Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

he could.
    “I’m going with them,” said Uther. He turned to his brother Ambrosius. “Find Vortigern, my brother. Take back the throne he stole from you, and avenge our family.”
    Ambrosius wanted to tell his sibling to stay, but he knew it was no use. Uther had never been one to follow orders. Instead, he nodded and turned to the rest of the group.
    “Myrddin, you’re coming with me,” said Ambrosius. “The rest of you, I need your help to regain control of our men. The army is in complete disarray, and they must know the truth if they are to regain hope. Go and find the commanding officers. Report our story to them. Tell each man on the way of the events that took place on this hill tonight. Tell them how Vortigern has gone mad, how he has unleashed two dragons in our world, risking their lives in the name of his own vanity. Announce to them the return of the true heirs to the throne, back to claim what is rightfully theirs. Tell them how we have slain the Saxon dragon and saved the emblem of our people. Rally the army around yourselves, in the name of the red dragon and for the new king of the Britons.”
    “We will, my king,” answered Kaleb.
    “It has been an honor to fight with you,” added Darroch.
    “We’ll spread the word of your success,” finished Freston.
    “Thank you, my friends.”
    Then Ambrosius took the young Myrddin with him and went looking for the murderer of his father and brother, not knowing that his people’s emblem, the red dragon, had already wreaked his vengeance on the treacherous, corrupted man. The other three ran down the hill to tell their story to the army, hoping to rally them around their new king.
    In the meantime, Samuel was running as hard as he could, the rain whipping his face and the wind howling in his ears. The time of guessing and waiting was over now. He had had enough of hiding and trying to keep a low profile, while his enemy was free to do as he pleased. Tonight he would confront this elusive shadow and put an end to the threat once and for all.
    Tonight, for the first time, he was going to kill a man.
    In the distance, he saw the mound where the weapon stood, briefly lighted whenever a lightning split the sky. He also saw a dark shadow come down the rocky hump: a hooded man, running toward him.
    The Yfel’s man.
    Samuel could not see his face because of the hood, but he saw that the man was tall, with broad shoulders. He was wearing a black coat that covered his entire body, from head to toe. His hands were empty, but as they approached each other, the dark man reached inside his coat and produced a large sword, with a curved blade and a hilt made from a black horn.
    Within seconds, both combatants were on top of each other. Samuel screamed as hard as he could when he dealt his first blow, using all his strength as he struck with one sword and then the other, but the dark man parried both blows with his own weapon, circling his blade to push his enemy’s weapons aside. Calmly, the hooded man lifted his own blade and brought it down on Samuel. The young boy barely had enough time to deflect the hit with one sword. He quickly followed through with a slashing motion of his other weapon, aiming for the chest of his foe. He cut the fabric of the robe, but his enemy was fast and strong, avoiding the blow with perfect timing.
    This man was not a common warrior; he was Samuel’s equal on the other side, a dark version of the Lorekeeper. Like the young man, his opponent had also been infused with certain powers—most likely the same swordsmanship abilities Samuel had. What’s more, the young man was still quite inexperienced, while his enemy could very well have been doing this for many years, if not centuries.
    Samuel tried to chase away such thoughts, keeping his composure and remaining confident he could prevail. If he wanted to survive the night, he had to stay focused and keep his presence of mind. Giving in to rage or fear would only make him more predictable, and give his enemy an advantage.
    The men exchanged more blows, each skillfully avoiding the hits of his opponent and parrying the deadly strikes. Several warriors and guards around them looked on as the two men, possessed by some demonic frenzy, fought each other with the skills of a thousand masters and the fury of a hundred lions.
    The blows came so fast that the air whistled under them.
    The strikes were so hard that sparks flew.
    “Sam!” yelled Malloy, as he reached the scene, hardly