The Shadow Tome (ch. 16 & 17)

Chapter Sixteen: The Blood of Courage

Captain Evyan Fandorius poured over the map of the Enwyn countryside that laid before him, upon the table. He traced the parchment with his finger, and his eyebrows wrinkled in doubt.

"You are sure this will hold them?" He asked, as he looked back upon Kendalar Bane.

Kendalar was quiet for a moment before speaking. "It will have to," was his response.

Evyan frowned with displeasure. "I hope you are right, lord Bane; for our sake and our peoples."

"We will hold captain. We must!" Kendalar declared. "These measure have already been put into place. Now we wait for the dark steward."

For the greater part of the week the two men had brooded over the terrain around the city, attempting to construct their line of defense against the mighty army that was coming. All was now decided on, and they could only wait for the sound of horns from afar.

The anxiety of the battle to come was not soothed by the continued absence of Lord Hornwall’s army. There had been no word yet as to their status, nor had their been news of Lord Danforth. Kendalar could only hope that all was well, and that their Galahadran comrades would join them soon.

A messenger entered then, donned in chain mail armor. "My lords, the captains have been assembled. They await your presence."

Kendalar turned to him. "Thank you soldier, now go and join your company. The enemy fast approaches."

Nervously, the soldier left them, walking briskly back towards the barracks.

"The lads are so young," spoke Evyan.

"Sadly captain, we have not the liberty for regrets. Come, they are waiting."

They left the war room behind them and headed towards the chamber where the army captains had been assembled. The men had already donned their war armor and their swords laid quietly at their sides. Kendalar wore the gleaming silver platemail of the sacred brotherhood, while Evyan wore the standard chainmail of the Laerian army.

They walked confidently, but in silence as they entered the chamber. A long table sat at it’s center, and on either sides of it, the captains had gathered. They stood behind their chairs, watching as Kendalar and Evyan entered the room.

On the left stood sir Balmort, Sir Thaden, and Sir Tomin of the sacred brotherhood. Among them also was the young Frogan. To the right stood Evyan’s captains and generals; Lieutenants Qyrna, Tyran, and Hythras, as well as sergeant Tyboth and Wyngoth. The men saluted their generals as they entered.

Kendalar spoke to them. "Strength my brothers. The sight of the ancient alliances reunited brings a glimmer of to me in times such as these. Please, be seated."

The men all took their seats at the table as Kendalar spoke again. "My friends, in what may be our final hours together I must tell you of my profound gratitude that I find myself in such fine company this day. The enemy fast approaches, and vastly outnumbers us in strength of arms."

They were silent as the first knight spoke, although the anxiety that his words invoked within them did not go unnoticed.

He continued. "However, we have within us, a power that does not dwell within the hearts of the men that would destroy us. It is not hatred, nor bigotry, nor wickedness that brings us here this day. But rather, it is brotherhood and freedom that has united us. In the midst of chaos and pain have we been brought together, to fight the battle that I believe has been the very purpose of our lives."

"At first, perhaps it was fear that drove us to arms; fear that our friends may be our enemies, but today that is not so. So now as I sit here among you, let us declare that fear has no place within our hearts, and let us swear that those that would try to instill fear upon others have no place within our lands. They would give us fear; but we shall give it back!"

They all cheered at the conclusion of Kendalar’s speech and pounded their fists upon the table.

Servants entered soon after, bringing forth the meal of hot meat and water, for they would not drink before battle. When the food was brought, the men passed around the plates and engaged in conversation unrelated to the events that were about to take place. The first knight’s words had inspired them all, and for at last the moment, they would revel in encouragement.

Evyan, who was seated next to Kendalar, turned his head to speak to him. "You have a fine way with words my lord Bane. I hope you are as skilled with the sword as you are with your tongue."

Kendalar responded. "An Auroran knight learns from boyhood that a man is always stronger than he believes, and that is where our strength lies. But to use it, you must find it within yourself. Do you not believe this is so?"

"I do not doubt you, I am only ..."

"Afraid," Kendalar interrupted.

Evyan nodded.

"As am I, captain. As am I."

They returned to their meals then, talking of happier times. Since the first knight’s arrival at Enwyn, there had been little time to speak of anything else. Now it seemed appropriate in these final hours.

After the meal had ended, the room had just begun to fill with smoke from wooden pipes when the chamber doors swung open. A soldier entered, gripped by fear.

Evyan spoke. "Yes soldier?" They all feared the answer.

As perspiration dripped from his face, he responded. "My lords, they are here."

Kendalar’s voice was only a whisper. "And so it begins."

* * * * *

The sun was at its peak in the sky as Razar Bloodfang stood upon the hill that over looked the fields of Enwyn. He could see that the enemy now assembled before the walls in haste, forming columns of soldiers across the field.

"Good," he thought to himself.

The dark steward had hoped that the foolish worshipers of light would not cower behind their walls. He had grown tired of the slaughter of sleeping men and reveled in the idea of open battle once again. Had the defenders simply hid within their walls, he would have been obliged to surround them and wait for them to starve. Perhaps on this field, his madness would be satisfied.

The dark steward wore his black plate armor upon his twisted body and across his back was strapped and an enormous two handed sword . He wore no helmet and his scraggly, animal like hair blew across his disfigured face.

Razar turned back towards the army behind him.

Spread across the plains stood the vast army of Auron. Thousands of men in black armor and red cloaks shrouded the grasslands and surrounding hills. The Sargothan banners were raised high upon the standards, one for each company that had assembled., and behind the sea of men were hundreds of carts and wagons which carried the supplies for the behemoth of flesh and steel.

They had assembled for one reason; to kill.

An ugly man with one eye approached the steward. "My lord, we are ready to attack."

Razar responded. "Then let it begin. You will take the army across the field, straight at them, captain. You will press the attack as long as is practical, and then fall back."

"Yes, my lord," he said. "You mean to test their defenses?."

"Indeed. I suspect much of it will be useless to them after our initial assault."

The captain nodded. "Very good my lord . I will see it done."

Moments later, the horns were blown and the thunderous roar of fifteen thousand booted feet rang through the air as they descended upon the field towards the defenders.

* * * * *

The first knight stood before the columns of Laerian soldiers in horrific awe as the massive army of Auron surged down the hillside. Thousands upon thousands thundered upon the grass in a deafening roar and their wicked crimson banners billowed in the air as they came. Sweat poured down the faces of the defenders as they watched the massive machine coming towards, and many were shaking in fear.

Kendalar watched the position of the charging enemy closely, waiting for the perfect moment. If he erred, they would all be lost. Moments later he turned from the field and towards the battlements to where Evyan Fandorius stood awaiting the first knights order. Drawing his sword, he waved it through the air, giving the order to fire.

"Let loose!" Evyan roared behind the wall.

Instantly the chords of the giant catapults that rested within the city were cut, and the massive counterweights of the machines fell towards the ground. Dozens of clay pots with burning cloth attached to them were launched over the stone fortifications and towards the surging Sargothan army.

Kendalar’s timing had been perfect. The burning pots struck the ground just ahead of the attackers and instantly the oil within them erupted into flames, igniting the swaths of black oil that had been carefully lain across the field. The wall of fire spread out into flaming walls before the surging army and the foremost rows were burned alive in the storm.

But they kept coming.

A second volley was released from atop the walls, and more trails of flames laced through the Sargothan lines as the oil pots burst upon the grassland. Even from where he stood, Kendalar could he the shrieks of burning men as black smoke began to blot out the sun.

As the first knight had anticipated, the fire walls were now succeeding in funneling the massive Sargothan horde through a narrow corridor that escaped the inferno that he had unleashed upon them. The frightening surge had been stopped as only a slim column of soldiers could pass through the two walls of flame. Relentlessly they came on, heedless to the screams of their fallen, and the Laerian archers began to knock their arrows on the bow strings.

Suddenly, between the blazing walls, the ground gave way under the metal boots of the Sargothan’s and the pitfalls that Evyan’s men had dug swallowed the oncoming attackers.

The front line of the dark steward’s army was in chaos. Burning men cried out in anguish, trying to put out the flames while the advancing lines trampled over the pits that had filled with the bodies of men. Regardless, Kendalar knew they would soon be across the flaming barrier and into the open field again.

"Archers forward!" he commanded.

The Laerian bowmen rushed through the lines of infantry that and up the columns, and formed a row ahead of them. The archers knocked their arrows and picked out their targets.

"Steady! Steady!" He roared.

The Sargothan line began to emerge from the corridor of flames, still trying desperately to reform the line. The arms of the bowmen shook violently as they held back their bow strings, awaiting the order.

"Fire!"

The volley of arrows hummed a deathly tune as they whistled straight into the oncoming Sargothan line that had emerged from the fires. The wooden shafts splintered and broke upon the metal and flesh of the attackers, sending more shrieks of pain into the air. Men dropped by the dozens as another volley of arrows was released into the attacking ranks.

The Sargothan line was in dishevelment as the continuous barrage of arrows hammered into it. Gapping holes had been cut into the ranks, and as men tried to fill them, more arrows howled through the air, cutting them down.

From a top the city walls, the giant catapults fired again, releasing boulders and debris into the oncoming army, and the archers below released another hail of arrows which tore through the already battered front line of the enemy.

Kendalar knew that the time was now. He turned to his men behind him, and drawing from his spirit the passion of his soul, he spoke to them. "Soldiers of Enwyn, free men of Leodoria, behold this day, for it is a glorious day!"

More hurling boulders broke the air as they smashed into their targets, and the bows of the archers continued to hum as another volley was unleashed.

Kendalar continued. "It is so because on this day of red, the true colors of our enemy shall be revealed! In what seems only a distant memory, I watched as they murdered my countrymen in their beds! Under the cloak of night did they come, and like burglars they stole the lives of my brothers! But, now behold!"

Kendalar waved his sword toward the advancing enemy. "The sun shines though dimmed from the smoke, and they stand now not against sleeping women and children, but against men with sword and shield! Strong men of courage, guided by faith and hope! And so I say to you now, that there is no fear that can control you, and no dark lord may lay claim to you! They would give us fear! Let us give it back to them!"

The Laerian army roared in deafening unison as they drew their swords. Kendalar’s word’s had unleashed the fury within them, and they would show their enemies the true meaning of fear.

"Forward!" he cried.

Towards the fire they surged on, to where the shattered lines of the Sargothans awaited desperately attempting to regroup. The fearless Laerian charge thundered across the grass with a deafening roar and Kendalar the hammer of their assault directly into the enemy.

With a crash that seemed to shake the earth, the defenders smashed into the attacking army with such force that the foremost of the Sargothans were trampled under foot by the fury of the Laerian defenders. Kendalar’s charge was seemingly unstoppable as they pushed back the dark steward’s army to the corridor of flames. The Sargothans in front of the flames, funneled by the gauntlet, were killed to a man. The screams of the dying were all around, and the air smelled of sweat and blood as the army of Auron was forced back. Many were thrown into the flames by the defending charge while others were cut down and then trampled over by booted feet.

The dark stewards assault was broken and the Sargothan army began to fall back behind the flames. Kendalar knew they could not advance past the corridor where fresh Sargothans awaited, and he quickly gave the order to withdraw from the pursuit.

Then, upon the plains before the city of Enwyn, a deafening cheer erupted from the defenders, for the day was theirs.

* * * * *

The waning of the sun behind the horizon ushered in the ominous black thunder heads that had blown over the field from a cold northwest wind. Thunder rolled across the sky, as the stars disappeared behind the black veil, and bursts of lighting began to spark from the rain clouds. The storm would begin soon, and Kendalar knew that the dark steward would not miss the opportunity.

The fire still burned upon the plains as the Laerian army regrouped before the city walls. The fire had spread little due to the moist autumn grass, and The first knight knew that it would soon be extinguished by the coming rainfall, and with it would come the attack.

From the city barracks Kendalar began to leave towards the gates where the army was assembling, when Evyan stopped him.

"You must be mad, Lord Bane. Without the fire to narrow their attack, you cannot hope to beat them back."

Kendalar continued walking briskly as he spoke. "And what would you have me do, captain?"

"Fall back into the city where we have the protection of the walls".

"So that we may be surrounded? No captain, that would doom us all."

Evyan pleaded with him. "Their numbers are to many. They will certainly sweep around and flank the lines."

Kendalar nodded. "They may try."

Evyan huffed in surrender. "Very well, but I will go with you."

The first knight raised an eyebrow. "You? I don’t think. . ."

"It is not negotiable," the captain stated. "Who commands on the flanks?"

"Qyrna commands on the left and Tyran on the right. Hythras leads at the center along with myself. "

"Very good," Evyan stated. "Thaden, Tomin, and Balmort stand ready with the Galahadran riders when the need arises. Also, Wyngoth and Tyboth command my cavalry. If the flank fails, they shall ride."

"The storm may pose a problem for our archers, as well as the riders," Kendalar said.

Evyan nodded. "What more can we do, lord Bane."

The rain began to fall lightly upon the field as Kendalar and Evyan left the city behind them and strode toward the front line and the water broke sharply against the metal of their armor As they marched between the column of soldiers, the men saluted them as they passed, and the two warriors stopped every so often to speak with them. They spoke encouraging words which tried to lift their spirits. They would need all they could get.

When they had reached the head of the army, Kendalar met with his runners. Handing them several sheets of parchment, he gave them orders. "Quickly lad, take this to Lieutenant Qyrna. And you, this must reach Lieutenant Tyran."

After receiving their dispatches, they raced off separate directions toward the left and right flanks.

"What word did you send to the flanks?" Evyan asked Kendalar as they watched the flames die down from the water, and they could here the massive army from behind it moving towards them."

"Hold the line," he stated bluntly.

Thunder shook the ground violently as the rain began to pour down from the dark thunder heads, and the last of the flames upon the field died down and were gone. Then, with a roar, the Sargothan army surged towards them. They could not see them behind the blanket of rain even as the lighting arched across the sky.

Kendalar and Evyan drew their weapons and stood their ground as the behemoth of men raced towards them.

"Steady men. Steady!" Roared Evyan, though his voice was muffled under the crash of the rain.

Then, along with Kendalar, he took one long step forward with a booted foot, and mud splashed into the air in its wake as they charged forward. The Laerians roared as the charge began. From the corner of his eye Evyan could see men slip and fall from the slick field, and they were quickly trampled by the lines behind them. Regardless, the great army pressed forward blindly into the darkness. They could thundering of the Sargothans ahead of them, but the thick rain shrouded their enemies advance.

Suddenly the sky illuminated with lightning that arched across it like a wicked claw, and they could see the Sargothans only paces ahead of them.

"Laeriana be with us!" Evyan cried, and with a deafening crash, they smashed into the charging army.

The force of the charge bore many to the ground as Kendalar ans Evyan ripped into the Sargothan line. The screams of men were muffled by the rain and thunder, and blood mixed with mud splashed on their armor. With determination Kendalar and the seasoned Evyan pressed forward with their blades cutting the rain as they struck, and bloody rain fell in their wake.

For what seemed an endless struggle, the lines teetered back and forth with neither side gaining the upper hand and Kendalar Bane, consumed in that violent storm, prayed that their flanks still held.

* * * * *

"Rally to me lads!" Qyrna cried as he struck down an attacker. "To me!"

The left flank was collapsing as more Sargothans hammered into them, and it was clear to Lieutenant Qyrna that the dark steward intended to focus his attack here.

"Hold the line!" he shouted.

Another wave of soldiers smashed into his men, thrusting them backwards from the attack and The Sargothans cut them down as they struggled to regain their footing. The blood ran freely upon the ground, mixed with the mud of the field, as the enemy pressed forward into the tattered Laerian left flank.

Qyrna knew they were almost over run. Backpedaling, he managed to drop behind a line of his men, and reached his courier who awaited his orders.

"Send word to Hythras and Tyboth. We cannot hold here! Quickly lad."

As fast as his legs would carry him, the messenger ran away from the battle and toward the city gates.

* * * * *

"My lord, the enemies left flank is collapsing," the captain declared.

Razar Bloodfang smiled wickedly through crooked teeth as he looked out into the storm. "Ready my Ill Daemon, captain. I shall join the battle soon."

The captain knew better then to speak against this. "Yes my lord. I shall ready them at once." Quickly, he turned back towards the camp were a mass of men, cloaked in black, stood waiting beneath the storm.

* * * * *

Evyan fandorius tumbled to the ground with a groan as a sword cut into his side. Kendalar rushed to the captain, cutting his way through the attackers as the cold rain stung his face.

It seemed that the storm would drown them all as the battle dragged on all around and the first knight did not know where they were as he reached the side of the fallen captain. He wondered how far they had pressed forward, or if they had fallen back. It was impossible to tell.

With the aid of several others, he pulled the wounded man back behind the defending line. Blood spilled from the wound and pooled on the ground with the mud.

"Captain Fandorius," Kendalar yelled to him.

Evyan breathed heavily as he grimaced at the pain. The blade had cut deep into his side, and two soldiers pressed the hands tightly against it, trying to stop the bleeding.

"Leave me be lads, the battle is not over yet!" he declared.

"It is for you," Kendalar stated to him. He looked at the two soldiers that were with him. "Take him back to the city, he needs attention immediately. Go!" Regardless of the protests of Evyan, the two men lifted him up and then vanished behind the Laerian lines.

Kendalar spun around just in time to parry a blow from a charging Sargothan swordsmen. Knocking the blade aside, he rammed into the man, bearing him to the ground. Another attack from his flank sent him backpedaling as the attackers came at him. The Laerian lines surged forward, joining Kendalar and together they drove them back.

For what seemed and eternity the stalemate continued, and Kendalar’s muscles ached of fatigue. The night dragged on as the never ending surge of Sargothans charged into them, but still they held the center. Hythras soon joined Kendalar at the head, and together they rallied the men to them and pushed the enemy backwards as the rain began to steadily slow.

The storm was passing.

* * * * *

The last of the sacred brotherhood, together with Tyboth, Wyngoth, and more then five hundred riders thundered across the muddy plain to where the shattered left flank stood. The dark steward’s men had all but completely over run them, and defeat was near.

With determination and weapons drawn they plowed into the Sargothans from their flank. Though the rain had lessened, the enemy still did not see them coming and the force of the cavalry charge shattered the line. They fell back in disarray at the fury of the Sacred Brotherhood, and the Laerian infantry, inspired by the counterattack, rallied to them. Together, they drove them back and reformed the line.

"Where is Lieutenant Qyrna?" Wyngoth demanded from his mount.

"Dead, sir," a soldier responded. "I now command the left flank."

Wyngoth was saddened by his words, but it was not the time for grief. "Very well, soldier."

"Jyrna," the other stated.

"Very well, soldier Jyrna. We have reformed the line, and now it us up to you to hold it. Sergeant Tyboth will stay here with his riders to support you. I will go with the Brotherhood to support Tyran. Courage, soldier."

"And to you sergeant."

* * * * *

The catapults from the city walls began to fire as they rain stopped. The burning canisters of oil struck into the Sargothans behind the battle lines sending black smoke back into the air. Although the ground was saturated in water, the oil still burned, and soon the oil fires light up the dark, bloody field.

Kendalar Bane could see that the Sargothans were losing heart.

"To me, lads! We can break them here and now! Rally to me!"

Kendalar, along with Hythras, surged forward into the Sargothan forces one last time. Drawing from every strength of spirit he contained, Kendalar pressed on, and the army followed, inspired by the first knight. The bodies of the dead and wounded were thick upon the ground as they pushed their enemy farther and farther back.

The Laerians began to cheer, for it seemed the Sargothans were near retreat.

In that moment, as if from the first knights worst dreams, the Ill Daemon emerged from the retreating army. Brandishing their wicked blades, the black cloaked warriors tore into the surging Laerian offensive, and for the first time in the battle, Kendalar Bane was gripped with fear.

Before the onslaught of the Ill Daemon, Kendalar’s forces began to break. The Sargothans, renewed by the charge, surged ahead, and soon the center collapsed.

"Fall back to the walls!" Kendalar roared. "To the walls!"

He knew the battle was lost.

As the enemy neared the city, the humming of arrows cut the air as bowmen from the battlements fired down upon the Sargothans. Volley after volley cut deep into their ranks but still they came on, led by the Ill Daemon.

Kendalar readied himself for his final moment. Brandishing his bloodstained sword before him, he took one last deep breathe.

Then in righteous fury, he attacked the Ill Daemon.

Chapter Seventeen: The Shadow's Treasure

Beneath the shadow of the mountain, Matthew fought with himself. Once again all he knew had been violently torn from him, and it drove him to near madness. The images would not leave his mind. Over and over again he saw his mother dying as blood sprayed from her slashed throat. Then, he saw himself back in Erian’s wood with his hands clenched around two throats. Again and again they raced through him as vivid as if they had been yesterday, and the words of his father still echoed in his ears.

"You are the son of the Lord of Vengeance."

The elvynglass told him that it was true, and that his father, although a ghost, did not lie. Matthew would not tell the others. He could not, for there was nothing they could do to help him now.

He was different from the others; this he had always known. Romand had confirmed it before his quest had even begun, and Sheela and the Historian had shed light upon it. Thinking upon his friends, he knew that his journey with them was almost at an end.

After Matthew’s father had vanished, they used a rope to pull him from the chasm, and back to the safety of the passage. Then they scaled the rocky wall around the chasm to reach the other side.

He had said nothing to them about his encounter on the ledge, and they were astonished that he was not injured from the fall. Matthew was silent for the remainder of their journey through the Gorgon, and they knew that he did not tell them everything that had happened while he was alone.

They knew he had changed some how, because his hair had grown darker with streaks of black drawn through it. His skin had paled as well, and his face was thinner then they remembered. Also, his eyes, once a soft brown, had darkened some. Matthew had said to them that it was the darkness of the place that affected him so, and they troubled him no further about it.

The Gorgon emptied out into a steady, brittle slope of rock that slanted downwards toward the land of Gamael. They looked out upon the desolate valley in fear as they descended the rocky slope.

The sky above the black land was overcast in thick, dark grey clouds that carried within them a deep purple hue. It was that dark, violet light that dimly illuminated the whole of the shadowed land, for the sun would not show its face there. The floor of the valley was covered by course, slate bedrock, and the jagged, black mountains that surrounded the place seemed to erupt forth from the ground. The wind was strong and cold down on the valley for there was no cover from the gales, and the slightest stench of sulfur could be detected lingering within the chilling breeze.

Matthew looked over at Cam. "I thank you for what you have done for us my friend," he said. "But I can ask no more of you beyond here."

Cam did not slow. "I will not turn back now," he responded.

Together, they left the mountain behind them, and stepped forth onto the barren valley floor. The cold wind bit at their skin and they wrapped their cloaks tightly around their bodies to ward of the chill. The brittle rock snapped under the weight of their boots and echoed from the cragged mountain peeks.

"Where does the Tome rest?" Matthew asked him.

"We are not far now," Cam responded. He pointed at the mountain ridge that ran south across the valley. "Just around that bend we will find the entrance to a cave."

"Another cave?" Becken jested.

Cam did not laugh. "You will wish it was only a cave. Come."

For what seemed like hours they followed him across the barren valley, and with each step, Matthew could feel the dark energy within him grow stronger. The images remained vivid in his mind, now a constant reminiscent, and he could recognize the new feeling that had begun to fester within him.

It was desire.

At last, beneath the shadow of the dark violet sky, they rounded the bend of the mountain, and stood before the entrance to the cave.

Carved from the cliff face, the enormous opening reached up from the ground, towering high above them. Black columns supported the entrance, lain in against the rock, and at the crest of the arch above them sat the effigy of a woman. The figure, carved of ebony stone, was naked and held a baby in it’s arms.

"Hello mother," Matthew whispered to himself."

"What was that, lad?" spoke Cam.

"Nothing," he said. "Is it far from here?"

Cam shook his head. "No. The chamber is just beyond the passage. Within it, the book lies."

"And the beast?" Romand asked.

They could now see the fear begin to resurface in Cam. He had hidden it well until now, but Matthew could see in his eyes the desire to flee from that place.

After a moments pause, Cam spoke. "It will find us, Romand. Of that, you can be sure."

Then, with fear threatening to strangle him, he stepped beneath the massive stone arch, and into the passage. They followed in silence.

The passage quickly turned into cold stone steps that descended downward. Sturdy black pillars and torches flanked them on either side of the passage, and the stench of sulfur grew stronger. The air became warm and musty as they approached.

They could see that Cam’s steps were now forced and there were beads of sweat upon his brow. His arms began to shake slightly, although he tried to hide it.

"It is rightly so," thought Matthew.

He knew that which the man feared. Within his mind there dwelled a storm; a black and malignant maelstrom that swept through his soul, threatening to consume it. There was a voice in his head, and it had summoned the storm. It was a thunderous roar that drove him to near madness; a wicked vocal.

A soothing remedy.

"You alright?" Becken asked him.

Sweat now poured down Matthew’s pale face, and his blackened hair was tangled together in knots. Strands of hair were plastered to his perspiring skin, and his body had begun to shake.

"Im fine," he managed to say after a moment.

"You know more than you say," Becken stated.

"Perhaps, my friend."

At the end of the staircase there was a small archway no larger than a door, and an inscription read across it. Beyond, an enormous cavern laid within that stretched high up into the mountain.

Matthew read the Sargothan inscription. "

" Welcome, my son".

The cavern sprawled out before them, and it seemed as if a mighty city could have stood there in the recesses of the mountain. The air was old and smelled of sulfur, and it was much warmer than they had anticipated. At the center, four pillars of fire burned in a circle from the rocky floor. The massive torches illuminated the cavern, causing the black shadows on the walls to dance to the tune of the flames. Only at the farthest reach of the cavern could they not see. It remained black, regardless of the fire.

From the shadows, they could here a low, guttural rumble.

Matthew’s sweat was cold as they proceeded forth into the cavern. It was fear that had taken hold of him, but it was not fear of the book or of the monster that now watched them. It was fear of himself that he dreaded most of all. The voice of his father still echoed within his soul. It had been his destiny, all along, to resurrect the dark lord. He felt impossibly trapped, lock within the icy chains of a vehement legacy.

As Matthew neared the flames, he did not know what he would do.

"Four flames," Cam stated as they approached. "One for each of the gods of Leodoria. In the center of the fire we will find the book."

Cam turned to Matthew. "Are you ready, lad?"

The young north man wished he could say no. With all his heart, he wished that he could throw himself into the darkest chasm, or the deepest abyss, where no one would ever find him. So many times before had he narrowly escaped death from the hands of his enemies. Now, he cursed them for having failed him.

"I am ready," he stated at last.

"You lie well," Cam responded. "Get ready to run, my friends. Our presence here does not go unnoticed."

They looked around fearfully, but the cavern was empty, and even in the darkness, nothing stirred.

The heat was nearly unbearable as they reach the four burning pillars, and they looked down into the pit that lay between them. It was many times the height of a man in depth, and it seemed to have been cut from the rock with stone steps ringing the wall. The ledges spiraled downward around the pit to the base of the depression.

Matthew thought the air around his body would crush him as the five companions descended the earthen staircase. The light was dim at the bottom, and they looked around at the empty pit.

At the far end, there was an alcove, carved from the stone face. Within it, stood a stone effigy of a man, hooded and cloaked with his arms were outstretched.

The breathes of the five companions seemed to lodge within their throats as they looked upon the cold, stone hands of the figure.

There, clutched in its grasp, lay the Shadow Tome.

After weeks of a seemingly hopeless struggle, they now stood before the black book of Sargoth. They were almost disappointed.

It was a thin and slender volume, donned in a plain, black leather cover. Within it, laid a small quantity of aged parchment.

"Have we been deceived?" Mortimer declared.

Cam responded. "It is the very same book I saw last I was here."

Mortimer grunted. "Well, I don’t see how this could possibly..."

"This is the book of Sargoth," Matthew stated. "This is the Shadow Tome."

They all turned towards Matthew who now stood calmly before the black book. The perspiration that had swelled from his brow was now gone, and he no longer trembled. The man seemed paler still within the recesses of the cavern, and his hair had blackened more, contrasting against his now ghastly appearance.

A crooked smile curled from his lips.

"My son, what has happened to you?" Romand demanded with fear in his eyes. The others betrayed it as well.

Matthew stepped forward toward the book.

"I will take it," he said. Then, with pale, crooked fingers, he reached out and touched the black book.

Above them, something stirred in the shadows.

* * * * *

It was a malevolent bliss that now drove the son of Sargoth. The lust had festered, and his malignant desire now propelled him forward. His father’s book called out to him, beckoning him to finish his legacy.

He would return to the city; of this he was certain. It had been foolish of him to believe that any other outcome was possible. The torrent of vengeful power that now swelled within him demanded it. When the four books were reunited, the lord of Vengeance would rise again.

It was almost complete.

The son of Sargoth took his fathers book, and from above, the cavern shook as the black shadow began to move.

* * * * *

"Time to go," Becken declared.

Clutching the Shadow Tome against his body, Matthew and the others scrambled up the stone steps and back into the cavern. Fear exploded through them as the massive, black form of the dragon loomed before them.

They now realized that the shadow at the far end of the cavern had been no shadow at all.

Then an impossibly loud, raspy voice hissed throughout the chamber. "Thieves!" the dragon roared. "The book is mine!"

"Galuseth," Cam stated with dread.

Never before had the four north men seen anything to match the sheer forbidding of the black dragon of Gamael. It was massive; a towering behemoth beyond all reasonable measure. Glossy, ebony scales covered the creatures body, and three rows of wicked spines ran down the length of its back and along its tail. The dragon’s wings were folded along its side, and a strong, sinewy neck protruded towards them. Leathery, cracked skin covered the dragon’s face, and a giant, cruel maw housed teeth as large as a man.

Galuseth rose upon all four enormous, tree like legs and flared out his wings into the empty space of the cavern. Smoke seeped from his nostrils, and red, blood like eyes glared at them.

To the five companions, the chamber did not seem so big anymore.

"I remember you, human," he screeched. "Now you all die! The Shadow Tome has made me what I am, and so it is mine!"

Matthew spat back boldly, holding the Tome before him. "Do you know what words are contained within these pages? Do you know of the prophecy? By right, it now belongs to me!"

The shriek of the dragon was piercing to their ears. "Acolyte!"

"Yes, I am here."

The four other men stood in black confusion.

"No, son of shadow, you are wrong. I follow no destiny, nor creed. I serve only myself, and now you must die!"

Romand ran forward with his arms outstretched. "Run!" he cried.

With a roar that shook the mountain, Galuseth unleashed a blaze of fire from his maw. It propelled toward them with impossible speed, but broke against the radiating barrier of light that now surged forth from the clerics hands. Wicked flames engulfed them on all sides, trying to consume them, but the shield held, repelling the flames.

Romand Sohm held his old hands out strongly before him as more energy erupted forth from his fingers. At last the fire died away.

He cried out. "Now run! Make for the passage!"

The others scramble across the barren ground of the cavern, towards the small archway, as the fire came again. The high cleric deflected it as white magic lanced across the cavern.

The dragon roared in fury. "You are very unwise human!" he spat. "You cannot hope to defeat me!"

The mighty, spined tail of the creature flew forward across the chamber, and they dived away as it crashed into the wall, sending rocky debris plummeting to the floor.

"Give the book to me and I will kill you quickly!"

"Never!" the old man shouted. Again, powerful bursts of white light exploded from his hands, striking the dragon in his enormous, scaly chest. The force of the attack sent the creature staggering backwards, and the dragon slammed into the wall of the cavern. The mountain shook and more debris fell from the cavern ceiling, plunging toward the ground. The boulders shattered on the barren floor, spraying rock and dust into the air.

Cam cried out. "Run man, now’s your chance!"

Breathing heavily from fatigue, the old cleric ran towards the archway. The others had almost reached the stairs as they heard the massive form of Galuseth return to his feet.

The dragon roared in fury as they fled. "Cowards!" The massive haunches of the beast lurched forward as the dragon charged towards the arch. The recess of the mountain trembled and debris fell freely to the ground as the dragon lunged ahead. Then with a mighty turn, the tail swung forward.

"Romand!" Mortimer cried out.

As the cleric reached the archway, the walls shook violently as the dragon’s tail struck the rock. The archway collapsed under the force of the blow, and the falling stones struck the old cleric as he crossed the threshold.

"No!" Becken screamed, as dust from the crumbling stone filled the air.

The archway had not entirely collapsed, and from atop the pile of ruble, they could see the massive black dragon seethe as he paced throughout the cavern. Beneath the rocks, they could now see the old cleric, pinned beneath the heavy stones. He was gasping for breathe and blood ran down from his damaged face.

Matthew stared upon the broken man with uncertainty. The malice that had entered his heart seemed to lighten as he looked upon his old friend. Even as the others ran to the cleric, he did not move, being still transfixed by the sight of Romand Sohm.

Becken tore at the rubble violently, desperately trying in vain to free the man from the constrains of the stone. "Help me!" he screamed to the others as he flung a boulder across the passage.

Mortimer placed a hand on the back of his young friend. "It’s to late, Beck."

"No its not!" He shrieked, knocking the hand aside. "Damn you! Damn you!" Tears began to stream down the young man’s face as he began to strike the rocks with his bare hands, causing them to bleed.

Then, the soothing, though beleaguered voice of Romand called out to him.

"Becken please, its alright," the cleric said. He coughed violently then, spitting blood from his mouth.

"No, were going to get you out," Becken pleaded.

Romand shook his head weakly. "No my son. My part in this is over. It is up to all of you now. You must make safe the Shadow Tome, and I know you will succeed. Never, in my whole, long life, have I ever been in the company of such brave men."

Then, the tired, weary eyes turned from Becken to look upon Matthew, who still stood upon the first ledge of the stone steps, clutching the Shadow Tome tightly against his chest. "Please Matthew, come to me now," he pleaded.

For a moment, he did not move. The old man seemed almost unfamiliar to him as he stood in the passage, with the black book pressed against him. The voice in his mind told him to leave the cleric and fulfil his destiny.

Then, he looked down at the book, and from beneath it a light glowed against his skin. Bewildered, he shifted the book from his chest to reveal the source of the light.

The shard of elvynglass still laid across his chest, and it illuminated the darkness. Matthew had forgotten the relic, and what it represented. He remembered the woman then; Sheela was her name. He had loved once.

From his black eyes, a tear rolled down his paled face, and he stepped forward from the ledge towards the dying man.

Matthew crouched down to where Romand laid beneath the stones, and the old man looked upon him in grief.

"My son," the tired voice spoke. "You have been through much, and you tell of little. I know that some dark power now torments you, and it does grieve me so."

Romand coughed again, as Matthew still looked upon the man in silence.

"My time is short, Matthew, for I am dying. You must know that I have long since forgiven you for your decision to leave the goddess. I did, in secret, admire your courage in doing so. I was an old, stubborn man who could not see, and I am sorry for that."

Another tear rolled down Matthew’s face as he listened to Romand’s words.

"Now listen to me. In what ever internal struggle you now face, you must remember who you are." He pointed at the glowing shard of glass. "This shows you the truth, and it was wise of the sorceress to give it to you. Somehow, she could see that some day, you would need to remember the truth of who you really are."

Matthew shook his head, and his voice was cracked and surrendering. "No old friend. I have learned the truth of who I am, and it is unescapable."

Romand began to breathe heavier, and more blood ran down his face as he coughed violently. His voice became a mere whisper.

"Matthew, these are my final moments." He reached out and touched the side of the young mans head. "Our fates are never sealed, my friend. The choices that you make will decide who you are to be. Let your destiny be your own."

Then, with his two fragile hands, he slipped off the holy ring that had been upon his finger, and presented it to Matthew. "Please, take it. One day, it may guide you the way it has guided me."

Matthew stared at the silver ring held in the clerics aged, bloodied hand. Then, he reached out with timid, shaking fingers and took the ring.

Romand smiled weakly. "Thank you."

The others had now crouched around the old man, and there were tears in their faces.

The high cleric looked upon them all, and he spoke to them one last time. "My friends, I could not have spent my final moments in finer company. Good luck."

Then his frail old hands relaxed upon the dusty stone and his head lowered resting silently upon the floor.

There, among the shadows treasure, Romand Sohm died in peace.