Chapter IX
The Dragon People of Osgaroth
The next day they left for what was hoped was the final leg of their journey, though there was something still grasping at Achil’s mind. It had slowly eaten away at him since leaving the gypsy camp. Achil tried to recall what it was that the old Gypsy had said that there was some malady affecting the people of the Dragon. And now that they were approaching their destination he was unsure of the reception they would receive. Usually any person or people living under a cloud of fear would behave in a manner not totally natural, especially if those fears had been occurring over a continuous period of time. He had been taught this by his mentor Agoran.
‘Fear weakens the soul,' Agoran would say. ‘It is a demon of the mind. It is as real as the winter chill that causes fevers and terrible tremors to the body. But such a demon, as fear is, that possesses the mind, causes a strange kind of malady. Outwardly people may appear fine, but inwardly their spirit may be strangely afflicted. It acts like a leech sucking the strength out of you. And in the same way that people react differently on the battlefield, to any ghastly sight they may see, so do they also act unpredictably with fear. The best way to deal with such an affliction is to strengthen the courage of the individual who is being preyed upon, as it is only through the help, compassion and understanding of others that it may be overcome. The demon that uses fear as a gateway to attack the spirit of man shies away from mercy.’
Achil realised then what he had to do. He would help defeat such a malady if it existed.
By mid-afternoon they were on the borders of Osgaroth forest, they had not passed anyone on route, in fact there was a strange almost brooding silence as though a storm were brewing, and yet there was not a cloud in the sky. They were now entering a land, where creatures of an older, long forgotten age existed. There were the Wild Men of Osgaroth forest, which were said to be tall almost ape like creatures that walked upright like men, but were more ape than man. Also in that place as in Wormwood, there were the Ajatar; demons of the forest, creatures as tall as men, but who were inhumanly strong and extremely malevolent. They would have to tread carefully so as not to disturb the darkness of that place.
As they journeyed along, the ground opened up into shallow uplands, where it was possible from the vantage point of where they were, to see the mountain beneath which the Dragon people lived. Further over, many leagues distant, beyond Great Wormwood Forest and the Swamp of Osgaroth, stood its larger more volatile brother, piercing the clouds like a mighty obelisk to the Gods, its name and aspect could make you shudder, it was ‘Ruin Mountain'.
The surrounding lands they were passing were becoming lush and more importantly tilled. Fields were springing up, that had been well cultivated signs at last of civilisation. It was as though they had moved from some barbarous wilderness into a cultured land of watermills, windmills and road ways. They were now greeted by the outlying settlements, small picturesque hamlets. First there were cleared farm tracks, leading to well-trod paths, which in turn led on to stone roads. Roadways spread commerce throughout the land. Another thing they noticed was that the society they were moving through had built up a sophisticated structure for communication. They came across what were designated messenger stops, each identical, three guards with horses one of which remained saddled at all times, attached to them were aviaries with small birds that could send messages, there were also many beacons that littered the route, mettle baskets atop posts filled with kindling to give warning of any impending danger, they all stood ready to be fired.
They were met at first with a hint of suspicion, as no one usually walked abroad, especially since there was the very real threat of being consumed by the Dragon. As it was, once Achil had explained his mission, and their intention. They were not stopped again, an example of how efficient the Osgaroth Dispatch System was, as message of their passing and their business spread quickly. As they drew closer, they would stop to speak to people on route and were informed that the most unusual aspect of the city was that it had no man made fortifications. It had natural barriers all around. It was a city built out of the hardness of the Mountain protected by crafted rocky walls; it had been transformed by the passage of time and built up over the centuries. When first the Dragon people had arrived in Osgaroth, it had been a treacherous rugged place, and over time their Marshall culture had evolved, which was a product of the dangers posed by the lands of Osgaroth. They were a proud resourceful people that with the assault of the Dragon had recently lost their way. It was at such a time as this that Achil and Nishga came upon them.
To the front of the city was a loch, and by mid-afternoon they approached it, and were ready to be ferried across, except there was no one there to do the ferrying. They asked a passer-by what was going on, and were informed that it was a day honoured by the faithful. This meant that the ferryman had finished early that morning, to get home for the celebrations.
The man they had stopped directed them to a local inn by the name of ‘Tavern Loch.’ This lay on the outskirts of a Hamlet on that side of the Loch. On entering they were greeted with enthusiasm by the innkeeper, a stout rotund short fellow with a large beaming smile and a curled moustache that almost prevented his breathing. He informed them of their luck as he had one room left for the night. He then went on to explain the tariffs for a single or double room, and when Achil heard the prices his mouth dropped open.
“Are you joking!” said Achil. “And if you’re not, you probably should be.”
“Those are highly competitive rates,” said the Inn keeper, a bit taken aback by Achil’s bluntness.
“I could buy a house in Findolin for that much,” replied Achil, as he passed the man the sum money for the room.
“Really in Osgaroth the only thing you could purchase for that much is a Rabbit Hutch,” said the Inn keeper dryly. “And believe me when I say, it wouldn't be a very big Rabbit Hutch either.”
After a few more grumbles they went up to their room, wherein was a small side chamber that held a bathing tub with hot steamy water in it. A complimentary bottle of wine, stood next to some aromatic flowers, the fragrance of which pervaded the room as they entered. The twin beds lay side by side, with a small chest between them, an unlit candle on its stand the only ornament. Achil left Nishga to bathe and went downstairs for a drink. The tavern was sparsely populated considering it was meant to have been full. He ordered a flagon of beer, and went to sit down. In the corner were three men talking just above a murmur. They were debating some recent tragedy that had befallen the city. Their clothes were tired. Dust ridden tunics and breeches and mud caked boots suggested that they were labourers of some sort. It was only as Achil approached and noticed at their sides hanging from belts scythes that he realised they were farmers. The two who were seated were engaged in some animated discourse, while the third man stood leaning on his leg which rested on a small stool, and he would interject every so often to correct one or other of the men, and when one of the men got too robust with his arguments, he would calm him down.
Achil curious about what could have upset the men introduced himself. They regarded him with some suspicion at first as all men regard strangers, but because Achil was cordial and polite they soon began to soften their stance and looked upon him with a less guarded sense of scepticism. Apparently the city was under the threat of the Furies, vengeful spirits that were wreaking havoc with the inhabitants; they had descended on the citizens after an accident that had occurred in the games that were staged there every year. Two brothers had fought, one had wounded the other fatally, but he had taken a week to die and in that time his pain was so fierce that the Furies had manifested themselves or so it was said, in his close family, his Wife, his Mother and his Sister who had transformed, becoming wild and inhuman.
They had fled into the depths of Grand Mountain and would only venture back at night seeking revenge for the death of their kin, and thus far, all attempts to capture them had proved futile. People were so fe
arful they had taken to locking themselves in at night, and this added to the threat of the Dragon, had driven many to despair. Achil listened carefully, as someone who had suffered a tragic loss, he understood the madness that grief could often bring, and remembered how the Muli had afflicted him. Though his malady had affected him alone, and had not made him terrorise an entire community.
The Bartender walked over to place some tankards and a jug of beer on the table.
“Come on,” he said gruffly. “We’ve all heard the rumour and it must be true, it's just no one is willing to admit it. The only reason the Furies are here is because someone offended the Gods. The man's death, while tragic, was not the result of his wounds but something else; that’s what I say.”
Achil looked up from his tankard of beer, “What are you talking about?”
The bar tender lowered his voice before continuing.
“Seeing their kin,” continued the Inn Keeper. “In so much pain, they lost all hope that he’d recover. So they killed him.”
The room hushed at the Inn Keepers words.
“You're wrong, I say we're being punished by the Gods,” said another man indignantly.
Achil not meaning to, laughed incredulously at such a notion, and then stopped immediately.
“I’m sorry if I’ve caused offence, but why do people explain every tragic event as an act of the Gods," said Achil. "I admit some maybe. After all I’ve seen some strange things in my time; I’ve even been involved in one or two of them, nevertheless to me this sounds more like a case of the women being so overwhelmed by remorse and grief, that in their vulnerable state some Demonic entity latched on to them, the way a leech latches on to a person's skin. Such creatures are not sent by the Gods; in fact they offend them, because they attack the natural order of things, and believe me I know what I'm talking about.”
One man nodded while another disagreed and so the debate went on. The conversation soon changed to that of the Dragon of Ruin Mountain. A large monster from ages long forgotten that spat venom of pure acid that could dissolve a man. Achil informed them he had heard that the dragon breathed fire. To which one of the men replied it was bad enough that it could spit out a venomous stain on all that opposed it, but no one had seen it spew forth a fiery flame. They talked long into the evening about the concerns of the Dragon People. Achil eventually bade the men goodnight and went upstairs to his room. As he entered he saw that Nishga had already retired for the night and gone to sleep. So after washing, he settled himself down by the fire, and sat back on a chair and stared into the flames.
He had been informed that the first ferry boat crossing would be early the following morning, which meant they would have an early start. The hearth gave off a comforting heat that gripped the entire room, and in the flickering light he mulled over the conversation he had with the men downstairs. There was a sudden realisation that he had entered a different world, with ideas that he would have to come to terms with quickly.
He was reminded of something his old teacher had said.
‘In time of plenty it is easy to dismiss the old ways. For those old ways walked hand in hand with times of hardship. But such beliefs as our ancestors held, do not simply die, they sleep and wake once more in times of adversity, when old fears are more than willing to enslave reason and do so with a vengeance, behaving like some ravenous animal freed from its chains of restraint. It is at this point that the true nature of some ones character will be found; either they succumb to their fears or conquer them.’
He turned from facing the ceiling, to looking out of the window, where he could see passed the loch and on into Dragon city, which was illuminated by the fullness of the moon, he wondered if that was the same moon, as the one when they had made their escape from the Nashvilly or a different one, to be honest he could not recall as he had simply lost track of the time. The flickering fire in the hearth bathed the room in a soft light. A burning candle stood at the bedside revealing above it a painting on the wall, a vivid picture of a man's face that appeared to stare at Achil from some otherworldly place. Finally, instead of climbing into bed, he let his eyes close and he drifted off to sleep.
The next day it was Nishga who was up early. She woke Achil before going down for breakfast. She had prepared the bathing tub for him and left leaving him to soak. The fresh water washed over his tired frame, he sat there trying to plan out what he would say and do when entering Dragon City, it was only after the sun was well up in the morning sky that he went to meet Nishga. She was already outside readying the horses for the trip across the Loch. Achil made his way over to her, seeing his approach, she looked up and smiled. She also seemed well rested from the night before, and was glad to be on the final part of their journey.
“I’ve already paid the ferryman,” said Nishga, “we were just waiting for you to arrive so we can be on our way.”
The two boarded the ferry boat, which was moored to a small Jetty. It was a little unsteady being nothing more than a large wooden platform, two men stood opposite each other with long paddles, while one man at the rear held the rudder so as to steer it. It moved off at a slow pace and seemed to take an eternity to reach the other side. The Loch was very calm and the horses didn’t seem to be affected by the slow steady movement of the ferry, so all in all the journey was a pleasant one, which was a relief to Nishga who had not fancied going for a dip in the cold wash.
On the other side, they were met by a member of the High Council who welcomed them to the city. A tall dark haired man, with deep blue penetrating eyes hailed them, on his long cloak was the crest of a Dragon, his chain mail coat seemed to gloat in the morning sun, his gloved hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, and his dark linen breeches lost themselves in tight fitting leather boots. The man seemed at first distracted but on seeing the new arrivals he strode purposefully forward, there was a certain pride in his countenance. He bowed his head and greeted Achil and Nishga. His name was Kyri, adjutant to the Prefect of the Dragon People, after a brief introduction he offered to take them on a short tour of the city.
Leading their horses, they made their way down a long boulevard, walked on through a mighty triumphal arch and on into the city. The new comers were impressed with what they saw. The two amphitheatres built into the side of the mountain were like gilded crowns, a large oval stone arena rose high above the city like a colossus. There was an athletics track ringed by statues that stood so high as to appear like giants. There were many pillared stone temples of all shapes and sizes. It was truly as though the mountain had given birth to the city, indeed the old part of the city had been carved out of the mountain. Statues both small and large towered over the city streets. The homes were on the main up to four storeys, except those carved out of the mountain and the Public buildings of course. As they walked into the Forum what struck them was the quiet, it was a large square surrounded by distinguished looking buildings and at its heart a column with a statue of the founder of the city. There were a few people milling around but it certainly was not what you would call a bustling centre of commerce. The many fountains were a wonder on their own, fed by a never ending supply of water that came from both the mountain and the loch. On closer observation Achil could see that some of the buildings were damaged or had fallen into disrepair.
“Where is everybody?” asked Achil quietly to himself.
The man looked at him a little embarrassed.
“Most of the people have collected in the chamber of equals,” said Kyri. “There is a meeting to discuss what is to be done now that we have failed to rid ourselves of the Beast of Ruin Mountain and also how to proceed now that we are plagued by the Furies. I am sorry that you have come to us in times such as these.”
Achil could see the sadness in the man's eyes.
“I am here to bring tidings from the King of Findolin to the Dragon people of Osgaroth,” said Achil. “We wish to begin discussions regarding trade between our peoples and hopefully to build an alliance. Since I am able to spea
k on behalf of the King let me tell you in good faith we will aid you in any way we can in this time of hardship of yours, as we say, the only time a friend is truly a friend, is by his actions when he is needed.”
Achil handed the man some papers, and a miniature wooden chest sealed shut with a wax crest of the King. The man thanked him as they walked on, until finally they came to their quarters, a small two storey brick built detached house with a roofed coral to the side of it, that sat high up in the mountain, and overlooked the city, it was fronted by a narrow cobbled roadway. Kyri asked that they wait there until sent for. They led the horses to the small stable at the side and entered the house, placing their baggage between two large ornate chairs that were placed up against the wall food was laid out on a table as were some goblets and a bottle of wine.
Once the man had left, Achil sat himself down on one of the chairs and began removing his boots.
“It looks like they’re going to need someone with your special gifts,” said Achil.
”He was very sullen,” replied Nishga staring out of the window. “I wonder how long things have been the way they are.”
Achil stood up and joined her, brushing away a cobweb that obscured his view of the city.
“Too long,” he sadly muttered.
The house they were in was stoic and sparsely furnished. There were logs by the fireplace but no fire in the hearth, the stone floors and plastered walls were bland and undecorated. Achil thought it a typical nondescript austere place, plain and simple. They sat down together and ate and drunk of the wine and spoke of their travels and how relieved they both were to finally have reached their destination.
That afternoon Kyri returned to take them to the chamber of equals. They had been situated in the older part of the city which was built on the higher levels. As they went further into the city they found the streets tree lined, neatly paved, and cobbled. Lanterns hung from struts attached to the trees. There were metal griddles in the ground covering deep holes. Achil asked what they were used for. The man told him that there was much running water from the mountain, and the city had once been prone to flooding from the Loch, so many years ago a system of tunnels had been built beneath the city for drainage purposes, which had the added benefit of sustaining all the fountains.
They passed the City gardens and park areas that looked overgrown and unkempt. They passed by the Forum once again. And once again Achil noted that many buildings had the impression of being abandoned, their ground floor windows boarded up, the reason for this Kyri mentioned was to prevent the Furies from gaining access. Eventually they arrived at the Chamber of Equals, to the front of which stood high on its golden plinth another large statue which was made of white marble, it actually shone down on them as they passed it by. A grand building fronted by great imposing steps that led up to large carved doors, made from the wood of Thavma trees. Achil and Nishga waited in the atrium, a feeling of nervous tension creeping over them.
“Well I guess our adventure together is over,” said Nishga.
“Perhaps,” replied Achil, “But life has a habit of throwing the unexpected at you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Nishga.
“It means don't be so sure that our time together is at an end,” responded Achil. “I have a feeling we will not be parting company for a little while yet.”
An attendant came out to them and led them into the great hall. As they entered, the stone floor echoed to their footsteps. Natural light from large arched windows propelled their shadows in every direction. On either side, raised on platforms, were long benches of people. Fixed eyes from all around rested on them. And at the head was the one called the Prefect. A man who was elected to the role every five years, He was covered by a large cloak with the crest of a Dragon on it. Beneath which was a loose fitting shirt tucked into his brown breeches. His black leather boots tightly fitted, reached just below his knees. All in all he was a charismatic figure. He sat on an ornate chair with Dragon Heads for rests. Even though he was raised upon a platform, they could tell he was a tall imposing figure, grim faced with a scar beneath his right eye and a slight cleft to his square chin, his silver hair rested on his shoulders. He wore a thin wooden crown with a raised Dragons head to its front, a symbol of his office. Along its base was an inscription in Ancient Suberian script, “Courage, Wisdom, Valour, Honour.” His dark eyes seemed to view all things at once. The people on either side were talking amongst themselves, the Prefect raised his hand as the strangers approached, and all fell silent. Achil and Nishga were shown to a central point in the Hall.
“Welcome to our City,” said the Prefect in the common tongue. “It is not often we have guests from so far a field as Findolin. We thank you for your gifts, and your messages of friendship, though our need requires greater support than one man and one woman can provide I‘m afraid.”
“We have travelled great distances to be here, and yet I feel this is only the start of my journey,” said Achil. “Perhaps from this symbol of friendship that I carry, can grow a new union, a new dawn, and a new day, one not filled with fear and trepidation but with hope.”
“And we are grateful for any help at this time,” replied the Prefect.
A long robed man with a braided beard down to his waist was seated next to the Prefect, his clear blue eyes had a hint of mischief about them, and slowly he stood up grasping his long staff and walked over to Achil and Nishga.
“I am the Alchemist. Currently we are a city under siege, a people unwilling to venture out at night because of three terrible Furies that are close by, and a beast that descends upon us from Ruin Mountain, the mightiest Dragon ever to live in Osgaroth; how do you think we should defend ourselves against such unnatural creatures?”
Achil considered his words carefully before answering.
“We have had dealings with such demons on our travels,” said Achil. "And we will help rid you of these Furies starting tonight. As for this Dragon of yours I will need to learn more about it.”
There were undisguised murmurings of scepticism amongst the assembled throng.
The Prefect looked hard and long at Achil, "Not many have fought against the creature and lived, but I have. The Dragon is as diabolical a beast as you can imagine, the beat of its wings is like the passing of a savage storm, it shoots out a vile liquid that can consume a man right down to the bone, its deep red hide, is made up of tough unbreakable scales that cannot be breached by any means we know of, its eyes see far and wide, so it cannot be taken by surprise. Its talons can bring the mightiest stone citadel down, and its teeth can grind a man to pulp, and it has chosen to do that, much too often of late. The creature in all its grandeur is insidious to the core and worse still, it is cunning, and that is why it must be stopped. At the moment we have managed to drive it off, but that is because we have yet to feel the full force of its wrath. As up to now it has only tested our defences, to see if we have the ability to stand against it, and I fear soon enough it will realise we cannot, and then it will return and destroy our City."
“So you see Achil, only time can truly tell what help your services will truly be to us,” said the Alchemist grimly.
The Alchemist took Achil by the arm and led him and Nishga off into a side chamber. As they entered Achil and Nishga were invited to sit, the Alchemist seated himself opposite them and seemed to study them for a moment.
The Prefect had watched them go, before continuing with the daily matters of state. Once affairs had been concluded he adjourned the session for that day. He then left to meet the emissary from Findolin and his companion. He found the Alchemist listening intently to what the newcomers had to say. The Prefect was especially intrigued by their dealings with a creature that was similar in aspect to the Furies, and so he wished to hear all that could be told regarding the Muli.
Achil nodded slowly before answering, “Thus far we have fought Witches, fought off Wraiths, and the Muli, which is very similar in aspect to a Fury as I understand it.?
??
Achil then went on to explain their many adventures before arriving at Dragon City.
The Prefect, now facing Achil stroked the cleft in his chin pensively; he had listened carefully but still felt a little sceptical at the tale that had unfolded before him.
“Through our researches into the Furies the name Muli did come up,” said the Prefect. “A spirit that appears after a person has suffered a great loss.”
He gave the Alchemist a sideways glance before turning back to look at Achil.
“Perhaps the word Muli is just another word for the same creature or creatures we are facing,” continued the Prefect. “Do you think you can help us?”
Achil leant back in his chair and smiled.
“Nishga,” said Achil with a hint of the dramatic. “Has the ability to use Crystal Magic.”
There was wide eyed stunned silence in the room; Achil had not expected that revelation to have such an impact.
“That changes everything,” said the Alchemist.
“Changes what?” asked Achil.
The Alchemist went over to a shelf and pulled a book from it. He flicked through it until he got to a certain page. He turned the book round and showed it to Achil. Achil read it and passed it along to Nishga. The Alchemist then took hold of the book and read the passage allowed. The Prefect knowing what the passage said, still listened intently, studying the two strangers opposite, to see their reaction to the reading of the prophesy.
In Osgaroth when reigns the beast
An ancient fury is unleashed
When Crystal power is at hand
A Warrior comes from a distant land
Who troubles the fury of the beast
Until all troubles have then ceased
Then once more peace will reign
And valiant age will come again
After he had finished the Prefect looked at Achil and Nishga as if something profound was about to be fulfilled. Achil looked at Nishga doubtfully, not wishing to disappoint his hosts.
“Look I appreciate the compliment of thinking that this prophesy maybe about us,” said Achil. “But, and this is a big but, in times of great distress, people will interpret certain things in ways as to give them comfort.”
The Alchemist nodded he understood the danger inherent in misunderstanding any Oracle.
“That’s a fare comment,” said the Alchemist. “The thing is not whether you are the individuals spoken of in the prophesy, though I think you are. But just the notion that you might be, maybe enough to give the people hope. And give us the time we need to find a way to combat that which plagues our land.”
Achil nodded gravely he was there after all to help the Dragon People. He looked across at Nishga whose face seemed to light up with the prospect of more adventure.
“We'll look to the Furies tonight, your Dragon can wait a day or two at least,” said Achil, he then gently leant closer to Nishga so as not be overheard, “I guess our adventure together isn’t over after all”
The Prefect called in an attendant who had been waiting patiently at the door. A tall young strong thick set looking man, with neat short cropped hair, he was wide eyed and had a strong chin. His clothes fitted well, his chainmail shone, beneath it was a red tunic, and he also wore dark breeches. His cloak had the yellow crest of a dragon, notably worn by a member of the Vangarian guard, who were the Warrior elite of Osgaroth. He entered the room to escort Achil and Nishga back to their quarters. The Prefect and the Alchemist rose as Achil and Nishga stood to leave and wished them a peaceful night. As they left the chamber the Alchemist turned his attention back to the Prefect with a concerned look on his face.
“What do you think?” asked the Alchemist.
The Prefect shrugged, rubbing his forehead and grunted with a grim grin on his face.
“If what they say is true then maybe they can be of help, but the bigger question is what have we really come to, ancient Oracles and Crystal magic,” said the Prefect with a sigh. “Let us hope the strangers prove useful and buy us enough time to find a real solution.”
“Are you saying,” said the Alchemist, “that you don’t feel they’ll survive the Furies.”
“Do you, and if they did, would they survive the Dragon,” said the Prefect. “When the time comes we’ll bury them with all our honoured dead, and send word to Findolin that in return for the selfless sacrifice of their children, they have our friendship.”