Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

carrying a metal shield, along with a spear and a sword attached to the side of the saddle.
    In the middle of the group, one of the men was wearing different type of armor. Fashioned of onyx-black metal, it covered his body entirely. On his head, a metal helm had been decorated with an animal skull and hair from a horse’s mane. Two long horns extended on each side, both with feathers hanging at the tip. A metal mask, forged in the shape of a human skull, hid the face of the rider. A red cape with a white eagle stitched in it fluttered behind him.
    As the man passed, Samuel noticed he was not carrying a spear and a shield like the rest of the group. Instead, he was equipped with a black sword that seemed to be at least five feet in length.
    Behind the group, dozens of horses were following, ridden by men wearing leather jackets or rusted chainmail vests. The group seemed to have come from the central tents and was now heading east, toward the forest.
    The young man who had saved Samuel extended his hand to help him up.
    “Name’s Malloy!” he said. “Malloy Cadwallader.”
    “Samuel Osmond.”
    “Glad to meet you, Samuel. I reckon the army is just about ready to leave. You’d better go and gather your things.”
    “Who was that man?” asked Samuel, still looking at the knights riding away.
    “Who?” replied Malloy.
    “The one wearing the black armor.”
    As soon as Samuel finished pronouncing these words, Malloy grabbed him by the shoulder and swung him around, looking him straight in the eyes.
    “What do you mean, who was that man ? Don’t you recognize your king?”
    Samuel could see Malloy slowly reaching for a sword hanging from his side.
    “No! I mean, yes,” mumbled Samuel. “Of course I know who he is. Look, I’m sorry. I did not mean to offend you or anything, I swear.”
    “You’re not a Saxon spy by any chance, Sam?”
    “What? No, of course not. I don’t even know what you are talking about. Oh shit. Please don’t kill me. Please!”
    Malloy considered Samuel for a few long seconds. Finally, he removed his hand from both the sword and the boy’s shoulder, apparently content with the answers Samuel had given him.
    “I believe you, Sam,” he said. “Now get moving.”
    “Yes sir!”
    “And go get a real sword, will you? You won’t be cutting anyone in pieces with that little knife you’re carrying.”
    “Of course,” answered Samuel, looking at his short sword. “This is only a souvenir, for my sister. I was waiting for a larger one to be ready. In any case, thank you and I’ll see you later!”
    The column of men was still marching through the settlement, now with some of the warriors on foot or in chariots, carrying weapons, crates and miscellaneous equipment. The small army was moving along, oblivious to the remaining men on the ground, who were packing their belongings with haste and gathering their weapons. Samuel studied the dice he was still holding. Why had they brought him here?
    When the king’s entourage was out of sight, a sturdy man holding an enormous axe climbed on top of a table. He blew through a horn to get the attention of the surrounding men.
    “All right, you lazy bastards,” he yelled. “Time to move on. King Vortigern has just passed through. Gather your crap and join the column. Burn anything you cannot carry, weapons and food included. Leave nothing behind for the enemy. If you fall back or get lost on the way, you’re on your own, so move your useless carcasses!”
    Samuel looked at the stout man, who was apparently in charge of this section of the camp. Maybe he had some answers. If only he could find a way to talk to him, without looking like some fool or a spy for the enemy.
    “If I were you, I would listen to him,” suggested a little voice behind Samuel.
    “I will, thank you,” replied Samuel, without taking his eyes off the man on the table.
    “I hope you do,” continued the voice, “because this place will be crawling with Saxon barbarians in a few days, and if they get their hands on you, you can forget about ever getting home, Samuel Osmond.”
    He spun around abruptly at the mention of his name. Whoever was addressing him knew who he was and where he had come from. He had expected to come face to face with another warrior or at the very least, another human being, but the creature he was now looking at seemed to be straight out of a fantasy book.
    A young woman, barely a foot tall, was hovering in front of him, a little