Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

just yet. Still, he liked the young man.
    “All right, fine!” he said, letting go of Samuel’s arm. “You have to be careful, Sam, wandering off by yourself like that. Some people with bad intentions could jump on you out here without anyone knowing.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”
    The rest of the evening was spent carrying logs from the bottom of the hill to the halfway point, from which men on top would drag them up using ropes and pulleys. When the sun finally set over the northern mountains, every muscle in Samuel’s body ached. Again, he seemed to be the only one. Most of the men around him, including Malloy, still walked around, pushing and shoving each other, telling stories of the day and laughing loudly at their jokes.
    Life on Metverold was harsh and Samuel surprised himself, wishing the Yfel agent would do something already, so he could get on with his task and go home. Lying in the dirty tent that he shared with Malloy and two other men, he remembered Angeline’s warning: “Tonight will not be as quiet as the previous ones.” But not even that threat could keep him from the sleep that washed over him.

CHAPTER 7

    When the moon was high up in the sky and the stars were shining down on Dinas Ffaraon, the army camp fell silent. One by one, the men retired to their tents and quickly fell asleep, helped by the many drinks they had consumed following the hard day’s work. It had been a harsh and exhausting day, even for these hardened men. However, the remarkable progress made on this first day of labor made it worth every sore muscle and every drop of sweat. Already, the ramparts encircling the hill had started to take shape, and the first stones of the fortress had been laid out.
    Tonight, every man in the Briton army fell asleep with hope filling his heart.
    There was one man, however, who was still hard at work. Even at this late hour, when tomorrow became today, Morghan was still sitting at his humble wooden desk, poring over maps and sketches. Sipping a glass of the wine reserved for the king and his closest friends, the advisor was studying notes and plans, going over every detail in order to prepare for the massive undertaking ahead of them. Building a fortress was never an easy task, even with such a large number of able bodies at their disposal. Plans had to be put together, tasks had to be prioritized, and the execution had to be carefully established.
    Nonetheless, Morghan knew that building this fortress was essential, if they ever wanted to defeat the enemy. Without knowing the time at their disposal, the work had to be executed as quickly as possible. Any day now, the Saxons would realize that the Britons had not traveled north, and they would turn around.
    Their defenses had to be ready before the barbarians arrived at Dinas Ffaraon.
    He brought the glass to his lips. The enigmatic stranger had been right. This hill was indeed the perfect place to make their stand against the barbarian hordes. It was high enough, surrounded by steep cliffs that made an assault almost impossible, and it offered an excellent vantage point over the whole region. It was virtually inconceivable that an enemy could sneak up on them unnoticed.
    There was, however, one element that Morghan could not overlook. No matter how much he tried to ignore the voice in his head, it repeated the same question over and over.
    How had the stranger come to know about this place? And who was this man, who seemed to always hide in the shadows. Why was he helping them?
    The old advisor looked up from his plans. Closing his eyes, he remembered once more the night when he had met the dark stranger and reflected on the circumstances of their encounter. It had been right after the battle of Verulamium, where the Saxon army had nearly annihilated the entire Briton forces, mostly because of Vortigern’s inability to properly lead his men in the heat of a battle. The king was a good man, but for some reason, he was plagued with poor decisions and the worst luck.
    If only Vortigern had listened to Morghan and had not invited the Saxons to the island, none of this would have happened.
    The advisor recalled the grief and sorrow that had filled his heart after the loss of so many good warriors during that last battle. He had retired to his tent and asked not to be disturbed. Still, today, he could hardly believe that at the time, even if it was only for a brief moment, he had even considered overthrowing the king and placing a