Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

cliff, where he looked down on the camp in the valley. There, he witnessed once more the carnage and suffering that cursed him and his men. The crisp morning breeze lifted his gray hair and the purple cape he wore, as he leaned on the black hilt of his sword to take a closer look at his military forces. Soldiers were scurrying to extinguish fires caused by the nocturnal tremors. Tents and temporary camps were once again piled up on the ground, the soldiers trying desperately to clear paths for the victims, who were being carried off to the physician or, worse, lugged to a common grave.
    Looking into the distance, observing the morning mist slowly setting over the valley, the Britons’ sovereign wondered why God had cursed him. He yearned to learn the nature of the crime he must have committed in order to deserve such an ungrateful fate. Everything he had done had been in the best interests of his people. When the Romans had abandoned his country to be pillaged by the northern tribes, content to return home after having enjoyed the hospitality of the Britons for so many centuries, it was he, Vortigern, who had stepped up to unify the nobles and to protect the lands.
    Even after his own kind, his friends and neighbors, had rejected him as a suitable leader, and decided to ask an outsider to govern them, he did not concede and leave them to their fate. Constantine II may have been a favorite of the people, but he was not a true Briton. He could never have understood the ways of the island and the political games played among the many kingdoms and tribes. He had been weak and dimwitted, unable to protect his country from internal struggles or threats from the outside. No prosperity could ever come to a country fighting against both itself and others.
    Still, Vortigern had offered his help as an advisor, hoping to guide this new king and keep his people on the right course, if only from the shadows of the throne. At the time, it suited him just fine, so long as the king was obedient and followed his every recommendation. After all, Vortigern, not Constantine, was the only one truly fit to rule over the Britons.
    Nonetheless, no matter how good an advisor Vortigern had been, Constantine eventually started showing signs of being more comfortable in his new role, developing a mind of his own and making decisions without consulting the council. Everyone could clearly foresee the troubles toward which the country was heading. This outsider, who was acting as king, would most certainly bring nothing but chaos and war to the Britons. Something had to be done. The crime would eventually be forgiven, for it would have been committed for the people, to free them of an imbecilic ruler and replace him with a competent one—himself.
    It had been for the greater good. Always for the greater good.
    It would have been easy enough to eliminate Constantine and claim the throne for himself, but, unfortunately for Vortigern, the king had produced three sons, all legitimate heirs to the crown. He doubted they would have accepted him as their new ruler. More careful planning had been required, and that was where the Picts and Saxons had come in handy.
    Vortigern had sent off the eldest of the three sons and locked him up in a distant abbey, so he could put his plan in motion. Unfortunately, the other two had proven to be more difficult to dispatch. Those bastards were stubborn, and eager to learn about the arts of war and politics. Of course, their appetite for justice made them favorites of the people, the clear candidates to wear the crown once their father passed into the afterlife.
    Then again, the people generally did not know what was best for them. How could they? Their lives were so distant from the games of power, content to farm their lands and raise their children, unaware of the dangers menacing the nation and the island of Britain.
    However, with every passing year under Constantine’s reign, the people had grown more and more frustrated with the king, especially with his inability to deal with the Picts and Scots from the north.
    Vortigern looked down on the army he now commanded, reminiscing over his finest moments, remembering how he had mange to outwit them all.
    He had worked the Picts into his plan, a grandiose scheme that would ensure that Britain’s future was in his own hands. Of course, those feebleminded fools were a pain in the heel of the country, but he had cleverly turned them into temporary allies, without