Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

and chocolate cookies.
    The advisor moved toward them at a slow and steady pace, like a man in control of the situation, one who is aware of every detail, including Samuel’s origin and his purpose here.
    Samuel suddenly realized all the warriors and guards had disappeared. As if by some mysterious magic, they were now surrounded by nothing but the dirty tents, flapping frenetically under the wind that seemed on the verge of blowing them away.
    The advisor stopped about twenty paces from where the group stood. He observed them all, one by one, taking a particular interest in Samuel and then the young boy.
    “Myrddin Emrys, it is an honor. Welcome to Dinas Ffaraon,” said the old man.
    The child did not answer, but retreated behind his protector, holding on to Ambrosius’ armor.
    “Please,” continued the advisor, holding out his right hand and doing his best to smile gently. “There is nothing to be afraid of, I assure you, my boy.”
    Myrddin did not move an inch. Morghan’s smile slowly disappeared, replaced by a stern and forbidding expression. He glanced at the officer he had put in charge of this mission.
    “Hand him over, Kaleb,” ordered the advisor.
    “If it’s all the same to you,” answered the officer, “We would prefer to bring the boy before Vortigern ourselves.”
    Morghan seemed a little surprised of the reply from his subordinate. He was not a man who was used to being questioned, and this cockroach would certainly not start today.
    “I suggest you do as I say,” he said, waving his hand in the air. Immediately, dozens of soldiers emerged from behind the tents, quickly encircling the group. They were all armed with a shield and a sword, ready to seize the boy by force if needed.
    “Well, now we know why they were so busy running around like chickens,” said Malloy.
    “There’s too many of them to fight back,” continued Freston.
    “Not to mention they are Britons, our people,” finished Darroch.
    “So what’s the plan?” said Malloy. “We can’t just hand him Myrddin.”
    “I’ll go with him,” said Ambrosius. The rightful king moved to the front of the group. He sheathed his sword and slowly removed his helmet. As he lowered the leather bandana covering his face, revealing his true identity, he looked the advisor straight in the eyes.
    “I am Ambrosius Aurelianus, son of Flavius Claudius Constantinus, Constantine II of Britain. I am the rightful heir to the throne. Wherever this boy goes, so will I.”
    The blood quickly left Morghan’s face, making him look fifteen years older than he was. His eyes were wide open in disbelief, his mouth gaping in shock and his hands trembled. Clearly, he had not expected the true Briton king to show up with the boy. A few moments later, the initial shock slowly vanished from the face of the advisor as he tried to regain his composure, remembering what needed to be done to save his people and himself. He raised both his hands in order to try to calm the whispers among the men surrounding his prisoners.
    “Ambrosius,” he said in a trembling voice. “What a pleasant surprise. I see you have become quite the sturdy man, unlike that poor elder brother of yours. What was his name again?”
    “Constans. I would choose my words carefully if I were you, Morghan, if you don’t want me to tear your foul tongue out of your mouth.”
    “You will do no such thing.” The advisor turned to one of the guards surrounding the group. “Take them to the wooden posts and tie them up there, all of them, except the young child and this traitor. Take these two to the king.”
    He approached the group and walked up to Samuel, looking boy in the eyes.
    “Take this one to the royal tent as well. Vortigern and I need to interrogate him.”
    Freston and Darroch protested violently when the soldiers tried to grab them, but were quickly taken away, along with Kaleb and Malloy. Ambrosius, Myrddin and Samuel were brought inside the black tent, their hands tied behind their backs.
    Vortigern was in the middle of a dinner with the rest of his council of advisors. He had been warned of the arrival of the boy and had quickly put his black armor on, hoping for a terrifying effect on the child. Anything to ensure his full cooperation, he had thought. When the prisoners were brought to him, he was surprised to find two more men accompanying the boy, one of them none other than the true king of Britain. Unlike Morghan, however, Vortigern was not scared of