Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

is a great place for a fortress,” replied Kaleb.
    “Oh I’m sure it is,” continued the stout warrior. “If you don’t mind the ground shaking for hours in the middle of the night, that is. How do you expect us to build a fortress when every morning the work has to be done again?”
    They all remained silent for a few minutes. They knew it was a crime to speak ill of a king, but Darroch was right. Vortigern had not been the best leader of the Britons, and history would certainly not remember him for his military deeds or war tactics.
    “Look,” said Kaleb finally. “Vortigern is not perfect, but he’s our king and we’ll obey his orders. Once we bring the boy back to him, hopefully he will know how to appease the demons living within the cursed hill.”
    “And how exactly is he supposed to do that?” asked Atwood.
    “They will probably spill his blood all over the ground,” answered Freston, a hood covering his face.
    The words hit Samuel like a boulder thrown to the chest. The Lorekeeper looked up in shock, not quite sure he believed what the archer had just said.
    “I’m sorry, what? You can’t be serious,” he asked the men around the fire. “They can’t simply murder someone and hope it will solve their problem—a problem they don’t even fully understand to begin with! Isn’t it against the law?”
    “Of course he can,” replied Darroch. “He’s the king. He can do whatever he wants. And how do you know it won’t work? Are you some kind of wizard or a black sorcerer, to be so certain it won’t lift the curse on the land?”
    “No.”
    “Then you don’t know any better than us. I’m willing to try anything myself, so long as it means we get to squash the Saxon hordes.”
    “A friend of mine lifted a curse on his fields with the blood of a donkey,” Atwood mused.
    No one answered him.
    “I’m telling you, it’s true! From that day on, he always the most amazing golden crops. I swear!”
    “The point is,” said Kaleb, “we don’t know what their plans are for the fatherless boy. We’ve been asked to deliver him alive, and that is what we’ll do. There is no reason to think they want to do him any harm. I’m sure Morghan has a good reason for wanting the boy alive. Now that I think of it, I’m sure he wants him alive because he can help us without shedding any blood. We are going to be heroes, men, for bringing a savior to our people.”
    “I think we should forget this so-called savior of yours and find the eldest of Constatine’s sons,” added Darroch. “He would be a much better guide to lead us to victory than this murderer we take our orders from.”
    “All right, that’s enough!” ordered Kaleb.
    Samuel thought long and hard about what the warrior had said: that they might be fetching a boy, only to deliver him in the hands of a butcher who would spill his blood. Up to this point, he had thought he might actually be able to fulfill his new role as a Lorekeeper. However, he had never stopped to think that there might be some things that would make him question his moral grounds; vile acts, purportedly committed for the benefit of a whole population, in order to guarantee its survival.
    Once more, it dawned on Samuel that this world was not make-believe. This was a real war, in a time when some people still believed in rituals to several gods, while others acted solely on superstitions rather than human decency. His earlier feeling of comfort vanished. He now felt utterly alone again, in a violent world that would surely eat him up and spit him out.
    “Are you okay?” asked Malloy.
    “Yes, I’m fine.”
    “Before we get some sleep,” Kaleb announced, “I’d like to share a story with you; a story that a wise and good man once told me.”
    The officer cleared his voice and began.
    “Hear me out and hear me well, my friends, for the story I am about to tell you is as real as the heat from this fire before us. Although I cannot impose on you to believe it, I hope you will find it in your heart to listen to the words and embrace the wisdom they carry.
    “There once was a man, a fierce warrior who fought many battles for his lord and won them all. For many years, he instilled terror in the minds of his lord’s enemies and minstrels turned his battle deeds into beautiful songs, in order to keep his feats alive. Still, in all those years of war, violence and sacrifice, all the warrior ever wanted was to find peace and live a quiet life. Finally, after