Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

officers to shout their orders and the men to protect themselves from the dirt whipping their faces. Lightning flashed in on the horizon, revealing the peaks of the western mountains for a split second before plunging the world back into obscurity. Thunders rocked the sky, a sound familiar to every man who had spent the last few nights in this cursed place.
    Vortigern stood at the top of a small mound, overseeing the work. As the wind blew into his cape and lifted his long, gray hair, he finally felt in control of the situation. At last he had a solution to all his problems. With one courageous act, he would set Britain on the right course. He felt closer to God, almost like a deity himself. He was a savior, a true hero. Tonight, history would be written, and his name would be eternally branded in the hearts of the Britons. Tonight he would unleash nightmares that this world had not seen for a long time and then he would slay them with a swift stroke of his blade.
    Suddenly, lightning struck a nearby tree on the hillside, just below the men. The targeted tree immediately caught fire, as deafening thunder exploded in the air, rocking the men’s hearts and freezing the blood in their veins. At the same time, one of the warriors brought his shovel down hard and revealed an opening.
    “Over here!” he yelled to the officers. Like a wildfire, the word spread that they had found something.
    “My lord,” said one of the advisors to the king, “It appears one of the men has found a cave. It looks to be a tunnel that goes down under the ground. It could be an entrance to the heart of the hill.”
    “Then what are we waiting for?” Vortigern jumped down from the mound he stood on and rushed to where the men had gathered. He found himself at the mouth of a massive cave.
    The opening was almost twenty feet across, angled slightly forward. The men had quickly removed any sand and rock covering the entrance, revealing the opening as much as they could. Vortigern stared into the darkness of the cave, trying to determine the depth and perceive any signs of the dragons that were supposedly inside.
    “Who discovered the entrance?” he asked.
    “I did, my lord,” said a young warrior, eager to investigate his findings.
    “Good job, son. Gather your weapons and follow me.” Vortigern turned, grabbed a torch and gestured to the men around him. “All of you, get your swords and come with us. There is no time to lose. Glory awaits us, my friends!” The king turned to his oldest advisor. “Morghan, I need you to stay up here. Tell the men to be ready for anything. If we are lucky, we can kill the foul beast in its lair, but we may need to draw it outside, into the open. Order the archers and spearmen to be on the alert.”
    “Understood,” answered the advisor. “What about the sacrifice of the boy?”
    “You just can’t let it go, can you? Fine, do it.”
    “Good luck, old friend.”
    “I don’t need luck, for God is finally by my side!”
    Vortigern looked up at the sky. The first droplets of rain fell on his face and iron armor. The storm was right above their heads.
    “Onward!” called the king, leading the small army inside the cave. Morghan watched his friend disappear into the tunnel, followed by the rest of the advisors, then by the officers and, finally, the common warriors. He remained at the cave mouth for a few more minutes, praying that the men would prevail and be safe.
    Then he climbed back to the top, ready deliver the boy to the dark stranger.
    Inside the cave, Vortigern advanced down a gentle slope, holding his torch before him. For a long time, the tunnel went down in the same direction, but then it suddenly veered to the right, then back to the left. The walls of the tunnel, which at first had been smooth and almost seemed carved by hand, were now rough and irregular, with rocks regularly obstructing the path and slowing down their progression considerably. Every fifty feet or so, the group had to stop and wait for some men to clear the way, then resume their descent, only to be forced to repeat the exercise a little farther on.
    Vortigern was growing frustrated with the pace of their progress. He had hoped he could simply walk in, find the two dragons, kill the white one and set free the Briton symbol. Then he would have come back up, triumphantly holding the head of their foe, rallying his men around him in an instant.
    Instead, he found himself holding out a torch to light the way, waiting