The Shadow Tome (ch. 10 & 11)

Chapter Ten:
The Tale of the Dark Lord
         
         The sun fell below the trees when Matthew saw the stone pillars of the library rising before him. He yearned for the answers that were now just moments from his grasp. He reached to his chest and held the Elvynglass. It was warm in his hand, a warmth that spread through him and filled his soul as nothing had ever done before. He thought of Sheela then, and remembered how her body has felt against his. It was that which he felt now.
         “Do not fear our parting,” she had said. She touched the shard that dangled from his chest. Smiling she said, “So long as you carry this, I will be with you, and when you have done what you must do, we will be together again.”
         “But why will you not come with me now?” He had begged her.
         She shook her head in sadness. “My love, there is still so much that is yet unknown to us. What I do know is that where you are going, I cannot follow. The power has been given to you, and you alone must wield it.”
         “And you will wait for me?” He asked.
         A tear rolled down her cheek. “For our love, a thousand years would seem but a moment.”
         They embraced one last time, and he kissed her tenderly.
         Matthew did not cry as he left her, for the Elvynglass strengthened his purpose, and he knew that one day, fate would bring them together.
         He was torn away from his musings suddenly by a shout from the library. He looked to see Mortimer rushing to him. As he approached he let a large grin cross his face and the two comrades locked arms in greeting.
         “I see you were successful,” Mortimer spoke, looking on the Elvynglass as they broke their greeting.
         “Yes,” responded Matthew. “Where are the others?”
         “Inside. Romand is in deep discussion with Giahamas, as he has been all day, and Becken is still with Leneia. I’m afraid she is getting worse. Her dreams are plagued with nightmares, and she is drawing more into herself than before.”
         Matthew looked concerned. “How is Beck?”
         “I have barely seen him these two days. He never leaves her side. That poor boy.”
         Matthew remembered his friend, and the trials he had been through. He would make it right He had to.
         They left the forest then and went into the library, passing the old volumes of books and scrolls. After descending the stairs into the vault, they found Romand and Giahamas, sitting over a table, drinking tea and discussing ancient history.
         As Matthew entered, Romand rose to greet him, but stopped suddenly, and his face darkened.
         “My son,” he spoke sullenly. “I sense the light of Aurorai no longer guides your steps.”
         Matthew nodded. “Yes Romand, I no longer walk in the shadow of the gods.”
         The Historian remained silent.
         “What witchcraft is this! She has poisoned your mind, my son, and twisted the truth to blind you!”
         “No Romand, I see more clear now than ever before. I have done what must be done, and she has no part in it.”
         Romand turned now to the Historian, his eyes ablaze with rage. “You knew this, old one! You knew all to well what he would find there, didn’t you? Didn’t you!”
         The expression of the old man did not change, and he said nothing.
         “Romand, I have found peace, a peace long denied me by your goddess. Do you fear this?”
         “I fear only for you.”
         “The boy is right in what he says,” spoke the old man at last.
         Romand turned to him incredulously, but the Historian silenced him. “Romand, you must understand, it was the price that had to be paid. Aurorai cannot help him where he is going.”
         The high cleric seethed profusely but remained quiet.
         “I see you have obtained the Elvynglass,” spoke the Historian as he turned to Matthew.
         “Yes, the Elvynglass is mine.”
         “Indeed. I trust then that it shows you the lady Sheela’s words were all true, yes?”
         “It does.”
         The Historian nodded in approval. “I do not think you yet understand your good fortune, my son.”
         Matthew raised an eyebrow.
         Giahamas smiled. “Yes, you do not see all there is to see. The power of the gods cannot destroy what threatens Leodoria, no matter how strong or righteous be the man who wields it. The only way for you to succeed, lies beyond the power of the four.”
         “And what threatens us? What is it that haunts my dreams and lets no Auroran now sleep soundly in the night?”
         “It is time for you to know, then. Go quickly, and gather the others for this you all must here. I will wait for you below in the farthest vault. Quickly.”
         He left them then, and traveled down the hall and disappeared out of sight. Mortimer departed to awake Becken and Leneia, leaving Matthew alone with the high cleric. Matthew was certain that he would instigate a confrontation, but the old cleric did not speak, favoring to be silent in his musings.
         It was only a brief time before Mortimer returned with Becken and Leneia. Matthew could see now what Mortimer had spoken off. The Elvynglass showed him only a fragment of the storm that dwelt within their minds. He could feel Becken fighting to escape it, but Leneia, he feared, was falling in that black abyss, and wicked faces were still seared in her eyes, poisoning their beauty.
         Matthew had feared before, but now he doubted that anything could save her.
         “So what happened?” Mortimer asked as they began to walk deeper into the vaults. Matthew then told them all that had transpired at Sheela’s palace. All except for that which he kept for himself. Romand listened in hushed silence, although he failed to mask his disapproval. Mortimer and Becken asked few questions as they walked, and Matthew could tell they did not fully understand what he had told them.
         After a while they arrived at the farthest room. Similar to the chamber they had first met the Historian in, this room contained the oldest books Matthew had ever seen. He wondered what could keep them together.
         The Historian sat at a table dusting a ancient faded black book with his calloused hands. He looked up as they arrived. “Are we ready to begin then?” He asked.
         They all nodded. The old man then released the string that held the cover closed and opened it to the first page.
         “I will begin from the beginning of the tale, the oldest story in existence.” Their attention was absolute as he began to speak.
         “Seven thousand years ago, at the dawn of the first age, the four gods Aurorai, Laeriana, Aragoth, and Vaheme joined their powers together to form our world. They did this not out of unity, but out of necessity. Their war had ripped the fabric of their existence and it would ultimately destroy them. And so they created Leodoria, a plane on which they would continue their battle. This you already know.”
         His eyes darkened. “When their powers were conjoined, all were given equal influence upon the land. All but one.”
         “Aragoth, the god of death, desired to tip the balance of power in his favor. He sought to do this by dividing a piece of his essence, or soul, and sending it into nirvalla, the core of the world. With this, he believed that his power would be stronger than the others, and maybe eventually be able to take on corporeal form upon Leodoria.”
         “But Aragoth did not understand as much as he thought. He was arrogant in assuming he, or anyone, could anticipate how the newly forming vendara would react. As the vendara spread across the world, twisting together and forming life, his soul was lost, and Aragoth gave up hope of planting his power in nirvalla. However, as the gods began to slip into their slumber, waiting for their realm to repair itself, Aragoth saw the piece of his soul, only for a moment, before it was consumed by a strand of vendara. He tried in vain to destroy it before it joined with the vendara, rejecting the conception of this energy, but it was to late, and he fell into his slumber.”
         “And so the world was born. The four races established themselves under their respective religions, and none knew of the lost dark magic that lay within their world. Several years past, and war began to break out among the Leodorian peoples. Soon an alliance was formed between the people of Aurorai, god of righteousness and Laeriana god of life, and they made war against Vaheme and Aragoth, the gods of hatred and death.”
         “It was shortly after the wars began that a young Auroran virgin named Seraphina conceived a child. Her conception was an abomination to her people and their faith and they drove her out of the city and into the wilderness.”
         “Do you mean to say,” interjected Matthew.
         “Please, I will tell you,” the Historian responded. “Yes, the rogue energy of the god of death himself festered within her and produced a child. She hid in the woods and the mountains of Dellwood for months, and the baby inside Seraphina began to change her. She found she could command magic and she saw visions while she slept, visions of destruction and death. Soon the visions became voices, a face in the shadows that called her the black mother. She welcomed this darkness and rejected the faith of her people.”
         “Soon after, she came across a man named Morius. He offered her a remedy for her lonliness, and she fell in love with him. But he cared not for her, and after he took her to his bed, he left and came back with a host of men, and they put her to the sword.”
         They listened to the Historians tale in horrid silence.
         “Then, the man Morius cut the fetus from the woman’s body and held it up. Then, the impossible occurred. The baby opened its eyes, and looked upon the broken body of it’s mother.”
         Seraphina. The black mother.
         “Power, like none ever seen before erupted from the baby, and Morius and his men were destroyed.”
         “This eruption of dark power called the attention of Jaileth, the death crafter of Leodoria, and he traveled to the home of Morius and retrieved the babe, bringing it back to his lair. He decided on a name for the baby boy.
         “He named him Sargoth, the Lord of Vengeance.”
         “So he is the dark lord that now rises against us” Spoke Becken.
         The Historian nodded, and then continued. “Sargoth spent the first years of his life under the care of Jaileth, who was fascinated by the boys remarkable powers. Jaileth began to see a new order that might rise to challenge the other four, and it invigorated him.”
         “When Sargoth was ten years of age, he sent the boy, in secret, to Grimlock, capital city of the Aragothans, to study with a scholar named Dryan. It is hard to say for sure, but I believe it was there that he began to construct his plan for vengeance, for he hated the world for killing his mother, and he hated his father for rejecting him.”
         “Sargoth advanced quickly in the study of the arcane sciences, and he began to secretly gather followers to him. He named the first thousand of his followers “Ill Daemon”, and their name would become to mean ‘nightmare’.”
         “Soon, Sargoth left the city and traveled west towards the south plain, which we know now as Galahadran. The Ill Daemon followed him, as did thousands more that were seduced by his power as it poisoned the land. Sargoth then declared his kingdom, and summoned forth a mighty fortress he named Infernus Draconis.”
         “He then made war upon Leodoria. The Sargothan armies spread from Infernus Draconis like wildfire, slaying all that would resist. There were many that joined them, and they were spared.”
         “As Sargoth’s power grew, the first great king of Asher, the Vahemian lord Akael, struck an alliance with the Lord of Vengeance, and together they laid siege against the children of death, who had scorned the dark lord. Beneath the terrible might of the god lord of vengeance and the Vahemian magic, the walls of Grimlock were torn down, and most were slain. Sargoth’s wrath was great against his father’s children. The Aragothans were all but destroyed and the survivors scattered across Mulden Mord, hiding in the mountains and swamps of the dark land.”
         “With the kingdom of Aragoth in ruins, all of southern Leodoria laid beneath the feet of Sargoth. He now looked to the lush northern lands, where the good peoples of Leodoria dwelled.”             “But they were already looking south. The righteous king Raulian Myraus of the Auroran kingdom assembled a vast army of men, and they were soon joined by the armies of the east, led by the Laerian king Vawyn. All the peoples of Aurorai and Laeriana had come together upon one plain, and so great were their numbers that it was said they could be seen from every direction and across the horizon. And with them came the Magic Crafters of the north, Ryn Vylaya, the enchantress, and Tomin Drammel, the wizard.”
         “Upon the fields of Galahadran they assembled, and Sargoth called all his disciples to him. The first to come were the Ill Daemon, and then from every corner of the world and out from under every stone, the wicked men and slaves to the will of Sargoth came forth and assembled before his black majesty. And when all had gathered, they did battle with the armies of the north.”
         “Thousands died at the hands of Sargoth, who unleashed the wrath of his fury upon them. The northern soldiers fled in fear at his awesome might, and the Ill Daemon crushed them as they fled. It was then that Tomin Drammel and Ryn Vylaya did battle with Sargoth, and all the clerics of Aurorai and priests of Laeriana fought the Ill Daemon. The Sargothans retreated and regrouped. The next day, the Vahemians led a mighty offensive against the northern armies, and drove them from the fields of Galahadran and into the lower Dellwood. “
         ”Thus came the third day of battle. Sargoth went before the shattered army of the north, and demanded that the line of Morius come forth and answer for their crimes. When they refused, he brought forth the full power of the world, and the heavens opened up and unleashed all the elements upon them. The Sargothan army did not move, and the Lord of Vengeance smashed his enemies, killing them almost to a man.”
         “Sargoth’s victory was almost complete, and his armies marched north to put the last of their enemies to the sword. There, at the end, Tomin Drammel and Ryn Vylaya, who had survived the battle, came together with the last holy men of light, and they summoned all the power their gods had to give. The power came from the earth, and consumed their bodies, and with their sacrifice, came Sargoth’s ultimate defeat. Across all Leodoria the spirit power of Aurorai and Laeriana swept the world, and smote out every Sargothan life, everywhere, and the white magic tore into the body of the dark lord, and he was destroyed.”
         They listened in silence as he completed his tale. It was Matthew who spoke.
         “But he wasn’t truly destroyed, was he.” Matthew stated
         “No my son, he was not. You have already heard of the ancient book called the Shadow Tome, written down by the hand of Sargoth himself.”
         “During his time studying the arcane sciences, Sargoth became obsessed with planting his own spirit in nirvalla, as the other four had done. He discovered that with the death of a man, he could channel his powers through the dying vendara, thus infusing nirvalla with his energy. However, through his studies, he learned also of the great potential of the spirit power that laid dormant within nirvalla. He feared this, for if his enemies discovered it, they could use it to destroy him, which they eventually did.”
         “Sargoth was never really able to implant his spirit in nirvalla, however, he did manage to create a shadow, or a ghost of energy, so small that no one would ever notice, and hide it upon one single strand of Vendara. Anticipating his nearing destruction, he scribed down the secret of his shadow power in three books, which were named the Books of Shade. These held the key to his influence and power upon the world.”
         “As you know, however, he wrote down one last book. Within its pages, it contained the secret to releasing his shadow from the restrains of the vendara, and ultimately, returning his body to our plane. Only with the three Books of Shade could the Shadow Tome be used to resurrect the Lord of Vengeance.”
         “And he has the three books, doesn’t he?” Matthew asked.
         “Oh yes, he does. King Lysander, Sargoth’s agent on our world, holds them close to him, and he is seeking the last book, the Shadow Tome. “
         ”My friends you must understand, the power that destroyed Sargoth seven thousand years ago is gone. The spirit that remained after Sargoth’s destruction has been used through endless wars upon our world. If Lysander finds the tome, he will summon back the Lord of Vengeance, and this time, there will be nothing anyone can do to stop him. The destruction you have seen thus far will be nothing compared to the hellish nightmare that will await you.”
         “So the attack on Dellwood Vale and the slaughter of Cyrinth Myriad was all part of his plan to poison the world with his power?” Matthew asked.
         “Yes, that is his plan. He seeks to finish what he started. As you know, forty years ago, Matthias Lysander discovered the first Book of Shade. He then stole it from the vaults of Cyrinth Myriad. At that moment, he became Sargoth’s agent, the leader of his followers here on Leodoria. Forty long years has he waited patiently, and now that the Books of Shade are found, he has decided to make war against the enemies of Sargoth.”
         “Old one, why did Sargoth not wait until the tome had been found to reveal himself?” Asked Romand.
         “It is simple. He is arrogant, confident that the subjugation of the Leodorian peoples can be achieved without the Shadow Tome, and that they will eventually find it as they sweep across the land. He also nears his goal of infesting nirvalla. As more die, his power within the vendara grows. As open war breaks out, it will not be long before the poisoned vendara will plague nirvalla as well.”
         Finally, Mortimer spoke. “We have only one course of action then. We must find it before he does.”
         “Indeed. You must, but the Shadow Tome cannot be destroyed as long as there is Sargothan magic in our world. You must uncover the tome and bring it here, where it will be safe from the hands of the Sargothans.”
         “How do we find it?” Matthew asked.
         Giahamas Elyvwyn lowered his head, sullenly. “Leodoria is a remarkable world, is it not?. When the four conjoined to create it, there were a great many unexpected things that happened. One such creation was this. The world was created with an even balance of four magics. They were equally the same in every way, but when Aragoth attempted to tip this balance in his favor, it created what is called the ancient magic law. The law was formed to keep things in balance. Whenever an event occurs that threatens this balance, the law creates a means to remedy it, returning the equilibrium that is needed for life to exist.”
         “I don’t understand,” Matthew said, and the others looked equally as puzzled. “How do we find the book?”
         “I am a being, created by the magic, just as the magic crafters are, and being so, we are bound by the law. I can not tell you where the Shadow Tome rests, for if I did, the law would be broken. The law does not demand equilibrium, it only requires that it be possible. Therefore, I can give you what you need to find it, and nothing else, there by creating the possibility of equilibrium. Were I to tell you exactly where it lies, it would be the law, for I am a part of the law, that would tip the balance in your favor, and since it is precisely what the law is created to avoid, the following reaction would collapse the power of the law and utterly destroy the world.”
         They remained quiet for a moment, soaking in his words.
         Matthew spoke. “So Jaileth cannot help the Sargothans either?”
         “That is correct, he is bound as much as I..”
         “But where do we possibly begin?” Asked Becken.
         “I shall tell you. You must travel east across the North Valley and into Dagmor Country. There is an old man by the name of Annias who lives there. He may know what you seek.”
         “Now, you must rest, for in the morning you will depart, and with you, the fate and hope of the world.”
         When the Historian had finished, they left. All but Romand, who had one more question for him.
         “Giahamas. I sense that there is still one part of this tale that you have not yet revealed.”
         The old man smiled. “You see much, cleric Sohm. There is one last part, but it is not for I to speak it. It is for Matthew to hear, and there is only one man who may tell it. He will come before the end.”
         “I see,” was his response. “I fear for the boy. His faith is gone, and for what purpose?”
         “It will be revealed in time, the need for his schism.”
         “But I am confused, old one. You had said before he left that only a man of strong faith could seek the Elvynglass, but it was indeed his failure in faith that won it from the sorceress.”
         “You do not understand, Romand. If Matthew’s faith had not been strong, he would have been unable to resist the temptation of the sorceress. Had he failed in that, the Elvynglass would have surely destroyed him.”
         Romand nodded in understanding. “So all things have a purpose.”
         “Yes, even though at times they may seem oblique and obscure. You must trust that all will be well.”
         Romand nodded, although he did not know if understood as much as he wanted to.
         As he left the Historian, he wondered what the morning would bring, and he thought of a young man, who now carried the fate of the world.
         
Chapter Eleven:
The Journey Eastward

         Before the light of the moon had faded from the sky, four north men, and a broken woman, departed from the ancient library. To the east, a string of mountains blocked their way, but Matthew knew they could not travel south around them, for that would take them to close to Cyrinth Myriad and king Lysander.
         Cyrinth Myriad.
         “Had it been so long?” Matthew thought to himself. He remembered drinking with Becken while they sung great songs of victories at the city pubs. He could see his young friend as if it were yesterday. A head of curly blonde hair and a playful grin upon his face, he remembered how he would chase the women about the taverns and Matthew would frown at his very lewd like behavior.
         But that was all gone now. No Aurorans now sang songs of victory and joy, and there were no grins or playful teasing. Sargoth had taken it all from them. “How much more would be sacrificed before the end,” Matthew wondered.
         It took many days to traverse the mountains that ran down the western side of the North Valley. It was cold there and the snow and wind nipped at their feet and bit at their faces. Romand tried with great difficulty to keep them warm with his magic, but his powers were greatly diminished from the poison of Sargoth’s influence. The high cleric still held on to his faith, amidst the mountain storms, for what more could he do?
         It was to their great relief when they saw the flat plains of the North Valley emerge from behind the mountain peeks, and they began to ascend, keeping their eyes on the east, and the seemingly impossible task of uncovering the Shadow Tome before Sargoth found it.
         When they had at last left the mountains behind them, they traveled only by darkness, to conceal their flight. At each days new light they hid within the sparse scattering of trees and hills, awaiting the nightfall so they could set out again.
         Matthew glanced at the bright northern stars, surrounded by the nights veil. It reminded him of his childhood. He remembered how he had once sat upon the hill in Dellwood, over looking the graceful waters of the West Divide. He thought the same thing now as he had all those years ago. When was the freedom of life truly granted to the holder of it. At what point did man stand against the wind that blows him away from his desires. Before it had been his goddess, and now, it was his destiny.
         He jerked his head briskly to his left as he heard the voices of men approaching him. The others had heard it to, and quickly the small company fell to the grassy floor with the gripping fear that they had been discovered.
         Matthew listened closely to the sounds as they approached, and soon he made out the voices of men, ranting and cursing among themselves. They were accompanied by the neighing of horses and the creaking of carts and wagons.
         Matthew quietly crept up the hill he stalked behind to get a look at the intruders.
         There were a dozen men at least, dressed in rags and tattered clothes. They had stopped now and were talking more loudly among themselves. Matthew laid perfectly still along the hill, watching the company of men, as they began to unload supplies from the wagons.
         “This will do nicely, said the man at the head, apparently the leader of the band. He carried a torch with him and Matthew could plainly see his features.
         The man’s skin was a wrinkled, muddy color and his scraggily, thinning brown hair hung across his face in disarray. He was missing several teeth, and the ones he did have were jagged and rotting.
         “Brigands,” Matthew thought to himself.
         The man was now barking orders at the others who made no attempt to conceal their dissension.
         For what seemed to be hours Matthew and the others waited behind the hill. After the brigands had made camp, they lit a fire and began to roast some foul creatures over the flames. They brought out skins of ale, wine, and mead, and began to drink heavily. When their meal was read y, they tore the roasted flesh off the skewers and began to consume the meat using daggers and bare hands. As they finished, they began to talk.
         “Not much further I’d say. A week maybe. Maybe will finally see what this damned thing is all about.”
         “I still say you imagined it, Skeen. A combination of bad ale and women,” scorned a rather despicable looking man.”
         “Silence Hes. You’re a damn fool, always blubbering about with nothing useful to say. I have half a mind to cut out your tongue.”
         “Go and try it, Skeen!” Hes drew a long dagger from his belt and held it out. “I’ll poke out your eyes!”
         The man named Skeen looked  upon the other with disgust. “You would be more likely to poke your own eyes out,” he said.
         Matthew began to change his focus from the men, to the strong muscled animals tied up to the wagons. He turned to Mortimer who slowly began to creep up to his position on the hill.
         Matthew spoke in a barely audible whisper. “We need those horses,” he stated.
         Mortimer nodded.
         “Beck will stay here. You go around to the other side and I will go to the left. Then we will wait.”
         The two men went different ways. Matthew stalked over to the left side of the brigands encampment, and Mortimer went back over to Becken and explained to him what was going to happen. Then Mortimer crept down to the opposite flank and waited.
         The argument between Skeen and Hes had ended and now there were two other brigands sitting by the fire.
         “Skeens right ya know. I’ve heard the voice to, in my dreams. I don’t know why I am going but, I feel almost that I must.”
         The other just muttered in agreement and took another long drink form his skin.
         Matthew knew now who these men were. He recalled how the Historian had said that Sargoth had summoned all wicked men of Leodoria to him. The dark lord did the same now. How many, he wondered, now dotted the plains, traveling to Cyrinth Myriad. Hundreds? Thousands?
         As the night wore on, the last of them fell asleep, intoxicated by drink, save for one that stood watch. A fat, hairy fellow with a big nose sat on a log, smoking a pipe.
         They waited for Becken.
         They did not wait long before a silent arrow sprung out of the darkness and struck the man down. The death of the sentry did not wake the camp, as they had guessed, and Matthew and Mortimer came out from their hiding and walked to the horses. Quietly they loosened the straps that held them to the wagons and the horses whinnied quietly as they proceeded.
         When they had freed the horses, one for Matthew, Mortimer, Romand, and Becken and Leniea, they began to walked them back toward the hill.
         Matthew stopped. “Wait,” he whispered.
         “Are you mad?” Mortimer whispered incredulously.
         “These men serve Sargoth. If they report their horses were stolen, it could reveal to Lysander where we are going.”
         Mortimer nodded in sullen understanding. As silent as death, they walked back into the camp and, drawing their weapons, killed the sleeping men where they laid. They then collected any food or supplies they could find about the camp, before returning in hushed silence to the hill where Romand, Becken, and Leneia waited.
         Romand looked at Matthew as he approached. “It is not a shameful thing, Matthew. It had to be done and you understand this, I think.”
         Matthew looked back at the cleric. “One day, Romand, men will have no need to kill. I have spilled enough blood for ten life times. It makes no difference what the reason is for it.”
         Romand chose not to continue, and he left the other to his musings.
         The small company rode through the rest of the night, quickly closing the gap between them and Dagmor Country, where they hoped they would find the key to recovering the Shadow Tome.
         There were few men that dare venture into the valley of the dagmors, and fewer still that made their homes there. The native dagmors, wild canine beasts, controlled the lands and did as they pleased. Matthew had been there before, long ago, and was nearly killed when a pack of dagmors attacked him. There was no more dangerous place in the north.
         Of course, that was where they were going.
         With the aid of their newly acquired horses, it took them only one more night of travel to finally cross the expanse of the North Valley, and reach the pass that would lead them into Dagmor Country.
         They would cross the valley in the daylight, staying in open areas away from the mountains and trees. The dagmors did not usually travel in the open, and liked to stay hidden, watching their prey. They hunted primarily at dusk and dawn, when their vision was the sharpest. They could not see as well in the bright daylight, so Matthew chose this time for traveling. Now that they were out of the North Valley, they did not fear traveling by day, for there were no men there to see them.
         Except for Annias. One thing Matthew had been confused about for sometime now was as to how they would find this man. Dagmor Country was huge, spreading for miles in all directions. They were far more likely to be killed and eaten then they were to find one man in such an expanse.
         Still they journeyed on, traveling by day and camping by night. Days came and went with no sign of the old man, Annias, and with each day they could feel that something drew closer to them. They sensed eyes watching them from behind the clusters of trees and mountains. Their hands were never away from their weapons, and they knew if they did not find the old man soon, they would have to fight their way out. They wondered how many days the dagmor would wait before they attacked.
         Matthew knew it would come.
         It had been five days of riding east, and the horses were tired. They lazily clopped along the rocky grass, and the companions were tired as well. Matthew had chose to sleep less and less, fearing that they were losing time that they could not afford to lose.
         Their hunters saw this as well.
         The dagmors sprung out from the trees and behind the hills, a dozen or more, from all directions. Instantly they kicked their horses flanks and started to run. Matthew knew the dagmors were much faster then these northland horses, but what could they do.
         The dagmors were right behind them now and they chomped at the horses flanks. The clear sound of steel rang out as weapons were drawn and there was a crunch and a yelp as a dagmor’s skull was shattered by Mortimer’s mace. Matthew cut one down with his sword as it leapt for his head, and thrust his blade into the mouth of another. The two dagmors were thrown back to the ground and did not move.
         There was a shriek then and Matthew turned his head back to see what had happened. Becken and Leneia’s horse had stopped galloping and now half a dozen dagmors surrounded them. They gnashed their teeth at them. Matthew knew it would be only a moment before they pounced. Matthew pulled on the reigns to turn his horse, but the animal refused. If he did not reach them now, he knew they would be dead.
         He leapt from the back of the animal and, raising his sword in the air, charged for them. Then, a flash of brilliant white light thrust the bulk of the creatures a side, as Romand Sohm appeared. Mortimer as well was there now, and the three friends came down on the dagmors. Blood ran from their weapons as they fought, but now they could see more coming from the trees.
         The humming of a bow cut the air as Becken released his air arrows at the coming dagmors. Leneia was still with him on the animal, but he could now draw his weapon since they were not surrounded anymore. Becken’s struck down three of the creatures as they charged and Romand released a flare of orange magic from his hands. Fire burst around the body of a dagmor and it was thrown aside, yelping and whimpering.
         Matthew slew two more with his blade, and Mortimer, with an axe in one hand, and mace in the other, barreled into the last of them, crushing bone and hewing flesh.
         More than a dozen corpses now littered the grass, and the last of the dagmors fled back toward the trees, seeking easier prey.
         It took them sometime time to gather their horses, which had fled from the battle. Once they had been recaptured, they set out again eastward, for they knew no other direction for which they could travel.
         The eyes of the old man, whom had watched the fray, now emerged from behind his hiding place along the hill.
         “You are indeed brave to venture here,” he spoke.
         They turned suddenly to see who had addressed them.
         They looked upon a bald man who’s white beard hung down to his waist. He was draped in a terrifying cloak of dagmor furs, and he walked with a staff to support his decrepit old body.
         “Annias?” Asked Matthew as the old man approached.
         He raised an eyebrow. “And whom is it that asks?” He said.
         “My name is Matthew Xavious, and we have come far to seek knowledge that only you can give us.”
         “I see,” was his response. “It is the book you seek, is it not?
         “It is.”
         Annias examined them for a moment with his eyes. Satisfied, he spoke to them. “Come, my home is not far from here. We will eat for I am sure you are hungry. Then, I will tell you what you need know. I do not get much company here, as you can imagine.”
         Matthew and the others nodded in a agreement, and they followed the old man north, to a small wooden house that sat upon a high hill.
         The hill was ringed by long, wooden stakes, and upon closer inspection, they could see the rotting corpses of dagmors impaled upon them.
         Seeing their startled reactions, Annias spoke. “The dagmors can not stand the sight and smell of their dead. These keep them away.” He gestured toward the stakes, and the fur around his body.
         After they had ascended the hill, they could see the house. The walls were built of dried mud, grass, and tree branches and the roof was thatched with straw. The entrance had no door, and instead, a dagmor fur was draped where it would have been.
         Annias led them through the entrance and into the one roomed hovel. A small cot sat in the corner, bedded with furs, and a single table and chair sat against the wall. A ring of stones were placed into the earth, at the center of the room, and charred wood and ash were piled between them. There was one window at the other end of the house, and a crudely constructed shelf was there. A number of wooden cups and bowls were scattered across the surface, and a bucket of drinking water sat on the floor, by the shelf.
         After they had all gathered together, Annias left for a moment, then returned with a bundle of dry wood. He stacked the pieces together in the stone ring, and lit them on fire. From a cupboard under the shelf, he drew out a metal pot and brackets, which he then set up over the fire.
         Matthew watched the old man as he went about, preparing the meal. He filled the pot with water from the bucket and once the water was boiling, he took a cloth sack from the shelf and poured some its contents into the water. From what the companions could see, the sack contained bits of dried meats and vegetables.
         The aroma of the stew wafted in the air, and they realized how hungry they really were. When the stew was prepared, they poured out ale, from their skins, into their tankards, and sat around the fire.
         Annias watched them closely as they ate, reading their faces. When the meal was finished, their pipes were lit, and Annias spoke to them.
         “How do you know of the tome?” He asked them. Matthew related to him the story of their journey and the history that Giahamas had revealed to them. He showed Annias the Elvynglass to confirm their tale.
         Satisfied with their story, he spoke. “Many years ago, when I was younger, my son and I were adventurers of sorts. Distant lands and ancient relics fascinated us.”
         “The last journey we made, was to a land far to the south. Most have scarcely heard of the foul place. It is known as Gamael. We had heard rumors of an ancient artifact that was hidden there, and the lure of it was to much for us to resist. Whether these rumors were true or not is unimportant.”
         “What we found there, I will never forget.”
         “You found the book?” Matthew asked, eagerly.
         Annias’ face was dark as he replied. “The book? Oh yes, we found it. But we found more than that however.”
         “What do you mean?”
         Annias was lost in memory. After a moment, he stared into Matthew’s eyes with a hard, cold gaze.
         “We found fire and death. There is a beast that guards the tome. He keeps it for himself and owes no allegiance to the dark lord.”
         It seemed that madness now gripped the old man, and he lunged forward, leaning toward them from the ground. He pleaded with them.
         “Do not go to that place! It is evil. You will find only death in those halls.”
         Romand reached out to him then, and held his hand in his own. “Your fear is not without warrant Annias, but you must understand. If we do not do this, the world, and everything in it, will perish.”
         Annias had closed into himself and was muttering under his breathe. Sitting on the ground, he held his knees close against his chest, and rocked back and forth, muttering all the while.
         Matthew and the others could now see that he was quite mad, and his finding of the tome, all those years ago, drove him to insanity.
         They spent some time with the old man, but his condition did not change. Under his breathe, he continued cursing the book and the creature that held it, and he spoke of flames and death.
         Finally, Romand turned to the others. “Please, leave me with him for a while. I will attempt to soothe his mind.”
         They left Romand with Annias, and sat out on the hill, smoking and talking. Becken tried to speak with Leneia, but she was as unresponsive as the old man had been. His heart ached for her, but she did not return it, or at least she did not seem to. As the days went on, she had closed more into herself. It had been days since she had spoken, except for in her dreams, which were violent and filled with horror.
         As the sun began to fall, Romand finally emerged from the house and beckoned them to come inside. They entered and saw Annias, now sitting at the table, apparently calmed from his episode.
         Annias spoke to them. “I am sorry my friends, but my mind has not been the same for these many years. I will try and tell you what you must do.”
         “You should seek out my son, Cam, who knows how to return to Gamael. I can not take you there, for I am to old and my mind is not well. He lives to the east, in the free kingdoms. This is all I know. I wish you well.”
         They stayed for the rest of the night, and ate dinner with him, conversing of older, better times. Matthew felt for Annias, and his heart ached at the thought of how Sargoth’s power had twisted the old man’s mind, and changed him irreversibly. He wondered, as he laid on the dirt floor, wrapped in a fur blanket, how many others would be tainted by the dark lord before the end.
         He thought of these things, as he fell into sleep, and awaited the morning.