Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

thought he would be able to organize a proper army and crush them, but for a second time, his careful planning backfired on him in a way he had not predicted. His wife, a woman who had refused to convert to Christianity, was now the enemy, and this placed Vortigern in a delicate position. He loved his wife very much and even though their marriage had been short-lived, he had enjoyed every minute at her side. However, his country was still too important to jeopardize. With a pagan queen sitting next to him, he thought it would provide his enemies a perfect opportunity to seize the throne, not to mention the rumors that were rapidly spreading among the commoners: that the queen was helping the enemy and keeping the king under her control. He had no other choice but to do the right thing. With tears in his eyes and one last kiss, he had strangled his wife—for the good of his country, so he could remain the strong leader they needed.
    But the deed had only made him a monster, a tyrant in the eyes of his countrymen. Again, fate had played him for a fool.
    He closed his eyes, listening to his heart, summoning the last drops of courage and will that he possessed.
    Not this time, he thought.
    This time, he would have the upper hand over fate. This time, he would emerge victorious and turn the tide of the war.
    He had to, because he would not get another chance to do so. Here, on Dinas Ffaraon, he would not only place the fate of his people in the balance of destiny, but his own as well. He knew very well that small factions within the army were already plotting to take him down. He knew as well that morale was now at its lowest level and that the oppositional factions were attracting disgruntled soldiers at an alarming rate, growing more confident with each new recruit.
    The only way he would survive the next few months was if he could inspire his men, make them believe in him once again. He had to prove he was the leader they needed, the king they had worshiped when he had crushed the Picts and saved the northern villagers from unnamable atrocities.
    He pictured himself killing the fatherless boy who would soon be here, spilling his blood in a public ceremony. He would lift the curse of this place and build the largest fortress the world had ever seen. Then he would annihilate the Saxons and place his foot on the throat of destiny.

    “They refuse to rebuild the ramparts, my lord,” reported an officer to Morghan. “The men are tired and weak. They have been up all night, trying to put out fires and helping others. They need to rest.”
    “Tell them that anyone found disobeying my orders and not participating in the construction of our defenses will be hung, dismembered and used as mortar in the construction of the pigpen. Any day now, the Saxons will figure out that we did not go north. They will be on their way within a few weeks, at most. There is no time to lose in making trivial complaints.”
    The general hesitated for a moment, then nodded and quickly left the advisor to his thoughts.
    Morghan knew very well that the men were rebuilding the wall in vain. Every night since they had set foot on this godforsaken hill, the ground had shaken for hours, destroying all the work done during the day. There was no reason to believe tonight would be any different.
    But what else could he do?
    Any hope of winning this war had vanished from the minds of the warriors. Once part of a proud army, the soldiers surrounding the advisor were now mere ghosts of what they had been, wandering about without purpose, awaiting certain death. There was no doubt that leaving them to their thoughts for a whole day would prove disastrous for the leadership of the army. Left to themselves, the men would organize a rebellion and strike without delay.
    He could not let them do so. He had to keep them occupied, force them to work if necessary. If the soldiers were busy chopping down trees and gathering rocks, then they would not have time to debate whether or not they should dispose of the king and his council.
    Of course, this meant that every morning he had to convince the army officers that he and the other advisors, as well as the king, had a plan to solve their problem. He had to remain stern and calm, persuading the men that everything was under control and on schedule. Still, the men were rapidly growing impatient, tirelessly working all day, and unable to get any rest at night. Tempers were flaring and there was no holding cell to keep