The Dragon King: Book 1

By J.L. Staar

Turn the page and open the door into the thrilling saga of The Dragon King, where myth and lore, love and magic are intermingled in a world where the strength of a pure heart stands against the powers of dark magic.
Guardians, protectors of goodness and light in the world, had scarcely survived the Great War against their adversary Abdenagon the Destroyer, a fallen Guardian condemned to rule the nether gloom, who found a path into the world of the living through tempting the hearts of Guardians whose hearts fell into darkness, dark lords battling each other and the humans for the rule of all.
After rebuilding the carnage of the long war, the Guardians of pure heart could not expunge the fear and hatred the humans felt toward them for the unimaginable suffering caused by the dark lords wielding their powers for evil. Guardians were forced to withdraw from the humans to live in the safety of their mountain sanctuary, Ellery Glen.
In the millenniums of peace that followed, Abdenagon did not rest, regaining his strength he found in Fangull, a willing heart to fall into darkness, a servant who surpassed his expectations. Great darkness loomed over the world once again. A war the Guardians were ill prepared to fight—with their powers limited by ancient weaves, their eyes blinded, and their hearts bound by eons of beliefs and traditions that no longer held true. They awaited the fulfillment of the prophecy that a king would come to lead them into battle. The king that came was not what they had expected; their hearts fell into despair as the evil one stirred and darkness threatened to eclipse their world of goodness and light. Thus begins The Chronicles of Dragons, Wizards, and Kings of Ellery Glen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781648011542

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The Dragon King

Book 1

J.L. Staar

Copyright © 2020 J.L. Staar

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64801-1-528 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64801-1-535 (Hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-64801-1-542 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Awakening

The Fallen at Garmond’s Watch

The Bond of Trust

The Message

Winds of Doom

The Gatekeepers

When Hope Fails

Theodoric’s Lair

The Key

The Secrets of Maghedin

The Codices of Mixed Blood

The Gemini of Rosalinda

Beyond Despair

The Shadow Walker

Pledge of Marriage

Only in Dreams

The Gathering

The Shunning

Into the Fog

Spawn of the Incubus

Debt of Blood

A Golden Tear

With heartfelt gratitude to family and friends for their encouragement

Chapter 1

The Awakening

Racked with pain and lacking the strength or will to go on, he stopped in a small clearing surrounded by towering trees. With forced effort, he searched for any familiar landmark; finding none, he walked aimlessly into the dense woods. With his head lowered, he struggled for the strength to carry on. Compelled by a will not his own, every step took more effort than the last; an invisible force was driving him ever onward, not allowing him to give in to the peace that death promised. His thoughts were disoriented by exhaustion and pain; all reason or purpose was lost to him in the ever-present darkness within. Without memory, he was void of self-awareness of who he was, where he was, where he was going or why. Random thoughts and questions flashed in and out of his mind beyond his control. If only his failing body could find rest in death’s sweet peace, he thought. Unable to answer death’s call, the unknown power within him forced him ever onward, with the need to keep moving shouting out in his mind.

Gloom of night hung heavy over him with no moonlight to guide his way; he stumbled over twisted roots and caught himself before going down. The light of the full bright moon could not find a way through the thick boughs and tangled mass of the forest canopy that rose hundreds of feet above him.

Shrill screeching rang out, echoing chillingly through the night air, further disorienting his thoughts. He struggled to clear his mind of the fearful piercing death cries that made his blood run cold. There was no image in his memory identifying the creatures that hunted cloaked in the shroud of darkness. Some ancient unrecognized instinct from within alerted a warning of caution that night hunters were the most fearsome, the deadliest. Knowing he lacked the strength to defend himself if challenged in battle, it was sure to end his life. Accepting that his life could be ended by some unrecognized predator, he held no sense of fear or foreboding; yet he could not conquer the compelling power within forcing his struggle to hold the spark of life that remained. He had to reach a place to rest, to heal, to remember, and to think of what to do next.

After a few moments of stillness, of listening intently for any near threat, he moved forward again slowly, cautiously. His steps fell heavy, dragging on the thick matt of moss, stirring up molding, decaying foliage that covered the forest floor. The blended rancid smell of decay with that of rich fertile earth drifted up into each labored breath he took.

From somewhere off in the distance, a faint sound drifted into his consciousness, awakening a need within him. He searched to find a memory to explain his need, finding only a sense that something was needed.

Desperately searching his mind for anything to connect him to his existence, not a single memory could be found to give him warmth or solace against the consuming pain of solitude. Once again, he was brought low by his sense of loss. It was an unbearable weight that pressed sorely upon his mind and tore at his soul, leaving a wound that bled away his life force as surely as did the wound in his side.

Whatever his life had been, it was lost to him. The pain of it churning and festering within him erupted, forming a searing knot of anger that forged his heart into a stone of vengeance. He sought only justice for that wrong he could not identify. The strength of his need to know stood alone against his desire for death’s release from the burning pain. His own thoughts were strange to him—disconnected, disorganized, uncontrolled. The battle going on within his mind felt as though he was the enemy he waged war with. Above all else was the compelling force that kept him moving ever further into the unknown.

After an immeasurable passage of time, he stopped momentarily, trying to get some sense of his location. He stilled his racing thoughts listening to the sounds all around him. The forest was alive with the hum and chirps of insects, distant calls of night creatures hunting in the veil of darkness, death cries fading into silence; no images formed in his mind to identify the sounds he heard. Dank air hung heavy suffocating his need to breathe. He inhaled long slow breaths; the pain—as his lungs expanded—burned deeper into his side, draining his strength. Weariness battled against the force pushing him ever onward.

Knowing he would have to rest if only for a short while, instinct told him that he could not chance resting in the lowlands where he could not see the approach of an enemy. He did not know if danger followed or what lay in wait ahead in this strange land. If only he could find a high place out of the smothering forest, a ledge high on a cliffside that would prevent any attack from behind him and where he could see anything approaching long before it could reach him; if only he could find such a place to rest, to heal—they were random meaningless thoughts filtering through a haze of nothingness.

In frustration, he began to move again, sealing his mind against the pain that ripped through his side. The weakness weighed his body down so that every muscle strained with great effort to move him forward. Time passed unnoticed, such was his focus of struggle. He could see no break in the dense tangled growth of the forest. The sounds of night creatures faded as waking birds began chirping their songs in treetops far above him; in his daze, he was hardly aware of the changes occurring all around him. He vaguely noticed the forming foggy mist lingering low in the air snaking around the giant tree trunks, when a strange luring sound drifted into his mind.

Moved by its beauty and soothing quality, he was drawn in by the sound—so intense was its call to him. He was drawn to move toward it without fear, without caution. It was more than curiosity that drew him closer. It was something defined solely by the emotions stirred within his heart, feelings of peacefulness compressed by the pain of loneliness yielding itself to belonging. An unbearable sadness intertwined with unfettered joy, weakness and death giving way to the strength and power of life, untempered rage consoled by the tender beauty of a pure love.

He felt the pain and longing of his heart take form as the soft rhythmic notes weaved into his consciousness beckoning him, calling him onward. He could not refuse its soothing, compelling promise of belonging, of knowing the joys of hope, the strength and peace of love, the essence of life. When his mind cleared, he found he was standing at the outer edge of the forest. He looked out over a lake that stretched its way along the base of great mountains that rose high up into clouds that obscured his view of their peaks. From somewhere above the clouds, great falls cascaded down the rock face of the mountainside into the clear blue water of the lake. A misty spray of droplets rose up into the air from the lake’s surface as the rushing fall of water met the tranquil surface of the lake. The first rays of the early morning sun made shimmering colors reflecting in the tiny droplets of water to form arching rainbows across the spray of mist.

He noticed a silhouette of graceful movement within the misty veil. The sound that had drawn him to the lake had stopped as suddenly as it had begun. With his mind cleared of the haunting sound, he watched intently as the figure moved from the cover of the mist into the open. His breath caught as he stared openly at the beauty of the creature before him. Her raven-black hair hanging heavy with water draped over her bare shoulders and tumbled down to rock to and fro with the movement of the water. Her skin in contrast was as white as alabaster with a gossamer sheen that sparkled golden in the light of the sunrays, delicate brows arched above wide dark eyes, shadowed with long thick dark lashes. Full cherry red lips formed an amused smile on her perfectly formed face as she lifted from the water to reveal an equally perfectly formed body of a woman. He could feel his heart racing with the desire to watch her emerge completely from the covering of the water. It was with great difficulty that he turned his head away without understanding the feeling of shame for having seen the beauty of her unclad form and the feelings it had awakened in him. A most pleasant sound began to lull him on wings of enchantment into distant dreams. He was only vaguely aware of his knees folding him gently to the ground as his consciousness left him.

Bright colors of green, yellow, and blue lazily drifted in and out of sight as he blinked open his eyes trying to focus. The vision he thought he had dreamed stood not two feet from his face with a puzzled expression. She was dressed now in tan hide britches with thigh-high boots, a tan hide tunic draped over a white blouse that dipped just enough, hinting at the perfection just out of sight. The tunic was belted at her narrow waist, and a pearl-handled dagger was tucked in the belt that held a sword sheathed against the round curve of her left hip; slung over her shoulder to the right was a bow and quiver. Her black hair fell over her left shoulder past her waist in a single thick braid. The pale sheen remained forming a golden aura over her ivory skin.

He felt fascinated by what he had thought to be caused from light reflecting in water droplets when she had been standing waist-deep in the lake in the misty spray of the falls. The sunlight glistened and danced in and out of tiny sparkles, giving her ivory-white skin a soft golden glowing appearance. He blinked several times, not truly trusting his eyes or his emotions stirred by the vision standing before him. She stood tall and straight as she quietly observed him. He thought it somewhat odd that she was showing no sign of fear of him, a stranger who happened upon her while she was bathing. What he did sense in her was even more unsettling. He sensed that she had been expecting him.

What have I to fear from you, dragon? she questioned. There was clarity and strength embodied in the gentle pleasing quality of her soft voice, which he found to be soothing, comforting.

His thoughts raced in confusion, dragon? What is she…? Yes, dragon. His thoughts confirmed from somewhere deep within his mind, yet he had no image of what it was to be a dragon.

You seem to be confused, and you are injured, she said, kneeling on one knee in front of him. That close to him, she seemed so small and fragile despite the strength he could feel she commanded.

I am Alora Stewart, Guardian of Varahdoon and defender of goodness and light. What are you called? Alora asked, tilting her head forward slightly as if showing him homage.

Strange thoughts raced through his mind as he stared at her in mute silence. He tried once again to blink her away. He knew the vision could not be real and must have been spawned by his delirium. He had lost everything else; now he felt sure that he had lost all rationality—if any of the circumstance he found himself in could be thought of as rational. He closed his eyes tight, blocking out the image of his insanity.

When he did not respond, she continued, While you slept, I sensed your wounds. The wound in your side is serious and will not heal until the spearhead is removed.

He opened his eyes to find that the apparition of his insanity was still kneeling there before him speaking to him. She had asked his name; until that moment, he had no memory of having a name. Strange, he thought, that with her request to know his name, his name—or at least a name—had come into his mind. He opened his mouth to speak the name he could not be sure was his own, releasing a low rumbling growl, but no words came forth to declare it.

Closing his mouth and dropping his head down, allowing his chin to rest on a stone, he thought in despair, "I am Kilgoran. How can I tell you when I seem to have no voice with which to speak it?" His heart sank even lower as he questioned hopelessly within himself, Am I to be denied even this small kindness at the end to converse with an illusion to ease the pangs of despair at the time of my passing? Kilgoran could feel his life force ebbing from him as he pulled in another shallow breath, enduring the pain of it.

You have told me, dragon. When you have proven me worthy, I shall call you by your name. Alora rose to stand before him staring at him, looking puzzled as though there was some mystery she was trying to figure out before she continued, I am no illusion, dragon, I am real enough. You are no longer alone in your struggle, and I will do all that is within my power to render aid to you, she assured.

Kilgoran sensed her curiosity about him, her fascination with him, and her feelings of wonderment. He was puzzled by his sense of her thoughts and emotions.

As if to answer his unspoken question, she asked, Where are you from, dragon? We have not seen your kind in our land for many generations. Even the grandfathers’ grandfathers believed your kind to be a myth.

Kilgoran raised his head again and thought a question in reply, "Do you know my thoughts?"

Alora looked up at him with a near smile sounding in her voice, Through the mind link, I feel what your heart feels and know your thoughts as well, dragon, as you know mine.

Alora’s answer only served to confuse Kilgoran more; it seemed to him that he had no say in whether she could know his thoughts or not. He decided he would close his eyes and would not think anything—nothing at all. He would make his mind a blank. He did not feel that it would be difficult to make his mind a total blank as he had found nothing there when he had searched. Kilgoran thought that when he opened his eyes, the apparition would be gone. He had no wish for her to be gone; he found it oddly comforting to feel her presence within him as though she inhibited his body and mind with him.

Alora interrupted his effort. You cannot fly with that wound, she stated flatly before asking him, Will you be able to walk? It will take days, a week, maybe more, to reach Ellery Glen if we travel overland.

"Ellery Glen?" He searched his memory for recognition. No image came to mind; it was not a place he could recall. Again, Kilgoran felt frustrated by the situation. He had no destination, and the land was unknown to him.

*****

Suddenly something flashed through his mind unbidden. Kilgoran felt as though he were in another time and place. Images of a great battle. He stood amidst a sea of blood, the carnage of slaughter. Everywhere before him lay bodies with severed heads and arms or with great holes ripped through, exposing the entrails that had gushed out. The smell of smoke mixed with that of burned flesh, blood, and body waste. The sound of war cries mingled with the wails of the wounded and dying rang out deafening in his ears. He felt the physical exhaustion from the battle while mentally fighting back the overwhelming reality that all was lost. Suddenly he felt a ripping burning pain as a lance pierced through his side. Kilgoran knew it was a death blow, yet in the next moment, he was in the air soaring high above the battle. He had felt an unnatural urgency drawing him away from the battle, forcing him against his will to travel to the north beyond the Forbidden Valley. His mind reeled from the assault on his senses; the images were not merely pictured in his mind, they were dimensional and assailed him with sights, sounds, smells, and feelings both physical and emotional, leaving him with the feeling that he had actually just lived the experience rather than remembering an experience he may have once had. The images faded quickly from his mind; only random bits and pieces remained. Try as he did, he could not make them fit into any understandable whole.

*****

Alora gasped experiencing the vision as Kilgoran did. Feeling the spear thrust through his side caused Alora to recoil from the shock and pain. As the vision faded, Alora realized that Kilgoran did not understand the vision; and not wanting to add to his confusion and frustration, she did not question him about it. Instead she focused her thoughts on recalling her studies of the disembodied souls that were imprisoned in the valley. Souls neither living nor dead driven mad by their disembodiment. They had once been human without the knowledge and power of Varahdoon after being called out of their body by the dark lords who destroyed their bodies, leaving them unable to take possession of a body not their own. They had been made weapons, invisible spirits desperately seeking a body to enter, rending the living asunder in a grotesquely horrifying manner. Alora knew that the valley was enclosed by impenetrable webs weaved by the ancients, making it impossible for anyone or anything to pass through going into the valley or to escape out of the valley. It is not possible that even you could have crossed through the valley of the disembodied spirits! Nothing living can escape the lost souls dwelling there. Those poor forsaken creatures condemned to a never-ending search for a body to inhabit. No one has ever entered that accursed place! she exclaimed; her voice held just the slightest hint of fear.

The fractured images told Kilgoran he must have crossed the forbidden land Alora had spoken of. Kilgoran tried to bring the images back that he had experienced only moments before. No matter how hard Kilgoran pressed his memory, only vague shadows came to mind, time and place had no meaning to him. Kilgoran felt that hidden somewhere deep within his mind lay the answers and the reason for his untoward journey, although any clear memory escaped his search.

Still not truly convinced that such a thing was possible, Alora knew that he was convinced that he had crossed the valley that could not be crossed. She felt the overpowering struggle within him to find some memory, some understanding of what was happening to him. The pain of his solitude was crushing. Are there many of your kind in the land you have come from? she asked curiously.

Kilgoran thought, "Dragons? No image came into his mind. Alora nodded in response. A great sadness of loss, of solitude, struck him so hard that he thought he might weep. Then slightly moving his head, he thought, I am the last." The depth of his feeling of loss was something he had no understanding of.

Without warning, Alora leaned toward him, placing the palm of her hand on the broad flat brow of his face and hummed a soothing chant. Startled by her quick movement and the hot tingling of her touch, he almost pulled away. Before he could even process the thought of moving, she raised her hand and stepped back, lowering her head. Forgive my touch, dragon, your pain is more than my heart can bear.

Kilgoran did not know what she did when she touched him; as her hand was raised, the deep grief he felt lifted from him as well, even the pain in his side had eased. "What did you do? And why do you seek forgiveness?" he thought in return as she stood waiting, head and eyes downcast.

Alora was confused when Kilgoran did not know that her offence was touching him with her power. She explained, I touched you with the power of Varahdoon to ease the pain of your wound and comfort the sorrows of your heart. It will not last, perhaps only a day or two. It will take the pure hearts of many Guardians to heal your wounds, dragon. Alora watched him struggle for understanding before she continued, Because of unthinkable crimes done to dragons by the fallen Guardians of Varahdoon long ago in ancient times, a trust agreement was made between dragons and the Guardians during the great wars. It is not permitted for the Guardians of Varahdoon to touch a dragon with their power until the dragon has proven them to be of pure heart and has accepted the bonding of trust. You have not yet proven me worthy, and so I must now be judged for the offence I have done you. If you do not wish to forgive, I will take whatever punishment you declare fitting, Alora said humbly waiting his judgment.

Kilgoran raised his great head and struggled to stand so that he towered above her and looked down at her. The thought of punishing her in return for her kindness or harming her in anyway repulsed him. Kilgoran reach out to touch her, assuring her that he would forgive her offence of easing his pain. Seeing his own huge clawed foot and scaled leg raised out toward her, he stopped and lowered his foot. An odd thought crossed his mind, so fleeting that he could not hold it long enough to grasp its meaning. "You are forgiven, he thought, looking down at her. I have no knowledge of your customs. I fear it is I who bring the offence, not you, Alora. I must learn all that I can. If I go with you to this place you spoke of, will you teach me of this land and your customs as we go?"

Alora looked up at him; again he saw in her face a puzzled questioning look as she answered, I will teach you all you wish to know, dragon. It is strange that you have not the knowledge and memories of the generations of your kind. She continued before he could question her further, If we are to journey overland through the pass, you will need to take nourishment and be well rested before we leave. It is a difficult and dangerous trek. I know of no time that a dragon has ever journeyed overland, and no one has used the pass to enter Ellery Glen since the times of the ancients.

"You know of other dragons? You said there was none of my kind here. That I was a myth of your grandfathers’ grandfathers." Kilgoran’s confusion made his thoughts seem angry and doubtful.

Alora stepped back and bowed her knee to the ground once more. I meant no deception. There are many dragons in Ellery Glen, though none are as you. It is true, I vow my life on it. There has not been a king black in all the land for centuries upon centuries, if ever there was. Your kind is not revealed in the memories of men or of dragons, or even in the writings of the ancients, only in the legends of long-forgotten prophecy is it even spoken of.

Kilgoran looked down on her humbled before him then turned from her, looking toward the lake. His steps were measured by the pain as he walked slowly to the edge of the water and looked down. To his amazement, staring back at him was a monstrous beast. Black as the blackest pit of night. Atop his great head were five horns: one tall horn centered with two slightly lesser horns to either side and set back an even space, and two lesser horns on either side of them and set back by an even space forming a near circle—what could have been called a crown of horns. To either side of his crown were his ears, long and tapered to a point; he lifted them, turned them forward and backward, and then laid them down again. His eyes were the red-orange color of flame with black pupils running vertically. His face was broad at the brow just beneath the crown of horns and tapered down his long nose to the flare of his nostrils, tufts of long course black hair grew to either side and draped down past his lower jaw.

He opened his mouth to reveal long snow-white fangs set against his crimson-lined mouth and forked tongue. He shut his mouth seeing that at the end of his chin grew a long thick beard of course black hair matching his tufts. His neck, draped with a black mane, was long and narrower as it came out from his head and was nearly as thick as his broad chest where it connected to his body. His body and legs were a mass of bone and muscle layered over with glistening black impenetrable armor of scales. His tail was long and tapered to a spearhead point.

His most amazing feature was yet to be examined. With ease, Kilgoran unfurled and raised his two massive wings; smooth thick black skin stretched tight across muscle, tendons, and bones. A large single black claw grew at the first joint of each enormous wing. With his wings up, Kilgoran turned to look at his left side just under his wing; the dried blood left a dull matte on the sheen of his scales, and centered in one of his perfectly formed scales was the broken shaft of the lance he knew should have killed him. He slowly folded his wings back into place, before lowering his head to drink long and slow from the cool lake water. When he finished, he gave his head a toss from side to side, clearing the water from his beard and tufts, feeling that the unidentified need he had felt earlier was satisfied.

Strange thoughts danced at the edge of his mind staying just beyond his reach. Something was horribly wrong of this, he had no doubt; what it could be he could not have said had his life depended on it, and he knew in his heart that it would. Turning and walking back toward Alora, Kilgoran opened his mouth to speak, but still no words came to him. He allowed his thoughts to speak for him, "The spearhead must be removed before we leave here."

Alora shook her head telling him, I cannot remove it, dragon. If I try, you will die. I am not proven, and without the bonding, I am not yet strong enough to heal you. I can only offer some relief from the pain. In Ellery Glen, there are many Guardian healers. Together they will be strong enough. We must suffer the wound until we get to Ellery Glen, she assured without doubt.

Within himself, Kilgoran had become conscious of the very essence of her being, her life force, her soul. Feeling her conscious presence there inside of him was comforting; it strengthened him. He knew the thoughts and feelings of her heart. He found no small pleasure in the feel of her being there. Kilgoran accepted that she was indeed real and not an illusion of his fractured mind. It did not seem to him that Alora could exist within him in such an intimate way that they experienced each other’s thoughts and emotions. "You feel my pain as you know my thoughts and feelings?" he asked in wonder.

Yes, dragon, I feel your pain. It is a great pain worthy of one such as you. You hunger—it has been much too long since you have taken nourishment. I will call a hunter, and nourishment will be brought, she told him.

Before Kilgoran could respond, Alora began to sing a soft lilting chant pleasant to the ear; other than the pleasing sound of her soft voice, it had no effect on him. As she sang, he noticed that the golden hue around her fluctuated in intensity, becoming brighter or dimmer with the chords of her song. When she finished, she offered him a small smile, reassuring him, The hunter will be here soon with fresh keeton. Her beautiful smile, more than her words, lifted his heart.

"What are keeton?" Kilgoran asked, having checked his memory and finding no image that fit the word. Alora smiled up at him again; it was a most beautiful smile and the first time he had seen her smile full out. Once again Kilgoran was struck by her innocence, by her beauty; the clear image of her standing up from the water flashing across his thoughts, he felt a warm flush run through his body and wondered if he were blushing. He quickly shook his head and released a short growling snort.

Kilgoran realized that having her inside his mind knowing his thoughts and feelings could prove to be more than a little unsettling, especially when his thoughts and feelings were about her and came to him unbidden and unexpected, giving him no opportunity in which to guard against them. He felt Alora’s confusion caused by his unguarded thoughts and feelings. At least he thought she had not felt offended by his attraction to her. He sensed only her surprised confusion and shyness that he, a dragon, could have such feelings. It did not seem to her that it should be so, and he felt her resolve to seek council on the matter. He found it a great pleasure to feel her there within him; the beauty and strength of her essence filled the painful void. His attraction to her was what his heart felt, and his heart would feel as it would.

Did you say something, dragon? Alora questioned, trying to move beyond the uneasiness of the moment. Ah, yes, the keeton, they are a prairie beast. There are hundreds of herds that roam the Marim Prairie. Both men and dragons favor them, for their meat is tender and sweet to the taste. If you have never eaten keeton, you will have a pleasant surprise, dragon. You must take your fill then rest until nightfall. When the moon rises, we will start the trek up Kegon’s Pass to Ellery Glen. I have sent word ahead. They will know we are coming overland.

"Why do we wait, could we not leave sooner?" Kilgoran felt a pressing need to be on his way, to where or why remained unknown to him, still the urgency was driving him onward.

The hunter will take time, and as you must know, dragon, after taking nourishment, you must sleep. It is the way of dragons, I cannot change it. I also desire to reach Ellery Glen as quickly as is possible, for your wounds must soon be healed—they drain you of life even as we speak. Alora’s smile was gone now; as he looked closely at her, he thought she had an ill pallor. The glow about her was definitely waning; he had not noticed it before. He noted that she had said wounds, yet he was aware of only one.

"If you have not traveled the overland pass, how will you know how to find your way?" Kilgoran questioned, not taking his eyes from her.

Until this very morning, I had never left Ellery Glen. The pass has not been used since the great wars. I have traveled it in my mind’s eye and know well its dangers. It is narrow and steep. Over time, rockslides have blocked the passage along the way. Midway up we can only travel when the sun is shining. That is when the Ricadon sleep. They live in the caves high up on the cliff of the mountain above the clouds and hunt only at night. They hunt in troops. A single dragon would have little defense against them. Even in full strength, you could not defeat their numbers. We will travel only during the sunlight. At sunset, we must find shelter, and so it will take longer.

"You have never left your village? Why this day if never before, and how did you get here if not by the path we take?" Kilgoran inquired, finding that for every answer Alora gave him, it only served to give rise to more questions. His mind refused to be quieted.

It is forbidden for any to leave Ellery Glen before the day of proving. I am a Guardian of Varahdoon, my people are protectors of goodness and light. It is the time of my proving to make the bond. On the first day of our eighteenth summer, we must begin the proving. We are brought to the lake of blue light by a wild dragon that has not bonded. We are left alone to bathe in the water of the lake, where knowledge of Varahdoon will awaken within us and its sheen will cover our body and the heart song of our spirit’s dragon will be revealed to us. The song may be sung only one time. At its end, if the dragon called has not answered, that one is not chosen to be a bonded dragon rider. When the dragon called answers, thoughts and feelings are shared between the two as though they were one, such as it will be in the bonding between dragon and rider. This sharing can be limited in some ways. It cannot be stopped and must continue between the two for seven moons before the bond is made. In this way both understand the extent of the bond before the bond is made unchangeable for life. At the rising of the sun after the seventh moon, if the Guardian is proven to be of pure heart by the dragon, and both agree, the bond is made complete and forever final by speaking the pledge of bonding, Alora explained.

Feeling Kilgoran’s confusion, Alora continued, The words spoken are, ‘My thoughts are your thoughts, my spirit is your spirit, my feelings are your feelings, my heart is your heart, my life is your life, my death is your death, we two shall forever be bonded as one in life and in death.’ The oath of the bonding is formed by Varahdoon when both agree and the words are spoken, they will forever be bonded as spoken. They will for life know the thoughts and feelings of the other as their own. Whether it is joy or sorrow, pleasure or pain, if one is mortally wounded, both will die. If one chooses a mate the other must approve for, they will receive a mate as one in all thoughts and feelings. If either suffers wounds, the knowledge of Varahdoon will heal the wounds so long as it is not a mortal wound. Time or distance has no effect on the bond—once made, only death can end it. The dragon’s gift to their bonded is strength and courage, the ability to communicate in the language of dragons, the knowledge of the generations, and to take flight with them. The dragon receives the gift of long life, to know the bond of trust, love of a pure heart, and receives a voice to speak the language of the Guardian people. It is a great honor and comfort for both, for neither will ever again know the loneliness of a solitary heart, for the two bonded become as one.

Kilgoran knew Alora had called to his heart with her song; he knew that it was Alora’s spirit that called to his. He was now sure that even without the spoken words of the bond, his wound was killing her. "What happens if they both do not agree to the bonding, if one refuses the other?" he asked.

Should they agree not to make the bond at the end of seven moons, the dragon will remain wild, will never again be called by the heart song. The Guardian will also remain without the bonding. They will be without the shared heart of the bonding. To make the bond or not must be agreed between the two.

"What happens if one chooses the bond and the other does not?" Kilgoran asked, not quite understanding what would happen if he refused the bonding.

Knowing the thoughts of his heart, Alora hesitated for a moment before answering, "There have been times when a dragon accepts the Guardian as rider without the words of bonding spoken between them. When this happens, it is known that the knowledge and power of Varahdoon has moved within them for reasons known only to the Guardian and dragon.

There was such a one some years before my birth. Some still speak of her, only not by name. It is not known why she and her dragon did not speak the words of bonding. Her knowledge and power of Varahdoon was very strong, her power was such as none could recall before or after, and many hearts still sorrow for her.

"Sorrow for her, why, did she die?" he questioned.

We do not know if she lives or not. She is lost to us as though she had died. Her name and image are shielded and not remembered among my people. We remember only the story of a king born of the Guardians of Varahdoon who had given up his place among us and went to a far land. Many years later returned on his name day when he made plea for her to be his wife and queen. The king’s love for her was so great that she of pure heart could not refuse him, and so she left Ellery Glen with him. What became of her and the king is a mystery.

Before Kilgoran could question her further, a great shadow passed over them. He knew as she did it was the hunter. Swooping down a short distance away, the hunter dropped the keeton to the ground; as quickly and silently as it had come, it was gone, taking no notice of them. Kilgoran stared up at the great beast in awe, watching it as it flew into the distance.

Come now, you must take your fill, rest, and be strengthened. Alora walked ahead of him toward the animal left on the ground. Kilgoran, following her, stopped, looking down at the creature. It was huge; he doubted that, even in his state of semistarvation, he could have devoured it entirely. The very thought of just biting into living, raw, bloody flesh repulsed and sickened him. Even if he could bring himself to do such a thing, when the very thought of it made him feel nauseous, Kilgoran strongly doubted he would keep any of it down.

His repulsion confused Alora; she could feel his hunger as well as his weakness from lack of nourishment. It is not dead, the blood is not stilled, dragon, you must kill and eat.

Kilgoran knew she spoke only truth, knew that he must force himself to do as she said, or they would both die. "Go then and leave me to it!" his thoughts commanded her, not wanting her there to witness his shame and humiliation at what he must do.

All her life, Alora had seen dragons hunt, kill, and devour their prey. It had seemed to her that they made sport of hunting and took great enjoyment from it. She had not known a dragon’s thoughts before; perhaps she had been wrong. Alora walked away from him into the forest, leaving him as he had commanded.

Kilgoran lowered his head sniffing at the beast; it was not dead—its back had been broken, its heart raced in fear. He knew he must do it quickly; he did not want the beast to feel the terror of its death. He lowered his mouth to the beast’s throat, and forcing all thought and feeling far from him, he bit down with all his might. The moment warm sweet blood rushed into his mouth, something in him was changed. Kilgoran no longer felt anything apart from the ravenous hunger and the need to take his fill of the beast’s flesh and blood.

Alora was stunned by the force of the change she felt in him; for a moment, it had left her feeling physically and emotionally shaken. She wondered what he had survived on this long to have never tasted blood before. Alora shook her head in wonder this dragon had many strange mysteries. Perhaps she thought it was the way with a king black; nothing was known about them. Alora stilled her mind allowing a connection with the minds of the elders and searched their memories for any information about the king black, although she was sure there would be none. Alora found only myth and lore of long-forgotten prophecy—nothing useful in helping her to better understand the mysteries of this dragon.

While Kilgoran satisfied his hunger, Alora gathered dried wood for a fire and picked wild berries, eating them as she gathered bits of wood and humming to herself; as she made ready a camp, through the link, many strange thoughts came into her mind.

Kilgoran finished all except a portion of a hind leg of the beast, which he carried in his mouth walking to the fire Alora had made, dropping it next to her. He turned and walked toward the edge of the lake. He stepped in slowly, feeling the water come up over his body until his head would have gone under had he not begun to swim. After ducking his head under the water several times to wash the blood from his face, he came up out of the lake. His mood had turned inward searching for that which was hidden from him.

Kilgoran, lost in the dark emptiness of his mind, took no notice of the shimmering golden net that had formed over him as he came up out of the water and shook himself from head to tail, flinging the water from him. It was visible for only an instant before it vanished. Kilgoran walked back to where Alora sat by the fire; he stood watching her curiously. Alora was occupied taking the meat he had left for her; cutting the meat from the bone, wrapping leaves around it, and covering it with mud, she then laid it on the coals to roast. She had brought no nourishment with her to the lake; the meat and berries were all she would have to sustain her on their trek up the mountain path. Alora had not watched him go into the water or rise from it. She had not seen the golden glow of the knowledge and power of Varahdoon awakened within him.

Kilgoran’s mind had been quiet from the moment he had tasted the blood in his mouth; even now it took a great effort for him to force a thought. "I will sleep now!" He had not meant it to be so cold and distant a thought as it seemed.

Alora did not turn to look at him. Yes, dragon, you will sleep now. We will leave as soon as the moon rises, you will be rested some by then. Depending on how fast you will be able to travel, we should make it to the base of Kegon’s Pass in two, maybe three hours, then we will rest there until sunrise. I will wake you when it is time, Alora said, not understanding his choice to remain distant even though it left her with an empty hollow feeling, a painful awareness of solitude at the very core of her being that she had never felt before. It was a frightful feeling that she truly did not want to feel now or ever again. Kilgoran’s withdrawal felt as though some needful part of her had been torn from her. Still she would respect his choice if he did not want to share the thoughts of his heart with her.

Kilgoran looked around, and finding no high place close to Alora, he settled on a rock outcropping a few yards away. Laying himself down so that his back was protected by the rock formation jutting up behind him, he lay facing the campsite searching for any possible weakness to attack. He noticed that Alora had chosen well; nothing could approach them without being seen before it could reach them. They would not be trapped with the lake to their back. He did not like resting in the lowlands. Kilgoran lowered his great head, placing it on the curve of his foreleg, his eyelids slowly draped down over his eyes as he drifted off to sleep.

Alora watched him as he rested; never had she seen such a magnificent dragon. King was truly a fitting name. She had thought it hardly possible when first she rose from the water to see such an enormous and magnificent creature standing at the lake’s edge watching her. Alora felt in wonderment of him and the mysteries of him.

Nothing in her years of training had prepared her for this dragon. She knew and understood each breed of dragon—their needs, their likes and dislikes, things that were helpful or harmful specific to each breed. Alora knew nothing of his kind and had no way to learn what she needed to know, leaving her feeling inadequate. The pain gnawing at her insides was not helping her deal with the perplexity of the situation. She could at the very least share all the days of her life with him while he slept. Alora began to hum low and soft.

*****

Kilgoran woke looking down on a beautiful valley. Great mountains of sheer rock cliffs rose high on all sides, cradling the valley below. Fields of corn, oats, wheat, barley, rye, and hay stretched out to the north until distance caused it to fade from his sight. To the south, a thick forest grew across the valley floor reaching the mountain’s face far to the east. He could not see what lay south beyond the forest; it stretched far beyond his sight. High in the cliffside, hundreds of huge gaping dark holes peered back at him. He turned his gaze and noticed that the cliffs all around him had the same strange dark holes. A curious oddity, he thought, wondering what they were and what had made the caverns. His attention was brought to a village that lay midway between him, the forest, and the far eastern side of the valley. A lazy river flowed under rock bridges as it weaved in and out, making its way through the village, turning huge waterwheels along the way before winding out of sight into the forest. The buildings were made of stone with high pitched shingled roofs, shops lining the main road through the village. Toward the far end was a smithy shop next to an armory, followed by millhouses and large structures he knew to be schools for various training. There were homes built in much the same fashion mixed in among the shops. It was a simple pleasant-looking place clearly laid out for function. Farmhouses constructed in much the same way dotted the landscape here and there amidst the vast fields, with small hamlets dotting the vast valley.

Suddenly as though they had appeared out of nowhere, the village was filled with people busy going about their daily lives. Smoke curled up from chimneys, voices drifting on the air. The sound of a hammer clinking against metal rang out from the blacksmith shop. The people all bore a similar resemblance to Alora—at least at a distance they had the striking contrast of dark eyes and hair as black as a crow’s wing and skin as white as alabaster. Some even had the shimmering glow that amused him about Alora. The women wore their hair in a single long braid as Alora did. The men’s hair was cropped just above their shoulders, some tied back with different colored bands and some hanging loose or with beads of different colors braided to either the right or left side. Most were clean-shaven, while others had close-cropped beards and mustaches. Their manner of dress was simple britches and tunics made of tanned hides and thigh-high boots, shirts, smocks, and skirts of woven wool dyed in a rainbow of different colors or washed to its whitest white. Children ran laughing and playing or fished from the riverbanks while women busied themselves washing clothing on flat stones that lined the river’s edge. Men worked in the fields heaping loads of cut grass onto flatbed wagons pulled by huge beasts. Kilgoran had no memory of such beast, yet strangely he recognized them as oxen. There were countless other beasts and creatures he recognized without knowing how he knew them to be cattle, horses, and mules, goats, and sheep. He saw hogs in pins with their heads rooting in feed troughs and chickens roaming about scratching and pecking at the earth for soft shoots, worms, or bugs.

Kilgoran’s attention was drawn to the cliffsides where winged dragons appeared flying to and from the huge dark holes. Some bore riders, though most seemed to be coming and going at will without riders. He could not have imagined that there were so many kinds of dragons; they seemed to be of every size, shape, and color. Yet none bore the image he had seen reflected in the water when he had looked at himself. Kilgoran was in wonder of them feeling amazed and astounded. Above all, he felt pleased by the sight of them. Here in this place, there were many of his kind.

Having no time to wonder further, next he found himself in one of the farmhouses where a woman lay in bed travailing in birth. Another woman sitting by the bedside sang a low soothing song of new life. Moments later, the midwife handed the tiny babe to the mother and, smiling, announced, A beloved daughter has blessed this house today. In three days, her father shall give her a name before the elders on the hallowed green. We shall all come and celebrate sharing your joy and gratitude for this perfect and beautiful child.

Kilgoran found himself now looking at a large expanse of grassy clearing at the base of the cliffside. There were long tables and benches hewn from wood at the far end of the clearing away from the cliffside. The tables were set with dishes filled with a variety of foods, roasted beasts, boiled tubers and eggs, cheese, sliced fruits, round loaves of bread, puddings and cakes; and on other tables, there were pitchers of goat’s or cow’s milk and kegs of mead and ale with stacks of wooden or silver mugs at the side. There was a large gathering of people all standing silently at the front of the green where it met with the base of the cliff.

Kilgoran noticed that steps had been hewn into the stone leading up to a great temple cut into the solid stone face of the mountain. Twelve massive columns were hewn at the entrance, each with a dragon-carved wrap around it from top to bottom. Six columns appeared to either side of a grand arched opening entering the mountain. Centered above the arch, carved into the stone, was a single dragon that stood on hind legs with wings unfurled, mouth partially open revealing long fangs, his tail wrapped around the world, sun, and moon. In the claws of his raised right foot, he held the sword of a man and on his head sat a crown of five horns. Kilgoran felt his heart race at the sight of the stone dragon; it was as near as could be like looking at his own reflection in the lake. Time stood still as he stared upon it, unable to look away.

Movement in the opening of the temple below drew his attention away from the stone dragon.

He saw twelve young women draped in long white gowns bound at the waist with a golden sash, their black hair braided and twisted into knots on the crown of their head, each carried a golden urn. In the center of the large chamber was a shallow stone bowl sitting on the backs of four stone dragons, one facing in each of the four directions.

The young women crossed to the stone bowl, and as they emptied their urns into the bowl, three men and three women appeared in a semicircle around the bowl. The men and women were draped in robes the color of elderberry wine with black and gold threads intertwined to fashion a vine and leaf border down the front, along the belled cuff of the sleeves, and around the hem of their robes. The robes were bound at the waist with belts of matching color with fringes of golden threads at the ends. Their hair was as white as fresh fallen snow, giving them a look of great age, and yet there was no wrinkling of skin, dimness of eye, or failing of body or mind. Each had a dragon standing by their side, each dragon of different size and color.

The man standing at the center of the half circle spoke, Bring the child and lay her into the water from the lake of blue light. One of the maidens brought the babe unclad and laid her into the water. The moment the water touched the babe’s skin, she began to glow with a golden sheen, creating a brilliant aura. A murmuring rose up from the people gathered closest to the steps; even the elders and dragons seemed not to have expected the babe to glow.

Kilgoran heard the voices questioning, The knowledge of Varahdoon…how can such a thing be possible? Varahdoon has awakened in the babe. The words of awe and surprise carried on the air in hushed whispers through the crowd of people gathered.

The woman standing beside the man who had spoken stepped forward raising her hand to silence the people. Who names this child? she asked solemnly.

A young man looking concerned walked from the crowd gathered and slowly climbed the steps. At the last step, he stopped and knelt on one knee before speaking. I, Angus Stewart, husband to Megan, father to Bruce, Raymond, Kirk, Thymus, Anson, and Thell.

One of the dragons spoke asking, Do you wish the elders to search the child with the sight and power of Varahdoon before she is named?

Angus looked back over his shoulder to his wife, who reluctantly nodded her head in agreement. I do! he stated before lowering his head, remaining there bowed on one knee as his wife joined him and kneeled beside him; holding each other’s hand, they waited with heads bowed down.

The elders and dragons formed a circle around the babe as the elders lay the palm of their right hand against their dragon’s heart. With their eyes closed and heads bowed, they began to chant in low undulating tones that stopped when the green dragon began to speak, This child will be fair of face and form. She will see days of love and joy in her youth. The green dragon fell silent.

The chanting began again until the red dragon spoke, This child will suffer a mortal wound not her own. If she survives the wound that cannot be survived, only then will she grow in strength and valor. Only then will her courage save the lives of untold numbers of her people and the humans. The red dragon fell silent.

The chanting started again, ending when the blue dragon spoke, If this child survives, she will receive great powers of Varahdoon beyond that in the memories of her people. She will seek council and find none, save by one who was and is no more and shall be again of the Guardians of Varahdoon. The blue dragon fell silent.

The chanting continued until the yellow dragon spoke, Should this child survive, she will be a warrior, she will lead many men, women, and dragons in a great war against a mighty evil that will overshadow all the lands of the world in a darkness not yet known to any living since time and life began. The yellow dragon fell silent.

Again, the chanting began until the gray dragon spoke, If this child survives, she will suffer many trials and challenges in battles of heart and soul. The gray dragon fell silent.

The chanting began again and seemed to last forever before the white dragon spoke, If this child survives, she shall have many victories and shall have life and love. Before the days of her youth are spent, she will sorrow unto death and weep a single golden tear. I see nothing more, only a veil of darkness. The white dragon fell silent amidst a gasp that went up from the people gathered. Murmurings of sorrow rang out like a shout before the elders raised their hands to silence it.

The elder woman who had spoken before stepped forward again, asking, Angus, will you name this child?

I will, he answered.

Then come take your babe from the water, lift her into the heavens, and call out her name to the four winds and let all the worlds hear it.

Angus walked slowly to the stone bowl and, with loving gentleness, took the babe from the water, her skin glowing in the morning light as he raised her high over his head; and with a loud clear voice, he called out her name as he turned to the north, east, west, and south, Alora, Alora, Alora, Alora. After he had spoken her name the fourth time, the glow of her skin faded until it was gone. Angus took the babe and handed her to her waiting mother, who quickly wrapped her in a blanket.

Another of the elders spoke, We have gathered to celebrate a new life, and so we shall. The telling of the visions shall be shielded and blocked from memory until the day of Alora’s proving. Only the elders will remember, so the preparations shall be made and her training carried out according to what shall be needed. With that, the elders began to chant again. A sparkling golden