For another week they traveled south, and the heat of summer began to set in, despite the earliness of the season. The coastline gave way to forests, and Delgar suddenly noticed that the mountains had vanished from sight. They passed through another great forest, coming out onto a vast plain.
“We are now at the northern border of Taerraland,” Daelyn said. “To the east is Pakaria, and the warlords of Pakaria have never held a lasting peace with the noble castes of Taerra. We are only a couple of weeks journey from Pakaria, so we must be cautious.”
“Will we see any battles?” Delgar asked, his eyes suddenly alight.
Daelyn frowned. “If we are unfortunate, yes.”
But, as they headed south towards the heartland of Taerraland, Daelyn would not say any more about the subject. Delgar soon found the subject fleeing his mind as he journeyed on the gravel roads that crossed the country. After another two days of travel, they came to a small village.
“We’ll stay in an inn tonight,” Daelyn decided. “I long for a feather bed, and I have no doubt you do as well.”
Delgar nodded his assent, and they strode along the main street of the village, watching as the people bustled past merchant’s stalls in a summer fair.
Delgar stopped, staring at the thatched roofs and the colorful stalls, and wiped away a tear. Daelyn stopped in front of him.
“What is the matter?” the Tuatha de Danaan asked.
“A fair was the last place that Lera and I saw each other alive,” Delgar said, his voice breaking slightly. “I still miss her so much.”
Daelyn stepped close to Delgar and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Never forget her,” he said. “But rejoice in her life rather than mourn her death. If one mourns forever, than one cannot live, and you must live.”
Delgar nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ll never forget her,” he vowed.
Gently and kindly, Daelyn led Delgar into a nearby inn. Smoke rose into the airfrom a hearth in the middle of the common room, causing Delgar to cough. After a couple of minutes, though, the young man felt better. He watched Daelyn talking with the bartender for a moment, and then the Tuatha de Danaan motioned towards the stairs. The bartender nodded, and Daelyn walked back over to Delgar.
“We have a room for the night,” Daelyn said. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
That night, Delgar’s sleep was blissfully free of dreams.
Daelyn woke Delgar the next morning, and the two set off just after the sunrise across the now hilly landscape. The voyage was pleasant in the morning, but as noon approached, stormclouds formed overhead. Daelyn looked up at the dark, ominous sky and shook his head.
“We’ll have to find some shelter tonight,” he said. “This storm will be brutal.”
“Is there another village nearby?” Delgar asked.
Daelyn shook his head. “We’ll have to find a cave or something of the sort. Even a barrow will do.”
Thunder rumbled overhead.
The two walked swiftly up one of the hills and looked down. Delgar pointed at a feature in the distance.
“Is that a barrow we can use?” he asked.
Daelyn nodded. “We had best hurry.” As he spoke, the ground was illuminated by lightning. The two broke into a run, pounding towards the small mound on the landscape. For a moment, Delgar feared he would collapse from exhaustion, but somehow he found the strength to go on.
Finally, as the rain began to pour down upon them and the ground was cloaked in darkness, they made their way to the barrow. Delgar looked up in awe. The entrance was carved out of three massive stones, each grey monolithic rock covered in runes older than any of the civilizations he had ever read about. Inside, an unworldly light shone, illuminating the doorway as though it was a gate to the underworld itself.
Daelyn shook his head. “This could be a dangerous place, but we will have to use it.” He winced as a hail-stone caught him on the cheek. “Delgar, inside!”
Dashing into the barrow, Delgar found himself in a large circular cavern. The walls were smooth grey stone, bare of any decorations. A small hoard of treasure lay at the end of the room, glowing with a light Delgar had only seen before in the cave of Fleot’heortan. On the top of the treasure was a golden throne.
Delgar gasped in shock as he gazed upon the throne. An ancient skeleton in golden armor sat before him. The bones were covered with dust, but the skull’s hollow eyes gazed forward so intently that Delgar found himself looking away.
“Where are we?” Delgar asked.
“The gateway to the world of the dead,” Daelyn replied. “This is a place where the dead and the living can cross at certain times. That thing there is the guardian.”
Delgar shook his head. “I don’t like this place.” Even as he said it, curiosity overcame his fear. If the guardian did speak, what would it say? What secrets would it impart?
“We’ll stay by the entrance until the storm passes,” Daelyn said, sitting down. But Delgar noticed the Tuatha de Danaan’s eyes remained fixed on the ancient skeleton.
Delgar sat down and stretched, watching the storm outside. Lightning shot from cloud to cloud, and both rain and hail fell to the earth. As the lightning flashed, the crashing thunder became deafening, as though some great giant had just fallen.
He wasn’t sure what brought his eyes back to the skeleton. A chill began to run down his spine, and he slowly looked back into the cavern, his eyes falling upon the ancient corpse.
The skeleton was staring directly at him.
Delgar shook his head and looked to Daelyn, but the Tuatha de Danaan stared silently back at the ancient warrior. Delgar nudged Daelyn softly, but Daelyn did not move.
The guardian motioned to the young man, dust falling from the ancient bones. “I have already spoken to him,” it rasped, its voice both hollow and infinite. “Why are you here, Magus Draconum?”
Delgar swallowed. “I am Delgar. What is a Magus Draconum?”
“You were Magus Draconum,” the guardian said. “You will be Magus Draconum. You are Magus Draconum.”
“I don’t understand,” Delgar said. “Are you trying to tell me my future?”
“There is no future. There is no past. There is no present.”
Delgar shook his head and swallowed again. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” the skeleton stated. “All will join the dead.”
“Not now,” Delgar said. “Why have you come here?”
“I am the guardian of the dead,” the corpse said. “My spirit was summoned by you. I cannot resist the pull of a creature of power.”
“But I am not a creature of power,” Delgar protested.
“You are wyrd’s creature. You were wyrd’s creature. You will be wyrd’s creature. I am subject to the call of Magus Draconum.”
“Why do you say I am wyrd’s creature?” Delgar asked.
“You are the sign of the end of the world. You are the savior of the world. You are the one who will bridge the many worlds. You are the unwilling immortal.”
Delgar shook his head. “I am only a boy,” he muttered.
The skeleton gazed at him, and Delgar felt as though it examined every part of his soul. Then the ancient head bowed.
“Time has spoken. Wyrd has spoken. You are not ready for my counsel. Forget my words, for they are not for you.” And then the guardian was silent.
“We are now at the northern border of Taerraland,” Daelyn said. “To the east is Pakaria, and the warlords of Pakaria have never held a lasting peace with the noble castes of Taerra. We are only a couple of weeks journey from Pakaria, so we must be cautious.”
“Will we see any battles?” Delgar asked, his eyes suddenly alight.
Daelyn frowned. “If we are unfortunate, yes.”
But, as they headed south towards the heartland of Taerraland, Daelyn would not say any more about the subject. Delgar soon found the subject fleeing his mind as he journeyed on the gravel roads that crossed the country. After another two days of travel, they came to a small village.
“We’ll stay in an inn tonight,” Daelyn decided. “I long for a feather bed, and I have no doubt you do as well.”
Delgar nodded his assent, and they strode along the main street of the village, watching as the people bustled past merchant’s stalls in a summer fair.
Delgar stopped, staring at the thatched roofs and the colorful stalls, and wiped away a tear. Daelyn stopped in front of him.
“What is the matter?” the Tuatha de Danaan asked.
“A fair was the last place that Lera and I saw each other alive,” Delgar said, his voice breaking slightly. “I still miss her so much.”
Daelyn stepped close to Delgar and put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Never forget her,” he said. “But rejoice in her life rather than mourn her death. If one mourns forever, than one cannot live, and you must live.”
Delgar nodded, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’ll never forget her,” he vowed.
Gently and kindly, Daelyn led Delgar into a nearby inn. Smoke rose into the airfrom a hearth in the middle of the common room, causing Delgar to cough. After a couple of minutes, though, the young man felt better. He watched Daelyn talking with the bartender for a moment, and then the Tuatha de Danaan motioned towards the stairs. The bartender nodded, and Daelyn walked back over to Delgar.
“We have a room for the night,” Daelyn said. “We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
That night, Delgar’s sleep was blissfully free of dreams.
Daelyn woke Delgar the next morning, and the two set off just after the sunrise across the now hilly landscape. The voyage was pleasant in the morning, but as noon approached, stormclouds formed overhead. Daelyn looked up at the dark, ominous sky and shook his head.
“We’ll have to find some shelter tonight,” he said. “This storm will be brutal.”
“Is there another village nearby?” Delgar asked.
Daelyn shook his head. “We’ll have to find a cave or something of the sort. Even a barrow will do.”
Thunder rumbled overhead.
The two walked swiftly up one of the hills and looked down. Delgar pointed at a feature in the distance.
“Is that a barrow we can use?” he asked.
Daelyn nodded. “We had best hurry.” As he spoke, the ground was illuminated by lightning. The two broke into a run, pounding towards the small mound on the landscape. For a moment, Delgar feared he would collapse from exhaustion, but somehow he found the strength to go on.
Finally, as the rain began to pour down upon them and the ground was cloaked in darkness, they made their way to the barrow. Delgar looked up in awe. The entrance was carved out of three massive stones, each grey monolithic rock covered in runes older than any of the civilizations he had ever read about. Inside, an unworldly light shone, illuminating the doorway as though it was a gate to the underworld itself.
Daelyn shook his head. “This could be a dangerous place, but we will have to use it.” He winced as a hail-stone caught him on the cheek. “Delgar, inside!”
Dashing into the barrow, Delgar found himself in a large circular cavern. The walls were smooth grey stone, bare of any decorations. A small hoard of treasure lay at the end of the room, glowing with a light Delgar had only seen before in the cave of Fleot’heortan. On the top of the treasure was a golden throne.
Delgar gasped in shock as he gazed upon the throne. An ancient skeleton in golden armor sat before him. The bones were covered with dust, but the skull’s hollow eyes gazed forward so intently that Delgar found himself looking away.
“Where are we?” Delgar asked.
“The gateway to the world of the dead,” Daelyn replied. “This is a place where the dead and the living can cross at certain times. That thing there is the guardian.”
Delgar shook his head. “I don’t like this place.” Even as he said it, curiosity overcame his fear. If the guardian did speak, what would it say? What secrets would it impart?
“We’ll stay by the entrance until the storm passes,” Daelyn said, sitting down. But Delgar noticed the Tuatha de Danaan’s eyes remained fixed on the ancient skeleton.
Delgar sat down and stretched, watching the storm outside. Lightning shot from cloud to cloud, and both rain and hail fell to the earth. As the lightning flashed, the crashing thunder became deafening, as though some great giant had just fallen.
He wasn’t sure what brought his eyes back to the skeleton. A chill began to run down his spine, and he slowly looked back into the cavern, his eyes falling upon the ancient corpse.
The skeleton was staring directly at him.
Delgar shook his head and looked to Daelyn, but the Tuatha de Danaan stared silently back at the ancient warrior. Delgar nudged Daelyn softly, but Daelyn did not move.
The guardian motioned to the young man, dust falling from the ancient bones. “I have already spoken to him,” it rasped, its voice both hollow and infinite. “Why are you here, Magus Draconum?”
Delgar swallowed. “I am Delgar. What is a Magus Draconum?”
“You were Magus Draconum,” the guardian said. “You will be Magus Draconum. You are Magus Draconum.”
“I don’t understand,” Delgar said. “Are you trying to tell me my future?”
“There is no future. There is no past. There is no present.”
Delgar shook his head and swallowed again. “I don’t understand.”
“You will,” the skeleton stated. “All will join the dead.”
“Not now,” Delgar said. “Why have you come here?”
“I am the guardian of the dead,” the corpse said. “My spirit was summoned by you. I cannot resist the pull of a creature of power.”
“But I am not a creature of power,” Delgar protested.
“You are wyrd’s creature. You were wyrd’s creature. You will be wyrd’s creature. I am subject to the call of Magus Draconum.”
“Why do you say I am wyrd’s creature?” Delgar asked.
“You are the sign of the end of the world. You are the savior of the world. You are the one who will bridge the many worlds. You are the unwilling immortal.”
Delgar shook his head. “I am only a boy,” he muttered.
The skeleton gazed at him, and Delgar felt as though it examined every part of his soul. Then the ancient head bowed.
“Time has spoken. Wyrd has spoken. You are not ready for my counsel. Forget my words, for they are not for you.” And then the guardian was silent.
Delgar watched the skeleton for what seemed like hours, but the strange life he had seen in it earlier had fled. All that was left was Daelyn’s still form and the storm.
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