Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

few inches from him, his face still concealed in darkness.
    “It is imperative that you crush the Saxons,” he added. “Only then will Vortigern’s reign be assured for many years, protected against any rebellions that Constantine’s sons might try to organize.”
    Morghan tried to stay calm and hide his fear, but could only do so for a few seconds. He turned his attention back to the maps and sketches of Dinas Ffaraon.
    “What should I tell the king to do when we get to Dinas Ffaraon?” he asked.
    “We have been over this already, councilor. You will advise him to build a fortress. The hill is the perfect position to defend yourselves, but you will need the protection of walls and archers’ towers.” The hooded man pointed to one of the maps, revealing a hand covered with a smooth, leather glove. “You will clear the trees here, creating a natural funnel that the Saxons will be forced to enter. If you don’t have stone walls, they will quickly surround you and attack from the adjacent woods. However, with a fortress, they will have to concentrate their effort on the gates, since they won’t be able to easily maneuver with ladders through the dense forest, eliminating the option of climbing the walls.”
    Morghan looked at the map and nodded. Once more, the stranger made a lot of sense.
    “Once your men have cleared the trees and built the fortress, you will be ready to defend yourselves. Then I will reveal to you the next stage of my plan, to ensure that you efficiently defeat the Saxons, in a way that will be talked about for many centuries.”
    Without waiting for an answer, the hooded man left the table and walked to the tent’s flap. Although the old advisor was grateful to God that he had sent this mysterious man to help them, he still was not entirely comfortable with his presence inside the tent. As if he had heard the advisor’s thoughts, the hooded man halted just as he was about to leave and looked up, his back still turned to Morghan.
    “One more thing,” he said. “A young man has infiltrated your army. He is not a spy for the enemy, but he is a powerful sorcerer, who seeks to destroy your army from within and eliminate your people. I do not know who he is or what he looks like, but be on your guard for anyone who seems suspicious. Be especially on the alert for someone who might appear to speak to himself, for he will be the sorcerer, talking to demons or even the devil.”
    Before Morghan could ask the hooded man how to capture this sorcerer, the mysterious stranger was gone. Morghan fell into one of the surrounding chairs, his body drained of energy, as if he had just fought the most ferocious battle of his life.

CHAPTER 4

    “Get up, you wretched fool!” ordered a hoarse voice, kicking at the young boy’s feet.
    Samuel blinked a few times in the blinding light that assaulted his pupils. After a few tries, using his right hand to shield himself, he finally looked up. A bulky, cross-eyed, toothless man looked down on him with a grim expression.
    “Do you have shit in your ears, maggot? I told you to get up and get the hell out of here!” yelled the man again. He waited a few seconds, cursed at Samuel and left the boy to go bother someone else.
    Samuel tried to sit up, but his head was hurting as if it had spent the night in a washing machine. His skull seemed to be pulsating, and his brain was complaining with every breath he took. Finally, he gathered what little strength he had and sat up.
    Once he started to observe where he was, the first thing that hit Samuel was the horrible stench. A combination of stinks assaulted his nostrils, nearly knocking him out again: dry, chalky smoke, burned wood, animal sweat and decaying feces.
    Images of a school trip to the local farm a few years ago resurfaced in Samuel’s mind.
    Acting purely on instinct, he tried to breathe through his mouth, but his tongue was instantly covered by dust.
    After a few seconds of coughing and spitting, Samuel rose painfully to his feet to take a look around. He realized he had been lying in a small haystack behind a tent covered with dry mud. Turning, he saw dozens more tents, stretching for hundreds of yards in all directions. There were tents of every size, ranging from the tiniest he had ever seen to large shelters, inside which one could probably stand upright. All of them, without any exception, were dirty and soiled, some of them downright disgusting.
    Among the tents, men of all ages and sizes were