Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

boy, maybe it could buy Samuel some time to figure something out.
    “Is he, now?” asked Vortigern. “From where? I know all of your father’s family and this boy does not ring a bell.”
    “You know those on the island, but remember that my family has ties to the continent as well. Do you really think I would be stupid enough to reveal to you the names of those helping me out?”
    “You will in due time, Ambrosius. We have ways of cracking tough nuts such as yourself. If this is truly your cousin, I trust you will do everything in your power to prevent any … unpleasantries from happening to his young body or to his innocent mind.”
    Samuel remembered reading about the torture devices employed in ancient times, as well as the methods of interrogation they would use to make people say anything they wanted. At the idea of all the cruelties he could be facing, a cold shiver ran down his spine.
    All of a sudden, he wished they had thought of a better plan than this one.
    Thankfully, Morghan broke the eerie silence that had fallen over the tent.
    “My lord, should we proceed with the preparations for the sacrifice? There is much work to be done, and the sun is starting to set.”
    Vortigern wanted to say yes. He had already formed the word in his head; he even pictured the three letters next to one another: Y-E-S. He opened his mouth, intending to move his lower jaw slightly forward, flexing the muscles that the word required to be pronounced accurately. Instead, his tongue came up to his palate, right behind his teeth, and he said the opposite of what he had thought, without even realizing it, until he heard the sound come out.
    “No. I want to hear what he has to say first. Bring him to the table and seat him with the rest of the advisors.”
    “But my lord, there isn’t …”
    “I’ve made my decision, Morghan. Unless you want to be part of the sacrifice yourself, I suggest you listen to me.”
    “Of course, my king.”
    Vortigern could not believe what he had just said. It was not what he had intended at all. He tried to correct his mistake, but this time, no words crossed his lips. No matter how hard he tried to articulate the syllables, nothing happened. In the end, fearing he would look like a fool or, worse, a madman, he decided to sit back and listen to the boy, just like he had unwittingly ordered his advisor to do.
    Reluctantly, Morghan brought the young boy to the end of the long oak table. He sat down on the adjacent bench, next to the rest of the advisors. He looked at each of them, hoping to find some support for his plan to spill the blood of this young boy. Unfortunately, all he saw were broken men, intent on listening to their king for as long as they could. He suspected most of them had already taken steps to ensure their survival, once Vortigern would be murdered or chased from the throne.
    Spineless traitors! thought Morghan.
    A guard, who had remained present at Vortigern’s request, tied Samuel’s and Ambrosius’ feet together before forcing them to the ground.
    Samuel looked at the young Merlin, standing alone in front of a dozen men who wanted nothing else than to slit his throat and lift the curse that was destroying their army. Myrddin did not seem to think such dark thoughts, however, as he joyfully looked at them, even smiling at his persecutors. It was as if he had already lived this whole scene and knew perfectly well how it ended.
    Finally, Vortigern spoke.
    “What can you tell me about the curse on this place, Myrddin?”
    “It’s not a curse.”
    “Lies!” intervened Morghan. “You’ve all felt the tremors, every night now, since we have been here. If this is not a sign of a curse, then I do not know what is.”
    “Then you do not know what a curse is,” Myrddin said simply.
    “And I suppose you do?” pressed the advisor.
    “Indeed I do.”
    “Then please, share your infinite knowledge with the rest of us.”
    “Soon,” answered Myrddin, smiling at the advisor.
    Samuel was trying to loosen the knots in the bonds restraining his hands, but to no avail. It seemed so easy in movies!
    “Does he really knows what is going here?” whispered Ambrosius.
    “I believe so, yes.”
    Myrddin looked back to Vortigern and continued his little show.
    “Do any of your advisors know what’s buried at the heart of this hill?”
    Vortigern looked at each of them, hoping one of his advisors would answer the question that this eight-year-old boy had asked. No one