The Runes of Delajen

By Seth Giolle

Our heroes have returned from their adventure in the Veshod. Jeann has gone south with Glastil hoping to find some peace in the solitude and quiet of the Southerner's farming community. Lagueu, the Shadow Sword that helped slay the shadow creature in the Veshod has gotten more arrogant and demanding if anything else since their return, and Glastil can't wait to see his daughter and home again. Ressal the dwarf is in a rush to return to his people while Locishles and her dragon are headed north. Much to her surprise, and annoyance, Wishan wants to go with her and see the north. Either she's too tired to argue, or she's lost her mind because she agrees. Unbeknownst to them, there's a conspiracy brewing to start a war and sever all ties between human and dragonkind. And they've just returned with the best weapon for the cause!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 11, 2018
• ISBN: 9780359082568

Seth Giolle

Seth Giolle was born on a small, rural farm in southeast Ontario. After Travelling throughout Canada in all its splendour, he once again makes Ontario his home.

Book preview

Runes of Delajen

Seth Giolle

The Call Of The Lucherne Suns

invisGif

Written Word

Shadow's Wake

The Runes Of Delajen

Book 1

Chapter One: North

Chapter Two: Nobility

Chapter Three: Summons

Chapter Four: The Calm

Chapter Five: Tanss

Chapter Six: Shadows

Chapter Seven: Tahee Llom Gorge

Chapter Eight: Relics

Chapter Nine: Betrayed

Chapter Ten: Elders

Book 2

Chapter One: South

Chapter Two: Home

Chapter Three: Country Life

Chapter Four: Red Trunks

Chapter Five: Emotion

Chapter Six: Undercurrents

Chapter Seven: Given Sway

Chapter Eight: Verrished Wood

Chapter Nine: Malice

Chapter Ten: Home Sweet Home

Chapter Eleven: Fates Entwined

Epilogue

Council

Book 1

North

Chapter One

Ressal inspected his leather tunic with disdain. The heavy worn material had gained quite a few new holes and scars in their fights in the Veshod and on their way up from the bottom of the Central Heart. Even the jointed armour and fine mail coat draped beside the dwarf had known serious damage. Just below the left breast plate, one such gash cleared both.

The dwarf’s frown grew as he looked at the dull grey sash laying carefully over both mail coat and armour. It was nearly cut right through with no replacement or repair possible.

Tapping his right foot, his upper lip curling and eye lids narrowing dangerously, Ressal ran a shaky hand through his thick, brown hair. Those fingers stopped and found the three tips and their missing braids. The lip curl was matched by a low growl.

I should have come north before.

Ressal cast a dark glance across the stone ledge to where Wishan stood looking out upon the mountainous vista laid out around them. With his dark blue skin tone, accentuated by the black shading and spikes around his ears and down his neck, the Shewesse nearly glowed against the grey and white.

This close to the peak, as north as they’d come, nearly clear out of Sathiol already, the peak above like those around were layered in thick ice and snow, and small flakes cascaded down around them. Wishan drew his light brown, hooded cloak in tighter and exhaled. He watched his breath hover before him for a moment, mesmerized before looking back to Ressal and offering an innocent smile, ignorant, by choice or other, of the dwarf’s discontent.

Wishan’s cloak was in an equal state of disrepair. Seeing this, Ressal simply grunted and pulled his mail on again. I’ve been inviting you north for years, he spat, and you’ve never taken me up on the offer. He looped a secure strap in place and tied the mail off. They call it snow.

Wishan continued to smile in wonder. Shaking his head, Ressal pulled the armour on as well and tied it in place. He picked up his axe and glanced around, huffing loud and closing his eyes.

What’s wrong? Wishan asked, eyebrows raised. Ressal gestured left and right, smiling mockingly. Oh, your pack. Right.

Yes, my pack, Ressal countered gruffly. My goods, my life - the one you lost to the kleeac! I’m expecting you to replace everything I lost.

I thought you saved your more precious goods on your person. Ressal slyly checked his stomach and sides, feeling for the hidden pockets concealed in the leather beneath. I’m sure they’ll get you something worth your time.

Not nearly enough.

A knowing smirk. Of course not, Wishan sighed. So you’re going back to Reolic? We won’t find you following us?

Ressal released a hearty laugh and vigorous head shake. Never! He strode secretively up beside Wishan. And if you were right in the head, you’d steer clear of those dragons. They’re not to be trusted, nor are their Riders.

He cast a quick, suspicious eye to the higher, far side of the peak where Locishles leaned against her Welann-To, patting and whispering gently in its ear. The dragon snorted out small puffs of smoke every so often. Its tail swished back and forth and randomly drooped over the peak’s edge.

Telepathy, Ressal spat quietly, the trick of the dragons. We’ve seen how split Locishles’ loyalties are, and she’s with her dragon now. You can’t trust her. It’ll be best to steer clear of her, as far clear as you can. Come with me. I’ll show you dwarf architecture that puts Kan Tanpas to shame!

Wishan shook his head wearily. I thank you again, but some other day. Ressal rolled his eyes and huffed derisively. I am not Jeann. By now, she and Glastil are far south, Nellot, maybe Ammoll by now. I am in no danger from Locishles, and I’ve always wondered how the Riders live, and I have not given up on Locishles. Right now, I think I’m best served with her.

Just don’t forget where I am, Ressal grumbled. It may come in handy.

Ressal walked over to Wishan’s bow and eyed it enviously. The string, wound in the Veshod, had remained strong, yet smooth as silk, and the wood had come away from the Veshod with little damage.

You used to tell me I avoided topics, Wishan noted with a grin. You didn’t answer my question. Ressal frowned heavily. Take the bow if you like, Wishan added, shrugging. I’ll make another. Are you or are you not?

A slight sneer and disgruntled eye. Yes, Ressal conceded, scooping up the bow and nodding, satisfied. I’m returning to Reolic. Them? he asked, gesturing towards Wishan’s crafted, leather quiver and remaining twenty arrows. Wishan shook his head.

It was a gift, he explained. The oracle gave it to me for a purpose. Ressal laughed. She did, Wishan insisted, tilting his head in question. And I’m sure you can find your own arrows and quiver.

We need to leave.

Ressal and Wishan looked up and over to see Locishles climbing onto her dragon, just in front of the wings. Her long brown coat split to rest comfortably behind her, and she sat back and rolled her head around, braids hanging down and bobbing as she did so. She slid her twin blades into place along the saddle bags by her right and left feet before flexing stiffly and resting back once more, this time eying Wishan and Ressal expectantly.

Any time, she added dryly.

You’ve been summoned, Ressal replied sarcastically.

Wishan nodded and collected his quiver, tying it to his left hip. He then picked up his long and short swords where they sat in their sheaths. Gold hilts, red handles, black winding grips that ended in golden butts - they still smelled of the recent cleaning. Their sheaths were in need of replacement, but they’d hold together for the foreseeable future. He quickly tied them together and slung them over his right shoulder.

Until we see each again, old friend.

Ressal snorted and shook his head. Wishan knew his friend well enough to accept that was the fondest good bye he was going to get, so he just shrugged again and made his way up the rocky incline to where the Welann-To waited, also eying him suspiciously.

The ridge running along her back was made up of smaller points, and her forehead was thickly built. Sharp barbs ran along the open jaw, and razor-sharp claws. That long tail flicked ever closer, then, veered away again. Up close, the scrapes along the dragon’s scales showed where the doyun had gotten through her defences. Even her wings seemed to be folded more carefully than normal. Of course, Wishan didn’t know dragons like her Rider. He did know enough to recognize the thin slit of a watchful eye and randomly flexing jaw.

I don’t think she likes me yet.

Locishles caressed her dragon’s neck affectionately. She doesn’t understand why you’re coming along with us, so she doesn’t trust you. I’m still wondering why you’re coming north with us too.

I told you, Wishan said, climbing up behind Locishles and gripping the Welann-To’s ridge. He took a few breaths. Smiling politely, he let go and looped his swords more securely onto his back. You’re weak, and I’d feel myself amiss if I took for granted you’d be safe with this journey alone.

I’m not alone. Locishles’ tone of voice was defiant, as was the arch of her back and her dragon’s sudden, definitive snort.

Wishan gestured with open arms. I know, he quickly put in, but you’re both tired and wounded, and besides, I like snow, and I’ve always wondered, past rumours, what your posting as a Rider looks like. I’ve only ever heard the rumours. They can’t be true.

Right. Locishles paused to close her eyes. A second later, she shook her head dismissively and sighed weakly. I’ll be fine after the cleansing, she remarked, but you can still come along. Our base is near cloud level. We get a lot of wind.

Wishan raised one eye brow sceptically. So be it, he said. When do we leave?

Now.

The Welann-To’s back arched and wings pumped hard, and the dragon shot up into the air. Wishan fell against his grip and watched the peak and Ressal fade quickly until it was just one small blurry part of a large mountain chain. That breath-taking vista became more wondrous, and the air became noticeably thin. Almost like it was becoming one with the small clouds that dotted the sky, the dragon slowed its ascent, then, angled her body, dipped her head, and began to scrape across the sky.

Its speed slowed after a time until the wings moved lazily, and Wishan found himself worrying they’d drop, but they kept adrift on the cross winds and made a steady path over the snowy peaks below towards the white and grey blanket more northern.

Was it always like this? Wishan asked, carefully sitting up. The snow and cold - I’m not sure I understand how a planet with three suns can have a polar region.

Locishles didn’t answer at first. She looked like she’d fallen asleep ahead, but she glanced back distractedly, tiredly. It gets warm for a few months of the year. The wind carried her words back, chilling them both. Locishles showed little reaction to the temperature and the bite of it. Wishan wrapped his cloak as tight as he could. It was worse for a time, long, long ago, but the planet returned to its natural state, this. As for why we have a polar region, the dragons theorize that our planet is slanted somehow.

Slanted?

A pensive nod. The planet is naturally warm, but we have heat, she continued. South, we have the Dashtall, basic plains. Up north here, we have the snow, and in the middle, we have balance.

So whatever’s heating us, Wishan surmised, eyes going to the blue skies with its two visible moons, one sun shining on the horizon, is heating one part of our world more than the other. It makes sense, but it leaves the question of what’s out there heating us.

The nod slowed, and Locishles’ eyes went to the cloud-spotted, snowy sky as well. They don’t have any answers for that, she remarked, adding a slight shrug. Something warm no doubt. I’m thinking it’s the suns myself. They give us light and when there’s all three of them, we feel warmer.

Wishan smiled.

Some think they only give us light though. They rotate around us, so their heat should be coming at us all around, heating us evenly; thus, no snow caps. Most people think there’s something else out there, Locishles added with searching eyes, something we just haven’t seen yet. Ultimately, we’re warm. It doesn’t really matter how.

As long as it keeps making us warm, no, Wishan agreed, carefully rubbing his arms. He quickly grabbed onto the dragon’s ribbing again as she dipped in flight, then, evened out again.

She’s more tired than I thought, Locishles admitted. We may have to stop to let her rest a few more times on our way home.

Wishan was open to that option. That way, he could become more accustomed to dragon flight in stages. He figured that would be a good thing.

They flew on in silence, and in the distance, Dwarf Peak rose amid the other mountains, and Wishan smiled. Having seen the original, Kan Tanpas, he could appreciate the simplicity of their version though he missed the waterfall they’d come across in the Veshod.

And they did stop on a few different peaks for rest. At these times, Locishles would gaze off, lost in her own thoughts, so Wishan would study the north searching for wild animals to communicate with. He usually found a few, and he learned of dens and animal migration. Most of them simply cared about food and the hunt. They didn’t really know more than that.

Ever so slowly, the heat near completely left them, and the wind grew in intensity. Small white Etis floated past as Locishles guided them ever north, and Wishan collected what news he could from the birds. He glanced forward with interest. Just like the Etis had suggested, the grey and white below rolled in ripples upon an off-white terrain until hitting a series of large cliffs far ahead.

Home base, Locishles explained. It was more of a spear shape when we started, but over the years, we’ve been building it up. They’re planning a raised centre-point.

The cliffs rose out from a large, uneven crater with forest running to the closest peaks below. There were waterfalls coursing down the front cliff face with stone, clay, and wood buildings built into the cliff wall itself. They were nearly bunched one on top of the other, a mixture of colours from red to brown to something close to green.

A maze of foot paths wound their way between and along the layered living quarters situated on the cliff top itself. There were a select few tall buildings that had been built there as well. They stood solo, disconnected from stone, and they were surrounded by glass domed towers. An immense stone building rose above the rest.

Though Rider Base was still small enough on the distant horizon, it, nonetheless, was an impressive first sight.

Nobility

Chapter Two

Where do the dragons live? Wishan asked hesitantly. Locishles motioned to the surrounding peaks, their summits hidden in eternal cloud cover.

They each have their own lairs for the most part, but some of them have communal caves. It adds warmth and companionship, and their Riders are friends.

But it’s unusual?

A different flock of Etis slipped past, and Wishan closed his eyes. He quickly turned his head a moment later and opened his eyes wide. Below, surrounded by five chunky, time-worn mountains, their peaks long gone to the many forces playing against them, a group of smaller dragons swarmed the earth and stone, wrapping around rock, flying freely, or crawling on all fours. The Telloa stood out the most for him with their twin spiked tails, brown ribbed scales, and eager quivering jaws.

They’re moulting right now, Locishles noted, following Wishan’s line of sight, the Telloa, she added in explanation. They become testy when they’re moulting, and the Lashallar aren’t helping any.

She gestured nonchalantly to one of many smaller groups of light yellow dragons, about the size of three men with thick hide and puffed ridges. With their quick, anxious flight, Wishan had the impression they never sat still. Of course, Locishles added, sighing, they’re always like that.

Wishan recognized the Ylenshui by description: red, medium-sized dragons, tongues flicking out every so often, poisonous tongues, as poisonous as the Telloa’s barbs from what he’d heard. They snapped their tails at the Lashallar as they neared. There were other dragons he certainly didn’t recognize both large and small.

Two of those unknown dragons paired off below.

The light yellow, long winged dragon looped over the other, four-winged dragon and whipped its tail around, knocking the four-winged dragon into two nearby watchers. The four-winged dragon returned the favour with three fire streams, bright green against the dark grey.

The flames scorched, and the dragons watching coiled tighter to rock or beat their wings harder. Above, the Welann-To ignored the spat and continued in its laboured flight. Wishan shook his head. I think I’ve a lot to learn, he remarked, frowning contentedly.

Locishles smiled for the first time since they’d left Glastil and Jeann on the Sathiol-Tsilot border. She gently guided her dragon down to a slanted peak, and they slid off while the dragon slept a little more. Locishles set herself against a pile of moss and laid back herself.

Making himself busy, Wishan got to work and soon had a fire going. He shortly had some meat from Locishles’ saddle bags cooking on some improvised spits.

You just saw the Telloa, Lashallar, Ylenshui, Jikari, and Lousha dragons, Locishles said, slowly rolling her head around. Don’t bother the Telloa, and don’t stare them down, or they’ll challenge you. Wishan nodded uneasily. They’re quite skilful, and they make very good dragons for their Riders, but they’re territorial, very. The Lashallar are trouble-makers, she added with a yawn.

If you’re tired, Wishan said, gesturing open-armed. He’d been ignored for the most part so far. He was alright with more silence. Though, he had to admit, he did like the sound of her voice. Of course, having spent so long in the Veshod trapped in his own head, he liked the sound of anyone’s voice anymore.

No, no, I need to talk, she insisted. I need to keep my mind clear this final leg for the probing. Sleep clouds the thoughts. It can’t always be helped, but this close, I’ll hold out. Wishan nodded his acceptance, and Locishles rubbed her eyes. Like I was saying, the Lashallar, those small ones, play tricks, knocking things on people and the like.

They don’t have Riders?

They’re too small, but they make excellent guards, and they send messages between dragons. Their allegiance is solid. They just like making trouble is all. The Ylenshui is a race I avoid on merit.

The Welann-To huffed deeply. Wishan wasn’t sure if she was showing her support for Locishles’ words or not. A steady, low snoring sound followed.

Locishles shrugged wearily. They’re arrogant, and they look down on any other race or Rider not their own. I don’t hold with that, and I don’t hold with their loyalties.

What’s this allegiance you speak of?

Wishan rooted around inside his cloak for a moment until he finally produced some small leather pouches, the reason they’d stopped to part ways with Ressal when they did. He measured out the herbs with his eyes and carefully treated the cooking meat.

Locishles let her eyes drift off the peak and blinked a few times. The dragons all serve Millosel, she offered, shrugging slightly, but they don’t all hold to having Riders. The Ajelara, for instance, don’t permit Riders. They’re obstinate and cantankerous anyway, so no one’s amiss over that. The Kall-Chior is very picky about accepting certain people. They’re strong dragons to link with. The other ones, those that can support Riders, aren’t so choosy, and they all make good companions for different reasons.

So they aren’t all allied with the thought of having Riders, Wishan summed, nodding pensively. What about those other dragons I saw - the Jikari and Lousha?

They’re harmless most of the time, but they like to fight. What you saw was what in human terms would be an argument. Of course, sometimes, they fight for sport, to let off steam. They’re human in many ways, more noble in others.

Wishan turned the meat over. A chill wind blew through him, or nearly did. The fire flickered and swayed and nearly went out. He quickly moved the logs around and fed the flame some new fuel. And what am I to expect when we reach base? he asked. More of the same?

No. No. It’ll be pretty quiet when we get there actually, so we’ll likely not even see many people or dragons about, and the Riders and dragons you meet will likely just ignore you. We get visitors from time to time, Kings or delegates, so they should just accept you as is, no questions.

What aren’t you telling me? Wishan asked, turning the meat again.

What do you mean?

If the races aren’t all in support of Riders, wouldn’t an outpost or base of Riders be a complicated place to work and live.

A shimmer of a smile and another yawn. It has its moments, but woman and dragon are linked whether certain dragons want to have Riders or not, so some politics pop up, yes, but it’s nothing that’ll bother you - mission selection, ranking, medals, nothing a true Rider would care about. That’s the sort of place where things go amiss, just like the lairs. Dragons don’t always get along, and some need more space than others. Dragons understand this.

The polite smile met Wishan’s puzzled expression, slowly dwindling to a tired frown. You mentioned hearing rumours, Locishles mused, the frown remaining. What rumours did you hear exactly?

Wishan paused in his seasoning for a moment. The traders Ressal and I would meet, mostly ones Ressal had dealings with, would speak of arguments between the Riders and their mounts. They said the missions were disagreed over, and that was why help didn’t always arrive when it was needed.

Locishles growled disgustedly and leaned forward, eyes wide open, grimace forming. We get this all the time, she spat. Wishan held up his hands in defence. Locishles shook her head and swallowed a scream.

They ask for help, she continued, waving at the wind, "and it takes time to get there. What do they think? That we can magically just poof ourselves where we’re needed? Come on! Messages pass on horseback. Falcons carry those messages after that until they can’t take the cold; then, it gets, finally, to us, and we send help.

There’s travel time and everything else a normal rider would need, but because we ride dragons, they figure we can, who knows, bend time maybe? It’s ridiculous, and we tell the monarchs that, and they promise us to spread it around, but they don’t, and they wonder why some Riders get annoyed!

Wishan’s smirk was quickly wiped away under Locishles’ glare, but her anger faded to a resigned sigh. It gets to you after a while, she added regretfully, but it doesn’t stop what we do. When there’s trouble, when we’re called, we do what we can to help. We’d have stationed some Riders further south a long time ago, but the dragons don’t like it, and people are worried we’ll scare their game away. She rolled her eyes and shook her head. My mother has been moving for that southern posting. She wants me nearer.

She’s likely worried about you, Wishan suggested distractedly. A playful battle broke to their right, three dragons whirling noisily, heatedly around a low, pointed peak. Maybe we should have stopped in Ammoll on our way up here to let her know you’re fine.

Locishles rested her head and body back again. She’ll find that out soon enough. She always does.

This won’t take long. I don’t know if your dragon eats this meat or not.

When she’s hungry, she’ll eat anything she can get her claws on, but there isn’t enough here for her. She’ll be fine. Locishles looked to her sleeping dragon. She’s just tired is all.

The random hissing sound as falling snow hit flame was complimented by the wind that howled around them. Dragons battled amongst themselves in the background as the meat was cut up and eaten, and Locishles ate her fill, then, stood and tried to shake off her fatigue. She sat back on the rock she’d been resting on a second later holding her head.

"Maybe I could use more