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This is going back to the bad guys in the story. Hope you enjoy.
Chapter4
The Dreamweaver
Tarquin stepped inside the doors and walked forward a few feet. He stopped to let his eyes accustom themselves to the gloom. There were torches attached to three of the chambers walls, the flickering light illuminating the edge of the room and throwing dancing shadows into the centre of the chamber. In the centre of the room there stood a table with two empty high-backed chairs facing each other. On the table was an unfurled scroll, the velum page was held open at each end by two objects.
He strode over to the table, the two objects became clear, they were skulls, dipped in gold. He picked one of them up and holding it, he admired the intricacy of the design. Whoever sculpted these was a master craftsman, they were perfect in every detail.
“Exquisite are they not?” A voice spoke and before Tarquin’s eyes a figure stepped out of the gloom. He was stooped from age and he wore a hooded cloak though his head remained uncovered. His voice was clear and not the least bit unpleasant. It was the voice from within his dreams.
The man was as pale as Tarquin and like the young Fornakian king, the blue veins of his face ran across his cheeks highlighting his pallor.
“You are a Maf!” exclaimed Tarquin.
The old man shook his head. “Not pure, a little of the blood from my mother. Hence I became a servant one of the Daen. My name is...Hydan.”
“So you are one of the Daen. All believe you dead. Why have you waited so long to call, why now?”
Hydan did not answer but gestured to the chairs. Tarquin took his seat and Hydan sat in the opposite chair.
“I have called. I have been calling...” Hydan paused to consider his words. “Let us just say I have been calling for a long time. Sometimes people heard and they came.”
Hydan stopped to look at the two skulls sitting on the table. Sighing he continued.
“They were never the right people.”
“Am I the right person?” asked Tarquin.
“That depends on what you are willing to do,” was the cryptic reply.
Tarquin looked at Hydan and realised that as of yet he did not know what Hydan wanted or more importantly what he could do for Tarquin.
“Is that a threat?” Tarquin asked, gesturing towards the skulls.
“No, you are the Maf. You will never come to any harm at my hands. I have a promise to keep.”
Tarquin sat back in the chair. He had not come this distance to listen to the riddles of an old shaman. He did not speak, waiting for Hydan to recommence the conversation. Hydan held his silence for what seemed an age. Instead he bent down to look at the scroll. Tarquin wanted to find out what the man wanted with him and felt his impatience growing. Hydan began to roll up the scroll. He bound it with a velvet cord and put it away, hiding it in the folds of his cloak. He looked up at Tarquin.
“I will explain myself. But I will need your patience. I am an old man and there is a lot to tell. A lot that you need to hear.”
Tarquin nodded, thinking how old is this Hydan?
Heedless of the young mans thought processes the old man began his tale.
“I have seen all my descendants pass away from this earth before me. I was ordained to the Daen order after I had studied for twenty years. I learned every piece of lore and law by heart, every scroll that lay in Granatia passed through my hands. All of that is many years ago now.”
Tarquin interjected. “That is not possible, there are thousands of scrolls in the libraries. Many in the strangest tongues, languages dead for millennia!”
Hydan smiled, making a slight gesture with a frail hand.
“This is better than what I could have hoped for. You are a scholar! I need not waste time teaching you your history, your destiny. Despite your disbelief, I did memorise each of those scrolls. My peers recognised me as the greatest scholar the order had ever seen. But our order was in decline, fewer and fewer of the Maf were joining our ranks. They said the old lore of night, snow and ice had passed its use in the land of the midday sun.”
“So why did you join?”
“I too have my destiny and the night of my initiation into the order I swore an oath to Mavna. An oath that I would not rest until the Maf again ruled the lands of the northern star.”
Lost in memory Hydan stopped speaking again. Behind his shoulder one of the torches gave a splutter and went out, casting the two figures further into shadow, their eyes gleaming at each other in the darkness.
“…And Mavna listened. I searched for a key, some talisman that would turn back the tide of time that cast us out. The years passed and I continued to search until my studies brought me here. So here you find me today awaiting the arrival of you, the future king.”
It was an incredible tale and one that Tarquin was sceptical of, he would of disbelieved it from any other lips but there was a power to the man. He had a way with words, his language was archaic. Tarquin had never heard his dialect before, to Tarquins ears it sounded archaic. Besides a man that could control the actions of other men through there dreams, may do many things.
“What can I give such a powerful sorcerer?” asked Tarquin.
“And what can I give you? Eh. You cut straight to the heart of the matter. So will I. The prince of the night does not relinquish his dues for nought. There is a price to my life, there must be other sacrifice. If I do not receive such I become weak as you see me know."
Tarquin’s heart froze, it did not have to be spoken, he now knew the Dreamweavers price.Heedless of the stricken look Hydan continued.
“I in turn can provide you with the lore of the Daen. The Magicks of your forefathers are within my veins. More importantly, I can provide you with the key to the entire land of Fornakia. The secret of this desert, the sea. It is a man made sea of sand. Locked within these caves are the means to throw your will from Dalaria to the wilds of the east, from Granatia to Carad.
Tarquin put aside his doubts for a moment.
“It is more than Fornakia I want, Fornakia I can conquer without your help.”
“Yes you can, but it will take time and require your constant attention to control. I can offer you a gift that is more valuable than all the gold in Cteph. Cteph can be yours if you but accept my gift.”
Cteph was the last foreign province of the Dalarian Empire. Cteph provided the gold that was the lifeblood and wealth of the black emperor. Tarquin teetered on the decision and for the first time since his coronation felt his blood quicken.
“Show me.”
Hydan nodded and closed his eyes. The old man whispered rapidly to himself and all around the chamber the torches flared revealing behind, the depth of the cave. Tarquin stood up and stared, he was frozen by the sight that greeted him and instantaneously visions flooded his mind of the power that had been hidden for so long in these mountains, the power that could now be his.
He did not speak but stood staring for an age, for he knew that once he spoke, the decision was irrevocable. Since the night of his manhood and the killing of Stilico he had set himself on a course that had led to the death of many. To succeed he had committed acts that would haunt him in his sleep. Now to grasp this gift he knew he had to make a sacrifice of his own.
“I accept your offer.”
Tarquin turned and slowly walked to the door. He reached the huge double doors and pushing with both his hands the doors swung open easily.
“Joya, there is an old man within, he needs your assistance.”
Tarquin never saw the broad smile that adorned Hydan’s face as he exited the chamber and called for the servant girl.
She walked past the young king, to Hydan it seemed for a brief moment that Tarquin would raise his hand to stop her, but he refrained and the moment passed.
Joya stepped blinking from the harsh mountain light into the cave. It took her a few moments before she saw the old man. He beckoned to her and she moved to him hesitantly.
“Help me up girl, I am frail and have need of your strength.”
Chapter4
The Dreamweaver
Tarquin stepped inside the doors and walked forward a few feet. He stopped to let his eyes accustom themselves to the gloom. There were torches attached to three of the chambers walls, the flickering light illuminating the edge of the room and throwing dancing shadows into the centre of the chamber. In the centre of the room there stood a table with two empty high-backed chairs facing each other. On the table was an unfurled scroll, the velum page was held open at each end by two objects.
He strode over to the table, the two objects became clear, they were skulls, dipped in gold. He picked one of them up and holding it, he admired the intricacy of the design. Whoever sculpted these was a master craftsman, they were perfect in every detail.
“Exquisite are they not?” A voice spoke and before Tarquin’s eyes a figure stepped out of the gloom. He was stooped from age and he wore a hooded cloak though his head remained uncovered. His voice was clear and not the least bit unpleasant. It was the voice from within his dreams.
The man was as pale as Tarquin and like the young Fornakian king, the blue veins of his face ran across his cheeks highlighting his pallor.
“You are a Maf!” exclaimed Tarquin.
The old man shook his head. “Not pure, a little of the blood from my mother. Hence I became a servant one of the Daen. My name is...Hydan.”
“So you are one of the Daen. All believe you dead. Why have you waited so long to call, why now?”
Hydan did not answer but gestured to the chairs. Tarquin took his seat and Hydan sat in the opposite chair.
“I have called. I have been calling...” Hydan paused to consider his words. “Let us just say I have been calling for a long time. Sometimes people heard and they came.”
Hydan stopped to look at the two skulls sitting on the table. Sighing he continued.
“They were never the right people.”
“Am I the right person?” asked Tarquin.
“That depends on what you are willing to do,” was the cryptic reply.
Tarquin looked at Hydan and realised that as of yet he did not know what Hydan wanted or more importantly what he could do for Tarquin.
“Is that a threat?” Tarquin asked, gesturing towards the skulls.
“No, you are the Maf. You will never come to any harm at my hands. I have a promise to keep.”
Tarquin sat back in the chair. He had not come this distance to listen to the riddles of an old shaman. He did not speak, waiting for Hydan to recommence the conversation. Hydan held his silence for what seemed an age. Instead he bent down to look at the scroll. Tarquin wanted to find out what the man wanted with him and felt his impatience growing. Hydan began to roll up the scroll. He bound it with a velvet cord and put it away, hiding it in the folds of his cloak. He looked up at Tarquin.
“I will explain myself. But I will need your patience. I am an old man and there is a lot to tell. A lot that you need to hear.”
Tarquin nodded, thinking how old is this Hydan?
Heedless of the young mans thought processes the old man began his tale.
“I have seen all my descendants pass away from this earth before me. I was ordained to the Daen order after I had studied for twenty years. I learned every piece of lore and law by heart, every scroll that lay in Granatia passed through my hands. All of that is many years ago now.”
Tarquin interjected. “That is not possible, there are thousands of scrolls in the libraries. Many in the strangest tongues, languages dead for millennia!”
Hydan smiled, making a slight gesture with a frail hand.
“This is better than what I could have hoped for. You are a scholar! I need not waste time teaching you your history, your destiny. Despite your disbelief, I did memorise each of those scrolls. My peers recognised me as the greatest scholar the order had ever seen. But our order was in decline, fewer and fewer of the Maf were joining our ranks. They said the old lore of night, snow and ice had passed its use in the land of the midday sun.”
“So why did you join?”
“I too have my destiny and the night of my initiation into the order I swore an oath to Mavna. An oath that I would not rest until the Maf again ruled the lands of the northern star.”
Lost in memory Hydan stopped speaking again. Behind his shoulder one of the torches gave a splutter and went out, casting the two figures further into shadow, their eyes gleaming at each other in the darkness.
“…And Mavna listened. I searched for a key, some talisman that would turn back the tide of time that cast us out. The years passed and I continued to search until my studies brought me here. So here you find me today awaiting the arrival of you, the future king.”
It was an incredible tale and one that Tarquin was sceptical of, he would of disbelieved it from any other lips but there was a power to the man. He had a way with words, his language was archaic. Tarquin had never heard his dialect before, to Tarquins ears it sounded archaic. Besides a man that could control the actions of other men through there dreams, may do many things.
“What can I give such a powerful sorcerer?” asked Tarquin.
“And what can I give you? Eh. You cut straight to the heart of the matter. So will I. The prince of the night does not relinquish his dues for nought. There is a price to my life, there must be other sacrifice. If I do not receive such I become weak as you see me know."
Tarquin’s heart froze, it did not have to be spoken, he now knew the Dreamweavers price.Heedless of the stricken look Hydan continued.
“I in turn can provide you with the lore of the Daen. The Magicks of your forefathers are within my veins. More importantly, I can provide you with the key to the entire land of Fornakia. The secret of this desert, the sea. It is a man made sea of sand. Locked within these caves are the means to throw your will from Dalaria to the wilds of the east, from Granatia to Carad.
Tarquin put aside his doubts for a moment.
“It is more than Fornakia I want, Fornakia I can conquer without your help.”
“Yes you can, but it will take time and require your constant attention to control. I can offer you a gift that is more valuable than all the gold in Cteph. Cteph can be yours if you but accept my gift.”
Cteph was the last foreign province of the Dalarian Empire. Cteph provided the gold that was the lifeblood and wealth of the black emperor. Tarquin teetered on the decision and for the first time since his coronation felt his blood quicken.
“Show me.”
Hydan nodded and closed his eyes. The old man whispered rapidly to himself and all around the chamber the torches flared revealing behind, the depth of the cave. Tarquin stood up and stared, he was frozen by the sight that greeted him and instantaneously visions flooded his mind of the power that had been hidden for so long in these mountains, the power that could now be his.
He did not speak but stood staring for an age, for he knew that once he spoke, the decision was irrevocable. Since the night of his manhood and the killing of Stilico he had set himself on a course that had led to the death of many. To succeed he had committed acts that would haunt him in his sleep. Now to grasp this gift he knew he had to make a sacrifice of his own.
“I accept your offer.”
Tarquin turned and slowly walked to the door. He reached the huge double doors and pushing with both his hands the doors swung open easily.
“Joya, there is an old man within, he needs your assistance.”
Tarquin never saw the broad smile that adorned Hydan’s face as he exited the chamber and called for the servant girl.
She walked past the young king, to Hydan it seemed for a brief moment that Tarquin would raise his hand to stop her, but he refrained and the moment passed.
Joya stepped blinking from the harsh mountain light into the cave. It took her a few moments before she saw the old man. He beckoned to her and she moved to him hesitantly.
“Help me up girl, I am frail and have need of your strength.”
