Dragon knight Prophecy Rewritten B 1 Ch 1

Under the boughs of a dark forest drifted the final plumes of smoke from a dying campfire. Slowly the land was coming awake as the first rays of sunlight streaked the sky over the nearby mountains. The domain of the night faded as a solitary figure hunched beside an outcropping of stone, desperately trying not to cry.

With trembling hands, he carefully hid a dull leather pack in the crevice of the stone. His breathing was shallow as the dull glow of the sun crept over the snow-capped peaks. His thoughts were full of pain, but he focused on the final leg of his journey and wondered if he would be back by nightfall. With a weak smile, he wondered why he was still concerned about having enough time to get back. He wasn’t coming back.

The long road of his life had led to this moment, this lonely end. He had only one last thing to do to finish his task, which lay just ahead. His armor shifted as he stood, the metal plates polished to a glistening sheen. It was decorated with painted diamonds and a bronze sunburst to identify his rank as a knight commander. The red star of Astikar, the symbol of his god, was emblazoned on the left of his breastplate.

He was a soldier and a commander here to do the impossible. A task made all the more difficult by the fact that he was now alone. Over a month ago, he set out with thirty men on a quest to change the fate of a war and the despair of a people. They traveled east away from the war, covering as much ground as they could by pushing men and horses to their limits. By the second week, they had crossed the common lands and entered the eastern provinces. These were a loose collection of petty kingdoms with weak kings and rulers. He pushed on through these lands, driving for the dense forests that lay beyond.

When they reached the vast forest known to the locals as the Greenwall, his men had to slow down. These lands were sparsely populated, with dense wood over hilly terrain. The only humans who traveled these lands were hunters, trappers, and those seeking the lands fabled rare lumber.

The Greenwall was an ancient forest, having survived the shattering of the world, and in it grew some of the rarest trees. The wood from these trees was highly prized by the lands further west to be used in temples and great houses. White knotted oaks and the impossibly beautiful black onyx maple were hidden in these dense woods. Teams of men came to the forest to cut down the trees, creating temporary roads. These logging paths were all they had to travel on now, and these were little more than overgrown, muddy trails.

If he had been further north, he could have taken the farm roads and avoided the dense forest for another five days. Easier as it may have been, he feared to take that route. Too many eyes would see him pass, and too many questions would be raised. His mission was too important, and he dared not answer questions about what lurked in the mountains nearby. Better to head directly west through the sparsely populated farmlands and go through the forest, avoiding the towns and villages.

A week into the forest, he made camp on a hill in the center of a meadow. He posted guards as always since the woods were home to wild animals and beasts. He didn't expect any trouble, as most animals avoided a large force. The real danger was in the west, beyond the green plains, but that was many weeks away. This far from the bloody battlefields, he should be able to find peace. With any luck, the enemy had no idea he was not present on the front lines. By the time they knew, it would be too late, and their fate would be sealed.

Still, he and his men were troubled, and many found it hard to sleep. As a knight of Astikar they were gifted with what they called the gods' warning. It was a sense of impending danger that echoed in one's heart when a threat was near. You always felt it if the path ahead was leading you into danger. That terrible warning had started even before he rode out with his men and had been with them for weeks now. Every step they took felt as if they were walking into ruin, and many began to doubt their faith. It took all he had as a leader of men to assure them that this quest was the greatest challenge their order had ever faced. They all knew what awaited them beyond the forest and that danger was what Astikar was warning them of. As a show of confidence, he posted a light guard and ordered the rest of his men to bed. They would need their rest for the day ahead and the colossal challenge they faced.

Deep into the darkness of the night, he lay awake, staring at the ceiling of this tent. Despite his words of courage, he found it difficult to sleep with the warning echoing in his heart. Surely his god knew how important this task was? Surely he would want them to be rested for the day ahead? When the first howls split the air, his shock and disbelief held him in place. Fear and panic gripped him as he fought the sensation aside and rose to his feet. He rushed into the night in nothing but his pants as he realized he had doomed them all.

They swarmed over the camp in a wave of savagery and flailing death. His men were not expecting a battle, so armor and weapons were stacked neatly outside tents. They struggled to grab a sword and shield to stand in bare feet against the onrushing tide. They were scattered and out of formation, easy pickings for the dark forms that now raced around them. Gersius reacted the only way he could, drawing his sword and charging into the fight in little more than his pants.

Despite being caught off guard, Gersius managed to gather a dozen of his men in a frantic effort to turn the tide. They formed a tight circle, creating a perimeter in the center of the camp. Around him, he could hear men screaming in the darkness as they were ripped apart. They called his name, begging him to save them from the doom he had led them into.

He knew without question that this was his fault and every plea for help stabbed at his heart. All of these men were volunteers, eager to accompany the order's greatest champion. They jumped at the chance to follow him on a daring mission to save the land. Their heads were filled with dreams of fame and glory that would inevitably follow in his wake. Now, they screamed like frightened children as they were slaughtered for his mistake.

He was surrounded by the wild beasts from the far west as they ran about his ring of men, slashing and biting. He and his men fought with tenacity, but they were sorely outnumbered. The battle raged in bloody chaos for another four hours, the ring of men growing smaller as they fell. They stepped backward over the dying men, shortening the distance and closing the gaps. To leave an opening would spell the doom of them all, but that meant the wounded and dying had to be abandoned. If they could find just a moment to drop their guard, they could save some of these men, but that moment would never come. Instead, every man who fell became a new voice crying out his name, begging him to save them.

One by one, they fell, but so too did the enemy. His men took a terrible toll on the black forms that raced around them. For every man that fell, five or more of the monsters went with them. As the sun's rays crept over the horizon, two bloodied and trembling men still stood against the last five of the monsters. The rest of the beast lay in heaps about them, their spilled blood mingling with that of his fallen men. Exhausted and driven mad with rage the men fought on until, by mercy and grace, they remained when all else were slain.

When he finally fell to his knees, he knew the simple truth: the mission was over. A sword stained red with the blood of dozens of wild beasts fell from a hand with no strength to hold it. His gaze swept over the scene of death and horror before him, a slaughter of his own making. Only now did the warning sense fade away, leaving him in peace for the first time in weeks. This was his greatest calamity, a mistake of his own hubris that his people would pay dearly for.

He walked among the dead, looking into blank eyes as the hopes and dreams of his people died. All that he had sacrificed for had been for nothing as his great and foolish gamble failed. With it came the shame of defeat and the realization that he was no longer fit to lead. His heart read as he saw the faces of men he heard pleading for his help. He begged them to forgive him, even holding a bloody hand as the tears fell.

He couldn't understand how any of this could have happened. He was so sure this was the path, and these men believed him. Now, those men lay in pieces all around him, their trust and faith in him misplaced. He had led them to death and ruin, wasting their lives on a fruitless gamble.

His order needed to know of this disaster, so he penned a letter and handed it to his only surviving soldier. The look of pain in that man's eyes echoed the torment in Gersius's heart. They both knew who was to blame for this slaughter and on whose shoulders the shame would fall. The horses were dead, so the poor man had to take the letter on foot. He offered one final salute to the man who had been his hero and vanished into the forest, eager to escape that terrible place. Gersius knew it would be weeks before that letter reached Calathen, and by then, it would have long been over.

His heart wept for the distant city of Calathen and wished he had never left its walls. It was a grand city with ancient walls that towered over the studded plains. It was the largest city in what was once an empire, built by the man he was trying to emulate. Its massive walls were built around the base of a small mountain, the city's districts climbing up the base. At the highest point were the old buildings of the emperor's palace, standing above the city like a great crown. It was said that a man changed when they saw the city walls, and humbled when they behold the emperor's palace.

The empire had lasted but ten years, formed in an act of desperation when the lands faced certain defeat. It fell to ruin when the man who united it was slain. Assassinated, some say, but the true story of what happened was lost to time and history. The vast lands split into smaller kingdoms, dividing up the once mighty power.

That was a thousand years ago, but the people still remembered the stories of the once glorious empire. They told tales of the heroics of its champions and of dragons who aided men. He has been raised on those stories and knew the legends by heart. He dreamed of seeing the empire reborn, its power restored, and Calathen as its capital once more.

It was for Calathen and the people who made up the old empire that he'd come all this way. A new threat had risen in the west and, like the legends of old, had come with no warning or mercy. The people needed a new hero to unite the lands against this threat, and he had failed them.

Now, he stood alone, surveying the result of his decisions. Never had he felt such pain or been crippled by indecision. He had already failed in his task, leaving him only two choices. Return in disgrace and accept judgment for his failure, or press on and meet his fate. Going back was an impossibility. How could he stand before his order and tell them they had already lost? How could he bow his head in shame and tell them he failed? To return a failure was a fate worse than death, but then what was the other path? He could press on alone to face a foe he could not possibly hope to defeat and die a hero in one very brief, final battle.

“I will be with you again soon,” he said to his fallen men as he hardened his resolve. He made his choice and picked up his gear, heading deeper into the forest.

For three days, he walked the forest alone, with his guilt slowly eating him alive. He eventually found the farm road from the north and followed it deeper into the forest. The road quickly faded to a muddy track and then an overgrown trail before vanishing completely. He wadded through ferns and brush for half a day as the mountains grew closer.

Close to the cold cliffs of the ice fangs, he found a fern-covered glen split by a small stream. A large rock outcropping leaned over a small patch of gravel, providing a crude but dry shelter. He made his camp in the shade of the rock, lighting small fires at night to keep himself warm. He slept on the ground, his dreams filled with the screams of men begging him to save them. He woke every morning to the dark shadow of the mountain, slowly retreating as the sun rose. He searched the nearby base for a way through them for four days, citing an old report that mentioned a cave. He found it late into the afternoon yesterday and spent a long hour staring into the darkness. He would take one last night of rest and then set out in the morning. He would face his fate like a man, uttering one last cry of battle and glory before dying for his people. The morning had come, and despite his foreknowledge, he still prepared as if he was coming back. He wasn't coming back.

With resignation, he took up his sword and prepared to meet his fate. This long, straight blade was a typical sword of his order and felt like an extension of his body. It was emblazoned with the red star of his order with a golden stone on the pommel to symbolize the sunburst, the dawn of mercy, and justice to man through his god.

He donned his cloak and belts, adjusting the fit to ensure flexibility of movement over his armor. Last, he picked up his helm, turning it over in his hands as he steadied himself. He carefully lifted it over his head and slid it down. When he opened his eyes, he saw the world through the familiar window of his armor. A sense of protection and invulnerability enveloped him. With determination, he pushed forward, beginning the final steps of his life.

He trudged up the broken and uneven slopes at the base of the mountain. It was a difficult path in full armor, but it was the only way to reach the cave. He hoped this was one in the old document that went through the mountain to the valley beyond. This was his last chance to die a hero and avoid the shame that awaited him back home. It took him almost an hour, but finally, he stood before that dark opening.

With a deep sigh, he took out a torch, one of a dozen he had brought with him. He chuckled at the pointlessness of it all. He brought so many to ensure he had enough to make it back, but he wasn't coming back. This was the end of his journey, the last road to travel before he stood with his men to apologize in person.

A quick use of a flint and steel lit the simple torch. He descended into the darkness before him, refusing to yield to the fear welling up inside. He felt like a man lost in a storm who knew he would never find his way home. He could see only a dozen feet in a light that offered little detail. Beyond that was a total blackness that threatened to swallow him. With determination, he pushed on the path set. There was only one purpose in his life now, and that purpose lay somewhere beyond the darkness that shrouded his heart.