Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

you come shut it for me?” Kaleb yelled back. “Afraid of the rebellious captain?”
    The guard did not bother to answer. As soon as he joined the others, he started talking in a low voice. The other two immediately ceased eating and looked at him with interest. It seemed he was bringing news of the other prisoners.
    “I wonder what’s happening in the royal tent,” said Freston. “Do you think Myrddin can keep them safe?”
    “I hope so,” answered Kaleb. “I know Ambrosius is supposed to watch over the young child, but sometimes I can’t help thinking it’s actually the other way around. This kid has a lot more power than he shows, I’m telling you.”
    “Well, in the meantime,” said Freston, “it looks as if something is happening. Our guards look ready to leave their posts.”
    Malloy looked up at the warriors keeping watch over them. The newcomer was now standing up, clearly relating a story that the others found hard to believe. More soldiers had now joined them around the table and a few of them were gathering their weapons, while the others seemed to dispute the messenger’s account, asking many questions.
    “What’s happening?” asked Malloy.
    “I don’t know,” answered Freston, “But something big is going on. Look at them. They look like they can hardly believe what they’re hearing.”
    “Let’s hope they are not getting ready to execute anyone.”

    Samuel, Ambrosius and Myrddin were brought into Morghan’s tent, which was smaller than the king’s, but still quite impressive. Inside, elegant furniture was placed on several muddy rugs. The advisor stood in front of them, carefully studying his guests. He looked at them one by one, attempting to assess the threat they represented. Finally, he turned away and sat down behind a large wooden table. He poured himself a cup of wine and sipped at it. Everyone else remained on their feet.
    Morghan looked at the young boy standing behind Ambrosius, the child who knew about the two dragons inside Dinas Ffaraon.
    “Who are you, really?” the advisor asked the boy. “How come you know things no one else does?”
    Myrddin seemed far less confident now than he had been a moment ago. Deep down inside, he was still only a small child. Even if he possessed immense powers; even if sometimes he could speak like the wisest of old men, he was still a little boy, afraid of the big bad wolf.
    “He’s only a kid,” answered Ambrosius, sensing the fear in his young friend’s heart. “You should be ashamed of yourself for proposing to harm this creature of God.”
    “He’s no creature of God. He does not even have a father! For all we know, he’s a demon, the descendant of some incubus. Maybe the Devil himself fathered this child. God has nothing to do with him.”
    Myrddin’s eyes now shone from the tears forming behind his eyelids. He did not like this man, nor did he like his superior, the false king. He regretted coming here, and wished he was still at the monastery, with Master Blaise to watch over him.
    “Be careful what you say, Morghan. This child is a dear friend to the rightful king of Britain.”
    “Spare me the drama, Ambrosius. You’re not a king, you’re a traitor.”
    “You know very well that this is not true. You are aware of the sins that your so-called leader committed. He arranged the murder of my father and killed my brother, just so he could sit on the throne himself. He is a backstabber and a despot.”
    “He did so because your father was powerless to solve the problem of the Picts and the Scots raiding our villages to the north. He stepped up because your brother was weak and unfit to rule our lands! He did it for our people, to save our magnificent country!”
    Ambrosius took a step forward.
    “Did he, now? Then tell me, advisor, how is that working out so far? Why is it that you are the ones fleeing your own country, while others seek to seize it?”
    Ambrosius knew his words had the desired effect on his captor. Morghan did not answer immediately, his eyes filled with shame and sorrow as well as anger and hatred. The true king was right, and now he had cracked the iron conviction of this old man, a veteran soldier who would follow Vortigern to the death.
    Ambrosius kept on pressing.
    “Your people are starving, Morghan. They are weak, tired and on the brink of death. Every day, more of your men wish to be delivered from this miserable existence they call their life. Across the island, our villages are