including their own masters if they were close enough.

Arios stood in the rear, exhausted, trying to gather his strength to help the guards.

Seton wielded his sword with great power, preventing his opponents from reaching him. Lao-Min was fighting two of the wolf-riders. In a split second, the head of the first man flew through the air, and the general's horse fell under the sharp claws of the beasts. However, the old warrior landed on his feet, and extended his sword instinctively. The wolf roared, skewered, and the sword flew from his heart to the belly of the second rider who was trying to hit Lao-Min with the axe. The next moment, he was dead, and Lao-Min went in search of another foe to kill.

The stench of the spilled animal and human guts filled the night. Orin jumped on his feet, while the last traces of the evil spells evaporated from his head. A black-faced creature with long, sharp teeth attacked him, trying to bite his neck. The prince swung his sword mechanically, and the monster fell, howling in pain. He tried to turn around and meet the next enemy charging at him, but a powerful axe stroke from the other side thrashed his sword out from his hand. An enormous man, two heads taller than the prince, raised his axe triumphantly. In that moment, Orin saw the dry face of the death in front of him. But the final strike never fell. Something flashed from the darkness, and the heavy hand holding the axe was severed from the body and falling on the ground. Then, the prince saw the smiling face of the short eastern warrior. Blood was dripping down his thin, elegant blade.

"Take the sword!" shouted he. At that moment, five big warriors attacked him simultaneously.

"Watch out!" cried Orin, because he did not had no time to do anything else. He could only stand and watch the man who just saved his life losing his own. But, that didn't happen. The nameless warrior moved with ease, and the blade of his sword was the extension of his thoughts. First of the men was cut in half, not knowing what befell him, and the others had time only for one strike, which missed, because the short man was not there any more. In only few seconds, all of them were dying, or dead.

"Impossible!" whispered the prince, frozen, but the time for thinking was short, because the enemy still had more men, and they fought with wild abandon.

The rusty blades cut down three more guards, but at that moment there were only five attackers left. They stopped their charge, and stood silently, watching their would-be victims carefully. Seton was still on his horse.

"Let's finish it," said he hoarsely, and spurred his horse forward, toward the wild faces, now shaken with fear.

Silently, the mercenaries followed their king.

However, not far away, the black figure was slowly rising from the ground. The sorcerer lifted his arms and uttered the words of power, in deep voice, speaking in an evil language, which was not known to common people. He began to grow, swelling to a size three times his own. The black robe was stripped. The guards stopped, watching in awe. A large black beast on two muscular legs, with powerful jaws filled with sharp teeth, roared in challenge and moved toward them. The wild men went several steps aside.

"Sorcerer, help us!" cried Seton, forgetting his position and courage.

The monster grabbed swiftly the nearest horse which was trying to run away, lifted it off the ground, and tore it apart in one motion.

Arios was paralyzed, watching the display of wild strength. The transformation of the black sorcerer was not an illusion. Behind his power, a much larger and stronger power stood, a power that was hard to confront. The king's warriors could not overcome the beast. His magic had already failed once before in the confrontation with the demon from the village. His only chance was the word which he uttered only once, a long time ago, in Otram, and swore he will never use it again. His spirit was not strong enough then to control the destruction which was released. Would it be different now? Would it be strong enough, thrown against the power of the demon? Every second of delaying the decision could be fatal. There was a time for think and a time to act. Now, it was time to act. Later, if they survive, there will be enough time to think about the consequences. If not, then it's not important.

"Arios, help!" Orin was shouting. The men were in panic.

He turned from the horrible view and fell on his knees. A spell of power rose from the dungeons of his memory, erasing all other thoughts. He rose and faced the enemy. The creature roared again, sensing the direction of the real danger, and went for the small man which stood in front of it.

The word of power, spoken in an ancient language of magic, filled the space. Arios pointed his finger toward the beast. Men fell to the ground. The monster stepped forward, howling, intending to crush the worm who dared to oppose him. The sorcerer stood unmoving, looking straight into the glowing red eyes. Suddenly, the creature shuddered, and started to shake. In some incomprehensible language, its voice thundering, it called its master, craving for help. But there was no answer. Small flames emerged on the muscular body, and then it became a huge living torch, which fell on the ground, still howling. Magical fire scorched the body in a minute. The remains of the wild bunch watched in horror the death of their leader, and then they scattered, disappearing in the darkness. No one went to hunt them. The king's guards were still paralyzed with fear.

Arios stood still. The fear in his mind retreated slowly, realizing that the magic worked, and he was strong enough to control it before it continued to consume everything around. The word of power was under his command. Does it mean he will be able to oppose the whole army with it?

Orin noticed the broad smile on the face of the sorcerer, who watched the fire going out. He stood up, his legs still shaking, and leaning on his sword, approached Arios slowly.

"You did it!" exclaimed he. "You burned it!"

"Yes," said Arios. "And what's more important, I can control the spell."

"If you do this to Lord of Doom's army, our chances for victory will be much greater!"

Men gathered around the sorcerer, everyone talking at the same moment. The feeling of relief flowed through the night.

"You saved us." said Seton.

Lao-Min was more sober. "If this is the nature of just a small part of our enemies, then we are doomed," he was shaking his head, disbelieving what he saw.

"Arios wields great powers!" exclaimed Orin. "He can prevail! He can burn the whole army away!"

"Then we have nothing to be afraid of!" shouted someone.

"Why didn't you tell us before?"

"It could be a fine surprise for those devils!"

Arios walked away from the enthusiastic crowd, unnoticed. Optimism was not dominant in his thinking patterns. This time he has won, yes, but who can be sure it will be so the next time? He knew something no one else knew. When the black sorcerer transformed into a monster, his magic powers disappeared. Arios' opponent was an animal. Extremely dangerous, but just an animal.

"When a warrior underestimates his enemy, he makes the first step toward his grave," a quiet voice came. He turned around.

The little eastern warrior stood in the darkness, wiping the blood from his blade.

"If he overestimates himself, then, he makes the second step."

"How many steps does it take?" asked the sorcerer, smiling.

"It's the question of the length of the steps. In this case, two are enough."

"I understand," said Arios. "I haven't made them. But it seems I pushed these people in that direction," he pointed to the soldiers.

"But, it was not your fault. It was inevitable," said the warrior. "Victories are food for the human vanity. It's hard to resist."

"But you do. You're already dead."

"Only a dead man can be a good warrior." said the easterner, with a cold smile.

"As I see it, you're making a great effort to stay alive," said the sorcerer ironically.

The face of the man did not show any emotions.

"No," said he. "I'm trying to kill my opponents. This is the difference. This is the whole philosophy."

"Yes," said Arios. "This is the way of the warrior. One must kill all enemies, and to accomplish this, one must be already dead. Is there a place for living in this world? Or is life only a long, painful way to the death?"

The man looked at him and said: "Maybe, but between the two battles, how sweet is the song of the nightingale!"

He finished cleaning his blade, and sheathed it back in the scabbard.

"In fact, I wanted to thank you for saving our king. Without you, we would all be dead by now." He turned and went away, not waiting for an answer.

Soon after that, the rest of the company was ready to move. With some effort, they distributed the surviving horses, and got on their way, into the night.

## Chapter 12. The Forest Castle

The top of the Stone tower was the tallest part of the Forest Castle. Arios stood on the windy terrace, enclosed with the granite blocks. The last night's experience drained him more than he knew. When the escort reached the castle, he fell asleep, deeply, but without dreams, and woke early, in the spasm of fear that still held him.

A strong wind was blowing, giving rise to his own feeling of insecurity, which he tried to struggle against, but unsuccessfully. The granite wall was low, and the sorcerer, looking at the distance, unconsciously gripped the granite. The view was magnificent. To the south, green valleys stretched all the way to the far Blue Mountains, whose peaks seemed less real than the transparent white clouds above them.

"How peaceful it all seems, from up here," thought Arios. "From this point of view, all troubles look unreal, meaningless. If I have stayed on my mountain, this war, no matter how devastating, would have no meaning to me. And now... Well, what's done is done, and there's no turning back."

Now, only the thin silver line of the Grey River in the north separated Ledonia from the oncoming darkness. Unnatural dark clouds massed low over the northern lands, and the thick fog sheltered the legions of the Lord of Doom. The ford at which Seton's army waited was only a few hours of easy riding away, and Arios could recognize the king's forces, positioned on the hills. The main part of the army was already there. Orin was also there; after the sunrise, he rode away with the king's guard under the command of Lao-Min. The king himself commanded the last stages of the evacuation of his people from the town and the castle. No one had any hope that the castle could withstand a siege, in the case of the defeat at the river ford. Therefore, it was decided that all men unable to fight seek shelter in the depths of the forest. When everything was over, Seton III, followed by ten guards, will go to the Grey River, to greet the Lord of Doom properly.

The thudding of the horseshoes was slowly fading away, somewhere on the other side of the gloomy grey walls. Deep down, in the courtyard that used to swarm with life, an ominous silence was setting. The sorcerer was looking to the north, lost in dark thoughts, when a hoarse voice, coming from the stairway, roused him.

"Young man! Help me!"

He turned and saw an old man, trying to climb the last few high stairs with visible effort. "It took...me...long to get...up here." breathed he, while Arios extended his hand to help him. "I would like to talk to you."

"I don't mind talking," smiled the sorcerer. The old man was fat, his head bald, with a long, white beard. He was wrapped in a black robe, its white sleeve decorated with complex patterns. He exhaled few times, and seated on the stone.

"I haven't been here for years," uttered he. "Too high for me, too high."

"Everyone's talking about your yesterday's deed," he got to the point. "They say you burned the demon that attacked the king and his escort."

"It's true," said Arios quietly.

"You gave hope to the people."

"I'm afraid it's false." The sorcerer couldn't hide his bitterness.

"Can't the sorcerer who burned half of his kingdom stop a mere army?" asked the old man, watching him carefully.

"You know who I am?" asked Arios in surprise.

The old man stopped for a minute.

"I'm a sorcerer, too. My name is Laron, and behind my back they call me Bald," said he, stroking his head.

"I'm Seton's court wizard, I would say, for many years now. Although, my wisdom isn't of much avail these days. My powers are limited. But, I've heard of you. In the circles of the Consecrated, well-known is the legend of the man who released the greatest powers in man's history, and then disappeared in unknown direction. For years, we were waiting for the sorcerer to appear and claim everything that belongs to the mightiest of all. We feared, we even prepared for your coming, and you didn't come. The memory of you began to fade away. And lo! now you appear from nowhere, in the moment of gravest peril for this part of the world, and more, I'm afraid. Could it be a coincidence? I would die happy if you'll tell me your story in this little time we have left."

Arios was confused. "I didn't know I caused so much strife," he began.

"What happened in Otram was the consequence of my stupidity and ignorance. It never even crossed my mind to use that power ever again. After that, it seemed to me that the whole world is after me. Fleeing, I reached the south slopes of the Blue Mountains, and settled there, in complete wildness. I lived there until the last few months."

"Ha!" laughed Laron. "So, there never existed any danger from you! The Consecrated feared the whole time the very thing they would have done in your place."

"Exactly," said Arios. "The danger was only in your heads. I never intended to impose my will to others. In fact, for years I haven't used the words of power. I was far from the people and the temptations of any kind."

"But, how did you get here?" the old sorcerer interrupted.

"That is the thing I myself do not understand completely," sighed the sorcerer. "Until recently, I used to think it was my decision to travel this way, but I'm not so sure now. How to explain everything that happened? My companion, prince Orin ar den Raamternan, maybe you met him this morning, came one day to my cottage in the mountains and said he was searching for Dragon Rock and the Ring of the Kings, which will give him ultimate power. After long contemplation, I went on the journey with him, and realized I'm doing it out of curiosity. Or maybe I wanted to find a solution to my problem in the end of the journey. Or maybe I was just simply bored. It doesn't matter. But the damned mountain just kept its distance from us. When I think about it, seems like it led us right here. And when we finally got through the Blue Mountains, we came into a land threatened by a horde of demons, and the forest elves think I'm the one destined to save the land. True, last night I defeated the beast into which the black sorcerer has transformed, but there was no real power in it. It was only an animal. The demon I confronted before laughed at me when I tried to overcome it. I was completely helpless then. If some destiny dragged me here, I don't have a faintest idea how to save this land."

"An unusual story, really," said the old man. "And there are many unknown things. Dragon Rock, you say? The people in this country are not sure is it really a mountain, or just an illusion. Sometimes it's visible, sometimes not, like now. But, it is not known if anyone ever was there and returned to talk about it."

"Small wonder," said Arios, looking to the north. "It's probably the only moving mountain on the world." He did not want to mention his conversation with the Elf king about the Upper Realms.

"But, that dream is over now. In a few hours, we're going to the river. There, I'll maybe get some answers."

The court wizard rose with obvious effort.

"So, it seems I'm not any smarter than I was before. There's something in all of it, but I cannot see the whole picture. Well, for years I've been living much more in the books, than in the real world." He went to the stairways.

"Better you go too; the king is prepared and will be leaving at any moment. I stay here in the castle. I lived here, so I'll die here, if it is to be that way."

"You go," said Arios. "I'll stay here few minutes more."

So, this is it, thought he. The darkness over the northern lands started to spread, and there is no more delaying. They expect me to confront, maybe even destroy the enemy. But, how can I ever explain to them they look for hope in a man who realized he doesn't know anything? And that he's the greatest mystery to himself? Under my mask there is nothing, just emptiness. I used to live thinking I had some power, and that was the essence of my existence. I needed nothing else. I confused emptiness and darkness with peace and harmony, and I was happy. It's amazing; we know least of ourselves just at the time we think we know everything about it. And now, when I finally realized how weak I am, and how little knowledge I have, they expect of me to save the whole land.

He smiled ironically. The only relief for me lies in the fact that there'll probably be no one left to reproach me for my failure.

Suddenly, while he watched the clouds of thick mist, whirling, driven by unknown dark forces, he remembered the encounter with the elven girl in the snowy night, on the mountain pass. Her words ringed clearly in his mind - Remember the smallest things when times are hard. He reached in his coat; his hand touched the small wooden object - the unusual flute, whose strange powers saved them in the most dangerous moments. Is this the answer to his questions? Will it ever be given to him to know?

## Chapter 13. The battle

"The advantage of the terrain works for us," the general Lao-Min said to the gathered leaders. "The enemy has only this ford, a hundred paces broad - and our main task is not to let him across, as long as it is possible."

"My archers are ready," said a tall, thin man clothed in the leather armour. "Two thousand men, with two hundred arrows each, are positioned in a half-circle around the ford." The leader of the archers, Tilanok, was a quiet man with brusque manners.

"The catapults are set near the companies of archers," continued the warrior standing at his side. "Five machines are waiting the command."

"A thousand pikemen are ready in the middle of the battlefield. They'll push into water everyone who reaches the bank!" shouted the next.

"Men-at-arms are ready on the right and left side. Fifteen hundred bloodthirsty soldiers!"

"Five hundred men guard our back!"

"Two hundred guards on horses await the end of the battle!" the last report was exclaimed by Orin ar den Raamternan. The old general gave to the prince the command over the king's mercenaries, hoping that his premonition did not betray him.

"Thank gods for the warrior spirit they gave us!" shouted Lao-Min.

"Now we can only wait the beginning! Go back to your companies!"

Orin and Lao-Min were soon left alone on the hillside from which they viewed the area. On the other hill, slightly more distant, with the warriors guarding the rear, the king with his escort and Arios were settled.

Orin was looking at the river, content. The ford they were guarding really was the only place connecting the south and north bank of the river.

The Grey River was only a few hundred paces broad at that place, and relatively shallow. Flowing eastward, it made a small half-circle around the place at which they stood, probably because the ground was somewhat harder here. Tens of miles upstream and downstream from this point the river banks were made of soft ground, which resulted in great number of dangerous swamps, without a safe way through them. Human beings could cross into Ledonia only at this point. The others maybe have their own devices, but that was not in their power to prevent. Although once it was the bridge connecting north and south, the ford now represented the greatest weakness of the small kingdom.

The king's mercenaries held themselves apart of the rest of the soldiers, and were gathered around their campfires. They groomed their horses, sharpened their weapons. Orin started toward their camp, to talk to men and try to feel their mood. His whole life he dreamt of battles, armies and the battlefields. In his strategic games, he used to lead companies and command the armies, but this was something else. This was reality and he had to admit to himself, no matter how hard it was for him, that it was not fun at all. Still, the only thing that was left to him was to give his best. I must be a worthy leader of these men, thought he passing through the camp. They were distrustful toward the stranger, but disciplined enough to except Lao-Min's decision without complaints. If their general thinks that this man can lead a company in battle, then it is so. Orin was sure he will not fail them.

An unusual silence settled over the camp. It was late afternoon, and men were trying to get some rest after the soldier's meal. Many eyes were looking toward the mist on the other side, wondering what horrors await there. Everyone knew stories of the Lord of Doom's hordes, and they weren't nice. No army of the northern tribes could withstand the onslaught of the army of darkness.

Still, among men another story was spreading, story about the sorcerer from the far south, who came to save them. Now men had at least some hope, and that was good. Lao-Min was aware of the fact, although he himself did not believe in miracles. His army maybe will endure several assaults, but the sheer number of the enemies was simply too great. He did not want to think about the forces that were driving the Lord of Doom's army. The less he knows, the less he has to fear. The less he fears, the more dignity will be in his death. The death on the battlefield was the only future the old general expected for himself.

The prince of the Plain Countries returned from his cavalry men and sat on a folding chair at Lao-Min's side.

"It's quiet," he said. "What do you think, when it begins?"

"The sooner, the better," answered the general. "I don't like waiting."

"Nor do I."

"They are probably waiting for us to relax. They will attack in the moment they conclude we are least prepared. I would do it that way. But, who knows what's in the heads of the demons?"

"I talked to mercenaries," said Orin. "The moral is high, but no one really believes we could win. Only it seems they don't care a bit."

"They don't believe in your friend?" asked Lao-Min.

"I think not. Do you?"

The old general looked at him sideways, and then shook his head.

"I think there's something in him, some power from which he draws magic," said the prince.

"At some times, it seems he really has enormous powers sleeping inside him. The only problem is, he does not believe too much in himself. He has a bad habit of ascribing to the pure chance, or making worthless, everything he's done. He refuses to acknowledge his power and to use it."

"We'll have to trust our own powers," said the general, his voice meaning the end of the conversation. "Try now to sleep and to save some strength. You'll need it."

As the day was coming to its end, the slowly rolling muddy water began to grow dark. The soon-to-be battlefield was still peaceful. No movements were visible on the other side. The sun was slowly descending beyond the distant horizon and night covered the small army.

The campfire lights enabled the war leaders gathered around the king to have a good view of the situation. Arios was sitting near them and looking into darkness, not much interested in the strategy details. There was mighty magic on work on the other side of the river. The presence of the demonic entities enveloped his mind, choking him. With great effort he was trying to remember the simplest magic incantations, and he was not clear about how he'll deal with the pressure and succeed in confronting the enemy. There was an icy emptiness and fear in his guts, the kind he never felt before in his life. Lost in feverish thoughts, he did not notice the nameless warrior from the east seating near him.

"The advantage of the dead man is, he doesn't have to fear death," said he, looking at the Arios' face, streaked with grains of sweat, glittering in the light of fire.

The sorcerer turned, and the warrior continued: "When there's no fear, the man is free to act the way his sense tell him to, and to react to the danger in the best possible manner. That way, he becomes a real danger for his enemy. It's even possible to win over someone much stronger."

"Maybe," said Arios, "but I'm not dead. I can't ignore the fear."

"So our wise men say," said the man. "I've been learning that philosophy my whole life. I still do believe in it, but it works when a man has only his life at stake. I never used to doubt it. My enemies were just human beings. Tonight, I forebode that losing life is the best thing that could happen to men. Tonight, I'm feeling fear for the first time in many years, just like you. In this war, we'll have to fight against fear, too."

Arios looked at him, smiling. "I was just thinking I am the greatest coward here. You gave me some comfort."

The easterner smiled back, and reached in his soldier's food bag. He took out a flat hand-sized stone and said: "In my country, it is a tradition that the dying man writes his own epitaph. I cut my last words deep into this stone. I hope there'll be someone in the future to read it."

"What does it say?"

"Carried by storm,

This cherry leaf

Finally falls on the ground."

So said the man, then rose and disappeared in the darkness.

Arios was silent for some time, and then he rose too, and went in search for Orin.

The prince was sitting by the campfire in the company of the king and his war leaders.

"Here you are," said the sorcerer, lowering himself to the ground near him. The counsel was over and the conversation turned to less formal directions.

"Hi! I didn't see you since the last night!" exclaimed the prince. "How are you?"

"Ask me after the battle," answered Arios.

"Ah, this is hard for everyone. We came a long way, eh?" Orin offered. "And now, we are at the end, as far from our goal as ever."

"The need for glory obviously leads into doom," laughed the sorcerer. "I knew it since the beginning. It would be better if you stayed at home."

"You knew nothing and me neither!" flared the prince. "And if I did sit at home, don't you think that the Lord of Doom would be knocking at our doors, too?"

"Maybe he would stray in the Blue Mountains?"

"I'm not so sure of it. I think we have been brought here with some purpose."

"Maybe," said Arios. "Anyway, it's good to have a good excuse."

"I am, like always, stunned by your optimism." said Orin. "Why don't you, for the first time in your life, try to believe in yourself? Just a little?"

Arios was thinking about what to say, when a cry came from the camp: "They are coming!"

Both of them rose quickly.

"So, this is it," said Orin. "Time to say goodbye."

He tried to give a hug to Arios, but the sorcerer stopped him gently. "Leave it," said he, with a smile. "I don't like touching."

"In fact, me neither." Orin laughed, too. "Besides, if we happen to survive, I would feel rather stupid."

"Hurry, the guards are waiting for you," said Arios. Orin turned and ran to the horses. The sorcerer was watching him for a moment. A strange thought flashed through his mind. You are a man I always wanted to be. And you are completely unaware of your real worth.

So in the middle of the night began the desperate battle of the people of Ledonia against the army of darkness. The first thing they have heard was the distant thudding of the countless feet on the other side of the river. Then, first dark figures emerged from the mist and sank into the river. The soldiers of the Lord of Doom rushed from the night, trying to get across the ford. The water reached to their waists, and they were advancing slowly. The two thousand archers were waiting for them to reach the middle of the river; then they launched the first shower of arrows. Many of them found the targets and the screams of the soldiers who were hit broke the silence. The rest, however, were advancing on. The catapults released their bolts, which fell down straight at the ranks of the attackers, stopping them at least for a moment. The second, third and fourth wave of arrows came, too. Many of the attackers already disappeared under the surface, but thousands of enemies kept coming, walking over corpses. It seemed that the death of their companions didn't cause them any fear. They marched on and fell, pierced by the missiles that kept raining on them.

Later, the clouds dissipated, and the full moon appeared, giving some light to the battlefield. However, the heavy mist was still hiding the horde.

The king, surrounded by his escort, watched the battle from his position on the hillside.

"What kind of tactics is this?" he asked Lao-Min, who stood behind him. "They just keep coming, no matter how heavy their losses are."

"They have the advantage of numbers, and are confident about it," answered Lao-Min shortly. He wanted to continue, but changed his mind and fell silent.

"But, what kind of warriors would go to death in this manner, so willingly? I can't understand it."

"Maybe the death in the battle is a kind fate compared to the one awaiting the cowards," the old general's voice was ominous.

"Do they want us to spend all our arrows?" continued Seton. "It cannot pay off in the end."

At that moment, they heard the rumour that was spreading through the ranks of the defenders: "They have rocks tied to their belts! They are tied to the rocks!"

"Bastards!" spitted Lao-Min. "Just as I suspected!"

"What's happening?" asked the king.

"Do you know what the purpose of such headless onslaught is?" answered the general. "They are making a bridge across the river! Damned bridge made of the corpses who, tied to rocks, stay where they fell. When there are enough of them, the rest of the army will come running across, and we'll be out of arrows to greet them!"

"Can't we do something?"

"No. If we spare our arrows, they will come across and attack the pikemen. The archers would be useless then. We are forced to continue with this, as long as we have arrows. Who knows, maybe they will run out of soldiers," answered Lao-Min, not believing his own words.

The horrible slaughter lasted until the dawn. When the pale sun finally appeared over the plains, the river ford was completely covered with dead bodies, the river was flooding the meadows where the pikemen waited, and the quivers of the two thousand archers were empty.

The king Seton's army was horrified by the unexpected turn of the events, but also more determined to fight and die in the combat, rather than ending up in slavery.

When the bridge of death was finished, everything went quiet. Pikemen, swordsmen and cavalry tautly awaited the next move of the demonic enemy. And then, slowly, the mist on the other side began to disappear. The Lord of Doom decided to show his power to the defenders, and to destroy the last remains of hope in their hearts. For a moment, the dark, ominous bulk of his army stood unmoving, and then, without a warning, they charged across the corpses toward the pointing spears that were prepared for them. The assault was accompanied with deep laughter, which silenced all other sounds, shaking the ground, the laughter of man at whose will the demons abandoned their dark dwellings, to walk the earth freely. Seton's warriors, completely soaked, the water reaching their knees, lost the courage for a moment and lowered their weapons. First ranks fell without any resistance, and only the cries of the dying brought back the spirit, shattering the will-binding spell. The pikemen were forced to retreat a few dozen paces, but this manoeuvre enabled the cavalry and men-at-arms to cut deeply into the flanks of the attackers. The clashing of weapons and the screams of the soldiers of darkness, surrounded from three sides, were interwoven with shouting and screeching of the monsters. The king's mercenaries on their powerful steeds were wading through the demonic army as through the swamp mud, wielding swords and hacking at all sides. The murky river water that flooded the meadow was turning red. For a moment, it seemed that the enemy was beaten into retreat. The losses on Seton's side were few.

Then, the attack from the air began, deadly and lethal. Enormous winged creatures appeared from nowhere and plunged at the ranks of the defenders. Armed with the sharp claws and the long-teethed jaws, they started to tear apart everything they caught. The guards were trying to hide under their panicked horses, and many were killed by trampling hooves. After the initial moment of terror, several spears were lifted in defence, piercing the creatures, but the damage was already done. The Seton's army, distracted by the air attack, no longer was able to withstand the horde that was once again charging across the river. They started to fall back.

Orin was riding the panicking horse, trampling the black figures, hammering with his sword left and right, making holes in the crowd of enemies around him. He was covered with blood, part of it his own, for he received many minor wounds and scratches. He was no longer in command of the mercenaries. In the melee, it was impossible to organize the company. The only rule now was: every man for himself. His attention was focused only at killing, so the strong hit in his back came completely unexpected. Falling from the horse, he turned for a moment and saw a huge black winged body looming over him. In the next instant, he was lying in the water, under the horse hooves. The frightened animal started to prance, neighing, while the prince was desperately trying to roll out of the reach of danger and to regain control. Meanwhile, the winged monster turned in the air, and now it was returning toward the horse and his rider. Orin grabbed his sword with both hands, holding it tight, determined to stand his ground and wait for the attack. The beast plunged at the horse, ripping with its claws at the horse's belly, and the prince swiftly jumped forward and buried his blade deeply in the side of the black, muscular hind leg. The next moment, the winged raider was high above the ground, shrieking horribly, and dragging Orin, who was still holding to his sword, up in the air. The hell-bird gained height for some time, and then turned to the south. However, the weight of the man that was clinging to the sword buried in its leg was too much for its strength. Flying over the battlefield, it began to lose altitude, and finally landed roughly on the ground, trying to get rid of the source of pain. Hitting the ground, Orin rolled, thus preventing severe injuries. The urge for survival excluded the feeling of pain from his mind and forced him to stand up quickly and run away as far as he could from the deadly black wings whose strike could kill him. The animal was frantically spinning in one place, its wounded hind leg convulsing, wings beating the wet soil. Without his sword, Orin could only wait at safe distance and hope the wound was hard enough. The stench of the swamp decay was spreading around the monster. Its efforts to relieve the pain gradually weakened.

Watching the beast constantly, the prince climbed at the top of the hill to see what was happening on the battlefield. The view below him was overwhelming. The army of King Seton was dispersed in several small groups which desperately held their ground against the constant onslaught of the black hordes, and finally, one by one, disappeared. Most of the riders were fighting on foot now, while few surviving horses wandered through the piles of corpses, trying in vain to escape from the deadly trap the battlefield has become. The king's banner was no longer visible; nor was anyone from the king's guard. Somewhere in the melee there was his companion, who was obviously not able to do anything to save the remains of the army, and maybe he was already dead. There was no way Orin could help anyone. He could go back to the battle and get killed, or try to run away, but he did not know what was better. Seton's defeat meant the fall of the whole land, all the way to the Blue Mountains in south, probably even beyond that. Still, Orin was not used to losing hope. While he was alive, there was a chance for salvation; the death should be avoided as long as possible, because it was waiting at the end, patient and merciless. The decision to run away to the south was therefore the right one. The dead friends he will mourn later, if he survives.

But, before that, it was important to get the sword. The black animal stopped moving, and now was breathing heavily, its head extended, and wings sprawled on the ground. Orin approached slowly, from the back, trying not to disturb the creature. Holding his breath, he reached for the sword hilt that was protruding from the hind leg. A sharp, broken hissing was coming from the animal.

Now you have to be quicker and more determined than ever in your life, thought he. The animal was lying still. One long moment of doubt passed, and then he grabbed the sword with both of his hands, as firmly as he could, and ripped it from the wound. Terrible shriek of the animal resounded across the hillside, while the blade covered with black blood appeared from the flesh. The next moment, the sword was free in Orin's hand, and the beast turned, striking randomly with its beak. In a split second, its long neck was exposed to Orin's blade, and he swung powerfully, without a thought, his eyes closed. The monster's head fell into mud, and the body gained new strength from its death convulsions, flapping its wings violently, even rising in the air, only to hit the ground again and remain lying there still. Orin was sprawled on the ground, his hands holding the sword's hilt.

It's over! was all he could think of. Then he rose and started a long-striding walk from the place of death. The state of mind he was in did not allow him to feel pain, fatigue, fear, sorrow; the only goal in his mind was to find a safe shelter. Much later, when the immediate danger was over, everything he was repressing now would return. And that will be a real challenge to the defeated warrior.

Arios was standing at king's side, surrounded by a circle of guardsmen. Seton tried to regain control over the situation, calling his generals, shouting commands, but the sorcerer knew it was useless. Nobody obeyed anyone any more. The battle was lost, and now all they could do was to sell their lives dearly. His summoning of the magic powers went without any effect. He could not remember anything any more. The fear of death was screaming in his guts, disabling his efforts to think of something sensible, but he knew that the real reason of his failure was the presence of the terrible Lord of Doom's powers which deliberately assaulted his thoughts, turning once powerful sorcerer into a frightened child. The demon was too strong for him and Arios could only watch what was happening, a helpless witness to the fall of a brave army that placed almost all hopes in his hands. The dark army completely surrounded the king's company, preventing all chances for escape. The guards, however, were too strong for the creatures which attacked them, making the piles of the dead bodies in front of them. Suddenly, the eastern warrior was standing by the frozen sorcerer, strongly pulling at his sleeve. Arios shook from his trance and looked.

"Why are you standing?" the warrior was shouting, overpowering the noise of the battle. "Leave the magic and take the sword! It would be a shame to die without a weapon in your hands!"

His face was bright, while the dark eyes glistened fiercely.

"This is a battle of all battles!" he was roaring. "The Lord of Doom will remember it while he lives!"

Arios moved slowly. A part of the enthusiasm was caught in his heart, too. Really, what can be better in this moment than to die covered with the bodies of enemy? He grasped the sword the man was offering him. "You are right!" shouted he to the easterner. Two men ran ahead to take the place of a fallen mercenary, closing the circle. If it was destined for him to die here, he will do it in a proper way, not like a frozen coward. The next moment, his sword was biting into flesh of the dark attackers, rising and falling, while the blood of the dying covered him. The desperate battle lasted now over two hours, and the number of the defenders was reduced to the dozen of the hardiest. Then King Seton fell, hit by a black arrow which flew from the crowd, run over by the muddy boots of the demon servants. From a multitude of the throats, a roar of victory boomed, signifying the final breakdown. The little easterner followed, pierced from the back by a long spear, which was wielded by a deformed ape-like creature. Arios saw the fall of his brother in arms, and cut down his slayer in a second. Then he turned around, looking through sweat which was streaming into his eyes, and realized he was standing alone, surrounded by dark, wild faces which were approaching slowly, carefully, confident in their triumph. In a moment when several long spears were thrown at him, his hand dropped the sword.

His last thought, however, was not the one of dying, but of silent winter night, and the strange words written in his mind. "Remember the smallest things when times are hard." His hand reached in the pocket, and found a small wooden flute, right in the moment when the first spear went through his stomach. When the second spear pierced his lungs, he put the flute at his lips, and blew his last breath into it. Then the night fell, and he couldn't say if this was death, or just a long dream from which he will wake in his cottage, on the far slopes of Blue Mountains.

## Chapter 14. The decision

After the victory at the river's ford, nothing could stop the horde of darkness. When they crossed the river, the conquering army dispersed in many small groups and scattered through the undefended land. The Lord of Doom set his hounds free to grab the reward they were fighting for. After that, they will go further south, all the way to the mountains, and beyond, because there was not a force in this world which could stop them. The storm clouds were their faithful followers, and thick, stinking rain wetted the ground everywhere they marched.

Out of sheer malevolence, the Lord of Doom resurrected some corpses of the warriors that died at the river ford, and forced them to serve him even in their death, spreading terror among the people who were still free. The hell-birds were circling in the skies and plunging at the columns of fugitives, bringing panic.

The people of Ledonia did not have much time for escape. The news of the defeat of king's army went through the land like a forest fire. People knew that no one could protect them any more, and that their only hope was to flee to the south. The whole villages were now on the road. Some thought the forests will provide them enough protection, because the invader's army will avoid them, but those did pay their mistake dearly. The Lord of Doom did not want the green forests in his empire, because they were reminding him of freedom. Therefore his beasts destroyed the trees with equal zeal as they destroyed men, with fire and evil magic which caused the very roots of the giant trees to rot. Death threatened the forests.

Orin was sitting at the old trunk, looking blankly at the distance through the filthy wisps of his hair. The dusk of the forest was melting slowly into the darkness of the night. Around him, the sounds of the camp were turning quiet now. People finished their meagre meals of dried meat in the darkness, because no one dared to light a fire. From time to time, a child would cry, but only shortly, silenced quickly by his mother's voice. The odour of fear washed through the small camp, sticking to the skin like forest moisture. The prince did not think much about the people around him. He met them the day before, a sorry group, a score of peasants, hurrying to the south, carrying only food and water. They did not have a plan, except to try to reach the mountains and cross to the other side. The chances for that equalled the chance that the Lord of Doom retreated with his army back to the north. The prince was not sure if the fugitives were aware of what was to become of them. Besides the fear that drove them ahead, they nurtured a flicker of mad hope of rescue after all. And the hope was almost impossible to destroy. It is the incarnation of irrationality in human beings, defying all dark, unalterable facts, but also a confirmation of man's foolishness, incapability to understand the reality. In truth, hope is the only thing that makes man's journey through the hell of life possible, and enables him to leave this world with a smile on his face, convinced that he will wake up again in some other, better place. Orin did not believe in anything any more, but he also did not want to destroy the hope of these men, so he kept himself aside, talking only when it was necessary. They accepted him as a strong man with a sword, who will increase their chances for escape. He told them about the defeat of the king's army, but all those gruesome details which were rushing through his mind unceasingly he kept for himself. The sounds of battle never left him. Bloody faces, screams of horror, unstoppable march of the horde and the complete ruin of the desperate army did not allow him a minute of sleep. His thoughts were broken, unconnected. He thought about destiny, despair and death, about his friend who remained at the battlefield and whom he will not see ever again; he thought about his distant home in the Plain Countries, about the madness which caused him to left it, and about the mysterious Dragon Rock. The secret of the Ring of the Kings will remain a secret. What really was the ultimate power he yearned for? Now it all came clear to him - he never had an idea how to gain it. He thought it was enough to rush toward it, and the rest of the world will take care that the prince of the Plain Countries, Orin ar den Raamternan, whose wishes never went unfulfilled, gets what he wanted. What an incredible fool I was! thought he. A man like me could never get to Dragon Rock. Arios, yes, he could have found a way. He had enough wisdom and knowledge. But it never mattered to him enough. He didn't want power because he did not know what to do with it. And he was afraid of it.

However, it was all over now. Their quest was interrupted abruptly, the sorcerer was dead for sure, and he had not enough power to save his own skin.

So, why the two of us did meet, after all? What once seemed like fate was not much more than pure chance. And how does the elven prophecy fit into this picture? Are they nothing more than a bunch of fools, too?

He was not aware of the moment when his exhausted body allowed the dream to receive it into its refreshing embrace. He fell from the trunk and sprawled on the wet ground, not feeling the cold.

When he opened his eyes again, the pale sunlight of the early morning broke through the thick treetops. He looked around; people were sleeping, gathered close for warmth. He felt strong heartbeats in his throat. Something was not right. It was cold; the morning mist had not appeared yet. And it was unusually quiet. He realized then that it was the silence which alarmed his sharpened sense of danger. He rose quietly, trying not to disturb the silence. His sword was lying beside him, and he slowly unsheathed the bright blade from the rugged scabbard. Then he ran to the nearest man who was sleeping on the ground with his family, and shook him by the shoulder. At that moment, the bush around the camp exploded. The next few minutes remained blurred for him ever after. The black wolf shapes came from the woods and lunged at the sleeping people. They jumped from the ground in panic, not completely realizing what was happening, and started to run away. The piercing shrieks of women overpowered the growling of the beasts. The stench of the predators filled the glade, soon mixing with the stench of torn human entrails. Orin stood for a moment, stupefied by the scene, and then he felt the urge for survival. A huge beast which chose him for its prey fell to the ground before him, its head cleaved, and his sword was already rising for the next blow. The movement was automatic, done without thinking. The recent battles showed Orin the importance of immediate action, better than any lecture before. Keol's teaching became a part of him, not only an interesting doctrine to think about. By thinking, one can miss an opportunity for acting, and a missed opportunity meant failure: for a warrior, that meant death. The sword impaled the next attacker in the air, but the massive body fell on the prince.

Suddenly, from the other side of the bushes and the treetops, a cloud of arrows came. The next moment, all the animals on the glade were twisting in their death spasms. Another wave of arrows, and the surviving wolves disappeared in the direction they came from. They had no intention of fighting against invisible, more numerous enemies. The assault stopped, and there was silence on the glade once again. About a dozen survivors rose slowly from the ground, looking in disbelief the devastating effect of the battle. Orin dragged himself from below the corpse with great effort and stood up, covered with blood. He looked in the direction of the unexpected salvation. For a time, nothing was visible, and then, parts of the bushes began to move. From the woods appeared men and women dressed in uncommon multi-coloured clothes, whose colour patterns were perfectly camouflage for the surrounding colours of nature, almost invisible until they moved, and then only as a blur.

"Look!" shouted someone.

"Who are they?" The surviving people gathered in a crowd. At this moment, they weren't able to distinct friend from enemy. Then, Orin saw two familiar figures approaching.

"Saim! Nai! You are alive!" cried he.

"Men, don't be afraid! These are friends! The Hunters of mountain lions!"

He hugged the twins who were trying to avoid the prince's strong hands.

"I was sure you died back there, in the Eagles' fortress! What happened?" The questions were many, and time was short.

Nai looked at him and said in their language, which Orin now understood, thanks to the sorcerer's gift: "There isn't much for telling. We escaped, returned home. Hunters don't die so easily. There's always time for death."

"But what are you doing here? How did you find us?" interrupted Orin.

The girl looked at him. "Keol came and spoke to me. He said – a great evil is coming, find the prince and help him, he's in trouble. He must escape from his enemies. He led our steps far to the north, all the way to the great forest. There, we met the forest people. They helped us, led us to you. They know what is happening in the forest, but they are not strong enough to fight."

"Elves!" said Orin.

"Yes, that's your name for them. Their forest will die if no one stops the evil. And they will die too."

"But, how is it possible that Keol lives? His body's been found. Arios knew he was dead! How could he lead you here? And where is he now?"

"Too many questions," stated Saim. "Keol spoke to us in a dream. He walks this earth no longer."

"Are you telling me that you speak with the dead?" said Orin, astonished.

"Are you telling me that you don't?" replied Saim in wonder.

Orin fell silent. There were too many surprises in such a short time, and in such a bad moment.

"Enough stories," Nai interrupted. "No use of it. We must go away. They will return soon." The rest of the Hunters were already helping people to gather their possessions and to tend the wounded.

The journey through the forest was quick. The fugitives hurried ahead, led by one of the Hunters, while the rest of the tribe were hiding the traces hastily, and listening to the green forest dusk. Everyone knew the time was precious - the pursuers were immediately behind them, more numerous than the trees in the forest. No one talked; the only sound in the column was the panting of the exhausted people. They rested shortly, slept only three hours a day. Still, no one gave up; in those who were left, the will to live conquered the limitations of the body, at least for those few days of the journey. Soon, they left the soothing silence of the forest, and entered the wave-like landscape of the Ledonian fields. Now, the blue wall of the distant mountains in the south was clearly visible ahead of them; their only chance for escape, however small, lay in crossing those mountains. Along the way, they were meeting other groups of refugees, smaller or bigger, who succeeded to escape from the pursuers. The thin streams of the fugitives became rivers - until finally, a group of several thousand people travelled southward, where, they believed, salvation expected them.

The Hunters of the mountain lions took the charge discretely. Their quiet way of handling issues, their right decisions and actions, without giving commands, soon convinced people that they knew what they were doing. Because of their skills, or simply pure luck, the escape to the lowest slopes of the Blue Mountains went without encounters with the pursuers. Then they started to ascend through the grassy pastures, coming at least to the steep rocky cliffs which separated the Blue Mountains from the northern lands. And here, standing before the impassable obstacles, people became aware of one thing they did not want to know during the journey - their hopes were futile. Only the Hunters could cross the Mountains. The peasants of Ledonia were not used to climbing, because they viewed the Mountains as some magical place from time immemorial. There was not a way for a few Hunters to get several thousand people across the cliffs. For the refugees, this was the last stand.

It became obvious that the Lord of Doom knew that fact from the beginning, leaving his prey to come to the end of hope. When he finally reaches them with his army, no one will have strength or spirit to fight back. His victory will be complete, and the revenge terrible. Then, he can plan further conquers in the south, spreading through the rest of the world.

The Hunters did not give up the crossing of the mountains, of course; it was not a problem for them. Nai and Saim wanted Orin to go with them. They saw no sense in a useless sacrifice for the people who were doomed anyway.

"How can I leave them?" said Orin. "How can I live with myself, knowing I left my companions to die? The only choice I have is to stay and die with them! Don't you understand?"

Saim did not understand.

"Our old ones go away from the tribe to die alone on the mountain. When they are no more useful, they do not ask of the tribe to feed them. So, they go away and die. That, I can understand. That is sacrifice for others. But, for whom are you making the sacrifice if you stay? Can you help anyone?"

"No," admitted Orin.

"Would someone hold it against you?"

"No. In fact, I don't know any of these people. But, that's not the reason. I would hold it against myself. Therefore I'm staying."

Saim shook his head sadly.

"Such a long yourney to save a friend. Now, he refuses to be saved."

He looked at the prince. "All right. You've made your decision. We will stay two more days to help you prepare the defence. Then we leave."

Orin did not think much about his decision to die at this place. For him, it was a course of events he expected anyway. The dream of the Dragon Rock ended long ago. It was not even visible in the north; the darkness which the Lord of Doom brought clouded the horizon. The ultimate power was a fabrication, an illusion, like Dragon Rock. The Upper Realms are too high for mortals.

My obsession was caused by mighty spells, cast because of unknown reasons, he thought.

Someone probably wanted to put me away so he could destroy my father more easily. I don't think I can return to the Plain Countries; maybe they even put a price on my head. The only real friend I ever had is dead. All that is left to me is to follow his way.

The prince of the Plain Countries was lost in gloomy thoughts, but he did not allow them to influence his actions. Now, he wanted only to sell his life dearly. They needed to prepare the defence. The place where they made their camp was adequate - in the south, the vertical cliffs blocked the way up, while the big rocks shielded their backs on the northern side. The enemy will be forced to a hard climb, under a rain of arrows. Those who did not heard of the battle at the Grey River even dared to hope they could defend the place; Orin, however, did not believe in it for a moment. The Lord of Doom has found a way to cross much harder obstacles. Two days later, everything that could be done was done. They gathered rocks for rolling at the enemy, they've made reserves of water from the near streams, and everything that could serve as food - roots, grass, and some game - all in all, a poor preparation for what was coming. The Hunters stayed a few more days, to make their secret potions, which will strengthen the will of the defenders, and make the pain of the wounds lesser.

In the evening of the fourth day, the lower slopes were crawling with black shapes - at first, few of them, careful and quickly hiding from the view, and then more, like ants coming to the carrion. Soon, the meadows were darkened by the demon army. The tiny sparkle of hope disappeared from the hearts of even the most optimistic refugees.

Then, the night fell.

## Chapter 15. Arios

The prince of the Plain Countries was sitting on the stone, his chin supported with the sword's hilt. His eyes were focused at the unyielding darkness, which was mercifully hiding the demon army, but he was seeing the landscape of memories. Now, when death was here, this time for certain, the memory of the days past brought him strange comfort. Meaningless, sweet remembrances from days of youth protected his mind from the black nothingness which surrounded him. He wanted to escape from this dreadful place, to get there, but that was impossible.

All activities in the camp of the defenders stopped. Everyone listened intensely to every sound, waiting the beginning of the attack. The Lord of Doom himself was there; he arrived in the evening, riding his enormous war horse self-confidently among his servants. No one among the refugees could even suppose what he intended to do. They knew only it will happen soon.

And then, Orin saw a pale light in the sky, like an apparition. At first, it was just a dim spot on the perfect fabric of the night, then it became stronger, ever stronger, and suddenly, the layers of darkness were melted, and on the horizon, like a spectre, appeared one familiar shape, silhouette which guided him all this time through the Blue Mountains and further, the impossible, magnificent Dragon Rock. The prince jumped from the ground, astonished.

"What...?" uttered he, almost breathless. He turned around. People in the camp were not behaving like they saw something unusual, but the Rock was still clearly visible on the vague background.

"This is a dream," muttered the prince quietly. "It's impossible."

"Orin."

A bodiless voice spoke his name, almost inaudibly, carefully, like it was trying not to hurt him. The voice belonged to the one who could not be alive any more. The prince turned around carefully, not knowing what awaited him. Arios was standing peacefully, transparent, his body woven of the night's mist, watching the prince straight in the eyes, smiling.

"You...are alive," uttered Orin. "How...?"

"It's not so simple," said the sorcerer. The voice was coming from his direction, but the prince was somehow sure that he was the only one who could hear it.

"Life is a very broad concept."

"What is happening?" asked Orin quietly.

"Only what was bound to happen," replied Arios. "We don't have much time. The Lord of Doom will attack soon."

"How do you know? Are you under his power? Did he enslave your soul?"

Arios smiled. "How much are you willing to sacrifice yourself, to save the world?" asked he instead of answering.

"It seems I'll give my life for much less," said the prince. "In fact, for my own honour. I could leave with the Hunters, you know. I still can, if I want. The only thing is, I don't think I could live with it."

"You wouldn't escape," said the sorcerer. "The Lord's beasts wait for the Hunters on the tops of the cliffs."

"How do you know that? What have you become? Is this your magic?"

"No, this isn't magic. Do you remember why we started our journey?"

"Of course - to find the secret of the ultimate power. To get the Ring of the Kings from the dragons." Orin was utterly confused. A thousand questions whirled in his head, and there was not enough time for any. "You wouldn't mind telling me what's happening, would you?"

Arios smiled and extended his hand. Suddenly, he was standing, or maybe floating, only a step away from the prince, who retreated back in fear. On the index finger of the right hand, transparent like the rest of the body, shone a small, simple black ring.

"This is...?" whispered Orin, reaching with his hand. It went through the sorcerer's hand, and enclosed around the ring, which was solid.

"How will you use it? Have you brought it to me?" said the prince, almost breathlessly. The object of his dreams was finally here, before him.

"We could use it, but you need to know, it will change you forever. You will never be the same," said Arios calmly. "But it's the only way to save the world from the doom. That is what you were searching for, isn't it? The ultimate power to save the world?"

"How can we use it? I'm ready for anything. We are all practically dead anyway, aren't we?" Orin smiled nervously.

Arios extended his index finger.

"I knew I wouldn't have to persuade you for too long. Just put the ring on your finger."

Orin extended his finger, confused, and pushed it through the sorcerer's transparent hand. He felt the ring on his finger, and pushed stronger. Suddenly, his mind darkened for a split second. When he opened his eyes, Arios was not any more on the same place. Arios melted with him. Orin became Arios, Arios became Orin, and both of them became something greater than they were as separate beings.

Thus the Ring of the Kings finally descended into the world of men, for the first time since the history began. It was the gift from those who live in a land where power does not mean anything, because everyone has it, to those whose lives were amounted to a little more than running to win that ultimate prize, those who in their weakness abuse their brothers and sisters to prove their strength.

His bearer knew now the whole story - about two men, about Dragon Rock, the power, and the Lord of Doom.

It was a dangerous gift, and it was a long and hopeless search for a man who could receive it. But the Lord of Doom, once a petty sorcerer which came through deceit in possession of some small pieces of power from the Lords of the Upper Realms, started to change the world in his own manner, growing more and more powerful. The time was getting short. And then the messengers from the Upper Realms found the little shepherd on the slopes of the Blue Mountains. It was a man who did not know his magic was unsurpassed in the world of men, and who, in fear of doing evil, left all the courts and kingdoms that could have knelt under his feet, and went to the mountains to watch after a herd of goats. In truth, he was the only man to whom the Ring of the Kings could be trusted, and now the Ring was the only weapon against the Lord of Doom, whose power rose unstoppably, and was spreading across the lands. But, how to move a man who destroyed his own wishes long ago? The influence of the Lords of the Upper Realms on this earth was limited and indirect. A stimulus was needed, someone who could stir the sorcerer into action, someone whose desire for the power was stronger than anything else. Such people were not so hard to find, and the prince of the Plain Countries was one of the first choices. Therefore, he was enticed to go to a quest for the Ring of the Kings, and to search for the Dragon Rock, which led him unmistakably in the right direction. Of course, nothing of what happened was pre-destined to happen that way. No one, not even the Lords of the Upper Realms, the high-born elves, could know what the future brings. They could only drop a pebble, and watch if it would develop into an avalanche. Fortunately, Arios' solitude and curiosity was strong enough to make him go after the prince.

However, soon it was clear enough that the human spirit, no matter how strong it was, wasn't able to find the Upper Worlds alone. Therefore, a flute was given to Arios, a flute whose powerful magic was able to close the gap between the Upper and the Lower Realms. Carried by its music, the sorcerer's spirit could have reached the Dragon Rock without the death of the body, but destiny, or something similar, decided that it was to be done accidentally, in the hour of his death. So, the only way to return to this earth was to melt with someone still living. Maybe it was better this way, because who knows if Arios could find in himself enough will power to do what was needed, or would he throw away the Ring and left the world to its doom? Orin's yearning could give the moment of force to Arios' spirit, enticing him to act.

The new being was the most powerful creature on the earth, the wielder of the ultimate power, won at the Dragon Rock, in the Upper Realms ruled by the high-born elves and the ancient dragons. Two lives merged into one. The part of the mind which was Orin was now able to remember everything Arios lived through. It was all clear, and he knew what happened to the sorcerer.

He remembered the pain, when the enemy spears pierced him; he remembered the agony of dying, and the unearthly melody of the elven flute which led his spirit to the Upper Realms. In his spiritual eye, he saw the Dragon Rock, at whose base he stood, rising up in the blue heights, and the huge bodies of the beasts which nested in its caves. The dragons, as he always knew, were the guardians of the ultimate power.

"Am I there?" he asked the elven girl, who greeted him with a smile.

"Have we met before? In my dream? Or was it all real?"

She nodded without words, and pointed at the peak with her hand.

"There?" asked he. "There is the Ring of the Kings? But how could I climb there? The cliff is almost vertical."

One part of his mind knew that the physical distance does not mean anything in the place he was now, but at the same time he was aware that the distance he must cross to get to the Ring of the Kings was different, not measurable in steps.

"Not everyone is able to save the world," the answer came. "We chose you, because you are the only man capable to receive our gift."

"But, I don't want power," he said. "The power destroys everyone, in the end."

"Exactly. Men are too weak. You are the only man it would not destroy." said the girl.

"Why?" he asked.

"The answer to that question you will find in yourself," replied the elven girl.

"But, I am dead. This isn't real life any more. I'm not a man any more. Maybe this is only..." he tried again.

"...a dream?" the girl finished his question. "Yes, all of this is only a dream. The real world is a common dream of the people who inhabit it. It is a closed circle. People create the world, as the world creates the people. It is impossible to point a finger at the beginning. There is no beginning, as there is no end. The death is only passing into another, much bigger dream. The Dragon Rock is a crossroads. There is a way for you to return into the world of men, if you climb up to the Ring. It depends on you."

Then he realized how to reach his goal. All that was needed was for the Ring to really become his purpose. Everything else would come from that.

Still, the way up was not easy. He remembered the painful ascent, when he overcame the cliff inch by inch, only by sheer will power, while his spirit was becoming all the more powerful. His passivity was his greatest enemy; it was trying to make him give up everything, make him surrender and pass this effort to someone else, someone who cared more for the world and its destiny. However, he knew he was alone, and no one could take his burden and responsibility, and that knowledge dragged him up, higher and higher, to the lairs of the giant flyers. He remembered the moment at the top of the mountain, when an enormous green dragon gave him the Ring on the point of the long, sharp claw, and the moment he put it on his finger, feeling the waves of the unlimited power. The huge reptile eyes were staring at him. The dragon's shiny, muscular body coiled, sparkling on the translucent light of the Upper Realms. He felt he knew the soul of the world, and it was bound to act at his will.

He remembered his swift descent in the world of men and the encounter with himself - with Orin.

Before him, there was still a task to be done, a task which now seemed like formality. The evil of the Lord of Doom was still at large, but now he had no power over him. His fear disappeared; he could laugh in the face of the enemy. So, he waved his left hand and the sun rose in the west, killing the night. He started to walk slowly down the slope, while hundreds of men were watching the miracle in awe, and the Lord of Doom, the light of that evening dawn shining on him, was in panic, screaming commands, running through his camp. However, no one listened to him any more. The defenders, who were watching the spectacular scene, later could not come to agreement about their stories. What everyone remembered, though, was the figure which was descending to the ocean of enemies unarmed, and the panic which rose in their army. A huge shape on the black horse stood in front of the man, but no one heard their conversation. Some could swear that the Lord of Doom diminished before their eyes, others claimed he disappeared like a wisp of mist in the sun; still others were sure he simply dropped dead on the ground. What really happened was not important, anyway. The Lord's power was returned where it belonged. Without it, the miserable sorcerer was nothing. And perhaps he really did simply disappear.

Whatever happened, his army suddenly started to disperse. Those abducted from the realm of death were returned where they belonged, the demons paled away in the light of the magic sun, and the living men lost their will to make war, to kill, even to continue living. The horde of the Lord of Doom melted like the ball of snow before the dark shine of the Ring of the Kings. Everything was possible for the bearer of the ultimate power. The world was spreading at his feet, its soul open, at his mercy. But, Arios-Orin did not want the glory.

The remains of the Ledonia's people returned to their homes. And no one remembered seeing the powerful sorcerer, who accomplished the impossible, ever again. It was hard to tell if this forgetfulness was the Ring's doing, or simply the result of the fantastic human ability to overlook and forget all, even the most obvious things, which don't fit to their vision of the world.

## Epilogue

Many days after the fall of the demon army, two Hunters of the mountain lions, Nai and Saim, were sitting in their camp with their friend Orin ar den Raamternan. Their dinner, a wild mountain hare, was roasting over a campfire. Their people have already gone to their land. The twins remained here, to say goodbye to the prince. And, though he didn't talk much, they knew he was not the same as before. The spirit of Arios sparkled from his eyes. Nai and Saim could not overlook that.

"It seems you reached the end of your road," stated Saim.

"Yes." The man on the other side of the fire was silent. His eyes weren't looking only this reality any more, but much, much beyond it.

"But, the end could be more dangerous than the beginning, couldn't it?" asked Nai, her eyes revealing uncertainty.

"Maybe," replied Arios-Orin. "We can't know that, can we?"

"And what will you do now?" there was a trace of anxiety in the Saim's question.

"I don't know," said the man. "What I've become, doesn't give me the power to look in the future. Maybe I'll go through the world. There are many things that should be done. I could destroy all the evil in the world. And maybe become even worse than the Lord of Doom. Because, no one can stop me any more and not everyone would agree with my concept of evil. Who knows what would happen?"

The expression of fear appeared on the faces of the twins. And when a man is afraid of someone, he cannot be his friend. The company of the most powerful man on the earth became unpleasant in that instant. There was question in the eyes of the twins - why anyone was allowed to hold such power? Would it not destroy everyone, without exception? Would not even this man, whom the Upper Realms granted the power, yield to its burden?

But then, a broad smile brightened the face of the being sitting across them, melting the ice in the hearts of the twins, destroying the shadow of the doubt. Maybe it was only a part of his magic, but their fear suddenly seemed needless, foolish to the twins. It was a moment of their weakness, not his, they realized.

Arios-Orin shook his head slowly, looking at the fire, and said more to himself: "Yes, I could do anything. Still, I think I'll return home for a time being. It would be a shame if my goats have gone wild by now. I need to take care of them, and let the world take care of itself."

## The End
## About Author

Aleksandar Budjanovac (1963 - 2009) was a Croatian writer, faculty professor, Flamenco guitar player and martial arts master. He led a rich, fulfilled life which he used as the source of inspiration for his books. Besides "The Dragon Rock", he also wrote several other fantasy novels, as well as humoristic novels.

Nebojsa Budjanovac (1973) is a Croatian writer, English translator, psychotherapist, crisis intervention team leader and sword fighting champion of the world in WKF federation. As Aleksandar's brother, he translated his books to English, and also wrote several books of his own. During his life, he encountered many crisis and extremely dangerous situation, which he used to learn about human psyche and behavior. His interests cover many fields, including fantasy, philosophy, psychology, adventure, military history, martial arts and many others.

