Tales of the Lorekeepers 01 - Rise of the Red Dragon

constant threat of rebellion, with Morghan no longer under the influence of the Yfel’s man, the false king could have left with his army and then who knows what would have happened next. Maybe Ambrosius would have found a way to get his people back and fend off the Saxons.
    “No, I think the opportunity was too good to pass up. His plan was brilliant, hiding behind the cover of a sacrifice and making sure nothing was changed until the last moment, influencing the false king so he would stay here, playing the advisor for a fool. If he succeeds, not only would he eliminate any hopes of the Britons regaining their spirit, but the Saxons would be right at his doorstep to make sure Ambrosius’ people were swiftly exterminated.
    “I don’t know who you are talking to,” said Ambrosius, “or how you know all of this, but I am inclined to believe you’re not crazy, Samuel. If I understand what you are saying, we have to do everything we can to stop a strange man from using this device here, sketched on that parchment, so we can save the red dragon and, at the same time, my people. Am I right?”
    “Absolutely.”
    “Good. There is only one problem, though. We are all still prisoners of Morghan and time is quickly running out.”
    As if waiting for its cue, the whole hilltop suddenly jumped under the force of a single tremor, while thunder resonated from deep below the ground, as if a level of Hades had just exploded.
    “I think Vortigern has found what he was looking for,” said Myrddin, his lips trembling.

CHAPTER 15

    Morghan could hardly believe the events that had transpired during the last few hours. The evening had started out with everything going according to plan. Kaleb and the group he had sent were back with the young Myrddin, the altar for the sacrifice was completed and every detail had been taken care of. However, despite his best efforts, everything had been thrown out of sync, the situation rapidly morphing into a complete disaster. What should have been a routine sacrifice had turned into a wild goose chase.
    Dragons? Really?
    He could not believe Vortigern was giving any credit to such an inconceivable tale. Instead of gathering the men to witness the liberation of Dinas Ffaraon, the foolish king was now digging tunnels through the hill, looking for a couple of ancient reptiles that had never existed in the first place. Of course, Morghan had heard about dragons before. Throughout history, they always proved to be a convenient way of turning a perfect stranger into a hero. It was the oldest trick in the book. The formula was simple. First, you needed to create a nightmare for the people, something horrific but believable, even if they never actually witnessed it with their own eyes. The scarier the threat, the more efficient the plan. Then, once everybody was frightened out of their minds, offer them a champion who would free their pathetic lives from the evil afflicting them, delivering the men and women from a diabolical fiend who had never existed in the first place.
    It worked every time.
    Such was the only use that people like him made of fairy tales and mythical creatures like dragons. Vortigern was chasing a dream or, rather, a nightmare—something that did not actually exist, created from the mind of an ancient ruler. It was a fool’s errand and a waste of time. Fortunately, Morghan knew what had to be done. The answer to their problems had not changed because a child said so. The sacrifice of young Myrddin was still the only way to put an end to the curse over this place and free his army. The dark stranger had said so.
    The advisor passed by the large, black royal tent, beside which a few guards still stood, and continued toward the north side of the hill, where he had instructed several men to build the altar for the sacrifice. He thought about bringing the young boy with him, but changed his mind. It was probably better to check with the dark stranger first, in order to verify if the time was right and if everything was as it should be. The last thing he needed right now was to upset this strange man.
    Lightning lit up the sky, soon accompanied by powerful thunder, the kind which seemed to stop the world for a moment. The rain was now coming down hard on the camp, the droplets whipping the face of the old man as the wind lifted his cape. Morghan held a hand in front of him to protect himself from the storm, as he walked toward the place where the altar stood.
    Suddenly, the hill