Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

the troublemakers from causing more problems.
    Morghan climbed back up to the plateau at the top of Dinas Ffaraon. There, a few soldiers were rebuilding the tents and living quarters that had crumbled the previous night. The advisor was glad to see his tent was already up. He saluted the two guards posted at his door and walked in, thankful to see someone had even put a breakfast on the table.
    He went to grab a piece of bread and pour himself a cup of water, but halted at the last moment. A dark thought had suddenly crossed his tired mind. Who were the guards he had just seen outside his tent? Were they new? He could not tell. He looked at the bread he was holding and sniffed it. It smelled like fresh bread. Or did it? He bent over the cup of water. Again, he tried to smell if anything had been added to the liquid. He decided it was not worth the risk, and put bread back in its basket and the cup of water on the table. He called for someone to bring back another breakfast. Surely, the traitors had spent all their poison on this one, if there was any.
    He looked at the men who picked up the food with suspicion. Did they look disappointed? Maybe they were just tired.
    So was he.
    While he waited for more food, Morghan picked up the scrolls and maps that were still scattered on the ground. He placed a few of them on the table, unfurling the old yellow parchment to study them. As if someone was spying on him, he acted like he was devising a plan to put up defenses in place for the Saxon’s attack, but really, he was merely staring blankly at the scrolls, unsure of what to do or where to begin. When he heard someone entering his tent, he did not look up, and gestured for them to leave the breakfast on a small table next to a wooden chair.
    “Sit down,” said a voice that immediately sent chills down the advisor’s spine.
    The dark stranger was back.
    “We need to talk.”
    Morghan tried to appear unafraid, but he knew it was useless. This man could read his every thought.
    “Please, have a seat,” Morghan said. “Do you have any news of our expedition, and whether or not they were successful in getting the boy you told me about?”
    The dark man did not respond immediately. For a few moments, he remained silent and perfectly still, staring at the old advisor from under his perpetually dark hood. Morghan felt the air around his body become suddenly cold. The hair on his arms stood up and droplets of sweat on his neck slowly trickled toward his shoulder blades. He could not see the stranger’s face, but he could feel his gaze upon him, freezing his body in place.
    Finally, the stranger spoke: “Do not worry yourself. They will bring him back.”
    “How can you be so sure?”
    Again, a heavy silence fell inside the tent. The advisor suddenly remembered the threat that was made to him, the last time he had questioned the dark stranger. He immediately regretted his last words and wished he could take them back.
    “I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “Please, tell me what I can do for you now.”
    “There is nothing you can do for me. Rather, it is I who does everything for you and your king. Don’t ever forget it.”
    He walked around the table and sat down in Morghan’s favorite chair.
    “There are still preparations that need to be made,” he said. “In order to lift the curse afflicting this place, specific rituals must be performed.”
    “I don’t understand,” replied the advisor, sitting in a smaller, less comfortable chair across the table.
    “The curse that dwells in this place is very ancient,” continued the dark man. “It was conjured on this hill when pagan deities still ruled these lands, when antediluvian gods reigned over your ancestors. It was done by using dark rites and violent sacrifices. If you want to purge this hill of the evil that dwells within, if you want to remove this evil charm, you need to perform rituals that address these ancient gods. Only they can lift the curse and free this land for your fortress.”
    “I see,” Morghan said. “I have no reason to doubt you, but there will probably be some resistance to performing anything that will not appear Christian. The king himself is not keen on using pagan symbols or blasphemous chants. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of his wife and what she represented for him. The old religions tore his heart apart, and he was forced to commit the unthinkable because of them.”
    “Your king needs to remember that his place on